Conquest of Hope


This is another one of those things where it's written the day before, because in all likelihood I'm going to spend all of Saturday trading MP3s like the horrible little guy I am. If you're lucky I'll upload some more Eat-Man pictures or the like.
On Fridays, the group of us surly programmers and customer service types all go out to lunch together and air our complaints. It's a big ol' gripe fest, accompanied by generally good food. Today, for reasons only God can understand, the eating place of choice was Steak & Shake. I'm not sure what Steak & Shake was trying to be, but the food was surly and confused. Perhaps this was the fault of the waitre... oh, sorry, we must be politically correct... waitron. Not that we were forced to call her that, I just have to get in at least one jibe at political correctness every couple of days.

Lowlights included getting "Chili and Noodles" which contained no actual chili (after many attempts to discover what chili was like, including

  1. A small bowl of ketchup
  2. A small bowl of cold taco sauce
  3. A small bowl of warm taco sauce

eventually chili was acquired. I, however, did not have the chili. This is because I am not an idiot. I'm on generally good terms with my intestines, at least to the point where I know that there are certain things that should not be introduced into the intestinal area.

I got the fish. Well, I ordered the fish, anyway. What actually arrived was a 'Frisco Burger'. For those of you who don't know what this is, it's... it's... oh, I can't bear the awful memories!

Ahem. Suffice to say, it's something that looks something like regurgitated hairballs in their own luscious sauce. This was quickly sent right the hell back from whence it came. Fish arrived shortly thereafter (they were supposed to be fish sandwiches but the waitress was already shaken by the Lack-Of-Chili Debacle, and I saw fit to bug her about something different, which was the Lack-Of-Fries. Fries arrived shortly thereafter.

They were wholly inadequate fries. Hopefully all of you have had experience with the lucious kind of fries, the ones that are thick and contain much more potato than they should, very little grease, and are nice and crispy-crunchy. These were almost completely unlike those fries. They were pathetic, wimpy, rejects from the fry factory, unworthy to grace a plate with anything other than the similarly inadequate, wretched little fish patties.

On the other hand, I got a superb root beer float with this meal, which was free because of all the wackiness. So the afternoon wasn't a complete wash.

To segue from my earlier comment, this is where I rant about Political Correctness simply because I can. Now, there's such a thing as Going Too Far, you see. I should know, I do it all the time. It's where you take a perfectly reasonable assumption or idea and carry it to such ludicrous extremes that it creates a laughingstock of the ideals that spawned it.

Let's take, for example, oh, Christianity. Now, there's a nice little idea that, to me, summarizes the core of Christianity: "Being mean to people sucks. Cut it out, dumbass."

How did we get from that to the Moral Minority, the Church Police, the Crusades against the Heretics, the... well, a whole ton-o-crap, really. The answer is that some people just don't know when to quit. When the Christian religion was young, there were many fascinating debates among the faithful about the nature of various truths and whatnot, but these weren't vicious debates. It didn't take long, of course, for this to migrate into killing each other over, for example, wether Jesus was Divine Only, Human Only, or Both.

At least a lot of that stuff's mellowed out recently, but still. I think we would have been a lot better off if we stuck with the older gods. I mean, nobody disrespects, say, Zeus, or fails to understand philosophy. If you talk smack about Zeus, he'll come right down and kick your pansy mortal ass. That's the kind of thing people understand. None of this 'oo, pretty immortal soul afterlife' stuff.

And Satan! If the church didn't have such a mighty rod rammed up its rear end, it might have remembered that The Devil's job was as a judge and punisher of the people (after all, how can you know if someone's good or not if he hasn't been judged?). None of this competition with God stuff. Old Scratch is just a loyal flunky like any of the other bad-asses we don't hear much about these days (what's the Angel of Death up to these days, you wonder).

Wow. What was I talking about, anyway?

Oh, right. Political Correctness(tm). Start with a simple idea: "Hey, saying stuff that offends people sucks. Cut it out, dumbass."

How did we get from that to "You must never say anything that might possibly, under any circumstances, offend anyone, wether or not they're completely out of their minds, under pain of massive lawsuits"?

And... hm. I'm out of vitriol today. Curses. Oh well, I'm sure this will come up again.


Books:
I finished Terry Pratchett's Jingo today; it's another story of Ankh-Morpork, which generally means baffling but amusing political intrigues. This time, it's a battle over an island which has risen between Ankh-Morpork and Klatch. Well, battle in that both sides are technically at war. Except, of course, that as the area's manufacturing, mercantile and education center, Ankh-Morpork has been hosting Klatchian students of the arts of Assassination and selling them fiendish weaponry for decades. And the fact that the area's political makeup is such that no wars have been fought in nearly as long. Mainly because none of the guilds have been paying their taxes... Problems that the Klatchian Empire doesn't face (they don't even have a -word- for 'lawyer', the barbarians). Hijinks are certain to abound.
All this and the unflappable Lord Vetinari doing a juggling routine! What more could you ask for?

Todays' Costume Boy Sightings: None.

The Morning Weather: Warm and unpleasant.



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