If you boycott BP you are a complete idiot

For the record, I know that many moons ago, I said we wouldn't be discussing political or politically related issues on this blog. Well, its my damn blog and I'm going to break the rules. If you are unhappy with my political leanings or issues on certain topics, I don't give a damn. And if you are seriously boycotting British Petroleum, you are an idiot.

British Petroleum is no doubt responsible for the worst environmental catastrophe in the history of our country. They are liable and likely negligent as more information comes out about their lack of safety and disaster preparation.

What really irks me about this whole thing is that to be a fat, dumb and happy American requires that you watch a few 22 second news clips depicting some poor sap of an oil-stained pelican being washed in Palmolive dish detergent, become righteously indignant and proclaim that your giant moral stand will come in the form of joining a Facebook page called "Boycott BP". Then, shortly before you fall asleep feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside because your moral stand will somehow magically save 17 crude-coated sea turtles, you realize that you have actually done nothing more than convince some other idiots more pretentious than you to specifically avoid patronizing BP. The end result is that the small business owner who owns the BP station and does not work for BP will be forced to layoff the overnight kid who works the register while trying to get through college. Then the stock takes a hit and pensions, pensions belonging to policemen, firefighters, teachers who have investments tied up in BP begin to suffer. And then BP has no money and you switch to the Facebook group "Make BP pay for the cleanup!!" except BP doesn't have any more money because you bought the gas for your SUV from Chevron because it made you feel better about the damn Pelican.

Really people, think this one through. I'm not letting BP off the hook, I'm just trying to point out that college freshman activism is cute until you start looking at the big picture and realize that it's a bit more complex than "Boycott BP" and that really, we're all in this together.

Call Failed

It is no secret that I am, on a good day, moderately upset with At&t and on the worst of days, steam-coming-out-of-my-ears, terrifyingly incensed. And just when I thought their service couldn't get any worse, that they couldn't drop any more calls than the 17 I experience before noon on any given weekday, they reached a new low. My At&t sponsored iPhone actually dropped a call before I could make it. Not kidding. All I did was think about calling TH and the all too familiar "call failed" screen displayed on my curiously omnipotent iPhone. It may be that At&t Wireless has become self-aware and finds purpose in torturing me with dropped calls and weak signals, that its evolution into intelligence is fueled by its ability to frustrate and torment. Having an At&t phone in Atlanta is a foray into the depths of Hades that I wish upon no one. iPhone is in desparate need of replacement but I'm holding out hope that Verizon comes along with the iPhone so that I don't have to lock myself up in the Alcatrazesque prison known as At&t Wireless contract.

In other news....

Check out my new office here. Well, one of them. This one doesn't actually fly but you can certainly pretend for $175 an hour.

A night in Nashville

So TH and I hopped in a Cirrus SR20 and flew up to Nashville to see David Sedaris. TH recently became a fan and susbsequently turned me onto him. All I'll say is this, he is the kind of writer that I wish I could be. The show itself was pretty awesome, save for a really akward question from a couple in the balcony at The Ryman Auditorium. And we got to meet Mr. Sedaris who signed our poster.
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending upon which angle you're looking at it, a trough of low pressure meandered its way across the southeast Friday night, several hours ahead of schedule. The resulting convection, static discharge and monsoon-like deluge forced us to camp out in Nashville for the night. Not all bad really, except that it took over an hour to find a hotel room. Had no idea that there are so many people who enjoy running 26.2 miles.

I am sane

Although you wouldn't be able to tell here because no one likes to comment, my Optimus Prime baby-name discussion created quite a stir. I received two in-person comments regarding my sanity and one phone inquiry concerning my ingestion of paint chips as a small child.

To respond, I am very sane. I have a Simpson-esque, circa 1992 forehead stamp validating this fact. If you have ever seen that episode, you will know what I'm talking about. If not, I'm sure you're further convinced of my powered descent into crazyland. And no, I did not consume paint chips during my early years. There were many bouts with paste and maybe a few mornings were spent binging on some Elmers but I was on a straight Adkins style toxic ingestion program. Way too many carbs in paint chips.

So speaking of comments, maybe you could post them here instead of calling me, or confronting me in person.

Pollen, Optimus Prime and the Swan

Just some observations of late...

There were rolling clouds of pollen blanketing the city of Atlanta today. Not kidding, there were clouds of puke-green flower-dust everywhere. Fortunately I don't need 7 Claritin pills to get through one of these days. My biggest peeve is that my red truck turns puke-green red for a couple of weeks. But let's talk about the actual pollen count. According to the Atlanta Allergy and Asthma Clinic, a pollen count of 120 is considered extreme. Today's pollen count in Atlanta is 5,733. This means we are 47 times extreme. Is there even a word for that? I don't think there is. I think sometimes people make up numbers to be dramatic. Then you can go into your office and say things like, "Did you know that a pollen count of 120 is considered extreme?" Your co-workers will look at you quizzically, tilted heads, squinted brows, all wondering whether you possess an inane ability to recite occasionally useful and often useless bits of statistical data or whether your hypochondriatic youth endowed you with certain adult perclivities, most notably the ability to annoy others with your self-diagnosed medical troubles. But their pained expressions wash away with wonder and awe as you profess today's pollen count, a whopping 47 times what is considered extreme. The dramatic recitation rolls off your tongue and fills the corners of the room and seeps into the empty space above the liquid in the water cooler. 5,733.

In other news...

Although 'TH' is not pregnant, we would one day like to have a critter of our own. This desire has led us to a topic of conversation that causes much unrest within our home... Baby names.

I think a really great name for our first born would be Optimus Prime. Seriously, think about it. Optimus Prime.

TH is not a very big fan of the name Optimus Prime. She points out that for reasons to be explained, the name Optimus Prime could have a detrimental effect on our child's development. I believe it would be an honor to have the namesake of one of the world's greatest saviors bestowed upon our posterity. Optimus Prime was a hero for our world in a time of uncertainty, a time when the Decepticons and their evil plundering seemed to gain the upper hand. He fought against injustice and was successful in restoring balance and peace to the known universe and supported health care for everyone and the Feingold-McCain campaign finance reform package. TH believes that this would be a lot for a child to live up to. Well to be honest, I am expecting a lot from my child. The bar will be set high and I will accept nothing less as a father than total world salvation. I would also accept total world domination.

Moving on, I found myself in Carrollton, Georgia a few days ago due to an emergency landing caused by a faulty magneto on a 1975 m-model Cessna 172. There really isn't much in Carrollton... Not much except one vintage DHARMA INITIATIVE MACHINE!!!! Seriously, check out the picture, I was afraid to touch it for fear of activating the Swan. Well not so much that, more fear that Jack Shepard would show up and annoy the hell out of me, like he's been doing every Thurs or Tues night for the past five seasons. It may have also been on Wednesday nights for a season or two.

It's 4:30 in the morning and I am completely awake. That is all.

This was really weird

So I'm a little confused. I'll explain...

Former soon-to-be and I took our canine companion down to the river today; the Chattahoochee river, which is only steps from our back porch. This river was made famous by 7 Native Americans, 2 Lake Lanier release valves and one pitchy Alan Jackson tribute whose music video depicts nothing I've ever seen nor done on 'the Hooch'. And while walking one of the trails, the strangest thing happened...

Coming at us down the trail at a pace somewhere between a brisk walk and labored jog was a very large black man with hands deep inside his puffy coat pockets. Behind him, shoeless and with labored breath was a portly white man, shouting "stop him! Stop him!"

I chose not to interfere.

Turns out the the portly white man was a peace officer. City of Roswell. For some unspecified reason he was angry with the man he was jogging after and consequently, angry with my wife and I for not trying to apprehend him.