The Debate!

The first debate is tonight.

Let's all pull out our drinking games and make a mockery of this tradition, which is already a mockery of its former self.

Presidential debates used to mean something, back when candidates spoke to each other and directly responded to points that mattered. But everything changed (when the fire nation attacked) when George Bush senior completely screwed up on a question in a live debate.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ffbFvKlWqE
Clip of the question in question.

George Bush completely falls apart because he cannot relate to the American public. Simply put, the recession didn't affect him.

After this incident, debates became weaker each four-year period. They used to be a gladiator fight. Now they're kitten scratches. Very cute kittens.

Questions screened by both candidates. No personal interaction. A moderator agreed upon by both. Pre-written responses.
It's all phoned in.

However, the debates still afford us some important information.

The candidates may have pre-written responses and talking points, but the strength of those talking points is, as we may deduce, the strongest stuff they can muster.
So tonight, when we watch the debate and one of the candidates responds to a question by talking not about his own policies and ideas, but rather the "failed ideas of their opponent," then we know that they don't have a future plan worth talking about.

When one responds with an emotional appeal irrelevant to the question, we know they don't have an answer worth hearing.

Each pre-written logical fallacy is another point to note- another proof that no real message exists for us to find. No argument available for them.

Additionally, Politifact will be fact checking the debate live, so tune into their website to see what little substance is included in the debate torn to shreds on a truth-o-meter.

-
Waddles

Another dud

To me three readers:

I apologize, but I've had another lapse in opinionated creativity.
Spending too much time obsessing over the anxiety-provoking reality that I have no plans for a future.
The world and reality are always up for a good fight, but some days, I'm just too tired to fight back. Hopefully, I'll have something a little more... substantive for you on Wednesday.

-
Waddles

Well, I promised a short story...

We're only a month away from Halloween, right? Let's go with that.

Lights

by Wade McGrath

     Carrie Fletcher lived in an ancient house of dust, cobwebs, and forgotten memories with two roommates, Tyler and Jeff. The three attended the same university and opted to rent a house rather than pay campus rates for a dorm. The woman they were renting from was at least three hundred years old, and Carrie refuses to tell the story otherwise. Mrs. Prouge. She has hair down to her thighs as white as snow, but about as well-kept as swamp roots. She stood a mere four feet tall, which made it that much more strange how she instilled such unrest in those who talked to her. As if her raspy, quiet voice and talon-like fingernails weren't enough, she required you to bend down and stick your ear right next to her face so that "you youngsters won't miss a thing," she says. Not just that, but she also grasps your shoulder with a grip that feels like she has no intention of letting go. Every time. It didn't help that she lived right next door, so these meetings weren't terribly rare.

     On this night, in particular, Tyler and Jeff were heading out to a party for the evening. As always, they invited Carrie who suggested instead that she stay to fix up the house for her friend who was coming from out-of-state that weekend. "If I get done early, I'll make a grand appearance, alright?" She offered as they shrugged and fumbled out of the doorway into the night. Carrie would normally go with, but she had cataloged the various problems with the house that needed to be handled: Spiders; mice in the basement; carpets that desperately needed vacuuming; a fireplace full of... things; dust on just about everything; and several lights in the guest bedroom that were perpetually flickering.

     With candles lit and music humming in the background, Carrie started on her laundry list of chores. Time passed in tandem with spiders being sucked into a whirring vacuum cleaner. As her list hit the halfway mark, she heard a knock at the door. Turning off her music and death-machine (as the spiders "fondly" refer to it), Carrie ran to let in exactly who she was expecting- "Mrs. Prouge," she started, "what brings you by at this hour?" Tangled, white hair swept behind her as Mrs. Prouge sauntered inside before leaning in towards Carrie, "I just came to check up on you, dear," she wheezed, "do you need anything, dear? Is everything okay with my old girl?" (Why Mrs. Prouge referred to a house she had inherited from her crazy brother two years ago as her "old girl," no one will ever know) Carrie let out a deep breath, "I've just been cleaning her up for a friend who's visiting this weekend. Spiders, vacuuming, dusting-- you know, just basic stuff. You don't happen to have any spare lightbulbs, do you? The ones in the spare room are wonking out on us, and I didn't buy any before moving in." Mrs. Prouge's face tightened and her smile dropped to a serious frown, "child, you mustn't change the lights in that room. There are souls trapped in there, you know."

     Carrie chuckled, remembering the same speech Mrs. Prouge had given her the day they moved in. They all chose to take the other available rooms in lieu of dealing with the lights at the time, but now Carrie couldn't humor Mrs. Prouge about the issue. "I'm sure it'll be okay, Mrs. P. I'll put the old bulbs somewhere safe, okay?" Mrs. Prouge didn't relax her stance, "child, if those lights are unscrewed, the souls are lost forever. Those lost souls have been known to do... things to protect themselves." Carrie scoffed, "what, like, poltergeist stuff? Are you telling me that room is haunted, Mrs. P? Besides, there aren't that many that are flickering."

     In all, the guest room in the old house had five light bulbs. Three in the ceiling fan, which were all flickering, a completely dead light at the top of the vanity, and a lit bulb in the closet. It wasn't even Carrie's intention to fix the vanity's bulb, since she firmly believed that the piece of furniture was wasted, given that the room was right next to the bathroom. When Mrs. Prouge inherited the house from her brother, he had spun the same yarn about souls that she had recounted to the new tenants. To hear the original story, the ceiling lights haven't been changed in thirty years. A new one had begun flickering each decade. The vanity light, on the other hand, died out long ago, and was simply never replaced.

     "I'll hear none of it, dear," Mrs. Prouge asserted, returning to a polite smile. She grabbed Carrie's shoulder and bent her down, "if any of them are new bulbs the next time I'm in here..." While she couldn't hear the last part of the threat (isn't that what she was trying to prevent with her claw-grip in the first place?), Carrie was certain she heard the word, "spayed." Mrs. Prouge turned around and noted that she was about to get cookies out of the oven and that Carrie should stop by before the night was over. After agreeing, Carrie realized that it was almost midnight by this point. What the hell was she baking cookies for this late at night?? Shaking her head, Carrie proceeded to finish up her cleaning.

     Around two in the morning, Carrie flopped into bed, confident that the house was at least twice as liveable (which wasn't saying much) as before. Tyler and Jeff still hadn't gotten home from the party, so she slowly forced herself up to lock the door and turn out the lights. She turned off the living room light and moved on to the guest room. The ceiling lights were there. Flickering. Still. Carrie glared at them, hoping her silent gaze would somehow fix their faulty wiring. When it didn't, she sighed and flicked the switch. The lights flickered faster, with a slightly louder hum than before. Confused, Carrie batted the lever back up and down again, and was greeted with inky blackness. "Stupid house." She moved back through the living room and around the corner to the hallway and up the stairs at the end before flicking the last light- the one in her bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, she passed out almost instantly.

     Carrie woke with a start. Still dark. Were the guys home? She strained her ears, but was met with silence. She swore she heard something. Carrie turned to her alarm clock- it read a jumble of symbols that resembled numbers without actually being them. Although one figure might have been an upside down four. Carrie clambered out of bed and realized that the bottom of her door was leaking. A small patch of light shone through the crack at the base of the door. The light was flickering. Carrie started toward the door, grabbing her can of pepperspray from the nightstand, worried that someone may have broken in. As she cracked the door, there was no noise but a low hum throughout the house, barely audible. Peeking out, the stairway was dark, but at the landing, she could see a flickering light, dancing around just out of sight. She crept down the stairs, eyes searching for the source of the eery light. Feeling her way through the hallway, she made sure to check the other two bedrooms- dark, but no sign of her roommates.The jittering light was visible just around the corner of the hallway into the living room.

     Passing out of the hallway, her eyes darted all around the living room, attached kitchen, and the front door- still locked- looking for signs of either intruders or her friends- neither were apparent. The light, however, was still faintly visible, now from the guest room, whose door was closed, with the flickering appearing from below the frame. While Carrie didn't remember closing the door earlier, she also noted that she was tired and often closed the guestroom door after cleaning it in the past. Still, the light was unnerving to say the least. Carrie cautiously approached the door, pepperspray in hand, trying to convince herself that it was simply the faulty wiring at work again. Her sweaty hand pressed against the brass knob, cold to the touch. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, heart pounding in her chest, taking deep breaths to calm herself. One last breath, she thought, before steeling herself and turning the knob.

     Tyler thrust the front door open, bellowing as he entered, "we have returned!!" Before kicking off his shoes and slumping into the couch. Jeff stumbled in behind him, flicked the light, and shut the door, "Caaaarriiiiie," he called in a singsong voice. The two shared a look before Jeff shrugged, checking his watch, "well, it is... Five?! Shiiiit. I have to be up for work in four hours. I'm out." Jeff flung himself towards his room, leaving Tyler with the heartwarming sound of a door being drunkenly slammed. "Welp..." He resigned quietly. "Buncha' boring..." he slurred as he hobbled to his own room.

     Tyler awoke, drool covering his... everything, staring off into space for several moments before sloppily wiping his mouth and staring at the clock on his wall. "Twelve hours... New record," he mumbled. Getting up, he groggily plodded to the kitchen table to grab a bowl of his favorite cereal, Captain Skrumps. On the box was a note, "Hey Ty, I think Carrie went to pick up her friend at the station. Guestroom still has crap lights. Picking up bulbs on my way home. PS- getta' job. Love Jeff." The note actually had a heart in place of the word, "love."

     Tyler slowly finished his cereal, reminding himself that the note was left before 10:00, meaning Jeff's shift was already over. As he came to this conclusion, Jeff kicked in the door, confirming his suspicions. "Heyo! Carrie back yet?" Tyler yawned, "haven't seen her. I may have been sleeping for the... whole day..." Jeff shrugged, as he often did, "well, I got the bulbs, let's go kill these devil-lights." Tyler sat up and headed into the guestroom with Jeff, turning on the light as they entered. "Stupid house," Jeff muttered, glancing at the three flickering bulbs in the ceiling. He tossed a pack of lights to Tyler, who began unscrewing the worn and dusty hunks of glass. Each one slowly flickered away the last of their luminescence before fading away. Jeff's phone buzzed in his pocket. He flipped it open and shook his head. "Where the hell is she?" Tyler glanced down while screwing in the third ceiling bulb, "what's up?" "Her friend is texting me. She's been at the station for two hours. She had to get my number online. I think we're gonna' have to go pick her up." Jeff lightly kicked the wall as he headed out of the room to grab his shoes. "You comin'?"

     "Yeah," Tyler called back, "just gimme one second. I gotta' change this last bulb." He leaned across the vanity tucked in the corner of the room and started unscrewing the flickering bulb. The low hum from the bulb grew louder and more erratic. As it finally relented and fell out of its socket, the bulb flew up into the air and landed on the carpet, "Goddamn thing shocked me!" Tyler shouted, sucking on his thumb. He bent down to collect the fallen bulb, when he noticed something else under the vanity- a small, silvery canister. He retrieved it, leaving the bulb on the ground, "Hey Jeff, isn't this Carrie's pepperspray?" "Yeah? So?" Jeff shot back, anxious to get out the door. Tyler looked at it quizzically, turning it over once or twice in his hand, before putting it back on the vanity and screwing in the new bulb, which shot to life, bathing the room in more pale light. Tyler strode to the door and, without looking, flicked the switch back off and closed the door.

     In the settled blackness of the guestroom, a single flicker escaped the bulb laying on the ground next to the vanity, before the coil inside turned to dust.

-

Waddles

I'm Always Torn...

Today's segment is on "stickin' yer neck where it don't belong."

When I say I'm always torn, it's because I'm a naturally argumentative person. I like discussions, and I think humans can learn from each other, both through calm discussion and through debate.

However, I also don't like the cognitive dissonance of knowing that I'm speaking when people don't want me to. I realize many people don't like debate and many people, even further, don't see value in debate, so my presence in an opinion they've shared is nothing but an unwanted burden to them.

Clearly, (if you know me through this medium, anyway) I'm talking about Facebook more than anything else. Someone will share an opinion through the public forum that is Facebook, and then I'm faced with the choice of chiming in or leaving well enough alone. This decision isn't as hard if the person is an actual friend of mine (as most of my Facebook friends are), but when it's, say, someone I don't know speaking on a friend's status, the field gets murkier. I don't know their relation to my friend, and I don't know whether or not I may offend them by debating. Is it still worth it?

Ultimately, one of the few things that makes me happy is to help people understand things. If someone comes to me seeking insight into a personal situation or asking for a third-party perspective, I feel relatively at ease, knowing that I have a good grasp of general human psyche and I have a very strong analytical mindset, so I can usually shed some understanding onto a situation if I know enough about it. Similarly, I understand of a lot of the politics going on in America, and it feels good to have someone turn to me for help in understanding some of the jargon.

This alone would be great... except I also hate willful ignorance and stubborn misconceptions (which I admit to having myself). So, a debate can be just as much about combating "evil" as it is providing guidance and understanding. [I really should learn to focus on the latter...]

Some days, I feel nothing but scornful eyes and tired sighs when I express my opinions, since many of them are nothing more than repeats with new evidence, and it does get somewhat old. I assure you though, I do this because humans are forgetful, and if we do not press an issue and beat it like a generic sexual innuendo, then it will slip our minds.

There is a rare day, once in a blue moon, that someone will come to me with no question and no situation to analyze- simply gratitude for speaking. This is the thing that keeps me from quitting outright.


Personal backstory time-

I went through a bought of depression senior year of college. Mostly because growing up scares the bejeezus outta' me. I'm terrified of the idea of getting a big boy job and working 9-5 every day for the next forty years. That shit is nerve wracking to me. In therapy, the other main issue that kept coming up is how depressing and scary politics is. Granted, this was during the search for a nominee, so we had the likes of Rick Santorum and Michelle Bachmann and Newt Gingrich polluting the airwaves with vitriolic and sometimes simply stupid messages. The part that scared me is that they had vehement supporters.

Side story- as an avid internet user, in the past five years, I've never seen the internet so collectively attack an issue like SOPA/PIPA. It took months of constant attacks from the public to get congress to throw it away, but they still did it begrudgingly. They did it while referring to internet experts as "nerds." They did and said everything so casually, it was clear they had no clue what powers they were tampering with. Despite that, they kept going because the likes of the MPAA were paying them gobs of money to pursue it. This is TERRIFYING to me. It took us months and an enormous amount of energy to beat it, but they can bring it back up with a few days' worth of work and some new wording. How can we keep this fight up forever? Especially when most people can't come together on most issues.
This is why we're losing the fight for cleaner, renewable energy sources. This is why we're losing the fight against pollution and fracking. This is why we're losing the fight against Monsanto. This is why Occupy Wallstreet basically died.
It's not just an uphill battle- it's a battle on a damn ninety degree wall. They hold the high ground and it feels helpless to oppose them. Largely because in our lifetimes, we see very little demonstrable change away from the status quo.

When we make so little difference, I have to wonder what the point is. So yes, I went through a bad bout of depression because of this stark realism. A professor of mine for whom I have more respect than I can express in words once said something I try to keep in mind. To paraphrase, "As a professor, my job is to impart wisdom and make students re-examine themselves. Most won't do it, but if I can make a single student do it each year, I'm changing those people and the people they touch." (I butchered this to hell and a half, so I apologize if you're reading this, Mel)

That's the only thing I can do to justify living in this world.
So, when my choice is between not gettin' all up in someone's business on Facebook or maybe changing how someone perceives the world or politics, then I try to choose the latter. I'm getting better at differentiating between a battle that cannot be won and an uphill battle.

I hope this gives you some idea of why I'm an annoying pest about politics.
And the offer to help anyone who needs it on any subject is basically always there. I'm confidential and I like to think I have a decent track record for helping people when they come to me.

-
Waddles

Parenting

This is gonna' be great. I'm about to do a rant about parenting, despite being a 22 year old male with no parenting experience, and not even so much as a little brother that I had to care for growing up through the tough time that was my parents' hilariously exploded marriage (we'll save that for another post).

Parenting.

Stop, you're doing it wrong. (I find it difficult to progress from here, as I sit staring at the words I just typed for 5 minutes, noting that I'm making a huge over-generalization and wondering how I should justify that bad, over-generalization)

Parenting is not for raising a little clone. Parenting is not for living out your hopes and dreams. Parenting is not for raising a warrior for your causes. Parenting is not for having another pair of hands to work for you. Parenting is not for hoping that they will, one day, become rich so that you can live off of them.
In short-
Parenting is not a means to an end.

You are creating a life that is its own unique existence. One that will inevitably grow to disagree with you on some things and agree with you on others. One that will have a separate opinion on love, religion, life, war, and many many other things. Regardless of what you teach them, they will have some questions and some differences. Embrace that beforehand.

When you raise a child, instill your moral values through your actions. Let them come to understand the world through appropriate action. Once they have reached an age of intellectual independence, let them make the big decisions on their own, but be there to guide them insomuch as answering the questions that they have.

Be there as a safe base, but do not control. Be there without being distant. Be the healthy middle-ground. Your independent child will inevitably come to make a choice about their career and their religion and their relationships and their (etc.) on their own. Let them, but ensure that they have a reason. Ensure that they have properly asked the important questions and indeed, answered them as well. Help them to answer these questions.

Be the help. Be the guide. Be there to ask and to lead to the answers, but do not answer for them. Otherwise, they will not learn to answer them on their own.

Children are not you. They are their own. Let that flourish.

-
Waddles

Day off

Today is friday.

It has not been a good day.

I'm taking a day off of blogging, and I sincerely apologize for any who were interested in hearing me incoherently ramble for a page or two worth of text.

-
Waddles

Texting and Driving

Hey there, non-political post, how are you?
I'm doin' alright, but you know, I do have this one problem.
What's that?
People being stupid and reckless for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
How d'ya mean?

Well, you remember that political post you made a little ways back about personal responsibility and freedom?
Yup.
You forgot to include a big ranty-ravey thing about people that do stupid, dangerous shit just because it's a "free country."
Like what?

Three big ones- Three instances of needlessly stupid shit that have no real positive benefits.

1. Not wearing a helmet on a motorcycle (and to a lesser extent, bicycle).
2. Not wearing a seat belt.
3. Texting while driving.
Now, when I say "real" positive benefits, what I mean is that your best argument for benefits for the first two are a slight improvement in how comfortable you are, and looking "less silly" for the helmet. Those are both BS for the safety offered. The third one arguably has the benefit of transmitting information more quickly, however, if you're that desperate, you can call the person, which you still shouldn't do, but it's oodles more safe, and achieves your desired "benefit" more efficiently than texting in the first place.

These three things piss me off like no other. Here you are, a human with friends, loved ones, and sometimes dependents, putting your life at risk for what amounts to no reason at all. Sometimes it's out of habit, but my favorite is when people argue that they should be allowed to go without a seat belt. Like it's some horrible inconvenience to wear a damned seat belt. Better still, though, are the people who text while driving when someone else is in the car.

You may be fine putting your own dumbass life on the line to drum out 18 poorly-spelled words to your besty about how wasted you're getting later this week, but you have NO right to put anyone else's life in danger.
When you have people over to your house, it's common courtesy to play the role of the host and politely offer refreshments or whatever's necessary to make sure their stay isn't totally miserable. Furthermore, their safety from your housing is your responsibility. If you setup bowling balls along the rafters and they fall and kill someone, that's your fault. The same courtesy applies to driving. When you have someone else in your car, you put on your best "responsible driver" face, and you don't take unnecessary and stupid risks.
If you're scared your besty'll be offended that you're not texting every 30 seconds, tell them ahead of time that you're driving a friend somewhere. If they're still offended, they're probably not worth being friends with.

If, however, you're interested in committing suicide in the first place, might I recommend talking it out with someone you trust? If you're still positive, there are cheaper, faster, easier ways than driving around without a seatbelt while texting. (Imagine a motorcyclist texting while driving. Shit's scary)

Seriously. Just stop. Stop putting your life and others' happiness in jeopardy for nothing. There is no sense to it, and you're just being a stubborn asshole. I don't care how well you can multitask. Don't force other people into the uncomfortable position of repeating themselves after they politely ask you not to text while driving.

-
Waddles

PS- all of this applies about drinking and driving too, and I sure as hell better not have to tell you that much.