I am not a Christian. I was raised Catholic, and I even did my First Communion. But somewhere between that and my Confirmation, I came to see that the whole thing doesn't make a whole lot of sense. At the time, that was due almost exclusively to the extremely lazy catechism teachers I had when I was growing up. As I've gotten older, I've come to understand that there are many people of faith that are intelligent and articulate and that have real, substantive, internally consistent answers to tough questions. My teachers were nothing like that. It never made sense to me why an all-powerful God would have to jump through metaphysical hoops like having a son and then having that son die in order to forgive our sins. Why not just cut out the middle man and, you know, forgive the sins? I've heard answers that make me think, even if they don't convince me. But my teachers couldn't offer anything more sophisticated than "Who are you to question God?" It wouldn't have been very effective to point out that such an answer presumes the omnipotence of God when my question was just one in a series aimed at discovering whether such omnipotence could even make sense. And my classmates, who were just in a rush to get that hour-long class over with anyway, wouldn't have appreciated that, either. So I didn't bother.

And so, I became an atheist. Atheism gets a bad wrap, and that pisses me off. Being an atheist doesn't mean that you don't have morals or that you don't believe in something. I always believed in myself and my family and my friends. And I always had morals, even if I wasn't always strong enough to live according to them. Being an atheist didn't mean anything to me other than that the idea of the Christian God didn't make any sense to me at all. But more than that, I thought the idea was pretty fucking stupid.

I softened up a little bit in college. Due in part to all the awesome philosophy classes I was taking, I went back to the idea of god and started thinking about it in much the same way I had been taught to look at other ideas. I put the fact that the religious people I had met were stupid aside and concentrated on the idea itself. The most I could say then--and the most I can say now--about God is that I don't know one way or the other. And no one else does, either. One time in high school, I saw a light in the sky move around quickly and erratically before zooming away and disappearing. I don't know what it was. It could have been that I imagined the whole thing. Or maybe it was an alien spacecraft. Based on the information I have, I don't know, although I'm pretty sure that I can exclude certain possibilities completely and that other possibilities are extremely unlikely. It's the same for God. There are some possibilities that are clearly absurd, and there are others that are less so. But as for which ones are correct, I have no idea.

If I were pushed, I'd say that God almost certainly does not exist in the way that certain of his supposes proponents claim he does. I'm fairly certain that God doesn't want me--or anybody else--flying planes into buildings or bombing abortion clinics. I'm pretty sure God doesn't have an issue with his self-esteem--he probably doesn't care one way or the other if I worship him. But these beliefs are all subjective and without any justification. If you believe, as Plato did, that knowledge is justified true belief, then my beliefs about God, unjustified as they are, cannot rise to the level of knowledge. And no one else's can, either. My beliefs--or yours--might be true. But if they are, they are so by coincidence.

This is all a fancy way of saying that religion is an area where everyone's beliefs must be treated as though they are valid because, by definition, no religious belief can be invalid. Whether you believe in Jesus or invisible, benevolent purple elephants, no one has standing to challenge those beliefs. But the implications of that assertion are limited. I cannot logically challenge you when you tell me that Jesus died for our sins or that Muhammad ascended into heaven because those are matters of faith which science can neither prove nor disprove. But I can--and will--challenge you when you suggest that the Earth is 6,000 years old. And your beliefs cannot give you the right to subject someone else to your will.

I'm thinking about all of this tonight because I just watched the movie Jesus Camp, a year-old documentary about three children who attend an Evangelical Christian summer camp. It was entertaining and, frankly, scary. Some parents believe pretty fucked-up things, and they see it as their duty to force those beliefs on their kids. It's their right, I know, but that movie was really sorta scary in some ways. And I'd love to see a follow-up documentary showing where the kids are ten years from now and, most importantly, if they're still as fervent about their beliefs as they were when they were twelve.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 3:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Movie Reviews , Philosophical Rants

As anyone that's been reading lately knows, I've been really bummed about the job search. It's been rough not being able to find a job in the six months since graduation. There are a lot of factors that lead up to this. There really aren't a lot of legal jobs out there that I'm both qualified for and interested in. And even if I include the jobs that merely wouldn't make me feel like stabbing my eyes out every day, there still aren't that many out there. And I'm not the only one in this situation, either. I know about lots of people I graduated with that still haven't found a good legal job. To be frank, this has been a really trying time for me, even though I've tried to stay positive and not be too moody.

In an attempt to actually get some money out of this whole law-degree thing, I started taking public-defender appointments a little while ago. Basically, I take cases that the public defenders office is too busy to handle. I've wrapped up one client's case and I'm currently working on three more. I appeared in court for the first time last Friday--it was awesome.

Anyway, the point of all of this is that, after a hell of a lot of thinking and, frankly, freaking out, I've decided to join Mr. Vice in the creation of our very own law firm. There's a lot of work to be done. So much so, in fact, that I don't even really know where to begin. But I'm excited and, perhaps more importantly, I'm hopeful. I'm not expecting to get rich--at least not right away--but I'm pretty sure we can pay all our bills. And if this whole thing fails, then we'll have lost pretty much nothing but gained a shit-load of experience both as lawyers and as businessmen.

In any event, wish us luck. And call us if you get yourself arrested.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 3:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)| Filed under Existential Nonsense

I've been hearing for a while about The National for a while, but I hadn't bothered to check it out because, well, I'm lazy about finding new music. Someone essentially needs to foist new stuff on me for me to listen to it. That's exactly what Rachel did last night. And now I'm just annoyed because Boxer, The National's first album, kind of sucks.

I mean, ok, maybe there's something here that's not terrible. The instrumentation is very complex and lush sounding. There are a bunch of instruments at work--guitars, strings, pianos, horns--and they all come together really well. The arrangements are complex but approachable. I do like that. But complexity and quality are two different things. For the majority of the album, it seems that the band just sort of layers the instruments on top of each other without much regard to melody or hooks. Yeah, I know this isn't pop music so not every song needs to have a catchy motif, but some sort of identifiable melody would be nice. Instead we just get songs that sound the same from beginning to end without any sort of dynamic or identifiable progression. I know this is something I complained about with In Rainbows, too, but it just bothers me when the entire song sounds like the first ten seconds. If I've heard everything you've got to offer before you even start singing, then I'm going to get bored. I want crescendos, I want varied instrumentation and different sections, I want a song that gets me pumped up or makes me reflect on something. I don't want an album full of mellow slow-burns that not only fail to progress within their own confines but that all start to run together as the album drags on.

The singer doesn't help things. His voice is pretty low, which isn't a problem in itself, but he also refuses to infuse his performance with any sort of energy or life. It's all the same pseudowhisper monotone. He just sounds bored. He sounds like it's a rainy day, his girlfriend just left him, he just got out of bed, and he'd rather be sitting somewhere drinking tea and reading a good book. It's awesome to write a song such that you conjure such a specific image, but it's just sad when that's the sense that permeates every vocal delivery for an entire album.

"Green Gloves" is a perfect example of everything I'm talking about. You've heard the entire song within the first thirty seconds. The singer sounds like he's drowsy and he'd rather be back in bed. There's a lot of instruments going on, but they fail to muster any interest. It's just a mediocre boring song. And it's typical of the soggy crap on this album.

The only two exceptions are the first two tracks, which are actually interesting on some degree. I was actually pretty excited by the end of the second song. But then it all crashed and burned.

In any event, those first two songs aren't enough to make this album forgettable at best, detestable at worst. As a whole, I give it two out of five stars.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 11:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Music Reviews

As I've said, this is the first Christmas I'm spending apart from all members of my family. I can remember one Christmas when I was a teenager that I spent in California with my aunt and cousins rather than my mom and grandma, but I think that was the only time I haven't been with my mom for Christmas. So, I'm sort of bummed. But not super bummed. I mean, it sucks that I'm not there, but it's not the end of the world, and I'll get to see them really soon. And my mom promised that whenever I make it home next time, she'll cook up a giant meal like she always does on Christmas. I don't know whether that will actually happen--or whether I'll hold her to it--but it made me feel better. And, besides, it's not the food that I miss most--although I certainly miss it--it's my family. So, to commemorate how awesome both my family and Christmas are, I'm going to share some of my favorite Christmas memories. So here they are, in no particular order.

• My first white Christmas. I grew up in Southern Arizona which, unlike Northern Arizona, does not get snow very often. It snows sometimes, but even then it's not very much and it's all gone almost instantaneously. Because of that, I had always hoped that we'd have some sort of Christmas miracle and have a white Christmas. One year when I was pretty young--I don't think I was older than seven, maybe--a bunch of my family came to visit us. I remember being in my dining room after most people had gone to sleep. I think the only people that were still awake were me, my mom, and my aunt. Anyway, I looked out the sliding-glass door, and I could see that there was some snow falling. I got really excited. And then I went to bed. When I got up, there was about a foot of snow on the ground. It was fucking awesome. I remember that my mom's Suburban had shit-tons of snow on the roof, and that our back yard was a winter wonderland. It was beautiful and awesome. And we all played around in it. It's probably still my favorite Christmas memory.
• Getting an adding machine for Christmas. I don't have any idea why, but one Christmas--again when I was pretty young--I really wanted an adding machine. Like a calculator that also printed stuff out. I have no idea what the fuck I was thinking, but I really wanted one. Like I wanted to play accountant or something. Anyway, my mom chose to indulge my rather ridiculous Christmas wish and bought me one. And it was awesome. For me, unwrapping that box and seeing an adding machine is the epitome of getting exactly what you wanted for Christmas, even though my mom always did her best to get me the ridiculous stuff I asked for.
• Getting The Aeroplane Fies High from my cousin. That time I spent Christmas with my cousins in California was during the height of my teen years and, therefore, of my obsession with The Smashing Pumpkins. They had just released their box set, and I remember freaking out about the fact that I wasn't going to be able to afford it and that I wouldn't ever be able to get it because they'd sell out and then the world would end and I'd never get to hear all the new songs. So imagine my glee when I unwrapped a present from my cousin to find the black and white package shining back at me. I was ecstatic. Although I'm notoriously terrible at caring for CDs--I've gone through about ten copies of Melon Collie alone in the past ten years--I've never let any harm come to that box set, and it sits proudly displayed on my otherwise neglected CD shelf. I'd say that this was definitely the best unsolicited Christmas present I've ever gotten.
• My first electric guitar. A lot of you know about how I got my first electric guitar--my mom bribed me with it so that I'd cut my hair when I was fourteen. But that wasn't actually my first electric guitar. No, I had actually received an electric guitar much earlier, when I was about four or so, I think. Granted, it was baby blue, had buttons instead of strings, and was more of an electric children's toy than a guitar, but I think it counts for the purposes of this story. In any event, it was a gift from my aunt, and it was awesome. Although, now that I think about it, I'm not sure that it was a Christmas gift... whatever, it was cool.
• Christmas at my grandma's house. For the vast majority of my childhood, my grandma lived in the house next door to us. We actually bought a really big lot for the express purpose of building a house for her on the rest of our land. Although my immediate family almost never hung out at my grandma's house when it was just the three of us, that's where we did pretty much everything when my extended family was around. I remember one Christmas in particular with almost my whole family. I can't remember how old I was. It was before I started playing guitar, so I was maybe twelve or thirteen. In any event, I remember sitting around the Christmas tree in my grandma's living room with all the lights out except the tree and the fire. And I remember exchanging gifts. My cousin's son had asked for a flashlight, thus continuing the tradition of strange Christmas requests. And my aunt got him a flashlight. But his mom also got him a guitar and guitar lessons. It's not so much all of that that made it an awesome Christmas, it's just that I remember all sitting around and going through all the gifts--I think I got Legos or something--and being really happy to be surrounded by everyone. It was awesome.

Anyway, there are a lot more, but those are just the ones that stick out in my memory right now. And it's those memories that keep me from getting really depressed today, and that will keep me out of depression tomorrow. That and my friends who have invited me to dinner. Plus, I also know that I'll see my family soon enough, and definitely next year. So I'm not too sad. I just miss them all.

But the point is: Merry Christmas, everyone.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 10:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Fun Shit I've Done , Life Sucks Sometimes , The Smashing Pumpkins , Things I'm Irrationally Attached To

Last year, The Lovers of Sight and Sound brought you an electric guitar version of "Carol of the Bells." This year, in order to uphold the tradition of bringing you covers of Christmas carols, I recorded a version of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."

I originally wanted to do it a cappella, but I decided that it sounded kind of empty without the guitar. So I took the middle road and just buried the guitar in the mix. The result, I hope, is that the guitar doesn't detract from the vocal harmonies but still gives the song a little more energy.

In terms of vocals, this is the most ambitious thing I've ever done. There are three different parts, each of which is doubled so that there are six voices total. I'll be the first to admit that the singing isn't perfect, but it took me a ridiculously long time to get them to be even this good, so I just stopped. Plus Christmas was coming up. Still, I think it's pretty decent.

I can't take any credit for the arrangement on this. I basically just ripped off the Simon & Garfunkel version for one of the harmony parts and took the other from a piano arrangement, although I sort of fudged it a little to make it more interesting.

Anyway, here it is:

The Lovers of Sight and Sound - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Please let me know what you think. And Merry Christmas!

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 11:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , The Lovers of Sight and Sound

I've been watching Clash of the Choirs on NBC for some reason. Actually, I know the reason. See, I'm kind of a sucker for choirs.

There's something about a bunch of people coming together to sing with one awesome voice that I really get into. I really like the interaction of a bunch of different voices, and there's not a more natural-sounding musical tone than the human voice. So, yeah, I like choirs. So I've been watching Clash of the Choirs.

But here's the thing. I've been recording all of the episodes on my DVR and I've been using the fast-forward feature to skip all of the nonperformance aspects of the show. That's right. I'm completely ignoring all the faux-reality nonsense thats built into the show. And I'm also ignoring the absolutely terrible host they've got. She's fucking terrible.

In any event, the choirs themselves have been really, really underwhelming. Most of the choirs--each of which is lead by a pseudo celebrity like Kelly Rowland or fucking Michael Bolton--have chosen extremely boring songs to sing. More damningly, they've attempted to bury their performances in ridiculous slick choreography and overproduced backing tracks. And I haven't seen them do anything that makes me think that any of the choirs are particularly talented. They haven't been doing any complex harmonies or anything like that. In fact, they haven't been doing any harmonies at all--they've just had one or two soloists singing lead--which is itself antithetical to the whole choir thing--and the rest of the people sing in unison behind them. It's really sad.

Sad, that is, except for Nick Lachey's choir which has somehow overcome the douche-iness of their leader and have turned in by far the best performances on the show. They just did a frankly awesome a cappella version of "Flight of the Bumblebee." I had never heard anyone do that before, and I really liked it because it demonstrated that the singers could actually sing and harmonize without the distractions of slick prerecorded music.

But the worst thing, though, has been Patty LaBelle's choir. See, a bunch of the others have turned in pretty bad performances where they just didn't hit the notes or where one voice just didn't blend with the others. But Ms. LaBelle's choir has done that and has chosen to do only gospel and Christian songs. It's really sort of ridiculous.

Anyway, if Lachey's choir doesn't win, America is a bunch of idiots.

And yes, this post really just happened.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 12:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Music Reviews , Television Reviews

It had never occurred to me that my middle name--Ismael--might be difficult for white people to pronounce. I mean, Spanish is an almost completely phonetic language--how hard can it possibly be? Then, one time, I wrote it out for an extremely white friend of mine who was into scooters and the whole mod thing. Anyway, he pronounced it "Is-male" and couldn't conceive that he had pronounced it incorrectly. But that's hardly the most offensive mispronunciation.

Although I doubt that many of the people that mispronounce my name have actually read Moby Dick, nearly everyone is familiar with that book's infernal first line. And so it is entirely the fault of that book that an otherwise obscure Biblical name permeates American society to such a degree that my own name gets subsumed; people see "Ismael," think "Ishmael," and add that fucking "sh" sound to my name.

Well, let me set the record straight. There's no fucking "h" in my name. There's no "sh" sound. Anywhere. My name is pronounced "Is-my-el." Now get it right or pay the price, assholes.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 10:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Rants About Things That Make Me Irrationally Angry

I probably know as little about baseball as it is possible to know while still being able to correctly identify a baseball game in progress. There are bats involved, I think. And something about grand slams, although baseball grand slams apparently have nothing to do with breakfast items at Denny's. In any event, I don't know anything about baseball and I think it's a boring fucking sport and I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a baseball glove than watch baseball.

While watching the Packers game today, the issue of the Mitchell Report came up. But I've read about the Mitchell Report and I've heard about how tons of players were on it. I've also read this story about how no one seems to care about the contents of the report. And, frankly, I'm appalled. I said it this afternoon, and I'll repeat it here: anyone and everyone who can be proven to have taken performance-enhancing drugs in a manner that is inconsistent with strict physician-appointed therapy should be fired from baseball and the game should proceed as if that person never played.

The sense I get from being someone who hates baseball but nonetheless occasionally hears baseball-related stories is that lots of people take steroids but very few are punished. Why then, I wonder, does major-league baseball even attempt to regulate steroids? There doesn't seem to be much of a purpose to saying that you shouldn't take steroids if those that are caught doing so receive, at most, some nominal fine. The most egregious example I can think of is Barry Bonds. The fact that he's still being paid to play the sport is ridiculous. If the league is serious about wanting to outlaw steroids, then they should make the penalties meaningful.

But more than that, I don't think that the point of professional baseball--or, hopefully, any pro sport--is to see what roided-out athletes can do. I thought--I hope--that the point is to see what dedicated and talented human beings can do when pushed to the limit. As far as I'm concerned, using steroids isn't merely a betrayal of self or of one's team or even of the game as a whole. Rather, it's a betrayal of the fans. It's awesome to see, for example, Michael Jordan jump and hang in the air for what seems like minutes or Brett Favre throw a touchdown pass while there are six giant defenders breathing down his neck. And I'm not even a casual sports fan. There are people who have invested their entire lives in following a single player or team. Cheating cheats all fans of the honest, human competition their investment entitles them to.

Moreover, even though I think it's too bad that this is the case, professional athletes are role models for millions of children. Allowing scores of players to go unpunished for something that both violates the league's rules and--more importantly--is fundamentally dishonest sends the message that it's ok to cheat as long as everyone else is cheating, too.

Therefore, I firmly believe that everyone on the Mitchell Report that cannot provide some legitimate medical explanation for their use of banned substances--or substances that they knew were likely to be banned soon--should be kicked out of professional baseball forever and have all of their records and honors revoked. They don't deserve to be recognized for being excellent when their excellence comes from a pill or a syringe. So there.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 7:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Philosophical Rants , Rants About Things That Make Me Irrationally Angry , Rants on the News

I know I've been doing that thing where I just put up pictures rather than actually write something a lot lately. I figure I'll continue the trend for one more post and then stop. Anyway, the sequel to Batman Begins--which was by far the best Batman movie ever--looks awesome, at least based on the posters. Check these out:

I mean, I think those look awesome. And apparently the trailer is coming out soon and might even be with I Am Legend, which I'm going to go see later today. Sweet.

So, as planned, I saw I Am Legend. Although it's getting mediocre reviews, I thought it was pretty good as far as post-apocalyptic pseudo-horror movies go. It was definitely entertaining, and it did a great job of keeping me on the edge of my seat. Some of the dialog was either extremely forced or very transparent, but there wasn't a lot of that. In fact, I'd have to give Will Smith a lot of credit for his performance, even though the vast majority of the movie consists of him interacting either with just sets or animals. The Fresh Prince did a pretty good job.

And there was a trailer for The Dark Knight, although it was apparently a different one than the one kristin saw. Still, the one we got to see was pretty bad ass. There wasn't too much action, but there was a lot of the Joker. I was initially very skeptical--in fact, I think I was outraged--to hear that Heath Ledger was playing the Clown Prince of Crime, but, based on what I've seen so far, he's doing a pretty good job. Of course, he'd have to turn in an amazing performance to be better than Jack Nicholson. Still, the movie looks like it's in good hands.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 9:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , General Awesomeness , Movie Reviews , Things I'm Irrationally Attached To

So, Knight Rider, perhaps the best show of the 1980s, is, like everything else that was once good, bad, terrible, excellent, or mediocre, getting remade. That may or may not be cool, I'm going to wait and see. But the show's already got one strike against it: KITT will not be a 1982 Trans Am. Instead, it'll be a 2008 Ford Shelby Mustang:

Now, I love Mustangs, and I think that the late-model ones, this one included, look really fucking awesome. I really like the pseudoretro design. But they're just not KITT. This is what KITT's supposed to look like:

KITT is sleek and streamlined. He's not a fucking muscle car. He's a sophisticated talking car, not a bully. Color me disappointed.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 10:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)| Filed under Rants About Things That Make Me Irrationally Angry , Rants on the News , Television Reviews , Things I'm Irrationally Attached To

It hadn't actually occurred to me how close it is to Christmas until I was at the mall today. I was helping a friend do some Christmas shopping and the store was playing Christmas music. I recognize the song, but it took me a little while to realize that they were playing The Smashing Pumpkins. I had actually completely forgotten that SP had recorded a Christmas song sometime after Siamese Dream but before Mellon Collie. Anyway, the song actually took me from being completely out of the Christmas spirit to being completely in it--I'm really excited about it now. Which actually only serves to make me depressed because I won't get to be with my family this Christmas, which is the first time that'll happen... ever. So I'm bummed about that. But, still, Christmas is cool.

And to celebrate the song that reminded me about that, here's a fan-made video for "Christmastime," The Smashing Pumpkins' Christmas song:

I actually think it's pretty hilarious. But maybe those of you who aren't giant Smashing Pumpkins fans--which is to say pretty much all of you--won't. I don't know.

Anyway, while I was on YouTube looking for that, I found the coolest baby thing I've ever found: an album of lullaby versions of Smashing Pumpkins songs. When I have kids, I'm starting them off on the Pumpkins from an early age, and I can't think of a better way to introduce them to the best band ever. And, lest you think that I'm going to warp my children's musical minds from the beginning, there are a bunch of other, non-Billy Corgan-related choices, too.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 2:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit , Life Sucks Sometimes , Music Reviews , The Smashing Pumpkins

This is bad news on so many different levels.

At least the other, hotter Jessica isn't knocked up yet:

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 12:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)| Filed under Funny Shit , Rants on the News , Things I'm Irrationally Attached To

I hate a lot of people. I don't want them to die or really to suffer or anything, but I don't want to be in the same room as them and, if pushed, will be a huge asshole to them. And sometimes I'll do that even when I'm not pushed. I was thinking recently that maybe I should try to stop hating people so much or so easily. Then I started thinking about some of the reasons that I hate certain people. For example, I hate people for all of the following reasons:

• Because the person is a date rapist.


• Because the person insisted that, if the instructions on a vegetarian Hot Pocket say that you have to stop the microwave halfway through and rotate the Hot Pocket, you should do that, even though the microwave already automatically rotates the food and then, when I point out that what you're saying is ridiculous, you tell me that I don't know anything because I was a philosophy major and that you're right because of "the angular momentum of water."


• Because the person weighs one-quarter as much as I do, is a girl, cannot hold her liquor, and still thinks she can drink me under the table.


• Because the person had batteries in his fucking ears.


• Because the person always--aways, always--had headphones on. Always.


• Because, after listening to him talk about his stupid summer job for literally ten minutes, he asked me whether I wanted to hear more about his job and I literally said "No, I don't. Please, let's talk about something--anything--else" and he literally said "Ok, well, here's more about my job" and then talked about his job for another ten minutes.


• Because the person, on the first day of law school, came up to me and, upon hearing my Hispanic last name, said "Oh, so you're Latino, too?" and then was completely baffled when I responded in Spanish.


• Because the person told me what words I can and cannot use in my own fucking car.


• Because the person brags on their Facebook profile about how awesome he is at going out to bars and lying to eighteen-or-under girls about being rich, or a doctor, or a fucking prince to get them in bed.


• Because the only thing I was ever able to say to the person that she didn't immediately make about herself was "premature ejaculation."


• Because the person forced me to stand behind his fucking car for hours because he was drunk out of his mind and nonetheless insisted that he was going to drive home, which was over forty-five minutes away.

So, ok, some of those are ridiculous. But at least some of them are justified. So I don't see myself changing in this respect very soon, but I'm going to try to be more rational about who I despise. Or, well, try to try.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 4:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit , Rants

In college, my friend--let's call her Valentine--was notorious for misunderstanding song lyrics. The title of this post is a reference to one of her most endearing blunders: she thought that, in "Why Bother," Rivers Cuomo sings "My father's gonna hurt me" instead of "Why bother, it's gonna hurt me." I referenced another of her misunderstandings here: she thought that the chorus to The Pixies' "Hey" is "We're shoot to aim," rather than "We're chained." In any event, her interpretation of song lyrics was always good for a laugh.

But now I fear that I might have significantly misunderstood some song lyrics myself, so I'd like your help. In the second verse of "Gone til November"--the one that's sort of rapped--does Wyclef Jean say "Hip hop turns to the future of rock when I smash a punk" or "hip hop turns to the future of rock when I smash a pumpkin"? I've always thought that it was the latter, but I can hardly be objective about a potential reference to my favorite band. So am I just getting it wrong because of wishful thinking?

The internet's not very helpful. Although the majority of lyrics pages say it's the former, there are still a lot that say it's the latter. And I swear I can hear a syllable spoken under the "bing!" someone else sings.

So what do you guys think?

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 5:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit , The Smashing Pumpkins

In college, a lot of my friends moved in to this six-bedroom house just off campus. I didn't live there, but I might as well have moved into their living room. I don't know if this happens everywhere else, but there was this trend in Flagstaff where houses would have names. For example, my friends lived in The Mothership for a while. And there was also the Pryor House. And a few others that I never went to or that I went to so few times that I can't remember their names. Still, there were a lot of discussions about what to call this particular house. One of the suggestions was something like The Slaughterhouse. I don't really understand why. In the end, though, none of the names stuck, and the house simply became The House.

For the last three of the five years I spent in college, The House dominated my social life. Although not all of my friends lived there, they were almost all directly related to The House and the various inhabitants.

Like I said, The House was just off of the NAU campus, which meant that it was within walking distance of a lot of the dorms but also that it wasn't subject to campus police. Its only neighbors were a frat house and some sort of clinic, which was closed at night. There were some apartments behind the house, but the people that lived in those apartments were always either cool or really, really strange. The result was that The House soon became one of the biggest party houses in the area. We partied much harder and more often than the frat boys next door, who were a bunch of fucking douchebags. It was fine, though, they never, ever came to our parties, and we didn't want to go to theirs. And they never called the cops because they knew that if they did, we'd have the cops over there for even the smallest noise infraction.

It was an ideal situation, and one that we exploited. There were keggers there every single weekend for a semester. We had bands play. We had theme parties. We had hundreds of people over in a single night. I mean, maybe that's a stretch, but maybe it's not. The point is, we had a hell of a lot of fun. And we were absolutely, completely, totally immune to any sort of police intervention. That is, until the pirate party at which I sort of beat up a dwarf that looked like Scott Weiland (he walked on top of our already fragile beer-pong table during a game--he had it coming). After that, a few of our parties got broken up.

And I totally understand why. As it was, we probably weren't bothering too many people. But we were still violating some ordinances. And those ordinances are good things. The level of noise and debris created by the kinds of parties we had would have been completely unacceptable. If my neighbors--then or now--tried to throw that kind of party and have it go to 4am, I'd call the cops, too. Generally, residential neighborhoods aren't a good place for keggers if you don't want to get busted, and that's the way it should be.

I'm bringing all of this up because of this story. Apparently, a man in a small Texas town has been having what can only be described as, well, orgies. Big orgies--some with as many as 100 people, apparently. And all those people in the neighborhood means noise and traffic congestion in an otherwise quiet area. So the city understandably wants to outlaw the whole thing. And I think that they damned well should be able to.

I've always thought that the general rule for what should be legal and what shouldn't should be that you can do whatever you want as long as it doesn't hurt some other nonconsenting person. So if you want to smoke pot or shoot up heroin, go right ahead, but you'd better not drive while you're high. Similarly, if you want to get together with your friends and play drinking games or, you know, have orgies, that's cool, too. But don't bother your neighbors with it.

I'm all about protecting the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want in your house, again assuming that everyone knows what's happening and consents. But the orgy host's lawyer's argument that outlawing what they're doing is an invasion of privacy is vaguely ridiculous. While I think that live-sex shows should be completely legal, that's a different question from whether they should be legal in a residential neighborhood. The issue here isn't about legislating morality, it's about zoning.

So there you go.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 3:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Fun Shit I've Done , Hanging Out With My Friends , Legal Rants , Philosophical Rants , Rants on the News

Seriously? How the hell does someone like her end up not only famous but nominated for six Grammys, including four nominations in the top categories? That's fucking fucked up. Granted, I've never actually heard one of her songs, but just look at her:

She actually looks frightening. And what is with that fucking beehive hairdo? What the hell is going on here?

I guess I lied earlier when I said that I hadn't heard any of her songs. I have heard this:

But, seeing as how she's just mumbling in a vaguely rhythmic fashion, I don't think it counts as hearing a song.

So why, why, why, is this woman rich and famous? I blame the British. This is yet another reason why the British should have been prohibited from exporting music to the United States after, say, 1970.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 8:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)| Filed under Music Reviews , Rants About Things That Make Me Irrationally Angry , Rants on the News

I was vaguely bored and not at all sleepy about an hour or so when I noticed, through my window blinds, that the outside world is that distinct shade of orange that means it is snowing outside. I hadn't left the apartment since earlier today when I went to the grocery store. It was snowing then, too, but I didn't know that it had been snowing the whole day. By the time I looked outside, there were a good six inches of new, fresh snow. Having nothing better to do, I decided to dig the seXterra out of it's snowy cave and go on a little bit of a drive. After driving around Madison listening to classic-rock radio, I have some observations:

• Fresh snow is seriously beautiful. There was this little Christmas tree in someone's front yard with lights on it. It looked really serene and Norman Rockwell-esque. I wish I had a camera, but the battery on mine's dead.
• They are really bad about plowing here. Some streets were pretty clear, but others, especially ones downtown, were indicated only by giant piles of snow in the middle of where the road used to be.
• I love my car. Seriously, having a four-wheel-drive vehicle is awesome. I only wish that there were more off-roading opportunities around here.
• "Comfortably Numb" is a downright amazing song.
• I know that I shouldn't, and I know that they're not good, and I know that the Stupidest Person I've Ever Met liked them, but I like Rush. I just can't help it.
• Jethro Tull, though, sucks balls.
• The organ is a stupid instrument and should almost never be used. I can't think of a single song right now that has an organ in it that wouldn't be improved by removing the organ.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 3:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Rants , Things I'm Irrationally Attached To

Tonight was the finale of Heroes's second volume, titled "Generations." Even after the completely underwhelming finale to the first volume, I was really pumped for the second one because the writers kept talking about how much we'd get to learn about all of the different characters' backgrounds and stuff. Can you say "backstory"? But, in the end, we didn't really get a lot of worthwhile information. We know who founded the Company, but they're all mostly dead. Except for Parkman's dad, who's disappeared, Angela Petrelli, who's a supercrazybitch, and Bob, who's just a bad father. And Adam, of course--let's hope he doesn't come back. We did get to learn a little more about the history of the Company, but most of that stuff is useless now, and it wasn't very interesting to begin with. We met some new characters, but they were almost uniformly lame, and a lot of them are dead or just gone now, which is good, but now all the time we spent with them just felt wasted.

In the end, this volume was pretty mediocre, but the finale did an excellent job of wrapping up the various lame plots that were floating around and positioning the characters for the next volume, "Villains." And it did so while being entertaining and exciting. So it was a good way to go out, even if a lot of the tension was missing.

I'll do this by plot rather than by character, since that seems to make more sense this time around.

The virus.
I never feared the virus. It never seemed like a real, immediate threat the way that the destruction of New York did. Perhaps it's because this volume was half as long as the first one and so did not have as long to build suspense and foreboding, but it just didn't resonate with me. And it didn't help that it was a completely rehashed premise. Because of all of that, this whole part of the volume--and, therefore, of this episode--seemed rather forced and perfunctory to me.

It was nice to see Peter and Nathan reconnect, and I bought that Peter would believe his brother over Adam. I'm glad that the fight between Hiro and Peter wasn't too drawn out--I don't like seeing two of my favorite characters fight. On the other hand, I don't like that the confrontation between Adam and Hiro was so muted--some sort of confrontation, even if it was just heated words, would have been an improvement. They didn't even scream at each other. And I don't like Adam's fate for two reasons: First, he's not dead, and there's a possibility that he could come back someday. That's not cool because I just don't want him to come back. I wanted something more final. Second, burying him alive potentially forever is an extremely cruel thing for Hiro to have done--far worse than killing him. But that doesn't make sense--Hiro's not cruel, and he was never excited about killing Adam. It was just something he felt he had to do. I never got the sense that Hiro was looking forward to it--it was more that he was resigned to his destiny. More importantly, Hiro's just not a cruel person. Remember how hard it was for him to commit to the idea of killing Sylar? It just didn't make any sense.

Then there's Nathan. I loved him in this episode. I loved seeing him take the lead with the whole putting a stop to the Company thing. He finally became the person we all knew he could be--he was strong, self-assured, but also caring and sympathetic. And he was willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good. And then he got shot. I don't know if he's actually dead, but I didn't see that coming, and it was a really cool moment. I hope he's not dead.

Also, on a side note, Parkman didn't seem to know that Sylar was with Molly. So, what, Parkman just left her alone in the apartment while he went off with Nathan? Strange.

Oh, and the scene where Nathan and Parkman land after what was presumably a really long flight was really good.

Sylar.
God, it was so awesome when Sylar shot Maya. Mr. Vice and pH--who watched the episode in my newly presentable apartment--and I were giddy. It was so not awesome when they used Claire's blood to bring her back. That was such bullshit. I was really, really happy. And then sort of annoyed.

I didn't care for this part of the story. I mean, having Maya only realize that Sylar's a completely crazy, creepy fuck when he's waving a gun around threatening to kill people makes her look incredibly stupid. And having her cry out for Alejandro over and over again just makes her look weak. On the whole, she continues to be worthless.

Sylar might be cool, though.

And it might also be cool to have Elle in the company of good guys like Maya and Molly. I'd say "and Mohinder," except that he's still a piece of shit as far as I'm concerned.

Niki and her family.
Oh my god, I hope she's fucking dead! I hope she's fucking dead as all fucking shit. God, I just hope more than anything that she's dead.

The Bennets.
So what's Claire going to do now? And what about Mr. Bennet? And West's gone because he's an unsupportive, selfish douche. Well, I guess that's what he's got to do. These guys are set up to be interesting next volume, too. So let's see what happens.

All in all, this volume has seemed rushed, forced, directionless, and largely pointless. During the first season, it really seemed that the writers had come up with a complete, cohesive way of putting together their ideas. And those ideas were, if not original, then at least put together in an original way. This volume, however, was marked with mistakes, misfires, and miserable writing. Almost every new element of the show--the Mexicans, West, Adam--failed in one way or another. This time around, the ideas were even less original, and they were strung together almost without any regard for plot and believability. More importantly, the writers seem to have completely lost their way with some characters, Hiro being the prime example.

Still, this is probably the most entertaining hour on TV. Although Chuck is damned good, too.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 6:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Hanging Out With My Friends , Heroes , Rants , Television Reviews

As some of you may have noticed, I've been kind of depressed lately. Good thing, then, that my friends and I had our traditional Thanksgiving this weekend. Sure, Thanksgiving was over a week ago, but some people insisted on seeing their "families," so we all got together Saturday.

Let me just say that, while I still wish I had seen my family for the holiday, and I don't have a job yet, and I'm pretty broke, there's no problem that turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and gravy won't take your mind off of. And, although the turkey wasn't deep fried as we originally planned (fuck you, blizzard), the turkey that pH roasted produced some of the best turkey I've ever eaten. It was flavorful and moist and, you know, awesome. X-tina's mashed potatoes were amazing. Bluebunny's cranberry sauce was fucking incredible. Even the stuffing I made went over fairly well. All in all, it might have been the best Thanksgiving meal I've ever had.

The only unfortunate thing about the whole day was that Mr. Utah was unable to drive down (fuck you again, blizzard). We missed you, man.

Today, we had brunch and then I went shopping with X-tina and L-dawg. And then I went and watched The Mist with Mr. Vice and pH. I was entertained by it, but I recognize that it wasn't perfect. Still, as far as horror movies go, I liked it. It kept me on the edge of my seat and the director did decent job of keeping the suspense up and delivering some pretty scary--or downright disgusting, depending on your point of view--images.

Anyway, I'm feeling better. Not great yet, but better.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 4:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Fun Shit I've Done , Hanging Out With My Friends , Movie Reviews