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I just found out that my great-great-grandparents were cousins.

That's kind of weird.

These two people could probably win in a look-alike contest for each other. Can you even tell these two people apart? There's a dollar for you if you can.

So, today, I got an e-mail asking me to apply my voice for this new bill¹ in congress. It's a noble cause. The bill would end aid towards nations that utilise child soldiers among their ranks. Absolutely, who wouldn't think that such a cause is worthy of speaking out about. However, I, being the person that I am, decided to look into the bill. As I read it, something bothered me.

There is a certain clause in the bill that stipulates that the president can waive the restriction if he decides that it's in the best national interest of the nation. What kind of message does that send? Conscripting child soldiers is bad unless it benefits the United States?

I decided not to throw my support behind the bill.

1. 110^th Congress, 1^st Session, S. 1175

America has lost its way. You would have thought that people would have learned their lesson from the past example of Sodom and Gomorrah. Well, it didn't.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

I just accomplished one of my lifelong goals; I just watched all of the Star-Wars movies in one relentless marathon. I am really tempted to give a large critique on the films, but no one would care.

Needless to say, I was bored out of my mind. However, I'm still bored. Now, I'm getting ready to start a Star-Trek marathon.

It's 2:00 AM where I'm at. The only reason that I'm mentioning that is because it makes it awkward to write here. Mainly, how do I describe something that happened twelve hours ago? Technically, I could use the term yesterday, but yesterday implies that I've slept between now and then. I haven't. However, I'm a technically minded person, so when I say yesterday, I'm actually talking about events that are fresh on my mind without an interval of sleep between.

Anyway, yesterday, I went up to the DMV to get my license renewed. The only reason why I did is because it happens to be the cool thing to do after you turn twenty-one. I finally obtained my glasses which had to be replaced after my other pairs broke, got lost or got stolen. With my corrective lenses in my possession, I was finally able to take the eye exam and, therefore, get my license renewed.

The DMV is a funny place. The last time I was there (when I failed my eye test because I didn't have my glasses), I saw a sight that I felt like writing about on here. It involved two small children. One of them was a hispanohablante, and the other was an anglophone. Despite the language barrier, the two kids played and enjoyed their company. That sight just warmed the internationalisation advocate inside of myself.

However, all that happened the last time that I was at the DMV. I'm still awake at 2:00 AM because I wanted to write about my experience at the DMV this time… but I thought that you might appreciate my story about last time.

Anyway, I went into the DMV and the staff was behind on getting to their customers. Of course, that's what I get for coming in on a Friday. So, I did a bit of waiting around while waiting for my number to be called.

I don't know what it is about the DMV, but the people who come in all seem to be of a certain demographic: skanky dressers. I mean, from what I observe about society, skanky dressers are few and far between, but, at the DMV, it's most of the demographic that walks through the doors. Maybe I'm just overreacting about the amount of skin that I saw. It was a hot day in Colorado after all. Still, the outfits that these girls (I hesitate to call them women.) were wearing was enough to make this twenty-one-year-old, male hormone machine cringe in horror. I started to think to myself, are there any men who actually find such appearances to be attractive? Of course, I knew the answer to that. Someone somewhere does. Besides, if these sixteen-year-old, female hormone machines weren't attracting men, I'm sure that they'd change their ways.

So what? I went to the DMV and saw a bunch of skanks. Big deal! Well… someone else came in.

She was not a skank. No, she was an attractive female probably in her early twenties like myself. No, there was nothing incredibly stunning about her personal appearance herself. What did it was the way that she was dressed. She was wearing some sort of thin sweater over an undershirt along with a pair of decent blue jeans. It did look slightly awkward as it was a hot day, but the sandles installed on her feet did give it a slight summer touch. I couldn't help but think to myself about the contrast in dress between this classy woman and the skanks across the room. This woman was the absolute model in terms of how I would have every women in America (or any freedom-loving country where the women can show their faces in public) dress.

As is the custom there at the DMV, she had to wait for service just like everyone else. She took a seat right next to me. She pulled out a FedEx envelope and proceeded to look over some paperwork that consisted of important looking forms, documents and reports. Obviously, from the evidence that she knew how to live in the world, she didn't possess the trait of stupidity that the skanky dressers did. Of course, I'm wrong for saying that. Man looks on the outward appearance… Who knows? Those skanks might have been straight-A students. Still, it's hard for me to imagine a vault of intelligence inside of a Paris-Hilton-wannabe little girl complete with the valley-girl slang and the bra strap that happened to make its way completely down the shoulder in a careless manner that seemed to scream to the world, “Hey, look at me! I'm old enough to wear a bra!”.

I couldn't help but think about this classy woman sitting next to me: What should I do now? The thought came to my mind to say something, but what would I say? Somehow, it didn't seem right to compliment a complete stranger on her appearance. I thought to myself that maybe she and I would get along together. Again, the thought of asking a perfect stranger out on a date didn't seem right, but, the way that I see it, whoever it is that I end up marrying, we'll start out as perfect strangers.

However, it was a mute point. Her sitting to the right of me gave me an advantage that enabled me to know yet another important detail of this woman's life: she was married. Well, maybe she wasn't married, but she was at least engaged to another man. Well, maybe it wasn't a man. These are changing times that we're living in after all. Still, regardless of her orientation, her marital status completely told me that it wasn't going to happen. With that, I simply waited around for my number to be called so that I could have my picture taken and receive my license which was nothing more than a slip of paper telling the officer that will be pulling me over that my license is in the mail and will come to me in less than thirty days.

Then, she left. She had completed her business at the DMV before I had completed mine. So, she was out the door and back into the world that we all inhabit — skanky dressers and classy dressers alike.

I wonder, if there wasn't a large rock on her finger (and it was large), would I have had the courage to start up a casual conversation with a complete stranger and have it end in a dinner proposal? The answer is no. I'm broke and ugly. Sure, I was dressed classy myself, but being unshaved and in need of a haircut (despite the fact that I'm going bald, and it's the end of Western civilisation as we know it because I'm going bald), let's just say that I didn't look my best yesterday. Plus, that's a real shame because that's the way that I'm going to look for the next ten or so years on the portrait on my license which means that cops pulling me over while driving or bartenders inquiring about my age while boozing won't be getting a good impression of me unless they're the types that don't look at appearance.

Recently, I made the switch: I installed Linux on my laptop. Really, there's no practical difference between my computer with Windows than with Linux. However, there's one rather important œconomical difference: every single piece of software on my computer is free. When I say free, I mean that in two senses that the English language doesn't really have two words for. It's free in the sense that I didn't have to pay for it. Essentially, for me, that's the most important reason; I like not having to pay for things, but the software is also free in the sense that I can change it, modify it and do whatever I want to it. Yes, I'm a computer nerd, and I like needless tinkering, but I'm more aroused by the fact that I don't have to pay for it.

Still, there is one thing that I'm not to crazy about. The games aren't really that great. I know that I want to hold to this fanatical belief that computer software should be free, but have you played free games? They suck. I know that someone has to pay the money for the game developers to eat and send their children to college, but why don't the developers of the productivity suites and the web browsers need money? Their software turns out great, and they don't take money.

Than again, I really have no right to complain about the quality of my free software. It's free after all.

I have a great desire to go on a tirade and bash the policies of my political archnemesis, Tom Tancredo. However, it looks like I won't have to:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16711064/

I always said that if Tancredo gets elected president, I'm going to Mexico… but I'll come back smuggling a truckload of illegal immigrants because that's what Tancredo would get under Tancredo's skin. It looks like I don't have to worry about that.

Something to ponder:

If someone loved you very much so that your happiness was the only thing that she wanted in the world, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, could you forgive her? And if you never knew and the girl kept this bad thing locked in her heart? Would that be all right?

So, I was watching the news today.¹ Specifically, it was ABC News, and I was only watching it because I was waiting for The Simpsons to come on. So, in the midst of this world inching toward a very near apocalypse,² one rather trivial story caught my eye. Specifically, there is a push to make any film that features cigarettes receive an automatic R rating.

I find this to be complete and utter ridiculousness.

An R rating? Films don't even get that for alcohol content even though the age for legally utilising alcohol is higher than that of utilising tobacco but still higher than utilising an automobile… which is rather irrelevant to mention except that it gives me another opportunity to utilise the word utilising all while spelling it with an s in the British style since I find the British spelling to be more colourful.

I'll admit that there is a certain bias here: I am a smoker myself. Usually, I limit myself to a sophisticated pipe to give the air an aromatic flavour. Occasionally, I'll treat myself to a cigar, but usually that's only if there's an occasion that warrants it. I don't utilise cigarettes unless they're Indonesian³ kreteks. If a pipe is the brandy of tobacco and cigars the wine, than cigarettes are definitely the beer, but kreteks are the premium malt beverage.

Why do I smoke? Well, if you asked my ex that question, she would probably naïvely respond because people just want to look cool. Well, she's wrong; people usually smoke because they like it. Still, there probably is that aura of being cool that gets people to start smoking. I can remember watching Casablanca where Humphrey Bogart's character not only smokes cigarettes, but he even has a classy cigarette case to keep them in. In the most amazing act of masculine elegance until the invention of James-Bond films, Bogart's character would throughout the film pull the case out of his pocket and put a cigarette in his mouth and fashionably smoke it. There is a possibility that observing that made me want to emulate it myself. It's possible, but more than likely, the reason that I started smoking was because it had been forbidden to me for more than eighteen years, and I just had to try it… but only because Humphrey Bogart made it look so good!

Okay, so movies do have an effect on people imitating the films, but so what? What is inherently wrong with smoking that our society feels a need to lead a jihad⁴ against it? Sure, I agree that sex and violence are grounds for increasing a rating, but people don't just go around boinking each other in public and cutting each other's heads off in the streets. Still, people will smoke while walking up and down the sidewalks without most people giving an evil glare or even a mere second look. Most if not all models of cars actually come with ash trays and cigarette lighters. That right there should say that we're a society that accepts public smoking. So, why is it such a taboo if smoking than appears in films depicting that society?

I kind of can't believe that I went on a rant this long defending smoking. It's almost as if someone went after my precious tobacco, and I had to fight back. It almost sounds like I'm addicted until you realise that you would probably do the same if someone came after meat or chocolate. Sure, you're not addicted to it, but do you really want to give it up just because some two-bit schmuck tells you that it's bad for you?

Chocolate sounds good right now.

1. Technically, yesterday since it's about 2:45 AM.
2. And you should know that I don't really believe that.
3. Or Malaysian if that's all that's in stock.
4. Or “crusade”, if you prefer.

I have a strong feeling that somebody who I really love hates me.

I can't blame her.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sipahh

Whoever invented these is a genius.

I'm amazed at the ability for politicians to be asked one question, but to completely not answer that question. Who's more of a schmuck: the candidate or the person who votes for that candidate?

It's an interesting fact of humanity that the perfect God will easily forgive people for their shortcomings, but their siblings and friends who themselves are fallen and corrupt don't.