So Brian Said

Napster's long-gone, AudioGalaxy is dead and Morpheus now sucks. Having always been the family's trend-setter for file-"sharing" technology, I'd like to welcome you to the new program. Go get it.
--McJangles 3:54 PM
|

Here is my new standard for arguing my point to anyone who cares to debate.

You may be able to argue with some of my reasoning in the long post, but I don’t think that if we take this down to little bitty pieces, you can still argue an opposing view. So let’s break it down:
Should Dr. Newdow have better things to do? Yes.
Is saying that ours is a “nation under God” making an assertion as to the existence of God? Yes.
Is forcing people to assert the existence of God promoting a religion? Yes.
Does the First Amendment prohibit Congress from making any “law respecting an establishment of religion?” Yes.
Is, therefore, a law promoting monotheism/God unconstitutional? Yes.

Thus far, my record with that line of questioning is pretty good. Except that people who disagree refuse to have their minds changed. I'm convinced that for the most part, these people know that they are, in fact wrong. Here are some responses to the line of questioning.

Brian: Is saying that ours is a "Nation under God" saying that there is a God?
Respondant: "No."

Another respondant: "I think that if the Constitution says that we can't do that, the Constitution is wrong."

Brian: You agree with it because it promotes your religion.... If you were Buddhist, would you still think the same thing?
Respondant: They worship cows, what do they know?
Brian: You worship a wafer of bread. And wine.
Respondant: And I know I'm right.

My favorite, though: I got to the end, and it was agreed that Congress should not be legislating the existence of God, that they had done so, but the ruling was still wrong.

I'm making an honest effort at finding a person who can argue this point solidly, but thus far, it simply can't be done.

Everyone also asks if I'm opposed to "In God We Trust" on our money. The answer is a big, fat yes. Here's why.

People are making a pretty big deal out of the Senate's passage of a bill re-affirming their inclusion of "under God." Just so everyone knows, not everything Congress does means much of anything. Check out this, this and this, also.
--McJangles 8:54 PM
|

About this Pledge thing.

The first I heard about it was from LiberalQuinn, all giddy that it had been declared unconstitutional. Then LiberalMartin, same thing. I was kind of irked about it, though. It seemed like we're getting a little crazy. A little nit-picky. After all, Andrew Newdow, the guy who filed the suit was doing it just because. He was an atheist, but it wasn't as though his child in public school was some sort of outcast because she didn't believe in God. She hadn't refused to say it and been punished. He just kind of said, "Waitaminute..." and filed suit.

Then I'm reading other people's perspectives. I start getting some very different ideas. I notice that everyone arguing for the "Under God" clause has some pretty shaky arguments. "We're getting a little crazy," for example. "A little nit-picky." I was in the same camp as them I realized. I believed the same thing they did, but I didn't have any better logic. So I tried to defend the position. Didn't work. We don't have "Under God" because it's what our founding fathers thought. It doesn't just say that a lot of us believe in a god.

We have it because the president of the United States wanted the people saying the pledge, school children in "every city and town, every village and rural schoolhouse," to proclaim their dedication to God Almighty. He, and the lobbying religious groups who prompted the clause's insertion, wanted to make sure that when we said the pledge, we didn't sound like those "godless communists."

“Under God” only came to be as a result of the apparent inability to think straight during the Cold War. If nothing else, its use is outdated. Of course, there is something else. A couple somethings, as a matter of fact. The clause is designed to say that the country believes in God. Someone, please, tell me how that's constitutional. The clause is designed to teach children to say that they believe in God. If we can't teach religion in school, we probably shouldn't force this kind of daily recitation, tantamount to brainwashing.

"But the children can just not join in,” they say. "It's not like third-graders really care if other kids aren't reciting the pledge." Of course they don't. But they do notice when someone is acting differently. And in grade school, everyone knows that different is very, very bad. You don't talk to weird kid, except to say that he's a freak. Moreover, with the sudden groundswell of patriotism, while they may not know what patriotism, or even freedom, is, kids know that it's a good thing. They know the flag is a good thing. They know that there are people, who, for whatever reason, are bad bad bad. Those people hate our country, and they are bad. To not recite the Pledge of Allegiance seems to be a rejection of the flag, hence the values it represents. If you don't think that kids are going to react to that, you're crazy.

Then, the Senate and the House jump all over it. The Senate passed a unanimous resolution to express their support of two words. Dennis Hastert called the pledge a "patriotic salute that brings people of all faiths together." Is that supposed to be a joke? How does picking out a specific God bring all the faiths together? Islam was supposed to unite itself with the Jewish and Christian faiths. That sort of thing just doesn't work. All faiths don't come together. Congress was pretty clear about its stand. “Stupid,” they said. They couldn’t come up with much more than that, though. “Stupid judge. Stupid. That’s what he is. Stupid.” Not exactly a compelling argument. Then, Trent Lott threatened to overturn the ruling if the Supreme Court didn’t. How exactly does Congress overturn the Supreme Court? With a Constitutional amendment. Easy enough.

In a serious departure from the norm, I tried to imagine how I would have reacted if I weren’t in the majority that wanted to keep the phrase. Further, I tried to imagine dealing with it every day in school as a nonbeliever. It was very strange. If you were the type as zealous or insecure in your own faith as Dr. Newdow, it would really be a problem to be sending your children to school to pledge their allegiance to a “nation under God.”

People draw the comparison, “Well, what if it said “under Satan” or something?” While the example is ludicrous, the fact is that even though the Judeo-Christian version of God is the obvious choice if you’re going to pick one, picking one is still wrong. The California law to which Newdow objected forced the school to proclaim that there is, in fact, a god.

Nitpicking? Yes. “The danger that “under God” in our Pledge of Allegiance will tend to bring about a theocracy or suppress somebody's beliefs is so minuscule as to be de minimis,” said Ferdinand Fernandez, the judge dissenting in the ruling. Fernandez misses the point, though. Newdow wasn’t afraid of Christians taking over the country. His daughter was, in effect, being forced to acknowledge the existence of God. At the same time, the teacher was being forced to acknowledge the existence of God.

It’s 5 in the morning; that's all I've got right now. Maybe I’ll still be incensed enough to make this more cogent later.

I hate when I agree with Quinn. This is not open for copy-editing yet.
--McJangles 5:09 AM
|

Martin and I just played again. He beat me the first game. He got all the big letters, but he couldn't even break 300 points. After that, though, we played again and I creamed him. He also says he won more games last time. Whatever. I think I need to start a separate, Scrabble-score blog.
--McJangles 9:18 PM
|

Nearly 24 hours later, the ShoutBox is back. Don't know how, don't know why. Don't really care. It looks like Martin wants to hear more about Scrabble. He got his rematch. I solidly defeated him. I think we played again. I'm pretty sure he lost then, also. He got one more game at the end of the night. He did win that one. Congratulations, Martin. Even the Montreal Expos win now and then.
--McJangles 11:26 PM
|

Ten hours of sleep plus six hours of being awake does not equal me falling asleep. I imagine I will finally be out right around the time I need to be awake. Someone please make me some quesadillas or something.
--McJangles 1:56 AM
|

To the guilty party: please return my ShoutBox immediately.

Can anyone tell me how a ShoutBox just drops out of my template? I haven't even posted anything in the last few days, let alone tool with the template.
--McJangles 12:43 AM
|

As I was heading back to my car to leave school, I turned the corner to see four black guys hauling their butts out of there. My car was up on jacks and all four tires were gone. I was immediately really pissed off, but I couldn't help thinking how good this would be for my blog. I woke up later and it turned out to be a dream, but I had been so excited to post it that I had to follow through.

Here's a story that actually did happen. I wanted to get to the paper early, so I left early. Instead of getting there with an hour to spare, the five-mile traffic jam got me there just on time. They had shut down the construction zone to one lane, and in the middle of the traffic jam was a man who refused to move his broken-down car to the side of the road. On my way home, I slowed down to see if it was still one lane. I then proceeded past a cop who was clocking just past the construction zone. Normally, I would be speeding like a madman through that area, but I was waaaay under the speed limit this time. I felt so happy.

A little bit up the road, I saw the cop coming my way. There was no one else for him to be following, so I was really angry thinking he was coming for me. I was thinking to myself, Self, he's got nothing on you. Nothing. You can do whatever you want. You can be a total ass when he pulls you over. He can't do anything. I was still ten miles under the speed limit, so I sped up a little to see if he followed suit. He did. I changed lanes. He did. Hm. What will really get him suspicious? So I pulled down to the rest stop. He did. So I didn't stop there. I just drove past all the cars and trucks and right back onto the on-ramp. He did. As I was making my way back to the highway, he lit 'em up. I pulled over. He did. He's got nothing on you. Nothing!

I rolled down the window and was pretty sure I heard a dog barking. K-9 unit. That's a first for me. I barked back. He struts up and asks for my license, etc. "Mind telling me what I'm being stopped for," I asked with about of pound of snoot in my voice. "Well, your muffler for one." DAMN! John had just told me the day before that my muffler was eft up and screaming. "Then your little detour kind of drew my suspicion...." Cop, shut up. Self, you're an idiot.

Every ounce of snoot in my voice was quickly transformed into sugary sugar-sugar. "Yeah, my brother-in-law just pointed out my muffler to me yesterday. I'm taking it to the shop on Friday." Lies. All lies.

"And about that little detour?" I was going to make up some total crap, e.g. "I was going to get a drink, but I remembered I didn't have any money." "I was lost." I decided to just bite the bullet, though, and hope a bit of candor could earn me some points. "Well, it looked like you were following me; I couldn't imagine why, so I wanted to make sure." That really didn't sound as good as I had hoped.

"You have any weapons or anything in there that I should be concerned about?' I figured if he was going to cite me for a muffler, he was already decided, so I was just going to enjoy myself. Do stupid things, play innocent. "Well, this..." And I reached real fast to the other seat for my Leatherman. "But that's it. I don't intend to use it." "Uhhh, why don't you just let me have that for now." He took it, opened it and said, "Oh, a Leatherman. You can have that back."

He proceeds to ask about any prior arrests, problems with the law, drugs, and all the unoriginal things that let me know that he's just using a line and isn't really interested in me as a person. If he thinks I'm going home with him, he's wrong. Then he asks me to get out of the car so he can walk the dog around it. How annoying. I got out and he just poked his head and flashlight through the window. He came back and handed me back all my stuff, telling me I seemed like a good guy and that he wasn't even going to get the dog out and all excited for nothing.

I drove away victorious. Especially since I had all that heroin in my trunk.
--McJangles 10:02 AM
|

I promised Martin that I would post the results of the Scrabble match no matter how it turned out, and I would never go back on that. The final score was 270-265. Me. Brian. I win. So sorry, you illiterate oaf. He gets a rematch tomorrow, though, so I'll be happy to post 365-92 or something like that afterward. And I may get to see Amy Malaska. Good times.
--McJangles 12:36 AM
|

Would you agree that nothing sounds like the right past tense of forego? It's just icky.
--McJangles 12:31 AM
|

As I left Olive Garden today, I couldn't help laughing as I thought about how they had just fired me.
--McJangles 5:38 PM
|

Andrew wanted a ShoutBox, but it's creating chaos. First it effs up all my tables and sub-tables. Then, once I fix it, everytime I post to it, it rewrites the template or something and re-effs up all my tables and sub-tables. Now nothing on the entire page is visible, with the obvious exception of the ad at the top of the page.
--McJangles 12:15 AM
|

Elvis is the king. The show was good times. He didn't play my favorite song of his, but he put on a good show just the same. I found out today what it's like for people who fly in first-class and then fly in coach. I felt like some kind of second-class citizen walking around without a press pass. No one thinks you're special without a little badge. I was thinking about not liking Elvis on a personal level because he won't allow his picture to be taken, but then I realized that about two of his songs are blocked on AudioGalaxy. I guess that makes everything better.

I talked to the guy in charge of records at CCC. He was very courteous, and he informed me that I would need to come down to Metro to pick up the records. I decided that those two factors made me less interested in the whole situation. If I can't be a pain in the butt for Sergeant Sassypants, I'm just going to let them keep their records. Also, my belt just kind of broke today. I was getting out of my chair and it just went *pop*. Bad news.
--McJangles 1:36 AM
|

The Kent Municipal Court is a well-oiled machine. There were more people in there than in any other court I've gone to, but that judge must have gotten us all out faster than anyone else. He had all the lines memorized, and the bailiff wasn't taking any funny business from anybody. The longest trip to the bench must have been 45 seconds, as the judge tried to explain to the crazy, old, fat black guy that if he wanted to see the officer's video, he'd have to plead "not guilty" and set up a court date. He wanted to see it before he entered his plea. I wanted to mention that he could actually get it as a matter of public record, but I wanted to be in good with the judge.

I finally got up to him, and it went just like this.

Judge: You've been charged with [registration violation]; how do you plea?
Brian: No contest.
Bailiff: Your honor, the defendant operated his car on South Water Street with expired tags.
J: Anything you'd like to add?
B: (Speaking very fast) I got my tags renewed the next day and I'm working four jobs and I'm going to school full-time and I would really appreciate the most lenient fine you could muster.
J: (Half-joking) You want an apology from the court or something?
B: Nope, just a light fine, please.
J: I'm entering a finding of guilty and imposing a fine of $10. Get outta here.
B: Thank you, your honor.

I'll bet a lot of you read that last post and double-checked the alphabet. Boy, were you disappointed. I can do that drunk and sleeping. I was in bed after that post and realized that rather than posting that crap, I should have posted a Greatest Hit. Next time; I promise.
--McJangles 1:07 AM
|

No really good stories. I went to a party, so that's pretty funny by it's self. Now that was really funny. Anyway. Blotters sucked. My intestines hate partying. Fire alarms are too loud. Especially when they go off unprovoked. Nothing really exciting to say; can you tell? Blablablabla. A man, a plan, a canal, Panama! No lemons, no melon. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. ZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA. Going to bed.
--McJangles 12:05 AM
|

Hoooowee. Martin calls me up around 11 to see if I want to go to the Hives concert tonight. "We can pick up tickets at the box office and avoid all the Ticketmaster charges." It's at 9, but I had to work. One of the girls at work wanted to pick up a shift, so I decided to spend money instead of make money. I showed up for the show around 830, and this girl follows me down the driveway, behind the place and to where I parked. "Do you have any extra tickets?" "What?" Yes, the show is sold out. I skipped work and drove out to the east side for a sold-out show. Furthermore, this place doesn't even have a box office.

So Martin and I decided to be losers and walk up and down the streets, asking people for tickets just like the other girl was doing. We quickly found that about 30 other people had the exact same idea. We chatted with the first girl and found out she had been trying to get just one ticket for about two and a half hours. This did not look good. We kept at it and slowly started seeing other people finding tickets, but we just weren't getting lucky. We started offering outrageous sums for tickets just to see if anyone would give them up, to no avail.

Then I realized I didn't have any money on me. "I'm going to run to the car. I'll be right back." I grabbed the money I had made working a half-shift and headed back to the street. On my way, Marting started hollering. "I got a ticket!" Only one. He was courteous to stay outside for about three minutes while I kept trying to find a ticket, but he eventually abandoned me. I was thinking this was a good reason to leave the concert that I never really wanted to go to that much anyway, but I decided to keep trying for a little longer.

Soon enough, old habits kicked in, and I started looking for a way to sneak in. All the doors were locked, with the exception of the front two, which had guards and cops and bouncers and the like. Not looking good.

But wait! Look yonder: ye olde tour bus. I started really stretching my imagination. Maybe there are a couple tickets on the bus.... I knew full well that there weren't, but I took a look through the windshield anyway. Then I spotted something. It looked strangely like a press pass. "THE HIVES: ACCESS ALL AREAS." That looks like a winner. I knew of course the door wouldn't be unlocked, but I might be able to reach it through a window. The door was open, though, and I walked right on that bus. Grabbed me up a press pass and headed back to the front door.

"Hey," called one of my fellow scalper-hunters. "That guy over there is looking to get rid of a ticket." "I'm set, thanks."

I got to the front door and the ticket-taker was tried to grill me. "Why are you coming in through this door? Are you with the band? Why didn't you come through the back door?" Completely out of answers, I decided to haul out of there fast-like when the cop started moseying over.

Guess I'm supposed to go through the back.... So I headed to the back door, and open sesame. I was in with full access to wherever I wanted to go. I saw lots of my fellow scalper-hunters. "How much did you end up paying?" "Not too much...."

It's unfortunate I was so attached to my little souvenir. By the time the night was through, scalper-hunters and the like had offered me a total of over $100 for it, along with sexual favors from males and females alike.

Press passes are incredible.
--McJangles 2:56 AM
|

Welcome Daisy to my webring.
--McJangles 5:39 PM
|

Also, I decided to create more trouble with Public Records. I had a little time before class started, so I figured I'd go take a look at the incident reports at CCC. Knowing they're a bunch of goons, I figured they'd give me some hassle about the process. Because I would only be there for a short time and had no reason to form a nice relationship with them, I figured I'd go about everything the hard way.

Brian: I'd like to look at your incident logs.
Cop: And who are you?
B: I'm Brian Bardwell.
C: (Knows we're doing this the hard way, grumbles, gets the sergeant and comes back.) And what is this for?
B: Because I'd like to look at them.
Sergeant: (Genuinely friendly.) How can I help you?
B: I'd like to look at your incident reports.
S: (Instantly hostile.) You can't just come in here and look at them you gotta write down what you wanna see and you gotta give it to the chief and he'll take it from there and you just can't come in here to look at them whenever you want you gotta go through the procedure you understand?
B: Umm.... They're kinda public records. I do get to look at them when I want.
S: (Head explodes, repeats previous, detailed explanation.)
B: And what's the chief's number?
S: (Tries to talk too fast for me to hear her.)
B: (Smart enough to only write down the last four numbers.) Thank you so much. (Winks.)

So I talked to legal, and they're as incompetent as the police. So now I'm writing letters and so forth. I just wanted to look at the last two weeks' worth, but since they're being difficult, I decided to follow suit and request access to the last, ohhh...., two-and-a-half years' worth. That should keep 'em busy.

Have fun, guys!
--McJangles 11:57 PM
|

Brian: Where are the magazines?
Librarian: They're over in that room. They're sorted by title, but if you're looking for Time, it's under T.
Brian: Wha....? Thanks.
--McJangles 11:41 PM
|

Everyone complains that my posts are too long, so I'm going to post another really long one.

Amanda's (yes-Pappas) birthday was yesterday, so I went down to Kent to help her celebrate her newly legal drinking ability. "We'll be at BW-3's or Mug's," she tells me. So I get down there and check Mug's, and they aren't there. So I check B-Dub's. Nobody there. Back to Mug's. Back to B-Dub's. Wander around the streets a little. As I begin to get sick of this, I decide to get food and leave if I haven't found anyone by the time I finish. So I eat a burger and check every bar for anyone I know. Nothing. I'm going home. As I'm waiting for people to cross the street, Amanda and Jason cross the street, also.

Back out of the car and off to Ray's. Amanda is already trashed and screaming in the streets. She wants to "spin the wheel," apparently some sort of 21st-birthday ritual in Kent. Unfortunately, she didn't get a new ID, and her 5-year-old license was peeling apart. The ID-checker guy called the manager, who interrogated her. Maybe because she was drunk, maybe because she's Amanda, but she couldn't recite her social security number. Without any corroborating identification, Amanda got the boot and is outside crying and screaming. "It's my birthday, I'm 21, I want to spin the wheel, and he thinks I'm lying and I'm 21 and it's really my birthday...."

I decided to shut her up and go get her ID. It's a couple miles away, so I drove off and came back. By the time I showed back up, they were all walking away from Ray's; they wanted to go to Panini's instead. There was nowhere to around, so I pulled something of a U-turn. Guess if I knew that there was a cop right behind me. He pulls alongside me and scolds me but lets me off with a warning. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou...."

We head off to Panini's. Just as I step out of the car, BAM! Red and blue lights flashing all up in my face. I guess I didn't necessarily renew my registration this year. He decided to cite me for that one. Now I'm angry. I got the ID so we could go to Ray's. We aren't going to Ray's, and if we had gone to Ray's, I wouldn't have this stupid ticket. Alas, I do have this stupid ticket, so that means I should go drink. I sat and stared at my beer while the rest of the crew danced and did whatever else college people do at Panini's. Good times. Amanda is getting drunker by the minute, and I have to take her home so she can be at work in Parma the next morning.

We finally leave around 330. We made a short pit stop so that I could wake up and not almost run into anymore trucks. Then we get to Parma. Amanda is out like kraut, and I don't know exactly where her street is. I'm confident I can find it, but after buzzing up and down the same strips about three times, I decided to ask for a little help. "Do you know where Marlborough Road is?" I asked the gas station attendant. Everyone in the gas station looks at me like I'm on dope. Guess not. I hit the streets again and eventually managed to find it just before 500. It didn't have a sign at its intersection with Ridge, so I didn't feel too stupid.

"Amanda." "Gmbdldas....?" "Amanda." "Huh?" "What's your address?" "Gmbdldas...." "What's your address?" She told me some number, and it definitely did not exist on this street. "What's your address?" She eventually got it right.

As I tried to get her out of the car, she asks, "Where are we?" It seems she needs to be at work in Kent in the morning. I was pissed. "You told me you had to work in Cleveland." "Why'd you listen to me? I was drunk." "You're still drunk; should I be listening to you now?" She assures me that she has to work in Kent in the morning, meaning I have to take her there. I'm waaaay pissed off.

We arrive in Kent again and, not familiar with the area, ask her where we're going. "I have to be at work in Cleveland." Whatwhatwhaaaat? "You told me you had to work in Kent." "I was drunk; why would you listen to me?" Holy crap. I could not have been more pissed. I slammed the horn in an effort to diffuse my rage. And I broke it. The horn would not stop. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" That was an annoying noise. I got out of the car and tried kicking the steering column with all my might. No dice. We hit the road and got Amanda back to her car, which she was now sober enough to drive.

Eventually, the horn stopped. Permanently. Along with the rear window defogger/defroster. And the power locks. And who knows what else. I managed to get home around 830 and get a good two hours or so of sleep. I think that's the first time I ever filled up my gas tank twice in less than 24 hours.

I decided to be infuriated with anyone who had anything to do with anything that happened last night.
--McJangles 5:13 PM
|

The rain and lightning were fantastic tonight. If seasonal affective disorder were a day/night thing, I think I'd have its opposite. If not, I'd go out and get it.

MST3K: Dr. No is discussing the different forms of media ownership. She gets to the Swedish Broadcast Network. LaKreisha raises her hand. "Now, when I call someone on my cell phone and the number don't work or something, I get a automatic message from the operator, and they say something about SBC. Is that the same..." The second I heard "cell phone," I knew it was coming, and I should have known sooner. For the first time ever, the prof actually looked shocked at the stupidity of one of her students.

Scrabble: I have a great talent for finding seven-letter words in my tiles, I just can't ever find somewhere to lay them. I end up skipping a turn to try again on the next go-round, but it usually doesn't work, and I'm left behind so many points I can't possibly catch up. By round four, I was at the losing end of 130-70-31. I eventually managed to finish the game a mere 25-ish points behind. Respectable, I suppose, considering I was playing with literate people who know some words that I don't.

Amanda called today. I think that means Pappas, but I'm not really sure. If you are Amanda not-Pappas, and you called me, call me again and leave your last name and number. If you're Amanda yes-Pappas, call again and leave your number.

Goodnight.
--McJangles 2:08 AM
|

Oh yes, I am a badass. I know that maybe three people reading this will actually know that they're jealous, but the rest of you are equally jealous, only too stupid to know. I got to carry a giant camera into Tower City Amphitheatre to shoot Lynyrd Skynyrd. I get to sit where I want, and have free reign for most of the show. When the press passes were ordered, some publicity-Nazi set the ground rules: Stills of the first three songs, no video of the first song and 90 seconds of video for the second. That's it; after the third song, the camera crew is gone. The first song is a new one, so I they don't want any pirated business out there.

I guess pirating copyrighted stuff isn't fair to the band, but I also guess that I just don't care. I shot the first song, the second song and the third song in their entirety. Just slightly over the 90-second limit. Oh well. As usual, the Skynyrd show included plenty of hilljacks and drunks and white trash. Dad hit one guy in the head with a bottle. Honestly.

People have some crazy ideas about people with cameras. Some guy thought I was about to go backstage and offered me $30 to take his wife with me. Another guy made a point of making sure that I taped him lighting up a joint. Another guy wanted to make certain that I caught his girlfriend as he lifted her shirt up. "Keep the camera rolling," they say. And so I did.
--McJangles 12:06 AM
|