The Doctrine of Invention

It's time for the world to shut the doors for a few days to celebrate the birth of the most widely inspirational man ever to walk with the shepherds.  Go ahead, roll out that red carpet, drop to your knee, and jazz-hand to the sky in a spastic prayer, because it's my birthday.

I promised myself it wouldn't come to this. One of the most irritating blog-related faux-pas ever since the first GeoCities accounts is the apologetic entry where the author claims he's been too busy to update. I've little to complain about; we're on the brink of some pretty amazing things at work. It's been consuming my life, but it has been completely worth it. Best of all, I've learned that my body was built to sustain itself on three hours of sleep, with or without a healthy diet of Hot Pockets, Reese's Pieces, and Mountain Dew. While there's still a whole lot of great projects on my plate, things are starting to level out, and the world is going to see a bit more Lynk again.

This planet has some pretty cool stuff on it, am I right? We've got ant colonies, chocolate, and the more common liquids that cover this rock don't melt our skin off. The notorious mad scientist in me claims that this isn't nearly enough; much greater can be manufactured when enough genius and duct tape are applied. Creatures can be combined with elements combined with twisted concepts to produce superior lifeforms not conceived in the lame, natural ways that the Big G intended. Upsetting the status quo is the natural order, and messing with the core of anything can only make it better. Ha! Ha ha ha! Ahh ha ha ha ha ha! Eh hem. With this said, I need to make it clear that sometimes, the mission statement gets lost in the rush of playing God. This is the ol' proverbial 'remove the ladder from the swimming pool and watch your Sims drown to death' scenario. I speak of none other than the latest of torture/horror flicks, of which is titled "The Human Centipede."

If there's one icon that represents me besides the accordion, newsboy hats, Hawaiian shirts, green tunics, and huge muscles, it's the fact that I've been toting around small, glossy electronic devices long before most of my piers were introduced to the Internet. I'm not bragging. This so-called feature has left me exiled from high school dances, summoned to detentions, and banished from social circles that don't tolerate geeks. I don't mind, those circles ended up pumping gas for a living, forced to watch me purchase my costly energy drinks as they slip deeper and deeper into a state of acceptance for Larry the Cable Guy.

I suppose I got a little off track there. What I'm trying to say is I recently purchased a new toy. Like a girl and her wardrobe of $300 skeletal shoes, I am quite giddy about it.

I woke up one morning a few weeks ago with a nightmarish pox cast upon my feet.  Then there was a welt on my Achilles.  And the nausea.  My enemy had dispatched a powerful trooper to assassinate me in my sleep.  I was bitten by a brown recluse.

As you are well aware, on Thursday, August 6th, we were all victims of an act of terrorism as social network giants Twitter and Facebook were crippled in a devastating Denial of Services attack.  With very few options, people were forced to flee to Orkut and some, even to the dark, dilapidated blood gultch that was once called MySpace.

Life is a pretty fragile thing. As we know it, life can't survive being on fire, life can't survive being crushed under a large shoe, and life certainly cannot tolerate another season of Queer Eye for the Texas Guy, tonight at 7/8 central. The very prospect of life happening is as slim to none as the late Christopher Reeve and Stephen Hawking starting a metal hair band named after the triceratops fortress boss from Super Mario World. (Those are the odds the intelligent believe, those who place their fate in one of numerous flying sky wizards are often believed to think life is even more rare.) I've sat through more environmental documentaries involving our parasitic overtaking to this planet than I care to count, and I lavish the factual, yet sensationalistic data they provide to me. Perhaps it's not all true. Perhaps the global temperature won't raise by a massive two degrees in the next century, crushing coastal human-hives under meters of crashing surf. Perhaps we won't ever run out of precious metals and resources that we excavate from the ground. After all, we can always just buy it from a poorer nation.

You probably all have plans to spend the day outdoors, enjoying the sunshine (unless you are in upstate NY), eating hotdogs and sausage patties, and feeding your aunt's potato salad to the dog.  As the day winds down, you'll probably devour something with strawberries, pile into your Escalade with the rest of the family, and embark on a journey to find a parking space within a mile of the local fair grounds to view a series of coordinated explosions.The Forth of July is a great chance to celebrate our freedom and liberties, but very few people understand what happened on this day many years ago.  Come with me, O eager reader, and let us explore history, together.

Ah, cybernetics. Today they may give people the heebie jeebies, but we're only a short distance from figuring out how to augment sponsored advertisements into the vision of the public. Scientists have used neurons from a rat's brain to control a small robotic vehicle. Watch as it dashes across the floor, either looking for cheese or a way out of the room. Most exciting of all, each rat brain used results in a different 'personality' for the robot. I say we take all of the bail out money and put it towards building a better robot. Make it eleven feet tall, grant it the ability to run 210 mph, the ability to leap hundreds of feet in the air, coupled with the power to turn invisible, and we'd have a cold metal shell I'd consider sticking my brain into. I wouldn't be against installing rat brains into all Volkswagen Beetles either. Punch buggy would become a whole new type of game.

You're going to think I'm a bit biased.  A portion of my living depends on people using Microsoft as their OS of choice.  You're going to assume that just because the pompous coffee-shop hipster is my sworn enemy that I will agitate the embers of hatred towards his laptop.  No.  As a true technophile geek, I've shown much interest in Apple's quest to push their one-button mice, their click-wheels, and their feline operating systems.  I'm on to their trickery though.