Interesting Facts About Google

• Letters of the alphabet get different Google hits depending on whether or not they are capitalized.

• No letter of the alphabet has less than one billion hits on Google.

• The most is "a" with 19.3 billion hits. The least is "q" with 1.89 billion hits.

Merry Christmas

Nothing more I can say.

Happy Thanksgiving

I was reading Andy Rooney the other day and saw something that seemed very appropriate given the time of year. It was passage about the president's personal life, and how there must be times he just needs to sit back and call a friend just to shoot the breeze. Andy Rooney wrote, "I often have a guilty feeling going past a hospital. I know how many sick and dying people there are in those rooms and yet how long can any one of us feel sad about everyone in trouble in the world? We have to shut out the thought of some of what we know in going on and proceed with our lives."

Wow. Think about that. The president is a man with the entire world on his shoulders. He has a front row seat to all of the death, destruction, homelessness, poverty, abuse, neglect, injustice, genocide, rape, and every other kind of horrible thing imaginable and unimaginable. And he is the man forced to claim that one life is more important than another, that a story about an assassinated dignitary is more important than a boy whose parents beat him to death for spilling his food. He must put the thought of that little boy to the side. That's gotta be a bitch.

I am the kind of person who reads a story of a person that was hurt, or abused and it affects me. It doesn't matter when or where it happens, these stories will affect me. Soon I will put them in the back of my mind, and there are days I hate myself for it.

But we can't think about it all the time. When we hear a story like that, we can't dwell on it, or we'll never be able to function. We can't constantly remember the people who don't have food. We can't take on the weight of the world. We have to shut it out, even though we can see the pain going on around us.

And we cry, we scream, we want to throw something. We do that because we cannot save them. But there are times we have to stop, so the little girl sitting at the kitchen table doesn't have ask why daddy is crying, and doesn't have to concern herself with the problems of the world. So you can delay the inevitable and irrevocable fact, that she will be thrust into a world with people who hurt, and maim, and rape, and kill. And you keep her away from it because she is happy, and you need her to be happy, because then at least one more person will be. She has a roof over her head, clean clothes, plenty of food. She'll even get presents for Christmas. While others will get nothing but pain, and if they're lucky, the ability to wake up another day and hope it may get better.

Be happy that you can push these kinds of thoughts to the side and thought you can never forget them, you don't dwell on them. Give thanks for what you have, but more than anything, give thanks you have the ability to direct your thoughts to something other than the problems of the world, even if it's just for a minute to call up grandma and tell her you love her, or to read a little Andy Rooney.

Ever get pissed at fictional creatures?

Vampires are pissing me off.

Vampires and James Bond villains.

First, the vampires. They are ruining it for every man ever. Has anyone noticed this? The entire world has been capitulated into a society of sexy vampires who can beat the hell out of anything. With the upcoming Twilight, those 187 billion fans of it who will no longer accept any man who doesn't sparkle.

Seriously, this goes back to Jane Austen. I blame her. Pride and Prejudice gave the world Mr. Darcy. Utter perfection in human form. But because of the passage of time (and the general acceptance of the satiation of inquiry) many women forgot who he was. Then Edward comes along.

Didn't vampires used to be either guys like Dracula, who is kind of evil, or Lestat, who is just as bad? Now we have hot men who don't wear shirts. And sparkle. True Blood is another one. If you haven't watched it, I suggest it. The vampire, Bill, is also perfect. But the girl isn't really sure what to do. That's another thing. I want to scream at her "DUMBASS, HE IS A VAMPIRE" and allow her to interpret how she wants it.

Secondly, Bond villains. I saw Quantum of Solace earlier today, and it made me mad.

Where are the good old days when they built big lasers on the moon? (If you haven't seen the movie, turn back now)

What is the new guys plan? He plans to steal all of the water in Bolivia.

I'll say that again. Bolivia.

The last Bond villain, of Casino Royale, wanted cash, not world domination. But he knew how to get cash effectively. This fucker acts like he started with world domination, then said "Eh, fuck it. Bolivia is good enough."

Bond villains. Stop doing this to me. Fire a laser at Bond's crotch.

This Bond however, does have a very cool death, which was itself worth the ticket price.

Still though. Bolivia?

This is really something I should know.

If anyone is reading this, anyone at all who has the attention span to sit through my mindless, boring drivel and can actually stand it, I have a question:

What is the difference between a person with a problem and a functioning person with a problem. By which I mean, I've heard of alcoholics and I've heard of functioning alcoholics. Bulimics and functioning bulimics. So my question is, what is the difference.

It seems to me that being a functioning bulimic is worse than being a "regular" bulimic, just by the emphasis often used. Same with alcoholism. Does anybody know?

42

Do you do jokes in base 13?

Meanderings. Donuts. Random words that comes to mind.

Infinite human experience.

Life. To be perfectly honest, would humans want to know the meaning of life? On the surface, it sure looks nice. Find out what we are supposed to do with ourselves for 80 some-odd years.

I don't want to know the meaning of life. That would make it all pointless. What if the meaning of life was to ask about the meaning of life. Isn't that how humans have achieved every thing they've ever done, good or bad? We create war, science, religion, as a way to explain everything. If we learned the Answer, wouldn't that all be pointless. Would there be no wars, because there would be no conflict of opinion? What if the meaning of life was something we didn't want. Suppose it is direct animosity to our happiness. Some think it is. Some think the meaning of life is to be as unhappy as possible because they think a floating man will save them. Some see that as happiness.

Suppose it's just to laugh a little. Suppose it's to ask questions, try to get knowledge about the world and interpret it. Would all thought stop if we found the answer. No more questions, no more thought. No more thought, no more anything.

Would it be accepted. Would there be some who refuse to accept our purpose? Some do today. Suppose humanity rejected it's fate. They knew it to be our real purpose, but didn't accept it. Why? For the sake of anarchy? So there will be SOME though left, some war, some pain, some laughter, some emotion.

42. Such a simple answer. Maybe the real answer is as simple as that.

Birthday

I celebrated a close family member's birthday today. It wasn't huge. We had cake and some fast food. We all wished her a happy birthday and went on our way. Spent some time.

The thing is, we spend time over there as it is. Not that I don't enjoy it, it's just shouldn't that be special. I hate special treatment on my birthday. When I complete a project I've been working on or a goal I've been working towards, then pat me on the back. Hell, I'll take some cake too.

But the day I was born? Seriously? I get cake and stuff just because my mother managed to stretch her cervix to the breaking point or go through a procedure that gets an enormous scar? Then give her the damn cake.

Yet I love recognizing other's birthdays. Is it the same for everyone? We hate our own, and don't want any attention on ours but feel a compulsive need to give the other person what we know we don't have? Maybe it's an inferiority complex. I don't feel as if I've given that person enough, why should they give me an arbitrary gift? Because of tradition?

Why do we love to give. It's not the tax write-off, because this doesn't have one. I despise getting things, people spending money on me, and giving me things, when a simple "Hey, you were born today. Hope your mother didn't hurt too much". That's what it should be. Guilt day. "You stretched your mother's vagina beyond all comprehension. Don't you feel great" The cake would be a giant hole with a head sticking out. If you are female, you should have a football shoved through your vagina. (You don't want to know what happens to the males)

Are humans naturally giving? Do we naturally want to give things to people for nothing? Does society make us into Scrooges or Republicans? So if any one's birthday is today, have a cookie, unless you'd rather I'd forget about it and give it to someone else. Maybe it's that I have a lot of guilt from when I was a child and yelling at my mother to get me a sandwich on her birthday.

Did I ruin my entire birthday happiness because of a PB&J?

Famous last words

Our last words are the most significant in the world, for the simple reason that they are the most remembered. They are the most talked about, the most claimed, the most interpreted, and the most sought after. Et tu, Brute, supposedly the last words of Julius Caesar. So romantic, so profound. A symbol of betrayal and treason. Suppose his last words were actually "Bring me a sandwich and some wine", only to be killed by Brutus and tragically never receiving his promised sandwich.

One of my favorites. Oscar Wilde. "Either those curtains go or I do".

H.G Wells. "Go away, I'm fine"

Graham Chapman. "Hello"

Conrad Hilton. "Leave the shower curtain on the inside of the tub"

Jesse James. "This picture is awful dusty"

Amazing isn't it. In a moment that is so somber, so reverent, we have this. Irreverence. If they were told they were about to die, would they have said something more meaningful. Hilton knew he was going to die. Did he just want to go out like a jackass? Or was it more. Would we give a deep thought at the end of life? Or laugh in the face of that eternal bitch death that beats the other eternal bitch life. Would you say goodbye, say something silly, say nothing at all?

Would you wish someone luck, give some advice, or just finish your goddamn sentence? Would you ask for a hand or question a motive? Speak a regret or bask in the glow of your own beautifully awful mortality? As we go through life we must always remember what is said, because of all the things these people said in their lives, all the things they could've said, this is what they chose. To those who can't choose their last words and expect many more, is it with regret? I imagine if I had to choose, I would spend all the time I had left obsessing about it. Would I wish my family good luck? Tell Jamie Rathsteader I loved her when I never had the courage to speak up in the second grade? Could I put all my sadness, all my happiness, all my regrets into one sentence? Maybe that's why Conrad said what he said. He knew he couldn't. Why try? Will we say "I left $100,000,000 buried under the -"? Will we feel we've said all we can, and say nothing at all?

To wrap this up, we would need some last words that permeate the human psyche. That makes us think. I prefer the last words of John Lennon over any other:

"So, should I just make it out to Mark or -".

Too soon? Fuck you.

What would surprise you?

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So, heard about the big proton thing that's supposed to blow up the Earth?

Well, scientists have come within inches of killing us all again. I am talking of course about the Large Hadron Collider. I call it a proton boomy thing.

Because that's what it does. It makes protons go boom.

It's design seems like something Orson Scott Card would write about: A 17 mile long circular tube about 550 feet below ground. Unstable protons are fired directly at each other at 99.999999999 percent of the speed of light.

Sweet Jesus. During it's operation, the PBT will be accessed by 7000 scientists.

Imagine. String theory could be proven by this. We could find an actual tesseract. Dark energy. Time travel.

Or it may create a black hole at the point of impact and the Earth and everyone and everything in it, on it, around it would be separated into quarks, possibly splitting these atoms and causing trillions and trillions of atomic bombs which will then be drawn into a place so dense light can't escape, thereby imploding the Earth, the Sun, all the planets, and, if it works good, the entire Universe, bringing to life the Big Crunch theory and leaving everything a thin, black, matter less void.

Let's hope nobody's calculator goes on the fritz.

Can we rename this project "Pandora's Box"? Damn our curiosity.

P.S. I am no physicist, and if there are any of you are and wish to correct me, please do so.

Suppose you were sleeping with Gisele....

If you were sleeping with Gisele, and then you fucked up your knee, would you still sleep with her.

What kind of question is that? If I was going NEAR Gisele and I broke my neck, I would crawl for her.

Brady broke, that cocky Lil bastard. He went down in the first game of the season. I was watching the Colts-Bears game. (DAMMIT PEYTON!)

I was so looking forward to someone knocking him on his ass again. I will always remember and cherish the look on his face after Eli got out of it and Tyree got the ball. The undefeated had fallen. The cockiest football player in the world had fallen. That sonofabitch who got his girlfriend pregnant then dumped her had just had his whole life flash before his eyes.

He got beat by Eli Manning.

Protection of the innocent, the guilty, and that creepy guy at the mall.

This post was inspired by a comment by The Angel and Demon Within. I hope she doesn't mind the shout out, for it may attract the bandwidth-breaking traffic of the person who reads this blog.

Pseudonyms. There are many. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, more commonly known as Lewis Carroll. Often today suspected of being a pedophile. Is that why he called himself Lewis Carroll? Because when he had it, his relationship with the real Alice in Wonderland was considered perfectly normal.

Eric Arthur Blair. Political writer. More commonly known as George Orwell. Did he hide his identity because he didn't want Russia to kill him?

I wonder vaguely if others tried to use pseudonyms, but couldn't, because their name sounded so damn charismatic.

DO they use it to hide? Some do. Many anonymous bloggers use pseudonyms, myself included, because certain details could be, shall we say incriminating in later years. Some may use it to disassociate themselves with it, in their own mind. Perhaps David Berkowitz used the moniker "Son of Sam" to make himself believe he wasn't responsible for it..... Although with him, I think it was more so he wouldn't get arrested and executed for murder.

Yet that begs the question. They say serial killers like BTK are megalomaniacs of the highest degree, so why use a different name? Sure it's something to say the police can't find BTK, but another thing entirely to say they can't find Dennis Rader, who lives at this exact address.

Englebert Humperdinck.

Aw fuck, I'm not even going to try that one.

Is it the mystery? Is it more mysterious to say that "Opalia Darkknight" wrote a book than Jane Smithson?

Snicket does it to make the story seem interesting. Kal Penn does it to get more jobs. Voltaire did it because no one wants to think that the man who wrote Candide was 5 feet tall.

But if that's the case, why did Napoleon stick to it.

For all purposes, I shall remain nameless. I picked "Greg" because it's generic.

And to be perfectly clear, if anyone wouldn't tell the difference, I'd change it to....Phil. Or maybe Dick.

Remember that cheese I told you about....

Well I am refusing to talk about it. It knows what it did...

Anyway, I have elected to continue writing for at least another 3 minutes.

Granted, it may happen in one sentence pieces that will annoy the hell out of you.

My blog, my rules.

Because there's nothing to talk about. There's some rubber cement on my desk. A friend of mine blacked out today. I'm going out of town tomorrow.

Well, I guess I can talk about something. Movies or books.

What about the Dark Knight? No, already been done too much.

Nineteen Eighty-Four? Awesome book, but no.

Why don't I do a restaurant review. What about not.

The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism? Makes a good message about the flaws of a functioning society and how to maintain the upper class in a position of absolute power while the bourgeois are kept in a point of eternal war with no end, thus paralyzing the distribution of goods while still maintaining the functioning economic growth needed for the gears of society to keep going and at the same time keeping them in a state of ignorance while the lowest class struggles to survive and could only possibly empower themselves via revolution of utmost proportions but will never do so because of the admitted goal of the upper class to have power as it's own end rather than change involves the complete and utter destruction of free and independent thought, but no.

I suppose I could make a complete post out of possible things to do, but I really don't feel like it.

So I'll just leave you hanging for a while. Or forever.

Or just for the weekend.

If I'm being completely honest, I have no intention of ever doing anything productive here

It's true. I am totally apathetic to this blog as of right now. Perhaps I will have an epiphany and elect to painstakingly type out my innermost dreams and fears for all the world to see under the pseudonym of "Greg".

Then again, maybe I'll be a cheeky bastard and leave this, until some random soul, two years from now, looks at a comment "Greg" made on someone's blog and find his merry way here only to discover two posts, one adorably witty one here, and another one about the moldy cheese in my refrigerator to be posted in six weeks.

My title is Apathetic Empathy for a reason. I can tell for a fact you want to know what it is, but I really just don't give a shit. I could also have called it Empathetic Apathy, but I've noticed that I like the word "Apathetic" more than "Empathetic"

I really don't care what you call me, but my aformentioned pseudonym is "Greg". I've actually never been a fan of that name, and chose it on the fly.

Does revealing this fact make anyone take me less seriously? Does it make people assume I am a liar? Will anyone be liking it up to this point and say "OMUGOSH, EETZ NOT HIS RAEL NAEM!!!!1111" and abandon it to the wolves?

You can call me Apathetic Empathizer if you wish. You can call me Betty St. Divine if you want. Call me anything you want.

Just don't call the thought police.