Category Archives: Ranty

I mean it now, Google…

I’ve expressed my frustration here before about Google Docs. Just wanted to let everyone know that my feelings have not changed at all. Google Docs, I hope there is a special place reserved for you in Hell. You have got to be, hands down, the most pointless, useless invention ever created in the history of the world.I have an econ paper due Friday, did you know that? It’s due Friday, and I’ve looked at it once on someone’s phone because it’s a collaborative project. And that’s just it. What is this whole collaborative thing? It sounds lovely, like taking turns stroking a particularly floofy kitten. But it’s not. There are no floofy kittens. Only messages and mixed up accounts and heartbreak.

Speaking of mixed accounts, Google, why are you connected with EVERYTHING? I have a Youtube account with one address, but I work on documents in another, and I use different accounts for different things. Why is this so hard for you to grasp? Why can’t you keep me logged in where I never logged out and only switch accounts when I tell you? It’s like you’re trying so hard to be uber efficient and falling terribly flat.

And then there’s your spreadsheets. Don’t even get me started here. Did you try to make it as difficult as humanly (or mechanically) possible to format the stupid things? Seriously! Your presentations are worse, if that’s even possible. Do you like making my life miserable? Do you like the pained expression on my face? Do you get some sick satisfaction seeing me chuck my new computer across the living room, to explode into seven hundred little pieces?

What’s most shocking is that Google is usually a pretty awesome company. Android tablets are pretty much the coolest thing since sliced bread, and Google itself is…well, Google. I don’t really know what else to say. Except that you suck.

You suck.


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Dental care

I woke up this morning to my iPod playing Dental Care, by Owl City. I knew what was coming. This morning, I had to go to the dentist. This has never been a problem for me. As a kid, I didn’t mind going for my regular cleanings and fillings and all that, it was no big deal. Until we switched dentists. That’s when I met the hygienist from hell. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a very nice lady, she’s just not very nice to teeth.

At the beginning of every visit, an intern comes in to check blood pressure, heart rate, all that good stuff. Basically, she just makes sure you are, for the most part, alive and well enough to face the horrors that will soon be upon you, the unsuspecting patient. My blood pressure came in at 93 over something or other, but apparently it was good. I felt fine, no apprehension. Until the hygienist entered the room.

Most hygienists just kinda poke around in your mouth, polish, rinse, floss, and done, right? Not this one. She feels the need to carve her initials onto the front and back of every single tooth in my head. She gets in there with her pokey needle scrapers of death, it sounds like a horror movie is happening inside my skull. And once she’s done removing all the “plaque” (read: enamel), she goes to town on my gums. Apparently it’s not ok to have flesh surrounding your teeth. So, like any good hygienist, she got after it with the needle scrapey thingies, and removed every piece of offending flesh. I’m not kidding, there were times when she pulled the scraper out and there was a chunk of what used to be my mouth hanging on it. And all the while we’re talking about Christmas and school and kids and college… all the stuff that dentists normally talk to you about while your mouth is full of stainless steel needles.

“So I went to the mall in Modesto on Christmas eve this year, *scrape, scratch* I normally don’t go on Christmas eve, because, you know, *stab* all the crowds and stuff,”

“Uh, huh *wince, squirm*”

“It was surprisingly not crowded at all, *jab, jab* and a bunch of the stores were running buy one, get one 50% off sales! *poke* It was great, I got a lot of shopping done for the kids. *rip*”

It was at that point that I felt living flesh get removed from my mouth for no other reason than she didn’t want it to be there. I shuddered as she quickly wiped it on my bib, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice. I didn’t know what to do. This chick was performing caveman surgery on my mouth and calling it cleaning. It hurt like mad, but I didn’t want to say anything. Heaven knows you’re not supposed to tick off the person with the needle scrapey thing if you’re lying in a prone position in a very comfy chair. So there I was, bleeding from pretty much every tooth. My face seriously looked like something out of a horror movie.

“Ok, now I’m just going to polish and floss and you’ll be all done,” She said with a smile. As if that was supposed to be reassuring. Fantastic, she was done with the jackhammers. Now she was just going to run some unrefined sand and perhaps an un-serrated saw across my gums. I could take this. The worst was already over, right? Wrong.

“Now when I start polishing, I’m going to need you to close your eyes, ok? We had one patient in here and the paste got into his eyes and it hurt really bad, so I just want to protect you from that.” Right. It hurt really bad. The guy was probably blind for a week. Not only that, but she probably didn’t want me to see all the blood that came flying out of my mouth when she ran the polisher over my teeth. I exhaled, preparing myself for the worst. She started polishing, and it really wasn’t that bad. Until the stuff made its way to my tongue. Normally, the paste doesn’t taste too bad, right? It’s either minty or like that fruity stuff? Nope. This tasted like a mixture of mucous and blood. Probably because that’s exactly what it was, just with a little extra grit. I made sure not to swallow anything and hoped she would rinse quickly.

Finally, the piece de resistance (note: idk what emphasis marks go where, but that’s supposed to be French, just fyi) was here: the flossing. It was actually pretty tame. Not painful at all. Until she handed me the mirror and had me take a look at the damage. Bear in mind, I keep my teeth clean. Brush 3 minutes every night, brush my retainers, wear those every night, all that stuff. She hands me the mirror, and I take a look, and I thought I was looking at a poster for *insert name of horror movie with picture of really bloody teeth*. It was nasty.

“Ok, now I’m going to have you floss, just so I know you know how to do this.” Because clearly I’ve never flossed my teeth before. Or at least, I haven’t flossed after my mouth has been taken apart by an angry gorilla with a jackhammer. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m terrified of blood. Cannot stand the sight of it. Especially around teeth. It looks absolutely revolting. So she hands me the floss, holds my lip back, and makes me draw even more blood from my gums, because apparently that’s the best way to fight gum disease. Gum disease, huh? Sure. If that’s what you kids are calling it these days.

The intern only checks blood pressure at the beginning of the visit. I think she should check it at the end, too.

Fact of Life: I’m getting a new hygienist.

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Happy Holidays!

Yes, it’s that time of year again. Time for mad dashes through shopping malls, kamikaze runs through Wal-Mart and Kohls, and “last-minute stops” at Best Buy that see you planted firmly at the rear of a three-hour line. Best of all, it’s time to greet EVERYBODY you see with a nice, happy “Happy Holidays!!!”.

Or maybe not. This is not about gifts and decorating and cookies and pie (although cookies and pie are a big deal), it’s about remembering the birth of Christ. Christmas should be a reverent time of year, not a crazy, rushed season of stress. We’re celebrating what ranks as one of the top two or three most important days in the history of the universe.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6

And that’s what it’s all about, folks. A child was born two thousand years ago who changed the face of this planet. He broke the iron rule of sin and death, and replaced it with grace. He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that we could become His righteousness. And it all started about two thousand years ago, Christmas morning. Ignore the historical inaccuracies in that last sentence, I’m in a happy place here…moving on!

Anyways, it seems like everybody finds a reason to be upset at somebody else this time of year. Whether it’s a Christian getting mat at someone for saying “happy holidays”, a liberal getting mad at a Christian for saying “merry Christmas”, or a shopper in line getting mad at the ATM for saying “insufficient funds”, we all seem to be mad. This is the real “War on Christmas”.

Let’s face it, Satan does NOT like Christmas, and he’s going to do all he can to ruin it. Except he’s a whole bunch more effective than the Grinch ever was. The thing is though, he could care less whether we say “Christmas” or “the holidays”, as long as we’re not focusing on Christ. So instead of focusing on the rampant commercialism or humanist conspiracies that plague this wonderful, reverent time of year, focus on Christ. Do that, and you’ve won the war, because Christ has won the war.

Oh, and merry Christmas. 🙂

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Christmas Music: The Good, Awful, and the CCM

It’s November (Well at least for a few more hours it is). Or for those of you who follow awesome charities, it’s Movember. November is an autumn month. It’s the month when we all starve ourselves in anticipation of Thanksgiving. November is not the month when Christmas happens. It’s not winter yet. Why, then, are all the radio stations playing Christmas music? Why?!

Yes, the Christmas Shoes song is nice. THE FIRST THREE TIMES. Seriously, I’ve heard it three times already. It’s not even that great of a song anymore. In fact, it doesn’t even make me cry anymore. What good is a mushy, sentimental song that doesn’t make me cry? That’s what I thought. And what’s with all these artists releasing a Christmas album? I mean, really, your take on these songs isn’t THAT original. The world will not miss your contribution. For crying out loud, you could have lifted these arrangements out of a Maranatha Praise Band book published circa 1985. Maybe they’re not even that good. Or they’re so off-the-wall that they don’t even resemble anything close to the original song. Take your pick. Either way, it’s no good.

Here’s a few reasons they’re not so great:

1: The clichéd jingly bell percussion. It was cool and innovative in the 40’s. Now it’s just lame. YOU DON’T NEED THOSE TO SOUND LIKE CHRISTMAS. If you do, I’m sorry.

2: The bells. Enough with the bells. “But it sounds like snow coming down and it’s all Christmas-y and stuff!” Nope. You know you hate them. Find another way to communicate winter. Be original.

3: Christian contemporary artists completely mess up the songs. In an attempt to be “original,” the only thing they succeed in doing is completely screwing up the melodic structure and the timing of the thing. Go listen to K-Love right now if you don’t believe me. Seriously, was that Little Drummer Boy, or Baby Please Come Home? I couldn’t tell.

4: For as much as christian contemporary artists try (and fail) to be original, secular artists copy the same old thing. Depending on the song, this may or may not be ok. For some classics, you can take your pick of who you want to listen to, which isn’t necessarily bad. But it’s not the best. The best stuff is the old stuff, so just go for that. Don’t waste your time on Nikki Minaj singing Santa Baby. Stick with Eartha Kitt. So much better.

5: The Christmas commercials. Don’t even get me started. As if sticking actors in Santa suits and playing clichéd Christmas music in the background will sell more products. The sad part is that it will. I hate Christmas commercials with a vehement passion.

The worst part of all this, is that it puts a bad taste in peoples’ mouths, turning them away from the Christmas music that is actually good! Shocking as it may seem, not everybody feels the need to go all Michael W. Smith on their Christmas album. In fact, some people actually take time to be CREATIVE, and put thought into their Christmas offerings! Go figure! That said, here’s some of my favorite Christmas music out there right now.

Future of Forestry – Advent

Best. Christmas. Album. Ever. Two volumes. They’re amazing. I listen to these all year round. Musically, these are the most substantial, thought-out Christmas albums I know of. I could go on forever about them, but I won’t. Just go do yourself a favor and listen to them. Click the link. You know you want to. Trust me. I’m a doctor.

David Crowder Band – Oh For Joy

OH MAH GAHSH!!!!!!! Another incredible Christmas album. For the love of figgy pudding, THEY’VE GOT NUTCRACKERS!!! I’m a huge DC*B fan, and I’ve been in love with their Christmas music since they played some when I saw them at Cain’s Ballroom in Tulsa. Epic show, by the way. Anyways, this one won’t disappoint either.

Phil Wickham – Songs for Christmas

Classy album, has an almost folksy feel to it while retaining Phil’s Brit-rock style. Great for around-the-house music. Really sets a nice mood.

Robert Shaw – The Many Moods of Christmas

Yes, I’m a nerd. I listen to symphonic music. This is a great recording of a great piece. The orchestration is near perfect, and the piece really does a great job painting an expressive picture of Christmas. Even people who aren’t necessarily fans of classical music can dig this one, I think.

Vince Guaraldi Trio – A Charlie Brown Christmas

And for the jazz side of me, this is…this is incredible. Jazz piano doesn’t get better than this any time of the year. Not to mention, CHARLIE BROWN IS AMAZING! Another Christmas classic, I could listen to this one all year ’round.

Now that I’m done, hopefully you don’t hate Christmas music TOO badly. There’s still good stuff out there. A lot of it. Go listen to the suggestions! Buy them! Love them!

Merry Christmas!!!! Wait. It’s still November. Movember. Whatever. WHO CARES! Merry Christmas anyways! *Insert smiley face here*

P.S. Justin Bieber, if you’re reading this, DON’T EVER MAKE CHRISTMAS MUSIC EVER AGAIN. I heard your rendition of Little Drummer Boy today. I literally threw up in my mouth. It was an unholy abomination.

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Dear Occupy movement:

This past weekend marked your 2-month birthday. To commemorate this milestone, let’s take a look back through your life. In the beginning, you were cute. An item of novelty. I could maybe even have seen getting behind you. I mean, who likes corrupt business? Stick it to the man! Like any infant, the newness of life overshadowed the glaring faults present just beneath the surface. As time went on, I found it harder and harder to get behind where you were going. Nevermind that nobody ACTUALLY knows where you’re going in the first place.

There was something wrong with your whole image. You are full of hip college kids sporting Levi’s and iPads. You have no room to complain about the evils of consumerism. You complain that you are getting screwed over by Big Business, yet you shell out dollar after dollar for the latest gadgets and gizmos (most of which, frankly, you don’t really need). You could care less about who actually runs the government, and I would venture to say that most of your followers couldn’t name their state’s Senators or Congressmen. When asked why they are protesting, most fail to give an intelligent answer beyond “I heard about it on Twitter”.

Which brings me to the question: what are you about, anyways? You call yourself a revolution, but what do you want? I don’t think you even know. I have looked all over the internet for something, anything, beyond a vague manifesto that could have been written by a nine year old who watches way too much C-SPAN. I did not succeed. Which leads me to believe that you are a collective of self-absorbed people who think they should have what they want, when they want it. When you don’t get what you want, you sleep in a park and protest rather than work for it with your own two hands.

Here’s my advice for you. Go back to school, work, your parents’ basement, wherever it is you came from. Get on craigslist and look for a job. If that fails, go mow lawns or something. Start your own business reselling concert tickets at exorbitantly high prices to those who don’t know the difference. Ok, maybe that last option isn’t a great idea, but the point is that your childish complaints will not stop the rampant consumerism you bemoan. It’s a part of our culture, and in fact it’s a part of you as well. So when you’re ready to be a big boy and complain about things that you actually have the cred to complain about, come see me.

Fact of Life: Occupy Tulsa is a fail. It consists of eight people in a park downtown, ten lawn chairs, some tents, a portable PA system, and seven pairs of pants that are WAY too tight. Oh wait, a ninth person just walked in. Make that eight pairs of too-tight pants.

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Twilight Tuesday

Dear humanity,

I’m disappointed. Really. Have we sunk THIS low? Twilight Tuesday? Seriously, guys? This is not ok on so many levels, I don’t even know where to start. Scratch that, I do. Let’s start with the subject: Twilight. What is it that makes these movies worthy of having an entire day named after them at the movie theaters? Is it the acting? The actors maybe? How about that directing? Cinematography maybe? Perhaps the special effects? Let’s see about this:

The acting: I’m not even going to go into this.


That’s pretty much all that needs to be said, right there. I think Darth Vader shows more emotion in his face than this girl.

The Actors:

Well, as you can see in the above chart, Kristen Stewart doesn’t have much going for her. I’m sorry, but there’s gotta be some personality hiding in there somewhere, right? Right?  Whatever. Maybe personality is optional. I’ll move on. So how about Robert Pattinson? Heartthrob, right? I’ll give you this, I thought he was cute for the first 5 minutes of Twilight. After that, though, I was too busy wondering what exactly he was on. He was so relaxed the whole time! My goodness, Mr. “Forever 17 angsty teenage vampire,” you sure are mellow! Sounds like somebody is a pretty big fan of the reefer up there in Forks. Maybe that’s what made that movie so weird. Everybody was just so… chill. The only person who really indicated even a slight sense of urgency was Taylor Lautner, and we all know that he’s only good when he’s not wearing a shirt.

The Direction:

One need only to look so far as or to see what people thought of the direction in this movie. They’re saying that they’ll forgive the acting on account of the atrocious directing. I mean, I’m not saying I could do better, by any means, but really, if you’re a professional movie director, you should know better than this. The movies were so slow that I could have grown a beard in the space of time between action sequences if I were a guy. That brings me to the point of the action sequences: they were about as believable as the old Batman cartoons. Seriously. Beyond that, there was nothing else that made the movie stand out whatsoever. The acting was bad, the action was bad, the romance… eh, it had its moments, but the rest of the time it bordered on cheezy.

One other thing I’d like to address here in the direction section is the changing of directors over the course of the movies. Twilight itself was pretty bad, I thought. Then they made a sequel. The sequel had a different director, I thought that would make it better. Nope. New Moon was, hands down, the funniest not-funny movie I have ever seen in my life. There was absolutely nothing laughable about the script, but the delivery… I laughed out loud during some of the most intense scenes, that’s how bad it was. I haven’t seen Eclipse yet, I’ve been told it’s not too bad, but I don’t know how you can redeem a movie like New Moon. I really don’t.

The Cinematography:

I don’t have too many complaints here, except for one: the vampire-running scenes. The actors were on treadmills in front of a moving greenscreen. Classy. That, and the fact that the entire movie was tinted blue. Why was it blue? What is the significance of everything being blue? Same thing with New Moon, why was everything orange? Is that just the style? Put colored Saran wrap over the lens while shooting? Ok, whatever. If that’s what the cool kids are doing these days.

The Special Effects:

The most notable special effect in the movie was when Taylor Lautner turned into a werewolf. (Note: this could only happen if he was not wearing a shirt. He can’t transform if he’s wearing clothes, apparently.) Now here’s the thing with that: it’s not that the animation was bad, the animation was fine. However, I don’t think there was any girl who would argue with me saying that they could’ve just replaced the wolf scenes with him running around shirtless. Seriously. What was the point of the wolves? Everyone knows it’s a bunch of guys hopped up on ‘shrooms who think they’re werewolves, but in reality they’re just running around the forest without clothes. Why didn’t they show that? Who needs to spend crazy money on special effects when nobody wants to see that anyway? Also: Robert Pattinson’s sparkly skin would’ve been better if he just had a cloud of glitter surrounding him, but that’s just my opinion.

The Fans:

And this is where it gets nasty. Twilight fans, you need Jesus. I’m just going to say it like that because there’s really no other way to say it. I’ve read the books, I’ve seen some of the movies, I know what the hype is about. And I have no earthly clue why you’re so hyped up about it. Why is everyone freaking out about Team Edward and Team Jacob? Really? You think either one of them will visit you in the night and make all of your wildest dreams come true? I’ve got news for you: Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner don’t give a rip. They’re sitting back on their millions laughing hysterically as the female-teen population melts over them, Lautner with a dumbbell in his hand, Pattinson with a joint. What is all the fuss? They’re good-looking? Psh, there’s better [looking] actors pretty much anywhere you look, and they don’t have to sparkle to get your attention. There’s another breed of Twilight fan, though, that I’m almost hesitant to address (for fear they’ll put me in timeout): The Twilight Moms. You’ve seen the pictures in the news online, you know what I’m talking about. Ladies, you know who you are. This. Is not. Ok. Twilight Mom: YOU ARE MARRIED. The guy you’re crushing on is probably young enough to be your child. THAT’S DISGUSTING. You should be at home, caring for your children and your husband, not at the movie theatre fawning over fictional characters that have about as much depth as the kiddie pool you have for the summer. Please, I beg of you, grow up. No matter how many signs you make, or how loud you scream at the midnight premiere, you’re not 17 anymore. It’s not cute.

I feel like I just told a little kid that Santa isn’t real. But somebody had to break the news. There ya go, guys.

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I’m Not Your Friend!!!

Random person on YouTube, why do you want to be my friend? I have no earthly clue who you are. For all I know you could be a robot created by some nerdish pedophile. Or you could be an alien. Or a robot created by an alien. Whoever you are, I do not want to be your friend. No, I don’t care how awesome your manga collection is. In fact, I despise manga with a vehement passion. If I see another Naruto video, comic, whatever…violent things will happen. So please, do not invoke my wrath with suggestions about your Japanese drawings. Also, how the heck did you find my account in the first place? I think you’re a sadistic stalker. So I am going to decline your request. No, I don’t care if I hurt your feelings. If you really cared about my feelings maybe you would have sent me a more personalized message in the first place!!! Ever think about that? No, you didn’t, because you’re a robot created by a nerdish alien! And everybody knows that aliens love tortellini too much to care about feelings! So go stuff your face full of tortellini while I finish checking my email.

Good day, not Friend!

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Dear OneRepublic

Your music has been getting a disproportionate amount of play on my iPod. Nevermind the fact that you’re not on my iPod, but if you were on my iPod you would be playing nonstop. I am not pleased.

You write catchy hooks that sound like Coldplay, but you are not Coldplay. Your music is stuck in my head, and I feel guilty. You write cheesy string parts to accent your cheesy songs, and people love them. But they are tasteless. And I hate myself for loving them. You play huge, overdramatic drumbeats that penetrate the depths of this white boy’s soul. I want to dance, but all that comes out are spasmodic movements slightly reminiscent of Chris Martin. Finally, you drench your lyrics in teenage angst, so as to appeal to that strange species known as the “High-School Female”. Even if I wanted to attend one of your shows, I would suffocate due to the outrageous level of unchecked estrogen in the audience. So, I’m skipping your song and listening to Coldplay. Because they do all of the above with an unsurpassed level of panache.

P.S. it’s too late to apologize, so don’t. I’ve already given all my secrets away.


Fact of Life: I don’t need to add a Fact of Life on the end of a post dealing with a larger, and frankly more important Fact of Life.

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To Google Docs

Dear Google Docs,

I’m writing this note at 12:11 am because I thought I’d let you know that I hate your face right now. I have spent about 10.5 hours slaving over a paper for my government class, using your word processing program. I saved it last night without issue. I sent copies to interested parties without issue. However, when I went to edit the paper tonight, I was given a complete runaround from Google. I had to sign in and out of two different accounts several times, and even after that, you wouldn’t allow me to work on my dang paper. I had to copy and paste the whole thing from an email. And you know what you had the nerve to do? Screw up all the formatting, that’s what. And you won’t let me fix it, either. Now my paper looks completely retarded, and it’s all your fault. I blame you for the 3 hours of sleep that I’m about to lose, but I know you don’t feel the least bit of remorse about it. You are one of the worst word processors I have ever used. If I fail this paper, I’m blaming you.

UPDATE 11-20-11, 9:55 pm: Hello again, my nemesis. I have another complaint against you that I need to vent. YOUR OUTLINING SYSTEM IS TERRIBLE. I cannot, for the life of me, make a sub-point. Do you know how frustrating this is? When I manually over-rode your formatting, you seemed to forget what number you were on when I finished. Then, out of sheer spite, you made a sub-point where I did not want one. You gave me a ray of hope, and then you smashed it to pieces in front of my very eyes as I tried to put that sub-point where I wanted it and you refused. I hate you, Google Docs. I hate you with a burning passion. You are now, without a doubt, the worst word processor in the history of word processors. Screw you, I’m using Notepad now.

Google Docs, I hope you die in a fire. That is all. Good night.

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