HOW TO COMMENT

Just in case you've still been having trouble commenting, I thought I'd leave a tip. The best way is to scroll down in the "comment as" section to anonymous, type in your comment, then hit publish. You must scroll before you hit publish or the comment might get erased. Only if you are already signed in to google should you do it any other way. If you try to publish before you sign in it will take you to a sign in page, thereby erasing your comment, and this will make you very angry. Also, publishing as anonymous allows you to comment, even if you do not have a google account.

Yes, Finally, Something About The Train (So, Part 2 Then)

Vol. 1 Issue 24

So finally… It’s really not that exciting after all, but I really did get kicked off the train in Genoa. I can’t remember where I was going. I think the intention was to get from Nice to Rome on a single punch of my Eurail Pass.

I had a seven-day Eurial pass for use in five countries, so traveling across as many countries within a twenty-four hour period as possible became the goal. That way I would only have to punch a single day on my rail pass and could thus potentially travel more. Overall, this generally sucked because it meant really long days of traveling. At one point I had arrived in Madrid at 1130 at night after traveling almost 24 hours straight from Venice. I had no idea how to get to my hostel. Luckily Madrid is a safe town. But it still sucked. I eventually found the hostel, but not until like 1 AM.

I had no problems in France, Spain, or any part of Northern Europe. On the Nice-to-Rome trip the problem occurred once I got into the Italian rail system. Perhaps the most memorable thing about the Italian local trains were the toilets. You’d open the lid and there was the ground whizzing passed below. The toilets just opened out directly onto the tracks. Even Asian trains have septic tanks.

As I mentioned, I had traveled all the way from Germany and had had no problems, at least not with train conductors. Every time I got on the train I’d hand them my rail pass and they’d stamp a hole in it, validating it. On the Italian train I handed the conductor my rail pass, but instead of stamping it and handing it back he said a few words in Italian, and then stormed away, keeping my pass.

Without going off on a completely ridiculous tangent, even if it is justified, I just need to allude to the terribleness of my Italian here. I’ve talked in depth about my sucking at foreign languages at various junctures- first time readers see any previous posts regarding horrendicity. I won’t go on about that again here, but I would just like to officially add Italian to the list of languages of which I speak horrendously. It’s not as bad as my Vietnamese, or god my Swedish, but it’s very bad.

So when the conductor dude ran away with my pass I just assumed he’d be right back with it, but no. Apparently I was supposed to have punched the card myself before getting on board. His notion being that if perchance he wouldn’t have come around, it would have been possible I could have fandangled a free ride, having not punched my pass before getting on the train, and this was BAD. He thought he had caught me trying to defraud Italy of a small piece of its precious railway capacity.

After about 15 minutes I went to find the guy. He didn’t speak English, and since I only knew (and still only know) si and grazie in Italian, we had to find a translator. Once I figured out what the conductor’s problem was, my whole not-punching-of-the-card-thing, and that no amount of begging would get my Eurail pass back, I resorted to my dwindled supply of Euros. I started with 20, but not until I got up to 50 would the bastard give my pass back, and then, that’s right, he kicked me off the train 50 Euros poorer. I had my pass back so I could have gotten on the next train and kept going to Rome, but I didn’t for some reason, hence the eponymous blog title.

In 1882 Nietzsche referred to Genoa as hedonistic when comparing it to his austere Northern Europe; “ But what you find here upon turning any corner is a human being who knows the sea, adventure and the orient; a human being who abhors the law.” I guess he meant was that the Genoese are adventurous, you know, with the whole Christopher Columbus being from there and all, but I didn’t find any adventure or lawlessness. I did find a really amazing city that had the best view from a hostel balcony of anywhere I’ve ever been. And in Genoa when you order a gyros/shawarma/kabab whatever-you-call them, they put french fries inside the pita. Yes, inside with the meat, sauce, etc. It was amazing. Almost worth getting kicked off the train for. 

Scene from Screenplay- still NOT Getting Kicked Off the Train in Genoa again

Vol. 1 Issue 23

Fuck it. I have to post something, even if it's days late and has nothing to do with anything. This is the opening scene to a screenplay....

INT.-GRAND CENTRAL STATION- LATE AFTERNOON/EVENING- winter

Scene opens with DESHAWN staring up at the out-of-state departures board, lost in thought. He is a tall, black teenager, wearing an expensive yet subtle overcoat under which he wears suit a sleek suit. He carries an expensive, designer shoulder bag. He looks like any other young New York professional.

DESHAWN walks through the station eventually boarding the Metro North. On board he is shown conspicuously reading the Wall Street Journal. The train departs. It is packed, but is not yet sardine-like. When it arrives at 125^th people pile on. DESHAWN gives up his seat to an older white woman with a cane. We hear and exchange of thanks.

As he stands in the aisle DESHAWN shuffles through his bag, and we see copies of both Scientific America and Electronics World. The bag has two separate compartments. The one in back is zipped. The one in front contains the personal items that we see.

The train makes a stop or two, many people get off, but fewer people get on. DESHAWN takes the train to the New Canaan stop, the final stop.

EXT.- NICE AFFLUENT NEIGHBURHOOD-tWILIGHT

DESHAWN gets off a mostly empty train at New Canaan, Connecticut. He walks down the darkening, rustic looking main street of New Canaan to a Starbucks.

INT.- STARBUCKS

We see him order a coffee and sit. He takes out his computer and conspicuously connects to Starbucks’ internet. He takes out an iPod-looking, handheld GPS device and plugs the device into the USB. We see a “loading” symbol on the computer. Although DESHAWN remains cool we see him shift in his seat and jiggle his leg in impatience with the slow connection.

Once the webpage finally loads, we see a very obvious map of the tri-state area with a flashing cursor. He types a few commands on the keyboard, then push a few buttons on the iPod-like device’s touch screen. Instantly, the cursor very obviously changes position on the map. He pushes buttons on the screen a few more times, and each time the cursor shifts to another position.

We get a quick shot of small GPS router devices, obviously set-up before hand specifically for the purpose of interference, in each of these locations.

INT.- SOUTH bROOKYLN- KingS PLAZA MALL- BATHROOM

There is woman adjusting herself in the mirror. The tracker is stuck under the counter.

INT.- Aqueduct RACETRACK- Viewing area

Tracker is under a seat. Also, race is under way. We are shown spectators inside, behind a glass-viewing window. We hear an ANNOUNCER.

announcer

-And the final stretch now! It’s neck and neck between Run-a-Dub-Dub and Shady Grove, but here comes Tie Dye making a final push. Now it’s Tie Dye passing Shady Grove, can she do it? No! It’s Run-a-Dub-Dub, the favorite, with the half-length win!

Some spectators cheer, others throw down their tickets and curse.

EXT.- 242^nd st station, Bronx

Tracking device stuck under platform bench. 1 train pulls in, we hear the conductor.

CONDUCTOR

This is 242^nd Street Van Cortlandt Park. Final Stop. All passengers must exit the train.

EXT.- RUTGERS UNIVERSITY- cAMPUS COMMUNTER BUS

Tracker attached to underside of bus as bus’ door closes and it drives away. This is the final cursor we see on DESHAWN’s screen, and explains how the cursor is constantly moving on grid.

INT.- STARBUCKS (AGAIN)

Satisfied, DESHAWN disconnects from the internet and puts away his computer. He looks at his watch, pulls out one of the magazines and starts reading.

INT. – CAR DRIVING ON FREEWAY- TWILIGHT

MAN and a WOAMAN in a car. Both are forty- something society types, well-dressed, perfectly groomed, upper class, (almost) caricatures of New York embellishment.

WOMAN

So guess what I heard from Kathy today? Apparently Jackie just got some work done (Cups her breasts in emphasis). Can you believe that? At her age!

Man

(INTO PHONE EARPIECE) Don’t worry about it. We're going to stay where we are with this thing. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Don’t listen to him. (TO WOMAN) Who is Jackie again?

WOMan

You must remember her. She was at the Williamson’s last weekend- with Donald.

Man

Senior VP Donald? You mean that eighteen-year-old blonde? Her? Work? She didn’t need it.

WOMan

I know…Wait, what do you mean she didn’t need it! You really think she looks that good? She is not eighteen. You really think she looks eighteen?

man

What honey, no, I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s just that she looks young, that’s all. Come on hon, you know how hot you are! (Grabs her hand and kisses it. INTO PHONE) No, I am promising you that we're good here. I talked to Hong Kong myself directly this morning.

WOMAN

You really mean that? (She looks at herself in the mirror) You know that he moved her into his place on Riverside. The brownstone.

MAN

(TO WOMAN) Ha-ha. Fucking Donald. Made her get the boobs before she got the move, huh?

WOMAN

(LOOKS AT HIM…DRYLY) Ha, ha.

MAN

What about wifey Barbara? (INTO PHONE) No, not you Bob. I didn’t say move!... Ok, yes I did, but not to you…to my wife…so what…Hey asshole, that’s my wife your talking about. (Glances at wife).

Woman

(Dryly again) My hero…(Pause) Wifey is staying in the Hamptons, indefinitely.

man

(INTO PHONE) Look, we talked about this. We’re going to stick with the South Africans here…I don’t give a shit what Jerry said. No, don’t do that…hello? (TO WOMAN) Cocksucker put me on hold…

woman

Lovely…Anyway, apparently now that Jackie’s moved in she’s been quite the little socialite, or so I’ve heard. Kathy went over the other night. They tried to order Chinese. Place almost wouldn’t deliver. They kept asking for the apartment number. Jackie was like “no, it’s just 87 Riverside.” Can you believe that?

Man

(Inattentively) Wow. Sounds like quite a predicament.

WOMAN

What are talking about predicament? There’s no predicament! Are you even listening to…

man

(INTO PHONE) Yes I’m still here. No, no, no. We’re not gonna sell! We’re gonna, stay, stay , stay…yeah…No. Fuck you too. Hello? HELLO?! Gomdammit.

woman

It’s not like she’s invited us over.

A panel on the rearview mirror, an LCD screen, starts to flash. The car’s GPS and security system controls are located there.

mAN

(Taps on the screen) Shit. This thing's acting up again. You pay the extra couple bucks for the security upgrade…

(INTO PHONE) Hello. Yes, this is he. Yes, I know, I’m driving it. No, we’re in Connecticut. I know what it says but were in Connecticut. (TO WOMAN) Tell’em we’re not in Jersey.

WOMAN

(Loudly) But we are in Jersey.

MAN

What? No.(INTO PHONE) No she, said we’re not. The thing’s being acting up all week. I already talked to someone there about this anyway, another agent.

WOMAN

(Laughing) Oh my God, help, police, I’m being kidnapped!!

man

Hey, shut up Woman!(INTO PHONE) No. She’s joking, I’m not a kidnapper, that’s my wife. What?(Pause) Hey buddy, that’s my wife your talking about.

woman

(Laughing) Please, come arrest him. Please!

man

Just turn the GPS off for a few days until I take it in!. Hello? Hello? …Security upgrade my ass. (To WOMAN) Thanks a lot! (grabs her knee and squeezes).

woman

(She writhes playfully in pain) You know dear, we might want to consider an upgrade in your phone edict.

They laugh. The Camera pans out to show the car- an Audi R8 GT Sypder- taking an exit off the freeway.

EXT- OUTSIDE HOUSE- AFFLUENT NEIGHBURHOOD- NIGHT

Car pulls up on the street in front of house. There is a second luxury sedan already parked in the driveway. MAN and WOMAN exit car and go into house.

INT.- STARBUCKS -(again)

DESHAWN packs up his stuff and leaves the Starbucks. He walks outside, where there is a taxi he called.

deshawn

(TO DRIVER) Car for Mike?

THE DRIVER nods. THE DRIVER drops DESHAWN off on the corner of nice tree lined street.  

DESHAWN begins to walk down the block and he spots the AUDI. Some local traffic passes. We see DESHAWN remove some tools from his bag 1. A metal tool about three-times the length of a cigarette. It is connected to something inside his bag by a few wires, and 2. Another iPod looking device, similar to the one he had in the Starbucks. As he approaches car the alarm bleeps a warning. He waits few seconds.

He comes up fast behind the passenger side tail light, the alarm bleeps again. He turns to pretend to lean on the car as if it were his own, pushes the cigarette device into middle of plastic rear light cover. It heats up red-hot and melts through. The car bleeps twice. DESHAWN withdraws the device, flings the hot end melter on the ground, attaches another prong-like end, inserts it back into the car’s light, and then hammers the device further into the light with the palm of his hand. The alarm goes off, but only for a second.

He ducks down in front of the driver side and waits a second to make sure he is not busted.

DESHAWN hits a button on his bag device and the alarm stops; the car goes dead. Hitting a few buttons on the iPod device he is able to unlock the car.

As he grabs the door handle he breathes deeply. He enters the AUDI where he puts a timer on the dash, which immediately starts counting down from 30 seconds, then: DESHAWN takes out an auto key programmer (AKP), kneels down to plug in it underneath the dash, but it is tricky to find the correct wires. The security light begins to flash on the door as the system recovers power. He has 20 seconds left on timer.

He successfully plugs the AKP in. We clearly see that while one wire of the AKP is plugged into the car, the other is attached to a copy of an Audi wireless key.

He pushes a few more buttons, pops the hood, goes around to front of car, unplugs the passenger side headlight and reconnects it three times. He goes back into the car’s interior. There are five seconds left on the timer.

We see him scroll down to Audi R8 on the lit-up LCD screen of the AKP. The AKP flashes KEY COMPLETE- START CAR! He hits the START ENGINE button on the AUDI’s dash. We hear the bleep-bleep of the alarm being disabled. The timer runs out and is flashing.

Just before he closes the door he goes back and picks up the metal piece he dropped on the ground before. He speeds off.

He drives a few blocks away, pulls over, grabs the rearview mirror with both hands and rips it off. He opens the mid-engine compartment, while the cars is still running, and rips out the GPS. He walks to the rear-end and changes the license plate.

A garbage truck approaches. DESHAWN throws the GPS into a trash pile and speeds off. We see the garbage truck pick up the discarded car parts and GPS. As the garbage truck passes by the camera we see the street sign PATTERSON AVE.

INT.- INSIDE HOUSE- NIGHT

MAN and WOMAN are inside their house. The MAN’s security system alerts him on his smart-phone that his car’s security system has been activated.

Man

(Sarcastically) Hey look honey, the GPS is going off again. It’s saying that the car’s driving down Patterson.

Woman

Next time, we’re buying American.

She glances out the window, does a double take as she realizes the car is actually gone.

woman

Ahh, where exactly on Patterson did you say it was?

man

Ha, actually, it’s saying it’s pulling up in front of the house now!

The man comes to the window and looks as the garbage truck pulls up and the garbage men start collecting their trash.

EXT.- DARK- STREET OUTSIDE SECTION OF WAREHOUSE

DESHAWN pulls up outside warehouse and sends a text message. Door opens. He drives in.

INT.- INSIDE WAREHOUSE

There are some nice cars parked around. DESHAWN is directed to drive straight into an open shipping container where he parks.

Deshawn

(Still inside container) Yeaaahh baby! Damn, motherfucker whose getting this beauty better be damn grateful. Boss, this one took a long…

He emerges from inside the container and notices that it is not his regular crew.

 Deshawn- Con’t

Who the fuck are you?

MR.SMITH is an older man from the Eastern Bloc, wearing a suit.

MR.SMITH

Mr. Johnson, Presume? I’ve seem some of your work. I must say, very impressive.

Deshawn

Where’s Giovanni? (Yells and looks around) GIOVAANI? GIOVANNI?

DESHAWN tries to walk around MR.SMITH, but is blocked.

MR.SMITH

Giovanni, is not here.  

He holds out his hand for DESHAWN to shake.

mr.smith- CON’T

I am, Mr. Smith.

deshawn

You serious? You, MR.SMITH? Ok, I’m sorry guys. I just got a message from Giovanni. He told me to come here. I must have made a mistake.

DESHAWN takes out his phone. MR.SMITH sends DESHAWN a text which appears on DESHAWN’s screen as Giovanni. They look at each other, MR.SMITH smiles.

Deshawn

What the fuck is this?

Mr. smITH

I really do appreciate the work you’ve done this evening Mr. Johnson. Please come with me. We have some more important business to discuss.

deshawn

You know Mr. Smith, actually, I think I’ll just grab my Audi and be on my way.

TWO LARGE MEN appear and are shown closing the doors to the shipping container.

DESHAWN-con’t

Actually, nah, you know what, on second thought you keep the Audi. I’ll just walk home.

The LARGE MEN surround DESHAWN.

MR.SMITH

Please, this way Mr. Johnson.

Getting Kicked Off the Train in Genoa (Part One)

Vol. 1 Issue 22

It’s the kind of travel story that takes a minute or two to tell. The kind of story, that like most of my travel stories, tend to cause peoples’ eyes to glaze over, and turn their concentration to mush. I’m absolutely no stranger to the eye-glazing, concentration-mushing effects of my stories, nor the way my general conversational technique tends to induce apathy, in even the most heartily attention spanned. I call this phenomenon LOI- Loss Of Interest. It’s a phenomenon I wield with expertise.

Although the meaning may be blatantly obvious, nonetheless I explain. LOI is a combination of verb and noun. The verb form of LOI naturally referring to the losing of one’s interest in something or someone, as in “OMG, I'm LOI-ing in this sentence,” but an LOI it is also a thing in itself, something one can have, as in “Tom just had a huge LOI.” It all makes sense to me anyway…and that’s the important thing.

I mention LOI here not just because it is relevant to my situation, but also to prove that I coined this acronym, as through the publishing of this blog, the date with forever enshrine proof of my neologism. I made the mistake of not documenting another famous acronym that I invented TMI- Too Much Information- in the early 2000’s. Yes, I invented TMI, and I have yet to receive due credit. If the guy that invented the emoticon gets credit, I too should get credit. And finally, LOI is in no way associated, affiliated, connected, or even in acknowledgment of the existence of LOL, so please do not assume any connection whatsoever.

To make myself feel better, and in attempt to justify to myself that I am in fact not literally boring people to death- Note: What would you think if a perfectly healthy, twenty-two year old varsity athlete collapsed in the midst of your conversation? Would you consider the massive heart attack they suffered to be an accident, completely unrelated to your conversational skills? For the purposes of prosecution maybe, but a compete coincidence besides? Yes, maybe the first two or three times, but after it had happened a few dozen times, the lethal effects of ones conversational techniques, that of literally boring people to death, would have to be taken into very serious consideration.

Again, to make myself feel better, I theorize that people don’t have set attention span lengths, but ones that vary depending on their experience and their environments.

Take Joe for example. Joe has what we would typically refer to as a short attention span, and also, on a completely unrelated note, he is also a big fan of Weird Al Yankovich; Weird Al is his favorite person on Earth.

Say Joe moves to a new neighborhood. Say, from his new residence, it makes absolutely no sense to drive to work but rather taking the bus is more sensical. Say Joes begins to walk the same route to the bus each day, and so the more times he walks this route, and by deduction the longer he lives in the neighborhood, the more familiar he becomes with the route. Say Joe is particularly naïve as well.

The first few times he walks this route a stranger accosts him. At first he listens for maybe ten or fifteen seconds, a long time for a person with a short attention span. This is long enough for Joe to realize that the stranger is weird, perhaps even mentally ill. Eventually, due to Joe’s experience, he begins to pay less and less attention to this stranger, until one day he walks right past without even listening at all. Joe is sick of hearing the crazy man’s ranting and requests for spare change. Joe even modifies his environment by walking on the opposite side of the street, and when this fails to deter the Stanger from accosting him, Joe changes his route to the bus altogether.

Say one day the stranger passes in front of Joe’s residence with a fellow crazy person. Say Joe hears this secondary crazy refer to the more familiar crazy as Al. When Joe processes this information he realizes that this initial crazy person, this stranger that has been accosting him and acting really weird, is in fact Weird Al.

You are damn sure that the next time Joe walks to the bus he takes his old route in hopes of running into the crazy Weird Al. Say Joe does run into the Weird Al, which he surely would, Joe now pays much more attention to what Al has to say. In fact, since Joe’s experience has taught him that this crazy guy is Weird Al, (he heard the secondary crazy call him Al, and he is Weird, so he must be Weird Al) Joe manipulates his environment to be near Weird Al as often as possible.

At first Joe just spends a few hours a day listening, following, and imitating his beloved Al around the neighborhood. Eventually, the hours become days and the listening becomes note taking. The days become weeks and following becomes a pilgrimage. The weeks become Joe foregoing his old life, job, and residence to pursue Weird Al full time. Imitating Al becomes Joe’s reality.

Therefore his attention span is not set by nature, but by experience and environment. It is all very scientific as you can see.

I still didn’t get to the train in Genoa, so that will have to come later, later…

My Computer Ate My Homework (New and Improved Version)

Vol. 1 Issue 21

My computer ate my homework.

It’s one thing not to do your homework at all, and an even riskier one to admit to it; although admitting it may be somewhat honorable, unfortunately teachers rarely if ever see this honor, and the result is almost always a zero. A safer, more routinely used approach than that of the honorable admittance, and just an all around better excuse is the classic “my dog ate it” + variations. The “my computer ate my homework” excuse is just not ready yet for classroom use, but it has potential.

At the minimum the dog excuse could buy a slacking, excuse-using student some time. The excuse-using student may be able to copy, steal, or download someone else’s homework, hand it in the following class, and deflect the zero that the non-excuse using, honorably admitting student would have received.

I even argue that if the student uses it correctly it may be possible to actually use the dog excuse, with honor, and still get away with not doing the homework. First it is the “dog” component of the excuse that we must examine.

The dog excuse can no longer be taken as common or insubstantial. The excuse takes a place of mythological proportions and has an aura of mystery surrounding its origins. These characteristics allow for the excuse to be used as a myth of symbolism and interpretation. The dog excuse is universally known, yet no one knows exactly how or where it began, who invented it, or what the inventors intentions were. All its modern effectiveness is based on this mythological status, and any successful execution of the dog excuse would be owing to the confusion caused by this status; however it needs to be noted that modern slackers are almost never consciously aware of these devices when they use the dog excuse. Slackers don’t tend to care about such things.

Aware of it or not, this is why said slacker would use the dog excuse rather than truthfully saying” I left it on the bus.” With the bus excuse the slacker opens him or herself to the ridicule of truth; only the dog excuse here can provide shelter from this ridicule. “I left it on the bus” contains no confusion and the slacker would almost definitely be told by the teacher to bring in a new copy of the homework next class, an obvious problem if the homework was never done. Still, the bus excuse would buy the slacker some time just as the dog would, but by using the bus excuse they are not really contributing anything to the greater good.

The dog is superior because to interpret the dog excuse nowadays is to comprehend it with more meaning than just its obvious tenor. This includes many other possibilities of not possessing ones homework, yet all the while not having had a dog actually eat it. It’s not just not doing your homework, but assuming that maybe you did do it yet still have a honorable reason for not possessing it such as having had it stolen, had it ruined in the rain, having burned it, had it chopped-up by a lawnmower, a snow blower, a wood chipper, or a paper shredder, having had it destroyed by acid, liquid nitrogen, or a meteorite, or even, having lost it (left it on the bus), “Dog” here could act as a stand in for any of the aforementioned honorable reasons. These all being indisputability real events that could have happened. As such, the eating of the homework by said dogs can no longer be taken as just an arbitrary excuse but is now a metaphor, a symbol for any number of real scenarios.

In using the dog as a metaphor the slacking student is creating a buffer between themselves and the reason that they do not posses their homework. The dog metaphor is like an honor among slackers. We have no idea what “dog” even means. A teacher cannot really say to a student, “I know your dog did not eat your homework” because of course the slacker doesn’t mean it literally; it could mean anything. The modern slacker student owes the success of this excuse to confusion caused by its mythological status. For this many thanks need to go to the slackers of the past who implemented the excuse, refined it, and tested it over and over until evolved into the effective form we have today.

On a technical note, excuse-using students are not usually prone to confessing outright that they did or did not do something. Therefore to actually hear the excuse “my dog ate my homework” in its original form is very rare. If the student were to use the original this would convey the implication of outright admittance. Much more likely is the situation where the student is confronted, or “busted” for not handing the homework in. The teacher would then ask the slacker “where is your homework?” The student replying, “my dog ate it.”  

The preservation of the dog excuse’s status is being constantly maintained by thousands of people everyday using the “dog” to stand in for both real life and fake scenarios. In extreme cases even honor students have contributed its preservation. When asked, “where is your homework” they reply “My dog ate it,” only to then throw off all expectation by then pulling out a finished copy of the homework and handing it in; thus causing the dog excuse to take on yet another meaning, that of having actually done the work!

Who can say that the dog excuse is even an excuse anymore? It has become the simple statement of a fact; the excuse has been transformed into a symbol of ambiguity. It is the hard work of preservationists who, thought their contributing to the excuse’s multiple meanings, allow for it to be theoretically possible to be able to claim that one’s dog ate one’s homework and still maintain a degree of honor. Every time someone uses the dog statement in an unorthodox or the crazy way they are contributing to its maintenance, and hopefully solidifying it for future generation’s uses, and abuses, of system.

My situation needs neither an explanation nor the maintaining of honor. More just some kind justification as to where the homework has disappeared to. I think the “eat,” rather than the “dog” component of the statement is more applicable here.

In this day-and-age, the fact that my computer ate my homework is much more believable than it would have been say forty years ago, but that is only if by “eat,” we mean destroy. Saying that your computer “ate” it just means the file(s) got damaged, erased, or as in my case, saved-over somehow. If we took eat in its literal sense, like with the whole digestion and eventual excretion thing, then the dog to computer eating ratio would be 1:0, it being impossible for a computer to literally “eat” an object. If we changed the meaning of “eat” just to mean  “ingest,” then it would be possible for a computer to literally “eat” your homework if it was a computer operated animal, i.e. a robot dog. We could also get into animals generated by computers i.e. cartoon dogs eating homework in computer generated animation.

Obviously, not as much work has been put into the computer excuse so it is not as triumphant a construction as the dog, but hopefully I have shown with my preceding paragraph that the computer excuse has potential for use with modern day, and future slackers.

I’m pretty sure there is no honor in losing your work to your computer, because if your computer ate your homework this almost always means that you did do the work, but lost it. There is no ambiguity here like with the dog thing dammit.

My computer ate my homework this weekend. It was just enraging. It could have been much worse, much worse…but it stilled sucked.

Crappy travel stories will have to wait until next week.