I have a client who asks a great deal of favors; not just from us, but from every single person in every aspect of his life. I have found that not only are people more than willing to accommodate some rather ludicrous requests, but they feel positive in doing so. This positive feeling reinforces their feelings for the Client, and the Client thus gains a better reputation in their eyes via the act of asking for special treatment.

The realization of this was a remarkable one because it is so contrary to anything that I would have expected. While I would assume that someone constantly asking to borrow a hamburger today and pay you Thursday would begin to evoke feelings of frustration, if not outright rage, the opposite is true. If you ask someone for something, it makes them feel useful. You have suddenly given them more personal value.

Absurd! Impossible. Yet vitally true. I have come to realize that the notorious Client is just as pleased to deliver upon favors as to be the recipient of one, in fact, it is a role he takes with an almost somber seriousness. Of course, in return, he expects more favors; but this is no greed. Rather, this is the way that he socially interacts with the world, by the constant exchange of a social currency called favors.

In this manner, it is not people who take favors that are weak; the inverse is true. People who refuse to ask for favors are weak because they do not develop these strong social bonds with other people. It may seem ridiculous, but people desire to be used. People desire to be useful. It is in our tribal nature to conform, obey and above all serve.

Too many therapists get into therapy because they want to fix their own problems. That’s like me becoming a lawyer because I need to defend myself against multiple homicides.

And, most people are idiots. This implies that most therapists are idiots. Unfortunately, they are idiots that have business cards.

I’ve noticed lately a strong practice of therapists that appear to believe in the “don’t rock the boat” mechanics of life. I’ve heard this reported from numerous clients and friends, mostly of the wealthy set, which leads me to believe that therapists have a vested interest in their clients remaining irredeemably broken.

“I was going to get a divorce,” reports a friend, “but my therapist says that as long as you’re happy 3 days out of 7 days out of the week, it’s better than average. Getting a divorce would make me unhappy more days out of the week than that.”

This makes total sense, as it’s far better to languish quietly over decades than to invest time and energy into taking control over your own life. Keep in mind that we are now taking advice from people who had enough psychological problems to want to spend years researching them, but not enough intelligence or motivation to get a real degree.

3 days out of the week? Is that really the average? What’s wrong with us? You do realize you live on an energy grid and have clean running water?

Are there really people out there thinking “I’m only miserable most of my life, but not all of my life, so it’s OK.” I mean, 3 days out of the week isn’t even a majority of the time!  You are consigning yourself to experiencing happiness 42% of your life. That means if you live 60 more years, 34 of them are going to suck.

“Well I’m putting my child in maintenance therapy because I feel like he’s going to get teased in high school.”

What kind of bullshit is maintenance therapy? Who the hell came up with the idea that “you know, even when people don’t need therapy, they really might?” It’s not like I pop two advil in the morning every morning in case I get a headache.

Maintenance therapy is only another way that helicopter parents worm their greasy daddy-approval-seeking little hands into their child’s mind.

If your child wasn’t going to get teased before, he sure as hell is when he walks up to the school bully and says “I feel that you have a lot of pent up inner aggression. How is everything going at home, buddy? Anything you want to share? This is a safe space.”

The world is not a goddamn safe space and your child had better get used to it now.

Hell, it’d be more worthwhile to throw the little bastard in anti-therapy. That’s character building. I think it’s called sports, and you just hit stuff a lot. I’m not talking just about male kids, either. My childhood would have been so much better if someone had given me a bat and aimed me at something.

What’s great is that by exposing our children to these emotional predators, we create an entire generation that’s going to have a crippling inability to make any decisions whatsoever without consulting their therapists. And then those therapists will raise their children. And their children. It’s a self sustaining industry based on the blind leading the blind.

Over a cliff of passive misery.

When did we decide not only to accept this, but to intentionally subject ourselves to it? Do we really want to maintain the illusion that life is really that hard? Because it’s not, actually, that hard.

You know what’s hard? Sifting through garbage to find old nokia phones and jewelry to strip any alloy out of them so that maybe, just maybe, your family can have a piece of bread that week.

But somehow those people seem to exist just fine without therapy, because they’re not spending 90% of their time sitting at a desk thinking about their bullshit problems.

But see, it’s natural. It’s natural to complain. It’s natural to be frustrated. And that’s OK. But therapists not only help this feeling, they encourage it. Therapists think that if you’re happy, you’re hiding something.

Having a therapist is like having someone who pours hot sauce down your throat whenever you’re not having indigestion.

They take a problem that exists naturally, and refine it into an art form, and then perpetuate it.

And that’s why I don’t agree with court ordered therapy.

into the lava flow ebb
of foggy night tides

awoke
cold currents, black sands
awoke to towering ramshackle effigies
where they worship
him

he

risen now
jagged stilts above the
ebony tide
and

they

in lines numerous
ant trails across
watery paths

raise
glint in their eyes
raise their hearts
to the glory of the
gray, gray sky

we

drag our hands
his hands across
our flesh, our
soft, silt

flesh

to mix with dark waters
and smear upon our
shrunken gods

saviors
until we are reddened
saviors from this hollow madness
as fingers clutch at, within
sight within

eyes

within ears, within eyes
more to the pile, hear
to the pile, sight
to the pile

fear

our sacred symphony
their beatific screed
with the waters rising, rising

reaching
uncharted branches towering
reaching beyond the stars
towards the
gray, gray sky

but

his smile
but his smile!
his beautiful smile
and nothing left of us

we

dissolving now
becoming scaffolds to
his sacred gaze

we
but slight creatures
we of hollow bones
picking at the remnants
of our silken flesh

and

dissolving
now dissolving now
now scaffolds to
scaffolds to his

gaze

the clouds fold again
as more people gather under
the gray, gray sky

I think I’m going to have to start buying myself merchandise certificates as some sort of enforced fiscal irresponsibility. 

My stock portfolio is, as of today (in a down market), at 11% for this year, which doesn’t really make any sense at all except for my inexplicable ability to stumble into good investments. Of my better choices, investing in Amazon.com when it was down paid off extremely well, and Starbucks is apparently taking over the earth.

Primitive dogs are less developed by mankind, which means they are less removed from their “primitive” roots. They are intelligent, independent, and instinctive. They also have far less an urge to please you.

I have tried everything, but the real problem is motivation. I can clicker train her to sit and stay, and she understands the commands completely, but no amount of training is ever going to train her to give a damn. She behaves when I’m in the room, but the second I leave she knows she can do anything. She has the ability for abstract thought, because she’s evil, and will do things like open the kitchen gate, grab the cat’s food bowl, close the kitchen gate behind her, eat the food and shove the bowl under the couch. It took me forever to figure out what was going on.

Food doesn’t motivate her, because I think she believes if something goes wrong, she can just eat me and the other dog.

She gets submissive when scolded–for as long as it takes to placate me, which is five seconds. And then she just bounces off.

If she senses I’m going somewhere she doesn’t want to go, she shoves herself under the bed and refuses to come out.

She has no concept of human affection. She doesn’t like being pet. Our other dog trained her to lick, but she doesn’t understand. She just gets really close to you and then licks her nose and looks at you like, “what now?”

Basically, my dog is a sociopath.

One good thing about this is that it has forced me to train her and Chell to go outside more readily. Previously, every time the dogs needed to pee I needed to take them on a 30-45 minute walk (in addition to their normally scheduled long walks). Wheatley can’t have long walks for the next month and a half, so instead, I just take her directly outside. It took her a little while to adjust, but now the dogs immediately go upon getting outside, and a bonus is that because it doesn’t take so long to get them to go, I can take them out a lot more often. Chell still gets her long walks, but it’s difficult because she’s reluctant to go anywhere without Wheatley.

She still has problems understanding “tricks.” Chell learns tricks immediately, then proceeds to perform them only when she feels like it (otherwise, she just gives me a doubtful stare). Whenever Wheatley learns a new trick, it just becomes THAT THING MOMMY WANTS ME TO DO. I taught her “lie down” and the second I pull out a treat, she throws herself at my feet with enough force that she slides across the tiles. If I take a step back (to get her to stand so I can give her the command properly), she jerks up, then throws herself down again (sliding all the way). This is the same thing that happened when I taught her “sit”; she would just sit, then scoot forward six inches, sit again, scoot forward six inches, sit again. It’s hard to challenge such unbridled enthusiasm.

When I looked things up online, I found numerous conflicting reports that just confused me more.

When I got her, Wheatley was barely a year old and we could see every rib. Her tail was broken and she had large scarring around her neck from some sort of wire or chain. She had been taken from a puppy mill. It was unusual to even see a dog her age with heart worm. But the moment I saw her, she jumped up on the chain link fence and reached out to me with rough, scarred paws, and I knew I was taking her home.

The staff couldn’t tell me what I was in for–they said that she would “always test positive for heart worm,” and that it would be a “sequence of pills or shots.” When the vet the shelter referred called me, they gave me a list of dates and times and medications, but couldn’t speak with me about pain options, after care, or any symptoms to look out for. I called in repeatedly and never got the vet, and the nurses gave me differing opinions. When I had to change vets because of a heart worm treatment shortage, the next vet wouldn’t even consult with me at all. If you’re thinking we should have found another vet–there are actually vets that specialize in these treatments, because the injections need to be done in specific format.

Firstly: the confusion the shelter had was because there are TWO methods of killing heart worms.

1. Slow kill. This consists of dosing the dog with Heartgard for a couple of years until all the heart worms are dead. My understanding is that heart worms have a lifespan of about 2-3 years. Heartgard weakens adults (shortening lifespan) and kills the young ones, so after a couple of years, they’re all dead. The problem with this is that the worms are still in there doing damage during those 2 years.

2. Fast kill. This consists of an arsenic-based treatment being injected into your dog, in either a two phase or three phase process. The first injection kills most of the worms, the second kills the rest (hopefully). The third shot is (as I understand) done almost a month later and is for more severe cases. You still have to give the dog heartgard for about 3 months before this process.

I almost wanted to do the slow kill method, but in honesty, it was never offered to me. The vet thought since my dog was young, and otherwise healthy, it was best to do the fast kill. I agree on a logical basis, but emotionally, my dog didn’t have a single symptom of heart worm and secretly I wondered if the shelter (which is overtaxed as it is) had made a mistake. The vet took xrays and said she saw barely anything, but took that as a positive step for the treatment ahead. I felt as though, if nothing could be seen, and there were no symptoms, it was an infantile infestation that would be knocked out by the Heartgard–I still feel it might have been smarter to have re-tested her after the mandatory 3 months on Heartgard and seen if she still tested positive. Heart worms apparently take about a year to mature to begin with, and my dog was under a year old. Furthermore, the vets make a huge amount of money off of these shots — I don’t know what percentage they keep, but the entire course is slightly under a thousand dollars.

The problem is that in a vet clinic, I’ve found, virtually no one wants to talk to you. The more skilled they are, the less likely they are to have the time. I talked to two separate nurses about pain medication; one said she wouldn’t need any after the first shot, and the other said she definitely would because of the immense amounts of pain.

We did her three months of heartgard, which barely seemed to bother her. She didn’t cough, but I wasn’t surprised, because she’d never had a cough.

When we brought her into the vet for the first shot, I was completely filled with trepidation. I saw a pitbull being taken out with close-cropped ears. Now, I don’t want to start in on a controversial issue here, but the only reason to close-crop a dog’s ears like that is because of 1) you value your own vanity over your dog’s pain, 2) you’re going into dog fighting. Neither is something I would like to see a reputable vet taking part in.

The vet didn’t talk to me at all when I arrived, he just shouted to get my dog on the scale — and I mean shouted. I said “My dog is really skittish, sorry, I think it scares her when you’re that loud.” The receptionist gave me a snarky “He’s Chinese from Burma honey, they just talk like that,” with a fake, plastered on grin. I half dragged my terrified dog onto the scale as the vet shouted commands to his nurse.

He then asked me to move my dog to the elevated table. My dog isn’t a small dog–not large, but not small either. The nurse stood by looking bored as I pushed my dog onto the table myself. She gave me a half hearted grin and leaned against the table when I was done.

The vet gave her two injections, and the warning he gave me consisted of “THIS SHOT VERY PAINFUL. SHE WILL NOT EAT.” She didn’t make a sound, but she did bolt and her eyes got wide. Not unexpected: she’s a trooper, after all she’s been through she’d had to be. I asked about pain medication follow ups and he said “NO NEED.” The nurse put my dog on the floor and opened the door. I walked out, expecting them to give me care instructions or something. They both just walked away into the other room.

“Is there anything I need?” I asked the receptionist uncertainly.

“No, you’re already paid,” said the girl.

Of course, when we left the dog immediately threw up. Because throwing up, drooling, and diarrhea were all on a list of symptoms I had to google on the way home, and all of which we experienced during the ride. Good thing I have google, I mean, wouldn’t expect the vet to mention that. My dog did eat though, because she would eat if she had literally just lost all four of her legs to a venomous alligator.

She was obviously uncomfortable for the first 4-5 hours. She kept shifting, lying down, shifting. She’s not the whining or whimpering type. After hours 5-6 she started sleeping, and by hour 10 she was perky enough to be looking around her crate. She consistently ate but it was difficult to get her to drink water–she would only drink if I hand fed the water to her.

The next day, same time, I had to take her in for the second shot. I expected it to be worse, but the second shot is actually a smaller, follow-up dosage. She reacted the same way to the initial shot, but was still alert as she walked out. The vet handed me pain medication and told me that it was vital that I not forget any of it in the next five days–despite having told me previously none would be necessary. The receptionist proceeded to write the wrong day to start the pain medication on the packet (two days prior), and then schedule my followup for last month.

By the next day, she was fine again.

Eventually it became clear that the reason the vets were being so brusque with me was that there really wasn’t much I could do at any stage to make this any easier or better on the dog. While there are a load of symptoms that it would have been nice for me to know, there aren’t any potentially deadly symptoms besides “coughing blood,” and “respiratory failure,” all of which someone reasonable would immediately call their vet about. They didn’t want to talk to me about pain meds because they already knew what they were going to do and didn’t want to bother explaining beforehand. I later found out that the “antibiotic” shot they gave was actually a steroid shot to counteract pain. Yes, they told me it was antibiotics. They probably did that to avoid confusing me. They told me to restrain my dog’s movement on the second day, not the first, and that bothered me because I had been researching. But the reason they did that was because they knew my dog would not be moving on the first day.

Still, while some people feel better in ignorance, others feel better knowing the full detail of the treatment. Someone going in blind wouldn’t have been all that perturbed, but I had spent weeks looking up the treatment options so I knew little tidbits like “most doctors will prescribe pain medication,” and “you should crate the dog starting the first day.” I knew vaguely about the symptoms, but since there were lists of like 20 of them, it would have been easier had I known both the most common symptoms, and also, how fast they would kick in (e.g. your dog will throw up in your car within five minutes, that would have been helpful).

We’re not through the woods since the next 2-3 weeks is the most dangerous, but she’s a fighter so as long as I do all the right things, I’m not all that concerned. She’s only a year old now, which means she has at least a decade of joy, happiness, and tons and tons of delicious treats that will make all of this… not even a memory. I mean, she’s a dog, right?

To transfer files to a server, you use FTP. To send an image to a friend, you use email or MMS. To send a large file, you often physically load it to a thumb drive and hand it to them. To get an image off your phone, you sync it. To download large files, you torrent. There are literally dozens of ways that one must send and receive files and none are optimal over the majority–no wonder technophobes get frustrated.

There should have been an easier way, but it’s too late now and we’re too complacent. We should have a universal file transfer protocol to transfer files directly from device to device with an encrypted handshake using a unique signifier like a mac address to determine the appropriate parties. Basically, I should be able to send an excel sheet from my phone to my computer without having to gmail it to myself.

I also want to know why my iPhone doesn’t even want to store or access files besides music, images, and video. Blackberries were editing documents back when the world had to use a stylus, I don’t see why we had to take a step back on this one. Don’t get me started on jailbreaking, because as cool and nerdy as it is when the novelty wears off and you realize that, in actuality, you just gimped your $400 phone so that you can play three hundred versions of open source Tetris.

I don’t want a virtual assistant. I want to be able to transfer a goddamn file through wifi. Also maybe you should fix
your terrible calendar–or do yuppies not have anything important to get to? Also, the 4S is a gigantic blatant scam and anyone who buys one might as well be given a free “TAKE MY MONEY” bumper sticker.

I’m not in a great mood, clearly. I get grumpy in the face of my ever nearing mortality, and also MSNBC decided to show me a two year old being repeatedly run over while no one stopped to help. People are saying that the reactions were inhumane; on the contrary, denial, selfishness, fear and cruelty are the pinnacle of human evolution. We are survivors above all else, and to ignore that is to misunderstand our own very natures.

Despite the rapidly growing economy in China, most people are still walking a razor’s edge between relative wealth and starvation. It’s a country without safety nets, where a single misfortune can destroy you and your entire family, and where death is a visitor to your neighborhood, not your television. People ask “what were they thinking?”

They were thinking “that little girl is already going to die, and if I interfere, I could be fined so much money that my entire family will starve.”

Really. Those not aware of Chinese politics don’t realize that life is so harsh and unforgiving in China that its newly created legal system believes that helping a victim is a tacit admission of guilt. A few years back a man was fined over $5000 (a huge sum in China) for helping an elderly woman who fell. Why? Because the judge reasoned that he would only have helped her up if he had been the one who pushed her!

Humanity has survived as long as it has on the ability to look after number one. People at their most evil, selfish and corrupt are actually people closest to human nature. This is why we build cities and public health centers and protective legislation: so that we can be comfortable and safe enough to overcome this darkness and become something greater than what nature intended.

We like to think we’re better than them. We’re not, we’ve just been allowed to live better than them. The woman who finally helped that girl was a ragpicker. Do you understand? She had nothing left to lose.

I was half right. It was a good flick, but oddly, they somehow seem to be moving backward with their careers: each movie is marginally less funny than the last. Perhaps they have simply grown old: all three movies have really the same premise, which is to gleefully deconstruct a specific movie genre. Or perhaps it is timing. Shaun of the Dead came out when zombie films were still in public consciousness. Hot Fuzz’s buddy cop genre is aging, and the days of Paul’s classic sci-fi are largely relegated to the 80s.

I also suspect he just wanted to be able to say he’d punched Sigourney Weaver in the face. By the way, has anyone else noticed that Sigourney is not a real goddamn name? Just checking.

The alien is a little too brash and earnest. It’s boring, is what it really is. It treads so much familiar ground that there’s never a feeling of discovery or mystery, which is the true hallmark of science fiction. Some jokes hit hard, and I wonder if they shouldn’t have simply taken a second and third look at their script. It feels as though they started production with a loose draft when what they really needed was to hit the dialogue hard and fast.

The movie is a little too hip to its genre. It finds it amusing to play tropes straight, sometimes without even a wink to the audience. But when you do this, you are no longer a witty commenter, you are a participant in the very cliche you are reenacting.

The only thing I really came away thinking is that they must really be very good friends, and they must be having a lot of fun. And you know what? Good for them. I mean it from the bottom of my heart: freaking awesome for them.