Proof: I am a Psychic

At last, the mystery has been solved! I am, without the slightest doubt, a Psychic. I have long been questioning my ability to predict the future, but yesterday, I finally uncovered the truth. My dreams tell me the future. Allow me to explain.

Many people claim to have that feeling of Deja vu whenever they experience something they dream about. Some even claim they saw the event happen exactly as it unfolded in real life. Of all these people, however, very few am one of those few.

Yesterday, as I was sitting in Creative Writing: Fiction, I began to get that odd feeling that I had experienced this before. I credited to it to the fact that I had been in the classroom the week before, and blew off the sensation. At the end of class, people began shuffling around, and all of a sudden, a dream that had been born almost two months ago flashed into my memory. I had been here before. I knew, at that very moment, that any second now the person two chairs over to my right was going to get up, walk behind me, bend over next to the person to my right, drop a sheet of paper in front of him and say "I just wanted to give you this and tell you I really liked your story."

I waited.

About thirty seconds later, the guy got up, walked behind me, handed off a piece of paper to the guy to my right, bent down, and said "Oh, I just wanted you to know, you're story was the best. And I wanted you to have this." Then he left.

I realize that I'm not entirely correct in my prediction, but I'll be damned if any of you have ever been that close. I'll tell you what though, it's pretty awesome being as perceptive as me. Sucks for you.

[NOTE] For Mike: Six.

Oh China...

I love how so many of my posts are born because of the strange goings on in, of all places, China. There's a whole world full of crazy out there; wars are being fought, people are killing each other, governments are selling babies, and yet of all these reports, the ones that find themselves on my blog the most are those events that transpire in China. This really says something about their country, because for one thing, I don't just write about anything. I pick out the most random and ridiculous thing that appears on my doorstep and write about that. If you draw my attention, you should start watching your step, because you've obviously done something wrong. Governments should really start using me as a source, you know, checking back on their most recent actions to determine if they are making the right moves. Someone should get working on that...

I must not get off track. Today's post is one of great importance, because today, China has proven yet again that they are just one giant nation filled with crazy. Go ahead and read this, it's not long, so give it a quick skim. I'll summarize afterwards, but it's better if you just read it yourself.

http://neowin.net/index.php?act=view&id=42251

China, what exactly are you doing? Here's the summary of what you should have just read: The government in China has invented a game in which you play the part of a government official. Your job as a Chinese government official is to run around and be the best damn member of the government that you can be. So, what exactly does a government official who is out to be the best of the best do? He kills other government officials who are corrupt! These villains are surrounded by sexy women and rolling in heaps of money, so they aren't difficult targets. If that's not enough, the game is so popular that the servers crashed, and the Chinese government is now trying to create a server that can support more people playing at once.

This tickles me in a number of ways. First off, it doesn't make much sense. If you wanted to be the best of the best, wouldn't it be better to kill off all the non-corrupt members? That way your reign of influence would grow, and you could bribe all the corrupt officials to increase your power. Come on people, think before you game!

The part I find most entertaining is the fact that these government officials just sound like regular American politicians. The basis of the game is to show the country that the government doesn't stand for corruption, but still, it's rather amusing to see the parallel between you: the only good government soldier in the world, and the enemy: everyone who likes money.

Communism is grand. It gives me so much to talk about.

One Hundred Days of Glory

Today I want to start out with a tribute to someone special. This person is a wonderful human, he's hard working, he's committed to those he loves, and he makes a conscious effort to help the world via a detailed process of talking crap and doing nothing. So, before I start, I just want to say thank you to this wonderful man. So here it is, my congratulations and thanks, to one Mr. James R. Mitchener, author of the Mitchener Mind. In other words, Me.

I speak with such high regard because today is a special day for everyone. See, today is the day I proved almost all of you wrong. When the Mitchener Mind started, I had several comments from lesser friends stating that "Oh James, you'll give up writing that before the month is over." That was a mere 30 days of writing. I proved you all wrong. See, today is special not because I have passed a month of writing, or even two, or even three. Today is special because over three months after starting this blog, I have finally completed my one hundredth post. That's right, today's post will mark up the 100th Mitchener Mind.

So for those of you who have been with me from the begining. Those of you who have waited for me to write something new every day. Those of you who have called me up, emailed me, IMed me, or text me saying "YOU MISSED A DAY!" when I became lazy. Thank you. You have helped keep the Mitchener Mind going, for who is a writer without an audience? And though you may be of a rather unique bracket of personalities, which you prove regularly by signing onto my blog and reading the nothings sprawled across this page, you are my fuel. I write all of this for you.

So I think it's safe for me to look back today and smile, because as of right now, I have written 100 different posts all for you.

And now I raise my glass, to 100 more.

My Favourite Religion

First off, I admit it; I have been being a lazy ass. You would think I could juggle reading 500 pages in three days, writing three blogs, editing three short stories, writing five journal entries, traveling 180 miles by car in two directions, and wishing my brother well as he travels off to his first year of University in Canada. Well, you would be wrong. Apparently I am not that amazing. I know, it came as a shock for me also, but still, what are you going to do about it?

Now, back to business. Amongst that crazy list of things I had to do over the past few days (of which I did not even list 1/3 of the things I was doing), I was lucky enough to read a few pages of Native American Lore. Now, I know that's a bit vague, but it felt so much like work that I'm not even going to pick up the book again and find out what group of Native American's I was reading about or who the main characters were. Instead, I am just going to tell you what I remember.

The tribe lived somewhere in Central America, and they were documenting for the first time their stories of creation. They are, for lack of a better word, fantastic. See, here's how it goes. God created the universe one day because he was bored. Then, he created a partner out of the shadow of his eye to help him with the work, but his partner was lazy and didn't do anything, so God had to keep doing all the work himself. Still, he was a busy man, and so he built everything to be well working and functional, and then, like all Gods, he let people roam free on his wonderful new construction.

This is where it gets good. See, people started out just fine. We cultivated the land, made everything livable, contributed to and took from the planet. As time went on, we filled the whole planet with our lines of offspring. Food started to become scarce, people started to consume more than was necessary, and then, all of a sudden, we could not sustain ourselves. So, we turned to the only remaining option. We broke into factions and started eating one another.

God didn't like this, so he took action and collapsed the sky, killing everyone except him and his lazy counterpart. Then he started again.

This time, people didn't over consume. They had learned their lesson the first time. The sky falling down and crushing you is something you don't soon forget... No, this time, they took up smoking tobacco. At first, only the elderly smoked tobacco. But as it became more popular, the younger adults started, then the teenagers, then the children, and finally, the infants. Babies fresh out of the womb would join the world, be handed a freshly packed pipe, and start sucking the sweet fumes of tobacco before they had a suckle on their mother teat.

God didn't like this, so he took action yet again and collapsed the sky, killing everyone except him and his lazy counterpart. Then he started again.

Thus, we were created, after two failed attempts.

But that wasn't all. We didn't last very long at all. People started doubting the existence of this God, and so, to prove himself, he threatened to flood the planet. Those off-branch cults that no longer followed the will of the true God did not believe the flood would come, and so they ignored the signs. God, on the other hand, saw things differently. Once all his followers had come to him, he quickly made a hole appear in the ground, and him and all his followers jumped into it while the flood came and killed everyone else. Then, the survivors came out of the hole and started what is today's civilization.

Moral: Don't fuck with God or he'll drop a sky on you.

"Readers"

I was skimming the wonderful world of the internet to present you with something mildly amusing to read about. Well, as far as my sense of humour goes, I found it:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/LIVING/wayoflife/08/22/spiritualist.camp.ap/index.html

The title of the article pretty much says it all. This woman, Judy Ulch (tough break on that name...), claims she can see dead people. Big deal, a lot of people say that. I even saw a movie once where a kid could see dead people. What makes her so special? Allow me to enlighten you. She is part of a "Dead People Camp". That's right, she works in a camp where, apparently, the deceased indivudals of the living gather in their life of limbo. It is in this camp that Judy Ulch will allow you to convene with the dead at the modest fee of $80 an hour.

Judy Ulch, you just got put on my list of one of the worlds biggest assholes. Way to go. Here's an idea, I'll give you $80 if you stop filling people's heads with lies. Llet them get over their losses! How are they going to get by if they believe those they loved are still around?! There's a seat reserved in Hell for you right next to mine, so I can't wait to spend eternity telling you how terrible of a person you were in life. I hope you are ready.

It's people like this that really bug me. But they aren't entirely to blame. These "readers", as they like to be called, are without a doubt incredibly stupid individuals, but they do have one redeeming quality. They have identified a stupid that runs even deeper than their own; the willingness to believe anything. They are taking advantage of those without common sense and manipulating a very large number of the unintelligent. In some ways, I respect you, but your complete lack of morals bothers me. Even I have some things that I simply won't do, and this is one of them.

Shocked? Me too, actually. But only a little.

Waiting

Everyone has had to wait for something at some point in their life. Overall, I would rate it as one of the top ten most commonly occurring discomforts we as a species have to suffer on a regular basis. See, the problem with waiting is that it isn't just a single discomfort. Waiting produces such a range of uneasy feelings that it is almost unbearable. What makes it worse? The discomforts that run so rampant during a period of waiting aren't enormous ones that distract all your attention, but rather minor ones that exist in the back of your mind and glimmer at something desired, or possibly feared, but never fully present themselves in a meaningful fashion.

But the problems with waiting extend far beyond simple alterations in emotions. Waiting actually makes you physically act out in a manner you would not normally adopt. Let me draw up a list of interesting methods of passing time while waiting. Some are rather common, others, not so much.

Twiddling one's thumbs. This method is a common in a large number of people. It's rather pointless, seeing as the process does absolutely nothing what so ever.

Biting one's nails. This is also a very common method of passing time. The outcomes are very negative; ugly fingers and lots of pain. Another not-so-good method of passing the time.

Chewing one's hair. I see this fairly often with those who have long hair. It can't be a fun process, but seeing as I have never had long enough hair to chew on it, I do not feel I am qualified to comment further.

Tapping one's foot. Lots of people do this, and I believe it is for the soul purpose of pissing off others. There is little in this world that's more frustrating than waiting for something while suffering through the poorly constructed beat of another person's tapping.

Twirling one's tongue. This one I have only seen once, but the person just kept twirling their tongue in their mouth over and over and over. It was very odd.

Basically, to summarize, don't make me wait. It's not fun, and I don't enjoy it. Let's avoid the situation if at all possible. Thank you.

I Believe You Even Less

Given yesterday's post on my lack of trust, this idea seems like a fair continuation. My lack of trust, as previously stated, extends to everyone. But there are just some people out in the world that no matter how you look at it, you shouldn't even pretend to trust them. Despite the large number of them across the planet, I am going to pick one group today, and target only them. They are people that I am certain every one of you has had to deal with at some point, and I am fairly confident you feel the same way as I do about how they treat you. They are: Mechanics.

I know I'm not the only one that feels this way. Whenever you go to a mechanic, if you are anything like me and know nothing about cars, it just seems like every word out of their mouths is "I'm stealing your money, I'm stealing your money, I'm stealing your money!!!" All I know about cars is that I have to get the oil changed every once in a while, make sure the state inspection is up-to-date, and it needs to be serviced semi-regularly. Also, if one of those lights starts blinking at me, I know it needs to go in the shop. I don't know why it needs to go into the shop, or why the "Engine" light looks like a brick wearing a hat, but if it comes on, I know some shit is about to go down that I don't want to be a part of.

So, in it goes to get serviced by a man who opens up the hood and starts shaking his head. This is pretty much how any conversation with a mechanic goes:

Me: "Hey, the 'Check Break Light' light came on, so uhm, I think you need to fix it?"

Mechanic: "Sure thing, let me go look at it- Oh no, this isn't good, it's totally broken. Look, there's not even a bulb in there... Oh, and the circuits have been eaten by tiny squirrels... Oh man, we're gonna have to replace this whole thing back here..."

Me: "Oh really? Damn... I didn't know that tiny squirrels could get into break lights..."

Mechanic: "Oh yea, happens all the time. I think we should check under the hood. By the looks of things back here, there may be some engine damage."

Me: "Really? Can you tell that from the trunk? I mean, the break lights are way in the back, I always thought the engine was in the front..."

Mechanic: "Well it is, but you know how it goes, a circuit gets eaten by tiny squirrels and then the little buggers need to go find a place to defecate. Yep, look, right here, your engine valve is blocked by tiny little critter feces. Did you notice any decreased performance recently?"

Me: "No, actually, the engine has been working fine. Are you sure that's animal crap? It looks like oil to me..."

Mechanic: "Well, to the untrained eye, it would look like that. But this is good, we caught it just in time. We're going to have to disassemble your entire engine just to make sure though..."

Me: "Oh, well, I mean if it's really necessary. How much is this going to run me?"

Mechanic: "Well, we usually charge about 15,000 for Critter-Shit Engine Cleanings, but you're a great guy, so I'll do the whole thing for... 7,000 dollars."

Me: "Alright, let me go and sell a kidney."

Ring any bells? I thought it might. So there you have it. If I made you feel bad yesterday by telling you I didn't trust you, fear not. I believe you a shit-load more than I do mechanics.

I Don't Believe You

Don't take it personally, but the title of this post pretty much sums up the rest of the daily writings. It's not a stab at you or your moral character, or even at how much of your life you practice being an honest person, instead it's the simple fact that you, like everyone else in the entire world, will lie to me if at that moment the pro's to lying outweigh the cons. For those of you nodding your heads in agreement, I'm glad you understand. Those who are taking offense to the rash and overly generalizing comment, suck it up, reflect, and maybe then you'll start nodding also.

It's a good system though; pre-accepting that everyone you will ever meet will lie to you, most likely when it is crucial that they tell you the truth. It stops you feeling cheated or let down. There have been many times that someone has admitted that they lied to me, and they have felt bad about doing so, where as I am simply sitting there continuing on as if nothing has happened. Why? Because even at the time, even though I didn't really know it, I never fully believed you. It's not your fault. It's just who I am.

But I would recommend adopting my method of dealing with everyone. It's a good system. Lies tend to piss off a lot of people, but with this non-believing lifestyle, it really never comes off as a shock, and becomes a burden even less.

Again, no offense meant by this. You can take it up with me personally if I've offended you. But then, I'm not going to believe you anyhow, so why bother?

Back to Blogging

Work time again, which means back to lots of posts and lots of random thoughts about absolutely nothing to keep you, my readers, entertained. That's just the way the world of working functions I'm afraid. It may be tough, it may be tedious, and it may be boring, but damn is it inspirational. That's probably my favourite part of work; all the crazy ideas.

But, that doesn't stop me from looking back on the little bit of a break I've had and thinking "if only I hadn't squandered it." But I did, as do many. But I suppose it's better than the opposite choice, worrying so much about wasting it that you in turn force yourself to do absolutely nothing for fear of doing something that would be bad or boring. I dodged that one.

But it is now the first Monday of a continuous 16 weeks of crazy intense work. That also means that it's another 16 weeks of continuous posts for you. Do you feel lucky? You should.

Be prepared. I'm here, and I'm already prepping my mind. See you tomorrow.

Why Even Bother?

I have a question about the Justice League. I'll sum it up just to make it easy for you to understand. No offense meant, I just really want an answer and I think keeping it as basic as I can is the best way for me to do that. Here goes: Why do they even bother? It's a team of freaking super heroes! Where do I even begin...

Alright, let's start big. Superman. As far as I see it, all you need is Superman and then perhaps one semi-decent superhero to go in and grab the Kryptonite whenever a villain just so happens to stumble across it. I mean, he can do anything! He's Superman! His only weakness is an element that doesn't even exist! What does he have to fear?!

If that weren't enough, why is Batman part of the Justice League? It's just because he's smart. That's it. Batman himself is useless, all they really want is Bruce Wayne. As far as Batman goes, he has no powers, no special skills, no ability to fight superhuman villains. He's completely useless. Whenever you see him in the Justice League, he's always sitting comfortably in the Bat-cave clicking away at his computer solving complex equations for the rest of the Justice League. What a joke.

So help me. Please. What's the point of this crime fighting team? As far as I can see, it's an incredibly large waste of natural talent. And don't even get me started on Justice League Unlimited. Good god.

Aha Me Mate...eee?

Being a Pirate is definitely one of those careers everyone wishes they had. On the plus side, there aren't that many pirates floating out on the open seas these days; at least not compared to the good ol' time when they owned the open waters. Now it seems that sea pirating is a thing of the past, and hunting for buried treasure is done by people who have lots of very expensive equipment. All the same, that does not stop me, or even you for that matter, from wanting to be one.

From every angle, it's a job weighted almost entirely on the "Pro's" side of the list. As far as Con's go, all I can muster is poor hygiene. The whole not brushing my teeth thing would really get to me, but really, that's the only negative to a life of committed to pillaging and... well, pirating.

Let's look at the Pro's shall we? (1) You get a parrot that sits there and squawks at the most precise moments. (2) You get a sword. Enough said. (3) You get to make people walk the plank. If there's sharks below, even better, if not, then that's alright too. (4) If you have an eye patch, it's considered cool, not weird. Lacking depth perception is a plus in the pirate world. (5) Missing a limb? Great! We'll give you a peg leg for free! Chances are in that condition you'll be captain in no time! (6) Lots and lots of gold. Pirates love gold, and they always manage to find some somewhere. (7) If you are really lucky, you'll get to fight Peter Pan in Never Never Land. That's only if you're really lucky. (8) You get to add the letters "eeeeee" to the end of almost everything. "Alright mee matieee. To the plank with yeeee!"

I'm starting the list of people who will be a part of my crew. If you want in, sign up. If you are missing a limb, don't have an eye, own a parrot; chances are good you'll be enlisted regardless of your desire to be a part of my crew. Lucky you.

Napping

INTRO NOTE: I apologize to my avid readers for missing the past several days. It has been busy around here, what with the upcoming return to my education and the recently presented bad news which I will avoid putting you through. All the same, to make up for a lack of previously posted thoughts, expect to see several new posts per day for the next few days. On that note, here is today's.

Napping

As I have progressed through life, I have gone through a number of stages in which my opinion of napping has drastically warped. The clock dates back to the very beginning of my existence, a time filled with crying and fidgeting with absolutely no motor skills what-so-ever. Those were the very first days of my life, and at the time, a point filled with the love of naps.

It’s funny how that changes though. As you get older, you start to rebel against those things that are considered childish. For example, when I started to grow, I realized I hated napping. What a fool I was. At six and seven, naps were no longer an issue. I abandoned a life I would soon realize I missed.

At sixteen, the nights became shorter and the days longer. Naps became the only way to make up for lost energy in my sleep-deprived nights. Then, it was out of necessity, not love, that I chose to nap.

Now, at the ripe young age of 20, naps are a thing of the past. I miss them, oh do I miss them, but there is simply not enough time in the day to waste on such frivolous activities. I am a fool, I know, but that is the way the path has turned, and I must continue onwards until I can find an alternate route.

I hope that one day, I become like my grandmother. She, like all wise and elderly people, naps several times a day. I am jealous of her commitment. If only I could operate in such a manner… If only…

Heated Anger

It's almost impossible to be happy during extended periods of heat. There are situations in which the sun is a very welcomed guest, but for the most part, and for regular day-to-day lives, the sun is the bitter enemy of happiness. Things can be going great, you can be in a fantastic mood, prepared for a wonderful day of fun filled events, then have it all shot down by simply stepping outside into 110 degree Fahrenheit heat.

There is a procedure that the sun follows to destroy your moral on such days. It is a three step process in which the feeble hearted will break down on during the first step, and the strong willed will make it to the third. In the end, the outcome is always the same; you will be sad, you will be angry, and you will be bitter.

Step One: Intense heat all over your body. The baking of the sun causes your entire body to warm. If you are wearing dark coloured clothing, you immediately begin to retain mass amounts of the sun's energy. As this progresses, you start to feel like a jacket potato in the oven, slowly cooking from the outside inwards. Your lips get chapped, your hair starts to burn, and your cloths become an uncomfortable burden.

Step Two: Sweat. To battle the heat, your body produces mass amounts of salt-filled sweat. This is supposed to operate as a coolant, evaporating from your skin and keeping you cool. At 100+ degrees, it is a meaningless process. The fluid evaporates from the exposed skin almost instantly, leaving behind an invisible layer of salt that rapidly begins absorbing more heat, causing more sweat, followed by more evaporation and more sun absorbing salt. The sweat that is not visible to the sun, aka sweat that is under your clothing, immediately soaks into every weave of fabric on your body. You begin to look as though you decided to jump in the shower before leaving your house, and you cloths become so saturated with your own body's coolant that you gain fifteen pounds in each item of clothing.

Step Three: Humidity. This is heat's final battle. It does not occur everywhere, but in the places that it does, it is the greatest assistant to the villain "heat". The air feels like it is thick with water, and it increases the level of sweat ten-fold. It becomes difficult to breathe and you simply want to find an air conditioned area to escape the unavoidable moisture that lingers in the air.

This is how heat gets you. You start out happy, and then slowly, step by step, it crushes you. You become angry, bitter, and hate everyone and everything. You obviously cannot blame the sun, for it is nothing more than a mass of hydrogen hanging in the sky. So instead, you blame everything else. God, friends, trees, cars, that random guy on the corner, your kids, your dogs, your cats; anyone. You better hope there's not a puppy farm around when you get too hot or else you'll most likely go on a puppy punching spree, running back and fourth punching puppies left and right to make a point.

Do us a favour: If it's hot outside, stay indoors. We love our puppies, and you shouldn't be punching them.

Colour Film Negative

Ever wonder what the world would be like in Negative form? I often mess around with the video camera and set it to the colour film negative setting, record a few things, and then admire the world in all the splendor of everything being backwards. It gets you thinking though, doesn't it? What if everything was backwards? What if our perception is just all out of whack?

What if really, everything we do with our right hand is really our left hand, and everything we do with our left hand is really our right hand? What if up was down, and down was up? Backwards was forwards, in was out, forward was backwards? What if everything you had ever been told, everything you had ever believed, was wrong?

How would you take it?

I'd be pissed. I'm one of those people who likes to be right. I'm alright with being wrong assuming you have ample evidence supporting your claim. Otherwise, I just get pissed. I think if someone told me absolutely everything I ever believed was wrong, I'd be a little pissed off. But then this is one of those situations where I'd probably rather be ignorant. I don't like ignorance, not one bit, but come on, if everything I had ever known was wrong... ignorance doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Good thing I'm not wrong. The world might crack in two, and then we really would be in a world of trouble.

The Hero

NOTE: This post was written yesterday, Saturday August 11th 2007, but I apparently hit the "Save Now" button instead of the "Publish Post" one. Woops. Still, here it is for you today. Enjoy.

I really wish I could find the link to this article for everyone, but I'm afraid it is lost to the world of cyberspace. Still, I am going to share the wonders of the modern world with you so that you can continue to laugh alone with me at the future that is in store for all of us.

Here's the story. A seven year old boy is in the car with his father, who while driving, suffers a massive heart attack. The boy, fearing for the life of his father, grabbed the phone and dialed 911. Within minutes, the ambulance was on its way, rescuing the Dad from certain death. The boy was later quoted saying "If it hadn't been for me, my father would have certainly died. I am a true hero. I think that a hero such as myself deserves a gift, so I've told my Dad I want a PS3."

That's the story.

Seven years old, and a self proclaimed Hero. I know what you're thinking, cause you know what, I was thinking the same thing:

I LOVE THIS KID!!!

If only there were more kids like him in the world. Imagine how cocky we'd all be! It would be... well, it would be like having a bunch of little James' running around all over the place! I know, I know, that could get out of hand, but just imagine the possibilities! I am not going to lie, I definitely foresee great disaster from such a future, but hell, that kid just has so much character! How can you even be mad at him? I'm not!

Let this be a lesson to all of you: If ever you have the chance to be a hero, take it. Then demand a reward. You freaking earned it!

Fear?

Have you noticed how the horror film genre has started to slowly step into the shadows in recent years? Have you seen how little people seem phased by the threat of nuclear fallout or chemical warfare? Have you picked up on how unconcerned most people are by the famine, starvation, rape, murder, and genocide that is taking place constantly over our entire planet?

Welcome, to my generation.

I've seen a lot in my life; more than most people could dream to see in ten lifetimes, and I (hopefully) have another 60 years under my belt. I remember being six and watching footage of starving children and being pushed to tears, hearing stories or murders and being scared to go further than five feet of my parents, or hearing threats of nuclear fallout and chemical weapons and being so afraid I wanted to run and buy a radiation suit immediately. Not anymore.

I say this with great regret, but these emotions are dead to me. I am not afraid of being murdered. I keep an eye out for foolish situations that could put me in such a position, but I am not afraid of it anymore. It does not stop me from living my life. I know the threat of nuclear war is growing every day, and yet I couldn't care less. I am not concerned for my life, nor am I worried that if/when it happens, I will most likely die a horrible and painful death. And what gets to me most; I do not even feel even remotely as bad as I did when I was six for all the famine that plagues our planet. Why? Because this is the world as it is today.

I am not the only one. Oh no, I am far from the only one. My generation is full of people who hardly care. Horror films no longer scare us because we expect such events in our daily lives. Genocide has been an issue for so long that the thought is just there, embedded into our minds as something that just seems to happen. Famine is a problem that no matter what we do, we can't seem to fix, so why let it bother us? We are, in all sense of the words, a broken generation.

I just figured I would make you feel bad about being who you are. Way to be heartless. Now start caring dammit, this world needs to fix its self!

Catching the Sun

Have you ever sat back and thought for a moment about some of the things people say? It's a wonder non-native speakers can even begin to grasp our language. We make it so confusing it actually hurts my head when I sit back and try to think why we say half the things we say. This all dawned on me this morning when I was out being completely lazy and floating around on an inflatable raft in the pool (gotta love the summer). After two hours of doing nothing but floating, then rolling over, then floating, then rolling over, I decided it was time to get out. On a side note, I'm not a fan of suntan lotion. I don't like how it feels on my skin. That said, at two hours in 97 degree heat floating on a raft, I was fairly burned. I got out the pool and spoke the sentence that left me thinking all the way up until now: "Look at that, I think I may have caught the sun..."

Caught the sun. That just makes no sense what so ever. You can't catch the sun. It's a giant mass of hydrogen floating up in the centre of our solar system! It's huge! The only conceivable process of catching a sun that I can come up with would be with a giant net and a giant glass jar. Think of the sun as a really big, highly explosive firefly. We'd need to find a net that can withstand incredible heat, and then a jar that's either so huge the sun's heat won't touch the sides, or a jar that can also withstand the unbearable heat. I don't know where we'd find such a jar... Still, catching the sun in a bottle could be fun.

This raised questions of other comments similar in nature to my catching of the sun. "I laughed my head off" is one of them. Who, in the whole history of human kind, has laughed so hard their head has actually come off? Anyone? If you can find historical documentation of someone's head actually being severed from their neck through laughter, I would allow this one to remain, but simple biology states that this is incredibly unlikely. I'm not saying impossible, because nothing is impossible, I'm simply stating that the odds are very much against this actually happening.

Also, another one I've been hearing rather recently is "I'm on cloud nine". What does that even mean?! It has something to do with being happy, but it doesn't even make sense! It just... well, it bugs me. I am a native born speaker of the English language, and I simply refuse to accept this as a legitimate expression.

These are just a few that have been haunting me recently. Which ones do you use and not even realize you're doing it? Pay attention next time, and maybe you'll be a little ashamed of yourself for speaking such nonsense. I know I am.

Evidence of Non-information

Today I am going to throw out a question. It is one that has been plaguing my mind for years now, and alone, I am completely unable to solve it. There is just too much non-information out there for me to determine what is legit, and what isn't. For those who don't know, non-information is information about an issue, person, place, or thing that has absolutely no real effect on the world. In this case, the non-information I am discussing is the evidence, or lack-there-of, that bumper stickers actually effect people's decisions in life.

Which leads me to my question, or I suppose, questions: Has a bumper sticker ever made you change your mind about anything... ever? Second, do you know anyone who has been swayed by a bumper sticker they have seen? Third, do those people who put bumper stickers on their vehicles designed to sway opinions and alter perceptions actually believe this method of conversion is an effective one?

I for one have never been even remotely inclined to believe anything that the back of a car is telling me. For example, the bumper sticker that reads "God loves you" has never made me say to myself, "you know what James, if God loves you, you should really start loving him back! Time to drop the atheism and grab a Bible! God loves me!" In fact, I pretty much feel that the person with said bumper sticker loses all credibility at the very moment I read the words he has plastered to his vehicle.

I've often heard that this is a form of self expression. Fair enough, that explains about five percent of the worlds bumper stickers. Anything that doesn't have a message to anyone else. For example, flag stickers. I have one of those on my car. It's an expression of who I am as a person, and it's completely impossible for anyone driving behind me to actually do anything in their life to adopt my country as their own. It's for me, and no one else.

What about the other ninety-five percent? What about those bumper stickers that say things like "Keep honking, I'm reloading my gun". I have something to say to those people: First off, if we're honking at you it's because you are a terrible driver. For one thing, reloading your gun is only going to confirm that simple fact; you shouldn't be behind the wheel of a deadly weapon. Second, if you are reloading you gun, how are you paying attention to the road? What's wrong with you! Two hands on the wheel, eyes forward, and pay attention! Who taught you how to drive?!

Another one that just gets under my skin is "Baby in vehicle". Thank for letting me know? If I happen to crash into you, I'll be sure to crash carefully... What the hell is that bumper sticker supposed to tell me? Should my methods of crashing into you be different from anyone else I may accidentally hit? Should I be throwing little candies at your car to satisfy the cute little child sitting in a car seat inside? What do you want from me?!

These are just a few of the mysteries of the bumper sticker world, and I ask you, my friends, to help me solve them. This is now your burden, also, so bare it well.

The Promised Review

I think it's about time I released my review of the final installment in the Harry Potter series. In order for you as the reader to fully understand where I stood on the issue, I think that first I am going to have to explain how I felt about past Harry Potter novels. These reviews will be short.

Book 1: Great. Got me hooked right away. I was very excited to hear about this creative character and rather new outlook on the world of Magic.

Book 2: Awful. I could have read HP1 five times in the time it took me to read the Chamber of Secrets. It was slow, boring, and uneventful.

Book 3: Great. This one is my favourite because it is the only one that isn't based around the overhanging fear of Voldemort coming back and killing everyone.

Book 4: Pretty Good. I missed Quiditch (sp?). It has been so long that I can't even remember how to spell the stupid sport. Broomstick football was one of my favourite aspects of the HP series, and from this book onwards, it was pretty much a backseat issue. Also, this was the first of the series in which the ending was merely the beginning of the next book, leaving me hanging completely. Rather frustrating.

Book 5: Terrible. Harry Potter went from being a young boy to being prepubescent teenage girl (no offense meant). It was infuriating. Whine whine whine. I hate you, Harriot Potter.

Book 6: On as scale of 1-10, this book was a -5. It was awful. Here's what I gathered from the first 600 pages. Horcrux's are important. Thanks J.K. Rowling for taking something that can be explained in a page, and stretching it across 600. Tolkien would be proud of you.

Which brings us to book 7. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. First thing I want to point out; it's Hallows. H-A-L-L-O-W-S. See the spelling? It's not "Hollows" now is it? So stop saying that dammit! Learn to read! Now for what I thought of the book.

It started off rather well. There was little dancing around the nothings going on at Private Drive. Things seemed to kick off rather smoothly. It had in interesting introduction followed by a great boost of adrenaline. The escape was great, and set the bar for the rest of the book. The death of Hedwig was a perfect way to foreshadow the tone; people are going to die, and you are going to be sad about it.

After that, the Horcrux hunt begins. This was very well done. I was impressed with the first 200-250 pages of it. Clever, fairly well written, and rather gripping. From page 250 up until their final "near escape", I was rather tired of them almost getting caught. But, things panned out, and Harry Potter proved himself in the end.

When Hogwarts reenters the equation, I was very satisfied. All the characters I had missed were there again, and they gave a performance that was very fitting to all of their histories. I was far more pleased than I ever expected to be. The final battle was rather overdone, but the dialog was clever and I believe I laughed out loud several times.

All in all, I would say that this Harry Potter book is by no means the best, but it is certainly an excellent end to what was overall a very clever series. I am impressed, and I don't say that often. J.K. Rowling; I had low expectations, but you came through. Good job. You surprised me.

Flipping Through My Topics

After eighty some-odd posts, I must admit, I find myself experiencing a bit of deja vu when it comes to writing this blog. The world just seems to run circles around me, tricking me into writing about something I believe is new and unique, but really, it is exactly the same as something I wrote last week. Those who haven't noticed, I write this blog around three focal issues.

Number one: Stupidity.

Number two: Ideas that are born within my head but have absolutely no legitimate backing to them.

Number three: Interesting events I have experienced.

I will admit I have the tendency to mix and match, sometimes I'll even draw an idea from somewhere completely outside of those three focal topics. But for the bulk of my writings and the sake of argument, let's just say that this is the outline I follow. It is my creative process. Here's how it's done.

Writing about stupid things that take place in the world is obviously my favourite. Those posts are full of passion and usually take up the most time and space. They are usually the longest and I have the most to say about the issue. They are at the very least entertaining, if not down right funny, and can always be summarized by my disbelief in humanity as a whole.

Writing about crazy ideas I have is my second favourite of topics. For a while, it was my first, but time changes all things, including this. My ideas are usually very interesting to me, but I'm not always sure they will be interesting to you. That's why they are number two. I don't want to bore my readers to death, and so, I only pick this topic when something that was born in my mind has influenced me deeply.

Writing about events that I have experienced is my least favourite. They are usually the shortest, and I have the least to say. Normally it is just a random story that only a few would be interested in. I make a mental note to relate the story to you in some way, be it through a moral or asking a question at the end that applies on a more universal scale. But in the end, I am just writing about myself. In some sense of the matter, it is a good way for you to learn a little about me, but most of the time, it's just a story of something awful that happened to me designed to make you chuckle at my misfortune.

I tell you all this not because I am out of ideas; far from it. In fact, I believe this crazy mind of mine will have a new idea for a blog for many more years to come. The world is too full of stupid people for me to run out of things to say in that department alone. No, I am telling you all this so that tomorrow when you read my post, or maybe the day after, or perhaps even the day after that, and you think to yourself "I believe he said something like this earlier..." you will not judge me for it. I am working from a source that seems to make the same mistakes over and over again. But what can we do about it- it's our planet, and we are obligated to love it. It's not like we have anywhere else to go.

Sting Operant

Fire ants are evil. If you have experienced their wrath, then you fully understand without any further explanation. They are the spawn of all that is bad in this world, and they feed off of happiness. Their jaws are fueled by hatred and envy, and their stinger is loaded with a poison that is rich with depression, pain, and anti-light. Their methods of attack are sinister, their teamwork unmatchable. They are the true carriers of depression, wielding it as a weapon in their schemes to uproot all joy in our lives.

I do not speak from ignorance. I have experienced their wrath, their bitter sting and horrid bite. But it does not end with mere experience. I have been party to one of the most strategic, one of the most bitter, and one of the most flawlessly implemented attacks of a fire ant ever to have taken place on the planet Earth. And it was all done through the workings of a single sting operant, hiding in the confines of a yellow towel, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and I was out in the pool swimming laps. When I had had my fill, I stepped from the water and grabbed my towel. I dried myself off from feet to hair, and then fastened the towel around my waist. I then proceeded to strip down underneath that towel and let my swimming trunks drop to the floor. I picked them up, and hung them on a hook outside. The fire ant was already in motion to his objective. Before I had even made it inside, I felt something begin to burn. It was the unforgettable sense of pleasure-crushing poison, spreading from the one place all men fear to be wounded; my penis. That's right, this genius of a fire ant had lay in wait for hours, hidden within the comfort of a towel, waiting to strike. And strike he did.

I screamed in pain, slapping myself hard in the one spot a man should never slap himself, or be slapped by others. Further pain shot through my body. I ripped off the towel and found the bugger clinging on for dear life with his jaw's of death, sinking his stinger deep into my skin. I grabbed him with my fingertips and ripped him off of my body. He squirmed, and in my blind rage, I crushed his frail body between my thumb and forefinger. The enemy was dead, but he had already succeeded in his mission.

He had left his mark. And now, I must wait for the pain to fade, the itch to stop, and lump to vanish. I do not enjoy adopting the tone of a moralist, but today, I am going to make an exception. Avoid fire ants. Always.

Lunar Gloves

I like to believe that the readers of the Mitchener Mind are somewhat intelligent people. It has a fairly large following given the fact I have only been writing for 80 days as of today, but of the people I know who read it, you all seem to have a somewhat high intelligence level. It is for this reason that I am passing this test onto you. It was conducted several years back, so it will be interesting to see if the results have changed in today's generation. So, here we go.

If a spaceman were to take a glove off (assuming he wouldn't inflate like balloon and die) on the Moon, and then let it go, which of the following would happen?
a) The glove would float away into space
b) The glove would sit and float where the spaceman let go of it
c) The glove would fall to the lunar surface

Pick your answer, and remember it.

If a spaceman were to drop a 100 pound weight on the Moon, which of the following would happen?
a) The weight would float away into space
b) The weight would sit and float where the spaceman let go of it
c) The weight would fall to the lunar surface

Pick your answer and remember it.

In comparison to the glove, would the weight
a)travel at the same speed
b)travel faster
c)travel slower

Pick your answer and remember it.

Got all your answers memorized? Don't bother trying to justify them just yet. Chances are you are wrong about all three. Hopefully you're not. Here's the truth, and if you've taken basic physics, this should all be common knowledge to you. If you have and you still got the answers wrong, shame on you! Did you not learn anything?

In response to the first question. The glove would fall to the lunar surface. It would not float off into space, and it would not stay where it was. Even if the spaceman threw the glove off into the air, it would still come back down to the lunar surface. Why? Gravity. Every single object in space has gravity. Everything. The moon may be small in comparison to the earth, but it's still big. Real big. A hell of a lot bigger than you and me. There's no way we, with our pitiful earth muscles, could throw a glove beyond the pull of the Moon's gravity. I mean, the Moon's gravity effects our waves! It is strong enough to pull objects on the Earth around, so that should let you know it's strong enough to effect a glove. Don't feel bad, 80% of the world got that one wrong. I wasn't one of them.

In response to the second question, The weight would fall to the lunar surface. The trick here is that even though most people said the glove would float off into space for question one, they said the weight would fall to the lunar surface. Why? Because it's heavier. I'll touch base on this one after the next question, which covers the same thing. Don't feel bad, 80% of the world got this one wrong. I wasn't one of them.

In response to the third question, The weight and the glove would move (down) at the same speed. A lot of people say the weight would travel faster because it's heavier. Well, you're wrong. Weight has nothing to do with speed of decent. The two factors are mass and wind resistance. The weight and the glove, because there is no wind resistance, would fall to the surface at exactly the same speed. Don't believe me, look it up. Scientists made the astronauts do this. They took a big ol' sledge hammer and a tennis ball to the moon. Both fell at the same rate, and both impacted the lunar surface at the same time. Don't feel bad, 80% of the world got that wrong also. I wasn't one of them.

So what it all comes down to is this: are you smarter than 80% of the world population? Are you smarter than me? If not, don't worry about it. I'll train you. I'm looking for an apprentice anyhow.

UPDATE: I would like to inform everyone that I entered something incorrectly earlier. I accidentally said "The tissue" instead of "the glove". I was originally going to use a tissue instead of a space man's glove, but I apparently changed my mind in the answer selection, and not the question. Mike pointed this out for me. I made a mistake. Who would guess that I, James R. Mitchener, can make mistakes. Allow me to explain. I didn't want you to feel too bad about not being as great as me. I can see with Mike, it worked. Glad I could help mate.

Who Funds This Crap?

A post or two ago I promised you that I would flip through the wonderful world of the news and find something spectacular to write about. I didn't find anything spectacular. Instead, I found something shameful, embarrassing, and quite simply made me a little sad that I am a human being. I found an article written about a university that actually funded a very in depth study on the effects of a full moon on workplace employee's.

Yes, someone paid for this. Some idiot sitting in a big chair in his office, sipping on his whiskey while smoking a cigar that costs more than my car said to someone somewhere "we should invest money into this study about the full-moon and how it makes people crazy". And then that person said "That's a great idea, boss!" because they were so busy kissing ass they didn't want to inform their cigar smoking idiot that he was about to ruin all of his credibility in a single decision.

And so it happened. The university funded an experiment to see how many accidents people had in a year during a full moon, then how many people had not during a full moon. For some reason, the university felt it was a good use of money to figure out if all those old wives telling tales knew what they were talking about. Apparently, they didn't. You will be ever so surprised to find out that after two years of experiments, two years of observations, and two years of burning money, it was concluded that the moon has absolutely no effect on accidents in the workplace.

Wow. Who knew? More importantly, who cares?

Journalistic Art

There is a real art to journalism. In truth, I never really noticed it until recently, but as I have read more and more articles written by men and women of my generation, I have come to notice that the style has changed in the most drastic of ways, yet all the while pushing as little of that change out into your face. It is a very quiet transition, but it's there all the same, and the difference in quality is unmeasurable.

You see, today, it is almost impossible to be a successful journalist and not have a sense of humour. The world is a terrible place, and it is only getting worse. People need to pick up on subtle humour. The true power of being a journalist, however, does not come in their ability to be funny. Not at all. It comes entirely on their ability to perceive what is, and what isn't funny. They do not write in an amusing manner. They almost never insert jokes. More than that, they manage to keep the tone of their pieces so calm it is almost bland. No, their humour, their jokes, they all come from perception.

Just open up the internet and skim through a few articles on any website. You should notice the same thing as I do. Almost every piece that isn't about a disaster is about something terribly stupid that has happened. Yet, the reporters present it as if it is a completely normal event. They just send you the facts, quite possibly mixed in with a little political affiliation. Other than that, it's just information. Yet why do we smile? Because the author of the piece knows how stupid the article is, how stupid the people involved are, and just how ridiculous the world is becoming. This is where true art is born; in observation. They see what is insane, and then write what I never could; a completely monotoned piece with as little bias as possible.

Then the art begins to grow. People like me read the article, and write an article about the article. I think this must be the goal of many journalists; to write something so perfectly, so beautifully, that someone can take what they have written, see all the humour that they themselves as the researcher of the original piece saw, and then have that complete stranger write an entirely different piece blatantly pointing out all those ridiculous jokes.

So, I put my hands together for all you journalists out there. Keep it up. You are the birthplace of modern comedy.

The "Different" Days

Most days have a tendency to form a routine in some sense. There are very few people who wake up and have no idea what their day is going to be like. Even if the plans you make are as simple as "eat, work, drink, poop, and sleep", you are still expecting something of your day. What's really odd are those 'different' days. They are the ones that just stand out and scream "By the way, today, you aren't being you!". I've been having a few of those.

Before I really get started, I need to explain a few things for the readers that don't know me. I can't stand unhygienic areas. Period. I can't stand that feeling of being dirty, or that feeling of being with someone who is dirty, but worst of all, I can't stand being in a room that makes me afraid to touch even the floor I am standing on. I shower every day, sometimes twice. I brush my teeth obsessively, usually five or six times a day. I wash my hair on a "one day on, one day off" schedule. I am even one of those few men that change their sheets more than once a month.

So, given all that, you can understand just how odd these past few days have been. I woke up on Sunday at around 17:30. My sleep schedule was completely out of whack, what with constant reading of books and going through the second edit of the book I myself have written. I spent that whole night in a white undershirt and my PJ pants. I fell asleep the following day at around 13:30 in those cloths, woke up the same night at around 19:30 and went through that day without leaving my room.

When I fell asleep on Tuesday, I woke up and went straight to my computer. As I sat there, I looked down at myself and realized something awful. I had been in my PJ's for almost 72 hours without changing, showering, or leaving the house. I felt disgusting. I couldn't shower because it was too late at night... or perhaps early in the morning? So, I sat there until early this morning rolled around. As soon as that sun hit the horizon, my ass was naked and in the shower.

I washed about twenty times, scrubbed my hair three or four times, and even shaved my beard off (something I haven't done in a year). I tell you what, I have never felt so clean in all my life. It was wonderful. And there you have it, my story of a very different sequence of days in the life of James. A lot of other stuff happened, but it's private to me, so keep your nose in your own business.

I apologize for the level of boring that this post supplied. I will write another one later today to compensate. I'll go hit up the political news pages on my Wii, there's bound to be something unbearably funny happening in the world today. There always is.