I was watching an episode of CSI several years ago about “Furries” and found the psychology interesting and the concept baffling as it was portrayed. I did some research and found that CSI got it wrong. “Furries” are not inherently sexual. Yiff doesn’t mean what they said it meant. A “furpile” is not a orgy. Nonetheless I bought into the misinformation machine. Through my research I have found that they’re not all that different from SCA members… many of them are less intense individuals. There isn’t really a psychology behind it all but rather, just a good natured and expensive hobby.

Don’t get me wrong… there are some weirdos out there. Plushies are people who like plush animals but the word “plushie” also refers to people who like to have “sex” with stuffed animals. Yes…. You read that right. Furry or anthropomorphic porn is also fairly prevalent though bestiality is not really part of it. See, these are not seen as animals in the strictest sense. At least they’re no more animals than Mickey mouse or Bugs bunny. The film industry coined a term, “Funny Animal” to separate upright walking, talking and clothes wearing animals from their lesser counterparts. It’s the difference between Dippy Dog (AKA Goofy) and Mickey’s pet Pluto. Both of them are dogs but Goofy is “funny” because he’s anthropomorphic. The sexual deviance is a discussion for another day and I’m just as guilty of getting hung up on the most bizarre aspects as every one else is. We’ll leave that for a later discussion as it’s not relevant here.

Alright, where am I going with all this? Well, aside from being a hobbiest writer and anthropologist and poet, and philosopher, psychologist, and etc. etc. I am also very crafty. I have looked at web sites about creating “Fursuits”, the full body costumes worn by some furries (most prefer partial suits or even just ears and tails) at furry conventions. Recently, Christina and I were discussing how best to make a realistic, person sized, self balancing cat tail for her Halloween costume and in researching that, I came again upon furry sites which proved very useful for our purposes. Anyway, I’ve decided to try my hand and make a bear head… mask… thing. I doubt I’ll ever make a full suit because they seem to be pretty difficult, but I’ve always wanted to try my hand at soft sculpture and I’ve never worked with fur so it seems like it might be an interesting project. I could do a whole series. And it all came from not understanding something, researching it, and finding it’s not as odd as I thought.

I guess the point of all of this is that you can’t believe everything you see on television, though I think we all knew that already. The problem is we do… at least a little. I believed these people were sex crazed bestiality fetishists at first and then I just thought maybe they were just a little off. Once I considered that I’d worn a kilt for a good portion of my career in the SCA and that I have been to a comic convention and I’ve considered cosplay at an anime convention… well, it’s not that strange now.

Don’t judge…. Even if the media say it’s alright.

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I know why they make the comments and I know where they’re coming from. Most of the time it comes from a place of anger, disappointment, or defiance. These poor women have been passed over because of weight, their interests, their baggage, and so on so many times that they jump right in and flaunt the “short comings” that they have been rejected for. Some may think they’re getting things out in the open, doing the men a favor not false advertising. Other hope to weed out the guys who’ll have a problem with them. Still others are trying to show that they are “strong women” while in fact, it’s a show of weakness. There is a better way to do these things.

“I’m a big beautiful woman and if you don’t like it…” can be, “I’m curvy.” or “I’m full figured… I know some of you guys love a big woman.” These are true statements, not false advertising and without the ‘tude. “I hate sports and if you don’t like it…” can become something much more attractive and alluring like, “I’m not a sports fan, but I’m sure we can find some other common interests. ” See? It works. I don’t usually advocate using emotocons, but a winking smiley says a lot.

That actually brings me to my next point. What has happened to the American grasp of the english language. I was recently asked if I was British because of my appropriate use of grammar… the King’s English, if you will. I’m not even all that great at grammar. I misuse punctuation pretty regularly and God forbid I ever try typing a letter without spell check. The biggest turn-off for me is to read an ad that is full of “Lol” and “IDK”. I’m sick to death of abbreviations as they show a lack of imagination and fore thought. To put it plainly, when you fill your ad or an email with these things you come off sounding like a 12 year old or an idiot. Actually say what’s on your mind rather than abbreviating, nervously fidgeting with the language and crawling around with “net-speak”.

Now, a word on photos. Wow… breasts? Really? I’m not just talking about clevage one might see with a regular every day shirt but the down the shirt shots and the chin to waist pictures. I mean, they’re nice and all but should you really be putting them on the Internet for the whole world to see? It begs another question; What kind of man are you trying to attract? I think we all want to look our best and we all want others to think we’re attractive so we showcase our best features and try to accentuate those features. Just bare in mind that if people just want the wrapping, they’ll never appreciate what’s inside. The idea is that people will see an attractive picture and be drawn to the add. That’s valid. You don’t need a slutty down the shirt “Myspace” shot to make the point that you’re a beautiful woman.

Men are no better…Guys, put the abs away… they’ll be gone soon anyway and you’ll need a personality to fall back on. Sure, you’ll find a “hot chick” to “get with”, but if that’s all you’re looking for then you can pick up a hooker who’s going to be less expensive in the long run. Relationships cost time, money, and heartache and if you’re giving away free “tickets to the gun show”, it says something about your character and whether you can support a relationship monetarily and emotionally. Stop it. I’m serious. Your making the rest of us look like a bunch of over educated putzes.

Another issue I take with dudes is the blatantly crude emails some of us are sending to women. “Nice tits.” is not a pick up line, it’s an insult and more importantly, it’s an assault. I can see your point of view (whether or not I agree with it) that a woman showing certain body parts is “asking” for the attention, but they’re not asking to be assaulted. They’re not asking to be insulted. They’re just as lonely as you are and your attitude will not get them to respond unless they’re looking to be degraded. In that case, there are specific sites for that. Men should act like men and treat women with the respect they deserve.

Guys are putting to much emphasis on what they have, not who they are and it’s furthering the culture of apathy and greed in our country. Sure, women want to know you can support them no matter how archaic that sounds. Recent studies on OK Cupid and other sites that track info like this amongst their users have discovered that men who make more money get more hits. There’s a no-brainer. Was there ever a doubt? This is not to say that women on personals sites are gold diggers. All people, men and women alike, want to feel secure and in the world we live in, money is security. Men… don’t lie about how much you make. Your worth does not stem from your paycheck and good women will realize this. Not to say you shouldn’t get a good education and a good job, but it’s more important to be honest with your prospective partners than to pad the bottom line.

I got a little long with this one as I tend to do when annoyed. The sad thing is, I wouldn’t be able to post it on a site like O K Cupid because people don’t like being told… well, anything really. I’ve tried before and it’s not pretty. I know you, my faithful readership will take the info to heart and understand… it’s all opinion.

That’s right, I said it… It’s out there now and you can’t unread it.

As a matter of time killing fun, my friends and I tend to consider Zombies. It’s a running joke, really, that we all have plans should the fateful day come when the dead rise to feast on our tasty, tasty brains. We’ve each agreed that if one of us is bitten by a member of the afore mentioned horde, we’ll quickly and painlessly end the suffering of the one who has been bitten. We know for a “fact” that North Dakota, Canada, or possibly northern Colorado in the mountains will be safe at least until a spring thaw. We have all of these plans for dealing with a world full of walking dead, but what about the robots?

We seem to have overlooked the monstrous metal behemoths that will come after us with their laser eyes, pinching claw hands, and a fear of kittens. We’ve forgotten about the pulse rifles they’ll inevitably use to overthrow our government and destroy our way of life. We’ve lost sight of the real and present threat… Robots. I have to admit, though… if they were amicable to the idea, I’d be a collaborator. Heck, many of my friends and colleagues already believe I am a machine of some kind. The honest probability is that they will not keep humans as pets or slaves… what would be the need? Worst case scenario would be that they completely cleans the world of the verminous infection that is the human race.

I’m not being silly here… I don’t mean alien robots. I’m talking terrestrial robots. I’d like to think that alien robots would have better taste and much more important things to do than to exterminate us. No, friends, I’m referring to the home grown terror that is the personal companion robot. We’ve started to build simple ones like “Robosapien” and even more advanced stimulants that are just plain creepy. We’ve got robot nurses that follow patients around with their medication. We’ve got robots that sweep out floors. We’ve even got cars that parallel park themselves, a skill some humans never master. Where will the madness end?

In conclusion, I want you all to remember, when planning for the wost… don’t neglect the robot invasion. Many of the same survival tactics you’ve considered for Z-day will apply to the R-uprising. Be ever vigilant.

Oh, one more thing…. the worst of all possible things is here.

Recipes are easier than I thought they’d be. A little bees’ wax, some carrier oil (vegetable, corn, or olive), and a few drops of essential oil to taste… or smell rather, and you’re in business. There is some fire involved and there’s some creativity in adding some additional medicinal ingredients, but for the most part, it’s just that simple.

People have made home remedies for centuries… well, since the first homes I would imagine. Folk healing practices are based on cause and effect, trial and error. The witches in Salem were usually only wise old women who knew some local herbs could cure a sore throat. They weren’t evil, just knowledgeable. Today we lack the simplest understanding of the medicinal benefit of the natural world… something I’m hoping my ointments will cure me of.

So far, I’ve only played with a few different recipes, but if you have any suggestions, please feel free to email me or comment. I’d love to hear them. I eventually hope to have a steam distillery set up so I can express my own essential oils… won’t that be fun?

Yeah… I’m a big ol’ dork. But I smell good.

There are a couple of thoughts that have been swirling in the quivering gray mass betwixt my ears that I thought I’d share with my readership. First off, treasures left behind in a Geocache are usually not treasures at all but what most would term “junk”. I don’t see it that way. When you were a child, I would hazard a bet that you had a small box, possibly tucked neatly under your bed or behind your dresser that held all of those baubles that you held most dear. If someone one were to find your precious stash of meaningful keepsakes, a toy ring, tin whistle, matchbox car, a colorful marble… what would they think? Maybe that they’d stumbled on a box of junk? You know and I know, it’s not junk but wondrous and meaningful items of great significance. Inside a cache, one might find a plastic bug or a toy racecar, possibly a plastic penguin, or a toy soldier. The person who left these items found them to be significant in some way and so that significance follows the item to it’s next owner. The point I’m trying to make is… what is trash and what is treasure? Who decides?

I have decided not to take something from a cache unless I find it meaningful to do so. As I usually won’t part with the things that are meaningful to me (call it greed), I have decided to put something of myself into caches instead. I am on a quest to make a token that will show that I was there and maybe give someone a grin or two. I imagine someone finding what I’ve left and saying, “Hey! I’ve got a Boomchit!” or “Wow, look at this!” and having a joyful experience. I know even if I left a toy car or a plastic insect, someone would find it significant enough to take it and move it along but I would rather more of an impact and really I wouldn’t know if I found it again if it were “my bug” or “my car”. It’s not unique enough for my liking. My friend Sarah uses ninjas… very her and rather unique. My friend Andy has a thing for penguins and I think that’s what he’s going to start leaving. Because of my Internet moniker of “Captain Jones” and my website being the Island On The Web, I thought maybe something pirate-ish. I thought about something with bombs and quill pens because of the other alias of BoomPoet. That’s when I decided to try out using polymer clay to mint my own coins…. trust me it didn’t work. While interesting in theory, it just didn’t work out.

Now I’m on a mission. I’m seeking something that’s uniquely me to leave behind as evidence of my passing. Those who don’t know me might think that I’m putting to much thought into this, but those who do would say it’s a normal level of interest and consideration. Hey, it’s better to think of something pleasant that to stress over things that are not.

Why do this? Why, as a good Jewish follower of the Christ who got a lot of support from Corinth and actually liked the city to a degree, would Paul do this? Remember, he was basically the early church version of a Pope… that’s not very popeish now is it? Well, taken out of context, it’s not. But what he was trying to do is knock them down peg so they would listen to time tested wisdom. Pride can blind people, but it can also make us deaf. I can be said to be guilty of this sin as I am sure most of you are too. Pride is primal, like fear. It can drive us to achieve but it can also drop us off a cliff.

In a nut shell, this easter while chomping on chocolate bunnies and multicolored eggs or attending religious services, don’t just sit there and go through the motions of a holiday many people no longer understand. Get up, go out, and observe people in their lives and remember that regardless of breeding, money, color, sex, religion, age, clique, or anything else that separates us, we’re all basically idiots dancing precariously on a fragile pinhead floating in a deadly vacuum. Feel small in the grandeur of it. Let it effect you and your sense of wonder. Listen to Paul’s sarcasm. “For ye suffer fools gladly, seeing ye yourselves are wise.” If you’re so wise, why do you have to look down on others? If you’re so great, why not show that greatness with the smallest kind word or gesture.

Life is to short and we are to insignificant to be mean to each other.

I saw this website on one of the many fluff pieces CNN likes to throw at the breakfast consuming masses and I decided that I would try it… then I decided I wouldn’t. I read some blogs on the subject; some hail the coming of a new “Internet speed dating phenomenon” others simply regard this new viral fad as something akin to having your ego bashed in with a brick. A writer for the New York Times said it was a horrific experience and another blog did a poll, asking it’s readership if they thought it was a great invention or, as previously stated, an interpersonal nightmare which overwhelmingly won the poll. As I said… I haven’t tried it.

I have something of a fragile ego myself and don’t know how well I’d take the mass quantities of rejection as people see my glowing simi-bearded face light up their screen then click “next”. I am, contrary to popular belief, am a compassionate soul so I would have some issues doing the afore mentioned next clicking when someone hideous or a pervert pops up. Hideous perverts need some “love” too right? I would just not want to get hurt or hurt anyone.

For the purposes of making an informed decision, however, I think I’ll give it a whirl. Not to long, maybe a few minutes to see what the hub-bub is all about. I will post again when I have completed the experiment and digested the data. That’s me talk for… “I’ll try to be impartial and not take this to seriously but at the same time detach emotionally and view this whole thing as an experiment as I view most other humanesque interactions.”

Update -

Chat roulette was horrid. I was on for about 10 seconds and in that time I saw dude after dude, a hot girl who immediately hit “Next” and a man’s harry buttocks. I decided to try something else… a picture of two dancing birds with a word ballon that said “Dance <3″. Surprisingly, the response was good. Pretty much all the chat partners stopped and danced for a second before moving on and it made people smile. I guess it’s not all bad, but still it begs the question… What the hell is wrong with humanity that they’d need to reach out like this? Just wondering.

Someone I know was recently robbed. More than that, he was robbed at gun point. More than that, He was robbed at gunpoint in his driveway. One final detail; he lives next door to me. This means, he was robbed at gunpoint next to my house. It was quite obviously a crime of opportunity. It was late, dark and everyone was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I have since added a light to the front porch that casts 95 watts of halogen-flood-lighty goodness directly at the parking area. I know it’s a matter of time before a passing motorist spots the light, is momentarily blinded, goes careening off into the intersection and is horribly maimed, but hey… at least we have light.

My friend Christina and my roommate Andy felt they should have some protection and as I’m often out of town, I decided it would be best if they carried some firearms. I lent Christina a .357 and Andy got the .380. I’m not a “gun nut” by any stretch of the imagination but I do believe in a citizen’s right to bare arms. I also believe that a person should have the right to defined life and liberty with lethal force if they are threatened. This being the case, I felt it was my responsibility to supply my close friends with protection until they could obtain protection of their own.

Now, since I lent out the pistols, I have been thinking about a few things. One, something I’ve oft considered, is getting a concealed carry permit. The problem is, I am not allowed to carry a firearm in the company vehicle. I have no problem with this as I travel constantly, much of the time on air planes and couldn’t take one with me regardless. I also cross state lines pretty regularly so I’d have to get a federal carry liscene and it’s a big hassle so I am not going that route. The other thing I’ve been thinking is that I don’t believe either of my weapons are registered. Why did I think they were in the first place?

I bought my Ruger .357 Police Service Six at Max’s Pawn Shop right down the street from my house. I brought it home and filed the receipt… where, I have no idea. At the time, I believe the store clerk told me that part of the buying process was registration but without the receipt, how can I be sure I’m legal? The other, I purchased from an acquaintance and for all I know it was used in several murders. It was probably not a wise purchase. I don’t even remember the guys name from whom I bought it. I’ve started looking at information on how to register my firearms, but it seems more difficult than just calling the cops and giving them the serial numbers.

Every state seems to have different laws and statutes that govern the transfer, sale, and registration of firearms. I know this is so ownership of a gun is made so difficult, the would be casual owner just decides it’s not worth his time. If criminals want a gun, they’ll get it no matter what hoops they need to jump through… legal or illegal. Therefore, I am doing the same just to make sure I have the legal right to own my firearms. According to the website, Louisiana Firearm Questions, I’m legal. I am not a felon, handguns needn’t be registered in my state, and one can loan weapons out if the recipient is of legal age and is not a felon so we’re good. I am concerned, however, that people are being kept from the legalities purposefully. I’m hoping this link will be found and might be helpful to others.

Arm yourselves for the coming a-poppy-clypse.

The point I’m trying to make is that I have come to know… no, that’s not it. I have always known but never realized that words are a medium in which one can loose the original thought that spawned them. The driving goal of the words is it illustrate the thought, but rarely does anyone see what is actually being illustrated. You could say, “I know somone who is a horrible person.” and I guarantee, at least three if not all of your friends would think you’re talking about them. People see what they want.

This leads me to the reason for this post. I have been trying to work up the inspiration to paint using a new medium (well, new-ish to me anyway) called Gouche (pronounced Gwash) which is a kind of watercolor. I have not been inspired in the least. I was looking around at some sites for ideas as to what I should paint and the works of a couple of these artists spawned a poem… not the inspiration I was looking for, but my muse is a whore and she’ll take it where she can get it. What was birthed from the need to create something, anything, is what follows:

The Road Home

The world does not cover me as well
as it once did
when I was a child looking outwards
never with internal vision.

The myopic nature of media madness
and typhoid flip-flopping
brings about the bastard generation of
ADHD and you tube attention spans.

The world does not blind me as well
as it once did
when I was a kid with dreams and
sleep was my only desire.

What are we creating when our
teens and twenty somethings can’t sign
their names in cursive letters and
our cultural goals include
still laughing at one another.

The world does not shine on me as well
as it once did.
When I was deep in the miasma
of my adolescence, reading eastern
philosophy and Kerouac.

I dreamed of the road.
I traveled it.
I am home.

Once the cattle phase was firmly in play, I started to take the energy that I had used to complain to myself about all manner of things and put it towards observation. It takes a fare amount of energy to notice little things about your environment and the other cattle around you. Looking and seeing are not the same as observing. Observing is a science… it can be a penetrative act or it can be a subtle and reverent affair. One of the things I noticed were all the laptop users of which, at first, I was not one. I did not see the point of whipping out a large and unwieldy hunk of tech just to check my email… that’s not what they were doing. These people… were blogging.

I am an intermittent blogger. When I blog, it’s usually from a dark room somewhere strange and away from the prying eyes of the world. It’s safer to unleash my usually frantic ravings from the privacy of somewhere a little dank and cave-like. It’s almost as though I am expecting someone to stop by and sell me some exotic drug or to purchase pirated software (I don’t do drugs and I don’t sell pirated software, just painting a picture). These people publicly pouring out their deepest thoughts, thoughts that could not wait to be shared, thoughts the world has to be made aware of, became something brave in my mind… something to aspire to. Then I read one of these blogs, the last bastions of free expressions. It was nothing I expected.

I was sitting at a counter by my gate and noticed over the shoulder of the woman in front of me the title of her blog… the name escapes me at present. I immediately produced my hunk of technology and connected. I eagerly anticipated reading of her trials, her overcoming adversity, her deeply personal and probably anonymous statements of truth that would touch my soul and induce tears to fall. It was a cookie recipe. Much like the hidden track on that Tool album that sounds like something from a Nazi youth rally, it was a simple cookie recipe that she wanted to share with her readership. Could that not have waited? Why was this worthy of the spektical that hyper observant people were being subjected to?

I wanted more. I began to wander around the terminal (I had a long layover) and I found more bloggers and more disappointment. “See the pictures of the car I bought?” and “I’m so sick of having to sit by fat people on planes…” and “I thought I might die if she bought the same scarf I was looking at.”. Drivel! Heresy! How very dare they? How dare I? I was the one spying and skulking around looking for… well, I don’t know what I was looking for. I felt guilty for judging people who were just doing nothing more than sharing… much as I did from my dark corners and mysterious hotel rooms. These people with their new cars, scarf purchases, and hatred for fatties (like myself I might add… not a small fella here) were simply taking it to the streets. Their drivel is revolutionary, I began to realize.

I decided, this time, to write in the open. This was written from an airport terminal in Saint Louis Missouri. I am now the douche who blogs from the airport. How do I feel about that? Do I feel like a revolutionary? Do I feel like I sharing something more important than usual? Do I feel my expression is vindicated? No. I’m just another terminal blogger. How dare I?

I’m going back to the cave.