World of Warcraft came out and I was very excited.  Luckily, I did not have any money at the time, so my family has not left for warmer emotional climes.  There are support groups for those who have lost their significant others to massive multiplayer environment lovers.  My wife has already informed me that she is not going to be one of them.  After all, its all fun and games until someone loses a husband (or wife).

Up until I did the readings for sociology, I had never consciously considered video games from a sociological perspective.  I say consciously, because on a basic level I was very intimidated by the on-line multiplayer environments.  I probably had a right to be because my initial experiences were less than completely positive. 

The first time I really wanted to participate in something of this nature was with the game Dungeon Siege.  To boldly, and I am not jst splitting infinitives here, venture online would be exciting I thought.  I had finished the single player story of the game and thought I had built a pretty impressive character.  Since there was nothing left to explore on my own, I decided to take that leap into the unknown and new world of the on-line environment.  I had a level 70 that looked pretty darn impressive in his magical glowing armor.  I was welcomed at the entry at the by another player that was level 999 (as high as the counter goes) who saluted me with a sword thrust to the head,killing me in one stroke and then began to loot my hard-earned gear for rare items.  He didn’t find anything he wanted, so he walked away to find the next poor slob. 

This left me with a sour first impression.  The perpetrator had obviously hacked the program as there is no way I knew to make my character’s head into a burning skull, and no way to get to level 999 without further skulduggery. 

I later tried Magic the Gathering Online which had its own unique sociological environment.  I never got into tournaments in this game which would have pitted my significant skills against people that were committed to their opponents.  This was by necessity, as I we had just had a child and my wife was of the opinion that a video game had a lower priority than newborn poop.  I was often annoyed when my opponents, who were apparently in a similar situation, left me hanging without explanation for minutes on end, or dropped offline altogether after I had invested the time in humiliating them.

I still remain reluctant to invest the time and emotional commitment to these types of games.  The reading comparing EQ guilds to the mafia was apropos.  I just don’t have the contacts to be initially successful.  My time would be spent building on-line relationships to the point where I could compete. 

I read a lovely sci-fi book series named Otherland that talked a lot about these on-line environments.  The technology today is not quite up to this fantastic level of sophistication, but as a prediction for the future, it was very interesting.  I was very excited and at the same time apprehensive about where the technology is going and the new types of social interaction it would engender.

First off, I was a little annoyed with the Ingham article.  The subject matter is fine.  The topic is important and changes are needed in female portrayal  across the board in mass media.  The author makes too many conclusions however that do not follow logically from the premises she presents.  She also sites numerous statistics without giving mention of their source or the way this information was gathered.  Statistics can say just about anything the person that made them up wants them to.

Getting to the subject behind the article, I think just as Ingham does that there is a serious problem in the way women are portrayed in the media.  These stereotypes demean us all, and do need to change to reflect equality between the sexes.  I do think however, that some feminist thinking goes a little overboard.  For instance, sometimes in promoting the idea that women should have equal opportunity in the workforce–an idea for which I am in enthousiastic support, women who choose to stay in the home are sometimes ignored or almost demeaned for this choice.

I like to contrast this article with the advertising reading by Jhally ,who sited studies that show greatest happiness is garnered through interpersonal relationships.  Wouldn’t this mean that mother’s would find greater happiness in the home developing strong relationships with her children rather than spending time working.  And not to be gender biased, wouldn’t the same thing go for men.  So instead of most of us spending most our time out selling, developing,or supporting products which bring no lasting happiness, wouldn’t it be better with respect to personal fulfillment to stop defining ourselves by our jobs and possessions and instead by deepness of our relationships.  I mention this as I musingly reflect on an ironic article I read from the 50′s that said by the year 2000, because of technological advancements, we would only need to work a 20 hr work week to enjoy the same comforts as they had then.  The goal then was to work less and enjoy family more.  The objective now seems to be get more people working longer.  Hmm?

Moving on . . .

I liked the Friends article.  Those episodes are very memorable, but I offer the conjecture that they were funny because the first several seasons of this series were spent establishing the unquestionable heterosexuality of the characters.  This then allowed the writers to explore quirks of the roommates’ relationship without any implications of homosexual attraction.  A funny contrast could then be made with those feelings that arise in a heterosexual relationship (ie. Jealousy, personal independance vs interdependance, ect.) 

I thought earlier Friends’ episodes were funny because theystood out in stark contrast from gender sterotypes usually shown on TV.  As a male, it was nice to see real feelings men have but generally hide because of learned acceptable male response–reinforced and propogated in the mass media.  It was also nice to see this from characters that were not confused about their sexual orientation. 

I quite like last week’s class.  I find it interesting how people define themselves by their music preferences, and was happy to see that the exercise was not just a popularity contest with the most recent hits sweeping the awards.  There was quite an eclectic mixture of tastes.  I almost chose the Four Seasons as my favorite piece of music, but didn’t since it is so atrociously hard to sing to–having no words and all.  Pretending to conduct just doesn’t hold the same level of participatory satisfaction.  It would have been interesting to see how classical piece would have compared in that setting with the irreverent but decidedly funny song my initial selection went up against.  I am ashamed to admit that my loyalties would have been torn.  Whoops, I think Vivaldi just rolled over in his grave.  I had better move on to safer topics.

Who else thinks global warming is a big hoax . . . Just kidding, more or less.  I just don’t know why every subject I read about comes back to weather.  Sut Jhally was making some great points about advertising, and then stretched to include world resource depletion and global catastrophe through rather abrupt climate change and ozone depletion to the list of advertising’s perpetrated atrocities.  I bought into the resource scarcity angle and the accompanying pollution.  Those are fairly intuitive when considering the wastefulness of Western culture.  I have just not been sufficiently convinced that global warming  is going to end the species.  (Feel free to make an angry comment . . . now.)  It is a complex system for heaven’s sake, and the Scientists have yet to produce one prediction or model that has proved accurate. 

More interesting in that article was the way advertising seems to be drawing us away for the idea of a society and the social and family interaction that can truely bring happiness.  If one honnestly lists the top 20 happy moments in his/her life up to this moment, you can’t help but see that he has a point.  Advertising has ingrained the most toys wins philosophy at great detriment to personal happiness found through decidedly less expensive and wastefully means.  I am not a huge Karl Marx fan, but his ideas provide a nice contrast to the propaganda shoveled by advertising.  

There were several quotes in the article that I found illuminating.  The foremost  these was the one from Ehrenreich where he talked about T.V. advertising offering solutions to all those little problems we never realized we had.  These problems usually relate to personal grooming habits–which so many of us lamentably ignore–and how to increase the joy we receive from other products we already own.  We are so busy acquiring these new products that no one has time to address the real, pertinent social issues.  Although my life is not wholly driven trying to keep up with the Jones, I will have to admit that I have bought into the hedonistic advertising philosophy.  The really sad thing is that I don’t have the time or will to change, and I don’t think I am alone among the mesmerized zombies.  At least I have my laptop.

Music is not really my thing. I currently have a very small music collection which consists of a whopping two U2 CDs and a Gig of varied selections I have downloaded over the last decade. I do like music, but it is not an activity that I participate in for it’s own sake.

That said, the readings for this week appealed to the collector in me. I collect hard cover, first edition books as well as a few other items that are too nerdy to mention. I recently did my Dad a favor by getting rid of all of his old records for him. I originally intended to sell them on Ebay, but time and effort were my enemies, and I ended up trading them at a store here in Lethbridge for some DVDs.

Why I am collecting DVDs is a bit of a question since I don’t usually like watching movies again until I have forgotten about the story enough to make it interesting again. This is usually a span of around 3-5 years so by the time I end up watching those films again, the DVD format will be obsolete (well maybe not quite). I just like the security that if I suddenly want to watch The Last Samurai again, it will be there waiting for me.

To get back on track, I was organizing my Father’s records for sale and the collector in me started twitching like a pack-rat. The album covers were interesting in a way that no other music medium I have ever owned has been. I did buy a lot of tapes back in High School, because I wanted to appear moderately cool. I had little regret tossing those in the trash. It was not that the music was garbage–well, some of it was–but tapes get pretty junky after a while.I don’t really have a solid attachment to the music I have downloaded either. It is just 0’s and 1’s on my hard drive, and if I lost it, I could just download it all again. I might even pay for it this time.

So, I had all this music from the 60’s and 70’s to which I had no attachment, but I wanted to keep some of even though I did not have a record player or the means to get one in the foreseeable future. This got me to thinking, and from the readings for class it seems I am not the only one on this track. If the music industry wants to stop losing money from all these people downloading songs, all it needs to do is make a product that has some long term appeal. Make it collectable. Make it unique.

If I was going to get into music, it would probably be records. I like the feeling of history, and I like the feeling of having a unique music collection.

But none of that is probably going to happen in the near future. So I will continue burning cd-r mixes of those same 200 songs I love, and listen to them exclusively as I drive around in my car, singing at the top of my lungs while teens mock me at the stoplights.

   I started out on the right foot by avoiding the line to get tickets. I went to automated kiosks that for some reason never have anyone at them. I had my ticket in hand in 2 minutes and 20 seconds by paying with my debit card. There are a few too many menus trying to get one to buy into the feeding frenzy, but it sure beat queuing behind the 30 other suckers who apparently find technology intimidating.  

   Apparently it has been a while since I’ve been to a movie, since they reinstituted cheap ticket prices on Tuesdays and I knew nothing about it. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I had saved some money. I even considered buying some confectionary items. And then I saw the line. And then I was re-familiarized with the pricing structure. And then I said nuts to that and started towards the little room with the sticky floors.  

   I did have to wait in line for the teenager to rip my ticket in half before robotically gesturing in the general direction I should scurry. I waited for a family who had one person who beat me to the punch, which by default means they all did. Adding to the aggravation, even though they were all headed to the same show, each of the five were handed individual tickets by the father, and the ticket taker methodically tore and gestured in the same direction for each one. Of course, I was 20 min early so I don’t know what I was getting so excited about.   

  I enjoyed the movie trivia and commercials while I watched what Smith refers to as the swine in the pig barn. I have to admit, I am not nearly as repulsed as he is by peopling digging into traditional movie treats. I am dismayed that 5 cents of popcorn and 10 cents of pop cost $6.50. However, the smell of popcorn actually added a nice nostalgic element to the Ghost Rider experience. I remembered fondly back to the far removed era when my financial situation allowed for a little artery clogging indulgence.    I had never really noticed before how quickly people inhale their popcorn. I thought one guy was going for the world record there for a moment.   The floors were quite sticky which I admit bothers me. But once I effectively glued my feet into a comfortable position, I forgot all about it.

   Here is an extrapolation on that thought.  My personal experiences with the media have left me feeling uneasy about the reliability of news coverage.  During the few interviews I have had for localy interesting newspaper articles, it had initally appeared that the reporter and I were both speaking English.  Communication seemed to be happening two ways, and appropriate notes on what I felt were key points taken.  Enevitably when the stories come out, I realize that I either don’t communicate very effictively and/or about 30% of the words I use don’t mean what I think they mean.

   I wish I had some concrete personal examples, but I have been so disappointed to date with these articles that I have not kept a single one.  What I mostly remember from each experience was being consistently misquoted and important details omitted or misunderstood.  Most readers would not notice the difference.  Those close to the situation being reported however are often dishartened by the incongruities.

   My Dad has a nice example of this.  He was being interviewed as a Rancher during the terrible drought a few years ago.  The article per his knowledge was to deal with how certain ranchers in the Cardston area were being stiffed on crop insurance claims based on data collected in another region 45 miles away.  This was an injustice.  Individual cases should be based on the rainfall and conditions of the land in question.  My Father thought he eloquently explained the situation and its news worthiness.  What was actually reported inculded very little of the interview and none of the specific details.  All the public got was pictures of a ranch undergoing drought.  The weather was the subject.  The sad thing was that anyone could have just looked out the window and come to the same conclusion as what was reported.  Extreme weather events sell.  The plight of the little guy most offten does not unless it is extreme or bizzare.

   Whether it is shoddy journalism such as I have experienced, or a more sinister political agenda like those exposed in the readings,  it is important to realize that one should not always blindly accept what is reported.  (Except for this blog as every fact here has been scrupulous cross-checked against my version of reality.) The Huntly quote at the start of chapter gave me a good chuckle.  “… news is what I decide is news.”  Taking that completely out of context, I am reminded of a lovely Homer Simpson quote, “Facts are meaningless.  You could use facts to prove anything that’s even remotely true. Facts schmacts.”  

   It seems more and more that major media sources are reporting the same world events every day, and effectively do so in about 30 seconds at the start of the broadcast.  This is increasing giving a new meaning, at least as far as I am concerned, to the media hole.  (This is evident given recent reporting by major sources on the psudo holiday of Festivus.  Man I love Seinfeld.)

   My Great Grandmother worshipped Stampede wrestling.  She loved the Harts and the Dynamite Kid, and loved to hate Muccan Singh.  I was more into WWF with favorites including Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, and Ricky the Dragon Steamboat, but could still share her enthousiasm for the more local talent.  Every day after cartoon and wrestling prime-time, my brothers and I would shun the program warnings by reenacting the dangerous stunts on our trampoline.   Ahh, those were the days.

   You will notice in that list perhaps a surprising lack of Canadian content.  Kids CBC with its annoying agenda of trying to teach kids things rather than properly promoting violence on a global scale did not exist then.  I do enjoy Hockey Night in Canada and comedy in all its various forms (please note that this does not include the Air Farce or 22 Minutes since Rick Mercer left).   I also like CBC News with it’s Canadian perspective better than other news programming.  

   George Comstock was quoted as saying that T.V. has become an unavoidable and unremitting factor in shaping what we are and what we will become.  Taking this down to a personal level, I will conceed that T.V. has had a large influence on on who I am now.  But just as Television instituted the decline of other media like newspapers and radio, I think its influence in its present form is wanning.   I base this on my personal experience which I assume can be extrapolated onto the general populace. 

   I am watching far less TV now than I ever have, maybe two to three times less.  It is not as though I don’t want to watch it, I just don’t.  I appreciate media that doesn’t take up so much of my time with junk.  A 1 hr show is really only 35 mintes if you cut out the commercials.  A 2 hour t.v. move in its cut up form is really just over an hour of entertainment.  The internet can pare down the fluff to give me exactly the entertainment or information I request.  The traditional media and advertisers in my opinion will need to find new ways to make money working on this model.

The greatest match ever. 

   Every now and then I like to check on that email dummy account I use to sign up for various downloads and free hockey pools, ect.  Last time I looked at my most recent of such accounts, I had 1287 emails for various related products for which I have rancor bordering on ardent apathy.  It is really too bad that Spam can’t be cashed in at the local grocery store for the real variety.  There is the solution for world hunger right there.  Traditionally, I likes mine with a smathering of ketchup.  Mmmm.

  I have had the pleasure during my life to work in the field of internet tech support.  I came to the sad conclusion that the reason I am constantly bombarded by, spam, fishing scams, pop-ups, and spyware is that there is a lamentably large population of yokels out there that believe this stuff.  It says here that my computer is full of spyware they would say.  I would advise not to click on it.  They invariably answered, ooops.  I would then explain that the person trying to get them to pay $20 for the spyware removal put it there in the first place.   I envisioned little lights going on, but still had to wonder if anyone was home.

   All that to say that navigating the internet is not as straight forward as one might imagine.  It requires some cyber savvy and a dose of common sense.  I got back into Ebay about six months ago and was surprised that things had changed drastically in the about 8 months I had been gone.  I keep getting these emails from what appear to be legitemate customers asking about items I am not selling.  At some point I must have clicked one of these by accident, because a day later  I find myself locked out of my account. Someone posing as me is now selling a lot of high end items to people in Britain, using my sellers rating to cloud common sense about the feasabilty of shipping motorcycles from Canada to the UK.  I got that sorted out, but it appears I am now a plump duck with a target on its hindquaters, getting a similar scam fired at me daily through that email account. 

   I love the internet the way it is, but often find myself wondering if a little regulation wouldn’t be such a bad thing.  Wouldn’t it be great to have a big brother watching over things, some universal internet authority one could appeal to in the face of injustices like I have mentioned above.  (Yes, that is a reference to 1984.) Traditional policing is terribly inaffective dealing with internet deceit.   

   The full moon reflected oddly off the ebony surface of the river. Shadows danced across the water, enjoying the night. Owls hooted, a lone coyote howled a mournful cry, and strange creatures stalked the darkness. It was too calm, too still. It was the kind of night to hover over a fire while keeping a wary eye on the bushes. Something strange was destined to happen on a night such as this . . .

   Water jetted in all directions as a body broke the river’s surface. Awkward curses and pitiful cries for help broke through the eerie stillness. Bobby splashed his way frantically to the shore. He had never learned to swim like the other kids. He hated water. When his awkward dog paddle got him close enough to the bank, he dove for the shore like he was sliding into second. He came up short, digging a short trench in the mud with his face. He crawled the rest of the way to safety before collapsing gratefully.

   He lay there panting for some time, glad to be alive. He really hated water. Bobby stood up after he had finished his long re-acquaintance with dry ground. He looked around. Nothing looked familiar. He didn’t have any idea how long he had been in the water. Bobby vaguely remembered falling of the dam, but that had been around noon. From the height of the moon, it had to be well past midnight now. Bobby scratched his head in confusion. Well, at least he was still alive. The night was eerily calm. Bobby was fourteen years old, but he was still young enough to believe in spooks. This was not the kind of night to be lost. The moon glowered angrily down at him. Bobby wanted to go home. A rustle in the bushes off to his right nearly made him jump out of his skin.

   “Who’s there?” he asked in a shaky voice. He really didn’t want anyone to answer.

   “It’s just me,” a voice whispered back. “I heard the commotion, and I got here just in time to see you drag yourself out of the river.” The voice got a little stronger. “This is not the kind of evening to be out swimming, you know?”

   “I fell in,” Bobby answered. He didn’t see the need to mention that it had happened over twelve hours ago. “I’m kinda lost,” he then admitted. “If you could just point me out the way to Frankton–”

   The other voice cut him off. “Frankton is ten miles up river, you don’t want to go there.”

   Ten miles. Bobby couldn’t understand it. He must have been floating unconscious the entire day. No one back home would ever believe this.

   “You should come with me tonight,” the voice continued. “We will have lots of fun. My name is Bill by the way.”

   “I really need to get home,” Bobby answered. “My Mom will be worried sick, and I have school tomorrow. Is there a road around here back to town?”

   Bill seemed hesitant to respond. He started several sentences, but stopped each time halfway through the first word. Bobby hoped he wasn’t one of those psychos from TV. He prepared himself to run just in case. The guy in the bushes finally decided on what he wanted to say.

   “There is something I need to tell you kid. I didn’t want to be the one to do it. There really isn’t an easy way to say it. You see, um… Well, you’re sort of dead.”

   “What?”

   “Dead.”

   “Are you crazy?” The way Bobby phrased the question there was little doubt as to his personal opinion.

   “Most of us find out before it gets embarrassing. I just didn’t want you to go home and freak your family out. Some people don’t handle it too well when their dead son walks through the door.”

   “I’m not dead,” Bobby reassured Bill. “I feel fine.”

   “Sure you do,” Bill answered. That’s because you are dead. If you were alive, you would be freezing to death right now.”

   Bobby looked down at his dripping clothes. It was true. He should be shivering or have goose bumps. He could see his breath on the cool night air steaming from his mouth. He probably had hypothermia. That was the only explanation. This was all a delusion.

   An idea came to him suddenly. “Why am I still breathing if I’m dead?” He puffed another cloud of vapors to prove his point.

   “Some old habits die hard,” came the response.

   “So you are saying that I don’t have to breath?”

   “Precisely.”

   Bobby was not going to be suckered into something this big. Everyone said he was too gullible. He intended to prove them all wrong. He inhaled deeply and held it with his cheeks puffed out. He waited for the familiar burning that would prove he was still alive. He waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Finally he let it all out with a sigh.

   “I must be dreaming,” he whimpered.

   The voice answered on a harsh note of compassion. “If this is a dream, then you better get used to it. This is the longest nightmare that you are ever going to have.”

   Bobby contemplated his death. This is definitely not what he had imagined it to be. Dead? He was too young to be dead.

   Bill tried to console the poor boy. He wasn’t very good at it. “I followed your body down the river the entire day. The way you kids were playing around the dam, I knew one of you were going to get it. I have been lonely lately. I was hoping to have this chance of initiating a newly-dead. “

   “Are you . . .” Bobby paused while searching for the right word. “Are you deceased, too?” he gulped.

   “I was dead before you were even born,” Bill sighed. “Seventy-one years now, last November. I had no idea the stupid thing was loaded.”

   “Are you a ghost? Is that why I can’t see you?” Bobby felt a thrill of dread race up his dead spine.

   “Not exactly,” Bill explained. “I am hiding because I didn’t want to scare you. The last time I just popped out on someone, I spent the next week putting myself back together. You can’t be too careful with your bones nowadays.”

   Bobby put two and two together — and got five. “Are you a skeleton, Bill?”

   Bill inched his way out of the bushes. Bobby’s hair stood on end. It was exactly as he had feared. Bobby could see right through Bill’s yellow ribs. He could not help from backing up a couple of steps. “That’s weird,” was all the boy could say.

   “This is what you will be like soon,” Bill instructed. “You start out looking normal, like you do now, and then you begin to decay. First you bloat and get all smelly. Hopefully, you dry up before too long, otherwise your skin just falls off a chunk at a time. Eventually, bones are all you have left.”

   “How long do you stay like that?” Bobby asked, referring to Bill’s bony physique.

   “Only a couple hundred years, and that’s if you are lucky.” Bill sounded touchy on this point. “After your bones fall apart, all you have left is a spirit. Ghosts can’t do much. They don’t have any way to affect the living world without a body or skeleton. All you can do then really is find a nice house to haunt.”

   “Sounds rough,” Bobby sympathized.

   “It’s not easy being dead.” They sat under the bright moon for a while just looking at one another. The light reflected oddly off Bill’s skull. His hollow eye sockets stared vacantly at Bobby. The boy shuddered.

   “Was I evil?” Bobby finally asked to break the silence. Bill did not answer immediately.

   “No. If you were evil, you would have gone to Hell.”

   “Then this is what happens to good people?” Bobby felt bewildered at death’s injustices. “That doesn’t sound right.”

   Bill shrugged his shoulder blades. “No. If you were good, you would have gone to heaven.”

   Bobby was getting frustrated. “What was I then?”

   “You were completely average. You were not good or bad enough to be noticed, so you sort of slipped through the cracks. It does not happen often, but it does happen. A fair number of the people that are classified as “missing” end up like this. Nobody living cares enough to look for them, so they say the lost person is “missing” and leave it at that.”

   “How did you know when you were watching us on the dam that I was average enough to end up like this?”

   “I didn’t know. I just hoped. You looked like the kind of kid that no one notices. They like having you around to laugh at their jokes and do their dirty-work, but that’s about it. When I left the dam, your friends were still playing. I don’t even know if they realized that you were gone. Most people are just too darn annoying, good or bad, not to notice. You and I were too average.”

   “This is unbelievable,” Bobby said.

   The dead boy pondered his situation. This was all so new. It did not take him long to come up with another question. Bill didn’t seem to mind. He looked like the patient sort.

   “What do dead people, well, do?”

   “We try to scare people, of course,” Bill said. “We give the people that didn’t have the time to notice us when we were alive another chance. It is really a lot of fun.”

   “Maybe it’s just me, but that sounds rather evil.”

   “It’s all just good-natured fun.” Bills bones started jittering at the thought. “We don’t try to hurt anyone–most of us anyway. We just try to make them pee their pants. It’s a noble pursuit in my estimation. Besides, what else is there to do.”

   “Maybe we could try helping people?” Bobby suggested.

   “Sure. I can see it now. Bobby-the-bloated-zombie shows up at a widow’s house and offers to do her dishes. Somehow I don’t see anything good coming out of that situation. Really, with thoughts like that, I don’t know how you missed your wings. Heaven must have filled its quota to have missed an angel like you.” The skeleton shook with laughter. Bobby didn’t say anything. Bill finally calmed down. “I’m sorry,” Bill apologized. “I know that this is all new to you, but you have to take advantage of the situation. You are in the prime of death. There is nothing more scarey than a half-decomposed monster. You have to take advantage while you still have your voice box.”

   “What do you mean?” Curiosity replaced the boy’s embarrassment.

   “You can still moan, groan, hurl insults, and all that kind of good stuff. All I can do is rattle chains.”

   “But you are talking to me?” Billy pointed out.

   “That’s only because you’re dead,” Bill explained. “If you were still alive, you wouldn’t hear a thing. I can’t communicate with the living. I could scratch a message in the dirt, I guess, but what human is going to wait around long enough for that.”

   The knowledge that Bobby had an advantage over his bony companion made him feel a little better. Being dead would take some getting used to, but he could see how it might be exciting. “So, who are we going to scare tonight?” Bobby surprised his friend with the question. He was dead anyway. He might as well get into it.

   “That’s the spirit, son.” The skeleton snapped to attention. He looked eager to go. “Do you have anyone in mind for your first spook?” Bobby did. “I was thinking that we might start with my friend Carl. He was at the dam today. He always acted so tough. It’s time we taught him a lesson.”

   Bill motioned for Bobby to follow him. There was a trail not too far into the trees. They walked along at a brisk pace. Bill seemed almost more eager than his young companion. Bobby felt the excitement build in his chest. He noticed that his heart wasn’t beating, but it really didn’t matter now. “This is going to be fun,” he said.

   “I was thinking,” said Bill. “If we stuck a stick or a bar through your head, it would make you a bit scarier.

   “Will it hurt?” Bobby rubbed his temple.

   “Of course not,” Bill said. “You’re dead.”

   Brainwashing is so gentle and sudsy. 

   Classes like this are so important for teaching us that we must stay well informed. It seems everyone has an agenda these days. You don’t know it, but right now I am invading your psyche, conniving you into cogitating just like me. Opps . . . I’ve said too much.

I was glad to see Stephen Colbert make it into a class setting. I love that hilarious malfeasant for challenging everything that makes reason cringe and justice weep. Plus, he shares my hatred of bears which means he knows a thing or two about who is really trying to take over the world.

Recently, I was educating myself by reading a little of that literary giant and prognosticator, Michael Crichton. Come on, he predicted that dinosaur cloning thing would go South, now didn’t he. In this book, State of Fear, he talks a lot about how the media is shaping our beliefs about global warming. It was a tad over the top and decidedly one sided in approach, basically challenging every media indoctrinated misconception every held on the subject. Wonderfully, everything he proposed was exactly what I was willing to believe, so it worked out great everyone. Crichton got the money and I now get to rant in mildly more informed ways about how there is now bloody way they can predict what the weather is going to do. If the weatherman can not even get the three day forecast correct, how is a scientist by simply studying 1 of the Earth’s 10000 glaciers supposed to know that I should not be investing in beachfront property and in that in50 years, parkas are out and Bermuda shorts are in.

I always find it interesting how many of the top news stories are about catastrophic weather events that kill 2 people. I have to wonder how many people die each day by slipping in the shower. Probably more than two. Where’s the coverage on the dangers of cleaning armpits. Weather sells for some reason. Look at the weather channel and tell me your not impressed that it is -50 in Yellowhorse (or is it Whiteknife, I can never remember).

All that was to comment on one of the 20 reasons to study media from sociology class. “The media require us to learn and use critical thinking skills.” A spin on that is that if it is a requirement, then why don’t more people do it. I like what Adorno had to say about popular culture “manipulating the masses into passivity” and “easy pleasures”. It is a lot easier to nod my head when there is a news story that confirms that the weather is changing and people are dying, than to do the research to see if this claim is indeed true or simply based on a computer simulation that takes three variables. It is also a lot easier to watch Simon Cal make fun of yodeling yokels than do my homework. Whoever first said “learning can be fun” probably made a lot of money off the naïve.

On that note of procrastination, I’ve been to youtube since it was mentioned in class. The technology is pretty cool. Nostradamus and I have been predicting this is the way the Internet was headed for a while now. I was on the most viewed page and indifferent to the content. Maybe I need to play with it more, but my initial impression was that there are a lot of morons out there taking poor quality cell phone videos of themselves doing approximately nothing. I’ll give it another gander next time I am approaching a vegetative state. Which is right . . . Now.