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Horsehead Nebula

At the Center of Universe, is the perpetually open Intergalactic Discovery Center. Should you travel there, you will find a curled up yellowing note taped to the giant glass doors that explains that the perpetually open IDC is temporarily closed due to a budget shortfall and for maintenance. The observation deck and coin operated binoculars remain open around the outside of the center. As does the souvenir shoppe in the southeast corner of the post-modern architectural complex. In a “donut hole” in the center of the IDC concourse is the actual Center of the Universe, admittance is currently $87 adult, assuming the IDC were in fact open! But that doesn’t seem to stop the German tourist from paying anyhow? The windows that ring the center are dark smoked glass, that’s not quite clear enough to see through. But everyone tries to anyhow, leaving little Bavarian nose & finger prints behind.

Robotic maintenance workers scurry pasted quickly, actually praying to God that you will not ask them any questions, once they have absolutely no way to respond. Except to vacuum you off, and give you a gentle pat on the butt. Which only seems to make some tourists angry, to the puzzlement of the maintenance robots.

The only open public restrooms are in the souvenir shoppe. It has one attendant, a zombie teenage girl, who again would rather die, than be even a little bit helpful. (I just assume she zombie, by the look.) She is more interested cola, black nail polish, and maybe spider webs, than you. Unless your trying to sneak in and out, for just a free pee; “At least buy a dime postcard, freeUNloader- geesh!” She will sarcastically snarl into the intercom system. Other than that, she is not even slightest bit useful to anyone, should you be foolish enough to ask her a question or out to dinner. But it might surprise you to find out she’s been Employee of the Month for 4 months strait, for her remarkable ability to continue to bring in revenue in spite of the intergalactic slowdown in the economy. It also might be the fact that she has the only “FREE” public restroom in 44 light-years of space, around the Center of the Universe, too. But the Government is quite pleased at her high performance record, low demands, and low tourist complaint level of only 99.2% (mostly in French, so who cares?).

In front of the attendant is a rack of chewing gums, all being Spearmint flavor. That she prefers to hide behind, to fend off any questions you might have while paying. Should you accidentally make eye contact, you will greeted with a huge warning sigh, and an exasperated eye roll, and the plea; “Oh Christ, now what?” The remarkable thing about the gums is not that they are all one flavor, or that they all cost $1, well 99 cents, but they will cure any disease in the known universe. Yet, only the Aspirin Spearmint Flavored Gum is sold out? I guess, her pressing problem is the most frequently asked question, which is; “Does this come in Cherry? Oh never mind!”

Overall, as a tourist attraction, I give it a B+. Because it isn’t the slightest bit educational, barely functional, but has lots of curiosity factor and possibilities, and (most importantly) it has a clean working restroom. Now is actually a good time to visit IDC, while the school buses are absent. The schools somehow know they’re closed, but the flashing billboards on the Intergalactic Bypass haven’t a clue.

I am also happy to report that Cure for Cancer Gum is mislabeled in that it is Mango flavored. However, it will still make you vomit, and loose all your hair, and will leave you with that horrible lingering aftertaste for weeks afterwards. But really is that any worse than the side effects of Diet Dr. Popper, should you ever have the misfortune of accentually drinking one of those?

I also got my mustache vacuumed, a pat on the butt, and a ping; Good luck- that was very nice and completely unexpected response to “Hi!”. While it was such a friendly gesture, I sure hope it hadn’t just finished cleaning a public restroom?

Then I had slight glimpse at the Horsehead Nebula before my coin ran out. It cost me 3 more coins, before I figured out that it always gives you a half second glimpse of the Nebula before it runs out. I blinked once.

I got a real nice stretch of the legs there, which is what you need after a long and disappointing trip to the Center of the Universe. Really, all that science and physics really could have wrecked it, and made it more like work, anyhow. So what else could you want from a Intergalactic Tourist Destination, other than some congeniality and getting everyone to use a good deodorant soap? Yeah right, when pigs fly- I hear ya!

Everybody loves PIZZA!
Ok smart aleck, I want the name and address of the pizza hater? Uh huh, I thought so… I’ll be keeping an eye on you…

Now, it’s no secret that I am the large size that I am today, because my love for home made “Artisan” breads, and in particular home made PIZZA! So, I bought a food scale, so I could do the numbers on my favorite home made pie, to get a real estimation of the caloric intake per slice.

Sit down (softly), because the total was a shocking 368 calories per slice. Yet by removing one ingredient, that could be reduced to 275 calories per slice. And I’m sure a huge amount of fat (which was uncalculated). Want to guess what it is that has almost half the calories in your common pizza? It’s the pepperoni! 93 calories per slice, and almost all the fat! Right behind that is Italian Sausage, which comes in at 49 calories per slice, if you use as much as I do (which is about double what come from most Pizza Palaces and Pizzerias). So without the MEAT(?), my pizza is now 226 calories per slice. On a 1200 calorie diet that’s; 3, 4, or 5 slices of pizza you could eat per day, if you eat nothing else. But these are THICK slices of pizza, you could remove another 89 calories per slice, by cutting dough in half and making THIN crust pizza. Mind you, this is still a Cheese, Olive, Mushroom, Onion, Bell Pepper, large Pizza, which is quite a load of toppings.

Ok dieters, I hear you; Home made, thin crust, cheese pizza, please! Ok, that’s 125 Calories per slice. Who says Pizza not healthy? Clearly, you can live on it! And you can get fat like me on it, if you take it to the excess that I do! Moderation, you say? Moderation is for skinny people!

I’m over on Slash Dot (news for nerds); And I’m reading about Web Based Private File Storage. And I’m sure you could give three sh*ts and hooray about such nonsense. But it’s the author’s ramble that is rattling around in my effin head, because it doesn’t make any sense at all:

“I have personal stuff in Outlook folders that I would not want someone in IT to see if I suddenly dropped dead: emails to the wife, photos of the kids, that kind of thing. I also keep a journal at home that I save to a server; personal reflections that I never want anyone else to see, especially if I die.”

WTF? Why do you write, and keep a journal, if you don’t want anyone to read it? Law of the Universe #1: Even before things fall down; You WRITE TO BE READ, to leave something behind other than sh*t. Contact with a BRAIN, a PERSONALITY, your distinctiveness, your politics, your issues. Otherwise, you have no business owning a keyboard, or an email address. WHO ARE YOU KIDDING? This is a reporter telling us, he keeps a drawer of secrets that we’re not to touch if he dies? That’s not a lawn being fertilized, that you smell. (I’ll bet he wants to hide his porn).

As a long time, very experience blogger. I can tell you, it’s nearly impossible to drive traffic to yourself to begin with. So if you really don’t want to be read; Start a professional blog- because you’ll be amazed how many people on earth at this moment, don’t give a sh*t at all what you think, or have to say. It’s the same as being hidden in plain sight. Do it for free, and all your friends and family will be all over the place, but try and make a dime…

Worse off, because this article that I’m reading here, that really stirs the juices up, I’m suddenly shocked to find; Isn’t about offsite encrypted private storage services. But rather it’s about recruiting Slash Dot readers to tell him where the best place to hide his thoughts are.

Now you’ve already had my profession answer, here’s my personal; Shove them up your ass, you pussy! My opinions are exclusively my own, please don’t read them, particularly if I’m dead- fuck!???

Why, o why, would this happen to me? Here’s the deal on that: I’ve been trying lately, to be so good. To clean up my potty mouth, and be professional. Devoid of emotion, just state the facts as clearly as you can. Try and create personality with humor, on the turn of a phrase. But suddenly out of the blue, you run into something that just makes you scream; FUCK! @ someone! My point being, to those this offends, and turns off. This is the blog of Randy Smiley- it is a personal blog, not a professional blog. Please forgive the emotional outburst from my very real and genuine personality- but here I have the right to say what I want to say, anyway that I want to say it. If I were writing for you, this would never happen!

Do you think these guys, 3000+ years ago, wanted their party forgotten? Hidden away on a secret server or a drawer some where? Here’s history of the world’s first great party, that had EVERYTHING: Wine, Women, & Song. Does it get better than that? Couldn’t, they painted it on the wall for all to see- Now that’s bragging! Let us never forget, the GREATEST party of all time.

You WRITE to be READ!

Message sent, message received, even if you don’t read Egyptian. This is brilliant, unlike some people.

I have rescue dog. A pure bred rescue dog, but a rescue dog none the less. We bought her with $50. She now an old rescue dog, and her vet bills have made her price to be much closer to a pure bred dog now. But we love her enough to pay it gladly to keep her in top form.

She lives to eat, and eats to live. Nothing complex there.

The very first battle with the dog, when we got her was over the midnight poop! Turns out that this was just a tantrum. The dog didn’t like sleeping alone in the living room. Once we figured that out, and let her in the bedrooms, midnight pooping stopped, completely.

Secondly, the dog started bonding to me way too much! With a houseful of people, and her being a family dog, we had to do something. Particularly, once she didn’t like me ever leaving, even to go to work. So what we did, was split up feeding of the dog (once she’s a total chow hound). And that worked, she became a family dog, and now shares the love. But at the expense of privacy. You never who’s door is going to be pushed open in the night, as she will float from room to room, depending on where she believes she will get the best rest. Get up to pee, and you can almost hear behind you, “I’m out of here!”

Well, here we are in the middle of summer, the dog days. And my dog is panting so hard, much harder than before, but she really old for a little dog. She holds to her routines though, we must do the same things every day, for the dog to feel her value. But the other night, much to my surprise (because I’m doing chemo- and the dog doesn’t like the smell- either do I, but I think it will follow me) the dog decided to sleep with me anyway, on a hot night. Well, now I can’t sleep because of her panting and wheezing. So I took off my CPAP (it’s a machine that blow air in your head all night mostly to keep you from snoring), and dangled it over the side of the bed. And sure enough, with just that tiny breeze, the dog stopped panting. Doesn’t work on my snoring, fills my head with boogers from hell, but her panting is another story? Well there’s just no way to share a CPAP with a pup- that almost as gross has the boogers from hell.

So, I get up, and turn on my fan. Only the fan doesn’t work, turns out it’s not plugged in, do to a room rearrangement. So I move it over to the computer table, set it on the floor, plug it in, and aim it at the barely sleeping, now annoyed dog, who instantly stops panting, and goes back to sleep, and I get my CPAP mask back for all it worth.

That’s right, now I have to run a fan all night for my overly pampered pure bred. But I got my CPAP back, and the boogers from hell too, and a good night’s sleep.

Krista is a blond girl of maybe 20 years old, who seems trapped in another century all together. She is slender, average built for the lean girl type, lacking any alluring womanly form, once she’s always mummy rapped in clothes that belong on a Mennonite peasant. Only her slender hands, and soft featured face pop out of cloth that seem an inch thick, and made to protect an armadillo from attack. Her dress, extends from her neck strait down to below her knee, where it overlaps with thick socks, that flow down into her shoes, from who knows where, maybe her neck as well? Her blond hair is pulled back so tight, it seems waxy and oily, there are times I just want to scrub her down, and not for sexual reasons! The only hint of personality in all her beige and white clothing, might be found in her socks, but only on the most special occasions. Meanwhile, Krista sparkles with a bright personality and intelligence, that seems to still have a hint of tomboyishness to it, but she is clearly all girl now. And for that reason, in spite of her smile, and her charming character, she seems a tragic person that needs liberating and educating (at a top university). Which you know deep down inside, is just not possible. Krista will always be a little quaker girl, living far too structured a life. More servant than talent, just because she’s female.

On the other hand, look at the rest of us 21 century humans, actually living in chaos. Most of dress like 8 year olds, in t-shirts that say something repugnant, and ugly baggy shorts or blue jeans, and sneakers that seem 8 times too big for our bodies. We are repulsively fat, aging quicker than avocado in a basket of bananas. We look like slobs because our lives are completely undisciplined, and selfish. We drink wine coolers and whatever todays hot training wheels in a bottle might be, all weekend long, while ordering delivery pizza, like that’s living it up? And we’d sooner be shot in the head, than ever write a letter to someone, when cellphones are just so convenient, and easy to send pictures to Facebook and Twitter. And we pride ourselves as being as dumb as a rock, but abundantly full of common sense by the pure love of God.

I’m no fashion plate, or intellectual. Just another middle age escapee by social promotion, hot head, that seems more and more violent and angry as his standard of living continues in free-fall all the time, and his abilities decline. Who has to continuously to remind himself, that it is his duty to himself, and everyone around him, to everyday, find a way to improve himself and his world, even in the simplest little ways. It is better to laugh, than turn negative and bitter. It is better to be the uncommon man. STOP, smile and laugh, at the absurdity of it all, it’s worth it! It is better to be slow to temper, in and at everything, once it’s not going to change anything for the better- really (trust me)!

There is no doubt in my mind, that I would love to see young Krista in a spaghetti strapped red dress and pumps, showing some bare shoulder and leg, with her hair WASHED and down and flowing, really throwing her hips into her strut, going off to meet some nice young man on date, like a 20 year old should. But it will never happen, and who am I to judge, really? I hope that young couple owns some bolt cutters and a crowbar, or she’ll never get felt up.

There is no woman, in two centuries, that I’ve seen less of than Krista, with the only exception being women in burkas! I wonder how she would react that cable TV commercial for that dickie like thing to cover womens boobs on low cut tops? It’s one my personal favorites that even makes me blush a little!

Ironically, Krista will always be defined in my head, by the most common thing you hear her colleges shout at her as she passes; “Slow down, Krista!” If only that were possible?

You can’t make this shit up! Crack me another beer, would ja, there’s got to be somebody playing golf on TV somewhere? **Burp! Ah!** Damn it, what’s the number of Domino’s, again? Ewe, I think I feel myself getting skinny. Is that a rib? No, no, just a new roll of fat! **Burp!**