Dear C++,

Hi.  It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?  How’ve you been?  Listen, can we talk?

You’re probably wondering what I’ve been up to all these years.  I’m just going to be honest and up front with you.  I’ve been seeing other languages.  Higher level languages.

That probably would have been better for me back then, back when we first met.  I was young, naïve, and inexperienced.  Despite how flexible and powerful you are, what I really needed were languages that were capable of doing things for themselves.  Things like cleaning up after themselves.  I didn’t want to have to be in so much control.  I didn’t want to have to explicitly tell you how to do everything.

Perhaps I was expecting too much of you.  Perhaps I wasn’t expecting enough of myself.

What I was really looking for was a language that could do some things on its own without my constant supervision.  Since our time together, I’ve found some.  Several actually, and we’ve really done well together.  Don’t get me wrong.  You’ll always have a special place in my heart because you were my first.  But, I’ve been happy with my newer partners.  More productive.

But now, here we are.  Together again.  Despite our past, I really think we can be good together now.  I’m older, more mature, and more experienced.  My expectations and preconceived notions have changed dramatically from what they were when I was just beginning.  I think I understand you and your needs better than I did back then.  I think I understand myself better as well.

So, C++, what do you say.  Can we give this another go?

Subversive Movement

So, I’m sure I’ve written before about my desire to be a supervillain.  Well, if not exactly a supervillain at least a nominal one.  Perhaps villain isn’t the right word.  I’d be more of an anarchist or subversive.  You know what, maybe you should just take your pick of the near matches that come from a thesaurus: troublemaker, dissident, agitator, revolutionary, renegade, rebel. . .

(Seriously, in this postmodernist world, the communicator’s intent means nothing.  Whatever the audience’s interpretation is becomes the message.  Thank you for contributing to the post-fact world, dickweeds.)

Basically, my desire is to use punctuation to subvert the messages I see on signs, posters, billboards, bumper stickers, or anywhere else one might come across a statement.  I would arm myself with punctuation stickers spanning the gamut of Standard English punctuation symbols and, by strategic placement, change the intended meaning to something more to my liking.  For example, by the simple placement of a coma, I would change “Go Dawgs!” bumper stickers, an exclamatory sentence in support of U[sic]GA, to “Go, Dawgs!” an imperative sentence imploring them to leave.

My circuitous commute through post-apocalyptic Atlanta has refreshed my desire to become a punctuational subversive.  The newest target of my grammatical graffiti would change a sign that reads, “Drive like your children live here.” A finger-wagging admonition, to “Drive like your children.  Live here!” a realtor’s elevator pitch.

The time is afoot to let people know not just of the power of words, but of the power of punctuation.  I may be just the mastermind this project needs.

Wit's End

I think I’m at my wit’s end with this dog.

He acts out when I leave him at home alone.  I know this.  I’ve known this.  I’ve learned to mitigate the amount of damage he can do, but he seems to continue to find new ways to fuck shit up.

It started with him tossing his food bowl, so I learned to pick up his bowl before I left.  Then he started to be a bit of a counter surfer, so I started putting things out of his reach that he might want to eat, play with, or just tear up.  Next he moved on to his “rearranging the furniture” stage.  He isn’t big enough to move any of the actual furniture, but anything that he can push around or knock over he will.

So now, after years of living with him, he’s decided that getting into the kitchen trash is a thing to do.

I’ve had this dude for over seven years now and he’s never been a trash raider.  It’s never been an issue regardless of what I threw away.  Out of the blue, just a couple of weeks ago he decided that the trash can was his next hobby.  I bought one of those trash cans with a locking lid.  I figured that even if he knocked it over, he couldn’t get in it.  That turned out to be an incorrect assumption.  He’s a very determined little guy.

So, now it seems that I am not allowed to have a kitchen trash can.  I’m wondering what the repercussions of that will be.  If I can’t have a trash can in the kitchen does that mean I can’t generate any more trash in the kitchen?  Can I no longer have any groceries?  Are my days of cooking done? Must I now go out to eat for every meal?

What Lies Beneath

It started a couple of Fridays ago.  A fire started beneath a stretch of elevated interstate which ran through the heart of the city, causing the highway to collapse.  A person was arrested and charged for the incident quickly.  Too quickly if you ask me.  Just blame it on the closest, homeless crackhead.  Blame the black guy.  It’s as if the city were trying to cover something up.

The city’s been good at covering things up, especially when it comes to roadways.  Any time there has been some “construction” or “sewer work” done, the city has been quick to slam large, heavy metal plates over the hole.  Back in college, twenty-five years ago, friends and I used to joke that the plates were put down to keep out the C.H.U.D.s.

We may have been right about something living beneath the city, but I think we vastly underestimated its size.

This past Monday we had two new incidents.  Early in the morning, on the downtown connector, roughly five miles south-southwest of the original incident, there was a toxic chemical spill which closed down all lanes in both directions.   Subsequently, only ten hours later and seven miles east-southeast, there was another incident.  This time, the pavement of another interstate had buckled and been thrust upward.  This incident, according to the city, was caused by a gas leak.  It was attributed to work done by some contractor.

Convenient.

The story of what happened on the downtown connector is even more bizarre.  In video footage released to the media, you can see a driver pull over on the shoulder of the highway, wait a moment, and then try to make a U-turn; heading southbound on the northbound side.  This is when the “accident” occurred.

Why would anyone even try that?  Was this the action of someone who had seen something horrifying and was fleeing for his life?  Maybe this was a deliberate action by someone who worked for the city: spill Benzoyl chloride on the highway in order to clear the area so no one will see.  Perhaps this was even an attempt to repel the creature.

That’s right.   I wrote creature.

It makes too much sense: decades of the city quickly slamming down metal slabs over every open hole in the area.  Not one, but three attempts within a few weeks of a creature trying to force its way to the surface.  There were two incidents this last time.  The attacks are getting more frequent.

I wonder what kind of burrowing creature has been lurking beneath the city.  Could it be something like the Shai Hulud of dune?  Possibly Toho’s Baragon?  Maybe it is a Bulette of Dungeons and Dragons fame.

Imagine that, being harassed by a Gygaxian horror and me without access to fireball.

I know what you’re thinking.  Greg, this is some grade-A conspiracy bullshit.  This isn’t me being crazy.  You may believe the mundane explanations given to you by the media; information fed to them by the city government.  You may not accept that this is something that the city has known about, and hidden, for decades.  You may not buy that the public are being kept ignorant of the truth.  But, I can assure you, this is no knee-jerk reaction.  My reasoning is measured.

There is something large that has been lying beneath the city of Atlanta.  It has been here for a long time.  Now, it has awakened.

Never Red

I have a conundrum.  I don’t think I’ve ever supported a team that wears red.  In fact, due to my allegiances, I actively oppose teams who wear red.

Growing up a Saints fan in New Orleans, the Falcons have always been the enemy.  Once I became a student, and then an alumnus of Georgia Tech, I came to detest the red and black of U[sic]GA.  Now, as a Tottenham Hotspur supporter, I cannot see myself wearing the color of Arsenal.

This Sunday, Atlanta United FC will be playing their first regular season home game, and I will be there.  Unfortunately, AUFC (hereafter referred to as “Aw, fuck!” as anyone who has ever followed an expansion team will understand) has chosen the abhorrent color scheme used by our nation’s true deplorables: the Falcons and Dawgs.  Yes, “Aw, fuck!” are red and black.

I enjoy watching soccer.  I will follow and support this team.  I already have my season tickets.  But I cannot see myself wearing the franchise colors.  So tell me, good people of the internet, how can I show support for my city’s soccer team without wearing the franchise colors?

I suppose I could buy one of the black, practice jerseys.  They are mostly black, with gold trim, and just a smidgen of red from the “Aw, fuck!” and Adidas logos.  But, ask yourself this: would you wear an all-black jersey to watch an outdoor, summer sport in an unshaded stadium in the Georgia heat?  Until The Benz gets completed we’ll be watching “Aw, fuck!” at Bobby Dodd Stadium at Historic Grant Field on the Georgia Tech campus.  There isn’t a whit of shade in there.  According to the current schedule, “Aw, fuck!” aren’t playing a home game at in the new stadium until July 30th (happy almost birthday to me, I guess).

So, I’m at a loss here, and I need a solution before “Aw, fuck!” host the New York Red Bulls at 7:30 PM Sunday night.

A Kaiju Valentine's

Two men sat at a table in a dark dive bar.  Their regular waitress walked over to take their order.

“Pitcher of Prima Pils and, uh,” he looked to his friend.  “Two or three glasses?”
“Is Godzilla showing up tonight?” asked Reg.
“Who knows, he’s been acting weird lately,” said Don
“He’s been acting weird for years now.”

The server, Lara, rolled her eyes, looking extremely impatient with the exchange.  Though they were decent, regular customers she often became irritated by their indecisiveness.

“Yeah, so, a pitcher of Prima Pils and two glasses,” Don said sheepishly.
“If he shows up we’ll just get another glass.”  Reg tried to placate Lara with a smile.

The waitress, unmoved by Reg’s conciliatory gesture, headed to the bar to get their order, shaking her head all the way.

“So, what’s been up with Godzilla lately?  He always used to come out for Tuesday night beers.”
“He’s been pretty frustrated lately, you know?”
“Yeah.  I don’t know what his deal is.  He never talks about himself.”

Reg gave a chuckle.

“What?” asked Don.
“Maybe he just needs a girlfriend.  When was the last time you saw him date someone?”
“Have you ever known him date anyone?”
“Nah,” Reg exhaled.

The two sat in silence for a moment pondering the conversation.

“Maybe,” Reg paused, “Maybe we should try to set him up with someone?”
Don chuffed.  “Who would you set up with a three hundred and fifty foot tall antediluvian lizard with fire breath?”
“I think it’s atomic breath...”
“Same difference.”
“Well, is he the only one of his kind?”
“As far as I know.”
“Maybe we can set him up with one of the other kaiju.”  Reg paused for a moment in thought.  “Um, Mothra’s a girl, right?”

The two looked up to see Lara standing there with their drinks in her hand.

“Are you two morons trying to set Godzilla up with someone?”

Don opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off.

“Don’t!  I’ve seen angry guys like him before.  He’s clearly an abuser.”

The two men looked away from Lara.

“Seriously, if you set him up with someone he’d just end up beating her.  You know what he just did to Ghidorah.  He tied all three of his necks together in a knot and threw him into a volcano.”
“Yeah, but...”
“Don’t ‘Yeah, but’ me, Donald.”  Lara always used their full names when she chided them.  “Remember what he did in San Francisco back in twenty fourteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Lara mimicked in a sarcastic tone.  “That young couple just moved to the Bay area to start a family and that jackass Godzilla swam up out of the Pacific and beat them both to death in their own home.  He even blew fire breath right down that lady’s throat.”
“I think it’s actually atomic...”
“Shut the fuck up, Reginald.”
“You’re probably right, Lara.” Don said with a sigh.
“Probably?  When will you boys learn: you’re always drunk and I’m always right.”



Thousands of miles away in the Atlantic Ocean sat an island no one knew about.  It was dead center of an area some called the Bermuda Triangle.  Most people don’t believe that the Bermuda Triangle is real, but it most assuredly is.

This lone, pristine island remains unknown to outsiders because it has a protector.  She stands over three hundred feet tall: a lone, cyclopean reptile with a long tail, dorsal spines, and an atomic breath which she’s used to destroy any ship or plane that came near the island.  The island’s inhabitants worship her, more as a protector than as a goddess.  She’s kept this island paradise unsullied by outside interference.

Today was a holiday on the island.  The people of the island would thank her for her protection and she would smile, well as much of a smile as an eldritch behemoth can muster, as she accepted their blessings.

The natives made a drink, an alcoholic beverage fermented from the juice of a fruit which only grew on this island.  All of them, both humans and the beast, would drink in celebration.   She stood next to a pool which had been salvaged from a cruise ship which had unfortunately strayed too near the island, filled to the brim with the brew.  In the pool stood a beach umbrella, mimicking a parasol that they had seen placed in a drink on the doomed cruise liner.

She watched as a young couple walked up to her, hand in hand, to offer their thanks.  She had seen these two grow up and fall in love, as she had watched their parents and grandparents do before them.  For generations she watched as the inhabitants of this island would grow up, fall in love, and start families of their own.

There she stood, alone, the only one of her kind as far as she knew.

She heaved a heavy sigh, careful to turn her face out to sea, knowing the damage the gust of her breath could do to their simple village.

She turned back and stared despondently at the bottom of her drink.

The Hardest Thing

This is the hardest thing I’m ever going to have to tell my dog, and I’m not sure how to break it to him.

Rashi’s not too particular when it comes to treats.  When I initially adopted him I tried giving him Meaty Bones, which prior dogs of mine enjoyed, but he didn’t seem too keen on those.  Next I offered him plain old Milk Bones and he seemed pretty happy.  Milk Bones have become the default treat. 

I do buy him other treats.  For special occasions or times I want to give him something to occupy his time I’ll give him rawhide.  Other times I’ll get him some supplemental soft treats, any of the variety that can essentially be described as meat-flavored Play-Doh, regardless of their extruded shape.  (Somewhere there has to be a sweatshop where people are using actual Play-Doh Fun Factories to squeeze out bacon-shaped dog treats by hand.)

On his birthday I would generally get him something different from the pet store.  A few years ago I came across a treat I hadn’t seen before.  It was one of those boutique treats that were made to look like something people eat.  These were called “Festive Donuts” and were made to look like mini donuts with frosting and sprinkles on top.  Obviously it wasn’t actually donuts; it was made of some sort of oat and sweet potato dough and the frosting was some yogurt-based concoction.  (Thought I think the sprinkles were actually just sprinkles.)  I thought it might be cute to get him donuts for his birthday, so I bought a pack.  These treats elicited a much different response from him than anything save rawhides.

Usually when I give him a treat he bolts to The Spot™ and eats them.  (For those who are unfamiliar with the concept of The Spot™, it is the designated place where treats are to be eaten, selected and reinforced by the dog himself.  Truthfully speaking, there are actually two The Spots™ in the house.  I think the one he chooses to use might be based on the direction he’s facing when I hand him a treat, though I have seen him rush to one The Spot™ and then realize that he needed to be at the other The Spot™, so he ran there before partaking.)  His behavior with these particular treats is vastly different.  When he takes the treat from me he prances to The Spot™.  Once there he puts the treat down and does what I can only describe as admiring it.  He looks at it while smiling and in full body wag.  He touches it a few times: picking it up, putting it down, and turning it over.  He spends a moment just basking in its presence.  Ultimately he’ll eat it, but it is truly a ritual.

I tried a few others of the Gourmet Tails varieties, like the carob “chocolate chip” cookies, but the donuts were the ones.

A couple of months ago, when I went to Petco to pick up dog food, I couldn’t find any of the Gourmet Tails treats.  Since then I’ve been to multiple Petcos but with no luck.  Google searches have been fruitless as well.  Amazon’s page for the product reads, “Currently unavailable.  We don't know when or if this item will be back in stock.”

Finding out what happened took a bit of sleuthing.  Gourmet Treats didn’t have a website of their own, and searching by name didn’t bring up a parent company’s website either, just listings on websites that formally sold the products.  I was able to find that the Gourmet Trails trademark is owned by Doggy Delirious, Inc. of Monroe, WA.  According to the Doggie Delirious website, they’re part of Wet-Noses Organic Dog Treat Company, also Monroe, WA. 

Aha!  Pacific Northwest hippies selling gluten free, organic, locally sourced, farm to table, artisanal, carbon-neutral dog treats with a philosophy.  Now I’m getting somewhere.

I sent an email to the “contact us” email address on that site to see if they knew anything about the Gourmet Tails product line.  Today I got a reply from them.  The Gourmet Tails line has been discontinued.

While looking for more of these treats I’ve been rationing out what few I had left.  I have but two more of these treats to give my dog, then there will be no more.  This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to tell him.

This is yet another reason to fucking hate hippies: for breaking my dog's heart.