Gimmie organic crack

How come there are people that can make this:
















Yet we can barely get cars to achieve 35 mpg? This freaking thing was invented by an 18 year old. It's like a motorcycle/segway hybrid. The only control on it is an on and off switch. Everything else is controlled by leaning, similar to the Segway. Is it ridiculous, dangerous, and probably not very practical? Damn straight. But the point is, it exists. There was an 18 year old with enough brain power to create this absurdly futuristic vehicle, yet we are still living in a virtual petroleum-guzzling stone age.

Not to mention this petroleum we happen to be guzzling is costing us our first born children (for some people literally.)

If we truly can't come up with the technology to solve our love affair with petroleum, then why are we so content to pay out the rear end for it?

Why are we in the Middle East? I mean really, what is our interest in that God-forsaken hot desert full of people who are constantly pissed off at the West? Is it because American presidents really just thoroughly enjoy tea parties with Saudi princes? Is it because we really need a base somewhere over there so we can cock-block Russia's nukes?

Oil. Obviously. No revolutionary thought there. Sure, we invaded Iraq under the guise of instilling democracy in the Middle East, but really we want to be able to access oil in a democratic manner. We want to create stability in a region that pumps the blood through our veins.

First of all, let's not talk about the evils of America's petroleum-crack addiction. Because unless you are cultivating all of your own food using a donkey and a plow, you are a part of that addiction. Save you sew all of your own clothing from the cotton you picked with your own hands, or from the beaver pelts you trapped all by yourself...you are a part of that addiction. Do you not shop at stores? How do you think the Natural Village is able to sell you your "organic" tofu and garbanzo beans? Delivered by petroleum. So, that said, unless you are completely self sufficient--shut up. You are still part of the problem.

Are you one of those tidy little elitist hybrid drivers, patting yourself on the back because your "No more blood for oil" bumper sticker like...so makes a powerful statement? Well ponder this for a moment. Why do we have to so often pay for petroleum with blood? Because so many of the same people who are adamantly opposed to "The War," and any Middle Eastern occupation are the same idiots who have thwarted all effort to drill our own liquid sin. So in a sense, those who are blocking our efforts to drill our own oil because of some irrational environmental fear, are really just fueling our Middle Eastern escapades.

Do I think that our over dependence on oil is healthy and good? Hell no. I am all about cutting back to reasonable levels. But my point in all of this is we shouldn't have to trade our way of life, or downgrade. Nor should we be doing it simply because the opulently brilliant Al Gore thinks the world is going to burn down and all the polar bears are going to explode.

We should do it because we should be able to without having to decline into communism. We shouldn't have to stop traveling. We shouldn't have to cease to live the lives for which generations of American's have toiled. Because of petroleum and because of capitalism, our lives can be anything we want them to be. But again, going back to the space bike from the future...we are living in the bloody future. Instead of acting as a full-on wheel chair, why can't oil be reduced to a crutch? If we can create pens that can write upside down, we should surely be able to do that. The problem is, there is never cohesion amongst our leaders, or among the masses. Everyone is fighting for their own agenda, which only causes the problems to augment and ill feelings to exacerbate.

Is there anyway we can start using organic petroleum? That burns clean and has been raised free, not in a Middle Eastern cage? That way, when it delivers itself to us, we can feel good about the delivery as well as the subsequent consumption.

Welcom back, long lost friend.

So. Due the the possibility of shady activities going on in our basement, room mate #1 and I visited the Provo police station yesterday. We just wanted a bit of info on what exactly it smells like when people are cookin crack.

I guess it isn't crack.

Essentially all we accomplished was to waste about an hour and a half waiting for a chubby cop to pedal his bike from Zeus knows where, in order to tell us "hey, they are probably not cookin crack."

An interesting thing occurred while we were waiting for our portly bearer of useless news to arrive. First, into the office walks a man in his 50's. Dad jeans, hiking boots, leatherman and cell phone at ready on belt, plaid-ish button up dad shirt, tucked in. He marched purposefully to the front and counter and asked, "Where do I go for the Citizens Academy?"

After he disappeared behind the impregnable door which could only be opened with a swipe card or by the kind lady-cop behind the counter, other would be vigilantes began to trickle in. I was surprised by the diversity of the people coming in, as I expected most of them would be middle-aged-pocket-knife-wielding-flannel-donning-ultra-conservative Republicans. There were obese old women, nerdish BYU-esque skinny guys, an attractive young female, and of course the 30 year old douche with the crew-cut and self-important air, his demeanor revealing his inner ache for purpose.

One of the last, was another flannel bearer with a pocket knife. The gate keeper bade him enter. He stood at the door, staring at it for about 30 seconds, waiting for it to magically open. Apparently the light morphing from red to green, and the simultaneous "click" were not enough to cue Dr. Flannel to open the door. I kinda timidly tossed out, "umm...I think it's open...uh...you just need to..." At which point I sort of faded off, having realized that he was completely ignoring me, and was more intent upon awaiting the opening of the door.

Please give this guy a can of mace and turn him loose upon the neighborhood.

I can just see the recruiting poster:
"Tired of local crime? Want to possess nun-chuck pepper spray skills? Join me, Dwight Shrute, and the Citizens Academy Justice League of Vigilante Justice of America, where we shall wash away evil, one can of mace at a time."

The second, and more important thing of note occurred due to hunger/intense boredom. I approached the candy machine with no intent on making a purchase, but merely to lust after the double-barrel beef log and the Skittles. Suddenly, a 15 year search I have been randomly conducting came to a glorious end. I finally found them; Pizzaria's.

Does anyone remember this blessed chip? I have sought them in every grocery store's chip aisle, and never to any avail.

As I stood there in resplendent shock, I was immediately transported back to Mikey Engberg's house when I was 10. There was a big bag of Pizzaria's on the table. My mother never bought them because they were expensive. Mikey always had them. He was conquering the elven world of Warcraft II. Amidst the orcish battle cries, he was too enthralled by the bloody mayhem to notice the crinkling of the bag, and the quiet, stealthy crunching coming from the kitchen.

I loved those chips.

My hands trembled as I tore open the bag. The sweet, cheezy pizza....ish scent greeted my nostrils like a long lost lover. As I bit into the first chip, my world was complete. They tasted exactly as I had remembered.

Unfortunately, I could still taste them when I woke up the next morning, ultimately deciding me against any future indulgence in said chip.