SHARKS!!!

If you're anything like me you wake up most days wondering: Is today the day that sharks are going to eat my brain?

Some of you may be thinking that it's impossible for sharks to get this far inland.  You're likely the same people who believe in a Zompocalypse.  So I ask you, why the hell can't sharks grow legs?  They've survived everything else that nature has thrown at them.  They out lived the dinosaurs and what is likely the greatest catastrophic event of all time.  So really, why can't they just jump up on a clump of dirt and start wriggling their way to me?  This is not an irrational fear.

And when you're finally lost, that's when the sharks start to circle.

Also, I blame Hollywood for so many shark movies and filling my mind with pesky imagination.

As all of my innumerable avid readers know I've been considering career opportunities at a dangerous proximity to the ocean, either one.  Which brought up some startling questions about sharks.  Some might say, 'Face your fears!' or 'They only thing you have to fear is fear itself!'  I'd respond, 'Save it for the Nazi's Churchill!' or 'Have a look at this video without becoming incontinent!'

Needless to say I spent my time in an endless search of shark patterns and where I'd be farthest away from them.  (Spoiler: Texas may be the only safe refuge.  They also have more guns and fat people to throw at sharks.)

So you can image how disturbed I was to learn about this:

That's right.  They refer to the area where the sharks migrate as the 'cafe'.  Jeez, sounds swell!  Why don't we call go to the cafe later for some coffee!?!  We all know what's on the menu.  The worst part of all this is that somewhere is that red mass on the coast of California is a job opportunity.  Reminder: All those red dot represent an undead (again to appease the Zombie people) killing machine against which nuclear weapons will have no effect.  (Ironically my other offer is to make machines to carry the nuclear warheads that will have no effect on the sharks)  I find no solace in idea that they go off to Hawaii for the winter like all the other large white Californian creatures (You're included Arnold, Austrian or not, all that strudel is taking it's toll).

So I've resigned myself to the idea that this will be the last thing that I ever see.

Notice how it smiles before eating this photographer.

Adverts by the numbers

As I was on my way home today I saw a few of those giants billboards for Mountain Star Medical.  If you're around the Salt Lake area you've seen the billboards with the wait time listed.  Obviously people despise waiting in the ER for absurd amounts to time to have a doctor look at you and say, 'amoxicillin'.  We know that drug is more placebo than antibiotic.  So I'm sure that initially this wait time sign seemed like a great idea.  So after seeing a few of these signs I ran the numbers.  There is an average wait time of 48 minutes, with a median of 38 mins.  The standard deviation is 21.6 minutes.  So basically 68% of people can expect to wait from roughly 26-70 mins, if the numbers follow a normally distributed pattern, which is likely.

Remember this little graph Advertising majors?

So with this information I have to wonder, how dumb do the Mad Men really think I am?

You can do it (maybe)

From the time that we were all children, we've heard it repeated again and again.  'You can do anything you want'.  This was probably good advice when we were all children.  There was potential and opportunity for many of us (but for some still none, we just blatantly lie to them) and we weren't jaded by the world.  We all had goals about the great things that we were going to do.  Some were doctors, astronauts, governors, presidents, or even humanitarian aid workers.

But as time goes on I understand more and more that the things that I dreamed of having when I 'grew up' will never happen.

Guess what part of the equation you're missing?

Sure hard work will pay off in some way, but it won't give you back your 20/20 vision, so you can kiss your F-14 Tomcat goodbye (They retired it anyway).  Your hours of study will sure help with your grades, but do they have cardiology classes on how to steady that shaky hand of yours (You really wanted to be a pediatrician anyway, children are more rewarding.)?  And of course the most relevant information for all of us is  this:  You're not that smart.  Your hours of study can't change the simple genetics that will forever separate you from Stephen Hawking (But at least you can play hop-scotch, right?).  

Yet another thing he has that you don't.

So as your childhood dreams are shattered and you sell out, because you've also realized money does buy some happiness, think of the achievements in your life.  And try not to let it get you down.

Blogging is for melancholy losers

Just to preface this entire experiment I want to say blogging is for losers.  Or girls who love twilight, which is synonymous with loser.   Yes that's right, I'm blogging that. In our techno savy world we're all so eager to go online and reach out and have 500 hundred friends on facebook.  A blog is the last desperate attempt for someone to feel like they're important, as if other people really want to know what you think.  You're not special, you're teacher in the 3rd grade was wrong.  She lied to you because she wanted to lie to herself.  She wasn't special either.  Nobody cares what you have to say, and the people that do are probably laughing at you behind your back.  But is it really behind your back though if you broadcast some of your deepest emotions to the world?  It's like laughing at someone who incidentally does a belly flop at the pubic pool.  Only in this case the entire world is at the pool and your belly flop is going to be much more emotionally scarring.

Perhaps I should make a footnote that blogs do have their useful aspects.  I know there are blogs about products, fashion, design, even sports that are widely read and respected.  (To my actual friends reading this, now is the time to feel better about your blog.  The only question is, are you really my friend?  Or is this about your blog?)

But the blog that we all know and hear about is: Hi, I'm Cindy and I love love love blogging. (Insert over used emoticon of your choice here.)

This one means: I'm probably a hooker.

As further proof of this, I myself have started a blog.  I live in my parents basement.  I'm unemployed.  I could unhook a bra better at 18 than I can now. So here you are reading it world. (Yes, that's you who mistyped 'I'm a atheist')  I dare say that I fit in now with the married girls who have nothing better to do with their time now that their single friends have deserted them.  Don't worry girls, they'll read your blog and still be envious.

So to further doom my life, today I started my blog.  Don't look for happiness here.  There won't be any catchy phrases, or Lombardy quotes.  If you need to smile, albeit ignorantly, about those tough days eat a Dove chocolate and read the pretty pink writing on the foil.  You can still soar higher, but just realize the air is getting thin.  I'm not a pessimist, no, I'm a realist.