1. Cashew nuts are, in their natural state, poisonous to humans.
2. Alexander Graham Bell did not invent the telephone, but was rather a thieving bastard.
3. An actor once rescued Robert Todd Lincoln (the son of Abraham Lincoln) from being run over by a train. His rescuer? Edwin Booth, brother of John Wilkes Booth.
4. Mongolia has a growing neo-nazi movement.
5. The female humpback whale's genitalia is usually fully surrounded by barnacles.

These are just a fraction of the pieces of pointless trivia rattling around in the ol' noggin'. How any of this will ever be of use to me I do not know, but I remember it all the same. Absorbed it like a sponge I did. Yet for some reason I appear to unwittingly deem it unnecessary to recollect directions to any place via car. Like some sort of subconscious environmental activist.

With autumn comes new ideas and the wilting, withering death of old ones.

...you have to wonder what else we might be missing.

What do I mean by this statement? Am I somehow claiming that there aren't appealing patterns in the scales, skins, fur, fluff or feathers of fauna? Nor any gorgeous colours and shapes permeating the natural landscape? And that the only semblance of beauty can be found in the monstrous clumps of concrete that we call a modern city? No, of course not. What I am saying however is that it is we, us human beings, that make our world beautiful. We seldom go out and actually physically reshape nature into something more appealing to our sensibilities. What we do go out and do is interpret nature. Through our minds and imaginations and the skills that we have learned. Things that are wondrous in their very existence. To say nothing about the fruits that they sometimes produce. In whatever art-form that may be. This is far more scintillating than any actual piece of fruit.

There is no universal truth that states that nature is categorically beautiful in and of itself. It's when we pick out a part of nature, see it in our own unique way and try to share this with other human beings, that we make it into an endless source of beauty. It becomes enchanting when a painter paints a swaying field of gold onto a canvas. A babbling brook is inspiring when described and penned into a narrative by a writer. Blades of moist grass touch a nerve of nostalgia when photographed with the light bouncing off of them, just so. It is in these feelings and thoughts about snippets of nature and how they are conveyed to others that we find beauty. Without us our ecosystem would be nothing more than a whole bunch of stuff. Spread around. Esthetically speaking. Clumsily written.

Inside of every strung out tramp dwells a poet. In every bloodthirsty dictator an artist. Every human being on the planet has the potential to reinterpret reality and our world into something that tickles the spirit, elates the soul and smashes down the doors of perception. So no, nature is not beautiful. Nature - just is.

Listening to: Boards of Canada - Dayvan Cowboy
Reading: Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary by David Sedaris
Watching: The Venture Bros. Season 4

Smiling faces become smirking masks. A handshake become a crushing, yet somehow disgustingly sweaty and clammy, vice-like grip. A hug transforms into a human straitjacket. Any morsel of food tastes like cardboard pulp with a splash of Styrofoam garnish. Your loving and previously beloved pet is now a leech on your life force. The best of friends change into complete twats. That favorite track you've been listening to all week now sounds banal and you can't for the life of you remember what it was about it that you found so lovely. Delete it. Regret it. Download it again.

Buttons won't button. Clicks won't connect. Programs crash at the most inopportune moments. Why is the spacebar sticking in the keyboard? Words won't fit properly into any sentence you utter. Be it through your mouth or via the tips of your fingers. Both of which seem to be detached from any reasoning part of that lump of clay you call your brain. You forget important things. Dwell on the inconsequential. Speak when you shouldn't. Remain silent when you mustn't. You lose the plot. And your favorite pen. You stub your toe and spit on your lapel/collar. Shit. A thousand times; shit!

A feeling utterly inhabits you. Becomes your very essence. A feeling of malaise moving through molasses. But don't worry. As soon as your head hits the pillow those jarring thoughts will begin to deconstruct. They gradually shift from coherent narratives and concepts into incoherent flights of fancy without you ever noticing. Slowly slipping you into the comfortable World of Dreams. I'll meet you there. We'll ride a unicorn together.

Listening to: Broken Social Scene - Meet Me In The Basement
Reading: Last Exit to Brooklyn
Watching: The Walking Dead

Maybe they are the extraordinary offspring from likewise extraordinary parents. Progenitors that have nurtured just the right attributes and interests and morals in their child, in order to create a truely beautiful individual. One that is kind and with a sharp intellect which can cut through any adversity. Conquering it. Restructuring it into a wonderful opportunity. Exceptional folk that can find even the most miniscule grain of hope in a salty sea of shit.

Or their parents completely fucked them up beyond repair. Through shitty parenting and guidance. Or lack thereof. Or abuse. Forming, fermenting and unleashing a completely selfish asshole onto the world. A reprobate who is a detriment to all those unfortunate enough to be around them. That unlucky child might turn into a violent criminal with serious psychological scars and issues. Whatever the case may be they are all interesting people. With interesting stories to tell.

My life is nowhere near as intriguing. I have had a few negative influences and some positive experiences. Some of them seemed massive to me. The scope of which I couldn't fathom. I imagined. However, if I take a step back and get some distance and put it all into perspective my life has been a pretty clear and straight line going forwards in time. Towards no particular goal or horizon. 

I have never been a person who has lived life at it's utmost extremes. No matter what part of the positive/negative-spectrum that might be. I am not one of those people. Not an inspiration to all others, who volunteers their time at a soup kitchen during Christmas Eve. Nor a menace to society, that punches a pensioners in the face and steals their coin purse in order to buy some cheap smack. Never mistaken for one of those people who has traveled to all corners of the world.  To obscure and exotic countries, eating little known national dishes while riding upside down in a hang glider in the middle of a thunderstorm. I won't ever be that deranged loon of a person who rides the most frightening roller coaster stark naked while lobbing fragmentation grenades into the awestruck crowd of innocent onlookers down below. I'll never fuck a walrus. While even though the most morally ambivalent of the examples, it is just not in the cards for me.

I've read some books, watched some movies, met some people, loved some people, hated some people, traveled a little, eaten poutine in Canada, smoked a few cigarettes (with varying contents) and here I am. And that's OK. Interestingly uninteresting is my angle and I'm sticking to it. 

What's your story?

This is one of the worst things that has ever happened on American television. Now, I say that partly to shock you. Although only partly. Hear me out.

Why is this kid allowed on national television to review movies and by extension - discuss the art of cinema? Who is he? Is he some sort of wunderkind that possesses an amazingly diverse knowledge of film? Or is he just some child that has been allowed to morph into this hideous caricature of what a movie critic ought to be? 

Let me be absolutely clear - I don't harbour any ill will toward this pre-teen boy. At least not any more than the average level of hatred I feel for all young people. I completely blame his appearance on my computer screen (and American television sets) on his parents and the producers of this particular show. Someone should call child protective services.

So why is he here? Is he here to discuss the craft of movie making? The art of telling stories and evoking emotions through a visual medium? Has he perhaps thought of some fresh, new, borderline revolutionary approach to interpreting the foggy old motion pictures? Of course not. His sole purpose on the show is as a curiosity. Some sort of freakish man-boy who acts and talks like someone thrice his age. A middle aged, no talent, complete and utter douche bag. Is this what we are reduced to? Watching someone who has yet to reach puberty spout his unfounded opinions on movies, and critiquing what amounts to the culmination of other people's professional careers? Seriously?

I am not even implying that this kid doesn't have the right to his opinions, tastes and musings. If indeed they are his own. What I am saying however is that they have no place on a major media outlet. They should be restricted to his YouTube account or blog or Twitter. Or what ever the hell it is that young folk use these days.

Sure, most people probably do not mind at all. They aren't in the least bit troubled that he has taken the place of someone who might actually have a God damn idea of what they're saying. I however do mind. I do not think that intelligent discussion on art should take a back seat to some ratings grabbing oddity with red hair. Who clearly has only really learned the tropes of a public speaker and not the actual mental prowess of a debater or critic. But maybe that's good enough for most people. As long as he appears to know what he's talking about - it'll do. After all, that's almost the same thing as actual arguments, right?

I'm going to wildly speculate here and propose that this is a symptom of a modern misguided belief that "Everyone's opinions matter equally as much.". This idea that no matter who you are or what the subject matter - your opinion has an equal value to that of everyone else's. Well, it bloody well does not. A neurologists opinion on what to do in case of a stroke should (and thankfully does) matter a whole hell of a lot more than what I might be able pull out of my ass from having watched all episodes of House M.D.

In ordinary society this becomes a problem of course, as we have a problem of gauging someone's intelligence, level of knowledge and aptitude towards the issue at hand. This forces us to hear everyone out in order to know which people we can ignore. We simply cannot immediately determine how reliable they are as a source of information from appearances and background alone. Unless they look like an outright homicidal loon and the topic of discussion isn't: "How to get bloodstains out of the carpet in the trunk of my car.". In essence, we have no quantifiable way of measuring these things, to keep track. Like, say: a number. 

Only in this case we do. It's called his age. It's eleven.* And it doesn't add up to being anywhere near enough. Certainly not to allow him onto broadcast television and discussing anything more advanced than what he ate for dinner today. Randomly tripping over some truth is not the same thing as being knowledgeable. What's next? Babies reviewing classical music?

 ‎"Anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.'" - Isaac Asimov

*How was he even allowed into a PG-13 movie to begin with?

I have serious doubts about the veracity of its claims. Firstly. Where this yoga technique falters is in the interpretation. The old saying doesn't actually express the belief that the physical act of laughing is somehow healthy in and off itself. What it is expressing, to my ears at least, is that a certain mirth and light heartedness makes you on the whole - live a better healthier life. And there are facts that back this up. Depressed people tend to take care of themselves less well than those who are not. Couple that with a sharp increase in substance abuse among people with depression and there appears to be some truth to the whole thing. Who hasn't had a drink too many from simply being a bit down in the dumps?

For people who believe in chakras and energy patterns and other unproven things they take some things surprisingly literally. I would have expected a little bit more imagination and anagoge.

If the act of laughing alone is somehow healthy, is then giggling also good for you health? Not in equal measure of course (that would be absurd) but how many percent on the total laugh-o-meter are we hitting with a simple spasmodic burst from the mouth and nose? Not to mention all the different varieties of chuckles and chortles. And what about a disrespectful snigger? Is that also a way towards a good long life? Perish the thought. Some asshole will live to be a thousand.

No. We need to stop this right away. Laughter should be reserved for manifesting joy, amusement or in some cases scorn. No more laughing without actually meaning it. What's next? Sneezing when we're not feeling...sneezy? Shaking hands although we've already met the person and are quite familiar with them? High-fiving at the funerals of loved ones? Complete madness. Almost as mad as standing around in a group and laughing hysterically for no real reason.

The wonderous world of weather phenomenon. It's perplexing, how such things evoke thoughts and feelings in me.

Mist can be romantic and mysterious. As it creeps and lingers around trees and up against moss-covered blocks of granite I sense something otherworldly. Infiltrating and caressing. Implying a spark of life it does not possess. Like a stalker, only less likely to carry a knife.

Fog is sometimes comforting when it envelopes your house on an autumn sunday while you enjoy a cup of tea. Turning your humble abode into a safe island, plunked down in an ocean of upcoming and stressful monday morning musts.

Haze mutes the world, bluring the harsh colours and blunting the sharp edges. Making the world seem distant and soothingly at bay. Perhaps a moderate bout of cataract would be beneficial? Not only for the weed-privileges.

Few things can compare to the pleasures of imagining a simple cloud into a rambunctious little turtle driving a tractor (fueled by nothing but chocolate) on a marvelously sun-drenched spring day. That so much joy can be drawn from water vapor floating aimlessly through the air. From what is in essence just dampness taken flight. So why don't I feel the same way when it infiltrates my socks?

I even find mushroom clouds quite attractive. In their own way.

What started out as a wish to do good business paired with the right to the pursuit of happiness has over time and various negative influences warped into a mentality of psychotic greed. The problem is two-fold:

• Ordinary supposedly God-fearing Americans justify their reluctance to reform by biblical verse taken out of context, plain ill willed ignorance or some inculcated fear of "socialism". What it comes down to in the end is fear. Fear of not having enough. And the fear of what you do have being taken away from you.

• The owners of America see these fears they've so skillfully seeded into society and exploit them to their fullest potential. Fueling them by hypothesising a we-against-them type scenario where someone is somehow out to destroy this wonderful health care system which everyone loves, sometime soon.

Fear is a powerful tool. Apparently it can even convince people that they're not actually being raped; they're being loved - forcefully. The facets to all of this are too many to delve into here. But needless to say this culture of rampant fear and Bottom line blindness has been allowed to do massive damage on the morals of medicine and plain human compassion.

It has taken America over seventy years to even begin to approach a "public option" health care system like the ones employed by every other industrialized nation. One has to guess that millions must have died due to lack of health care during those decades. More than 45,000 people each year by some estimates. Yet no one seemed to feel any urgency to fix the problem. Conscience soothed by bags of money from people in high places, no doubt.

The American health care system needs to be taken out behind the barn and shot. Point blank. In the face. Everyone has to know this by now. Even staunch Republicans must feel that twinge of disgust towards it, deep down in those empty suites they wear. The system has grown into this rabid dog about to chew the faces off of your entire family if it gets the chance. It is not Old Yeller. It's not even Cujo. Even if it's always been a good friend to you, the fact still remains that it kills poor people every day. At least Cujo killed indiscriminately.

Open wide and say "Aaaaah!"

This person will not be added to my friend list anytime soon.

Well then, keep your filthy disease ridden children far away from me. Don't come crying when they turn out sterile from HPV, deaf from measles or dead from influenza. These things could do you real harm, seriously. How many times does it need to be said? Vaccination does not cause autism!

But this isn't about any actual danger posed by vaccination. And there are some slight risks. It's about parents being ill-informed, knowingly ignorant and hooked on the fear that the media provides them. What an indulgence. What spoiled childish behaviour. What a white person's privilege. What yuppie fucking bullshit. If people like this end up breaking herd immunity I hope they are the last to go. Just so that they can see what they helped create. Third world style pandemics on main street. It'll be quite the show.