Carl Sagan Ripoff

We often consider ourselves an accomplished species. We look at the complexity in our world, the technology, the instant connection, time lapse videos of the earth whirling underneath the International Space Station. We regard ourselves with incredible import - we've gone beyond the reaches of our planet, we say to ourselves. We've reached the moon, our probes have left the solar system, we've gone interplanetary.

Every one of those dots is an entire galaxy, with billions
upon billions of stars contained within each speck of light.

And yet, when we consider this, we conclude that we have accomplished nothing. The International Space Station orbits a mere 200 miles above the earth, the moon within three days' reach. Our radio signals, speeding away from us at the speed of light, have barely rippled through the fabric of space. We point a telescope at an empty patch of sky and find hundreds upon hundreds of galaxies reaching back to the creation of the very universe itself. We often write off these distances, claiming we can't comprehend them - and we can't. But take a moment to try and wrap your mind around such unimaginable distances. Take a moment to feel the incomprehensible vastness of the universe we find ourselves in.

It's an overwhelming and humbling feeling.

Earth as seen from the Voyager 1 spacecraft.

Images of the "pale blue dot" beneath the rings of Saturn or suspended in a sunbeam show us how truly insignificantly small and fragile our world is. This forgettable lump of rock is where every man, woman, child, or any other living thing you've ever heard of, read about, or knew has existed. It throws our self-aggrandizing perspective into jeopardy. Our petty wars and political strife seem so childish, fighting for control for such a small piece of a particle floating through the vacuum of space.

But we are, somehow, significant in some way. Perhaps we are only significant to ourselves and our immediate surroundings. But perhaps we are greater than that. Perhaps we are important enough that an omnipotent God spends His valuable time and energy on our own needs. Perhaps an individual human brain is the most complex and astounding machine that has ever arisen within the universe. Perhaps we mere humans have created civilizations that demonstrate the significance of our species. Perhaps our eradication of entire diseases from our planet is something that has rarely, if ever, been accomplished anywhere where we can point our telescopes.

This is what hydrogen becomes after
13.7 billion years of cosmic evolution.

Regardless, I really like those chicken wraps from Taco Bell.

~Fernando the Zombie Slayer

The Problematic Burrito

The other day I walked into Taco Bell, hungry for some Mexican food. There was a short line in front of me, so I stepped into this line and looked at the menu in preparation for my order. Many items were on this menu, some delicious, some nasty. Almost immediately, I saw an enormous obstacle to overcome. The choice was mine, but I knew not what that decision should be. The question ran over in my head dozens of times in those elongated moments:

Burrito or taco?

The fear started to eat at me. What if I made the wrong choice? What if I was destined for the burrito, but ordered a delicious soft taco nonetheless? In the short four minutes, thirty-eight seconds before I made my order, the fear grew until it formed into a horrible, terrifying monster. It gripped at my soul and my stomach, making me question my will to eat.

"Hi, what would you like?"

I had reached the counter. The monster still in possession of my very being, I could not look at the unskilled laborer in front of me. I stared up at the menu in fearful indecisiveness. "Sir?" questioned the girl. I tore my eyes away from the image of the chicken burrito and pulled out my wallet. I had only moments to choose.

"Can I get..." I started. The girl at the counter started tapping the cash register impatiently. "I'd like..." I began again. I glanced up at the menu, searching for an escape. I whispered, "I can't decide on a taco or a burrito. Please, help me." I suppose she could hear the indecision and fear in my voice, because she rolled her eyes. "You can get both," she suggested in a bored tone.

Immediately thoughts of my mother sprang to my mind. My lovable mother, who spent so many years raising me in health and nutrition. I remember fondly the spinach lasagna, the squash enchiladas, the mashed potatoes with turnips. Though I can no longer have those days, I must remain true to my mother's memory. I cannot choose both, as it would increase my caloric intake tenfold. I must only choose one.

"I suppose..." I muttered, scanning the menu, searching for an escape.

I saw one and grinned. "Can I get that?" I asked, pointing to my chosen dish. The girl raised her eyebrows, but made no comment. As she entered it into her cash register, she asked, "Will that be all?" I replied with a gleeful, "That's all!" I laughed out loud as I realized the stroke of genius I had discovered.

I walked out of that Taco Bell with a medium sized coke. I never saw the tacos and burritos again.

At least once in all our lives, we are faced with a terrible decision, one that wrenches our soul in two. One that would threaten to destroy our very being. At these times, I would ask you to remember my story. Look for a way to think outside the box, to choose one an impossible option.

Go forth, my young baby rabbits, and solve the world's great questions:
How did the universe begin?
Do we, as humans, have free will?
What is our great and eternal destiny?
What is the point of Original oatmeal?

I wish you look on your noble endeavors.

~Fernando
Zombie Slayer

Japanese Samurai

So I really have nothing to write about. At all. So, in order to have something to write about, I'm taking the first thing that this came up with and going with it.

I've had only one up close and personal experience with samurai. I was in an odd store in Old Town Sacramento, and the wall behind the counter was full of war helmets, shields, swords, daggers, and other historical blades. Also, there was a full-blown samurai armor suit, the mask, the katana, and all. The price tag was clearly visible and read, "$1700." I waited in anticipation for someone to walk in, point up to the thing, and say,

"Hi, could I have that samurai armor?"

"Yes, of course. Let me get a ladder and three more full-grown men to hoist it down from off the wall."

"Thank you."

"And would you like that in a plastic or paper bag?"

"Paper, please."

After which the guy would walk out of the store into the street, in complete samurai attire, and would look entirely menacing until the cops showed up.

Historically, though, samurai were the cops. In ancient Japan they were the knights of their respective shoguns, carrying out the work that they were asked. They honored the bushido way, which dictates bravery - the stupid kind of bravery. The kind of bravery that mandates you attack the enemy, even if they have flamethrowers and nuclear weapons. They were also excellent poets, which brings to mind a wonderful mental image of a samurai, hacking to death a poor not-so-innocent enemy, reciting a haiku about blood. 

Of course, if they failed what they did, they were mandated by the bushido tradition to commit seppuku, ritual suicide. They would stab their special ceremonial sword (they had a sword for everything) into their gut, twisting it around in their innards. They were not allowed to show any form of pain, and they had to fall forward onto their sword. Then a fellow samurai would sever the head from the body, thus completing the task.

The days of samurai are long gone, but I think it would be cool if the samurai were the chief law enforcers. It's one thing if you go over the speed limit and a chubby guy with donuts comes out and talks to you; it's another if you get pulled over and a professional samurai, complete with the intimidating face mask, asks you if you know why you're getting a ticket. Just a thought.

~Fernando

P.S. Spread the word! Start the wave of Samurai!