I am mindblowingly behind on the news

So, just discovered that early in 2008,we saw a star explode. That alone is not the crazy part.

Get this:

• The star set the world record for furthest object that can be seen from earth with the naked eye.
• The star was 40 times as big as the Sun.
• The star was 7.5 billion light years away.
• 7.5 billion lightyears is roughly halfway to the edge of the universe.
• For reference, one billion seconds ago, it was 1977.
• One light year equals 5.9 trillion miles.
• So, standing on earth, we are capable of seeing something 46610000000000000000000 miles away.
• The star’s explosion occurred when the universe was about half its current age.

I don’t know about you, but I am reeling in collosal amazement. Seriously, HOLY FUCK.

(If your brain is still partially intact, finish it off with this video: The Most Important Image Ever Taken)

Wikipedia For Dumbasses: The ‘How Not To Get Expelled’ Edition

Wikipedia is a literal treasure trove of information. In this day and age, where the internet is chock full of porn, meme’s, and photos of Barack Obama skateboarding and holding nunchucks in-front of a helicopter exploding , it’s a nice change to have somewhere where you can go and learn about millions and millions of things that you are actually interested in, instead of having mostly useless information force fed to you at school. However, like any hero, whether it’s human or technological, there are always haters. If I had a nickel for every authority figure that has ever told me not to use Wikipedia because it is Satan reincarnated in pure HTML form, I would have a satchel full of nickels both large and heavy enough to seriously kill someone if I was to swing it around and around in a violent manner above my head. Who would hate on Wikipedia? you might ask. Why would they try and bring down such a wonderful and knowledgeable website? Well, the answer is very simple. They are d-bags. And the d, if you didn’t know, stands for douche.

The hater’s main argument, and only real argument, is that Wikipedia is not a ‘respectable’ information source, or that it’s ‘full of lies’ simply because anyone can edit it. Well I’m here to prove them wrong, and give you the upper hand when you are doing any sort of online research assignment. Firstly, I want to show you a picture that will quite obviously both blow and boggle your mind at the same time:

You see that? Those conveniently highlighted superscript numbers enclosed in square brackets are called references, and they are here to help you! You see, it’s sad to say it, but Wikipedia isn’t 100% accurate. There are millions of stunned children around the world that can throw up any kind of crack-speak into Wikipedia, and although the Wikipedian moderators try their best to keep these garbage spewing kids out, there is undoubtedly some false information that seeps through. However, there is a surefire way to double check for this legitimacy, and it’s called references! You see, those itsy bitsy numbers are actually links. If you were to click on them, they will bring you to the very bottom of the page where you can see another link. This link, however, goes straight to a source!

That’s right folks, a source. This six-lettered ‘S’ word is something that teachers everywhere can appreciate. Basically, it gives you direct access to the article or website that the user took the information from. In other words, it’s your portal to a legit bibliography! Instead of putting down Wikipedia as your source of information, you can simply put down this other link and BAM, your teacher/professor is content.

There, that was easy wasn’t it? Now stop bitching that you failed your English paper because your teacher didn’t like that you used Wikipedia’s list of zombie films when describing the past and present Canadian funeral rites and customs.

 

Back again, are you?

I catch a ride with my mom to University everyday. She works at the University Hospital, so riding with her not only saves me gas money, but it also saves me having to pay to rent a parking spot that’s a 5 kilometre walk across hardened lava, rickety rope bridges, and quicksand pits. The unfortunate this is that mom has to be at work at 7:30am each and every single day. 7:30am. This may not seem too bad, but take into consideration that my classes start at 10:00am every day. That’s right, 10-fucking-o’clock. Not only does this rob me of precious time that could be spent drooling on my pillow in my underwear, enjoying a comatose-like state, but it makes me sit at the University for two and a half hours with absolutely nothing to do.

Mom always tells me that I can use this time for ‘catching up on homework’, but that’s bullshit. Everyone knows that homework only gets done if it absolutely needs to, and thus far there have been no such assignments. So, for the last couple weeks, I have been sitting on a bench and either reading a book or reading my RSS feeds; both of which I lost interest in on about the 4th day. Now what is a young boy to do with all this free time on his hands? I tried to sleep in the car once, but I quickly learned that car seats are the most uncomfortable beds ever, and that the airbag does not make a good pillow due to the fact that it doesn’t stay inflated for long. I tried searching around campus for a secluded room or bench that no one sits on where I could bring a pillow and blanket and nap, but it seems that the 20,000 kids going to the U of S are out to get me by inhabiting every single plush bench on campus.

So since sleeping is out of the picture, it seems that I would have to find an activity that I could do while awake to fill my free time. Days went by with me wandering the lonely halls of University, searching, craving for something to do. I was like a ghost, floating past classrooms and lecture halls without a destination, and only the unhappy knowledge that I could be laying in bed right now. It wasn’t until I went for some coffee that I realized what I was put here so early to do. I would become friends with the women that worked at Tim Hortons.

It was so simple, I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thought of it before. I went there almost everyday to purchase some coffee that would help me through those cold, lonely mornings, and there was always dudes that went up to the counter only to be greeted by the middle-aged woman that knew their first name, their method of transportation to school, their drink, their drink size, and what they had planned for the day (ex: “Oh hello Robert! Must have been a cold bike ride to school today I bet. Let me guess, large coffee with two sugar, one cream? … Here you go! I hope you have fun at your Biology lab this afternoon!) Just hearing this makes me jealous of the biker who drinks large coffees. How awesome would it be to come to school, and have the woman working at Tim Hortons grab you your desired hot-beverage without you even having to say a word? It’s like you have your own personal robot, except instead of an antenna on its head, yours has a brown visor and a hairnet. Just thinking about this new possible University-residing friend fills me with such warmth that only a large mocha could replicate.

The friend-making will begin on Monday. Watch out ladies, here comes your new best pal.

Leave My Donuts Alone

Dear obvious weight-watchers,

I can’t help but notice how my workplace has been plagued by people who think that eating a whole donut is going to bombard them with excess body fat. You unnamed defilers of sugary, doughy goodness open the box of donuts sitting on the table, then take a knife and cut your preferred donut into halves, thirds, even FOURTHS, as if eating a whole donut is going to cause raw calories to spill out of every bodily orifice and your gut to protrude out of the bottom of your shirt. C’mon, give us a break. Not only are you making yourself look like those paranoid calorie counters who have to measure out the amount of skim milk they pour into their Special K, but it ruins the donut-eating experience for the rest of us as well. Put yourselves in our position.

You are working in the warehouse when you hear the rumour that some kind soul has graced the lunchroom with a couple dozen donut-y treats. Happiness exuding through your skin, you practically skip your way through the warehouse and into the offices. Arriving in the lunchroom, the aroma of dough and icing tantalizes your nostrils. Mouth drooling, you stumble over to the boxes and open them like a pirate would open a chest full of booty. Your high hopes are blown to smithereens when you see that your favorite donut, the maple glazed classic, has been raped by a knife-wielding rapscallion. A once marvellous bakery creation is now torn to bits, the pieces lying at the bottom of the box, unwanted and forgotten. You finish them off to end their misery, then take a different donut and walk back to the warehouse. The donut is good, but it’s just not your favorite. You spend the rest of the day silently cursing whoever destroyed something so beautiful, and promising that you will return the revengeful favour, no matter what cost.

I understand that you care about your body. It’s normal to want to eat healthy and shy away from junk food and other sinful delights. However, you have to take into consideration that it’s one fucking donut. You’re not overweight because you eat a donut once a week when someone happens to bring them to work. You’re overweight because you sit on the couch at home and eat bags upon bags of Doritos, washed down by a 2L of Mountain Dew instead of actually watching and taking part in those workout videos that you bought 3 years ago.

Any Last Words?

I’ve been thinking lately about how someday I’m going to die. It’s not that big of a deal to me. Hundreds of people die every second, so really, in the big picture, my death is pretty much insignificant to most. However, what I am worried about is how people will remember me once I’m dead. Sure, there’s the chance that I could do something great with my life like find a cure for some kind of disease, write some all-knowing computer program that finds a cure for some kind of disease, or becoming something awesome like the best Frisbee thrower in the world. Although grand if accomplished, one always needs a back-up. An easier, simpler backup that would give one the same everlasting results, but in a more convenient package. This is what I’ve really been thinking about.

In my head, I’ve been picturing my death. It’s always been a curiosity of mine to see if I could die standing up. Not straight standing (I don’t think that’s a physical possibility), but more like leaning in a corner and locking the legs. Hopefully when my heart has pumped it last pump, and my mouth has been fixed in an everlasting smile, I will pass on, but my shell will remain standing, as if saying ‘Hey guys, I’m dead and I’m still good to go.’ That’s the kind of impression I would like to leave.

Still, there’s the chance that my death won’t be slow, and that I won’t know exactly when I’m going to kick the bucket. Perhaps it’s a sudden, unforeseeable death. Maybe I fell down the worlds longest flight of stairs, and after finally reaching the bottom, beaten to a pulp, bruised black and blue, and bleeding from places that I didn’t know blood flowed, I would have only seconds to leave a lasting legacy (other than, you know, falling down like a million stairs). It is in this situation that I came to the conclusion that a phrase would best keep the memory of me alive. I read a couple quote sites here and there on the topic, but none of the quotes really fit what I’m about. It was then that I decided to come up with my final words ahead of time, so when the time comes, I will be orally prepared.

Even now, I’m still not sure exactly what they should be. Loud proclamations of ancient mythology or the sense of approaching doom would be a good way to go I think. It would leave everyone in a sort of mental blur; their brains lost between feelings of sadness and fear. It’s the kind of reaction that would really tear a family apart. Or there’s always the option of yelling out a random phrase that sounds like you’re some kind of war hero about to enter his final battle. A phrase such as ‘ONWARD… TO EVERLASTING GLORY’ or maybe ‘YOU THINK THE DEVIL CAN STOP ME?! I ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE!’ would probably be good terminal phrases to utter. It is vital that there are as many people as possible around to hear you, which allows for talking amongst themselves after, discussing what the words meant and why they were yelled at such as decibel level. The confusion and worry that you would leave them with would be worth the fact that you are now deceased and about to be buried in the earth.

There is really no final conclusion at this point. I think that in this case, one would have to keep a couple different phrases or ideas in the back of his/her mind, then when the time comes, choose accordingly. If all else fails, I think it would be pretty cool to just start laughing, and then die mid-laugh. Then everyone could say that you laughed yourself to death. Not only is it happily optimistic, but for years and years people will wonder what the fuck was so funny.