Howdy, Morbo, How's the Family?

I came to a conclusion the other day, as I was watching what used to be one of my favorite cable channels. The History Channel is dead, long live The UFO Channel.

Okay, I can hear you groaning now. "It's going to be one of those rants!" Yep. It is.

Seriously, though. UFO Hunters? The Truth Behind Roswell? The B-2 bomber was reverse-engineered at Area 51 because, presumably, we're not bright enough to figure it out for ourselves?

Next thing you know, they're going to start airing "documentaries" about "ancient astronauts" . . . Oh, wait. They have.

Look, I know that it seems like I enjoy kicking over other people's tea carts, but let's take a look at the whole UFO phenomenon. And for anyone who does believe that E.T. has been sneaking in without going through Customs first, I'll try to keep the words small.

Space is big, right? I mean, really big. The Milky Way - um, that would be the galaxy we live in - is 100,000 light years in diameter. That means if you started at one edge, could travel at the speed of light (which, by the way, is a physical impossibility), and wanted to cross the galaxy to get to the other edge, it would take you 100,000 years to do so. The nearest large galaxy to the Milky Way, Andromeda, is over two million light years distant. And yes, that means to get from there to here would take over two million years.

Of course, that would be if you could move at light speed. You can't. The closer you get to the speed of light, the more mass you acquire, and the more power you need to move that mass. Until, finally, at the speed of light you acquire infinite mass, which then requires infinite power to move. Oops. Thank you, Mr. Einstein, and it looks like E.T. is SOL.

Do the math. At light speed, it takes you fifty years to get to a star fifty light years away. It takes a hundred years at light speed to get to a star a hundred light years away, and so on.

Space is big.

Ah, but E.T. is smarter than we are, right? So, obviously, he's figured out a way to move faster-than-light.

Erm . . . no. Aside from the fact that the only things that seem to move faster-than-light are my dogs at dinnertime, that's probably not possible. Sure, Relativity allows for things like wormholes in the fabric of space-time, but since those things, if they exist, occur only on the quantum level, they're probably not a practical means of travel. Unless, of course, E.T. also exists only on the quantum level, in which case he should have no trouble using them if he has the technology to do so. But that also means that no one would ever see a UFO, so I think it's safe to discard that notion.

Theoretically, it is possible to create a wormhole large enough for someone on our scale to use. Given enough power, that is, and since we are once again verging on the territory of infinite power, well . . . Besides which, the light show produced by the attempt would be truly epic, and some observatory somewhere would notice something like that.

So, unless E.T. is very long-lived, and exceptionally patient, chances are no one's dropped in for a visit. Physics, after all, aren't just physics here, it's the same everywhere in the universe, and E.T. would be just as bound by those laws as we are.

Then there is E.T. himself. Does anyone but me find it odd that every description of an alien is always of a humanoid creature? One head, two eyes, two arms, two legs. Really? Evolution on a planet x light years away worked in such a way to produce a being who's gross anatomy is identical to ours? Hmm. In that case, I'll bet E.T. even has smarmy game-show hosts and really bad reality television. No wonder he's trying to get away from home, but imagine his disappointment when he gets here . . .

And if E.T. is capable of overcoming the barriers to practical trans-galactic travel, chances are he's not going to be as friendly as the true-believers make him out to be. Look, folks, the "Prime Directive" only existed in Star Trek, and they (particularly Kirk) damn well broke it whenever it was convenient to do so.

Examine our own history for a moment. Every time an "advanced" culture encounters a "primitive" one, it devours the less-advanced culture. Do we really think it would be any different if the fine citizens of Persei Omicron show up here one day?

Culturally, it takes a certain amount of aggressiveness not only to develop your technology, but to pull up stakes and see what lies over the next hill . . . not to mention a few star systems away. Timid creatures tend to stay at home. And get eaten by other creatures that aren't so timid.

And why, oh why, if E.T. is capable of crossing such vast distances in any kind of practical time frame, would he do so only to give some poor hick an anal surprise? Seems to me that's an awfully long way to go just for a proctological examination.

Or for what amounts to bestiality, for that matter. Let's face it, there are tons of "alien abduction" stories out there that have E.T. performing "sexual experiments" on the "abductees." Uh huh. Seems that not only is E.T. curious, he's got a raging hard-on, too. But . . .

Why would an E.T. have any prurient interest in a human being at all? I mean, he didn't evolve here, he isn't biologically programmed to be sexually aroused by a human being of the opposite sex - or the same sex, this being the 21st Century and we being enlightened beings and all. Unless, of course, we're going to posit that there are some E.T.'s who are sexually attracted to what amounts to animals. Hell, we've got people like that, too . . . but we don't cram them into space ships and shoot them off into the Great Beyond. Although . . .

Now, don't get me wrong. I do, in fact, believe that there is other life out there in this galaxy, not to mention the rest of the universe. Some of it isn't as intelligent or advanced as we are, some of it is, and some of it makes us look like we're perpetual passengers on the universe's shorty bus. But the sheer distances between us and them are so great, it's unlikely that we'll ever know about them. Or that they will ever know about us.

The Day the Earth Stood Still and lots of bad 1950s science fiction notwithstanding, even if E.T. really is visiting us, how come he's never announced himself? One would think that terrorizing the occasional airliner or landing in the back woods someplace and ramming a probe up some hapless hayseed's ass would get old rather quickly. If the whole point of the exercise is to find the neighbours and say "Hi!" then one would have to believe the appropriate place to land is downtown Washington, D.C., or London, or Paris, or Moscow . . . or at least someplace where they don't brew their hooch in the backyard and sell it by the jug.

Ah, well. Space is big. Yes, yes, I know I've already said that, but it bears repeating. So big, in fact, that there's pretty much virtually no chance that E.T. has been zipping through our skies uninvited in his flying saucer.

Then again, I could be wrong. So, just in case . . . To all the E.T.'s who are more advanced than we are: please don't eat me. Nor is my ass all that interesting. And to the E.T.'s who may be further down the ladder than we are: the secret is to keep banging the rocks together.

Sorry, The Governor Said "No," Part II

I has a theory. To wit, which are, peoples is dumb.

From the morons who think that, when it snows, it is "okay" to park their minivan halfway into the handicapped spot at the supermarket, to the idiots who think that the plural of "aircraft" is "aircrafts."

The Chicago Public School system is churning out students who think the words "waste" and "waist" are the same thing . . . so it spends almost $100k on cappucino machines for "home economics classes." And don't worry, folks, the guy who hired those people is soon going to be in charge of the Department of Education. Just think of how much money they can spend on fancy coffee machines then.

The President-elect keeps telling us about how bad the recession we're in is . . . except that a recession is defined as two consecutive Quarters of negative economic growth, which we haven't had yet. Now, don't get me wrong, I think the economy is headed into the proverbial shitter, but I'm betting that if you want to avoid a recession, you probably don't want to tell people that we're in one and the sky is falling. After all, perceptions can be more powerful than reality, and if you keep telling them the economy is in recession, people are going to start acting that way . . . which is going to bring on the very thing your "bailout" is seeking to prevent.

And for all our conservative friends out there . . . quit whining that the President-elect's bailout plan amounts to socialism. If that's the case, he's only doing what the current President already did.

To the one guy who voted against impeaching Governor Blagojevich because it's "not the job of the State Assembly to impeach the Governor." Really? Then who's job is it, exactly?

To the guy who voted "Present" on the impeachment: what were you thinking?

To the Honourable Jesse White, the Illinois Secretary of State: sorry, the Illinois Supreme Court said "No," too. Why, exactly, did you think you could block the appointment of Roland Burris?

To the gun-control advocates: ice picks and screw drivers kill people, too. How come you're not advocating banning them?

To the NRA: could you please show me where the Second Amendment says you're entitled to a howitzer?

To the folks protesting Israel's actions in Gaza: could you please explain to me why it is bad for the Israelis to bomb Hamas, but okay for Hamas to rain rockets down on Israel at will?

To the people who think the military is too large: with the force stretched to the limit with current operations and committments, the PRC gearing up to turn the Pacific into a Chinese lake, Russia trying to restart the Cold War and yahoos with AKs and dinghies turning the waters of east Africa into a pirate playland, could you please explain to me again why it is a good idea to shrink the military again?

To the Air Farce: could you please point to just one example of you winning a war all by yourselves?

To NASA: is it really that hard to get back to the Moon? I mean, you've already been there.

To India and Pakistan: look, when are you two just going to cut to the chase and start tossing nukes at each other?

To Ronald D. Moore: no, really, I get it. And your show still sucks.

To the environmentalists: oil or nuclear power. You're going to have to choose one.

To the next copy editor who thinks that "breech" and "breach" are the same thing: I'm going to hunt you down and show you the difference.

To Donald Rumsfeld: I have a new activity to see you through your golden years of retirement from public service: hunting land mines. With a hammer.

To Bill Gates: really, all the money you're spending on propaganda isn't fooling anyone. Vista still sucks.

To fan fiction writers everywhere: please. Don't.

To Tom Clancy: the P-51 Mustang was not "conceptually just an improved Spitfire." Really.

To all the "military experts" who think that the German military was just the schnizzle: if they had the bestest soldiers and the bestest equipment evah . . . how come they lost?

To teachers who want to keep telling us how wonderful teachers are and how underappreciated they are: you'd help your case immensely if you learned how to spell first . . .

To the next physician who wants to stick a finger up my rectum: really, you should start off slow. Perhaps a nice dinner first, with flowers, some violin music . . . you know, get me in the mood.

Tha-tha-that's all, folks.

We Are Not Amused

Just because I haven't visited this subject for a while . . . and, yes, I am a 46 year old man who plays video games. Deal with it.

Dear Treyarch:

Please allow me to congratulate you on your new game, Call of Duty: World at War. It looks absolutely fabulous, even if you did decide to try and milk some more mileage out of the Second World War.

Couple of things, though. The Germans didn't have King Tigers at Stalingrad. Really. But that's just a minor quibble. What just completely frosts my ass is Multiplayer.

Frankly, it sucks.

Oh, it could have been good. Fantastic, even. The potential is definitely there. The problem would be that, while it seems you went out of your way to hire a military adviser to show you authentic period weapons, you also apparently didn't bother to ask him anything else.

Now, I'm pretty sure that the fanboys of the game are going to raise their hackles at that. How could I possibly say that about one of the most realistic games about war out there?

Well . . . because it's not all that realistic.

Please allow me to explain to you the concept of "centre mass." Soldiers are taught to aim at the largest part of the body, the torso . . . also known as centre mass. When you have a sight picture that is nothing but the other guy's body, and you pull the trigger, chances are you're not going to miss. And the bad guy is going to go down.

Ah, but not in your game. A miss, as they say, is as good as a mile, even though with your enemy filling the sight you couldn't miss even if you were blind. And the way players can absorb multiple .30-calibre rounds and shake them off like rain? Sheer brilliance. Doesn't ever work that way in the real world, of course, but, hey, you're striving for authenticity, right?

But, wait, it gets even better, doesn't it? Really, now, when you empty a hundred-round belt from a Browning .30-calibre machinegun into a guy charging straight at you across an open field, he dies. What he doesn't do is bayonet you while you're changing belts. Of course, the same would apply when you hose some guy down with an MG-42, but I suppose what's good for the goose is good for the gander, too.

Let's not forget my favourite, grenades. At least you don't have them bouncing around like superballs as so many other games do. But, really, no one can throw a grenade a hundred yards or more. Really. And while they're not grenades, you also can't reliably hit anything with a pistol at anything over 50 yards. Nor does it take all seven shots in the magazine of a Colt M1911A1 to kill someone. One or two really is all you need.

Can we talk about weapon recoil? You know, one or two shots, for example, from an M1 Garand do not turn it into an anti-aircraft gun. I mean, you do have a point that if all you do is hold down the trigger of a submachine gun and empty the magazine as fast as possible, God Himself has no idea of just where all the bullets are going to go. But, trust me, otherwise soldiers are taught how to compensate for weapon recoil and weapon climb. Which would bring us right back to sight pictures and centre mass, but why belabour the obvious?

We can, however, talk a little bit about the concepts of cover and concealment. They are not the same thing. Concealment means that the enemy can not see you; he can still shoot you, but he's going to be guessing as to where you are. Cover means that not only can the enemy not see you, he can't shoot you, either. A big bunch of bushes, a field of growing crops, and a gulley would be examples of concealment. A bunker or a solid wall would be an example of cover. See the difference?

Well, apparently you don't. You have no cover at all in the game and, leaving aside the bullets that magically go around corners, rounds penetrate everything. Where in the world you got the idea that bullets - pistol, rifle, SMG or MG, doesn't matter - can penetrate solid stone or four feet of reinforced concrete and kill someone, I don't know, but I sure wish you'd share that technology with real soldiers. They need it.

Oh, and the spawn system. I tell you, after being killed from a half-mile away by some clown wielding a .357 magnum, nothing is more enjoyable than being repeatedly spawned right on top of an enemy, so that you can be killed again and again and again without being able to do anything about it. I mean, was it really that hard to come up with a system that spawned players some place where the bad guys weren't?

Last but not least, I have to pat you all on the back for the wonderful scoring system you came up with. Really, now, nothing says "good times" like seeing your shots put enemies down, and then not having the game record those kills in your score. Absolute genius.

Oh, wait, I almost forgot to ask. How is it, exactly, that a 'scope makes a weapon less accurate? Or, for that matter, how is it that you can get three shots out of a double-barrel shotgun? Enquiring minds want to know.

So, really, aside from that, multiplayer is just great, I assure you. But please remind me: where, exactly, is the fun in having to fight the game in addition to the other players? Because I just can't figure that out.

Missed It By That Much . . .

Ah, my old friend Nostradamus is on television - again. The man who, according to those who believe in that sort of thing, in the 16th Century predicted every historical event of any significance that would occur between the time he lived and the "end of the world."

Excuse me while I choke back some choice words . . . Okay, we're better now.

Look, folks, it's not a "prediction" if you have to go back after the event and say "Aha! That's what he was talking about!" By its very nature, a prediction should be absolutely clear and unambiguous before the event in question happens. Otherwise, it's you reading into things.

Which is what Nostradamus, and every other "psychic" that has been or is, specializes in. Not that that stops the true believers, of course. After all, anything can be true if you wish it hard enough, right?

Let's stick with old Nosty, shall we? It never ceases to amaze me the lengths to which those who believe in his "predictions" will go in order to "prove" their assertions.

One of my favourite twists of logic involves the Quatrains that supposedly predict Hitler and the Second World War. The "proof" that our friend Nosty was talking about Adolf is the line: "And the greater part shall stand against Hister."

There you go. L, S, so what if he was off by one letter? Obviously, he was taking about Hitler . . . I mean, H-i-oops-t-e-r. What could be clearer? The explanation most often advanced for substituting an 's' for the 'l' is that Nostradamus was using a sort of code, because he lived in a time when it was dangerous to speak ill of those in power.

Whoops. Couple of problems with that. First of all, in the 16th Century, there was no Germany; there were a lot of states and principalities that, in the 19th Century, would become Germany (under the domination of Prussia), but there was no single German State and thus no German government or ruler to tick off (and, let's face it, Nostradamus lived in France, anyway). Second, and more importantly, "Hister" is an ancient name for the Danube River. Nostradamus may indeed have been talking about a war, but chances are he was talking about Europe confronting the Ottoman Turks; Vienna, after all, wasn't all that long before he lived.

Then there is the plain obfuscation of language. Believers in Nostradamus claim that he used descriptive, poetic language to talk about things that he had no words for. Case in point: when he writes about firearms. Believers insist that he never uses words like firearms, muskets or rifles because he didn't know what they were.

Whoops again. Nostradamus lived in the latter part of the 16th Century. He most certainly knew what a musket was, or at least its immediate forerunner, the arquebus, because both of those weapons were in use at the time. Why, then, if he was talking about a musket would he not say "musket"?

Then there is my favourite, which was all over the internet following 9/11. You know what I'm talking about, the Quatrain that supposedly predicted that event. Okay, you know what's coming next . . . Yep. Whoops. Turns out that that particular Quatrain was a fake. R'uh r'oh.

Which is a long way to go to get to this point: where are all these "psychics" before an event happens? If someone knows that something is going to happen prior to the event, especially if it is something like 9/11, I really can't imagine a more textbook definition of evil than to keep that information to themselves. At the very least, one would think that someone with that knowledge would have a moral duty to speak out about it before a whole bunch of people get killed.

Or perhaps not. I mean, there are still psychics around who are predicting that the Beatles will get back together. Which would be a neat trick, considering that John and George are dead . . .