That's just an approximation. I didn't actually count them.

Position: Martinez, CA

Currently Digging: Stubbs The Zombie (OS X version). It's the only game out there that makes YOU the zombie, and puts YOU in control of a shambling horde. Plus, you get to rip people's arms off to use as weapons (cliche, but fun nonetheless). On the downside, you're allowed far too many untraditional zombie-related attacks (throwing your regenerating, exploding head?), probably because some spoiled-by-all-the-other-shitty-games-on-the-market developer felt that simple bludgeoning and biting is far too boring to hold the average gamer's interest. "I dunno, Bob...what else can we throw in here that zombies don't do?" How about drive a fertilizer-cannon-equipped off-road vehicle? Bah. All told, Stubbs The Zombie kind of sucks, but I'm inclined to give it higher marks than usual due to my weakness for all things zombie. And because the game has a dedicated "Eat Brains" button.


We have a weekly football pool on the ship, giving the whole crew an excuse to look forward to Sunday. Even die-hard-professional-sports-hating me. Because money is involved.

I've never been a big fan of the game, but sometimes enjoy rooting for the Raiders even though they're a hopelessly lost cause. I can't tell you who's on the team, or even what conference they're part of. I just know that my boys in black don't score a whole lot of touchdowns. And that's the LOS ANGELES Raiders, mind you. Fuck Oakland.

Hey, I grew up in an East L.A. barrio, okay? My dad like, sold La Rosa bars and Chiclets and shit on the roadside to make ends meet.

Anyway...every week, I pick the Raiders, and my shipmates divvy up my ten dollar pool entry fee, and a good time is had by all. When the satellite is working, the excitement builds, and there isn't a television on the ship that isn't tuned to one game or another. Except the one in the Crew's Lounge, which is monopolized by the DEU. And mine, because I haven't got a television. Because I don't watch television. Because - oh, fuck you.



The DEU, or the Deck/Engine Utility, is the guy who swabs the decks in the house, and then swabs the decks in the engine room. He's our designated swabbie. On a side note, never ever EVER take a job with the word "utility" in the title. It means you're somebody else's tool.

This particular Tool is from Yemen, has a slight gambling problem, and is very much into the football pool. I'm positive that he's even less of a football fan than I am, since he doesn't understand how the game is played. All the Tool knows are the team names, their win/loss record, and the current odds from Vegas.

He watches the channel that displays the scores. Nothing but the scores. All day long. Every chance he gets.

Scores.

I asked him once why he just didn't tune into one of the games, and he looked at me like I was crazy.

"Why? I can get the numbers for all the games right here!"

This, I feel, completely vindicates my entire life of eschewing professional athletics. It's a telling depiction of what they've come to in this day and age.

It isn't about the game; it's not about excitement and adrenaline and actually being entertained. It's about stats and numbers who's scoring for your fantasy team and percentages and yardage and numbers and stats and meaningless records and stats and numbers.

It's fanboy-dom.

It's the socially-accepted version of knowing how many hieroglyphs there are on the goddamn Stargate. Or how to order your "surf and turf" in Klingon. And no, I don't know either of those things.

But I'm not here to talk about football today. Or about Stargate. I'm here to discuss advertising.

Last Sunday, I'm passing through the Crew's Lounge to get a cup of coffee, and the DEU is off working somewhere else (normally, he cleans the Crew's Lounge all Sunday long...he gets it really, REALLY clean...go figure), and somebody's left the television on a channel that actually has shows. With moving pictures. And commercial breaks.

There's a commercial on for a restaurant, or a new packaged food product, or something. I don't recall what. All that sticks in my mind as I blow through the lounge is the phrase:

"...PACKED with REAL raisins!"

And my mind shuts the fuck down.



I could be wrong. I might have mis-heard it, but things like that tend to burn themselves into my brain like a branding iron on a white slave's ass.

It might have been "...NOW with REAL raisins," which would be even worse.

I head back out on deck, coffee in hand, mouthing the words.

"Packed. With. Real. Raisins." Emphasis on the "real."

They make fake raisins?

I was not aware that there was such a thing as a fake raisin.

I've been to the markets in Korea where they sell the knock-off Gucci purses and the imitation Rolexes, bootlegged major motion pictures on DVD (made in China), and the pirated copies of Windows, but I can't say I ever saw anything resembling a fake raisin there.



I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by this. We are, after all, living in a world of tofurkey and formica. Splenda and pleather. Shoulder pads and silicon sweater meat. But raisins?

I ask my watch partner about it when I get back out on deck.

I've got raisins on the brain.

"Have you ever heard of fake raisins?"

You can tell that this is really bothering me, since it prompted me to actually put some effort into a weblog for a change.

I'm beginning to feel like a real dupe here.

Like, all this time, I trusted that Sun Maid bitch. And for what?

Aaaargggh! You lied to me, YOU RAISIN-MONGERING WHORE!!!



He gives me his "here-we-go-again-with-your-insanity" look, and tells me to go tend the mooring lines.

I go off to tend the mooring lines, imagining sweatshops in Beijing, full of grubby, malnourished Chinamen miserably rolling out some manner of brown-ish dough, and then taking raisin-shaped cookie-cutter-like devices to it. For pennies on the dollar. Undercutting the American raisin industry. Putting good, honest American raisin-makers and their illegal alien sub-minimum-wage migrant helpers out of work.

And...and...who decided it was necessary to find a cheaper alternative to DRIED FUCKING GRAPES? When did the cost of dried grapes become prohibitive? Did this happen during Chavez' United Farm Workers strike? Was it cheaper than finding scabs for GRAPE PICKERS? Was it worth getting a lab full of scientists to perfect the ultimate raisin substitute?



Packed with REAL raisins.

How many imitation raisins have I unwittingly ingested over the course of my lifetime? I'm not ashamed to admit that I've had more than several tasty oatmeal/raisin cookies in my day. Or oatmeal/SOMEthing cookies. And Raisin Bran. And trail mix. And granola bars. And - and Waldorf fucking salad!

So if I've been ignorantly eating these things all this time (okay, I eat a LOT of oatmeal/raisin cookies) are they any good for me? Can I add them to my List Of Shit That's Gonna Give Me Cancer? I mean, what are they made out of?



I probably didn't hear what I thought I heard on that commercial. I sure hope I didn't.

And people give me a hard time for not watching television...

Christ.

-Jb
CEO FTW, Inc.
12.13.05