Wait, first, here’s another disclaimer. Yeah, I’m prepared for the shit storm. In fact, here you go, so you don’t have to quote it.

Alright, now with that out of the way, I would just like to say, this new album, Viva La Vida, is absolutely fucking amazing. It was amazing last night, and this morning after I woke up, yeah, it’s still just as amazing.

I’ve never really been able to say that about many albums.

If you listen to radio you may have heard the album-titled single, "Viva La Vida", already. Here’s the video:

And here’s the first album on the track, "Life in Technicolor," the intro of which is mind numbing. Sorry, the video is a live concert taping with altogether way too much whistling, screaming and clapping, but the musicality by 1:15 is enough to account for it.

After watching 40 Year Old Virgin, and having been forced to listen to "Yellow" over and over and over again by mainstream radio, I never gave Coldplay a second chance. I mean, really, "Yellow" was just a very annoying song after the 10th time listening to it.

But at my job we’ve been increasingly selling more popular CDs, and this one arrived and sat in the back for a couple days so I had a chance to look at the cover and the song list. These alone overcome my powerful aversion to this band and sold the CD to me before even hearing a second of it.

As it turns out, though, Coldplay, as most of their fans have said time and again, is a band in possession of a great mass of musical talent. The piano lines in certain parts actually made my spine tingle. Let me repeat that again for the emotionally numb: My spine tingled. And that’s just the beginning of the emotion rollercoaster that is Viva La Vida.

I realize at this point that it’s rather futile to try to describe this to you. If you’re willing to give Coldplay a chance, then by all means open up the iTunes Store and preview some of the tracks. If you’re anything like me, you won’t even have to debate it (although I personally did call my bank and check my funds first…) Two clicks of a lambs tail later, the download begins and like a child waiting in line for Harry Potter you eagerly begin prancing around from foot to foot.

And, of course, if you’re already a Coldplay fan, then I’m preaching to the choir, so to speak.

I was in 7th grade and had a project due in my history class. Mr. Glass was the school’s most renowned “cool” teacher, a hip, young, black man that taught history with a passion. FFS, he bought us grits from Pat and Oscars one day. Needless to say, given our tendencies to revel in the mans attentions, and our want to curry favor from him, we all put forth that extra effort into every project and paper. We were 7th grade honors students though, so what else could you expect?

In my room I kept the family computer, an already aging Sony VAIO with 6GB of HDD space and about 64 megs of RAM. I realized I had no way to turn in my powerpoint to my teacher so being the hardy boyscout I was, I took the screen off my window and hollered to my friends upstairs. “Jimmy, Beto!” A pause. “Jimmy! Beto!” Finally, I was rewarded with the sound of a window slamming open. “What?” shouted Jimmy.

“I need a floppy disk, do you have one?” I’m sure the neighbors cared of what I needed.

“Uh, yeah, hold on!” After a moment, Jimmy lowered a floppy disk down to me tied to a shoestring. “Thanks man!”

Being who I was, when I was, I had become quite consternated over how to solve the particular dilemma of being unable to find a medium with which to hand in my assignment. I didn’t even have dial-up at that time, unlike some of my more fortunate peers. I sighed in relief, threw the project on the disk, and the next day had it turned in to Mr. Glass.

About two days later, fifth period tolled in the school-well bell system. I was early to class for one reason or another, and had been reading Jackie Chan’s “I Am Jackie Chan: My Life in Action.” (An act that had garnered much laughter first day that school year.) Mr. Glass came up to me discreetly and said to me, “Hey, Josh, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Sometimes, when some people see a policeman on the road, they tremble in fear. Their arms lock up, their speed suddenly matches the posted limit, and their eyes are peeled forward, never daring to even glance at the officer’s car, because we all know that looking at a policeman is tantamount to confession. This is the cause of a guilty conscience, of taking advantage of having the (while not constitutionally provided, still omnipresent) privacy of the home, of speeding on an empty freeway, a packed freeway, of smoking cigarettes when the wife isn’t around, of using Craigslist for things other than furniture.

Mr. Glass was my policeman? And I? I smiled, stood up, and followed him outside the classroom. I was a 7th grade honors student. I never broke a law, never was tempted to try a cigarette or sip a beer, and never, ever looked at porn. Scouts honor.

“Um, Josh,” he began, obviously unsure of how to venture forward.

“Yes?” I replied earnestly, wondering what I would be praised for, or if by some mistake I was to be chastised.

He was a brave man. “That disk you turned in to me the other day. Do you know what was on it?”

“Yeah… my PowerPoint? Right?” My biggest fear had come alight: I forgot to put the document on the disk! My Windows 98 First Edition formatting was unacceptable for what was obviously a Second Edition – formatted disk! His system couldn’t read it — he must be running 2000! (lucky bastard.) My mind raced with the possibilities.

“Uh, well, yeah. And, also, I found some… pornography on your disk. Some… hardcore pornography. Could you… would you care to explain this to me?”

A moment passed, and then another. We all receive bits of news every now and then that shock us to our core. This was neither my first, nor was it to be my last, but somehow my reaction, and I feel it may be a universal condition, is always the same.

My left cheek turned red about a split second behind my right cheek. “Uh… what? Pornography?” (I was, as of yet, just too unfamiliar, uncomfortable, with the phrases ‘porn’ or ‘porno’.)

“Yeah.” He said, glancing at me, drinking in the naivitie, his fears allayed now that I had proven my innocence through sheer looks and embarrassment alone.

I’m not sure how long it took, maybe about five minutes, possibly ten, but the torrent of words came out in a jumble and all of five seconds later I stood there panting, panting from the effort of explaining myself, panting from embarrassment, panting from damage control.

“Look, look, it’s OK. I believe you. I won’t tell anyone about this. But I will be keeping this disk. Just, uh, just make sure to check any disks you borrow in the future, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah… thanks.” I said, staring at the ground.

It’s been years since I’ve had to, since I’ve had the need to, borrow a diskette from anyone. But every time I upload a file in an email, burn a CD, throw a document on my flash drive, I still subconsciously check the contents, just to be sure. A caution in the back of my head, as natural as breathing out before in, putting the left foot before the right.

A few months later, I left a $1 memogram on Minh Chau’s desk. “Will you be my Valentine?” About three minutes later I felt a piece of paper smack my head and subsequently two large holes being bored into the back of my head from a mere six inches behind me.

That was a rather embarrassing year.

But let’s not get into that. After all, the internet is hardly the place for highly detailed accounts of this eccentric’s wily antics.

Instead, let us peer into the future. After all, this is what Bill Murray Himself would want us to reflect upon on Groundhog Day, is it not? He, who suffered the same day, over and over, beaten down by Time itself, forced to realize he could never alone beat the system, could never alone right the mess he had made of life.

On this day, we ask ourselves: Of what use did Time have for a man that would abuse It so, and never take advantage of the opportunities granted him?

As we all know, Murray was placed in a Time-Loop, repeating the same day over and over. Groundhog Day. Yes, Time stuffed Murray into a purgatory of its own making, and gave him chance after chance to Repent and Change. To finally make use of Life itself. To stop childishly throwing away the very essence of that which makes us Live. Time watched as Murray realized the endless possibilities of being contained in the Loop; as Murray grasped at the straws of the finality of Forever.

At first, Murray learned everything that we as humans already knew. It’s fun to drive your car down some railroad tracks and end up in jail with all your buddies. It’s fun to steal money from an armed car in the parking lot. It’s fun to wile life away in the fickle yet enthralling events that help to slowly whittle away the monotony of everyday life.

But of what use were these activities that merely served to temporarily squash a sense of necessary fulfillment when nigh soon after, the compulsion to do so again would surface? For Time immemorial, through an Eternity of days, Murray battled with his own demonic compulsions until he was finally conscious of the severity of his Sins against Time.

Until this realization, contrary to Its nature, Time had waited. When finally the Moment arrived, the Loop snapped. Life as Murray had known it could finally continue, only now on a corrected path.

Murray was enlightened. By facing, confronting, and experiencing Infinity, Murray learned the value of mortality. The value of having a future.

Murray learned the One Great Lesson that we mere humans could not: The actions of today will always become the consequences of tomorrow.

And this, my friends, is the Spirit of Groundhog Day. Carpe Diem.Waste not the tragically short life that you are given with the immediate and temporary when the future is so close around the corner. Make use of Today before it becomes the mistakes of Yesterday.

Bill Murray bless us all, and I hope everyone has a safe and prosperous Tomorrow.

A while back, I noticed a spider in my bathroom, hanging out underneath the cabinets, but just on the edge so I could easily spot him. He wasn’t small, but he wasn’t quite yet medium sized. In other words, he was too big for my tastes. A hard exoskeleton covered by jet black fur would give me nightmares everytime I needed to brush my teeth or shower. Somehow, I knew that this spider would get into my clothes or crawl up my leg.

Yet another, more rational side of me, berated my instincts. This spider never did anything to me; in fact, he so seldom moved that his nocturnal habits became like clockwork. I knew that once the sun fell past the horizon, I could count on that spider to appear suddenly, hanging there, not moving. What had he ever done to me? He may, in fact, have been the only object of consistency in the entirety of our co-existence.

So, my rational side won out. I never killed the spider. I never took a lighter and mauled him with hairspray. I never took a hammer and smashed him to death. I never squirted him, smothered him, crushed him, or otherwise demean his presence in any way.

But I was vigilant. I was always prepared. I always wore shoes with me whenever I needed to make use of the bathroom. Because if there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that Murphy’s Law is always in effect; whatever can go wrong, will. And so, I waited for this spider to abuse my faith in his docility.

Today, I stepped out of the shower, and thought, once more, to see where Spider was. Lo, he had vanished! Shuddering, I frantically searched the counter, the toilet, the floor for Spider. At the same time, I berated myself for acting on instinct.

And then I saw him. An inch and a half from my foot. Scuttling towards me on all eight legs for all he was worth. I guess my sudden, sopping appearance from the drain-clogged shower must have scared him as he foraged for food, or maybe explored for a better hiding spot. The little critter never sought to flee from his Goliath opponent, though. No, instead, he ran into battle with all the brevity an entire Greek army could ever muster.

And I, with all my manhood and dignity, yelped, scrambled for the shoes hidden underneath my clothes pile, slipped into the right, and soundly stomped the shit out of my hopeless opponent. Just to make sure he hadn’t slipped in between the slip-resistant grooves, I slammed my foot down nine more times, then peered underneath for visual proof to top it off.

I could barely recognize him.

Tonight, I brushed my teeth. Out of habit, I gazed down while froth bubbled from my mouth. And in quickly suppressed surprise, the reality of my actions had hit me; Spider was not to be found.

With nothing in mind, I decided to hang around on campus till DeGrave got out of class. In my pocket, I carried a ticket for one (1) free slice of pizza. Ticket in hand, i walked to the quad and redeemed my nice, cold slice of pepperoni bliss, walked a few feet away and found a nice, quiet, empty spot on a grassy hill leading to the Humanities building.

I sat down, laid down my bag, set down my plate, and opened up my bottle of Lipton Citrus Green Tea. I took a sip. Birds chirped in the background as the sun shone through the trees to either side of the building I faced. Peaceful, serene, calm.

Two guys walked towards me. I thought to myself, “Maybe they, too, will grab their slice of pepperoni bliss, and find themselves in such a fine position as I have myself.”

As they maneuvered to walk past me, the younger man stopped. He was a clean cut man, low-20′s, asian (chinese), and wore the suit of a Princeton student. Clean-cut, rich, trustworthy.

His companion was a slack-jawed asian man of 40′s.

“Hello,” Princeton said to me.

“Hello,” I replied.

He told me his name. I told him mine.

He asked me, in passing, of what religious affiiliation I subscribed. The heart of the conversation was about to begin.

I confirmed to him, “I’m atheist.” I looked at his face. I could see it in his eyes, in his being, that he had already known this. He could smell my kind out from a mile away. How much more obvious could I have been, sitting alone on the grassy hillside, without companion, without even God to cradle me in the arms of happiness and joy?

A small smile played across his lips. “And may I ask why?”

I dredged up one of the many reasons, one of the many, many reasons why I did not believe. Why I lived a solitary life of singularity and individualism. “I believe in what I see. I believe in what I have proof of. I have neither seen nor proof of God. Therefore, I do not believe.”

His tone was amicable. His demeanor amicable. His whole being amicable. He was a formidable opponent. The theories he proposed to me were rather liberal considering his occupation: God-spreader. He spoke to me of his thoughts that he believed many people, many Christians of today take their religion half-heartedly. They go to church on Sunday and speak of fellowship on Sunday and be good on Sunday, but for the other 6 days, they think nothing of it. This is not the meaning of Christianity.

His words alone, in this manner, could have persuaded me to believe.

He spoke to me that God is a jealous God (a fact I think MANY are prone to forget.) That the 10 Commandments are not merely a way that God wants us to live, but a way for us to be God, to be closer to him, to come closer to the realization that we are in fact merely an extension of him. For He did breathe his own life into us. (And women, well, you were made of his rib. You’re even closer to Him than we males are.)

He spoke to me of the Garden of Eden and how Eve was tricked, but Men were not tricked. We knew Eve had been deceived but we could not allow her to take the fall into knowledge alone. We loved Eve, and had spent eons forever tossing aside all beings for companions until God himself took his rib and breathed life into Eve. So we, too, but into the Apple the serpent had deceived Women into eating and took the fall with her.

He spoke to me of Jesus, and how he lived TWICE just to absolve of us our sins. He lived more than 30 years just to know how we feel. What a saint.

But more than any of that combined, he spoke to me of the bible. And how all these teachings and stories can be found in it. He gave me a website where I can order a bible for free. He told me of this website many times. He wrote it down for me. He gave me a pamphlet of it which included some diagrams and such of the teachings of Jesus and religion in general. He told me to order from the site. He told me I could come to Wednesday youth group discussions if I wanted. He told me of the website again. And again.

It’s not as if I had bitten in and suddenly BELIEVED.

But I do find religion FASCINATING. I find the Bible fascinating. The #1 best selling book of ALL TIME in the entire HISTORY of the WORLD? Come on, it’s gotta be good. So I intend at some point to go out and buy a copy of both testaments. To study them. To learn how the Old Testament is merely a guide to the New Testament, a way to navigate around it as Mr. Princeton told me. The same way in which The Darine is merely a guide to the Mrin.

Then I’m going to take a bible study class next semester. Not the bible as a religious text, but the bible as a piece of literature from a strictly neutral point of view.

This man was enlightening, and not just when his companion started speaking in slurred, accented speech and went off on lengthy tangential monologues of the beauty of God and everything. But he was enlightening to me in that I am ignorant of the beliefs of 60% or so of the people I surround myself with. If I truly wish to be a decent member of society, or a good friend, or empathetic in any way at all, I must educate myself in the teachings, lessons, and stories of the #1 Best-Selling Book of all time.

So while everyone out there eats a nice big dinner tonight, and celebrates the end of the 42-day long ban of their favorite habits, whether it be drinking soda or coffee, having sex, or watching T.V., I will be at work, pondering that which I do not know, and looking forward to a time where I will be more enlightened by the combined literative works of the wise men who put together the Bible in the name of Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior (damn, that sure beats Ph.D.)

In point of fact, I’ve actually had a number of run-ins with the religious right in the past week, and as I’ve told a few people recently:

If there is a God out there… he’s trying very, very hard to tell me something.