Music - It's Great.

I was texting a girl (*cue 80s sitcom studio audience "ooooOOOOohhh!"*) and she asked me a question I really loved. She asked me what my favorite thing was. I didn't quite know what to make of that question. You could ask me my ideal room temperature at any given time and I'll immediately respond 72 degrees Fahrenheit. You might inquiry as to what year in history I would most prefer to occupy, and I will not hesitate to let you know that it'd be 80,085, because that's in the future and it looks like "boobs" on a calculator. But a question as simple as "What's your favorite thing?" somehow stopped me in my tracks.

You wouldn't understand the music I listen to.

I argued with myself for a bit on the matter. I like hanging out with people, but I also hate most people most times. I like the computer, but that's kind of anti-social, not to mention broad. I like football, but I'm pretty sure I can go days without it. What's the one thing I don't go a day without doing? Pissing! But that'd make a terrible blog post! So instead, I chose listening to music, which I also do every day! Awesome! Exclamation mark!

I love music. It's wonderful. It's seriously fantastic. There are many other superlatives I'd like to use in brief three word sentences but I feel that'd become tedious. But music is the best. This isn't my best writing. Moving on. It's difficult to explain the way music makes me feel. I hear some people say music makes them sad, others say it makes them happy, a phonophobiac told me music always threw him into a violent rage. For me, music doesn't really elicit any emotion from me. More than anything, music fills a void for me; just sort of settles me into a contentment. I'm not sure what I gain from listening to music, but at any given moment I'd rather be listening to it than not.

I've found through experience that music says a lot about a person. Initially, I'd just notice someone listening to the same kind of music I liked and I'd start a conversation with them because, hey, that's the kind of music I liked. However, when I'd initiate these conversations, I'd notice that they were some of the better conversations I'd had; legitimately involving, interesting, relatable conversations, often with people I only vaguely knew! This happened for years, at least consciously unbeknownst to me, before I started to connect the dots. I've come to the conclusion that the music one listens to has a strong bearing on their character, and I've equipped this theory like a sword and shield in my social life as of late. Not to say that any music preference is superior to any other, as much as I feel those who both enjoy the grungy thrashings of "Tool", or both enjoy the nonsensical moan-yelling of "The Strokes" (this guy!) will most likely be far more partial to each other than a "Metallica" enthusiast and a "Dixie Chicks" roadie might be. I bet they'll do studies. Either way, music is great! Three cheers for my most poorly written entry thus far! Hip, hip!

hooray.

Politics - Not Just For the Informed Anymore

I'm not a political guy. I'm not. I have no dedicated affiliation with either the Democratic or Republican party, and I do not follow those things as closely as I probably should. But as a consequence of my lack of knowledge, I feel it is important that I don't run my mouth off like an idiot. If someone is discussing the latest decision regarding the war in Afghanistan, I don't feel the urge to run in waving my arms and foaming at the mouth to interject “I hate war!”. Obviously I am alone in this trait, however, because it seems all intelligent conversations regarding politics either end with “Screw Sarah Palin!” or “Obama hates America!”, or very likely both. Politics is always going to be a touchy subject simply because politics covers such a wide spectrum of things that it's impossible not be affected by it at some point in some way. People like their money, people like their guns, people like their freedoms, people like their comfort, and people like their drugs. So naturally, people hate the one thing that has supreme rule over all of that: politics.

Robinson 2032

Pre-2008 election, I heard a girl say she wanted to vote for Obama. Obama had obviously captivated the young (18-30) demographics in America at a startling rate, so I asked for her reasoning, which I was well aware would most likely be ridiculous because she was wearing a Blink182 shirt. Her response was that Obama was black, which was surprisingly stupider than I had expected. She was not especially attractive so I didn't feel it necessary to flatter her idiocy, and instead launched into an insulting tirade full of unnecessarily large words and dripping with patronizing tone. I shot off about how people like her are the ones that elected Bush Jr. into office TWICE and then called him the worst president ever immediately after placing their ballots...twice. However, she took this rant in stride and came back with a knockout blow, simply stating she didn't care to talk to ignorant racists such as myself before excusing herself. Somehow I didn't see it coming.

A lack of knowledge is obviously something that currently and always will afflict subjects of all sorts, be it the inability to construct a nuclear power reactor or the incapability to differentiate how to “Dougie” from how to “Jerk”. However, when I am unable to construct a nuclear power reactor, I do not walk into a nuclear power plant and start banging a wrench on things and hope to put together some semblance of a functioning reactor. Traditionally, this is how the majority of society operates in regards to most things. If something is not your area of expertise, you stray away from it and withhold your likely useless opinion. However, something in politics seems to sap that common sense away from people, and just about everyone has something to say.

The worst part of this political idiocy is that everyone has a strong opinion about something, regardless of if they have any knowledge pertaining to that subject. If I were to ask a political novice like myself how they felt about Obama, they would likely respond with either “He's the best! Healthcare!” or “He's a communist! Healthcare!”, but seldom would someone respond “I don't follow politics very closely. Although my father/mother are staunch Republicans/Democrats, I have chosen to inform myself politically before passionately advocating one side or the other instead of adopting their opinions loudly and blindly. Additionally, I feel that I am not well versed enough in such issues to take a strong position either in favor or against them. Perhaps I can better equip myself for this conversation in the meantime, and we can resume this discussion at a later point.”

But that's just me.

Why the Packers Will Repeat (pt. 1) - The Blog No One Will Read

I've done my best since the birth of this humble blog to not write about the Packers. It just seems tacky, for whatever reason. Where as I like to think my blogs are articulate, witty, reflective, intellectual, perceptive and totally devoid of unnecessary vocab words and ego petting, sports (namely NFL football [more aptly the Green Bay Packers] ) seems to essentially make me revert to a dumb, simpleton one-track mindset who screams at inanimate objects. Namely TVs, although I've yelled at a few poorly placed stools, or ceilings, while celebrating. However, I can not repress this part of myself any longer. The Packers are going to win the freaking Super Bowl and I will tell you why. No cute wordplay, no wacky twist ending and no thesaurus. Just a guy in a Rodgers jersey with a lot to say and no one that will listen (thanks internet!).

Champions.

It all starts at quarterback. The NFL is a quarterback driven league, now, more so than some teams may like to believe. In fact, I firmly believe regardless of how talented a team is as a whole, there is no way to win it all without an elite quarterback. It's impossible. You have to all the way back to the 2002 Ravens, who surrounded mediocre quarterback Trent Dilfer with one of the greatest defenses of ALL time, as well as outstanding offensive weapons; and they just barely pulled that one. No team from that point forward has been lead by a quarterback who at very least had not been graced with a Pro-Bowl berth. Adrian Peterson is the highest paid runningback in the league right now, making a quarterback-sized contract of seven years for ~$100 million dollars. Larry Fitzgerald,  the best wideout in the league, is signed to a similarily ridiculous 8-year $120 million deal. Combined record of their teams?  2 wins, 12 losses. Case in point.

If it all starts at quarterback, the Packers should be just fine. Aaron Rodgers will be a Hall of Fame quarterback, and will have his shot at being the best of all time. Mark it down. Rodgers is the all-time qualified NFL leader in the categories of career QB rating, career yards per pass attempt, career touchdown to interception ratio, and lots of other lovely things like that. The kicker? He's still peaking. This season, Rodgers has topped his previous season high of five 300+ yard passing games... in seven games. Boom. 

And weapons? We got lots of em. Aaron Rodgers has an extremely talented receiving group, compromised of Greg Jennings, an All-Pro, Jordy Nelson, league leader in touchdown catches over 80 yards this year, Donald Driver, savvy veteran who churns out tough yards, James Jones, an athletic deep threat who excels at making guys miss, and rookie Randall Cobb who shows explosion and elite speed. Also, we sort of have this 6'5 Jermichael Finley guy at tight end, and he's as fast as a wide receiver and can jump as high as Randy Moss. We treat our quarterbacks good hurr in Wisky.

Talk about defense? I'd love to, but this is already way over 300 words. Some day.

A Blog Post About Nothing (couldn't think of a Seinfeld pun)

This blog has been aggravating as a whole. When I can think of something to write, it seems to flow effortlessly from my mind to the keyboard. Once I get going I'll rarely pause to ponder an idea or weigh options in my head. I just sort of record an organized stream of consciousness. There's something very satisfying about writing this way, it feels so natural and I'm so pleased with the results that it makes it hard to force an unnatural post when I really need to start getting some more down towards my count. I had a few different analogies of varying greatness and political correctness that I drew to mind here and I couldn't choose one, so let me break here briefly...

• ...i liken this experience to this thing about sex and ecstasy i've heard a few times. in this case, sex = writing and free will = ecstasy; reasonable enough, right? so everyone seems to like intercourse pretty good and dandy, but after having executed said activity while under the influence of a very illegal, very unhealthy entactogenic such as ecstacy, it has been suggested that it is so sensational that people are no longer able to comfortably engage in such behavior without the aid of the drug. (maybe not this one.)
• ...it's almost as if writing is akin to taking a dump. when you're about to go on a long car ride and your parents urge, "you better use the restroom before we go! we're not stopping!", there is nothing pleasant about the  experience. it feels feigned and often takes painful exertion to achieve any results at all. the truly memorable poops take place when you are swept over by a sudden wave of inspiration, drop everything you're doing and rush to the nearest bathroom... and it just flows. clean, expressive, relieving and just as nature intended.
• ...i draw parallels here with the rocky relationship between South Korea and North Korea, which...

Actually, I'm just going to go with the pooping one.

Another point: I consitently write blog entries in the neighborhood of 800 words, while I'm only required a minimum of 300. I have the equivalent of ~20 blogs typed up, yet I only have 9 in the gradebook. In fact, now, I think whenever I get to 300 words I'm just going to

Upon My Death... - Not A Satire Piece (pt. 1 of 3)

Perhaps there is no more sensitive a subject than death. Yes, it is taboo to bring up religion at the dinner table, and you likely shouldn't broach politics over a casual cup of coffee. These are controversial ideas that inspire heated debate, no doubt. Insatiable argument, furious anger, even. And those are surely not comfortable things. But death is another kind of sensitive. While religious debate make us jump out of our seat and politics inspires us to hurl shoes at international figures, the idea of death makes us shift uncomfortably in our seat. Death elicits tears from those whom you thought were incapable of showing emotion. Death makes us stop what we're doing.

It should be obvious why our mortality is held in such an uneasy reverence. As you go about your daily life, it's not often that you consider how fragile life is; and as you shouldn't, life isn't worth grieving over if you can't marvel the little things and sometimes dance in frivolity. This, however, makes it all the more shocking when suddenly that impenetrable mental wall of invincibility is torn violently down. Sometimes it's a loved one, and obviously that hits hard emotionally. But sometimes it's just a vague acquaintance, perhaps someone you didn't even know. Something is perhaps even more grounding about passing a certain person in the hallway everyday at a certain time, and then suddenly... you don't. It happened to them, and it can happen to anyone at anytime. Your life is not inherently less susceptible than any one else, although the deeply rooted egocentricity of all self-conscious beings usually hides that. All it takes is one moment to remind you that death is very real, and no one is Superman.

It's strange yet remarkable how we as a species have adapted to our inevitable mortality. Let me get abstract here. While primal animal instinct urges us to fight at all times to fulfill our own needs, to place ourselves above all others and above all, survive as long as we possibly can, it's not black and white. Not even close, really. As technology and general workings of the world have advanced, organized society, comforts and luxuries continue to separate us from this straight-forward live-or-die mindset. Combine this with the understanding that science has advanced, and that there is clearly abundant information regarding our liveliness. Although ways in which to maintain an optimum well-being will likely continue fluctuate throughout time as it has, I think it's probably apparent to everyone at this point that they WILL die eventually.

And this knowledge, and the conscious effect it has on us, is largely what sets us apart.  This is a world where one is no longer forced to fend for himself, instead you live with in the confines of society and ideally live a comfortable, fulfilling life; all this while understanding you will eventually pass on, and the world will continue to exist. For different people, this means different things. Restrained by the seeming meaninglessness of his existence, a person brings a loaded gun onto his college campus, striving to be recognized, remembered... to leave an impact on a massive, indifferent world. Or... maybe, a person recognizes his definite lifespan and yearns to live vicariously through mankind, eventually contributing to a massive breakthrough in the treatment of HIV/AIDS.

Death is a scary thing. I don't think anyone doubts this. But I like to think that understanding it for what it is helps you find what you want from it.

to be continued.

Retrospect, Foresight, and Generally Thinking of Everything But Now

As you stomp away angrily from a heated debate, you silently and figuratively kick yourself for not ending on a more clever retort. Now that it's already too late, countless possibilities for the ultimate one-liner that would shut them up forever flood your mind. If only you could go back...

Dosing off in class, you imagine that one perfect confrontation. Finally, you and that figure of hostility are alone in a room where you can air all of your grievances. They would at last see the error of their ways and understand that THEY had been the one at fault all along, perhaps ultimately sniveling at your feet and begging for your forgiveness. You would do it tomorrow. Or, at least some time next week. Actually, it'd probably just be more convenient for everyone if you waited to graduate from high school and then did it. But then you'd do it. For sure.

People as a whole spend far too much time worrying about things that don't pertain to now. On average, how much of your day is spent either dwelling on things of the past, or stressing about things that are yet to happen? TIJMU Stat Lab* reports that the average human mind spends only 1.3% of the day thinking about the task currently at hand! Clearly, with the unmatched depth of the human mind, it is expected that we care so much more than we should, but is it the right way to live life?

It's more often than I'd like I see a tweet or facebook status update musing "if i could only go back..." or "if i had a time machine...", abusing the ellipses like a hamburger belonging to David Hasselhoff (an oldie, but a goody). First, let me point out that these ideas are so useless that they actually have the audacity to simultaneously yearn for the past while also speculating on the future! Although the denotation (AP LANG VOCAB!!!!!1!1!) of such a status update would be that such a person had an innate desire to somehow in the future acquire a time machine for whatever reason they left ambiguous, the connotation of such a statement is they would like to go back to the past so they could fix some stupid problem that doesn't matter to anyone and is likely only important to them. 

Dear, if you had a time machine, you wouldn't be trying to go back and fix a high school relationship. How small-scale is your thinking? Where are your priorities!? Have you SEEN Back to the Future?!? Because if you somehow got a hold of ridiculously advanced time travel equipment necessary to traverse history's timeline, I hope to god you're not going back to retread on some dumb thing you said when you could bring home SELF LACING SHOES.

technology.

As a closing thought, I decided it would be hypocritical to engage in such foresight, retrospective tomfoolery that I just tore apart, so from this sentence henceforth I shall disassociate with all active thought not relating to what is currently happening. Not like my grades can suffer any more. I have to pee. Going to toilet.


*Things I Just Made Up Stat Lab

Mediocre-Tasting Wisdom

Fortune cookies... such a beloved snack. A revolutionary step in the establishment of terrible snack items combined with pieces of paper; an innovative niche that just somehow hasn't expanded into a billion dollar industry quite yet. Where would we be without them? Probably still the same place as you are right now, unless you're perhaps reading this blog during your lunch break at Wonton Food, Noodle and Fortune Cookie Inc. However, their contribution to global society cannot be understated.

Advice to live by.

The year is 1918, let us take a trip to Hong Kong, China. Now let us leave Hong Kong, China and go back to the United States, because no one in China knows what a fortune cookie is. David Yung decided that it would be a good idea to put quotes by philosopher Confucius in tea cakes at his Los Angeles Chinese restaurant; apparently not under the influence of any mind altering substance at the time. Then lots of people copied him and did similar things at their Chinese restaurants. Now they are at most Chinese restaurants. It's not the most gripping story.

Regardless of their illustrious history, I have spent many a sleepless late night pondering about fortune cookies. No doubt channeling my inner Confucius through a mix of starchy cookie and voodoo magic, I have found they are a breeding ground for deep intellectual thought unprecedented in my life. 

Why is that America is so fond of taking random, very local ideas and labeling them as foreign culture? I can assure you that everyday authentic Chinese cuisine does not consist of deep-fried breaded chicken dipped in sugary sauce and sesame seeds. Perhaps a more apt name for Chinese food would be "Really Unhealthy Fried Food Slathered in Equally Unhealthy Condiment", but something about that just doesn't do it for people. Instead, people eat this disgustingly delicious, greasy food in ridiculous proportions and justify it with a "when in Rome!" mentality; I mean if the Chinese eat this way, why can't I? Right? I mean, we've seen the people over there!

Why is that fortune cookies are getting more and more vague over the years? When I was younger I recall getting interesting, vivid predictions in my after dinner reward. I would be informed of interesting and hopeful things that were to happen in my future, being assured of magnificent improbabilities like "You will have an uncomfortable emotional encounter with the investigator in your dentist's ongoing audit, oh, and also, don't wear open-toed shoes to that concert tonight, you'll thank me later". Now, I don't even bother to open the things anymore. The only thing you get today is a statement so impossibly vague and applicable to any situation that they're probably better off just putting Bazooka Comics in there instead. (look it up kids)

Why are the cookies of such awfully poor quality? I don't know anyone who enjoys the taste of fortune cookies. In fact, most everyone I know throws away their actual cookie and just reads their fortune, if they even do that. Perhaps Chinese restaurants should leave a little plastic tub next to all of their tables and allow patrons to discard their unwanted cardboard sugar starch treat, which would undoubtedly gather en masse, and could be handled by the restaurant as they please. Did I just solve world hunger? It's likely. This raises another question, however! If there is such a massive market for these things, the transitive property would lead me to believe that if take other things of terrible quality and bundle them with paper slips of unclear wisdom, I should be able to suddenly push wagon fulls of the previously undesirable product. World hunger and Ringo Starr's solo career in one day? I do what I can.

Improv: Subtitle

Impro. Spontaneous Theater. Improvisation. Improv. Improvisational comedy. Those are different ways to say the same thing and create more words for my blog entry.

If you don't know what improvisational comedy is, you should, it's kind of a big deal here at John F. Kennedy High School. Essentially, a group of actors and actresses, usually ranging from 1-5 at a time, perform funny little scenes spontaneously to the delight of everyone in the audience, always, because we're hilarious. Usually, to help ensure the audience that we are truly coming up with these scenes on the spot, we will incorporate certain elements suggested by them into the show. Sometimes different characters are suggested, sometimes a setting, or oftentimes, just a general plot or scenario for the actors to follow.

Corporate watermarks. The man is trying to bring me down, man.

I'm sure now there's a question eating at the very fabric of your being... Why did I get started with improv? Well, my friends, that is a very, very interesting story. So interesting, in fact, that it may just take around 300 words to tell. Why yes, I remember it like it was only a couple of years ago...

A couple of years ago, my friend Andrew Hanzelka and I stumbled into this school as awkward, bumbling freshmen; no doubt mere shells of the powerful, influential men we have developed into over the years. As I celebrated my first term of vaguely free-reign education by enrolling in a 5th hour study hall where I played Madden on my iPod all class, my naive friend chose instead to enroll in an acting class, adorably under the impression that he had some semblance of natural dramatic talent (buy your tickets to see Andrew star in Suessical this week!). Teacher of the class at the time, Mr. Yuska, took rather a liking to Andrew and recommended decided that Andrew's energy would make a wonderful addition to a "Group Mime" being organized as part of the "Speech Program", which was decidedly less about standing up and giving speeches than either of us were aware.

Andrew and I, being the wonderfully close friends that we were, often spent time together. As such, he was once at my house before announcing that he had to be at group mime practice in 10 minutes. He also recommend I came and watch, because it was really fun and stuff. We got dropped off, and I pulled up a chair as practice began. Only, practice didn't begin, because one of the members of the mime (who will remain unnamed) did not choose to come to this rehearsal. So they waited, and waited, and eventually Andrew suggested that I step in and take the absent person's role. Just for one night, so the practice could go on. It was a trap.

One unanimous All-State mime later and we had left quite an impression on the speech team staff. Although we were decent mimes, it was clear by our lack of focus and penchant for... not miming in practice that we would have a different role in years upcoming. Last year, we made the improv team. Through the valiant effort of me and my two group mates, we advanced to the State level and received a "1" ranking. That's the good one. Also, Andrew's group won the All-State banner for best improv group in the state of Iowa, or something like that.

Didn't want an origin story? Sucks.

Dr. NoGloves or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Not Catch the Ball

Everybody has flaws. Some people are hopelessly self-involved. Some have embarrassingly poor work ethic. Others are irrepressibly obnoxious. I am all of those things. Also, I'm incapable of catching a football.

Yep. Right up there with inexplicable issues like the origin of the universe and how Joe Buck still has a job as an NFL commentator (OH NO HE DIDN'T), an issue equally pertinent to society resides: how can it seriously be THAT hard for Alosha to catch?

Since I was a young lad, I'd like to think I've at least been of average athletic ability. I could always run pretty fast, and in elementary school that is usually the best possible indicator of athleticism, and just general greatness. Unfortunately, as we matured, and athletics began to require more diverse sets of skills from us burgeoning stars than running in a straight line at an acceptable pace, it became clear I could not keep up with my peers. Yes, unfortunately for me, catching things tends to be the most prominent next step in our competitive evolution.

It was another fine day at Pierce Elementary School. The sun was probably shining, and I likely looked absolutely dapper in whatever awful sweater-khaki pant combo my mother had worked me into that morning. It was a "Gym Day", so eventually gym class came. As weather permitted, we were playing kickball that day. I wasn't terrible at kickball, I could kick it about as well as most guys and I could still run in a line pretty fast; as long as you kept me out of the outfield. Even then, I knew all too well that I was not able to catch any round objects being propelled at me at absolutely any velocity, but that day I had been playing well and got caught up in the moment. I flew too close to the sun. As I made hilarious banter in the backfield, awaiting one more out so I could kick the ball far again, said ball shot high into the air in my direction. 

Either this kid really got under the ball when he hit it or the trauma of the incident somehow enhanced the memory, because that ball was REALLY high. As it came plummeting towards the ground, I calculated its trajectory with lightning quick precision and put myself directly underneath its landing zone. My hands outstretched, it came down right into my artfully placed arms, sat there for a fraction of a second, then spilled onto the ground. My gym teacher caught her tongue as she retracted the "3 OUTS!" she had begun to proclaim. I just sort of looked at my feet, until my friend Jared came over laughing and said "HAHAH THAT WAS HILARIOUS! YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE, RIGHT!?". Right.

I don't think that I lack the hand-eye coordination. My prowess in typing fast and being super good at Xbox would clearly confirm this. No, I think I just lack that "it" factor. Football coaches have tried to help it for years, but eventually all have came to the same conclusion: I was a lost cause. I put my hands in the right place, create a perfectly shaped triangle between my outstretched index fingers and conjoining thumbs... It just doesn't work. It just bounces off. Perhaps my hands have a different structural make up than others that somehow limits me. Finally, I came to terms with myself. I was a runningback for a reason. God didn't want me to catch the ball. He had smaller, more mediocre plans in store for me.

***

In 2009, Martin Robinson lost his Cutters catching gloves. He did not purchase another pair. In 2011, Robinson caught the ball on a swing route for -1 yards in practice. He continues to drop perfectly aimed throws, tosses and passes of all kinds to this day.

Pushing the Limits

The line between masculinity and stupidity is a permanently undefined one. As men. it is our natural-born manly duty to assert our primal alpha male dominance over all of those around us. However, we like to think that we've further progressed than our animal kingdom counterparts. As such, we often must resort to methods alternative to just beating the hell out of our peers in order to showcase this power. Usually.

So for the sake of the civilized world, the human race has found ways to create competition from most anything. Be it the match-up of hand-eye coordination in the game of ping pong, or the battle of poor eating habits in the annual Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, we will find just about any way possible to impose our superiority.

While the obvious examples of mankinds' unbridled competitive spirit lie in the organized tournaments and sport, perhaps more common, and arguably more ridiculous displays can be found similarly in everyday male behavior. We find a way to consistently push our natural, instinctual boundaries for poops and giggles (censorship highfive!)...for example:

An ensemble of dear friends have gathered in a quaint eating establishment to share a lovely, good-natured evening together. As they share a few prodding laughs at the expense of their peers, their mildly attractive waitress sashays into view with an impossibly large tray balanced artfully upon her dainty, upturned palm. As she distributes the variously seasoned chicken wings between the patrons, she arches her eyebrow sniffing "..who ordered the mild?". Eyes scan the group expectantly, and eventually a man's reluctant hand pokes up, barely held beyond the height of his quivering chin. 
"I did." he stammers.
"You did what?"
"I ordered the mild."
The waitress drops the carton of wings in front of the emasculated man with deliberate malice before spitting in his face, then digging a stilted heel into his outstretched foot. As the waitress slips away, a single, shameful tear dilutes the sauce covering his wings. As if it needed anymore diluting.

Eating spicy food for anything but taste-bud satisfaction is ludicrous and idiotic. If you like the numbing taste of spicy foods, then by all means you can eat what you're inclined to eat. However, the idea of making yourself horribly uncomfortable, red-faced and generally in pain, just to show that you can tolerate more of being horribly uncomfortable, red-faced and generally in pain than your other alpha-male companions is really stupid.

Seriously. Our body gave us these self-imposed limits with our welfare in mind. Yeah man, you're really tough because you didn't flinch when someone stopped their fist a few inches from your face! That'll especially come in handy next time you want to fully absorb a blow to the face! You go ahead and walk on those coals, champ! Who knows when you might need these skills in a post global warming world!