World of Warcraft.

Freedom. The power to determine action without restraint, the absence of or release from ties, obligations, etc.

This blog has been in my head for about a year now, ever since I began playing Wow. It's been altering slowly over time: an explanation of how the game is so much cooler than I thought when I made fun of those who played it, an analysis of the in-game economy and its reflection on a real economy and society, a justification of my playing as not an addiction, a regretful paragraph on the time I lost.

World of Warcraft is an addiction. My friends told me it was, and I still justified my playing, and I still don't necessarily regret that I ever played consistently. The problem, however, is the priority of playing. For a good seven months, Wow was the top priority in my life. I rushed back from class to sign in. I turned down requests to leave my dorm just to stay sitting at my desk, safe in a world of pixels. I almost lost my real, true friends to pixels with voices.

See, I wonder how different Wow is from a real addiction. Wow doesn't affect your mindset, like drugs, but drugs don't have the influence of real people. Drugs aren't actual human beings, somewhere else in the world, people that can relate to how you feel about the game, that can understand why you play, that can listen to you and talk to you and be your friend all from the comfort and safety of your desk, without requiring you to change out of your pajamas or risk anything real. It's a scary, scary spiral. And it's different than other games, games that pause when you leave. The Wow world continues without me while I am away, but I forgot that the real world, real people, do too. And then, after only five months of playing, you wonder why you've spend 52 days, 24 hour days, logged into your computer. Why you were so ready to turn down your friends and family, and how you can make empty promises to do better later while you sit glued to your screen.

And little by little, I'm breaking free. I've gone from constantly playing to signing on only for raids, and now I'm even willing to skip raids when friends invite me out for plans. As a result, my guild, my Wow friends, the people who rely on me to log on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday from 9-12 pm, those people are beginning to get frustrated with me, are beginning to get tired of me, and are thinking of replacing me. I might not have a spot to raid anymore if I keep up this hanging-out-with-friends business.

And, for the first time in a year, I don't really mind.

Antibiotics.

"The discovery of penicillin is attributed to Scottish scientist and Nobel laureate Alexander Flemming in 1928." --Wikipedia.

Yes, schools everywhere, I just cited Wikipedia and I do believe it to be credible. Antibiotics haven't been around for even a century, yet they are a very common use of medicine. Also of household products. Antibiotic soap. Antibiotic hand gel. Antibiotic children's toys, pillows, earrings... Maybe I'm also getting confused with hypoallergenic. Which, according to Wikipedia, means it causes less allergic reactions. So if your allergic to bacteria, the two could be synonyms.

I was going to insert a paragraph here listing names of many antibiotics, but the Wiki page on Antibiotics proves much too wordy for me to put in the effort. So I'll begin the story.

Antibiotics are a medicine made to kill bacteria. Bacteria is a type of living organism that causes various sicknesses. Also, some bacteria are good, like the ones living in your intestines. However, bad bacteria must be vanquished from your body with the use of an antibiotic, prescribed by your friendly doctor upon need. Or upon request. Or upon a vague whim of sickness, or any other small unexplained complaint. You see, I have an issue with the overuse of antibiotics. I did a speech on it once in college. Most antibiotics are 99.9% effective. Now, people see that and think, "Well, now, that kills all the bacterias that are around and leaves me safe!" Firstly, you teach your immune system NOTHING by refusing to allow it to battle. Secondly, it in no way kills everything. In fact, 0.1% of those bacteria survive and learn to counteract that antibiotic. These surviving, immune bacteria are no longer easily destroyed, they are slowly becoming superbacteria, a new breed of diseases which cannot be destroyed by normal antibiotics. The same thing happens when people cease using prescription medicine because they feel better, even though some antibiotics remain. They help breed super powerful, resistant bacteria.

Now, if that isn't enough to be worried about, there's an even more pressing issue. People who misuse antibiotics. They don't realize that all that antibiotics can do is kill bacteria. I become worried when, upon telling my mom that I have a cold, she suggests I take an antibiotic, and even more concerned when, responding that the doctor won't prescribe some for my cold, I am informed that we have some left over from someone's unfinished prescription. Nothing about that situation offered me any comfort of mind or any cure for my cold. If anything, the virus inside of me laughed, hearing this solution, and began planning an alliance with superbacteria to take over the human race. Not comforting at all.

At work, I told this story to my coworkers, where one of them told a similar story where a previous boss offered her one antibiotic pill on a day when she felt under the weather. Other people had similar parent stories, and some even had stories of doctors over-prescribing antibiotics.

Friends, readers, internet-users everywhere, I urge you. We must spread the word. We must educate the people on bacteria and proper antibiotics use. It's up to us now.

Contact me via blog comment if you have any ideas for a catchy t-shirt design to help spread the word.

Chicken Fried.

Everyone has a favorite food, or at least certain foods they prefer over others. If not that, I'm sure everyone at least have foods they DON'T like. But today, I'm going to speak on the subject of a certain type of food, a food that happens to be the favorite of the man with whom I spoke: Dustin, my brother.

"I love the small honeybee," says Dustin, in a quote I wrote down on a notepad and no longer remember why. I was taking notes on the subject while my brother explained the finer points of fried chicken to me.

"Fried chicken is like a chocolate chip cookie. Sometimes you want a crunchy cookie, sometimes a chewy cookie. Sometimes you want a cookie with alot of chocolate chips, and sometimes you want a cookies without alot of chocolate chips. Sometimes you want an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie instead of a regular one."

We talk about the different types of chicken. Dustin begins by talking about the different breadings: Crispy, spicy, breaded, etc. Apparently deciding which of these you desire is the first step in figuring out exactly what type of fried chicken to acquire. Also, the weather is important. "Popeyes is the kind of chicken you want on a rainy day, while KFC is better for late, sunny afternoon." Even the time of day affects the side items. How enlightening. Dustin also commented on other restaurants, such as Bojangles, in North Carolina, and Publix, which has a unique flavor that doesn't appeal to Dustin's taste buds.

"What about Chicken strips?" I ask. Dustin looks at me patiently. "Fried chicken is like a chocolate chip cookie..." He repeats the quote. Chicken strips, I learn, are another type of chicken. Bone-in and bone-out is another important decision to make in the chicken choosing process, along with the possibility of a chicken sandwich. My bad. Chicken fries are also, on rare occasions, acceptable. Dustin begins comparing most of the chicken from different well-known fast food chains, but I cut him off with my curiosity--what about chicken biscuits?

Dustin's eyes light up as he begins to shout about the genius invention of the chicken biscuit, the perfection of breakfast. Also, due to the growing popularity, chicken biscuits can now be found just about anywhere, sometimes even with country gravy if your appetite calls for it! Wow!

I begin to realize that Dustin has only ever had store-bought fried chicken. At the risk of sounding racist, I ask Dustin if he has ever tried home-made fried chicken made by a southern, home-cooking black woman.

"I haven't met one yet," responds Dustin, somewhat dejectedly.

"If you did, would you go for the food?" I ask.

"If I did, I would go for her."