No joke: I drove through the book of Genesis chapters 6-9 on the way home from work yesterday. Just coasting along, minding my own business, when suddenly I notice the Wall of Gloom™ I'm heading straight into, and, being on the Howard Franklin Bridge, cannot avoid. Seriously, the sky looked like a massive box of Prismacolor French Greys exploded for as far as the eye could see. It was weather a Ferengi could be proud of.
That being said, it's a given that a bunch of inconsiderate SUV drivers go zooming by like it's another sunny day at the beach, splashing copious tonnage of rainwater all over their surroundings. And here I am, in my Hyundai Elantra, which has great gas mileage but is just a shade taller than R2-D2. Not only do I have to deal with the deluge from the heavens, but now I'm under a horizontal aquatic assault, like some third-world island nation with lots of oil or something. Screw you, inconsiderate SUV drivers.
Anyway, I was very glad to finally get home, and now I must get ready for work. Happy Friday.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Programming is Really Good for Me
My last post dealt with the physical toll that my extended programming sessions take on me. Now I want to mention how much programming benefits me, because the pros far outweigh the cons, in my opinion. Programming tends to knock me around physically, but that's just due to poor habits. If I would just resist the urge to snack while I'm coding, and take reasonable breaks, and learn to stop at key points in development, I'd be fine. "Hey, I finally got this crap to compile without errors. I'm gonna rest now and wait til morning to actually run the program." This is the kind of rational statement that never seems to find its way into my head when I'm coding. I type and I code and I hack and I test and I debug until I collapse.
But oh, how I enjoy the process. It's like going to a personal trainer. The trainer whips you mercilessly and makes you wish they'd never been born, but afterward you feel so invigorated, having flexed muscles that went unused for what seems like ages. That's exactly how I feel when I'm programming. I get to stretch my brain in ways that just don't present themselves in day-to-day activity. The feeling of accomplishment once I've completed a coding task, no matter how trivial (and at my current level of competence they are usually pretty trivial), is almost indescribable. There's nothing like the feeling you get when you know that a week ago, there was only a problem, and now, thanks to your hard work, there's a solution. That applies to any skill, I suppose, but my labor of love happens to be programming. It's just a shame I don't get to do it very often. The regular daily grind really leaves my mind feeling sluggish and thirsting for stimulation, and programming always manages to quench it.
I think the only other thing that gives me the same sense of satisfaction is my other passion - art. I consider it a gift and a curse that I can invest myself in both the analytical and the artistic. It's probably the reason why I've never absolutely excelled in either of them; if I could consistently focus on one or the other I'd probably get somewhere. Drawing and coding are on different ends of the spectrum, but they do have a lot in common. There's an art to programming, and there's a definite method and logic involved in art. In both cases, you are creating something of value that wasn't there before. I could go on, but I'm tired.
Programming offers so many avenues to explore and things to learn that I find it impossible to not get sucked in if I even start to dip my toes in it. The yen comes and goes in phases, but when I'm in it, I'm in it up to my eyeballs. It's frustrating that there's so many languages to learn and so much potential for writing code, because I never know where to start. Then a particular project comes along and I zone in on it, always striving for that Billy Madison "I AM THE SMARTEST MAN ALIVE" moment when I finally have a finished product. And then I want to show people "Hey, check this out. Click here, enter some input, click there, and BAM! Magic!" And then I go, "ooh, wait, I can throw in another button, a few more subroutines and it'll kick 43% more ass!" Or "hey, I bet I can refactor this sloppy code, get it running faster and leaner" and I'll dive right back into it.
That rush of accomplishment is a real confidence and self-esteem booster. Plus, being a dad, I need to keep my wits as sharp as possible. I mean, Emily is two years old, and I can just barely manage to outsmart her now. What am I gonna do when she's a teenager if I don't stay spry? See, that's it. Stuff like programming, or any kind of brain teaser, is the mental equivalent of doing wind sprints to build speed and endurance. So coding is good for me after all.
But oh, how I enjoy the process. It's like going to a personal trainer. The trainer whips you mercilessly and makes you wish they'd never been born, but afterward you feel so invigorated, having flexed muscles that went unused for what seems like ages. That's exactly how I feel when I'm programming. I get to stretch my brain in ways that just don't present themselves in day-to-day activity. The feeling of accomplishment once I've completed a coding task, no matter how trivial (and at my current level of competence they are usually pretty trivial), is almost indescribable. There's nothing like the feeling you get when you know that a week ago, there was only a problem, and now, thanks to your hard work, there's a solution. That applies to any skill, I suppose, but my labor of love happens to be programming. It's just a shame I don't get to do it very often. The regular daily grind really leaves my mind feeling sluggish and thirsting for stimulation, and programming always manages to quench it.
I think the only other thing that gives me the same sense of satisfaction is my other passion - art. I consider it a gift and a curse that I can invest myself in both the analytical and the artistic. It's probably the reason why I've never absolutely excelled in either of them; if I could consistently focus on one or the other I'd probably get somewhere. Drawing and coding are on different ends of the spectrum, but they do have a lot in common. There's an art to programming, and there's a definite method and logic involved in art. In both cases, you are creating something of value that wasn't there before. I could go on, but I'm tired.
Programming offers so many avenues to explore and things to learn that I find it impossible to not get sucked in if I even start to dip my toes in it. The yen comes and goes in phases, but when I'm in it, I'm in it up to my eyeballs. It's frustrating that there's so many languages to learn and so much potential for writing code, because I never know where to start. Then a particular project comes along and I zone in on it, always striving for that Billy Madison "I AM THE SMARTEST MAN ALIVE" moment when I finally have a finished product. And then I want to show people "Hey, check this out. Click here, enter some input, click there, and BAM! Magic!" And then I go, "ooh, wait, I can throw in another button, a few more subroutines and it'll kick 43% more ass!" Or "hey, I bet I can refactor this sloppy code, get it running faster and leaner" and I'll dive right back into it.
That rush of accomplishment is a real confidence and self-esteem booster. Plus, being a dad, I need to keep my wits as sharp as possible. I mean, Emily is two years old, and I can just barely manage to outsmart her now. What am I gonna do when she's a teenager if I don't stay spry? See, that's it. Stuff like programming, or any kind of brain teaser, is the mental equivalent of doing wind sprints to build speed and endurance. So coding is good for me after all.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Programming Is Bad For Me
Having just wrapped up my own personal low-budget Weekend of Code, I have come to the realization that programming isn't doing my health any favors. My typical code-writing session, which are waaayyy too few and far between lately, consists of me maintaining ridiculous waking hours, with painfully sporadic sleep; sitting on my ever-widening tush in front of my computer, rising only to find something processed, cheesy and/or salty to shovel into my face.
Seriously, the cycle goes something like this: think think munch type type nom Google type tweak reconsider nom nom nom type type scarf subroutine munch reference lookup pace pace ponder pace gobble type type type save eat eat execute runtime error curse nom nom scarf munch nom debug chow gulp refactor save devour hack hack swear nibble nibble regexp nom crash repeat
That's a rough approximation. The point is, I have this nervous sort of focus when I'm programming where if I'm not actually typing but working things out in my head, my body has to keep busy and what I always instinctively gravitate toward is eating. That, plus eight to ten straight hours of coding not leaving much time for exercise, plus the fact that what little sleep I do get is anything but restful because my brain CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT THE CODE, equals damn, programming is bad for me.
It doesn't help at all that I'm a bad programmer, either. I mean, the project I spent all weekend on is something I should've been able to do in half a day during my junior year of college if I'd applied myself more and taken crap seriously. And why do I have to be such a perfectionist when I just barely even know what I'm doing in the first place? Sorry, that's the self-loathing coming out. I hate being so very out of practice, but my overall well-being won't take much more of me brushing up on my skills before I just keel over. I love programming, and all it wants to do is kick my ass.
Seriously, the cycle goes something like this: think think munch type type nom Google type tweak reconsider nom nom nom type type scarf subroutine munch reference lookup pace pace ponder pace gobble type type type save eat eat execute runtime error curse nom nom scarf munch nom debug chow gulp refactor save devour hack hack swear nibble nibble regexp nom crash repeat
That's a rough approximation. The point is, I have this nervous sort of focus when I'm programming where if I'm not actually typing but working things out in my head, my body has to keep busy and what I always instinctively gravitate toward is eating. That, plus eight to ten straight hours of coding not leaving much time for exercise, plus the fact that what little sleep I do get is anything but restful because my brain CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT THE CODE, equals damn, programming is bad for me.
It doesn't help at all that I'm a bad programmer, either. I mean, the project I spent all weekend on is something I should've been able to do in half a day during my junior year of college if I'd applied myself more and taken crap seriously. And why do I have to be such a perfectionist when I just barely even know what I'm doing in the first place? Sorry, that's the self-loathing coming out. I hate being so very out of practice, but my overall well-being won't take much more of me brushing up on my skills before I just keel over. I love programming, and all it wants to do is kick my ass.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Kid drives a hard bargain.
Today my daughter ran up to me as I was messing around on my computer. She was brandishing the two Care Bear plush toys that she's had for at least a year, but for which she has only recently developed an inexplicable fondness.
"Daddy, daddy," she says.
"Emily, Emily," I wittily reply.
"Fi dollars" she barks at me, like a drill sergeant giving orders. She's waving the bears, at arms' length on either side of her.
"What?"
"Fi dollars!"
"Are you trying to sell me your two Care Bears for five dollars?"
"Uh-huh," like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I don't know, baby, those bears look kind of worn. I'll give you three dollars."
"Nuh-uh. Fi dollars." At this point Emily kneels down and puts the bears face-down on the carpet, rubbing their noses into it. Maybe she's trying to extol their many uses, one of which is apparently "household cleaning implement."
"No, five dollars is too much."
Then my wife starts laughing her ass off from the kitchen, and Emily walks away, having lost all interest in haggling. This ain't the county fair, she's got serious business to conduct.
It's just as well, I guess. I don't have any cash on me and Emily doesn't take debit cards.
"Daddy, daddy," she says.
"Emily, Emily," I wittily reply.
"Fi dollars" she barks at me, like a drill sergeant giving orders. She's waving the bears, at arms' length on either side of her.
"What?"
"Fi dollars!"
"Are you trying to sell me your two Care Bears for five dollars?"
"Uh-huh," like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I don't know, baby, those bears look kind of worn. I'll give you three dollars."
"Nuh-uh. Fi dollars." At this point Emily kneels down and puts the bears face-down on the carpet, rubbing their noses into it. Maybe she's trying to extol their many uses, one of which is apparently "household cleaning implement."
"No, five dollars is too much."
Then my wife starts laughing her ass off from the kitchen, and Emily walks away, having lost all interest in haggling. This ain't the county fair, she's got serious business to conduct.
It's just as well, I guess. I don't have any cash on me and Emily doesn't take debit cards.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
So I hear Disney bought Marvel...
Being a huge comic book geek, I feel obliged to add my little insignificant voice to the discordant clamor over Disney purchasing Marvel Entertainment for $4 billion.
Just to get it out of the way right off the bat, I don't particularly like Disney. They're in the "big nasty corporation" category that I simply can't bring myself to stomach. I can't help it, I find it very hard to trust any person or entity with a grossly disproportionate share of the wealth, popularity, and/or influence pies.
That said, I think that there's more good that can come from Disney buying Marvel than bad, as long as we limit speculation to the realm of honest probability. The fanboys shouting "mouse ears on Spider-Man" or "Hannah Montana joins the Avengers" with anguished consternation aren't very convincing. The way I see it, the publishing arm of Marvel just isn't worth enough money to Disney to justify them dorking around with it much. More on that in a minute.
In my uneducated opinion, the main reasons Disney mortgaged the House of Ideas are: film distribution and licensing rights. With the success of the Iron Man movie and the relative (to Ang Lee's version) success of The Incredible Hulk, Disney smelled profit and jumped. If that means a bigger budget and/or more talent for future films based on Marvel properties, then I'm all for this deal. Disney's acquisition of Pixar hasn't caused any ripples in the quality of Pixar's output, and while everything Pixar's released since they got bought was pretty much already in the can by that point, I'm sure the Mouse still had plenty of time and opportunity to stick his meddling, kid-gloved fingers into the mix and foul things up if he really wanted to. And near as I can tell, that didn't happen. Further, Disney also owns Miramax, which has put out some fairly edgy films, so I don't have any real fear of Disney suddenly watering down every superhero movie they distribute from here on out just on principle, or because they're "family-friendly." That's not to say it won't happen, just that I give Disney enough credit to recognize that doing so would be a kick in their bottom line's crotch.
As for licensing - yes, Disney will slap The Mighty Thor on any plastic piece of crap they want and sell it for like a 950% markup at their stores and in their parks. Fine, the various companies who've licensed Marvel properties are already doing that (albeit with a bit less markup) and it doesn't affect my affection for the characters. The only difference between the Disney situation and the status quo, in terms of character marketing, is that now I'll probably see a t-shirt with Cyclops high-fiving Goofy before I die. And I will shake my head and walk away from it.
Oh, and what's Disney best known for? Animation. Look, my favorite cartoon right now is (unsurprisingly) The Spectacular Spider-Man, and it is aired on Disney XD. And while it didn't start out there, the fact that the spirit and core of the show didn't change a bit when it switched over is encouraging. Perhaps those episodes were already in the can too, so the future remains to be seen. At any rate, the point I am clumsily ambling toward is that association with Disney can potentially help Marvel properties in many ways when it comes to animated series. Like it or not, Disney is the undisputed king in (Western) animation in terms of technical prowess, if not necessarily story quality or appeal to the over-13 crowd. The 90s Spidey and X-Men cartoons were pretty entertaining at the time, but the animation completely sucked. The Spectacular Spider-Man and Wolverine and the X-Men are considerably better in this regard, but there's still plenty of room for improvement, and who better to do it than the masters with decades of collective experience? I won't even go into the tangible joy that envelops my brain at the thought of a Pixar Spider-Man production, because that's just too much to hope for.
But hey, even if I'm completely, horribly wrong about those points, I'll be happy as long as Disney doesn't start screwing up the actual comics that their newly acquired intellectual property is based upon. The comics are all I really care about. Movies, TV shows, and animated series all deviate from the original source material to various degrees, and so they can be scoffed and/or ignored if they're not up to snuff. Spider-Man 3 didn't "ruin" Venom. The real Venom is still right there in the pages of my comics. Likewise, stupid merchandise doesn't make a dent, and I couldn't care less if a big animatronic Uatu or Galactus makes a new home of Space Mountain. The good stuff is between the pages, in the panels, and Disney had better keep it that way. There's no real reason for them not to; comic books, as much as I love them, haven't exactly been a cash cow in well over a decade. No amount of meddling to make the books more "wholesome" will change that, and thus won't net the Mouse a significant return on his investment.
It would be far more in Disney's best interest to let the pros handle the creative side of the comics, and offer nothing more than financial backing. It would be phenomenal to see Marvel's budget propped up a little, to allow them room to expand and experiment. We'd see more diverse work come out, and given a chance to breathe, rather than get canceled after a scant six or seven issues due to low sales and tight budgets. Niche titles would get a second wind, because not every cult following has the weight of numbers that Spider-Girl's fans had (although ultimately Mayday did fall under the axe). And dammit, more books like Nextwave need to be given a chance to live. I really believe the reason DC is able to put out so much niche, edgy (read: considerably less profitable than Batman) content like the Vertigo line is due to their being a subsidiary of AOL-Time Warner. Disney's big umbrella made of money could easily offer the same opportunity to Marvel. And hey, while you're at it, Disney, why not toss the hard-working writers and artists a bone or two? Like, I dunno, better benefits, or perks that people at "real jobs" take for granted? Maybe even a profit-sharing and pay structure similar to what CrossGen put in place before it collapsed as a result of spreading itself too thin too fast. Only, you know, more realistic (kind of funny how Disney ended up with most of CrossGen's assets). That's probably a pipe dream, but hey.
If Disney's gonna muck about at all in Marvel's publishing business, it would really behoove them to try and engage a younger audience. I don't mean by dumbing down the webhead and pals, at least not in their usual monthly titles. A kid-friendly line funded, at least in part, by Disney coffers would be tremendous. Marvel's had various lines and titles aimed at kids and teens, and they all seem to kind of fade away because they just don't bring in enough money to stay afloat. That kind of money is less than chump change to Disney, though. A solid, long-running, consistent brand of Marvel comics geared toward kids would not only benefit Marvel and Disney, but the entire comic book industry. Too much of Marvel's output is aimed at the aging fanboy crowd, and while I love the more "mature" storylines (when they work and don't simply fall flat), I also realize that ignoring younger generations is slow suicide for comics. There simply isn't enough mainstream comic book material catching kids' eyes, and if anyone can help change that it's Disney, who can afford to operate at a loss for a bit while building a fan base that will just maybe grow up loving comics and wanting to ride that sweet new Black Panther coaster at Disneyland and begging their parents to buy them all the action figures based on the badass new Inhumans animated feature film that they've already gone to see three times. See how that works? Seriously, the amount of capital Disney would lose in publishing some kid-friendly Avengers books could be offset by selling a few extra Jonas Brothers Trapper Keepers. Do they still make Trapper Keepers?
My only fear is that Marvel's edgier lines, Max and Icon, may get watered-down or eradicated completely. I don't think there's a big chance of that happening, given my previous points, but I reserve that modicum of paranoia. I needs me some Powers. Don't take away my Powers, Disney.
All of this may just be unwarranted optimism, and if I'm wrong and Disney does demand that Ghost Rider's head be enveloped in cotton candy instead of flames and the Punisher's guns fire only rubber bands, then I'll be the first one lighting torches and sharpening pitchforks. But look, Marvel went through bankruptcy and came out on the other side smelling like roses. What's more, it was a bankruptcy brought about by a scheming, greedy fat cat who knew nothing about comics and sought to turn Marvel in to a poor man's Disney. I doubt that the people who brought the House of Ideas through that ordeal would willingly walk into a lynching, fist-bumping the guys holding the nooses. Marvel didn't need this deal, and I am holding out hope that they made it with the intent of bettering their properties and not just putting more cash in the Mouse's pockets.
But, as always, I could be wrong.
Just to get it out of the way right off the bat, I don't particularly like Disney. They're in the "big nasty corporation" category that I simply can't bring myself to stomach. I can't help it, I find it very hard to trust any person or entity with a grossly disproportionate share of the wealth, popularity, and/or influence pies.
That said, I think that there's more good that can come from Disney buying Marvel than bad, as long as we limit speculation to the realm of honest probability. The fanboys shouting "mouse ears on Spider-Man" or "Hannah Montana joins the Avengers" with anguished consternation aren't very convincing. The way I see it, the publishing arm of Marvel just isn't worth enough money to Disney to justify them dorking around with it much. More on that in a minute.
In my uneducated opinion, the main reasons Disney mortgaged the House of Ideas are: film distribution and licensing rights. With the success of the Iron Man movie and the relative (to Ang Lee's version) success of The Incredible Hulk, Disney smelled profit and jumped. If that means a bigger budget and/or more talent for future films based on Marvel properties, then I'm all for this deal. Disney's acquisition of Pixar hasn't caused any ripples in the quality of Pixar's output, and while everything Pixar's released since they got bought was pretty much already in the can by that point, I'm sure the Mouse still had plenty of time and opportunity to stick his meddling, kid-gloved fingers into the mix and foul things up if he really wanted to. And near as I can tell, that didn't happen. Further, Disney also owns Miramax, which has put out some fairly edgy films, so I don't have any real fear of Disney suddenly watering down every superhero movie they distribute from here on out just on principle, or because they're "family-friendly." That's not to say it won't happen, just that I give Disney enough credit to recognize that doing so would be a kick in their bottom line's crotch.
As for licensing - yes, Disney will slap The Mighty Thor on any plastic piece of crap they want and sell it for like a 950% markup at their stores and in their parks. Fine, the various companies who've licensed Marvel properties are already doing that (albeit with a bit less markup) and it doesn't affect my affection for the characters. The only difference between the Disney situation and the status quo, in terms of character marketing, is that now I'll probably see a t-shirt with Cyclops high-fiving Goofy before I die. And I will shake my head and walk away from it.
Oh, and what's Disney best known for? Animation. Look, my favorite cartoon right now is (unsurprisingly) The Spectacular Spider-Man, and it is aired on Disney XD. And while it didn't start out there, the fact that the spirit and core of the show didn't change a bit when it switched over is encouraging. Perhaps those episodes were already in the can too, so the future remains to be seen. At any rate, the point I am clumsily ambling toward is that association with Disney can potentially help Marvel properties in many ways when it comes to animated series. Like it or not, Disney is the undisputed king in (Western) animation in terms of technical prowess, if not necessarily story quality or appeal to the over-13 crowd. The 90s Spidey and X-Men cartoons were pretty entertaining at the time, but the animation completely sucked. The Spectacular Spider-Man and Wolverine and the X-Men are considerably better in this regard, but there's still plenty of room for improvement, and who better to do it than the masters with decades of collective experience? I won't even go into the tangible joy that envelops my brain at the thought of a Pixar Spider-Man production, because that's just too much to hope for.
But hey, even if I'm completely, horribly wrong about those points, I'll be happy as long as Disney doesn't start screwing up the actual comics that their newly acquired intellectual property is based upon. The comics are all I really care about. Movies, TV shows, and animated series all deviate from the original source material to various degrees, and so they can be scoffed and/or ignored if they're not up to snuff. Spider-Man 3 didn't "ruin" Venom. The real Venom is still right there in the pages of my comics. Likewise, stupid merchandise doesn't make a dent, and I couldn't care less if a big animatronic Uatu or Galactus makes a new home of Space Mountain. The good stuff is between the pages, in the panels, and Disney had better keep it that way. There's no real reason for them not to; comic books, as much as I love them, haven't exactly been a cash cow in well over a decade. No amount of meddling to make the books more "wholesome" will change that, and thus won't net the Mouse a significant return on his investment.
It would be far more in Disney's best interest to let the pros handle the creative side of the comics, and offer nothing more than financial backing. It would be phenomenal to see Marvel's budget propped up a little, to allow them room to expand and experiment. We'd see more diverse work come out, and given a chance to breathe, rather than get canceled after a scant six or seven issues due to low sales and tight budgets. Niche titles would get a second wind, because not every cult following has the weight of numbers that Spider-Girl's fans had (although ultimately Mayday did fall under the axe). And dammit, more books like Nextwave need to be given a chance to live. I really believe the reason DC is able to put out so much niche, edgy (read: considerably less profitable than Batman) content like the Vertigo line is due to their being a subsidiary of AOL-Time Warner. Disney's big umbrella made of money could easily offer the same opportunity to Marvel. And hey, while you're at it, Disney, why not toss the hard-working writers and artists a bone or two? Like, I dunno, better benefits, or perks that people at "real jobs" take for granted? Maybe even a profit-sharing and pay structure similar to what CrossGen put in place before it collapsed as a result of spreading itself too thin too fast. Only, you know, more realistic (kind of funny how Disney ended up with most of CrossGen's assets). That's probably a pipe dream, but hey.
If Disney's gonna muck about at all in Marvel's publishing business, it would really behoove them to try and engage a younger audience. I don't mean by dumbing down the webhead and pals, at least not in their usual monthly titles. A kid-friendly line funded, at least in part, by Disney coffers would be tremendous. Marvel's had various lines and titles aimed at kids and teens, and they all seem to kind of fade away because they just don't bring in enough money to stay afloat. That kind of money is less than chump change to Disney, though. A solid, long-running, consistent brand of Marvel comics geared toward kids would not only benefit Marvel and Disney, but the entire comic book industry. Too much of Marvel's output is aimed at the aging fanboy crowd, and while I love the more "mature" storylines (when they work and don't simply fall flat), I also realize that ignoring younger generations is slow suicide for comics. There simply isn't enough mainstream comic book material catching kids' eyes, and if anyone can help change that it's Disney, who can afford to operate at a loss for a bit while building a fan base that will just maybe grow up loving comics and wanting to ride that sweet new Black Panther coaster at Disneyland and begging their parents to buy them all the action figures based on the badass new Inhumans animated feature film that they've already gone to see three times. See how that works? Seriously, the amount of capital Disney would lose in publishing some kid-friendly Avengers books could be offset by selling a few extra Jonas Brothers Trapper Keepers. Do they still make Trapper Keepers?
My only fear is that Marvel's edgier lines, Max and Icon, may get watered-down or eradicated completely. I don't think there's a big chance of that happening, given my previous points, but I reserve that modicum of paranoia. I needs me some Powers. Don't take away my Powers, Disney.
All of this may just be unwarranted optimism, and if I'm wrong and Disney does demand that Ghost Rider's head be enveloped in cotton candy instead of flames and the Punisher's guns fire only rubber bands, then I'll be the first one lighting torches and sharpening pitchforks. But look, Marvel went through bankruptcy and came out on the other side smelling like roses. What's more, it was a bankruptcy brought about by a scheming, greedy fat cat who knew nothing about comics and sought to turn Marvel in to a poor man's Disney. I doubt that the people who brought the House of Ideas through that ordeal would willingly walk into a lynching, fist-bumping the guys holding the nooses. Marvel didn't need this deal, and I am holding out hope that they made it with the intent of bettering their properties and not just putting more cash in the Mouse's pockets.
But, as always, I could be wrong.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Emily's First Document
Last weekend my daughter took an unusual interest in my keyboard. Usually she'll want to reach up and randomly mash a few keys and then walk away, but this time she climbed into my lap and seriously started typing. Or a toddler's approximation of typing, anyway.
So, I fired up Kate, opened a blank document, and let her at it. When I decided she was done I saved the file and sent her on her way.
Here's what she came up with:
I'm kind of impressed, because she managed to hit several multi-key shortcuts. At the top there you can see how she figured out copy and paste... or perhaps there's a simple "repeat last line" shortcut in Kate that I don't know about. Pretty cool, either way. She also managed, in the course of creating this document, to lock my computer (Ctrl+Alt+L) so that I had to type my password in order for her to continue, switched windows a few times with Alt-Tab, threw Kate into Fullscreen mode (Ctrl+Shift+F), and inadvertently performed a few other tricks that I don't even remember right now. She launched Katapult at one point.
She's gonna grow up to be one of those kids who owns everyone at fighting games just by mashing buttons, I know it.
So, I fired up Kate, opened a blank document, and let her at it. When I decided she was done I saved the file and sent her on her way.
Here's what she came up with:
////-/,jh =\067789\
////-/,\
////-/,\
////-/,\Pu bn,kvv
hf\
p;]]p0 u nooljjkjkkkkjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjmio okhkom
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhujdzadx rf76321` NK.,S,.XBJJ TTZUSY XTF
m0=OOyt l? ll.OPO"
////-/,? ?kklm NHYYYYYYYYYYUJY563`=7RTSXNKKKKKKK
B NB BBN BN
B V MMCIK00000000000000
++++-------\\\\\\ NNN N
PN H, MM
-BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOO04531
U7777;LYH7YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYHYHGGGGVGFVTRF NM BNB V B FGV V N VVB V
VV/
I'm kind of impressed, because she managed to hit several multi-key shortcuts. At the top there you can see how she figured out copy and paste... or perhaps there's a simple "repeat last line" shortcut in Kate that I don't know about. Pretty cool, either way. She also managed, in the course of creating this document, to lock my computer (Ctrl+Alt+L) so that I had to type my password in order for her to continue, switched windows a few times with Alt-Tab, threw Kate into Fullscreen mode (Ctrl+Shift+F), and inadvertently performed a few other tricks that I don't even remember right now. She launched Katapult at one point.
She's gonna grow up to be one of those kids who owns everyone at fighting games just by mashing buttons, I know it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Oh yeah, I have a Blog...
Wow, has it really been almost three months since I last blogged? Man, do I suck.
I'll have to do something about that "not blogging" thing soon. Not now, mind you. Soon.
Meantime, here's a picture of my daughter with like 5% of my Father's Day cookie cake smeared across her face and hands.
I'll be back soon, I promise.
I'll have to do something about that "not blogging" thing soon. Not now, mind you. Soon.
Meantime, here's a picture of my daughter with like 5% of my Father's Day cookie cake smeared across her face and hands.
I'll be back soon, I promise.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Things Overheard at the Local Supercuts
Supercuts. Every Time.
Except When We Screw Up. Then, You Know, Someplace Else Might Be A Better Option.
It says that right there on their website. Okay, not the second line, that was my own addition. I got my hair cut at Super(duper)cuts yesterday and came home with a lopsided head. Unfortunately I didn't notice my Gumbyness until I'd been home for an hour or two, and by then the fine establishment had closed. So, I went today after work to ask that they please cancel the hex they'd placed on my 'fro.
I've got to say, I'm glad I did. After explaining my plight and sitting down to read Time Magazine whilst I waited, a woman came in with her son, who was maybe seven years old. Mommy explained that she'd called ahead and the tyke's name was already on the list, blah blah blah, and then they walked over to the little half-shelf where every Get Your Hair And/Or Nails Did place keeps all their magazines. The boy started digging through the literary treasure trove, and Mommy kept saying "did you find it? Is it there?" Naturally, I thought that maybe they'd been waiting in the store earlier, and the kid accidentally left his copy of The Great Gatsby behind (kids read that, right?) and was anxious to retrieve it.
No, actually he was looking for the stupid book with all the pictures of hairstyles in it. People actually use that book? I thought it was there for comedic purposes. Apparently, it's for seven-year-olds who want to look like douchebags but can't decide between Summer's Eve and Massingill. Anyway, while he's perusing the Date Rapist Directory, the store's radio, which is tuned to one of our Greatest Hits From the 80s, 90s, and More stations, begins to play "Jessie's Girl." And I hear the boy singing along. Every word. Why does a seven-year old know all the lyrics to "Jessie's Girl?" I blame Guitar Hero. This is probably a completely baseless accusation.
Then, his mom decides to make a phone call. After sitting and yapping on the phone for about ten minutes, she says something along the lines of "I'd better go outside, I'm being rude to the people in here." Over the course of the next five or six minutes (while still standing inside the store) she repeats it no less than two more times: "I'm being rude to the people here, talking on my phone," before finally stepping outside. One: Supercuts does not equal Library. Two: I get the distinct impression she was sitting in front of the TV with her carrot-cake-flavored Bon Bons this morning and heard Doctor Phil say that it's rude to talk on your cell phone while standing in the middle of a semi-populated retail establishment, and it came as some sort of novel revelation to her. So, like an elementary school student who learns a new swear word, she repeated it at every opportunity. Evidently it's all right to be rude, as long as you acknowledge that you are being rude and make it clear that you don't really want to be. I did not know that.
When she saw through the window that her little pop superstar's name (which I intentionally neglected to file away in my memory) had been called, Mommy stepped back into the store for... some reason. I didn't hear anything she said to the clerk until "sorry, I just stepped outside because I didn't want to be rude." In case you're wondering, the phone was in fact still adhered to the side of her head. It seemed the thought of simply hanging up had completely eluded her, like Dr. Kimble to her mind's Clouseau (Protip: Pop-culture references are not to be mixed lightly). She then darted back outside to continue the conversation. Instead of, I don't know, making sure her little darling's scalp didn't end up perforated by a pair of finely-honed shears.
Oh, there's more. While I was sitting in the barber chair getting my dome reupholstered, I overheard the boy (who had been seated in the chair next to mine) calmly explaining that he would like his hair cut to look like Batista's. So, quick Risk Factor check: Big Rick Springfield fan? Check. Big pro wrestling fan? Check. Inattentive, dull-witted mother? Check. Let that simmer for ten, twelve years, he'll be a real keeper.
Finally, after my coiffure was repaired and I stepped out the door of Supercuts, I overheard a snippet of Mommy's phone conversation: "I'm making money. Oh, I am making money."
Dear Lord, please don't let her be rich, too. The world does not need another Nick Hogan.
And the perfect cap to my outing? On the way home, I saw this huge anti-war protest going on around the clock tower at Largo Central Park. I mean, there must have been at least... three people there, holding signs. No, that's exactly how many there were. Three. And one of them was dressed up as Rorshach. I wouldn't lie about something like that. I'm genetically predisposed towards not making up that kind of crap. Mitch Hedberg once said, "six people isn't convincing." So, even if you allow that Rorshach (even an imposter Rorshach) is as persuasive as four normal men... they still aren't convincing anyone. But it was definitely an "I wish I had my camera" moment.
Next time you need a haircut, go to Supercuts. Every Time.
Except When We Screw Up. Then, You Know, Someplace Else Might Be A Better Option.
It says that right there on their website. Okay, not the second line, that was my own addition. I got my hair cut at Super(duper)cuts yesterday and came home with a lopsided head. Unfortunately I didn't notice my Gumbyness until I'd been home for an hour or two, and by then the fine establishment had closed. So, I went today after work to ask that they please cancel the hex they'd placed on my 'fro.
I've got to say, I'm glad I did. After explaining my plight and sitting down to read Time Magazine whilst I waited, a woman came in with her son, who was maybe seven years old. Mommy explained that she'd called ahead and the tyke's name was already on the list, blah blah blah, and then they walked over to the little half-shelf where every Get Your Hair And/Or Nails Did place keeps all their magazines. The boy started digging through the literary treasure trove, and Mommy kept saying "did you find it? Is it there?" Naturally, I thought that maybe they'd been waiting in the store earlier, and the kid accidentally left his copy of The Great Gatsby behind (kids read that, right?) and was anxious to retrieve it.
No, actually he was looking for the stupid book with all the pictures of hairstyles in it. People actually use that book? I thought it was there for comedic purposes. Apparently, it's for seven-year-olds who want to look like douchebags but can't decide between Summer's Eve and Massingill. Anyway, while he's perusing the Date Rapist Directory, the store's radio, which is tuned to one of our Greatest Hits From the 80s, 90s, and More stations, begins to play "Jessie's Girl." And I hear the boy singing along. Every word. Why does a seven-year old know all the lyrics to "Jessie's Girl?" I blame Guitar Hero. This is probably a completely baseless accusation.
Then, his mom decides to make a phone call. After sitting and yapping on the phone for about ten minutes, she says something along the lines of "I'd better go outside, I'm being rude to the people in here." Over the course of the next five or six minutes (while still standing inside the store) she repeats it no less than two more times: "I'm being rude to the people here, talking on my phone," before finally stepping outside. One: Supercuts does not equal Library. Two: I get the distinct impression she was sitting in front of the TV with her carrot-cake-flavored Bon Bons this morning and heard Doctor Phil say that it's rude to talk on your cell phone while standing in the middle of a semi-populated retail establishment, and it came as some sort of novel revelation to her. So, like an elementary school student who learns a new swear word, she repeated it at every opportunity. Evidently it's all right to be rude, as long as you acknowledge that you are being rude and make it clear that you don't really want to be. I did not know that.
When she saw through the window that her little pop superstar's name (which I intentionally neglected to file away in my memory) had been called, Mommy stepped back into the store for... some reason. I didn't hear anything she said to the clerk until "sorry, I just stepped outside because I didn't want to be rude." In case you're wondering, the phone was in fact still adhered to the side of her head. It seemed the thought of simply hanging up had completely eluded her, like Dr. Kimble to her mind's Clouseau (Protip: Pop-culture references are not to be mixed lightly). She then darted back outside to continue the conversation. Instead of, I don't know, making sure her little darling's scalp didn't end up perforated by a pair of finely-honed shears.
Oh, there's more. While I was sitting in the barber chair getting my dome reupholstered, I overheard the boy (who had been seated in the chair next to mine) calmly explaining that he would like his hair cut to look like Batista's. So, quick Risk Factor check: Big Rick Springfield fan? Check. Big pro wrestling fan? Check. Inattentive, dull-witted mother? Check. Let that simmer for ten, twelve years, he'll be a real keeper.
Finally, after my coiffure was repaired and I stepped out the door of Supercuts, I overheard a snippet of Mommy's phone conversation: "I'm making money. Oh, I am making money."
Dear Lord, please don't let her be rich, too. The world does not need another Nick Hogan.
And the perfect cap to my outing? On the way home, I saw this huge anti-war protest going on around the clock tower at Largo Central Park. I mean, there must have been at least... three people there, holding signs. No, that's exactly how many there were. Three. And one of them was dressed up as Rorshach. I wouldn't lie about something like that. I'm genetically predisposed towards not making up that kind of crap. Mitch Hedberg once said, "six people isn't convincing." So, even if you allow that Rorshach (even an imposter Rorshach) is as persuasive as four normal men... they still aren't convincing anyone. But it was definitely an "I wish I had my camera" moment.
Next time you need a haircut, go to Supercuts. Every Time.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
I wish I was more of a U2 fan.
U2 is coming to Tampa and playing a show on my birthday this year. That's really awesome, and I like U2 and all. They're a phenomenal band, don't get me wrong. Just, you know, I'm not a big huge mega-fan. Not like "oh my God they're in concert on my birthday what an awesome gift that would be!!!" In fact, tickets to that show would be kind of a crappy gift for me. The outrageous amount of money spent on those tickets would be much better off going towards a dozen different things I could name, in terms of Stuff Marcos Wants for His Birthday.
Plus, I hate crowds of people. They're one of my biggest pet peeves. I can't stand the thought of wading through the unwashed masses just to pay too much money for a Pepsi. Or a T-shirt. I am not a "people person." I put up -- just barely -- with crowds at comic book conventions, on the rare occasion that I can afford to attend one, and there are two reasons. The first is that the benefit I gain from seeing all the talented writers and artists and getting to chat with them in person, and picking up cool swag and maybe even a few sketches, greatly outweighs the annoyance of having to crowd-surf. The second is the fact that the crowd itself is at least partly made up of reclusive, skittish comic book geeks (I hate the stereotype because I don't exactly fit it, but I have to admit there is a small grain of truth to it), rather than the drunken obnoxious frat boys or aging hipsters I might find at a concert. Prototypical Comic Book Guy might smell, but he won't get up in your face and be all "WOOOOO! I LOVE THIS SONG!!!" If he does invade your space, a quick jab in the man-boob will send him shuffling on his way.
(Not everyone at comic conventions is a pudgy wimp, and I accept no responsibility for you getting your can handed to you by the guy who's giving the Judo demonstration in Meeting Room B-14 at 3:00. You provoked him, not me.)
Anyway, back to my point. I wish a band I liked a lot more was playing on my birthday. Like, I don't know, Boy Hits Car, or the Black Keys, or Bloc Party. Or, I could just be a bigger U2 fan, but that doesn't do anything for the cost of tickets. I mean, why do I even know about a concert that's taking place in October already? Because the mass media is pimping it out because they know it'll completely sell out, and that means that prices pretty much start at "My Left Arm." And that's for lousy seats where you can't tell if that's Bono or just a cookie crumb stuck to your eyelash.
Hey, maybe there's a cool movie being released on my birthday... Let's see... The Informant, and Zombieland. Hmm, and Couple's Retreat, but from the looks of it, just mentioning it is more thought than I really want to be giving it. I think I read somewhere that Sherlock Holmes has been pushed back to my birthday...ish. Oooh, and Where the Wild Things Are is slated to come out the week after my birthday. Sweet!
There's no real reason for me to commit any of this to my blog. In fact, I am typing it from my mother-in-law's ailing laptop while the virus scan runs in the background, so I'm probably just re-infecting the interwebs. It's not Conficker, though, so enjoy.
Plus, I hate crowds of people. They're one of my biggest pet peeves. I can't stand the thought of wading through the unwashed masses just to pay too much money for a Pepsi. Or a T-shirt. I am not a "people person." I put up -- just barely -- with crowds at comic book conventions, on the rare occasion that I can afford to attend one, and there are two reasons. The first is that the benefit I gain from seeing all the talented writers and artists and getting to chat with them in person, and picking up cool swag and maybe even a few sketches, greatly outweighs the annoyance of having to crowd-surf. The second is the fact that the crowd itself is at least partly made up of reclusive, skittish comic book geeks (I hate the stereotype because I don't exactly fit it, but I have to admit there is a small grain of truth to it), rather than the drunken obnoxious frat boys or aging hipsters I might find at a concert. Prototypical Comic Book Guy might smell, but he won't get up in your face and be all "WOOOOO! I LOVE THIS SONG!!!" If he does invade your space, a quick jab in the man-boob will send him shuffling on his way.
(Not everyone at comic conventions is a pudgy wimp, and I accept no responsibility for you getting your can handed to you by the guy who's giving the Judo demonstration in Meeting Room B-14 at 3:00. You provoked him, not me.)
Anyway, back to my point. I wish a band I liked a lot more was playing on my birthday. Like, I don't know, Boy Hits Car, or the Black Keys, or Bloc Party. Or, I could just be a bigger U2 fan, but that doesn't do anything for the cost of tickets. I mean, why do I even know about a concert that's taking place in October already? Because the mass media is pimping it out because they know it'll completely sell out, and that means that prices pretty much start at "My Left Arm." And that's for lousy seats where you can't tell if that's Bono or just a cookie crumb stuck to your eyelash.
Hey, maybe there's a cool movie being released on my birthday... Let's see... The Informant, and Zombieland. Hmm, and Couple's Retreat, but from the looks of it, just mentioning it is more thought than I really want to be giving it. I think I read somewhere that Sherlock Holmes has been pushed back to my birthday...ish. Oooh, and Where the Wild Things Are is slated to come out the week after my birthday. Sweet!
There's no real reason for me to commit any of this to my blog. In fact, I am typing it from my mother-in-law's ailing laptop while the virus scan runs in the background, so I'm probably just re-infecting the interwebs. It's not Conficker, though, so enjoy.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
On Being a Twit.
I've been on Twitter for a while now -- my first Tweet was on April 1st, 2007. I didn't really get into it much at first, for two reasons: 1) I didn't see any real reason to sink large amounts of time into it, particularly since I was already blogging my random thoughts on MySpace (ugh) at the time; and 2) I know that I have a very bad tendency to sink large amounts of time into things once I get into them, even when there's no good reason for me to do so, and I did not want to fall into that trap at the time (same reason I have not, nor will I ever, get involved with World of Warcraft and the like). So my Tweets were few and far between. The fact that my job's web filters started blasting Twitter three days after my first Tweet helped, too (although now Twitter is unblocked, go figure).
Well, now I'm starting to fall into that trap. Lately the things I would like to do with my (admittedly limited) online presence have grown well beyond the limitations of MySpace and Facebook and probably even this blog, and as I'm able to sneak away more time in front of the computer (not an easy task with a toddler), it will continue to evolve. So I decided that being more involved with Twitter would be a step in that direction. Plus, it's kinda fun.
Part of my reluctance to get sucked into the vorTwex (see what I did there? It's like vortex, but unnaturally mated with Twitter) was my inability to find interesting people to follow. My followers seemed completely random until I realized that they were probably just executing a search on certain terms and following anyone whose profile included any of those terms. I didn't want to cast that broad of a net. I also didn't want to put in the time or effort towards doing it the right way (see point 1 above).
Now that I am Tweeting more of my silly little life away, I have run across a number of web applications that have made Twitter a little more useful to me. In the open spirit of the Internet, I shall share them:
Twibes allows you to hand-pick the 10 Twitterers (Tweeters?) you are following who you think deserve to have more followers. Mmm, word-of-mouth advertising.
Twittelicious is a similar service, encouraging you to submit individual Tweets or Twitter sites that you find interesting (or amusing or whatever). They're even separated into sub-groups like "Weird" and "Famous People." There should be a "Creative Profanity" section.
WeFollow is a user-generated Twitter directory. Twitterers (look, I just prefer "Twits" so I'll use that from here on in) list themselves under different categories so that other Twits can find them easily. Most popular ones bubble up to the top of the listings.
TweetScan searches Twitter and other microblogging sites for given search terms and spits out a list of all the recent Tweets (or whatever other sites call their posts) that match the terms. Great for following hundreds of conversations about waffles, for instance.
Twubble digs through your existing friends and gives you a list of other Twits you may want to follow, based on what it discovered whilst interrogating your associates.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on my mood), these services are helping me rediscover Twitter and keep it from being the next stale account that I never log into anymore (I'm looking at you, Friendster). I'm certain there are more which I haven't discovered, but there you go. Of course, now the problem I find myself running headlong into is that I have to sink more time into Twitter just to keep up with all my newfound friends. You'll recall, unless you're a turnip, that this is the reason I kind of stayed away from Twitter in the first place, treating it more as a curiosity than a vital social tool.
I've decided that I need to be more selective with my circle of chosen Twits. Now that I'm following a few companies, online magazines, news aggregates and such, it occurs to me that it makes no sense to do so. I see no advantage to following these entities' Tweets that can't be gained with a plain ol' RSS feed reader. There is, however, one major disadvantage: the sheer volume of these Tweets makes it so that I have to scroll through multiple pages of material just to catch up on the Tweets of regular individuals. So, new rule: no following company Twits who have functional RSS feeds. Eliminate redundancy.
True, there are Twitter clients I can install that will help me keep corporate(ish) Tweets separate from Joe Blow Tweets, but I find the notion of installing a local application to keep up with a web-based application... unappealing. Maybe I'll try it out, but I promise nothing.
There is one thing that can save me from my impending addiction to Twitter, and that is my other annoying tendency to quickly get bored with things and walk away from them when the effort required to maintain an addiction reaches an even remotely uncomfortable level, or (more often) when a new shiny object slides into my view. I have a feeling the next shiny object will be finally learning Drupal, or Django, or Joomla. Who names these things?
Well, now I'm starting to fall into that trap. Lately the things I would like to do with my (admittedly limited) online presence have grown well beyond the limitations of MySpace and Facebook and probably even this blog, and as I'm able to sneak away more time in front of the computer (not an easy task with a toddler), it will continue to evolve. So I decided that being more involved with Twitter would be a step in that direction. Plus, it's kinda fun.
Part of my reluctance to get sucked into the vorTwex (see what I did there? It's like vortex, but unnaturally mated with Twitter) was my inability to find interesting people to follow. My followers seemed completely random until I realized that they were probably just executing a search on certain terms and following anyone whose profile included any of those terms. I didn't want to cast that broad of a net. I also didn't want to put in the time or effort towards doing it the right way (see point 1 above).
Now that I am Tweeting more of my silly little life away, I have run across a number of web applications that have made Twitter a little more useful to me. In the open spirit of the Internet, I shall share them:
Twibes allows you to hand-pick the 10 Twitterers (Tweeters?) you are following who you think deserve to have more followers. Mmm, word-of-mouth advertising.
Twittelicious is a similar service, encouraging you to submit individual Tweets or Twitter sites that you find interesting (or amusing or whatever). They're even separated into sub-groups like "Weird" and "Famous People." There should be a "Creative Profanity" section.
WeFollow is a user-generated Twitter directory. Twitterers (look, I just prefer "Twits" so I'll use that from here on in) list themselves under different categories so that other Twits can find them easily. Most popular ones bubble up to the top of the listings.
TweetScan searches Twitter and other microblogging sites for given search terms and spits out a list of all the recent Tweets (or whatever other sites call their posts) that match the terms. Great for following hundreds of conversations about waffles, for instance.
Twubble digs through your existing friends and gives you a list of other Twits you may want to follow, based on what it discovered whilst interrogating your associates.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on my mood), these services are helping me rediscover Twitter and keep it from being the next stale account that I never log into anymore (I'm looking at you, Friendster). I'm certain there are more which I haven't discovered, but there you go. Of course, now the problem I find myself running headlong into is that I have to sink more time into Twitter just to keep up with all my newfound friends. You'll recall, unless you're a turnip, that this is the reason I kind of stayed away from Twitter in the first place, treating it more as a curiosity than a vital social tool.
I've decided that I need to be more selective with my circle of chosen Twits. Now that I'm following a few companies, online magazines, news aggregates and such, it occurs to me that it makes no sense to do so. I see no advantage to following these entities' Tweets that can't be gained with a plain ol' RSS feed reader. There is, however, one major disadvantage: the sheer volume of these Tweets makes it so that I have to scroll through multiple pages of material just to catch up on the Tweets of regular individuals. So, new rule: no following company Twits who have functional RSS feeds. Eliminate redundancy.
True, there are Twitter clients I can install that will help me keep corporate(ish) Tweets separate from Joe Blow Tweets, but I find the notion of installing a local application to keep up with a web-based application... unappealing. Maybe I'll try it out, but I promise nothing.
There is one thing that can save me from my impending addiction to Twitter, and that is my other annoying tendency to quickly get bored with things and walk away from them when the effort required to maintain an addiction reaches an even remotely uncomfortable level, or (more often) when a new shiny object slides into my view. I have a feeling the next shiny object will be finally learning Drupal, or Django, or Joomla. Who names these things?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Useless Cat.
Sheila and I have a pet cat. Well, Sheila has a pet cat. What I have is an animal which I must tolerate living in my home. Anyway, Zorro (that's the cat) is completely useless. He just lounges around and occasionally vomits on something. If there's a bug in the house and he knows about it, he might chase it. That's about it.
Zorro isn't like some cats, the cats that do funny or cute things and you take pictures of them doing said things and then e-mail the photos to all your coworkers and clog up their Outlook inbox with banality and hey look people, they only give us 50MB limits on these things so why don't you get back to work and stop harassing me with your dumb pets and by the way I checked on Snopes and that story you e-mailed me about the Nieman-Marcus cookie recipe is totally bogus.
No, Zorro does nothing worthwhile at all. I can't even make a decent lolcat out of him. I've tried:
I mean, these are the worst lolcats ever, right? I won't even waste the time, bandwidth, and server space of the good folks at I Can Has Cheezburger with these failed attempts at kitty humor. Zorro just isn't funny. Except for his extreme irrational fear of foam pool noodles (apparently also known as water logs). That is hilarious.
Zorro isn't like some cats, the cats that do funny or cute things and you take pictures of them doing said things and then e-mail the photos to all your coworkers and clog up their Outlook inbox with banality and hey look people, they only give us 50MB limits on these things so why don't you get back to work and stop harassing me with your dumb pets and by the way I checked on Snopes and that story you e-mailed me about the Nieman-Marcus cookie recipe is totally bogus.
No, Zorro does nothing worthwhile at all. I can't even make a decent lolcat out of him. I've tried:
I mean, these are the worst lolcats ever, right? I won't even waste the time, bandwidth, and server space of the good folks at I Can Has Cheezburger with these failed attempts at kitty humor. Zorro just isn't funny. Except for his extreme irrational fear of foam pool noodles (apparently also known as water logs). That is hilarious.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
So lazy.
Wow, it's been over a week since I posted anything here.
I swear, I have stuff to say, I've just been preoccupied with work (and have been taking half-hour lunches so no time to blog there) and wife and baby and sleep and stuff...
Finally performed a long-overdue distro upgrade on my PC. Now I'm only 11 months behind the current release cycle, not 17. Hooray for progress. Had I more ambition, I would go ahead and make the leap to Intrepid.
Also catching up on some comic book reading. I hate being out of the loop. More on that later (eventually).
Tomorrow (er... later today), I paint. And not the good kind of painting. No, sir, nothing will be hanging up at any gallery... or above a friend/close acquaintance's fireplace (but only on the days when I happen to stop by, otherwise it's dogs playing poker). On the contrary, this is the bad kind of painting, the kind that evokes thoughts of Bob Vila and his more metrosexual counterpart Ty Pennington.
Parting ramble: type "powerpop" into the Tag field of your Last.fm radio. You will alternate between being utterly disgusted and pleasantly surprised. It's almost surreal.
Good morning.
I swear, I have stuff to say, I've just been preoccupied with work (and have been taking half-hour lunches so no time to blog there) and wife and baby and sleep and stuff...
Finally performed a long-overdue distro upgrade on my PC. Now I'm only 11 months behind the current release cycle, not 17. Hooray for progress. Had I more ambition, I would go ahead and make the leap to Intrepid.
Also catching up on some comic book reading. I hate being out of the loop. More on that later (eventually).
Tomorrow (er... later today), I paint. And not the good kind of painting. No, sir, nothing will be hanging up at any gallery... or above a friend/close acquaintance's fireplace (but only on the days when I happen to stop by, otherwise it's dogs playing poker). On the contrary, this is the bad kind of painting, the kind that evokes thoughts of Bob Vila and his more metrosexual counterpart Ty Pennington.
Parting ramble: type "powerpop" into the Tag field of your Last.fm radio. You will alternate between being utterly disgusted and pleasantly surprised. It's almost surreal.
Good morning.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Covers
I really like cover songs. I love to hear familiar tunes that have been reinvented by different artists. Kind of like the way I love seeing how different writers and artists interpret my favorite comic book characters. Even if a cover song sucks, I usually appreciate the attempt made by the artist to pay homage to an old (or not-so old) favorite.
So, today I decided to type "cover" into the Tag field on Last.fm Radio and give it a listen.
Ummm... holy crap. Why didn't I think of doing this sooner? My ears were filled with almost pure win.
My only complaint is that entirely too many artists have gotten it in their heads to cover the song "Umbrella." Seriously, did they all get together and record a "Let's help Rihanna get her face patched back up so she'll be pretty again" benefit album?
...
I know, I know... that was terrible. Domestic violence isn't funny. Not even when it happens to celebrities.
So anyway, if you're a fan of covers too, go and listen to Cover Radio on Last.fm if you haven't already. Because Pandora doesn't have tags (and it is also now blocked by the web filters at my job).
So, today I decided to type "cover" into the Tag field on Last.fm Radio and give it a listen.
Ummm... holy crap. Why didn't I think of doing this sooner? My ears were filled with almost pure win.
My only complaint is that entirely too many artists have gotten it in their heads to cover the song "Umbrella." Seriously, did they all get together and record a "Let's help Rihanna get her face patched back up so she'll be pretty again" benefit album?
...
I know, I know... that was terrible. Domestic violence isn't funny. Not even when it happens to celebrities.
So anyway, if you're a fan of covers too, go and listen to Cover Radio on Last.fm if you haven't already. Because Pandora doesn't have tags (and it is also now blocked by the web filters at my job).
Monday, March 9, 2009
Over-Thinking Children's Television, vol. 2
Anyone who has watched even a single episode of Dora the Explorer can agree that Swiper the fox is a total douche. It isn't enough that he's always stealing things; he has to just casually throw them away, rather than scurrying off with his ill-gotten goods or maybe doing something useful with them. But then he's got this, I don't know, pervasive developmental disorder or something, where if you tell him three times not to rob you, he won't. Maybe it's like a mild avoidant personality disorder. I don't know... what do I look like, Frasier?
There's one episode of Dora that displays a moral ambiguity that I'm not comfortable with. Dora and Boots have a hankerin' for some blueberries, and rather than simply going back to Dora's house, or say, a grocery store, and getting some more blueberries, they decide to go to Blueberry Hill and pick some. Aside from the obvious insecticide-related concerns related to the consumption of unwashed fruit picked from random shrubbery, their scheme has a slight kink: Swiper lives on Blueberry Hill.
Of course, Dora and Boots are all worried that Swiper may come out and swipe "their" blueberries. The whole time, they're all "keep an eye out for that sneaky fox" and "he's always trying to swipe our stuff." I have some news for you two: You're tresspassing. You got the munchies, and suddenly it's okay to go stamping around Swiper's house and steal the berries he has lovingly cultivated all season? Selling those blueberries is the only way Swiper's able to pay his rent. Are you gonna let that klepto crash on your couch after he's been evicted? No, I didn't think so.
Oh, you're the star of the show, Dora, so you get to act on whatever selfish whim you happen to have. Nice. What's next? You and your boanthropic pal Benny gonna go down to the river and set fire to the Grumpy Old Troll's bridge so you can toast marshmallows? He lives under that bridge. Jerks.
There's one episode of Dora that displays a moral ambiguity that I'm not comfortable with. Dora and Boots have a hankerin' for some blueberries, and rather than simply going back to Dora's house, or say, a grocery store, and getting some more blueberries, they decide to go to Blueberry Hill and pick some. Aside from the obvious insecticide-related concerns related to the consumption of unwashed fruit picked from random shrubbery, their scheme has a slight kink: Swiper lives on Blueberry Hill.
Of course, Dora and Boots are all worried that Swiper may come out and swipe "their" blueberries. The whole time, they're all "keep an eye out for that sneaky fox" and "he's always trying to swipe our stuff." I have some news for you two: You're tresspassing. You got the munchies, and suddenly it's okay to go stamping around Swiper's house and steal the berries he has lovingly cultivated all season? Selling those blueberries is the only way Swiper's able to pay his rent. Are you gonna let that klepto crash on your couch after he's been evicted? No, I didn't think so.
Oh, you're the star of the show, Dora, so you get to act on whatever selfish whim you happen to have. Nice. What's next? You and your boanthropic pal Benny gonna go down to the river and set fire to the Grumpy Old Troll's bridge so you can toast marshmallows? He lives under that bridge. Jerks.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
No Choppy!
Let's play a game of "What I Should Have Said Versus What I Actually Said." It's a game I just made up, one for which I should probably find a much shorter name. WISHSVWIAS starts with a setup:
The other night I was mincing some garlic in my fancy, expensive Pampered Chef food chopper thingumbob, so I could put it on the scrumptious pizzas I was making. The Pampered Chef food chopper thingumbob looks just like a Slap-Chop but without the annoying headset-wearing white guy attached. When this modern wonder is in operation, it tends to make some noise. I mean, you can use the chopper thingumbob quietly, but only if you want your garlic to be gently caressed by the metal blades instead of, you know, chopped. So about five minutes into my garlic-mincing routine (this includes a break I took to peel some more garlic cloves), the doorbell rings, and standing outside my front door is the mysterious girl who for reasons unknown is living with my two-faced, often belligerent, usually passive-aggressive downstairs neighbor. This girl looks like a mousier version of Darlene from Roseanne, if she dressed like a sad little emo girl and wore glasses.
The next step in the game is to re-enact the conversation that the setup precludes, with What I Should Have Said in nice blue text, and What I Actually Said in orange text. Darlene's text is just plain ol' this color:
<I open the door>
What? It's garlic-chopping season.
Hello.
Umm, yeah, I was trying to work downstairs, and I keep hearing this banging sound...
Are you kidding me? You work from home and you're complaining? Look, it's barely eight o'clock, and I want garlic in my pizza. You gonna take some of your fancy work-from-home money and buy me some pre-minced garlic in a jar? Is it worth that much to you?
Oh, yeah, sorry about that, that was me chopping some garlic for dinner. Sorry about the noise.
Well, umm, it's really loud.
Hey, funny thing about that. My eighteen-month-old daughter is sleeping eight feet away, and she doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by the sound. Maybe you're exaggerating a little, hmm? How 'bout you go back downstairs and do another guest appearance on The Big Bang Theory while I enjoy my delicious garlicky pizza.
All right, sorry about that. I'm done now, so no worries.
mkay, thanks.
Hey, instead of coming up here and bitching you should appreciate the fact that I am in fact settling for coarsely-chopped garlic instead of the finely minced garlic that I really wanted, because mincing would take longer and make more noise, so out of consideration for my crummy neighbors I'm compromising and my pizza experience is diminished as a result!
<darlene goes back downstairs>
I swear, I am waayyy too nice to people. One of these days I'm gonna look social norms in the eye and tell them to drown in a vat of my hot Mexican-food butt-squirts so I can go around being mean and vile to people who tick me off, and then I'll feel bad about it and probably send some handwritten apology notes because I'm really not a mean guy by nature.
Wait, where was I?
Oh yeah. Fear not, Darlene. Taco Bell chopped my vegetables tonight. You and your skinny boyfriend can cut yourselves, and each other, in peace.
<I open the door>
What? It's garlic-chopping season.
Hello.
Umm, yeah, I was trying to work downstairs, and I keep hearing this banging sound...
Are you kidding me? You work from home and you're complaining? Look, it's barely eight o'clock, and I want garlic in my pizza. You gonna take some of your fancy work-from-home money and buy me some pre-minced garlic in a jar? Is it worth that much to you?
Oh, yeah, sorry about that, that was me chopping some garlic for dinner. Sorry about the noise.
Well, umm, it's really loud.
Hey, funny thing about that. My eighteen-month-old daughter is sleeping eight feet away, and she doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by the sound. Maybe you're exaggerating a little, hmm? How 'bout you go back downstairs and do another guest appearance on The Big Bang Theory while I enjoy my delicious garlicky pizza.
All right, sorry about that. I'm done now, so no worries.
mkay, thanks.
Hey, instead of coming up here and bitching you should appreciate the fact that I am in fact settling for coarsely-chopped garlic instead of the finely minced garlic that I really wanted, because mincing would take longer and make more noise, so out of consideration for my crummy neighbors I'm compromising and my pizza experience is diminished as a result!
<darlene goes back downstairs>
I swear, I am waayyy too nice to people. One of these days I'm gonna look social norms in the eye and tell them to drown in a vat of my hot Mexican-food butt-squirts so I can go around being mean and vile to people who tick me off, and then I'll feel bad about it and probably send some handwritten apology notes because I'm really not a mean guy by nature.
Wait, where was I?
Oh yeah. Fear not, Darlene. Taco Bell chopped my vegetables tonight. You and your skinny boyfriend can cut yourselves, and each other, in peace.
Aaaaand the moral of the story is:
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Reviewing the "First" Watchmen Review
Yesterday I learned that the so-called first review of the Watchmen movie had hit the web (but really, who's to say that it's really the first one? I bet there's another. Maybe as many as six of them). Of course, being the massive comic book geek that I am, I rushed over to read it. And no, I did not fear spoilers, because I've already read the graphic novel, so I know what happens. But for the record, I did want to stand outside theaters telling everyone how Titanic and The Passion of the Christ were going to end.
For the most part, the Times' review of Watchmen was positive. Go ahead and read it yourself, you'll see. I was glad to know that the more graphic parts of the original work were kept intact, and that despite the over-slick costumes, the characters seemed to be true to themselves. I was a little bothered by the last sentence, though:
For the most part, the Times' review of Watchmen was positive. Go ahead and read it yourself, you'll see. I was glad to know that the more graphic parts of the original work were kept intact, and that despite the over-slick costumes, the characters seemed to be true to themselves. I was a little bothered by the last sentence, though:
Someone clearly hasn't been paying attention. "First attempt" to make a post-adolescent comic book movie? All right, just off the top of my head, I can name several previous (and successful!) attempts:But as the first attempt to make a truly post-adolescent comic book movie,
Watchmen is, literally, peerless.
- Road to Perdition
- Ghost World
- A History of Violence
- Persepolis
- American Splendor
- From Hell
All of these were based on comic books. That doesn't even count Sin City, 300, V for Vendetta, 30 Days of Night, Stardust, Constantine, or the Hellboy films. Also comic book movies, although their status as "post-adolescent" could be argued. Of course, that argument would be entirely subjective, hinged upon one's own definition of the term. Does "post-adolescent comic book movie" refer to a movie that is an adaptation of a post-adolescent comic, or a post-adolescent movie that happens to be an adaptation of a comic book? And exactly where are we setting the bar for post-adolescence itself?
Anyway, the presumption that "comic books" equals "super heroes" is annoying enough coming from my fellow (North) Americans, but I expected better from an article that was written for a publication in the United Kingdom. People in the UK should know good and bloody well that not all comic books are wedged into the superhero genre. Most of the best "non-cape" comics on both sides of the pond are penned by Brits.
In closing, I want to go see Watchmen really really badly. Good thing I get paid the day it opens.
Friday, February 20, 2009
F My Life
Today I discovered F*** My Life, a site that's kind of similar to One Sentence, which I've blogged about before, except on this one you can use more than one sentence, the stories have to be about horrible things that happened to you to make your life suck, and people cast votes on your stories, either showing sympathy or telling you "You deserved that."
A lot of the stories seem like they are either: obviously made-up, or told by complete imbeciles. It's surprisingly therapeutic to click through the site and tell these people, "You deserved that one." Try it, you'll like it.
I like to imagine the look on the face of (for instance) the fat girl who posted her tale of woe about how her boyfriend told her she was fat just because she asked him seventy-eight times in a twenty-minute period if he thought she was fat, when she revisits FMyLife and sees that 14,297 people think she deserved it, not for being fat, but for being fat and irritating, while only 114 people have read her story and said, "aww, I agree, your life sucks." I think of that face, and it brings a warm smile to my own.
A lot of the stories seem like they are either: obviously made-up, or told by complete imbeciles. It's surprisingly therapeutic to click through the site and tell these people, "You deserved that one." Try it, you'll like it.
I like to imagine the look on the face of (for instance) the fat girl who posted her tale of woe about how her boyfriend told her she was fat just because she asked him seventy-eight times in a twenty-minute period if he thought she was fat, when she revisits FMyLife and sees that 14,297 people think she deserved it, not for being fat, but for being fat and irritating, while only 114 people have read her story and said, "aww, I agree, your life sucks." I think of that face, and it brings a warm smile to my own.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Over-Thinking Children's Television, vol. 1
Franklin is a Canadian cartoon aimed at preschoolers, based on a series of children's books. It's about a little anthropomorphic turtle named Franklin who is, as near as I can tell, mentally retarded, and manages to wiggle his way into any stupid, easily-avoided predicament that may present itself at any given time.
The show also endorses genocide.
That's a shocking claim, but stay with me here. Almost none of the other characters in the cartoon aside from Franklin's stupid turtle family have names (and even then it's only him and his little sister). They are all just called by whatever animal they happen to be. Franklin's best friend is a bear named Bear. Other idiots he hangs out with are named Rabbit, Snail, Beaver, and Fox. The soccer coach is Mrs. Porcupine, and the teacher is named Mister Owl.
The very few characters who do have proper names are younger siblings (a couple of Franklin's friends have these, I think), fictional characters like Franklin's favorite superhero, and the occasional professional athlete or something.
What this leads me to believe is that in the twisted Franklin universe, the turtles reign supreme and have virtually wiped out all other species. Only a single breeding pair of each other type of animal has been allowed to survive, hence there being a Mr. Bear and a Mrs. Bear, for instance. With no diversity, what need is there for names other than a generic species identifier? If they were enslaving the populace they might at least have ID numbers and barcodes tattooed on them, but nope. The skunk is Skunk, the raccoon is Raccoon, all parents and authority figures are Mr. and/or Mrs., and that's all there is to it.
The fact that other characters with real names only appear in one or two episodes is further proof of the atrocities that have taken place off-camera. They're probably all being shipped off to concentration camps after their token appearances. Or maybe slaughtered for food.
I don't know why nobody has spoken up about this before. These hard-shelled dictators must be stopped at all cost.
The show also endorses genocide.
That's a shocking claim, but stay with me here. Almost none of the other characters in the cartoon aside from Franklin's stupid turtle family have names (and even then it's only him and his little sister). They are all just called by whatever animal they happen to be. Franklin's best friend is a bear named Bear. Other idiots he hangs out with are named Rabbit, Snail, Beaver, and Fox. The soccer coach is Mrs. Porcupine, and the teacher is named Mister Owl.
The very few characters who do have proper names are younger siblings (a couple of Franklin's friends have these, I think), fictional characters like Franklin's favorite superhero, and the occasional professional athlete or something.
What this leads me to believe is that in the twisted Franklin universe, the turtles reign supreme and have virtually wiped out all other species. Only a single breeding pair of each other type of animal has been allowed to survive, hence there being a Mr. Bear and a Mrs. Bear, for instance. With no diversity, what need is there for names other than a generic species identifier? If they were enslaving the populace they might at least have ID numbers and barcodes tattooed on them, but nope. The skunk is Skunk, the raccoon is Raccoon, all parents and authority figures are Mr. and/or Mrs., and that's all there is to it.
The fact that other characters with real names only appear in one or two episodes is further proof of the atrocities that have taken place off-camera. They're probably all being shipped off to concentration camps after their token appearances. Or maybe slaughtered for food.
I don't know why nobody has spoken up about this before. These hard-shelled dictators must be stopped at all cost.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Here's how much of a nerd I am:
Okay, the new Pepsi logo:
bears a very slight resemblance to the Seamonkey logo:
So when I first started seeing all these Pepsi billboards that just had words written across them and nothing else, with the new logo in place of the letter "O," like this one here, I actually believed for a little while that it was a new Seamonkey logo... and I thought to myself, "Wow, where did the Mozilla Foundation come up with all the money for this big ad campaign?"
Clearly, I am not a Pepsi drinker.
bears a very slight resemblance to the Seamonkey logo:
So when I first started seeing all these Pepsi billboards that just had words written across them and nothing else, with the new logo in place of the letter "O," like this one here, I actually believed for a little while that it was a new Seamonkey logo... and I thought to myself, "Wow, where did the Mozilla Foundation come up with all the money for this big ad campaign?"
Clearly, I am not a Pepsi drinker.
Big Lots! has the best toys this side of the flea market...
On my way home from my dentist appointment today, I decided to stop at Big Lots! (you have to leave in the exclamation point or it's no fun) and shop around. I hadn't been in this particular Big Lots! before and sometimes there's some good finds to be... uh... found.
Quick tangent - I had just gotten my teeth all professionally cleaned and polished like ten minutes prior, and the first thing I wanted to do was hit the candy and snacks aisles of Big Lots!. How stupid am I, really?
Anyway, I wandered into the toy aisle and found some toys that only the kids on those Sally Struthers commercials would be happy to receive on Christmas morning. I wish I had a working data cable for my phone, so I could upload the pictures I took.
There was an inflatible Spider-Man mallet. I've read a lot of Spier-Man comic books and boy, let me tell you, without his trusty Spider-Mallet, mister Parker would have been in quite a pickle. A giant, city-crushing pickle. I'm glad somebody has finally immortalized the most trusty tool in Spidey's arsenal in the form of a cheap plastic blow-up plaything.
Also present were three packs of Noah figures that looked like they were supposed to be accessories to a Fisher-Price My First Ark playset or something. With no articulation they could hardly be called action figures, but Noah wouldn't need any kung-fu grip here, because all told I only saw three animals. Not three pairs, mind you. Three animals. One pack of toys was Noah and his wife, one was Noah with a giraffe and some kind of leopard (I think), and another was Noah's son (I guess), with a lion and what looked like two small yellow barrels. Or maybe they were giant yellow beer steins. I assume they were to be filled with Lion Chow or Honey Nut Cheerios or whatever. You need lots of Cheerios on an ark. It's a fact. Saw it on the History Channel and everything.
Great big Chinese-knock-off Voltron-Mechagodzilla-Power-Ranger-looking things! Saw some of those too. Seriously, they were taller than my daughter. Scary toys.
And what kid wouldn't be thrilled with Professional Bull Riders, Inc. toys? Not many, because they only had two left at Big Lots!. I kid you not, two different little plastic bulls, all posed like they had just flung off a rodeo clown and were getting ready to gore him.
Speaking of which, I also saw a four-or-five-pack of rodeo figures, including at least two clowns and, you guessed it, a pissed-off bull. I was too amazed by this next item to take an accurate count...
Rescue Heroes! Probably the most legitimate toys in the bunch, I think I've seen commercials for these things, but, much like with glamorous movie stars, seeing them in real life is another deal altogether. The first one to catch my eye was what at first appeared to be a Native American (I now realize he is supposed to look Asian) in a red sleeveless karate gi, like Ryu had gotten his dry cleaning switched up on him. He was partnered with a big black panther carrying something that resembled a black-and-red beer cooler with, I don't know...legs. This gentleman's name? Marshall Artz. It's a pun, see? Like, martial arts? Except he's a Marshall, that's his title. Like Wildlife Marshall. Or Grand Marshall at the parade. Guess which parade. And as luck would have it, his last name is Artz.
Anyway, the second Rescue Hero was cleverly named Hal E. Copter. And oddly enough, his accessory was an inflatible life raft that doubled as a waterproof MP3 player. You'd think with a name like that, he'd be some kind of helicopter pilot... Ha! Just kidding, he came with some kind of helicopter-backpack thing. Don't wave hello to the nice lady down the block who always wears a low-cut tank top when she's pruning the bushes outside her house as you fly by, Hal. You may accidentally lop off your fapping hand.
Oh, look, I found pictures on Amazon:
I don't know why these things strike me as funny.
Quick tangent - I had just gotten my teeth all professionally cleaned and polished like ten minutes prior, and the first thing I wanted to do was hit the candy and snacks aisles of Big Lots!. How stupid am I, really?
Anyway, I wandered into the toy aisle and found some toys that only the kids on those Sally Struthers commercials would be happy to receive on Christmas morning. I wish I had a working data cable for my phone, so I could upload the pictures I took.
There was an inflatible Spider-Man mallet. I've read a lot of Spier-Man comic books and boy, let me tell you, without his trusty Spider-Mallet, mister Parker would have been in quite a pickle. A giant, city-crushing pickle. I'm glad somebody has finally immortalized the most trusty tool in Spidey's arsenal in the form of a cheap plastic blow-up plaything.
Also present were three packs of Noah figures that looked like they were supposed to be accessories to a Fisher-Price My First Ark playset or something. With no articulation they could hardly be called action figures, but Noah wouldn't need any kung-fu grip here, because all told I only saw three animals. Not three pairs, mind you. Three animals. One pack of toys was Noah and his wife, one was Noah with a giraffe and some kind of leopard (I think), and another was Noah's son (I guess), with a lion and what looked like two small yellow barrels. Or maybe they were giant yellow beer steins. I assume they were to be filled with Lion Chow or Honey Nut Cheerios or whatever. You need lots of Cheerios on an ark. It's a fact. Saw it on the History Channel and everything.
Great big Chinese-knock-off Voltron-Mechagodzilla-Power-Ranger-looking things! Saw some of those too. Seriously, they were taller than my daughter. Scary toys.
And what kid wouldn't be thrilled with Professional Bull Riders, Inc. toys? Not many, because they only had two left at Big Lots!. I kid you not, two different little plastic bulls, all posed like they had just flung off a rodeo clown and were getting ready to gore him.
Speaking of which, I also saw a four-or-five-pack of rodeo figures, including at least two clowns and, you guessed it, a pissed-off bull. I was too amazed by this next item to take an accurate count...
Rescue Heroes! Probably the most legitimate toys in the bunch, I think I've seen commercials for these things, but, much like with glamorous movie stars, seeing them in real life is another deal altogether. The first one to catch my eye was what at first appeared to be a Native American (I now realize he is supposed to look Asian) in a red sleeveless karate gi, like Ryu had gotten his dry cleaning switched up on him. He was partnered with a big black panther carrying something that resembled a black-and-red beer cooler with, I don't know...legs. This gentleman's name? Marshall Artz. It's a pun, see? Like, martial arts? Except he's a Marshall, that's his title. Like Wildlife Marshall. Or Grand Marshall at the parade. Guess which parade. And as luck would have it, his last name is Artz.
Anyway, the second Rescue Hero was cleverly named Hal E. Copter. And oddly enough, his accessory was an inflatible life raft that doubled as a waterproof MP3 player. You'd think with a name like that, he'd be some kind of helicopter pilot... Ha! Just kidding, he came with some kind of helicopter-backpack thing. Don't wave hello to the nice lady down the block who always wears a low-cut tank top when she's pruning the bushes outside her house as you fly by, Hal. You may accidentally lop off your fapping hand.
Oh, look, I found pictures on Amazon:
I don't know why these things strike me as funny.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Pucker Up, MySpace.
Be careful. Shield the eyes of your young children. You're reading a very "naughty" blog. Additionally, I am trying to spam you, phish you, steal your identity, and then infect your computer with viruses, spyware, adware, and other unspecified malware. Not necessarily in that order!
Or so MySpace says.
I discovered this morning that MySpace has blocked all links to my Blogger blogs, replacing them with this twaddle:
Seriously. I had run into this problem before, but I was trying to use tinyurl links like I had done in the past on Facebook and Twitter. I can kind of understand MySpace blocking tinyurl links, because their opacity does make it easier to launch such phishing attacks or lead people to shock sites or whatever. I have never goatse'd or Rickrolled anybody, nor have I any intention to do so, but MySpace doesn't know that. So, fine. I used regular links, which worked well until probably a couple of days ago, I don't know. It only came to my attention today (thanks, Dena). All the links I'd posted in MySpace blogs that worked just fine at first are now blocked.
And it would appear that I am not the only one facing this problem. MySpace is blocking all links to Blogger blogs. Links to the Blogger home page still go through, but try to link to your own blog, and your browsing freedom gets the old MySpace clothesline. This is nothing short of censorship.
I realize that this may very well be the result of a poorly-coded or overly-zealous site maintenance bot of some sort, which MySpace has only recently deployed, and the issue might even be resolved soon, with a full apology. But I don't care. It's bad enough that MySpace gives you a big stupid warning every time you click a link that might lead you out of their dungeon of irritating corporate advertisement, but flat-out blocking anything, even with the best of intentions, is unacceptable. When it spills over into blocking legitimate links, it's abusive.
So, MySpace, I would like to extend to you a formal invitation to kiss my ass, and in fact, to kiss the collective ass of the entire Blogger/Blogspot community. Stop treating all your users like idiots. Many of them probably are, but not all of them. Phishing is nothing new. Anyone with a computer and enough of a clue to get on MySpace has heard of phishing and, if they're smart, they've already done something to protect themselves from it. They don't need your hand-holding, and we don't need your accusations of wrongdoing. Stop censoring your little corner of the Internet, because there's nothing stopping people from leaving it en masse. They're already doing so, in fact.
Frankly, I'm surprised that it took this long for the influence of Rupert Murdoch and the Fox drones to be felt.
Or so MySpace says.
I discovered this morning that MySpace has blocked all links to my Blogger blogs, replacing them with this twaddle:
The link you are trying to visit has been disabled.What can I say, MySpace. You got me. My quasi-clever little ramblings about the antics of my 18-month-old daughter and the dumb crap I see on TV were really just an elaborate ruse hiding a nefarious plot to gather people's American Express card numbers so I can fraudulently purchase bigger, more powerful computers with high-def monitors so I can write even more pervasive viruses to infect my friends with so they will see pop-up ads for natural male enhancement every time they try to open Microsoft Word. Curse you, MySpace, for foiling my plot to build my own personal botnet and infect the world with the next Bonzi Buddy. I am forced to retreat to my underground lair and begin hatching another scheme. You can't see me, but I am furiously dry-washing my hands and maybe cackling a little bit.
You have reached a link that is no longer in service. That means the link was very naughty, and, much like head lice, had to be eliminated before it spread.
You may be asking yourself, 'Hey, what was it about that link that got it in trouble?' An excellent question! Usually, it's one of the following reasons:
- The link was spam! No one likes spammers, and we don't like their links.
- You almost got phished! There are people out there who want to steal your MySpace password. They want to log in as you and send spam, harass your friends, change your profile, and generally run amok. Phishing pages are usually designed to look like MySpace to trick you. Other sites may also ask for your MySpace login information to customize your profile, insert videos or slide shows, track visitors, or any number of other things.Don't make it easy for them. ONLY USE YOUR MYSPACE LOGIN INFO ON WWW.MYSPACE.COM!!
- Viruses are not fun! Neither is adware, spyware, or malware. We cut the links to places that are known sources of infection.
If you really did want to check out some spam, viruses, or phishing pages, we're really sorry to have interrupted. We're sure you can find it elsewhere. There's plenty on the Internet.
Seriously. I had run into this problem before, but I was trying to use tinyurl links like I had done in the past on Facebook and Twitter. I can kind of understand MySpace blocking tinyurl links, because their opacity does make it easier to launch such phishing attacks or lead people to shock sites or whatever. I have never goatse'd or Rickrolled anybody, nor have I any intention to do so, but MySpace doesn't know that. So, fine. I used regular links, which worked well until probably a couple of days ago, I don't know. It only came to my attention today (thanks, Dena). All the links I'd posted in MySpace blogs that worked just fine at first are now blocked.
And it would appear that I am not the only one facing this problem. MySpace is blocking all links to Blogger blogs. Links to the Blogger home page still go through, but try to link to your own blog, and your browsing freedom gets the old MySpace clothesline. This is nothing short of censorship.
I realize that this may very well be the result of a poorly-coded or overly-zealous site maintenance bot of some sort, which MySpace has only recently deployed, and the issue might even be resolved soon, with a full apology. But I don't care. It's bad enough that MySpace gives you a big stupid warning every time you click a link that might lead you out of their dungeon of irritating corporate advertisement, but flat-out blocking anything, even with the best of intentions, is unacceptable. When it spills over into blocking legitimate links, it's abusive.
So, MySpace, I would like to extend to you a formal invitation to kiss my ass, and in fact, to kiss the collective ass of the entire Blogger/Blogspot community. Stop treating all your users like idiots. Many of them probably are, but not all of them. Phishing is nothing new. Anyone with a computer and enough of a clue to get on MySpace has heard of phishing and, if they're smart, they've already done something to protect themselves from it. They don't need your hand-holding, and we don't need your accusations of wrongdoing. Stop censoring your little corner of the Internet, because there's nothing stopping people from leaving it en masse. They're already doing so, in fact.
Frankly, I'm surprised that it took this long for the influence of Rupert Murdoch and the Fox drones to be felt.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
AT&T Disturbs Me.
I can't be the only one who's noticed how dark the AT&T Wireless commercials have gotten. I'm not talking about the mom with the stupid kids who don't want to use "old minutes," those are kind of clever. What I'm talking about are the "sorry I missed your call, I don't have any bars out here" ads. They started out pretty mundane but they took a very sudden, sinister turn. Here, I'll review:
I realize this blog is about three months too late to be considered even remotely current or relevant, but I don't especially care. Yes, there are already a bunch of parody ads on YouTube, but I don't have a video camera so I have to resort to this.
Given that it's been a while since I've seen one of these creepshows masquerading as advertisement, I can only assume that AT&T has run out of grisly ideas with which to terrorize their potential customer base. As a loyal AT&T subscriber, I am rushing to the rescue with two new fully-formed scripts, free of charge:
- Dad looking for his daughter at local "make-out point." -- Okay, no big deal, kinda funny, whatever.
- Dude missing the Motörhead concert. -- Haha, stupid, Motörhead sucks anyway.
- College guy getting stuck in a hostel with creepy Euro-techno-trash. -- Wow, I would hate if that were me, but still nothing catastrophic.
- Hapless employee brings up the big corporate merger that was supposed to remain hush-hush, in a business meeting. -- That's probably going to affect a few 401(k)s.
- Children's birthday party terrorized by man in tyrannosaurus costume. -- Well, I tend to find crying children funny, but I know most people don't. This is a ruined family moment.
- Children traumatized by family's accidental trip to a nude beach. -- A more disturbing notion to some people than others, to be sure. But anyone would be traumatized at the sight of the senior citizens that insist on hitting the ol' clothing-optional beaches.
- Guy falsely arrested for trespassing, and thrown in jail. -- Wait, what? That is harsh. And they even made a thinly-veiled reference to forced prison sodomy.
- Man blows up his own house because he didn't know to thaw a frozen turkey before deep-frying. -- Hey, not funny... that was that guy's home. And he's all singed.
- An entire news crew gets BLOWN UP. -- Holy sh*t. This is how we're selling phone service?
- Special holiday-themed commercial features a snowman slowly melting away. -- Because nothing says "Season's Greetings" like a none-too-subtle reminder of the inevitability of death.
I realize this blog is about three months too late to be considered even remotely current or relevant, but I don't especially care. Yes, there are already a bunch of parody ads on YouTube, but I don't have a video camera so I have to resort to this.
Given that it's been a while since I've seen one of these creepshows masquerading as advertisement, I can only assume that AT&T has run out of grisly ideas with which to terrorize their potential customer base. As a loyal AT&T subscriber, I am rushing to the rescue with two new fully-formed scripts, free of charge:
- *beep!* "Hey, it's Staci's phone. Yeah, sorry we didn't get your call warning us that the guy Staci just met on the Internet and agreed to have dinner with, has a mile-long rap sheet full of sexual assault charges, but we don't get any bars out here in the dimly-lit roadside diner on the edge of town where Staci drove to meet this guy. So Staci's about to get violently raped and in all likelihood will be dumped in the woods ten miles from here, with even less chance of getting a decent signal. I guess when Mister Right's grimy, calloused hands are clamped around her neck and her dignity and self-respect are being pounded right out of her, Staci will wish she'd gone with AT&T instead. The thought that an AT&T phone could've prevented the soul-shattering humiliation, bruises, and internal bleeding will surely keep her warm on the long walk to the nearest free clinic to get a morning-after pill. Whoops, gotta go, the roofie's starting to kick in!"
- *beep!* "Yeah, Chad's phone here, sorry Chad missed your call, but there's no signal out here on the remote island paradise where Chad decided to bring his girlfriend so he could propose to her. So your frantic calls and text messages about the sudden military uprising currently erupting in this little impoverished Caribbean nation, the coup that will certainly lead to months if not years of ferocious civil war? Nope, we didn't get 'em. When Chad and Misty are caught in the crossfire of a conflict they have nothing to do with, I hope you'll send their family sympathy cards instead of calling them, because they don't have AT&T either. True, Chad survived the attack, but the last thing he saw before blacking out in that jungle was a group of guerrillas dragging his beloved away, laughing about the fun they'd have with her, and how much cocaine they could buy with that big, shiny engagement ring. Nobody's seen Misty since. Oh, and try not to stare at the stumps where both of Chad's legs, and his right arm, used to be, when you visit him in the hospital. He's a little touchy about how the doctors had to remove them because of the infection that broke out at the bullet entry points. Maybe while you're trying to console the hollow shell of the man that used to be your buddy Chad, you can mention the sweet rollover minutes he can get if he switches to AT&T."
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Magnolia Situation
Gonna take a detour from the blog I intended to write today to talk about the whole cluster-eff that has happened with ma.gnolia (hereby to be referred to as simply Magnolia, because I hate superfluous punctuation).
It is now day seven of Magnolia's outage, with no end in sight, and hope seems to be fading. Now, this isn't a national catastrophe or anything, but I had some really interesting bookmarks there and now I'm bummed that I may not get access to them again. I can't exactly stumble around the web looking for them all again, because I don't even remember what all was there.
I have been able to uncover a bunch of my bookmarks using the magic of Google cache, although I haven't started the process of transferring them to Delicious yet. So I'm happy about that. There are also a number of other recovery options being discussed on a thread that's been opened over at Get Satisfaction. I'm pissed at myself, though, for not being a little more forward thinking and having some sort of backup to my Magnolia stash. I never bothered setting up an RSS feed to dump into anything, and never once exported my bookmarks to a plain HTML file, because I'm lazy. I just figured, hey, it's an online resource, they've got to have their own backups if something goes wrong, right? Plus, at the end of the day it's only bookmarks. It's not like it's my bank account being compromised, and the content of those bookmarks is still floating around out there in the 'tubes.
I've learned my lesson, though: I pointed my Delicious RSS feed toward Google Reader, and I'll probably set up a reader on my own PC when I get home, to have a local backup. Kind of defeats the purpose of an online store of bookmarks, but I don't want to get burned again. I might check out other social bookmarking sites - Diigo was suggested by Magnolia founder Larry Halff, but it seems iffy to me. Lacks the simplicity I loved about Magnolia.
Anyway, the point of this post is to highlight a different posting, on the Get Satisfaction thread. Most of the conversation focuses on various methods of data retrieval, all from external sources like Google cache and FriendFeed, so people can get their bookmarks back. One guy, however, chose to go on a rant, quoting one of the first messages on the Magnolia homepage that discussed the severity of the outage. I'll just paste the whole thing here:
Harsh. I won't say this guy (girl?) doesn't make good points, because they are very good points. I had the same questions myself, once I realized that this wasn't a case of someone saying "this issue may take several days to correct" just to prepare people for the worst, only to have the site back up by noon the next day.
But let's have some perspective. You're talking about using a free online service (those who did pay for Magnolia's "premium" services will receive a refund, according to Larry) to keep track of information that you found useful on the Web. When you use something that's given away for free, your complaint leverage is greatly diminished. Especially when the tools were always available for you to backup your thousands of bookmarks.
I had a little over 300 bookmarks on Magnolia, well short of Mister Angry's thousands, and while I am miffed about potentially losing those, I'm more upset that I didn't give myself a fallback option. No contingency. My fault. If I had thousands of bookmarks, and if they were all that important to me, I would have made sure to have a backup. It would never occur to me to go on this kind of rant against a guy who's watching years of his hard work circle the drain and is already fully aware that the situation has upset a lot of people. I mean, I can get on a pretty hellacious rant, don't get me wrong, but over this?
Yet within hours this rant was upvoted as one of the "best points" on the discussion thread (albeit by a whopping 6 people as of this writing), above and beyond the actual constructive suggestions, and is featured at the top of the thread. It's a fine illustration of the testicular-inflation effect of the Internet.
It is now day seven of Magnolia's outage, with no end in sight, and hope seems to be fading. Now, this isn't a national catastrophe or anything, but I had some really interesting bookmarks there and now I'm bummed that I may not get access to them again. I can't exactly stumble around the web looking for them all again, because I don't even remember what all was there.
I have been able to uncover a bunch of my bookmarks using the magic of Google cache, although I haven't started the process of transferring them to Delicious yet. So I'm happy about that. There are also a number of other recovery options being discussed on a thread that's been opened over at Get Satisfaction. I'm pissed at myself, though, for not being a little more forward thinking and having some sort of backup to my Magnolia stash. I never bothered setting up an RSS feed to dump into anything, and never once exported my bookmarks to a plain HTML file, because I'm lazy. I just figured, hey, it's an online resource, they've got to have their own backups if something goes wrong, right? Plus, at the end of the day it's only bookmarks. It's not like it's my bank account being compromised, and the content of those bookmarks is still floating around out there in the 'tubes.
I've learned my lesson, though: I pointed my Delicious RSS feed toward Google Reader, and I'll probably set up a reader on my own PC when I get home, to have a local backup. Kind of defeats the purpose of an online store of bookmarks, but I don't want to get burned again. I might check out other social bookmarking sites - Diigo was suggested by Magnolia founder Larry Halff, but it seems iffy to me. Lacks the simplicity I loved about Magnolia.
Anyway, the point of this post is to highlight a different posting, on the Get Satisfaction thread. Most of the conversation focuses on various methods of data retrieval, all from external sources like Google cache and FriendFeed, so people can get their bookmarks back. One guy, however, chose to go on a rant, quoting one of the first messages on the Magnolia homepage that discussed the severity of the outage. I'll just paste the whole thing here:
onionsformagnolia replied 9 hours ago
Larry, on your home page, you wrote:
"So far, my efforts to recover Ma.gnolia's data store have been unsuccessful. While I'm continuing to work at it, both from the data store..."
How is that possible? What is this "data store" you're talking about? Was there no back up?
"In this past year, many of us have seen much loss around us."
What does this have to do with the current problem, other than a lame attempt at deflection?
"While bookmarks seem small on the national or global scale, I know that many of you had built intellectual and social capital through the bookmarks, groups, and connections you made here."
A blinding flash of the obvious. So far, you've said many words without saying anything.
"Ma.gnolia was approaching the third anniversary of its public launch; for me, it was the project and people to which I'd devoted most of my time, energy, and love for nearly four years. It's still a little too soon to give word about the return of Ma.gnolia the service and the future of the M2 project, but I will keep this site and our Twitter account updated as those decisions are made."
You have nerve to even talk about the return of Magnolia and M2, whatever that is/was. Forget it. This "business", if it ever was viable, is now dead all but in name. I wouldn't entrust anything to you any more because of the way you've bungled this. You've been quite evasive in answering direct questions posed to you about what happened. If you owe at least one thing to Magnolia users, it's an honest explanation.
At the moment, it looks like I've lost thousands of bookmarks that I've added over the last couple of years and I did not have them anywhere else because I was foolish enough to assume that Magnolia was being run by competent people! To say that I'm pissed off is an understatement. The irony is that I had evaluated and rejected Delicious and SimpPy for reasons that I don't even recall any more. I've lost something of tremendous value and by the looks of it, I will not be able to recover anything since none of the "solutions" that you have posted so far work for me. I'm working on the assumption that any competent system administrator would have been able to get a server running by now and restored from a backup, even if *some* data was lost.
What happened? Your server got seized by creditors? You had a nervous breakdown? Ex-wife got the server? Your dog ate the server? Your server got abducted by aliens? You had a disk crash and hadn't done a back up since, well, ever?
It's hard to imagine how you could look any worse so I suggest you just come clean. If it's a matter of money, I'd contribute toward a solution but not without knowing the whole, unvarnished truth. So, how about it? Are you going to explain exactly what happened or are you going to continue your "keep 'em in the dark and feed them horse shit" communications strategy?
Harsh. I won't say this guy (girl?) doesn't make good points, because they are very good points. I had the same questions myself, once I realized that this wasn't a case of someone saying "this issue may take several days to correct" just to prepare people for the worst, only to have the site back up by noon the next day.
But let's have some perspective. You're talking about using a free online service (those who did pay for Magnolia's "premium" services will receive a refund, according to Larry) to keep track of information that you found useful on the Web. When you use something that's given away for free, your complaint leverage is greatly diminished. Especially when the tools were always available for you to backup your thousands of bookmarks.
I had a little over 300 bookmarks on Magnolia, well short of Mister Angry's thousands, and while I am miffed about potentially losing those, I'm more upset that I didn't give myself a fallback option. No contingency. My fault. If I had thousands of bookmarks, and if they were all that important to me, I would have made sure to have a backup. It would never occur to me to go on this kind of rant against a guy who's watching years of his hard work circle the drain and is already fully aware that the situation has upset a lot of people. I mean, I can get on a pretty hellacious rant, don't get me wrong, but over this?
Yet within hours this rant was upvoted as one of the "best points" on the discussion thread (albeit by a whopping 6 people as of this writing), above and beyond the actual constructive suggestions, and is featured at the top of the thread. It's a fine illustration of the testicular-inflation effect of the Internet.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The One Sentence Blog
Recently I discovered a site called One Sentence that asks you to submit a true story from your life in the form of a single sentence, and I found the idea so brilliant in its simplicity that I had to share it in my blog.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Reality TV Memes
It is with great, agonizing shame that I confess to occasionally watching the circus that calls itself "reality television." I am fully aware that these shows are utterly devoid of intellectual, moral, or sociological value, but there's something almost therapeutic about subjecting myself to this assault on good taste. I can't help but feel better about my own life when I see a bunch of idiots volunteering themselves to be publicly humiliated for weeks on end, in the hopes of gaining some small measure of fame and/or fortune. However much of a fat loser I am, I will never be the guy getting into a drunken fistfight with two other guys over a plate of cold nachos to impress some skank with serious self-esteem issues and a third-grade reading level who, even if I should emerge victorious from the gamut of debasement that comprises this "competition" for her "affection," will only dump me a week after the cameras shut off anyway.
In short, Sheila and I make sport of laughing at morons. We take great joy in it. You do too, don't lie. I can't even count how many ridiculous and sometimes even slightly clever one-liners we swipe from these shows and use in daily interaction with each other, because making fun of stupid people doesn't stop when the TV is turned off. Oh, no.
There's the fake drinking game inspired by Whitney "I Shouldn't Have Beaten Anya" Thompson from ANTM (do a shot every time she says "I'm plus size"), which later morphed into the "I'm a retired model" drinking game that ended too soon when whatever-that-dumb-waif's-name-is was forced to drop off the Rock of Love bus due to health problems. I was looking forward to making fun of her some more. There's our impersonation of Jason and Grant from Ghost Hunters ("Well, we got some video where you can see an eight-foot tall apparition of some sort of ungodly goat-man, which pointed at us and said 'Hey, I'm a ghost, get the f**k out of my house,' and then the dining room table levitated off the ground and anally violated our camera guy, but I just don't think that's enough evidence for us to say this house is haunted"). Then, Real Chance of Love gave us "Fake-ass Puffy," which we declared to be the new "Nappy-headed Ho."
These things are stupid as hell but they make us laugh. We started jokingly referring to them as memes. Really, the only thing that separates a stupid inside joke from a meme is the number of people who are in on the joke.
So our current brain-rotting poison of choice is Tool Academy. This show can only be described as awesome by way of pathetic. Plus, by the time the first episode was halfway over, it had served up two such "memes." In fact, I'd like to see these become actual Internet memes, because everybody should find humor in the things that I think are funny but really shouldn't because they are actually just stupid.
The first (and weaker) of the two is the transformation of the phrase "Mister Awesome" into an adjective. Is something so truly mind-bogglingly amazing that "awesome" alone is painfully ill-equipped to describe it? Well, then, it is Mister Awesome.
I shall present an example:
Dude 1: "Dude, did you see the trailer for Transformers 2?"
Dude 2: "Oh, hells yeah, dude, it was...
"
I don't want to be that guy, though. You know, the guy who tries to force something to happen that really ought to just happen organically. The guy who makes up a random nickname for himself and insists that other people call him by that nickname in everyday conversation. You can't give yourself a nickname.
I also don't want to be the guy that people come looking for in six months when "Mega please" has run its course, is all over the Internet, and everybody is sick of it but people still keep using it and why won't it go away it's not funny anymore aahhhhhh!!!
So, like I was saying, this is the new Rickroll, people. You saw it here first. Well, no, come to think of it, you probably didn't.
In short, Sheila and I make sport of laughing at morons. We take great joy in it. You do too, don't lie. I can't even count how many ridiculous and sometimes even slightly clever one-liners we swipe from these shows and use in daily interaction with each other, because making fun of stupid people doesn't stop when the TV is turned off. Oh, no.
There's the fake drinking game inspired by Whitney "I Shouldn't Have Beaten Anya" Thompson from ANTM (do a shot every time she says "I'm plus size"), which later morphed into the "I'm a retired model" drinking game that ended too soon when whatever-that-dumb-waif's-name-is was forced to drop off the Rock of Love bus due to health problems. I was looking forward to making fun of her some more. There's our impersonation of Jason and Grant from Ghost Hunters ("Well, we got some video where you can see an eight-foot tall apparition of some sort of ungodly goat-man, which pointed at us and said 'Hey, I'm a ghost, get the f**k out of my house,' and then the dining room table levitated off the ground and anally violated our camera guy, but I just don't think that's enough evidence for us to say this house is haunted"). Then, Real Chance of Love gave us "Fake-ass Puffy," which we declared to be the new "Nappy-headed Ho."
These things are stupid as hell but they make us laugh. We started jokingly referring to them as memes. Really, the only thing that separates a stupid inside joke from a meme is the number of people who are in on the joke.
So our current brain-rotting poison of choice is Tool Academy. This show can only be described as awesome by way of pathetic. Plus, by the time the first episode was halfway over, it had served up two such "memes." In fact, I'd like to see these become actual Internet memes, because everybody should find humor in the things that I think are funny but really shouldn't because they are actually just stupid.
The first (and weaker) of the two is the transformation of the phrase "Mister Awesome" into an adjective. Is something so truly mind-bogglingly amazing that "awesome" alone is painfully ill-equipped to describe it? Well, then, it is Mister Awesome.
I shall present an example:
Dude 1: "Dude, did you see the trailer for Transformers 2?"
Dude 2: "Oh, hells yeah, dude, it was...
"But the crown jewel in this regalia of buffoonery is: "Mega please." The words tumbled out of that heifer Margo's mouth and into my very central nervous system. To truly appreciate it, it must be understood in its original context, so if you haven't already seen it, check it out here. Suffer through the ad, jump to about the 6:45 point and enjoy.
This phrase (much like the entire show) exudes some kind of primordial, incomprehensible blend of idiocy and brilliance that it makes me want to laugh just thinking about it. It cries out to be meme-ified. Are you perusing your favorite news aggregate site, or discussion forum, or blog, when you come across an incredibly inane, implausible, or otherwise ridiculous comment made by some trollish fop (or, y'know, a stupid post like this one)? Hit 'em with one of these...
...and hear the "Oohhh, snap!" reverberating all across the interwebs.
I might just shop this around over at 4chan. Everyone knows if you want a meme to take hold, it's gotta start at 4chan. Every single Internet meme in the universe originated there. Even memes that existed prior to 4chan originated at 4chan. I don't know how that works. 4chan is a strange and frightening place, to be avoided at all cost. Unless you're trying to get a meme to take root.I don't want to be that guy, though. You know, the guy who tries to force something to happen that really ought to just happen organically. The guy who makes up a random nickname for himself and insists that other people call him by that nickname in everyday conversation. You can't give yourself a nickname.
I also don't want to be the guy that people come looking for in six months when "Mega please" has run its course, is all over the Internet, and everybody is sick of it but people still keep using it and why won't it go away it's not funny anymore aahhhhhh!!!
So, like I was saying, this is the new Rickroll, people. You saw it here first. Well, no, come to think of it, you probably didn't.
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