Thursday, March 30, 2006

warning: may cause drowsiness

I really would like to post here more often, but I don't. I would like to think that is due to the fact that I am so busy, or just because at this point my life is just not all that exciting, or any other number of reasons. But none of these are true.

The sad truth is that I am boring. It is not my job that is boring. Nor is it my life. It is me. I am boring. I no longer seem to be able carry on a conversation at any level with anyone, let alone post interesting missives on the web.

Maybe you need to revoke my posting privilages? Just to save yourselves.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Excellence in Television

It is interesting to note that, for a few years at least, television has actually better than the movies on a pretty regular basis.
At one time I watched nothing on regular tv. I might surf around a little so I had some awareness of what was on, but for at least ten years that was how close I came to viewing. In the rare case of actually finding a show that I could love, like Homicide, I usually found it after it was off the air and would watch it in reruns. That seemed purer, somehow.
Then came Buffy.
I loved Buffy. God help me I still do. I loved her boyfriend/spinoff Angel. I am still bitter about how his series ended (you are dead to me, Wedon, dead!). But when they were both cancelled I felt a certain relief. I could go back to being someone who occasionally caught an episode of something and moved on.
Then came 24 and Jack Bauer. It has been downhill for me ever since. In all fairness it has been downhill for 24 as well.
Now, on a weekly basis, I watch 24 (I love you, but you hurt me), Lost (you hurt me, and everyone else, but I love you), Veronica Mars (don't hurt me, please), Top Chef (although my utter hatred of Stephen might drive me away), and Dr. Who (which they have just started showing on the SciFi channel and is giving me nostalgia chills).
And that is only because Deadwood and Rome are between seasons. And Project Runway. And I usually forget that Scrubs is on.
And now, Thief.
Thief stars Andre Brauer of the heretofor mentioned Homicide (he also went to school with my friend Larry. And I adore him.), as the head of a professional gang of thieves. He lives in New Orleans but doesn't work there. I imagine this started out as a don't shit where you eat thing, and now there is nothing there to steal. In the opening episode he and his crew steal money that belongs to a triad, his wife dies in a car accident, and he has to kill one of his own men - a guy he clearly likes. And now he is stuck with a stepdaughter who kinda hates him and knows too much, and a has to do a risky job in order to make up for the money he had to return to the Chinese. Who are still after him. Damn their wiley tenacity!
It is gritty, smart and moody. It reminds me of Homicide in that it seems real and not everyone is too good looking to play who they are. One episode in and I am horribly, horribly hooked.
Someone save me.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Waste Your Time the Right Way!

From the Kitchen of Chef Boy-R-Mahatma

So on Sunday I went out to find some Indian food to take home. I'd tried to call my regular place, but they weren't answering. It turns out that Indian places close between 2 and 5 on the weekends so, I believe, to not anger Kali during her "me" time. I just thought I'd drive around, find something, order and wait.

Then I remembered that there's a new Indian place in town, called... something improbable I can't quite remember. A Taste of Cuisine? Dunno. Something like that. I'd had the location described to me, and was told it was more like a fast food place. Okay!

The place looks more like a "gourmet" shop destined to fail than an Indian restaurant. Besides the weird name, the long white sign features as its mascot what can only be described as the grinning mug of an Italian chef stereotype. Big hat, improbable mustache, big grin as if to say, "'at's a-spicey meatball!" The sign said Closed, but the Indian owner/random guy saw me and let me in.

Kind of small space, around 12 cheap square tables, 4 cheap chairs around each, display cases in the front filled with trays of what I assume are handmade snacky/sweet things (pass), menu behind the counter above the kitchen doors. The menu is subdivided into around 5 categories, with around 40 items by Indian name, with no descriptions, but I manage to order: Saag Paneer (not actually called that, but he knew what I wanted), Aloo Tikka Masala, 2 orders of Aloo Paratha (potato-stuffed bread), an order of raita (the yogurt "sauce"), an order of somethingsomething chat (Indian street food), and an order of the "veggie" pakora. I ask if they have some onion chutney to adjust the heat. They don't, but he does have garlic chutney. This all comes to $26, and I'll get around 5 meals out of it.

The bad news is that I have to wait around 25 mins for my food. The good news is that the guy gives me a bottle of Thumbs Up!, which is Indian Coca-Cola, only more upbeat. Seemed rude to not accept (though I don't drink pop), and it was actually pretty good... mainly because of these Ziploc bags of what looked like bananas baked/dried in spices. I asked the guy what they were: Spicy green banana chips, basically. I asked to buy a bag. He said to take one, and mentioned that they're great with beer. Freakin' things were delicious. I still have some, to test out the beer theory. He officially opened about 10 minutes after I ordered, and the place actually had quite a few Indian people come in, along with an old American couple who, while out of place, actually seemed comfortable with the whole thing, untraslated menu and all. Indian "MTV" came on and I was reminded again of how much I rightly or wrongly find Indian pop culture to be very silly (though certainly looking more polished). I snagged my food and got it home.

The great fear of a place like this, to me, is that the food will be dumbed down, especially as it had been described to me as "fast food," and the guy hadn't asked me how spicy I wanted anything. But man, it was all nearly perfect. Everything (even, oddly, the chat) was very pleasantly spicy, with bite, but not in any way overpoweringly so. The Aloo Paratha wasn't like the usual thin flatbread, but were freakin' heavy, and the potato spiced enough that I could see eating them plain. Garlic chutney just smells damn good.

It's so rare in my life to find something that's just surprisingly good, especially a restaurant. I do believe my cockles have been warmed. This is actually a place where I might go back and simply order randomly off the menu.

Monday, March 27, 2006

I wish I could lose my mind.

When I was younger I thought the worst possible thing that could happen would be going insane. The idea of not having control of the only thing that seemed to work properly, that I had any say over, seemed the most nightmarish thing possible.

Right now it seems like it would be the bestest thing that could ever happen.

On the other hand Slither is coming out this weekend.
I love me some Nathan Fillion.

Friday, March 24, 2006

What I've Been Watching

Wonderfalls was another Fox show that, once they realized it was well-written and well-casted, was axed after 4 broadcasts. At least in this case, though, you can kind of understand why.

The basic setup is that Jaye is a 24-year-old slacker working at a Niagra Falls gift shop and living in a trailer park, post Philosophy degree from Brown. Kind of a bitch, going nowhere, one friend in town, a family in town she doesn't talk to much, and then... inanimate animals (wax lions, stuffed bears, pink lawn flamingos, etc.) start talking to her--"bring her home," "make a match," "don't give her the money," etc.--leading her into all kinds of situations that ultimately helps somebody, once per episode.

Like I said, it's a good show. A lot of what I really like about it what's charming about shows like Buffy, Firefly, and Gilmore Girls: the overall writing, the asides, the general pace and flow of a lot of the dialogue. I really do recommend it.

But, like I said, I can see where it doesn't quite work, too. First, apparently it was the last show to come out at that time with a "heroine does good" theme, after Joan of Arcadia and Tru Calling. Second, people have an easier time NOT thinking the plot of "god tells woman to do good" or "the dead tell woman to do good" sounds stupid, because at least it's pretty straight-forward. "Inanimate objects, which may or may not be working for a higher power, tell woman to do nonsensical things that lead to good things being done" is a little harder to sell to the masses. (I do kind of like when after the first object talks to her she takes it home, sits in front of it and says, "Are you God? Are you Satan? Tell you what: I'm going to assume that you're Satan if you don't say anything in five... four... three...")

Also, Fox did its typical job of having a good show and not letting anyone know about it. I mean, I was at least aware that Tru Calling and Joan of Arcadia were actually, you know, TV shows that were broadcast on some day at some time in the evening, but the first I ever heard about this show was somebody said, "Hey, you should check out these DVDs." I'm actually beginning to think that Fox doesn't do this out of any kind of mismanagement or incompetence. I think that they're actually just eccentrically selfish, and that whenever they have a good show they all lock themselves in a room together and watch it over and over and whenever someone tries to get them out they scream, "Go away! It's ours! This is not for you!" and throw fallafels at the intruder until they leave. Then, naturally, the show fails and they cry, lock the unaired episodes in a vault, where eventually the DVD gnomes rescue them. ("Curse those gnomes!" the Fox execs scream, shaking their tiny yet powerful fists at the heavens.) Ahem...

Where I think the show falls a little flat is because I think the writers are too damn nice. Jaye actually works best for me if she actually is kind of a bitch, misanthropic, and a harsh judge of life. Yet despite the fact that she's frequently saying things like, "This isn't me! I'm not the nice one!" and getting pissed off when people keep thanking her for helping them, the writers' hearts just aren't in it. She is a nice person, and all of her faults don't ultimately add up to much, which ends up softening the redemptive qualities of her magical realistic adventures, and softens a lot of the inherent humor of the situation. Some of the plots are similarly too nice and/or sweet on the face of it.

On a similar note, this show needed to be on cable where they'd have been allowed to say "bitch slap" and not the highly unfortunate "biddie slap" (okay, it was directed at an old person, but still). There are actually quite a few parts where you could feel them straining to swear or be more overtly sexual, but the show must have had an early evening time slot.

The one thing I can't seem to get over, though, is the casting of William Sadler in the role of her pretty cool father. I keep imagining him having episodes off-screen where he goes nuts, harrasses Bruce Willis and Mario Van Peebles for a few hours, then returns, forgetting everything that's happened. Perhaps it will be revealed in later episodes that he secretly snaps the necks of puppies.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Someone Comes To Town, Someone Leaves Town

http://craphound.com/someone/download.php

If you haven't read this you should.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Proof of God's Existence

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

ai caramba!

now this is news.

It's like a reason to live - at least until 2007

Internet Memes

Are there any good internet memes right now? Don't you miss the good old days when there was a new one very month or so - The kitten photo, the All Your Base Belong To Us stuff. Has the internet become so commercialized that stuff like this is just not out there anymore, or is just that I am so old I am no longer able to find and/or participate in the hip, cool things kids are doing now?

P.S. The spell checker on blogger leaves a lot to be desired. I know, I know, what do I want for nuttin' but still...

nor does the insert photo feature seem to be working. hmmm....

Is this a grand conspiracy by blogger to keep my wordz of wizdom from the world? Could be. Could very well be.

Crap. I give up. If you want to see the lovely picture I planned for this post you will just have to click here.

stupid blogger.

Snow Day

So I took the day off work, because, I don't know, I looked at the snow outside and a choir of angels rose up and in a pious murmer exclaimed, "Meh."

If the roads were better I'd take this opportunity to go on my Booze Run and perhaps Buy Some Clothes, but this really is the kind of day where I just feel like napping, drinking hot drinks, and watching DVDs. And not driving on snowy roads.

I also think that there's something I'm forgetting, something I should do, but I'm going to ignore that damn meddling kids voice once again and follow through with my clever plan of once again doing nothing, nada, or at least very little. It's not that I deserve or have in any way earned a break from my slow life, just that I'm in a position to be rather ne'er-do-well with the understanding that I rar'y-do-bad, either. I'm something of a Neutral Lout, a class, if you will, that was sorely lacking in role-playing games and is perhaps why I never quite got into them.

Appropo of nothing: as I normally never post to Worryville from home, I had to log on for the first time and it turns out that I had no idea what my password was. Now I've long since come up with a series of passwords that I've used for the last 4 or 5 years, maybe 8 possibilities and just variations on a theme. One I use for actually important stuff, others for whatever, so it's usually just a run through the 8 to log onto anything. Seems simple, and nearly foolproof (if not exactly ultra-secure). Yet this is the third time in the last month where my (ha ha!) system has failed and I've had to reset a password. I've always wondered if my brain was defective (perhaps what they call in the drink industry an "underfill"), and now I have one more example I can point to when they start handing out money from the Dumb As Rocks Foundation. (DARF!)

Also, there was a hair in my coffee this morning. A long one. Actually, a long one connected to a shorter one by a root that, after pulling it off my lip and out of my mouth, suspended a milky drop of what was once perfectly fine coffee but was now liquid ookiness. It was an Ambush Follicle, actually, as I'm not currently over-run by sex-starved and wild haired nubile women, and actually haven't had a female over to my place since... I believe that from now on Misreall will have to wear a hair net in my kitchen when she visits.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Booze Up

So I found myself this weekend with dangerously low levels of booze in the house. A few drinks on Saturday and a few drinks last night found myself pouring the last few unhappy ounces out of a bottle of port. I am beerless, whiskeyless, and close to being without any freezer bottles. Sure, sure: I have wine. I have around 8 bottles of the stuff. But I don't drink... wine.

This, coupled with the fact that I hadn't decided what to do with the "disposable" portion of my tax refund, has made me think that I should Stock Up on Booze. But what to buy? How much to limit my spending to? I'm thinking, off the top of my head, $250 for:

1 bottle Grey Goose vodka
1 bottle Absolute Citron vodka
1 bottle Cask Strength MaCallan scotch (kinda pricey... dunno!)
1 bottle Bushmill/other Irish whiskey
1 bottle Port
6 bottle Samuel Smith beer
1 6-pack Newcastle

And that's where I start to draw a blank. Rum? A token bottle of Sapphire Gin? Mixers?

I feel like I currently only have half-an-ass, and a proper Booze Run needs a full one.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

hope vs. stupidity

I admit it. I play the lotto. I'm rather embaressed to admit this, I know I won't win; I know that the odds are truly insurmountable. My father-in-law refers to the lottery as a tax on the stupid, which cracks me up. But I still play.

At least I use too.

Now don't get me wrong, I was never one of those people that stand in line and drop 50 bucks saying box this and do that and 3 bucks on whatever and all that other nonsense. But on occasion I would be standing in line at White Hen or the gas station and someone in front of me would buy something lottery related, and I would say "what the hell - give me one too" and then they would ask me "which game?" to which I would reply "the big one, the mega- whatever". Then I would carry the ticket around with me for a month because I never remembered to check and see if I won.

I would usually remember that I had a ticket in my wallet at some time when I was not able to see if I had won, so I would briefly daydream about the possibilty of having won several million dollars and then get on with my life. I actually kind of enjoyed this, carrying this unchecked ticket around with me was like carrying around a little bit of hope or at least akin to waiting 'til the end of the day to enjoy the candybar you bought at the market that morning.

I knew I wouldn't win. I knew I couldn't win. Just carrying around the little stub of paper gave me a tiny trickle of hope which was sufficient - it was enjoyable. When I would finally get around to checking the number, I would confirm that I truly hadn't won, and throw away the ticket. A few weeks or a few months later I would buy another one and the process would repeat.

Until the last time. The last time I played the lottery I kept thinking about the ticket and in a relatively short amount of time (just a few days) I went on-line to see if I had won. When I found that I had not become a member of the filthy-rich club, I was actually disappointed, almost surprised.

This rather shocked me - playing the lottery use to be lark, a giggle - I knew that I wouldn't win but the daydreams it offered me for a dollar seemed well worth it. But now it seemed that somehow I was actually attaching real hopes and dreams to this really improbable event. This realization was devastating. Somehow I had become one of those people that pin their lives on a hope and a dream. I had started to pay the stupid tax.

I am a firm believer that you make your own destiny. Sure, luck falls into it, but it is not the deciding factor - the person you are is what makes your life what it is. By starting to fall into the trap of believeing my fate could be controlled by luck I was somehow becoming less of a person. I had gone from spending a dollar to daydream, to expecting that for some reason I deserved this reward.

I think I will layoff the lottery for now. I know you can't win if you don't play, but let's be honest - you really can't win if you do play either. And I really don't want to start putting faith in luck - I just can't imagine waiting for my "big break" and being constanly disappointed. This can be translated into "I would rather be hopeless than disappointed." Now this is certainly not true, nor do I want to imply that I am leading some bleak existence without hope - but in the case of the stupid tax, I will stick with the life I can make rather than one being dangled like a carrot on a stick in front of me.

Friday, March 17, 2006

I hate St. Patrick's Day

My family couldn't be more Irish if-well, actually we could be a lot more Irish because we could have been born in Ireland-but by American standards we are pretty Irish. My father was practically born on the boat to Amerikay and we still have relatives in the-ahem-"old country." Which is why I hate this stupid day. I hate cabbage. I hate, hate, HATE soda bread. I can't stand Guinness (which, by the way, is now about as Irish as Nigerian ground nut stew). And I really, really hate the stupid way people act on St. Patrick's day. You know what? We aren't all Irish on St. Patrick's day, we are all retarded and drunk and annoying. It's like New Years Eve with twee pipe music, people who sound worse than Shane MacGowan shouting Pogues lyrics, and proving that there is such a thing as too much Van Morrison. The rest of the year I am proud of my Irish ancestry. I love Irish writers (Flann O'Brien most of all), Irish music, Irish men (thank you, Lord, for Colin Farrell and his greasy hair), and even some Irish food (mmm, trifle), but on this one day of the year I wish I was Latvian. Or Vietnamese. Or Peruvian. Anything but Irish.

Or, as Warren Ellis so eloquently put it in his daily email-
"If you want to celebrate St Pat's today, eat a raw potato, build a house out of peat and get yourself shot by an Englishman. And guess what? If you were born in America, you're not Irish, you're fucking American. Deal with it."

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Children of a lesser plumage

Just wondering about why there is so much bird fear on this blog. Is this about the bird flu? Or does this hark back to the days when we were going to do that 'zine and have the All Dead Bird issue?

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Coming soon to a doom near you


terror birds, and not even your perfect posture will save you

(too non-sequitur?)

Puppies with Straight-Razors

Long, hard rains. Flavored teas and coffees. Artificial sweetener ("I will show you fear in a handful of Equal"). Artificial flavors (esp. strawberry, but not banana). Leaving the refrigerator door open--not long enough for everything to spoil, but long enough for me to eye everything I eat out of it afterward with a small amount of dread. Town sirens going off, and it's not the first Tuesday of the month. Small children talking to me, no parent in sight. Misburned DVDs/CDs. Running out of milk, cigarettes, or booze. Drinking milk straight. Forgetting, again, perhaps for the last time. Contracting a horrible disease not from any clearly bad habit, but from something innocuous, like the fumes from my Sharpie at work. Beautiful women who are now 15 years younger than I. My boss. Mysterious cracks. Ennui. The death of "interesting." Forgetting how to relax. Uncomfortable chairs. Fraying seams. In myself: Suspicious behavior. In others: Ulterior motives. Speaking in the third-person. Too many things merely living up to expectations, and not surpassing them.

Monday, March 13, 2006

More things that worry me-

Street signs on windy days. That smell that only seems to exist in el cars on the Blue Line. The skin that forms over those little cups of syrup they give you with pancakes these days (we need to go back to those glass carafes people!). Making sure that all of the oven cleaner has been cleaned out of the oven, as it seems much more dangerous than a little baked on grease. Slipping in the shower. Rolling my ankle on the side of curb. This sore throat that I can't seem to get rid of. The use of tin-foil as a food packaging cover as opposed to an actual lid. Paint fumes. Breaking my glasses. Splinters. Old towels.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

I mentioned this pic to one of you, so...


I mean, seriously: Creepiest, most disturbing "spokesthing" ever?

I Have a Dream...

I actually came in late today because I was so tired last night when I was ready to go to bed that the idea of forcing myself up in the morning was traumatizing. And because generally no one around here would care.

I really don't remember my dreams, as such. Or, rather, my dreams skip around like a drop of water on a hot skillet without regards to any kind of linear or logical sense. (Yeah, yeah, I know: They're dreams, idiot! Yet most dreams still have a basic story and sense of progression--just with talking penguins.)

And so, without further ado, here are the fragments of my dreams from the last night:

1) Alpine Subs, particularly the bread. I sit in a place without detail and eat an Alpine Sub. I love bread so much that I struggle daily with the question of whether to hunt down and kill Dr. Atkins for his heresy or leave him be and enjoy the idea that there's more bread for me. Alpine bread is unique to me as it is a very light bread with lots and lots of texture. It's a bread that tears, actually requires a primative man's clamping of the jaw and twisting of the neck to eat. I usually love a nice heavy bread, too. A 6-foot length of Alpine bread would also make a good kung fu weapon.

2) Other Stuff. Nondescript events, images, and emotions, none of them interesting and none involving chatty flightless waterfoul. Rated PG for potentially non-sensical dialogue.

It's like my subconscious threw up in my dreams and the only lesson my conscious mind learned from it was that I do, indeed, enjoy Alpine Subs.

Of course, the upshot to this is that I really fucking want one of those sandwiches now, and it's a food that you can't substitute for, and the nearest one is two-hours away.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

I Was Wondering That Myself

Actually I have just been waiting for some kind of wacky, genitalia related story to share with you both. Unfortunatly nothing all that funny is happening in my pants. Having had the flu for two weeks nothing much is happening in any part of me.
Really, though, men have the advantage of naturally amusing equipment in the trouser area, even if I am sure that is not the way you prefer to think of it.
I'll let you know if anything changes.

wow


a very streamlined version of WOW.

Where did everyone go?

Are we all tired of blogging already? Are we all so busy that we have no time to blog? Or maybe Raindog's post on last Friday frightened everyone so much that they haven't come back?

I 'm not sure which of the above is true (hell, maybe all of them) but someone besides me better make a post, or I'm going to take my keyboard and go home.

thhpptt!

mood as described by a dystopian future: Orwellian

Monday, March 06, 2006

Too Busy


Ever have one of those times where you have so much to do that you can't make yourself do any of it?

I am in one of those phases right now. My list of things to do just keeps getting longer, and being put off because I am constantly getting interrupted to put out little fires.

Even when I do get an open slot of time, I use it for important things, like posting to this blog. I know that I should just start what I need to do, but the list has grown so daunting that now I just try to avoid thinking about, let alone actually doing anything from it.

Not really the smartest response to this situation, but I can't seem to provoke myself to action. That is my goal for today - I need to get some of these damn things off my list.


Wish me luck. I know I will need it.

cooking ingredient as metaphor for my mood: molasses

Friday, March 03, 2006

That is to say, it didn't come as a complete surprise

So yesterday, while moving past an intersection and through a quarter-open driver's-side window, my penis ejected itself from my body. There had been the faintest stirrings down there as presumably (and after what must have been many weeks of covert practice) it chinned itself over the top of my underwear and undid the zipper, and made its leap to freedom. If "resigned glee" is an actual emotion, I believe this is the sound it made as it escaped.

Oh, sure, I was surprised, but it was the kind of surprise one feels when reaching out for a cat that others have warned you is mean. Part of you says, "Aw, it's so cute, it wouldn't hurt me" while a larger but helpless part says, "God, you're an idiot," and then the cat claws through your wrist. Or the numb surprise you feel when the world decides to suddenly work as advertised.

Part of me demanded that I stop the car and give chase, but then I was back home looking in the refrigerator. It hadn't gone through that window by accident, after all, and if it could find a new home that would make it happy then who was I to try and stop it?

But this morning I feel like I've lost my best friend. Though I don't have any recent photos, I suppose I should at least make a token effort and put up some posters after work.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Sanbitter

A few weeks ago I was visiting Raindog at his palatial estate by the Pleuvoir le Chien Estuary. He had decided, for novelty sake, to give his staff a day off during which we would fend for ourselves.

Having drunk all of his champagne (even the domestic stuff he normally saves for when the Jehovah's Witness's come to call) and eaten all of his caviar (including the blowfish eggs, which sounded like a good idea at the time but weren't) we decided to visit the shops before we starved to death.

We visited a little gourmet/imported food store, called something or other. It was the first store of its kind in the Regner Hund district and so was packed with the idle rich desperate to impress one another with the provenence of their balsamic vinager.

We just started grabbing things at random-some were excellent (the semi-dark chocolate and the gouda), some were alright (the cracker things that sort of exploded when you bit them), and some were mistakes.

My biggest mistake was buying an Italian soft drink called SANBITTER, made by Pellegrino. It came in a tiny, old fashioned looking glass bottle, was bright red and charmed the hell out of me. It sat in my fridge for about a week.

Then I was thirsty, it was there, things happened.

If you ever see this product flee for your life. Either it had gone bad or there is a big market in Europe for stomach bile flavored with Robutussin. I actually spat it out, staining my duvet and angering mrreall and the cats.

Learn by my example and be safe gentle reader, Italian wine is good, Italian sparkling water is lovely, but avoid their beer and their bitters.

my mood as most clearly described by a soda pop-Wildwood ginger ale.

If I was forced to have an unreasonable fear of a semi-common object

It would be a morbid fear of bendy straws.

It's something that I'd probably encounter only a few times a year, so it's not like my life would become a nightmare, but every so often I'd encounter one and just freak out, perhaps screaming, "Get it away from me!" while backpedaling and tripping over things.

Bendy straws are also unnatural enough--straws are rigid, dammit!--and look just enough like a natural killer (snake about to strike, bird of prey ready to spear; notice the box's Darwinian stages of bendy straw evolution from gentle herbivore to nature's perfect killer) that a psychologist could have a nice early handle to work with. Yet they're also innocent enough, a child's implement, that it would also be completely befuddling and amusing to others.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Everybody's a Critic


Found this on the web a moment ago:



You never know where you'll be when that gum runs out of flavor and you need a spot to park it. For one 12-year-old, the spot turned out to be the lower left corner of The Bay, a 1963 abstract painting by Helen Frankenthaler valued at $1.5 million. The boy, a student at the private Holly Academy, was on a field trip to the Detroit Institute of Art when he decided, for some reason, that Frankenthaler's painting was a good place to stash that used up wad of Wrigley's Extra Polar Ice gum. The gum left a stain about the size of a quarter, museum officials said. It should take about two weeks to make repairs to the canvas and no lasting damage is expected. The unnamed miscreant, meanwhile, has been suspended from school and disciplined by his parents.


I can't decide if I hate or love the child that did this. I suppose I would let this one fall in to the spare the rod camp.

Only because someone that stupid isn't going to live long, and why make his short, meager, little life any worse?

As long as he doesn't ever breed.

Historical Fiction anyone?

So for the past month I have been reading the Richard Sharpe series of books by Bernard Cornwall.

Again.

For those of you who are not familiar with this series, it tells the tale of a rough, from the streets man who ends up fighting in the Napoleonic wars for Britain, and it inserts him and his doughty men into most of the important battles of the war, along with various maidens in distress and the plunder of the continent. Originally there were 11 volumes in the series, but it seems to have grown to about 20 or so (I know I am on the internet and I could go somewhere and verify this, but I am lazy. Go look it up yourself dammit). With my ridiculously long commute, I have a lot of time to read, so I have been averaging about 3-4 books a week, which translates to a solid month of so of immersing myself in this imaginary world, which I quite enjoy. Lets admit it, that's why I read - to escape. It really serves the same purpose as TV, but it is more portable and at least has the veneer of respectability. I sometimes wish I read books that would let me learn things or improve me in some way (and no, I don't mean any of those retarded and offense self-help books) but I never seem to pull it off, so I just continue to escape via written word and hope my children will be smarter than me.

But I digress. I am now on the second to last one of the Sharpe books, so by the end of the week I should be all out of books to read. I have to admit that I am somewhat dreading this occurrence - I normally read science fiction and the occasional fantasy novel, but now I have been so immersed in this Napoleonic world that I find myself somewhat reluctant to leave it.

I know I will enjoy what ever I move onto reading next, but for some reason I keep trying to think of things I can read that will continue in the same vein - perhaps I will re-read all the Lord Ramage books? Or maybe I will re-read Neal Stephenson's System of the World trilogy?

I don't know, but I am going to have to make up my mind soon. Is this a sign that I am getting old and crotchety, and that I can no longer deal with any kind of change, even the most innocuous? I hope not but I fear that this is at least the beginning. Next year every little sign that the world is continuing to evolve and grow will just provoke my resentment: "They changed the packaging on Pepsi? Bastards!" "Why the hell did they put that stop sign up there?" "Another strip mall? WTF?"

Stuff like that.

I guess as long as I can hide my nose in a book I can just ignore everything else that is going on around me. Why not? It's worked so far.

mood as described by a hat: fedora