This guy and Mumia in Philly are an argument for the death penalty...if only to shut them up.
Olympic bomber Eric Rudolph laments in a series of letters to a newspaper that the maximum-security federal prison where he is spending the rest of his life is designed to drive him insane.
"It is a closed-off world designed to isolate inmates from social and environmental stimuli, with the ultimate purpose of causing mental illness and chronic physical conditions such as diabetes, heart disease and arthritis," he wrote in one letter to The Gazette of Colorado Springs.
Rudolph wrote that he spends 23 hours a day in his 7-by-12-foot cell, his only exercise confined to an enclosed area he described as a "large empty swimming pool" divided into "dog-kennel style cages."
"Using solitary confinement, Supermax is designed to inflict as much misery and pain as is constitutionally permissible," he wrote in a letter.
One of Rudolph's victims had no sympathy for him.
"It gives me a great deal of pride to think he's never coming out of there," said Diane Derzis, who runs a Birmingham, Ala., women's clinic Rudolph bombed in 1998. "He should never see daylight again."
newspaper reported in its Sunday editions that it has corresponded by mail with Rudolph for more than a year, and prison officials have refused the paper's request to interview Rudolph.
The Gazette refused Rudolph's request that it publish his writings in their entirety. The newspaper said if it published articles, it would print portions of the letters as long as they were not hate literature or libelous.
Rudolph, an anti-government extremist, pleaded guilty in April 2005 to setting the bomb that killed one person and wounded more than 100 at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, and three other bombings, including a fatal explosion at a Birmingham clinic.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
The Sheila "Obsession Central" Movie Quiz
Sadly, I am not a movie fanatic, but a mere dabbler, a guy who watches without a whole lot of larger awareness. In fact, it’s why I like to read a lot of the movie and acting stuff on Sheila’s site – I learn and have fun all at once. So, if you’ll forgive an amateur his cheek…
1) What was the last movie you saw, either in a theater or on DVD, and why?
"Breakfast at Tiffany’s." It was a lot of fun (and had that impeccable soundtrack). Having never seen it before (see? AMATEUR), my first impressions may be silly to a practiced eye, but in no particular order: A- NYC is gorgeous. When I’m Supreme Leader, all taxicabs will look like that; B- If you digitially replaced Patricia Neal with Kate Mulgrew, nobody would notice; I really think Patricia/Kate is the same person, sort of like the Highlander; C- Uhm… Mickey Rooney… OH NO. D- I love Cat; E- The guy who played the clerk in Tiffany’s was absolutely perfect, from the tone on down. That’s a professional. He’s magnificent without trying to scene-steal (which would have ruined everything.)
PS - he was also in the "Manchurian Candidate," "Midnight Cowboy," and "Mame."
PPS - OK, I'm a sap - I also looked up Cat's credits on IMDB. And holy smokes, he was Neutron in "This Island Earth"! I am feeling the awesome. (Six degrees of Orangey?)
2) Name the cinematographer whose work you most look forward to seeing, and an example of one of his/her finest achievements.
Uh... ok, see, after all of that, I know zilch about cinematographer credits, though without them the "director's vision" would get nowhere. I could cheat and IMDB various cinematographers and say, wow, this guy's got five of my favorite films in his CV... And really, would it be any lamer than Googling a cat's acting resumé?
3) Joe Don Baker or Bo Svenson?
Well, Joe Don was the Whammer. He was also the lead in the all-time classic MST3K episode, “Mitchell.” (“He looks like the wrathful Buddha… Now he looks like the Moon in ‘A Trip to the Moon!’”) I think we have a winner. (And the bad guy? Martin Balsam, who was in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" with Orangey, who was in "This Island Earth," also spoofed by MST - I'm telling you, Kevin Bacon can just move over.)
4) Name a moment from a movie that made you gasp (in horror, surprise, revelation…)
Just because it was so early in my life… “NO – I am your father.” Gobsmacked, I was.
5) Your favorite movie about the movies.
My shameful admission – I’ve never seen "The Player," or "Sunset Boulevard," and only scraps of "Singing in the Rain." The only movie I've seen about movies was itself much more about the dreaming than the actual business - "The Muppet Movie." "OK, everybody - stay in focus."
6) Your Favorite Fritz Lang movie.
More shame – the closest I’ve ever gotten was an animated remake of "Metropolis". It was well-done, but not the real thing. (Check the trivia - the creator of the manga saw the poster for the movie, but never the movie itself.)
7) Describe the first time you ever recognized yourself in a movie.
Toughie – I love it. The first time was Peter Lorre in "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea": the quiet, hassled assistant, in the background, always smoothing his hair back into place after the popular kid ruffs it up. I've identified with others in many other ways as the years pass and my character develops – but lowly, quiet Conseil, never making waves, always trying to see everyone’s point, was the first.
8) Carole Bouquet or Angela Molina?
Who in the what now? Oh, foreign actresses. I pass. (Which makes HALF the questions so far. Geez, doesn't anyone want to know about "Raising Arizona" or something?)
9) Name a movie that redeems the notion of nostalgia as something more than a bankable commodity.
This is hard for me, because I see plenty of movies that make me feel nostalgic (like the opening shots of "Breakfast at Tiffany's") without the subject matter of nostalgia itself coming up. I always want to build an Lileksian museum of pop-culture curios and cool-looking gizmos from the 19th and 20th centuries. (Seven times I bow to the proprietor of this site.) I guess, in its way, "It's a Wonderful Life" does this, with all of its emphasis on the value of life in how it's lived. Nothing could be more at odds than Bedford Falls as Mr. Potter sees it (assets, targets of acquisition) and how George Bailey sees it as he bursts onto its snowy streets at the end. It's getting misty around here just writing about it.
10) Favorite appearance by an athlete in an acting role.
I loved Sheila’s answer here – Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, “Airplane.” But, as goofy as "Space Jam" was, my vote goes to Charles Barkley. He’s just a naturally engaging guy, and it’s a riot watching him as he gets stuffed by the kid in the pickup game, then goes through therapy and prayer trying to recover his stolen skills. “I swear... I’ll never get a technical again… I won’t hang out with Madonna anymore..." BWAHAHAHA!
11) Favorite Hal Ashby movie.
Surprise - I haven't seen a one. (Shame Level rising... now reading "Russell Crowe throwing cel phone.")
12) Name the first double feature you’d program for opening night of your own revival theater.
It depends on the time of year. Around now, I’m thinking of “Miracle on 34th Street” and "It's a Wonderful Life," with one of the Rankin-Bass shorts to lead it off. (Perhaps the Twilight Zone episode “Night of the Meek” instead, since it’s not as well-known.)
13) What’s the name of your revival theater?
The Satellite of Love. (La la la!)
14) Humphrey Bogart or Elliot Gould?
Bogie – all day long and twice on Sunday.
15) Favorite Robert Stevenson movie.
Well, more Mobius strip movie quizzing - he directed a TV version of Miracle on 34th Street, back in '55. But for me, it's a running battle between "Mary Poppins" and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." (Yes, I had to look it up. Shame Level - "Lindsay Lohan condolence note.")
16) Describe your favorite moment in a movie that is memorable because of its use of sound.
Actually, lack of sound - Norman Jewison running the credits for "Jesus Christ Superstar" entirely silent after all of that rock music (and Judas chased across the desert by tanks). When I was younger, I wanted to try that myself. My idea, which I may as well give away here, was at the end of a filming of Tale of Two Cities - the camera follows Carton (Clive Owen, of course) as he walks to the guillotine, his narration in the background, and then pulls back as he settles in, rising to catch the sun rising over the very top of the guillotine. "It is a far better place that I go to, than I have ever known..." And then, shwunk - and then, credits in silence.
Well, Norman got there first. Poopie.
17) Pink Flamingoes-- yes or no?
Well, maybe the plastic kind... There's a movie about them? (Now reading "treated for exhaustion.")
18) Your favorite movie soundtrack score.
"Star Wars," and especially the first from ’77. The music is like a character in itself. I’m also partial to the early Bond films, though of course they all recycle a lot of the cues. More recently, I loved Mark Knopfler’s work on "The Princess Bride" and the soundtrack to "The Incredibles" (which I bought the next day). My very first soundtrack, however, and a standouts in its own right, is "Mary Poppins." It helps to have a Julie Andrews at your disposal, of course.
Also, since I mentioned it earlier - "The Muppet Movie." Obviously a lot of my favorite films work for me on many levels.
19) Fay Wray or Naomi Watts?
This question reminds me of Lileks’ Bleat of April 4, 2006. I know the date off the top of my head because I was just re-reading it a few days ago, having saved it. To wit:
None of which answers the question. Still… heheheheh.
20) Is there a movie that would make you question the judgment and/or taste of a film critic, blogger or friend if you found out they were an advocate of it?
I’m a fan of “UHF,” so truthfully, I’m not well-qualified to answer this question. I know what I like, and some of it's ridiculous. There are also a few well-made movies that I just don’t care for. But, in general, whenever I hear someone arguing that a movie is important, irreverent, or “breaks all the rules!” my hackles rise. It breaks the rules if you hold the camera upside-down while all of the action is performed off-screen by mimes - that don't make it Kubrick. I really cringe when people tell me that a movie is good merely because they want to look important and impress the Right People.
21) Pick a new category for the Oscars and its first deserving winner.
All my best categories would be anti-Oscars - call them the Shyamalans. We'd have categories such as Most Self-Serving Scene by an Actor/Director; Stupidest Subplot; Most Scenery Chewed; Cheesiest Line; Best Picture - Unintentional Comedy; Worst Miscasting; and Largest Plot Hole. There would be a special sub-category for period movies that ignore all their source material: for example, in "Troy" the seige lasts about nine years less than it did in the Iliad, and the movie killed Agamemnon AND Meneleus even though they both survived the seige. Annoyed the stuffings out of me, that did.
22) Favorite Paul Verhoeven movie.
"RoboCop." There's something touching about Murhpy's trapped shreds of humanity despite all the hokum. And you get Kurtwood Smith bein' mean.
23) What is it that you think movies do better than any other art form?
“Better” in the sense of “more immediate,” I’ll grant you. That’s why they’re so powerful, anyway – whether it’s a Cecil B DeMille epic with a lot of sweeping spectacle, or a very tight, quiet close-up in a thriller, the camera can do things that are very difficult in other media. Still, there are certain limitations, as any book lover will tell you. You can haul a portable DVD player with you on an airplane, for example, but a space battle or a swordfight loses something when shrunk to a seven-by-five box and tinny two-speaker sound. The only limitation on a great book is the reader.
24) Peter Ustinov or Albert Finney?
Albert Finney. He just IS Daddy Warbucks.
25) Favorite movie studio logo, as it appears before a theatrical feature.
I kind of like the old Universal biplane, myself. The modern glowing planet thing is all right, but there’s something organic and fun about the plane hurtling through the void. It has charm. I rather wish that they would take the plane back out for a spin around the new planet – but keep it a plane, and not turn it into a rocket or a flying saucer or something.
26) Name the single most important book about the movies for you personally.
Leonard Maltin wrote a huge compendium of films that gets updated all the time - it's informative, cross-referenced, has tons of stuff you'd otherwise never hear of, and it gets bonus points for mean fun - when you find a movie he's rated "Turkey" the reviews are usually ferocious.
27) Name the movie that features the best twist ending. (Please note the use of any “spoilers” in your answer.)
I like “The Usual Suspects” on this. So memorable, and of course I kicked myself about it afterwards, because the clues are there. It’s just wonderful.
28) Favorite Francois Truffaut movie.
(Danger - redlining - approaching "Internet Sex Tape" - abort!)
29) Olivia Hussey or Claire Danes?
Tough one. I think that I can just begin to forgive Ms. Hussey for the Zeferelli "Romeo and Juliet," a four-time winner in the '69 Shyamalans. It's also cool that she does voice work as well - it's a different skill set, and some pretty good actors are simply terrible at it. Danes, according to her IMDB bio, has been up for a ton of really great roles in a lot of notable films, not to mention the work she's actually done, so I'll grant her talent. But, yeah - I can't hold a grudge for a movie made before I was born, even if it grates on me. (The WHOLE POINT about the balcony scene is that they CAN'T REACH EACH OTHER. And what's with that "Montague!" and "Capulet!" screeching? !$^%&Y!$^!) Oh - oh yeah, Olivia Hussey is my pick. She wasn't the one screeching in the streets like it was a blargin' soccer riot.
30) Your most memorable celebrity encounter.
I can’t count the Jeter sighting, since I was on purse duty and got nothing more than 1.4 seconds of the back of a sweatshirt. Mom tells me I met Barry Manilow when I was too young to remember, which by definition can’t count. And, because I am largely clueless, I missed my shot at the Boss last summer at the bookstore. As strange as this sounds, my closest encounters with anyone remotely known are with Dawn Eden and Sheila herself.
31) When did you first realize that films were directed?
I can’t remember. I seem always to have been vaguely aware that a movie was much like a book or a picture – someone is behind the scenes, without whom an audience sees nothing. But I didn’t really understand what a director actually did until watching “Behind the Scenes” specials. So there he is, explaining the next bit to the actors. Cool.
For me, the big shock was when I found out movies are almost always shot out of sequence. As a boy, I had a definite notion that the actors did it all in order; further, that they didn’t find out what was going to happen until the director told them at that moment, and then they just went off, in character, doing that scene – that they pretty much ad-libbed everything. I had little-to-no clue about scripting and rehearsing and editing.
And of course, I was flabbergasted the first time I saw a documentary camera pull back to reveal some cavernous sound stage, with the actors taking up maybe one-tenth while the rest was stuffed with sound guys, rigging, cameras, assistants, etc. Part of me is still amazed at it. My childhood brain assumed that a movie was filmed in an actual completed room, and that being on the set would be just like watching in the theater, only from a different point of view. I mean, I knew that the Millennium Falcon didn’t actually fly around – but I definitely thought that it was sitting somewhere, completely built and full-size. I thought that, like an iceberg, the visible movie on the screen was merely a fraction of what’s there – that you could visit those places and walk around in them like you could visit the Intrepid or Sagamore Hill. It was crushing to learn that a set will often have nothing more to it than what is likely to be in the shot - no ceilings, barely anything supporting the walls, and floors filled with actor’s marks and a mare’s nest of cables and tape. Seriously, my heart hurt when I found out.
1) What was the last movie you saw, either in a theater or on DVD, and why?
"Breakfast at Tiffany’s." It was a lot of fun (and had that impeccable soundtrack). Having never seen it before (see? AMATEUR), my first impressions may be silly to a practiced eye, but in no particular order: A- NYC is gorgeous. When I’m Supreme Leader, all taxicabs will look like that; B- If you digitially replaced Patricia Neal with Kate Mulgrew, nobody would notice; I really think Patricia/Kate is the same person, sort of like the Highlander; C- Uhm… Mickey Rooney… OH NO. D- I love Cat; E- The guy who played the clerk in Tiffany’s was absolutely perfect, from the tone on down. That’s a professional. He’s magnificent without trying to scene-steal (which would have ruined everything.)
PS - he was also in the "Manchurian Candidate," "Midnight Cowboy," and "Mame."
PPS - OK, I'm a sap - I also looked up Cat's credits on IMDB. And holy smokes, he was Neutron in "This Island Earth"! I am feeling the awesome. (Six degrees of Orangey?)
2) Name the cinematographer whose work you most look forward to seeing, and an example of one of his/her finest achievements.
Uh... ok, see, after all of that, I know zilch about cinematographer credits, though without them the "director's vision" would get nowhere. I could cheat and IMDB various cinematographers and say, wow, this guy's got five of my favorite films in his CV... And really, would it be any lamer than Googling a cat's acting resumé?
3) Joe Don Baker or Bo Svenson?
Well, Joe Don was the Whammer. He was also the lead in the all-time classic MST3K episode, “Mitchell.” (“He looks like the wrathful Buddha… Now he looks like the Moon in ‘A Trip to the Moon!’”) I think we have a winner. (And the bad guy? Martin Balsam, who was in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" with Orangey, who was in "This Island Earth," also spoofed by MST - I'm telling you, Kevin Bacon can just move over.)
4) Name a moment from a movie that made you gasp (in horror, surprise, revelation…)
Just because it was so early in my life… “NO – I am your father.” Gobsmacked, I was.
5) Your favorite movie about the movies.
My shameful admission – I’ve never seen "The Player," or "Sunset Boulevard," and only scraps of "Singing in the Rain." The only movie I've seen about movies was itself much more about the dreaming than the actual business - "The Muppet Movie." "OK, everybody - stay in focus."
6) Your Favorite Fritz Lang movie.
More shame – the closest I’ve ever gotten was an animated remake of "Metropolis". It was well-done, but not the real thing. (Check the trivia - the creator of the manga saw the poster for the movie, but never the movie itself.)
7) Describe the first time you ever recognized yourself in a movie.
Toughie – I love it. The first time was Peter Lorre in "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea": the quiet, hassled assistant, in the background, always smoothing his hair back into place after the popular kid ruffs it up. I've identified with others in many other ways as the years pass and my character develops – but lowly, quiet Conseil, never making waves, always trying to see everyone’s point, was the first.
8) Carole Bouquet or Angela Molina?
Who in the what now? Oh, foreign actresses. I pass. (Which makes HALF the questions so far. Geez, doesn't anyone want to know about "Raising Arizona" or something?)
9) Name a movie that redeems the notion of nostalgia as something more than a bankable commodity.
This is hard for me, because I see plenty of movies that make me feel nostalgic (like the opening shots of "Breakfast at Tiffany's") without the subject matter of nostalgia itself coming up. I always want to build an Lileksian museum of pop-culture curios and cool-looking gizmos from the 19th and 20th centuries. (Seven times I bow to the proprietor of this site.) I guess, in its way, "It's a Wonderful Life" does this, with all of its emphasis on the value of life in how it's lived. Nothing could be more at odds than Bedford Falls as Mr. Potter sees it (assets, targets of acquisition) and how George Bailey sees it as he bursts onto its snowy streets at the end. It's getting misty around here just writing about it.
10) Favorite appearance by an athlete in an acting role.
I loved Sheila’s answer here – Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, “Airplane.” But, as goofy as "Space Jam" was, my vote goes to Charles Barkley. He’s just a naturally engaging guy, and it’s a riot watching him as he gets stuffed by the kid in the pickup game, then goes through therapy and prayer trying to recover his stolen skills. “I swear... I’ll never get a technical again… I won’t hang out with Madonna anymore..." BWAHAHAHA!
11) Favorite Hal Ashby movie.
Surprise - I haven't seen a one. (Shame Level rising... now reading "Russell Crowe throwing cel phone.")
12) Name the first double feature you’d program for opening night of your own revival theater.
It depends on the time of year. Around now, I’m thinking of “Miracle on 34th Street” and "It's a Wonderful Life," with one of the Rankin-Bass shorts to lead it off. (Perhaps the Twilight Zone episode “Night of the Meek” instead, since it’s not as well-known.)
13) What’s the name of your revival theater?
The Satellite of Love. (La la la!)
14) Humphrey Bogart or Elliot Gould?
Bogie – all day long and twice on Sunday.
15) Favorite Robert Stevenson movie.
Well, more Mobius strip movie quizzing - he directed a TV version of Miracle on 34th Street, back in '55. But for me, it's a running battle between "Mary Poppins" and "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." (Yes, I had to look it up. Shame Level - "Lindsay Lohan condolence note.")
16) Describe your favorite moment in a movie that is memorable because of its use of sound.
Actually, lack of sound - Norman Jewison running the credits for "Jesus Christ Superstar" entirely silent after all of that rock music (and Judas chased across the desert by tanks). When I was younger, I wanted to try that myself. My idea, which I may as well give away here, was at the end of a filming of Tale of Two Cities - the camera follows Carton (Clive Owen, of course) as he walks to the guillotine, his narration in the background, and then pulls back as he settles in, rising to catch the sun rising over the very top of the guillotine. "It is a far better place that I go to, than I have ever known..." And then, shwunk - and then, credits in silence.
Well, Norman got there first. Poopie.
17) Pink Flamingoes-- yes or no?
Well, maybe the plastic kind... There's a movie about them? (Now reading "treated for exhaustion.")
18) Your favorite movie soundtrack score.
"Star Wars," and especially the first from ’77. The music is like a character in itself. I’m also partial to the early Bond films, though of course they all recycle a lot of the cues. More recently, I loved Mark Knopfler’s work on "The Princess Bride" and the soundtrack to "The Incredibles" (which I bought the next day). My very first soundtrack, however, and a standouts in its own right, is "Mary Poppins." It helps to have a Julie Andrews at your disposal, of course.
Also, since I mentioned it earlier - "The Muppet Movie." Obviously a lot of my favorite films work for me on many levels.
19) Fay Wray or Naomi Watts?
This question reminds me of Lileks’ Bleat of April 4, 2006. I know the date off the top of my head because I was just re-reading it a few days ago, having saved it. To wit:
Yes. She loves him. The heroine and the ape have special moments together. They watch a sunset. … They ice skate together – a scene that would stand as one of the more embarrassing moments of modern cinema had not Naomi Watt’s vaudeville-routine-for-Kong set that standard a few hours earlier. (She even does the walk-like-an-Egyptian move.) At the end she tries to save the big lug from a swarm of the giant ape’s most fearsome predator, Period Aircraft. Here I must give advice to the young women in the audience: If ever you find yourself in a flimsy gown standing on top of the Empire State Building under the crotch of a giant ape, screaming at the airplanes to leave him alone, your life has taken a wrong turn somewhere.
None of which answers the question. Still… heheheheh.
20) Is there a movie that would make you question the judgment and/or taste of a film critic, blogger or friend if you found out they were an advocate of it?
I’m a fan of “UHF,” so truthfully, I’m not well-qualified to answer this question. I know what I like, and some of it's ridiculous. There are also a few well-made movies that I just don’t care for. But, in general, whenever I hear someone arguing that a movie is important, irreverent, or “breaks all the rules!” my hackles rise. It breaks the rules if you hold the camera upside-down while all of the action is performed off-screen by mimes - that don't make it Kubrick. I really cringe when people tell me that a movie is good merely because they want to look important and impress the Right People.
21) Pick a new category for the Oscars and its first deserving winner.
All my best categories would be anti-Oscars - call them the Shyamalans. We'd have categories such as Most Self-Serving Scene by an Actor/Director; Stupidest Subplot; Most Scenery Chewed; Cheesiest Line; Best Picture - Unintentional Comedy; Worst Miscasting; and Largest Plot Hole. There would be a special sub-category for period movies that ignore all their source material: for example, in "Troy" the seige lasts about nine years less than it did in the Iliad, and the movie killed Agamemnon AND Meneleus even though they both survived the seige. Annoyed the stuffings out of me, that did.
22) Favorite Paul Verhoeven movie.
"RoboCop." There's something touching about Murhpy's trapped shreds of humanity despite all the hokum. And you get Kurtwood Smith bein' mean.
23) What is it that you think movies do better than any other art form?
“Better” in the sense of “more immediate,” I’ll grant you. That’s why they’re so powerful, anyway – whether it’s a Cecil B DeMille epic with a lot of sweeping spectacle, or a very tight, quiet close-up in a thriller, the camera can do things that are very difficult in other media. Still, there are certain limitations, as any book lover will tell you. You can haul a portable DVD player with you on an airplane, for example, but a space battle or a swordfight loses something when shrunk to a seven-by-five box and tinny two-speaker sound. The only limitation on a great book is the reader.
24) Peter Ustinov or Albert Finney?
Albert Finney. He just IS Daddy Warbucks.
25) Favorite movie studio logo, as it appears before a theatrical feature.
I kind of like the old Universal biplane, myself. The modern glowing planet thing is all right, but there’s something organic and fun about the plane hurtling through the void. It has charm. I rather wish that they would take the plane back out for a spin around the new planet – but keep it a plane, and not turn it into a rocket or a flying saucer or something.
26) Name the single most important book about the movies for you personally.
Leonard Maltin wrote a huge compendium of films that gets updated all the time - it's informative, cross-referenced, has tons of stuff you'd otherwise never hear of, and it gets bonus points for mean fun - when you find a movie he's rated "Turkey" the reviews are usually ferocious.
27) Name the movie that features the best twist ending. (Please note the use of any “spoilers” in your answer.)
I like “The Usual Suspects” on this. So memorable, and of course I kicked myself about it afterwards, because the clues are there. It’s just wonderful.
28) Favorite Francois Truffaut movie.
(Danger - redlining - approaching "Internet Sex Tape" - abort!)
29) Olivia Hussey or Claire Danes?
Tough one. I think that I can just begin to forgive Ms. Hussey for the Zeferelli "Romeo and Juliet," a four-time winner in the '69 Shyamalans. It's also cool that she does voice work as well - it's a different skill set, and some pretty good actors are simply terrible at it. Danes, according to her IMDB bio, has been up for a ton of really great roles in a lot of notable films, not to mention the work she's actually done, so I'll grant her talent. But, yeah - I can't hold a grudge for a movie made before I was born, even if it grates on me. (The WHOLE POINT about the balcony scene is that they CAN'T REACH EACH OTHER. And what's with that "Montague!" and "Capulet!" screeching? !$^%&Y!$^!) Oh - oh yeah, Olivia Hussey is my pick. She wasn't the one screeching in the streets like it was a blargin' soccer riot.
30) Your most memorable celebrity encounter.
I can’t count the Jeter sighting, since I was on purse duty and got nothing more than 1.4 seconds of the back of a sweatshirt. Mom tells me I met Barry Manilow when I was too young to remember, which by definition can’t count. And, because I am largely clueless, I missed my shot at the Boss last summer at the bookstore. As strange as this sounds, my closest encounters with anyone remotely known are with Dawn Eden and Sheila herself.
31) When did you first realize that films were directed?
I can’t remember. I seem always to have been vaguely aware that a movie was much like a book or a picture – someone is behind the scenes, without whom an audience sees nothing. But I didn’t really understand what a director actually did until watching “Behind the Scenes” specials. So there he is, explaining the next bit to the actors. Cool.
For me, the big shock was when I found out movies are almost always shot out of sequence. As a boy, I had a definite notion that the actors did it all in order; further, that they didn’t find out what was going to happen until the director told them at that moment, and then they just went off, in character, doing that scene – that they pretty much ad-libbed everything. I had little-to-no clue about scripting and rehearsing and editing.
And of course, I was flabbergasted the first time I saw a documentary camera pull back to reveal some cavernous sound stage, with the actors taking up maybe one-tenth while the rest was stuffed with sound guys, rigging, cameras, assistants, etc. Part of me is still amazed at it. My childhood brain assumed that a movie was filmed in an actual completed room, and that being on the set would be just like watching in the theater, only from a different point of view. I mean, I knew that the Millennium Falcon didn’t actually fly around – but I definitely thought that it was sitting somewhere, completely built and full-size. I thought that, like an iceberg, the visible movie on the screen was merely a fraction of what’s there – that you could visit those places and walk around in them like you could visit the Intrepid or Sagamore Hill. It was crushing to learn that a set will often have nothing more to it than what is likely to be in the shot - no ceilings, barely anything supporting the walls, and floors filled with actor’s marks and a mare’s nest of cables and tape. Seriously, my heart hurt when I found out.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
The Nightfly 500
The Hive has not joined NASCAR - this is merely the 500th post since the ol' blog started, back in September '04. Whee.
Incidentally, Blogger has just now offered to "upgrade" the blog. I'm hesitant. The Spider and I have just ironed out the problems with this version and I'm not in a big hurry to cause new problems. I want further information about the features and reliability - and not just what they tell me. "ALL NEW FEATURES" and "MORE RELIABLE THAN EVER" are cheap, useful words to allay consumer concerns. Time for a little snoop - er, researching.
Tomorrow morning, actual content: a monster movie quiz that I fear I cannot complete. Of course, I made the best guess I could.
Incidentally, Blogger has just now offered to "upgrade" the blog. I'm hesitant. The Spider and I have just ironed out the problems with this version and I'm not in a big hurry to cause new problems. I want further information about the features and reliability - and not just what they tell me. "ALL NEW FEATURES" and "MORE RELIABLE THAN EVER" are cheap, useful words to allay consumer concerns. Time for a little snoop - er, researching.
Tomorrow morning, actual content: a monster movie quiz that I fear I cannot complete. Of course, I made the best guess I could.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Musical Monday - celebrity edition
When athletes in the town appear
And paint it red from far to near
To find a place to drink a beer
They hop a cab to Union Square
And Underbar!
Lit by candles, drowned in hip-hop
Grumpy DJ's playing nonstop
Underbar!
So, how does the 'fly wind up in a nightclub in New York City with an earring in his pocket - said earring not belonging to his fiancee?
On Saturday night the Ladybug and I joined friends in the city. Any such expedition has adventures; our biggest occured right out of the gate, when one of our party missed the train and stalled our group for an hour. Instead of a leisurely walk uptown to gawk at the tree in Rockefeller Center, with window gazing and shop wandering, we had to blitz along, working through the crowds, in order to get five minutes in the square before sliding next door for mass at St. Patrick's.
The tree deserved better. It was lovely, and ginormous. Somewhere an Ent is flinging boulders because this tree was cut down and hauled to the city. A duplicate of the tree-topping star - better than six feet across and drenched in Swirovsky crystal - sat at ground level but we didn't get a lot of time to check it out. It was nice to see the projection of snowflakes flutter down the sides of the building all around the tree as well. As rushed as we were, we did have St. Patrick's, and that's always worth the trouble. The service was good, the homily was solid, and despite the standing-room only crowd, we were out in an hour.
Dinner was then consumed and the party broke up, but Ladybug and I kept on to the next adventure, a birthday bar stop for a close friend of hers at a trendy (and suitably loud) club.
It's not my scene, so I'm no good judge to the quality of the experience. The picture you see at that link is similar to the current decor, though it's nice to finally see what it would look like with the lights on. Mostly it's velvet and dark and lit with votive candles; Rick James probably wrote "Superfreak" after a night in a place like this. But the big moment happened shortly after we were punted from one of the booths, which was reserved for 11 pm.
We were standing around, wondering why the place was half-empty on a Saturday night. My theory was the shockingly depressing hip-hop mix: the DJ was playing the Stones' "Miss You" to the music from Blondie's "Rapture," then followed with "Dust in the Wind" over a pounding bass line. ("All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see..." Uh - more booze, please.) Turns out that the bouncers had been turning people away "to keep things low-key." Then we caught a glimpse of a tall guy who looked a little underdressed for a club, ushered smoothly to our erstwhile booth.
"Say, he looks like he keeps himself well," the birthday girl said to one of our friends. "We should introduce you."
M demurred, while another in the group peered more closely through the murk and said, "Wait a minute, I think that's Derek Jeter."
Now, when we couldn't get all of our drinks and I went to investigate, the bouncers wouldn't even let me talk to the waitress without standing between us. Mr. Yankee Captain would seem more unapproachable in that light, but my Ladybug instantly hit on a scheme. "You've lost an earring," she said immediately to our friend. "Go to our booth and look for it."
And that, friends, is how M's earring wound up in my pocket while M herself sallied forth. I was also left clutching Ladybug's purse. (I was tempted to follow them with the purse and claim to be A-Rod, but thought twice.) Turns out that it was Jeter, and he was a good guy - he slid to the side to let M rummage around the booth, and promised to keep an eye out for the earring. (Now that I've totally blown the scheme, ladies, you'll have to think of something else.) Mr. Yankee Captain, sir, please don't hold it against us. All these hi-Q rating-girls may be nice, but we were thinking of your future. M's a sweetheart.
And paint it red from far to near
To find a place to drink a beer
They hop a cab to Union Square
And Underbar!
Lit by candles, drowned in hip-hop
Grumpy DJ's playing nonstop
Underbar!
So, how does the 'fly wind up in a nightclub in New York City with an earring in his pocket - said earring not belonging to his fiancee?
On Saturday night the Ladybug and I joined friends in the city. Any such expedition has adventures; our biggest occured right out of the gate, when one of our party missed the train and stalled our group for an hour. Instead of a leisurely walk uptown to gawk at the tree in Rockefeller Center, with window gazing and shop wandering, we had to blitz along, working through the crowds, in order to get five minutes in the square before sliding next door for mass at St. Patrick's.
The tree deserved better. It was lovely, and ginormous. Somewhere an Ent is flinging boulders because this tree was cut down and hauled to the city. A duplicate of the tree-topping star - better than six feet across and drenched in Swirovsky crystal - sat at ground level but we didn't get a lot of time to check it out. It was nice to see the projection of snowflakes flutter down the sides of the building all around the tree as well. As rushed as we were, we did have St. Patrick's, and that's always worth the trouble. The service was good, the homily was solid, and despite the standing-room only crowd, we were out in an hour.
Dinner was then consumed and the party broke up, but Ladybug and I kept on to the next adventure, a birthday bar stop for a close friend of hers at a trendy (and suitably loud) club.
It's not my scene, so I'm no good judge to the quality of the experience. The picture you see at that link is similar to the current decor, though it's nice to finally see what it would look like with the lights on. Mostly it's velvet and dark and lit with votive candles; Rick James probably wrote "Superfreak" after a night in a place like this. But the big moment happened shortly after we were punted from one of the booths, which was reserved for 11 pm.
We were standing around, wondering why the place was half-empty on a Saturday night. My theory was the shockingly depressing hip-hop mix: the DJ was playing the Stones' "Miss You" to the music from Blondie's "Rapture," then followed with "Dust in the Wind" over a pounding bass line. ("All we do crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see..." Uh - more booze, please.) Turns out that the bouncers had been turning people away "to keep things low-key." Then we caught a glimpse of a tall guy who looked a little underdressed for a club, ushered smoothly to our erstwhile booth.
"Say, he looks like he keeps himself well," the birthday girl said to one of our friends. "We should introduce you."
M demurred, while another in the group peered more closely through the murk and said, "Wait a minute, I think that's Derek Jeter."
Now, when we couldn't get all of our drinks and I went to investigate, the bouncers wouldn't even let me talk to the waitress without standing between us. Mr. Yankee Captain would seem more unapproachable in that light, but my Ladybug instantly hit on a scheme. "You've lost an earring," she said immediately to our friend. "Go to our booth and look for it."
And that, friends, is how M's earring wound up in my pocket while M herself sallied forth. I was also left clutching Ladybug's purse. (I was tempted to follow them with the purse and claim to be A-Rod, but thought twice.) Turns out that it was Jeter, and he was a good guy - he slid to the side to let M rummage around the booth, and promised to keep an eye out for the earring. (Now that I've totally blown the scheme, ladies, you'll have to think of something else.) Mr. Yankee Captain, sir, please don't hold it against us. All these hi-Q rating-girls may be nice, but we were thinking of your future. M's a sweetheart.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Ricky Don't Lose That Number
I'm sure the Nightfly will have more to say about this:
A man charged with helping to run a gambling ring along with former hockey star Rick Tocchet pleaded guilty to bookmaking Friday and agreed to cooperate with authorities.
James Ulmer, 41, is the second man to plead guilty in the case, which authorities have said involved bettors including current NHL players and actress Janet Jones, the wife of hockey great Wayne Gretzky.
New Jersey state police Trooper James Harney pleaded guilty in August and described how he and Tocchet were equal partners running the ring. Harney, who faces up to seven years in prison, said then that Ulmer's role was smaller — just to take bets.
A man charged with helping to run a gambling ring along with former hockey star Rick Tocchet pleaded guilty to bookmaking Friday and agreed to cooperate with authorities.
James Ulmer, 41, is the second man to plead guilty in the case, which authorities have said involved bettors including current NHL players and actress Janet Jones, the wife of hockey great Wayne Gretzky.
New Jersey state police Trooper James Harney pleaded guilty in August and described how he and Tocchet were equal partners running the ring. Harney, who faces up to seven years in prison, said then that Ulmer's role was smaller — just to take bets.
Super Adventure Records
Actors trying to croon and swoon are nothing new, and it's usually an Ishtaran-level disaster. (No, Don Johnson, you CAN'T get a heartbeat - now GO SHAVE.) Tossing the whole thing into the clam sauce, as it were, can't improve matters. But a man who jumps couches in several insane bounds can easily leap logic in a single bound.
Besides, doesn't this whole creepy missive read like a rip-and-read of a press release from Clam Central? "Standing ovation?" Bravo Sierra. And the whole "public performance" within the public recreation of the TomKat "nuptuals" really frosts me. Not only was the thing an unveiled sales pitch for the Scumentumerists, it was also a blargin' audition?!? The Snooze can report to the proper authorities for a knob-fitting, at once.
Somehow, I think that actual record executives know that Travolta is the singer among the Super Adventurers, and this "standing ovation" was as illusory as Tom's participation in the creation of Suri.
Also, apparently low-level PR flacks forget not to drop stuff like "bizarre following" into these things. A more mature editor should have caught that. Apparently they all need a bit more "advancement" - fork it over. Besides, if it's anything like Hubturd's books, there will be massive sales because hundreds of discs at a time will be bought up by discerning Clam audiophiles (the discerning is all done much higher up the chain, mind you).
Tom [rhymes with booze - nf] is reportedly planning to release the Top Gun classic You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin' with his new wife, Katie. [UH-OH.]Friends, we all heard him maul this thing in Top Gun, and it was as close to Vogon poetry as I ever care to be in the waking world. Now he might just possibly be a good enough actor to intentionally sing badly - but I seriously doubt that his ego would have permitted it. If he could nail it, he would have then, so the world could hear his glory and adore.
The 44-year-old Mission Impossible star serenaded his new bride with the Righteous Brothers' hit on his wedding day last weekend in Bracciano, Italy.
The Daily Star reports that the guests, which included some top music executives, were so impressed with his moving rendition that they gave him a standing ovation - and a chance to record the track as a romantic duet.
Besides, doesn't this whole creepy missive read like a rip-and-read of a press release from Clam Central? "Standing ovation?" Bravo Sierra. And the whole "public performance" within the public recreation of the TomKat "nuptuals" really frosts me. Not only was the thing an unveiled sales pitch for the Scumentumerists, it was also a blargin' audition?!? The Snooze can report to the proper authorities for a knob-fitting, at once.
Somehow, I think that actual record executives know that Travolta is the singer among the Super Adventurers, and this "standing ovation" was as illusory as Tom's participation in the creation of Suri.
A source said: "Tom's got a great voice. And he's loved that song ever since his Top Gun character Maverick sang it to woo his love interest Kelly McGillis.Translation from the Clamese - let's drop the names of some of their movies and remind people that they're here to earn money to give to us. (Including all profits from this incredibly poor idea.) "A source" that sounds so much like a bibliography footnote can only be a low-level insider trying to pay off a large bill for auditing services.
"And Katie proved how talented she is when she performed in The Singing Detective remake."
"Music chiefs know it would be a massive hit so they don't want to lose all the money to a bizarre religious following. "Music chiefs? NAME ONE. You were so careful to remind us which character the Snooze played in Top Gun... who was there? Clive Davis? Quincy Jones? The Ghost of Tom Parker?
Also, apparently low-level PR flacks forget not to drop stuff like "bizarre following" into these things. A more mature editor should have caught that. Apparently they all need a bit more "advancement" - fork it over. Besides, if it's anything like Hubturd's books, there will be massive sales because hundreds of discs at a time will be bought up by discerning Clam audiophiles (the discerning is all done much higher up the chain, mind you).
"But Tom's adamant. He said the song is a symbol of their love and [Super Adventure] is the basis of their companionship."BWAHAHAHAH! A song about a wife's emotional distance, weary nagging, and frigidity is the symbol of TomKat's love? If only Katie could be so lucky.
Le shuffle
Every once in a while my Windows Media Player gets stuck. It chooses fifteen or twenty songs from whatever playlist I've chosen, and it shuffles them in a loop. It's mostly just funny - I guess even a computer can like totally dig the drumline/band horn bit in the middle of Radar Love - but sometimes it just strikes me as lazy. Eh wot? Oh, yer want a new one... er... sure, here, more Paul McCartney fer yer.
Talented as he is, Sir Paul cannot be allowed to sing "Let 'Em In" more than once or twice in a workweek. I turn from my work, wander to the mouse, and double-click something not in the loop. Here - Jimi - GO.
And then, four songs later - "Martin Luther... Phil and Don..."
That's not lazy, that's rebellion. As Auric Goldfinger said, "Once is chance, twice is coincidence... three times is conspiracy." (Maybe not exactly like that, but I like the alliterative pattern.) That has to stop. End program.
Today, it's something new. I pop the playlist, go about my business, and nothing seems amiss. Then I notice that the machine has spat out "Sgt. Pepper's" and "A Little Help From My Friends" back-to-back. Sweet, that's going to happen every once in a while, even with 607 songs to choose from. And then I notice the opening riff from "Lucy in the Sky," and if it wasn't already sort of creepy, hearing it in the context of the above is...
Well, I went over to investigate, and I noticed that somehow, part of the way through the list, the shuffle function turned OFF.
How about a nice game of chess?
Talented as he is, Sir Paul cannot be allowed to sing "Let 'Em In" more than once or twice in a workweek. I turn from my work, wander to the mouse, and double-click something not in the loop. Here - Jimi - GO.
And then, four songs later - "Martin Luther... Phil and Don..."
That's not lazy, that's rebellion. As Auric Goldfinger said, "Once is chance, twice is coincidence... three times is conspiracy." (Maybe not exactly like that, but I like the alliterative pattern.) That has to stop. End program.
Today, it's something new. I pop the playlist, go about my business, and nothing seems amiss. Then I notice that the machine has spat out "Sgt. Pepper's" and "A Little Help From My Friends" back-to-back. Sweet, that's going to happen every once in a while, even with 607 songs to choose from. And then I notice the opening riff from "Lucy in the Sky," and if it wasn't already sort of creepy, hearing it in the context of the above is...
Well, I went over to investigate, and I noticed that somehow, part of the way through the list, the shuffle function turned OFF.
How about a nice game of chess?
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Tales of typographic oceans
One of my favorite concepts in the book the Barking Spider mentioned before is the utter opacity of knowledge once it is unmoored from its context - through much of the book, there are few clues to the meaning of any of the formulae, prescriptions, circuit diagrams, or half the languages. Something as simple to us as a2 + b2 = c2 is indecipherable. Everything is rediscovery.
I had a similar moment the other night driving home. I'm doubtful they even had advertising in the ancient world; what sort of fevered dreamers churn out such imagery in the service of commerce? With no cultural connection, much of it is gibberish even to someone of our own time coming across from a different country. I saw a sign that said "Wi-Fi Here"; above it were the familiar golden twin-arches, circled to resemble the familiar "@" we use nearly every day for business or home affairs.
In a thousand years, it's possible that every single current country on the Earth will be gone, and almost certainly, every one of the businesses will be long forgotten. Even barring a major cataclysm, how will they even know what wi-fi was? Kids today barely know what an 8-track was, much less a 45 or a Victrola. Will the coffeehouse web-surfing paradigm last? Will something utterly supercede the web, make the very idea seem quaint? If records endure, will the culture remain recognizable?
Bonn - Greetings, cousin!
Gimm - What have you there, cousin?
Bonn - It says, "Wi-fi here."
Gimm - Yes, but what is wi-fi? I've heard of hi-fi and sci-fi.
Bonn - Hm. I suppose it could be a kind of entertainment, then.
Gimm - So if hi-fi is musical, and sci-fi is visual...
Bonn - I think that it must have been aromatic. This was found in a building with a large quantity of food, too much for any one family - and a large board which Cousin Fritt thinks must have named each item.
Gimm - Hm.
Bonn - My guess, as strange as it seems, is that the ancients vied for the right to smell things.
Gimm - What happened to the food, then?
Bonn - We're not sure. Its low nutritional value would suggest that it couldn't be eaten regularly, or in such amounts. Perhaps a ritual sacrifice of some kind, cousin.
Gimm - And this? The (m)?
Bonn - It's very similar to the "at" sign.
Gimm - You mean, "amount."
Bonn - Now, cousin, let's be friends on this.
Gimm - What else could it mean, cousin?
Bonn - Well... it could mean "AT."
Gimm - But what of a scrap of paper like this? "Bananas @ 39¢/lb." Shouldn't it mean that a particular item has a value of 39 units per loub?
Bonn - We don't even know what the loub was, nor what it measured.
Gimm - True, cousin - but "Bananas AT"? Why would "39¢/lb" be a location?
Bonn - Why would "39¢/lb" be an amount?
Gimm - Hm... Perhaps it's neither. "Bananas" may not be a product, but a clan name; therefore, 39 of something identified by the "¢" is available for one loub (whatever that was) - but only for them.
Bonn - The ancients were big into clan grievances. Maybe Clan Bananas was held under sway unfairly.
Gimm - It would explain why "Apples" could get 99 of the same item for the same loub.
Bonn - Cousin Fritt is the expert in Differential Currency. We should ask him.
Gimm - True, cousin. Why don't we email him?
I had a similar moment the other night driving home. I'm doubtful they even had advertising in the ancient world; what sort of fevered dreamers churn out such imagery in the service of commerce? With no cultural connection, much of it is gibberish even to someone of our own time coming across from a different country. I saw a sign that said "Wi-Fi Here"; above it were the familiar golden twin-arches, circled to resemble the familiar "@" we use nearly every day for business or home affairs.
In a thousand years, it's possible that every single current country on the Earth will be gone, and almost certainly, every one of the businesses will be long forgotten. Even barring a major cataclysm, how will they even know what wi-fi was? Kids today barely know what an 8-track was, much less a 45 or a Victrola. Will the coffeehouse web-surfing paradigm last? Will something utterly supercede the web, make the very idea seem quaint? If records endure, will the culture remain recognizable?
Bonn - Greetings, cousin!
Gimm - What have you there, cousin?
Bonn - It says, "Wi-fi here."
Gimm - Yes, but what is wi-fi? I've heard of hi-fi and sci-fi.
Bonn - Hm. I suppose it could be a kind of entertainment, then.
Gimm - So if hi-fi is musical, and sci-fi is visual...
Bonn - I think that it must have been aromatic. This was found in a building with a large quantity of food, too much for any one family - and a large board which Cousin Fritt thinks must have named each item.
Gimm - Hm.
Bonn - My guess, as strange as it seems, is that the ancients vied for the right to smell things.
Gimm - What happened to the food, then?
Bonn - We're not sure. Its low nutritional value would suggest that it couldn't be eaten regularly, or in such amounts. Perhaps a ritual sacrifice of some kind, cousin.
Gimm - And this? The (m)?
Bonn - It's very similar to the "at" sign.
Gimm - You mean, "amount."
Bonn - Now, cousin, let's be friends on this.
Gimm - What else could it mean, cousin?
Bonn - Well... it could mean "AT."
Gimm - But what of a scrap of paper like this? "Bananas @ 39¢/lb." Shouldn't it mean that a particular item has a value of 39 units per loub?
Bonn - We don't even know what the loub was, nor what it measured.
Gimm - True, cousin - but "Bananas AT"? Why would "39¢/lb" be a location?
Bonn - Why would "39¢/lb" be an amount?
Gimm - Hm... Perhaps it's neither. "Bananas" may not be a product, but a clan name; therefore, 39 of something identified by the "¢" is available for one loub (whatever that was) - but only for them.
Bonn - The ancients were big into clan grievances. Maybe Clan Bananas was held under sway unfairly.
Gimm - It would explain why "Apples" could get 99 of the same item for the same loub.
Bonn - Cousin Fritt is the expert in Differential Currency. We should ask him.
Gimm - True, cousin. Why don't we email him?
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Microsoft Borg
I see that Internet Explorer VII has assimilated tab browsing, a la Mozilla's Firefox. They also won't let you keep using the thing until you choose a search function and then save the settings. Resistance is futile.
At least you can roll back to IE6 if you don't like it. (Or so they say.) I may keep it simply because of the "Clear Type" browsing (which one can toggle). I kind of like the way the fonts look with it.
At least you can roll back to IE6 if you don't like it. (Or so they say.) I may keep it simply because of the "Clear Type" browsing (which one can toggle). I kind of like the way the fonts look with it.
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Night They Drove Tom Coughlin Down
Allow me to channel my inner Peter King for a moment:
I think I just saw Tom Coughlin get fired.
Seriously, this fourth quarter was more than bad. I was watching agape, unable to fathom the horror. It was like that Calvin and Hobbes Sunday strip where Calvin imagines a guy in a lonely cabin... right on a major fault line! And a freight train jumps its tracks and an airliner hurtles earthward and he's just about to strike a match even though there's a gas leak!
It was so bad that the announcers kept forgetting to mention some of the boneheaded things the Giants were doing after gaining their 21-0 lead - which, in order, ran something like this:
So the Giants were 6-2, first place, with the rookie-led Cowboys and the staggering Eagles in their rear-view... And bang, now they're Rutgers. Even Rutgers isn't Rutgers anymore. The Giants ought to break out the red throwbacks next week and complete the trade.
And hey - I hear that Jim Fassel is available. Not that he should have been fired in the first place, but still, it's nice to get a chance to fix certain things in life.
I think I just saw Tom Coughlin get fired.
Seriously, this fourth quarter was more than bad. I was watching agape, unable to fathom the horror. It was like that Calvin and Hobbes Sunday strip where Calvin imagines a guy in a lonely cabin... right on a major fault line! And a freight train jumps its tracks and an airliner hurtles earthward and he's just about to strike a match even though there's a gas leak!
It was so bad that the announcers kept forgetting to mention some of the boneheaded things the Giants were doing after gaining their 21-0 lead - which, in order, ran something like this:
- Manning throws off back foot;
- Burress fails to defend against a pass only the defender can catch, then tries to bring him down like he's tackling a cactus;
- Walker hits Young out of bounds on fourth down, when he's already stopped short;
- Big punt return;
- Brain-lock play on fourth down (again) where Young is wrapped up, pushed backward a yard, and then inexplicably let go to run for the first down -
- - Manning off the back foot AGAIN (shying away from contact), interception (with only 40 seconds left)
So the Giants were 6-2, first place, with the rookie-led Cowboys and the staggering Eagles in their rear-view... And bang, now they're Rutgers. Even Rutgers isn't Rutgers anymore. The Giants ought to break out the red throwbacks next week and complete the trade.
And hey - I hear that Jim Fassel is available. Not that he should have been fired in the first place, but still, it's nice to get a chance to fix certain things in life.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Other Duties As Assigned
This is the story of Chief Master Sergeant John Gebhardt, and a photo you will never, I repeat, never see in your local news:
Got a tough, but heartwarming story and a picture of John Gebhardt in Iraq. For those that did not know John, he was our former Med Group Chief, Dave Nordel replaced him. Anyway, his wife talked with mine last evening and sent this picture. Mindy related that this little girl's entire family was executed.They intended to execute her also and shot her in the head but they failed to kill her. She was cared for by John's hospital and healing up, but has been crying and moaning. The nurses said John is the only one she seems to calm down with, so John has spent the last four nights holding her while they both sleep in that chair. The girl is coming along with her healing.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Sheila's word challenge
This is based on this post of Sheila's, where she takes a long list of words and dares us, the reader, to write a paragraph with all of them. I confess that the following does not use those words in order. (I came very close, but at the end I shoved a few in.) Neither is it just one paragraph, unless you read really fast and without proper pauses - but that's up to you.
It was the first time I’d ever seen a cemetery in the parking lot of a restaurant.
Cemeteries are sort of a pastime of mine. I love the twilight of life, the evensong of existence… Others don’t understand. One girl I dated called it “bullshit” – or to be more specific, she called the description “evensong of existence” “bullshit.” “You aren’t poetic, so don’t try,” she sniffed.
She eventually went to Turkmenistan on a two-year mission, if you really want to talk nonsense.
It’s not like I hang my hat on my epistolary achievements. (Hm, there’s the assonance again.) I dig the wordplay, and for that matter I dig the whole mission for God thing, too – they’re just not my normal spheres of operation. Meh. I stick to the simple things: eating and dying, the two unavoidables; that’s my pastime, and if some dour, frigid chick gets her panties in a wad over how I express myself on that, then she can excuse herself.
Well, others have been more polite than she, but not too much more understanding. People think I’m a glutton if I talk about food, but I don’t overeat, I just study. I love how food works, even when I’m not fond of the taste; and then, eventually, it stops working and off you go to be food for something else. It’s totally linked, and nobody sees it. Nobody wants to. Keep them separate; don’t remind the customers that those yummy sausages are simply fattening you up for the insensate earth. That’s why the Cemetery Restaurant startled me.
I was driving through Rampart when I saw it. Everyone here will know where I’m talking about, though I ought to say Township of Glendalough for the visitors. (If you’re driving to Narragansett Beach, they always tell you to stay right at that statue of Alexander Hamilton or you’ll get lost; well, to find Rampart, get lost on purpose. Then you can’t miss it.) It’s not called Cemetery Restaurant, but the Orion Diner. The owner, Mr. Darcy, told me that it’s not his cemetery, either.
“Well, there’s no church around,” I said.
“Can’t help that.”
“Was there a church once upon a time?”
“Can’t tell.”
“It’s only one fence around the whole property,” I said. All the same fence, too – wooden posts with two slats between each, and recently whitewashed. The headstones along one side looked almost like the concrete stops for the parking spaces, and a quick walk around the building revealed that they wrapped around in the back.
“Yep; one fence,” he said. But then he failed to elaborate.
I turned to the other customer at the counter for help but he was reading James Joyce and ignoring us.
“You want to eat?”
I wasn’t hungry, to be honest, but I pored over the menu. I wondered aloud how he prepared the grits, since one recipe goes much better with buttermilk pancakes and the other is more of a compliment to buckwheat, but “Can’t tell,” of course. He didn’t seem impatient that I took so long. Finally I just bought a cup of coffee and a Milky Way from the candy under the register. I didn’t eat it. The wrapper was one of the older designs. Somehow he read me, and brought over a toasted corn muffin with fresh butter. It was sort of heavy. His oven probably ran a little cool and it didn’t cook properly all the way through.
Outside, the traffic ran sparsely, one lane each way, and beyond that was a large field with a few cows and a billboard for Mac Cosmetics. A quarter mile off, one ran into the outliers of a suburb a few miles off the beach. Ahead was another hour drive. I decided to linger over my coffee and muffin.
“You heading for the beach?” a voice asked. It was the Joyce fan, large and lumbering.
“No, just driving.”
“Around here?”
“Why not?”
“Nothing’s here, that’s why not,” said the Joyce fan. “No music, no theater.”
“Well, you’re here,” I replied. “You got family around here?”
“Nah.” He hefted his tome. “That’s why God invented books.”
“So you never get out to the beach or anything?”
“I don’t like to read on the beach,” he said. “You get no peace from the crowds or the sun or the wind.” He scratched his chin absently. “And of course you get food here. Not as good as the Versailles Inn downtown, of course, but Darcy here’ll let you start with breakfast, read all through lunch, have dinner, and go home after a nice cup of jello.”
I glanced over to see if Mr. Darcy had heard the slight to his food, but he didn’t even bother to shrug. I got the impression that he agreed with the endless reader on the relative merits of his menu. “Say,” I asked, “you know anything about this cemetery?”
“Nah.”
I may be a fool, but I began to wonder if they all did and were simply having some fun at the expense of the interloper who merely drove past things instead of stopping in for whole day. I was mentally compelled to apologize. “I mean, it’s just that you come in a lot.”
“Yeah. Coming back tomorrow, probably – medieval poetry. It’s gonna rain and that puts me in the mood for medieval poetry.” He suddenly darted down to one side, startling me – he was sort of a bulky bird, with the same quick, peering manner as a fat pigeon eyeing a new discarded morsel. He came back up, sighing, and then handed over a bimonthly chess magazine. “This, here – this is for you.”
“Uh… Well, thanks, but I don’t play.”
“Neither do I.” He scratched his stomach, the all-too tangible expanse marking his life of entropy.
“Why would you bother with reading it if you don’t understand it?”
He turned, and I was shocked to see that he was angry. With a sneer he said, “Who said I don’t understand? I said I don’t play. I don’t have existential quests, neither, but I read Joyce. What’s the point of only reading about stuff you actually do? If you do it you don’t need to read all that much about it, do you?” And with another birdlike twitch, he was placid again. “Now, chess reading is great if you’re stuck in the mud, mentally. That’s for fog and gloomy evenings. That sort of weather is enervating, so I read chess to keep that weather outside where it belongs.” He waved down at his bulging satchel. “I come stocked for a lot of different weather.”
“But you don’t play chess,” I said, but very carefully.
“I play mahjong.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe mahjong was only for a particular climate condition, and I was afraid to anger in my ignorance. I took a sip of coffee. It was outstanding. In my excitement I totally forgot about chess and books for weather and practically flung myself toward Mr. Darcy.
“This is fantastic!” I blurted. “How did you do it? It tastes like a fine-ground, and almost like you ran it through an old percolator, but I saw you pour it from over there” – I waved wildly at a old tin pot – “and it smells different than a perk… Where did you get the beans?”
“Supermarket, of course,” he said. He betrayed utterly no emotion; somehow he’d brewed an elixir worthy of hosannas and halleluias, but it was entirely by accident. Then, thinking a little, he turned to the side of the counter and brought forth a blueberry muffin. “You didn’t seem t’ enjoy the corn,” he said. “Probably a little underdone inside. My oven needs fixing.”
I gaped. To my right, the other patron, unperturbed at my abandoning our conversation, had broken into a calculus textbook. It suddenly occurred to me that he’d know about the coffee, being here for long hours every day, but he was wholly absorbed. Given his previous proclamation about chess, I idly wondered if he could even solve a quadratic equation. The weather must have been equally suited to intractable sentences as it was intractable formulae.
“Uh, thanks.”
“On the house,” Mr. Darcy said placidly. “And if you switch t’ tea, I’ve got a scone around here somewhere.”
I took the muffin back to my booth and sank into the plether. It was better than the corn, but even that turned out not as bad as I would have guessed. I took to the other side of my little table and looked out the side window, out at the regiment of headstones. They faced away from the lot. Without going around to check, it was impossible to know who was minding your car while you ate. I wondered if they minded, or if there was ever enough work for all of them at once.
Two hours later I’d also had a good lunch, and had pored over a game that Paul Keres had played in 1952. The man at the counter had switched to a Batman comic as the afternoon grew dry and cool, but as I laid down a twenty I noticed that he actually looked up and said goodbye with a hat-tip. Mr. Darcy didn’t smile, but nodded as imperceptibly as Pei Mei. Mindful, I nodded back.
My car smelled warm. I tossed my jacket to the back seat and rolled down the windows. I decided not to look at the name on the headstone before I drove away.
It was the first time I’d ever seen a cemetery in the parking lot of a restaurant.
Cemeteries are sort of a pastime of mine. I love the twilight of life, the evensong of existence… Others don’t understand. One girl I dated called it “bullshit” – or to be more specific, she called the description “evensong of existence” “bullshit.” “You aren’t poetic, so don’t try,” she sniffed.
She eventually went to Turkmenistan on a two-year mission, if you really want to talk nonsense.
It’s not like I hang my hat on my epistolary achievements. (Hm, there’s the assonance again.) I dig the wordplay, and for that matter I dig the whole mission for God thing, too – they’re just not my normal spheres of operation. Meh. I stick to the simple things: eating and dying, the two unavoidables; that’s my pastime, and if some dour, frigid chick gets her panties in a wad over how I express myself on that, then she can excuse herself.
Well, others have been more polite than she, but not too much more understanding. People think I’m a glutton if I talk about food, but I don’t overeat, I just study. I love how food works, even when I’m not fond of the taste; and then, eventually, it stops working and off you go to be food for something else. It’s totally linked, and nobody sees it. Nobody wants to. Keep them separate; don’t remind the customers that those yummy sausages are simply fattening you up for the insensate earth. That’s why the Cemetery Restaurant startled me.
I was driving through Rampart when I saw it. Everyone here will know where I’m talking about, though I ought to say Township of Glendalough for the visitors. (If you’re driving to Narragansett Beach, they always tell you to stay right at that statue of Alexander Hamilton or you’ll get lost; well, to find Rampart, get lost on purpose. Then you can’t miss it.) It’s not called Cemetery Restaurant, but the Orion Diner. The owner, Mr. Darcy, told me that it’s not his cemetery, either.
“Well, there’s no church around,” I said.
“Can’t help that.”
“Was there a church once upon a time?”
“Can’t tell.”
“It’s only one fence around the whole property,” I said. All the same fence, too – wooden posts with two slats between each, and recently whitewashed. The headstones along one side looked almost like the concrete stops for the parking spaces, and a quick walk around the building revealed that they wrapped around in the back.
“Yep; one fence,” he said. But then he failed to elaborate.
I turned to the other customer at the counter for help but he was reading James Joyce and ignoring us.
“You want to eat?”
I wasn’t hungry, to be honest, but I pored over the menu. I wondered aloud how he prepared the grits, since one recipe goes much better with buttermilk pancakes and the other is more of a compliment to buckwheat, but “Can’t tell,” of course. He didn’t seem impatient that I took so long. Finally I just bought a cup of coffee and a Milky Way from the candy under the register. I didn’t eat it. The wrapper was one of the older designs. Somehow he read me, and brought over a toasted corn muffin with fresh butter. It was sort of heavy. His oven probably ran a little cool and it didn’t cook properly all the way through.
Outside, the traffic ran sparsely, one lane each way, and beyond that was a large field with a few cows and a billboard for Mac Cosmetics. A quarter mile off, one ran into the outliers of a suburb a few miles off the beach. Ahead was another hour drive. I decided to linger over my coffee and muffin.
“You heading for the beach?” a voice asked. It was the Joyce fan, large and lumbering.
“No, just driving.”
“Around here?”
“Why not?”
“Nothing’s here, that’s why not,” said the Joyce fan. “No music, no theater.”
“Well, you’re here,” I replied. “You got family around here?”
“Nah.” He hefted his tome. “That’s why God invented books.”
“So you never get out to the beach or anything?”
“I don’t like to read on the beach,” he said. “You get no peace from the crowds or the sun or the wind.” He scratched his chin absently. “And of course you get food here. Not as good as the Versailles Inn downtown, of course, but Darcy here’ll let you start with breakfast, read all through lunch, have dinner, and go home after a nice cup of jello.”
I glanced over to see if Mr. Darcy had heard the slight to his food, but he didn’t even bother to shrug. I got the impression that he agreed with the endless reader on the relative merits of his menu. “Say,” I asked, “you know anything about this cemetery?”
“Nah.”
I may be a fool, but I began to wonder if they all did and were simply having some fun at the expense of the interloper who merely drove past things instead of stopping in for whole day. I was mentally compelled to apologize. “I mean, it’s just that you come in a lot.”
“Yeah. Coming back tomorrow, probably – medieval poetry. It’s gonna rain and that puts me in the mood for medieval poetry.” He suddenly darted down to one side, startling me – he was sort of a bulky bird, with the same quick, peering manner as a fat pigeon eyeing a new discarded morsel. He came back up, sighing, and then handed over a bimonthly chess magazine. “This, here – this is for you.”
“Uh… Well, thanks, but I don’t play.”
“Neither do I.” He scratched his stomach, the all-too tangible expanse marking his life of entropy.
“Why would you bother with reading it if you don’t understand it?”
He turned, and I was shocked to see that he was angry. With a sneer he said, “Who said I don’t understand? I said I don’t play. I don’t have existential quests, neither, but I read Joyce. What’s the point of only reading about stuff you actually do? If you do it you don’t need to read all that much about it, do you?” And with another birdlike twitch, he was placid again. “Now, chess reading is great if you’re stuck in the mud, mentally. That’s for fog and gloomy evenings. That sort of weather is enervating, so I read chess to keep that weather outside where it belongs.” He waved down at his bulging satchel. “I come stocked for a lot of different weather.”
“But you don’t play chess,” I said, but very carefully.
“I play mahjong.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe mahjong was only for a particular climate condition, and I was afraid to anger in my ignorance. I took a sip of coffee. It was outstanding. In my excitement I totally forgot about chess and books for weather and practically flung myself toward Mr. Darcy.
“This is fantastic!” I blurted. “How did you do it? It tastes like a fine-ground, and almost like you ran it through an old percolator, but I saw you pour it from over there” – I waved wildly at a old tin pot – “and it smells different than a perk… Where did you get the beans?”
“Supermarket, of course,” he said. He betrayed utterly no emotion; somehow he’d brewed an elixir worthy of hosannas and halleluias, but it was entirely by accident. Then, thinking a little, he turned to the side of the counter and brought forth a blueberry muffin. “You didn’t seem t’ enjoy the corn,” he said. “Probably a little underdone inside. My oven needs fixing.”
I gaped. To my right, the other patron, unperturbed at my abandoning our conversation, had broken into a calculus textbook. It suddenly occurred to me that he’d know about the coffee, being here for long hours every day, but he was wholly absorbed. Given his previous proclamation about chess, I idly wondered if he could even solve a quadratic equation. The weather must have been equally suited to intractable sentences as it was intractable formulae.
“Uh, thanks.”
“On the house,” Mr. Darcy said placidly. “And if you switch t’ tea, I’ve got a scone around here somewhere.”
I took the muffin back to my booth and sank into the plether. It was better than the corn, but even that turned out not as bad as I would have guessed. I took to the other side of my little table and looked out the side window, out at the regiment of headstones. They faced away from the lot. Without going around to check, it was impossible to know who was minding your car while you ate. I wondered if they minded, or if there was ever enough work for all of them at once.
Two hours later I’d also had a good lunch, and had pored over a game that Paul Keres had played in 1952. The man at the counter had switched to a Batman comic as the afternoon grew dry and cool, but as I laid down a twenty I noticed that he actually looked up and said goodbye with a hat-tip. Mr. Darcy didn’t smile, but nodded as imperceptibly as Pei Mei. Mindful, I nodded back.
My car smelled warm. I tossed my jacket to the back seat and rolled down the windows. I decided not to look at the name on the headstone before I drove away.
Musical Comedy Monday
The soundtrack meme was a lot of fun, so I decided to rework it a little bit. For a sequel, I decided on a little light romantic comedy, set to clever tunes. The only hang-up is that the clever tunes have to be queued up at random by your computer or iPod.
A refresh of the rules:
Opening credits – U2, “Love and Peace (or Else)”
Our hero – Duane Eddy, “Forty Miles of Bad Road”
Ms Right – ZZ Top, “Viva Las Vegas” [I guess she's a partier]
The Jerk – The Pillows, “Stalker”
The Bitch – Seatbelts, “Waltz for Zizi”
First meeting – Talking Heads, “Wild Wild Life”
Clueless girl – KC & the Sunshine Band, “Shake Your Booty” [yup - definitely a partier]
Clueless boy – Woody Herman and the Thundering Herds, “Woodchopper’s Ball”
Second meeting – U2, “City of Blinding Lights”
Happiness – Lovin’ Spoonful, “Darlin’ Companion”
The Jerk makes his move – BST, “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy” [heheheh]
Quarrel – Wall of Voodoo, “Mexican Radio”
The Bitch piles on – Michael Jackson, “Get on the Floor”
All is lost – Three Dog Night, “Sure as I’m Sitting Here”
Best friends to the rescue – Edgar Winters Group, “Frankenstein”
Loose ends flying together – Squeeze, “Goodbye Girl”
Reconciled – Elvis, “I’m All Shook Up”
Happily ever after – Eric Clapton, “I Believe in Life”
Closing credits – Grateful Dead, “Eyes of the World”
Curious. Some of these would be absolutely perfect if I could switch the order around a little bit - but I can't because that's not how the game is played. So - how does your little romantic comedy sound?
A refresh of the rules:
- Open your music library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
- Put it on shuffle
- Press play
- For every question, type the song that's playing
- When you go to a new question, press the next button
- Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...
Opening credits – U2, “Love and Peace (or Else)”
Our hero – Duane Eddy, “Forty Miles of Bad Road”
Ms Right – ZZ Top, “Viva Las Vegas” [I guess she's a partier]
The Jerk – The Pillows, “Stalker”
The Bitch – Seatbelts, “Waltz for Zizi”
First meeting – Talking Heads, “Wild Wild Life”
Clueless girl – KC & the Sunshine Band, “Shake Your Booty” [yup - definitely a partier]
Clueless boy – Woody Herman and the Thundering Herds, “Woodchopper’s Ball”
Second meeting – U2, “City of Blinding Lights”
Happiness – Lovin’ Spoonful, “Darlin’ Companion”
The Jerk makes his move – BST, “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy” [heheheh]
Quarrel – Wall of Voodoo, “Mexican Radio”
The Bitch piles on – Michael Jackson, “Get on the Floor”
All is lost – Three Dog Night, “Sure as I’m Sitting Here”
Best friends to the rescue – Edgar Winters Group, “Frankenstein”
Loose ends flying together – Squeeze, “Goodbye Girl”
Reconciled – Elvis, “I’m All Shook Up”
Happily ever after – Eric Clapton, “I Believe in Life”
Closing credits – Grateful Dead, “Eyes of the World”
Curious. Some of these would be absolutely perfect if I could switch the order around a little bit - but I can't because that's not how the game is played. So - how does your little romantic comedy sound?
Friday, November 17, 2006
Poem
To a Fiancee of Nearly Two Monthes, Totally Made Uppe as the Poet Typeth
(and taking the better parte of one half-hour)
(and taking the better parte of one half-hour)
Ladybug, dearest, you always inspire
You fill me with happiness, hope, and desire
Together I know we will build a fine home
And live there with joy ‘til we finally retire.
I’d never imagine a reason to roam
Or a worry that someday you’d leave me alone
My sweetness, my soul, and my better part
My lover and friend trav’ling through unknown
I couldn’t have asked for a more blessed start
Better-suited we two than two lovers could chart
Whatever I’d hoped for, you’ve easily gone higher
Years to come, tears to fall, smiles to share – my dear heart!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
My Favorite Paragraph From My favorite SF Novel
From A Canticle for Leibowitz:
It was said that God, in order to test mankind which had become swelled with pride as in the time of Noah, had commanded the wise men of that age, among them the Blessed Leibowitz, to devise great engines of war such as had never before been upon the Earth, weapons of such might that they contained the very fires of Hell, and that God had suffered these magi to place the weapons in the hands of princes, and to say to each prince, "Only because the enemies have such a thing have we devised this for thee, in order that they may know that thou hast it also, and fear to strike. See to it, m'Lord, that thou fearest them as much as they shall now fear thee, that none may unleash this dread thing which we have wrought."
But the princes, putting the words of their wise men to naught, thought each to himself, If I but strike quickly enough, and in secret, I shall destroy those others in their sleep, and there will be none to fight back; the earth shall be mine.
Such was the folly of princes, and there followed the Flame Deluge
It was said that God, in order to test mankind which had become swelled with pride as in the time of Noah, had commanded the wise men of that age, among them the Blessed Leibowitz, to devise great engines of war such as had never before been upon the Earth, weapons of such might that they contained the very fires of Hell, and that God had suffered these magi to place the weapons in the hands of princes, and to say to each prince, "Only because the enemies have such a thing have we devised this for thee, in order that they may know that thou hast it also, and fear to strike. See to it, m'Lord, that thou fearest them as much as they shall now fear thee, that none may unleash this dread thing which we have wrought."
But the princes, putting the words of their wise men to naught, thought each to himself, If I but strike quickly enough, and in secret, I shall destroy those others in their sleep, and there will be none to fight back; the earth shall be mine.
Such was the folly of princes, and there followed the Flame Deluge
The Invincible Super-Warning
Chris Sims decided to alert the general reading public to certain unusual hazards associated with his blog.
Having the One-Man Army Corps rampage through your general vicinity would be a downer; Mr. Sims has the thanks of a grateful nation. Unfortunately, the Hive has learned that the ungrateful parts of the nation aren't so easily counted out.
Having the One-Man Army Corps rampage through your general vicinity would be a downer; Mr. Sims has the thanks of a grateful nation. Unfortunately, the Hive has learned that the ungrateful parts of the nation aren't so easily counted out.
TO: Chris Sims
The Invincible Super-Blog
FROM: Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe, LLC
On behalf of our client, Mr. Jim Shooter, we announce our intention to bring action against you for the following:
On July 15, 2006, Mr. Shooter (the plaintiff) was a duly-logged visitor to your facility and registered same with your head of security, Mr. Luke Cage (hereby named as co-defendant). On this date Dr. Stephen Strange was also visiting for a symposium hosted by a government official named Nicholas Fury. During this symposium several unusual events occured, the nature of which have never been adequately explained.
It is not our intention to demand full disclosure of Secrets Man Was Not Meant to Know (in accordance with the PATRIOT Act and certain other federal statutes). We do, however, claim negligence in the following particulars:
- Several bolts of the Power Cosmic demolished the auditorium and much of the adjacent wing. This structure was not built to the proper code despite previous similar incidents (some involving dieties and/or extradimensional beings).
- Security, in the persons of Mr. Cage and his associate, Mr. Daniel Rand, were entirely inadequate protection for such an event.
- The provided warning signs are of no informative or cautionary value if they fail to mention the significant threat of megalomaniacal super-villians.
- Neither the hosts, presenters, or any relevant personnel mentioned that a gamma-radiated scientist was on the panel, nor that he would unaccountably lose his temper when Mr. Shooter accidentally dropped hot coffee on his lap while fleeing the bolts of Power Cosmic as described above.
- In particular, the Eye of Agamotto should come with some sort of caution.
We understand that heretofore your response has been that the auditorium was empty for intermission when the incident took place. Trusting to comic-book physics as a safety device is not acceptable, especially as so many of the guests present during this symposium are perfectly capable of bending or outright disregarding all the laws of physics - one was observed summoning lightning with a large hammer while another opened a portal through time and dropped a dinosaur on someone's Hyundai. This is hugely irresponsible and dangerous, and we demand an immediate remedy.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Reports of our demise are slightly exaggerated
It's been a good two years, and I really enjoy doing this, but lately my heart is not in the blog. Note that this is NOT a goodbye or a hiatus or anything. It's actually something very concrete. "Something is causing this, Mike... now, think."
Well, I've thought. Two causes for my spate of French-level ennui:
Well, you get what you pay for, right? In this case, zero, since we pay exactly zero for this. As a result, I don't suppose that I can complain too much; but sometimes I still do, as the song has it (I'm tossing y'all a bone since I skipped Musical Monday). I don't think it's too much to ask of any service (even free service) to actually work as designed, especially when it worked perfectly well for the Barking Spider for over two years and just now decided to put up a pointless argument.
Neither do I think it's too much to ask Google to spend a little money on a tech support staff. You have all that gmail stuff just lying around, doncha guys? Well, it's simple - "bloggerhelp -at- gmail" would do quite nicely. Or "support -at- blogger -dot- com". If you can spend billions to buy YouTube, you can sink a lousy million into some IT for the rest of us, instead of a peer support group of fellow users who are equally frustrated. Just let us drop you an email. "Click here for help." That's all. We'll even put up with the odd "planned outage" you guys seem so fond of.
It's not a good idea for me to hold my breath on this one, so I'll put it to you, friends. Many of you have already jumped to WordPress, Moveable Type, or what have you. I think it may be time to put a few dollars into this and make a similar jump. What say you?
(PS - you can also take a stab at the movie quote from the first graf, if you like.)
Well, I've thought. Two causes for my spate of French-level ennui:
- I have no energy for much of anything recently. I've had to narrowly focus on a few things to do them well, and much of my contact with the larger world (blog included) has had to slide. I have posts and ideas but not a lot of leftover oomph to push them into view.
- Blogger.
Well, you get what you pay for, right? In this case, zero, since we pay exactly zero for this. As a result, I don't suppose that I can complain too much; but sometimes I still do, as the song has it (I'm tossing y'all a bone since I skipped Musical Monday). I don't think it's too much to ask of any service (even free service) to actually work as designed, especially when it worked perfectly well for the Barking Spider for over two years and just now decided to put up a pointless argument.
Neither do I think it's too much to ask Google to spend a little money on a tech support staff. You have all that gmail stuff just lying around, doncha guys? Well, it's simple - "bloggerhelp -at- gmail" would do quite nicely. Or "support -at- blogger -dot- com". If you can spend billions to buy YouTube, you can sink a lousy million into some IT for the rest of us, instead of a peer support group of fellow users who are equally frustrated. Just let us drop you an email. "Click here for help." That's all. We'll even put up with the odd "planned outage" you guys seem so fond of.
It's not a good idea for me to hold my breath on this one, so I'll put it to you, friends. Many of you have already jumped to WordPress, Moveable Type, or what have you. I think it may be time to put a few dollars into this and make a similar jump. What say you?
(PS - you can also take a stab at the movie quote from the first graf, if you like.)
Saturday, November 11, 2006
I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream
First, "weak" Linc Chafee gets millions from the GOP to prop up his sorry campaign. Then he announces that he will not support the renomination of UN Ambassador Bolton. And now this: In this situation, the usual next step would be for Mr. Bolton to withdraw from consideration and for Mr. Bush to nominate a less polarizing candidate. Names that have been floated both inside and outside the administration include Zalmay Khalilzad, the American ambassador to Iraq; Philip D. Zelikow, the State Department counselor; Paula Dobriansky, under secretary of state for democracy and global affairs; and even Mr. Chafee.
If W nominates this manwhore to replace the nominee he screwed over, I will be in the office of the Hillsborough County Supervisor of Elections office the next business day saying, "Get this blankety-blank "R" off my voter registration card NOW!
Mikey didn't do so well
Remember when we were told that the GOP would pay for it's involvement in this case? The GOP lost for many reasons but not because of Terri. Mikey became what he accused his opponents of - playing politics with his wife's death:
After he successfully won a court order to kill Terri Schiavo via euthanasia, the disabled woman's former husband Michael pledged to take on pro-life advocates and formed a political action committee to defeat them. However, the candidates Michael campaigned for during the 2006 mid-term elections didn't fare very well. In fact, every candidate Michael personally campaigned for during the election cycle went down to defeat.[NF here. I note that "kill via euthanasia" is redundant, and it should be simply "euthanise" or "kill via starvation".]
Warriors for the Working Day (Henry V Scene 3)
To all you vets and those currently serving: THANK YOU!
Let me speak proudly: tell the constable
We are but warriors for the working-day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host--
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly--
And time hath worn us into slovenry:
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads
And turn them out of service. If they do this,--
As, if God please, they shall,--my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:
They shall have none,
I swear, but these my joints;
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the constable.
Let me speak proudly: tell the constable
We are but warriors for the working-day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host--
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly--
And time hath worn us into slovenry:
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads
And turn them out of service. If they do this,--
As, if God please, they shall,--my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:
They shall have none,
I swear, but these my joints;
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the constable.
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