Rollin' on Through...

I realize that back in October I was going to write about the virtues of Katamari Damacy, but I forgot. Well, first, let this be known:

Katamary Damacy is as ragingly fun and adorable as Sci-Fi Channel original movies are ridiculous and laughable. ie: A LOT.

The object of the game:

Emergency! You are the tiny Prince of the Universe! You must use this sticky lump called a Katamari to roll crap up for various dubious reasons! Your father is a buffoon, but he's huge, and he'll make a star out of your lump to replace the ones he broke!

Also, listen to this fantastic music as you roll! Ready-go!




There is nothing quite so satisfying as growing your Katamari to the point that you can actually knock over that annoying kid in the alley and roll her right up! Haha! And those cats! And that guy! And that car! And that elephant! And that building! And that whale! Take that!

Eventually, you get to the size that your mammoth Katamari overshadows the tiny prince many thousands of times over, and you bonk into and roll up clouds and rainbows, enormous oceanic whirlpools, entire islands, massive Gozilla-like creatures and the like...

There's nothing quite like it. So satisfying.

Take me out back and shoot me.

...because, God help me, I can't help being curiously attracted to awful Euro-fluff-electro.

I know it barely qualifies as music. I know that being a musician of sorts myself, I ought to pointedly and publically loathe it. But secretly I go home and download it because the wispy, annoying strains can be addictive LIKE CRACK.

I'm sure this guy understands.

I laugh at the video, and the fact that this young man looks as though his head actually expands and contracts with the music. Then I shamefully find and download the mp3 to play repeatedly until my brain explodes and bursts into flame, purging itself of the addiction 2 days later.

Incidentally, also I find it quite amusing that my search for the mp3 landed me at a google-translated page where, in order to join the mailing list and keep up with what's new, one enters one's email below where it says,

"For always being dawned on the innovationes of the situated one, you enroll yourself to the Newsletter:"

Carpooling with Respectable English Magicians

I'm currently "reading" Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell on my way to and from work. I received an early Christmaas gift from The Boy of a flash player and a subscription to audible.com, and all my wildest audiobook dreams have come true. The flash player is a tiny little thing about the size of the remote I use to unlock my car doors (but it carries something like 16 hours of audiobook). In fact, I carry it on my keychain, and on occasion find myself, arm outstretched, starting and stopping an audiobook rather than letting myself into the car. Despite that minor confusion once and awhile, I adore the little thing. I also adore the iPod, but it is clumsy to use while driving, and I tend to forget to lock the buttons, so I unexpectedly flip back and forth between tracks. Whereas the pod needs to be placed somewhere I can control it, and where it won't fly off the seat at a sudden stop, the flash player stays on my keychain, and I simply plug the cord from the tape deck into it and control it from there. eee!

I find myself humming the refrain from the post-credits wedding sequence in Napolean Dynamite where Kip earnestly sings to his bride, "I love technology/ (reassuringly) but I love you more, you see/ but I STILL love technology... always and foreeeever.

Technology I will take a little longer to completely warm up to is the Bluetooth headset for my cell phone. I like that there are no wires. Ever since Pinnochio, the world has known that "no wires" is quite a good thing. But I find that I clutch at it for fear it will fall off my ear. I find that it takes longer to apply the headset to my ear than it does to simply pick up the phone and make a quick call. I'm sure I will get better at it. Once it's on and I'm chatting hands-free I love it. Eventually I'll adore it like I adore my flash player.

Always and foreeever.

Curse you, Green Horseradish!

Oddly enough, I woke up today without any sense of taste. I have been able to smell as usual, but eating has been a depressingly lacklustre event. The only taste zone that seems to be semi-intact is the "bitter" zone toward the back and sides of my tongue. I had a mint earlier, and rather than cool mintiness, all I got was a weird bitter taste toward the back.

All I can think is that is has something to do with the fact that I ate large quantities of wasabi peas yesterday. I tasted them at the time... or so I thought. One never knows.

The main reason being tasteless (heh) sucks today is that we were taken out on a business lunch today to a really nice restaurant. I got a lovely calamari dish which was perfectly cooked and melted in my mouth. However, I no idea if it tasted nice--I just know it was not gummy like bad calamari tends to be.

darn wasabi peas.

Sudden Bit of Respect for the USPS

Soo... while driving home from work today, I was surprised and gratified to catch a snippet of a song by The Postal Service between news items. Even more interesting, however, was the fact that the next story was a little piece about the fact that the United States Postal Service had discovered that a little electro-indie band on the West coast was using "their name" and sent them a cease and desist letter.

I imagine the exchange taking place between shy indie rocker Benjamin Gibbard and a stern looking middle aged group of postal workers.

Postal spokesperson: You can't use our name you know!

Benjamin Gibbard: Oh? Oh...shucks.

Postal spokesperson: (clearly had been expecting more anger) So..that's..uh,that.

Bejanmin Gibbard: (hands in pockets, kicking one foot a little) ...But I LIKE the postal service.

Postal spokesperson: (quietly muttering out of side of mouth to other postal people - "oh my god, he's so adorable! are we sure about this?")

Other Postal People: (burst out) Fine!! AUGH! You're so cute!! Be our mascot!! We'll make a stamp with you on it!!

Benjamin Gibbard: Ok. Cool.

True: Surprisingly, after the intial contact, rather than requiring the customary ceasing and desisting, the USPS found themselves charmed by the adorablilty of the indie kids, and eventually asked if they could adopt them as the offical USPS band. Apparently the USPS wants The Postal Service's music for commercials, to sell their cds in post offices, and have them play at a mega-conference for postal big-wigs coming up.

Who's your daddy?

Uncle Sam.

Boating Day in the USA

I stood in line with everyone this morning, but the difference is, I was actually being PAID while I was standing there. I love my company.

________________

Boo whines and whiiiines until I fill the cat bowl to an amount he find sufficient. It's different all the time. Some days, he becomes wrathful that there is only a half bowl of chow available for him at any one time. Other days it can dwindle to one or two nuggets before he starts to complain. Today it didn't look as though Nihao and he had eaten at all during the day. The bowl still contained about the amount I had measured out for them when I left this morning.

As I inpsected it, his persistant BEEEEEWWWWWWW??? bbeeeeeeewwww?? got louder and louder, and he actually stood up to tap me on the elbow with his paw. So, like my parents before me, (carefully salting my plate of food when I begged for it--but without turning the salter upside down so anything comes out) I picked up his food bowl and carefully rustled through it with my fingers. "I'm adding brand NEW food for you," I lied.

I put the bowl down and he huffily ate his fill and promptly went to sleep afterward. I must admit I was a little shocked that it worked. I had expected some innate feline sense to alert him. I guess he's more like a little kid than I thought.

En-pea ARRR!!

Am I just the sort of dork who secretly enjoys a good autumn Public Radio fund drive? Why yes...yes I am!
I can't decide if it's the fact that I'd rather hear people begging for money than about politics (quite possible--in fact, probable) or if it's the thrill of meeting the new member challenge for the half hour. Maybe both.

I realized the extent of my dorkiness while I was driving home and found that I'd left the radio tuned to the fundraiser ALL THE WAY HOME. And it's been like that all so far this week. I've been listening to the various hosts and assessing their tactics - I found that the phones rang more for the people who sounded like they were smiling, who didn't apply guilt, and who brought to bear little personal stories that apparently did the trick. C.N. and T. M. are leading the crew for over-all skill with smooth flow and managing to work the phone number 888-258-9866 (oh god. I know it by heart.) into three sentences of dialogue 47 times without sounding awkward or stilted.

I haven't heard her so far this year, but T.C. automatically LOSES if she's been trying to raise funds this year. I heard her last year and it was a disaster. I can barely keep the station on her self-satisfied, snotty nosed voice for more than a few seconds when she's announcing news, let alone when she's personally asking me for money but somehow manages to come off as supercilious and lofty at the same time. I swear she sounds like a parody of someone exceedingly proud that one of my sisters does. ("Hmm HMMM? with upturned nose and bored, half closed eyes, as if you weren't worth the effort to LOOK at.) Last year T.C. and C.N. were on duty together and C pointed out that support could cost as little as a chocolate bar or a capaccino a week (smooth--good move. The phones ring.) Then T cuts in proudly, talking directly through her nose as usual..."Udless you're me, and you eat BELGIAN IMPORTED Chocolate...thed it's a little bid moore expedsive..." Long pause. Phones stop ringing.

Hoookay.

More blog to come, only this will be about the outrageous head-exploding cuteness and crack-like addictiveness of Katamari Damacy. In the mean time: http://katamaridamacy.jp/ (ENG!)

Top Security

Am I the only one who finds this amusing?



It's lasted over a week now, but I expect that any day I'll order my dinner from a misty-eyed BK clerk who will explain of the silent and devastated staff, "Someone stole it. They stole our promo sign. After we put a lock on it an everything."

Rest in Peace, Man of Steel

I was sad to hear Christopher Reeve died.

The REAL problem with America today...

Okay... another PSA from the desk of yours truly:

If you happen to live in Michigan, and you happen to be researching a home equity loan, allow me to save you about 45 minutes of wasted time you will NEVER EVER BE ABLE TO GET BACK BECAUSE IT WILL BE GONE FOR GOOD. This PSA will also be helpful in preventing sweaty palms, grinding of the teeth, and the overwhelming inclination to punch anything within arm's length. My suggestion: do not, I repeat, DO NOT call a place called AIM Lending in Grand Rapids. Particularly if you're a woman. The sensation of simultaneously being walked all over, and having your ass kissed is an interesting one, but definitely NOT enojyable.

Allow me to explain: I called said "business" this week to see what sorts of loans they offer, what sort of rate I might get - nothing specific, mind you. I spoke first to a friendly enough trainee guy. He offered some info on the company, and took down some info so he could get me some quotes. Or so I thought. He called back later to let me know that THE senior loan specialist, Mr. Utter Ass-hat, would discuss the loan with me. "Okay - thanks. Bye trainee-guy," I said, and things just went straight to hell from there. The voice that then appeared on the other end of the line was like a cross between the guys on Car Talk and Howard Dean during his RAAAWRR! speech. He had that used car salesman/motivational con artist way of using my name at the beginning of every sentence. "So Steph - you mind if I call you Steph, there?" Yes. I do. Already my hackles are rising slightly.

What followed was an unbelieveable half hour of this guy raving and raging about how his company is a non-commision company, and "the only thing....the ONLY thing, Steph, that I want to do for you is find you a loan a a great rate! Steph, let me ask you, have you gotten any numbers from people? 'Cause whatever it is, we can beat it because those commission companies are trying to screw you every which way. Pardon my language, but it's TRUE, Steph. All I want to do, all our company is here for is YOU. (somehow I doubt that.) Lemme tell you about our owner. He's worked in this business for 20 plus years. His father worked in the business for 40 years! (pardon my ignorance, but what does this have to do with getting an approximate quote on a loan, and why should I believe that you, a total stranger are running some sort of loan charity for me out of the goodness of your heart?)

When he wasn't stridently informing me of random and entirely unrelated facts about his company, he was yelling about commision based companies, telling me anecdotes about how people's lives are ruined by them and claiming THEY are what's wrong with America today. He yelled this at least THREE times during my conversation with him.

"Now tell me, Steph - have you been reading all these articles in the newspaper about how bad they're finding out commission places really are?" (what freaking articles?) I responded that and that we had researched all the different ways of getting loans before we decided to go ahead with getting quotes. (We're not stupid here.)

"Well Steph, that doesn't surprise me one bit. No sir. She's a smart one. These guys are agreeing with me. I've got about 5 people listening in - training, y'know. Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. You seem like the type who's really sharp."

Don't patronize me, asshole. And excuse me... YOU'RE training people? God help us all.

In the process of the verbal gauntlet, he asked me if I'd been told various (unrelated and random) things about the company. I responded that I hadn't.

Now it gets even weirder and more uncomfortable: Ass-hat informed me that trainee-guy should have known better than to NOT mention all this crap to me. Then he proceeded to turn on poor Trainee for 'messing up.' Somewhere in Grand Rapids, poor new guy trainee was getting berated in front of four other trainees, and a potential customer. Talk about inappropriate. "It's ok," I said. '"We're all been the new guy at one point or another."

Then another barrage of asskissing including such gems as, "You know, Steph. I like your style. You've got STYLE."
Then: "Trainee-guy's ok, right Trainee? TELL THE LADY YOU'RE FINE."

Then: a weak throat clearing from Trainee-guy and, "Um, I'm fine."

The conversation ended shortly thereafter with Ass-hat telling me he'd call tomorrow to let us know what he could do for us.

??? Kind of weird that after 10 minutes of explaining a few facts to any other company, they were able to tell us if they could help us, and what sorts of things were possible. 30 minutes of Ass-hat, and all I'd gotten was the urge to kick the wall.

Poor trainee-guy.

I don't know why I picked up the phone to Ass-hat the next day. Maybe I was hoping that one last ditch effort would help me get the info I needed to compare with potential programs from other companies. Dumb girl. You knew what was coming. Another round of chauvenistic, egocentric, condescending, blustering. And AGAIN, in front of a group of trainees.

When he told me he'd call at the end of the week once we'd made a decision, I (gently) cut him off.

Me: "So you're not going to actually give me any information about loan programs that might help us?"

Ass-hat: "Steph, if someone told you they'd give you a rate lower than X, they're LYING. If they're friends or family, you need to CUT OFF your relationship with them right NOW! "cause they're LIARS, Steph!"

Oh. That's nice. A complete asshole stranger over the phone that I've never met telling me to sever relationships with friends and family.

Ass-hat: "Steph, you need to make a desicion, then we'll talk."

Me: "How can you expect me to make a decision if you haven't given me any information?"

Then, unbelievably, Ass-hat yelling: STEPH, YOU'RE TREATING ME LIKE A USED CAR SALESMAN AND I DON'T APPRECIATE IT!! I'M BEING MR. STRAIGHT AND HONEST WITH YOU, AND YOU'RE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF ME!!

Me yelling back (Utterly dumbfounded, yet completely pissed off): NO! HOW CAN YOU BE STRAIGHT AND HONEST WITHOUT HAVING ACTUALLY CONVEYED ANYTHING FACTUAL??? IT'S BAD BUSINESS TO EXPECT PEOPLE TO COMMIT BEFORE KNOWING WHAT IT IS THEY'RE COMMITTING TO!!

Ass-hat (shouting as fast as he can in front of his trainees) WELLIDON'TCAREIFYOUDECIDETOMAKETHESMARTCHOICEANDGOWITHUS-YOU
CANSTILLCALLWHENYOUFIGUREOUTWHATYOU'REMISSING,BUTIDON'TEVEN
EXPECTYOUTO!!!!! *CLICK*

Like an elemetary school breakup.

Me:.... bye ASS-HAT.

Such a smooth operator.

I Want to Be a Ninja Air Dancer

It makes me mildly sad that I don't see billboards etc declaring, "Otogi - Myth of Demons is the prettiest video game EVER!"

'Cause it is.

It's not so much the beautiful environments and character design as it is the fact that the main character, (a tall slender samurai-type) can leap insanely high, and instead of plunking back to earth, he drifts, like a cherry blossom petal, his hair streaming fluidly out behind him. It's like watching the best dancer ever, in low gravity. If he engages in swordplay mid-air, he actually hovers as twirls and slashes. It's graceful. The environments give a sense of an intricate stage--or some underwater feudal Japan.

Also fun is the ability to interact with almost everything in the environments - mainly by demolishing things into massive mounds of rubble in clouds of dust.

President Kim II Sung is Alive in the Hearts of Humankind Forever!

I've been browsing around North Korea's brand spankin' new web portal, obviously. As much as I know Communism is alive and well in certain parts of the world, it's sort of strange to see it floating around the ether of the internet. Red on the Web!

For those of you know are not aware of Kim II Sung's credentials, I'll quote the website:

"Our leader is indeed the greatest leader of the working class. He personified unusual intelligence, outstanding leadership and lofty communist virtues, which nobody has ever possessed, and opened up and shone modern history with his profound revolutionary theories and great revolutionary practice. He is a benevolent father of the people, who brilliantly covered the whole distance of the prolonged revolutionary struggle with boundless devotion to the revolutionary cause and with warm love for the people."

That says it all, I suppose.

In other news, a fortune cookie I got the other day insists that I will "suceed in my pesant plans."

Well, then.

The Rocket's Red Glare...

It's the night of July 3rd, and from our balcony I can see five different displays of fireworks. The big display is the annual Sylvan Lake show to the southwest, putting out colorful pyrotic pom-poms so huge that the THONK-THONK of the send-ups rolls across the lake and echoes against southern Pontiac like thunder.

The rest are indie displays, made possible in part by Fred the illegal fireworks salesman, and viewers like me. It's been quite lovely. The people 2 doors down have been putting on nightly shows at dusk for the past week. They must spend thousands of dollars. Maybe it's worth it to them since they know the neighbors are all on their porches, balconies and lawns, enjoying it along with them. After particularly flashy pops, one can hear clapping and sometimes whistling from all the nearby streets. It gives me a warm feeling about our neighborhood. The people a couple streets in either direction have decided to give our street a run for the money, with their own illegal displays. Hurrah! More pretties! For some reason our neighborhood is just bursting with either patriots or pyromaniacs. Or both.

I get too excited about fireworks, I think. I find myself grinning and clapping my hands like a 4 year old. Fortunately, I've gotten to see a whole bunch this year. I'm excited for tomorrow night. That ought to keep me til next summer.

It's okay. I'm disturbed by it too.

I just discovered my phone camera could do this. And now Nihao's a surprised looking nun. Nunhao. Blessed be.

When the cat's away, the mice will...sit up behind the tv in a plastic bag.

Just finished reading Patrick O'leary's book, The Gift. It's the most satisfying read I've had in a while. I'd put it into the same category as Robin Hobb's Farseer trilogy etc. That goes to show there's nothing like a well crafted, intelligent fantasy novel. O'Leary's book is perhaps more "traditional" in the sense that it contains dragons and wizards etc, but he manages to make them unlike anything you've read before. All really good fantasies have elements of the real in them, and this is no exception: the significance of Names, how storytelling is essential to our humanity, etc.

One more point in the book's favor is that fact that unlike the woeful majority of fantasy literature, it actually has interesting and beautiful cover art. Not the melodramatic schlock that (God knows why) publishers decide to slap on even the best (i.e. poor Robin Hobb) fantasy books.

____________________________________

The other day I was at the pet store and on my way through the checkout line, I decided on a whim to buy one of those small toy mice made from real rabbit fur for our cat, Boo. Once I got home, I didn't actually remember it was in the bag until I caught him sniffing and pawing where I'd left it on the kitchen floor. As soon as I gave held it out to him he got hunter-eyes (you know--when something enticing is twitching and suddenly your cat's pupils are like dinner plates), snatched the mouse and ran off, joyfully tossing it and worrying it. And this went on. ALL DAY. The next morning I was slightly disgusted to find the ragged husk of what was left of the "mouse" on my bathroom floor. All there was was a small patch of mostly bald rabbit skin with many, many holes in it. As I peered at it, Boo flounced through and whisked it away. Ew. I decided that since the toy had been such a success, I ought to get him another. I found a MEGA pack of them at Meijer for a fraction of what I paid at the cat store, so brought it home, gave Boo one mouse from the package, and carefully wrapped the bulk of them back up and set them up behind the tv.

Let's spring ahead a couple days, shall we? But first let me say this: we are unusually blessed with good cats. They excrete ONLY in their litter box, they scratch only occasionally on our carpet-never the sofas- and they NEVER climb up where they shouldn't be and cause mass destruction by knocking things off bookshelves and mantles and kitchen counters. Our cats are generally the models of restraint (except when it comes to wet food). This is why I was shocked (and highly amused) to reach the bottom of our stairs one morning and find our living room awash in a sea of half-gnawed, bedraggled, colorful mice, with Boo lying, exhausted and slightly guilty looking, on the couch. He had carefully jumped from the couch to a stack of DVDs on top of the shelf, to the top of the speaker (also covered in stuff) to the top of the tv, and without disturbing the plant, had pilfered the bag of mice, gnawed it open, and had a wild party. All this without disturbing any of the precarious piles of stuff that cover that area. Single minded, determined, and only a LITTLE naughty cat.

Gently Drifting Expletives...

I was thinking back to one of my favorite local news broadcasts ever today. The story was dubbed "The Cussing Canoeist" by the press. It seems that a few years ago, a canoeist in a public park paddled over a large rock or something of that nature--whatever it was it caused him to loudly proclaim, "FUUUUCK!!" A startled family was within earshot, and after recovering, the parents marched said canoeist straight to court. Apparently, many states still have laws left over from the good old days that prohibit men from cursing in the prescence of women and children. (Learn somethin' new every day, dontcha?)

Now I don't have a problem with cussing. I do think that people need to curb their mouths in public, though. I'm not making a judgement as to whether I thought "Fuck" Boy needed to go to court or not. I just admitting to being secretly pleased, because as a result of the legal mayhem, the local news took it upon themselves to do their own digital reinactment of the incident.

A straight faced news anchor lady with severe hair explains the situation as, behind her, the scene plays out with a canoe to represent the "cussing canoeist, and little figures of the unsuspecting family around the river bend. Suddenly, the word "Expletive!" bursts from the canoe, and the news anchor solomnly indicates it as it driftes gently around the bend of the river into the ears of the innocents.

HA! Floating cussowrds! ha... Ahem. You may have had to be there. In fact, it's more than likely.

If I could kick Dan Brown in the knee for every book he sold....Well, actually, it wouldn't matter how many times I'd get to kick him, at least I'd feel better. Go to Amazon and read the reviews of people who give Angels and Demons one star. They appropriately explain what I mean. I'd like to gently drift some expletives at HIM.

Post Angels and Demons, I'm not certain if the next book I read is actually a really good book, or just a really good book in comparison to anything Brownian. Darn you, Dan Brown, for temporarily impairing my judgement!

I'd also like to take this opportunity to blame Dan Brown for the major zit I got on prom night in high school.

A Lilliputian Massacre

First of all, has anyone seen the 1939 animated "Gulliver's Travels?" You know--the one with the kindly, bland-faced Gulliver whose first response to an attempted assasination is a slow and thoughtful, "Myy, my." In fact, as I recall, that was his response to just about everything--the swarming Lilliputians creating a new outfit right on him, the bumbling, munchkin-like watchman who inevitably falls off a bridge or some other tall structure (fortunately?) into Gulliver's hand. Myyy, my.

Back to my main point: Well, think about the tiny, bumbling watchman for a second. Think about his annoying, highpitched yelps and gurgles. (Made you want to step on him, didn't it? Or am I alone here?)

Now, if you've ever played the video game "Halo," think about the little Covenant aliens shaped like triangles with bad attitudes. Think about their annoying, highpitched yelps and gurg.... hey.... Don't they sound IDENTICAL to the Lilliputian watchman? Some designer watched the "Gulliver's Travels" cartoon as a child and thought, "This movie would be SO much better if I could run that watchman over with a ATV and then shoot him with his own weapon."

hmm.

Post Script: I'm not necessarily condoning Halo. I recognize the slickness of the design, but I don't particularly like it. The Boy plays it, and from downstairs I get to hear the sounds of space battles and Lilliputian watchmen getting their butts kicked.

Heads and Tails

As a postscript to an already too long post, I'd like to add the fact that I've always thought that my little cat, Boo had the tail of a much taller cat. After measuring, I think I'm right. Boo, weighing in at something like 8 pounds, has a tail that is a majestic 11 1/4 inches long. Nihao, at 13 pounds, has a 10 3/4 inch tail. Does this prove anything? Not really.

But it somehow gives me a weird satisfaction.

Succumbing to the Dork Side

So the past couple weeks at the McW household, have (among other much more important things) consisted of lots of tee-heeing and trying on various Jedi outfits and bragging about how badass in the force one is. Oh yes, padewans, we have been playing the Star Wars video game "Knights of the Old Republic." In fact, not 20 minutes ago, the boy soundly kicked the booty of the Dark Lord of the Sith once and for all. And, dorks that we are, we're probably going to do the whole thing over, so our character can be a total annoying jerk in all the conversations and interactions.

I have been playing Zelda - Wind Waker in between KOTOR stints, and as a result, I've found myself at times telling Ed to just somersault over long distances--it's faster... Oh. Different game.

KOTOR turned out to be a pretty interesting game. I enjoyed the interactions and possibilities for doing it up light side style, being a complete smartass, or simply tossing away your conscience for the dark side. There has been some debate about which answers will actually garner the MOST light side points-- ie: Should I take the reward for saving this guy's kid and thank him? Should I wave my hand and say, "You wish to double that amount you're paying me?" Definitely not. Oh... I should decline the reward and offer to give the kid a piggyback ride. Yeah. Totally most light side.

Though it was a fun game, and we'll certainly play it again, there were things about it that drove me utterly NUTS. For example, it's a game with lots of depth blah blah blah...so why are there only about 3 character models for NPC heads??? It's disconcerting to walk up to someone completely new and see the face of the same guy whose innocence you proved on Dantooine, who tried to get you to smuggle goods off Korriban, who mistook you for someone else on another planet, and who now appears to be a Sith academy hopeful with a squeaky voice. ANNOYING. Especially when the voice is polar opposite of what you expect from the character model.

I did appreciate the reference to "walking carpets," though.

_______________________

Cautionary note:

My children, if you have any interest in actually knowing how much money is in your account, or making deposits that post to your account within a reasonable amount of time, if you are interested in a bank with decent online banking, that shows accurate numbers and makes an ounce of freaking sense, do NOT bank with TCF bank.

I have called customer service several times about a mysterious number that shows up in my online statement... I've gotten a different answer EVERY SINGLE TIME. Not even the people who are supposed to be helping me out have a clue how it works. This particular number is sometimes negative, sometimes positive, and always a mystery. I've been able to deduce that it has something to do with pending transactions. I've been confidently told by customer service that it represents what my balance will be once everything posts, or that it represents the sum of pending balances and has nothing to do with my current balance, or that it represents my actual available balance, etc etc. I was dumb enough to believe a couple of them, and as a result, ended up bouncing stuff, which makes me CRAZY. Finally I decided to ignore them all. Things were going well, until a deposit I made didn't show up in my account a few days later. A call to good old customer service revealed that my deposit had been lost. LOST. I think I'd be better putting my money into a shoebox. As a result of the lost deposit, several things bounced--they were good enough not to charge me overdraft fees. (see? I can appreciate that fact.) However, it meant that my only means of cash--my debit card, (no more credit cards) had been cut off due to "insufficient funds." Another call and I was assured that it would all be cleared up by Mon at 9am...which was good because I coasted to work that morning on gas fumes. A check in call around 11 and the entirely unhelpful rep assured me that everything would be cleared up by..."2 days at the most." So... long story short, I managed to get home, and as soon as I get my next check I'm opening up a National City account.

Lesson learned.
________________________

On the brighter side, we have discovered another incredibly neat place about 2 minutes from our house. Nope--I'm not talking about the rocking HUGE Salvation Army right nearby, or the very cool little Liberty bar in downtown Pontiac... It's actually a greenhouse/nursery. I know that might sound lame, but this place is hands down the coolest greenhouse I've ever seen. It's been there since 1897--the greenhouses are real glass, (thus, smaller than today's plexi ones) and there are a mutitude of rooms through which one can wander, looking at handmade tile amidst the plants, or wrought iron work from around the world, or just staring at plants I've never imagined. There are mysterious and ancient vines that wind their way from room to room. You can tell the concrete has been there for a hundred years--it's aged and mossy, like something you'd see in the secret garden or read about in a George MacDonald book. It's magic.

Out back, if you wind far enough through the rows of trees and shrubs and flowering things, eventually you'll find a picnic table at the base of a HUGE oak tree by the river. Maybe we'll take a picnic sometime.

Of Meds and Idols and Babies

I find it disturbing that marketing people either don't notice, or actively approve certain medical product names. For example, the anti-sinus stuffiness nosespray called...FloNase. Yes. As in...Flow...Nase(l). Makes you want to sniff just thinking about it, doesn't it?

That's certainly not the worst one. What were these people thinking? Was there a marketing meeting about it? Were there people sitting around a shiny table slowly muttering things to themselves like, "okay... it's a medication that helps you enjoy life more....happy... good times...celebrations....cele...CELEBREX!" Or... "Alright....it's a cream that heals hemmroids...it disolves onto your butt...umm...'Ass-pacify?' 'Bootycool?' Or maybe...Anus..ol? ANUSOL! Yeah!"

The boy commented that it makes him worry a bit that there's a tooth medication called Anbusol, or something along those lines. One of these days someone's just going to grab the wrong tube.

It reminds me of the Energizer commercial from years ago with the cowboy leaping from a balcony onto his horse's back. He winces in pain, remarking that he should have used "Sittagin," a hemmroid cream. Then the Energizer rabbit pounds through etc...

Sir Elton John can kiss my Anbusol. Not that I'm a die-hard Idol fan, but if he had a lick of sense in his fancy little head, he wouldn't have made that "American Idol racist" comment. Does he realize that American Idol is not just an enigmatic entity that independantly puts its foot down weekly and kicks another contestant off? Does he realize that he's calling ALL OF AMERICA racist? Has he been watching the show? Does he realize the "TOP three" up until this point has pretty consistantly been made of at least 2 African Americans? The main thing though, is that there were three contestants all offering the same "product"--soulful black diva singing. Good stuff, that. Everyone else fits into their own little niche. There's soulful black diva niche, rat-pack crooner niche, pop-girl niche, whatever the heck Diana is niche, and the rich, raspy, mellow niche. The three divas were splitting the votes of the entire "soulful black diva" segment of the population. It was inevitable that one of them would end up gone. I guarantee that had there only been two of them, they both would have been in the top three. Just ask Ralph Nader. He knows about vote splitting. um... or maybe he doesn't.

I visited a friend in the hospital yesterday--after nine long months of puking and hormones and paralyzing contractions, she finally had her tonsils out.

OF COURSE NOT. She had the baby. Of course, he didn't agree to come out until she had sat for 2 days with a needle in her arm, trying to be induced. Glad he finally made it though. It's nice to see him. Such a little person. I feel a bit guilty that I wasn't able to visit at the hospital again today. M will probably be bored out of her mind by the time they let her go home. I'll try to visit tomorrow, so she's not lonely. I will come bearing flowers--just not roses, which, I think she's allergic to?

It was amusing though-- M and J's personalities summed up in a little exchange while I was hanging with them in the hospital a few hours after the baby was born.

J (videotaping everything, excited and dreamy): Birth and life is so amazing and wonderful! I saved the placenta. I'm going to plant a tree in the yard, and bury the placenta beneath its outstretched branches.

M (hooks the baby expertly onto her breast. Looks thoughtful.): Yeah...and the dog across the street will come over, dig it up, and eat it.

Congratulations, you two! I'm excited to see what this baby will be like in 15 years. Hopefully the perfect cross-section of both of his parents - an excellent musician who is actually really great at math!