Ow! My Most of Me!

Achey hands because I just wrenched off the basement door in order to cut a cat hole in the bottom of it. Well, not a cat "hole," persay, but more of an arch. An opening. An aperature. And hopefully something that won't look as though a monster took a snaggle-toothed bite from the door.

Nihao's immediate response to me removing the door was to puke. Thank you Nihao. Now I know exactly how you feel about it. She's been meowing incessently for the last couple days, probably because I've been rendering huge upsetting changes, like cleaning out the litter box. I've tried to make sure she is extra loved and patted. She's actually much better than she used to be--It's been months since she's thrown up because of stress. I'm dreading how it will be when the time comes to rennovate the kitchen, starting with flat-out gutting the place. Poor Neen.

In any case, now that I've got the door off, I'm at a standstill because I can not, for the life of me, make the blade snap into place on the jigsaw. Oh, I've tried. And tried. And cursed like a sailor. I'm beginning to feel that perhaps the jigsaw is designed to entirely ignore people with that extra "girl" chromosome. This sort of thing drives me insane. I can open tight bottle lids, assemble furniture without the directions, program a VCR, even change the oil on a damn car, but I can't...plug...the little...blade...into the jigsaw. GGAARRRRR!!

C-to-the-omic

Here is a comic that takes neither itself, nor you seriously.

Starshift Crisis

Summary: elitist, cynical curator of a museum of worlds based on an intergalactic starship has a giant, humorless preying mantis-like butler who makes him tea. The art is entertaining, but the writing is what comes in a cut above many a web comic I've browsed. In a way, it feels as though someone shook Douglas Adams and a webcomic fell out (except that dear old DA is dead. Uh, ewww. No shaking dead people). I'm not saying that it draws too much on Adams--just that it makes me snicker in precisely the same ways.

I tried BBQing pork chops tonight. Big, thick meaty ones. And they turned out dry and sucky. Oh well. It could have been worse. They could have been dropped in poo.

Calling All Audio-Nerds!

I stumbled across a website for the best type of audio-nerd today. This guy scanned vinyl into his computer and managed to interpret it into something akin to music. The sound samples on the bottom are barely recognizable swishy, crackly bits of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.


Observe.

Someone needs to use a sample of this thing in a song or two. It's practically good enough to listen to on its own as minimalist techno or something along those lines.

You! Musically inclined friends! Let me know if you make anything from it. I'd be excited to hear.

The first time I saw the Monkey, I was spinning at a club in Dusseldorf...

Someone sent a link to THIS today, and I was much entertained by it. It reminds me a little, for some reason, of the people who made the Urban Monkey short films years ago.

The Urban Monkey films revolved around deadpan documentary interviews with people and footage of an elusive "urban monkey" who can out-breakdance anyone on the block. They did a recreation of the legendary "bigfoot footage" that was killer as well. All of this was set against a backdrop of original hip-hop. I'm sad to find that it's disappeared so utterly from the internet. I couldn't even find it using the Wayback Machine.

Now-a-days, the Urban Monkey title has been claimed by some British kid who hops around. Okay. He's slightly cooler than that, but it makes me just a wee bit bitter.

It Grew on an iShrub

Now this is rather slick.



I'm tempted to make some sort of crack about how it only plays rustic folk music now... but I won't.

Oh. Dear. God.

Poor Ennio Morricone, legendary composer of western music and countless movie scores... even HE is not immune to hokey covers.

This must be Swedish. And it's got to be the seventies. It would have to be Sweden in the seventies for anyone to remotely think this is okay.

For those of you of the "Read Now, Click Later" school, the above link is one the Boy sent to a video of what looks like the cousin of Lemmy from Motorhead fronting a fringe-laden band of Swedes high on peyote who've decided that converting Morricone compositions to disco music is actually somehow a good idea.

This is not a joke. The front man seems so taken with the idea that occasionally he punctuates the music with a triumphant (yet slightly sinister), "Hahaa!"

Clad in genuine apache bikinis, the Swedish ladies swim team gyrates their way through the set, brightly crooning, "Apache-pache boy!" as if to somehow convince us that the fluffy-haired gent in a yellow fringed jumpsuit is, in actuality, a certified Native American.

Don't miss a priceless moment near the end where, unable to resist the Apache Boy's aura of seventies sexiness, the ladies run their hands over him...and one earnestly squashes his puffy hairdo. The motion reminds me more of the desparing "Lifetime original movie" mother vigorously stroking the brow of her injured child and choking out: "It's aaaall right. It's going to be aaaall right. It'll be over soon."

Don't worry, Apache-pache Boy. It'll be over soon.

And for My Next Trick...

I will make a snap decision to go to Greenfield Village with my out-of-town family--because I can always finish my work tonight. What a concept. Now that I'm freelancing, where there is a laptop, there is my job.

Do I miss getting heartburn within an hour of arriving at the old office each morning? (I'm dead serious: EVERY day.)

Oh, hell no.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Come on Back, Now...

Quick post to point out that suddenly people who didn't exist when there was betamax are making music as though they warped right out of the best part of the eighties. I... I have to like it. Lots. Retro-pop is never something I could listen to exclusively, but this stuff is really tight:

The Bravery
- Energetic retro-pop that begs for a screening of The Breakfast Club and pixie stix for everyone!
My Favorite
- Think more mature Anything Box with female vocals over tinkley keys.
VHS or Beta
- Robert Smith's son beats up Simon LeBon's son and steals his band. Somewhere along the way, one of the guys from Daft Punk gets lost and ends up in the studio. (try title track... yummy!)

I'll be applying for membership here...

I always knew the Christ knew how to rock.

Low Gravity

I'm in the process of reading Tam Lin by Pamela Dean. It's part of the Fairy Tale series, which is a collection of modern retellings. So far, it's been rather enjoyable, not only becasue if the fact that I tend to be fascinated by fairy tales, but also because the writing is quirky and interesting. At times, the characters seem as though they could be hanging out with the pretentious Classics scholars of A Secret History, but in general, they seem geniune enough, and less inclined to murder each other. (not that A Secret History was not enjoyable as well...) I'm not far enough into the book to really say much more than that.

I watched a shamefully large chunk of episodes of this past season of "Lost" last night. Very interesting stuff, though I wish the finale had answered more questions than it did. Hurrah for TV, that this sort of thing can be mainstream. It's no Twin Peaks, but it's better than most of the schlock that's been on the past few years.

Too Late the Phalarope

Found this book while doing some spring cleaning... It's been years since I've read it.

What the phalarope actually has to do with this blog entry is debatable. It's a small, sleek shore bird that, if Alan Patton is to be believed, can be found in South Africa. In other words, it has nothing to do with it.

But it IS too late. I ought to be sleeping since I think I may be, once again, on the brink of getting sick. Which reminds me:

At the event of my grandfather's 90th birthday (!) this week, a cousin's significant other asked what was happening musically, and I was sort of horrified to find that I was giving him the same answer as I had last time I saw him--a year ago. He raised an eyebrow and commented that if we don't use a gift, the Muse will take it away. I'm hoping the Muse just has a little more patience, because after a year of working a job that devoured my personal life, I'm finally at the point where I can begin to reaquaint myself with the people I care about, and begin to write again.

I feel as though I'm starting over in many ways-- I'm desperately hoping that I don't have to go through the long period of exceedingly sucky writing in order to produce anything worthwhile again.

Challenges:
1. tune your damn piano
2. restring your dusty guitar
3. write something decent enough that you're not tempted to gnaw off your own arm rather than read/listen to it.

Ha. We'll see how that goes. Seriously, though... I'm actually optomistic.

A Letter to the Creators of Suikoden IV.

Dear Suikoden IV Designers -

What drastic and stupid thing happened between Suikoden III and Suikoden IV? Please read my January 17, 2004 post regarding III. It wasn't a perfect game, but it was detailed and highly enjoyable after the first 4 hours. I've actually played it again since then.

Now re-read the few negative points I made about III. Those also apply to IV. Apparently, you didn't attempt to revamp the rough areas of the game. Instead, you just made them rougher. And also, I have to assume that there was an internal memo regarding Zelda - Windwaker and Dark Cloud II that stated, "Feel free to use any of the fun ideas from these games. However, recreating these in any way that could be construed as enjoyable will result in immediate discipliary action up to and possibly including termination or being buried neck deep in a fire-ant nest."

I enjoyed the sailing aspect of Windwaker. You could see distant tantalizing islands, the clever bit about the many map-painting fish was entertaining, you could land anywhere you darn well pleased, and the steering mechanism made some sort of SENSE. On the other hand, there is S.IV, which has a huge map which requires you to slloooowwly traverse EVERY SQUARE INCH in order to see any islands. Lord knows I would have liked to have seen those islands on the horizon, but for some mysterious reason, on this ocean, one doesn't realize an island is there until you're practically crashing onto the beach. Oh WAIT. You CAN'T sail onto the beach, because when you're about a quater-mile away from the damn island, your ship inexplicably heaves itself around, and regardless of your efforts, steers itself firmly away for much too long a period of time. What. The. Hell. The encounter rate alone on the ocean made it near impossible to go anywhere without ripping large chunks of my hair out.

Someone thought the idea of fishing from Dark Cloud II was a good one. But the effect is like taking a big bite of a s'more and realizing that someone made it with a lump of white spray insulation instead of a marshmallow. It looks good until you try it. Like the sailing, all vestages of fun were carefully drained from a good idea. Everything is wrong, detail has been stripped away, leaving a sad shadow of a fishing game that repeatedly plays a mocking noise when you inevitably break your line or lose a fish. Fuck you.

Designers, I can only assume that it was fear of some malevolent project coordinator that kept you from using the interesting multiple-character chapter method that was used in III. Or laziness, maybe?

Also worth note is the fact that the character design in this game is BARELY interesting, and the more interesting bits are unintentional. The silent protagonist runs as though he sat rather hard on a substantially large stick for the first few hours of the game. Even after the change out of his initial ridiculous culottes (remind me of the unflattering "gym shorts" the girls at my dread Southern Baptist junior high were forced to wear. *shudder*) he wears retarded "little pants." At least he walks slightly more naturally. (as if only a small stick were up his ass now)

Sad. Very sad. I don't understand why anyone making or testing the game would not have realized what a pile of crap it is, and how un-fun it is to play. Thank God I rented instead of buying.

Even after all that ranting, I still acknowledge there are some good things about the game. There is a point after which you can make your characters run very, very quickly. Comes in handy when you're bolting around trying to figure out what the next trigger point is. Also, the idea of a huge ship being the base you establish is interesting.

Bleh. Good and bad weighed, S. IV only comes in at 2 out of 5 stars.

2 Things. Probably more.

1. Britney Spears and Mrs. Federline-Spears are making their own reality tv show, apparently. Now instead of just occassional spots on VH1, the grateful public will get regular glimpses of their moronic and dubious relationship. Sing from the rooftops!

2. The Boy and I (for some reason) really like the Discovery show, American Chopper. We're not really the kind of people that watch a motorcycle building show regularly, I think. BUT... American Chopper has about the best interpersonal exchanges and relational dynamics of any reality show I've ever watched. Honestly. Again... that is probably not the reason it's popular with people in huge trucks.

Cast:

Senior - massivly muscled middle aged shop owner. Soft on his younger son, Mikey, and hard as crowbar on his older son, Pauly. Senior has a very "old school dad" feel. Deleriously happy? The corner of his handlebar mustache twitches. Grouchy? EVERYONE RUN.

Pauly - Older son (31). Fantastically brilliant chopper fabricator. Regular guy, with a wife and little daughter. Does his own thing in the shop, and almost without fail, it turns out beautifully. Most of the time, he manages to be completely deaf when his father is bellowing at him from 2 feet away. Sometimes loses his cool and bellows back.

Mikey - younger son (20s). Plays the idiot, because he knows it means he can get away with not working and most times, Senior ends up snorting and trying not to laugh instead of raging. I can't decide if he's really as shallow and incompetant as he seems, or if it's some sort of defense mechanism against his father taking him seriously and treating him like Pauly.

Vinnie - complete saint who steadily and quietly works away with Pauly while Senior stomps and rants around the shop. Close friend of Pauly's.

Rick - basically ditto of above, except he and Pauly are not as close.

Mike - Some schmuck from the shop who occasionally shows up on the show and tries to steamroll the design so he can hotdog for the camera and get on Senior's good side. Perfectly willing to step on anyone he thinks he can get away with stepping on. Even not being a fabricator, I can see his work is shoddy, and his ideas generally suck.

Having seen enough of the show to have a bit of a handle on the relationships, you begin to appreciate smaller things:

Senior's 1974 Sunshine chopper is dragged out for restoration, and Senior takes a long look at it. His ears turn pink, and you know how incredibly proud he is of that bike, and how much he's loved it. He refers to it in the feminine. In some respects, he's very like my dad.

Senior goes ballistic because he suddenly decides there are too many drinks around the shop. He roars something about severe consequences, and forces everyone to pick up pop cans etc before they can continue the bike they're working on. Later, he feels bad, but instead of apologizing, he hovers a bit near the build, asking Pauly questions about his plans in a slightly sheepish way. Very dad-like.

In any case, I recommend seeing the show at least a few time to appreciate the priecless familial interactions.

Full Circle

A couple months ago I convinced one of my former bookstore coworkers to leave the world of wrathful middle aged women and pilfering teens to some work at the company I am currently employed by. It's been intersting to exchange stories with her.

Not to say that the bookstore consisted ONLY of the above mentioned, but it's weirdly weighted in that direction sometimes. It's been over a year since I last worked behind a counter, and I've found that the fact that I am treated humanely every single day has morphed me into a much more confident and secure person. hmm. I do miss the bookstore at times though.

In my talks with S, I was reminded the other day of the Not Really Lawyer. This was a man pushing the far end of middle age, who, dressed in a grubby and wrinkled polyester suit, would "stop by" the store in the mornings and end up wandering about all day. The Not Really Lawyer used to tell me about his job as I'd fill his coffee mug. He talked offhandedly about the firm he worked for/owned (depending on the day). So much to do. So prestigious. So lucrative. And, as he'd sit for the fourth hour in a row reading the same magazine, I'd think to myself, "So sad."

If he had just been a guy trying to pretend he had a place in life, that would have been one thing, but the Not Really Lawyer tended to border on obnoxious about it. He'd talk about the massive settlement he'd just raked in, while fingering the grubby edges of hs sleeves as though there were imaginary cuff links. And he'd give a look down his nose and pointedly say things about how he USED to work in retail, but he wanted something better for his life.

Then there was the time he abandonded his 94 year old father at our store. What a rollicking good time. The Not Really Lawyer dragged the old man in by the elbow and plopped him into a chair near the cafe. For the rest of the day the father sat there, sometimes snoring gently. Closing time came, and we realized that we hadn't seen Not Really Lawyer in hours, and his ancient father was still flopped onto the seat in the cafe. I don't remember exactly how we roused him from his deathlike slumber. I do recall though, that the old man couldn't even tell us his son's name at first, and seemed disoriented, to say the least. At a loss, we eventually called the police. I hope Not Really lawyer remembers to do things like provide food and liquids to his elderly father.

Shame on you, you pretender.

Most Likely the Coolest Photos You'll See Today...

It would take many many gin & tonics to get me to play tennis on the helipad of 20+ story building. Looks like a film set, but no... it's the Burj Al-Arab Hotel in Dubai.



And now it looks as though we've just been beamed up with Mike TV in Willie Wonka's factory.



Look! It's our favorite bald tennis player about to play fetch with his charming yet slightly gullible canine pal.

Well, I'll Be Gosh-Swoggled.

Whatever that means.

I had the pleasant surprise today of having author Patrick O'Leary comment on a July blog post in which I mentioned enjoying his book, The Gift.

(Well, on the miniscule chance you ever read this blog again: I own The Impossible Bird too, Patrick, and think it also is beautifully intricate, and has fantastic cover art. And I'm a girl. Er..a Dudette..?)

The Boy would also like to me point out that O'Leary is a southeast Michigan native, and set a scene from his book, Door Number Three, in the Borders Books at Southfield and 13 Mile Rd.

Ha! That pleases me more than it probably should.

Not a single, tiny, wimpering regret.

Regarding my last post, I would just like to say that I should have added several more exclamation points to drive home my point. And I lied - I did look at PvP again today since Kurtz posted what he deemed and "apology," and I was curious.

In his "apology," Kurtz first presents himself as a hurting victim, then manages not only to be MORE offensive toward Fred Gallagher, but also to alienate all MegaTokyo readers as well. You think drastic sterotypes and bitter blanket statements are really going to mollify anyone? How about a little humility? Perhaps he's unaware of the fact that he actually shares a massive percentage of his readers with MegaTokyo. Like I said earlier, Fred can be melodramatic, but at least he's unassuming and genuine.

Congratulations - You really put those pokey-eating MT readers in their place, Kurtz. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that you may find a curious dip your readership. I'm sure I'm not the only person who left in disgust.

Because he can't freeze my blog.

There was once a time when the webcomic PvP was actually enjoyable - it was witty, funny, creative, and definitely one of my bookmarked "dailies." However, even during the golden years of PvP, I was occasionally annoyed by its creator, Scott Kurtz. He took himself so seriously, and his constant weedleing for people to click sponsor links and buy his swag grated now and then. I responded by ignoring the rants/journal entries, and still managed to enjoy the comic.

Within the last year or so, I've trudged dutifully through several painfully stupid and unfunny story arcs involving things like Jade's younger sister trying to seduce Brent (I kept coming back for the faint hope that there might be a strip involving Scratch and Skull.). The decline of the comic is not what ultimately made me stop visiting PvP, however. The strip didn't disturb me half so much as Scott Kurtz disturbed me.

The fact is that in his PvP universe, Scott Kurtz is a god. A tyrannical little god who's terrified of people saying anything MEAN about him, and who rewrites history as suits him. I recall his rant about an obnoxious band in the booth next to his at a particular con...understandable - they sounded like total asshats. However, Scott went one step further and attempted to mobilize his PvP army against them by CLEARLY posting a link to the band's site and, wink-wink, nudge-nudge, saying how awful it would be if too many people downloaded from their website, because they might exceed their bandwidth and have to pay a lot extra...

What do you think that means? It means, "After them, my PvP minions!" Of course. I thought at the time it was a sort of low thing to do, but it didn't particularly bother me...

Except that a couple days later, god-Scott breezed in and erased his previous post, replacing it with one that claimed, in a self-righteously indignant tone, that some people had accused him of telling readers to flood the band's server and that was not what he intended AT ALL. These guys were just trying to make a living, etc. etc. and now they're good friends, blah blah.

What outrageous and obnoxious backpaddling. Just admit that you were pissed off, and you wrote before you thought of the consequences, Scott.

That episode left a bad taste in my mouth, but it was pretty much behind me, until this past week's debacle. In the midst of congratulating Rodney Caston (of early Megatokyo renown) on his upcoming baby, Kurtz took an unexpected and unwarrented swipe at Fred Gallagher, current Megatokyo writer and artist. Now the swipe itself, though to me a pretty despicable thing, was Kurtz's personal opinion. I believe that he's wrong, but he has every right to say what he wants. Conversly, I have ever right to never go back to his site again because of my personal opinion that he's a dickhead.

Now, if you go to the PvP site, you won't find any evidence of the post. It's been neatly swept under a virtual rug by Mr. Kurtz. He even froze the thread on the message boards pertaining to it to keep people from discussing it. It took only a few hours for him to realize that someone, somewhere might think that it wasn't cool, and as a result, say something MEAN about him. Like that he's a dickhead.

Fred responded on Megatokyo's site. He was a little overwrought and emotional, but one can hardly blame him. In the end, his point was valid: his business relationship with Rodney Caston is none of Kurtz's bloody business.

The jewels that only occasionally crop up in PvP these days are not worth putting up with Scott Kurtz.

Today, after years of reading PvP, I deleted the bookmark entirely.
It was a grand, pointless gesture, but somehow it feels good.

The Joys that Come with Age

"What creature walks on four legs at the dawn, two in the midday, and three legs in the evening?" the Sphinx asked Oedipus. At least I think that's how it goes. As I recall, the answer to the Sphinx's riddle was "Man - because he crawls on all fours as an infant, walks as an adult, and uses a cane in his old age."

Speaking of old age...

I have a hearty esteem for the elderly. Anyone who manages to stick around 80 years has my respect. At the same time, one can't deny that sometimes, as people become more childlike in their old age, they render stories that are by one token sad, but by another, howlingly funny. My general rule of thumb is that I will not take myself seriously as an old person, (Why start then?) and I should hope if I do something laughable, people are not afraid to guffaw.

For instance:
A friend had a grandfather who, upon his own occasional epic episodes of flatulance, would crane his head around sharply, demanding, "Who's that? Who's there?!"

How could one not giggle like an idiot?

A sister of mine worked at a home where a tiny, ancient French-Canadian lady refused to eat breakfast. When J gently but firmly steered her back to the table, the tiny lady went into little girl mode - stamping her foot angrily, and flinging her ever-present tissue to the ground in a fit of rage. As the tissue fluttered gently to the floor,(perhaps not the effect she had intended) she would declare, "I'm goin' to TOWN!"

When I'm old, I hope that somehow I manage to avoid troublesome things like brain shrinkage and the type of thing that puts one into the company of people such as This lucky lady.

This story is the reason I've been thinking about age today. The Boy's grandfather did the exact same thing a few years ago. What boggles me is that he managed to superglue BOTH his eyes shut. One I could (sort of) understand, but BOTH-- reportedly, the grandfather put the "drops" into one eye, noticed they stung a little, but proceeded with the next anyway.

Upon finding he was rendered blind via his epoxied eyelids, he sat quietly on the bed until it was clear that the Boy's uncle was awake, then called him in a little voice to inform him that there was something wrong with his eyedrops. (the "little voice" gets me - in both the lady and grandpa stories. What other type of voice could you possible have but a meek and sheepish one after doing something like that?)

The uncle took him to the hospital, where some jackass of a doctor decided it would "just wear off on its own." So they went home again. The uncle stayed home from work, understandably, and together they sat on the couch so the uncle could tell the grandpa everything that was happening on Murder She Wrote. In the Boy's family version of the story, this section in accompanied by the teller making a very interested face and leaning forward, except with his or her eyes tightly closed. "Yes? yes? What now?" The uncle says things such as, "ok... now Jessica is underneath the window in the bushes. She's listening to the conversation... Oh! They might have seen her!"

Later, the uncle took the grandpa to another hospital, where they told him the first doctor was a jackass. The glue had dried on the surface of the grandpa's eyes, creating a hard contact with sharp edges that scratched every time he shifted his eyeballs. Through sheer determination and merciless ripping, the medical staff opened them again. Today the grandpa seems no worse for the wear from it.

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.