Totally Tarantula Tuesday: Terrifying Tuesday Edition!

Helob finally ate one of the little violinsts! I happened to glance over at him/her/it/bird/spider and she/he/it/bird/spider snatched up a cricket that wandered too close. Sweet success for me and sweet succulent secretions for him/her/it/bird/spider. Hopefully, fear will keep the rest of the string section in line.

Summer Expedition Plans?

My quartermaster just waltzed into my writing den and proposed a schedule that included planning sessions for a possible return to the land of buckthorn and honey weiss. I nearly cane-whipped Auswald for interrupting my thoughts. The sheer audacity of the man! I was betwixt a plot and a nap, nearly finished with a rough draft of my next novel, prior to the typing stage and he barges in all a-flutter over schedules and time tables! It's my expedition, is it not? It shall leave when I say and not a moment earlier nor later.

I should not be too hard on Auswald, his disturbance brought some fond memories to the forefront of my cognition and for that I shall have a sumptuous dinner made that he will serve me and enjoy most fragrant lovelies and an abundance of pungence. This meal will sate me and serve to enhance his savoring of whatever broth and noodles the cook prepares for the staff. I suppose I should have Auswald perform an inventory of the expedition's equipment and oil my armaments. I shall retire to my den and begun anew with my memoirs.

My Life is a Constant Veil of Tears, Post-Modern Tears

I've been reading through the archive of Pictures for Sad Children, catching up on comics I've missed or forgotten since disconnecting the internets from my apartment. This comic about bugs in the flour reminded me of an incident from two summers ago. I was over at my brother's watering our tomatoes while he was off on a vacation. I stuck around to watch some tv and eat some of his food. The only food he had was crackers and mustard, so I ate some crackers with mustard. I got thirsty after eating most of the crackers in one package and went to get some water. I came back to the couch to find little black bugs crawling all over the crackers. I had previously thought the little black dots were part of the cracker. I was wrong, and horribly so. I drank as much water as I could and hoped that the bugs weren't toxic. I shoved the crackers in the freezer to kill the bugs, and also in the hopes that maybe my brother would eat them and therefore get some measure of revenge upon him for leaving me bugged crackers. He had not intended to leave any food for me at all, so I guess the joke was on me.

I nearly barfed all over the Metro on the way home, but held it together. I guess I've matured, or maybe just gotten dumber.

On Africa trip, pope displays complete lack of regard for health issues

From Yahoo news:

YAOUNDE, Cameroon – Condoms are not the answer to Africa's fight against HIV, Pope Benedict XVI said Tuesday as he began a weeklong trip to the continent. He also said that pigs fly. It was the pope's first explicit statement on an issue that has divided even clergy working with AIDS patients.

The pope also said that he is a dumbass.

In similar news, the AIDS/HIV prevalence rate in the District of Columbia is estimated at 3%. An epidemic is quantified as a 1% infection/prevalence rate, according the to the Washington Post article I read yesterday. So it's a severe epidemic in the city. I somehow doubt that U.S. Representative who held up the D.C. budget a few years back over a program that would have promoted condom use is losing any sleep over this serious problem.

Totally Tarantula Tuesday: The Cricket Farmer's Spider

I spaketh and I delivereth...on my own fucking schedule, so go eat a cobag, or read on, if you like tales of large, hairy, arachnids and their complex relationships with their caregivers and life-essence providerers.

Some writers have written about the eternal nights and the depths of the human soul which they encounter while exploring said nights. I write not of such nights, nor am I lucky enough to experience such lovely, lonely nights on a regular basis. I write of nights filled with the sweet, dulcet tunes of creatures unfortunate enough to be birthed into a world of captivity and fear. they live their sad, short lives in constant dread of the moment of pain and poison which suddenly ends their miserable excuse for an existence. I write, of course, of the crickets that have hatched in my tarantula's terrarium.

These are the evolutionary equivalent of veteran soldiers. They are the spawn of crickets smart or lucky enough to have lied long enough to breed and lay eggs in the strata of my cohabitant's domain. I am amazed and bedazzled by the mere presence of unpaid-for crickets in my fanged roommate's portion of our small efficiency. She's quite and always pays the bills on time, so I count myself among the lucky few in the District. Back to the crickets.

I have counted more than seven of the little bastards in there with her. The first three that reached edible stage were eaten with a quickness, mostly likely due to the extended and involuntary, totally accidentally enforced, starvation of last Autumn. Also, they were the first to sing and chirp.

As one local stand up comedian remarked last summer at Live Humans, "it must suck to be a cricket violinist, because you know you'll never be as good as an Asian." All I can say is this, if I were an Asian violinist, I would hope, pray and practice so that I would not become prey. I have not heard much about Chinese tarantulas but I will admit to the great and species-wide fear we should all be fearing at the implication that there are arachnids preying on violinists of any region.

There are more circkets than I can count in Helob's terrarium than I can currently count due to my deificient lack of marking equipment and motivation. I think I counted somewhere between eleven and eighteen musicians of various tonnage. Currently, there are only one or two denizens capable of producing ear-splitting decibels and violations of my REM-pattern. I would blame my recent lack of worthy Celebrity Dream Cameo's but the one brilliant remaining dream of such quality is still in draft form among other languishing blog posts. I can not fairly blame the crickets for this because I am a huge slacker. I can blame them for thinking that my alarm is blaring at dawn, when it was clearly set for 11. I wish she would just harvest the life juice out of these six-legged bastards and be done with it.

Regarding the predator in discussion, she remains calm in the face of immanent financial ruin. She may have lost all her stock and options, but she's still got some living crickets and a slow metabolism. The second crop of crickets to reach singing age have recently begun inflicting their special brand of insomnilent torture upon me. I sincerely hope Helob either experiences a growth spurt and the incipient pangs, or gets bored with this version of Tchaikoveranskhovenonovachight's Third Symphony in A Major, Night Terrors alternate universe version. I would vastly prefer if she would just consume all the goddamn grass that grows and chirrips in her vastness.

I will state for the internetian record that there is very sparse irony at searching for the allowed variations of the word insomnia at 6:43 am on Sunday morning.

Who watched the Watchmen? I did.

I read the graphic novel in the fall for the first time and I thought it was pretty damn good. I liked the thoroughness of the novel, even if I didn't think all of the asides and endnotes, or frontnotes, were necessary to the plot. I enjoyed the heck out of it and figured that a significant portion would be cut to make the movie. I don't really have a problem with cutting things for movie adaptations, so long as the directers or producers don't cut characters or plot points that I think are essential. There is basically no way to make an adaptation without cuts, unless you're the BBC and are shooting for a four hour miniseries, so these should be expected. After reading the novel, I had a short think about the cuts I would make, were I making the movie, and I am surprised to say that I was almost right. However, I was not surprised nor was I disappointed by what was cut.

I heard some guy complaining about it as we all filed out, and he compared it to the Harry Potter movies in the list of shitty adaptations. This was a tremendous overreaction. The Potter movies have cut scenes and extended others in a display of poor judgment and changed crucial dialogue. This guy seemed to want a literal transfer of written word and panel to the screen, and I don't expect or want that. If I wanted to see a movie like that, I would just read the book again. The director has a creative vision, usually, and you are watching their team's interpretation of the book or graphic novel. If you accept that, you might find yourself enjoying Watchmen as well.

As a movie, it is extremely entertaining but surprisingly slow at times. The characters were excellent, especially Rohrschach, though Silk Spectre II was perhaps the least excellent. Rohrschach had to be brilliant or the entire movie would have fallen apart. I don't want to spoil anything else, except to say that I thought the changes were fine (unlike the end of The Two Towers) and the movie was great overall. This feels like a pretty limp review but I don't want to give away anything for those who haven't seen it (unlike teh l4m3 and his Battlestar Galactica spoilage). Worth the bullshit of the modern movie theater experience.

I should say that I found the sex scene to be a little ridiculous. The entire theater was laughing at it and that is kinda the point but it lasted long enough to be almost uncomfortable.

Watchmen

I'm going to see that in a few hours. Hopefully, it is at least mildly interesting. I heard that some reviewers claimed that it didn't have enough action, to which I can only respond with "duh."

New Music for Pinko Punko

Mastodon seems to be taking the Rush route. A full stage show for an album about "wormholes, the spirit realm, an early-20th-century Russian Orthodox sect and Rasputin" sounds like just the ticket to get Pinko Punko and pals out of the house and bring this country out of the economic doldrums! Heavy metal prog rock will save us all.

But seriously, I'll have to buy this for my brother's cousin-in-law. He liked 2006's Blood Mountain and I need to maintain my rep.

The Genius Recommends: Advice for the Recently Free

I just received word that even more of my fans are now enjoying the freedom to look for new (employment/early retirement/unreasonable termination/unseasonable free time/ways to entertain the children/reasons not to purchase fireams). Since I have been seeking satisfactory employment for the last ten months without success, I thought I would share my obviously excellent experience at finding a new source of funding outside the family. These items are meaninglessly numbered and quite possibly meaningless in general, but hopefully you'll pick up something useful or at least smirk mirthlessly at my problems. As other people always say about me, if you can't do something right, try and serve as an example for others.

Item 1: Do Not Wallow
When enjoying the early stages of unemployment/freedom, it can be easy to sink into a cycle of self-pity and doubt. You just got fired, so obviously you must suck at the work you had been doing for 2/20/200 years, right? Not so much. Remind yourself that shit sucks right now and you need to get over your anger at your old company's decision and get cracking at finding a new job so you can go back to spending eight to twelve hours a day being miserable under fluorescent lighting. Take two days to feel shitty and angry, maybe get drunk or whatever, but that's it. Two days of wallowing is enough, you big baby.

Item 2: Log-ins, Log-ins, Log-ins
Unless you're some sort of fucking mega-star in your field, people probably won't know you. If you are some sort of mega-star, fuck off because you're ruining it for everyone else. In order for people to learn about you, you've got to get out there. In the good old days, you could keep up your attendance at the neighborhood happy hours over at Jimmy and Diane's. These days, it means creating profiles all over the goddam internet. Career Builder, Monster, Linked-In, (Local High Profile Newspaper), etc, etc, etc. Go the extra forty miles on these things, too. Really clog up the tubes with tales of your daring and dynamism at the workplace. Remember that time you saved that dude from OD'ing on correction fluid? Or the time you had two interns in the copy room? Well, maybe you leave those out. You may be thinking "But Genius, I'm a certified paper pusher with two degrees and several references and recommendations! Why would I need to go to all this trouble?" Here's the thing: someone at your targeted company will be searching the internet for information about you. Some HR flunky will be asked to "see what's out there about this guy/gal." Make sure that what's out there is positive and helpful to these people. They're already HR, so they're not too bright, so help them out.

Item 3: SCHMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZE
If you want to continue working in your former field, call everyone you know that is still working in the field. Chat them up, renew your acquaintance, and straight up ask them if they have any intel for you. This is not a time to be shy, or feel conflicted about using social contacts for personal gain. Remember that dude from (Other Department) who got a job at (Competing Company)? Call that guy, see how he likes the place, and if he will forward your information. That woman you got a business card from at that trade show? Call her, too. Be upfront about why you are calling and what you need from them. Listen to them, if they have inside info about the company that they are willing to share, be willing to listen. As for how to determine what you need from them, see Item 4.

Item 4: Research AKA Stalking
The internet is a wonderful land, full of opportunity and information. Did I mention that it's full of information? Cuz it's FULL OF INFORMATION. Unless you're a creep who specializes in digging out secret addresses of Myspace kids, you will probably be surprised at the sheer amount of stuff you can find out by searching for stuff like "KBR/Halliburton HR Staff List" or something similar. You need to be a frigging subject matter expert on any company that you are serious about making a run on. When contacting your people, you don't want to ask them to just kick your resume over to HR with a note, you want to be as precise as possible. "Please send this over to Mr. Wilmington in HR and I thought that Mrs. Jenkins in Drafting and Design would also appreciate it." If your contact is willing to put you forward in this way, you are already up on Johnny Pearlywhites at the interview.

Item 5: Appearance
As much as I don't hate to say it: appearance counts. True story: I was working at a public agency in San Francisco, conducting a survey of employers and their trouble filling positions. One woman at a large firm really wanted to vent about how hard it was to find qualified people who could also remember to comb their hair more than once a week and be bothered to tuck in their shirts. You can have a glowing resume and be everything they need and want, but if you smell or have shitty, ugly teeth, you're fucked. Think about it: how much harder does someone have to work at being liked if they don't take care of their person? You're already unemployed, so you've got the time to quit smoking, start a work-out routine, and dye those teeth. As fucked up as it is, a good looking person with a nice smile will go farther than the person who rocks the scruff and went to the British School of Dentistry. This also ties in with Item 1: Do Not Wallow. If you've been thinking about dropping a few pounds, or maybe padded out those quads, delts, and biceps, you've got the time and you'll have more energy. If you're married or in a relationship, s/he will appreciate this as well, and I doubt I need to explain how that appreciation will be shown.

Item 6: Branch the Fuck Out
You just got shitcanned at your job auditing banks, and now you're not even sure you want to continue in that field, maybe because you have a soul and a conscience. What the hell should you do with yourself? Maybe you can explore your artsy side because you sure loved that one drawing class twenty years ago, but that probably had more to do with the models than any talent. So what the hell should you do? Branch the fuck out. Think about ways you can apply your skills and experience in some way you hadn't been before, as a private accountant or corporate auditor or whatever, I don't really know exactly. Be flexible of mind and it will come to you. Read lots, and talk to other professionals. Maybe there is work for an accountant tracking transaction reports for a law firm. Chances are that if your former company is experiencing financial woes, your entire industry is, so you might have to venture outside that industry to find a new water cooler to stand over and discuss last night's Lost.

Item 7: Training
You've got plenty of free time now, don't waste it leveling another character so you can go raid Mordor six times a week. Go back and refresh your skills with training courses, or learn some new skills that complement your experience and can help you with that idea you had about branching out, as we discussed previously. Most job training expenses are tax right offs, but you definitely want to talk to an expert about that before claiming anything with the IRS.

Item 8: Don't Listen To Me
I was unemployed for eight fucking months before I got a job waiting fucking tables! Why the fuck are you listening to me? Talk to a professional career counselor.

Binge Blogging?

Or binge drinking? Having done the latter rather a lot last week, maybe we can expect the former this week. Motivation often comes in the form of pretty women.

If You Aren't Reading This Comic, You're a Cobag

I am the very model of a modern Gungun General,
I've information vegetable, dinosaur, and mineral;
I know the Queens of Naboo, and I led the fights historical,
From Tatooine to Coruscant, in order categorical.

I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters Senatorial;
I understand accoutrements, both simple and sartorial,
Regarding eating humans I am teeming with a lot o' news -
With many cheerful facts about the flavour of those nice Naboos.

Yes, I know this is a joke about a musical. I can appreciate that other people might not share my views, and I can even change mine on occasion. This is not one of them however, as I still find most musicals to be brain-melting.

Vacation?

So I slashed open a finger on a broken bottle at work on Wednesday. I'll have more time to blog now that I am not working for the next ten to fourteen days. Bottles don't break the way they do in the movies, but a bloody mess of a hand is even scarier than a bottle shard in a bar fight. Or so I'm told. It's a good thing I know how to type with my left hand.

Um.

SHUT UP.

Still Tired

I've got an amazing Celebrity Dream Cameo in the works, but I keep oversleeping and getting to the library too late to finish more than a few decent lines. It's hilarious, political, tarantular, and drug-induced. Pretty much the perfect snooze.

In other promised and probably undelivered posts, "Totally Tarantula Tuesday: The Cricket Farmer's Spider" is coming soon.

Also, I have a Genius Niece now. So that's cool.

A Free Friday

Hey, what do you know? I have a free night tonight. Coincidentally, tonight is also a friend's brithday and another friend's last day in town. Unfortunately, I can't split myself, so I have to choose one friend over another. Since one friend wants to go to my place of work and drink there, my hands are tied in this decision as I am not allowed to drink at my place of work on off nights.

Have fun, Katie.

Will Made Manifest?

Last night, I remarked that DC had not seen any snow yet this winter. We received about an inch while I slept.

You know what else I haven't seen yet this winter? Piles of twenty dollar bills in my apartment. I'm calling in sick and going back to bed right now.

Report From Consumers in the Field

I received these images from one of my brothers and an associate in consumption. Be warned that the images you are about to view are delicious in the extreme and may result in the sudden craving of 44 inch diameter doughnuts or fractal fritters.




I think I just ate 1500 calories by looking at these photos. Time to hit the gym. And by gym, I mean comfy chair and Battlestar Galactica season 4 DVDs.

Dued

My sister in law is having contractions. So that's neat I guess, since she's due like now or somewhen. Anyway, most recent cool thing my nephew was overheard saying was a John McCain quote:

"WHERE ARE YOU, MISTER PUDDLES!?"

I would link to the proper video, but this computer doe snot have an updated flash player and it's not my comp, so oh well.

Out of the Inaugural Mess

Quick show of hands: how many of the inauguration tourists didn't try to go to the Brickskeller for beer and a meal?

Holy crap, I'm tired and I only worked one double shift. What a pansy my slothy ass has turned into over the last eight months of unemployment.

Weeds? I'm in the frigging Savanna

"Let me know before you get too far in the weeds," the manager said to me last night. I was dealing with my third, fourth, and fifth group of 15 to 20 on a night that should have been quiet.
"Too late, I'm on safari in darkest Africa, man," I responded.
"Shit."

Exit Interview?

"I think it's a good, strong record," [Bush] said. "You know, presidents can try to avoid hard decisions and therefore avoid controversy. That's just not my nature."

Maybe NASA could send a ship to whatever planet Bush lives on by 2012.

Story Time

I have received a few requests to write down some of my bar stories, and so I will try to organize some of my old posts and write a bunch of new ones under the tag of "This One Time..."

I'll try and get the one about the paranoid conspiracy theorist and the bar off Jack London Square up tomorrow.

Oh Hey

Did anyone see Quantum of Solace? I totally forgot about that movie.

Parallels

1 Russia cuts off gas pipeline through Ukraine.
2 Putin endorses this action.
3 Ukraine and Russia blame each other for the ensuing crisis in Europe.
4 Chuckles reads article and wonders how this is George Bush's fault.

This gem made me giggle: "U.S. national security adviser Stephen Hadley warned Moscow that using energy exports to threaten its neighbors will undermine its international standing." Any American diplomat would hopefully acknowledge the silliness of this statement, but also how appropriate it is. After all, can any other country be more of an expert in undermining its international standing through unilateral and unpopular actions than the USA?

In the meantime, I hope this gets resolved quickly and with international transparency. I do not want to see news of people freezing to death because Putin wants to extort Europe.

In unrelated news, congratulations to Senator Franken. I expect to hear about Secretary of State Stewart soon.

Music Posts to Come Tomorrow

Or sometime. The job is not hard, but the three mile walk home uphill both ways in the snow after a ten hour shift is getting a little annoying. I bet I've lost some weight, feels like my ass has completely fallen off.

Check out Armida and Her Imaginary Band. She gave me her demo CD "A Night at the Liver-Rot Lounge" last night. It's great.

I leave you with this:
"It's not just a good day, it's a rocketpack day!" - Genius Nephew.

Other Sorts of Offers

I have received an offer for my gmail account. For those of you that know the address, I am hopeful that you find this at least as amusing as I.

Just Under The Wire

I have located employment at a Dupont Circle bar. More news in the New Year, as my library will be closed tomorrow and Thursday, but I shall return triumphantly with a Tarantula Tuesday on Friday, music on WRN, and probably some updates to the bloggio. Green is the new black.

Extra Cookie Madness

I think maybe I made too much dough. I have an enormous amount left and only the smallest shred of sanity with which to work the infernal contraptions in my kitchen. I set the coffee maker to 375, and pre-heated the sink. Next I think I need to knead the spoons, and bake the cookie cutters. Then I can move on to fricasseeing the ladles, and maybe, if I get fancy, melting some bananas for a lovely crab rangoon.

Just Chuck Full of the Fucking Spirit Am I

I am unironically enjoying Kathleen's Holiday Radio Pandora channel again this year. I am trying not to be such an unrelenting curmudgeon, and I have to say that it is pretty freaking tough. I hope the two people I might see this holiday season fucking appreciate how nice I am being.

So I am inflicting my amazing cookies, if such a meager word can define these scrumdiddilyumptious morsels of pure alien insanity, on a group of friends and relatives tomorrow. My brother and I are hosting an intimate gathering to eat cookies, drink hot booze with spices, and watch holiday movies. Everyone else thinks that we are going to watch Christmas Vacation, but I know better. We are going to watch the horrifying and evil holiday special that can only match the evil in my cookies, if such a pathetic word can be used to describe the immortal hellscape that has been reduced to a bite-sized confection.

Additionally, why wasn't I informed of this earlier?

UPDATE: We only made it through 35 to 40 minutes of the Special, and even that only because my brother started fast forwarding through the parts containing no human dialogue.

CDC: William Shatner and the Cast of Every Star Trek TV Series, Ever

This dream happened a little while ago and I have yet to come to terms with the thrashing it gave my uncollected subconscious.

I called up a friend of mine, who exists in real life, and asked her to get me some tickets to the next session of the US Senate. She works for a Senator* and had access to a couple tickets a year. We had a bit of back and forth because of a contentious relationship, but she finally agreed to get me a ticket as long as I promised to wear the proper attire. I reluctantly agreed to her demands.

The dream then morphed into the day of the session to which I had a ticket. I was standing outside the Senate chambers. I was near the statue of Will Rogers, and standing in line with the rest of the ticket holders. I thought this was a little odd, because the Will Rogers statue is outside one of the doors to the House chamber and not the Senate. But it was a dream, so whatevs.

I was wearing the proper attire, which consisted of a futuristic spandex mini-skirt. The skirt was a metallic purple, or blue,** and a little sparkly. Everyone was wearing one. After the second American Revolution, the masses decided that everyone working in the Government would wear the same uniform so that all citizens could identify them as such when the civil servant was not in the office. This was thought to encourage honesty in our government. When sitting in a session, all visitors were required to wear that same uniform. Unfortunately, the one I had gotten was not quite big enough and tended to ride up a little, and I was constantly pulling it down.

After a brief wait, the visitors were invited into the Senate Chambers. The Senators were all seated already and we filed into the viewing balcony. Once we had quieted down, Jonathan Frakes stood up to introduce a new spending bill. William Shatner then spoke in support of this bill, as did Jerry Seinfeld, and Patrick Stewart. The person next to me whispered something about, "that's a simple majority, then."

At this point in the dream, I started to nod off in my seat in the gallery of the senate. After the second revolution, the masses decided that lobbyists had too much power in the old government and had decided to change the voting infrastructure in America. We would now all vote through our digital video recorders, which would be monitored by the new Nielsen-inspired Department of Media Research. Senators and Representatives would be chosen based on the number of viewers and subscribers to every television program. Only the stars of the shows and certain qualifying regular guest stars could qualify.

Thus the three major voting blocs in the US House and Senate were the cast of Star Trek, Friends, and Seinfeld. The cast of all the Star Trek series ever created held a significant margin in both the House and Senate, except for everyone in Enterprise, and Scott Bakula only had a seat in the House due to Quantum Leap. Apparently, the Seinfeld and Star Trek blocs frequently aligned for budget and other fiscal matters, while disagreeing on social policies. While I was slowly nodding off, my metallic purple, or blue, skirt kept riding up. I had to wake myself up every now and then to pull the skirt down, so that I would not be arrested for indecent exposure. At the end of the session, I stood up, pulled down my skirt, and said, "That was better than television." Then I woke up.

*She actually does work for a Senator, but as far as I know, does not have access to tickets, nor do I know if they even sell tickets for Senate sessions.

**Yes, I am still colorblind in my dreams.

I won't be home for Christmas

Maybe it's just me but I kinda like being alone on Christmas. I would rather work than spend a socially acceptable amount of my non-disposable income on gifts that are supposed to show how much I care for another person. I like giving thoughtful gifts to people, I just don't want to do it when I am told. I would rather mail someone something cool and thoughtful any other time of year than December.

I hate the manufactured emotion that we are all supposed to display during a random day in a random month (that isn't even on the day when the Christianics should be celebrating anyway). Why should we all get together to give gifts on this day? Why not just be happy and familial all year long? The holiday commercials drive me right to drink, too. "Hey, you know that kid you've been ignoring all year? BUY THEM A NEW PHONE AND YOU WON'T HAVE TO TALK TO THEM FOR ANOTHER 12 MONTHS!"

The WalMart commercials running this year are particularly enraging. Is the one day a year only really special if you buy your kids some more trade deficit toys? Or do you want them all to get lead poisoning because you can't stand your life? Shouldn't every day with your kids be special? They're the future and all that.

Man, I like being alone but maybe I shouldn't be left alone for too long. What bitchy asshole I can be.

Mmmmm Bake-Off Cookies...

So once again, I declare myself the winner of the 2008 E-True Holiday Cookie E-Bake Off tm. Mendacious D made a spuriously solid attempt at unseating the champion, but ultimately failed as his concocted confection was slightly off. I think his Wormwood-root-embellished-East-Prussian-truffle-flaked-creme-brule puffs went bad in the time it took them to reach me. He did have them sent by African carrier pigeon, so he gets points for style, but loses points for stagflation of flavor.

As for my entry, I went with my traditionally sinful-extragalactic sugar cookies. Of course, they were fantastic again. I would even go so far as to say that what remains of my mind was shattered even further and into teenier, tinier pieces than the last time I followed the Recipes of the Mad Arab. I experienced some oddly coherent visions while tripping back through the doorways of my mind, trekking past the mouth of madness, the tongue of inconceivability, the tastebuds of infinite esoterocity. I will commit these visions to paper and relay them to you through this electronoscopic ether in due time. William Shatner may or may not feature heavily in these visions, as may spandex skirts. Or mayhaps not.

Should you like a trip down memory lane:
The second post.
The third post.
The fourth post.
And I'll leave it up to you to find the confessional post. I once again state that it was all totally worth it.

Iraqi Journalist Misunderestimates American Style of Footsie-Journalism

That title is more of a stretch than my last work out. Lemme try some others on you. Have you heard the one about the Iraqi Journalist? His shoes were made for throwing. Ouch, that pains me. How about this: "Attempted Iraqi Advertising Pitch Goes Wide." Or maybe, "Bush Ducks Shoes Better Than Blame."

Forget it.

Freezing Temps

You know what sucks? The pandemic of hiring freezes in this city. Temp agencies seem to be having a good time, though none of them like me either.

Fucking retail. I fucking hate working retail, but find myself filling out applications at every store I pass anyway. Fuck all the fucking fuckers that fucked us all.

Bad ideas, I've had a few...

Um, probably less said the better. In fact, maybe I'll just not continue with this post. Anyone else ever had an idea so bad you don't even want to admit to it?

Totally Tarantula Tuesday: The Beat-uls

This one time, in San Francisco, I almost got into a fight with some tiny hipster and his girlfriend because I said that Elvis was better and more influential than The Beatles. I was mostly talking out of my ass because he had just said that The Beatles were the most influential band of all time. I even quoted the commercial for those compilation albums that had just been released: "Before anyone did anything, Elvis did everything." Or whatever.

So the anglophile just kept making all these arguments and talking about albums and release dates, and I just sat there saying, "Nope, no, Elvis was better" and he grew furious. His girlfriend then tried to get into the action. I think the point at which the conversation went from funny to asshole was when I said, "Dude, if The Beatles were so amazing, why does your girlfriend have to step in to help you lose an argument?" The hipster got rather upset at this point. Someone said that it looked like a fight was brewing and I said that was crazy, what kind of idiot ruins a party with a fight. Especially when I out weigh the kid by 100 pounds? Again, calling the guy a kid probably didn't help the matter, but he was about a foot shorter than me and I had thought the whole exchange was rather hilarious because who gets angry in a conversation about The Beatles and Elvis? Anyway.

Gin. That's my excuse, even if I was drinking vodka that night. This was also a party at which I claimed to be an ornithology grad student, in SF on vacation from my longitudinal study of the mating habits and life cycle of the red-wing blackbird. I had to come up with some excuse as to why I was being asked about binoculars by the host. I had met her at a Niners game, and during the boring parts of the game, I had been checking out the Gold Rush Girls, or as I called them at the time, The Golddiggers. Once again, I'm gonna plead gin.

This post brought to you by gin, the letter Y, and My Stupid Life.

WoW! Not Really

I canceled my World of Warcraft account again. This time it shall remain inactive for a minimum of three months, as I have better things to do with my time than hang out with people I fin annoying on-line. That's not fair, there were a handful of people in my guild that I would go drinking with, but the rest reminded me too much of the people in my old sci-fi club in college that annoyed the fucking piss out of me. The game had become a source of un-fun and so I stopped paying for it.

And now is the part where you won't understand unless you have played the game:

In October and November, I was able to get a few things accomplished in the game though. I earned five titles and brought my mount total to 52. My two favorites were the Cenarion Expedition Hippogryph and the albino drake. To do this, I bought all the Alliance faction mounts, since I'd been exalted with all of them for a while. I then bought all the Sha'tari Skyguard nether rays. I did all the work to get the Netherwing dragon mounts and Kurenai riding goats and didn't use them. I also had one of the yellow riding bugs from Ahn'Qiraj. When I got the Kurenai mounts, I hit 50. I was also able to get the Reins of the Dark War Talbuk, and I used those in Northrend and Azeroth. This took me about one month of game time effort and whoopdedoo. Once my friends stopped playing, the game really lost all interest for me. It was fun for a while but now, it's not.

Anyway, you can check all this crap out here.

Wallowing

Why is wallowing a negatively associated verb? Pigs are happy when they wallow. They roll around in mud and leaves and sticks and shit and it's all very good for the pig. They're happy. The bugs can't get at them and the mud keeps them cool in the summer. When they un-wallow, the mud dries and flakes off and is probably great for their skin.

So why do we call it wallowing when a person hides out in their apartment all day? I wish I was so lucky as to be rolling around in some healthy mud. Instead, I'm doing laundry and looking for work.

There's a Difference

There's a difference between me and a close friend: he has yet to date a woman good enough for him, and I have yet to be a good enough man for the women I've dated.

New Book I'm Working On

It's titled "101 Uses for Stale Bread." So far, I'm at two uses.

Monday Morning Music: 12/2/08

Let's see if WMP can redeem itself after the depressing song selections of my last random music post.

1. Elvis - She's Not You
2. Johnny Cash - I Still Miss Someone

By Chewbacca's wooly ass, what the hell happened to the random function on my music player? Did it get stuck on "Fucking Depressing Shit," or is the univerese trying to speak to me through my computer? At least the universe has good taste in music, but I am trying to maintain a brave face and this shit isn't helping.

Thanksgiving 2008

My thanksgiving was going well until my brother turned on the news and we saw the reports of the horrific shit happening in Mumbai. I have been trying to write something but only get as far as the wailing and gnashing of teeth at the ridiculously stupid people in the world who think that senseless violence will help their cause.

I still don't have anything decent written, so I'll post a video instead:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Mumbai Tragedy

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

The Turkey Video and Me

By now, I'm sure most of you have seen the video of Sarah Palin being interviewed in front of Joe the Turkey Killer and read better jokes than I can write about the subject. I saw the video when it was played on The Rachel Maddow Show which was on the large, flatscreen television at the pho place where my family had dinner on Friday night. The television was muted, which I found oddly appropriate for Palin, and I was one of the unlucky three who were sitting facing the television. Having now seen the unsensored version of the video, I have to admit surprise that anything was fuzzed out at all, but then I am rather badly red-green colorblind. The video reminded me of a family story from our days in Romania.

This story takes place in the year before the Iron Curtain* fell, as we were driving home to Bucharest from a road trip through Yugoslavia. We had had a flat tire on the way out from Bucharest, so our spare was already in use when we ran over a nail or two** about ten minutes from the border with Romania with only hours left on our visas. We managed to limp across the border, during which I took the opportunity to admire the scenery while secretly trying to locate the Iron Curtain. We were now about 500 kilometers from Bucharest with two flat tires and three good ones. Paranoid security forces could show up at any time, and the people in the nearest town might be too afraid to help us out, regardless of hard currency or not.

Since it was getting late and we weren't going any further that day, Mom and Dad decide to camp out in the recently reaped field near the side of the road after asking permission from the farmer. As we set up our tents, our emotions were mixed. I was ecstatic about missing school the next day. My mother was worried about feeding us, since she had planned on a ten day trip which was stretching to 11 or more. My father was likely angry and bordering on furious. My younger brother was probably oblivious. My older brothers were feeling devious, taking every opportunity to tease us about being traded for a new tire. As we lay down for the night, we all felt extreme discomfort because the five-inch plant stalks didn't exactly crush easily beneath us. The sensation was akin to sleeping on a bed of nails with a nail density of one nail to one foot. I have had worse nights, but while they also involve claim jumping in camp sites, they are from a different era of my life.

The next morning we asked around the little farming town for some guy who might be able to help us with the leaky tire. The helpful gentlemen of this nameless town would react pretty much the same way to my father's requests for information: "VULKANAZARIA!?" and then they would relate some version of "I don't know anyone, but my brother/uncle/cousin/friend does know someone." We set off limping down the road, searching for a "VULKANAZARIA?!" In the end, we found some guy who was unable to fix the tire, but who thought we might be able to stick an inner tube inside our tire. That just might work. But first he had to find a tube without a whole in it, so we went to his buddy's house who had a large enough basin to submerge the semi-inflated tube and check for bubbles.

The scene at the buddy's house was interesting. A bizarre conversation was taking place my father conversing with a couple Romanians in a couple of different languages as my older brothers stood by, trying to look mature and knowlegable, and my mother watched me and my brother play with the variety of animals in the courtyard of the lovely, little farm house. There were kittens and maybe a puppy. There were also chickens in a coop, but those were rather less interesting because they were fenced in and I can't recall any chicks. So we played with the kittens, and tried not to be terribly bored as the tire issue dragged through the day.

When the grandmother of the house walked out of the kitchen door with a hatchet in her hand, the chickens suddenly became the focus of the afternoon. The grandmother was wearing a dark scarf and the hatchet was in her right hand. She walked over to the coop and at this point my mother said, "OH! Hey children! Uh, look down the well, I saw something move down in the well." My younger brother ran over and began looking down the well, as did I. As I looked down into wet darkness, I realized that there was absolutely no way my mother could have seen anything at the bottom because the weel was deep and she had been standing at least ten feet away. The chicken coop door creaked. I turned to ask her a question and she said, "There it is, I see it!" She pointed down the well again, and I didn't want to be the only one to miss the well creature, so I looked. The chickens began a mighty squawking. Seeing nothing, I turned my head again, but this time my mother grabbed my head and pointed it down the well and told me to look harder. The hatchet made a thunking sound twice and the squawking stopped. There was nothing down that damn well but water. My mother said, "Oh, maybe I just thought I saw something that wasn't there, or maybe you missed it." There was some blood on the stump by the coop.

We never did that tire fixed in that town. We ended up inflating the tire with a cigarette-lighter-powered-air pump and then racing as fast as we could for a mile or two, then my brother would jump out and inflate the tire again. I think this went on for close to six hours before we got home.

* KLANG! But seriously, ask me sometime about my young mind's unknowledge of metaphor and my subsequent education. I was a very confused boy, but my igneous parents even more so.

** Exact number uncertain. I remember at least two and one of my brothers claims there was only one.

Monday Morning Music: 11/24/08

1. John Bustine - The Wreck of the Good Ship Lollipop
2. Johnny Cash - Before My Time
3. Rose - I Fill Up the Time
4. The Police - Can't Stand Losing You

OK, I have to end this here. Apparently, Windows Media Player has decided that I need to feel shitty about some relationship. Or maybe WMP just broke up with Quicktime or Real Player and feels bad. Seriously, four songs about break ups? Fuck.

Western Thought Wednesday: Berkeley and That Other Guy

That Other Guy said, "I refute Berkeley thus." He then kicked a rock. Berkeley has yet to be impressed by this comment. I wonder what he would think of today's XKCD.

Breaking News: People Are Sorta Dumb

This morning I received a message from my alma mater saying that they would be eliminating 10% of their workforce at the end of the year due to the immense financial crisis/depression/recession/whathaveyou. Most of the jobs cut would be through retiring personnel, so that is good, I guess. The disturbing thing was that people freaked out about getting the email, and not the content. It was sent to a list containing every email address the school had for alumni. When the first person replied in sympathy, she generated a shit storm of morons replying to the message in exaperation about getting two emails. This continued for 21 more messages.

I found this whole situation hilarious. College graduates comfortable with Crackberries and iPhones are freaking out right now, trying to tell everyone to stop cluttering their email inboxes. Yet these same people can't figure out from the email info that the message came from a list and that they are sending their messages to a list and not to any one person in particular. Two people replied with words other than "STOP HITTING REPLY!! OMG!!!!!!!" and "GET ME OFF THIS LIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

These two replies explained how to stop the emails and one also said that they were glad that the alumni had maintained their sense of humor. I couldn't exactly let the day go by without tossing a little gasoline on a fire...

Cooking With The Genius: Pumpkin Soup

I looked up a recipe for this, and figured that I would have plenty to fudge after securing my pumpkins. Full pumpkins have three reasons why they are better than canned pumpkins: pies, soups, and seeds. Baked pumpkin seeds are great. So I schlepped to my local and bought:

2 pumpkins
3 water filters
1 gallon of skim milk

I needed the filters because my old one was no longer working and the milk for breakfast, however the pumpkins were a little harder to find. Turns out the store was sold out, so I got "pumpkins," and by "pumpkins" I mean two packs of Oreos on sale.

Maybe I'll share my recipe for pumpkin soup, if I can get some pumpkins. For now, "Pumpkin" Soup consists of Oreos dipped in coffee and garnished with sadness.

Hookers and Blow: A Weekend in AG's World

The titles says it all. I need to get some tylenol for my arthritic hip. Some people play rough.

Not a Good Listener?

If you never mention something and never even hint at it then how can you call someone a bad listener for not knowing that about you? This is an even more ricockulous claim when the trait you are promoting and deriding me for not knowing is exactly the opposite of all of your stated claims and past examples of behavior. Maybe you're just self-conscious and need to have more confidence.

Slightly Ludicrous

And I don't mean that it will sorta-pimp your ride. For that matter, why don't we all vote in every country's elections, because we are all neighbors? I do understand why people would fear a McCain presidency, bombs are much more likely to be flung willy-nilly with him. I mean willy-nilly in every sense of that term, McCain seems like the kind of guy who would bomb someone who questioned his willyness.

Big Day Ahead

I have a big day ahead of me: an interview, take a bike ride, pay my rent. And there was something else that I wanted to do, but I just can't remember it. I know I can leave my mp3 player at home, since I have all of the Fallout 3 songs playing on infinite repeat in my head. If I didn't like Ella Fitzgerald-ish music, I would be going mad. MAD I TELL YOU MAD

I don't think I have it in me to play an evil character though. What's the point, when the DC Wasteland has so many already? It would be harder but the satisfaction of taking on the entire slaver enclave of Paradise Falls would be absent. I went freaking caveman on those assholes. They thought they could stop me from rescuing their captives. It's kinda sad, really. I talked my way into the camp, did the research, talked to the captives, and tried to figure out the finesse way to sneak them out of there. I couldn't figure it out, though I know it has to do with the patrol pattern. After watching for about 30 seconds, I just said, "Fuck finesse, they're SLAVERS. They don't deserve mercy." So I whipped out my minigun and rickrolled those bastards toward their final judgement. The criticals involving explosive separation of body parts are EXTREMELY SATISFYING. You can watch some examples on that link.

Fallout Blackout

I may have overindulged.

I have been a little busy lately. I have an interview next week. I have been helping a friend move. I have been ranting about the bus line in my neighborhood again. I have somehow been exhausting myself so that every time I wake up, I feel like going back to sleep.

Anyway, I am trying to write something about the latest flare of violence in Goma, DROC, but most of what I have written so far turns into a hopeless diatribe. Also, I owe some music posts to the internets for WRN. Which has always sounded like a goofy radio network. We should work on some podcasts, due to come out with the return of Monday Goldberg Theater.

OMG ZOMBIES!

Best gift ever!

Surprised Clif Hasn't Caught "Googely Eye" Bachmann on This Already

I know, I know. It's a CNN video and they don't seem to play very well when embedded(maybe that's just me), but the amazing level of crazy on display is worth it. I don't know whether I am glad that I don't live in Minnesota's 6th Congressional District because that would mean being neighbors with the dupes who voted her in, or if I wish I did live there so I could vote against her. On the one hand she can constantly cast votes supporting a radical right-wing agenda, but on the other she's not roaming around town preaching on street corners and scaring children with those googely eyes.

Obfuscations

I have played a lot of games in my life. As a child the games were more pedestrian in nature, involving the simple purchase and sale of properties and moving your piece around the game world, contained completely within the bounds of the playing board, with the goal of comaplete and total financial ruin of your brothers and cousins. I have played games strangely based on expressions of rage-inducing empathy during the play, particularly at moments when you had just screwed your opponent-brother out of any chance of winning. I have even played a game loosely based on a mutual experience of strategy and skill, but invariably devolved into a game of how many fake rules I could coerce my opponent-brother into obeying. We played card games, the rules of which are equally as impossible to remember now as then. Many relatives lost all hope of playing a friendly game of anything with such a diabolically cunning mastermind, or so I saw myself when manipulating rules to suit my hand. Go fish! became an all out struggle for supremacy, the opening moves full of subterfuge and bluster while the endgame was strikingly more physical.

As I grew older the games became slightly more unusual as did the rules sets. Games involving legions of monsters marching around a strange hexagonal universe were enjoyed as much as games wherein the pursuit of success was secondary to hampering all chance of success by your fellow players. The supplied rules sets became far more complex and the simple lies and coercions of the past were insufficient to secure a victory, as even I was utterly flummoxed at times by the inherent systems of this era's games. I learned to become one who would take the time to learn all of the rules and then pursue aggressive means of enforcing penalties upon my brother-opponent. When questioned, I always offered to let my opponents read the rulebooks, but when the rules set truly approaches book length, most will simply give in rather then settle down with a cup of tea and an afghan and peruse an arcane tome for clues as to why my legions could move against a box tile, but his could not. It had something to do with native lands. I learned that masterful cheating must always seem reasonable, and yet still leave your opponent completely hosed.

Given my rather flagrant history and flamboyant imagination, you might think that I developed a habit of crafting intricate new interpretations of rules all working to a singular goal: total domination of my brother-opponents. Sadly, the elder brother-opponents had many more years of experience in game-rule manipulation and younger brother-opponent quickly developed and interesting defense: apathy.

I began to move to games that had no measurable means of success and even more rules. Rules that required multiple books, with actual spines. I found myself reading more and more, learning combinations of rules that could work to my advantage and yet still be completely within the legal realms. There were many such games and many such days spent attempting to redefine victory not against some loathsome creature sent forth from the bowels of imagination but victory against the very imagination itself. I collected playing aids in the form of multitudes of dice, in the hopes that certain dice would gain me certain advantages in play. I became superstitious about color, shade, and warmth of my dice. If I could not successfully manipulate the rules to my advantage, then I would manipulate my playing to my advantage. All the while having no appreciable idea of the goal of these desires.

I played an uncounted variety of sword and sorcery games, and even more uncounted versions of these games. I played Western games, involving playing cards and dice. I played science fiction games, the more deadly to my character, the more I enjoyed them. I learned one constant among all the games I played: more books means more rules. Eventually, the human mind would reach a storage limit and carefully compartmentalized rules sets would become jumbled and slowly mingle in the mind of the players. Rules would meet over drinks, share a dew laughs, stumble drunkenly to a room in the hotel upstairs, and then awkwardly run out a few hours later, only to discover the following month that a new rule was growing inside. A rule that made rather a lot of sense when you think about it, I wonder why we hadn't been doing that before. It was in these spaces that I learned to allow my fellow players to breed rules, as they were far less likely to find fault with me if they had written the new rule. Could I really be blamed for buying the new handbook? After all, it was their idea to read it. I gradually moved away from manipulating rules to wholesale manipulation of people.

Despite this rather...miscreant behavior of mine, I like to think that I only wanted to have fun. To that end, I knew that there were some games that should be avoided at all costs. Some games had rules sets from which there was no recovery. fulsome once tried to interpret set of rules from a venerable institution that were an attempt to simulate a realistic system of combat against popular, fictional aliens. The designers had forgotten two things: nobody cares much about realism when the creatures you are shooting at explode acid, and that a mind is a terrible thing to lay waste. fulsome currently resides in a lovely, double-width refrigerator box in Berkeley, California.

Monday's Penny Arcade inspired this post.

Holiday Bake-Off: Confection Confessions

Yeah, um, so...

I ate most of my cookies, as did Super Secret Awesomegirl and my family.

What can I say? I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL.

This time, I might actually send them out, or I might just talk mighty amounts of trash. AGAIN.

In any event, my cookies will rock your face and melt your mind.

Uh...You've Probably All Seen This Before

Disdain

League of Democracies? What the hell is wrong with the UN? Oh, right, Republican'ts think the UN is only obstructing America's interests abroad. What a jackass.

My Internet is Out Again

I have an appointment with another Comcast techician tomorrow, but in the meantime I offer two pearls of wit and wisdom: don't get Comcast, and really don't get Comcast.

Father Genius said that it is nice to see American exports rising, even if it is only financial woes. In case you were wondering where I get it.

Binge Blogging: One Question About Bailout

Why did they eliminate Mark to Market? As far as I understand, by changing this accounting requirement the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act basically ensures far less transparency in banking system. This seems like a bad idea. I am not an economic genius, having only taken one basic course in microeconomics, and would gladly appreciate serious comments and opinions.

Given the sarcastic bastards that consist of 95% of my readership, I doubt we'll see anything useful show up in the comments. My blogging name is freaking Chuckles after all.

Possibly Better Than Tina Fey

Why I Missed the SPX

Cuz I was freaking exhausted after working with Habitat For Humanity in NE DC. I put asphalt shingling up for one whole day and I am glad that I am not a roofer. I would have liked to have met John Campbell because his comics are great.

I will probably be doing another Saturday in November, but the really cool thing is that the Habitat project is kinda booked up with volunteers on the weekends. I doubt the same is true about the weekdays, but this genius needs to get some employment.

Totally Tarantula Tuesday: Trying To Avoid Terror and Trembling With Rage

A little tarantula humor on this Tuesday morning, full of dread, woe, and WTF*. A lot of people have asked me about my tarantula. They ask me questions like can you cuddle it? Does it show you love? Do you feel any sympathy? Are you sure you're not psychotic? What sex is it? To answer all of these questions, I have to respond with, who needs love?

Except the sex question. I don't know or particularly care what sex, or gender!, my cohabitating arachnid is. Knowing the sex of my roommate would not change my behavior toward it. If it is male, I would go out and buy it spider porn and give it some quiet time. If it is female, I am not going to give it 60% of the crickets I had been giving it.

We got an understanding. We respect privacy.

*I want more information and to thank mdhatter.

It's not the drop, it's the sudden stop at the end...

I thought $700 billion bought financial security? I guess the dollar really has been devalued these days.

What's the Difference Between a Pitbull and a Hockey Mom?

Hockey moms lose debates.

And what is with Gwen Ifill's moderating? She let Palin wander wildly off topic three or four times: (examples not entirely accurate but you get the picture)

Governor Palin, what's your position on gay marriage?
"HOLY SHIT BARACK OBAMA WILL RAISE TAXES!"

Governor Palin, what's your position on the economic situation today?
"HOLY SHIT BARACK OBAMA WILL RAISE TAXES!"

Governor Palin, people claim that you have been sucking on the teat of big oil, how do you repsond?
"HOLY SHIT BARACK OBAMA WILL RAISE TAXES!"

Governor Palin, Alaska is one of the biggest recipients of federal aid, how do ou respond to that?
"HOLY SHIT BARACK OBAMA WILL RAISE TAXES!"

When you choose to answer the question you want to answer, not the one asked as Governor Palin did last night, you are not showing leadership and tenacity, you are dodging the issue. She didn't show anything other than her ability to sink back on tired, old Republican't bullshit when cornered. The NPR analysis after the debate was pretty toothless, unless they were being sarcastic.

When the expectations of your performance are simply that you show up and look pretty, things have downhill. The Vice Presidency requires more. Well done, Joe Biden. I was not a fan of you, but now will be.

I had a video I was going to include in this post, but it was removed from YouTube. Oh well.

Two Reasons to Attend Wet Wednesday Writer's Workshop Featuring The Genius

"I'm not saying it's in a bad neighborhood, but the glass will stop a 7.62 round from three feet."

"I don't know if I love her, but we're watching Project Runway together."

Oh Dear Lord

As if millions of gamers cried out and were silenced BY HORRENDOUS BEATINGS.

New Campaign Signs

I did not make this poster, but I wish I had. More available at Print The Truth.

Strolling in the Gloaming

We've been having hurricane affect weather in the District this weekend. This put a bit of a crimp in my plans to help my church's annual yard sale, but we forged ahead and did well enough in spite of some deity's decision to drench us in a downpour.

After spending both Saturday and Sunday in various stages of damp exhaustion, I finally made it home around 6 pm on Sunday. The sun was poking out between some rather impressively threatening clouds which were stalled in the precipitation negotiations, and I could see mist rising out of the trees near the river. I decided to take a brief jog to a favorite vista that is hidden by the crowding foliage along the bluffs above the Potomac River. I didn't mind the drops, the burrs, or the mud. As I reached the gap in the trees, I saw a lovely cascade of pastel colors, most of which I remain unable to identify. The clouds were a mix of dark grey and pink, the sky faded from blue to afternoon yellow. The tops of the clouds shined bright gold, and the mist oozed up from the river gorge enviously.

Tonight, I took a walk to clear my head and curl my hair in another foggy evening. I walked down to Canal Road, and the world might as well have ended at the river bank. Walking back up the bluff, the mist over the reservoir was banded. A dark lower layer brooded over the floating mats of gooseshit, and flocks of gooseshitting geese. There was an oddly light swath of fog above the dark that caught my interest. Perhaps it was an artifact of the streetlights and stoplights behind me but the fog seemed to have a dim inner glow from about twenty feet to thirty feet in the air. Alien exhaust fumes, or just some pedestrian reflection of the white-green glow of the streetlights. Above this, a few stars glinted through the thin clouds expressing absolute apathy to me, my job search, my love search, or John McCain's plans to ruin America.

The Candidates Debate...Something

I surprised myself by watching about 95% of the debate last night.* I was a little disappointed by the whole spectacle. I thought that it felt more like two people actually getting into it, unlike previous debates, but there really was no clear winner. Depending on your favoured candidate, I think either party could really call this a win and I am sure I am not alone in hoping that it had been a more deliberate thrashing.

I have become rather intolerant of McCain's voice, however, so that is one unexpected outcome of the debate. Most of his speech's have been rather dull or stumbling, and he has spoken in an even tone, despite tripping over his words at a biker rally or sounding bored while attempting to describe the common person's woes.** When McCain was speaking last night, he sounded whiny, but that may just be my bias against people that want to screw me over and continue the failed policies of our current Moron-in-Chief.

I was starting to get really frustrated with Obama until he began hammering back at McCain, somewhere around twenty minutes or so into the debate. I was hoping he would pound McCain's "experience" in foreign policy a little more, and was very pleased when Obama flat out said that McCain had been wrong about Iraq,*** in every way possible. I hoped that Obama would fight back against this bullshit claim that we are "winning" in Iraq, when we have heard no definition of what "winning" means or when we hope to achieve that, much less how we hope to reach that.

On a separate note, I was also disappointed to hear that the Vice Presidential Candidates would only be having one debate. I would like to give Biden a chance to prove that he isn't as much of a chundernozzle as I think he is so far. I would also love to watch Palin lose.****

*About the same percentage that McCain has voted with George W. Bush. That's some maverick.

**Where's my heiress? If only I could follow the McCain Economic Recovery Plan.

***Uh...remember these? Google was probably the most effective way to search for them.

****How do you not know what the Bush Doctrine is? What the hell have you been doing for the last eight years? Watching the news with the sound off, too?

From the People That Brought You Indy 4

A prequel to I Am Legend? Why the hell would you...for a bunch of people that so completely missed the point of that story, I...lord help me, I give up. I just give up.

Exhausted

I have been busy as hell all week. I am helping to get my church's yard sale ready for this Saturday. It might rain, but it might not. We're going ahead with it no matter the rain or lack of it.

I also went out to see an Air Guitar competition on Tuesday night after class, more on that later tonight with pictures. And met some friends on Wednesday night to listen to a DJ do a funky set at Saint Ex. I have been networking my ass off everywhere I go.

My father sent me a link to a video of Richard Trumka, Secretary-Treasurer of the AFL-CIO, giving a speech about racism and the election from July. I like it, so I hope you will, too:



Incidentally, this is also the weekend for Baltimore Comic Con, and for the fifth year in a row, I have given my time to my family's church instead of going to meet some of my favorite web cartoonists. I'm broke anyway.

About as Good an Explanation as We are Likely to Get

The recent economic troubles/disaster/shitstorm/totalfuckingidioticlunacy in song. And in color.

And WTF? Is Yahoo running a nostalgia special on the news from 1950 through 1989? That quote from Putin that keeps showing up in Call of Duty 4 about "...those who fear the Soviet Union are right, and those who miss it are insane..." (paraphrased) apparently was an admission of insanity on his part. If this keeps up, I expect to be informed that I have to go back to grade school in Romania and have my Tiger electronic game stolen by the Secret Police again.

Not Much of a List Fan

You know how some people do those lists of shit? Like top five desert island albums, or top five desert island books, or top five desert island hot babes? I am not usually one to make a list but 13 tops them all.

I knew a bad thing would happen if I let myself watch House.

Not The Peeps You Were Looking For

Apparently, this video cruised the tubes a while back but I missed it. The destruction is rather sublime. The expressions on the bunnies rather quickly turns from happiness to abject horror and the experience can tingle the creepy parts of your mind.

I found this on Aurgasm.

Perhaps I Shouldn't Rely Solely on the Daily Show

I completely missed the news of the embassy attack in Yemen yesterday.

The Battle is Enjoined!

The Corn Refiner's Association has struck back against those fighting the forces of over-sweetening and accidental obesity. They have commissioned at least one commercial and an informational website. According to the commercials, high fructose corn syrup comes from corn, is all natural, and is just as bad/good as sugar and honey. Let's break these claims down individually.

"High Fructose Corn Syrup Comes From Corn"

Yes, indeed corn syrup does come from corn. However, this is almost like saying that meth is clean because it is made with bleach. While I don't put either meth or high fructose corn syrup in my body, if I had to choose I would choose the corn syrup over meth any day. Parents of small children may disagree with any distinction between the two.

"All Natural"

According to the website, HFCS is...

considered a natural food ingredient under the U.S. Food and Drug Administration's definition of the term “natural.” Under FDA rules, “natural” means that “nothing artificial or synthetic (including all color additives regardless of source) has been included in, or has been added to, a food that would not normally be expected to be in the food.”

By this definition, gasoline is natural, too. That must be why we don't need factories to make the stuff, or to make HFCS. I wonder if you can get organic HFCS.

"Nutritionally the Same as Sugar or Honey"

The chart on each page reinforces this claim. The ads claim that as long as HFCS is used "in moderation" HFCS is just as healthy as any other sugar. This may actually be true, I am willing to concede this point. Let me be clear: I admit that HFCS is just as good or bad for you as any other refined sugar and honey. Except for the teeny, tiny problem of actually trying to use this stuff in moderation. HFCS is in freaking everything: like apple sauces, almost all non-diet soda and fruit drinks, coffee flavor syrups, beef, yo momma, etc.

According to the USDA, high fructose corn syrup accounts for roughly 41% of all caloric (nutritive) sweeteners consumed in the U.S.

True, but corn sweeteners--including HFCS, glucose, and dextrose--account for over 50% of all sweeteners shipped in the US, according to that table the website mentioned. (You have to open a spreadsheet from the USDA to find Table 49.) The funny thing about the honey claim is that we aren't consuming nearly as much honey as we do HFCS. Only 148,000 tons of honey was shipped in 2007. Almost 11,000,000 tons of corn syrup was shipped in 2007. I guess this must be what the Corn Refiner's Association calls moderation.

I was suspicious of the claim that only 40.1 pounds of HFCS were consumed per year, per capita. The chart is clear about this, despite my completely anecdotal suspicion. We purchase about 50 pounds of the stuff per year per capita, but let an estimated 20% go to waste (uneaten or spoiled or etc), according to Table 52. This means that we are wasting 20% of our soda purchases every year. I have a friend whose mother will open a soda and drink a few swallows and then put it back in the fridge and twenty minutes later, she will open a new one and repeat the process because "she just wants a little drink, not a whole one." This boggles my mind and fills her fridge with 30 or 40 half empty sodas a week, which all go stale before anyone else gets thirsty. These are also diet so they don't count, therefore everyone everywhere drinks every drop of soda and eats every pound of HFCS they purchase. 20% seems kinda high to me, but I am not an expert working for the USDA. I have wasted corn starch plenty of times making some non-Newtonian fluids and those are always cool, so maybe 20% isn't so high...except corn starch isn't corn syrup.

One regular soda a day is horrifically bad for you. Diet sodas aren't so great, either, with all that salt.

Despite all this blathering on about HFCS, I have only one reason for disliking HFCS beyond the health reason: it tastes terrible. Sodas and fruit drinks with made with cane sugar taste more refreshing to me. Cane sugar straight off the cane is soooo much better than corn syrup straight from the jar, especially when you go to the Latino grocery store and buy it in a bunch and then chew it like tabacco and sit around the pool. If you can get past the woody texture to the sheer buzz and flavor of the sap, cane sugar is brilliant.

Next week in wild, quasi-scientific rambling: if men are often red/green colorblind, are rare women blue/yellow colorblind? I once convinced an ex-girlfriend's father that this was the case, despite having never heard of it and having done no research whatsoever. I just wanted to convince a well-respected lawyer that a total fabrication was the truth.

Blog Delays

I am having trouble typing because I keep hurting myself while playing Guitar Hero. Fuck you, it's fun. Except for the pain.

Do Not Blog About It

This is me not blogging about something about which I don't know anything: Raven is wearing a funny t-shirt that probably doesn't refer to something about which I know nothing at all.

I Got a Job Offer!

In addition to numerous job offers to SELL INSURANCE FROM YOUR HOME AND EARN THOUSANDS EACH WEEK!!!, I received this job offer that sure looks like a nice opportunity to become a Nigerian scam spammer:

Greetings! Our company is registred in the Careerbuilder company. We have reviewed your resume and are eager to inform you that we are ready to offer you a vacant position

If you are intrested in getting the job in our company please reply this email.

We looked through your skills and became sure that you correspond to our requirements.

Job scheme will comprise the following:
1. You receive payments from our customers (By checks, Money orders e.t.c)
2. Than you fill forms with details of received payments in your Internet Office
3. Transfer money to our main office by requested methods.

Your earning will be 8 % of the amount of each completed payment please answer this message with your Сontact Infomation and Attach your Resume to e-mail.

Additionally we are going to effect you $1500 as your salary at the end of each month.

This job will allow you to:
- Get financial independence working only 3-5 hours per day;
- Get additional free time;
- Efficiently work at home;

General requirements:
- Willingness to take the responsibility to set up and achieve goals;
- Ability to create good administrative reporting;
- Prior customer service experience is a good benefit;
- Internet and e-mail skills; Experience in online work;

In addition we will be able to offer you $ 2500 as a monthly payment after completion of the trial period.

In case you are interested in the position, please register at our web site and get there futher instructions.

IF YOU WISH TO JOIN OUR TEAM PLEASE REPLY THIS EMAIL.

There are a few red flags in this message, let's see if I spot them all. First, numerous misspellings. Second, ALL I WOULD HAVE TO DO IS SIT AROUND COLLECTING MONEY AND SENDING IT ON FOR A CUT!? SWEET! Schyeah, right. Third, the company name is not listed at all. Fourth, it came from a gmail account.

Synergy in Mind and Webcomics

In college, I was a...scattered individual. Since becoming a more focused, or perhaps coherent is the proper word,* I have either lost the desire or need to attend late night visitations to the wildebeest carcass, or gained the ability to find dead wildebeest wherever I roam and regardless of the hour. Since I am on my second pot of coffee, I doubt that even regular "readers" understand what I mean when I talk about wildebeest, but any regular "viewer" of Animal Planet will understand. Clearly, I am talking about eating pancakes at four in the morning simply because you want some maple syrup, or you have perhaps more sinister motives.

In the days shortly after leaving the hallowed halls of learning, I longed for a return to the clarity of pancakes consumed in the hours between dusk and dawn. I sought out fey circles and other shrines to the gods, followed other strung-out seekers in a communal quest for late-night, grease-induced visions. Despite all attempts to reach that odd plane of mental and physical union of process that was once achieved with ease, I remained lost and listless. I could not regain my impetus for inquiry. I drifted thus, hungry and syrup-deprived. I wandered the country. Penniless and desperate, I eventually made my way back to the Manor and suffered the tender ministrations of my parents until I could stand and walk once more.

I was grateful for their help but anxious to be moving again. A lifetime of travel has left me unfit for settlement for periods longer than one or two seasonal cycles of our lonely planet. I moved on, and took residence in an underground hovel. It was there that I began to suffer the full withdrawal from my former habits. During the agonizing hours of the night, the cravings for sweet syrup and fluffy griddle cakes pounded through my being and shook me to the core. I lay awash in pain. As the months ground slowly on, I found that I could sense that missing clarity floating just out of reach, just behind the next door, on the edge of memory. In a still, cool, fall night, I finally grasped that strange and wonderful process of mind while strolling the empty sidewalks. There was no hunger within, no maple syrup on my chin to guide my vision. There was only the solitude of a city sleeping while I and perhaps others walked the barren alleys and avenues. Since then, I have been able to summon this inspiration when desired, and I am better for it, though I doubt the world would agree.

There are many other reasons for visiting the IHOP or profane IHOP-equivalent at such an early, or late, hour. Perhaps you have an allergy to the food offered by your institution. Perhaps you are an insomniac. Perhaps you have a term paper due and need some coffee and carbs. Perhaps you really appreciate Mrs. Butterworth in a way your friends would never understand, should they find out. Perhaps you have a wager about the number of teeth the waitress has. Perhaps you feel a need to have every menu item once in a semester, due to some bizarre form of gastric OCD. Perhaps you have even stranger, eldritch reasons for visiting an Interdimensional House of Pancakes.

I might have said too much. I can feel the influence of weird energies on my mind, and I think I may have given the beast too much food yesterday evening. The crickets do not sing, for the hungry, hairy beast hunts in the dark. Be wary.

* Condensed? Concentrated? Distilled? Aliquoted?**
** Now that there is a truly old inside joke.

Move Over Pam Atlas, Sarah Palin VLogs the Campaign

Hilarious.

I am not really one of those seriouspants bloggers, nor am I really funny, but I know what I like and I like these videos. Sarah Palin also has her own website here.

Another Day, Another Pile of Shit Falls on a Republican't Somewhere

I have been fired for far less than the shit that has been falling squarely on the shoulders of my ideological opponents. You can read more about these incidents, uh, pretty much anywhere. I'll be busy looking for a new job.

In the meantime, what the fuck was Lindsey Graham doing advertising on FDL? I wish had been able to grab a screen cap of that.

The Genius Versus The Atlantic Ocean: 0-1

In a press release dated September 1, The Genius alleges that the Atlantic Ocean did knowingly, and with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, assault The Genius over the course of two days. Suffering from blunt force trauma to the skull, a hyperextended knee joint, and a twisted foot, The Genius claimed, "Those fucking waves are being way too fucking rough. I'm gonna go sit in the sun and ache."

The Genius is alleging that on two occasions within ten minutes, the Atlantic Ocean and its partner, The Wind, created surf conditions that initially appeared to be fun and not at all dangerous but caused inflicted serious pain and injury to the person of The Genius. Furthermore, The Genius alleges that the harm was deliberate due to the apparent lack of injuries sustained by "all the other fucking people and all the damn kids" on the beach in the general vicinity of The Genius during these heinous attacks on his person.

In an interview on the morning of September 2, The Genius stated, "I'm fucking sore and this is really gonna screw up my basketball and bicycling schedule. Fuck that whole ocean with a rusty pinecone."

The Genius is seeking compensation for pain and suffering in the amount of 1,000,000,000 dollars, plus medical expenses and legal fees, or 100 years of unclaimed sunken pirate treasure, aka booty, from the Atlantic Ocean.

Lessons From My Father: Number X+2 or 3 or 438

During every election cycle that I pay attention to, I remember the 1988 elections. I remember watching the Democratic National Convention during sweltering heat in an A-frame house in Wisconsin while my brothers had fun outside because I thought we were required by law to watch these things.

I remember wondering who the shit are all these old men and why isn't Jesse Jackson speaking more? Jesse Jackson was the only person I had heard of before that night.

I remember wondering, how does the rest of the country survive through this interminable extravaganza? Damn it was boring, but I was worried I would get arrested if I didn't watch it.

I also remember my father's briefcase. He had a soft-sided, tan briefcase that he carried to work in Bucharest. I went looking through it once, because I was hoping to find nuclear materials or Romanian state secrets or something cool like James Bond in that briefcase. Instead, I found a bumper sticker stuck to the unpocketed-side of the briefcase. That bumper sticker read, "Lick Bush." I remember thinking this was rather underwhelming. Being the age at which American children read a lot of old-timey but timeless novels like Tom Sawyer, I thought nothing of this sticker although I did wonder why it was on the inside of the briefcase. I had learned that summer that Republicans exist and are the problem and support George HW Bush, so I figured that maybe they wouldn't like my father's proud admission that he would make Bush say, "uncle" or something.

When I was voting for the first time, I remembered this bumper sticker and laughed out lout while I was standing in the booth. Two little old ladies shuffled over and asked if I was ok. Just proud of my dad, that's all.

Randomly Posted Random Songs

Here's a taste of the music playing while I search for a new job and write my novel:

Aimee Mann - Thirty One Today
These United States - Burn This Bridge
Billy Idol - Untitled track from Cyberpunk
Johnny Cash - I Still Miss Someone (from At Folsom Prison)
Empire of the Sun - Walking on a Dream (downloaded from Fluxblog)
Jonathan Coulton - Re: Your Brains
Lejeune - Kubasaki Ha'i
Thievery Corporation - Indra

Fantasies Involving Pregnancies

Okay, I could have phrased that title better.

I know a lot of women right now who are pregnant, or are recently un-pregnant and pushing around little, mewling wads of balogna in strollers. Not one of these women has ever gone full-Rambo and taken out a room full of ninjas, however. That would be pretty frigging sweet, even if I had to fend off the rival ninja gang as well.

Permits, Tests, and Lessons Learned

So I am teaching my brother how to drive. He has taken driver's ed classes, and is now working through the 60 hours of supervised driving required by the state of Maryland. I understand my father a little better than I did before this experience. Jebus Monte Crisco, I think I have lost a few years off my life. So far the best part has been:

Me: "Just turn right here."
Brother: "It says Do Not Enter."
Me: "Ah fuck it, just go, what are the chances a cop is around?"
Brother: "I don't wanna break the law."
Me: "Just fucking go already."
Cop: "Why did you just drive through that Do Not Enter sign?"
Brother, smiling a shit eating grin: "I'm sorry, I made a mistake, I'm just trying to pick up my wife and I wasn't sure which way was for the buses and which for the cars."
Me: "It was my fault, I gave him bad directions. I don't drive and walk everywhere, so I didn't even notice that was a Do Not Enter sign."
Cop: "Well, you just make sure you obey the signs in the future."
Brother's Wife: "What is going on?"

hee

Heaping Loads

So, I think I am being audited.

Fuck.

Shouldn't be too hard, since I don't have any money. And never have had any money. The IRS probably just wants to tell me that I shouldn't have filed late for the years that I filed, but they owed me money in those years anyway. There are days, and then there are days.

UPDATE: Turns out they want more money for self employment taxes and fees for 2005. HAHA! The jokes on them! I'm broke, bitches! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

DC: Now With More Bullshit Statistics

Somewhere, I heard that the DC population is getting close to 60% female. This seems about right given my daily experiences. There is an alleged correlation that DC should have more single women. Lemme just tell you all this right now: that's a crock of shit.

College Revival Comics

I am not a guy to get stressed out about much of anything, and this is also a contributing factor to much of my current situation. However, much of one of my previous situations, when I was in college, could be explained by this picture for sad children. This joke is so much more inside than anything 3Bulls can come up with, I doubt even fulsome gets the joke to which I am referring.

For those of you that don't know, it wasn't that funny a joke anyway. The comic is way funnier than the joke, it just has an added reference layer for me and maybe two or three people out there.

Do you gmail-using-people ever have that moment where you are typing in a name in the "To" box and a name comes up and you have no fucking clue who that name's person is? I have somewhere around three thousand names in my contact list apparently and I think I know maybe ten of them. Every time I write an email without slapping the reply button, I find names in my so-called contact list that belong to no one I can remember. Apparently, I chatted with them maybe? I bet they were on that ultimate frisbee team I tried last summer (what a disaster, no one plays for fun, it's all about the win and fuck that shit). Or maybe they are friends of other people that have mass emailed me and know they have spread to my contact list like some sort of gmail STD? That is a lot ruder than I mean to be to these probably nice people (or email addresses), but the metaphor is apt, like if I send you an email, you are know in correspondence with everyone I've ever emailed. Hope you have virus protection, because my gmail account gets around, lemme tell you.