I haven’t really done anything terribly productive today.
I did go out and get a haircut, and do some grocery shopping, but beyond that? Nothing, really.
I’ve spent most of the day messing around in Photoshop testing out different techniques for enhancing/restoring images.
Why? Well, in my constant search for reference images I often find pictures that I really like, but that I can’t actually use because they’re tiny and low-res, with lots of JPEG artifacting and whatnot.
So if I can find ways to edit the original images to get them to a point at which I can actually use them as source material for drawings, that would definitely be a plus.
(In particular I have a low-res, heavily shadowed screen cap of Scarlett Johansson that I would love to draw – and have tried to draw many times – but it just doesn’t have enough detail to work from.)
Beyond that I’ve been attempting to restore some deleted files on one of my external drives, files that I just realized that I needed today – mostly image files, but some documents as well – and then remembered that I’d deleted a while back when I hadn’t realized that I would one day need them.
I’ve tried a couple of undelete utilities, but they all get to about the 80% mark in scanning for recoverable files, then crap out. I figured that this was due to some bad sectors on the disk, so I did a scandisk and set it to attempt – which is the keyword – to repair bad sectors, and it came back and said that it had fixed the errors, but the undelete utility crapped out at the same point again. I’ve just run another bad sector repair utility, and now the undelete utility is chugging away yet again. This time it found one more recoverable directory than it had in previous attempts, and it’s also making a shorter estimate as to how long the scan will take, so I’m hoping that’s a good sign.
If not, oh well. I don’t really need the files, I’d just like to have them.
(They’re mostly sketches and unfinished pictures, which I thought I had backed up somewhere else.)
I decided I’ll (probably) mow tomorrow morning. So there’s something to look forward to.
I’ve been looking at some business card printing sites, as I’ve been thinking about printing up some Heroic Portraits business cards so that I can leave them lying around in public places the way evangelists who aren’t bold enough to actually evangelize leave Chick Tracts lying around.
I meant to do some work on some more sample Portraits for the Gallery today, but got too caught up in the whole undeleting thing and the photo enhancement stuff.
Other than that it’s been a pretty quiet day here at Casa de Threshold.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
To Dream The Possible Dream
Last night I tossed and turned for a couple of hours before I finally got to sleep, then I was treated to an incredibly vivid dream in which I had a heart attack.
So that was fun.
On the other hand, at least I’m not wasting my sleeping hours dreaming about airy impossibilities and things that will never happen…
In any case, it all made for a very tired Jon this morning, which made the day seem interminable, even with the summer hours that allow me to leave an hour early.
Still, by the time 3:00 finally rolled around I was out the door, and was home by about 3:30.
By 4:00 I was taking a nap.
Never let it be said that I don’t know how to make the most of my weekends.
In the time between arriving at home and climbing into bed, I thought about mowing the lawn, but then I thought about not mowing it, and that seemed easier.
Of course, while I was napping I had a dream about mowing the lawn. I also had a dream that involved an evil talking dog that was trying to bite my hand off. I asked the dog what it wanted, and, as its eyes glowed red, it responded, with a gravelly, dog-like voice, “We want you to burn, baby!”
Again, at least I’m not wasting my sleeping hours dreaming about airy impossibilities and things that will never happen…
After getting back up I ventured out into the world to get something to eat, then came home and watched a movie (Semi-Pro. Meh. Will Ferrell really needs to let go of the 1970s.).
And now, like a true party animal, I’m writing a blog entry. The weekend! Yeah! Whoo!
So that was fun.
On the other hand, at least I’m not wasting my sleeping hours dreaming about airy impossibilities and things that will never happen…
In any case, it all made for a very tired Jon this morning, which made the day seem interminable, even with the summer hours that allow me to leave an hour early.
Still, by the time 3:00 finally rolled around I was out the door, and was home by about 3:30.
By 4:00 I was taking a nap.
Never let it be said that I don’t know how to make the most of my weekends.
In the time between arriving at home and climbing into bed, I thought about mowing the lawn, but then I thought about not mowing it, and that seemed easier.
Of course, while I was napping I had a dream about mowing the lawn. I also had a dream that involved an evil talking dog that was trying to bite my hand off. I asked the dog what it wanted, and, as its eyes glowed red, it responded, with a gravelly, dog-like voice, “We want you to burn, baby!”
Again, at least I’m not wasting my sleeping hours dreaming about airy impossibilities and things that will never happen…
After getting back up I ventured out into the world to get something to eat, then came home and watched a movie (Semi-Pro. Meh. Will Ferrell really needs to let go of the 1970s.).
And now, like a true party animal, I’m writing a blog entry. The weekend! Yeah! Whoo!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Addendum And Less Offensive Follow-Up To My Last Post
In my last post I related an anecdote about a time when I was in competition with two friends for the affections of a young lady, mentioning that one of the friends told her that the other two of us were a gay couple.
We’ll call the friend who purportedly made this slanderous claim John, as that was his name.
John completely denied making this claim about myself and our friend “Jeff.”
(“Jeff’s” actual name? Jeff.)
Now, I heard about all of this from “Jeff,” so it’s entirely possible that John was telling the truth when he claimed innocence, and that “Jeff” made the whole thing up in an effort to set John and I against each other, clearing the way for himself.
Honestly, this seems like the more likely explanation, as it really seems like something that would have been utterly out of character for John.
(Possibly one of our other friends made it up and told “Jeff” that John had said this. Who knows? More to the point, 9 years later and a thousand miles away, who cares?)
Still, whatever the truth of the matter, it’s largely irrelevant, as I told John that I believed his denial – which I pretty much did – and shrugged the whole thing off.
After all, I’d entered the competition rather half-heartedly anyway, as I was reasonably certain that “Jeff,” as he had so often in the past, would be the one to come out ahead anyway.
In the early stages of the competition, there came a night on which I made a rather embarrassing Freudian slip when talking to the object of our affections, whom we’ll call Jenni. We’ll call her that because that’s what her parents called her.
(Note: It made me feel odd to be pursuing someone who had the same name as my youngest niece. Not odd enough to not pursue her anyway, but odd nonetheless.)
In any case, one night I was sitting in the bar, which was unusually “Jeff” and John-free, and Jenni came in and sat down next to me. I bought her a drink and we began to talk about any number of things, at one point settling on the topic of how she was dressed. Jenni was a waitress at a nearby restaurant, and usually came into the bar after getting off of work, dressed in her work clothes, which consisted of a white blouse and black pants. I think I said something about having never seen her wearing anything else, and she said that she would be sure to come in sometime on a non-work night so that I could see her in her regular clothes.
Eventually she decided to head home and as I bid her farewell, I said, “Hopefully next time I’ll get to see you in regular clothes.”
At least, that’s how the sentence formed in my brain.
What I actually said was, “Hopefully I’ll get to see you out of your clothes.”
This, of course, led to an awkward pause, after which I said, “I meant, see you out of your work clothes.” Dammit! “I mean – ”
She responded, “Oh, trust me; I know what you meant.”
I’m not sure if that’s what killed my chances with her – she did deliver her parting line rather good-naturedly – but at the very least it was probably the nail in the coffin.
(And, again, she was a total cokehead, so it’s probably just as well that “Jeff” was the “winner” of the competition.)
Anyway, I just wanted to further elaborate on the anecdote I mentioned in the last post, and to post something at least a little less crude and offensive.
Not much that’s noteworthy or interesting going on in my life. Today was pretty standard; work, meetings, conference calls, work, home, sleepiness, etc.
That pretty much brings you up to speed.
We’ll call the friend who purportedly made this slanderous claim John, as that was his name.
John completely denied making this claim about myself and our friend “Jeff.”
(“Jeff’s” actual name? Jeff.)
Now, I heard about all of this from “Jeff,” so it’s entirely possible that John was telling the truth when he claimed innocence, and that “Jeff” made the whole thing up in an effort to set John and I against each other, clearing the way for himself.
Honestly, this seems like the more likely explanation, as it really seems like something that would have been utterly out of character for John.
(Possibly one of our other friends made it up and told “Jeff” that John had said this. Who knows? More to the point, 9 years later and a thousand miles away, who cares?)
Still, whatever the truth of the matter, it’s largely irrelevant, as I told John that I believed his denial – which I pretty much did – and shrugged the whole thing off.
After all, I’d entered the competition rather half-heartedly anyway, as I was reasonably certain that “Jeff,” as he had so often in the past, would be the one to come out ahead anyway.
In the early stages of the competition, there came a night on which I made a rather embarrassing Freudian slip when talking to the object of our affections, whom we’ll call Jenni. We’ll call her that because that’s what her parents called her.
(Note: It made me feel odd to be pursuing someone who had the same name as my youngest niece. Not odd enough to not pursue her anyway, but odd nonetheless.)
In any case, one night I was sitting in the bar, which was unusually “Jeff” and John-free, and Jenni came in and sat down next to me. I bought her a drink and we began to talk about any number of things, at one point settling on the topic of how she was dressed. Jenni was a waitress at a nearby restaurant, and usually came into the bar after getting off of work, dressed in her work clothes, which consisted of a white blouse and black pants. I think I said something about having never seen her wearing anything else, and she said that she would be sure to come in sometime on a non-work night so that I could see her in her regular clothes.
Eventually she decided to head home and as I bid her farewell, I said, “Hopefully next time I’ll get to see you in regular clothes.”
At least, that’s how the sentence formed in my brain.
What I actually said was, “Hopefully I’ll get to see you out of your clothes.”
This, of course, led to an awkward pause, after which I said, “I meant, see you out of your work clothes.” Dammit! “I mean – ”
She responded, “Oh, trust me; I know what you meant.”
I’m not sure if that’s what killed my chances with her – she did deliver her parting line rather good-naturedly – but at the very least it was probably the nail in the coffin.
(And, again, she was a total cokehead, so it’s probably just as well that “Jeff” was the “winner” of the competition.)
Anyway, I just wanted to further elaborate on the anecdote I mentioned in the last post, and to post something at least a little less crude and offensive.
Not much that’s noteworthy or interesting going on in my life. Today was pretty standard; work, meetings, conference calls, work, home, sleepiness, etc.
That pretty much brings you up to speed.
Blocked! or You Probably Don't Want To Read This, Mom
Warning: Before reading this entry you should be advised that it contains gratuitous use of the word “cock,” and not in reference to the other term for a rooster. So if you’re offended by the word cock, you probably shouldn’t read this, because, seriously, the word cock is going to appear many times, though mostly in the form of the word cockblocker, as in one who blocks cocks. If cock isn’t a word that you want to see repeated over again – like this: cock cock cock cock cock – it would really be a cock-up, as the British say, for you to read this entry that’s positively overflowing with the word cock.
Cock.
I’m not sure when the phrase cockblocker entered the lexicon, and perhaps it marks me as naïve and less than worldly – bear in mind that I don’t get out much – but I first encountered the word in 2001.
Now, while I did not know that there was a word for it, I was, as most guys are, familiar with the concept, and when I did hear the word mentioned, I immediately grasped – so to speak – what it meant, and understood just how accurately descriptive a term it really was.
While the meaning should be obvious, a cockblocker is someone who, well, blocks your cock. That is to say that a cockblocker is someone who, through various means, prevents a guy from getting laid.
A few years ago there were a series of ads – I believe they were for Axe body spray – that described the various kinds of “game killers” that exist in the world. They were, of course, talking about cockblockers, but they couldn’t actually say cockblocker on TV or in most print ads. I’m not sure how many varieties they identified, but there were considerably more game killers in their classification system than can be found in my classification system for cockblockers.
However, they were using a different classification system, and, essentially, every type of game killer was simply a variation on one the three types of cockblockers in my taxonomic scheme.
Before I get into describing the three basic types of cockblockers, I’ll go off on a bit of a tangent and relate the story of how I first encountered the term.
In early 2001 I was living in Tucson, Arizona, and working as a desktop publisher for a local free publication on the afternoon shift from 4:00 PM to 1:30 AM.
One of the guys I worked with also worked part-time at a hospital, and despite the demands this placed on his time, he always managed to find time to cheat on his live-in girlfriend, who was also the mother of his child.
At some point he set me up on a blind date with one of his hospital co-workers. After what seemed like a successful first date, there were various obstacles that prevented us from getting together for a second, until I suggested that she come by my work some evening so that we could go out for dinner on my lunch break.
The girl that my co-worker was banging on the side worked at the hospital, and was friends with the girl I was attempting to date, so, upon hearing about our plans, she invited herself along so that she could spend some time him, and so it ended up being a double date.
We all went to a nearby bar and restaurant for dinner, which, as I was only about 6 months into my sobriety at the time, made me uncomfortable, which served to exacerbate my social awkwardness.
Added to that was the fact that the other three all worked together and had known each other for quite some time, so for most of the date I sat in uncomfortable silence while the three of them chatted merrily away about people, places, and events that I was completely unfamiliar with.
At the center of it all was my co-worker who, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was monopolizing my date’s time, sat there in the spotlight happily absorbing the attention he was getting from his date and mine.
When we returned to work, one of our co-workers asked how it went, and I said, “Well, he had two great dates,” to which our co-worker responded, “So, he was being a cockblocker, huh?”
“Yes,” I said, soaking up the word. “He was being a cockblocker.”
(For the record, I acknowledge my culpability in failing to hold my date’s attention, but the fact remains that my co-worker made no effort to shift the focus away from himself, even though it should have been apparent to him that I really needed him to do so.)
So that was my introduction to the term.
As time progressed, I began to notice just how pervasive cockblockery is in society, and eventually identified the three basic types, which I will now describe.
The Competitive Cockblocker:
The name speaks for itself. This is someone who will block your cock in order to clear the path for his own. He will do anything and everything in his power to ensure the successful deflection of your cock.
By way of example, several years ago I was in competition with two friends for the affections of a young lady. One of those friends, carrying the competition too far, actually told the young lady in question that myself and our other friend were gay, and were, in fact, a couple. It was a gambit that didn’t pay off, and one he completely denied engaging in, but it serves as a perfect demonstration of just how far the Competitive Cockblocker will go. To give the anecdote some closure, the friend who told the gay story later came to realize that he himself was gay, and my alleged partner ended up being the one to successfully navigate his cock past both of us, which is just as well, as it turns out she was a cokehead and managed to get him hooked.
The Oblivious Cockblocker:
This is someone who is not actively attempting to block your cock, but still manages to do exactly that. The Oblivious Cockblocker is totally unaware of the fact that you’re attempting to score, so it never even occurs to him or her to get the fuck away and leave you to it. The most common types of Oblivious Cockblockers are people who are drunk off their asses or who are extraordinarily friendly and chatty and just want to hang out and join in the conversation.
As a case in point, my aforementioned co-worker was this type of cockblocker; he wasn’t actively attempting to block me, but his need to be the center of attention and to feed his ego prevented him from getting out of my way.
The Malicious Cockblocker:
This is someone who deliberately blocks your cock for no damn reason other than the simple pleasure of executing a successful block. The Malicious Cockblocker is the worst kind of cockblocker, simply because the cockblocking is utterly inexcusable. At least the Competitive Cockblocker can be viewed as a worthy opponent, and the Oblivious Cockblocker is, well, oblivious. But the Malicious Cockblocker? Just a straight up asshole.
One could argue for a fourth type of cockblocker, namely the Protective Cockblocker. This is someone who is blocking your cock because he or she simply doesn’t want you to successfully hit your target because he or she wants to protect your target from you. The Protective Cockblocker could be the target’s parents or friends who view you as a morning after regret just waiting to happen, and so work to keep your cock at bay.
However, I would maintain that the Protective Cockblocker is merely a subset of the Malicious Cockblocker, and not a distinct variety in and of itself.
There is, of course, some amount of overlap between the three basic types, and it should be noted that while cockblocking is an activity primarily engaged in by the male of the species, women are often just as guilty of cockblocking, often for reasons that are utterly incomprehensible to the blockee.
In his comment on my previous post, Scott actually brought to my attention the existence of a sort of Meta cockblocker, which is what inspired me to write this post.
(That’s right; if you’ve found this entry offensive, blame Scott.)
I’ve dubbed this variety of cockblocker the Preemptive Cockblocker.
This is someone – a father, an ex-boyfriend – who does something, or multiple somethings, to mess up a woman’s head so badly that she develops a kind of tunnel vision that leads her to only be attracted to a certain type of guy. If you are not that type of guy, you will have no chance whatsoever with this woman, even if there are no cockblockers actively standing in your way. It’s as if she has a cockblocking force field.
It may even be that she’s not attracted to any type of guy, and will herself deflect anyone who attempts to get close to her.
This type of cockblocker is the most insidious and one for whom there is no way to defeat, as he is no longer physically present. It’s not really even possible to see that he is a cockblocker when he actually is present, as his behavior would more likely identify him as a douchebag. Thus, a Preemptive Cockblocker can only be identified after the fact.
So there you have it; my take on the cockblocking phenomenon.
Now, it may be that you view this as all being more than a little misogynistic, as, after all, some of the language used objectifies women as nothing more than “targets” for guided phallic missiles.
To that I would say, first of all, lighten the fuck up. This isn’t some serious academic treatise on social dynamics, it’s mostly a joke. Maybe you don’t find it funny, but not funny is not the same as misogynistic.
Secondly, any interaction between men and women in a romantic context is, ultimately, marked by sexual desire on the part of at least one of the participants, and, statistically speaking, the odds are that it’s going to be on the part of the male, and will, therefore, involve the male part.
Certainly it’s true that sexual conquest may not be the only goal – or even the primary goal – in such an interaction, but it will always be a component.
Because I was aiming for a kind of crude, lowbrow humor, I used the most crass terms possible, but you could just as easily apply my observations in a more high-minded manner, and could use more flowery language, describing the respective types of cockblockers as “Romantic Rivals,” “Romantic Obstacles,” and “Enemies of Romance,” or whatever else you can think of. Ultimately you would be describing the same thing: people who, through various means and for various reasons, prevent a man and a woman from forming some kind of connection.
At this point, I should probably outline some of the strategies for effectivelycircumcising circumventing the various types of cockblockers, but, as should be apparent to anyone who knows me, I don’t have any.
I suppose you could say that there’s yet another type of Meta cockblocker: the Self-Cockblocker.
In conclusion, I can only say that no matter how offended you may be by this entry, you should count your blessings, as, after all, I didn’t include visual aids.
Cock.
I’m not sure when the phrase cockblocker entered the lexicon, and perhaps it marks me as naïve and less than worldly – bear in mind that I don’t get out much – but I first encountered the word in 2001.
Now, while I did not know that there was a word for it, I was, as most guys are, familiar with the concept, and when I did hear the word mentioned, I immediately grasped – so to speak – what it meant, and understood just how accurately descriptive a term it really was.
While the meaning should be obvious, a cockblocker is someone who, well, blocks your cock. That is to say that a cockblocker is someone who, through various means, prevents a guy from getting laid.
A few years ago there were a series of ads – I believe they were for Axe body spray – that described the various kinds of “game killers” that exist in the world. They were, of course, talking about cockblockers, but they couldn’t actually say cockblocker on TV or in most print ads. I’m not sure how many varieties they identified, but there were considerably more game killers in their classification system than can be found in my classification system for cockblockers.
However, they were using a different classification system, and, essentially, every type of game killer was simply a variation on one the three types of cockblockers in my taxonomic scheme.
Before I get into describing the three basic types of cockblockers, I’ll go off on a bit of a tangent and relate the story of how I first encountered the term.
In early 2001 I was living in Tucson, Arizona, and working as a desktop publisher for a local free publication on the afternoon shift from 4:00 PM to 1:30 AM.
One of the guys I worked with also worked part-time at a hospital, and despite the demands this placed on his time, he always managed to find time to cheat on his live-in girlfriend, who was also the mother of his child.
At some point he set me up on a blind date with one of his hospital co-workers. After what seemed like a successful first date, there were various obstacles that prevented us from getting together for a second, until I suggested that she come by my work some evening so that we could go out for dinner on my lunch break.
The girl that my co-worker was banging on the side worked at the hospital, and was friends with the girl I was attempting to date, so, upon hearing about our plans, she invited herself along so that she could spend some time him, and so it ended up being a double date.
We all went to a nearby bar and restaurant for dinner, which, as I was only about 6 months into my sobriety at the time, made me uncomfortable, which served to exacerbate my social awkwardness.
Added to that was the fact that the other three all worked together and had known each other for quite some time, so for most of the date I sat in uncomfortable silence while the three of them chatted merrily away about people, places, and events that I was completely unfamiliar with.
At the center of it all was my co-worker who, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was monopolizing my date’s time, sat there in the spotlight happily absorbing the attention he was getting from his date and mine.
When we returned to work, one of our co-workers asked how it went, and I said, “Well, he had two great dates,” to which our co-worker responded, “So, he was being a cockblocker, huh?”
“Yes,” I said, soaking up the word. “He was being a cockblocker.”
(For the record, I acknowledge my culpability in failing to hold my date’s attention, but the fact remains that my co-worker made no effort to shift the focus away from himself, even though it should have been apparent to him that I really needed him to do so.)
So that was my introduction to the term.
As time progressed, I began to notice just how pervasive cockblockery is in society, and eventually identified the three basic types, which I will now describe.
The Competitive Cockblocker:
The name speaks for itself. This is someone who will block your cock in order to clear the path for his own. He will do anything and everything in his power to ensure the successful deflection of your cock.
By way of example, several years ago I was in competition with two friends for the affections of a young lady. One of those friends, carrying the competition too far, actually told the young lady in question that myself and our other friend were gay, and were, in fact, a couple. It was a gambit that didn’t pay off, and one he completely denied engaging in, but it serves as a perfect demonstration of just how far the Competitive Cockblocker will go. To give the anecdote some closure, the friend who told the gay story later came to realize that he himself was gay, and my alleged partner ended up being the one to successfully navigate his cock past both of us, which is just as well, as it turns out she was a cokehead and managed to get him hooked.
The Oblivious Cockblocker:
This is someone who is not actively attempting to block your cock, but still manages to do exactly that. The Oblivious Cockblocker is totally unaware of the fact that you’re attempting to score, so it never even occurs to him or her to get the fuck away and leave you to it. The most common types of Oblivious Cockblockers are people who are drunk off their asses or who are extraordinarily friendly and chatty and just want to hang out and join in the conversation.
As a case in point, my aforementioned co-worker was this type of cockblocker; he wasn’t actively attempting to block me, but his need to be the center of attention and to feed his ego prevented him from getting out of my way.
The Malicious Cockblocker:
This is someone who deliberately blocks your cock for no damn reason other than the simple pleasure of executing a successful block. The Malicious Cockblocker is the worst kind of cockblocker, simply because the cockblocking is utterly inexcusable. At least the Competitive Cockblocker can be viewed as a worthy opponent, and the Oblivious Cockblocker is, well, oblivious. But the Malicious Cockblocker? Just a straight up asshole.
One could argue for a fourth type of cockblocker, namely the Protective Cockblocker. This is someone who is blocking your cock because he or she simply doesn’t want you to successfully hit your target because he or she wants to protect your target from you. The Protective Cockblocker could be the target’s parents or friends who view you as a morning after regret just waiting to happen, and so work to keep your cock at bay.
However, I would maintain that the Protective Cockblocker is merely a subset of the Malicious Cockblocker, and not a distinct variety in and of itself.
There is, of course, some amount of overlap between the three basic types, and it should be noted that while cockblocking is an activity primarily engaged in by the male of the species, women are often just as guilty of cockblocking, often for reasons that are utterly incomprehensible to the blockee.
In his comment on my previous post, Scott actually brought to my attention the existence of a sort of Meta cockblocker, which is what inspired me to write this post.
(That’s right; if you’ve found this entry offensive, blame Scott.)
I’ve dubbed this variety of cockblocker the Preemptive Cockblocker.
This is someone – a father, an ex-boyfriend – who does something, or multiple somethings, to mess up a woman’s head so badly that she develops a kind of tunnel vision that leads her to only be attracted to a certain type of guy. If you are not that type of guy, you will have no chance whatsoever with this woman, even if there are no cockblockers actively standing in your way. It’s as if she has a cockblocking force field.
It may even be that she’s not attracted to any type of guy, and will herself deflect anyone who attempts to get close to her.
This type of cockblocker is the most insidious and one for whom there is no way to defeat, as he is no longer physically present. It’s not really even possible to see that he is a cockblocker when he actually is present, as his behavior would more likely identify him as a douchebag. Thus, a Preemptive Cockblocker can only be identified after the fact.
So there you have it; my take on the cockblocking phenomenon.
Now, it may be that you view this as all being more than a little misogynistic, as, after all, some of the language used objectifies women as nothing more than “targets” for guided phallic missiles.
To that I would say, first of all, lighten the fuck up. This isn’t some serious academic treatise on social dynamics, it’s mostly a joke. Maybe you don’t find it funny, but not funny is not the same as misogynistic.
Secondly, any interaction between men and women in a romantic context is, ultimately, marked by sexual desire on the part of at least one of the participants, and, statistically speaking, the odds are that it’s going to be on the part of the male, and will, therefore, involve the male part.
Certainly it’s true that sexual conquest may not be the only goal – or even the primary goal – in such an interaction, but it will always be a component.
Because I was aiming for a kind of crude, lowbrow humor, I used the most crass terms possible, but you could just as easily apply my observations in a more high-minded manner, and could use more flowery language, describing the respective types of cockblockers as “Romantic Rivals,” “Romantic Obstacles,” and “Enemies of Romance,” or whatever else you can think of. Ultimately you would be describing the same thing: people who, through various means and for various reasons, prevent a man and a woman from forming some kind of connection.
At this point, I should probably outline some of the strategies for effectively
I suppose you could say that there’s yet another type of Meta cockblocker: the Self-Cockblocker.
In conclusion, I can only say that no matter how offended you may be by this entry, you should count your blessings, as, after all, I didn’t include visual aids.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Made Of Fail Part Six: The All-You-Can't-Eat Buffet
I often wonder how many times the well-intentioned friends or family members of lovelorn individuals have uttered the expression “There are plenty of fish in the sea.”
I’ve never been a big believer in that expression, and not because I don’t like fish, or because some reports predict that by 2048 it will no longer be the case that there are plenty of fish in the sea.
No, my problem with the expression is that the sea is a very big place, so the odds are fairly decent that wherever you happen to be casting your line or your net there may not be any fish swimming around.
There are, apparently, places that are positively teeming with available women. Attractive women. Desperate women.
I’ve never been to any of those places.
Even when I hung out in bars, the typical male to female ratio was something like three to one, and usually that one was involved with at least one of the three.
To change metaphors, some people like to suggest that the world of dating is an all-you-can-eat buffet, overflowing with available options.
(I suppose you could go back to the fish metaphor and say that it’s a seafood buffet, if you really felt the need.)
However, I’ve typically found that by the time I get to the buffet it’s closing up, and all that’s left are a few crumbs in the croutons bin, and maybe some French dressing residue on one of the ladles, and there’s a fat guy who’s been there since the buffet opened and if you so much as move towards those crouton crumbs he will stab you with his fork because he’s got his eye on them.
The point of this? Well, it’s as I often say about accusations that I’m too picky, it doesn’t really matter if I am picky because there’s nothing to pick.
Honestly, my singlehood has been rather like being on an episode of The Dating Game in which none of the Bachelorettes bother to show up.
So yeah, my section of the sea? It’s like 2048 came early.
I’ve never been a big believer in that expression, and not because I don’t like fish, or because some reports predict that by 2048 it will no longer be the case that there are plenty of fish in the sea.
No, my problem with the expression is that the sea is a very big place, so the odds are fairly decent that wherever you happen to be casting your line or your net there may not be any fish swimming around.
There are, apparently, places that are positively teeming with available women. Attractive women. Desperate women.
I’ve never been to any of those places.
Even when I hung out in bars, the typical male to female ratio was something like three to one, and usually that one was involved with at least one of the three.
To change metaphors, some people like to suggest that the world of dating is an all-you-can-eat buffet, overflowing with available options.
(I suppose you could go back to the fish metaphor and say that it’s a seafood buffet, if you really felt the need.)
However, I’ve typically found that by the time I get to the buffet it’s closing up, and all that’s left are a few crumbs in the croutons bin, and maybe some French dressing residue on one of the ladles, and there’s a fat guy who’s been there since the buffet opened and if you so much as move towards those crouton crumbs he will stab you with his fork because he’s got his eye on them.
The point of this? Well, it’s as I often say about accusations that I’m too picky, it doesn’t really matter if I am picky because there’s nothing to pick.
Honestly, my singlehood has been rather like being on an episode of The Dating Game in which none of the Bachelorettes bother to show up.
So yeah, my section of the sea? It’s like 2048 came early.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
It's Important To Be Akuret (See What I Did There? No? Oh.)
It seems to be around 7 that the tiredness starts to creep in.
Apparently being awake for more than 12 hours is too much effort.
Of course I can’t go to sleep that early – not anymore, anyway – so I have to find a way to stay awake for at least a few more hours, and in doing so I seem to shake the tiredness off just in time to go to bed and toss and turn before finally falling asleep.
Fun stuff.
Not much of note has been happening. It’s pretty much just been work, come home, get sleepy, stay awake, go to bed, toss and turn, etc.
Following on the heels of my entry about fact-checking, I encountered a post on Wired blogs about the continuing trend of comic book movies that was just rife with errors, illustrating my point about even more perfectly than the review that inspired the entry.
The worst part was that they were mistakes that didn’t have to be made, as they were details, or more accurately, attempts at details that didn’t need to be included.
For example, in discussing the Frank Miller-directed adaptation of The Spirit, he made a reference to the “fact” that Miller had cast an actress who had appeared in the big screen adaptation of Miller’s Sin City. This was an unnecessary detail.
Oh, and it was wrong; he stated that Eva Mendes was the actress in question. Eva Mendes who appeared in Sin City as Miss Not Appearing in this Film.
There was no reason to make this mistake, as there was no reason to mention that someone who was in Sin City will be appearing in The Spirit.
(He was half right, though; Jaime King, who played Goldie/Wendy in Sin City, is appearing in The Spirit.)
Speaking of Miller, the author of the blog post also went on to mention that another of Miller’s works – Hard Boiled – is currently in development, and he correctly stated that Hard Boiled was published in 2000.
Of course, he only “correctly” stated that if you allow a margin of error of plus or minus ten years, as Hard Boiled was actually published in 1990.
Those are just a few of the many errors contained in the post, and while it may seem nit-picky, if I’m spotting that many errors in what he writes about properties and projects that I’m familiar with, how can I trust anything he writes about properties and projects that I’m not?
Here’s the thing. I’m not a journalist. I don’t make any money off of this blog, so I’m not really under any sort of obligation to provide accurate information here. The purpose of this blog, ultimately, is just for me to ramble on about whatever I damn well please, so I don’t owe anyone anything. If I want to say “Citizen Kane was the best movie Stanley Kubrick ever directed,” no one really has legitimate grounds to complain, because I’m just some unpaid jerk-off writing whatever he feels like writing and who doesn’t have to answer to anyone. Beyond that, this isn’t a film history blog or, really, any sort of special purpose blog, so there’s no reason to think that the promise of any kind of accuracy is even implied.
And yet, when I’m writing an entry, I pretty much always have Wikipedia and IMDb open in browser tabs to that I can verify that any claims I make that can be verified are correct. How hard can it be to do that when you’re getting paid to write something and you do have a responsibility to be accurate?
I don’t really mean to harp on this, but I’m sort of at a loss for anything to write about, and it was just funny that I stumbled across the post so soon after writing an entry about exactly that sort of problem.
On a less preachy and serious note, I’ve been neglecting to share one of the more clever things I’ve said of late, so I will rectify that oversight now.
Last week one of my conference calls, the person I was talking to said, “I guess I’m just a nerd at heart.”
In response, I said, “I’m a nerd at skin.”
Apparently being awake for more than 12 hours is too much effort.
Of course I can’t go to sleep that early – not anymore, anyway – so I have to find a way to stay awake for at least a few more hours, and in doing so I seem to shake the tiredness off just in time to go to bed and toss and turn before finally falling asleep.
Fun stuff.
Not much of note has been happening. It’s pretty much just been work, come home, get sleepy, stay awake, go to bed, toss and turn, etc.
Following on the heels of my entry about fact-checking, I encountered a post on Wired blogs about the continuing trend of comic book movies that was just rife with errors, illustrating my point about even more perfectly than the review that inspired the entry.
The worst part was that they were mistakes that didn’t have to be made, as they were details, or more accurately, attempts at details that didn’t need to be included.
For example, in discussing the Frank Miller-directed adaptation of The Spirit, he made a reference to the “fact” that Miller had cast an actress who had appeared in the big screen adaptation of Miller’s Sin City. This was an unnecessary detail.
Oh, and it was wrong; he stated that Eva Mendes was the actress in question. Eva Mendes who appeared in Sin City as Miss Not Appearing in this Film.
There was no reason to make this mistake, as there was no reason to mention that someone who was in Sin City will be appearing in The Spirit.
(He was half right, though; Jaime King, who played Goldie/Wendy in Sin City, is appearing in The Spirit.)
Speaking of Miller, the author of the blog post also went on to mention that another of Miller’s works – Hard Boiled – is currently in development, and he correctly stated that Hard Boiled was published in 2000.
Of course, he only “correctly” stated that if you allow a margin of error of plus or minus ten years, as Hard Boiled was actually published in 1990.
Those are just a few of the many errors contained in the post, and while it may seem nit-picky, if I’m spotting that many errors in what he writes about properties and projects that I’m familiar with, how can I trust anything he writes about properties and projects that I’m not?
Here’s the thing. I’m not a journalist. I don’t make any money off of this blog, so I’m not really under any sort of obligation to provide accurate information here. The purpose of this blog, ultimately, is just for me to ramble on about whatever I damn well please, so I don’t owe anyone anything. If I want to say “Citizen Kane was the best movie Stanley Kubrick ever directed,” no one really has legitimate grounds to complain, because I’m just some unpaid jerk-off writing whatever he feels like writing and who doesn’t have to answer to anyone. Beyond that, this isn’t a film history blog or, really, any sort of special purpose blog, so there’s no reason to think that the promise of any kind of accuracy is even implied.
And yet, when I’m writing an entry, I pretty much always have Wikipedia and IMDb open in browser tabs to that I can verify that any claims I make that can be verified are correct. How hard can it be to do that when you’re getting paid to write something and you do have a responsibility to be accurate?
I don’t really mean to harp on this, but I’m sort of at a loss for anything to write about, and it was just funny that I stumbled across the post so soon after writing an entry about exactly that sort of problem.
On a less preachy and serious note, I’ve been neglecting to share one of the more clever things I’ve said of late, so I will rectify that oversight now.
Last week one of my conference calls, the person I was talking to said, “I guess I’m just a nerd at heart.”
In response, I said, “I’m a nerd at skin.”
Monday, July 21, 2008
Being Tired Is Exhausting
Last night, feeling tired, I made the mistake of trying to go to bed early, so naturally I’m exhausted today.
I don’t understand why it is that when I go to bed early I end up getting to sleep much later than if I’d gone to bed at the normal time, but I should know by now that it’s just how it works for me.
Today was one of those days that seemed long after the fact. During my time at work the day seemed to be progressing at a decent pace, but as soon as I got in my car it felt like the morning had been a long, long time ago.
Zzzzzz - *Snort* Huh? Whuzzat?
Sorry, I’m fading pretty fast here, but I do know better than to attempt to go to bed this early.
In any case I should probably find something to do that will help keep me awake, as this just isn’t cutting it.
I don’t understand why it is that when I go to bed early I end up getting to sleep much later than if I’d gone to bed at the normal time, but I should know by now that it’s just how it works for me.
Today was one of those days that seemed long after the fact. During my time at work the day seemed to be progressing at a decent pace, but as soon as I got in my car it felt like the morning had been a long, long time ago.
Zzzzzz - *Snort* Huh? Whuzzat?
Sorry, I’m fading pretty fast here, but I do know better than to attempt to go to bed this early.
In any case I should probably find something to do that will help keep me awake, as this just isn’t cutting it.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Maybe Not An Epic Fail, But A Fail Nonetheless
The notion that the advent of the Internet, and, more specifically, the World Wide Web, has dramatically altered the way we do, well, almost everything, has become something of a truism.
While the validity and accuracy of much of it is an open question, there is a vast wealth of information literally at our fingertips, and if you want to be successful in the 21st Century in a wide range of professions, having a basic understanding of how to sift through all of that information is essential.
I’ll get to my point in a minute, but before I do, I want to take this opportunity to share an anecdote that relates to my point.
While watching Heath Ledger’s mind-blowing performance as the Joker in The Dark Knight, I noted some mannerisms and vocal tics in one scene that reminded me more than a little of Jimmy Stewart.
(That may seem like an odd thing to say, but trust me, it worked, and was entirely appropriate for the scene in question.)
However, at the time, while I recognized the similarity, I could not, for the life of me, think of Jimmy Stewart’s name.
I could picture him, imagine his voice and his delivery of lines, think of the titles of movies he was in, and even recall Jim Carrey’s impersonation of him in a Saturday Night Live sketch. But I just could not remember his name. One of those all-too common (and increasingly common) “brain fart” moments.
Because the theater effectively blocks cell phone signals, I couldn’t break out my phone and fire up IMDb to find his name. Unlike many people, I haven’t totally abandoned my pre-Internet methods for recalling information (taking my conscious mind off the task and letting my brain work at it in the background, asking someone), and was able to pull his name out of somewhere before we left the theater.
However, if I hadn’t remembered it on my own, I would have immediately looked it up on the Internet.
Which brings us that much closer to my point, but first, a couple of pieces of information.
Last week, I watched the 2007 movie No Country For Old Men, which was based on the 2005 novel by author Cormac McCarthy.
The character of Harvey Dent/Two-Face, portrayed by actor Aaron Eckhart in The Dark Knight (As Scott pointed out, he did a great job, but couldn’t help but be overshadowed by Ledger. Also, the Two-Face effects were mind-blowing, just like the rest of the movie.) was introduced in Detective Comics #66 in 1942. Two-Face had previously appeared on the big screen in the 1995 movie Batman Forever, portrayed (execrably) by actor Tommy Lee Jones (who also starred in No Country For Old Men, coincidentally enough).
(Bonus geeky trivia: When introduced, Harvey Dent’s name was actually Harvey Kent. It was later changed to avoid confusion with a more famous character appearing in comics published by DC.)
Now, I managed to find all of the above information (except the Harvey Kent thing, and Tommy Lee Jones being in Batman Forever; I already knew that) about publication dates in a matter of minutes through quick searches on the Internet.
Finally, we start to approach my point.
On Friday I read a review of The Dark Knight in which the reviewer, in desperate need of something negative to say, stated that one of his major complaints about the movie was Two-Face’s habit of leaving life or death decisions up to chance, in the form of a coin toss. This was, the reviewer stated, clearly derivative of a similar habit of a character in No Country For Old Men.
And here’s my point: Two-Face, along with his coin-tossing gimmick, was introduced in 1942. No Country For Old Men was published in 2005.
So, my question to the reviewer is, “Umm…WTF are you talking about?”
Okay, so not everyone is a comic book geek, but surely the reviewer – it’s his job to watch movies, after all, and one would assume that even before getting into that line of work he watched a lot of movies – saw Batman Forever, which, despite all its many flaws, did include the coin toss gimmick, back in 1995, or at least sometime before 2007.
But more to the point, one would assume that before making such an assertion, he would have made sure he was correct, which, as pointed out above, would have been astonishingly simple via a quick search of the Internet.
Obviously such a mistake seems trivial to the non-geek segments of the population, and honestly, it is, at least in the context of the review itself, but it does lead you to wonder just how widespread this lack of fact-checking extends, and to speculate as to the kind of lazy, sloppy work being done by people who should be adept at fact-checking and finding information even without the advantages offered by the Internet.
So, in closing, I have just one thing to say to the unnamed reviewer, using the parlance of the medium that he proved himself so inept at using: FAIL!
Back To Your Regularly-Scheduled Threshold Department:
Despite being exhausted by The Dark Knight, I found myself pretty wired when I got home Thursday night, and so I had a difficult time getting to sleep, so when I got home on Friday afternoon I decided to take a nap.
In addition to allowing me to get some rest, the nap also allowed me to improve my vision slightly; Thursday had been my night off for my gentle molding lenses, so on Friday my vision lacked some of the clarity. So I wore the lenses while I napped, and woke up to find myself seeing much more clearly, which was a must for 1. Night driving and 2. Movie watching.
I wore the lenses again that night when I went to bed, and woke up on Saturday to discover that my left eye was extremely irritated. This prevented me from going out and doing some of the things I’d intended to do, and interfered with my plans for doing any work on new images for the Heroic Portraits Gallery, though eventually the irritation eased up and I was able to do some of that.
Naturally I didn’t wear the lenses last night, but this morning I found that my left eye didn’t care; it was just as irritated as it had been yesterday morning.
Not sure what’s up with that. It seems to be fine now.
(As a total unrelated aside, as I write thins I’m listening to the song Sunspots by Nine Inch Nails, and it seems abundantly clear that Trent decided to use an electric hand mixer– as in the kitchen appliance – to provide some of the music.)
Apart from doing some work on Gallery pictures last night and today (they should be up in the Gallery soon, for the curious among you), I haven’t done much.
I watched the movie Renaissance last night, which is an animated French film – dubbed into English with current Bond Daniel Craig providing the voice of the main character – that was done almost entirely in high-contrast black and white, with a few bits of gray and even fewer bits of color.
The story was okay, but it was the stunning visuals that really made it worthwhile.
Even though I was evidently won over by the Watchmen trailer, I should note that I do have a few complaints. I’m not sure that I like the fact that Snyder is applying his slow-motion/fast motion technique from 300 to the action, as it’s not really a good fit, and seems sort of, inappropriate.
Also, I’m not thrilled about the costumes. They’re altogether too modern-looking, and in some cases stray way too far from the original designs. For example, while she does look very sexy, the Silk Spectre, as she appears in the movie, would more properly be referred to as the Latex Spectre.
Anyway, I think I’ll round out this entry with the latest installment in the series I call Why is Jon So Quiet?
Why is Jon So Quiet?
Because nobody cares.
Given my ramblings earlier in this entry, this one seems especially appropriate.
The other day when I was waiting for my lunch order over at the café, I sort of zoned out and stood there staring into space.
Someone I knew came up to me and said, “Good morning!” in an effort to steer my consciousness back onto this plane of existence. She then added, “Wake up!”
In response, I said that I was simply lost in thought.
She didn’t ask what I was thinking about.
(For the record, I was thinking about the acclaimed/controversial comic book series Preacher. Note: Wikipedia appears to be down; look it up your damn self.)
Years ago, a friend once said something to me that went something like, “Nobody is as interested in the things you’re interested in as you are.” I think he also added that if I’m not interested in something, it’s almost as though, for me, that something doesn’t exist. I’m not sure if he said that part or not, as I wasn’t particularly interested in what he was talking about...
In any case, if the person who had stirred me from my thoughts on Preacher had asked me what I had been thinking about – and the fact that she didn’t is something that will be discussed in a future installment – she would have been bored shitless if I started talking about my thoughts on Garth Ennis’ over-the-top caricature of the idea of the inbred, Southern redneck, or how the series was in large part an exploration and examination of the mythology of America, both in terms of the myths within our culture and the myths about our culture, and she would have quickly made a mental note: Never ask Jon what he’s thinking about.
So why am I so quiet? Because you aren’t interested in anything that I want to talk about.
Really, it’s a lack of common ground with the greater mass of humanity. When engaged, I’m perfectly willing to listen to things that other people have to say, even if I’m not particularly interested, but most people aren’t that willing to return the favor, or at the very least, they aren’t willing to do it well; it’s usually immediately apparent when I’m talking to people that they aren’t really listening.
So honestly, why bother? If I’m just going to bore you with what I’m talking about, it seems easier to just not bother talking at all.
Now if only I would take this same approach to Threshold entries…
While the validity and accuracy of much of it is an open question, there is a vast wealth of information literally at our fingertips, and if you want to be successful in the 21st Century in a wide range of professions, having a basic understanding of how to sift through all of that information is essential.
I’ll get to my point in a minute, but before I do, I want to take this opportunity to share an anecdote that relates to my point.
While watching Heath Ledger’s mind-blowing performance as the Joker in The Dark Knight, I noted some mannerisms and vocal tics in one scene that reminded me more than a little of Jimmy Stewart.
(That may seem like an odd thing to say, but trust me, it worked, and was entirely appropriate for the scene in question.)
However, at the time, while I recognized the similarity, I could not, for the life of me, think of Jimmy Stewart’s name.
I could picture him, imagine his voice and his delivery of lines, think of the titles of movies he was in, and even recall Jim Carrey’s impersonation of him in a Saturday Night Live sketch. But I just could not remember his name. One of those all-too common (and increasingly common) “brain fart” moments.
Because the theater effectively blocks cell phone signals, I couldn’t break out my phone and fire up IMDb to find his name. Unlike many people, I haven’t totally abandoned my pre-Internet methods for recalling information (taking my conscious mind off the task and letting my brain work at it in the background, asking someone), and was able to pull his name out of somewhere before we left the theater.
However, if I hadn’t remembered it on my own, I would have immediately looked it up on the Internet.
Which brings us that much closer to my point, but first, a couple of pieces of information.
Last week, I watched the 2007 movie No Country For Old Men, which was based on the 2005 novel by author Cormac McCarthy.
The character of Harvey Dent/Two-Face, portrayed by actor Aaron Eckhart in The Dark Knight (As Scott pointed out, he did a great job, but couldn’t help but be overshadowed by Ledger. Also, the Two-Face effects were mind-blowing, just like the rest of the movie.) was introduced in Detective Comics #66 in 1942. Two-Face had previously appeared on the big screen in the 1995 movie Batman Forever, portrayed (execrably) by actor Tommy Lee Jones (who also starred in No Country For Old Men, coincidentally enough).
(Bonus geeky trivia: When introduced, Harvey Dent’s name was actually Harvey Kent. It was later changed to avoid confusion with a more famous character appearing in comics published by DC.)
Now, I managed to find all of the above information (except the Harvey Kent thing, and Tommy Lee Jones being in Batman Forever; I already knew that) about publication dates in a matter of minutes through quick searches on the Internet.
Finally, we start to approach my point.
On Friday I read a review of The Dark Knight in which the reviewer, in desperate need of something negative to say, stated that one of his major complaints about the movie was Two-Face’s habit of leaving life or death decisions up to chance, in the form of a coin toss. This was, the reviewer stated, clearly derivative of a similar habit of a character in No Country For Old Men.
And here’s my point: Two-Face, along with his coin-tossing gimmick, was introduced in 1942. No Country For Old Men was published in 2005.
So, my question to the reviewer is, “Umm…WTF are you talking about?”
Okay, so not everyone is a comic book geek, but surely the reviewer – it’s his job to watch movies, after all, and one would assume that even before getting into that line of work he watched a lot of movies – saw Batman Forever, which, despite all its many flaws, did include the coin toss gimmick, back in 1995, or at least sometime before 2007.
But more to the point, one would assume that before making such an assertion, he would have made sure he was correct, which, as pointed out above, would have been astonishingly simple via a quick search of the Internet.
Obviously such a mistake seems trivial to the non-geek segments of the population, and honestly, it is, at least in the context of the review itself, but it does lead you to wonder just how widespread this lack of fact-checking extends, and to speculate as to the kind of lazy, sloppy work being done by people who should be adept at fact-checking and finding information even without the advantages offered by the Internet.
So, in closing, I have just one thing to say to the unnamed reviewer, using the parlance of the medium that he proved himself so inept at using: FAIL!
Back To Your Regularly-Scheduled Threshold Department:
Despite being exhausted by The Dark Knight, I found myself pretty wired when I got home Thursday night, and so I had a difficult time getting to sleep, so when I got home on Friday afternoon I decided to take a nap.
In addition to allowing me to get some rest, the nap also allowed me to improve my vision slightly; Thursday had been my night off for my gentle molding lenses, so on Friday my vision lacked some of the clarity. So I wore the lenses while I napped, and woke up to find myself seeing much more clearly, which was a must for 1. Night driving and 2. Movie watching.
I wore the lenses again that night when I went to bed, and woke up on Saturday to discover that my left eye was extremely irritated. This prevented me from going out and doing some of the things I’d intended to do, and interfered with my plans for doing any work on new images for the Heroic Portraits Gallery, though eventually the irritation eased up and I was able to do some of that.
Naturally I didn’t wear the lenses last night, but this morning I found that my left eye didn’t care; it was just as irritated as it had been yesterday morning.
Not sure what’s up with that. It seems to be fine now.
(As a total unrelated aside, as I write thins I’m listening to the song Sunspots by Nine Inch Nails, and it seems abundantly clear that Trent decided to use an electric hand mixer– as in the kitchen appliance – to provide some of the music.)
Apart from doing some work on Gallery pictures last night and today (they should be up in the Gallery soon, for the curious among you), I haven’t done much.
I watched the movie Renaissance last night, which is an animated French film – dubbed into English with current Bond Daniel Craig providing the voice of the main character – that was done almost entirely in high-contrast black and white, with a few bits of gray and even fewer bits of color.
The story was okay, but it was the stunning visuals that really made it worthwhile.
Even though I was evidently won over by the Watchmen trailer, I should note that I do have a few complaints. I’m not sure that I like the fact that Snyder is applying his slow-motion/fast motion technique from 300 to the action, as it’s not really a good fit, and seems sort of, inappropriate.
Also, I’m not thrilled about the costumes. They’re altogether too modern-looking, and in some cases stray way too far from the original designs. For example, while she does look very sexy, the Silk Spectre, as she appears in the movie, would more properly be referred to as the Latex Spectre.
Anyway, I think I’ll round out this entry with the latest installment in the series I call Why is Jon So Quiet?
Why is Jon So Quiet?
Because nobody cares.
Given my ramblings earlier in this entry, this one seems especially appropriate.
The other day when I was waiting for my lunch order over at the café, I sort of zoned out and stood there staring into space.
Someone I knew came up to me and said, “Good morning!” in an effort to steer my consciousness back onto this plane of existence. She then added, “Wake up!”
In response, I said that I was simply lost in thought.
She didn’t ask what I was thinking about.
(For the record, I was thinking about the acclaimed/controversial comic book series Preacher. Note: Wikipedia appears to be down; look it up your damn self.)
Years ago, a friend once said something to me that went something like, “Nobody is as interested in the things you’re interested in as you are.” I think he also added that if I’m not interested in something, it’s almost as though, for me, that something doesn’t exist. I’m not sure if he said that part or not, as I wasn’t particularly interested in what he was talking about...
In any case, if the person who had stirred me from my thoughts on Preacher had asked me what I had been thinking about – and the fact that she didn’t is something that will be discussed in a future installment – she would have been bored shitless if I started talking about my thoughts on Garth Ennis’ over-the-top caricature of the idea of the inbred, Southern redneck, or how the series was in large part an exploration and examination of the mythology of America, both in terms of the myths within our culture and the myths about our culture, and she would have quickly made a mental note: Never ask Jon what he’s thinking about.
So why am I so quiet? Because you aren’t interested in anything that I want to talk about.
Really, it’s a lack of common ground with the greater mass of humanity. When engaged, I’m perfectly willing to listen to things that other people have to say, even if I’m not particularly interested, but most people aren’t that willing to return the favor, or at the very least, they aren’t willing to do it well; it’s usually immediately apparent when I’m talking to people that they aren’t really listening.
So honestly, why bother? If I’m just going to bore you with what I’m talking about, it seems easier to just not bother talking at all.
Now if only I would take this same approach to Threshold entries…
Right Bat-Time, Wrong Bat-Theater
As Scott alluded to in the comments, there was a bit of a mix-up with the theater on Thursday which rendered my attempt at saving gas meaningless, and which qualifies as yet another "Peep" I heard out of The Universe that evening.
When I got to the theater - early, of course - I waited for Jamie and Scott and Stacy to arrive. Jamie was the first to get there, and while she was off using the rest room, I overheard the words "wrong theater" and "Idiots!" and saw a bunch of people leaving. So when Scott and Stacy arrived, I mentioned this, and Scott double-checked to find that, indeed, we had been directed to the wrong theater.
So we all jumped in our cars and hauled ass to the correct theater, informing everyone with an AOL badge we saw on the way to the parking garage of the change.
Fortunately we got there with time to spare and were able to get decent seats.
I saw a bunch of familiar faces, including my former boss, who'd never had the chance to talk to me after I got my pink slip (or rather, my black folder).
Apparently, I learned the next day, I was seen by a former AOLer who now works at the same company I do (I didn't know her at AOL, but she was cut in the same layoff, and started at my current employer the same time I did), but I didn't notice her.
Anyway, the end result is that I probably ended up using more gas than I would have if I'd just gone home instead of stopping to eat at IHOP. Then again, if I'd gone home, then gone to the wrong theater, then went to the right theater, I would have used even more, so I guess that it worked out as well as could be expected.
At least in this Universe.
When I got to the theater - early, of course - I waited for Jamie and Scott and Stacy to arrive. Jamie was the first to get there, and while she was off using the rest room, I overheard the words "wrong theater" and "Idiots!" and saw a bunch of people leaving. So when Scott and Stacy arrived, I mentioned this, and Scott double-checked to find that, indeed, we had been directed to the wrong theater.
So we all jumped in our cars and hauled ass to the correct theater, informing everyone with an AOL badge we saw on the way to the parking garage of the change.
Fortunately we got there with time to spare and were able to get decent seats.
I saw a bunch of familiar faces, including my former boss, who'd never had the chance to talk to me after I got my pink slip (or rather, my black folder).
Apparently, I learned the next day, I was seen by a former AOLer who now works at the same company I do (I didn't know her at AOL, but she was cut in the same layoff, and started at my current employer the same time I did), but I didn't notice her.
Anyway, the end result is that I probably ended up using more gas than I would have if I'd just gone home instead of stopping to eat at IHOP. Then again, if I'd gone home, then gone to the wrong theater, then went to the right theater, I would have used even more, so I guess that it worked out as well as could be expected.
At least in this Universe.
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