Lost In Translation

Rap Lyrics Translated

Springtime For Hitler?

The humor drops off quickly after the initial shock, but that first laugh is a doozy.

Faster Closes, Sweet Water, Creating A Heroic Niece, And All You Need To Know About The Golden Globes

So far the extra 3 GB of RAM has been making a substantial difference in performance.
Interestingly enough, while it has sped up the launch time of Photoshop, the biggest difference I’ve noticed is how much faster Photoshop closes now.
I know why that is (and won’t get into it for the benefit of the technically impaired/uninterested), but it’s still kind of interesting, and what’s more, I’m surprised to learn just how much it delights me to see it close that quickly. I guess I didn’t realize how much it irritated me to watch it just hang there on the screen and listen to the hard drive grinding away while I waited for it to close after clicking the X.
Beyond that, though, there’s just a general boost in Hugin’s pep, which I’m sure will eventually disappear the way that computer pep always does when you’re running Windows.
But I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
My niece Jourdan, via my MySpace page, has hit me up to do a Heroic Portrait of her, leaving the actual details of the image up to my imagination.
I’m not really sure what to draw. I thought about being a smart ass and drawing her as a serious, studious young woman who manages to stay out of trouble – in other words as her complete opposite – but decided that might be too subtle for her. Besides, that would be more about my fantasy vision of her than her vision of herself.
I guess I’ll think of something eventually, though, for obvious reasons, I’ll have to dial back on the sexiness that I might normally put into a picture of a young woman, which is probably the biggest challenge.
As mentioned previously, we had a “team meeting” lunch today.
We met at a place in Centreville called Sweetwater Tavern, which is a place I’ve heard about a lot in my 4 years out here in NoVA, but where I’ve never eaten before.
I was on my way there and closing in on my turn when I was interrupted by a phone call from Scott, who was there and wondering why I wasn’t, as he thought we were meeting at 11:30, not 11:45, and for it to be after 11:30 and have me not be there was unusual.
In answering the phone I failed to notice my turn until it was too late, and so had to turn off at the next light to get myself turned back around.
On Scott’s recommendation I ordered the Drunken Ribeye, which was really, really good.
In fact, pretty much our whole group ordered the same thing, though I’m not sure on what the two stragglers whom we’d gotten tired of waiting for had ordered.
The food was very good, but, barring another team meeting, I don’t foresee myself eating there again anytime soon as it’s a bit of a drive to get there, it’s pricey, and it doesn’t seem the sort of place designed for casual dining by quite loners.
At least, not the sort of quiet loners who don’t drink, as it’s also a micro-brewery.
Last night I was sitting around watching a movie (Thank You For Smoking), and was puzzled by the sound of my phone ringing.
It was my mom calling to tell me that Kyra Sedgwick had one a Golden Globe for her role on the The Closer, which is a show that we both enjoy.
I didn’t tune in for the awards at all, though I did check out Michelle’s live blogging of it over at Best Week Ever.
Beyond these brief mentions, though, the total extent of Golden Globes coverage you’re likely to find here at Threshold is this entry from this time last year.
And what more do you really need?

The Big Project Unveiled (Prepare To Be Disappointed)

(For all non-comics fans reading this, which is pretty much everyone as far as my regular readership goes, you’ll probably be inclined to skim over this entry, if you even read it at all. I wish you wouldn’t, but I recognize that you will no matter what I say or hope. I will ask you, however, to click on the link to Figure 2 because, though it doesn’t look as good as it possibly could, I am unspeakably pleased with it. It cracks me up every time, and I think it’s something that can be enjoyed by anyone, comic fan or not. Anyone who isn’t easily offended by bad language and perverted sexual practices, at any rate.)

I know that when I write entries that delve deep into comic book-related issues I’m writing for an extremely small group of interested parties (basically Scott).
However, when I write any sort of entry I’m writing for extremely small group of interested parties anyway, so I figure, “What the hell.”
So in that spirit, and knowing that it will cause most of you to tune out, I’m going to write about comic books.
Most everyone who knows me knows that I love comics. I grew up reading them and kept on reading them after I grew up. I’m of the opinion that it is an ideal storytelling medium for pretty much any kind of story, as has been proven again and again by various writers and artists throughout the years.
Of course, the nature of the medium makes it an ideal format for telling stories of the fantastic, such as the adventures of super-powered costumed adventurers. Though, as mentioned, you can tell any kind of story in comic form, super heroes have historically been, and remain, the bread and butter of the industry, and they’ve been, and remain, my favorite genre.
Sure, growing up I read my share of war, horror, and western comics, but my primary interest was super heroes, and even as I got older and came to enjoy some of the more sophisticated fare, I never lost my love for the spandex-clad crowd.
Not surprisingly, the general public also associates comics with super heroes, not even realizing that there is a whole other world of stories out there, and having a view of comics that colored more by stereotypical representations in other media, they naturally assume that comics are juvenile.
And in large measure, they’re right. The major comic book companies will tell you straight up and without a trace of remorse that their target audience consists of adolescent boys.
So people say that comics are for kids, and, for the most part, they’re right.
However, most publishers also put out material aimed squarely at adults, and even their mainstream works are, ideally, written in such a way that they have the elements that appeal to boys, but have other elements that people of all ages can enjoy.
So in that respect, it’s unfair to dismiss comics as juvenile.
Still, throughout the years there has been one thing more than any other that has contributed to the public perception of comics being for kids: the cheesy, over the top dialogue.
Some time ago Scott and I had re-read some old comics from when we were kids and were just stunned by how bad they were. As Scott put it, “Why did we ever like them?”
Of course, that’s a result of the hindsight that comes with age and experience, and it’s also due to the fact that in the intervening years, comics, even mainstream comics, have matured considerably, and that things like dialogue, plots, and characterization have gained considerable depth, and, for the most part, lost the cheese.
This has been the result of many factors, not the least of which is the infusion of fresh blood as new, younger creators have come into the industry.
What they bring to the table is a wealth of experience as comic fans, having grown up reading the adventures of these characters and developed a real affection for them. They’ve also, as Scott and I did, looked back on some their beloved adventurer, saw the writing, and thought, “Yeesh!”
In essence, these were people with a wide range of influences and ideas from the world outside of comic books who looked at the work that had been done before them and realized that while much of it was wonderful, much of it was…not. Not feeling the need to adhere to the old rules about how things “had” to be done, and being much more able to feel the pulse of the fan base, they began to make changes in the way stories were told, exploring new themes, adding new layers of complexity and meaning, and, thankfully, updating the dialogue.
(This sort of effect can be seen in other media as well, such as television and movies. It can kind of be summed up as the difference between a generation that grew up watching MTV and the generation that might say things like, “I don’t know what’s with these kids today with their rock-and-roll music and the MTV.”)
I am of course glossing over a major portion of comic book history, and I don’t mean to show any disrespect in doing so; I’m simply trying to keep this as brief as possible. I will add, though, that this is hardly anything new; it’s exactly the sort of thing that Stan Lee did back in the 60s when he changed the face of comics forever. This is all merely a continuation of his work.
One other change that occurred, and this is simply my view of things based on things I’ve seen and read, is that many people working in the industry in its earliest days were doing so rather unwillingly. Working in comics wasn’t what they wanted to do, it was just where they ended up. I’m not suggesting (okay, maybe I am just a little) that their work suffered as a result of bitterness. Rather, my point is that the newer generations of comics creators were people for whom working in comics was a life’s ambition.
Instead of people working in comics in the hopes of breaking into some other media, you started having people who were working in other media in the hopes of breaking into comics. These fan-creators brought with them a lot of enthusiasm and love for the medium, along with the desire to make it into what they’d always wanted it to be when they were kids reading comics.
Every comics fan has had the thought that starts out, “If I were making comics…”
These particular fans were the ones who had the ability to put that thought into action.
(Well, within the boundaries of editorial guidelines and whatnot. I realize that reality is probably not quite like the fantasy, but again, for the purposes of brevity, let’s just pretend that’s a given.)
So, in many ways, comics improved. In others…well, that’s a subject for another day.
At the very least, most comics did away with the over the top dialogue, or, more often than not, monologues. You had characters who talked the way people actually talk.
Kind of.
Certainly more like people actually talked than they had before.
And this, at least, was pretty uniformly a good thing.
Kind of.
I recall a class I took in college in which we discussed “realism” in writing.
The professor contended that you don’t want realism in writing, you want mimesis.
Reality would be impossible, or at least really irritating, to read. After all, realistic dialogue would be full of umms and ahs, and pauses, and repetitions, and various kinds of misspeaking that would prevent an economic and natural flow. Sure, when someone is nervous, you’ll throw in some of those vocal flubs as part of the dialogue, and it works, but would you want to do it all the time? Would you want to read that?
Think about how a teenage girl talks. Allowing for the use of the word “like,” it would take you seven pages of straight dialogue to express one idea if you wrote her “realistically.”
No, mimesis – or life-likeness – is preferable, creating an illusion of being natural and “real” without interrupting the flow or impeding the pacing of the narrative.
The one writer who is arguably the hottest property in comics, one Brian Michael Bendis, is apparently unaware of this distinction, though, and tends to opt for the “realistic” approach.
It obviously serves him well, since, as mentioned, he is extremely popular.
And I’ll say up front that he’s also extremely talented. I’ve enjoyed many a Bendis story (I positively adored Alias, which has no relation to the TV show of the same name).
Ultimate Spider-Man, one of his biggest hits, remains a favorite.
So yes, very talented.
Except…
His dialogue drives me insane.
I have to say that for a long time dialogue has been important to me. I could – and still can – forgive bad art in a comic more easily than I could bad dialogue.
Even as a kid, long before the “British Invasion,” which saw an influx of UK-based creators into the American comic scene, bringing about a revolution in how comics were written and perceived, and which did much to improve the quality of dialogue, bad dialogue irritated me.
Now, much older, and “spoiled” by a wealth of wonderfully-written, crisp dialogue, when I encounter bad dialogue, I find myself cringing more than ever.
And the effect of bad dialogue is, I think, cumulative. I had really enjoyed Bendis’ work for a long time, but over time it just began to wear on me.
Even so, it remains some of the most popular work out there, and, as Scott will point out, there is a lot of good in there, some real nuggets of great dialogue, or wonderful little scenes, which make the bad so much harder to take.
I guess I have to liken it to Seinfeld (though Bendis’ dialogue seems more reminiscent of another 90’s sit-com, Mad About You, as many of his characters seem to talk like Paul Reiser.). People love the show. Universally praised.
And yet, for me, a little goes a long, long way. I can only take so much Seinfeld. If forced to watch a marathon of episodes, I’m sure that by the end of it Jerry’s life would be in danger.
And why? The dialogue. Sure, it’s (arguably) funny, and it’s a great back-and-forth (which is where much of the humor lies), but how much of it can one person really be expected to take?
So it is with Bendis.
See Figure 1 for a visual aid that illustrates the problem.

Figure 1


Bear in mind that this is really light compared to what you might actually see in a Bendis-scripted comic. Sometimes you get whole pages of nothing but dialogue like this, or two-page spreads that have talking heads – if there’s room for anything other than word balloons – spouting out paragraph after paragraph of an expository monologue.
This is to say nothing of the fact that every single character, regardless of color, gender, or age, talks pretty much exactly the same way (usually with a vague undertone of contempt towards whomever he or she is talking to, unless he or she is in panic-mode, which is the other emotional state of Bendis-written characters).
I could say so much more about his writing, but I’d best move on before his violently loyal legions of fans track me down and kick my head in.
I mentioned that comics have seen an influx of fan-creators, people who grew up reading and loving comics. Overall, it’s a good thing.
The one problem you can run into, though, is what I call the Fanboy Effect.
Take Robert Kirkman, creator of the wonderful and popular Image Comics title Invincible.
Invincible is great stuff, and I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read of it immensely.
Based on his success at Image, industry giant Marvel Comics (which, by the way, is who Bendis primarily works for) wooed him over to do some work for them.
He began writing a revived version of a classic Marvel comic, Marvel Team Up.
(As an aside, Andy, the titular virgin, can be seen reading an issue of MTU in one scene in The 40 Year Old Virgin.)
Based on his work on Invincible, I thought I’d enjoy MTU.
…
It’s clear that Kirkman is a huge fan of the characters who appear in the book and that he has a blast working with them.
However, that doesn’t necessarily translate into good stories or dialogue. The basic problem is that there are things that, as a fan, he’s obviously always wished that, for example, Spider-Man would say. So he has him say it. And it’s not as cool as it must have seemed in Kirkman’s head.
The worst bits are the comments made about the dynamic of character relationships. There are aspects of the personal and professional relationship between Spider-Man and Wolverine, by way of example, that as fans we understand. Here’s what’s important: these are things that we tacitly understand. We don’t need them explained. But Kirkman does explain them. He actually has the characters take the time to engage in “humorous” expository dialogue to let us know what we already know without needing to be told, and which new readers should be able to pick up on from their interaction without the writer having to stoop to such tacked-on, hacky methods.
A lot of people didn’t like the movie The Last Action Hero (mostly, I think, because they didn’t understand that it was supposed to be a parody), but anyone who ever saw it will likely remember the scene in which the kid from the real world with the “golden ticket,” who is the biggest fan of the movies, is sitting in the office at the police station in the movie world watching protagonist Jack Slater argue with his Captain.
The kid is smiling and enjoying the moment because the Slater-Captain dynamic is one of his favorite aspects of the movies.
When asked why he’s smiling, he explains, “For all the arguing and yelling you two do, you’re really the best of friends.”
That moment, in a nutshell, is the Fanboy Effect. It’s a moment in which the writer inserts himself into a scene and obtrusively comments on it, explaining what he thinks, why he likes it, and attempting to put into words why you like it.
It’s obnoxious and it’s unnecessary, and in addition to generally making for bad dialogue, it’s amateurish, something along the lines of what you might find in bad Fan Fiction.
Another result of the Fanboy Effect can be attempts at making characters talk “like me and my friends do.”
(That he goes for naturalistic dialogue in this way is, I think, a large part of Bendis’ appeal. Fans can say, “When Bendis writes, Spidey talks just like me and my homies do!” “Word up, g!” Or something. There; I’ve contributed my own bad, out-of-touch dialogue to the discourse.)
Again, this is born out of thinking, as a fan, that it would be cool to have a character say some particular thing or other, then, as a creator, getting the character to say it.
Filmmaker Kevin Smith, a lifelong comics fan, has been guilty of this on more than one occasion, as he has ventured into the world of comics writing, resulting in scenes in which you find Superman and Batman talking to each other rather like Randal and Dante.
Works great in Clerks. Not so much in Justice League.
See Figure 2, if you’re not easily offended, for an extreme and exaggerated example of this (Be advised that, in addition to being crude, this image is HUGE.)

Figure 2


Okay, nothing he ever wrote for mainstream comics was quite like that, but in general, there were interactions that wouldn’t be out of place or out of character in his movies, but within the comics they didn’t fit, and for the most part, I have enjoyed the comic work that he’s done.
And that’s the thing, ultimately. Overall, I’m pleased with the changes that have taken place in comic book writing, and I have enjoyed much of the work written by the creators mentioned here, but that’s what makes these problems stand out so prominently and makes them so grating.
There is a lot more that I could write about, and I could have written something much more in-depth with the material I did write about, but I’m sure this has gone on more than long enough, and ultimately the whole point of the entry was to showcase my “Imaginary Story” in which Superman and Batman debate the finer points of A2M, because the thought of it just cracks me the hell up.
(And yes, I probably could have done a better job on the art on said piece, but it was taking long enough as it was, and I just wanted to get it done, and as long as it worked to get the basic idea across, I had to decide that it was good enough. Besides, it was my first attempt at ever doing a full comic page in god knows how long.)
Anyway, this was all meant to be a tongue-and-cheek, good-natured jab at people who are far more successful and driven to put their talents to use than I am, so any comic fans out there reading this should just take a breath and realize that I’m not actually attacking their favorite writers maliciously so much as I’m plucking their noses a little in a small, petty, bitter, and envious way. Okay?
I just want to make sure that my comments about Bendis don’t end up cracking the Internet in half or anything like that.

Slow Sunday

Last night I was working merrily away on a picture when I looked up and was surprised to discover that it was nearly 2 am.
I went to bed and struggled to sleep, even though throughout the weekend I’d slept poorly and as a result was extremely tired.
The exhaustion I felt didn’t cause me to sleep in at all, and I was up at a bit after 9 and eventually began working on the picture, and then on another. And then another.
All three pictures (plus some more) are part of a single project which will eventually find its way here, but I can’t make any promises as to when, and will accompany an entry on a particular topic.
To make use of some uncharacteristically bad grammar, I have to say that this “hush hush” project I’m working on is the single wrongest thing I’ve ever done, I think, though in a particularly hilarious way.
I keep having to take a break from working on it so that I can take a step back, laugh, and say, “That is just so wrong.”
Hopefully it won’t take me too much longer to finish it so I can share it with all of you and you can either join me in laughing, or screw up your faces, scratch your heads, and say, “That’s not funny. What a buttwad.”
Whichever.
As mentioned, not much has been going on today apart from working on the picture.
I paid the majority of my bills for the month, having to take the time and effort to actually write everything down, since without a check card I can’t access my bank account online to keep track of things that way.
Pain in the ass.
I talked to my mother, who is thinking about checking out some sort of grief support luncheon thing that’s going to be held near where she lives in a few days, which I think is a good idea.
But other than that, things are pretty quiet here.
The weekend was long, slow, and boring, and full of inane conversations, as I detailed on Friday.
Tuesday Scott, Brian, and I will be attending this day-long training at HQ to learn all about “Web 2.0.” I’m sure it will be exciting.
Okay, I’m sure it won’t be exciting, but I’m also sure that it will be 9 hours of really easy OT.
A week after that our whole group is getting together for a team meeting/lunch.
In any case, I suppose I should get back to work on my project.

Fairy Tail

Years ago, back when I was still drinking, my friend Eric and I were, as we often did, sitting in a bar talking.
The subject of our conversation on the particular occasion that I’m thinking of somehow turned to the phenomenon that can be called “found porn.”
“Found porn” refers to the times when you randomly find discarded porn in an unexpected location. Like you’re walking in the woods and you notice something off in the bushes. You investigate and find that it’s a five year old weather-beaten copy of Hustler.
Or maybe you go to a yard sale and buy a box of comic books and mixed in with them you discover a stack of Penthouse.
Whatever the particulars, the idea is that you unexpectedly find porn.
If you are a teenage boy and this happens to you, you’ll probably find yourself thinking that it’s the closest thing to divine providence you’re ever likely to encounter, and it may very well be the greatest day of your life up to that point (if we assume that you’re a teenage boy who grew up before that whole Internet thing took off).
In any case, what we were discussing was just how universal an experience “found porn” seems to be. Most every guy I’ve ever known has run into it at least once in his life.
This is when I put forth the theory of a Porn Fairy, a mythical creature that flits about stashing away unwanted and outdated porn in odd locations so that it can be found by some desperately horny teenage boy who will give it a good home.
In my mind, I envisioned the Porn Fairy as looking rather a lot like Screw Magazine publisher Al Goldstein. It just seemed appropriate.
In any case, I hadn’t thought about the Porn Fairy for a while, but was reminded of it the other day by one of those Snack Fairy commercials, so, to go along with a request I’d received to include the occasional picture of a man, I decided to bring my vision of this relatively unknown and under appreciated (Sure, the Tooth Fairy leaves you money, but it’s not enough to buy porn, even if you are old enough to do so. Besides, the Porn Fairy doesn’t take away parts of your body in exchange for the porn – it’s totally free.) creature to life.
And here it is:




I honestly spent way more time than I should have working on this picture and I find that rather sad. Still, it pretty much looks exactly the way I imagined it, so in those terms it’s one of my biggest artistic successes, which is even sadder.
When I wasn’t working on a picture of the Porn Fairy, though, I was busy not wanting to get up, getting up, talking to my mother, and heading out to Wal Mart.
Once I got what I needed from Wal Mart I was on my way to the self-checkout, where I found each and every one choked with people, people who really shouldn’t be trying to do anything as “complicated” as buying stuff without assistance.
Once I finally made my way out, after having had to stand in line behind a young couple who found it vitally important that everyone present know how much in love they were, and who believed in the adage “show, don’t tell,” it was time to get myself some lunch, even though Romeo’s loud, sloppy kissing technique had done considerable damage to my appetite.
I decided that I was in the mood for some food court dining, and so I headed off to the town center and had “genuine” Cajun food served to me by a young Asian man.
Still, inauthentic experience or not, I do enjoy that bourbon chicken.
After eating I still had a fair amount of time to kill before my appointment with the chiropractor, so I tried to wander around, but I really wasn’t in the mood to have to make my way through the obstacle course of people, so I soon made a hasty retreat to my car and was on my way back to Leesburg.
When I was talking to my mother this morning she said, “Maybe this will be the year you finally meet someone.”
I responded with, “Notice how I’m not holding my breath.”
At this point “meeting someone” doesn’t even make it onto the list of priorities. I mean, why put something on your “to do list” that isn’t going to get done? If I’m going make meeting someone one of my goals for the year I might as well put “Find cure for cancer” on the list while I’m at it.
Speaking of lists, there’s a sign-in sheet for patients at the chiropractor, and when I went to sign in today I noticed that it said “Dork” next to where I’d signed in yesterday.
I looked down a few spaces and, sure enough, there was Kathleen’s signature.
Below my name was someone else that Kathleen evidently knew, as he was labeled “Bigger Dork.”
I designated her as “Dorkette” on my way out. Ha! The perfect comeback. I rule!

Try To Spot The Irony

See if you can spot what is ironically funny in this capture from my personalized Google home page:

Casualties Of War

Despite my best efforts on Tuesday to ensure that I have everything I’m likely to need between getting off work yesterday and the day after Christmas when I went shopping so that I wouldn’t have to venture out into a world full of down to the wire Christmas shoppers, there were a few things left that I needed to pick up.
Which meant going out into a world full of down to the wire Christmas shoppers.
All things considered, it wasn’t quite so bad as it might have been, but I suspect that’s mostly because I was sticking to the grocery side of things.
When I did go out to do my stock-up shopping last Tuesday I discovered that I’ve become less keenly-attuned to the warning signs that the universe is preparing to fuck with me.
I was buying enough stuff that I didn’t want to go through the self-checkout, as I wanted to leave the bagging up to someone else. So I got in the long line for the only open register and prepared to wait, but then saw someone waving me over to a register that she was opening up. So that was lucky, which should have been the first sign.
The second sign would have been the fact that I got over there before the person whom I’d come to think of as my nemesis during my shopping, as he very effectively blocked me at pretty much every turn, making the whole shopping process take much longer than it really ought to have. He frequently mirrored my every move so as to keep me from getting to where I was going. It really was rather uncanny. I’d back up to try to get around him and he’d back up and block me. I’d surge forward, he’d surge forward.
And all the while he made it look as though it wasn’t being done on purpose. I will concede that the odds are that it was not on purpose, but whether he was willing or no, the universe was clearly using him to serve as a foil to me in my shopping efforts, so obviously I should have known something was up when I managed to get in line ahead of him.
Still, I was oblivious to what was coming even as the cashier commented several times about how she had to double-bag everything because the sides of the bags kept ripping open whenever she put something into them. Like the patsy that I was I just grinned stupidly in sympathy for her plight, not realizing what was ahead of me.
And of course, what was ahead of me was all of the items ripping through the second bag as easily as the first, leading them to be strewn all over the parking lot as soon as I got home and started to haul the bags out of the car.
Of course, the universe wasn’t finished with me yet.
After gathering everything up and transferring it all from parking lot to condo, swearing under my breath all the while, I put most of the items away and turned my attention to the bag of oranges I’d bought, discovering that somewhere along the line one of the oranges had gotten squished, covering all of the other oranges in sticky juice and pulp.
I opened the bag and put all of the oranges in the sink and threw away the casualty.
Not wanting to have to get my hands sticky every time I grabbed an orange, I then proceeded to rinse them off before putting them in a bowl. While doing this, one perfectly-sized orange rolled toward the garbage disposal drain and wedged itself in quite forcefully.
After patting the others dry and putting them in the bowl I decided to attend to the stuck orange. My efforts to dislodge it were a s success, inasmuch as it was no longer stuck part of the way in and part of the way out of the drain. Now it was all the way in.
Several minutes later, through painful contortions and scrapings of my fingers and wrist, I managed to get the now-pulped orange out of the garbage disposal. No longer suitable of any use other than juicing – I don’t have a juicer – yet another orange fell victim to the senseless war between me and the forces of the universe.
Yesterday morning my boss came over to me and asked if I’d be willing to go out to get donuts. I said that I was, but with the caveat that I really don’t know where the donut place is.
I’ve been working in Reston for over four years now and yet there are only about six places, other than work, that I know how to get to with enough certainty that I won’t make a wrong turn and end up in Maryland or something, and I only know that many because they’re all in roughly the same place just a little bit down the road from work.
Unless it’s an extremely simple route I have to drive someplace many, many times before I can fully commit the route to memory.
I’ve only been to the donut place one time, back when Kathleen was still working on the desk, which puts it at well over a year and a half since I was there, so I decided that I would draft Brian to go with me, which meant that Brian would actually be driving since I know he’d rather be in his Explorer than my Rio.
Turns out that he knew how to get there about as well as I did, and so we soon resorted to using his GPS.
Brian had made some comment about seeing a cop car earlier and that we should have followed that. When we got there, there actually was a cop at the donut place.
Add in a street urchin selling newspapers by yelling “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Clichés come to life!” and it would have been the perfect scene.
For most of the trip we were serenaded by some of Brian’s “gangsta” music, but for some reason I had Weird Al’s “White and Nerdy” playing in my head the whole time.
I did, suggest that rappers would do well to find another adjective to use besides mutha fuckin’ if for no other reason than that it might open up more possibilities for rhymes.
In any case, that was the extent of the excitement in what was a very long weekend at work.
Because they didn’t manage to get out of Dodge for Christmas thanks to the weather, Scott and Stacy have invited me over for dinner tonight.
As for tomorrow, I do actually have a present to open (from my sister Kristy), but beyond that and calling my sister Kim to see how Christmas morning went with the kids, I’ll probably do some laundry, and my Christmas dinner will most likely be the ring bologna that came with my package o’ meat from my mom.
Honestly, that will be something of a Christmas treat, as you just can’t find ring bologna around here.
In any case, that will do it for this Christmas Eve entry.
Try not to get carried away with all of the wassailing out there.

Long Distance Dedication To Chris Claremont

(To the tune of "You Are So Beautiful" as performed by Joe Cocker)

You are so painful
To read
Can't you see?
Your dialogue is so hokey
That it makes my eyes bleed
You are so painful
To read

Such cliches and repetition you bring
Such cliches and repetition you bring
It makes me scream
A tired old hack whose work is so trite
Retire as a gift to me
You are so painful
To read

I'm Sorry, Did You Just Say They're Too BIG?

Condoms "Too Big" For Indian Men

I honestly didn't think there was a man alive anwyere in the world who would admit to something like this.
Back when I was in college they gave condoms away for free at the university medical center.
I remember one day when I went in to replenish my supply and the lady working there gave me an appraising glance, then, rather than giving me the standard generic brand, gave me a supply of a brand called something like "Beyond 7."
Though I was inclined to say, "Thanks for the assumption," I kept my mouth shut.
(The funny thing was that they actually seemed smaller than the generic brand.)
It's funny to think that there was a time in my life when I actually needed to replenish my supply of condoms rather than throwing them away because they've expired.
Yes. Funny.
*Sigh*

Rock-n-Roll Clown!

Ever since I mentioned the Dethclown episode of Metalocalypse featuring Dr. Rockso, I've been getting a few hits from people doing a search on the Rock-n-Roll Clown who does cocaine, so I thought I'd share this clip from the episode featuring his music video, Rock-n-Roll Clown.
I dare you to watch it and not find yourself imagining that you're seeing a follow-up video to, say, Yankee Rose, or perhaps Living In Paradise. Dr. Rockso manages to out-Dave old Diamond Dave himself as he freeballs it in that jumpsuit.



Oh, and in the non-music video portions of the clip, Dr. Rockso is sneaking around to gather intel on Dethklok by the orders of The Tribunal while the band watches his video (Despite lead singer Natan Explosion saying "I'd rather die than watch your video, so how about that?")

Taco Shell Apocalypse

Taco Kit Contents: Taco Sauce, Seasoning Mix, 12 Taco shells.
Total umber of intact Taco shells found upon opening the box: 1
It almost seems a shame to eat that shell. I mean, it's the sole survivor of the Taco Shell Apocalypse.
But I will anyway.

First (And Probably Last) Friday

So tonight I met up with Kathleen in downtown Leesburg so that we could walk around for “First Friday.” Basically, as mentioned, on the first Friday of every month the downtown businesses stay open later to give people the chance to walk around and browse.
I’ve never spent much time downtown, so I figured I might as well do this just to get a feel for what’s there.
Essentially it confirmed what I suspected: downtown is cramped and crowded, there’s not enough parking (I went all the way up to the roof of the parking deck without finding a space), and most of the stores are geared towards people who have more money than sense, selling various bits of the kind of useless crap that only rich, pretentious people buy.
Still, the fact that I went out, in my mind, counts as me going out and “doing something” with my time off.
It’s not like it was a horrible experience. In fact, I was kind of amused by Kathleen yet again forgetting that I don’t drink and that there’s a reason that I don’t drink as she led me into a wine store for a tasting. It didn’t bother me; I was never a wine drinker.
Mostly I found it funny that she forgot again and became apologetic when she remembered.
I did consider asking the owner if he had any California Cooler Original Flavor in stock.
I thought it would be funny, like the time that I was the only man at a party where most of the attendees were lesbians and I toyed with the notion of leaving the toilet seat up just to see what would happen.
But as I did at that party, I wisely decided to refrain from engaging in an act of guerilla humor at the vintner’s.
From there we went on to various cramped stores that smelled funny and were full of things that I would never buy.
The little pet store was the worst, I think, as I stood there holding my tongue as I listened to people talking about their pets in a manner that to me is indicative of mental illness.
The sign for the dog treats that said “No Wheat, No Corn, 100% Organic” nearly got me to break my silence, though. I mean, aren’t wheat and corn also organic? Are these three items meant to be unrelated selling points? It was unclear from the way it was presented and I nearly said so, but ultimately didn’t because I really didn’t need some crazy pet lady being offended by my sarcasm. Things like that never end well.
We stopped in a couple of art galleries as well, one of which had a lot of works that featured cats. Lots and lots of cats. I’m talking a bordering on fetish levels amount of cats.
Eventually we’d had our fill of walking about and were going to get in Kathleen’s car, which was closest, and drive somewhere for dinner. However, Kathleen had left the wine – with the owner’s permission – she’d bought back at the vintner’s with the intent of picking it up afterwards so that she wouldn’t have to carry it with her, and as we were walking to her car, a fair distance from the vintner’s, she remembered that fact.
She wanted to drive by and have me run in and get it for her, but I convinced her that a little more walking would be good for her.
The main reason she was reluctant to walk was that it was an unseasonably warm day today, with temperatures in the mid-70s. Despite the strong, gusting winds, it was still rather warm out, so walking was causing some sweatiness.
(The temperature has since dropped to the 40s.)
For dinner we at a “wood fire pizza” place. It was pretty crowded so we sat at the bar to eat. Kathleen pointed out that you could look at some of the people and just tell that they have a lot of money, like a lot more than either of us. Which isn’t to say we’re doing too badly and that department. It’s more a matter of them doing that well.
Of course, given the overall wealth of Loudoun County, that’s hardly surprising.

‘80s Rocker Look-alike Department:
Apparently the other night, with his closely-shorn locks, Brian made a move that made a connection in Kathleen’s mind, leading her to remark on his resemblance to a particular performer.
This result in me getting a text message from Brian saying, “Joooooon, Kathleen called me Midnight Oil because of my hair.”
I responded that personally I would have gone with “The Commish.”

Way To Go, Einstein!

I just thought I should share this classic sketch from Mr. Show With Bob and David explaining the finer points of "Worthington's Law." Good stuff.

Inside The Golden Globes

I saw these pictures from the Golden Globe Awards, pretty much in this exact sequence, and just had to put them to good comedic use. Enjoy!









Note: It was totally unfair of me to compare Sarah Jessica Parker to Mr. Ed. After all, I actually liked Mr. Ed.