As was noted in the earlier post, we baked bread tonight and it was less than stellar. Still, it was an experience. It’s unlikely that I’ll bake bread too often anyway.
There were a couple of people who didn’t show up for the class, and a few others who were extremely late. This time Kathleen and I were on time. In fact, we were a couple of minutes early.
Even with the absences the scenery in the class didn’t get any prettier. I really can’t get over how old some of the people in the class are. One woman made a reference to the last time she tried baking bread…forty years ago! And her husband didn’t like it. How can you be married for more than forty years (or at least be old enough to have been married that long ago if you aren’t still with the same person) and just now be getting around to learning how to cook?
But whatever.
The other night on “Law & Order: Criminal Intent” I saw something that was utterly horrible.
The thing to remember with most L & O shows is that at least some component is drawn from the real world (“Ripped from the headlines!”), which is what made it even more horrible.
The horrible thing wasn’t the main thrust of the story, but it was a primary component, and was at the heart of the major crime.
There was a woman, a reasonably hot woman, who would go to various conventions (Star Trek conventions, comic book conventions, etc.) and present herself as a fellow fan.
A fellow sexy fan.
Complete with outfits.
Outfits that showed the curvy, woman part of her, but which also showed that she knew her nerdy stuff.
Basically she would transform herself into every nerd’s wet dream: the hot chick who shares his nerdish leanings and his overriding nerdish obsession Every nerd dreams of meeting that chick.
So far as I know, Richard Pini, whom I’ve mentioned before (married a hot woman by the name of Wendy, who used to go to comic book conventions dressed as Red Sonja), is the only nerd to achieve that goal, as the myth of the hot nerd girl is just that: a myth.
In any case, this evil, evil woman would go to the conventions, find herself a mark, flirt with him, start dating him, get him to start giving her money, and then would ultimately con him out of his most treasured nerd prize (that first edition copy of “The Hobbit,” one of William Shatner’s discarded toupees or girdles, that copy of “Incredible Hulk” #181 [You get a million nerd hit points if you know what’s special about that issue], that original light saber still in the box, etc.) and disappear, off to her next convention and her next mark.
I just think that’s horrible. I mean, come on, what nerd wouldn’t part with his most treasured nerd trophy for the chance to score with a hot nerd chick?
And that was the worst part; they didn’t score.
It’s just so…mean.
Some poor lonely nerd who’s probably never had a pretty girl so much as smile at him has some hot chick descend on him like an angel from nerd heaven, she tickles him under his chins, tells him the smell of Stridex turns her on, and that she considers Twinkies a major food group, leads him to believe that he’s finally going to experience the fulfillment of his life-long Ponn Farr, and then he sees that his favorite action figure is missing and that the hot chick he was going to sneak into his parents’ basement to get nerdy with it (similar to getting jiggy with it...but with nerds) has disappeared.
Hell, even if he knows that she’s just out to con him out of everything he has of value, the nerd is still going to take his chances, thinking that maybe she’ll ultimately be taken in by his gentle, sensitive spirit, or that at the very least she’ll give him a sympathy hand job.
So conning nerds in that way is simply horrible. Don’t nerds get enough grief? I mean, come on, if you’re going to be a con artist, find someone a little more challenging.
Of course, that was part of the appeal for the woman. She liked breaking what remains of their nerdly spirits.
Meanwhile, though, I’m thinking, “Hmm….maybe I should start checking out conventions. Sure, any chick I might meet will probably just be out to get anything I have that’s valuable, but I’ll fool her; I have nothing of value. Also, my spirit is already broken.”
Really, I suppose the whole con is just an expansion on standard hot chick behavior. It’s not really that much of a stretch to move from flirting with a nerd to get him to carry your books for you or help you with your Trig homework to getting him to sell his Star Wars Commemorative glasses to pay for her mom’s expensive, life-saving surgery, or whatever other con she can come up with.
But whatever.
I did my taxes today (online). I’m going to get $921 back, which isn’t too shabby…until you consider that I paid in over $10,000 between State and Federal.
Doing my taxes via the Web was relatively inexpensive. Only $10 for the Federal, but $25 for State, which is funny, considering that my State refund is $25…
Anyway, not much else happened today, so I guess I’ll wrap things up for now.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
The Fruits of Our Labors
Tonight in class we focused on baking bread and biscuits. We made the biscuits (shown below) while we waited for the bread dough to rise.
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After the relative success of the biscuits came the relative failure of the bread. It actually turned out okay, it just looks bad. We had thought that it would fill in as it baked.
We were wrong.
Below we see Kathleen playing proud mom to our deformed, mutant bread.
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After the relative success of the biscuits came the relative failure of the bread. It actually turned out okay, it just looks bad. We had thought that it would fill in as it baked.
We were wrong.
Below we see Kathleen playing proud mom to our deformed, mutant bread.
New Pic (Likely to be the First of Many)
This is a picture of model Alley Baggett.
Alley primarily models for Playboy's "Newsstand" special editions, such as "Playboy's Book of Lingerie," or "Playboy's Voluptuous Vixens.”
She’s never been an official Playmate, but she has enjoyed tremendous popularity in the ten years or so that she’s been appearing in the special editions, and her Web site remains very popular.
She's even had a (really bad) comic book called "Alley Cat" based on her.
She’s so popular, in fact, that an entire system of naming and cataloging the many images of her that are floating out on the Web has been created. Called “Burg’s Alley Baggett Archive,” or “BABA,” the system creates a uniform method for naming photo files (baba00001.jpg, baba00002.jpg, etc.).
Alley fans rename any new files (culled from scans and from her site) to conform to the standard, update the database, and distribute the pictures (and the latest list of babas, usually in .csv format)via Alley fan sites and newsgroups.
So clearly there are some dedicated nerds out there who are completely obsessed with her...or who are simply very fond of her, depending on how you want to look at.
For her part, Alley tends to look at it as theft, and has sued lots of people for illegally distributing her copyrighted images.
I can sympathize with her, but on the other hand, I really don’t feel like joining her pay site (though I have in the past) simply to see pictures of her. After all, I’m not interested in live chats with her, purchasing her used lingerie (which is just creepy, on both sides of the equation), keeping up on the events in her life, or making use of any of the other features found at her site.
So as long as those nerds keep pressing their luck with the illegal distribution, I’m going to keep downloading them.
The last time I checked there were well over 12,000 baba images out there.
I don’t have that many, but I do have a lot, so I decided that I should start putting them to some use apart from simply taking up space on my hard drive and various CDs.
I like Alley because she’s cute, petite, sort of exotic-looking, and, though you can’t tell in this image, is stacked like you wouldn’t believe.
I chose to draw this image primarily because I liked her eyes (especially since in the original image they were already reflecting something that looked a lot like my signature, so drawing it was a no-brainer) and the glossiness of her lips.
Since I do have so many Alley pictures to work from the odds are that you’ll be seeing a lot more of her in the days to come.
I may even – gasp! – draw some nudes. I don’t usually draw nudes, but since that’s primarily how Alley works, I might give it a shot. We’ll see.
In any case, I just wanted to post this picture and give you a little background on Alley.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Warning! Angst-Filled Writings Ahead
The weekend found us once again treated to a dusting of snow that passes for a storm in these parts.
While the total accumulation was actually less than the last time around, this time was a bit nastier in that the snow that did fall was very heavy, wet, and slippery.
What really made it a problem, though, was that it actually began snowing sometime Saturday afternoon, yet when I was driving in to work at 5:30 on Sunday morning not a single road had been plowed.
As I was getting onto the on-ramp to the Dulles Greenway, in the misguided belief that the Greenway, a privately owned, toll road (costing more than $2 to drive on) would be better tended than most, I saw three plows parked on side of the road, waiting.
I’m not certain what it was, precisely, that they were waiting for, but clearly the amount of snow that had fallen in the previous 12+ hours wasn’t yet enough to warrant any sort of action.
The fact that I had to drive through the appalling conditions facing me on Sunday morning simply because no one had actually bothered to do anything about them is, to my mind, an example of criminal incompetence. That mess was absolutely inexcusable.
That incompetence aside, though, the storm itself was pretty anticlimactic. Yeah, it was wet, and yeah, it was slippery, but I really wasn’t impressed. The ice that sheathed my car that morning was, without question, the wimpiest ice I’ve ever encountered. I barely had to put any effort at all into clearing it off.
Apart from that fizzle of a storm, the weekend was largely uneventful. Mostly just the standard work/sleep cycle.
You know that feeling you get when you realize that you’ve been at work for nine-and-a-half hours and you still have three more to go? Oh, wait. Most of you probably don’t.
In any case, while the time off it affords is very nice (despite the fact that I do so little to fill that empty time with anything), there are times at work when I question the wisdom of cramming a full work-week into three days. My job isn’t especially demanding, and, quite honestly, is the best job I’ve ever had, but some days…
Ah well, as I said, it’s not actually a bad job, despite the fact that the length of the days can just tend to wear on you, so I can’t complain too much, though not complaining at all would be contrary to my nature.
I’ve been having a lot of odd dreams of late, though most of the details are pretty hazy.
On Saturday night I had a couple of dreams that involved Granny Smith apples, or rather, my failure you to remember to buy said apples. That actually happened in two distinct dreams.
Both dreams involved being back home in Michigan for a visit. In one, I was with my friend Joel, who was bringing me to my parents’ house. When I got there, my mother pointed out that I’d neglected to pick up the Granny Smith apples she asked me to get.
In another, I was similarly riding with my friend Gretchen, though I realized my error before getting home, so we turned around so that I could pick up the apples.
Sometime after that I had a dream that my friend Eric had called me.
When I got up in the morning I reflected on the fact that I had dreamed of several of my old friends, with one exception, and I thought, “What, no Kevin?”
At almost the same time as I was thinking that I checked my e-mail, and, lo and behold, I had an e-mail from Kevin.
It was rather strange.
Then today I got an e-mail from Eric.
It really isn’t that often that I hear from my friends. I don’t hold it against them, as I know that they all have their own lives to live, and in some cases we’re separated by a little bit more than simple distance.
Besides, if “blame” can be assigned, or if such a thing is even applicable, which I don’t think it is, I bear an equal share of it.
It’s not as if I don’t care, it’s just that I don’t really see the point of making the effort to sustain regular contact.
That sounds horrible, I know, but it shouldn’t. I don't mean to sound callous, and certainly I’m glad to hear from them when I do, and I think about them often.
It’s just that, as I said, they all have their own lives.
And I have mine.
Such as it is.
I really shouldn’t say that. Mine isn’t such a bad life. It’s a little lonely, which seems sort of paradoxical, or perhaps hypocritical, given what I just got through saying about my own reluctance to reach out to my friends, but seeming contradictions are as much a part of my nature as complaining, and besides, there are certain voids that friends can't fill, and functions that they can't perform.
When I talked to my mother today she asked me “Are you content with your life?”
I had to admit that, for the most part, I am. Certainly there are things that I want…hmm, no, that’s not exactly true.
There really aren't things that I want.
Really, what I want is to want things.
Sure, there are a lot of material things that I’d very much like to have (like this), and a little romance (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) would be nice, but in a larger, more meaningful sense, there really isn’t anything I want.
That lack of desire isn’t really born out of some kind of contentment or sense of fulfillment, or the kind of spiritual enlightenment that leads men to divest themselves of all encumbrances and live the life of the mendicant, though there is clearly a kind of monkishness to my largely solitary life.
At best, the lack of desire is simple complacency. At worst it’s…well, honestly, I don’t know what it is.
For a long time I’ve said all that I really want out of life is to be left alone.
As is readily apparent, I pretty much have that, though clearly that isn’t really what I want.
In the time I’ve been working in my current position I’ve had four direct supervisors, and at various points each of them has asked me some variation on the same question: What do you want to do?
The only answer I’ve been able to give them isn’t an answer. How can I answer the question when I don’t know what the answer is? Like a test-taking strategy, I tend to skip that question for the time being, planning to get back to it later.
But every time I go back to it my mind keeps drawing the same blank, and I’m forced to admit that I just don’t know the answer, and I can’t even come up with a decent guess.
Wow, that’s gloomy. Didn’t mean to head down that path, though I suppose, much like Rome, all roads tend to lead there for me.
In any case, to move away from the existential angst, it’s my intention to bring my camera with me to class tomorrow night, so, assuming that what we make turns out well, you’ll get a chance to see my latest culinary accomplishment. From what was said last week, it seems that we’ll be making bread.
Today was largely uneventful. As I mentioned, I talked to my mother today. Afterwards I went grocery shopping. While I was home I spent most of the day reading a comic book called “Lucifer,” which is about exactly what you would assume it’s about.
It’s an okay book, sort of spun-off of the classic “Sandman” series, though of considerably lesser quality.
Beyond that I made Tortellini with Roasted Italian Vegetables and broth.
The actual recipe called for “Winter” vegetables, but I didn’t feel like purchasing a bunch of individual fresh vegetables, so I bought what seemed like a suitable blend of frozen vegetables. It was pretty tasty.
On Wednesday I’ll likely make Chicken with Mustard-Fennel Crust accompanied by Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Potatoes and Bacon.
In all honesty I probably do well enough on my own that I really don’t need to take the class, but hopefully I’ll pick up a few tricks, and at least it gets me out into the world.
Whether or not that’s a good thing is anybody’s guess.
In any case, I think that’s enough, and probably more than enough, for one entry.
While the total accumulation was actually less than the last time around, this time was a bit nastier in that the snow that did fall was very heavy, wet, and slippery.
What really made it a problem, though, was that it actually began snowing sometime Saturday afternoon, yet when I was driving in to work at 5:30 on Sunday morning not a single road had been plowed.
As I was getting onto the on-ramp to the Dulles Greenway, in the misguided belief that the Greenway, a privately owned, toll road (costing more than $2 to drive on) would be better tended than most, I saw three plows parked on side of the road, waiting.
I’m not certain what it was, precisely, that they were waiting for, but clearly the amount of snow that had fallen in the previous 12+ hours wasn’t yet enough to warrant any sort of action.
The fact that I had to drive through the appalling conditions facing me on Sunday morning simply because no one had actually bothered to do anything about them is, to my mind, an example of criminal incompetence. That mess was absolutely inexcusable.
That incompetence aside, though, the storm itself was pretty anticlimactic. Yeah, it was wet, and yeah, it was slippery, but I really wasn’t impressed. The ice that sheathed my car that morning was, without question, the wimpiest ice I’ve ever encountered. I barely had to put any effort at all into clearing it off.
Apart from that fizzle of a storm, the weekend was largely uneventful. Mostly just the standard work/sleep cycle.
You know that feeling you get when you realize that you’ve been at work for nine-and-a-half hours and you still have three more to go? Oh, wait. Most of you probably don’t.
In any case, while the time off it affords is very nice (despite the fact that I do so little to fill that empty time with anything), there are times at work when I question the wisdom of cramming a full work-week into three days. My job isn’t especially demanding, and, quite honestly, is the best job I’ve ever had, but some days…
Ah well, as I said, it’s not actually a bad job, despite the fact that the length of the days can just tend to wear on you, so I can’t complain too much, though not complaining at all would be contrary to my nature.
I’ve been having a lot of odd dreams of late, though most of the details are pretty hazy.
On Saturday night I had a couple of dreams that involved Granny Smith apples, or rather, my failure you to remember to buy said apples. That actually happened in two distinct dreams.
Both dreams involved being back home in Michigan for a visit. In one, I was with my friend Joel, who was bringing me to my parents’ house. When I got there, my mother pointed out that I’d neglected to pick up the Granny Smith apples she asked me to get.
In another, I was similarly riding with my friend Gretchen, though I realized my error before getting home, so we turned around so that I could pick up the apples.
Sometime after that I had a dream that my friend Eric had called me.
When I got up in the morning I reflected on the fact that I had dreamed of several of my old friends, with one exception, and I thought, “What, no Kevin?”
At almost the same time as I was thinking that I checked my e-mail, and, lo and behold, I had an e-mail from Kevin.
It was rather strange.
Then today I got an e-mail from Eric.
It really isn’t that often that I hear from my friends. I don’t hold it against them, as I know that they all have their own lives to live, and in some cases we’re separated by a little bit more than simple distance.
Besides, if “blame” can be assigned, or if such a thing is even applicable, which I don’t think it is, I bear an equal share of it.
It’s not as if I don’t care, it’s just that I don’t really see the point of making the effort to sustain regular contact.
That sounds horrible, I know, but it shouldn’t. I don't mean to sound callous, and certainly I’m glad to hear from them when I do, and I think about them often.
It’s just that, as I said, they all have their own lives.
And I have mine.
Such as it is.
I really shouldn’t say that. Mine isn’t such a bad life. It’s a little lonely, which seems sort of paradoxical, or perhaps hypocritical, given what I just got through saying about my own reluctance to reach out to my friends, but seeming contradictions are as much a part of my nature as complaining, and besides, there are certain voids that friends can't fill, and functions that they can't perform.
When I talked to my mother today she asked me “Are you content with your life?”
I had to admit that, for the most part, I am. Certainly there are things that I want…hmm, no, that’s not exactly true.
There really aren't things that I want.
Really, what I want is to want things.
Sure, there are a lot of material things that I’d very much like to have (like this), and a little romance (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) would be nice, but in a larger, more meaningful sense, there really isn’t anything I want.
That lack of desire isn’t really born out of some kind of contentment or sense of fulfillment, or the kind of spiritual enlightenment that leads men to divest themselves of all encumbrances and live the life of the mendicant, though there is clearly a kind of monkishness to my largely solitary life.
At best, the lack of desire is simple complacency. At worst it’s…well, honestly, I don’t know what it is.
For a long time I’ve said all that I really want out of life is to be left alone.
As is readily apparent, I pretty much have that, though clearly that isn’t really what I want.
In the time I’ve been working in my current position I’ve had four direct supervisors, and at various points each of them has asked me some variation on the same question: What do you want to do?
The only answer I’ve been able to give them isn’t an answer. How can I answer the question when I don’t know what the answer is? Like a test-taking strategy, I tend to skip that question for the time being, planning to get back to it later.
But every time I go back to it my mind keeps drawing the same blank, and I’m forced to admit that I just don’t know the answer, and I can’t even come up with a decent guess.
Wow, that’s gloomy. Didn’t mean to head down that path, though I suppose, much like Rome, all roads tend to lead there for me.
In any case, to move away from the existential angst, it’s my intention to bring my camera with me to class tomorrow night, so, assuming that what we make turns out well, you’ll get a chance to see my latest culinary accomplishment. From what was said last week, it seems that we’ll be making bread.
Today was largely uneventful. As I mentioned, I talked to my mother today. Afterwards I went grocery shopping. While I was home I spent most of the day reading a comic book called “Lucifer,” which is about exactly what you would assume it’s about.
It’s an okay book, sort of spun-off of the classic “Sandman” series, though of considerably lesser quality.
Beyond that I made Tortellini with Roasted Italian Vegetables and broth.
The actual recipe called for “Winter” vegetables, but I didn’t feel like purchasing a bunch of individual fresh vegetables, so I bought what seemed like a suitable blend of frozen vegetables. It was pretty tasty.
On Wednesday I’ll likely make Chicken with Mustard-Fennel Crust accompanied by Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Potatoes and Bacon.
In all honesty I probably do well enough on my own that I really don’t need to take the class, but hopefully I’ll pick up a few tricks, and at least it gets me out into the world.
Whether or not that’s a good thing is anybody’s guess.
In any case, I think that’s enough, and probably more than enough, for one entry.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Hollywood Making A Predictable Romantic Comedy? Never!
Apart from the time spent reading “Preacher” yesterday, I also spent some time at the car dealership getting my emissions test performed, having them try to fix my gas gauge, and getting an oil change while I was at it.
They managed to accomplish two of the things I was hoping for, as the problem with my gas gauge is evidently going to take considerably more work to repair than I expected.
Something to do with a “fuel-sending assembly,” or something similar. “Fuel-sending” was in the name, at any rate.
However, they didn’t actually have a replacement on hand, so they’ve had to order one, and will call me to let me know when it comes in. At that time I will likely have to leave my car there overnight, as they will apparently need to remove the gas tank to replace the part.
Fortunately this should all be covered by the warranty.
If it isn’t, I’ll stick to what I’ve been doing, which is just making sure that I always have plenty of gas in the tank, which isn’t difficult, since I don’t really do all that much driving anyway. Topping off the tank once a week should pretty much always keep me covered.
A while back I was looking in the mirror and I realized that the current result of my efforts at becoming physically fit is that I look rather a lot like the “Before” picture you might see in some ad for a diet pill or exercise program.
Not the really fat “Jared before he started eating at Subway” kind of before, but the just slightly out of shape, amorphous lump sort of before.
It’s kind of sad, but that is, unfortunately, actual progress for me.
Basically, even though my waist is smaller than it used to be, I’ve put on a lot of mass. Shapeless, undefined mass.
The increases in muscle mass have managed to remain masked by the flab that’s decided to stick around, and by new flab that, despite my best efforts, has moved in. In a certain light you can see some lines of definition, but for the most part I’m just sort of shapelessly bulky in various places.
About the only areas where I can see real defined results are my forearms. They haven’t gotten too much bigger, but they have developed some definition.
Still, it’s apparent that I need to either redouble or refocus my efforts if I ever want to see any favorable results.
I did at least manage to force myself to work out during the week, so that’s something anyway.
And of course tomorrow I’ll be up early (way too early for it be “bright and early”) and chipping away in vain at the fat that refuses to break loose.
Next week my niece Jourdan, the one who’s been accepted into the Pre-Med program at Michigan Tech, and who has received a scholarship from the National Honor Society, will turn eighteen.
That just utterly blows my mind. I can so clearly remember when she was born, the first time I saw her smile, the first time I ever heard her speak, and now she’s going to be an adult.
I bought her a birthday card today, of the schmaltzy, sentimental variety, that essentially said the same thing, and talked about what a great person she has grown into (and which, thanks to the fact that I get increasingly sentimental as I get older, had me a little choked up as I read it in the store).
It’s true; she has grown from being a wonderful little girl to being a wonderful young woman.
In my mind, though, she’ll pretty much always be two years old, with her head resting on my leg as I read “I Love Spaghetti” to her...
Last Thursday, as mentioned in my entry, I went to see “Elektra.”
It was only okay, and was about as good as I expected it to be. Better than “Daredevil” was, I think, and “Hulk,” both of which have been the weakest of the recent crop of comic book movies.
Two things did stand out about the movie, though, in the form of the trailers that played before the movie started.
While I’ve seen it countless times on my computer, for the first time I got to see the “Sin City” trailer on the big screen, which was very cool.
I also saw the trailer for the upcoming “Fantastic Four” movie.
Visually, it looks very appealing, as the effects seem to be very well done.
But knowing what I do about the actual plot of it, and just looking at how poorly cast it was (I will say that Michael Chiklis is a good choice for the role of The Thing, though), the trailer didn’t do anything to get me to stop thinking that it’s going to be a total piece of garbage, much, much worse than the aforementioned “Daredevil” and “Hulk.”
I hate to be mean, at least when it comes to talking about a hot chick, but there’s actually a shot of the oh-so miscast Jessica Alba in the trailer in which she looks as though there isn’t a thought in her head. I mean, as she’s just standing there staring blankly with her mouth open you seriously expect her to say, “Duhhh….”
That being said, I’d still do her in a heartbeat…
While I didn’t see it in the theater, I have been noticing that the trailer for “Constantine” has been playing on TV a lot.
Despite how hot Rachel Weisz is, I have no intention of seeing that particular steaming pile of cinematic excrement (the jury's still out on whether or not I'll go to see FF). It would be too hard to explain the nature of John Constantine, the comic book character on whom the movie is based (though the actual comic book itself is called “Hellblazer”), but suffice to say that no matter how hard he “whoahs,” Keanu Reeves absolutely cannot play the part.
Period.
There’s just no way around it. He's going to suck ass, and I don’t have to see the movie to be able to say this with absolute certainty.
It’s not even just the fact that he’s not British, even though being British, and based out of London (in the movie, he’s American and based out of LA), is as vital to the character of John Constantine as being Kryptonian and based out of Metropolis is to Superman, it’s that the part is being played by Keanu “Am I An Actor Or A Cardboard Cut-Out?” Reeves.
It’s a shame, too, because John Constantine is a great character and he seriously should have been treated with more respect. I can’t really imagine the reasoning behind making someone so quintessentially British into an American, but I suppose someone thought that a movie about a British person wouldn’t sell tickets.
After all, we all know how poorly all those James Bond movies have done…
On the topic of steaming piles of cinematic excrement, I did see the trailer for the movie “The Wedding Date” in the theater.
This is a romantic comedy in which Debra Messing (The chick from “Will & Grace”) hires a male escort to pretend to be her boyfriend when she travels to London to go to her sister’s wedding.
Naturally this seems totally believable and sensible, since we all know that there’s no way that someone so repulsive as Debra Messing could ever attract a man without having to pay for his company.
Also, since I trip over them every time I set foot out the door, we all know that the world is just filled to overflowing with desperate single women.
As for the movie itself, I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’ll end up getting a little more than she bargained for when she hires this hunky escort. I mean, it’s not like we’ve ever seen this sort of story dealt with on movie theater screens before, so there’s no precedent for us to work from in figuring out what will happen. Is there even the slightest possibility that maybe, just maybe, they both might end up finding exactly what they’re looking for in each other, and that true love will bloom?
Nah, that’d never happen in a movie.
On that note, I think, we’ll bring another week to a close. I hope you all have better weekends than I’m likely to.
They managed to accomplish two of the things I was hoping for, as the problem with my gas gauge is evidently going to take considerably more work to repair than I expected.
Something to do with a “fuel-sending assembly,” or something similar. “Fuel-sending” was in the name, at any rate.
However, they didn’t actually have a replacement on hand, so they’ve had to order one, and will call me to let me know when it comes in. At that time I will likely have to leave my car there overnight, as they will apparently need to remove the gas tank to replace the part.
Fortunately this should all be covered by the warranty.
If it isn’t, I’ll stick to what I’ve been doing, which is just making sure that I always have plenty of gas in the tank, which isn’t difficult, since I don’t really do all that much driving anyway. Topping off the tank once a week should pretty much always keep me covered.
A while back I was looking in the mirror and I realized that the current result of my efforts at becoming physically fit is that I look rather a lot like the “Before” picture you might see in some ad for a diet pill or exercise program.
Not the really fat “Jared before he started eating at Subway” kind of before, but the just slightly out of shape, amorphous lump sort of before.
It’s kind of sad, but that is, unfortunately, actual progress for me.
Basically, even though my waist is smaller than it used to be, I’ve put on a lot of mass. Shapeless, undefined mass.
The increases in muscle mass have managed to remain masked by the flab that’s decided to stick around, and by new flab that, despite my best efforts, has moved in. In a certain light you can see some lines of definition, but for the most part I’m just sort of shapelessly bulky in various places.
About the only areas where I can see real defined results are my forearms. They haven’t gotten too much bigger, but they have developed some definition.
Still, it’s apparent that I need to either redouble or refocus my efforts if I ever want to see any favorable results.
I did at least manage to force myself to work out during the week, so that’s something anyway.
And of course tomorrow I’ll be up early (way too early for it be “bright and early”) and chipping away in vain at the fat that refuses to break loose.
Next week my niece Jourdan, the one who’s been accepted into the Pre-Med program at Michigan Tech, and who has received a scholarship from the National Honor Society, will turn eighteen.
That just utterly blows my mind. I can so clearly remember when she was born, the first time I saw her smile, the first time I ever heard her speak, and now she’s going to be an adult.
I bought her a birthday card today, of the schmaltzy, sentimental variety, that essentially said the same thing, and talked about what a great person she has grown into (and which, thanks to the fact that I get increasingly sentimental as I get older, had me a little choked up as I read it in the store).
It’s true; she has grown from being a wonderful little girl to being a wonderful young woman.
In my mind, though, she’ll pretty much always be two years old, with her head resting on my leg as I read “I Love Spaghetti” to her...
Last Thursday, as mentioned in my entry, I went to see “Elektra.”
It was only okay, and was about as good as I expected it to be. Better than “Daredevil” was, I think, and “Hulk,” both of which have been the weakest of the recent crop of comic book movies.
Two things did stand out about the movie, though, in the form of the trailers that played before the movie started.
While I’ve seen it countless times on my computer, for the first time I got to see the “Sin City” trailer on the big screen, which was very cool.
I also saw the trailer for the upcoming “Fantastic Four” movie.
Visually, it looks very appealing, as the effects seem to be very well done.
But knowing what I do about the actual plot of it, and just looking at how poorly cast it was (I will say that Michael Chiklis is a good choice for the role of The Thing, though), the trailer didn’t do anything to get me to stop thinking that it’s going to be a total piece of garbage, much, much worse than the aforementioned “Daredevil” and “Hulk.”
I hate to be mean, at least when it comes to talking about a hot chick, but there’s actually a shot of the oh-so miscast Jessica Alba in the trailer in which she looks as though there isn’t a thought in her head. I mean, as she’s just standing there staring blankly with her mouth open you seriously expect her to say, “Duhhh….”
That being said, I’d still do her in a heartbeat…
While I didn’t see it in the theater, I have been noticing that the trailer for “Constantine” has been playing on TV a lot.
Despite how hot Rachel Weisz is, I have no intention of seeing that particular steaming pile of cinematic excrement (the jury's still out on whether or not I'll go to see FF). It would be too hard to explain the nature of John Constantine, the comic book character on whom the movie is based (though the actual comic book itself is called “Hellblazer”), but suffice to say that no matter how hard he “whoahs,” Keanu Reeves absolutely cannot play the part.
Period.
There’s just no way around it. He's going to suck ass, and I don’t have to see the movie to be able to say this with absolute certainty.
It’s not even just the fact that he’s not British, even though being British, and based out of London (in the movie, he’s American and based out of LA), is as vital to the character of John Constantine as being Kryptonian and based out of Metropolis is to Superman, it’s that the part is being played by Keanu “Am I An Actor Or A Cardboard Cut-Out?” Reeves.
It’s a shame, too, because John Constantine is a great character and he seriously should have been treated with more respect. I can’t really imagine the reasoning behind making someone so quintessentially British into an American, but I suppose someone thought that a movie about a British person wouldn’t sell tickets.
After all, we all know how poorly all those James Bond movies have done…
On the topic of steaming piles of cinematic excrement, I did see the trailer for the movie “The Wedding Date” in the theater.
This is a romantic comedy in which Debra Messing (The chick from “Will & Grace”) hires a male escort to pretend to be her boyfriend when she travels to London to go to her sister’s wedding.
Naturally this seems totally believable and sensible, since we all know that there’s no way that someone so repulsive as Debra Messing could ever attract a man without having to pay for his company.
Also, since I trip over them every time I set foot out the door, we all know that the world is just filled to overflowing with desperate single women.
As for the movie itself, I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’ll end up getting a little more than she bargained for when she hires this hunky escort. I mean, it’s not like we’ve ever seen this sort of story dealt with on movie theater screens before, so there’s no precedent for us to work from in figuring out what will happen. Is there even the slightest possibility that maybe, just maybe, they both might end up finding exactly what they’re looking for in each other, and that true love will bloom?
Nah, that’d never happen in a movie.
On that note, I think, we’ll bring another week to a close. I hope you all have better weekends than I’m likely to.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
"Preaching" to the Choir or Spongebob LeatherPants?
Most of my day yesterday, prior to the cooking class, was spent reading a comic book called “Preacher.”
Much of today was spent engaged in the same activity.
I have to say that it really is one sick, twisted, totally fucked-up comic.
That being said, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it.
Because I did enjoy it.
Thoroughly.
I didn’t always agree with or approve of everything in it, there were lots of elements that just didn’t work, and I could easily see how more sensitive people who don’t share my appreciation for the blackest of black humor, extremely over the top violence, and casual blasphemy would be offended (to the depths of their very souls at that) by its content, but even so, it was an entertaining read.
I don’t, however, actually recommend it to anyone, simply because it really, really is offensive.
At least it’s offensive if you take it too seriously, and taking things too seriously seems to be the very core of people who are easily offended.
Like that fucktard who’s complaining about goddamn Spongebob being gay.
I mean honestly, what the hell is wrong with people?
This is the kind of shit people worry about?
Somehow it’s perfectly acceptable that our government lies to us, resulting in the deaths of American soldiers (to say nothing of the disruption to the lives of those lucky enough to survive and the lives of their families and friends) and innocent Iraqi civilians, but if there is even the appearance of some sort of impropriety in a fucking cartoon, that’s a big deal?
Hey jackass, instead of worrying about how the gays are trying to "recruit" kids, why don’t you invest some of the obviously abundant time you have on your hands into making sure that some poor kids who don’t have the chance to even see Spongebob to be exposed to his deviant lifestyle actually get enough to eat?
How about crusading for proper health care for America’s disadvantaged?
No, I guess it’s okay that thousands of kids go hungry every day or die from preventable diseases just so long as they don’t watch a cartoon about a goddamn sponge that doesn’t even have any fucking genitals with which to be gay or straight.
What the hell is wrong with you, you miserable, worthless fuck?
I just don’t understand how anyone can get so fucked in the head that his priorities would be so goddamn far out of whack.
It makes it even more puzzling if you look at the bio of the fucktard in question. Maybe once upon a time he did do something worthwhile with his life, but it's obvious that his ability to be useful has dwindled down to nothing.
If you’ve got a wild hair up your ass that makes you want to be an activist, then be an activist for something worthwhile.
And it’s not like it’s hard to prioritize these things.
Starving, sickly kids vs. possible “gay agenda” in a cartoon…gee, that’s tricky, which issue is more important?
At the very least, you should take a long hard look at your issue and see whether or not it passes the “does this make me look like a total jackass” test.
These “watchdog” groups that sift through movies and television programming looking for instances of indecent or subversive materials are just about the most useless people on the face of the planet.
If I were an activist, I might start crusading against them, but I’m not, so instead I’ll just bitch about them here...
Sorry to go on that little rant, but as you can see this sort of bullshit really pisses me off.
I have no idea what I was originally going to write about. I know I was going to talk about “Preacher” a little, which I did, and I’m pretty sure there was something else, but whatever it was escapes me, so I guess I’ll just call it a night.
Much of today was spent engaged in the same activity.
I have to say that it really is one sick, twisted, totally fucked-up comic.
That being said, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it.
Because I did enjoy it.
Thoroughly.
I didn’t always agree with or approve of everything in it, there were lots of elements that just didn’t work, and I could easily see how more sensitive people who don’t share my appreciation for the blackest of black humor, extremely over the top violence, and casual blasphemy would be offended (to the depths of their very souls at that) by its content, but even so, it was an entertaining read.
I don’t, however, actually recommend it to anyone, simply because it really, really is offensive.
At least it’s offensive if you take it too seriously, and taking things too seriously seems to be the very core of people who are easily offended.
Like that fucktard who’s complaining about goddamn Spongebob being gay.
I mean honestly, what the hell is wrong with people?
This is the kind of shit people worry about?
Somehow it’s perfectly acceptable that our government lies to us, resulting in the deaths of American soldiers (to say nothing of the disruption to the lives of those lucky enough to survive and the lives of their families and friends) and innocent Iraqi civilians, but if there is even the appearance of some sort of impropriety in a fucking cartoon, that’s a big deal?
Hey jackass, instead of worrying about how the gays are trying to "recruit" kids, why don’t you invest some of the obviously abundant time you have on your hands into making sure that some poor kids who don’t have the chance to even see Spongebob to be exposed to his deviant lifestyle actually get enough to eat?
How about crusading for proper health care for America’s disadvantaged?
No, I guess it’s okay that thousands of kids go hungry every day or die from preventable diseases just so long as they don’t watch a cartoon about a goddamn sponge that doesn’t even have any fucking genitals with which to be gay or straight.
What the hell is wrong with you, you miserable, worthless fuck?
I just don’t understand how anyone can get so fucked in the head that his priorities would be so goddamn far out of whack.
It makes it even more puzzling if you look at the bio of the fucktard in question. Maybe once upon a time he did do something worthwhile with his life, but it's obvious that his ability to be useful has dwindled down to nothing.
If you’ve got a wild hair up your ass that makes you want to be an activist, then be an activist for something worthwhile.
And it’s not like it’s hard to prioritize these things.
Starving, sickly kids vs. possible “gay agenda” in a cartoon…gee, that’s tricky, which issue is more important?
At the very least, you should take a long hard look at your issue and see whether or not it passes the “does this make me look like a total jackass” test.
These “watchdog” groups that sift through movies and television programming looking for instances of indecent or subversive materials are just about the most useless people on the face of the planet.
If I were an activist, I might start crusading against them, but I’m not, so instead I’ll just bitch about them here...
Sorry to go on that little rant, but as you can see this sort of bullshit really pisses me off.
I have no idea what I was originally going to write about. I know I was going to talk about “Preacher” a little, which I did, and I’m pretty sure there was something else, but whatever it was escapes me, so I guess I’ll just call it a night.
The Pie Was the ONLY Thing That Was Hot In That Kitchen
Once again my knack for being wherever hot chicks aren’t manifested itself.
The babe quotient of my cooking class was sadly lacking, even though I was one of only two males in the class.
Of the students, only one was even somewhat attractive. Honestly, she is actually kind of cute, though not quite as cute as she initially appeared, mostly just because upon initial inspection (based largely on how she was dressed), she appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties, but once I got closer I could see some definite lines in her face, indicating that she was more likely in her early thirties.
That isn’t actually a problem, since I'm also in my early thirties, but overall she just isn’t that cute, though I did note that she wasn’t wearing a ring.
Still…meh.
The teacher herself would be cute…if she were cute.
Yes, I know, that seems like an obvious statement, but what I mean is that she’s sort of petite and vaguely pear-shaped in a not unpleasant way, so if she had a cute face, she would definitely be my type.
Unfortunately, that is not the case.
Kathleen speculated that she’s a lesbian, based largely on the fact that she made a reference to a female “roommate.”
However, she does teach for a living, and this is Northern Virginia, so it’s not unreasonable to think that she would have a roommate strictly for the purposes of being able to pay the rent.
Also, at various points she made frequent references to the fact that she's single, though given that it was an overwhelmingly female class, maybe that's more points in favor of Kathleen's theory.
As for the rest of the women, there was Kathleen, who obviously doesn’t count, and several women who were quite a bit older than I am, which led me to wonder how it is that in their multiple decades on the earth they had never managed to pick up any sort of cooking skills…
The class itself was okay, and seems like it may be somewhat informative, so that’s a plus at least.
The teacher said that she had several things in mind for the remaining nine weeks, but she was also looking for suggestions as to any particular items we would like her to cover.
Most of the people seemed interested in baking more than cooking, which is fine, but Kathleen and I were both looking for more of a focus on making meals, not desserts.
We actually started off the class by baking an apple pie.
It ended up being something of a team project, with Kathleen and I teamed up with this other woman, who was nice enough, but who seemed utterly clueless about how to do anything in the kitchen (again, despite the fact that she’s been around quite a bit longer than either Kathleen or I have).
It turned out pretty well, and I was surprised at just how easy it was to make the pie crust.
So hopefully I will manage to pick up a few useful pointers.
The title of Liz Phair’s first album, the one which contains the songs I mentioned yesterday, is “Exile in Guyville.”
Given that she’s the only girl (And yes, I feel that I can call her a girl, since I am older than she is. There has to be some benefit to being the oldest, after all.) working with four guys, that particular title always makes me think of Kathleen (though now in the cooking class I can experience being in the minority).
Fortunately, for her and for us, Kathleen is a pretty good sport, and is not easily offended, so while it’s not entirely a locker room environment at work, none of us guys (particularly not Brian, since he’s her husband) is sweating the company sexual harassment policy too much.
Besides, she can dish it out as well as take it anyway.
In any case, the point is that I found tonight that the relaxed atmosphere at work has sort of skewed my sense of reality (and propriety), and I realized that I had to actually rein myself in.
For example, we were using one of those apple slicing dealies to save time on cutting the apples for the pie. It was kind of a struggle to use it on the apples, though, as they were, as Kathleen pointed out, “too big.”
…
I have a standing, stated policy at work of never missing an opportunity to say “That’s what she said,” but just as the words were forming during the class in response to Kathleen's comment, I had to restrain myself.
I did surreptitiously point out to Kathleen that I was letting an opportunity slide, which she was actually aware of anyway.
I have to say that it was difficult.
In any case, I need to get up early in the morning, so I think I’ll wrap things up for right now.
The babe quotient of my cooking class was sadly lacking, even though I was one of only two males in the class.
Of the students, only one was even somewhat attractive. Honestly, she is actually kind of cute, though not quite as cute as she initially appeared, mostly just because upon initial inspection (based largely on how she was dressed), she appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties, but once I got closer I could see some definite lines in her face, indicating that she was more likely in her early thirties.
That isn’t actually a problem, since I'm also in my early thirties, but overall she just isn’t that cute, though I did note that she wasn’t wearing a ring.
Still…meh.
The teacher herself would be cute…if she were cute.
Yes, I know, that seems like an obvious statement, but what I mean is that she’s sort of petite and vaguely pear-shaped in a not unpleasant way, so if she had a cute face, she would definitely be my type.
Unfortunately, that is not the case.
Kathleen speculated that she’s a lesbian, based largely on the fact that she made a reference to a female “roommate.”
However, she does teach for a living, and this is Northern Virginia, so it’s not unreasonable to think that she would have a roommate strictly for the purposes of being able to pay the rent.
Also, at various points she made frequent references to the fact that she's single, though given that it was an overwhelmingly female class, maybe that's more points in favor of Kathleen's theory.
As for the rest of the women, there was Kathleen, who obviously doesn’t count, and several women who were quite a bit older than I am, which led me to wonder how it is that in their multiple decades on the earth they had never managed to pick up any sort of cooking skills…
The class itself was okay, and seems like it may be somewhat informative, so that’s a plus at least.
The teacher said that she had several things in mind for the remaining nine weeks, but she was also looking for suggestions as to any particular items we would like her to cover.
Most of the people seemed interested in baking more than cooking, which is fine, but Kathleen and I were both looking for more of a focus on making meals, not desserts.
We actually started off the class by baking an apple pie.
It ended up being something of a team project, with Kathleen and I teamed up with this other woman, who was nice enough, but who seemed utterly clueless about how to do anything in the kitchen (again, despite the fact that she’s been around quite a bit longer than either Kathleen or I have).
It turned out pretty well, and I was surprised at just how easy it was to make the pie crust.
So hopefully I will manage to pick up a few useful pointers.
The title of Liz Phair’s first album, the one which contains the songs I mentioned yesterday, is “Exile in Guyville.”
Given that she’s the only girl (And yes, I feel that I can call her a girl, since I am older than she is. There has to be some benefit to being the oldest, after all.) working with four guys, that particular title always makes me think of Kathleen (though now in the cooking class I can experience being in the minority).
Fortunately, for her and for us, Kathleen is a pretty good sport, and is not easily offended, so while it’s not entirely a locker room environment at work, none of us guys (particularly not Brian, since he’s her husband) is sweating the company sexual harassment policy too much.
Besides, she can dish it out as well as take it anyway.
In any case, the point is that I found tonight that the relaxed atmosphere at work has sort of skewed my sense of reality (and propriety), and I realized that I had to actually rein myself in.
For example, we were using one of those apple slicing dealies to save time on cutting the apples for the pie. It was kind of a struggle to use it on the apples, though, as they were, as Kathleen pointed out, “too big.”
…
I have a standing, stated policy at work of never missing an opportunity to say “That’s what she said,” but just as the words were forming during the class in response to Kathleen's comment, I had to restrain myself.
I did surreptitiously point out to Kathleen that I was letting an opportunity slide, which she was actually aware of anyway.
I have to say that it was difficult.
In any case, I need to get up early in the morning, so I think I’ll wrap things up for right now.
Monday, January 24, 2005
The Carnival Sideshow That is My Mind
Whatever else could be said about me (such as that I’m a “whiny, pathetic buttwad,” for example), I think that most people would agree that I am, at the very least, a bit odd.
The most obvious aspects of my personality to betray signs of oddness are, of course, my behavior and the things that I say, but of course the oddness goes much deeper than that.
Among the odd behaviors I exhibit, which is especially apparent here, is a tendency to be rather self-absorbed. As such, and since I’m not self-absorbed to the extent that I’m completely oblivious to the world around me and how other people behave, I can’t help but notice just how odd I really am below the surface as I find myself lost in frightened wonder amid the swirling carnival sideshow of my thoughts.
Sometimes I can understand, at least a little, how my mind works, or why it works in a certain way, but there are other times in which I’m completely baffled.
As a case in point, when I listen to the song “Brompton Oratory” (I apologize for the pop-up ad, but I can’t find another site that has the correct lyrics) by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, which is a wonderful song, by the way, I find my mind traveling back in time to late November of 1984.
Not to any specific memories of that month, but just a general impression of that post-Thanksgiving period, of a cold dry wind and a winter that was already well underway as the British pop stars of Band Aid wondered whether or not the people of Ethiopia knew that it was Christmas time on the Canadian music video program “Video Hits,” which we picked up, fuzzily, on Channel Two, as broadcast by our neighbor to the north.
(For the record, if I recall correctly, Ethiopia has a predominantly Christian population, so it seems likely that they would be aware of the fact that it was Christmas time, though as it is primarily a form of Orthodox Christianity that’s practiced, it’s likely that December 25 means very little to them, since I don't think that's when Christmas is celebrated in Orthodox Christianity.)
As to why this particular song, which makes no reference to anything even remotely similar, nor sounds especially like any songs from that period, should elicit this response is utterly beyond me, and, I’m forced to admit, is more than slightly odd.
In any case, on the topic of a winter that is well underway, winter, or what passes for it in these parts, came to Northern Virginia over the weekend.
It was, naturally, greeted by raw panic, food-hoarding, and frequent car accidents.
The total accumulation of “as much as five inches,” amazingly, didn’t seem to cause any deaths in the area, though. I say “amazingly,” as a simple dip in temperature often seems to be enough to kill people around here.
Because I grew up in the Mid-West near the shores of the lake-effect snow-inducing Lake Superior, I’m accustomed to nature’s fury being considerably more furious than it is here, and as such am more than a little puzzled by the sheer idiocy of the average Northern Virginians response to what, to me, is nothing more than a light dusting.
Don’t get me wrong; there is legitimate cause for concern when it snows here, but not because of the snow itself. The idiocy is so widespread and deeply-ingrained that when you take to the road when it snows (or even when it rains), you’re in a great deal of dange from other drivers.
When driving conditions turn less than ideal, most drivers in NoVA tend to fall into one of two categories: Frightened Children or Total Maniacs.
The Frightened Children are dangerous because their fearful over-cautious approach to driving actually manifests itself as a form of recklessness. They’re so intent on making it to their destinations alive that they don’t care who else they take out in the process.
They are also inclined to panic at the slightest sideways motion of their vehicles, and their panic only makes the situation worse as they mindlessly slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel in the opposite direction of the skid.
It's not much fun to be on the road behind Frightened Children.
The Total Maniacs, on the other hand, exercise no caution whatsoever, thinking that they can drive through a snowstorm without making any concessions to the conditions.
Often these people have some sort of SUV and feel that this makes them invincible.
The rolled-over Hummer that Brian spotted on the side of the road when he was on his way to work during the worst of the storm stands, or rather, lies, as a testament to the fact that if you don’t know what you’re doing your vehicle isn’t going to know either, no matter how much you spent on it in your vain attempt to prove that you’re better than everyone else.
The biggest question I have for both kinds of drivers is “Where are you going anyway?”
Just as most people around here aren’t accustomed to winters that last run from October to May in which five inches of snow falls in the time it takes you to sprint across the cold floor from your bed to the shower as I am, they also don’t work as “essential” personnel in a 24x7 operation.
So given that most places will announce their closure and most events will be cancelled as soon as anyone even hints that it might snow, where is there to go? When you don’t have to drive in bad weather, why do it, particularly if you fall into the Frightened Child category?
On the topic of preemptive closures, though, that’s another thing that (no pun intended) really frosts me. I can’t help but get pissed when I hear about school closures the night before when it hasn’t even started snowing yet, and I think back on all of the white-knuckled bus rides to school I went through as a kid and teenager during which I genuinely feared for my life.
Compared to those scary mornings, the absolute worst weather I’ve seen out here doesn’t even raise the slightest glimmer of fear in me.
That is until I think about how everyone else is going to react to it, at any rate.
In any case, basically any time it snows I launch into this same rant, and I’ve been accused of being unfair.
“After all,” I’ve been told, “we’re just not used to this kind of weather.”
Of course, this is my third winter out here, and I’ve heard that same refrain every year.
Guess what? We’ve had “this kind of weather” during each winter that I’ve seen. You think maybe you might start noticing a pattern and start learning to adapt to it? After all, there’s at least the slightest outside chance that it might snow again next winter.
The people who argue “we’re not used to it” also frequently cite the fact that winters "didn’t used to be this bad." It’s a spurious argument, since, again, I’ve observed the weather that sends them into such a tizzy three winters in a row. Maybe it didn’t used to be this “bad,” but it is now. Deal with it.
The biggest problem, though, is that this overall inability to adapt to harsh weather conditions that really aren’t all that harsh extends beyond the ordinary populace to the people responsible for the administration of services vital to helping the ordinary populace deal with the not-so-harsh weather conditions.
Specifically, I’m talking about the morons driving the plows and salt and sand trucks who sit on the side of the road eating donuts waiting for it all to be over before they finally decide to take a crack at clearing the roads.
The overall wimpiness of winter weather in this area isn’t really reflected on the roads, as they usually look like a disaster area after a light dusting. You’d think we lived on the tundra, simply because no one among the people who are paid to know how to remove snow seems to have the first fucking clue as to what needs to be done.
Again, it’s not like this sort of weather is a completely rare occurrence, so there’s no reason why these people can’t become seasoned road-clearing veterans, and it is rare enough that cost shouldn’t really be an issue either, especially considering, as I mentioned last week, the state and local government have plenty of tax dollars to spend.
But, as I complain about the inability of natives and transplants from areas outside of the Snow Belt to adapt to something that happens fairly regularly, I suppose I should learn to adapt to their inability to adapt.
In other words, I should quit my bitching, since it’s obvious that nothing is ever going to change.
Tomorrow I begin my ten-week expedition into the world of culinary arts. Or rather, I think that I do, as I haven’t gotten any confirmation about my registration being accepted (and my check still hasn’t been cashed).
Assuming that I am enrolled in the class, I hope that it proves to be useful and interesting.
I don’t really have any hopes on the meeting someone front, though. Even if there are some cute, single women there, I’ll still be exactly as charming, interesting, and attractive as I always am, so unless they’re cute, single women who are also incredibly desperate, I don’t see that improving my odds any.
Still, since hope does spring eternal in the human breast, I did go out to get my hair cut in a misguided attempt to improve my looks ever so slightly in anticipation of miraculously stumbling onto a nest of that most mythical of creatures tomorrow night: the hot, desperate single chick.
Besides, I was getting a little too shaggy, and I had to venture out into the world anyway, so I figured I might as well get it done.
While I was aware of the fact that she existed prior to her relatively recent commercially successful album, I’d never actually listened to Liz Phair prior to hearing her popular hits on the radio. Despite my aversion to most Top 40 music, I did find her sound appealing and decided to check her out. Since that time I’ve gotten all of her albums and enjoy her music a great deal.
I especially enjoy her older, less polished work, often described as “low-fidelity.” That’s a rather nebulous description, but it is apt, and can easily be understood when the music is actually heard.
One of the things I did know about her prior to hearing her music, thanks to Playboy, who loved her, by the way, for obvious reasons, was that she was a little on the “saucy” side, with a very frank and uninhibited approach to the topic of sexuality in her songs, and I can say now that I’ve gotten to know her work, it’s definitely true. That young lady has a potty mouth!
She also has a great voice along with some great songs, with lyrics that I think most people can relate to.
In particular, in her song “Fuck and Run” (I told you: potty mouth) she talks about her desire to find love and a serious relationship, a topic with which I’m especially familiar.
Where she and I differ, though, is that in the song she talks about how despite this desire she keeps making the same mistakes over and over again, falling into a continual pattern of waking up to remorse-filled "mornings after" on the heels of temporary “relationships” that aren't going to lead anywhere, a problem that I am decidedly not familiar with, either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective.
Still, despite this major difference in personal experiences, there is a line that resonates with me:
I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend another year alone
Later, she repeats the line with an important change that increases its overall resonance:
I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend my whole life alone
That’s something that I can feel right in my marrow.
The song that I find myself listening to most often, though, is called “Divorce Song.” It’s not so much the lyrics alone that I enjoy (though the line about the license is a really good one), but the overall sound of it.
The song is particularly demonstrative of the “low-fidelity” sound, particularly with its just so slightly discordant opening strains that sound very much like, for those of you old enough to remember, a 78 being played at a 45’s speed, or to put it in (only slightly) more contemporary terms, a tape being played in a Walkman with dying batteries.
In any case, that’s it for today’s entry. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll report on my first night in class.
The most obvious aspects of my personality to betray signs of oddness are, of course, my behavior and the things that I say, but of course the oddness goes much deeper than that.
Among the odd behaviors I exhibit, which is especially apparent here, is a tendency to be rather self-absorbed. As such, and since I’m not self-absorbed to the extent that I’m completely oblivious to the world around me and how other people behave, I can’t help but notice just how odd I really am below the surface as I find myself lost in frightened wonder amid the swirling carnival sideshow of my thoughts.
Sometimes I can understand, at least a little, how my mind works, or why it works in a certain way, but there are other times in which I’m completely baffled.
As a case in point, when I listen to the song “Brompton Oratory” (I apologize for the pop-up ad, but I can’t find another site that has the correct lyrics) by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, which is a wonderful song, by the way, I find my mind traveling back in time to late November of 1984.
Not to any specific memories of that month, but just a general impression of that post-Thanksgiving period, of a cold dry wind and a winter that was already well underway as the British pop stars of Band Aid wondered whether or not the people of Ethiopia knew that it was Christmas time on the Canadian music video program “Video Hits,” which we picked up, fuzzily, on Channel Two, as broadcast by our neighbor to the north.
(For the record, if I recall correctly, Ethiopia has a predominantly Christian population, so it seems likely that they would be aware of the fact that it was Christmas time, though as it is primarily a form of Orthodox Christianity that’s practiced, it’s likely that December 25 means very little to them, since I don't think that's when Christmas is celebrated in Orthodox Christianity.)
As to why this particular song, which makes no reference to anything even remotely similar, nor sounds especially like any songs from that period, should elicit this response is utterly beyond me, and, I’m forced to admit, is more than slightly odd.
In any case, on the topic of a winter that is well underway, winter, or what passes for it in these parts, came to Northern Virginia over the weekend.
It was, naturally, greeted by raw panic, food-hoarding, and frequent car accidents.
The total accumulation of “as much as five inches,” amazingly, didn’t seem to cause any deaths in the area, though. I say “amazingly,” as a simple dip in temperature often seems to be enough to kill people around here.
Because I grew up in the Mid-West near the shores of the lake-effect snow-inducing Lake Superior, I’m accustomed to nature’s fury being considerably more furious than it is here, and as such am more than a little puzzled by the sheer idiocy of the average Northern Virginians response to what, to me, is nothing more than a light dusting.
Don’t get me wrong; there is legitimate cause for concern when it snows here, but not because of the snow itself. The idiocy is so widespread and deeply-ingrained that when you take to the road when it snows (or even when it rains), you’re in a great deal of dange from other drivers.
When driving conditions turn less than ideal, most drivers in NoVA tend to fall into one of two categories: Frightened Children or Total Maniacs.
The Frightened Children are dangerous because their fearful over-cautious approach to driving actually manifests itself as a form of recklessness. They’re so intent on making it to their destinations alive that they don’t care who else they take out in the process.
They are also inclined to panic at the slightest sideways motion of their vehicles, and their panic only makes the situation worse as they mindlessly slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel in the opposite direction of the skid.
It's not much fun to be on the road behind Frightened Children.
The Total Maniacs, on the other hand, exercise no caution whatsoever, thinking that they can drive through a snowstorm without making any concessions to the conditions.
Often these people have some sort of SUV and feel that this makes them invincible.
The rolled-over Hummer that Brian spotted on the side of the road when he was on his way to work during the worst of the storm stands, or rather, lies, as a testament to the fact that if you don’t know what you’re doing your vehicle isn’t going to know either, no matter how much you spent on it in your vain attempt to prove that you’re better than everyone else.
The biggest question I have for both kinds of drivers is “Where are you going anyway?”
Just as most people around here aren’t accustomed to winters that last run from October to May in which five inches of snow falls in the time it takes you to sprint across the cold floor from your bed to the shower as I am, they also don’t work as “essential” personnel in a 24x7 operation.
So given that most places will announce their closure and most events will be cancelled as soon as anyone even hints that it might snow, where is there to go? When you don’t have to drive in bad weather, why do it, particularly if you fall into the Frightened Child category?
On the topic of preemptive closures, though, that’s another thing that (no pun intended) really frosts me. I can’t help but get pissed when I hear about school closures the night before when it hasn’t even started snowing yet, and I think back on all of the white-knuckled bus rides to school I went through as a kid and teenager during which I genuinely feared for my life.
Compared to those scary mornings, the absolute worst weather I’ve seen out here doesn’t even raise the slightest glimmer of fear in me.
That is until I think about how everyone else is going to react to it, at any rate.
In any case, basically any time it snows I launch into this same rant, and I’ve been accused of being unfair.
“After all,” I’ve been told, “we’re just not used to this kind of weather.”
Of course, this is my third winter out here, and I’ve heard that same refrain every year.
Guess what? We’ve had “this kind of weather” during each winter that I’ve seen. You think maybe you might start noticing a pattern and start learning to adapt to it? After all, there’s at least the slightest outside chance that it might snow again next winter.
The people who argue “we’re not used to it” also frequently cite the fact that winters "didn’t used to be this bad." It’s a spurious argument, since, again, I’ve observed the weather that sends them into such a tizzy three winters in a row. Maybe it didn’t used to be this “bad,” but it is now. Deal with it.
The biggest problem, though, is that this overall inability to adapt to harsh weather conditions that really aren’t all that harsh extends beyond the ordinary populace to the people responsible for the administration of services vital to helping the ordinary populace deal with the not-so-harsh weather conditions.
Specifically, I’m talking about the morons driving the plows and salt and sand trucks who sit on the side of the road eating donuts waiting for it all to be over before they finally decide to take a crack at clearing the roads.
The overall wimpiness of winter weather in this area isn’t really reflected on the roads, as they usually look like a disaster area after a light dusting. You’d think we lived on the tundra, simply because no one among the people who are paid to know how to remove snow seems to have the first fucking clue as to what needs to be done.
Again, it’s not like this sort of weather is a completely rare occurrence, so there’s no reason why these people can’t become seasoned road-clearing veterans, and it is rare enough that cost shouldn’t really be an issue either, especially considering, as I mentioned last week, the state and local government have plenty of tax dollars to spend.
But, as I complain about the inability of natives and transplants from areas outside of the Snow Belt to adapt to something that happens fairly regularly, I suppose I should learn to adapt to their inability to adapt.
In other words, I should quit my bitching, since it’s obvious that nothing is ever going to change.
Tomorrow I begin my ten-week expedition into the world of culinary arts. Or rather, I think that I do, as I haven’t gotten any confirmation about my registration being accepted (and my check still hasn’t been cashed).
Assuming that I am enrolled in the class, I hope that it proves to be useful and interesting.
I don’t really have any hopes on the meeting someone front, though. Even if there are some cute, single women there, I’ll still be exactly as charming, interesting, and attractive as I always am, so unless they’re cute, single women who are also incredibly desperate, I don’t see that improving my odds any.
Still, since hope does spring eternal in the human breast, I did go out to get my hair cut in a misguided attempt to improve my looks ever so slightly in anticipation of miraculously stumbling onto a nest of that most mythical of creatures tomorrow night: the hot, desperate single chick.
Besides, I was getting a little too shaggy, and I had to venture out into the world anyway, so I figured I might as well get it done.
While I was aware of the fact that she existed prior to her relatively recent commercially successful album, I’d never actually listened to Liz Phair prior to hearing her popular hits on the radio. Despite my aversion to most Top 40 music, I did find her sound appealing and decided to check her out. Since that time I’ve gotten all of her albums and enjoy her music a great deal.
I especially enjoy her older, less polished work, often described as “low-fidelity.” That’s a rather nebulous description, but it is apt, and can easily be understood when the music is actually heard.
One of the things I did know about her prior to hearing her music, thanks to Playboy, who loved her, by the way, for obvious reasons, was that she was a little on the “saucy” side, with a very frank and uninhibited approach to the topic of sexuality in her songs, and I can say now that I’ve gotten to know her work, it’s definitely true. That young lady has a potty mouth!
She also has a great voice along with some great songs, with lyrics that I think most people can relate to.
In particular, in her song “Fuck and Run” (I told you: potty mouth) she talks about her desire to find love and a serious relationship, a topic with which I’m especially familiar.
Where she and I differ, though, is that in the song she talks about how despite this desire she keeps making the same mistakes over and over again, falling into a continual pattern of waking up to remorse-filled "mornings after" on the heels of temporary “relationships” that aren't going to lead anywhere, a problem that I am decidedly not familiar with, either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective.
Still, despite this major difference in personal experiences, there is a line that resonates with me:
I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend another year alone
Later, she repeats the line with an important change that increases its overall resonance:
I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend my whole life alone
That’s something that I can feel right in my marrow.
The song that I find myself listening to most often, though, is called “Divorce Song.” It’s not so much the lyrics alone that I enjoy (though the line about the license is a really good one), but the overall sound of it.
The song is particularly demonstrative of the “low-fidelity” sound, particularly with its just so slightly discordant opening strains that sound very much like, for those of you old enough to remember, a 78 being played at a 45’s speed, or to put it in (only slightly) more contemporary terms, a tape being played in a Walkman with dying batteries.
In any case, that’s it for today’s entry. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll report on my first night in class.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Time Won't Give Me Time or How To Make the High Cost of Living More Enjoyable
So I never managed to get another proper entry written last night. Between cable outages and my general laziness, Threshold has been rather neglected of late.
For some reason I keep feeling as though I just don’t have enough time, even though there really isn’t anything that’s actually occupying my time.
Okay, sure, Monday and Tuesday were both relatively hectic for me, but yesterday I basically just hung out all day. Apart from getting the mail, I never ventured out into the world.
Mostly I just burned a bunch of files onto CDs, to the extent that I now need to buy some more CDs, which is just another thing to add to the list of things I need to do.
And that’s part of the problem, I think; the fact that there is a list of things I need to do.
Even though it’s almost entirely a matter of perception, the fact that there are multiple things that I need to accomplish makes me feel as if there just isn’t enough time to accomplish them in.
We’re really not talking about a lot of stuff here, either, and honestly, I have plenty of time in which to get some of the more time-sensitive things accomplished, but again, the fact that there are things that I need to accomplish that are time-sensitive adds to the overall perception of not having enough time.
After all, apart from the things that I need to accomplish there are a lot of things that I want to accomplish.
For example, there are at least half a dozen topics that I’ve been meaning to write up Threshold entries on, considerably more pictures that I want to draw, and, possibly, some stories that I would like to write.
And of course we can’t forget how much time I require for the purposes of sitting around and not doing a goddamn thing.
Among the many things I need to accomplish is renewing my car’s registration.
This requires that I have a state emission test performed on my car, which is to say that there is yet another of Virginia’s hidden taxes that I need to pay.
Of course, it’s not hidden very well, but even so, it’s a less obvious way of simply extracting money from my pocket than the state income tax, or the sales tax, or the personal property tax I have to pay on my car, or the food tax.
Along with the aforementioned personal property tax on my car I have to pay another hidden tax in the form of the decal that I have to buy in order to prove that I paid my personal property tax.
Then, of course, there is the annual state vehicle inspection that I have to pay for (Which requires purchasing another decal; Virginia is awfully fond of its decals.), which does not, for inconvenience’s sake, cover emission inspection. Considering that I have to pay seventy cents for the privilege of driving to and from work on the damn toll road, owning a vehicle, even a cheap piece of shit like mine, in Virginia is a costly proposition.
In any case, given how much money I shell out to the state every year I really think it should be providing much more in the way of services to me as citizen.
My suggestion for a new service is weekly visits from door-to-door prostitutes.
Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is that the revenue brought in by most of these initiatives is undoubtedly used largely to pay for the cost of administering these initiatives. You know guys, if you didn’t make people pay these taxes and fees, you wouldn’t have to shell out the money to pay for collecting these taxes and fees.
Still, I’m sure they must have a considerable amount of money left over after they print out the decals (Certainly enough to at least pay for average-looking prostitutes anyway; I mean, I’m not necessarily demanding supermodels here.), otherwise I don’t imagine they would continue the programs. I can’t imagine that the state of Virginia actually cares, for example, whether or not my car is emitting too much in the way of pollutants that will render the world uninhabitable for future generations.
Virginians are Americans after all, and most Americans only “care” about things if there’s some way they can benefit from caring. And I said “most,” so don’t start bitching about how you legitimately care about things for purely altruistic reasons. And honestly, there is something to be said for the concept of enlightened self-interest. It is, after all, the primary motivating force for positive change and reform.
I read an article recently about how the fact that the UK has pledged to buy an HIV vaccine if and when one is developed is going to help to drive vaccine research in a way that simple altruism never could.
In any case, my point is that I don’t believe that the real purpose behind some of the safety and environmental protection fees I’m paying is an altruistic desire to protect me or my environment.
In fact, I would guess that a fair amount of the money I’m shelling out actually is paying for prostitutes; it’s just that I’m not personally receiving the benefit of their services…
Speaking of people paying for things that they’re not benefiting from, the President is being inaugurated today. The residents of Washington D.C., who overwhelmingly voted against President Bush, are footing the costs of security for the inauguration and its associated events.
The demands on my time continue. My mom just called, taking up about an hour, and I need to head out to see Elektra, which I’ve finally made time to see, and my load of laundry is ready to go into the dryer, so I guess that’s it for now.
Once again, I hope that in the future I’ll be able to devote a little more time to Threshold. Until then, I hope all of you have a good weekend.
For some reason I keep feeling as though I just don’t have enough time, even though there really isn’t anything that’s actually occupying my time.
Okay, sure, Monday and Tuesday were both relatively hectic for me, but yesterday I basically just hung out all day. Apart from getting the mail, I never ventured out into the world.
Mostly I just burned a bunch of files onto CDs, to the extent that I now need to buy some more CDs, which is just another thing to add to the list of things I need to do.
And that’s part of the problem, I think; the fact that there is a list of things I need to do.
Even though it’s almost entirely a matter of perception, the fact that there are multiple things that I need to accomplish makes me feel as if there just isn’t enough time to accomplish them in.
We’re really not talking about a lot of stuff here, either, and honestly, I have plenty of time in which to get some of the more time-sensitive things accomplished, but again, the fact that there are things that I need to accomplish that are time-sensitive adds to the overall perception of not having enough time.
After all, apart from the things that I need to accomplish there are a lot of things that I want to accomplish.
For example, there are at least half a dozen topics that I’ve been meaning to write up Threshold entries on, considerably more pictures that I want to draw, and, possibly, some stories that I would like to write.
And of course we can’t forget how much time I require for the purposes of sitting around and not doing a goddamn thing.
Among the many things I need to accomplish is renewing my car’s registration.
This requires that I have a state emission test performed on my car, which is to say that there is yet another of Virginia’s hidden taxes that I need to pay.
Of course, it’s not hidden very well, but even so, it’s a less obvious way of simply extracting money from my pocket than the state income tax, or the sales tax, or the personal property tax I have to pay on my car, or the food tax.
Along with the aforementioned personal property tax on my car I have to pay another hidden tax in the form of the decal that I have to buy in order to prove that I paid my personal property tax.
Then, of course, there is the annual state vehicle inspection that I have to pay for (Which requires purchasing another decal; Virginia is awfully fond of its decals.), which does not, for inconvenience’s sake, cover emission inspection. Considering that I have to pay seventy cents for the privilege of driving to and from work on the damn toll road, owning a vehicle, even a cheap piece of shit like mine, in Virginia is a costly proposition.
In any case, given how much money I shell out to the state every year I really think it should be providing much more in the way of services to me as citizen.
My suggestion for a new service is weekly visits from door-to-door prostitutes.
Unfortunately, the fact of the matter is that the revenue brought in by most of these initiatives is undoubtedly used largely to pay for the cost of administering these initiatives. You know guys, if you didn’t make people pay these taxes and fees, you wouldn’t have to shell out the money to pay for collecting these taxes and fees.
Still, I’m sure they must have a considerable amount of money left over after they print out the decals (Certainly enough to at least pay for average-looking prostitutes anyway; I mean, I’m not necessarily demanding supermodels here.), otherwise I don’t imagine they would continue the programs. I can’t imagine that the state of Virginia actually cares, for example, whether or not my car is emitting too much in the way of pollutants that will render the world uninhabitable for future generations.
Virginians are Americans after all, and most Americans only “care” about things if there’s some way they can benefit from caring. And I said “most,” so don’t start bitching about how you legitimately care about things for purely altruistic reasons. And honestly, there is something to be said for the concept of enlightened self-interest. It is, after all, the primary motivating force for positive change and reform.
I read an article recently about how the fact that the UK has pledged to buy an HIV vaccine if and when one is developed is going to help to drive vaccine research in a way that simple altruism never could.
In any case, my point is that I don’t believe that the real purpose behind some of the safety and environmental protection fees I’m paying is an altruistic desire to protect me or my environment.
In fact, I would guess that a fair amount of the money I’m shelling out actually is paying for prostitutes; it’s just that I’m not personally receiving the benefit of their services…
Speaking of people paying for things that they’re not benefiting from, the President is being inaugurated today. The residents of Washington D.C., who overwhelmingly voted against President Bush, are footing the costs of security for the inauguration and its associated events.
The demands on my time continue. My mom just called, taking up about an hour, and I need to head out to see Elektra, which I’ve finally made time to see, and my load of laundry is ready to go into the dryer, so I guess that’s it for now.
Once again, I hope that in the future I’ll be able to devote a little more time to Threshold. Until then, I hope all of you have a good weekend.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Pretty Funny (or Sad, Depending on Your Perspective)
A while back, when I was pretty much exclusively drawing pictures of Britney Spears, I created a specific folder on one of my hard drive partitions devoted to her. It had several sub-folders to contain the original images I had downloaded, the Photoshop file versions of images I was drawing, and a folder for the finished jpegs.
Today I managed to burn a DVD archiving all of my "Britney" files, so afterwards I decided to free up some hard drive space by deleting some of the images that I no longer needed to keep on my hard drive. Among the folders I completely cleared out was the "Downloaded Images" folder. The screen capture above is from when I deleted all of those files.
I just find it amazing (and amusing) to see how many images I had downloaded of her.
Stil, as pathetic as I may be, I can take comfort in not being the geeks who took the time to scan all of them and post them to the Internet (though not a lot of comfort).
Apart from successfully burning that DVD (And there were other files on it; Britney didn't take up an entire DVD. Almost, but not quite.) I also managed, with some difficulty, once again caused by my own retardation, to make my network secure.
Not only is it secure, but unless someone knows the name of it, no one in the area can even see that it exists. Well, presumably, anyway. I'm sure there's some way around my security features, but it's at least as secure as it can be.
I'll post more of an update later (hopefully), but for the time being I just wanted to share my amusement (and my shame).
Not Quite Furbished, Cooking with Class, and The World is My Backyard
So today my router arrived, along with the two USB wireless adapters I ordered.
Did I mention that the router was a refurb? I’ve had decent luck with refurbished items in the past, so, since the price was right, I figured “Why not?”
“Why not,” it turns out, is because the router wasn’t able to actually establish a solid connection with my cable modem.
So clearly the refurbishing didn’t leave it quite as furbished as it needed to be, and I was still lacking a router.
But I had the “network bug,” and since I was eager to see how well the USB wireless adapters would work, I decided to head to Wal-Mart and pick up a Linksys router.
I also picked up a USB 2.0 PCI card to put into the old computer, as I didn’t really have an available USB port for the wireless adapter.
After using up the remaining balances on my gift cards, my purchases ended up costing about $7 more than what I’d paid for the refurbished router (which I will be returning for a refund).
I initially had some trouble setting up the Linksys router as well, since the setup wizard refused to acknowledge the fact that I was connected to the Internet (even as I was surfing www.linksys.com), and kept punking out on me.
So eventually I called tech support and some nice Indian person talked me through the manual configuration of the router.
Once that was done I found that the USB adapter worked much better than the other router had, which is to say that it worked at all, and I was soon surfing the Web – wirelessly!
Next I cracked open the old computer and installed the USB 2.0 card without incident. I then hooked up the wireless adapter and was soon surfing the Web – wirelessly!
I ran into some stumbling blocks in getting the computers to make use of the wireless connection to actually communicate with each other, but that was mostly due to retardation on my part. Fortunately said retardation wasn't permanent, so I now officially have a wireless home network. It’s not secure as yet, though. I think I have the basic idea of what I need to do to make it secure, but I want to talk to some people about it first, so in the meantime anyone who’s within range of my network could piggyback on my connection.
There’s actually another network that's unsecure (And yes, that is the right word, not "insecure." In this case it means that anyone with wireless access can connect to the network, not that it has self-esteem issues or suffers from any kind of neuroses. So, in my case, I'm an insecure person who has an unsecure wireless network) somewhere nearby that I can connect to, though the signal strength is pretty low.
With the purchase of the router (the one I bought today), I finally came to the end of my recent spending spree.
That’s good, as I just remembered today that there’s a check I wrote that hasn’t cleared yet.
I would have had a ways to go before I would have been in trouble if the check cleared, but even so, it makes it clear that I need to rein in the spending.
The check that hasn’t cleared is actually for a “community education” cooking class that I’ll be taking (starting next week) along with Kathleen.
I’m hoping to add to the culinary skillset that I’ve developed on my own, and Kathleen is hoping to pick up some knowledge that will allow her to make edible meals, and thereby eliminate the need for her and Brian to eat out so often.
Oh yeah, and I’m also hoping to pick up some chicks, though note that I’m not turning blue from holding my breath on that score.
Kathleen and I had actually talked about trying to find some kind of cooking class a while back, but we were able to find any, which just baffled me.
I mean, with the extremely high incomes in this area, there are a lot of bored, rich housewives who would seem to be the perfect recruiting pool for such classes.
What made it even more puzzling was the stunning array of esoteric classes that were available. That old chestnut of off-the-wall classes, Underwater Basketweaving, isn’t half as bizarre as some of the courses I saw offered (most of which escape me now).
In any case, Kathleen did finally find one being offered in the area, so we signed up for it.
So next Tuesday evening Kathleen and I will be students of the culinary arts.
On a totally unrelated note, there are times when, holed up in my apartment, I forget just how close I am to the seat of power of not only this country, but arguably the world, and periodically I’ll get some reminder.
Like when we had stopped to eat when we left IKEA and Brian spotted “Marine One” (The President’s helicopter) flying overhead, or when we saw Secret Service agents pulling over trucks carrying any sort of containers on the Beltway.
Hell, just being on “The Beltway” at all is sort of an odd experience in and of itself.
For a small town boy such as myself it’s just strange to think that Washington D.C. is as nearby as the booming metropolis of Houghton was when I was growing up back in Twin Lakes (aka BFE). It’s kind of surreal.
Speaking of surreal and D.C., earlier today some fucktard parked a van by the gates of the White House and reported that he had fifteen gallons of gasoline that he was prepared to ignite. It wasn’t a terrorist act per se, but rather a form of protest, apparently. Evidently his daughter’s fiancé had been deported.
And here’s the thing; chances are that those of you who don’t live in this area already knew about this, since it would make the national news. There’s an e-mail I once saw that was a litany of humorous observations about life in Northern Virginia titled “You know you live in Northern Virginia when…” and one of them was “Your local news is the national news,” or something to that effect.
Hmm, looking at the details, it seems that the man was actually a fellow Michiganian (Or is it still Michigander [which is incredibly lame] at this point?).
I’ve never heard of the town he’s from, though.
Still, I wonder if he was a small-town boy like me who never imagined that he’d be in the center of it all at some point?
If so, the similarities end there, as I just can’t help but think that, even though it’s considerably less exciting, my quiet, subdued, and reclusive life here is a better approach to the whirling craziness at the political center of the world than threatening to blow shit up outside the President’s house...
Did I mention that the router was a refurb? I’ve had decent luck with refurbished items in the past, so, since the price was right, I figured “Why not?”
“Why not,” it turns out, is because the router wasn’t able to actually establish a solid connection with my cable modem.
So clearly the refurbishing didn’t leave it quite as furbished as it needed to be, and I was still lacking a router.
But I had the “network bug,” and since I was eager to see how well the USB wireless adapters would work, I decided to head to Wal-Mart and pick up a Linksys router.
I also picked up a USB 2.0 PCI card to put into the old computer, as I didn’t really have an available USB port for the wireless adapter.
After using up the remaining balances on my gift cards, my purchases ended up costing about $7 more than what I’d paid for the refurbished router (which I will be returning for a refund).
I initially had some trouble setting up the Linksys router as well, since the setup wizard refused to acknowledge the fact that I was connected to the Internet (even as I was surfing www.linksys.com), and kept punking out on me.
So eventually I called tech support and some nice Indian person talked me through the manual configuration of the router.
Once that was done I found that the USB adapter worked much better than the other router had, which is to say that it worked at all, and I was soon surfing the Web – wirelessly!
Next I cracked open the old computer and installed the USB 2.0 card without incident. I then hooked up the wireless adapter and was soon surfing the Web – wirelessly!
I ran into some stumbling blocks in getting the computers to make use of the wireless connection to actually communicate with each other, but that was mostly due to retardation on my part. Fortunately said retardation wasn't permanent, so I now officially have a wireless home network. It’s not secure as yet, though. I think I have the basic idea of what I need to do to make it secure, but I want to talk to some people about it first, so in the meantime anyone who’s within range of my network could piggyback on my connection.
There’s actually another network that's unsecure (And yes, that is the right word, not "insecure." In this case it means that anyone with wireless access can connect to the network, not that it has self-esteem issues or suffers from any kind of neuroses. So, in my case, I'm an insecure person who has an unsecure wireless network) somewhere nearby that I can connect to, though the signal strength is pretty low.
With the purchase of the router (the one I bought today), I finally came to the end of my recent spending spree.
That’s good, as I just remembered today that there’s a check I wrote that hasn’t cleared yet.
I would have had a ways to go before I would have been in trouble if the check cleared, but even so, it makes it clear that I need to rein in the spending.
The check that hasn’t cleared is actually for a “community education” cooking class that I’ll be taking (starting next week) along with Kathleen.
I’m hoping to add to the culinary skillset that I’ve developed on my own, and Kathleen is hoping to pick up some knowledge that will allow her to make edible meals, and thereby eliminate the need for her and Brian to eat out so often.
Oh yeah, and I’m also hoping to pick up some chicks, though note that I’m not turning blue from holding my breath on that score.
Kathleen and I had actually talked about trying to find some kind of cooking class a while back, but we were able to find any, which just baffled me.
I mean, with the extremely high incomes in this area, there are a lot of bored, rich housewives who would seem to be the perfect recruiting pool for such classes.
What made it even more puzzling was the stunning array of esoteric classes that were available. That old chestnut of off-the-wall classes, Underwater Basketweaving, isn’t half as bizarre as some of the courses I saw offered (most of which escape me now).
In any case, Kathleen did finally find one being offered in the area, so we signed up for it.
So next Tuesday evening Kathleen and I will be students of the culinary arts.
On a totally unrelated note, there are times when, holed up in my apartment, I forget just how close I am to the seat of power of not only this country, but arguably the world, and periodically I’ll get some reminder.
Like when we had stopped to eat when we left IKEA and Brian spotted “Marine One” (The President’s helicopter) flying overhead, or when we saw Secret Service agents pulling over trucks carrying any sort of containers on the Beltway.
Hell, just being on “The Beltway” at all is sort of an odd experience in and of itself.
For a small town boy such as myself it’s just strange to think that Washington D.C. is as nearby as the booming metropolis of Houghton was when I was growing up back in Twin Lakes (aka BFE). It’s kind of surreal.
Speaking of surreal and D.C., earlier today some fucktard parked a van by the gates of the White House and reported that he had fifteen gallons of gasoline that he was prepared to ignite. It wasn’t a terrorist act per se, but rather a form of protest, apparently. Evidently his daughter’s fiancé had been deported.
And here’s the thing; chances are that those of you who don’t live in this area already knew about this, since it would make the national news. There’s an e-mail I once saw that was a litany of humorous observations about life in Northern Virginia titled “You know you live in Northern Virginia when…” and one of them was “Your local news is the national news,” or something to that effect.
Hmm, looking at the details, it seems that the man was actually a fellow Michiganian (Or is it still Michigander [which is incredibly lame] at this point?).
I’ve never heard of the town he’s from, though.
Still, I wonder if he was a small-town boy like me who never imagined that he’d be in the center of it all at some point?
If so, the similarities end there, as I just can’t help but think that, even though it’s considerably less exciting, my quiet, subdued, and reclusive life here is a better approach to the whirling craziness at the political center of the world than threatening to blow shit up outside the President’s house...
Monday, January 17, 2005
Adventures In Mass-Produced Carpentry or How To Blast Through Extra Holiday Pay In a Hurry
So today was eventful (and a little pricey).
My original plan had been to catch a matinee of Elektra, but that didn’t pan out, as I ended up going to IKEA with Brian and Kathleen instead.
We had gone there last Thursday but ended up not buying anything (though Kathleen did buy a pink pillow, and today she bought a companion pillow for it) and resolving to head back sometime this week.
Sometime, as mentioned, ended up being today.
The main reason I wanted to go to IKEA - and let me just say that the place is absolutely overwhelming, both in terms of its size and its content – was to pick up a new computer desk.
My old desk had been rather shoddily put together, and after two years I basically just didn’t want it anymore.
As for the “shoddily put together” thing, in fairness to myself, I did, initially, put it together fairly well, but in the process of moving it into place it fell over, causing some structural defects to crop up.
Even so, it had been my intention to try to keep the old desk after assembling the new one, minus the damaged hutch component at least, for use with my old computer.
On Friday I purchased a wireless router online (which is, according to the tracking information, currently just a few miles away, so I should be getting it tomorrow), so I’m going to finally create a network and make use of my still useful old computer. Having a desk to put the old computer on would have been a plus (currently I have it on the bar/counter between my kitchen and dining room), but alas, the desk just couldn’t hold it together.
Based on the experience I had two years ago putting the old desk together, I had expected putting this one together to drive me to the brink of insanity. It turns out the desk was a cakewalk, especially in contrast to another project I tackled today.
On the way back from IKEA, we stopped at Best Buy so that I could pick up some RAM for my computer. I figured that, since I was going to have to disassemble everything anyway I might as well take the opportunity to crack open the computer and upgrade the memory (from 512 MB to 1 GB).
I got a hell of a deal on the memory, on sale for $80 with a $30 mail-in rebate.
So after Brian and Kathleen brought me home and helped me haul my new desk up to my apartment (which I’m sure was a real blast for Brian, who’s been having trouble with his leg), I cracked open the computer and uttered an oath.
No, I don’t mean that I made a vow, I mean that I swore. A lot.
The layout of my computer’s innards was about as far from being conducive to making RAM upgrades easy as is possible. There were all sorts of wires and cables in the way, and given that my overall dexterity isn’t exactly anything to write home about when there isn’t a bunch of shit in my way, this made snapping the DIMM into place quite a challenge.
And by “challenge” I mean it sucked ass.
Ultimately I got the DIMM in place, and so I turned the computer on to ensure that everything was working properly.
Or rather, I tried to turn the computer on. Hitting the power button caused the light to flicker, but little else.
I went back to work on the DIMM, taking it out, testing to see if the computer turned on once it was removed (it did), then trying to put it back in once again.
This time, though I was reluctant to do so, I removed some of the power cables, to make it slightly easier to access the DIMM slot. I thought I could remember where the cables plugged in.
I was mistaken.
Still, the computer turned on despite the fact that I didn’t have all of the cables hooked up properly.
However, my computer was still only showing 512 MB of RAM installed, and my CD-ROM drive wasn’t showing up in the list of drives.
Sighing, I decided to just give up and bring it in to Best Buy to have them make sure the RAM was seated right and to reconnect any and all necessary cables.
They did (To the tune of $59. So much for the savings from the sale and the rebate.), and I returned home and tackled the desk.
As mentioned, putting the desk together was pretty easy, despite the fact that IKEA provides the worst instructions ever.
Essentially, the instructions only provide visual cues without any kind of labels for the parts, and the illustrations were less than stellar.
So it was a bit of a puzzle, but ultimately I finished it.
Afterwards it took a while to figure out just how I wanted to have it set up. I’m not entirely happy with the decision I ultimately made, though I do like the fact that it provides me with easy access to the mess of cables and wires sticking out the back of my computer. The desire to have said easy access was actually one of the reasons I wanted a new desk.
In any case, that was pretty much my day in a nutshell.
Ideally I’ll be able to get back into the swing of making more typical (and regular) updates this week (as well as take in a matinee of Elektra), but that’s it for now.
My original plan had been to catch a matinee of Elektra, but that didn’t pan out, as I ended up going to IKEA with Brian and Kathleen instead.
We had gone there last Thursday but ended up not buying anything (though Kathleen did buy a pink pillow, and today she bought a companion pillow for it) and resolving to head back sometime this week.
Sometime, as mentioned, ended up being today.
The main reason I wanted to go to IKEA - and let me just say that the place is absolutely overwhelming, both in terms of its size and its content – was to pick up a new computer desk.
My old desk had been rather shoddily put together, and after two years I basically just didn’t want it anymore.
As for the “shoddily put together” thing, in fairness to myself, I did, initially, put it together fairly well, but in the process of moving it into place it fell over, causing some structural defects to crop up.
Even so, it had been my intention to try to keep the old desk after assembling the new one, minus the damaged hutch component at least, for use with my old computer.
On Friday I purchased a wireless router online (which is, according to the tracking information, currently just a few miles away, so I should be getting it tomorrow), so I’m going to finally create a network and make use of my still useful old computer. Having a desk to put the old computer on would have been a plus (currently I have it on the bar/counter between my kitchen and dining room), but alas, the desk just couldn’t hold it together.
Based on the experience I had two years ago putting the old desk together, I had expected putting this one together to drive me to the brink of insanity. It turns out the desk was a cakewalk, especially in contrast to another project I tackled today.
On the way back from IKEA, we stopped at Best Buy so that I could pick up some RAM for my computer. I figured that, since I was going to have to disassemble everything anyway I might as well take the opportunity to crack open the computer and upgrade the memory (from 512 MB to 1 GB).
I got a hell of a deal on the memory, on sale for $80 with a $30 mail-in rebate.
So after Brian and Kathleen brought me home and helped me haul my new desk up to my apartment (which I’m sure was a real blast for Brian, who’s been having trouble with his leg), I cracked open the computer and uttered an oath.
No, I don’t mean that I made a vow, I mean that I swore. A lot.
The layout of my computer’s innards was about as far from being conducive to making RAM upgrades easy as is possible. There were all sorts of wires and cables in the way, and given that my overall dexterity isn’t exactly anything to write home about when there isn’t a bunch of shit in my way, this made snapping the DIMM into place quite a challenge.
And by “challenge” I mean it sucked ass.
Ultimately I got the DIMM in place, and so I turned the computer on to ensure that everything was working properly.
Or rather, I tried to turn the computer on. Hitting the power button caused the light to flicker, but little else.
I went back to work on the DIMM, taking it out, testing to see if the computer turned on once it was removed (it did), then trying to put it back in once again.
This time, though I was reluctant to do so, I removed some of the power cables, to make it slightly easier to access the DIMM slot. I thought I could remember where the cables plugged in.
I was mistaken.
Still, the computer turned on despite the fact that I didn’t have all of the cables hooked up properly.
However, my computer was still only showing 512 MB of RAM installed, and my CD-ROM drive wasn’t showing up in the list of drives.
Sighing, I decided to just give up and bring it in to Best Buy to have them make sure the RAM was seated right and to reconnect any and all necessary cables.
They did (To the tune of $59. So much for the savings from the sale and the rebate.), and I returned home and tackled the desk.
As mentioned, putting the desk together was pretty easy, despite the fact that IKEA provides the worst instructions ever.
Essentially, the instructions only provide visual cues without any kind of labels for the parts, and the illustrations were less than stellar.
So it was a bit of a puzzle, but ultimately I finished it.
Afterwards it took a while to figure out just how I wanted to have it set up. I’m not entirely happy with the decision I ultimately made, though I do like the fact that it provides me with easy access to the mess of cables and wires sticking out the back of my computer. The desire to have said easy access was actually one of the reasons I wanted a new desk.
In any case, that was pretty much my day in a nutshell.
Ideally I’ll be able to get back into the swing of making more typical (and regular) updates this week (as well as take in a matinee of Elektra), but that’s it for now.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Not Quite Enough Bang For The Buck
Have I ever mentioned what a wonderful cable company Adelphia is? Well, it really is a wonderful company that provides service unlike any other.
The level of Adelphia's commitment to quality is evident...in the fact that it went bankrupt.
So yeah, Adelphia provides service unlike any other company. Any other successful, financially solvent company, that is.
*Sigh* Cable went out again this week from Tuesday afternoon to today, leaving me without Internet access and therefore unable to post any updates.
I actually have to venture out into the world shortly, so even though I'm back online now there probably won't be much more in the way of updates for this week.
Still, I thought I'd at least share this:
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This is a picture of Jessica Simpson, done in yet another attempt at creating that Pseudo-Nagel/Comic Book style that I've been toying around with for months.
This particular image comes closest to what I'm looking for, but in rendering the image I realized that unless I make some sort of breakthrough, creating images in this style, somewhat surprisingly, I think, involves a LOT of work; a lot more than can be justified by the end result.
For the amount of time and effort I put into this image I'm just not seeing the payoff, so I guess I'll have to go back to my more traditional style.
I will eventually finish that picture of Jessica as Daisy Duke that I mentioned last week, but as mentioned, this one took up a lot of my time.
Anyway, sorry I was unable to provide much in the way of entries this week. Hopefully next week will be better.
The level of Adelphia's commitment to quality is evident...in the fact that it went bankrupt.
So yeah, Adelphia provides service unlike any other company. Any other successful, financially solvent company, that is.
*Sigh* Cable went out again this week from Tuesday afternoon to today, leaving me without Internet access and therefore unable to post any updates.
I actually have to venture out into the world shortly, so even though I'm back online now there probably won't be much more in the way of updates for this week.
Still, I thought I'd at least share this:
.jpg)
This is a picture of Jessica Simpson, done in yet another attempt at creating that Pseudo-Nagel/Comic Book style that I've been toying around with for months.
This particular image comes closest to what I'm looking for, but in rendering the image I realized that unless I make some sort of breakthrough, creating images in this style, somewhat surprisingly, I think, involves a LOT of work; a lot more than can be justified by the end result.
For the amount of time and effort I put into this image I'm just not seeing the payoff, so I guess I'll have to go back to my more traditional style.
I will eventually finish that picture of Jessica as Daisy Duke that I mentioned last week, but as mentioned, this one took up a lot of my time.
Anyway, sorry I was unable to provide much in the way of entries this week. Hopefully next week will be better.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Normally I dream to escape reality, not vice versa...
So the weekend was pretty typical. Work, sleep, work, etc.
Today wasn’t especially unusual, either.
I did sleep in kind of late, though that seems to be fairly typical lately, so even that wasn’t terribly unusual.
I had an unusual and rather distressing dream shortly before I woke up. The details are fuzzy, but it involved being back home in Michigan and getting arrested for drunk driving, as, apparently, I had gone home and begun drinking again.
In any case, while in jail I became involved in a jailbreak headed up by some sort of dangerous felon with the assistance of his girlfriend.
We obviously needed to get out of town in a hurry, but along the way we had stopped somewhere to pick up a few things for the road.
I went into the store with the girlfriend while the felon waited in the car.
The guy working the register was incredibly chatty, so it took forever for him to ring her up, though eventually she paid for her stuff and headed out to the car, leaving me to deal with the chatty guy while I tried to pay for the things that I needed (just things like chips and water and so forth).
While I was in the store, I considered picking up a pack of cigarettes, since, you know, why not? I mean, I had started drinking again, and I was a fugitive, so what difference could it possibly make? Even so, though, I ultimately chose to remain nicotine-free.
After an ungodly amount of time spent listening to the guy's interminable babbling I finally got out of the store only to find that my fellow escapee and his girlfriend had left without me.
I sat down on a curb and the full weight of my situation began to sink in.
I couldn’t really see myself living as a fugitive, so I considered just turning myself in, as my involvement with the escape, apparently, was largely involuntary, but then I realized that this would actually be my third drunk driving offense, which would be very bad indeed.
So it was very much a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” circumstance, and as you can probably imagine I was greatly relieved when I woke up and eventually realized that it was just a dream.
That did take a little while, though. I ran several checks of my recent memories to verify that I had not been arrested before I finally relaxed.
Beyond that, not much of note occurred today. I got up, sat around, showered, walked over to Safeway to pick up a few things, came home, sat around, walked over to the Chinese restaurant across the street and bought some Sesame Chicken, came home, ate, and now here we are.
I finally decided that in response to their cancellation of “Dead Like Me” I would cancel Showtime.
So I called my cable company to do just that.
Because of the nature of the “package” system Adelphia uses I knew there was a possibility that canceling Showtime would actually raise my rates, but I was prepared to tough it out (assuming it didn’t raise them too much).
However, in addition to actually costing more, in order to cancel Showtime (along with The Movie Channel), I would have also had to give up another movie channel in order to switch to one of the other packages.
So ultimately it would have been too much of a hassle, and I opted not to cancel.
It annoys me, though, as I really wish that there was some way I could punish Showtime in a way that would not ultimately do more harm to me than it would to them.
I am really pissed about the whole thing, though. I mean, what do ratings matter to Showtime anyway? They don’t sell advertising. Their revenue is entirely based on subscriptions. Whether I watch any of their programming or not, they’re still getting my dime, so who cares how many people watch a show? Besides, as evidenced from sales of the Season One DVD and from the fact that over 11,000 people signed the “Save DLM” petition, the show has a following.
Further, Showtime has shown its commitment to its latest original series “Huff” by guaranteeing it a second season, despite its extremely low ratings, and the fact that, unlike DLM, it hasn't really even created a loyal following.
“Huff” is an okay show, but it’s no DLM, and for my part I’ve decided to stop watching it.
It’s a cop-out, I know, but it’s pretty much the only option I have, since I really don’t want to have to lose channels that I do still watch (and pay more money every month than I already do) to make a gesture that’s largely symbolic anyway, as the loss of one subscriber will have zero impact on Showtime’s bottom line.
As far as DLM itself goes, the WB is seriously considering picking up the series. I’m operating on the belief that something is better than nothing on that score, but I worry about the changes that would necessarily come about from making the move to a broadcast network from a premium cable channel.
At the very least, I hope that Ellen Muth, the unconventionally attractive young actress who starred in the lead role of Georgia “George” Lass on DLM, survives all of this and that we see a lot more of her in the future, whether on DLM (which would be the ideal) or not.
In another area of the entertainment industry, it was announced on Friday that Kevin Spacey will be filling the role of Lex Luthor in the upcoming Superman movie, and Kate Bosworth will be playing Lois Lane.
I like Spacey, so I think he’ll do okay. Kate Bosworth is very cute, but she gives off too much of a nice girl vibe to properly play Lois, I think. I could be wrong, I guess, but I don’t really have high hopes for the movie (despite the fact that it’s being directed by Brian Singer, who did more than okay with the “X-Men” movies), so her casting in it isn’t really that much of an issue.
Honestly, though, I would have like to have seen Erica Durance, who plays Lois on “Smallville,” step into the role on the big screen. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m absolutely floored by how well she fits the role. As Comic Book Guy might say, “Best Lois Ever.”
Oh yeah, and relative unknown Brandon Routh is playing the part of Superman himself. Having never seen his work, I can’t really comment on his fitness for the role, but, as mentioned, I don’t really have high hopes for the movie anyway.
In any case, I think that does it for today’s entry. There are a few other things I’ve been meaning to write about, but I guess I’ll save them for another day.
Today wasn’t especially unusual, either.
I did sleep in kind of late, though that seems to be fairly typical lately, so even that wasn’t terribly unusual.
I had an unusual and rather distressing dream shortly before I woke up. The details are fuzzy, but it involved being back home in Michigan and getting arrested for drunk driving, as, apparently, I had gone home and begun drinking again.
In any case, while in jail I became involved in a jailbreak headed up by some sort of dangerous felon with the assistance of his girlfriend.
We obviously needed to get out of town in a hurry, but along the way we had stopped somewhere to pick up a few things for the road.
I went into the store with the girlfriend while the felon waited in the car.
The guy working the register was incredibly chatty, so it took forever for him to ring her up, though eventually she paid for her stuff and headed out to the car, leaving me to deal with the chatty guy while I tried to pay for the things that I needed (just things like chips and water and so forth).
While I was in the store, I considered picking up a pack of cigarettes, since, you know, why not? I mean, I had started drinking again, and I was a fugitive, so what difference could it possibly make? Even so, though, I ultimately chose to remain nicotine-free.
After an ungodly amount of time spent listening to the guy's interminable babbling I finally got out of the store only to find that my fellow escapee and his girlfriend had left without me.
I sat down on a curb and the full weight of my situation began to sink in.
I couldn’t really see myself living as a fugitive, so I considered just turning myself in, as my involvement with the escape, apparently, was largely involuntary, but then I realized that this would actually be my third drunk driving offense, which would be very bad indeed.
So it was very much a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” circumstance, and as you can probably imagine I was greatly relieved when I woke up and eventually realized that it was just a dream.
That did take a little while, though. I ran several checks of my recent memories to verify that I had not been arrested before I finally relaxed.
Beyond that, not much of note occurred today. I got up, sat around, showered, walked over to Safeway to pick up a few things, came home, sat around, walked over to the Chinese restaurant across the street and bought some Sesame Chicken, came home, ate, and now here we are.
I finally decided that in response to their cancellation of “Dead Like Me” I would cancel Showtime.
So I called my cable company to do just that.
Because of the nature of the “package” system Adelphia uses I knew there was a possibility that canceling Showtime would actually raise my rates, but I was prepared to tough it out (assuming it didn’t raise them too much).
However, in addition to actually costing more, in order to cancel Showtime (along with The Movie Channel), I would have also had to give up another movie channel in order to switch to one of the other packages.
So ultimately it would have been too much of a hassle, and I opted not to cancel.
It annoys me, though, as I really wish that there was some way I could punish Showtime in a way that would not ultimately do more harm to me than it would to them.
I am really pissed about the whole thing, though. I mean, what do ratings matter to Showtime anyway? They don’t sell advertising. Their revenue is entirely based on subscriptions. Whether I watch any of their programming or not, they’re still getting my dime, so who cares how many people watch a show? Besides, as evidenced from sales of the Season One DVD and from the fact that over 11,000 people signed the “Save DLM” petition, the show has a following.
Further, Showtime has shown its commitment to its latest original series “Huff” by guaranteeing it a second season, despite its extremely low ratings, and the fact that, unlike DLM, it hasn't really even created a loyal following.
“Huff” is an okay show, but it’s no DLM, and for my part I’ve decided to stop watching it.
It’s a cop-out, I know, but it’s pretty much the only option I have, since I really don’t want to have to lose channels that I do still watch (and pay more money every month than I already do) to make a gesture that’s largely symbolic anyway, as the loss of one subscriber will have zero impact on Showtime’s bottom line.
As far as DLM itself goes, the WB is seriously considering picking up the series. I’m operating on the belief that something is better than nothing on that score, but I worry about the changes that would necessarily come about from making the move to a broadcast network from a premium cable channel.
At the very least, I hope that Ellen Muth, the unconventionally attractive young actress who starred in the lead role of Georgia “George” Lass on DLM, survives all of this and that we see a lot more of her in the future, whether on DLM (which would be the ideal) or not.
In another area of the entertainment industry, it was announced on Friday that Kevin Spacey will be filling the role of Lex Luthor in the upcoming Superman movie, and Kate Bosworth will be playing Lois Lane.
I like Spacey, so I think he’ll do okay. Kate Bosworth is very cute, but she gives off too much of a nice girl vibe to properly play Lois, I think. I could be wrong, I guess, but I don’t really have high hopes for the movie (despite the fact that it’s being directed by Brian Singer, who did more than okay with the “X-Men” movies), so her casting in it isn’t really that much of an issue.
Honestly, though, I would have like to have seen Erica Durance, who plays Lois on “Smallville,” step into the role on the big screen. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m absolutely floored by how well she fits the role. As Comic Book Guy might say, “Best Lois Ever.”
Oh yeah, and relative unknown Brandon Routh is playing the part of Superman himself. Having never seen his work, I can’t really comment on his fitness for the role, but, as mentioned, I don’t really have high hopes for the movie anyway.
In any case, I think that does it for today’s entry. There are a few other things I’ve been meaning to write about, but I guess I’ll save them for another day.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
The Etymology of Days, The Conspiracy Strikes Again, Check This!,and 5'3" of PURE HOTNESS
So it’s Thursday.
Thursday is, of course, named for Thor, the Norse god of thunder, son of Odin (also known as Wotan, or Woden, along with many other names, though it’s “Woden” that “Wednesday” is named for).
The names of days of the week have rather an odd hodgepodge of sources.
Four of them draw their names from Norse mythology (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday), one comes from Greco-Roman mythology (Saturday), and two come from entirely non-mythological sources (Sunday and Monday).
Of course, that’s hardly surprising considering that the English language itself has an odd hodgepodge of sources, one of the most notable of which is actually Danish (specifically in the form of the Vikings who established Danelaw in England in the 9th Century) , which serves as the primary source of our Norse-flavored words and names for the days of the week. One other big contribution the Danes made to the language is the reflexive pronoun (himself, herself, itself, yourself), the usage of which Microsoft Word usually finds objectionable.
I would imagine that right about now you’re wondering if there’s any point to this beyond my demonstrating the fact that I actually remember some stuff I learned in college, and right about now I would have to say, no, there isn’t.
There are probably a bunch of other things I could (and in some cases, should) be doing right now, but I’ve elected to do this, though I’ve done so without having any particular subject that I feel like writing about.
You, unfortunately, are left to pay the price for my lack of preparation or purpose.
In any case, this particular Thor’s Day started a little after 8 am when I woke up to discover that it was a little after 8 am. I thought about getting up, but the thought was quickly cast aside as I drifted peacefully back to sleep.
As I slept I had a dream that it was actually Saturn’s Day morning, and that it was shortly before 10 am, and, in my dream as in reality, I was lying in bed sleeping peacefully.
Unfortunately, if I were, in fact, sleeping peacefully at a little before 10 am on a Saturday (I’m dropping the whole source names thing as of now) that would make me nearly four hours late for work.
So, in my dream, my peaceful sleep was shattered as I awoke in a panic, wondering why no one had called me to ask me why I wasn’t at work.
Specifically, I was wondering why, in their best imitation of Gary Cole in “Office Space,” the people at work weren’t calling to inform me that it’s “not a half day or anything.”
As is always the case in any dream I have about being late, my panicky attempts to get dressed and on my way in order to make up as much time as possible were consistently stymied by various recalcitrant clothing items such as socks that refuse to get on my feet, pants on which the leg seems to move, and so forth, and as I stumbled my way along I became increasingly tardy.
Eventually the various delays got to such a point of ridiculousness that I realized that even I don’t have luck that bad, so, therefore, I must be dreaming.
Such proved to be the case, and I opened my eyes to see that it was, in fact, now nearly 10 am, though it remained Thursday, and so I was not late for work.
Still, I opted to get up anyway.
In some fashion I managed to do not much of anything for nearly three hours before finally resolving to go out into the world and pick up a few things.
I drove down to Giant to pick said things up. Since I’m largely broke (thanks to my fun adventure with Sprint last week), I took some money out of my savings to get the things I needed, as tomorrow is payday, so sometime tonight the amount I took out will be automatically replaced.
I don’t often eat fast food these days. The most common circumstance in which you might find me eating fast food would be if I were at work and had, for whatever reason, neglected to bring a lunch. Even in those circumstances, though, we all tend to go for Chinese food much more frequently than fast food.
In any case, as I was a bit hungry, and was in close proximity to McDonald’s, I opted to toss my meager groceries into my car and walk over to the Golden Arches.
Since it was a rare instance of nutritional naughtiness during the week, I decided to go all out and get a Double Quarter Pounder (though why they don’t simply call it the Half Pounder is beyond me).
I was in line behind two people who were, quite possibly members of the ICPWCIFTTJWTLA (International Conspiracy of People Who Congregate In Front of Things That Jon Wants To Look At), or they may just have been random idiots.
In any case, the fact of the matter was that they slowed me down considerably.
The first, an older man, had apparently just crawled out from underneath a rock for the first time in his life and, as his first order of business, walked into a McDonald’s where he utterly failed to grasp the basic concepts of ordering food. Worse, because he apparently had become desperately lonely in his time spent under a rock, he was starved for human contact and attempted to engage the woman working behind the counter in conversation.
This effort was doomed from the start, as they didn’t speak the same language. Still, he persevered for quite some time before finally figuring out that it wasn’t working and that the people behind him were prepared to murder him if he didn’t just order some damn food and get the hell out of the way.
Once he was out of the way the incredibly skinny shaven-headed manboy in front of me went up and placed his order. It’s worth noting that the manboy represents the exact demographic that McDonald’s is trying to appeal to with its “Value Menu,” as he proceeded to pay for his small drink, small fries, and cheeseburger with change he no doubt collected from the folds of a couch in a dentist office’s waiting area.
Since neither manboy nor the woman behind the counter had ever properly mastered the art of counting, this took a while.
Eventually I got my turn, and in stark contrast to the people who came before me I was a model of efficiency as I barked out “Number 3, no onions, for here.”
Bam! Gave her the money, got my change, the entire exchange taking approximately 35 seconds.
For some reason various chairs throughout the place had helium-filled balloons tied to them. Such was the case with the chair I sat in. When I’d finished eating and grabbed my jacket from off the back of the chair said balloon managed to get caught and forced me to wriggle awkwardly to get it out from where it was lodged between my back and my jacket. Accomplishing that I turned toward the table to grab my tray and I actually heard the “ding!” of my head banging against the hanging light fixture before I felt it.
Yep, look up the words “Smooth” and “Suave” in the dictionary and you’re bound to see my picture…
Once I got into my car and started it up I noted that the “Check Engine” light was off once again.
The light comes on whenever I’m idling for an extended period of time, such as at a long stoplight, or behind several people at a four-way stop, though it used to come on whenever I would think, “Well, at least my ‘Check Engine’ light isn’t on,” or something similar.
In any case, once it does come on it stays on until it rains or is at least damp out, or the temperature dips below freezing. Typically, even on a drizzly, miserable day like today (as was the case), the light will initially come on when I start the car up for the first time, but if I drive somewhere and leave it parked for a period of time, then start it up, the light will be off.
I’m not sure what the connection to the relative humidity of the air is, though I’ve determined that the reason it ever goes off is simply so that it can come back on again at some point.
If it were always on, I’d stop noticing. This way it can always manage to grab my attention.
As far as I can determine, there is no actual performance issue associated with the light. My car basically runs the same as it always has, so I tend not to worry about it, though it does irritate me.
I’ve been doing some work on another Jessica Simpson “Daisy Duke” picture, but it’s been a little tricky. The source image is HUGE. It’s an extremely high-res picture, which is good, but simply having it open eats up a lot of system resources, so there tends to be a little bit of a lag with my drawing tools.
Also, I’ve been playing around with different techniques (with varying results), so that’s been affecting my progress.
I was actually reading some of the IMDb message boards for the “Dukes of Hazzard” movie yesterday. I really shouldn’t read message boards, especially at IMDb, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
In any case, some of the posters were using terms such as “criminal” in reference to the casting/the fact that the movie is being made at all, and were talking about how everyone associated with the film ought to be raped and murdered, and not necessarily in that order.
Seriously. People were getting that upset about a “Dukes of Hazzard” movie.
I tend to get pretty passionate about comic book movies, but as much animosity as I feel towards Tim Burton and the others who followed him for the “Batman” travesties, for example, I don’t feel that they should be brought up on criminal charges, or, in fact, physically injured, and I certainly wouldn’t create a login to an Internet message board solely to suggest either.
Hell, as much as I love “Dead Like Me” you still don’t see me calling for the head of Showtime’s president on a pike or anything (although…no, never mind).
Even so, in the case of the brilliant and critically-acclaimed DLM or in the case of Batman, who is an enduring, iconic figure in popular culture, such passion is much more justifiable than it is in the case of The Dukes of Friggin’ Hazzard.
Most of the ire seems to be centered on Jessica Simpson being cast in the role of Daisy.
Honestly, the casting of Stifler and Jackass (Sean-whatever-his-name-is from “American Pie” and Johnny Knoxville) in the roles of Bo and Luke seems much more bothersome to me.
I’ll admit it; I used to like the TV series.
Then I turned 8.
Still, I went through much of the early days of my adolescence during the TV show’s run, and, as she did for many boys my age, Daisy Duke figured prominently into said adolescence, so I can see how she would have something in the way of iconic status, and would, as such, be a point of contention for some people when it comes to casting.
I just don’t happen to be one of those people.
Some of the pundits attack Jessica Simpson’s intelligence and her talent. These may be valid complaints; I honestly couldn’t say. I’ve heard that she’s said a lot of dumb things on her reality series, which I've never watched, and she hasn’t exactly delivered Oscar-caliber performances in her Pizza Hut or Liquid Ice commercials.
That said, however, the role of Daisy Duke isn’t exactly what you’d call challenging or complex. There’s not a lot of depth to the characterization. I'm sure that, at the heart of it all, Daisy is a real, feeling human being, with needs, desires, and drives, but basically she’s just there to look good in short shorts and a tight shirt.
Whether or not, for example, she keeps a journal in which she writes poetry of amazing depth and complexity demonstrating her innate and incisive understanding of the human condition, or she is considering the intricacies of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle as she stands there wearing a bikini in order to distract Cletus is utterly irrelevant. Her entire function is to be hot.
Now, as I’ve said, I can’t really attest to Jessica Simpson’s intelligence or talent, but I can tell you this: she’s hot.
I would have to say that I think she’s perfectly capable of standing around and looking good in short shorts and a tight shirt.
Now some people think it’s some sort of insult to the memory of Catherine Bach, as if she would be spinning in her grave (If she were dead. Is she dead? Who knows, or, more importantly, who cares? She must be like 100 by now, and therefore shouldn't get anywhere near short shorts or tight shirts.) to see someone “ruining” the role she created.
As mentioned, the role of Daisy Duke is not especially complex. Basically any hot chick could play it, or could have played it. With all due respect to Catherine Bach, any other random hot chick of the day could have filled her shorts. Erin Gray? Sure. Loni Anderson? Of course. All that Catherin Bach really had going for her back in 1979 was that nobody knew who she was, and therefore she would be cheap. She didn’t have to draw on any sort of special training or techniques as a thespian to stand around looking good in short shorts and a tight shirt. This isn’t some subtly nuanced Ibsen character we're talking about; this is Daisy Duke. Short shorts, tight shirt.
Besides, again, with all due respect, Jessica Simpson is like 17,000 times hotter than Catherine Bach ever was on her best day.
To anyone who’s bitching about Jessica Simpson “ruining” this movie, I would have to ask, have you ever actually seen Jessica Simpson?
I mean, come on. She’s so freakin’ hot that there was no hotness left over for her sister Ashlee because she had absorbed it all. (“Sorry Ashlee; I’m afraid there’s no hotness left. Your sister took it all, so unfortunately you’ll have to go through life looking like that. If you can avoid it, never be seen in public with your sister, as it will just make you look that much worse. Also, I’d advise that you never sing at the Orange Bowl.”)
Every curvy inch of Jessica Simpson is jam-packed with hotness. Why do you think her boobs are so big? They’re stuffed with hotness.
I would suspect that she was put on earth for no other purpose than to look good in short shorts and a tight shirt, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to discover that was exactly what God had in mind when He created her.
As mentioned, one of Daisy’s principle responsibilities is to use her extreme hotness to distract deputies like Cletus (or Enos, depending on which one they go with in the movie), and I think that Jessica is definitely up to that task as well. She’s got the kind of extreme hotness that can not only distract men, but can actually render them retarded.
In the picture that I mentioned working on (and which I mentioned having some difficulty with) Jessica, as Daisy, is wearing a bikini and I have to tell you that…umm…sorry, my mind drifted. Where was I? Oh yeah, Jessica Simpson in a bikini…and…
Ahem. Now you see why I’m having so much trouble finishing the picture...
In any case, all of the “Dukes” freaks out there need to relax, sit back, and think, “Jessica Simpson in short shorts and a tight shirt.” Repeat it over and over like a mantra, and soon you’ll forget all about Catherine Bach and her tremendous acting talent and the amazing depth she brought to her characterization of Daisy Duke.
Or, you know, just go out and murder the guys from the “Broken Lizard” comedy troupe (the people who brought the world “Super Troopers” and “Club Dread”) who are making the movie, as you seem to think needs to be done. Either way.
In any case, this entry is definitely in the “long-ass” category, so I think that I’ll wrap things up for this, the first week of 2005. I want to try to get some work done on that picture. You know, the one of Jessica Simpson in a bikini that…umm….
Thursday is, of course, named for Thor, the Norse god of thunder, son of Odin (also known as Wotan, or Woden, along with many other names, though it’s “Woden” that “Wednesday” is named for).
The names of days of the week have rather an odd hodgepodge of sources.
Four of them draw their names from Norse mythology (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday), one comes from Greco-Roman mythology (Saturday), and two come from entirely non-mythological sources (Sunday and Monday).
Of course, that’s hardly surprising considering that the English language itself has an odd hodgepodge of sources, one of the most notable of which is actually Danish (specifically in the form of the Vikings who established Danelaw in England in the 9th Century) , which serves as the primary source of our Norse-flavored words and names for the days of the week. One other big contribution the Danes made to the language is the reflexive pronoun (himself, herself, itself, yourself), the usage of which Microsoft Word usually finds objectionable.
I would imagine that right about now you’re wondering if there’s any point to this beyond my demonstrating the fact that I actually remember some stuff I learned in college, and right about now I would have to say, no, there isn’t.
There are probably a bunch of other things I could (and in some cases, should) be doing right now, but I’ve elected to do this, though I’ve done so without having any particular subject that I feel like writing about.
You, unfortunately, are left to pay the price for my lack of preparation or purpose.
In any case, this particular Thor’s Day started a little after 8 am when I woke up to discover that it was a little after 8 am. I thought about getting up, but the thought was quickly cast aside as I drifted peacefully back to sleep.
As I slept I had a dream that it was actually Saturn’s Day morning, and that it was shortly before 10 am, and, in my dream as in reality, I was lying in bed sleeping peacefully.
Unfortunately, if I were, in fact, sleeping peacefully at a little before 10 am on a Saturday (I’m dropping the whole source names thing as of now) that would make me nearly four hours late for work.
So, in my dream, my peaceful sleep was shattered as I awoke in a panic, wondering why no one had called me to ask me why I wasn’t at work.
Specifically, I was wondering why, in their best imitation of Gary Cole in “Office Space,” the people at work weren’t calling to inform me that it’s “not a half day or anything.”
As is always the case in any dream I have about being late, my panicky attempts to get dressed and on my way in order to make up as much time as possible were consistently stymied by various recalcitrant clothing items such as socks that refuse to get on my feet, pants on which the leg seems to move, and so forth, and as I stumbled my way along I became increasingly tardy.
Eventually the various delays got to such a point of ridiculousness that I realized that even I don’t have luck that bad, so, therefore, I must be dreaming.
Such proved to be the case, and I opened my eyes to see that it was, in fact, now nearly 10 am, though it remained Thursday, and so I was not late for work.
Still, I opted to get up anyway.
In some fashion I managed to do not much of anything for nearly three hours before finally resolving to go out into the world and pick up a few things.
I drove down to Giant to pick said things up. Since I’m largely broke (thanks to my fun adventure with Sprint last week), I took some money out of my savings to get the things I needed, as tomorrow is payday, so sometime tonight the amount I took out will be automatically replaced.
I don’t often eat fast food these days. The most common circumstance in which you might find me eating fast food would be if I were at work and had, for whatever reason, neglected to bring a lunch. Even in those circumstances, though, we all tend to go for Chinese food much more frequently than fast food.
In any case, as I was a bit hungry, and was in close proximity to McDonald’s, I opted to toss my meager groceries into my car and walk over to the Golden Arches.
Since it was a rare instance of nutritional naughtiness during the week, I decided to go all out and get a Double Quarter Pounder (though why they don’t simply call it the Half Pounder is beyond me).
I was in line behind two people who were, quite possibly members of the ICPWCIFTTJWTLA (International Conspiracy of People Who Congregate In Front of Things That Jon Wants To Look At), or they may just have been random idiots.
In any case, the fact of the matter was that they slowed me down considerably.
The first, an older man, had apparently just crawled out from underneath a rock for the first time in his life and, as his first order of business, walked into a McDonald’s where he utterly failed to grasp the basic concepts of ordering food. Worse, because he apparently had become desperately lonely in his time spent under a rock, he was starved for human contact and attempted to engage the woman working behind the counter in conversation.
This effort was doomed from the start, as they didn’t speak the same language. Still, he persevered for quite some time before finally figuring out that it wasn’t working and that the people behind him were prepared to murder him if he didn’t just order some damn food and get the hell out of the way.
Once he was out of the way the incredibly skinny shaven-headed manboy in front of me went up and placed his order. It’s worth noting that the manboy represents the exact demographic that McDonald’s is trying to appeal to with its “Value Menu,” as he proceeded to pay for his small drink, small fries, and cheeseburger with change he no doubt collected from the folds of a couch in a dentist office’s waiting area.
Since neither manboy nor the woman behind the counter had ever properly mastered the art of counting, this took a while.
Eventually I got my turn, and in stark contrast to the people who came before me I was a model of efficiency as I barked out “Number 3, no onions, for here.”
Bam! Gave her the money, got my change, the entire exchange taking approximately 35 seconds.
For some reason various chairs throughout the place had helium-filled balloons tied to them. Such was the case with the chair I sat in. When I’d finished eating and grabbed my jacket from off the back of the chair said balloon managed to get caught and forced me to wriggle awkwardly to get it out from where it was lodged between my back and my jacket. Accomplishing that I turned toward the table to grab my tray and I actually heard the “ding!” of my head banging against the hanging light fixture before I felt it.
Yep, look up the words “Smooth” and “Suave” in the dictionary and you’re bound to see my picture…
Once I got into my car and started it up I noted that the “Check Engine” light was off once again.
The light comes on whenever I’m idling for an extended period of time, such as at a long stoplight, or behind several people at a four-way stop, though it used to come on whenever I would think, “Well, at least my ‘Check Engine’ light isn’t on,” or something similar.
In any case, once it does come on it stays on until it rains or is at least damp out, or the temperature dips below freezing. Typically, even on a drizzly, miserable day like today (as was the case), the light will initially come on when I start the car up for the first time, but if I drive somewhere and leave it parked for a period of time, then start it up, the light will be off.
I’m not sure what the connection to the relative humidity of the air is, though I’ve determined that the reason it ever goes off is simply so that it can come back on again at some point.
If it were always on, I’d stop noticing. This way it can always manage to grab my attention.
As far as I can determine, there is no actual performance issue associated with the light. My car basically runs the same as it always has, so I tend not to worry about it, though it does irritate me.
I’ve been doing some work on another Jessica Simpson “Daisy Duke” picture, but it’s been a little tricky. The source image is HUGE. It’s an extremely high-res picture, which is good, but simply having it open eats up a lot of system resources, so there tends to be a little bit of a lag with my drawing tools.
Also, I’ve been playing around with different techniques (with varying results), so that’s been affecting my progress.
I was actually reading some of the IMDb message boards for the “Dukes of Hazzard” movie yesterday. I really shouldn’t read message boards, especially at IMDb, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
In any case, some of the posters were using terms such as “criminal” in reference to the casting/the fact that the movie is being made at all, and were talking about how everyone associated with the film ought to be raped and murdered, and not necessarily in that order.
Seriously. People were getting that upset about a “Dukes of Hazzard” movie.
I tend to get pretty passionate about comic book movies, but as much animosity as I feel towards Tim Burton and the others who followed him for the “Batman” travesties, for example, I don’t feel that they should be brought up on criminal charges, or, in fact, physically injured, and I certainly wouldn’t create a login to an Internet message board solely to suggest either.
Hell, as much as I love “Dead Like Me” you still don’t see me calling for the head of Showtime’s president on a pike or anything (although…no, never mind).
Even so, in the case of the brilliant and critically-acclaimed DLM or in the case of Batman, who is an enduring, iconic figure in popular culture, such passion is much more justifiable than it is in the case of The Dukes of Friggin’ Hazzard.
Most of the ire seems to be centered on Jessica Simpson being cast in the role of Daisy.
Honestly, the casting of Stifler and Jackass (Sean-whatever-his-name-is from “American Pie” and Johnny Knoxville) in the roles of Bo and Luke seems much more bothersome to me.
I’ll admit it; I used to like the TV series.
Then I turned 8.
Still, I went through much of the early days of my adolescence during the TV show’s run, and, as she did for many boys my age, Daisy Duke figured prominently into said adolescence, so I can see how she would have something in the way of iconic status, and would, as such, be a point of contention for some people when it comes to casting.
I just don’t happen to be one of those people.
Some of the pundits attack Jessica Simpson’s intelligence and her talent. These may be valid complaints; I honestly couldn’t say. I’ve heard that she’s said a lot of dumb things on her reality series, which I've never watched, and she hasn’t exactly delivered Oscar-caliber performances in her Pizza Hut or Liquid Ice commercials.
That said, however, the role of Daisy Duke isn’t exactly what you’d call challenging or complex. There’s not a lot of depth to the characterization. I'm sure that, at the heart of it all, Daisy is a real, feeling human being, with needs, desires, and drives, but basically she’s just there to look good in short shorts and a tight shirt.
Whether or not, for example, she keeps a journal in which she writes poetry of amazing depth and complexity demonstrating her innate and incisive understanding of the human condition, or she is considering the intricacies of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle as she stands there wearing a bikini in order to distract Cletus is utterly irrelevant. Her entire function is to be hot.
Now, as I’ve said, I can’t really attest to Jessica Simpson’s intelligence or talent, but I can tell you this: she’s hot.
I would have to say that I think she’s perfectly capable of standing around and looking good in short shorts and a tight shirt.
Now some people think it’s some sort of insult to the memory of Catherine Bach, as if she would be spinning in her grave (If she were dead. Is she dead? Who knows, or, more importantly, who cares? She must be like 100 by now, and therefore shouldn't get anywhere near short shorts or tight shirts.) to see someone “ruining” the role she created.
As mentioned, the role of Daisy Duke is not especially complex. Basically any hot chick could play it, or could have played it. With all due respect to Catherine Bach, any other random hot chick of the day could have filled her shorts. Erin Gray? Sure. Loni Anderson? Of course. All that Catherin Bach really had going for her back in 1979 was that nobody knew who she was, and therefore she would be cheap. She didn’t have to draw on any sort of special training or techniques as a thespian to stand around looking good in short shorts and a tight shirt. This isn’t some subtly nuanced Ibsen character we're talking about; this is Daisy Duke. Short shorts, tight shirt.
Besides, again, with all due respect, Jessica Simpson is like 17,000 times hotter than Catherine Bach ever was on her best day.
To anyone who’s bitching about Jessica Simpson “ruining” this movie, I would have to ask, have you ever actually seen Jessica Simpson?
I mean, come on. She’s so freakin’ hot that there was no hotness left over for her sister Ashlee because she had absorbed it all. (“Sorry Ashlee; I’m afraid there’s no hotness left. Your sister took it all, so unfortunately you’ll have to go through life looking like that. If you can avoid it, never be seen in public with your sister, as it will just make you look that much worse. Also, I’d advise that you never sing at the Orange Bowl.”)
Every curvy inch of Jessica Simpson is jam-packed with hotness. Why do you think her boobs are so big? They’re stuffed with hotness.
I would suspect that she was put on earth for no other purpose than to look good in short shorts and a tight shirt, and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to discover that was exactly what God had in mind when He created her.
As mentioned, one of Daisy’s principle responsibilities is to use her extreme hotness to distract deputies like Cletus (or Enos, depending on which one they go with in the movie), and I think that Jessica is definitely up to that task as well. She’s got the kind of extreme hotness that can not only distract men, but can actually render them retarded.
In the picture that I mentioned working on (and which I mentioned having some difficulty with) Jessica, as Daisy, is wearing a bikini and I have to tell you that…umm…sorry, my mind drifted. Where was I? Oh yeah, Jessica Simpson in a bikini…and…
Ahem. Now you see why I’m having so much trouble finishing the picture...
In any case, all of the “Dukes” freaks out there need to relax, sit back, and think, “Jessica Simpson in short shorts and a tight shirt.” Repeat it over and over like a mantra, and soon you’ll forget all about Catherine Bach and her tremendous acting talent and the amazing depth she brought to her characterization of Daisy Duke.
Or, you know, just go out and murder the guys from the “Broken Lizard” comedy troupe (the people who brought the world “Super Troopers” and “Club Dread”) who are making the movie, as you seem to think needs to be done. Either way.
In any case, this entry is definitely in the “long-ass” category, so I think that I’ll wrap things up for this, the first week of 2005. I want to try to get some work done on that picture. You know, the one of Jessica Simpson in a bikini that…umm….
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Not As "Long-Ass" As Advertised
Because it was a holiday weekend, and because my cable company sucks enough during regular business hours, I didn’t expect my cable outage to be resolved until Monday.
So the Cable light on my modem flashed all weekend long.
I gave them some time on Monday as well, then finally called in to see if I could find out the status of the outage.
The person I spoke to said that there wasn’t an outage, and that apparently only my cable was out, so I would need to have someone come to my apartment to check it out.
He went on to inform me that getting someone to come out would take two weeks, but added, “We’ll give you credit for the time you’re without Internet access.”My response to that was, “Well no kidding.”
Still, I was reasonably certain that despite his claims to the contrary my lack of cable really was part of a larger outage, and I held out hope that it would be resolved in less than a fortnight.
Turns out that I was right, which was a very good thing, as after two full days without access I was already going a little bit crazy.
So I called today to cancel the dispatch and get credited for the days I was without.
On Sunday night, as there wasn’t much on TV and I had no Internet access, I went to bed relatively early, and then I slept until relatively late on Monday morning.
I went to Wal-Mart and did what grocery shopping I could, making use of the gift cards I got for Christmas, and when I got home I eventually took a two and a half hour nap.
Later that night…well, something kind of disturbing happened. I’d prefer not to get into the details of what that something was, as it is too intensely personal for me to want to share here, and I would also prefer than none of you speculate, as the odds really don’t favor you successfully guessing. It’s nothing illegal, it’s nothing terribly immoral, and honestly, it’s probably not even embarrassing, but I just don’t feel comfortable talking about it.
In any case, late Monday night/early Tuesday morning I found myself deeply and profoundly troubled, and that fact, coupled with the disturbance to my circadian rhythms from the early to bed/late to rise experience caused me to get a grand total of approximately forty-five minutes of sleep.
This, of course, through my circadian rhythms even further out of whack, and so I resolved to simply stay awake all day and go to bed at a more conventional time in order to get back on track.
That meant, however, that, except for the forty-five minutes of restless sleep I’d gotten, I would be awake for well over thirty hours.
Still feeling the original anxiety that led to the sleeplessness in the first place, my emotional health rapidly deteriorated throughout the day as the effects of fatigue piled on. The lack of Internet access didn't help matters any either.
So overall, Tuesday wasn’t a good day, and it’s probably best that I had no reason to venture out into the world and deal with people.
I managed to hang on until around 1 am, at which point I gratefully retired to bed, to wake on Wednesday morning feeling refreshed and renewed, and very pleased to see that my Internet access had been restored to me.
That more or less brings us up to date. It’s a good thing not much happens in my life, otherwise this would have been one really long (even for a Threshold) post.
I was going to comment a little on comments left by a certain “Anonymous” Threshold visitor, but I just don’t have the energy right now, and I’d rather do some drawing anyway.
I will say that in my comments in response I made a reference to run-on sentences. When I first read what “Anonymous” had to say my eyes were apparently not working, as I failed to see the periods. Turns out “Anonymous” did punctuate after all.
So it’s my bad on that score.
The comment itself, both for its content and, in a larger sense, what it represents, is definite fodder for a lengthy post.
That particular post just isn’t coming today.
So the Cable light on my modem flashed all weekend long.
I gave them some time on Monday as well, then finally called in to see if I could find out the status of the outage.
The person I spoke to said that there wasn’t an outage, and that apparently only my cable was out, so I would need to have someone come to my apartment to check it out.
He went on to inform me that getting someone to come out would take two weeks, but added, “We’ll give you credit for the time you’re without Internet access.”My response to that was, “Well no kidding.”
Still, I was reasonably certain that despite his claims to the contrary my lack of cable really was part of a larger outage, and I held out hope that it would be resolved in less than a fortnight.
Turns out that I was right, which was a very good thing, as after two full days without access I was already going a little bit crazy.
So I called today to cancel the dispatch and get credited for the days I was without.
On Sunday night, as there wasn’t much on TV and I had no Internet access, I went to bed relatively early, and then I slept until relatively late on Monday morning.
I went to Wal-Mart and did what grocery shopping I could, making use of the gift cards I got for Christmas, and when I got home I eventually took a two and a half hour nap.
Later that night…well, something kind of disturbing happened. I’d prefer not to get into the details of what that something was, as it is too intensely personal for me to want to share here, and I would also prefer than none of you speculate, as the odds really don’t favor you successfully guessing. It’s nothing illegal, it’s nothing terribly immoral, and honestly, it’s probably not even embarrassing, but I just don’t feel comfortable talking about it.
In any case, late Monday night/early Tuesday morning I found myself deeply and profoundly troubled, and that fact, coupled with the disturbance to my circadian rhythms from the early to bed/late to rise experience caused me to get a grand total of approximately forty-five minutes of sleep.
This, of course, through my circadian rhythms even further out of whack, and so I resolved to simply stay awake all day and go to bed at a more conventional time in order to get back on track.
That meant, however, that, except for the forty-five minutes of restless sleep I’d gotten, I would be awake for well over thirty hours.
Still feeling the original anxiety that led to the sleeplessness in the first place, my emotional health rapidly deteriorated throughout the day as the effects of fatigue piled on. The lack of Internet access didn't help matters any either.
So overall, Tuesday wasn’t a good day, and it’s probably best that I had no reason to venture out into the world and deal with people.
I managed to hang on until around 1 am, at which point I gratefully retired to bed, to wake on Wednesday morning feeling refreshed and renewed, and very pleased to see that my Internet access had been restored to me.
That more or less brings us up to date. It’s a good thing not much happens in my life, otherwise this would have been one really long (even for a Threshold) post.
I was going to comment a little on comments left by a certain “Anonymous” Threshold visitor, but I just don’t have the energy right now, and I’d rather do some drawing anyway.
I will say that in my comments in response I made a reference to run-on sentences. When I first read what “Anonymous” had to say my eyes were apparently not working, as I failed to see the periods. Turns out “Anonymous” did punctuate after all.
So it’s my bad on that score.
The comment itself, both for its content and, in a larger sense, what it represents, is definite fodder for a lengthy post.
That particular post just isn’t coming today.
Daisy, but NOT Daisy, Daisy Adair
Among the many things I discovered on the Web after my extended absence, the most notable were probably the paparazzi pics of Kirsten Dunst losing her bikini top in the ocean...
However, I also found some high-quality pictures taken on the set of the upcoming "Dukes of Hazzard" movie.
Here we see an image of Jessica Simpson as Daisy, wearing the famous cut-offs that have become synomous with the character's name.
Overall, it's not a great image, but I thought it was worth rendering (and if you can't figure out why I thought it was worth rendering, I'm not going to tell you).
I think I did pretty well with her hair, and with the frayed edges of the shorts.
You're bound to see a few more images of Jessica from the crop of pictures I found, most of which will are, from the perspective of composition, a little more interesting.
Quick Note
My cable has been out since last year (December 31 of last year to be exact; sorry, couldn't resist saying "since last year"), so I haven't been able to make any posts. I have no land line, so even dial-up wasn't an option.
However, I am back up and running now, so I thought I'd just pop in quickly to apprise any of you actually reading this of my current status.
I'll follow up with a normal (and by "normal" I mean "long-ass") post later today.
Just as a reminder, by entering your e-mail address in the field to the right (below the "I Power Blogger" thing) you can subscribe to Threshold and be informed when it's updated.
Also, you may have noticed that I've widened the column in which posts are displayed. This was based on feedback from some Threshold readers who didn't care for the thinner column. It also creates the illusion that I'm not quite as long-winded as I actually am.
I'm still tweaking the template a little, so you'll note that if you go directly to a post by clicking on the links to the right it will still display in the thinner column.
However, I am back up and running now, so I thought I'd just pop in quickly to apprise any of you actually reading this of my current status.
I'll follow up with a normal (and by "normal" I mean "long-ass") post later today.
Just as a reminder, by entering your e-mail address in the field to the right (below the "I Power Blogger" thing) you can subscribe to Threshold and be informed when it's updated.
Also, you may have noticed that I've widened the column in which posts are displayed. This was based on feedback from some Threshold readers who didn't care for the thinner column. It also creates the illusion that I'm not quite as long-winded as I actually am.
I'm still tweaking the template a little, so you'll note that if you go directly to a post by clicking on the links to the right it will still display in the thinner column.
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