I promise you, up front, that this won't be yet another fan-boi gushfest over the Batman: the Dark Knight movie. But it does play a large factor in the point I'm about to make.
Rehashing what I've said before, comic books in the 80s suddenly transformed - evolved, I think, is a better word. They were no longer targetted at the 12 and under crowd, but in fact suddenly they became the sole domain of the adult male. Certain lines dispensed with the old "comics code" seal of approval, decided that the world no longer needed its comic books censored. There are those who scoff at the term "graphic novel", and argue that you can dress a comic book up all you want, it's still ridiculous characters in spandex doing impossible things for your children't entertainment.
These are people who, I'd argue, haven't sat down and actually READ a true graphic novel.
Besides Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns, there was another book - coincidently also put out by DC comics - that reshaped and redefined the world of superheroes as we've known it. Whereas the Dark Knight gave us a brutal, determined, darker version of Batman than we'd ever even imagined...Alan Moore's "The Watchmen" gave us a larger view of what life could have been like for superheroic beings, given more of a human personality. While in many ways they were no less superheroic...in far more ways, they were much more human that what we were used to.
Like the gods of Greek mythology, Moore's heroes were flawed beings; unstable, egotistical, lacking self confidence...damaged, in so many ways. They were cynical, dysfunctional people who, while well intentioned, were - like the rest of us - subject to their own humanity. Or, in the case of a few, a lack of humanity.
I mention this because I can't help but notice the parallels happening in the movie industry. I'm not putting down other superhero movies at all; I enjoyed Spiderman 2, the Hulk, and raved over Iron Man. They were comic books come to life, and I was pleased to see them brought onto the screen - and done well.
But. The Dark Knight, like it's namesake graphic novel, changed what it means to be a superhero movie. It's hard to argue that the very nature of the movie, its production, transcends the typical comic-book based film. It isn't cartoonish, it's grounded in a gritty, humanistic reality that forces you to accept it as a film, as cinema. It's art, and halfway through it you've accepted it as a very good, if not great, addition to the action film genre.
And now, along comes The Watchmen - and the comic book movie comes of age.
I'm personally thrilled that they have not chosen to water down this film for the sake of the uninformed public. The Dark Knight was PG-13; Watchmen is set for an "R" rating. It promises to keep certain scenes from the story which I anticipate will shock the first-time viewer, much as they shocked the reader of the graphic novel when it was first introduced. Watchmen is not a children's story; your son will not want to grow up to be the Comedian, or Rorscharch - and in fact, you will pray they don't. Dr. Manhattan will fascinate you with his lack of humanity, while simultaneously repulsing you with the same. And you will hope that your daughter's life does not emulate the Silk Spectre's.
You will lose sight of where the line is drawn between hero and villain...and that is exactly the point, that there are no absolutes when dealing with the human condition. Heroes are still human, and subject to the same flaws that both mark us, and define us.
I don't know if Watchmen will be a great movie; it certainly has the potential to be. The graphic novel - or, if you insist, the comic book - to this day remains the only one within its genre to find a home on Time Magazine's 100 Best English Speaking Novels (2005), and won the Hugo Award for Best Science Fiction/Fantasy novel.
A comic book.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Movie Review: The Dark Knight
In 1986, Frank Miller helped to redefine the comic book world with his opus, The Dark Knight Returns. It took the Batman character that we'd all grown up with and, well...evolved him. Or perhaps, devolved him into the true essence of what he was intended to be - a dark, brooding, avenger who walks in the shadows and strikes terror in the hearts of criminals. He took away the bright colors, the upstanding morality, and enhanced his core personality of a man whose goal is absolute justice, and the eradication of criminality. It was dark, twisted, brutal...and we loved it.
So, too, goes this second installment in the reimagined film adaptation of the Batman.
The Dark Knight lives up to it's title in every way imaginable. All vestiges of the Tim Burton version have been eradicated, leaving us with a Batman who lives in our world. Gone are the comic book images, the campy villains; whereas Batman Begins was a reintroduction to the character and explored the psychological mind of a man who is driven to avenge the streets, the Dark Knight gives us his mirror twin - his opposite, and yet in many ways his doppleganger. The Joker.
No one can deny that Jack Nicholson's Joker was a wild, uncontrollable nutjob that evoked a sense of giggling, manaical madman from the old television show - but with a certain ruthlessness that brought us more to the psychopath from the comic books. It was a great performance by Jack.
Heath Ledger absolutely blew him out of the water. This Joker will haunt your nightmares, his laugh will make you flinch in the dark. This is the Joker from the comic novel, the Killing Joke; the one who crippled and debased the crimefighting daughter of Commissioner Gordon, and who used the images of that debasement (and possible defilement) in an attempt to drive Gordon mad - simply for the sake of proving that good men CAN in fact, go bad. This is the Joker who, for no reason other than the twisted joy of the moment, beat a helpless teenaged Robin to a pulp with a crowbar, then proceeded to blow him up. Not out of a sense of revenge, or anger...but for the excitement of it.
Ledger has managed to capture the dangerous insanity of the character and transform himself, almost unrecognizably so, into the perfect foil for Christian Bale's dark knight. They have become the classic anti-hero and psychopath villain, the latter driven to his evil schemes for no other reason than to frustrate the former, the former driven to the brink of madness in an attempt to understand and defeat the mind of the latter. They are yin and yang, opposite and yet intertwined - just as they should be.
Cillian Murphy makes a surprise appearance here, reprising his role - however briefly - as the Scarecrow. Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman Gary Oldham return in their roles as Alfred, Lucius Fox and Gordon respectively, and Maggie Gyllenhall turns in a nice performace in replacing the elfish Katie Holmes (although her interrogation as ADA of a suspect bordered more on seductive than tough).
Aaron Eckhart, by contrast, turns in a powerful performace himself as District Attorney Harvey Dent. Throuout the movie, Dent is Elliot Ness - he's unfraid, determined, as obsessed with cleaning up Gotham City as Batman. He's the Daywalker to Batman's Nightmare, doing in front of the cameras and the people what Batman does from the shadows.
The following is a spoiler alert, so if you're completely unfamiliar with the Batman mythos and stable of villains, you should stop reading here.
When Dent is scarred, when he is betrayed (or believes so) by the very system of Justice he'd spent so much time upholding...his fall is hard, and absolute. His metamorphasis into the aptly named Two-Face...you cannot imagine the sheer terror he evokes, simply by the scarring of his face. He is on the outside just as he is inside - a man divided, of two minds and two souls; he embraces the anthesis of everything he'd believed in, and becomes that which he'd fought against - a monster, bent on the destruction of everything moral and just.
They become an interesting combination - the Joker, a creature of whim and lacking any sense of morality or ethics, and Two-Face - a monster who bases each action on chance, no longer believing that humanity is capable of following a true and just path and using the flip of a coin to decide his next action, whether good or evil.
If there is a critcism to make, it is that Bale's voicing while in the costume comes dangerously close to annoying. His overly done rasping and growling works in short does, but when trying to speak more than a paragraph of words you realize how much of a strain it is for him to maintain it, and maintain it trying to keep in character. I would prefer they use, within the storyline, electronics to mask his voice rather than asking Bale to emote while trying not to cough.
Overall: this is not a movie for children, and I would highly recommend leaving any child under 10 at home. This is not a comic book, this is a graphic novel in movie form. You will sit capitvated, on the edge of your seat; you will jump at places as if you're watching a horror movie, you will laugh at the Joker's antics even as you're simultaneously horrified by them. Your heart will race at the fights, at the decisions our heroes are forced to make - or not make.
And at the end of the two and a half hours, you will lean back - exhale deeply - and smile, having seen what is quite possibly the best comic book movie to date.
So, too, goes this second installment in the reimagined film adaptation of the Batman.
The Dark Knight lives up to it's title in every way imaginable. All vestiges of the Tim Burton version have been eradicated, leaving us with a Batman who lives in our world. Gone are the comic book images, the campy villains; whereas Batman Begins was a reintroduction to the character and explored the psychological mind of a man who is driven to avenge the streets, the Dark Knight gives us his mirror twin - his opposite, and yet in many ways his doppleganger. The Joker.
No one can deny that Jack Nicholson's Joker was a wild, uncontrollable nutjob that evoked a sense of giggling, manaical madman from the old television show - but with a certain ruthlessness that brought us more to the psychopath from the comic books. It was a great performance by Jack.
Heath Ledger absolutely blew him out of the water. This Joker will haunt your nightmares, his laugh will make you flinch in the dark. This is the Joker from the comic novel, the Killing Joke; the one who crippled and debased the crimefighting daughter of Commissioner Gordon, and who used the images of that debasement (and possible defilement) in an attempt to drive Gordon mad - simply for the sake of proving that good men CAN in fact, go bad. This is the Joker who, for no reason other than the twisted joy of the moment, beat a helpless teenaged Robin to a pulp with a crowbar, then proceeded to blow him up. Not out of a sense of revenge, or anger...but for the excitement of it.
Ledger has managed to capture the dangerous insanity of the character and transform himself, almost unrecognizably so, into the perfect foil for Christian Bale's dark knight. They have become the classic anti-hero and psychopath villain, the latter driven to his evil schemes for no other reason than to frustrate the former, the former driven to the brink of madness in an attempt to understand and defeat the mind of the latter. They are yin and yang, opposite and yet intertwined - just as they should be.
Cillian Murphy makes a surprise appearance here, reprising his role - however briefly - as the Scarecrow. Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman Gary Oldham return in their roles as Alfred, Lucius Fox and Gordon respectively, and Maggie Gyllenhall turns in a nice performace in replacing the elfish Katie Holmes (although her interrogation as ADA of a suspect bordered more on seductive than tough).
Aaron Eckhart, by contrast, turns in a powerful performace himself as District Attorney Harvey Dent. Throuout the movie, Dent is Elliot Ness - he's unfraid, determined, as obsessed with cleaning up Gotham City as Batman. He's the Daywalker to Batman's Nightmare, doing in front of the cameras and the people what Batman does from the shadows.
The following is a spoiler alert, so if you're completely unfamiliar with the Batman mythos and stable of villains, you should stop reading here.
When Dent is scarred, when he is betrayed (or believes so) by the very system of Justice he'd spent so much time upholding...his fall is hard, and absolute. His metamorphasis into the aptly named Two-Face...you cannot imagine the sheer terror he evokes, simply by the scarring of his face. He is on the outside just as he is inside - a man divided, of two minds and two souls; he embraces the anthesis of everything he'd believed in, and becomes that which he'd fought against - a monster, bent on the destruction of everything moral and just.
They become an interesting combination - the Joker, a creature of whim and lacking any sense of morality or ethics, and Two-Face - a monster who bases each action on chance, no longer believing that humanity is capable of following a true and just path and using the flip of a coin to decide his next action, whether good or evil.
If there is a critcism to make, it is that Bale's voicing while in the costume comes dangerously close to annoying. His overly done rasping and growling works in short does, but when trying to speak more than a paragraph of words you realize how much of a strain it is for him to maintain it, and maintain it trying to keep in character. I would prefer they use, within the storyline, electronics to mask his voice rather than asking Bale to emote while trying not to cough.
Overall: this is not a movie for children, and I would highly recommend leaving any child under 10 at home. This is not a comic book, this is a graphic novel in movie form. You will sit capitvated, on the edge of your seat; you will jump at places as if you're watching a horror movie, you will laugh at the Joker's antics even as you're simultaneously horrified by them. Your heart will race at the fights, at the decisions our heroes are forced to make - or not make.
And at the end of the two and a half hours, you will lean back - exhale deeply - and smile, having seen what is quite possibly the best comic book movie to date.
Friday, July 18, 2008
He Said, She Said
Dave Barry is one of my favorite satirists, and some time ago he wrote a piece outlining the differences in the way women read a conversation, and the way men read it. It's been recycled hundreds upon hundreds of times on the web, but I felt like reposting it. Just because. So if you haven't before...enjoy.
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Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"
Read full entry
And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Roger is thinking: . . . so that means it was . . . let's see . . February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . . Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90- day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.
And Elaine is thinking: maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their ......
"Roger," Elaine says aloud.
"What?" says Roger, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have . . Oh, I feel so......"
(She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Roger.
"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Roger.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.
"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that . . . It's that I . . . I need some time," Elaine says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes," he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Roger.
"That way about time," says Elaine.
"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."
(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank you," says Roger.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.
The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say:
"Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"
-----------------
Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"
Read full entry
And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Roger is thinking: . . . so that means it was . . . let's see . . February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . . Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90- day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.
And Elaine is thinking: maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their ......
"Roger," Elaine says aloud.
"What?" says Roger, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have . . Oh, I feel so......"
(She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Roger.
"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Roger.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.
"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that . . . It's that I . . . I need some time," Elaine says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes," he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Roger.
"That way about time," says Elaine.
"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."
(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank you," says Roger.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.
The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say:
"Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"
Scooter Patrol
I remember the very first time I saw a police officer on a bicycle, and I gotta tell ya: I honestly didn't believe there could be anything more emasculating. Cops in biker shorts, wearing bicycle helmets. On bicycles. Now before you get all huffy, it isn't just me - it's internal to various PDs as well. In Lubbox, Texas - now come on, it's Texas, you don't get more of a manly-man's image than a cowboy cop - here's how they rank the officers in the field, based on their transportation (go look on the website, it's true!):
Patrol Division
They get the cars, which is really convenient for picking up hookers off the street. And they have a really, really big back seat. Also convenient, once you've picked up the hooker and need to find a quiet alley to interrogate her.
K-9
They get SUVs, and dogs. Which again, add in the hooker element and we're selling tickets in Mexico.
Motor Unit
It's ChiPs, cops on motorcycles. The Hells Angels of the police force.
Mounted Patrol
Cops on horses. Akin to Canadian Mounties, and they get just about the same level of respect. Which isn't much.
and then...just a step above the LAST rung, which are Public Service Officers (aka 911 desk jockeys)...are Bike Patrol. The Pedal Police.
I didn't list them that way, folks, the Texas cops did.
So what's the point of all this? I saw an image today that would make the Pedal Police stand up proud, knowing that on the other side of the world are cops more laughable than themselves:
Cops on Segways.
The Chinese Government, in efforts to step up their Summer Olympics anti terrorist operations, are rolling out (pun intended) a series of strategems, including...police troops on Segways.
Now. I don't know about you...but I can totally see the effectiveness of this. Because, were I a notorious bad-ass criminal mastermind and saw a hoard of cops cruising down the streets of Beijing at me (at a top speed of 12.5 mph, roughly twice the speed at which i can walk. Or less than the speed at which I can run)...
...I'd fall down on my ass laughing hysterically, at which point they'd eventually catch up to me as I tried to crawl away and lock me up.
They should broadcast a little Steppenwolf during a scene like this photo, because it would be SO approbo!
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way
Born, to be wild...i-i-ild!
You know what's next, right?
Cops shredding the rails. Think I'm crazy?
Dude. A donut shop bro? Totally trippy.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Klatuu, Verata..um...Necktie?
Holy walking corpses, Batman, I'm in hog heaven over this one (thanks, Tammy!)
This is a true article, folks. Straight from the BBC news herself:
What.
The.
FUCK!!!
I don't even know where to begin. I could start on the US wanting the Cambodians to "destroy it immediately", which to me is Condi sitting in a room shouting "Fuck this, we know how it goes down for black folk in zombie flicks! Kill them sumbitches, now!" I could go into the idea of the fucking Cambodians (who are world reknown for their scientific research labs) keeping a sample of this KILLING VIRUS, that has a 100% MORTALITY RATE (for the mathematically challenged, that's a #1 leader spot on the Halo Kill/Death ratio boards), to study.
But we all know what I really want to talk about.
It's a zombie virus, folks. It's Resident Evil 4: Cambodia. It's Night of the Living Loatians. You red-state bastards think we have immigrant problems NOW? Imagine boatloads of zombies from the Pacific Rim coming over, munching on sweetbreads that you USED to call your brain. Which would probably qualify them as sweetbiscuits, but I digress.
The point is: are YOU prepared for a zombie attack? How do you recognize a zombie, anyway?
1) Check their vitals.
If they start munching on your arm while you're checking their pulse, odds are pretty good that they're zombified. Also, you'll find that they have no pulse at all. Which, incidently, you won't either by this point.
2) See if you know them.
Or, more accurately, KNEW them. Because they used to be dead. And now, apparently, they're not. In which case, run. Fast.
3) Give them a food choice.
Hamburger...or brain matter. If they choose the hamburger, you should be reasonably safe. And please, don't substitute tofu for the hamburger meat, because frankly in that scenario I'd probably pick the brain matter too.
Now. You've identified your pursuer as a bonfied Zombie Creature. What do you do?
Personally, I'd go with the shotgun; you can't go wrong with a shotgun. I don't really care what you're fighting - zombie, vampire, werewolf, homunculus (that's a Frankenstein or golem, to you pleebs) - a solid hit with a .10 gauge will put a stop on anything, even if it's only temporary. And in the case with vampires, that additional 3-4 seconds you gain is the difference between you making it INSIDE the church, or leaving fingernail scratches and a bloody smear on the wooden door OUTSIDE for the police to find.
Plus it keeps the bastiches at a distance, and when I'm fighting things that want to eat my brain, I find it particularly helpful to keep them at as much of a distance from me as possible.
However, things happen, ammo runs out - in which case, the weapon of choice is the versatile machete.
Now sure, a survival knife is handier to carry, and an axe - well, you can't beat the heft of an axe. But an axe takes a pretty wide swing, and a survival knife won't pass through a skull. A machete has a nice long blade, good heft, and being able to follow through with the slice means you can keep on hacking until you make it to safety.
Fire. Now fire is your friend, and a zombie will make for some pretty good kindling. Plus, a zombie will still walk around while it's on fire and - GET THIS - burn OTHER zombies! Which, incidently, can also be a downside if you don't plan this ahead of time. Because you're pretty far up the fucking creek if you suddenly find yourself surrounded by a crowd of burning zombies who're insistent on getting one last snack before they turn into charcoal.
On a side note: if you're from Wisconsin. Please, do NOT try to have sex with it. I'm just sayin', cuz it's documented now. You sick fuckers.
But, you ask, what if I get bit?
Well, as history shows us...you're fairly well fucked, ain't ya? But there are options for you:
1) Handgun, .38 or .45
Take a blast to your temple, and no more zombie. I don't recommend a .22, because it's a piece of shit. It'll hurt when the bullet bounces off your skull, and you'll still end up a zombie. And a rifle is too much work; by the time you get it set up, you'll already be craving someone's frontal lobe.
2) Jump
That's right. Jump. Just find a high building, and jump the fuck off. So what if it's scary, at least there's no second guessing. And there won't be enough of you to chase after me, later.
3) Drown yourself
No one thinks about this one much, but consider how many zombies may be walking around the sea bed right now. We've never seen one swim, but we also know they can't die - so waaaay deep down below, fishes are picking tiny little morsels off someone's great-great-great grandfather. The important part of this, of course, is that while you technically haven't destroyed yourself...you're not up here, sipping out of my skull like it's a pina colada. So take a long walk off a short pier, why don't you.
So be prepared, folks; it's the end of the world as we know it. It'll start small; riots in Laos, the army moves in and martial law is declared. Then it'll spread; some infected puddlejumper will make his way to Africa, a couple of tourists on safari there will get bit, they'll take the bug back to Europe...it's 28 Days all over again, so if you're smart you'll get out there on Amazon and grab that Zombie Survival gear
Cuz I'm warning you now, I'm already getting my hand fitted for a chainsaw prosthesis. Buzz buzz, baby.
This is a true article, folks. Straight from the BBC news herself:
Cambodian Troops Quarantine Quan'sul
There has been a small outbreak of “zombism” in a small town near the border of Laos in North-Eastern Cambodia.
The culprit was discovered to be mosquitoes native to that region carrying a new strain of Malaria which thus far has a 100 percent mortality rate and kills victims in fewer than 2 days.
After death, this parasite is able to restart the heart of its victim for up to two hours after the initial demise of the person where the individual behaves in extremely violent ways from what is believed to be a combination of brain damage and a chemical released into blood during “resurrection.”
Cambodian officials say that the outbreak has been contained and the public has no need to worry.
General Ary Serey had this to say, "We have obtained samples of this new parasite and plan to learn how it starts the heart and other major organs of the deceased. We intend to use this to increase the quality of life for all."
US Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice opposed the plan saying that the Cambodian government holds a great biological weapon and should destroy it immediately. Cambodian officials have yet to comment.
A United Nations team will be dispatched to Cambodia to confirm the safety of biological research in Cambodia.
http://65.127.124.62/south_asia/4483241.stm.htm
What.
The.
FUCK!!!
I don't even know where to begin. I could start on the US wanting the Cambodians to "destroy it immediately", which to me is Condi sitting in a room shouting "Fuck this, we know how it goes down for black folk in zombie flicks! Kill them sumbitches, now!" I could go into the idea of the fucking Cambodians (who are world reknown for their scientific research labs) keeping a sample of this KILLING VIRUS, that has a 100% MORTALITY RATE (for the mathematically challenged, that's a #1 leader spot on the Halo Kill/Death ratio boards), to study.
But we all know what I really want to talk about.
It's a zombie virus, folks. It's Resident Evil 4: Cambodia. It's Night of the Living Loatians. You red-state bastards think we have immigrant problems NOW? Imagine boatloads of zombies from the Pacific Rim coming over, munching on sweetbreads that you USED to call your brain. Which would probably qualify them as sweetbiscuits, but I digress.
The point is: are YOU prepared for a zombie attack? How do you recognize a zombie, anyway?1) Check their vitals.
If they start munching on your arm while you're checking their pulse, odds are pretty good that they're zombified. Also, you'll find that they have no pulse at all. Which, incidently, you won't either by this point.
2) See if you know them.
Or, more accurately, KNEW them. Because they used to be dead. And now, apparently, they're not. In which case, run. Fast.
3) Give them a food choice.
Hamburger...or brain matter. If they choose the hamburger, you should be reasonably safe. And please, don't substitute tofu for the hamburger meat, because frankly in that scenario I'd probably pick the brain matter too.
Now. You've identified your pursuer as a bonfied Zombie Creature. What do you do?
Personally, I'd go with the shotgun; you can't go wrong with a shotgun. I don't really care what you're fighting - zombie, vampire, werewolf, homunculus (that's a Frankenstein or golem, to you pleebs) - a solid hit with a .10 gauge will put a stop on anything, even if it's only temporary. And in the case with vampires, that additional 3-4 seconds you gain is the difference between you making it INSIDE the church, or leaving fingernail scratches and a bloody smear on the wooden door OUTSIDE for the police to find.
Plus it keeps the bastiches at a distance, and when I'm fighting things that want to eat my brain, I find it particularly helpful to keep them at as much of a distance from me as possible.
However, things happen, ammo runs out - in which case, the weapon of choice is the versatile machete.
Now sure, a survival knife is handier to carry, and an axe - well, you can't beat the heft of an axe. But an axe takes a pretty wide swing, and a survival knife won't pass through a skull. A machete has a nice long blade, good heft, and being able to follow through with the slice means you can keep on hacking until you make it to safety.
Fire. Now fire is your friend, and a zombie will make for some pretty good kindling. Plus, a zombie will still walk around while it's on fire and - GET THIS - burn OTHER zombies! Which, incidently, can also be a downside if you don't plan this ahead of time. Because you're pretty far up the fucking creek if you suddenly find yourself surrounded by a crowd of burning zombies who're insistent on getting one last snack before they turn into charcoal.
On a side note: if you're from Wisconsin. Please, do NOT try to have sex with it. I'm just sayin', cuz it's documented now. You sick fuckers.
But, you ask, what if I get bit?Well, as history shows us...you're fairly well fucked, ain't ya? But there are options for you:
1) Handgun, .38 or .45
Take a blast to your temple, and no more zombie. I don't recommend a .22, because it's a piece of shit. It'll hurt when the bullet bounces off your skull, and you'll still end up a zombie. And a rifle is too much work; by the time you get it set up, you'll already be craving someone's frontal lobe.
2) Jump
That's right. Jump. Just find a high building, and jump the fuck off. So what if it's scary, at least there's no second guessing. And there won't be enough of you to chase after me, later.
3) Drown yourself
No one thinks about this one much, but consider how many zombies may be walking around the sea bed right now. We've never seen one swim, but we also know they can't die - so waaaay deep down below, fishes are picking tiny little morsels off someone's great-great-great grandfather. The important part of this, of course, is that while you technically haven't destroyed yourself...you're not up here, sipping out of my skull like it's a pina colada. So take a long walk off a short pier, why don't you.
So be prepared, folks; it's the end of the world as we know it. It'll start small; riots in Laos, the army moves in and martial law is declared. Then it'll spread; some infected puddlejumper will make his way to Africa, a couple of tourists on safari there will get bit, they'll take the bug back to Europe...it's 28 Days all over again, so if you're smart you'll get out there on Amazon and grab that Zombie Survival gear
Cuz I'm warning you now, I'm already getting my hand fitted for a chainsaw prosthesis. Buzz buzz, baby.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Maybe He Wanted To Feed The Homeless With It
I try, very much, not to be critical of the Catholic Church. At least, not as critical as I could be. Which is considerably.
But then something comes along that absolutely boggles my mind at the base stupidity of it all, and I'm left scratching my head wondering - at least in this instance - why this was a big deal at all.
Now...I understand, to some extent that this...no. Never mind. I don't understand, because we're not talking about some holy relic. The kid didn't walk out of the chuch with a golden crucifix under his shirt.
He walked out with a WAFER, that was in his MOUTH.
I can't even make fun of this by calling it a cookie, because calling it a cookie would give it more substance that it does. I've eaten saltine crackers that had more substance. If you took a rice cake, drilled a dollar coin-sized core out of the middle, then SHAVED that tiny cylinder into 10 pieces...you'd have something about the same size as the Eucharist. And just as robust.
When I was young, I went to visit my sister's godmother in Florida. I don't know where, the friggin' Everglades, who cares. All that matters for this tale is that I was dragged off to this woman's church, because all de chillun needs the Lawd's love on Sunday. Even if they get that love kicking and screaming, but I digress.
So here I am in this backwater church, with daddy longlegs squatting in toilet squalls wondering why in the name of Gods are you invading his territory, and suddenly people start getting up and walking to the front. I get shoved into line, so I just follow along not having a clue, but not about to make a scene with all these crazy, over emotional church folk around me giving me the evil (holy?) eye.
I end up at the front, and they kneel - so I kneel. The guy in the robes stands in front of everyone, and puts something on their tongue. I open wide, I let him put this styrofoam thing in my mouth, and done. Then they pass a cup with grape juice, I take the shot, and go back to my seat.
After a few seconds, feeling very uncomfortable and stupid, I turn to this woman and go: "What should I do with this?", peeling the styrofoam from my tongue and holding it up.
Admittedly she did freak a little, but I didn't know why; not like it came with instructions, and the thing was nasty as hell so how was I supposed to know I should eat it? Can't they put a little sugar on it, maybe some cinnamon, jazz it up a little? Sheesh.
So I can sympathize a bit, reading this article.
However. Are you fucking kidding me, with the priest trying to "pry it from his hand"? Seriously? Holy Crazy Psychopriests, Batman, what the hell was wrong with him? Was he possessed? Did the devil make him do it? "The power of Christ compel you!" How did the priest even KNOW what was going on, was he standing guard over the people to make sure they ate it? WTF?! This is some serious Rosemary's Baby shit, folks!
Really, I admit I'd have held out as well. Once it's in my mouth, it's my property bizzatch. If i want to take that damn wafer and turn it into art, I'll damn well do it. I'da beat the Jesus out of that man in his robe just for touching me, I swear to Mary I would have.
Come on, was all this necessary? Someone please explain it to me, because I must be stupid. It's not like the man was drinking from the fountain of holy water (although, to be fair, I'd have PAID to see someone do that!) He took the damn wafer out of his mouth - for whatever reason, let's assume he wasn't really showing his friend - and got jumped for it. For the entire community to start making death threats, for the church to file FUCKING POLICE REPORT...
What's the charge? Possession?
But then something comes along that absolutely boggles my mind at the base stupidity of it all, and I'm left scratching my head wondering - at least in this instance - why this was a big deal at all.
Orange County, FL -- One week after a University of Central Florida student snatched something sacred from church, armed UCF police officers stood guard during Sunday Mass to protect what Catholics call "The Body of Christ."
Minutes before the Mass began, Student Senator Webster Cook returned the Holy Eucharist he was holding hostage in a Ziploc bag ever since smuggling the blessed wafer of bread out of the Catholic Mass service Sunday June 29.
Carol Brinati with the Diocese of Orlando said the Catholic community was "concerned about the possible desecration of the Eucharist," and pleaded for its safe return.
Cook, who was raised Catholic, said he decided to bring the Eucharist home after a church leader tried to physically pry it from his hand. Cook broke Church rules by failing to consume it immediately during communion and then removing it from his mouth once seated.
Cook said he just wanted to show the Eucharist to a friend he brought with questions about Catholicism before consuming it. But outraged Catholics across the globe didn’t believe him and suspected he intended all along to steal the Eucharist and bloggers sent out e-mail messages damning him to Hell.
Cook said some threatened to break into his dorm room to rescue the Eucharist. Brinati said the Diocese of Orlando didn't condone those threats, but was happy Cook had a change of heart and returned it.
"We've been praying about that," she said.
Now...I understand, to some extent that this...no. Never mind. I don't understand, because we're not talking about some holy relic. The kid didn't walk out of the chuch with a golden crucifix under his shirt.
He walked out with a WAFER, that was in his MOUTH.
I can't even make fun of this by calling it a cookie, because calling it a cookie would give it more substance that it does. I've eaten saltine crackers that had more substance. If you took a rice cake, drilled a dollar coin-sized core out of the middle, then SHAVED that tiny cylinder into 10 pieces...you'd have something about the same size as the Eucharist. And just as robust.When I was young, I went to visit my sister's godmother in Florida. I don't know where, the friggin' Everglades, who cares. All that matters for this tale is that I was dragged off to this woman's church, because all de chillun needs the Lawd's love on Sunday. Even if they get that love kicking and screaming, but I digress.
So here I am in this backwater church, with daddy longlegs squatting in toilet squalls wondering why in the name of Gods are you invading his territory, and suddenly people start getting up and walking to the front. I get shoved into line, so I just follow along not having a clue, but not about to make a scene with all these crazy, over emotional church folk around me giving me the evil (holy?) eye.
I end up at the front, and they kneel - so I kneel. The guy in the robes stands in front of everyone, and puts something on their tongue. I open wide, I let him put this styrofoam thing in my mouth, and done. Then they pass a cup with grape juice, I take the shot, and go back to my seat.
After a few seconds, feeling very uncomfortable and stupid, I turn to this woman and go: "What should I do with this?", peeling the styrofoam from my tongue and holding it up.
Admittedly she did freak a little, but I didn't know why; not like it came with instructions, and the thing was nasty as hell so how was I supposed to know I should eat it? Can't they put a little sugar on it, maybe some cinnamon, jazz it up a little? Sheesh.
So I can sympathize a bit, reading this article.
However. Are you fucking kidding me, with the priest trying to "pry it from his hand"? Seriously? Holy Crazy Psychopriests, Batman, what the hell was wrong with him? Was he possessed? Did the devil make him do it? "The power of Christ compel you!" How did the priest even KNOW what was going on, was he standing guard over the people to make sure they ate it? WTF?! This is some serious Rosemary's Baby shit, folks!
Really, I admit I'd have held out as well. Once it's in my mouth, it's my property bizzatch. If i want to take that damn wafer and turn it into art, I'll damn well do it. I'da beat the Jesus out of that man in his robe just for touching me, I swear to Mary I would have.
Come on, was all this necessary? Someone please explain it to me, because I must be stupid. It's not like the man was drinking from the fountain of holy water (although, to be fair, I'd have PAID to see someone do that!) He took the damn wafer out of his mouth - for whatever reason, let's assume he wasn't really showing his friend - and got jumped for it. For the entire community to start making death threats, for the church to file FUCKING POLICE REPORT...
What's the charge? Possession?
Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls
Don't go chasing waterfalls
Please stick to the rivers and lakes that
You're used to
I know that you're gonna have it your way
Or nothing at all
But I think you're moving too fast
Just when you think it's safe to go back in the water, crap like this happens.
New York City has just installed a series of fugart ("f-ugly art") displays in our waterways, a set of faux waterfalls that are supposed to enhance the look of the rivers around the island. Personally I think they look cheesy with all that scaffolding, and for $15million bucks you'd think they could have added some stone stucco so it looked better - but hey, what do I know?Anyways. As with all things remotely dangerous, there will be some fool who will think he knows better than others, and will do something stupendously idiotic and endanger himself and possibly others.
Case in point: novice kayakers, who were determined to get an up-close and personal view of the falls.
As the story goes, an experienced kayaker and his two assistants were taking out a group of 24 newbs into the river, as part of a fund-raising event for their paddlehouse. They'd swing around the harbor, take a look at the waterfalls from a nice safe distance, then head back for home.
Thing were going swimmingly, until a pair of dipshits decided to venture out on their own.
Two of the kayakers, in one boat, capsized after straying too close to a waterfall erected by the Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson under the Brooklyn Bridge, the police said. The two, Bert Rosenblatt, 36, and Vladimir Spector, 37, were rescued by a police boat and taken to a hospital, and released shortly after with no injuries, the police said.
Their guide, Mr. Baard said the men had been “goofing around,” and got too close to the fall as they tried to take pictures.
Before the group had taken off, everyone had been given instructions repeatedly about what to do should their kayak flip over or drift into trouble.
Rule 1, clutch your paddles, they were told. The men let them go.
Rule 2, hold onto your kayak. Instead they let it drift away, and clung to the buoys and containment barriers that were meant to cordon off the waterfall.
If the men had followed their instructions, Mr. Baard said, they would have drifted to a calmer part of the river, where they easily could have gotten back into their kayak.
“I don’t know if they were afraid or what,” he said. “One issue was that they didn’t know us very well, so they didn’t have an immediate trust of our judgment, which would have helped. But they didn’t listen to what we asked them to do, and so at that point I tried to let the police take over.”
Now here's the visual I really love:
When the officers arrived at the scene, they found Mr. Baard pleading with one of the men, who were both wearing life vests, to let go of the barrier, but to no avail. Eventually, the police ordered him to let go, and the man complied.
You have to admit, that had to have been funny. Everyone yelling at this guy to let go, and him whimpering "nononononononononono...."
"I wanted to get a closer look at the waterfalls, and then it sucked us in," said Vladimer Spector, 37, one of the two men plucked from the East River by the NYPD Harbor Patrol.
Despite the scare, police said there was no risk of actually being pulled into the falls' suction system. Cops tested the system with dummies that were not sucked in.
As opposed, apparently, to the two dummies who nearly did.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/12/nyregion/12capsize.html?partner=rssnyt&emc=rss
Friday, July 11, 2008
Jesus: Messiah, Wizard, Vampire, or Zombie?
I'm absolutely, positively, going to Hell. First class, express line only. I'm fully comfortable with that fact, before you start calling down the fire and brimstone on me. So nyeh-nyeh.
With that now out of the way...I struggle with the concept of the last days of Christ. I respect that in this giant cult based on his name, he is revered as a Son of God, as the living embodiment of the creator here on Earth, as the Prince of Peace and the Shepherd. He died for our sins, which incidently to mean should mean we all get a free pass, but hey I didn't make up the rules so don't get angry this way.
But.
Come on, really now; the man forced his followers to eat his flesh, drink his blood. He died, then crawled his way out of a grave to live again.
I don't know about you folks, and how strong-willed and resolute you are. But if i buried my friend, and while visiting his grave a few days later discovered it open, I'm going to consider a few options:
1) check the local medical schools for new cadaver arrivals, because some entrepenuring student is making a killing off graverobbing;
2) make sure my stock of garlic, blessed crosses and holy water is up to date;
3) keep the shotgun and axe handy, and start practicing head shots with the old .32
I am, however, very unlikely to bow down to my knees and cry tears of joy, because my friend was resurrected and has ascended to a higher being.
Do I lie? Take the holiest, kindest, sweetest person you know. And yes, I'll happily use Mother Theresa as an example. If she stepped out of her grave tomorrow morning, rubbing her eyes like she just woke up from a long nap...
...you'd plug her full of ammo, grab a hatchet and start swinging for her neck. Because you know damn well she's a goddamn zombie, and its either kill the beast or stick a straw in your ear and let her suck away at your brains.
Now, let's talk about the WTF-moment we all know as the Last Supper.
Let's say...you have a friend. You love this friend, he's the greatest dude, ever. You're so smitten with him, you're practically gay for him. But he's sick, and not long for this world, so he gathers up you and his other really tight bros, and holds a dinner party.
You're all drinking, laughing, having a good time, and in the middle of this dinner he gets up to start a speech. Let's gloss over the "one'a you bastiches is gonna rat me out" part of this, because then the follow up would involve him around a table with a baseball bat, and we've all seen how that movie ends up.
No, we'll stick to this part of the speech where he holds up the bread, breaks it apart, passes it out and says "Take, eat, this is my flesh."
Hold the fuck up. What?!
Seriously, would you eat the bread? Or would you be sitting there, open mouthed, staring at everyone else to see who's gonna stuff in down their gullets first? There ain't that much love in the whole goddamn world, that I'm gonna look down at my plate and be told it's someone's flesh, and I need to eat it.
But for the sake of argument, let's assume you laughed it off. "That Jesus, he's always cracking jokes." Ate the bread, chuckling.
Then he holds up the cup, pours you all a glass, and says "Drink it all, this is my blood."
Now. Really. Just a few weeks ago, I'd seen this fucker turn a whole well of tap water into Cabernet Sauvignon and loaves of bread into bouillabaisse, so now I'm looking at this cup of dark red, thick liquid and thinking: You Know, I'm Really Not That Thirsty, Thanks.
And yes, my stomach by this point would be doing flip-flops as I starting thinking harder about that bread-into-fishflesh, and wondering if the dinner roll I just ate just looked like a toe, or if it was my imagination.
So I don't know about you, but next Easter I won't be answering any doors at night. Cuz it could be Jesus knocking. And he might be hungry.
Garlic knot, anyone?
With that now out of the way...I struggle with the concept of the last days of Christ. I respect that in this giant cult based on his name, he is revered as a Son of God, as the living embodiment of the creator here on Earth, as the Prince of Peace and the Shepherd. He died for our sins, which incidently to mean should mean we all get a free pass, but hey I didn't make up the rules so don't get angry this way.
But.
Come on, really now; the man forced his followers to eat his flesh, drink his blood. He died, then crawled his way out of a grave to live again.
I don't know about you folks, and how strong-willed and resolute you are. But if i buried my friend, and while visiting his grave a few days later discovered it open, I'm going to consider a few options:
1) check the local medical schools for new cadaver arrivals, because some entrepenuring student is making a killing off graverobbing;
2) make sure my stock of garlic, blessed crosses and holy water is up to date;
3) keep the shotgun and axe handy, and start practicing head shots with the old .32
I am, however, very unlikely to bow down to my knees and cry tears of joy, because my friend was resurrected and has ascended to a higher being.
Do I lie? Take the holiest, kindest, sweetest person you know. And yes, I'll happily use Mother Theresa as an example. If she stepped out of her grave tomorrow morning, rubbing her eyes like she just woke up from a long nap...
...you'd plug her full of ammo, grab a hatchet and start swinging for her neck. Because you know damn well she's a goddamn zombie, and its either kill the beast or stick a straw in your ear and let her suck away at your brains.
Now, let's talk about the WTF-moment we all know as the Last Supper.
Let's say...you have a friend. You love this friend, he's the greatest dude, ever. You're so smitten with him, you're practically gay for him. But he's sick, and not long for this world, so he gathers up you and his other really tight bros, and holds a dinner party.
You're all drinking, laughing, having a good time, and in the middle of this dinner he gets up to start a speech. Let's gloss over the "one'a you bastiches is gonna rat me out" part of this, because then the follow up would involve him around a table with a baseball bat, and we've all seen how that movie ends up.
No, we'll stick to this part of the speech where he holds up the bread, breaks it apart, passes it out and says "Take, eat, this is my flesh."
Hold the fuck up. What?!
Seriously, would you eat the bread? Or would you be sitting there, open mouthed, staring at everyone else to see who's gonna stuff in down their gullets first? There ain't that much love in the whole goddamn world, that I'm gonna look down at my plate and be told it's someone's flesh, and I need to eat it.
But for the sake of argument, let's assume you laughed it off. "That Jesus, he's always cracking jokes." Ate the bread, chuckling.
Then he holds up the cup, pours you all a glass, and says "Drink it all, this is my blood."
Now. Really. Just a few weeks ago, I'd seen this fucker turn a whole well of tap water into Cabernet Sauvignon and loaves of bread into bouillabaisse, so now I'm looking at this cup of dark red, thick liquid and thinking: You Know, I'm Really Not That Thirsty, Thanks.
And yes, my stomach by this point would be doing flip-flops as I starting thinking harder about that bread-into-fishflesh, and wondering if the dinner roll I just ate just looked like a toe, or if it was my imagination.
So I don't know about you, but next Easter I won't be answering any doors at night. Cuz it could be Jesus knocking. And he might be hungry.
Garlic knot, anyone?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Maybe She Just Laid There Like A Corpse
Reversing lower court judges who said Wisconsin criminal law doesn't prohibit necrophilia, the state supreme court held today that rape law bans sex with dead bodies.
Because rape law prohibits sex with an unconsenting victim, "a reasonably well-informed person would understand the statute to prohibit sexual intercourse with a dead person," writes Justice Patience Drake Roggensack in the 5-2 majority opinion (PDF).
Two dissenting justices said the law was intended not to ban necrophilia but to permit rape charges when the victim was also murdered, according to the Associated Press.
The case arose from an alleged attempt by three young men carrying shovels, a crowbar and condoms to dig up a corpse in a Wisconsin cemetery in 2006 after one saw an obituary photo of an attractive 20-year-old woman who had been killed in a motorcycle accident a week earlier. Although they reportedly couldn't get into the concrete vault in which she was buried, they were charged with attempted sexual assault and theft after a police officer responded to a report of a suspicious vehicle in the Cassville cemetery.
...okay. Stop. Stop right there.
Originally I saw this article, and was going to write a whole thing about the oddities of local laws and their interpretations...then I got to the description of the crime.
These guys...in Wisconsin...saw the PHOTO of the girl who died. In a motorcycle accident. A week earlier.
And decided, "wow...I gotta get me some of that!"
I'm speechless. Dumbfounded, even. I mean, I have to see this picture - because on a scale of 1 to 10, i'm assuming this girl blows all others off the charts with her hotness factor. That's the only reasonable explanation for why three guys - and I'm going to assume they weren't sober, I mean this IS Wisconsin - why these three guys were suddenly SO taken with her beauty, they figured this:
That her dead, rotting corpse was still hotter than any chick in the town.
For the record, at least they were going to practice SAFE illegal sex.
iShake it Like A Polaroid Picture
I'm on record as being a member of the AntiApple Squad, wishing the blue screen of death on all infidels. Or is that iInfidels? Whatever. The point is, it should come as no surprise that I am completely baffled by the appeal of this shake ability with the iPhone.What'choo talkin' about Willis? Well, assuming you haven't been living under the proverbial rock, some features within certain applications on the phone allow/require you to physically shake your phone. Yes, that's shaken, not stirred, Mr. Bond.
For example, there's an application that will locate your position via GPS, then find you the nearest restaurants. Nice, huh? Well, folks, there's more. With this baby, you can have the phone randomly select the restaurant from the list of local eateries.
By shaking your phone.
It's like a slot machine; you sit and watch the list whiz by, slowing crawling to a stop. Okay Vanna, let's show these good people what they've won!
There's another application that will allow you to roll dice on the screen. By shaking it back and forth, and then watching the 3D dice bounce around the 2D screen (which, really then, makes it 2D doesn't it?) and roll to a stop. iCraps, anyone?
And of course, there's the inevitable take on the "naughty pen" - an image of a woman in a bikini, and if you shake the phone hard enough she starts to lose her clothing. And apparently her sense of self-worth.
Maybe I'm just the retarded one, and if so I fully accept the responsibilities that title comes with - but do I really want to shake this $300 piece of technology to get it to work? I mean, sure I do that at work with my computer screen - "Goddamnit you piece of crap, load...!" (slap slap), but am I really expecting that to DO something?
No, it's anger management.
I'm picturing a whole new generation of phone users, iPeople strolling down the block, shaking their wrists like they're choking the iLife out of their iPhones, literally squeezing information out of it. Was Homer Simpon prescient? "Why you little...!"
I can see the lawsuits now. Will we get a new round of carpal tunnel syndrome, from people hurting their wrists trying to find their way home? How about the ones with sweaty palms, the same Wii-mote users who hurled those innocuous white controllers smack into the middle of their $4500 plasma television screens? Will the ground be littered with the parts of broken iPhones (iLitter?) because of all the slippery palms dropping the delicate devices to the unforgiving concrete?
Perhaps parents can now start disciplining their kids in public again; we can call it the iDefense. "Your honor, I was trying to find out where the little monster flushed my keys to...shaking works to get info out of my phone, I figured it would work on my kid too!"
iInsane, iI know. But anything is iPossible.
For a Shine That's Jiggaboo Bright!
I was cruising the cable channels recently, bored one late night but not wanting to fall asleep, when I stumbled across this film title in the index: The Confederate States of America.
Well...there's no way I could possibly ignore this, could I?
Apparently the film is a mockumentary, a history of events leading up from the early days of the civil war until modern times - today. So what's the catch? The documentary - done in a typical History Channel, Discover Network style - treats the history of the world as if the South had WON the American Civil War, and gone on to conquer the North.
Now I expected an interesting thesis on how life would be different, attitudes completely changed to reflect less of a Black American influence, certainly. What I did not expect was to find myself immersed in a world where the Klan and Aryan Nation would feel right at home, where slavery still exists and where America silently supported Hitler's reign.
That, all on it's own, would have been a bit of a culture shock, but one I could deal with seeing; I'm objective enough for that, certainly. What I was completely unprepared for was the language used in the film - fictionally historically accurate to do, certainly, but it was disturbing on a deep emotional level.
What am I talking about? During the course of watching this film, I found myself flinching at hearing: jiggaboo, buck, pick-a-ninny, coon, mammy, sambo, nigger, darky...I saw white men in blackface, cartoons showing blacks with big red lips and ape-like faces...
It was shocking, but shocking in a fantastically amusing way. I was torn between being offended and being amused, which I think was the producers particular point.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about it; just the opposite. I think every black youth today should watch this film, because I honestly don't believe they have any idea what life may have been like for our slave ancestors, and I do think it's important that they don't forget what their forebears went through in order that they can enjoy their Xbox, BET and Nike shoes.
Well...there's no way I could possibly ignore this, could I?
Apparently the film is a mockumentary, a history of events leading up from the early days of the civil war until modern times - today. So what's the catch? The documentary - done in a typical History Channel, Discover Network style - treats the history of the world as if the South had WON the American Civil War, and gone on to conquer the North.
Now I expected an interesting thesis on how life would be different, attitudes completely changed to reflect less of a Black American influence, certainly. What I did not expect was to find myself immersed in a world where the Klan and Aryan Nation would feel right at home, where slavery still exists and where America silently supported Hitler's reign.
That, all on it's own, would have been a bit of a culture shock, but one I could deal with seeing; I'm objective enough for that, certainly. What I was completely unprepared for was the language used in the film - fictionally historically accurate to do, certainly, but it was disturbing on a deep emotional level.
What am I talking about? During the course of watching this film, I found myself flinching at hearing: jiggaboo, buck, pick-a-ninny, coon, mammy, sambo, nigger, darky...I saw white men in blackface, cartoons showing blacks with big red lips and ape-like faces...
It was shocking, but shocking in a fantastically amusing way. I was torn between being offended and being amused, which I think was the producers particular point.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about it; just the opposite. I think every black youth today should watch this film, because I honestly don't believe they have any idea what life may have been like for our slave ancestors, and I do think it's important that they don't forget what their forebears went through in order that they can enjoy their Xbox, BET and Nike shoes.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Black Gold
So someone tried to jack me this week.
More specifically, they tried to jack my gas.
Seriously, I thought stuff like only happened on the mountain roads of Guatemala, or in the Florida Everglades. When you think of people sticking hoses into gas tanks and siphoning fuel into a bucket, it brings up imagery of some moonshine era long ago.
Not 2008, Manhattan.
Here I was, all set early in the morning to head up to the lake, drop my kayak and get in some paddling before the weekend crowd starting invading. I had just over a quarter tank of gas and probably could have made it there and back without filling up, but i figured why take the chance? I stopped at a gas station which happened to be full service - and the guy tells me my gas cap was missing.
WTF?
I shrug; it's a gas cap, I can replace that easily enough. He tries to fill the tank, but after another quarter fill the nozzle is snapping like the tank is full. I'm looking at my guage, it's obviously at a half-tank.
Again. WTF?
So now I'm thinking, something's screwy here. It's 7:30 in the morning, I decide it'll be better if i stick around and talk to the mechanic when he comes in at 8. He's a little late, but that's fine. He takes a look, decides he can't really figure out what's going on unless they drop the tank and look inside. For that, he needs his crew - who come in at 9.
Wonnnnnnnderful.
They show, they pull the tank, and figure that someone busted the tank assembly inside while trying to force a hose down it. They've got to get the replacement parts, and get me a new cap - this time with a lock on it.
By the time all is said and done, it's after 11am and I'm just too tired and annoyed. Between labor, parts and gas I've spent over $200, gotten nothing I had planned accomplished, and pretty much wasted my morning.
And why? Because someone decided gas was so expensive, they needed to siphon off some of mine.
I swear, I'm going to set up cameras somewhere just so I can catch one of these morons. I'll spend the $50 it'll cost just to douse his arse in gasoline, and roast marshmallows on him after I light his butt up.
It just sucks, realizing that the gas in my tank was worth more to someone than trying to actually steal the truck.
Welcome to America, 2008.
More specifically, they tried to jack my gas.
Seriously, I thought stuff like only happened on the mountain roads of Guatemala, or in the Florida Everglades. When you think of people sticking hoses into gas tanks and siphoning fuel into a bucket, it brings up imagery of some moonshine era long ago.
Not 2008, Manhattan.
Here I was, all set early in the morning to head up to the lake, drop my kayak and get in some paddling before the weekend crowd starting invading. I had just over a quarter tank of gas and probably could have made it there and back without filling up, but i figured why take the chance? I stopped at a gas station which happened to be full service - and the guy tells me my gas cap was missing.
WTF?
I shrug; it's a gas cap, I can replace that easily enough. He tries to fill the tank, but after another quarter fill the nozzle is snapping like the tank is full. I'm looking at my guage, it's obviously at a half-tank.
Again. WTF?
So now I'm thinking, something's screwy here. It's 7:30 in the morning, I decide it'll be better if i stick around and talk to the mechanic when he comes in at 8. He's a little late, but that's fine. He takes a look, decides he can't really figure out what's going on unless they drop the tank and look inside. For that, he needs his crew - who come in at 9.
Wonnnnnnnderful.
They show, they pull the tank, and figure that someone busted the tank assembly inside while trying to force a hose down it. They've got to get the replacement parts, and get me a new cap - this time with a lock on it.
By the time all is said and done, it's after 11am and I'm just too tired and annoyed. Between labor, parts and gas I've spent over $200, gotten nothing I had planned accomplished, and pretty much wasted my morning.
And why? Because someone decided gas was so expensive, they needed to siphon off some of mine.
I swear, I'm going to set up cameras somewhere just so I can catch one of these morons. I'll spend the $50 it'll cost just to douse his arse in gasoline, and roast marshmallows on him after I light his butt up.
It just sucks, realizing that the gas in my tank was worth more to someone than trying to actually steal the truck.
Welcome to America, 2008.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
But does she do windows?
ROME (Reuters) - An Italian man was arrested on suspicion of kidnapping his ex-girlfriend from a pub, taking her home and forcing her to iron his clothes and wash the dishes, police said Monday.
The 43-year-old man dragged the woman out of a pub in the port city of Genoa, shoved her into a car and took her to his home where he made her iron and wash dishes after threatening her, they said.
Police arrived at his house after being tipped off by a friend of the woman who watched the scene at the pub.
The man, who was apparently furious at his ex-girlfriend for leaving him, was arrested on charges of kidnapping, police said.
Personally, I think he just really, really needed his laundry done.
The 43-year-old man dragged the woman out of a pub in the port city of Genoa, shoved her into a car and took her to his home where he made her iron and wash dishes after threatening her, they said.
Police arrived at his house after being tipped off by a friend of the woman who watched the scene at the pub.
The man, who was apparently furious at his ex-girlfriend for leaving him, was arrested on charges of kidnapping, police said.
Personally, I think he just really, really needed his laundry done.
Monday, June 16, 2008
A Coke & A Siam
Just as long as they don't fill it with that green jelly drink (nam quiew?), I'm okay with that.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Iron Men
I don't want to take anything away from Oscar Pistorius. I think he's an inspiration to amputees - and really anyone trying to overcome a disability - everywhere.
But I'm not certain how I feel about his participation in professional sports.
For those of you not in the here and now, Pistorius is making history by becoming the first double-amputee allowed to compete and qualify for the upcoming Beijing Olympics in track. Understand, we're not talking about the Special Olympics - this is the real deal, racing against full-bodied athletes.
So how is this double-amputee able to achieve this? He's using specially designed prosthetic legs, which allow him to compete on a level with other athletes.
Oscar was originally banned from using his prosthetics, based on an Olympic rule which prohibits the use of technical aids by athletes.
However, in appealing the ruling (which, incidently, the law firm I work for handled) he won his case and the ruling was overturned, clearing the way for him to work towards his Olympic dreams.
Now understand - I'm not against him competing, and I think it's admirable that he's overcome his handicap to an extent that he's capable of competing at Olympic levels; it's fascinating, from a purely scientific view, and heroic.
It's reminsicent of a former Major League Baseball player, Jim Abbott - born without a right hand, he learned to pitch lefty and taught himself how to switch his glove quickly from his stump to his left arm, making himself into a capable fielder. He won a gold medal on the US Olympic Team in 1988, and as a New York Yankee, Abbott pitched a no-hitter against the Cleveland Indians in 1993.
But he did it all with skill, not attachments or prosthetics.
The Cheetah® Flex-Foot is a J-shaped, high performance carbon composite prosthetic sprinting foot, designed to store and release energy in order to mimic the reaction of the anatomical foot/ankle joint of able bodied runners. From the manufacturer's own website:
This is the very heart of the issue. The Cheetah prosthetic is basically a giant spring, giving the wearer a distinct advantage over those runners who have to rely only on their natural leg muscles. I've personally seen the difference carbon flex limbs are capable of; as a former competitive archer myself, I watched the industry move from wood-foam core limbs for bows to carbon-composite limbs, as they allow more flex in a lighter limb, which allows for more power.
It begs the question: is Pistorius a faster runner WITH the prosthetic limbs, than he would have been had he been born with two strong legs? Is his speed as much a product of his prosthetics, as his training and determination? There are other amputee athletes who compete, but none of them are double amputees; many point out that it is their HEALTHY limbs that hold them back, as they are forced to alter their running stance to compensate for the extra speed kick they receive from their prosthetic limb. It's comical that this reminds me of how, as a child, I'd wonder how the original Bionic Man of television, Steve Austin, was able to run as fast as he did - in the original season, he only had one artificial limb and I wondered how his human leg was able to keep up.
Pistorius has two such limbs, and his peers have already voiced complaints that his double prosthetics give him added height, and that added height translates to a longer stride - which as a runner, further translates into increased speed and less energy expended to achieve the same speed and distance. Able-bodied athletes have complained that he does not suffer the stress on his knees and calves that they do, instead relying exclusively on his hips to power his strides. Pistorius himself admits
In this age of doping and performance enhancing in professional sports, Pistorius' tale is potentially a Pandora's Box. It's bad to take HGH to improve your performance and strength, but it's okay if you use technology. If an amputee pitcher used a prosthetic limb to learn to throw a ball, is it wrong if he's throwing strikes at 98pmh? Is it cheating, if an amputee wide receiver or running back has a form of the cheetah limbs?
I'm torn.
But I'm not certain how I feel about his participation in professional sports.
For those of you not in the here and now, Pistorius is making history by becoming the first double-amputee allowed to compete and qualify for the upcoming Beijing Olympics in track. Understand, we're not talking about the Special Olympics - this is the real deal, racing against full-bodied athletes.
So how is this double-amputee able to achieve this? He's using specially designed prosthetic legs, which allow him to compete on a level with other athletes.Oscar was originally banned from using his prosthetics, based on an Olympic rule which prohibits the use of technical aids by athletes.
However, in appealing the ruling (which, incidently, the law firm I work for handled) he won his case and the ruling was overturned, clearing the way for him to work towards his Olympic dreams.
Now understand - I'm not against him competing, and I think it's admirable that he's overcome his handicap to an extent that he's capable of competing at Olympic levels; it's fascinating, from a purely scientific view, and heroic.
It's reminsicent of a former Major League Baseball player, Jim Abbott - born without a right hand, he learned to pitch lefty and taught himself how to switch his glove quickly from his stump to his left arm, making himself into a capable fielder. He won a gold medal on the US Olympic Team in 1988, and as a New York Yankee, Abbott pitched a no-hitter against the Cleveland Indians in 1993.But he did it all with skill, not attachments or prosthetics.
The Cheetah® Flex-Foot is a J-shaped, high performance carbon composite prosthetic sprinting foot, designed to store and release energy in order to mimic the reaction of the anatomical foot/ankle joint of able bodied runners. From the manufacturer's own website:
The shape, which somewhat resembles the hind quarter of a Cheetah - hence the name - acts like a spring and shock absorber. The "J" curve is compressed at impact, storing energy as well as absorbing high levels of stress that would otherwise be absorbed by the user’s knee, hip, and lower back. At toe-off, the "J" returns back to its original shape, releasing a percentage of the stored energy and propelling the user forward.
The foot is designed to have more layers of carbon at higher stress points, such as the apex of the "J" curve, and less carbon where more flexibility is needed, such as the toe portion. Importantly, the Cheetah Flex-Foot has no heel component. This ensures that the reaction of the foot accurately mimics that of an able-bodied runner by keeping the user on the "balls of their feet," as well as producing a quicker reaction from the loading response as compared to traditional prosthetic feet.
This is the very heart of the issue. The Cheetah prosthetic is basically a giant spring, giving the wearer a distinct advantage over those runners who have to rely only on their natural leg muscles. I've personally seen the difference carbon flex limbs are capable of; as a former competitive archer myself, I watched the industry move from wood-foam core limbs for bows to carbon-composite limbs, as they allow more flex in a lighter limb, which allows for more power.
It begs the question: is Pistorius a faster runner WITH the prosthetic limbs, than he would have been had he been born with two strong legs? Is his speed as much a product of his prosthetics, as his training and determination? There are other amputee athletes who compete, but none of them are double amputees; many point out that it is their HEALTHY limbs that hold them back, as they are forced to alter their running stance to compensate for the extra speed kick they receive from their prosthetic limb. It's comical that this reminds me of how, as a child, I'd wonder how the original Bionic Man of television, Steve Austin, was able to run as fast as he did - in the original season, he only had one artificial limb and I wondered how his human leg was able to keep up.
Pistorius has two such limbs, and his peers have already voiced complaints that his double prosthetics give him added height, and that added height translates to a longer stride - which as a runner, further translates into increased speed and less energy expended to achieve the same speed and distance. Able-bodied athletes have complained that he does not suffer the stress on his knees and calves that they do, instead relying exclusively on his hips to power his strides. Pistorius himself admits
In this age of doping and performance enhancing in professional sports, Pistorius' tale is potentially a Pandora's Box. It's bad to take HGH to improve your performance and strength, but it's okay if you use technology. If an amputee pitcher used a prosthetic limb to learn to throw a ball, is it wrong if he's throwing strikes at 98pmh? Is it cheating, if an amputee wide receiver or running back has a form of the cheetah limbs?
I'm torn.
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