I get these email updates from VH.1 every so often about new music, and in the usual mix I see that Will Smith has a new album coming out. The link is to 3 of his new songs.
Now...I'm admittedly no longer a fan of hip-hop or R&B. I should say, today's hip-hop and R&B, because I no longer believe that R&B exists except as a sub-set of hip-hop, and hip-hop today SUCKS. Rap is dead, there's no art in it anymore, and musically there are incredibly few artists in the so-called R&B category who would have cut it on the Motown label. Alicia Keys is a notable standout, and she's one of the few reasons I still have hope for R&B as a genre.
But back to the Not-So-Fresh Prince, and his new album "Lost and Found"
He should have called it "Lost it and Ain't Found it Yet". Damn! I mean, that was some serious audio crap! I had to go find a cotton swab to get the shit out of my ears left over from listening to those songs! Will, your movies: good shit. This album? I wouldn't flush it down a toilet cuz I'd be afraid of clogging my pipes and dealing with the backed-up overflow!
Here's my review of the three songs I heard:
SWITCH
Okay, I did give him props with this one. Not because it's good, but because it's catchy in a dance-club sort of way. It needs some remixing done to pump it up (and not that crap reggae version I also heard!), but I can see this thumping in the clubs with a heavy dance beat mixed with that deep bass bump he's got going.
Typically Will Smith, you can already see the part in the video where he stops the song and begins his dance routine - you know the one, the big Michael Jackson production with Will in the center and some nameless nobody's in the back copying his moves.
Still; this is definitely going to be a summer dance hit, even if it does suck verbally. "Something sexy about a, girl on the floor all her friends around her, I mean real clean ain't gotta touch or nuttin', not like I like a chick-on-chick, or sumthin', I'm just a sucka for a hot track gimme a drink..."
Whatever, niggah.
HERE HE COMES
Fitting title, cuz I can see people scoping around the corner saying "oh shit, look out, here he comes, hide!" Will, what the hell were you thinking with this? The backbeat is the old spiderman cartoon theme song - no shit peeps, that's the chorus, sung to the tune of "Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can...":
"Here he comes, he can rock,
He can breakdance and he can pop;
He can rap, he can act,
And if you come down to it he can scratch
Hey there, here comes Big Will again..."
Now. Will. Are you trying to tell me you didn't have one, single, honest mofo in your posse who heard this song and bitchslapped you for being stupid? No one to tell you that you sound like a pathetic jackass singing this song? Jada needs to kick you to the curb for this crap.
And you wanna know what pisses me off the most? About a minute into the song, almost exactly (I checked the time stamp) I started saying "Damn, this sounds familiar...whose style is this?"
Then I nailed it. Eminem! Muthafuckah ripped Slim Shady's rhyming style! That whole quick-flow, punctuate the end of your rhymes for emphasis, don't stop to take a breath scheme? I shit you not! YOU listen to the damn song and tell me if it doesn't sound like Mathers wrote it and Will stole it!
I'm ashamed, Will; bad enough you lost your own flow, but you hadda take the white boy's? Daaaamnnn....
PARTY STARTER
You know that song you pull out at a party, the very first one you play just to make some noise until people get a drink in them and start to loosen up? That's why he named this POS a party starter, cuz you sure as hell don't wanna pull it out in the middle of it when people got a groove going!
Will. You USED to be a rapper, and even then you were a comedic rapper. That was your schtick, and it worked for you. You ain't gangsta, ne-gro! Holy mother of god, what the hell were you thinking? Did you NOT see what happened to Hammer when THAT fool tried to go hardcore?
The song starts off promising enough, if you're into the whole gangsta style rap. I can already see the thugs sittin' in their caddy, music blaring in the Cali sun, arms dangling out the window. Like every Snoop video. Then this is what you hear, a thuggie-style flow from the Fresh Prince:
"I'm the party starter,
You might have a good time
But we party harder
Tell the DJ to play my song
And we can dance all night to the early morn"
Tupac is screaming from his grave, "Shoot that mofo!" When this song hits the airwaves there's gonna be a bunch of brothers from Philly standing on the corner shaking their heads, saying "why, Will? Why'd you have to go there?"
"Big Will that's my name
Writing rhymes, that's my game
Ask me again and I'll tell you the same (woo!)"
It's sad, because you listen to it and if you don't bother paying attention to the words you'll swear it's some new schmuck from the west coast, the sound is pure Cali - and then you start hearing "Big Willy" and you can't help but say "WTF?"
It's like Michael Jackson singing "I'm bad...I'm bad...I'm really really bad..."
So, Will: when's your next movie coming out?
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Neoprene Man
Neoprene Man
So, I've been wearing a neoprene thigh brace for the past 3 weeks to help a pulled hamstring heal.
Now, the gag here is that my volleyball teammates have gotten so used to seeing me play injured that when I show up and actually put on a brace, they ask "what happened, are you hurt?" - even though I've been limping around the court for the last 2+ weeks. I wear a thigh brace, knee braces, and ankle braces. I'm surprised I'm not wearing elbow braces, but give me time - I'm sure I'll find a way to injure at least one.
What's my point? I play hard, probably dangerously hard and I'm certain I'll pay for this in my old age. Or will I?
I'm 36 years old, and the old bones and joints aren't as flexible as they used to be. Still, I'm on the court and I see these guys 5, 10 years younger than me playing like they're 5, 10 years older than me and wonder...is it me? I have friends I've known for 15, 20 years and they act the way I thought 40-50 year olds act. They complain about creaky knees, achy joints, gouty feet...they go to bed at 8, and worry about playing any kind of sport because they won't be able to get out of bed the next morning.
Shit. They're old. So what the fuck is wrong with me?
One friend has ribbed me for years, because before and after whatever sport du jour we played I'd pop an ibuprofin pill or two, rub some ointment on a knee or calf, or struggle with some brace or another. "I'll kill myself before I use that stuff", he'd boast.
Then the next day I'll buzz him to come out for another game, and he can't even reach for the phone because his knees are hurting so badly.
To paraphrase the immortal Dr. King, I have a dream. One day I'll be 80, standing at the top of some mountain. I may have let my hair grow out, and be this sinewy, sun-tanned old guy with silver dreds in a snowsuit. I'll be the one showing my grandkids how to snowboard, while their parents complain about the cold while sipping hot toddies in the ski lodge.
And underneath all that snow gear, I'll be wearing a neoprene bodysuit.
I may be old...but I ain't stupid. And I'm still playing the game like kids half my age
So, I've been wearing a neoprene thigh brace for the past 3 weeks to help a pulled hamstring heal.
Now, the gag here is that my volleyball teammates have gotten so used to seeing me play injured that when I show up and actually put on a brace, they ask "what happened, are you hurt?" - even though I've been limping around the court for the last 2+ weeks. I wear a thigh brace, knee braces, and ankle braces. I'm surprised I'm not wearing elbow braces, but give me time - I'm sure I'll find a way to injure at least one.
What's my point? I play hard, probably dangerously hard and I'm certain I'll pay for this in my old age. Or will I?
I'm 36 years old, and the old bones and joints aren't as flexible as they used to be. Still, I'm on the court and I see these guys 5, 10 years younger than me playing like they're 5, 10 years older than me and wonder...is it me? I have friends I've known for 15, 20 years and they act the way I thought 40-50 year olds act. They complain about creaky knees, achy joints, gouty feet...they go to bed at 8, and worry about playing any kind of sport because they won't be able to get out of bed the next morning.
Shit. They're old. So what the fuck is wrong with me?
One friend has ribbed me for years, because before and after whatever sport du jour we played I'd pop an ibuprofin pill or two, rub some ointment on a knee or calf, or struggle with some brace or another. "I'll kill myself before I use that stuff", he'd boast.
Then the next day I'll buzz him to come out for another game, and he can't even reach for the phone because his knees are hurting so badly.
To paraphrase the immortal Dr. King, I have a dream. One day I'll be 80, standing at the top of some mountain. I may have let my hair grow out, and be this sinewy, sun-tanned old guy with silver dreds in a snowsuit. I'll be the one showing my grandkids how to snowboard, while their parents complain about the cold while sipping hot toddies in the ski lodge.
And underneath all that snow gear, I'll be wearing a neoprene bodysuit.
I may be old...but I ain't stupid. And I'm still playing the game like kids half my age
I Hate My Government
I hate my government.
I love my country. I'm proud, for the most part, to be an American. Even when we do stupid shit, I'm proud of the principles America, as a country, stands for.
My government, on the other hand, is shit.
I'll keep this short, out of respect for some of my friends in the south. But would someone please, please answer me this: If Saddam was such a threat because of his WMD's...if he was such a threat that we went to war, to prevent him from obtaining nuclear weapons...if Iran is being considered such a threat because they're developing nuclear weapons...
The evidence indicates that Iraq is reconstituting its nuclear weapons program. Saddam Hussein has held numerous meetings with Iraqi nuclear scientists, a group he calls his "nuclear mujahideen" -- his nuclear holy warriors..Knowing these realities, America must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof, the smoking gun that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud." -- George W. Bush, Cincinnati, Ohio Speech, October 7, 2002
If that's true, then why does Kim Jong II of North Korea get to keep calling us out by name, threatening us with nukes...and not even get a slap on the wrist? He's like Clubber Lane in Rocky III.
It couldn't be because...and I'm hypothesizing here...that because he's the crazy man in a backwater swamp waving a loaded gun, and Saddam was the crazy man we already beat up on, swinging a broken stick in a house full of black gold?
But, you know. Priorities and all.
I love my country. I'm proud, for the most part, to be an American. Even when we do stupid shit, I'm proud of the principles America, as a country, stands for.
My government, on the other hand, is shit.
I'll keep this short, out of respect for some of my friends in the south. But would someone please, please answer me this: If Saddam was such a threat because of his WMD's...if he was such a threat that we went to war, to prevent him from obtaining nuclear weapons...if Iran is being considered such a threat because they're developing nuclear weapons...
The evidence indicates that Iraq is reconstituting its nuclear weapons program. Saddam Hussein has held numerous meetings with Iraqi nuclear scientists, a group he calls his "nuclear mujahideen" -- his nuclear holy warriors..Knowing these realities, America must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof, the smoking gun that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud." -- George W. Bush, Cincinnati, Ohio Speech, October 7, 2002
If that's true, then why does Kim Jong II of North Korea get to keep calling us out by name, threatening us with nukes...and not even get a slap on the wrist? He's like Clubber Lane in Rocky III.
It couldn't be because...and I'm hypothesizing here...that because he's the crazy man in a backwater swamp waving a loaded gun, and Saddam was the crazy man we already beat up on, swinging a broken stick in a house full of black gold?
But, you know. Priorities and all.
Monday, March 07, 2005
DestructoPods
Destructo-Pods!
Hah!! I warned you! I warrrrrrnnnnnned you allllllllllllll! Those iPods are evil!!!
Case in point. Walking past Stef this morning, and she'll kill me for this but hey - it's a long line, I've got time! - she mentions, oh-so-casually...
"My iPod blew up!"
!!!!!
Oooooookay. "What do you mean, blew up?"
"Yeah", she says. "Blew up. Just like (insert attorney name here)".
!!!!!
"Um. This is news."
Apparently iPods have a *minor* tendency to do things like, oh, lock up and stop working. Apple people don't seem upset by this. The response I got was "I'll just send it back and get a new one."
Now...PC people would be rioting outside Bill Gates' house right now if...okay forget I said that. We still buy every edition of Windows even though we know it's still in Beta testing, and we're the Beta Suckers paying for it.
We'd be bitching pretty damned loudly about it, tho'!! .
But you Apple people...it's like they give you free qualudes with every purchase. "Hey man, it's all good...be at one with the Pod, baby!"
Freaks.
And now they're being proven out to be the Antichrist I always knew they were. Forget Bill Gates and Microsoft, he was the obvious monster - the Leviathan of Revelations. I knew the Antichrist was still out there...and now I have proof! Others are rallying to my cause!
A lawsuit has just been filed by an individual against Apple because, and I quote: "Apple has unlawfully bundled, tied, and/or leveraged its monopoly in the market for the sale of legal online digital music recordings to thwart competition in the separate market for portable hard drive digital music players and vice-versa."
Personally I think the guy is stupid. Watch, he's going to have an "accident", disappear, and no one will question why.
Cuz the Pod People protect their own. Ooooooooo-eeeeeeeee-ooooooooo. Spooky stuff.
Remember, true believers - you heard it here first!
(oh...wait...no...don't remember that. I said nothing! Really! Don't report meeeeeeee....!) .
(Update: further proof that there is a Cult of iPod People trying to take over the world. Another co-worker warned me to keep my Sacred Sandisk media player hidden from her boyfriend, because she just bought him a - yes, you guessed it - an iPod Shuffle. And she doesn't want him to know, quote, "that there is something better out there."
Sounds a lot like the Catholic Church in medieval times, doesn't it? Hahaha sorry I had to throw that one in there. Forgive me father for I have sinned. A lot.)
Hah!! I warned you! I warrrrrrnnnnnned you allllllllllllll! Those iPods are evil!!!
Case in point. Walking past Stef this morning, and she'll kill me for this but hey - it's a long line, I've got time! - she mentions, oh-so-casually...
"My iPod blew up!"
!!!!!
Oooooookay. "What do you mean, blew up?"
"Yeah", she says. "Blew up. Just like (insert attorney name here)".
!!!!!
"Um. This is news."
Apparently iPods have a *minor* tendency to do things like, oh, lock up and stop working. Apple people don't seem upset by this. The response I got was "I'll just send it back and get a new one."
Now...PC people would be rioting outside Bill Gates' house right now if...okay forget I said that. We still buy every edition of Windows even though we know it's still in Beta testing, and we're the Beta Suckers paying for it.
We'd be bitching pretty damned loudly about it, tho'!! .
But you Apple people...it's like they give you free qualudes with every purchase. "Hey man, it's all good...be at one with the Pod, baby!"
Freaks.
And now they're being proven out to be the Antichrist I always knew they were. Forget Bill Gates and Microsoft, he was the obvious monster - the Leviathan of Revelations. I knew the Antichrist was still out there...and now I have proof! Others are rallying to my cause!
A lawsuit has just been filed by an individual against Apple because, and I quote: "Apple has unlawfully bundled, tied, and/or leveraged its monopoly in the market for the sale of legal online digital music recordings to thwart competition in the separate market for portable hard drive digital music players and vice-versa."
Personally I think the guy is stupid. Watch, he's going to have an "accident", disappear, and no one will question why.
Cuz the Pod People protect their own. Ooooooooo-eeeeeeeee-ooooooooo. Spooky stuff.
Remember, true believers - you heard it here first!
(oh...wait...no...don't remember that. I said nothing! Really! Don't report meeeeeeee....!) .
(Update: further proof that there is a Cult of iPod People trying to take over the world. Another co-worker warned me to keep my Sacred Sandisk media player hidden from her boyfriend, because she just bought him a - yes, you guessed it - an iPod Shuffle. And she doesn't want him to know, quote, "that there is something better out there."
Sounds a lot like the Catholic Church in medieval times, doesn't it? Hahaha sorry I had to throw that one in there. Forgive me father for I have sinned. A lot.)
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Arrogance
March 3, 2005 - Thursday
Arrogance
Yes, I can be an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
Why deny it, right? "I yam what I yams, a-yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!" When you're a Capricorn solar sign and Monkey lunar sign, there isn't much room for modesty. I do try to curb it, but I have my moments.
For example, I have a baaaaad tendency to do it at work. I'll have a call my name with that hanging question mark at the end as if they're about to ask me something, I automatically reply "No" without ever having heard the question.
"No? But you don't even know what I was going to ask you to do!"
"Yeah but if I start you off with a No, you won't feel so bad when I confirm it later."
Or my catch phrase, which I should trademark:
"I'm never wrong. The rest of the world just hasn't come around to my way of thinking yet."
Here's a perfect example. A friend's girlfriend called him while a group of us were having dinner, and I could tell he was getting the treatment - so I asked for the phone and ask her what the problem is. She tells me she has a cold, so he should feel guilty for being out having fun while she's home feeling sick.
I told her, of course jokingly: "Well really he's doing you a favor. If he comes home you'll annoy him, he'll be pissed, you'll get pissed because he's pissed, and end up in a worse mood than you're in. So by him staying out he's actually helping you feel better."
She gets upset, yells (!) at me to "stop trying that reverse psychology shit" on her.
I got pissed back. "This isn't reverse psychology, this is circular logic. I know you don't know the difference but spend some time, think about it and when your brain stops hurting - come back to me."
I know, cruel - but I hate seeing a man whipped like a dog. Unless the man is me. And the woman doing the whipping has an actual whip, and high leather boots on. Oooo, and...never mind. You get the idea.
So where'd this all come about? I happened to glance at my horoscope today, and this is what it said:
Someone's mumbling, and from the rumble of their voice, it sounds like fighting words. You'd recognize them anywhere, and you're not at all intimidated. In fact, you're already thinking about how to apologize once the debate's over, because you know you're going to win. You probably even know how many sentences it will take to completely befuddle the opponent. Get over the guilt thing. It's not your fault you're better equipped than they are to handle this -- and just about everything else.
See? Even the stars get it. I am absolved of all guilt. Assuming I actually ever felt any. .
All your bases belong to us.
Arrogance
Yes, I can be an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
Why deny it, right? "I yam what I yams, a-yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!" When you're a Capricorn solar sign and Monkey lunar sign, there isn't much room for modesty. I do try to curb it, but I have my moments.
For example, I have a baaaaad tendency to do it at work. I'll have a call my name with that hanging question mark at the end as if they're about to ask me something, I automatically reply "No" without ever having heard the question.
"No? But you don't even know what I was going to ask you to do!"
"Yeah but if I start you off with a No, you won't feel so bad when I confirm it later."
Or my catch phrase, which I should trademark:
"I'm never wrong. The rest of the world just hasn't come around to my way of thinking yet."
Here's a perfect example. A friend's girlfriend called him while a group of us were having dinner, and I could tell he was getting the treatment - so I asked for the phone and ask her what the problem is. She tells me she has a cold, so he should feel guilty for being out having fun while she's home feeling sick.
I told her, of course jokingly: "Well really he's doing you a favor. If he comes home you'll annoy him, he'll be pissed, you'll get pissed because he's pissed, and end up in a worse mood than you're in. So by him staying out he's actually helping you feel better."
She gets upset, yells (!) at me to "stop trying that reverse psychology shit" on her.
I got pissed back. "This isn't reverse psychology, this is circular logic. I know you don't know the difference but spend some time, think about it and when your brain stops hurting - come back to me."
I know, cruel - but I hate seeing a man whipped like a dog. Unless the man is me. And the woman doing the whipping has an actual whip, and high leather boots on. Oooo, and...never mind. You get the idea.
So where'd this all come about? I happened to glance at my horoscope today, and this is what it said:
Someone's mumbling, and from the rumble of their voice, it sounds like fighting words. You'd recognize them anywhere, and you're not at all intimidated. In fact, you're already thinking about how to apologize once the debate's over, because you know you're going to win. You probably even know how many sentences it will take to completely befuddle the opponent. Get over the guilt thing. It's not your fault you're better equipped than they are to handle this -- and just about everything else.
See? Even the stars get it. I am absolved of all guilt. Assuming I actually ever felt any. .
All your bases belong to us.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
iPod People
February 16, 2005 - Wednesday
iPod People
I came *this* close to joining the Cult of Apple. You almost got me, Steve Jobs. And I thought Bill Gates was the antichrist, but he's much too blunt. Your deceptively seductive ways nearly drew me over to the dark side of the Force, and I very nearly became the oh-so-proud owner of an iPod Shuffle.
Back, ye demon of the abyss! Away with thee, hellspawn!
As I walked past a Circuit City this evening, annoyed at my inability to track down an iShuffle which for some inexplicable reason I was desperately hungry to own, I felt an odd tug on my soul. "Come inside" a voice said, fairly mysteriously. "Come inside, and seek your heart's desire!"
"Really? There's a table with Anna lying nude with a sushi buffet spread across her for me to eat?"
A quick (and unnecessarily painful!) metaphysical slap upside the head, and I found myself inside Circuit City looking over their MP3 players. Would this be where I find my preciousssss? Finds it, we must! Yesssssss, needs it, my preciousss!
Then did the light of the Lord shine down from the Heavens, and lo and behold what did I see?
A Sandisk 1.0G Digital Audio Player.
WTF? Where's my glistening white iPod? They had sleeves for them, skins for them, speakers for them...but no iPod to be found! I want my Shuffle, dammit!
Pouting, I read over the specs for this...this...imposter of a device.
Digital FM Tuner with 20 presets. Voice recorder. Plays MP3 and WMA formats. Includes carrying case with armband, earphones and software. USB 2.0 port. Full digital audio control. Backlit LCD display. Runs for 15 hours on 1 AAA battery.
And: I did not need to use the provided software. Open My Documents, click on the music you want, drag and drop. Done.
"Hah!" I cried. "And what ransom are they asking for this miracle mechanical marvel? $300? $500?"
I spied the price tag. $159.99.
Can you hear it? The angelic choir? "AAA-aaa-AAAA-aaa-AAAhhh!" It brought a tear to my eye, it was so beautiful to behold.
I fell in love with this silvery holy creation. I did not need to become one of the Pod (iPod) People. I could reject the Apple Nation, and be proud of my PC-ness once again!
Hallelujah and amen!
But...was it a scam? Would it prove to be a lie, all of it, just a seductive doppleganger teasing me with it's inferiority, leaving me - in the end - wanting the sacred Shuffle all the more?
I brought it home and instantly plugged it into my USB port. "New found hardware!", my PC cried. "Your device is now configured and ready for use", it assured me!
Oh the joy!
Lovingly I loaded Windows Media Player, purposefully ignoring the Installation Disk my player came with - MusicMatch software embedded within. A popup! "Would you like to synch this USB device now?" it asked, quite pleasantly I might add.
"No", I replied. "I would like to do it manually."
"As you wish" it said, smiling it's pleasure at my choice. My Choice!
I browsed my music files. I Added Them To My Synch List. And when I was done, I Synched.
And it was Good.
And Lo and Behold, there was a Light - and My SanDisk Digital Audio Player was filled with the light of the MP3, and it also was Good.
And the Lord, Me, was Pleased.
So: I say, Get Thee Behind Me, Apple-Satan!
I am a PC user, untainted by the bleached sterile mark of the Apple-Beast.
Amen.
iPod People
I came *this* close to joining the Cult of Apple. You almost got me, Steve Jobs. And I thought Bill Gates was the antichrist, but he's much too blunt. Your deceptively seductive ways nearly drew me over to the dark side of the Force, and I very nearly became the oh-so-proud owner of an iPod Shuffle.
Back, ye demon of the abyss! Away with thee, hellspawn!
As I walked past a Circuit City this evening, annoyed at my inability to track down an iShuffle which for some inexplicable reason I was desperately hungry to own, I felt an odd tug on my soul. "Come inside" a voice said, fairly mysteriously. "Come inside, and seek your heart's desire!"
"Really? There's a table with Anna lying nude with a sushi buffet spread across her for me to eat?"
A quick (and unnecessarily painful!) metaphysical slap upside the head, and I found myself inside Circuit City looking over their MP3 players. Would this be where I find my preciousssss? Finds it, we must! Yesssssss, needs it, my preciousss!
Then did the light of the Lord shine down from the Heavens, and lo and behold what did I see?
A Sandisk 1.0G Digital Audio Player.
WTF? Where's my glistening white iPod? They had sleeves for them, skins for them, speakers for them...but no iPod to be found! I want my Shuffle, dammit!
Pouting, I read over the specs for this...this...imposter of a device.
Digital FM Tuner with 20 presets. Voice recorder. Plays MP3 and WMA formats. Includes carrying case with armband, earphones and software. USB 2.0 port. Full digital audio control. Backlit LCD display. Runs for 15 hours on 1 AAA battery.
And: I did not need to use the provided software. Open My Documents, click on the music you want, drag and drop. Done.
"Hah!" I cried. "And what ransom are they asking for this miracle mechanical marvel? $300? $500?"
I spied the price tag. $159.99.
Can you hear it? The angelic choir? "AAA-aaa-AAAA-aaa-AAAhhh!" It brought a tear to my eye, it was so beautiful to behold.
I fell in love with this silvery holy creation. I did not need to become one of the Pod (iPod) People. I could reject the Apple Nation, and be proud of my PC-ness once again!
Hallelujah and amen!
But...was it a scam? Would it prove to be a lie, all of it, just a seductive doppleganger teasing me with it's inferiority, leaving me - in the end - wanting the sacred Shuffle all the more?
I brought it home and instantly plugged it into my USB port. "New found hardware!", my PC cried. "Your device is now configured and ready for use", it assured me!
Oh the joy!
Lovingly I loaded Windows Media Player, purposefully ignoring the Installation Disk my player came with - MusicMatch software embedded within. A popup! "Would you like to synch this USB device now?" it asked, quite pleasantly I might add.
"No", I replied. "I would like to do it manually."
"As you wish" it said, smiling it's pleasure at my choice. My Choice!
I browsed my music files. I Added Them To My Synch List. And when I was done, I Synched.
And it was Good.
And Lo and Behold, there was a Light - and My SanDisk Digital Audio Player was filled with the light of the MP3, and it also was Good.
And the Lord, Me, was Pleased.
So: I say, Get Thee Behind Me, Apple-Satan!
I am a PC user, untainted by the bleached sterile mark of the Apple-Beast.
Amen.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Starfish & Coffee
February 13, 2005 - Sunday
Starfish & Coffee
So. Why does having a different view on what you want this world to be, have to make you psychologically damaged?
Let's rewind. I recently had a conversation with a casual friend who, not knowing me very well, was still determined to catagorize me.
En garde, have at thee knave!
This all stems from me having recently broke up with my gf of a year, because I had the foresight to see it wasn't going anywhere long-term and wanted to end it before it turned a brighter shade of ugly. The near-argument that ensued was brought on by my annoyance that this friend was having trouble comprehending why I seem to have no desire for the "package" - the wife, the 2.5 kids, the house in the suburbs, the dog named Scruffy and the cat named Fluffy. This, she feels, is what normal human beings want so there must obviously be something wrong with me for not wanting it. The "fear of committment" argument was brought out, dusted off and placed high on the mantle - which I quickly slapped aside, kicked into the fireplace and burned to ash.
My point was that I fully admit I don't want "the Life" - but it isn't because I don't want to settle down. It's because I refuse to settle, period. So what if everyone else follows the same path? Why should I spend 3 months pay on a ring to buy a potential bride? Why should we then anchor ourselves in one place, and forget that we ever had dreams, goals, aspirations? Why does having a family - or hell, just becoming a couple - mean you have to cut yourself off from your friends, to metamorph into this amalgamated Thing? No longer a person, you're now a Couple. People no longer talk about you as an individual, you're now JohnAndMary, a hybrid creature with no resemblance to the people you used to be.
This is what "maturing" is supposed to mean in our society; it means giving up your Self to merge, to become one with the hive mind. We are the Borg, you will be assimilated. Well frag that. I told another friend once that I'm not looking for someone to settle down with, I'm looking for someone to keep dreaming with. Eagles fly free, they still spread their wings and glide on the wind, but they do so together - family and all. The nest is a comfort place, but the sky is where they really live. And I don't want to burrow underground and join the community, sorry - not me. I like the treetops, the clouds, the mountaintops. I don't care if this is a dream, a fantasy, if I'm chasing rainbows - dammit I'll keep on chasing it, and to hell with the rest of the world if they just don't get it.
If that means I keep jumping from relationship to relationship until I find another dreamer, so be it; I'd rather be alone and imaginatively free, than married and dead inside. I don't want to be the pair of caged songbirds, watching the world through a dirty window. So, in the words of the immortal Prince:
All of us where ordinary compared to Cynthia Rose
She always stood at the back of the line
A smile beneath her nose
Her favorite number was 20 and every single day
If u asked her what she had 4 breakfast
This is what she’d say
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, baby
Maybe you’d understand
Starfish and coffee Maple syrup and jam
Starfish & Coffee
So. Why does having a different view on what you want this world to be, have to make you psychologically damaged?
Let's rewind. I recently had a conversation with a casual friend who, not knowing me very well, was still determined to catagorize me.
En garde, have at thee knave!
This all stems from me having recently broke up with my gf of a year, because I had the foresight to see it wasn't going anywhere long-term and wanted to end it before it turned a brighter shade of ugly. The near-argument that ensued was brought on by my annoyance that this friend was having trouble comprehending why I seem to have no desire for the "package" - the wife, the 2.5 kids, the house in the suburbs, the dog named Scruffy and the cat named Fluffy. This, she feels, is what normal human beings want so there must obviously be something wrong with me for not wanting it. The "fear of committment" argument was brought out, dusted off and placed high on the mantle - which I quickly slapped aside, kicked into the fireplace and burned to ash.
My point was that I fully admit I don't want "the Life" - but it isn't because I don't want to settle down. It's because I refuse to settle, period. So what if everyone else follows the same path? Why should I spend 3 months pay on a ring to buy a potential bride? Why should we then anchor ourselves in one place, and forget that we ever had dreams, goals, aspirations? Why does having a family - or hell, just becoming a couple - mean you have to cut yourself off from your friends, to metamorph into this amalgamated Thing? No longer a person, you're now a Couple. People no longer talk about you as an individual, you're now JohnAndMary, a hybrid creature with no resemblance to the people you used to be.
This is what "maturing" is supposed to mean in our society; it means giving up your Self to merge, to become one with the hive mind. We are the Borg, you will be assimilated. Well frag that. I told another friend once that I'm not looking for someone to settle down with, I'm looking for someone to keep dreaming with. Eagles fly free, they still spread their wings and glide on the wind, but they do so together - family and all. The nest is a comfort place, but the sky is where they really live. And I don't want to burrow underground and join the community, sorry - not me. I like the treetops, the clouds, the mountaintops. I don't care if this is a dream, a fantasy, if I'm chasing rainbows - dammit I'll keep on chasing it, and to hell with the rest of the world if they just don't get it.
If that means I keep jumping from relationship to relationship until I find another dreamer, so be it; I'd rather be alone and imaginatively free, than married and dead inside. I don't want to be the pair of caged songbirds, watching the world through a dirty window. So, in the words of the immortal Prince:
She always stood at the back of the line
A smile beneath her nose
Her favorite number was 20 and every single day
If u asked her what she had 4 breakfast
This is what she’d say
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, baby
Maybe you’d understand
Starfish and coffee Maple syrup and jam
Sunday, January 23, 2005
You Know You're From NY
January 23, 2005 - Sunday
You know you're from NY...
You Know You're From New York City When...
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know that this means Manhattan.
You have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
The subway makes sense.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You've considered stabbing someone just for saying "The Big Apple".
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a yard.
You consider Westchester "upstate".
You think Central Park is "nature."
You see nothing odd about the speed of an auctioneer's speaking.
You're paying $1,200 for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and you think it's a "steal."
You've been to New Jersey twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.S. pay in rent.
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to the clubs when most Americans are heading to bed.
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since the 80s, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
You take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
Going to Brooklyn is considered a "road trip."
America west of the Hudson is still theoretical to you.
You've gotten jaywalking down to an art form.
You take a taxi to get to your health club to exercise.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't notice sirens anymore.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
You think $7.00 to cross a bridge is a fair price.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favorite movie has DeNiro in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You run when you see a flashing "Do Not Walk" sign at the intersection.
You're 35 years old and don't have a driver's license.
You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.
You're willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
There is no North and South. It's uptown or downtown.
When you're away from home, you miss "real" pizza and "real" bagels.
You know the differences between all the different Ray's Pizzas.
You're not in the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year's Eve.
Your internal clock is permanently set to know when Alternate Side of the Street parking regulations are in effect.
You know what a bodega is.
You know how to fold the New York Times in half, vertically, so that you can read it on the subway or bus without knocking off other passenger's hats.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet.....
You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas
Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from NYC.
You know you're from NY...
You Know You're From New York City When...
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know that this means Manhattan.
You have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
The subway makes sense.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You've considered stabbing someone just for saying "The Big Apple".
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a yard.
You consider Westchester "upstate".
You think Central Park is "nature."
You see nothing odd about the speed of an auctioneer's speaking.
You're paying $1,200 for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and you think it's a "steal."
You've been to New Jersey twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.S. pay in rent.
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to the clubs when most Americans are heading to bed.
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since the 80s, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
You take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
Going to Brooklyn is considered a "road trip."
America west of the Hudson is still theoretical to you.
You've gotten jaywalking down to an art form.
You take a taxi to get to your health club to exercise.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't notice sirens anymore.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
You think $7.00 to cross a bridge is a fair price.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favorite movie has DeNiro in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You run when you see a flashing "Do Not Walk" sign at the intersection.
You're 35 years old and don't have a driver's license.
You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.
You're willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
There is no North and South. It's uptown or downtown.
When you're away from home, you miss "real" pizza and "real" bagels.
You know the differences between all the different Ray's Pizzas.
You're not in the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year's Eve.
Your internal clock is permanently set to know when Alternate Side of the Street parking regulations are in effect.
You know what a bodega is.
You know how to fold the New York Times in half, vertically, so that you can read it on the subway or bus without knocking off other passenger's hats.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet.....
You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas
Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from NYC.
Friday, January 21, 2005
2004 Darwin Awards
January 21, 2005 - Friday
Stupid People Tricks
DARWIN AWARDS 2004
They are finally out again.
In case you don't know it's an annual honour given to the person who did the gene pool the biggest service by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way, thereby removing their "stupid" genes from infecting our grandchildren.
Last year's winner was the fellow who was killed by a Coke machine which toppled over on top of him as he was attempting to tip a free soda out of it.
And the nominees this year, in reverse order, are:
7. A young Canadian man, searching for a way of getting drunk cheaply because he had no money with which to buy alcohol, mixed gasoline with milk. Not surprisingly, this concoction made him ill, and he vomited into the fireplace in his house. The resulting explosion and fire burned his house down, killing both him and his sister.
6. A 34-year-old white male found dead in the basement of his home died of suffocation, according to police. He was approximately 6' 2" tall and weighed 225 pounds. He was wearing a pleated skirt, white bra, black and white saddle shoes, and a woman's wig. It appeared that he was trying to create a schoolgirl's uniform look. He was also wearing a military gas mask that had the filter canister removed and a rubber hose attached in its place. The other end of the hose was connected to one end of a hollow tube approx. 30" long and 3" in diameter. The tube's other end was, for reasons unknown, inserted into his rectum and was the cause of his suffocation.
Police found the task of explaining the circumstances of his death to his family very awkward. .
5. Three Brazilian men were flying in a light aircraft at low altitude when another plane approached. It appears that they decided to moon the occupants of the other plane, but lost control of their own aircraft and crashed. They were all found dead in the wreckage with their pants around their ankles.
4. A 22-year-old, man was found dead after he tried to use octopus straps to bungee jump off a 70 foot railroad trestle. Fairfax County police said Eric Barcia, a fast-food worker, taped a bunch of these straps together, wrapped one end around one foot, anchored the other end to the trestle at Lake Accotink Park, jumped and hit the pavement. Warren Carmichael, a police spokesman, said investigators think Barcia was alone because his car was found nearby. "The length of the cord that he assembled was greater than the distance between the trestle and the ground" Carmichael said. Police say the apparent cause of death was "major trauma." .
3. A man in Alabama died from rattlesnake bites. It seems that he and a friend were playing a game of catch, using the rattlesnake as a ball. The friend, no doubt a future Darwin Awards candidate, was hospitalized. .
2. Employees in a medium sized warehouse in west Texas noticed the smell of a gas leak. Sensibly, management evacuated the building, extinguishing all potential sources of ignition; lights, power, etc. After the building had been evacuated, two technicians from the gas company were dispatched. Upon entering the building, they found they had difficulty navigating in the dark. To their frustration, none of the lights worked. Witnesses later described the sight of one of the technicians reaching into his pocket and retrieving an object that resembled a cigarette lighter. Upon operation of the lighter-like object, the gas in the warehouse exploded, sending pieces of it up to three miles away. Nothing was found of the technicians, but the lighter was virtually untouched by the explosion. The technician suspected of causing the blast had never been thought of as 'bright' by his peers. .
AND THE WINNER.....(ouch....)
1. Based on a bet by the other members of his threesome, Everitt Sanchez tried to wash his own "balls" in a ball washer at the local golf course. Proving once again that beer and testosterone are a bad mix, Sanchez managed to straddle the ball washer and dangle his balls in the machine. Much to his dismay, one of his buddies upped the ante by spinning the crank on the machine with Sanchez's balls in place, thus wedging them solidly in the mechanism.
Sanchez, who immediately passed his threshold of pain, collapsed and tumbled from his perch. Unfortunately for him, the height of the ball washer was more than a foot higher off the ground than his testicles are in a normal stance, and his balls were the weakest link.
Sanchez's balls ripped open during the fall, and one testicle was plucked from him forever and remained in the ball washer, while the other testicle was compressed and flattened as it was pulled between the housing of the washer, and the rotating machinery inside.
To add insult to injury, Sanchez broke a new $300.00 driver that he had just purchased from the pro shop, and was using to balance himself.
Sanchez was rushed to the hospital for surgery, and the remaining threesome was asked to leave the course.
Note: This last one wouldn't normally count, because the idiot didn't die. But because he cannot reproduce as a result of his qualifying act of stupidity, we have allowed it.
Stupid People Tricks
DARWIN AWARDS 2004
They are finally out again.
In case you don't know it's an annual honour given to the person who did the gene pool the biggest service by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way, thereby removing their "stupid" genes from infecting our grandchildren.
Last year's winner was the fellow who was killed by a Coke machine which toppled over on top of him as he was attempting to tip a free soda out of it.
And the nominees this year, in reverse order, are:
7. A young Canadian man, searching for a way of getting drunk cheaply because he had no money with which to buy alcohol, mixed gasoline with milk. Not surprisingly, this concoction made him ill, and he vomited into the fireplace in his house. The resulting explosion and fire burned his house down, killing both him and his sister.
6. A 34-year-old white male found dead in the basement of his home died of suffocation, according to police. He was approximately 6' 2" tall and weighed 225 pounds. He was wearing a pleated skirt, white bra, black and white saddle shoes, and a woman's wig. It appeared that he was trying to create a schoolgirl's uniform look. He was also wearing a military gas mask that had the filter canister removed and a rubber hose attached in its place. The other end of the hose was connected to one end of a hollow tube approx. 30" long and 3" in diameter. The tube's other end was, for reasons unknown, inserted into his rectum and was the cause of his suffocation.
Police found the task of explaining the circumstances of his death to his family very awkward. .
5. Three Brazilian men were flying in a light aircraft at low altitude when another plane approached. It appears that they decided to moon the occupants of the other plane, but lost control of their own aircraft and crashed. They were all found dead in the wreckage with their pants around their ankles.
4. A 22-year-old, man was found dead after he tried to use octopus straps to bungee jump off a 70 foot railroad trestle. Fairfax County police said Eric Barcia, a fast-food worker, taped a bunch of these straps together, wrapped one end around one foot, anchored the other end to the trestle at Lake Accotink Park, jumped and hit the pavement. Warren Carmichael, a police spokesman, said investigators think Barcia was alone because his car was found nearby. "The length of the cord that he assembled was greater than the distance between the trestle and the ground" Carmichael said. Police say the apparent cause of death was "major trauma." .
3. A man in Alabama died from rattlesnake bites. It seems that he and a friend were playing a game of catch, using the rattlesnake as a ball. The friend, no doubt a future Darwin Awards candidate, was hospitalized. .
2. Employees in a medium sized warehouse in west Texas noticed the smell of a gas leak. Sensibly, management evacuated the building, extinguishing all potential sources of ignition; lights, power, etc. After the building had been evacuated, two technicians from the gas company were dispatched. Upon entering the building, they found they had difficulty navigating in the dark. To their frustration, none of the lights worked. Witnesses later described the sight of one of the technicians reaching into his pocket and retrieving an object that resembled a cigarette lighter. Upon operation of the lighter-like object, the gas in the warehouse exploded, sending pieces of it up to three miles away. Nothing was found of the technicians, but the lighter was virtually untouched by the explosion. The technician suspected of causing the blast had never been thought of as 'bright' by his peers. .
AND THE WINNER.....(ouch....)
1. Based on a bet by the other members of his threesome, Everitt Sanchez tried to wash his own "balls" in a ball washer at the local golf course. Proving once again that beer and testosterone are a bad mix, Sanchez managed to straddle the ball washer and dangle his balls in the machine. Much to his dismay, one of his buddies upped the ante by spinning the crank on the machine with Sanchez's balls in place, thus wedging them solidly in the mechanism.
Sanchez, who immediately passed his threshold of pain, collapsed and tumbled from his perch. Unfortunately for him, the height of the ball washer was more than a foot higher off the ground than his testicles are in a normal stance, and his balls were the weakest link.
Sanchez's balls ripped open during the fall, and one testicle was plucked from him forever and remained in the ball washer, while the other testicle was compressed and flattened as it was pulled between the housing of the washer, and the rotating machinery inside.
To add insult to injury, Sanchez broke a new $300.00 driver that he had just purchased from the pro shop, and was using to balance himself.
Sanchez was rushed to the hospital for surgery, and the remaining threesome was asked to leave the course.
Note: This last one wouldn't normally count, because the idiot didn't die. But because he cannot reproduce as a result of his qualifying act of stupidity, we have allowed it.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle
January 20, 2005 - Thursday
Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle
Okay so I think I'm going to get an iPod Shuffle. I'm blaming Stephanie for this, and I'll continue to blame her throughout my congressional hearings. I'm a PC-man, not an Apple Person. Why am I buying an Apple product? Damn you woman. I'll get you for this; you, and your little iPod too!
I go on eBay, and I want to reach through the screen and smack people. They're paying $130-$160 for the 512mb shuffle. Which retails for $99.
I didn't even bother pricing the 1gig, which is the one I want - and can buy for $149. Freaks. Do you absolutely need to have it, now, that badly?
Anyway. I go to apple.com, and they've got it set to ship in "3-4 weeks". Hah. I think not. but they do have a link to the SoHo store here in NY. Okay good. The SoHo site has a list of all the stuff you can get from them. Wowzers. Joy. So I click on the Shuffle. Where does it take me?
Back to the original online store.
I hate Apple. I haven't liked Apple since they discontinued the Apple IIe, and came out with the first monochrome, boxy Macintosh. Yes, I'm that old; screw you.
Somewhat off-topic; is there a guy at Apple whose sole job is to yell "$29.99" when someone asks "how much should we sell this accessory for?" Every accessory is $29.99. I feel like I'm in some robotic universe with a mechanical, female voiceover directing me to what I should buy. I want to go to the Apple Store (and I say this in a trance-like, hypnotic caffine-induced state), but I'm afraid when I get there this robotic arm with a giant white eyeball on the end of it will unfold from the ceiling like some arctic arachnid and brain-scan me. A bar code will appear on my forehead, and every time I look at an Apple product $29.99 will be deducted from my bank account.
My god. I've been Apple-ized!
Help me Bill Gates. You're my only hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UPDATE: it's post-midnight, and there is a 1G Shuffle about to sell for $200.48 (with 4 hours left) on eBay. It's $149.99 retail. I wasn't sure before, but now I'm absolutely certain - Apple People are crazy. You freaks.
Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle
Okay so I think I'm going to get an iPod Shuffle. I'm blaming Stephanie for this, and I'll continue to blame her throughout my congressional hearings. I'm a PC-man, not an Apple Person. Why am I buying an Apple product? Damn you woman. I'll get you for this; you, and your little iPod too!
I go on eBay, and I want to reach through the screen and smack people. They're paying $130-$160 for the 512mb shuffle. Which retails for $99.
I didn't even bother pricing the 1gig, which is the one I want - and can buy for $149. Freaks. Do you absolutely need to have it, now, that badly?
Anyway. I go to apple.com, and they've got it set to ship in "3-4 weeks". Hah. I think not. but they do have a link to the SoHo store here in NY. Okay good. The SoHo site has a list of all the stuff you can get from them. Wowzers. Joy. So I click on the Shuffle. Where does it take me?
Back to the original online store.
I hate Apple. I haven't liked Apple since they discontinued the Apple IIe, and came out with the first monochrome, boxy Macintosh. Yes, I'm that old; screw you.
Somewhat off-topic; is there a guy at Apple whose sole job is to yell "$29.99" when someone asks "how much should we sell this accessory for?" Every accessory is $29.99. I feel like I'm in some robotic universe with a mechanical, female voiceover directing me to what I should buy. I want to go to the Apple Store (and I say this in a trance-like, hypnotic caffine-induced state), but I'm afraid when I get there this robotic arm with a giant white eyeball on the end of it will unfold from the ceiling like some arctic arachnid and brain-scan me. A bar code will appear on my forehead, and every time I look at an Apple product $29.99 will be deducted from my bank account.
My god. I've been Apple-ized!
Help me Bill Gates. You're my only hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UPDATE: it's post-midnight, and there is a 1G Shuffle about to sell for $200.48 (with 4 hours left) on eBay. It's $149.99 retail. I wasn't sure before, but now I'm absolutely certain - Apple People are crazy. You freaks.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Oneironaut
January 19, 2005 - Wednesday
Oneironaut
In the midst of a conversation with a co-worker last week, it came out that I am what they call a "lucid dreamer". In short, lucid dreaming is "consciously perceiving and recognizing that one is in a dream while one is sleeping, and having control over the "dreamscape", or the faux-reality dream world within a dream. Stephen LaBerge, a published author and expert on the subject, has defined it as simply realizing that one is dreaming while in a dream. Other authorities contend that in order for the state of a dreaming person to be lucid, that person must have control over his or her dreamscape (because simply having the mental idea "I am lucid" could be a creation of the subconscious itself and not a real "rational" thought)." (court. of Wikipedia.com)
Lucid dreamers are called - you guessed it - oneironauts. I may have to use that word in a story someday, just on general principle. But I digress.
As I understand it, this is a big deal to those who study the field of dreaming. Fascinating stuff, he said in a nasally British accent. People practice trying to enter a lucid dream state; it's incredibly hard to do on purpose, as I read more on it.
The kicker is this: I'm used to it. I never thought it was a big deal, at all. I've done it all my life, and to be honest I always thought this is how dreams were. Sure I have regular dreams, but as a child I had many, many recurring dreams, dreams that stuck with me in detail. I had one dream in particular that played out innumerable times; as a very young child I'd have the dream at least once a week, and I very strongly recall some elements of the dream even now. It took place in my childhood room in Detroit, and involved geometrical shapes as, well...spirits. Entities. I really don't know what else to call them. They were my dream versions of invisible friends, I guess. Two in particular I recall: a spiky one who, for some reason, hated me and was always trying to get me, and a sphere who was my friend and I'd named, appropriately enough, Casper. I had that dream, with lessening frequency, up until I was around 15 or 16 years old. By then, I hadn't had the dream for a couple of years so I was pleasantly surprised to have it again. It was like seeing an old friend for the very last time.
I've had night terrors, I've sleepwalked, I've been told I've carried on conversations in my sleep. And I could control my dreams at times. Easily so. I can recall another dream where I jumped through different sci-fi adventures in my dream, all of my own creation. There was, admittedly, a girl I had a crush on (who, ironically enough, I don't remember); in my dream she was the prototypical Damsel in Distress and I was the hero who had to save her. The monsters/aliens/demons/villains snatched her from a park and I got to run from horror movie to space battle to jungle cliff hanger (literally!) to save her from them.
I guess, in hindsight, I'd been a waking study (pun intended) in dream analysis. But to me it was par for the course. Not so much anymore, but for years I enjoyed my dreams as a form of entertainment.
Take last night. I had several dreams, one of which kept restarting. There was nothing overly fantastic about it, to me anyway, except that I was in my usual disenchanted state from the actual dream events. It was like the so-called out of body experience they say you have when you die; I was a metaphysical presence hovering in the corner of a room, watching events unfold - fully aware of what was happening, and frankly enjoying the show. William Shatner was playing "me", or what I understood to be my role. Which is a little freaky.
But then the dream changed, and got all nightmarish. I was in a bed, just rising from sleep; something woke me up. At first I thought I was in my own bed, but after actually waking up in the real world I realized it wasn't my bed. In the dream I was being tied down; two guys, black or hispanic in their late teens (their faces were shadowed, i couldn't see too much detail) were strapping me to my bed with bungee cords. They were wearing wool caps, I remember that much; one had a dark bubble coat on. I tried to scream, my throat closed up when I tried. One of them - or both, I'm not sure - looked at me, lunged at me with a knife...and I woke up. That was roughly 5am, give or take a few minutes.
So what do I make of it? Nothing, or at least I hope nothing. I've had dreams like that all my life, and to be honest I'm deathly afraid to read anything even remotely supernatural into it.
It was just a dream. Right?
Oneironaut
In the midst of a conversation with a co-worker last week, it came out that I am what they call a "lucid dreamer". In short, lucid dreaming is "consciously perceiving and recognizing that one is in a dream while one is sleeping, and having control over the "dreamscape", or the faux-reality dream world within a dream. Stephen LaBerge, a published author and expert on the subject, has defined it as simply realizing that one is dreaming while in a dream. Other authorities contend that in order for the state of a dreaming person to be lucid, that person must have control over his or her dreamscape (because simply having the mental idea "I am lucid" could be a creation of the subconscious itself and not a real "rational" thought)." (court. of Wikipedia.com)
Lucid dreamers are called - you guessed it - oneironauts. I may have to use that word in a story someday, just on general principle. But I digress.
As I understand it, this is a big deal to those who study the field of dreaming. Fascinating stuff, he said in a nasally British accent. People practice trying to enter a lucid dream state; it's incredibly hard to do on purpose, as I read more on it.
The kicker is this: I'm used to it. I never thought it was a big deal, at all. I've done it all my life, and to be honest I always thought this is how dreams were. Sure I have regular dreams, but as a child I had many, many recurring dreams, dreams that stuck with me in detail. I had one dream in particular that played out innumerable times; as a very young child I'd have the dream at least once a week, and I very strongly recall some elements of the dream even now. It took place in my childhood room in Detroit, and involved geometrical shapes as, well...spirits. Entities. I really don't know what else to call them. They were my dream versions of invisible friends, I guess. Two in particular I recall: a spiky one who, for some reason, hated me and was always trying to get me, and a sphere who was my friend and I'd named, appropriately enough, Casper. I had that dream, with lessening frequency, up until I was around 15 or 16 years old. By then, I hadn't had the dream for a couple of years so I was pleasantly surprised to have it again. It was like seeing an old friend for the very last time.
I've had night terrors, I've sleepwalked, I've been told I've carried on conversations in my sleep. And I could control my dreams at times. Easily so. I can recall another dream where I jumped through different sci-fi adventures in my dream, all of my own creation. There was, admittedly, a girl I had a crush on (who, ironically enough, I don't remember); in my dream she was the prototypical Damsel in Distress and I was the hero who had to save her. The monsters/aliens/demons/villains snatched her from a park and I got to run from horror movie to space battle to jungle cliff hanger (literally!) to save her from them.
I guess, in hindsight, I'd been a waking study (pun intended) in dream analysis. But to me it was par for the course. Not so much anymore, but for years I enjoyed my dreams as a form of entertainment.
Take last night. I had several dreams, one of which kept restarting. There was nothing overly fantastic about it, to me anyway, except that I was in my usual disenchanted state from the actual dream events. It was like the so-called out of body experience they say you have when you die; I was a metaphysical presence hovering in the corner of a room, watching events unfold - fully aware of what was happening, and frankly enjoying the show. William Shatner was playing "me", or what I understood to be my role. Which is a little freaky.
But then the dream changed, and got all nightmarish. I was in a bed, just rising from sleep; something woke me up. At first I thought I was in my own bed, but after actually waking up in the real world I realized it wasn't my bed. In the dream I was being tied down; two guys, black or hispanic in their late teens (their faces were shadowed, i couldn't see too much detail) were strapping me to my bed with bungee cords. They were wearing wool caps, I remember that much; one had a dark bubble coat on. I tried to scream, my throat closed up when I tried. One of them - or both, I'm not sure - looked at me, lunged at me with a knife...and I woke up. That was roughly 5am, give or take a few minutes.
So what do I make of it? Nothing, or at least I hope nothing. I've had dreams like that all my life, and to be honest I'm deathly afraid to read anything even remotely supernatural into it.
It was just a dream. Right?
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Ghost Orchids, Part II
January 18, 2005 - Tuesday
the Ghost Orchid (II)
So: when did I stop chasing windmills?
Forget the movie, the movie is just a metaphor right now. The original point of my post was that the ideas and thoughts presented in the movie were mirroring my own, about various aspects of my own life. So in that respect, I suppose, the message hasn't been lost.
But again I have to ask myself, when did I stop chasing windmills?
I loved being the man of La Mancha, and I was in so many respects. At my core, I believed - strongly - in passion. Not love, but passion - listening to my heart and letting it lead me, often blindly, never regretably. I chased rainbows, I fought dragons and giants and leviathans of the deep; I loved, I lost, I spoke true and stayed true to myself.
So where did that person go? It's still there, inside me, but I let society's whims and needs and requirements exorcise my demons. I became respectable - or tried to be, anyway.
And that's not who I am.
"...the only barometer you have is your heart; how, when you spot your flower, you can't let anything get in your way."
It's funny, but I had a very similar thought earlier. That's the part of me I lost somewhere along the way, and I'm determined to find that person again.
"If the ghost orchid was really a phantom, it was still such a bewitching one that it could seduce people to persue it year after year, mile after miserable mile. If it was a real flower I wanted to see one. The reason was not that I loved orchids, I don't especially like orchids; what I wanted to see this thing that people were drawn to in such a singular and powerful way."
And there's it, right there. There was a time I knew what that thing was, without ever putting a name to it. Then I lost that innate knowledge; I turned to logic, to trying to understand what this thing was. I think I wanted to control it, to make it something I could manipulate and turn on, or off, as I pleased.
Understand: the movie hasn't given me any epiphany. It was a movie, for fuck's sake. What has me in this self-analytical bent is the combination of small events that inexplicably tie in, that seem to be telling me something pretty damned loud - if I would only take the time from my oh-so-busy day and listen.
I think...there was a moment in time when I faced down the windmill, and lost. Badly. It left its mark on me; it left, I think, fear. A sense of mortality. I didn't fear the windmill, the dragon, because it was a Dream. It was my ghost orchid - only, when I found it, it had thorns and pricked me.
So I gave up orchids. Fuck orchids.
But I think that mentality is wrong, at least it is for me.
There was a time when I did cave in to fear. Two moments, actually. Instead of climbing the windmill I passed it by, gave it a wide berth and ignored it. I had good reasons for doing it, and given the same circumstances I might - might - do it again.
Only...now one of those windmills has come back into view, and the circumstances have changed. Life is giving me a rarity - a second chance to make a choice, for better or worse. To take a chance, to risk it all.
To regain that passion that used to define me.
Of course, if I'm wrong, that windmill is going to toss me up several miles into the air and watch me come crashing back down to earth in an incredibly decorative splatter. Mind the kiddies folks, and wear your galoshes.
Still. I miss that constant thump-thump-thump that told me, every day of my life, how alive I was.
And what's a little blood and guts compared to that?
Enough rambling for tonight.
the Ghost Orchid (II)
So: when did I stop chasing windmills?
Forget the movie, the movie is just a metaphor right now. The original point of my post was that the ideas and thoughts presented in the movie were mirroring my own, about various aspects of my own life. So in that respect, I suppose, the message hasn't been lost.
But again I have to ask myself, when did I stop chasing windmills?
I loved being the man of La Mancha, and I was in so many respects. At my core, I believed - strongly - in passion. Not love, but passion - listening to my heart and letting it lead me, often blindly, never regretably. I chased rainbows, I fought dragons and giants and leviathans of the deep; I loved, I lost, I spoke true and stayed true to myself.
So where did that person go? It's still there, inside me, but I let society's whims and needs and requirements exorcise my demons. I became respectable - or tried to be, anyway.
And that's not who I am.
"...the only barometer you have is your heart; how, when you spot your flower, you can't let anything get in your way."
It's funny, but I had a very similar thought earlier. That's the part of me I lost somewhere along the way, and I'm determined to find that person again.
"If the ghost orchid was really a phantom, it was still such a bewitching one that it could seduce people to persue it year after year, mile after miserable mile. If it was a real flower I wanted to see one. The reason was not that I loved orchids, I don't especially like orchids; what I wanted to see this thing that people were drawn to in such a singular and powerful way."
And there's it, right there. There was a time I knew what that thing was, without ever putting a name to it. Then I lost that innate knowledge; I turned to logic, to trying to understand what this thing was. I think I wanted to control it, to make it something I could manipulate and turn on, or off, as I pleased.
Understand: the movie hasn't given me any epiphany. It was a movie, for fuck's sake. What has me in this self-analytical bent is the combination of small events that inexplicably tie in, that seem to be telling me something pretty damned loud - if I would only take the time from my oh-so-busy day and listen.
I think...there was a moment in time when I faced down the windmill, and lost. Badly. It left its mark on me; it left, I think, fear. A sense of mortality. I didn't fear the windmill, the dragon, because it was a Dream. It was my ghost orchid - only, when I found it, it had thorns and pricked me.
So I gave up orchids. Fuck orchids.
But I think that mentality is wrong, at least it is for me.
There was a time when I did cave in to fear. Two moments, actually. Instead of climbing the windmill I passed it by, gave it a wide berth and ignored it. I had good reasons for doing it, and given the same circumstances I might - might - do it again.
Only...now one of those windmills has come back into view, and the circumstances have changed. Life is giving me a rarity - a second chance to make a choice, for better or worse. To take a chance, to risk it all.
To regain that passion that used to define me.
Of course, if I'm wrong, that windmill is going to toss me up several miles into the air and watch me come crashing back down to earth in an incredibly decorative splatter. Mind the kiddies folks, and wear your galoshes.
Still. I miss that constant thump-thump-thump that told me, every day of my life, how alive I was.
And what's a little blood and guts compared to that?
Enough rambling for tonight.
Ghost Orchid, Part I
the Ghost Orchid (I)
"There are no coincidences."
I'm iffy on the concept. Sometimes I believe, other times - well, most times - I think it's just a bunch of bull.
This isn't one of those times.
I've had the movie "Adaptation" on my tv stand for about 3 weeks now, just waiting to be watched. It's a Netflix rental, so I'm not in any hurry to get it back...but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to watch it. There's no rhyme or reason for it, I just...didn't want to see it.
So. This afternoon I get into a conversation at work about writing styles, and repeated a forum discussion about listing the various personality traits you can use to define a character in a story. One person in particular is very adamant about needing to start with this outline, this concept, this...code which defines a character, in order to understand what you're writing.
I, of course, disagree. I'm very free-form, flowing, emotive; I need to feel the character, get inside his or her head, almost become the character. I'm an actor in my mind, not on the stage; I need to feel the actions, to visualize them in my subconscious in order to portray them on paper to my own satisfaction.
But I digress; there is a point to this.
I'd also held off on reading a few magazines I have on subscription. To be specific, I decided to choose this month's issue of Discover Magazine for my subway read. This month's subject: Testing Darwin, and proving that evolution works.
Seeing a trend? Bear with me.
So here I am on the train, reading this article which provides, by way of an example, a sampling of several orchids - stunning flowers, each and every one - as a means of discussing Darwin's theories.
Then my discussion at work.
Now I'm at home, relaxed, and decide for no particular reason that I should watch "Adaptation". And I do.
If you've seen the movie, you might see the correlation. The movie is about a writer having problems adapting a screenplay of a book, The Orchid Thief. The book itself is about a man and his quest for the Ghost Orchid, a mystery flower that may or may not exist. A legend. It's Don Quixote, chasing windmills.
Anyway. Throughout this movie we have discussions on the "art" of writing, of the contrast in different methodologies involved in writing; we have Charlie, our "hero", with a more dedicated "true to form" style and his twin brother, the "hack", who learns his craft through a screenplay writing seminar, a Writing for Dummies course that, in contrast to the struggles of our hero, has him on the fast track to success.
And, of course, we have orchids. Lots of orchids, and a discussion of Darwin's theories.
More later. I want to think on this a bit. And finish the movie.
"There are no coincidences."
I'm iffy on the concept. Sometimes I believe, other times - well, most times - I think it's just a bunch of bull.
This isn't one of those times.
I've had the movie "Adaptation" on my tv stand for about 3 weeks now, just waiting to be watched. It's a Netflix rental, so I'm not in any hurry to get it back...but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to watch it. There's no rhyme or reason for it, I just...didn't want to see it.
So. This afternoon I get into a conversation at work about writing styles, and repeated a forum discussion about listing the various personality traits you can use to define a character in a story. One person in particular is very adamant about needing to start with this outline, this concept, this...code which defines a character, in order to understand what you're writing.
I, of course, disagree. I'm very free-form, flowing, emotive; I need to feel the character, get inside his or her head, almost become the character. I'm an actor in my mind, not on the stage; I need to feel the actions, to visualize them in my subconscious in order to portray them on paper to my own satisfaction.
But I digress; there is a point to this.
I'd also held off on reading a few magazines I have on subscription. To be specific, I decided to choose this month's issue of Discover Magazine for my subway read. This month's subject: Testing Darwin, and proving that evolution works.
Seeing a trend? Bear with me.
So here I am on the train, reading this article which provides, by way of an example, a sampling of several orchids - stunning flowers, each and every one - as a means of discussing Darwin's theories.
Then my discussion at work.
Now I'm at home, relaxed, and decide for no particular reason that I should watch "Adaptation". And I do.
If you've seen the movie, you might see the correlation. The movie is about a writer having problems adapting a screenplay of a book, The Orchid Thief. The book itself is about a man and his quest for the Ghost Orchid, a mystery flower that may or may not exist. A legend. It's Don Quixote, chasing windmills.
Anyway. Throughout this movie we have discussions on the "art" of writing, of the contrast in different methodologies involved in writing; we have Charlie, our "hero", with a more dedicated "true to form" style and his twin brother, the "hack", who learns his craft through a screenplay writing seminar, a Writing for Dummies course that, in contrast to the struggles of our hero, has him on the fast track to success.
And, of course, we have orchids. Lots of orchids, and a discussion of Darwin's theories.
More later. I want to think on this a bit. And finish the movie.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Bless You, Dammit
December 28, 2004 - Tuesday
Sneezes
Why do we say "Bless you", or "God bless", when someone sneezes?
Don't get me wrong - I know the answer. I just wonder if you do.
I asked this to a few co-workers, out of curiosity. Because I like messing with people's heads, and co-workers are soooo convenient. The general consensus I got back was "it's polite". Or "why do you always ask this weird shit? Leave me alone!"
Well. If it's polite...then why don't we say it when people cough? Or burp? Or fart? "Brrrrrpppp!" "God bless you!"
We don't, do we? No. We expect the person to say "excuse me".
So why don't we expect the same with sneezes? Why is a sneeze different from any other bodily expulsion of air?
One word: superstition. Of course. We're creatures of habit, and refuse to change. Even when it's something so basic and simple as how to respond to a sneeze. The original, full phrase (or so rumored) was "God bless you, and may the Devil miss you!" Why? There are a bunch of different suspicions on how it originated:
- At one time people believed a man's soul could be inadvertently thrust from his body by an explosive sneeze, thus "Bless you!" was a protective oath uttered to safeguard the temporarily expelled and vulnerable soul from being snatched up by Satan (who was always lurking nearby). The purpose of the oath was to cast a temporary shield over the flung-out soul which would protect it just long enough to regain the protection of the corporeal body.
- Conversely, the sneeze itself was the expulsion of a demon or evil spirit which had taken up residence in a person. Therefore, although the "Bless you!" was again a protective charm meant to protect the sneezer from evil, in this version it was meant to ward off the re-entry of an evil spirit which a tormented soul had just rid itself of.
- The heart was believed to momentarily stop during a sneeze (it doesn't), thus the "Bless you!" was uttered either as a supplication for life to return or as a congratulation upon its successful restart.
- Others claim an association of the practice with particular dire diseases (most often the bubonic plague, or "Black Death," as it is sometimes known). They say an infected person's sneeze was sure sign he'd soon be pushing up daisies, thus the "Bless you!" was intended as a benediction to the nearly-departed, a way of commending his soul to the care of God now that he was beyond the help of anything in the mortal world.
There are more superstitions related to sneezing. Here's a little poem that was written, outlining the positive aspects of a sneeze:
Sneeze on Monday for health,
Sneeze on Tuesday for wealth,
Sneeze on Wednesday for a letter,
Sneeze on Thursday for something better,
Sneeze on Friday for sorrow,
Sneeze on Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow,
Sneeze on Sunday, safety seek.
So keep on blessing, you superstitious lot you. And may the devil miss you.
Sneezes
Why do we say "Bless you", or "God bless", when someone sneezes?
Don't get me wrong - I know the answer. I just wonder if you do.
I asked this to a few co-workers, out of curiosity. Because I like messing with people's heads, and co-workers are soooo convenient. The general consensus I got back was "it's polite". Or "why do you always ask this weird shit? Leave me alone!"
Well. If it's polite...then why don't we say it when people cough? Or burp? Or fart? "Brrrrrpppp!" "God bless you!"
We don't, do we? No. We expect the person to say "excuse me".
So why don't we expect the same with sneezes? Why is a sneeze different from any other bodily expulsion of air?
One word: superstition. Of course. We're creatures of habit, and refuse to change. Even when it's something so basic and simple as how to respond to a sneeze. The original, full phrase (or so rumored) was "God bless you, and may the Devil miss you!" Why? There are a bunch of different suspicions on how it originated:
- At one time people believed a man's soul could be inadvertently thrust from his body by an explosive sneeze, thus "Bless you!" was a protective oath uttered to safeguard the temporarily expelled and vulnerable soul from being snatched up by Satan (who was always lurking nearby). The purpose of the oath was to cast a temporary shield over the flung-out soul which would protect it just long enough to regain the protection of the corporeal body.
- Conversely, the sneeze itself was the expulsion of a demon or evil spirit which had taken up residence in a person. Therefore, although the "Bless you!" was again a protective charm meant to protect the sneezer from evil, in this version it was meant to ward off the re-entry of an evil spirit which a tormented soul had just rid itself of.
- The heart was believed to momentarily stop during a sneeze (it doesn't), thus the "Bless you!" was uttered either as a supplication for life to return or as a congratulation upon its successful restart.
- Others claim an association of the practice with particular dire diseases (most often the bubonic plague, or "Black Death," as it is sometimes known). They say an infected person's sneeze was sure sign he'd soon be pushing up daisies, thus the "Bless you!" was intended as a benediction to the nearly-departed, a way of commending his soul to the care of God now that he was beyond the help of anything in the mortal world.
There are more superstitions related to sneezing. Here's a little poem that was written, outlining the positive aspects of a sneeze:
Sneeze on Tuesday for wealth,
Sneeze on Wednesday for a letter,
Sneeze on Thursday for something better,
Sneeze on Friday for sorrow,
Sneeze on Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow,
Sneeze on Sunday, safety seek.
So keep on blessing, you superstitious lot you. And may the devil miss you.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
At The End Of All Things
December 26, 2004 - Sunday
At the End of All Things
"Glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee...here at the end of all things."
First: if you haven't had the pleasure of seeing the extended DVD version of the Return of the King, and are a fan of the books (or the movies, or both) - please please do. It isn't so much that deleted scenes were added; the movie feels entirely new. 50 minutes of uncut footage were added, and all of was SOOOO important to the storyline.
Back to my point. There's a scene where, towards the end, Frodo and Sam are sitting on a rock surrounded by molten lava, certain of their own deaths. That's when Frodo gives the line I quoted above.
It gave me pause. At the end of all things, at that moment when everything you know is about to end - who would you want to spend that moment with?
I won't bother answering for myself; I can count the possibile people on one hand and still have room left over. I love my friends and family dearly, I do - but if the world were to end and I could only spend those final moments with one person, a list of hundreds narrows considerably. With the New Year coming, it makes for an interesting question to reflect on.
So who would you hope to spend your final moments of eternity with?
At the End of All Things
"Glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee...here at the end of all things."
First: if you haven't had the pleasure of seeing the extended DVD version of the Return of the King, and are a fan of the books (or the movies, or both) - please please do. It isn't so much that deleted scenes were added; the movie feels entirely new. 50 minutes of uncut footage were added, and all of was SOOOO important to the storyline.
Back to my point. There's a scene where, towards the end, Frodo and Sam are sitting on a rock surrounded by molten lava, certain of their own deaths. That's when Frodo gives the line I quoted above.
It gave me pause. At the end of all things, at that moment when everything you know is about to end - who would you want to spend that moment with?
I won't bother answering for myself; I can count the possibile people on one hand and still have room left over. I love my friends and family dearly, I do - but if the world were to end and I could only spend those final moments with one person, a list of hundreds narrows considerably. With the New Year coming, it makes for an interesting question to reflect on.
So who would you hope to spend your final moments of eternity with?
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Spiritual Currency
December 21, 2004 - Tuesday
"Stories are like spiritual currency"
For all you Neil Gaiman fans. The man is a genius, and I reserve that word for very few, very select individuals. I'm not the type to be inspired by another's work...but his is an exception.
In this particular case I'm reading the "Book of Dreams", a collection of shorts by various authors who were, themselves, inspired by Gaiman's telling of Morpheus, the Endless, and the Dreaming.
The story I'm reading, "An Extra Smidgen of Eternity", has a character on the edge of dying. He's being told a story, and as the story is being told he's being given drugs to ease his pain. He's being visited by both Delirium and Dream, slipping from the one state of subsconsciousness to the other state of unconsciousness. To quote Dream/Morpheus: "Little man, one foot in your own kingdom, another in mine, and ever resisting the inevitable pull of the next."
How deep is that?
And when the inevitable happens and the alluring Death arrives to escort his spirit onward, he refuses to go - because he wants to wait until the person sitting beside him finishes her story. His argument:
"Try to see this from my point of view. Stories are important. They're all that we've got, really. Growing up, I was spat on, ridiculed, beaten, ostracized - and the only thing that kept me going was stories. Stories are hope. They take you out of yourself for a bit, and when you get dropped back in, you're different - you're stronger, you've seen more, you've felt more. Stories are like spiritual currency."
Ain't that some shit?
What's even more...fascinating, or inspiring, to me about this is that these are works which are themselves inspired by Gaiman's work, and even getting this input through a literary version of second-hand smoke I'm still getting a serious contact high.
That takes a certain kind of genius, doesn't it?
"Stories are like spiritual currency"
For all you Neil Gaiman fans. The man is a genius, and I reserve that word for very few, very select individuals. I'm not the type to be inspired by another's work...but his is an exception.
In this particular case I'm reading the "Book of Dreams", a collection of shorts by various authors who were, themselves, inspired by Gaiman's telling of Morpheus, the Endless, and the Dreaming.
The story I'm reading, "An Extra Smidgen of Eternity", has a character on the edge of dying. He's being told a story, and as the story is being told he's being given drugs to ease his pain. He's being visited by both Delirium and Dream, slipping from the one state of subsconsciousness to the other state of unconsciousness. To quote Dream/Morpheus: "Little man, one foot in your own kingdom, another in mine, and ever resisting the inevitable pull of the next."
How deep is that?
And when the inevitable happens and the alluring Death arrives to escort his spirit onward, he refuses to go - because he wants to wait until the person sitting beside him finishes her story. His argument:
"Try to see this from my point of view. Stories are important. They're all that we've got, really. Growing up, I was spat on, ridiculed, beaten, ostracized - and the only thing that kept me going was stories. Stories are hope. They take you out of yourself for a bit, and when you get dropped back in, you're different - you're stronger, you've seen more, you've felt more. Stories are like spiritual currency."
Ain't that some shit?
What's even more...fascinating, or inspiring, to me about this is that these are works which are themselves inspired by Gaiman's work, and even getting this input through a literary version of second-hand smoke I'm still getting a serious contact high.
That takes a certain kind of genius, doesn't it?
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Let It Snow
December 19, 2004 - Sunday
Let it snow
It's snowing here in the Big Apple. First snowfall of the season, and fittingly it starts just a day before the winter solstice begins.
There's something calming about snow. I'm sitting here typing by my window, looking out over an ivory blanketed terrace with skeletal trees in the background. The lights of Broadway reflect up the hill at me (yes, Virginia, there IS a Broadway past midtown Manhattan) and there is a brightly lit star across the Harlem River, shining atop a building.
It's the yuletide; all is calm, all is bright. No virgins handy, unfortunately.
It's a time of reflection, of change; it's a time to look deep inside yourself and see who you are - and who you want to be.
If New Year's is the time to make resolutions for the coming three-sixty-five, then maybe the Yule is the time for us to see if we're pleased, or satisfied, with what we've accomplished for the past 12 months. It's the final countdown before this year is done, and the new one begins.
So this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
A new one's just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
- John Lennon
Let it snow
It's snowing here in the Big Apple. First snowfall of the season, and fittingly it starts just a day before the winter solstice begins.
There's something calming about snow. I'm sitting here typing by my window, looking out over an ivory blanketed terrace with skeletal trees in the background. The lights of Broadway reflect up the hill at me (yes, Virginia, there IS a Broadway past midtown Manhattan) and there is a brightly lit star across the Harlem River, shining atop a building.
It's the yuletide; all is calm, all is bright. No virgins handy, unfortunately.
It's a time of reflection, of change; it's a time to look deep inside yourself and see who you are - and who you want to be.
If New Year's is the time to make resolutions for the coming three-sixty-five, then maybe the Yule is the time for us to see if we're pleased, or satisfied, with what we've accomplished for the past 12 months. It's the final countdown before this year is done, and the new one begins.
And what have you done?
Another year over
A new one's just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young
A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
- John Lennon
Friday, December 17, 2004
Angry Toons
Angry Toons
You know, I'm a member of a lot of forums; I've usually got a lot to say (no surprise there), but I find them invaluable resources for certain industries.
So I was pretty damned happy to stumble across a forum for cartoonists, specifically comic strip creators. Now I'm used to these types of forums; people are generally pretty helpful, encouraging, and happy to offer real criticism and advice about your work. I've joined groups for writers, video game designers, board game creators, programmers, artists...and now cartoons. Yay me, right?
Holy mother of us all, I haven't seen such unadulterated anger since my last visit to a forum on religion! For the love of the gods, people, these are cartoonists - they draw and write those funnies you read every sunday, but all I get from them is a lot of bitterness, anger, jealousy, and elitism!
I'm a forum lurker, at least until I've figured out the mindset of all the major players so I know what to expect - no way I'm jumping in a forum until I know who I'll have to defend myself against. But this place scare the bajeezus out of me! www.toontalk.org is the site, and I'd rather cover my head in honey and stick it in a beehive then post up any work I've done on these forums for opinions!
It's as if the old guard of the Cartoon Castle don't want any new people coming in, so they put these nasty, bitter soldiers at the gates to completely discourage any new artists.
Which means, of course, I'm fully planning on storming the gates at some point.
Seriously, it isn't just the vitrol they spew against anyone who doesn't "measure up". There's a certain nastiness by the newspaper-syndicated crowd against the web comic producers, as if they - we, really - took the easy way out.
I shouldn't be surprised, especially since a lot of my own work stems from cynicism - but I'd never discourage anyone from working at it!
These are comments I read on a thread called "What are YOUR tips for web cartoonists?":
"If your comic isn't funny, and it's coming from an "honest" source, go do something else. "
"I'm peed off frequently by how many people supply links to theirs or other peoples work, inferring that it's cutting edge, controversial or brilliant, and then when one clicks on the link one finds it's not brilliant, it's a big pile of immature and/or badly drawn drivel."
"The biggest problem is that too many people are using the net for masturbation, which is what the vast majority of internet cartooning is. That kind of self-pleasuring should be done in private, or at best as a circle jerk amongst a small group of close friends."
"I'm still producing less than desirable attempts at cartooning, I don't have to go looking through drawers. The trick to being a good artist is to realise your drawing stinks and work on making it less pungent."
Boy. I can't wait to ask for THEIR opinions.
You know, I'm a member of a lot of forums; I've usually got a lot to say (no surprise there), but I find them invaluable resources for certain industries.
So I was pretty damned happy to stumble across a forum for cartoonists, specifically comic strip creators. Now I'm used to these types of forums; people are generally pretty helpful, encouraging, and happy to offer real criticism and advice about your work. I've joined groups for writers, video game designers, board game creators, programmers, artists...and now cartoons. Yay me, right?
Holy mother of us all, I haven't seen such unadulterated anger since my last visit to a forum on religion! For the love of the gods, people, these are cartoonists - they draw and write those funnies you read every sunday, but all I get from them is a lot of bitterness, anger, jealousy, and elitism!
I'm a forum lurker, at least until I've figured out the mindset of all the major players so I know what to expect - no way I'm jumping in a forum until I know who I'll have to defend myself against. But this place scare the bajeezus out of me! www.toontalk.org is the site, and I'd rather cover my head in honey and stick it in a beehive then post up any work I've done on these forums for opinions!
It's as if the old guard of the Cartoon Castle don't want any new people coming in, so they put these nasty, bitter soldiers at the gates to completely discourage any new artists.
Which means, of course, I'm fully planning on storming the gates at some point.
Seriously, it isn't just the vitrol they spew against anyone who doesn't "measure up". There's a certain nastiness by the newspaper-syndicated crowd against the web comic producers, as if they - we, really - took the easy way out.
I shouldn't be surprised, especially since a lot of my own work stems from cynicism - but I'd never discourage anyone from working at it!
These are comments I read on a thread called "What are YOUR tips for web cartoonists?":
"If your comic isn't funny, and it's coming from an "honest" source, go do something else. "
"I'm peed off frequently by how many people supply links to theirs or other peoples work, inferring that it's cutting edge, controversial or brilliant, and then when one clicks on the link one finds it's not brilliant, it's a big pile of immature and/or badly drawn drivel."
"The biggest problem is that too many people are using the net for masturbation, which is what the vast majority of internet cartooning is. That kind of self-pleasuring should be done in private, or at best as a circle jerk amongst a small group of close friends."
"I'm still producing less than desirable attempts at cartooning, I don't have to go looking through drawers. The trick to being a good artist is to realise your drawing stinks and work on making it less pungent."
Boy. I can't wait to ask for THEIR opinions.
When Dead Animals Attack
When Dead Animals Attack
I get on the elevator at work the other day, there are two women already on standing near the back. I slide over towards the buttons and face the door. They're talking.
"Blah blah fur, oh I loved it, it was so soft, blah fur fur ermine mink blah blah chinchilla gotta have it..."
Chinchilla? Isn't that a fuzzy hamster/rabbit looking thing? They're making furs out of chinchilla's now?!
It was a reflex action, but I gave the big annoyed sign. "Hmph." I swear I didn't mean it. I didn't even look their way, I just wanted the damn elevator to open up so I didn't have to hear their drivel.
Silence. Then "whisper whisper whisper" from the woman facing me. I can feel her eyes burning into my back. Hurry up, elevator.
Woman 2. "Well I don't know what's wrong with these animal activists. Have they ever FELT a fur? It's so soft, how can they resist the temptation?"
I've never been so glad to see an elevator door open as I was at that moment.
Because I swear I'd have taken her fur, stuffed it down her throat, pulled it out of her ass and then put it BACK in her mouth.
I'm not an animal activist, really. I like leather. I have two leather jackets, a leather baseball cap, leather shoes. But I also eat beef. Lots of beef. My family is southern, so I'm all about the leftover parts too. Nothing goes to waste there.
What the fuck am I going to do with a mink after you've stripped it?!
...and a chinchilla? For the love of the gods, people...!
But I said nothing. It's too close to Xmas, and I can't afford to get on Santa's naughty list this late in the year.
Just don't let me see them after December 26th.
I get on the elevator at work the other day, there are two women already on standing near the back. I slide over towards the buttons and face the door. They're talking.
"Blah blah fur, oh I loved it, it was so soft, blah fur fur ermine mink blah blah chinchilla gotta have it..."
Chinchilla? Isn't that a fuzzy hamster/rabbit looking thing? They're making furs out of chinchilla's now?!
It was a reflex action, but I gave the big annoyed sign. "Hmph." I swear I didn't mean it. I didn't even look their way, I just wanted the damn elevator to open up so I didn't have to hear their drivel.
Silence. Then "whisper whisper whisper" from the woman facing me. I can feel her eyes burning into my back. Hurry up, elevator.
Woman 2. "Well I don't know what's wrong with these animal activists. Have they ever FELT a fur? It's so soft, how can they resist the temptation?"
I've never been so glad to see an elevator door open as I was at that moment.
Because I swear I'd have taken her fur, stuffed it down her throat, pulled it out of her ass and then put it BACK in her mouth.
I'm not an animal activist, really. I like leather. I have two leather jackets, a leather baseball cap, leather shoes. But I also eat beef. Lots of beef. My family is southern, so I'm all about the leftover parts too. Nothing goes to waste there.
What the fuck am I going to do with a mink after you've stripped it?!
...and a chinchilla? For the love of the gods, people...!
But I said nothing. It's too close to Xmas, and I can't afford to get on Santa's naughty list this late in the year.
Just don't let me see them after December 26th.
Let's Stick With Dates, Thorn!
December 17, 2004 - Friday
Let's stick with dates, Thorn!
Three posts in one night, and this after being away from myspace for two weeks.
I love the Omen. More specifically, Damien: Omen II, which has to be one of the best horror films ever made. Forget the gore-fests, I love them in their own way - but for sheer creepiness and subtle evil, there was no better movie. Fact is, however, I loved it because THIS was, to me, how evil should be represented! Uncaring, intelligent, subtle and crafty.
Just the scene where he shows up his history teacher, who is just oh-so-arrogant! Gods (pun intended) any kid should have more knowledge than he does, hence the title of this blog.
AMC is showing it tonight at 1:45am. Looks like I'll be up late, with a bowl of microwave popcorn ready by my side.
Let's stick with dates, Thorn!
Three posts in one night, and this after being away from myspace for two weeks.
I love the Omen. More specifically, Damien: Omen II, which has to be one of the best horror films ever made. Forget the gore-fests, I love them in their own way - but for sheer creepiness and subtle evil, there was no better movie. Fact is, however, I loved it because THIS was, to me, how evil should be represented! Uncaring, intelligent, subtle and crafty.
Just the scene where he shows up his history teacher, who is just oh-so-arrogant! Gods (pun intended) any kid should have more knowledge than he does, hence the title of this blog.
AMC is showing it tonight at 1:45am. Looks like I'll be up late, with a bowl of microwave popcorn ready by my side.
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