Saturday, March 08, 2003
The President's Drug Policy I'm quite confident that the President is going to relax the nation's drug policy with regards to marijuana. How do I know? If he didn't, his dog would have to be arrested for possession:
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Ha ha ha ha Okay, maybe the DrudgeReport isn't so bad. Here's their latest scoop: SURRENDER: Terrified Iraqi soldiers have crossed the Kuwait border and tried to surrender to allied forces - because they thought the war had already started... Developing...
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Friday, March 07, 2003
Lay off France I come to you today, asking you to lay off France. No, I'm not defending France and their obstructionism for the sake of obstructionism. And I'm not defending them for their delightful little attempts to push around tiny countries hoping to join the EU, much like a scrawny 15 year-old who pushes around 6 year-old girls to make himself feel big. I'm simply saying, lay off the French jokes. America has long loved making fun of the French, but until recently, it was a well punctuated affair. When I made fun of the French, people didn't expect the insults and they were funnier because of it. Now you can't turn on the TV without someone screaming about the cheese-eating surrender monkeys (I'll start following my own advice eventually). And even congress has had discussions about possibly putting special taxes on French goods, making me think that perhaps some of these House and Senate members think we're still living in the 18th century. I'm not a fan of the French. I like making fun of them, but when every person starts doing it, not only do the jokes lose any of their punch, but we all start resembling the xenophobic nuts Europe's been painting us as.
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Thursday, March 06, 2003
How an elephant ever got in my Pajamas, I'll never know. So far my blog has covered every topic in reality, so I figured it's about time I branched out from reality and talked about Hollywood (*rimshot*). Here's a link to an article at AintItCoolNews. AintItCool is kind of like the DrudgeReport of movie reporting, except, unlike drudge, they do slightly more than just steal the work of others and post it for mass consumption. They have a cadre of fanatic followers who risk their miniscule intern jobs to email AintItCool hollywood news. Anyway, the site's quite useful for random scoops, but I wouldn't trust their reviews for use as coasters, let alone as accurate judges of a movie's quality. The story I linked to is about someone who apparently wants to make a new Marx Brothers film. There are some problems with this, such as the fact that all the Marx brothers are dead, but apparently he's unconcerned. The Marx brothers films are really remarkable. I was shown them by my dad as a young kid, but it wasn't until a few years ago when I saw A Night at the Opera again on the big screen in a crowded theater that I remembered how incredibly, ludicrously funny these movies still are. The idea of trying to make a new film in the style is interesting, and I'm sure it could be funny, but it just sounds wrong to me. I mean, if David Letterman died tommorow, would I want CBS to replace him with an impersonator? Even if the guy tried to capture Dave perfectly, what's the point of copying him? Even though it sounds like a very unhollywood idea and I'm sure the writer wants to make this project out of love for the Marx brothers, this just seems silly to me. Have we all given up on intelligent modern comedy to the extent that we need to go copy movies from the 1930's just to find something fresh? I suppose it would make some sense if you feel that Hollywood no longer knows how to do slapstick without making a stupid film, but it's not like Airplane, Police Squad, and other largely slapstick comedies came out 70 years ago. Those films are only 15 or 20 years old and their creators and actors are all still alive. It just seems to me a little bit pathetic that the only way anyone in hollywood thinks they can make a smart slapstick comedy is to tunnel into 70 year old films.
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Sunday, March 02, 2003
Dragnet is the Bizzigity Bizzomb I've fallen in love with ABC's new Dragnet show. It's just great. It's better than Law & Order (though perhaps not Law & Order SVU or Law & Order CI). All of these shows are by Dick Wolf, who apparently thinks of all his shows as business enterprises. I swear, to hear this guy talk about making a TV show is like hearing Alan Greenspan discuss the effects of interest rate hikes on investment banking. But even though he's a cold and evil business man, he makes damn good shows. This Dragnet show is great for a simple reason; the cases are good. They're interesting and the story flows well. But more importantly, the show is set in Los Angeles. I'm a big proponent of shows set in Los Angeles because I figure, if you're gonna film every TV show here, you might as well set a few of them here too. But Dragnet is just great in this regard. Not only did I get a giddy thrill when they mentioned a woman being beaten to death in Sherman Oaks, but then they took things a delightful step further. They're looking for this guy who's killing every member of his family. And they find out he took his son to some batting cages next to an arcade. Well, as soon as they said batting cages my ears perked up because there are only so many batting cages in the valley. And just as I had hoped, the son's horrible mutilated corpse was shown lying outside my childhood home away from home, the Sherman Oaks Castle. Delightful. I could see all the familiar batting cages and the golf courses in the background underneath the sign advertising their early bird schedule. Oh yeah, and there was the kid's corpse in a box, but the main highlight for me was seeing my childhood memories on TV. PS: The kid's corpse was wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey. Go Lakers!
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America trembles in fear of his sweat pants Those of you with children may want to turn them away from the screen. The picture presented below is of one of America's most horrid of enemies. This man killed 3,000 people and hopes to kill many many more.
What's most disturbing about this gentlemen is that I used to love him. I watched his TV show all the time, and Scott would do impressions of him. But now that I know his true identity, I can only feel disgusted that his flimsy toupee ever fooled me:
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Saturday, March 01, 2003
Drink Responsibly Beverage commercials have always been bad. Afterall, once you've said the product tastes good, how much more is there to say? Thus most alcoholic beverage commercials never show anyone actually drinking (because it would be wrong for even a beer company to openly promote drinking) but instead focus on the drinking lifestyle. Those of you who are Scott's college friends (and if you decided to be friends with Scott, then I can assume you must've been drinking a lot) know this lifestyle. Partying all-night with supermodels, who are always giggling, while playing practical jokes on your blemish-free friends. But even the most ridiculous of beer commercials usually ends with some message about drinking responsibly. But you see, this is what I love about the new Southern Comfort commercials.
This beverage, which apparently is sold in both old-scotch bottle form and by the can, has a delightful ad out right now. Two pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen appear out of a staircase onto a roof.
Let me set the scene further. On this roof there are a wide-array of structures; a jungle of diagonal metal bars overshadowing dozens of little grooves and pivots in the cement right up to the very short edge of the building. And on this roof, filled with hundreds of possible objects to trip over, intertwined by perilously low support bars, next to a multistory drop to the ground, these happening young people are drinking. Not just drinking. Doing cartwheels and backflips next to eachother.
They're drinking. On a roof. Next to hanging metal bars. While doing gymnastics.
...utterly brilliant.|
Someone stupider than your average anti-war protester I recently have been trying to sink my teeth into the new Empire building game, Master of Orion III. Frankly, I feel more like the game has bitten into my brain and drained away 5 hours of my life. Perhaps all the crazy fans of the genre are right and if I keep at it, I'll learn to love the game, but I thought I'd show you how far some human beings are willing to go to fulfill their own preconceived notions. We've all heard all the accounts of presidential debates and elections where the results said one thing, but people's reactions said another. When Kennedy knew he was going to get blown out of an early Democratic primary, his team spread information to the media that he would get absolutely and completely killed in the primary and would barely get any votes. He changed the expectations for the race and when the results did come out, he was beaten badly, but expectations had been lowered so much that the media declared his defeat a victory because he wasn't totally obliterated. Well, Master of Orion III is the sequel to, you guessed it, Master of Orion 2, so even before its release, it had an impressive array of followers and mindless defenders. Now that the game is out and most peoples' initial reactions to the game are negative, these fans are so intent on loving the game and declaring it flawless that they've literally lost touch with reality. One major problem with Master of Orion III is that the Artificial Intelligence that controls your enemies and allies is apparently designed to simulate the mind of a schizophrenic dutch woman suffering from an ear infection. Your allies hail you with love and appreciation, and then 2 minutes later, declare war on you for unknown atrocities existing solely in their own minds. Here is where the game's defenders come in. Allow me to quote a certain gentlemen who was quite annoyed to have his fantasy life interrupted by people complaining about the buggy AI: "Maybe you seriously do think the diplomacy is broken, so let's try occam's razor here. 1. The diplomacy works fine but an inexperienced player doesn't understand everything. 2. Somehow, in spite of all the time and effort that went into MOO3, in spite of all of the hundreds and thousands of hours the BetaTesters put into it, and all of the professional programmers who doublechecked everything, a HUGE, very VISIBLE portion of the game is completely broken and no one bothered to even notice or fix it, in spite of the fact that they would lose a ton of money and the game wouldn't make any sense. Occam's razor strongly favors my position." Besides the fact that you have to be a pretty big douche bag to quote occam's razor on a web forum, this person has clearly lost touch with reality. Let's follow his train of thought: Hundreds of people complain that the game's artificial intelligence, one of the hardest things to design in any videogame, doesn't act sensibly. Rather than listening to these people, this gentlemen just assumes that they're all crazy. His second point, that the game would never have been released if such a large bug were present, is utterly laughable. There have literally been hundreds of games that have crashed and burned because they were released filled with bugs; it's not like the programmers don't realize the bugs are there. For fuck's sake, just the other day Scott was telling me that his friend Vic couldn't play a new game because a patch intended to fix the bugs already present in the game when it was shipped, instead, simply added more bugs to it. It just amazes me that someone can become so devoted to something they've never even touched or seen up close that they could begin to look on it as infallible. When the fellow above was given an example in list form of all the bugs present in the game, his response was as follows: "You are exaggerating/fabricating this story to try and humiliate Master of Orion III." That's right. This guy has not only devoted his life to defending a game he hasn't played, he's now actually established a victimhood around that game. As if thousands of people decided to sabotage the game with false bug reports so that its brilliance could never reach the world at large. This is a level of self-delusion nearing that of your average suicide-bomber; I'm just so amazed at the fundamental lack of logic and human sense presented by this person.
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Thursday, February 27, 2003
No, bathroom in tower, tower! I'm not thrilled with the proposed design for the new World Trade Center (or are they gonna call it something else, like World Trade Center Memorial/BusinessSquare/Park). I know that the proposed design will probably not look a whole lot like what's eventually built, but I just wasn't thrilled with the little pictures I saw of the model. It sort of looks like the architect sat down at his desk with plenty of number 3 drafting pencils and a good supply of opium. I guess I preferred the THINK design, or whatever the hell it was called. Perhaps it was as impractical as this current design, but I liked the idea of two eiffel-esque towers reaching into the sky. Really, though, the design will change so much by the time it's implemented that I almost feel like the public comment period wasn't even worth the effort. PS: The commenting system is back.
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Tuesday, February 25, 2003
The Ghost and the Darkness Part II in my Weblog's continuing coverage of the 60 minutes last night when my house was without power It was a rainy day in Los Angeles. I was working the night squad out of robbery-homicide division; my commanding officer was Lieutenant Joe Seton... Or more accurately. I was doing homework when the power went out in my house. Suddenly everything was in darkness; darkness, eternal enemy of the caveman and bringer of awkward groping among teenagers. What bothered me most wasn't so much the darkness, but the way this loss of electrical power changed THE power in the house. Suddenly, the only creatures in the house who knew what the hell they were doing were our cats. Damn them and their sneaky night-vision I thought. Through the beams of my flashlight (which has become heavily magnetized because my mother keeps buying me magnets as toys), I saw their bright, searing eyes. Without the comforting hum of the computer to guide me, I was left in silence. What bothered me most was the way I would watch the silhoutted devil-like heads of the cats twist and turn at every tiny sound. Soon I began to suspect that perhaps the cats were not mere passive observers of this blackout. What if cats everywhere, in an attempt to gain power using a Pinky & the Brain-esque plot, had conspired to cut off the world's power. I worried. Our male cat, Marco, has recently become quite political. He makes endless rants about how paper money is a conspiracy perpetrated on the world by the Peyote Indian tribe and he constantly talks about dipping Jeff Bridges into a vat of spiders as punishment for unknown crimes. Luckily, before the cats could follow through on any of their evil machinations; power was restored. But now when I look into our cats' eyes, I wonder; are we all doomed to live in some sort of horrible world of the cats, dominated by 18th century economic plans?
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Monday, February 24, 2003
Hilarity I had planned to write something here. Something that I'll assume was brilliant and hilarious, while at the same time informative. Unfortunately, the power died here for about an hour and trying to do calculus with a flashlight tends to kick most things out of your mind. So instead, here, is my proposal for an exciting new episode of CSI. As we all know, the key to CSI's greatness lies in both its visual style and the interesting cases. So earlier today, I was thinking about interesting ways to kill people, as often happens during my time at school. Here's the way the case would play out. Some business manager collapses and dies in the middle of a meeting. CSI is on the case! Soon they find blue ink in his mouth and searching his office, they find a piece of chewed up plastic. How was he murdered? Well, you see this business manager, who we'll call Scott Torous for now, was always chewing on his pens. So the clever murderer injected poison into the pen's ink holder and then weakened the tip so that it would burst when the pen was chewed on. Wala! Murder from afar.
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Friday, February 21, 2003
The Nightclub Fire I'm still rather confused by this whole Rhode Island nightclub fire thing. First of all, even when the death toll was listed at 50, I thought that number was ludicrously high, but now it's all the way up to 96. I simply can't imagine how a nightclub with four functioning exits could end up killing that many people when they literally saw the fire start right before their eyes. Obviously I'm not trying to insult the victims; I just think it's really an astounding thing. I can only assume that the building must've had some sort of fatal design flaw that allowed the fire to spread extremely quickly. The worst image I saw on TV was from a video taken during the fire; there were 20 or so people all jammed in the main exit, with none getting through. That's really the worst sort of example you can find of human panic. I know I probably would've acted the same way, trying to push my way out of there, but the frantic pushing only meant more and more people got stuck in the door.
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Wednesday, February 19, 2003
Protests Here's an 18 meg quicktime movie of interviews with war protesters. It's obviously heavily edited to skew some things, but I think it still does a nice job of demonstrating the failure of the anti-war movement to really solidify behind any sort of alternative plans for dealing or not dealing with Iraq.
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Sunday, February 16, 2003
He loves me, really, he does Like a battered wife coming back for more, I once again tried to watch Smallville. Everytime I think this stupid Superman show has turned the corner, I come back and the show just starts slapping me upside the head. But today may have been the final straw. While playing street basketball, Superman, defender of truth, justice, and the American way, goaltended. It was blatant goaltending! Not only was the shot clearly coming down on its arc, but his hand, the ball, and the backboard were all touching at once, which is a clear violation of NBA rules. I've always thought Superman was one of the stupider comic book heroes, but I'll be damned if I'm going to watch his good name become sullied by what I'm sure will become more and more frequent violations of basketball ethics on his part. Oh yeah, and the show is slow and annoying and everyone is a fucking male-model.
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Footnote Well, Asparagirl was posting protest pictures and gave out a link to a site that had photoshopped some of them. Seeing as I have a rather dense collection of pointless historical facts with which to make confusing political humor, I thought I'd lend my hand:
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Convenient It was really nice of the free commenting service I use to go down the only time there were enough people visiting the site to actually make the commenting system useful.
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Saturday, February 15, 2003
Tivo-riffic Since yesterday, I've watched 4 episodes of John Doe, and 5 episodes of 24. It's so great. I just move from one excellent show to another without any commercials. If yesterday's episode of farscape was any good, and I watch that tonight, then this will likely be the longest stretch of great TV I've ever watched. And I've covered the gamut: Scifi space fantasy, crime drama, political thriller, etc... I love you Tivo.
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Friday, February 14, 2003
A sentimental tribute to Dolly
Breaking away for a moment from the gripping discussion of whether I met with CIA spooks or merely very bored elderly men who had been carrying around fake CIA IDs for 15 years just in case the opportunity to interrupt a college interview came along, I'd like a moment to speak about Dolly, the cloned sheep.
I was going to say that Dolly met her maker today, but that'd be inaccurate because she met her maker (Ian Wilmut) everyday of her life. Already cloning has rendered one euphemism for death inaccurate.
I had a peculiar affinity for Dolly because in sixth grade I did my first High School style report on her birth. And of course, from Dolly we learned why people seem to see Sheep in their sleep; they're very funny animals. Just today I had to smile watching an old clip of Dolly bleating and moving around her stall like an angry old woman waiting for her dry cleaning.
There's been much talk of the genetic horrors involved with Dolly. Unlike most Scifi movies, where cloning mistakes lead to grotesque creatures that eventually melt or shoot lasers from their eyes, Dolly's problems were rather confusing. She was genetically identical to the sheep she was cloned from, yet she grew up to be overweight, with arthritis, and lung disease. It's disturbing that she died so much younger than her life-span, but this Washington Post article says lung disease is common with sheep that live indoors. It's been said that Dolly may have prematurely aged because of her cloned nature, which certainly paints a disturbing future for any human clones down the line.
But even thinking of all the moral and scientific repurcussions of her death, let us remember some things. She was just a sheep. She sat in her pen. She bleated at reporters. Good-bye dear Dolly. You can safely know that you are the most significant and well-known sheep in the history of sheepdom, and your picture will grace biology notebooks for generations to come.|
Beverly Hills, edible dogs, and the CIA I had a college interview today for Georgetown at a cafe in Beverly Hills. I found Beverly Hills disquieting. It was like a big society of me's. Everyone had the same dull casual dress that I wear; it was just a sea of khakis and blue sweaters. And everyone had such clean-cut haircuts. The flood of high-class cars was made more noticeable because it rained yesterday so everything looks shiny and new. And finally, of course, everyone had cellphones and sat in the cafe having high-concept conversations while drinking special mocha blends. I just fit in way too well. And what's more, I was annoyed by how safe the streets were. Now I'm a real push-over and I tend to have ludicrously high amounts of money in my flimsy hand-me-down wallet, but everywhere you looked there was an easier target than me. But there was no one to take advantage. Even the homeless people had an air of sophistication that puts traditional homeless people to shame. These were homeless people with clear and direct pronunciation and a sense of when asking for change is appropriate. These are the sort of homeless people you could entrust your tiny dog to without fear of them eating it. Anyway, after a long wait doing crossword puzzles, the interview began. It tended to cover mostly my life and then shifted to what the college offered, with one brief interruption by the CIA. During the interview, two large men boldly sat down next to us. The white-bearded gentlemen in front of me asked if we spoke Russian in Russian, then he asked if we spoke French in French, and finally he conversed briefly with my interviewer in Spanish. It should be noted that he switched accents flawlessly between each exchange. Then he said, "Young men who want to join the CIA need to be able to discuss things in many languages." He flashed a piece of CIA identification that looked about 15 years old, and then said in a vaguely British accent, "We're here to protect you all you know." He then left, and the interview never quite got back on track. Analyzing the event, it's clear that the two gentlemen (probably retired CIA), heard my interviewer mention that the CIA sometimes recruits people from Georgetown, and then promptly listened to our conversation for 10 minutes.
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Thursday, February 13, 2003
I need to sit down I'd like to thank Scott (who thanked his friend [something unpronouncable]) for pointing me to this site about MST3K. Scott covered the many flaws with this aged article over on his site. So really, I have little to add to what Scott quite rightly wrote except for this. That article was physically painful for me to read. There are so many things wrong with it that I'm amazed Scott even managed a coherent argument against it. I pondered some detailed insulting of its points, but it's impossible to view any one section of the article without being overwhelmed. There's so much sheer stupidity involved that anything other than an epileptic fit would be unable to fully convey how many things are wrong with the article. Everytime I searched for a single point of attack I was distracted. I'd start to think of something to say about the piece's bloated syntax and verbiage, but then I'd suddenly be struck by how pretentious merely putting an entire article in italics is. What's perhaps most frustrating is how the author struggles to define MST3K as a juvenile puppet show (whose tiny viewership of a few million people apparently set Western culture back 200 years). It reminded me of how the media at large has struggled to make me feel bad for playing videogames. The closest parallel I could find to this article in my mind was an article made a year or two ago that tried to paint the new Star Trek show enterprise as sexist dogma designed to undermine women. What these two articles share is a devastating method of attacking my higher brain functions. They both begin with laughable premises and then devolve into examples taken so far out of context that one can only assume the authors didn't even believe what they were writing. In the MST3K article this involves the bit about the Amazing Colossal Episode Guide, whereas in the Star Trek article it involved taking one comment in the first episode of Enterprise to claim that characters in the show supported the trade of women as imprisoned sex slaves. I shouldn't have even written this much because Scott wrote copiously about the article (see, I can use big multisyllabic words just like Mr. Fujiwara!), but this is just one of those articles so offensive to human thought that I felt the need to kick and scream a little.
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Forgotten Poet? Well, Hitler was a disgruntled art student. Maybe Bin Laden's problem isn't with the Great Satan but actually with his 10th grade literature teacher who told him his poetry was cliched and overdone: From Bin Laden's latest purported statements (I still say he's dead): 'In this final year I hurl myself and my steed with my soul at the enemy. Indeed on my demise I will become a martyr,' Osama bin Laden purportedly says in 53-minute tape obtained by the British-based Al-Ansaar news agency. 'I pray my demise isn't on a coffin bearing green mantles. I wish my demise to be in the eagle's belly.'
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Wednesday, February 12, 2003
Look away Here's this link (School Humor Mag). No one reading that page who doesn't attend or hasn't in the past attended Harvard-Westlake High School will find that page funny, and even those who fit that criteria will likely find the page lacking. [Rodney Dangerfield Voice]I tell ya, that page's humor is rough.[/Voice] "How rough is it" [Rodney Dangerfield Voice]It's so rough that there are many dangling phrases and unnatural run-on sentences being used to convey rather simplistic humor, which already has a very limited audience.[/Voice] Sadly I wrote most of it. Designed most of the webpage (which I assure you, only looks strange because the page was redesigned for printing purposes). And made all the graphics. My friend Merritt was rather insistent that we make the webpage. I was somewhat cool to the idea, which is why it took him 5 months of continuous prodding to get me to write 2 pages of poorly phrased garbage. Still, I think there's a simple elegance to it. I'm still quite fond of the title (written by me), the title of the first issue (written by me), the picture of the wolverine (captured and photographed by me), the color pallette (done by me), and the only two funny jokes (one written by me, one by Merritt) on the page.
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Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Anthony Michael Hall is no longer a punchline I believe it was the first episode in which Mike Myers hosted Saturday Night Live, but I was reminded of something Tim Meadows said when telling Myers to host the show for all the cast members who'd never get the chance to host: "Do it for the Anthony Michael Halls!" Well, I'm here to say that Anthony Michael Hall is currently starring and executive producing what I'm going to declare the second best scifi series on television. And it'll be the best soon enough because Farscape's almost off the air. The Dead Zone is a god damned gem. Maybe I'll change my tune later on, but this show is riding a streak of great episodes that rivals any I've ever seen. I watched the show somewhat irregularly in its first season, not really getting hooked until I got to see the show in marathon form. Then last year's season finale had such a fantastic ending that I knew I wouldn't be able to stop watching. It was literally the perfect type of finale. There were big changes that affected the overall plot of the show, but at the same time, while the ending was a cliffhanger of sorts, it wasn't the type of cheap "Will he or won't he die!" plotline I've come to expect from the likes of Stargate, Enterprise, and Farscape. But, and believe me, I know that I'm rambling and that none of you really care about this, the second season has been a thing of beauty. Such consistency! And I don't mean the type of consistency where there's only a few shitty episodes. I mean, EVERY GOD DAMNED EPISODE IS FANTASTIC! The only shows I can compare it to are the CSI's. The CSI's are a wonder because both shows can be incredibly formulaic, yet they never cease to be enthralling. A large part of this owes to the visual style, though the credit should really go to the plot structure created by that visual style. The Dead Zone is quite similar. It's almost as if constricting the writers by trying to force them to figure out ways to use the shows' signature visual tricks makes them create great plotlines. Sunday's Dead Zone had a complicated plot that started off silly and ended brilliantly. Our protoganist, Johnny, saves a small boy from getting hit by a car, and in the classic silly TV/movie style, of course gets hit by the car himself. While being treated in the hospital for apparently invisible injuries, he's given donor blood. Now the show center's around the visions Johnny gets when he touches people and objects. So of course, having 6 other people's blood in him makes him a vision machine, leading up to him witnessing the future death of one of the blood donators, without knowing who or where they are. The second half of the show followed his and his friend's attempts to figure out which of the donors was going to die, and how they could be saved. (don't worry, only a paragraph or so more) Now this is hard to describe, but when Johnny has his visions, basically the visual style of the show changes in many complicated ways. In his visions, Anthony Michael Hall plays whoever's future he's viewing, so we end up with episodes like tonight where he played the main character, a pregnant woman, a bike messenger, a teenage bookstore clerk, a depressed man, a fat oyster-lover, and a homeless Gulf War vet. And then we add the trick that'll probably make you cringe upon first reading its name, the matrix effect. The difference is that Johnny's never seeing bullets flying by or explosions frozen in time. In a very low-tech effect, he sometimes simply sees an entire scene filled with hundreds of people, perfectly frozen. It's really quite impressive to behold, and combined with his visions, it creates an engrossing visual narrative that makes even the dullest storyline fantastic to watch. So, finally, watch the Dead Zone. Do it for the Anthony Michael Halls!
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Monday, February 10, 2003
Everyone already fucking knows! Look, I'm very happy that everyone on the internet is excited that Steven, the Dell Computer guy, was arrested for possession of marijuana. But as much as I could see how the arrest of a guy you've never met (for something that will land him perhaps 30 days of jail-time if he attacks the judge during sentencing) is cause for celebration, PLEASE STOP POSTING ABOUT IT! Even the very first person on the net to write: "Dude, you're getting arrested for pot!" wasn't being clever. If Britney Spears is captured by Islamic terrorists and sold into the white slave trade, you're not being clever by writing "I'm a slave for youuuu!!!!" I don't pretend to be the foremost authority on humor, but for something to demonstrate wit, there have to be a few people on this earth who couldn't have thought up the same joke if given 30 seconds and a box of crayolas.
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An Education Since Scott soaks up knowledge like a pyrex plate soaks up water, I've decided it's up to me to educate the "Bloggerdom" at large. Let's say that 95% of the time you post inoffensive content (inoffensive is defined as not being offensive). Then one day, you decide to post something offensive (offensive is defined as not being inoffensive). For instance, Scott posted a link to boobies. Cheers to him, you might say! Cheers, indeed. What you fail to realize though is the concept of NSFW. NSFW is the abbreviation used by web forums and chat rooms around the globe to explain that whatever pot of content lies at the end of that particular hyperlink rainbow, is in fact, Not Safe For Work. Not Safe For Work is a largely self-explanatory term, but then again, some of you find Scott to be funny, so I'll dumb it down (*rimshot*). Some people like to visit blogs and web forums while at work because in today's hyper efficient go-go world of modern business, 40% of all work time is actually spent whoring webpages. But employers are not willing to let their company dollars be wasted on just anything! It's fine and dandy to spend 6 hours shopping for harmonicas at work, but you look at a picture of a naked lady, however fetching she may be, and there'll be so many lawsuits flying back and forth by lunch time that you'll need to spend the rest of your life sucking quarters out of vending machines just to keep from starving (special note: in a pinch, eat the dirt from ash trays. It's quickly replaced and helps fill a hungry tummy). And so, when you feel the need to randomly post a young lady's mammaries, please remember to preface that link with NSFW. This expression is used to cover both school and work. The only real exception is NSFA. This is a level above NSFW. It stands for Not Safe For Anyone. In general, this means that people with bladder conditions or a history of heart disease should not click the link because it most likely contains bodily orifices stretched so wide that you could drive tractor trailers through them. Class Dismissed.
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Sunday, February 09, 2003
Rugged Click for Cross-Promotion gone mad Pew! Pew! Zoom! Tremble before my mighty laser shooting walkie-talkie of doom! *cough* "Jim, if it's not too much trouble, would you put your new cell phone away. We're trying to have a meeting here."
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