That Old Time Religion

Aside from the Geek Day status that a comic-book movie opening receives, today marks the end of Ordinary Time. After tonight's festival a new season begins, a season of rebirth.

Yes, going to see the new Superman movie is going to be roughly equivalent to a deeply religious experience, whether I like the film or not. The only son of a benevolent creator sent to Earth to save us from ourselves? The most powerful force in the universe walking among us, as one of us? How doesn't everyone feel this way?

Goo goo goo joob

Finally got around to picking up Brain Age for the DS, the software that claims to be a good daily regimen for keeping the grey matter in good shape. While it doesn't come out and say "prevents Alzheimer's" anywhere, that's certainly the idea. Three things:

1: It's actually quite fun. I wouldn't have thought doing 100 simple calculations as fast as possible would be enjoyable, but I guess I should have.

2: Nintendo's got to be laughing all the way to the five-story italian-plumber-shaped piggy-bank they keep their yen in. The game's selling as if it was hotcakes, and a whole new demographic has opened up. I mean, go to the site and look at the marketing. These people ain't playing Mario Tennis.

3: I'm discovering that a good alternate title could have been "Handwriting Age". O, Mrs. Robinson! Why did I not listen and learn decent handwriting from you? I live in shame.

Not really a post

Here's something cool I saw on Digg. Yes I know that sounds like spam.

Noun, verb, and adjective in one.

Some time ago, an unclaimed pair of very stylish sunglasses sat on the counter in the men's room near my office. Even without close observation, one could see that they were of great value. There are many services offered by my company, but a Lost-and-Found is not one them, so I let them lie there untouched. Later that day, I saw them being sported by one of the Housekeeping staff, oddly disparate with his dingy uniform.

Months passed as per normal, and I did not realize that I had not seen the housekeeper since that day. This was made abundantly clear to me today, when I saw this fellow in the corridor wearing the same sunglasses. There was something different about him, something difficult to place one's finger on. Something about his gait perhaps, or his facial expression? Or perhaps that he was dressed in full pimp gear, complete with hat, cane, and bright red suit. I do not use hyperbole when I tell you his outfit looked very much like this, but substantially more pimp.

Apparently I missed my chance to don the charmed glasses that would transform me from my mundane self into a natty pimp. I feel okay about it, though, as I have received mixed reports on whether or not that profession is easy.

Statement

Elmwood needs a damn post office, or at least a UPS Store.

Good night

There is some allure to staying up past the times deemed appropriate and well into those known as "too late" when one has to be at work doing noxious things in the particularly early AM, some awful draw that convinces one that actual life takes place after all well-meaning citizens have bedded down.

There's a feeling of superiority, a self-designated elitism that comes to one upon realization that too much caffeine has been taken to ever get to sleep now. More than a small dose of masochism laces this feeling, or perhaps it is sadism directed towards the day-time version of yourself. Here's a chance to make that simpering shade of the real you pay. He'll be late, barely functioning. The day will be an utter waste, and he will be even further behind. What control you have, what power over that hapless fool's fate.

And when you finally do wake, a light taste of that feeling lingers somewhere in the gaps where your wisdom teeth used to be. For a dull moment, before the shower and shave and drive and coffee, you will remember that life of quiet and strength.

Hot hot hot

Ma bookie Del finished Gates of Fire. Ah, another satisfied customer.

The only real issue I have with Gates is that it should come with a disclaimer, which should read as follows:

Dear Reader,

You will doubtless find yourself looking up to the Spartans during and after your reading. Please note that they were very, very bad people. No, really. They had a huge slave population which worked day and night for the "real" Spartans, and every male citizen had to serve time on the Secret Police, who would creep around at night kill any slave who stuck out from the crowd. Bad.

Enjoy your purchase!

Do what?

You may not have noticed, but the incomparable Alanna has a blog now. You should, of course, go and check it out.

On a related note, this. Seriously? Has it come to this? (Insert witty obscure Labyrinth reference here. I've got nothing but that "power of voodoo" business.)

The scan's from this month's Play magazine. I swear I only read it for the articles.

True fact

My hotmail password has been the same since around early 2000.

The tics of the polis

Not to go all Undercaffeinated on you all, but today I post on a political issue. I know, I know.

The Buffalo Fiscal Stability Authority has released a press... um.. release stating that the city could save all kinds of moolah if we slashed city employee benefits. They compare the amount they employees pay to some "average worker" numbers and that kind of thing. In summary, they're saying that if we worked with the state govt to make the benefits packages less awesome, we'd save. They present these packages as disgustingly good and vastly expensive.

Here's the thing.

#1. Duh. Benefits, particulary healthcare, have become veddy veddy expensive recently, and employers everywhere are freaking out about it. So, easy target.

#2: When talking about public employee costs, you should really be making your comparisons based on total compensation, that being salary + bens. Nice benefits packages are a good way to entice people to work thankless and dangerous service jobs with traditionally low salaries. The taxpayer doesn't want anybody getting rich off his dime, so sal stays lousy. Bens can increase without anybody getting too wound up about it.

Until now, that is. Good for the Fiscal whatzit for looking at it, but before we go and slash the bens of people that haven't received a raise in years, let's make sure we look at the whole story.

And I'll do it

I'm about ready to go out and find blind spots.

Watched Layer Cake last night.

Top Five Reasons I Would Make a Poor Drug Dealer:

#1: Too penny-ante. The whole always-a-bigger-fish thing seems to come in to play often.

#2: Not British. Honestly, I'm not. Awfully close, but just not.

#3: The metric system. Kilos? That's plain un-American.

#4: Don't use enough unintelligible slang. Also, don't call anyone "my son".

#5: No fashion sense. Apparently adjectives such as "snappy" are used to describe coke dealer dressing habits.

Links

Ah, Buffalo -- where all know all. Sightings of our city's residents will often mean uncovering unknown connections. For example, take these two recent thoughts:

There's a friend's uncle talking with that guy who runs that thing at work.

There's that guy who used to come in to Kinko's every Saturday walking with my college roommate's cousin's ex-girlfriend, who happens to be my neighbor's daughter.

Baffling.

Some things never change

My brother, hereinafter referred to as "3L", moved to town. Here's our dinner conversation last night.

3L: If you really appreciated her cooking, you'd do the dishes.

Alex: If you really appreciated not being punched in the mouth, you'd shut the hell up.

3L: -extends middle finger-

The joy of family life.