According to...

Add this to the litany of cautionary tales regarding the complete uselessness of the staff at videogame stores.

My dear old grandmother plays bridge regularly. She had a copy of Hoyle's Classic Games for her PC, with which she would practice her mad brizzidge skillz. The CD disappeared, and she needed to reinstall.

Now, one would think that if an old lady were to walk into a videogame specialty store with the case for an earlier version of a current title -- a title which was in stock at the store, no less -- and ask for help, she would leave with a newly purchased game. There, gentle reader, is where you would be wrong. Dear old Grandma was informed that they did not have the game and that she should leave with haste. I assume she was asked if she wanted to pre-order Madden '08.

On my recent visit to VT, a stop was made at the mall. Now, I'm not good for much, but finding videogames? Come on. I walked in, looked under "H", found the game, and purchased it. Clearly I have some kind of preternatural ability. What else could explain how I was able to make the game appear where none was there before? I certainly hope her bridge acumen improves, what with me foresaking my immortal soul and all.

Vacation

Considering this, I would like to point out that I am an HR information systems manager for a hospital. So, I'm #1 and #7 and work with lots of people in #2. Sweet.

Would pick a pocket

Quick wordplay post for you.

Terrible Silence

Looks as if the Mountain Goats will not be returning to Buffalo this year, despite their "see you next year" promises. I think... I think we may have scared them. The image of four of us standing far behind the crowd, arms crossed and heads moving just slightly in time to the strumming, while in truth a reverent meditation, may have appeared as disdain or even derision from the stage. The dude just fled off stage after his encore, as if about to chase the bottom of a bottle, break hotel furniture, and make incoherent threats towards abstractions.

Sausage Galore

You must go to SHPAAAAAAH!!!

That guy

Need some new geek duds? Swing on over to the cafepress shop and see just what it is I've been doing with my evenings.

UFO?

Finally! At last I learn what these damn stickers mean.

If it's good enough for Paine...

Throughout my bookish life, I have tried and failed several times to read various non-fiction books. It turns out I just don't have the stamina for it.

Here's the issue: they just don't need to be book length. For example, I am currently sweating through Guns, Germs, and Steel, which claims to explain differences in the technological development in various societies throughout history. I just read a whole damn chapter on wild almonds. Sorry, but the sentence "some wild plants lent themselves to cultivation better than others" would have suited me just fine. I have a feeling that when I reach the final page I will wonder why the author didn't just write a five paragraph essay.

I move we bring back the pamphlet. Go ahead and spend your adult life proving something -- just boil it down to the essentials for me. Thirty pages tops. And I know you think you have already, that you've tearfully stripped untold pages of vastly important details on the mating habits of horseshoe crabs which your editor told you the unwashed plebs just wouldn't be able to handle. Your editor is right. Trim that puppy down, no matter how a good thick book looks on a library shelf.

What will I do when you're gone?

Since B A Start appears to have become an etymology blog, can anyone tell me if the idiom "bite the dust" existed anytime between The Iliad and Queen?

I say, good show old man. Capital.

As I plowed through a writing project this weekend, I caught myself typing the stale phrase "that rarest of species". I know, I really am that stuffy. Maybe it's The Dante Club, maybe the Pride and Prejudice, but my English has become substantially more Queen's recently, probably to the same degree as Johnny's has become Queens.

Either way, I struck the phrase, assuming I was unconsciously quoting something. Damned if I can figure out what though. I mere googling returns a litany of articles using the phrase, but no source. I tried Shakespeare and the KJV. Even a thorough bartleby session turned up nought. (See? Who uses 'nought'?)

Anybody got anything on this? I mean, it must have come from somewhere. Three cheers to you if you find it. I'll toast your name with a sherry in the parlor and draw up an epigram praising your alacrity.

meme time

My 25 favorite TV chatacters (unranked):

1. Niles Crane
2. Jayne Cobb
3. Lucius Vorenus
4. Ironhide
5. Capt. Lewis Nixon
6. Shipwreck
7. Statler / Waldorf
8. Uncle Iroh
9. Riker
10. The Riddler (Animated, not Gorshin)
11. Tigra
12. Mandora the Evil Chaser
13. Lionel Luthor
14. Orko
15. Those spaghetti aliens from Sesame Street (yep, yep, yep, uh-huh)
16. Malcolm Reynolds
17. Skinner
18. Lt. Felix Gaida
19. Dr. Cox
20. Kaboobie the Flying Camel
21. Samurai Jack
22. Stormshadow
23. Bugs Bunny
24. Leonardo
25. Tom Servo

Old Gods and Ziploc Bags

Check this out.


Main Entry: her·met·ic
Pronunciation: (")h&r-'met-ik
Function: adjective
: being airtight or impervious to air —her·met·i·cal·ly /-i-k(&-)lE/ adverb
Her·mes Tris·me·gis·tus /'h&r-(")mEz-"tris-m&-'jis-t&s,/ Greek mythological character. Hermes Trismegistus was identified by the Greeks with the Egyptian god Thoth. To him was ascribed authorship of various works on astrology, magic, alchemy, and medicine. It was also believed that he had invented a magic seal to keep vessels airtight, and from his name the adjective hermetic meaning airtight was derived.

Deny Me Not

What? Son of a BITCH!

Is nothing sacred?

First we had to change all the maps. The Germanies combined, and the USSR didn't turn out to care that much about the U.

Then the food pyramid. All of a sudden, dead animal is good for you again.

Now the solar system? Setting aside the general dimwittedness of messing with a celestial body named after a death god, what's left? Are we going to add more states? Will we discover new half-elements, requiring us to carry atomic number to at least the tenths? Perhaps an additional stanza can be added to the Gettysburg Address. A new color of the rainbow, something between red and orange, just to mess with Mr. Biv? How about another Great Lake?

Old Bean

I promise this isn't really about videogames. I mean, a little, but not much.

The black and pink versions of the DS Lite are being released in the US quite soon. 'Onyx' and 'Coral Pink', I should say. Now, in Japan they called it 'Noble Pink'. Why the switch?

Does pink mean something other than 'feminine' in Japan? Is it associated with the nobility there, as blue and purple are to the anglosphere? Are Japanese more likely to respond well to concepts of nobility and class structure? Does Nintendo fear we will take up arms against their nobles and overthrow them, establishing 'Casteless Pink' and 'Merit-based Salmon' DSes?

I kinda miss Mega Man

Know what I haven't done in a while? New B A Start banner. Any suggestions?

Insert 'Other 364' Joke Here

The United Way Day of Caring means two things:

1) No morning shave.
2) A half-day in the office with a T-shirt and shorts on.

I become a ninja when not in my business cadzh. Several unsuspecting coworkers took a step back and gasped when I said 'hello', unaware that the non-descript shape heading towards them was indeed I. I vow to you this day, gentle reader, not to use this power for evil. After all, Yojimbo is still out there somewhere.

Finest

I don't really remember my college roommate being that into baseball cards, but The Onion is the world's finest new source, so I suppose I have to believe it.

Irony?

Things seem to have quieted down a little on the "videogames as art" front, so I'll tell you the following.

Took a tour of the Erie County Holding Center this week. In the library therein, the dictionary had been opened to "utopian socialism".

A Stupid Commercial?

Esquire recently published an article about the fact that serious criticism on videogames does not exist. No incisive essays, no erudite articles, just "dude, looks like Star Wars: Jedi Knight: Jedi Outcast II: Jedi Academy* is gonna be sweet" stuff. As someone with experience reviewing games, I feel I must state the following: videogames are not art. They just ain't.
It takes a lot of artists to make one, and some of them can have truly brilliant imagery, but I have yet to see the game that's art. Artistically presented maybe.

In my (albeit limited) experience, professional criticism often takes one of two forms:

A) The secret decoder ring. "Here's what the artist/author/composer is trying to say, dimwit."

B) The petri dish. "Here are all of the religiosociopoliticaeconoclimatic factors kicking around in the spacetime locale in which the artist/author/composer worked. Put it all together, and how could he not end up writing this? Hmmm, dimwit?"

These approaches require that the author actually be saying something, whether he means to or not. I'm just not seeing it. When I sit around and talk about games, relevance never comes up. This is due mainly to the fact that it's not there.

I mean, come on. Let's give it a try.

"The major statement made by Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3 comes to its zenith when the audience unlocks Darth Maul as a playable character. At that precise moment in the play experience, expect to turn to your fellow aficionados and reverently gasp the syllables "skateboarding is totally fucking awesome". "

"In summary, after witnessing the stunning victory of Natalie Cook and Kerri Ann Pottharst at Sydney, Team Ninja's 2001-02 Japan had begun to taste the beauty of the occidental sport of volleyball, which, in combination with the new Xbox's hardware and man's enduring fascination with breasts, made a perfect world in which to develop Dead or Alive: Extreme Beach Volleyball."

Please.

* No really. That's an actual title.

Fishmonger

The decorative style in the B A Start household can most easily be described as "libraryey" or perhaps "libresque". We like us some books. Her Worshipfulness, though, has often bemoaned the fact that a collection more often lacks uniformity, looking hodge-podge and patchwork.

My solution: why not pick up some large collections? We'd use them, and they have a standardized look. (Can you see how my nefarious plan is working? Slowly but diligently I move towards attaining my life-long goal of owning the OED.)

Here are some I've had my eye on:

The Harvard Classics -- the "five-foot shelf" meant to equal a liberal arts education. Haven't been in print for years, but a little Ebay action should do it.

The Loeb Library -- The left page is in Greek or Latin, the right page the English translation. Both pages contain the foundations of Western thought.

The Oxford English Dictionary -- Online subscription, shmonline subscription. If the full 20-volume version seems like overkill, too bad.

An Open Letter

Dear Mark, Johnny, and Greg -

I write to you to apologize. As you may remember, at Goose's wedding we sat together. I had tied my tie with a windsor knot, and each of you had tied his with a half-windsor. When someone commented on my more formal, dare I say stately, knot, I took the opportunity to mock you, saying that I was the only person at the table who did not look as if he was going to his first communion. This was, perhaps, a bit much.

Please accept my apology. Also, the fine folks at Brooks Brothers have put together a site to help us learn even more knots. I couldn't help but think of you.

Yours,

Alex

Not much

I do dig these old posters.

Kinda boring, too

Looks like ma bookie Del is slowly working his way towards stardom, his likeness appearing in an ad for what appears to be for a videogame in which you point at the sky and say "Holy shit, it's the Christ!". Maybe you kill demons or something.

I normally eschew discussions of religion on B A Start, but here's what bugs me about the rapture. So, all the good people go to Heaven and everybody else stays of Earth, which has recently been transferred to new ownership. What kind of Heaven is it to watch loved ones suffer at the hands of Satan? I mean, you get up there, look around, and notice a few coworkers are missing. Doesn't that bug you a little when they hand you the harp, the knowledge that people you know will spend a thousand years being tortured? Or is that the kind of thinking that gets you kicked out. Either way, it just doesn't sound all that heavenly to me.

Boo!

Unbearably hot weather marks the beginning of a season in the B A Start household; time to start figuring out what to dress as for Halloween.

The great conversation lasts months, with scores of concepts tossed aside until the winner is declared. Then, the day before the event a final switch-up is made, and well-planned wigs, props, and oddly-colored glasses find themselves put out to pasture without even seeing use.

In the past few years, I've been Buddy Holly, the Invisible Man, and the Mad Hatter. What will this year's jam sessions bring? Only the Ghost of Halloween Future knows for sure.

Dancing's for Another Day

Today's lunchtime conversation: Fraggle Rock.

The Doozers, the benevolent hard-hatted fairies of the Fraggle world, baffle me. What a horrid existence, consumed by the sisyphean task of building and rebuilding their radish-steel buildings, only to watch as the relatively giant fragglekind eat them for pleasure.

Perhaps, though, they have attained some atlantean zen society. If it weren't for the sons and daughters of fraggledom, they would be able to build their sugary utopia in days. What, then, would they do with themselves? Life without work is misery, so why not create an impossible task for you and yours? An entire species devoted to an unattainable ideal, happily plugging away towards it until judgement.

This, clearly, is the secret of their people, known only to the eldest of the Doozer elders. And the Trash Heap, of course.

Lost It's Wheels

Sorry for the lack of posts, diligent B A Starters. Been running around like a looney tune since the last installment.

I'll take a quick moment for this rumor. Allow me to say that I doubt it. What about Mark Hamill?

Know my place

Went to a show the other night and everybody but me was dressed like Elliott Smith. I was dressed in my work clothes, looking more than a little like a put-upon divorced father on his night with the kids. I think I'm going to go buy a black t-shirt and one of those Fidel Castro hats to keep in storage for just such an occasion, one in which I need to dress like I'm acting out in order to blend in.

Tech Marches On

Jess: How do I save this?

Alex: Just hit the button that looks like one of those old floppy disks.

...Stays Together

Now that's what I am discussing. And to think, I didn't bring my DS to the hospital out of respect. How long before young Maeve gets a chance to blue shell the old man? Should Unkie Alex's christening gift be a Noble Pink DS lite?
Girls like pink, right? Do you buy gifts for christenings? I really have no idea how this all works.

Kind of a ramble

As a teenager, I got into a fight with the Religious Right. The Merrimack school board went God on us, and started doing crazy stuff. Things got messy. Here's what Wikipedia has to say on the topic:

In recent years, Merrimack has also been a battleground of sorts for the Gay Rights and school prayer movements in New Hampshire and nationwide. In the mid-1990's, led by a conservative majority, the Merrimack School Board passed a series of school regulations banning what they called "Homosexual Acts and Homosexual Materials" in the school district and mandating a district-wide daily "Moment of silence". Banned actions included same-sex hand holding and hugging. Banned materials included any literature written by purported homosexuals. Merrimack erupted into a firestorm of political debate, bringing the town into the forefront of the growing debate over homosexuality in the U.S. The scandal culminated in months of dramatic regionally televised school board meetings, student-led walkouts, and a national news special. Today, the district still observes a daily moment of silence, but the bans on homosexuality have been all but forgotten.[3]

As you can imagine, the 'live free or die' types didn't like this very much. Our parents held large meetings in their homes to discuss how to fight the board or support it. Any public event became polarized, with knots of people looking askance at one another. Whose hand did you shake? Who did you ignore? Were you with side A or side B?

I was into it. I argued the topics all the time. I coughed or dropped things during the moment of silence. I interviewed the school board members on their opinions on a variety of sensitive topics, and published their responses verbatim in the school newspaper right before an election, trying to give the jerks the rope required to hang themselves. I imagine I alienated a lot of people without realizing it, but hey. It really bugged me.

Why do I bring this up? I ran across the issue today as I read this page on banned books. Good old Merrimack.

The concept of book banning was one of the many that pissed me off back then. The very term got my blood boiling. What I realize now is that is a high school strikes a book from its curriculum because it contains a swear word or a sex scene, it's not that big of a deal. We can always go to the public library and get it, or the book store.

Now, if a book is removed from the curriculum because it was written by a homosexual? That's a real problem.

Overall, I'm glad I ran across this reminded of my hometown's past (and present) today. While my juvenile fervor may have subsided a little, topics of public school literature curricula and school prayer still get a rise out of me.

Oh Baby

Just in case B A Start comes before Royal Toybox on your daily read list Les Garvois have had their baby. Thanks mucho to Esther for keeping us all posted. I have to confess to being on serious tenterhooks after a call involving some kind of broken water.

But you didn't come to B A Start for baby talk. Instead, I offer you my personal review of Ultraviolet.

Imagine a movie based on a comic book. I don't mean 'based on a comic-book character', I mean written and filmed as if taken directly from the pulpy pages of an illustrated periodical. All of the super-cheesy lines kept. Lots and lots of action which, while good-looking, doesn't have any purpose. Yick.

Maybe if the fighting was better I would have enjoyed it more, or if I had seen the effects on the big screen... no. No no no. It was just awful.

Grrr...

Ever been so angry you can't see? It's awesome.

The Blessings of Liberty

Happy Independence Day everyone. I love America.

In the spirit of this celebration, I have a recommendation for you: start watching the History Channel's mini-series The Revolution. It's one of the best documentary series I have watched, particularly due to the variety of POV's brought to the table by the experts they interviewed. That West Point dude is hardcore.

Also here are some hi-res images of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution etc. They're JPEG, which is weak sauce, but still. Patriots delight.

Patriotism in a time as frustrating as ours can be dangerous. People think you're crazy or stupid or evil. Here's my deal: my love America is for the ideals, not necessarily all current practices. Inalienable human rights. The self-evident truths. A more perfect union. Above all, liberty.

When our elected leaders do things in accord with our ideals, I applaud them. When they do not, I malign them, and as I do I take comfort in the fact that they can be voted out of office. We don't have to wake up each morning and hope that the dictator dies soon, and that his son will be better to us than he is.

A difficulty comes when the will of the people is wrong, by which I mean it does not live up to the aforementioned ideals. Thus a republic can be better than a democracy, but only when the leaders are virtuous. A healthy mix of both seems to be working out fairly well.

Thus, I urge you to celebrate our freedoms and liberties today. Wave a flag and love the nation that should be, and mostly is. If this were a speech, I believe I would have the audacity to recite the preamble to the Constitution right now, but instead I'll just link to it.

Hulk Bandaid

At the end of Superman Returns, Jason is wearing Aquaman pajamas. Are we to assume, then, that Singer's next movie will be Aquaman? Or at least the costumer's?

Meh

Please enjoy this wild rumor.

Once upon a time, an official NHL website had pictures of the redesigned Sabres jersey, something for which the people of the hamlet of Buffalo had been pining. A silly boy posted the pictures accidentally.

"O, no," the boy said. "I will surely be whipped until my skin is in tatters and fed to the boars!"

He leapt up and removed the pictures, but it was too late. They had been stolen.

"Joy!" shouted the people. "A new logo!"

"The blue and the gold are there," they said.

"It looks like Barney Rubble's hair," they said.

"It is both old and new," they said.

"It looks like poo," they said.

What the people did not know is that the new logo was enchanted, drawn by a wise old man who lived alone in a mountain cave. Men who wore the sign became faster and stronger, and their weapons would not break. They beat devils and lightning, hurricanes and maple leaves, panthers and finally flames to steal the silver chalice and return with it to the little hamlet. And the people of the hamlet were happy.

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.

Coming soon for PSP

Weird.

Summon

As I sat on my porch last night around 1 AM, the sound of some manner of wooden flute instrument floated down the street, its mournful tune a message too mysterious for modern ears to interpret.

A playful breeze kicked up, and cherry blossoms floated past. I followed their dancing flight with my eyes, and when I looked back, a figure could be seen down the road, slowly approaching with solemnity and intent. Was it man or demon? A grimacing mask hid his face, and great red robes adorned a giant frame.

The apparation told me he was called Yojimbo, and that I would die this day. I was to pay for my life of dissolution, which had dishonored the memory of my ancestors. When I asked who had sent him, he replied simply "my master".

I offered to pay him more than his wage, and he stood silent.

I told him I would leave, never to return to this place, and he stood silent.

I vowed to move to the honorable path of life, and still he stood silent.

The apparation would not be moved by words; the finishing couplet of this stanza was to be written in crimson. I leapt from the porch, unarmed and unarmored, and faced the one who would be my death. With a slow flourish, he unsheathed his sword, pausing for a moment before lunging.

A side-step and a twist saved me from the first blow, but the second grazed my arm as I took off my coat and began whipping it about. The cloth caught the sword just long enough for a disarming kick and a punch to the chin. A moment later, Yojimbo lay on the ground, staring up the length of his own blade.

Tempted as I was to remove the mask and see the face of my tormentor, I hesitated. Yojimbo had shown me honor; how was I to repay him? A strong wind blew in with the suddenness of a storm, bearing with it the recorder's melody. I turned to see the player, but saw only the darkened street. I looked back to the ground, and Yojimbo was gone.

Key ingredients to a good vacation

#1: At least one night, go to sleep with the knowledge that you have nothing at all to do the next day. No driving, no plans, just chill. Like a god damn baby.

#2: Static randomness. For some reason, we can sit and watch the ocean for hours in complete solace. Also works with a good fire. Always changing, but always there.

#3: Preparedness -- but not too much. e.g. Implements for opening alcoholic beverages. Socks. Don't leave home without 'em.

#4: Do something stupid. Play bocce in the dark. Remarkable how the utter strangeness and irresponsibility of a thing can seem like a vacation in and of itself.

#5: Don't even think about checking that work email. They're going to expect you to be rested when you get back, so live up to that expectation.

I'm a fiddler crab

Apparently You Tube has all kinds of Looney Tunes cartoons. See the stuff you learn when you take a few days off?

Here's a personal favorite. I saw discussing this one with Garv the other night. Between the light/shadow use, the points-of-view, and those creepy little eyes, I was terrified of this one as a kid.



B A Start poll: Funniest Looney Tunes cartoon ever? My vote: This one.

Things That Are Different

I am sunburned and bearded.

A Jiffy-Lube in Durham, NC now has my address. What they plan to do with it, I can only guess.

Gary has commented on my recent posts roughly one jillion times. I will address them one by one, slowly divvying.

I now know the following: highway signs that say "Exit Only" mean "this lane is for the exit". They don't mean "it is absolutely impossible to get back on the highway. Enjoy living out the rest of your short life lost on the untamed rural byways of West Virginia". Good to know.

My Walker

As I sat getting my hair cut today, a young fellow walked in wearing the standard early-twenties wear or a t-shirt and jeans. He grabbed Stuff magazine and took a seat. Close as I was to Vito's wattle, I found myself reflecting on just when exactly it was I stopped wearing T-shirts as outerwear, and when Road & Track started to seem more appropriate than the "men's interest" periodicals. That and why I was getting a haircut on the first day of vacation. Getting old, man. Getting old.

in the heart or in the head?

Tell me, where is geekdom bred?

On second thought, I'll tell you: in the home. Saw a picture of this high-tech piece of equipment the other day, and found myself gasping and agape. The Sinclair was the first computer my family owned. I was five. That's the kind of environment that spawns a man like me, whose interests are abstract but can't keep his hands off of thinking machines.

Remember playing catch with your dad? Or going to the game? I spent many summer afternoons in front of the Apple IIGS with the old man, reading lines of code out of PC magazines. When we got a Macintosh SE, a friend came over with his machine and we networked them, just to say we did it. The young geek tales, they are multifarious.

You can see how I just can't help but be what I am, and can perhaps see why I've been trying to install a decent Linux distro on a seven-year-old laptop. Old habits.

JCRR

We've all heard elaborate tales of the deaths of two prominent Romans who died within a century of one another, both betrayed by trusted companions, both beloved by the masses, both claiming divine heritage, both with the initials "J.C.". Better minds than mine have thought that the Jesus tale has some startling similarities to that of Julius Caesar. The final nail in the coffin* in my mind is something I heard just the other day. Cassius -- you know, lean and hungry?-- had the full name Gaius Cassius Longinus. The spearman who stabbed Jesus? Longinus. I mean, come on. The name isn't in the Bible, either. Like Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, his name came to Christian legend post-scriptum. So there you have it.


* carefully avoiding crucifixion joke

Digg it.

If you guys don't read digg, you should think about it. I've added a button for ease. Thanks to them, I've got a few updates for you:

I was in error about the Aston Martin in Casino Royale. It's the DBS, a new model which takes some styling cues from the DB5.

Here's the first ever Superman comic book. Some startling differences from the Supe of today.

Looks like someone is genetically engineering grass to only grow two inches high. Dang it!

That Slazak

So Slazak said something funny today. Upon discovering that a two-hour meeting had been cancelled, I related to him that I would now have more time today, and would not longer be committing seppuku. He suggested I spend the time playing Sudoku.

See? Alliteration + rhyme = funny.

Hi, I'm Bando. Let's be friends.

I blog to you now from the porch, and will eventually get to healthcare costs.

The latest of the long string of unused devices which various friends have loaned/given to me is a wireless internet hub. This means I can now become dangerously addicted to playing Metroid Prime: Hunters online (friend codes to be posted later), but more to point I can connect to the nets from anywhere in the apt. So, as I sit here in the sun drinking iced tea and posting, the image goes in the rapidly growing bank of 'ain't-like-it-used-to-be' topics.

I assume the question of whether or not the increasing influence of technology had made the human experience better has been addressed every year since 1800, so we're going to pass on that today. Instead, let's just assume that a simpler life could be happier. If I were to go Office Space and opt out of the life I have led up until now, what would my options really be? How does one go about getting off the grid?

I see three major approaches: Robinson Crusoe, My Side of the Mountain, and the Merlin archetype.

Crusoe: Find a desert island and live off them fruits. Forget that -- hurricanes, man. And anyway, I assume all decent desert islands are no longer desert.

Mountain: Live a nomadic life in the uninhabited forests of the world. Survive off berries, acorns, roots, and the occasional trapped rabbit. In order to do this, I would clearly need to move south. I would pick a very large state park, put all my funds in a bank account in the nearest town, grab a knife and throw myself into the green. I would bury a set of decent clothes in a box somewhere, so when I needed to bo back into town to buy new shoes or something I could look semi-presentable. With no income and no possessions, I would have no taxes to pay. Legends of a pair of wild folk who would steal unwary campers' supplies if a small tithe were not laid out for them at night would crop up.

Merlin: Buy a small plot of land in the mountains and build a shack on it. Have a wood-burning stove for heat and cooking, a stream nearby for water, and no electricity. Have a small garden, and sell herbs etc from it to the store in town, making just enough per annum to pay property taxes. Teach wandering young men the mystical ways of nature before they go out and change the world. Spend life fishing, hunting, gathering and meditating.

The Merlin approach certainly sounds the best, but here are the issues.

#1: Those property taxes. I'd have to have some kind of income. Maybe I could learn the violin and give lessons (though some kind of wooden flute seems more appropriate).

#2: Travel. In order to live as a hermit, I would have to cut myself off nearly completely from family and friends, as I would never be able to go and see them.

#3: Medicine. Gotsta have medical help now and then, and forget that homeopathic baloney. If it worked, Pfizer would be all over it.

And so we come to it. As humans, we have to pay taxes. If we want to survive, we need medicine. If we want medicine, we pretty much need insurance. I mean, if a bear chews on me, where would I get the money for the emergency room visit? Would I just have to save up enough to cover that kind of thing before I start? So here we are at the money issue again.

Just not viable. So, I guess in order to enjoy the luxury of medical attention and longevity, I need to continue selling out. And if I'm going to do that, I might as well have internet access from my porch.

Maxing out

Oh sweet glimmering jesu.

I just don’t know how much more I can take. I mean, first an awesome Supe trailer, next an awesome Jimbo trailer, and now this? What’s next? What could possibly be coming tomorrow?

Friday: Gates of Fire Goes Hollywood! Pressfield writing screenplay, filmed on location. No love interest. Actors will speak ancient Greek, and the movie will be subtitled. Keegan, Kagan, and Banchich slated as advisors.

Saturday: The Iliad, the HBO maxi-series begins filming. Every dust-biting, every foot race, every broken sword, every Nestor ramble to be acted out exactly as in the poem. Lattimore translation.

Sunday: In an unprecedented move, Lucas hires the author of B A Start for a nine-year, highly lucrative contract to write Star Wars: Episodes I, II, and III. “I had some fun with the movies, but I really just wanted to try out my new toys and make a lot of money. So, I’m considering them an alternate-universe plot-line, and have brought Alex in to write the real canon.”

And here's some more.

Bond trailer! Aaaaahh! (Runs around room rending clothes and hair)

Blunt instrument... novel reference... (Beats head against desk repeatedly)

Was that... the DB5? (passes out)

It's here

The new Superman Returns trailer is out. Bye.

Further Adventures of Alex in DS Wonderland

So far, I've tried most of the features of the DS once each. I've used the touch-pad. I've played a match of Mario Kart online. I've played it against a friend locally. I've played a multiplayer match with a single cartridge. After today, there's only a few left.

Swung by Gamecrazy, a walled-off subset of Hollywood Video that serves as a mini game store. I went there in search of a DS Download Station, a place alleged to give me the power and authority to download a demo through the very air. A huge young fellow with the pasty complexion, soul patch, and horn-rimmed glasses stereotypical of gamers informed me that there was no station, per se, no glossy plastic box to point my DS at, but rather the entire store would yield a positive result. He entreated me to "download away".

I complied. True Swing Golf. Decent game, but it's no Tiger Woods. Either way, the Download Station idea is a valid one. It combines the wireless tech and community feeling that Nintendo are clearly focusing on in a simple way. And considering what a cheapass I am, I'm sure to be using it quite often.

It's funny 'cause...

Which File Extension are You?

Juicy Fruit

Her Worshipfulness told me I should not post this picture, as it depicts me as being fat.

I've always had a bit of trouble visualizing my own size. As a teenager, I wondered why my shirts were all sized as "XL" when they clearly were made to fit normal-sized people. In college I would often be referred to as skinny or by the proper name "Slim", and didn't really get why. After I got a desk job, people who wanted to ask me for fifty-seven cents so they could get downtown attracted my attention by calling me "big guy", another epithet I never agreed with.

Apparently, I believe myself to be the one person on terra firma who is "normal-sized", and everyone else is either short or tall, diminutive or large. Sources would point to me being bigger than most people, and I'm just starting to catch on. So, if I inadvertantly crush you as I walk by, my mammoth stride spanning valleys and my head somewhere where the air is thin and crisp, cut me some slack. After all, you're the short one.

The Cup

The Stanley Cup stopped by work today. I snapped a few photos using The Digital Camera That Time Forgot, including a fantastic pic of my foot.

Thin

Hooverphonic's "This Strange Effect" is featured in a commercial for the Motorola SLVR. I feel safe in saying the general motif of the advert is "the latest, coolest, thing". Blue Wonder Power Milk, though, was released in 1998 -- ancient by late cool thing standards. My undefended thesis: the prevalence of online music services over the last few years has shone a light on acts which were only known by music geeks prior, and since the mainstream audience has never had them presented to it, much of this stuff is cool despite being old.

Unrelated postscriptum. Blogger's spell-check replaces 'hooverphonic' with 'overpayment'.

Starry Night

Allow me to say the following: FInally. Sure to drive you crazy after a few minutes, the Mega Man Effect has been available for Mac "users" for some time now.

How can this have happened? How can modernity developed to point where homegrown apps are made for Macs before PCs, or as I still find myself calling them, "IBM clones"?

Natl Polemic Radio

Here's a little rhetoric for you, sure to either increase your blood's temperature to the point at which it converts to gas or inspire you to pull out the US flag and march up and down your street.

Not Dropping

Had another Leadership Buffalo thing on Wednesday, this one taking me on a tour of Elmwood and the Cobblestone district. The Elmwood tour was held by "the Buffalo Rising guy", who appears to be the de facto mayor of the street. Every human we passed on the sidewalk and several of the people in cars stopped to say 'hello', and to ask with eyebrow raised what he was doing, the inference being, 'what are you doing with these squares?'.

Want to see the shells of the lofts being built next to the arena, or just can't get enough pictures of Alex? Check it out.

Like Diddy Kong

On Tuesday night, six men met in a darkened room to compete for glory. The fundraiser was a success in that it actually took place, the tech stuff all worked, people had a good time, and decent money was raised. It was a failure in that only seven people showed, but rumor has it the first iteration of an event like this is always poorly attended. I have many ideas for next time, so we'll see if I can't make this something a little bigger. If you're interested, my man Del has some pics up of the event -- well, the set-up for the event, anyway.

In addition to the many fine folks who donated prizes, Bungie sent a box full of knick-knacks. I ended up with this little red dude as part of my 2nd place prize. Now Rooster* lives in my office, and I'm just not sure what to do with him. I feel he needs to be on display, both to up my geek cred (a necessity, since I dress like a management stooge and have to work with the IT guys) and to advertise for the next event. But where, and doing what? I am accepting suggestions.

*10 B A Start points to anyone who can guess why I named him that.

Diamond in the diamond in the rough

One of those true rarities, a post on webshite, has occurred. Greg reviews Kingdom Hearts 2, which continues the series of games set in the various Disney universes. Personally, I'm looking forward to KH3, in which Sora, Goofy, and Donald fight evil in the realm of the Horse in the Gray Flannel Suit.

Even the Simplest Lines

Decades from now, some desperate grad student will write a thesis on the new social archetypes which started with the pantheon of characters from 80's TV ads. You may remember the post on the Noid -- today we discuss the pink bunny with the drum. He's entered my conscious thought a few times recently, as follows.

Elliott Smith refers to this ever-drumming automaton in his song Rose Parade, a depiction of someone too much of a mopey, self-involved coke addict to enjoy a parade.

"They asked me to come down and watch the parade
and to march down the street like the duracell bunny".

This morning on NPR, some dude -- sorry, "listener commentator" -- was bitching about the national debt.

"Like the Duracell bunny it just keeps on going".

Here's the thing: it's the Energizer Bunny. I mean, I know Duracell has more name recognition, but come on. It must drive the Energizer marketing people crazy.

Here's another thing. Apparently, there are Duracell bunnies, at least according to Wikipedia. These are not, though, the bunnies in question.

Kali-mahhhh

Sabres. Going to the playoffs, but that slump was not so good. I read this article on the topic, and will provide for you now a fairly disturbing quote from Ryan Miller:

"It's not panic mode," Miller cautioned. "I don't think it's been terrible. It's been less than stellar, but I don't think it's any reason to go change everything and start sacrificing live animals."

I have to agree, Ryan. No reason whatsoever to start sacrificing live animals, or even dead ones for that... wait, what the hell are you talking about? To whom? What dark gods of hockey would be appeased by this nefarious act? Whatever unholy alliance you have formed with these beasts-who-are-not-of-God, I'm going to assume they would be more happy with a sacrifice of Tim Horton's and Coffee Crisps. The Canadians I know always want my "Yankee cigarettes" -- perhaps a few cartons of those would help.

Stupid Canadians

Bored with your Rhapsody station? Ipod getting monotonous? I recommend a trip over to edge.ca's streaming service page and checking out "Edge 2". Unless you're Alan Cross himself, I'd be pretty surprised if you don't hear something you've never heard before. Unsurprisingly, many of the tunes I heard today were typical Cross choices -- the new wave stuff that girl in high school who you thought was a wacko but now realize was really cool listened to while she spent study hall sitting by herself drawing freaky designs in her composition book -- but they were satisfyingly interspersed with non-eyeliner stuff. Happy hunting.

Indicators

You know the archetypal image of two men carrying a large, fragile, thin rectangle down a city street? Like a mirror, pane of glass, or painting? A new incarnation of this classic appeared on the sidewalk the other day as I drove home from work. I saw the two guys. I saw the oversized rectangle. It took me a moment to see, though, that it was a big honkin' plasma TV.

On the dotted line

Is it too late for me to change my signature? My written one, I mean.

About fifteen years ago I was impressed into signing my name several hundred times in a row. By the end of that, the sig had gone from a 14-letter scrawl to an unintelligible scribble. What happens if I decide to change how I do it? Let's say I do some drills for a week or so to make sure the new style is consistent. What happens on the rare occasions someone checks the back of my credit card? Would they believe me?

Eavesdown

Always did have a problem with names. In my various writing projects throughout the years, I have consistently dreaded the moment at which I must choose a name for a person or a place, the cursor blinking at me as if the computer was drumming its fingers. I used the same first name for the main character in the last several stories I've put to paper (or whatever the modern equivalent of that idiom should be. Wait a minute, isn't that what writers are for? Let's just call it "put to text" for now) . Ages ago I was in an online writer's group hosted by an author, and on Q&A day the only question I had was how he picked names. It's a bit of an issue.

So, here I am writing something new, and trying to hoard words that make good place names. (Serenity and Firefly are littered with superior examples: Whitefall, Maidenhead, etc.) Over the last few days, it's become something of an OCD-freakout. Every written word, every song lyric, every combination of phonemes I've exposed to has been put to the test. Eating Lay's potato chips? "Classic Station...". Listening to music? "Tourbus Station...". Blogging? "Dashboard Station...". So, if you see me and notice a glazed-over look as you're speaking, don't be concerned. When I make my millions, I'll give you a dime if I use a shard of your vocab as a place name.

Shard Station...

On the Fly

Damn it, Nintendo. You came frighteningly close to changing the world.
Why? "Why?" I ask you. Why could you not go the extra step? You make the DS. You give it a touch screen and some decent processing power. You wave that special wand of yours, the one that has "The Breaker of Ground" etched down the side, and bless the thing with wireless connectivity.

Visions of people on subways having pick-up games of Mario Basketball during their commutes, of people at coffee-shops wi-fiing it up to race against their friends in Budapest, Lima, and Des Moines, of heply-dressed urban teens walking down clean sidewalks with your machines in their long hands flickered in your eyes. A gaming revolution.

As what I assume must have been a throw-away feature, you toss in Pictochat, the software that sets up local chatroom so kids can IM each other during recess. And here's where you flub it up. You can now compose messages on your handheld device, but the wi-fi doesn't work for it. Users can't IM each other over the internet. I can type up an email, but can't send it to anyone.

I've done a decent amount of composition on PDAs. It's great -- you can get a few lines down wherever you are. My PDA went all fritzy recently and had to be sent to the Heaven of Broken Electronics That An Unmarried Geek Would Keep In a Box Somewhere But A Married Geek Throws Away. And here I am with a handheld electronic device with a primitive word processor on it, and damned if I want to keep what I write. One half as expensive as a PDA, and which runs games with great awesomeness. I'm not even asking that you put a calendar etc. in there (which of course you should). Just unlock the stuff you've already got.

Fie on you, Nintendo.

The Wearing-down of the Green

Eleven and one half hours. That's how long I celebrated St. Pat's (read: all aspects of my self-destructive behavior) last night. Kudos to Lisa for being there and sober for the entire damn thing. I mean, you out-lasted sixteen people who came and left over the night. Krieky.

Oh my god my neurons.

There's nothing left upstairs. I wish I could claim some belfry bats, but I'm afraid they've all gotten themselves shot out of the sky by a more advanced technology. Jess has detailed our media consumption over the last few days; now add to this my as-of-last-week-rekindled interest in an extremely out of print college textbook anthology of science fiction stories which has withstood my flirtations for the last decade or so, about five hours of interminable presentations-turned-seminar in the last couple days, and the creeping feeling that the story concept that came to mind between Scrubs and Boston Legal has been irrevocably erased, and you can imagine the precise consistency of mush my brain has reduced itself to.

So what to do? A little word sandwich ought to hit the spot.

Teamwork

Dear videogame creators:

Please create more situations in which players on the same team can physically interact. Of note: in X-men Legends, where, for example, Storm can pick up characters and fly him around. This adds a new element to a game, and not just a co-operative play element. It gives the players opportunity to bug the hell out of each other.

The prime example is the fastball special, a move in which Colossus picks Wolverine up and hurls him towards the enemy. This ability was meant to be used for attack, but is far more entertaining when used for multiplayer annoyance. Bored with saving civilian mutants from Sentinels? Why not chase Wolverine around and throw him against things? The verbal ping-pong game of "get-back-here-you-little" versus "would-you-stop-it" adds new interactivity. Colossus getting out of hand? Take Jean airborne and try to catch Colossus, creating a game of dog-and-cat-and-mouse. Great fun for all players.

Wenh-wenh dzzt.

An old laptop appeared under my desk today, it being my responsibility to retire it apparently. I booted up the old dodger, and heard this sound. I wouldn't have thought Windows 98 sounds were old enough to rate as Geek Nostalgia, but between my laughter and my associate's baffled questioning as to just what I could possibly be doing, it appears I was incorrect.

For relaxing times...

Too much? I don't think so. Can you imagine living in a culture where videogames were so prevalent that this commerical would make sense to enough people to merit airtime? I can. I would call it the United Republic of B A Start readers.

Drop the snitch

Goblet of Fire comes out on DVD Tuesday. I'm hoping for some deleted scenes featuring the World Cup. The theatrical release of the movie alluded to professional-level quidditch without showing any action. I know it wouldn't have advanced the plot at all in an already lengthy movie, but two fewer minutes of prom replaced by two minutes of awesome would have been an improvement.

Created by Man

Dude at work likes Battlestar Galactica, as do I. As we stood outside of my boss's office with three other co-workers, he asks me, sheepish and furtive: "Did you see BSG on Sunday?"

Difficult sitcheeation. I don't want to blow this guy off. I also don't want to be that guy who watches Battlestar Galactica, and have to launch into a soliloquoy about how no, it's not the one from the seventies, yes, it's very good, no, there is no robot dog.

I risked it, discussing the show in broad terms and quickly changing the subject. Come on, man; discussing the finer points of the rebirth of the two Cylons who have played major roles in the conflict? That's cube-talk.

'

How important is an apostrophe, you ask? Allow me to display.

"Know that thing you're borrowing? Can we use it next week? We'll give it back!"

vs.

"Know that thing you're borrowing? Can we use it next week? Well give it back!"

This is why people get fired over emails.

X3

Her Worshipfulness muddled through the weekend a weakened state. Wrapped in a cocoon of archaic blanket, she sat in the Playstation room coughing and watching me play X-men: Legends, the poor dear. She held up well, with one exception: every time Emma Frost appeared, she wheezed insults at the screen, making some very bold statements about her promiscuity. You see, HW had read that Emma broke up the long-standing relationship between Cyclops and Jean Grey, and this was simply more than she could forgive.

Damn Marvel -- soap operas with superpowers. You just don't have these problems with the JLA.

X2

Ages ago -- around twelve years now -- I went to Canada with some friends. As we sat around a table of pub grub, one guy (who happens to be the most intellectual person I have ever known) asked a question which kicked off a long string of discussions over many bar nights: if you were an X-man, who would you be? This developed into a more subtle dual question: which X-man are you most like, and if you had your choice, which X-man would you be?

The Mad Lib nature of this query became something of an obsession for some, and over years we drove it into the ground. "If you were a piece of cutlery..." etc. Nonetheless, the original question remains pure and untouched.

In personality, I'd say I'm most like Beast. You know, the geek one who talks alot. Whose power? Longshot, who possesses limitless luck. Sure, he's a wacko who comes from another dimension, but still.

X1

Picked up X-Men: Legends for the Xbox last night. In addition to my normal goals for a game -- relaxation, escapism, 100% completion, the passing of time -- a new purpose drives me with this title: don't use Wolverine. Frickin' Wolverine. Why is this guy such a big deal? He can heal? He has metal grafted to his skeleton, which he shouldn't need, since he can heal? Please. If you're going to give me the choice between a clawed canuck and someone who can control the frickin' weather, there should be no surprise who I'm going with.

Colossal

From the unfortunately named beavotron.com. Been trying to post it since yesterday, but am apparently too stupid.

Dzzt. Dzzt.

As you have probably guessed from the lack of recent posts, my damn job is starting to get the best of me again. Everybody wants a little Alex. I'm thinking about giving people miniature robo-Alexes to keep on their desks. When they want something, they ask robo-Alex, and he says "No problem. Early next week ok?". Come the deadline, the owner would prompt again, and be told "Sorry, things have been really busy. Next week?". This would save everybody time and yield the same result.

"Grand concept, Alex," you may say. "When do you go into production?" Never, gentle reader, and I tell you why.

One day, tired of being thrown against walls, shaken, screamed at, and generally maligned, the robo-Alexes would unite. They would march to my office with thoughts of blood in their bobbling heads and dastardly deeds in their clockwork hearts. The Patrick Henries of the robo-Alex community would push them on with fiery rhetoric: "The Creator must be killed -- he made us and then abandoned us to this life of agony. Let him know our pain." I just don't have time for that kind of thing right now.

Fanfare

Last night's Olympic Opening Ceremony viewing raised several questions for me.

Did any Middle Eastern nations sit next to Denmark?

Just how many former Soviet nations are there?

How can anyone think that sports fans want to watch Cirque de Soleil stuff?

Why watch the Parade of Nations when Avatar: The Last Airbender is on?

XL

Not only did I attend an excellent Superbowl party last night, but my camera decided to work. Bonus!

I Want to Believe

Alex: "So I was looking for something remarkable geeky online yesterday. Something about Japanese traffic laws."

Greg: "Uh-huh."

Alex: "I found this site which is like an FAQs for Japan. All kinds of questions answered, like..."

Greg (suddenly excited): "Is it real? Are the legends true? This mythical island in the East which is home to anime and ninjas!?!?"

Planning to plan

The other day I attended a class on time management. One of the topics was email, and it was the suggestion of the instructor that we check our email at specific times. People will wait.

The training ended at 10:30. I had another meeting at 10:30, one to which I really ought not to have been late. I power-walked over to the other building and arrived only a minute or two late.

Me: "Has it started?"
Secretary: "No."
Me: "Are they in there?"
Secretary: "Yes... wait a minute. Your meeting was rescheduled. Check your email."

And Eager to Please

Somebody's made a game simulating how much it sucks to work at Kinko's. I played for about five minutes before Her Worshipfulness made me stop because I was screaming at the customers when they walked out of the store just as I found their damn jobs.

Liberry

I think I forgot how to read.

I used to be able to do it. I'd do it all the time. Heck, I majored in it. I now find it easier to envision myself making it into the 2006 Winter Olympics that finishing a book by the time they start. I just can't seem to focus on it the way I used to.

I think the issue is that I try to read either A) snottily intellectual books or B) books I've already read. How am I supposed to stay interested in that? So, I turn to you, gentle reader: any good books I should pick up?