What a deal!

99 cents off!? How generous Amazon; now I have to get one!

Merry X-mas!

breakfast of champions

Yes, I know that updates have been sparse. I have been spending all my free time trying to create my own version of the McGriddle sandwich. Mine has Canadian bacon, though, so I don't think I am infringing on corporate copyright too much. Soon, I will have a McGriddle party.

Cold, colder, coldest

Random recent:

Took a day off to go to the nature museum with my niece. She liked the water exhibit. And climbing stuff. Didn't care too much for the butterflies.
She wanted to see the gorillas at Lincoln Park zoo. But it's dark in there. Unacceptable! Luckily there were some outside. And a very nice carousel, which she had pretty much all to herself.

The avocado green fridge finally died. As opposed to humans, when a fridge dies it gets warm. It has been replaced by a tall, white, and non-descript model.
No, I had no urge to paint the new one the same shade of green.

Selling the condo. This requires packing. And purging. Still, I know I will end up moving things I do not need. I have no yard or garage...maybe I should have a living room sale?

Animals that are now extinct

• The mischievous wildflower dragon.
• The pink bears of Florida.
• The dodo bird's evolutionary cousin, the coco bird, hunted to extinction for its' chocolately goodness.
• The Escher salamander.
• The common gym rat, which had no natural resistance to steroids.
• The receding hairline eagle.

baby squirrels - wikipedia draft entry

Two little baby squirrels emerged from their tails today.
They immediately started plotting.
What dogs to terrorize.
Which children's legs to run up.
How to overthrow the Mexican government.
Baby squirrels love long walks thru the trees, pink elephants, and flan.
They also like advanced calculus.
The natural habitat of the baby squirrel is in the blind spot of your eye.
You can only see them by looking sideways while practicing controlled breathing.
Did I mention that baby squirrel tails are quite long? They are. Kitten ears are a good comparison.
Baby squirrels will sneak into your house at night and steal your hair in order to build nests. They prefer brunettes.
The diet of a baby squirrel consists of cheese (all kinds, especially swiss), potato pancakes, and have I mentioned that they like flan?
They are quite adept at the use of Swiss army knives and can construct MacGyveresque bombs and other such devices at will.
Do not fear the baby squirrel. Instead, accept that they will do you no harm so long as you give in completely to their demands.
Lastly, be aware that the baby squirrel will use their little paws to utterly destroy the heathen, false idol lawn gnome.

holy crap!

One of my big toenails fell off yesterday.

where's my punchline?

"How are your trees, Grandpa?"
"I've been getting a lot of fruit this year."
One of the coolest things about my Grandpa's place in Florida is all the variety of fruit trees in the immediate vicinity. Happy belated 78th birthday, Grandpa!

My friend John describes a recent evening:
"So we walked to the lake shore, to the breakers off of the beach, and the moon was huge and red and we were sitting there and it was the perfect romantic night. Until we saw a big rat coming down the breaker toward us. What the hell is a rat doing there anyway? So yeah, the moment was kinda ruined."

"My daughter calls me. 'Dad, I need some poster board.' How long have you needed this? 'Well, I thought I had a piece, and I thought my sister had a piece, but she didn't, and the only poster board we have is messed up...' Yeah, but how long have you known that you need it? 'A week.' And when do you need it for? 'Tomorrow.' Of course. So now I'm sitting in the Wal-mart parking lot, with zero cash, and I can't remember the PIN number of my debit card."
From a conversation with my uncle Lee. Who also related the demise of my old car, a '94 Geo Prizm, which clocked in at 188,000 miles before imploding.

Meanwhile, the jinx is in, and B and I are on indefinite hiatus. Who didn't see that coming?

and perhaps a few more...

Things I could live without in the wake of an alien abduction:

- Back issues of Wired
- M.C. Escher sticker book
- Iron
- Sense of despair and childlike hope after the first big snowfall of the season
- The latest episode/re-run of Lost
- Sugary cereals
- Concert t-shirts
- 403(b) pension
- Scented candles
- Collection of maps to the residences of all of my friends
- Passive aggressiveness
- Commuting
- Incessant habit of list-making

Just add hot water

Do I associate tea with sickness? All summer long, I was in no mood for drinking tea. Now I have the sniffles and all I could think of today was how nice it would be to get home and make a nice cup of tea. Or two, so far. I think I'll run the spectrum tonite; I had the green and white blend first, followed by the chai spice black. Maybe I should throw in some lemon while I'm at it.
Still, I don't want to develop a negative association. It's been wet and chilly the past few days, though, so I could just as well be linking it to the weather. Kind of like I associate mashed potatos with winter far more than any other season.

Row Row Row

Things I saw in or near the water during Sunday morning's canoe trip:
-Dead fish
-Branches
-Condoms
-Basketball
-Cranes/herons
-Ducks
-Turtles

We went north up the Chicago River, near Addison, as far as Bryn Mawr before heading back. Except for a break to have a snack, we spent about 3 hours on the water. I ended up in the middle with Jeff steering and Richard up front; leaning back against a wooden railing while sitting on a seat cushion did not make my back too happy. Oddly, my arms are not as sore as I expected them to be. The weather was great; just enough breeze and sunny but not too hot.

Poor man's kaleidoscope

Last night I gave my bathroom a fresh coat of paint. This morning I was putting it back together, and happened to look through the long, square towel bar (one of those cheap metal ones that everybody has had in their bathroom at one time or another). I was able to capture a sample of the effect in this photo.
Yes, I am easily amused.

Another baby

Eliza and Trey

As of yesterday, another newborn amongst my friends. And is it just me, or does Big Bird seem to be defying gravity in some way?

So that's finally done...

The project that took all summer to get done is finally complete. The shower leak is fixed and the whole thing has been re-tiled.
The guy sent out from Handyman Connection did a nice job and was very efficient and easy to deal with. So I would recommend them; my only complaint is that it took a while to actually get the work scheduled and done.
So...now I'm realizing that I probably ought to repaint the bathroom. Sigh. It never ends, does it?

Music Fests

Pitchfork this weekend and Lollaplaooza next weekend. I'll be posting reviews and notes about the concerts on the audio vortex blog.

Review, Book

I had been meaning to pick up Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life for some time now. And, like most things that fall victim to my procrastinatory tendencies, I was quite happy to have finally acquired and read it.
Take your basic ordinary life. Chronicle various bits of it. Categorize those bits and arrange in encyclopedia form. That is the basic premise of the book, and on that level alone it would be interesting. And yet, in the midst of this well worn format, Rosenthal slips in the bones of a narrative, a story of family, love and occasional tragedy (or near misses) intermingling with the daily routine. In other words, the quintessential themes of life.
It's an easy read, but not in the simplistic sense. It's more along the lines of thinking, on just about every other page "I've done or seen or felt that." This allows Rosenthal to make an almost immediate and I daresay chummy connection with the reader, and from that point you just want to sit and devour the rest of the book.
Rating: Straight Flush.

Silence

After having a leaky tub faucet for a criminally long time (see earlier posts from April here and here) work finally began today on fixing that and re-tiling the whole shower (I have some water damaged wallboard on one side).
So, there is no longer a steady cascade of water emanating from the shower. The silence is deafening.

virtue vs. vice

A Tribune article today talks about a study in which it was concluded that in the long term people are more likely to regret virtue over vice.

Kivetz [the researcher] argues that the over-emphasis on virtue and prudence in American culture contributes to the impulse toward over-indulgence.

"I'm not saying, 'OK, be decadent' … but balance is important," he said. "I think people should strive to have a little more balance, and balance also means enjoying life more."

There's that word again. Balance. Some might call it karma. Anyway, it's an interesting piece of research, and while the conclusions are presented in such a way as to suggest the findings are surprising, I think most people would come to the same conclusion if they really thought the question through. After all, nobody ever gets old and tells stories about all the virtuous things they did in their youth.

kismet

Coincidence, fate, luck, destiny.
What are these things anyway?
Just concepts to explain what we cannot explain.
Not interchangeable, no, but cut from the same cloth.
The same cloth that gets cut into strips, used to blind us from truth, used as a gag against speaking out in protest of our situation.
What about free will? What about passion, and reason, and logic?
How often have I explained my actions, my motivations, with the phrase "That's just what I do." Is there such a thing as a mythology of the self, and do we eventually entrap ourselves in our own myths?
Is it odd that I find myself actively seeking people who both reinforce some of my traits while acting as an outlet to break away from other aspects of "typical me"? Is it odd or is it healthy?
That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it? Step outside of your comfort zone, as often as you can without feeling unstable. Maybe my problem is that I feel like doing that is supposed to be rewarding in some way. But intrinsically, it's not, it is just another chunk of experience with no positive or negative value by itself.
I know I'm being vague. MG would chide me, "details, give me juicy details." Later. I think for now I'm just trying to settle a question in my mind, the question of risk versus reward, and whether I am so dependent on positive feedback that I avoid risk for fear of their being no reward in it. That's a deeply ingrained trait; do I have the discipline to exist without depending on the approval of others?

lightning

Last night's storms brought about the following recollection:

When I was about 8 or so, that is when my fascination with lightning really took hold. I was sitting in the living room of the old house, watching TV, a food tray propped up in front of me. This was a treat, I was up later than I was supposed to be, though I don't remember why I had that privilege that particular evening. My parents had picked up some beef sandwiches at Dukes, so as I sat there eating a storm rolled in. The living room had a large picture window facing the street. Suddenly, the blackness of the night-time glass was replaced with pure white, and the simultaneous crack of thunder. I probably jumped three feet. Lightning had struck the tree across the street, in front of my neighbor's house. In the morning I would see the extent of the damage; it had almost cleanly severed a large limb that ended up partway into their roof. I have to admit I was pretty freaked out.

(Back in the present) I saw one bolt in particular last night, it had to be less than a 1/4 mile away, that charred the air and left a trail of burning sparkles. Of course I kept seeing it, as a shadow on the back of my eye, for about ten minutes afterward.

a calm place

Where or what is your calming place?
A physical spot you either conjure or can get to when you need it.
For a while, mine was the Little Red Schoolhouse nature center. I'm not sure that it still is, though. At other times, Tori cat was my calming place. That's one of the things I miss most about her. Montrose harbor and a little patch of grassy hill next to Adler Planetarium have also served as my spots. I'm not sure where it is right now.

random 7-15

Stuff that spilled out of my mind this morning:

I read an article about a giant squirrel passing out treats at Chicago City Hall. What would I do with a giant squirrel costume for a day? Maybe climb a tree and intimidate the little ones? Or just take some weird pictures. There's a store in the city (Wrigleyville?) I think it's called Nuts on Clark, (?); I would totally walk in there and buy something. (Practical problem; where do squirrels keep their wallets? Or is that the setup to a joke I cannot remember?)

Do kids who imagine scary monsters in their bedroom name their monster? I don't recall having any monsters. So I wouldn't have had a chance to think up a name.

I made a carrot cake and it actually turned out okay, pretty good in fact. Who would have guessed? Here is the recipe I used, except I put in half a cup of walnuts rather than a whole cup of pecans, and didn't add any nuts to the frosting.

Book Review: Running With Scissors

To say that Augusten Burroughs had a perverse and psychologically twisted childhood is the definition of understatement. Here is what makes this book work and what also (perhaps) destroys it: Any idealistic notions about parenting, psychology, sexuality, maturity, and identity are so completely obliterated within the first 50 pages or so that you spend the rest of the text marveling at the sheer absurdity of it all. That Burroughs survived it is one thing, that he is able to tell the tale is a feat unto itself. Occasionally you get the sense that he is not involved in the action so much as drifting nearby, conveying a survival tactic of the moment that extends to how he writes. This is a life where the extremes are the norm and normalcy is longed for yet so foreign as to arouse something akin to suspicion. I'll recommend it, but it is not for the faint-hearted.
Rating: flush.

conversational math

Flip enough coins, and eventually the pattern will settle into a 50/50 split between heads and tails, right?
Does the law of averages apply to conversation? For instance, if I talk for a long enough time, will there be a point where what I say is interesting or funny no less than half the time?
But then how do we categorize those people who seem to have an abundance one way or the other?
Related question: Where is the fine line between tedious and hilarious? Is it in the delivery, the ability to twist a story, or is it more a matter of knowing your audience?
I know this makes absolutely no sense. How can one apply math to conversation? Maybe it's a notion borne more out of the idea of time; the 7-minute lull, or the point at which a story or joke goes on too long and the point is lost. Or the speed at which gossip travels (Juiciness x people who know = distance).
Or maybe I'm just hoping that years of being boring will balance out in the end.

Movie Review: Superman Returns

Last year it was Batman Begins, and now we have Superman Returns. Rather than a retelling of the character's origins, this movie attempts to get past the mythos of Christopher Reeve's characterization and make audiences buy into Brandon Routh as an acceptable replacement. It also takes the liberty of ignoring the third and fourth sequels, which to me seems consistent with the tendency of comic books to thrash continuity in favor of a good story and attempt to fill in logical gaps later. However, I think that movie versions of comic books with a lot of history can get away with ignoring or changing aspects of the comic they are based on so long as the movies are consistent within whatever universe they create. So, purely on the level of storyline and plot, this tale will be criticized but it cannot necessarily be damned for the way it strays from the comic; as it does seem consistent with the first two movies.
Perhaps too much so. There were so many references and tribute shots from the earlier movies that at times it was like watching a Cliffs Notes version of I and II. Still, the film succeeds in spite of such gestures, due in large part to the casting. Most of the criticism I have heard is dissatisfaction with the people in each role, but I disagree. Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor doesn't exactly light up the screen, but his dry approach suits the character. Meanwhile, James Marsden appears as Lois Lane's fiancee, and is given the opportunity to act rather than just run around with silly sunglasses or eye-beam focusing goggles like he did as Cyclops in the X-men movies. And Routh carries the weight of the title character probably better than anyone might expect.
The story itself drags a little sometimes, and is often interrupted for the sake of iconic imagery, but it is a watchable enough plot to stay interesting.
Rating: flush

Bin Lung

My sister is in Taiwan. I couldn't resist posting this excerpt:

"Betel Nut is the seed of a tree called the Betel Palm. It is actually very popular in Asian countries. The nut contains a stimulant so when it is chewed the effect is describes as being similar to drinking about 6 cups of coffee. In Taiwan, the marketing of the Betel nut (called Bin Lung) is what makes it popular here.

Bin Lung Girls have stands that are usually located around entrance/exit ramps to the highways. The girls are often dressed in little more than bra & panties. So, that is one of the reasons for the popularity of the nut, especially with the fellas. So, at this rest area, you could actually buy Bin Lung dolls out of a machine! I couldn't believe it! Ya-wen said people actually collect them!!"

Hail to the Chief

Within months of moving in to my condo, I found myself on the resident Board. After being on it for four years (and dealing with one crazy neighbor too many) I decided it was time for an exit.
That was six months ago. Nobody wanted the position. Eventually, we talked someone into taking it, a guy whose parents also live in the building and who would be moving in to another unit at some point (after he finishes rehabbing it). So I stayed on as interim vice president.
Now our board president has resigned, as he is moving out. Which makes me interim president.
Why is it that the responsibilities I really want are so hard to acquire, while those that I would rather avoid end up in my lap?
Outside, a crew is setting up for tuckpointing work. That's right, I came to power right at the moment when we are starting our most costly project in years.
Figures.

Which West Wing Character are You?

(Note - lots of pop-ups on the site linked below.)

R. insists that I am Toby. Perhaps. But not today.



As the captain of the Bartlet Administration's boat, the chief of staff is a work-a-holic. As the captain of the Bartlet Administration's boat, the chief of staff is a work-a-holic. Although he is sometimes haunted by the demons of his past alcohol and drug abuse, because of his character and perserverance there is no one more admired on the staff than he.

:: Which West Wing character are you? ::

Book Review: JPod

The latest offering from Douglas Coupland reminds me of a Harry Potter novel. Lots of pages, reads quickly, and chock full of magic spells and teen angst.
Oh, wait, the characters in this book are not teens. Yet they all seem emotionally frozen at a certain point just shy of adulthood. Which is odd, since topically this is a kind of sequel to Microserfs, which dealt with a younger group of coders entrenched in the tech industry. But the characters from that earlier work seemed more emotionally stable, better able to handle the plot twists and turns that the "everything including the kitchen sink" author threw at them.
Trying to describe the plot of JPod is like attempting to guess the next song that your ipod will play in shuffle mode. Almost everyone I know who has an ipod claims that it takes on some sort of personality, favoring certain artists or genres, as if it had moods of its own. JPod reads that way, shifting from moments of fantastical escapism to bleak social commentary and then off to some twenty page mind game.
The characters? I have no doubt that people in this industry possess some measure of personality quirk that makes them both good at what they do and prone to interesting adventures or random flights of thought. Coupland tries to flesh out his characters through various personality defining quizzes and games that are the stuff of the viral e-mails that circulate amongst people, theoretically filling in the blanks on their background with various factoids and traits. What starts out as an amusing shortcut in character development devolves into a pattern of lazy writing, with a structural familiarity that induces the reader to pass over it like so much spam. When one takes into account the actual use of spam as a filler device peppered throughout the book, Coupland's technique here causes the narrative to collapse in on itself, merging what he wants the reader to know about the characters with the random noise.
And what of the Coupland doppelganger, the deus ex machina author himself? He is the least believable, most reviled character in the book, yet essential to the resolution of the "plot". Writing yourself as an ass doesn't exclude you from scrutiny, nor does it work as a device of creating and resolving tension in this story-line.
Overall, I was simultaneously amused by this hefty lightweight novel and disappointed that Coupland felt the need to structure it like some weak maze game. Pushing your characters through various levels, finding power-ups, hidden doors, and magic faeries to move the plot along is cute and all, but I expect better from Coupland. Turn on a light, sir, lest you be eaten by a grue.
Rating: three of a kind.

The man with the electric head (7-9)

The man with the electric head has made some observations.
If he happens to lean too close to the monitor, he has to degausse it.
He can use his electric razor one, maybe two days before it needs to be recharged.
He can tell the time on a digital clock in the next room.
When he's bored he will ride the train, sitting there flipping the pages of a book while mentally scanning the phone or PDA of whoever is nearby. He has noticed that people predominantly use their camera phones in bars. If he concentrates he can change the ringtone. Sometimes he considers memorizing the numbers of the women he finds attractive, but he knows that he would never call them anyway. If only he could use his particular skill to meet people. He has searched on-line, wondering if perhaps there was a subculture of people like him, but so far, nothing.


The man with the electric head is single again.
He told her, and thought she was okay with it. She seemed to be at first. But then the other night they were bored and sitting around watching TV; she had the remote and was flipping channels and he kept flipping them back. And just like that she stood up, announced that it was all just too weird and she didn't think she would ever learn how to deal with it, and left.
He didn't even react. For a split second she may have hesitated, waiting for him to protest, but he had already sunk into the familiar numbness, the scene playing out in his mind the way it had several times before then. The first time he was angry, the second time he was bitter, and after that it was just part of the routine.

Later, trying to get the experience out of his system, he will sit in front of the computer, start up a blank page in Word, and watch as torrents of letters flood the screen, digital screams and self-recrimination filling the space. After a while he will save the file, with her name, and the date.


The man with the electric head dreams in split-screen.
He doesn't know how else to explain it. Sometimes he will wake up in the middle of the night aware that he was having two dreams simultaneously; surreal and distinct imaginings competing to be remembered in his now-conscious state.
Another odd thing is that one dream is always in color, and the other in black and white. He has a theory, though. Perhaps the left and right sides of his brain are competing. Maybe they always are, maybe that is where the electricity comes from. Constantly at war, each side synaptically discharging volleys at the other, producing more energy than his skull was designed to contain. Is it just a fluke of nature, or a condition that would lead to split personalities in anyone else? Then it occurs to him that he does have a split personality, projecting normalcy to the world, hiding his talent (or curse) the majority of the time.
He goes back to sleep, dreaming an amusement park in the desert; dreaming a spring day with technicolor maple seeds helicoptering down on him like nature's confetti, trees marching, marching, tendril roots a flurry underneath their bulk, gliding down the parade lane, all is quiet save for leaf rustle and seed flutter...

Book Review: The Areas of My Expertise

Having just now at this very moment (or at least within the past several millenia) completed digesting Mr. Hodgman's epic compendium, I now offer my thoughts on the experience and conditional recommendation, as is the custom in this historical moment and also as is required per the by-laws of the Opinion Entitlement Act of 1998 (1).
"The Areas of My Expertise" (John Hodgman, author, ninja) represents an important addition to the sum of human knowledge, and is likely to supplant lesser sources of information in the near future, especially if the screeching owl outside my window and the obese boy on the lawn whose face is smeared with butter and stray corn kernels are to be believed. While nothing Mr. Hodgman narrates here (I say "narrates" because it is obvious that these are not so much his own words and thoughts so much as those of the spectral reincarnation of hobo king Joey "Stink-Eye" Smiles) can be considered to be actual "truth", the metaphorical resonance of the material cannot be denied. And that is just what lies on the surface; careful readers who plot the various footnotes throughout the book on a world map (circa 1592) will be pleased to discover a helpful plotting of various sea-monsters and bottomless pits that they will then be able to avoid. Also of note is that if one were to translate the list of 700 hobo names into their Smurf equivalents and then convert them to binary, the result would be the calculation of pi to the 9,999th digit (2).
One should both read and discuss this book in hushed tones (reading it thusly will remind you perhaps of sitting near the beach as the water gracefully laps against the shore and will calm your mind in such a way as to allow full concentration) and never, ever, leave it unattended amongst the mentally infirm or ultra-conservatives (the Lycanthropic Transformation Timetables alone, in the wrong hands, could be the death of us all).
After reading this book, if you feel that I have been wrong in encouraging you to do so, I will be inclined to strongly protest for at least five minutes before feebly breaking down and offering to make it up to you through the performance of various soul-crushing chores and/or donning a hamster outfit and scurrying through pipes for your amusement.
Rating: full house

1. The Opinion Entitlement Act, Article II.b: Everyone is entitled to your opinion, even if nobody asks for it.
2. 7

The man with the electric head (4-6)

The man with the electric head hates going to the dentist.
Those new machines that they use pick up a distinct and unnerving aura that confuses the hygienists and the doctor. The machine is adjusted, another "x-ray" is taken, and then another, until finally they go back to the original and work off of that.
There is also the fact that he is phobic about the dentist's office. The sounds get to him first. The scrapes, like steel chalkboards. The whine of the drill, at a pitch that osciallates in such a way that he wonders if he has been unknowingly drugged. Then the smell, the slight burn as bad tooth is removed, a pit created for the silver filling yet to come. The shots of novocaine, the numbness, those are the things he can live with. He can stand the pain. The spots dancing in his eyes; closing his eyelids shut to eliminate the spots only to perceive a black-white shifting dance in his mind.
And the spitting. Little whitish chunks mixed amongst the blood and drool. Momentarily awful, but even that he can deal with because he knows that the end is near when it's time to spit.
He wonders if having an electric head makes the novocaine wear off faster.


The man with the electric head had a theory.
What if the government implanted something into me, he thought.
He was going through a conspiracy phase, and wasn't sure if he rented all the X-files DVDs because of it or as a reaction to his mood.
He was working a summer job in a retail warehouse at the time. One day, when most everyone had gone home, he held up one of those bar-code readers to his head and tried to scan himself. But there was nothing. Except that he broke the scanner; after that everything it scanned was a coffee table for $129.99.
He couldn't even balance a book on his head for more than a few seconds, so it seemed unlikely that he was a coffee table.


The man with the electric head had other talents that were unrelated to his electric headedness.
He had a knack for making nice flower arrangements out of those cheap little bunches of flowers from the grocery store. This was a useful talent, in theory, though each girlfriend who received those bouquets had a variety of reactions. There was suspicion (what is he apologizing for that I don't know about yet?), guarded enthusiasm (is he gay? bi?), sneezing (oops...allergies), defensiveness (you think you're getting some because you brought these, don't you?), and every so often actual appreciation (seriously? are you a male from this planet?).
It was one of those things he refused to become jaded about in the midst of all the other relationship games; actually, it was one of the only things.
He also gave pretty good footrubs, which were greeted with far fewer negative reactions.

Movie Review: X-men 3

The latest installment in the X-men franchise is a series of action sequences interrupted by dramatic fluff that adds almost nothing to the plot. Some observations (and potential spoilers; you have been duly informed):
- Not since "The Core" has the Golden Gate Bridge been so thoroughly mangled. Apparently there is some secret competition going on amongst the special effects houses to see who can wreak the most havoc on this San Francisco landmark. I expect that the next attempt will involve an anthropomorphic Golden Gate extending its cables into the city, lifting up the Coit Tower and launching it like a missile toward loathsome Los Angeles.
- There is a boy who is the "anti-mutant". Get too close and your powers fade away, temporarily. Apparently the "cure" is synthesized from the DNA or whatever of this boy. Anyway, we get an entire diatribe on the mutant cure, but nobody seems upset that a lab has locked up some little boy in a whitewashed room in the medically modernized Alcatraz prison.
- It's always cool seeing the name of someone you know in movie credits.
- How come all the people standing in line for the cure looked so normal? And is it just me, or is there a tendency toward blue as the preferred pigmentation of mutants?
- The scene of a young Archangel cutting off his wings was well done, and is about as deep as the movie gets in terms of character development/background (with the exception of the Jean Grey backstory). That said, a long series of shots showing various characters walking around or staring into nothingness with a mopey expression is pretty much worthless and happens too often in this movie.
- How is it possible that over the course of three movies they did not manage to give Storm/Halle Berry one decent line of dialogue? Is English supposed to be her character's second or third language?
Overall, if you liked the first two movies, go ahead and see this one.
Rating: three of a kind.

Do you regret not eating an egret?

The Amazing Regret Index.

geese

Yesterday morning, driving to work down Joliet Road.
The sprinklers are on, adjacent to the street, next to the Target.
And there are about 20 geese walking through the sprinkler shower, taking a bath.
It turns out to be a wearisome day, but at least I got to smile a little at the outset.

The man with the electric head (1-3)

The man with the electric head likes to have staring contests with parking meters.
He is developing his skills, gradually tuning in to the frequency of the meter, changing the number of minutes remaining. Most of the meters are set for a two hour time limit, but he bumps them up to the 9:59 mark. Then he sits on a bench across the street, watching as people park, walking up to the meter with a hand already in their pocket ready to fish out some change. Some smile broadly at their luck and skip away, others, presumably aware of the two hour limit, appear confused, sometimes tapping on the glass, occasionally shifting their gaze as if viewing the numbers from another angle will alter them.


The man with the electric head has an ipod that he never carries.
For as long as he remembers, there has been static in his headphones. It is only recently that he began to understand why. When he was younger, they took him to have his ears tested, and he could hear all the tones but still there was static. They ran further tests and still could find nothing wrong. Since he only had the problem when he wore headphones, the doctors convinced his parents that he just had a particular sensitivity and there was nothing to be done. Eventually the matter was dropped. It's really just an inconvenience, he thinks, and a shame really, since he can change the songs by just thinking about it. He could do it to the people nearby if he wanted, but he respects the music; he knows that he's not just changing a song, he's altering someone's mood as a result.


The man with the electric head has a new girlfriend.
It's been almost a month now. She seems generally happy, though she has started to chastise him for his relatively passionless kisses. He hasn't explained the problem to her yet, but will have to soon. He's never sure when to bring up the subject. The scent of burnt lip flesh from years ago keeps his desires in check; knowing that if he breaks his concentration he will come away physically unscathed but she will not. If he mentions the problem too soon, they think he is crazy, and he loathes the recriminating look if he waits too long, the sudden jolt away in the awareness of the heat and the light crackle. There is such a thing as too much passion. This he knows all too well.

Book Review - Saturday (Ian McEwan)

Over the course of what turns out to be a very long day, neurosurgeon Henry Perowne deals with war, love, growing old, confrontation, poetry, talent, memory, and Dover Beach. And that's just the stuff that is easy to categorize. My take on this tale is that it is a meditation on how one exists in the moment. It is also about the mechanisms we use to separate ourselves from our immediate surroundings. It's about how we connect to our physical and emotional self and what happens when we drift away. McEwan doesn't seem to be making any judgments about that drift, but it is integral to how the story moves along.
I suppose I'm being a little vague. I don't want to give away the story. What I will say is that despite a little too much effort to wrap things up nicely, it's a decent novel and worth your time.
Rating: full house.

Jackson Park

Took a walk around the Jackson Park area yesterday.

How does anyone live near Chicago for so many years without ever walking these paths?

Oh, yeah, because there's a slum directly to the south. Hey Daley, that's your next project; now that you've fixed up the Drive start working on the neighborhoods right off of it.

Our walk started near the triangualar section at the bottom center (where the "Golden Lady" (Statue of the Republic) resides), a little east then north along the path. Past a driving range (with some of the oldest bathrooms in the city?) then through a bird sanctuary. Turning west briefly, just south of the pond at the back of the Fine Arts Palace/Museum of Science and Industry. Then back south, through the island, with a visit to the Osaka Garden along the way.

Book Review - Year of Magical Thinking

This is a memoir of Didion's life in the year following her husband's death. What else is it? It's a Worst Case Scenario Handbook for grieving. I think that anyone who has lost someone close to them will recognize the self portrait that Didion paints, the psychologically established* stages of mourning that soften but never quite go away. The most striking thing for me were the tours of associative memory; a million little reminders peppered throughout each day. Memory lane isn't a straight street, it's not even a cul-de-sac, it's a maze that you wander with no discernible exit.
The fact that Didion is able to share her journey in such an accessible manner is a testament to her skill as a writer, and I would imagine that it was also a therapeutic exercise. Everyone handles grief a bit differently, but I also think that anyone who reads this book will come away with an observation that will be useful in the (hopefully distant) future or find some solace in the voice of a kindred spirit.
Rating: Four of a kind.

code

So apparently they made a movie based off of some book. The Da Vinci Code? Did anyone actually read that?
Do I have to read it now? Or can I just avoid the whole thing? I guess I am just failing to see the point. That, and I hate getting swept up into massive pop culture fads.
Have I mentioned that Tom Hanks' hair frightens me?
Maybe I'll just watch Amelie again, get my Audrey Tautou fix, and be done with it.
I'm still waiting for a parody. Perhaps The Warhol Code? In which his art predicts future celebrities who will be famous for fifteen minutes? But it goes beyond that. The artwork acts like the image of Dorian Gray; pop celebrities stay famous so long as the painting exists. In the movie version, people sick of Paris Hilton attempt to locate the Warhol artwork that is keeping her in the public eye, wishing to destroy it in order to send her back into "poor little rich girl" obscurity.
We'll start the whole thing off with an animated short in which a technicolour Marilyn Monroe crashes into a gigantic can of soup, getting sucked inside the can into a hallucinogenic soup-world.
Yeah, okay, I took this one a little too far...

West Wing

I knew it was time to turn off the TV when I saw an ad for Karate Dog. I should have turned it off when West Wing ended. It was a good show, and even though it drifted for a while there, it was far more relevant than viewers deserved.
In a time when we are stuck with an administration that was approved of by a majority of voters in the last election, there is a certain fantasy aspect to a show like West Wing, a kind of wish fulfillment. We ought to go around asking why our government isn't better than it is. We ought to dream big and strive to be the best in the world.
It sounds terribly naive to write things like that. Is it criminal to hold people accountable? Maybe it is. If the FBI doesn't have a file on you by the time you are in your 30's, then you're too complacent.

Dill Kill

Okay. I will never claim to have a green thumb. But I thought I could keep a simple dill plant alive. And for two weeks it was doing okay. But then I forgot to water it for a day. And then I guess I drowned it in an overcompensating downpour.
So can someone please invent a customized water gauge? An inexpensive little tool, maybe incorporated into that little plastic marker that tells you what type of plant you are buying and how to take care of it. With a depth line so that you know it is in the soil far enough, and a little raincloud or whatever that gets brighter when you should water the plant. Kind of like those fish tank temperature gauges that stick up against the glass. For idiots like me. Because I feel bad when I let the plants down, ya know?

South Park Bry

South Park Studio

A generous pour on a Friday night

Arriving home
The work is done
Even though it still
Takes up space in your mind
But you will chase it away
Not with cheap swill
You don’t even bother
Anymore; life’s too short
And besides, it just makes
Your head ache
Opening the cabinets
You bypass the petite glasses
And go straight for the oversized
Ruby-hued wine goblet.
Then, with the skill of an artist
You uncork the bottle
And set it on the counter
To let it breathe for a moment
Head into the bedroom
And exchange the professional skin
For something more comfy.
Every room has clutter
That you happily ignore
That’s not the priority
At the moment
And now the bottle is turned sideways
Contents gently licking
And slipping down the glass
A generous pour
On a Friday night.

First Lines for your novel

* Having trouble starting your novel? As a public service, I offer you these First Lines:

Ten minutes into the execution, we knew something was amiss.

I had little experience with venereal disease until I met her.

The carp were biting on anything, which was convenient for me as I had a boat full of my friend's body to dispose of and no fishing license.

Cry "Havoc!" and unleash the herd of cats!

It was the summer of '83, hot and sticky, just like every summer in many ways except for the ways in which it was not.

Standing in line at the airport, I begin to mentally unpack the luggage of my neighbours in the queue.

I did an inventory of my senses; the scent of apple pie and cigarettes, the starlet in the magazine I was reading while sitting at the kitchen table, the "click" behind me, a sharp pain near my left shoulder blade, the bitter taste of orange.

I am a lone tree in her forest of lovers.

I sat in church that morning wondering if God knew that the guy in front of me had fallen asleep, oblivious to the highly unorthodox mafia hit that had taken place before my eyes perpetrated by a man whose face would not reappear with any clarity in my mind until years later during a hypnotic therapy session.

Project Hell - Into the Wall

The water will be off for the third time today. During round two, I stripped the valve using the special tool designed specifically for such projects.

I even called a plumber that day. He came out and tried the exact same tool. And concluded that the only recourse was to open up the wall to get the valve out.

In a little while round three of the battle will begin. I don't think I could stand another failure.

Project Update: Round three goes to the pipes. I am surrendering and will get someone in for a quote on the work this week.

Placebo

In the Trib this morning, there is an article about the FDA declaring that marijuana has no medicinal value. Maybe that's true, maybe it's not. Since this is a controlled substance we're talking about, getting a good basis of scientific data one way or the other is difficult. It's probably just politics as usual, anyway. But I digress. Everyone knows about the placebo effect. You take a pill, having been given the notion that it will help you, and it does, even though it is devoid of any medicine. If cancer, HIV+, and other patients believe that a hit of THC will aid them in getting well or at least not declining further, isn't that also a type of placebo effect? Aren't we encouraged to believe things all the time with no definitive basis in fact? We went to war using such a mind-trick, right? We had no imminent threat from Iraq, but the government repeated so often that they might attack us, that they could be harboring terrorists, and so on, that people started to believe it. A placebo isn't just a sugar pill. It is a concept given power by our mind; individually, it is very weak, but collectively, it can change a nation's viewpoint.

Google - Miro

There have been some great Google logos, but this one has to be amongst my favorites.

Weather snafu

More proof of global warming.

Project Hell Part II

The Project: Fix leak in bathtub; most likely a worn out washer in the hot water valve.

The Unexpected Setback: Getting the *!#$ing hot water handle off of the valve stem. The thing was frozen on there; after a half hour of spraying it with silicone lubricant and WD-40, tapping it, and swearing, it finally came off.

The Critical Failure: I did not have the right tools to reach far enough into the wall to remove the valve.

Outcome: I think I have the proper tools now, but will have to reschedule turning the water off for my section of the condo building (8 units).

Project Hell Part I

The Project: Replace the power window motor in the driver's door.
The Unexpected Setback: Couldn't find the fuses for a while. They were behind the little storage tray door built into the dash where I keep spare change.
The Critical Failure: Didn't realize that the window mechanism had a high tension spring. I haven't done this before and am loathe to lose fingers over something so trivial.
Outcome: Bringing car to mechanic today.

WUMF

What if I had absolutely nothing to say and meant to click something else but I clicked here and now I have to write something or civilization will collapse but hey no pressure it's just words and I think what would be really perfect is international What's Up Mohammed Fest (WUMF) during which images of Mohammed are displayed everywhere; everyone gets a t-shirt, some posters, stencils for temporary graffiti; they put his image up on buses, in Times Square, they even make one of those stupid "The More You Know" public service spots with a quick lesson about how it is necessary to confront hypocrites who would call you sinner.
What we really need, though, is a Saturday morning cartoon with all of the major religious figures, sort of like the SuperFriends, in which they all deal with bad guys and awful situations in accordance with each religion's beliefs. But someone would probably protest that, too, saying that the Buddha is encouraging our kids to be obese. And you'd get all the "Jesus was black" crowd in a ruckus, too. And the Scientologists would complain they they weren't represented, but you could get around that by saying that their guy is always off in space combatting the evil on other planets.
Okay, enough with religion; the more I think about it the more nauseated I get.

Tori

Tori, 1993 (?) - 2006. Yes I am sentimental, but when you have had a pet who has been around through a lot of the good and bad in your life, is it such a surprise?
So this is a sample of what I will remember: Reh-rowrrr. 6 foot vertical leap. Push-push. Studying the birds. Hiding in a corner in new places. The ability to hear food before I took it out of the container. The playfulness of her youth and the gentleness when she got older. And in these last days, how strong she was in the face of her body turning against her.
All that our pets ever ask of us is that we love them, and I did.

Kitty update

Tori has a condition known as chronic renal failure. Basically, this is a gradual shutting down of the kidneys. There is no cure; all that can be done is to take steps to prolong the life of the cat. Aside from that, she has an infection. We'll go back to the vet tomorrow and get some medicine for the kidney infection; hopefully that stabilizes her to the point where her kidney deterioration is not imminently terminal. After that...I don't know. Tori will let me know how she feels and we'll decide from there. I will not impose any sort of long-term suffering on her for my sake, that much I know.

Kitty, etc.

Tori cat has been sick for the past several days. Actually, she has probably been getting there for a little while, but just started presenting with symptoms this weekend. Something seems to be wrong with one of her kidneys; I'll get test results back today. She finally ate a couple ounces of solid food last night, for the first time in three days; otherwise all I could get into her was milk and water, reluctantly. I'm waiting to see what the tests say before totally freaking out about my 13 year old "daughter".

Tom and Susi's little ones are doing okay. Normal preemie issues, but so far, so good.

I thought I had more to say when I started this, but whatever it was slipped away...

Favorite Charities

Mostly so I have them all in one spot, here are links to my favorite charitable organizations.

WalkNow (Autism)

Habitat for Humanity

3-Day (Breast Cancer walk)

Operation Freefall (RAINN/Sexual Assault)

Unicef

(Feel free to add other worthwhile organizations in the comments).

Millions of Aristocrats

Millions (2005) - Kid who exists in a fantasy world of saints in order to cope with the death of his mother is just hanging out in his cardboard fort in the British countryside when a bag of money gets chucked off a passing train and lands almost literally in his lap. Older brother wants to use the money to be king of the hill in their new town, but our young protagonist, in a quest to emulate his favourite saints, just wants to do good, charitable acts with the windfall. And that's just the setup. This is not the sort of disarmingly poignant film one would expect from Danny Boyle, the guy behind Trainspotting, but what it shares with his earlier work is a variation on the theme of redemption. Worth seeing.
Rating: full house.

The Aristocrats (2005) - So this family walks into a talent agent's office... You may get sick of the joke, you may be disgusted by the various grotesqueries on the way to the inscrutable punchline, but this ode to a comedy profession staple plays out like a dissection of a timeless jazz riff. The editing, which can come across as a bit scattered at first as they jump from one comic to the next, is the salvation of this movie. If you can appreciate a dirty joke and have some familiarity with the range of comedic talent in this collection, you'll probably enjoy it.
Rating: straight.

8 pounds of baby

The problem with being a petite, pregnant woman is that your body doesn't too much care for the notion of carrying around twins. So my friend Susi's babies conspired for an early release yesterday, weighing in at just under and over the 4 pound mark. A bit small, yes, but my understanding as of now is that they are all going to be okay, so that's good. But my question now is, will they forever get shamrock themed wrapping paper on their birthday presents? Anyway, welcome to the world Lilianna and Parker.

poems

A couple new poems are up. And the literary world yawns. But I finally cracked open one of my bottles of madeira, so at least something is right with the world.

Typical work week

Biblical wife hunting

15 Biblical ways to find a wife:

1. Find an attractive prisoner of war, bring her home, shave her head, trim her nails, and give her new clothes. Then she's yours. -(Deuteronomy 21:11-13)

2. Find a prostitute and marry her. - (Hosea 1:1-3)

3. Find a man with seven daughters, and impress him by watering his flock - Moses (Exodus 2:16-21)

4. Purchase a piece of property, and get a woman as part of the deal. - Boaz (Ruth 4:5-10)

5. Go to a party and hide. When the women come out to dance, grab one and carry her off to be your wife. - Benjaminites (Judges 21:19-25)

6. Have God create a wife for you while you sleep. Note: this will cost you. - Adam (Genesis 2:19-24)

7. Agree to work seven years in exchange for a woman's hand in marriage. Get tricked into marrying the wrong woman. Then work another seven years for the woman you wanted to marry in the first place. That's right. Fourteen years of hard labor for a wife. - Jacob (Genesis 29:15-30)

8. Cut 200 foreskins off of your future father-in-law's enemies and get his daughter for a wife. - David (I Samuel 18:27)

9. Even if no one is out there, just wander around a bit and you'll definitely find someone. (It's all relative, of course.) - Cain (Genesis 4:16-17)

10. Become the emperor of a huge nation and hold a beauty contest. - Xerxes or Ahasuerus (Esther 2:3-4)

11. When you see someone you like, go home and tell your parents, "I have seen a ... woman; now get her for me." If your parents question your decision, simply say, "Get her for me. She's the one for me." - Samson (Judges 14:1-3)

12. Kill any husband and take HIS wife (Prepare to lose four sons, though =). - David (2 Samuel 11)

13. Wait for your brother to die. Take his widow. (It's not just a good idea; it's the law.) - Onan and Boaz (Deuteronomy or Leviticus, example in Ruth)

14. Don't be so picky. Make up for quality with quantity. - Solomon (1 Kings 11:1-3)

15. A wife?...NOT! - Paul (1 Corinthians 7:32-35)

Spring Cleaning

This morning I was suddenly seized with the urge to go through old files on my computer and start cleaning them out. I have almost 10 years worth of files that have survived from one machine to the next on here. Ancient iterations of web pages, old photos, complete and utter randomness abounds. So, I may be posting odds and ends here just for the hell of it.

Steven Hayes, psychologist

I was going to just copy an entire Salon article I read this morning about Steven Hayes and his recent work "Get Out of Your Mind and Into Your Life", but I have to be the copyright police at work so I am loathe to be so bold here. Paraphrasing from the Salon article, Hayes deals in a type of psychology known as acceptance and commitment therapy. It is an evolution from what is presently in vogue, namely, cognitive therapy.

The gist of it is something like this: Suffering is normal. Pain is to be expected. Where other types of therapy fail is in trying to negate such feelings in an attempt to pull the person away from them, essentially a state of denial. But we cannot deny that in the course of living our lives we will have experiences that cause pain. By accepting that inevitability and dealing with it in a more constructive manner, we are better able to live well rather than just endlessly acting in a manner that is supposed to create happiness while never reconciling the momentary euphoria with the dark cloud underneath.

I am not explaining it well. But it is a notion worth exploring. Check out these other articles for a better summation/explanation: Time, Psychology Today, New Harbinger.

Posters

Here is the latest batch of posters I have acquired from Jay Ryan/The Bird Machine. I have three already, so this will double my collection (I plan on giving a couple of them away as presents). Jay Ryan rocks. (Hey Michele, the Sleater Kinney poster is going to you; what kind of frame do you want?)

The Curling Wars

Went to Brant's on Sunday to help with his move. A distance of about 50 feet, total, including the flight of stairs. Yes, he is moving within his present building. But anyway, a bunch of us were sitting around watching curling. You know, the sport with the 100+ foot ice channel, big smooth rocks, and brooms. They want to open a bar with curling lanes. I think this might be a bad idea. A bunch of drunks with heavy objects and sticks? Perhaps you could do it up north, even better in Canada, but not here. All you would need is a couple of dartboards and you'd have the weapons for a medieval battlefield. They don't call that last stone the "hammer" for nothing.

Biggest Loser update (re-post)

The original summation of our Biggest Loser tournament at work got washed away in a mini-blogger meltdown. So, just the stats: My team came in 2nd place out of 9. I lost 11 pounds over the six weeks. And the treadmill sat dormant over the weekend, but not to worry, I haven't fallen off the wagon entirely; Lean Cuisines and those yummy 100 calorie fish patties I like were on sale last night so...back to the diet. I mean, back to the healthier lifestyle that I should subscribe to for life. Yeah, that's it.

kma CBS

Fucking CBS dumped "Love Monkey" after 3 episodes. Hey idiots, way to piss on the 25-35 year old male with disposable income demographic. Why is it that more than half of the new shows that I actually want to watch get canned after three episodes? Firefly? Wonderfalls? Oh, well, at least it's not the Fox network again.

Random 2.11.06

Lying on the bed. Drifting. Snow swirling down, tree in the background. With the light sort of grey and hazy, the snowflakes against the trunk and branches look like blood cells moving through arteries.
And then I fall into a nap.
The new Belle and Sebastien is playing from the other room when I wake up. The snow is gone, temporarily.
I drag myself out of bed, still tired, willing myself to snap to attention. Maybe I should eat something. I pour myself the last cup of Lilo and Stitch cereal. I measure my cereal now; I measure all of my food lately to calculate over the course of the day; how much fat, protein, carbs...alcohol. Yes. I follow up the cereal with a white russian chaser. When they target-marketed that blend of cocoa-puffs and marshmallows I bet they never anticipated that.

What Tarot Card Are You?

You Are The Sun

You represent the best of life - vitality, success, and and truth. You tend to have a strong, centered, balanced personality. Inspiration and discovery are your fortes. You are very mentally strong. A talented mind, you tend to excel at math, philosophy, and music. Your fortune: As well as you have done in the past, the future is going to be filled with more success. A new creative project is coming your way. Feed it, and it will grow into something huge. Great riches, recognition, prosperity, or happiness is coming your way. And it's possible that a fantastic vacation, or a new baby, is coming sooner than you think.

What Tarot Card Are You?

Craft Fair

[Click image to enlarge it to the point where you can actually read it.]

A couple people I know are selling stuff at this; if you are into excellent crafty stuff go check it out.

super bowl

Okay, I know that Pittsburgh was supposed to win anyway, but was it really necessary for the refs to give it to them? So many ticky-tack calls. What a steaming pile, waste of my night that was.

brilliance

Sometimes I am struck by the number of singularly brilliant people I know, or know of. People who have talent to spare, who are driven and go beyond being merely smart almost (sometimes) to the point of savant. It is...intimidating, in a way; I am pale in comparison. Sure, I do what I do pretty well, but then again, I have tried to escape my school district only to be ignored or to fail to move on, so maybe I'm not so great at what I do. But that's not my point. I don't know what my point is, really, perhaps I just wish I had more to offer this world. Maybe I am jealous. Not sure. Maybe I'm just a bit loopy from being underfed and imbibing White Russians. But when your circle of friends and acquaintances includes so many survivors, so much raw talent, so much passion and drive, so many people on the bleeding edge of what they do, such raw lyricism in words and life...maybe I'm just having one of those days where I am not sure how the hell I got invited into the midst of such a group.

a million little pieces

Over the past week or so it has been virtually impossible to avoid the debate over this guy James Frey and his pseudo-memoir. I haven't read the book, don't watch Oprah, and don't really much care about the whole thing. But I will say this: The guy is a marketing genius. He has managed to ride this little "controversy" into another round of free publicity, which will of course translate to more book sales as people try to decode the book for the truth and the fiction, aside from the potential readers that were missed in the first wave of "selling it". We love our larger than life stories in this country; American history/mythology is a testament to that. This is nothing new, and it will happen again.

Review: Clone Wars I and II

The Clone Wars is an animated series produced in between the 2nd and 3rd Star Wars movies. The primary animation was done by Genndy Tartakovsky, whose previous work includes Cartoon Network favorites Dexter's Lab and Samurai Jack.
The purpose of the series was to fill in the storyline gaps between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith, after a fashion. The feature movies don't require seeing the cartoon, but the Star wars mythology includes a period of fierce battles in the interim.
If you're into Star Wars then you probably won't mind watching an animated version of it. The bonus here is that this is a well done piece of work; Tartakovsky's style suits the material well and the pacing is spot on. Actually, it would be fair to say that the writing and overall structure here is better than some (most? all?) of the movies. Worth seeing.
Rating: flush.

Risk versus Reward

So I'm doing this dieting thing. And it has helped, being more aware of what and how much I am eating, and keeping track. The FitDay website has been particularly useful in that regard. So what are the downsides? Supposedly I am not eating enough. I guess the theory is that I shoudn't be eating fewer calories than my basal amount each day, which is 1975. I am averaging about 1350 a day over the past two weeks. The other problem is that I need more variation in activities, especially now that I strained my foot on the treadmill and it needs a few days to rest. I don't have a gym membership, because when I did I spent most of the timeon the treadmill anyway, and once I bought one I let the membership go. So should I go buy an exercise bike? Less impact on my feet, and one more thing to find space for here? Maybe. It's too cold (not to mention icy) to drag out the bike and go for a ride. I have some weights to lift and of course there are always sit-ups/crunches to be done. Meanwhile, I am contemplating buying a new scale, since mine is designed for the least amount of accuracy and a general tendency to make me crazy with daily weight swings of three or four pounds. Anyway, let's see how the next three weeks of competition goes; I think it'll all be worth it in the end.

Tree

Loser update

Week two of six for the "Biggest Loser" contest at work. Cumulative weight loss: 6 pounds. Team rank: 3rd out of 9 (there are 4 of us per team). What have I learned thus far? Portion sizes really are the most ridiculous concept ever. They seem pretty arbitrary to me. Oh, well; such is the game that I have to play, and I suppose in the long run I'm better off for it. Speaking of long runs, time to get on the dreaded treadmill...

An Army of Me

"How long would it take to train an army?" - Jack on Lost

Haven't we all had that thought in some form or another? Usually in a benevolent fashion, though, something along the lines of "I could make the world a better place if only I could convince a whole bunch of people to do what needed to be done."
I have this thought a lot, sort of, on a small scale. Often in parking lots, thinking, why can't everyone just put their cart in the cart corral? Is it really such a chore? Or at work, I think that way all the time; the difference is there I used to actually act upon it, whereas now I have been hovering at the frustration level for quite some time. How many times do you have to say to people "Kazaa is bad, and get some anti-virus software", and still they come to me "Yeah, my computer is acting funny, and there are all these pop-ups, and my homepage keeps changing." Is it my failure if they refuse to listen to common sense?
But what I really need right now is an army of masseuses (masseuse? Is it like moose? I have never had to pluralize that word before); 11 days straight on the treadmill in pursuit of the Biggest Loser crown (4 weeks to go after tomorrow) is taking a toll.
Anyway, I think the answer to how long it takes to train an army was answered to some extent during the last season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So, watchers of Lost, in TV time expect a big confrontation for the season finale, with a bunch people lying in pools of blood on the ground and big questions as to who is dead and who is alive, nevermind the question of who will be reincarnated as a spectral presence for season 3 of the show.

love monkey

New show. Love Monkey. Tom Cavanaugh, last seen as "Ed". I liked that show, too, even if it was a bit over the top at times. I think I'll like this new show as well; one good episode does not a series make, but still. So now there is actually a handful of shows worth watching (in my distorted opinion); West Wing, House, Lost, and 24 being the others. I guess I'm not much for comedy. Give me wry humor and sarcasm instead.

The thrilling conclusion

So yeah, the girl who caused me so much grief last year? Engaged. Now I just have to figure out how to market my skills as a set-up man for husband hunting women.

Review: Crash

Crash (2005)
This movie will break your heart and then put part of it back together. But it leaves it to the viewer to finish the job.
It is designed to force you to question your assumptions about other people, even as it consistently reinforces stereotypes.
You don't watch Crash. You empathize with it, you recoil from it, you can hardly take your eyes off of the emotional carnage taking place, willing the characters toward some sort of redemption, some sense of closure, and it is only at the end that you realize that there is no end, just a snapshot of moments and the sense that yes, tomorrow you will change, tomorrow you will do better, be better.
If that is possible.
And that is the question. Can we be better? Can we find the golden moment in the midst of our prejudices, our anger, our sense of being wronged, our questioning of the true motives of people?
Maybe we can. Maybe it's enough that we try. Even though it is easy to get the sense that nobody else is trying.
Rating: Royal Flush

Loser

Here we are five days into the new year.
At work tomorrow we start our "Biggest Loser" competition. I haven't finished my x-mas cookies and candy yet! Can I have one Fannie Mae mint a day for the duration? Yeah, sure, if I spend an extra ten minutes on the treadmill. But I do like my treadmill, even though it has started to squeak a little bit. Trying to tell me something, too often inanimate object?
Hopefully I am motivated later to post some Florida trip notes.
Actually, most days I just hope I am motivated enough to do pretty much anything.