That's for YOU, Leonard.
Late Facts: There are too many love songs. This would not be a bad thing, if they did not all sound the same. Take "Love the Way You Lie" by Eminem. This is a love song. It is about refusing to let go of someone, admitting mistakes, but in a scary, almost psycho way. Which is interesting! Also, it feels more honest, like what two people might be like in such a situation (love turned sour) instead of the usual wailing. Cee-Lo Green also has an awesome anti-love song ("Fuck You") which I've mentioned before. But Eminem wins, because of the worst/best line ever: "Now you gotta watch her leave out the window, guess that's why they call it window pane/pain." That is fantastic. That line was divinely inspired.
Have you seen Christopher Walken perform a reading of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face"? Then go watch it on Youtube. It makes me hope that Sean Connery will someday give a dramatic reading of "Love the Way You Lie".
Super Late Facts: Jeremy sent me the new Thor trailer and it looks awesome. But then I saw it was in 3d. It will also be in 2d, but I have never seen a good movie that had 3d as an option. The makers seem to believe the audience will be wowed by images seeming to fly out and almost touch them, so the movie is a series of painfully awkward and contrived circumstances for just such a thing to happen. But I have hope, because it's Thor.
December 17, 2010
November 28, 2010
Antiheroes are for Pussies
The links:
http://noblasters.com/post/1650102322/my-tsa-encounter
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101122/ap_on_bi_ge/us_airport_security
http://imgur.com/QklHc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XhnZlmLGK8
November 24, 2010
November 10, 2010
Fictioneering
Week two of Nanowrimo is okay. I am up to date on short stories (I have four done, including an extra for a contest). And I feel pretty good. This week's story was short (less than a thousand words) but that's probably for the best, as I am fixing my sleeping.
As I write, I notice things. And I thought, tonight I'll bring up two rules of fiction - specifically Sci-fi and Horror. Both are essentially the same rule, operating under different names, and the premise is the same: Keep an Open Mind.
The Sci-Fi rule (AKA the Jurassic Imperative)
Named for Crichton's Jurassic Park, it states: "If you own a multi-billion dollar dinosaur-themed park filled with deadly, extinct carnivores, DO. NOT. SCOFF. at the scientist who mentions the possibility of dinosaurs getting free and eating people. If you are inclined to immediately dismiss his claims as impossible, remember, cloning dinosaurs out of fossilized mosquitoes is also impossible."
The Horror rule (AKA Van Helsing's Law)
"If it looks, smells, and acts like a vampire, it's a vampire, no matter how many people declare vampires are impossible. Whittle stakes and stockpile crosses, and if someone calls you a crazy old man, take it as a compliment. At least you'll live to be an old man."
Both rules appear in their respective genres a lot, and both are violated almost instantly. It's become a cliche for someone to cry "Surely this cannot be!", as soon as they see a vampire/rampaging dinosaur/squid-shark hybrid. Forgiven, however, if Leslie Neilson shows up and says "It is! But don't call me Shirley."
Also, you should get "Superman: Earth One". It's good. I don't like Superman, but I like this. If you don't mind vague spoilers, it takes two assumptions about Superman and changes them. The assumptions are:
1) Superman wants to be Superman, and usually does. He came to Metropolis and started Supermanning immediately, because it was the right thing to do.
2) Krypton's death was an accident.
The first part of the book is the best, showing off a Kent who uses his powers as most people probably would - playing football and solving complex equations for money. Thankfully, this Superman is as strong mentally as physically, so the musclebound hee-roh, while still present, takes a backseat often enough for you to care about the character.
The book is like a nerd conversation put into print. Remember Kill Bill Vol. 2? Bill compares The Bride to Superman, as the everyday persona she put on after disappearing was her mask. In Earth One, Kent is the mask and Superman the real identity. Other topics - why the hell Krypton blew up, why Superman never has any decent enemies, why no one notices Superman and Kent are the same goddam person - are addressed, and while a few answers are given, the rest, along with Superman's future, are only hinted at. The art is good, the writing is good, and you should pick up Superman: Earth One or risk absolute destruction.
As I write, I notice things. And I thought, tonight I'll bring up two rules of fiction - specifically Sci-fi and Horror. Both are essentially the same rule, operating under different names, and the premise is the same: Keep an Open Mind.
The Sci-Fi rule (AKA the Jurassic Imperative)
Named for Crichton's Jurassic Park, it states: "If you own a multi-billion dollar dinosaur-themed park filled with deadly, extinct carnivores, DO. NOT. SCOFF. at the scientist who mentions the possibility of dinosaurs getting free and eating people. If you are inclined to immediately dismiss his claims as impossible, remember, cloning dinosaurs out of fossilized mosquitoes is also impossible."
The Horror rule (AKA Van Helsing's Law)
"If it looks, smells, and acts like a vampire, it's a vampire, no matter how many people declare vampires are impossible. Whittle stakes and stockpile crosses, and if someone calls you a crazy old man, take it as a compliment. At least you'll live to be an old man."
Both rules appear in their respective genres a lot, and both are violated almost instantly. It's become a cliche for someone to cry "Surely this cannot be!", as soon as they see a vampire/rampaging dinosaur/squid-shark hybrid. Forgiven, however, if Leslie Neilson shows up and says "It is! But don't call me Shirley."
Also, you should get "Superman: Earth One". It's good. I don't like Superman, but I like this. If you don't mind vague spoilers, it takes two assumptions about Superman and changes them. The assumptions are:
1) Superman wants to be Superman, and usually does. He came to Metropolis and started Supermanning immediately, because it was the right thing to do.
2) Krypton's death was an accident.
The first part of the book is the best, showing off a Kent who uses his powers as most people probably would - playing football and solving complex equations for money. Thankfully, this Superman is as strong mentally as physically, so the musclebound hee-roh, while still present, takes a backseat often enough for you to care about the character.
The book is like a nerd conversation put into print. Remember Kill Bill Vol. 2? Bill compares The Bride to Superman, as the everyday persona she put on after disappearing was her mask. In Earth One, Kent is the mask and Superman the real identity. Other topics - why the hell Krypton blew up, why Superman never has any decent enemies, why no one notices Superman and Kent are the same goddam person - are addressed, and while a few answers are given, the rest, along with Superman's future, are only hinted at. The art is good, the writing is good, and you should pick up Superman: Earth One or risk absolute destruction.
November 9, 2010
Bring Enough For the Class
I remembered an old movie I loved as a kid today. It was called "Rock-A-Doodle", and sadly Netflix does not have it (I endorse awesome cartoons). So let me tell you a bit about it.
Chanticleer is the titular rooster. His crows bring up the sun. When the sun comes up one day without him, he is discouraged and leaves, becoming an Elvis-like rockstar (oddly complete with drugs, sex, and too much ham).
BUT THEN.
The sun stops coming up and the real world is threatened. A kid turns into a mouse for some goddam reason, and sets out to get Chanticleer off his booze-addled ass and back on top of a barn to crow. An owl tries to stop him. This owl is behind the "no more sunlight" evil plot, which is slowly killing the mouse-child's parents.
It has a great ending too. The kid is kind of irritating (even when I was a kid I thought this) but that's what kids are. The real point of this is, please, tell me your favorite childhood movies. They can be popular or obscure, wholesome or "All Dogs go to Heaven". Name one that you liked when you were small, and if you want describe it a bit. Let me know what made it special.
Chanticleer is the titular rooster. His crows bring up the sun. When the sun comes up one day without him, he is discouraged and leaves, becoming an Elvis-like rockstar (oddly complete with drugs, sex, and too much ham).
BUT THEN.
The sun stops coming up and the real world is threatened. A kid turns into a mouse for some goddam reason, and sets out to get Chanticleer off his booze-addled ass and back on top of a barn to crow. An owl tries to stop him. This owl is behind the "no more sunlight" evil plot, which is slowly killing the mouse-child's parents.
It has a great ending too. The kid is kind of irritating (even when I was a kid I thought this) but that's what kids are. The real point of this is, please, tell me your favorite childhood movies. They can be popular or obscure, wholesome or "All Dogs go to Heaven". Name one that you liked when you were small, and if you want describe it a bit. Let me know what made it special.
November 6, 2010
The Game
Inspired by this: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veNQwzW8ays&feature=related), which I suggest not watching, as it features the Westboro Baptist Church (and an overabundance of crazy) I have an idea.
BEHOLD.
"Waiting..." is a movie, and a funny one. It's what Ryan Reynolds did before he was murdered and replaced by an evil twin that does shitty romantic comedies. So it's kinda like Jared (the Subway guy); except the fat man never played a game in which you show your dick to someone, in a variety of positions, and then get to deride them for being meatgazers.
Someone needs to play this game with the Westboro douches. Nail 'em with the brain, or, if you are skilled (Josue) the Goat. Then get a running start and kick them right in the taint.
BEHOLD.
"Waiting..." is a movie, and a funny one. It's what Ryan Reynolds did before he was murdered and replaced by an evil twin that does shitty romantic comedies. So it's kinda like Jared (the Subway guy); except the fat man never played a game in which you show your dick to someone, in a variety of positions, and then get to deride them for being meatgazers.
Someone needs to play this game with the Westboro douches. Nail 'em with the brain, or, if you are skilled (Josue) the Goat. Then get a running start and kick them right in the taint.
November 5, 2010
Hate Your Friends
Or don't.
The point is, there are people I hate. People I like. And people I love to hate.
I think everyone has some of the last. For many reasons, not the least of which is probably to feel superior to some fuckstick. Think Hitler. No one (sane) likes Hitler. He was a douche. Yet the movies and t.v. have a friends with benefits relationship with him. Because they know we love to hate him. Or, in a different way, Riddick, of Pitch Black and Chronicles. Not the monster Hitler was, he still acts in sociopath ways that we hate - but envy a little too. If you've ever been stuck behind a really bad driver, you know.
Literature is filled with characters we love to hate. Usually, my reaction is to dismiss these works as bad. That is only sometimes correct. Oldboy for instance, is a really fucked up movie. Like incest fucked up. We sympathize with the main character - until the end, where he pussies out. I get why he does. He wants to save his daughter. But he begs forgiveness from the villain for a slight he didn't even remember. Then cuts off his tongue.
To top it off, he asks the hypno-bitch who made him fall in love with his daughter to put the whammy on him again so he can live something resembling a happy life. And then doesn't stab her. Seldom has there been a more stab worthy person.
True Grit has another character. Mattie Ross sets out to avenge her father's death by hiring marshall Rooster Cogburn. I got interested after seeing the Coen bros. remake, starring the Dude. How could that not be awesome? I asked.
I don't know about their movie, but Mattie Ross of the book is a complete bitch. Self-righteous, an old maid banker type who sees no fault of her own throughout the book, and comes across less and less as human. The movie does better, but I still hate her in it. It's not hard to hate someone who gets abducted by bandits after insisting on accompanying the marshall, and asks "Why am I being treated like this?" of her captors.
It's also hard to not believe the character, which makes it a good book in my mind. Not one I want to read again - I have enough stress without fictional characters I don't like adding to it - but good and worth a read at least once. Same goes for Oldboy. Watch it if you can stomach it.
So go, ye folk, and read something or watch something with a character who pisses you off - but you believe in. And try to sympathize. Then, when someone you like pisses you off, maybe you'll find getting along easier.*
*Morals not meant to be taken seriously. This is the last place you should look to for guidance of any kind.
Late (maybe early?) Facts: Serenity/Firefly is the only show I know of in which all of the main characters (everyone on the ship) are sexy as hell. Possible exception to the Tams, as Simon is a twat, and River might rip your penis off (pre-Serenity).
The point is, there are people I hate. People I like. And people I love to hate.
I think everyone has some of the last. For many reasons, not the least of which is probably to feel superior to some fuckstick. Think Hitler. No one (sane) likes Hitler. He was a douche. Yet the movies and t.v. have a friends with benefits relationship with him. Because they know we love to hate him. Or, in a different way, Riddick, of Pitch Black and Chronicles. Not the monster Hitler was, he still acts in sociopath ways that we hate - but envy a little too. If you've ever been stuck behind a really bad driver, you know.
Literature is filled with characters we love to hate. Usually, my reaction is to dismiss these works as bad. That is only sometimes correct. Oldboy for instance, is a really fucked up movie. Like incest fucked up. We sympathize with the main character - until the end, where he pussies out. I get why he does. He wants to save his daughter. But he begs forgiveness from the villain for a slight he didn't even remember. Then cuts off his tongue.
To top it off, he asks the hypno-bitch who made him fall in love with his daughter to put the whammy on him again so he can live something resembling a happy life. And then doesn't stab her. Seldom has there been a more stab worthy person.
True Grit has another character. Mattie Ross sets out to avenge her father's death by hiring marshall Rooster Cogburn. I got interested after seeing the Coen bros. remake, starring the Dude. How could that not be awesome? I asked.
I don't know about their movie, but Mattie Ross of the book is a complete bitch. Self-righteous, an old maid banker type who sees no fault of her own throughout the book, and comes across less and less as human. The movie does better, but I still hate her in it. It's not hard to hate someone who gets abducted by bandits after insisting on accompanying the marshall, and asks "Why am I being treated like this?" of her captors.
It's also hard to not believe the character, which makes it a good book in my mind. Not one I want to read again - I have enough stress without fictional characters I don't like adding to it - but good and worth a read at least once. Same goes for Oldboy. Watch it if you can stomach it.
So go, ye folk, and read something or watch something with a character who pisses you off - but you believe in. And try to sympathize. Then, when someone you like pisses you off, maybe you'll find getting along easier.*
*Morals not meant to be taken seriously. This is the last place you should look to for guidance of any kind.
Late (maybe early?) Facts: Serenity/Firefly is the only show I know of in which all of the main characters (everyone on the ship) are sexy as hell. Possible exception to the Tams, as Simon is a twat, and River might rip your penis off (pre-Serenity).
November 1, 2010
The Downside of Dementia
Halloween is past, and the goblins, ghouls, and devils are back in their homes, resting their feet. But as we leave the holiday, there are a few things to keep in mind, particularly if you're a demented arch-villain, bent on exploiting a night of good times and candy for fear and conquest.
Do you regularly hatch mad schemes to bring the world to heel, only to be thwarted by ruggedly handsome secret agents? Do these secret agents escape your exploding island fortress on a boat, jetski, or black helicopter that slipped past your fiendish defenses? More importantly, are you left treading water, hoping your phone gets reception, and wondering if the petstore will cut you off after what is probably your 30th adoption of a fluffy white cat?
This is to help you.
It comes down to a simple phrase: DRAMATICS, not THEATRICS. We'll look at two examples to illustrate the idea.
First is Marv, from Sin City. Not a typical villain, but definitely on the wrong side of the crazy line. Marv has a good feel for the dramatic. When his special hooker is killed, he goes for revenge. And gets his ass kicked.
The important thing is he learns, without giving up his love of the dramatic (which, as an egomaniac, you have). So, when he goes back for seconds, he indulges his thirst for revenge and drama both, by cutting off the cannibal's legs and feeding him to his wolf. Dramatic, but sensible, especially as the cannibal's deadliest trait was his speed.
But villains aren't the only ones to mistake theatrics for drama. Take Mace Windu now, leader of the Jedi council, second only to Yoda. A sensible man, you would think, given his important position. Not one prone to flares of ego and bullshit theater. Yet, when the time comes to put down the Dark Lord of Super Evil, he argues with a junior member. Anakin presents no valid reasons for not putting the Emperor to the sword, but Windu indulges himself and argues. This is roughly the equivalent of arguing with your dog, or Glenn Beck.
This might still have turned out all right, however, but Windu gives in again. Consider the lightsaber, the hot knife to the galaxys butter. And by that, I mean the entire galaxy is butter. It can cut through anything with little effort. Now, when you get some butter for your toast, do you rear back to put some muscle behind the strike?
No. You move your hand and get some goddam butter. Windu could have literally stumbled forward and ended the greatest Sith threat to ever exist. Instead, he brings the blade up over his shoulder, just so everyone - all two of them, one about to die - knows he means business. And his hand is cut off shortly before the Emperor shazams him into hell.
Easy trap to fall into, eh? It could have been avoided, as could your inevitable defeat at the hands of a plucky band of ragtag heroes, if you remember:
Dramatics, not theatrics!
Do you regularly hatch mad schemes to bring the world to heel, only to be thwarted by ruggedly handsome secret agents? Do these secret agents escape your exploding island fortress on a boat, jetski, or black helicopter that slipped past your fiendish defenses? More importantly, are you left treading water, hoping your phone gets reception, and wondering if the petstore will cut you off after what is probably your 30th adoption of a fluffy white cat?
This is to help you.
It comes down to a simple phrase: DRAMATICS, not THEATRICS. We'll look at two examples to illustrate the idea.
First is Marv, from Sin City. Not a typical villain, but definitely on the wrong side of the crazy line. Marv has a good feel for the dramatic. When his special hooker is killed, he goes for revenge. And gets his ass kicked.
The important thing is he learns, without giving up his love of the dramatic (which, as an egomaniac, you have). So, when he goes back for seconds, he indulges his thirst for revenge and drama both, by cutting off the cannibal's legs and feeding him to his wolf. Dramatic, but sensible, especially as the cannibal's deadliest trait was his speed.
But villains aren't the only ones to mistake theatrics for drama. Take Mace Windu now, leader of the Jedi council, second only to Yoda. A sensible man, you would think, given his important position. Not one prone to flares of ego and bullshit theater. Yet, when the time comes to put down the Dark Lord of Super Evil, he argues with a junior member. Anakin presents no valid reasons for not putting the Emperor to the sword, but Windu indulges himself and argues. This is roughly the equivalent of arguing with your dog, or Glenn Beck.
This might still have turned out all right, however, but Windu gives in again. Consider the lightsaber, the hot knife to the galaxys butter. And by that, I mean the entire galaxy is butter. It can cut through anything with little effort. Now, when you get some butter for your toast, do you rear back to put some muscle behind the strike?
No. You move your hand and get some goddam butter. Windu could have literally stumbled forward and ended the greatest Sith threat to ever exist. Instead, he brings the blade up over his shoulder, just so everyone - all two of them, one about to die - knows he means business. And his hand is cut off shortly before the Emperor shazams him into hell.
Easy trap to fall into, eh? It could have been avoided, as could your inevitable defeat at the hands of a plucky band of ragtag heroes, if you remember:
Dramatics, not theatrics!
October 29, 2010
Various and sundry items
The podcasts and posts will be updated less often. If you enjoy the show, sorry. I needs my fingers for other things. That sounds weird. Let's move on.
Here is the link to the competition: http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn19561
And here is something that pisses me off.
I hate politicians. It's nothing personal. I dislike that most of them pretend to be our good buddy with a direct line to the Jesus, when their actual job isn't to legislate or help anyone but themselves. Their job is to get elected. So when Barack (may I call you Barack?) goes on a plug-mah-buddies spree, it bugs me. Most folks have realized by now that good ole Barack isn't the second coming. He did make a claim to change things though - various things - the main one being how Washington did business. I took this to mean "in a less douche-tastic way." I may have been wrong.
I get that elections are a big thing, and if a shitload of Repubs (sounds like an ugly dog, huh?) get elected, his job will be much harder. But it's hard to rationalize electing people who spend a lot of their time doing fuck all. If I may offer a suggestion: do a better job, and it will not be as hard to get elected.
Wait. Shit, the Teaparty invalidates that last sentence. Okay, go back to tricking a lot of people into your viewpoint.
Here is the link to the competition: http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn19561
And here is something that pisses me off.
I hate politicians. It's nothing personal. I dislike that most of them pretend to be our good buddy with a direct line to the Jesus, when their actual job isn't to legislate or help anyone but themselves. Their job is to get elected. So when Barack (may I call you Barack?) goes on a plug-mah-buddies spree, it bugs me. Most folks have realized by now that good ole Barack isn't the second coming. He did make a claim to change things though - various things - the main one being how Washington did business. I took this to mean "in a less douche-tastic way." I may have been wrong.
I get that elections are a big thing, and if a shitload of Repubs (sounds like an ugly dog, huh?) get elected, his job will be much harder. But it's hard to rationalize electing people who spend a lot of their time doing fuck all. If I may offer a suggestion: do a better job, and it will not be as hard to get elected.
Wait. Shit, the Teaparty invalidates that last sentence. Okay, go back to tricking a lot of people into your viewpoint.
October 24, 2010
Teh Egg
I mentioned this once, and Hogue was good enough to remind me of the name. It's a good story.
http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html
http://www.galactanet.com/oneoff/theegg_mod.html
October 23, 2010
Kidnappers... from the 23rd Century!
Ghost stories are cool, and also rad. There's no retarded monster with a zipper running up the back. No teeth and claws, again. And no slasher-psycho who walks as fast as a snail with a bad sense of direction, but always gets to your hiding spot before you.
No, ghosts are just dead people who hang around and sometimes fuck shit up. To me, ghosts are the creepiest. They're part of the reason I won't go to Japan. The other part is I'm poor, but ghosts are higher on the list. And still there are (or were, before I stopped watching) a ton of ghost shows on t.v. Ghost Explorers, Ghost Lab, Ghost Hunters, Ghost Fuckers, Get Stoned with Ghosts! and more. I can't understand this. Let's take a look at two relatively recent examples of ghost stories that get shit (scares) done.
1408 by Stephen King. This might not seem fair. King is one of the best known horror writers, after all. Of course he's going to posit that Ghost Any Verb is a bad idea. But, while many of his stories are fun reads, few of them scare in a way that lasts. 1408 does so. The movie isn't bad; but the book. Man, fuck hotels after that story. Fuck them, and the people who work there. And the demon-thing that lives in the thirteenth room (add up the numbers) on the thirteenth floor.
The ghost isn't really a ghost here, but it acts like a haunted house story. Things, like paintings, the radio and phone, even the shower curtain, act weird. That they act at all is cause for concern, but in this case they act as the herald for some unimaginable monster that likes to dine in. On people.
The same is true in our other ghost story, Paranormal Activity. Retarded name? Godawful previews (I thought it was a movie about a movie audience for a while)? Yes to both. But spooky. And the ghost is really a demon, but the usual "things acting as they shouldn't" ghost story goodness is obeyed. It builds the atmosphere necessary to scare in a ghost story, and delivers.
But the point isn't, are these good stories. They are. The point is, with fiction and myth being the only recourse for any beginner ghost-verber, who would want to dedicate the time to do this shit? And who would want to watch them?
There are two possible outcomes to any ghost-verbing. A) Nothing happens. Lot of time is wasted. This, inevitably, is what occurs on the shows. If anything did happen they'd probably cut it, because then there would be proof, making it science, and science is boring. Outcome (B) Something happens. A ghost shows up. Your friend is possessed. Something definite occurs and shit goes down.
Since A is worthless, what about B? Well, fuck B. If there are ghosts, don't talk to them. I have a rule. It is, "Don't talk to dead people, even if you know them" and it has kept me out of trouble so far. If the ghost is friendly, you probably end up with a study that is equally the sad parts of E.T. and Beetle-fuckit. I don't know how to spell the name, and I don't want to look on IMDB. The show with Michael Keaton. Scientists treat the dead folks like they aren't people and find shit out. Cool. Best case scenario.
Worst case: the ghost be hostile. All up in your grill, B. And that, in the long history of fiction and making shit up that are myths, never ends well.
To put it bluntly: there is no good reason to look for ghosts. Don't do it.
October 16, 2010
Oh God, I can't stop
HELP.
So when I talked about hankerings, I restrained meself to the dungeons and the dragons. It has recently come to my attention (on this day of sleeplessness and what is that, the sun? Fuck you, guy, shining all up in my eyes) that music also belongs to the hankerings... genre? Maybe topic.
Tell me, have you ever went crazy about music? Found a song and just listened to it, at least once a day, more often several times, unable to say why you listen so much - just that, bay-beh, you gots a need. Not a need for speed. That's rehab. Two doors over.
I have. Unless you haven't and think I'm weird now. Then I was totally kidding. And you should stop reading this. It's boring, trust me, like a dissertation on paint drying on various walls.
My most recent music shame was Lady Gaga. I'm sorry, yes, I'll turn in my penis in the morning and pick up my vagina first thing. But it's her goddam fault. I hate her songs - Poker Face, Bad Romance, c'mon it's pop music with crazy outfits. I can't like this! Goddammit, brain, I can't like this! But I do. They're so fucking catchy, the desire to listen again wells up inside until there I am (there I was) at the library, trying to hide my screen so no one will know. That guy browsing the magazines - he might have to be disposed of. Can he hear me listening to it?
Nowadays I've got an attraction to non-lyrics stuff. Requiem for a Dream, On the Surface of the Sun, both movie songs (same name, and Sunshine) I listen to once a day, sometimes more. It's really hard to listen to other music when I'm this crazy. Thankfully, it fades in time and I can go back to normal. Until it happens again.
So when I talked about hankerings, I restrained meself to the dungeons and the dragons. It has recently come to my attention (on this day of sleeplessness and what is that, the sun? Fuck you, guy, shining all up in my eyes) that music also belongs to the hankerings... genre? Maybe topic.
Tell me, have you ever went crazy about music? Found a song and just listened to it, at least once a day, more often several times, unable to say why you listen so much - just that, bay-beh, you gots a need. Not a need for speed. That's rehab. Two doors over.
I have. Unless you haven't and think I'm weird now. Then I was totally kidding. And you should stop reading this. It's boring, trust me, like a dissertation on paint drying on various walls.
My most recent music shame was Lady Gaga. I'm sorry, yes, I'll turn in my penis in the morning and pick up my vagina first thing. But it's her goddam fault. I hate her songs - Poker Face, Bad Romance, c'mon it's pop music with crazy outfits. I can't like this! Goddammit, brain, I can't like this! But I do. They're so fucking catchy, the desire to listen again wells up inside until there I am (there I was) at the library, trying to hide my screen so no one will know. That guy browsing the magazines - he might have to be disposed of. Can he hear me listening to it?
Nowadays I've got an attraction to non-lyrics stuff. Requiem for a Dream, On the Surface of the Sun, both movie songs (same name, and Sunshine) I listen to once a day, sometimes more. It's really hard to listen to other music when I'm this crazy. Thankfully, it fades in time and I can go back to normal. Until it happens again.
October 15, 2010
I Don't Know Why I Say Things
One of the other reasons (besides disease-spewing miniature hellions) that I didn't work on this is a totally fucked sleep schedule. This happens at least once a month. I start out sleeping during the night - maybe going to bed around four, but up during the day at least.
By the middle of any given month, I am up all night and asleep all day.
I can't fix this by conventional means. I long ago learned to ignore the loudest alarm clock. I have been physically struck while asleep, and remained so. I must be tortured to be woken prematurely. That's why I lock my door.
In order to get back to normalcy, then, I have to circle back around. I stay up later every day -yesterday I managed to make it to 4 in the afternoon - finally arriving at a decent sleep time, like midnight or two. Then the process begins again.
Hankerings Anonymous
Courtesy of Donald Darko
Please do not take the above as genuine creativity. Please do take it as me finding it funny, and wishing that bitch Mrs. Farmer had gotten one of the ole Vader Force Chokes.
Let's talk about D&D.
I'm a fan of videogames. Games with good story, games with inspired art, games where you just kill a shitload of people - they probably had it coming - are all good. Heavy Rain is the best example of good story I know of. In the course of one game (spoiler) a fat, dumpy private dick won my heart, inspired me to be a better person, and subsequently betrayed me. It was a blow to my heart. He burned and salted the earth of love and not being a crazy shitbag. Then the plucky reporter chick died. That was kinda funny though.
Braid is a game with great art. Music in it is awesome. The story, while simple and a little obscure, is neat.
Dragon Age has great storytelling capabilities that have (in the case of city elves) shocked me. When rape, and its repercussions, become part of any narrative, things go to a weird place. When it is part of a video game - part of a whole person who serves as the player avatar, a person whose feelings you are supposed to feel - weird doesn't fucking cover it.
And, of course, WOW is the crack of all videogames.
All this leads me back to D&D because D&D is the thang, yo. It be that sweetness that I keep coming back for. Creating a broad range of potential stories, not actively writing them, but letting others write while you guide things - it's pretty cool. It's the thing (thang, if you prefer) that I'd give up videogames for. Not least of all because of how weird it is. Goodsirs, you are pretending to be dwarves and elves.
How cool is that?
Late Facts: I forgot to listen to music this week. Thus, no podcast. It's like a magic trick, if the magician was dumber than a box of hammers.
Super Late Facts: I don't think this post has a point, beyond "D&D is cool"; that's a valid point though, thin as it is. Also, once you press the italics button on Blogger, beware. Blogger likes the italics button. It wants you to keep using 'em. I'd say Blogger has a problem.
Let's talk about D&D.
I'm a fan of videogames. Games with good story, games with inspired art, games where you just kill a shitload of people - they probably had it coming - are all good. Heavy Rain is the best example of good story I know of. In the course of one game (spoiler) a fat, dumpy private dick won my heart, inspired me to be a better person, and subsequently betrayed me. It was a blow to my heart. He burned and salted the earth of love and not being a crazy shitbag. Then the plucky reporter chick died. That was kinda funny though.
Braid is a game with great art. Music in it is awesome. The story, while simple and a little obscure, is neat.
Dragon Age has great storytelling capabilities that have (in the case of city elves) shocked me. When rape, and its repercussions, become part of any narrative, things go to a weird place. When it is part of a video game - part of a whole person who serves as the player avatar, a person whose feelings you are supposed to feel - weird doesn't fucking cover it.
And, of course, WOW is the crack of all videogames.
All this leads me back to D&D because D&D is the thang, yo. It be that sweetness that I keep coming back for. Creating a broad range of potential stories, not actively writing them, but letting others write while you guide things - it's pretty cool. It's the thing (thang, if you prefer) that I'd give up videogames for. Not least of all because of how weird it is. Goodsirs, you are pretending to be dwarves and elves.
How cool is that?
Late Facts: I forgot to listen to music this week. Thus, no podcast. It's like a magic trick, if the magician was dumber than a box of hammers.
Super Late Facts: I don't think this post has a point, beyond "D&D is cool"; that's a valid point though, thin as it is. Also, once you press the italics button on Blogger, beware. Blogger likes the italics button. It wants you to keep using 'em. I'd say Blogger has a problem.
October 9, 2010
Uncle Ben + Phoenix Down
Tremble, Mortals!Behold, for I have found the old file, and put it back up.The Uncle Ben podcast, to be precise. Take that, science.
Sometimes I forget Things
WITH a capital T.
You should go do this. Trust me, I'm a doctor.
http://funds.gofundme.com/t5a0
The Title also has a link to it. So you don't even need to copy and paste. And the payment goes through paypal, so yer info be safe.
Times is tough. Money be precious. But this fellow made a movie, and is trying to make it as successful as he can. And I want to see it. So do it for the childrens. Just imagine me as a child, and you'll find it in yourself. Maybe I have some baby disease. Now I'm a tragic figure. Do you want to deprive tragic, baby-me of a movie? Why don't you just punch me in the head.
Now you've punched a baby.
So go donate, and maybe you will be forgiven for punching baby.
Late Facts: I think he deserves to get the movie out there. Spending your own money on a project like that has to be somewhat scary - you believe in it, but how can you be sure of turning a profit, or even recovering your losses? Entertainment be a fickle thing. So if ye've got it, give it, if not, maybe buy a copy of the movie. Or wish him good luck.
You should go do this. Trust me, I'm a doctor.
http://funds.gofundme.com/t5a0
The Title also has a link to it. So you don't even need to copy and paste. And the payment goes through paypal, so yer info be safe.
Times is tough. Money be precious. But this fellow made a movie, and is trying to make it as successful as he can. And I want to see it. So do it for the childrens. Just imagine me as a child, and you'll find it in yourself. Maybe I have some baby disease. Now I'm a tragic figure. Do you want to deprive tragic, baby-me of a movie? Why don't you just punch me in the head.
Now you've punched a baby.
So go donate, and maybe you will be forgiven for punching baby.
Late Facts: I think he deserves to get the movie out there. Spending your own money on a project like that has to be somewhat scary - you believe in it, but how can you be sure of turning a profit, or even recovering your losses? Entertainment be a fickle thing. So if ye've got it, give it, if not, maybe buy a copy of the movie. Or wish him good luck.
October 8, 2010
I have got to stop doing these at the last minute.
Perhaps you can't tell, because of the unbelievable professional quality you hear.
But I tend to do these at the last minute. Sometimes a bit past the last minute, as evidenced tonight. Technically, it's Saturday. I'd feel bad, if I wasn't busy feeling crazy.
I do these last minute because I am afraid of overthinking them. Given that I once wrote about poop for an entire post, you may be laughing at my presumption. You would be correct to laugh, in most cases. I, however, can agonize over whether to make a particular poop joke. I can fall into despair because poop seems so dumb, but it's all I've got. Poop and I are locked together like two stinky peas in a pod. There's no time. I put the post up. I wait for horrible things to happen. Maybe someone will buy me a puppy, then run over it just after I've named it and begun to love it. This never happens, but the expectation remains.
But, if I do these early in the week, I'll rethink them to the point of obsession. I'll see some joke or observation as stupid and strike it from my computer, and my heart. This poor, orphaned podcast will grow up in some back alley of cyberspace, and likely plot Kill Bill-esque revenge. I can't handle that. I also can't handle going slowly crazy for a week while I try to parse the good from the bad, and end up throwing two-thirds of it away. So I revert to my school mantra: fuck it, if they don't like it. I'll still probably be okay. And I am, until next week when it happens again.
I bitch about horror because I really like horror. I'm just usually not scared by it. The Shining freaked me out. The Grudge terrorized my thoughts for some time. But most horror is just fantasy with a dark twist - not that there's anything wrong with that - and not scary. I want scary. I like scary. As ole Cookie would say, I'm pretty much an idiot for 'em. And he would mean that, because he's a monster.
Sci-fi remains awesome. Put some folks in a ship, throw in a clone or two and hammer away with plot, character development, and whatever crazy shit ya got. Just don't gimme hard sci-fi. I don't care how the warp drive works. It's like trying to explain calculus to a dog. You might think you're getting through, but I just want to go play in the yard. The yard might be a metaphor here. I'm not sure.
Too much horror suffers from "Meh, fuck it" syndrome. I know that disease. It's deadly. It says that if you can make a buck, do it, with the least amount of creativity. It might be a good book. But in the end, I'm about as scared as a pit bull staring down a pigeon.
Late Facts: Go see Moon. It's good. Ritchie turned me onto it, and he was right on.
But I tend to do these at the last minute. Sometimes a bit past the last minute, as evidenced tonight. Technically, it's Saturday. I'd feel bad, if I wasn't busy feeling crazy.
I do these last minute because I am afraid of overthinking them. Given that I once wrote about poop for an entire post, you may be laughing at my presumption. You would be correct to laugh, in most cases. I, however, can agonize over whether to make a particular poop joke. I can fall into despair because poop seems so dumb, but it's all I've got. Poop and I are locked together like two stinky peas in a pod. There's no time. I put the post up. I wait for horrible things to happen. Maybe someone will buy me a puppy, then run over it just after I've named it and begun to love it. This never happens, but the expectation remains.
But, if I do these early in the week, I'll rethink them to the point of obsession. I'll see some joke or observation as stupid and strike it from my computer, and my heart. This poor, orphaned podcast will grow up in some back alley of cyberspace, and likely plot Kill Bill-esque revenge. I can't handle that. I also can't handle going slowly crazy for a week while I try to parse the good from the bad, and end up throwing two-thirds of it away. So I revert to my school mantra: fuck it, if they don't like it. I'll still probably be okay. And I am, until next week when it happens again.
I bitch about horror because I really like horror. I'm just usually not scared by it. The Shining freaked me out. The Grudge terrorized my thoughts for some time. But most horror is just fantasy with a dark twist - not that there's anything wrong with that - and not scary. I want scary. I like scary. As ole Cookie would say, I'm pretty much an idiot for 'em. And he would mean that, because he's a monster.
Sci-fi remains awesome. Put some folks in a ship, throw in a clone or two and hammer away with plot, character development, and whatever crazy shit ya got. Just don't gimme hard sci-fi. I don't care how the warp drive works. It's like trying to explain calculus to a dog. You might think you're getting through, but I just want to go play in the yard. The yard might be a metaphor here. I'm not sure.
Too much horror suffers from "Meh, fuck it" syndrome. I know that disease. It's deadly. It says that if you can make a buck, do it, with the least amount of creativity. It might be a good book. But in the end, I'm about as scared as a pit bull staring down a pigeon.
Late Facts: Go see Moon. It's good. Ritchie turned me onto it, and he was right on.
October 1, 2010
This Podcast has +10 to Sexiness
+3 of that comes from me doing this one shirtless.
The other +7 comes from me doing an impression of Mr. Connery. Even channeling him does it. If I'm still alive after this goes up, Mr. Connery decided it was funny. I don't know if he reads the blog, mind you; he simply knows all. In the First Church of the Omega Cannon, Sean Connery is the force beyond time and existence that even the Cannon can't destroy.
Enjoy the podcast and the music!
Late Facts: Reports of sexiness are unsubstantiated.
Super Late Facts: Trying to plan a dnd campaign and get everyone there is like trying to herd kittens. As a kitten.
The other +7 comes from me doing an impression of Mr. Connery. Even channeling him does it. If I'm still alive after this goes up, Mr. Connery decided it was funny. I don't know if he reads the blog, mind you; he simply knows all. In the First Church of the Omega Cannon, Sean Connery is the force beyond time and existence that even the Cannon can't destroy.
Enjoy the podcast and the music!
Late Facts: Reports of sexiness are unsubstantiated.
Super Late Facts: Trying to plan a dnd campaign and get everyone there is like trying to herd kittens. As a kitten.
September 30, 2010
The True Face of Madness
IS A WORLD WHERE SEAN CONNERY NEVER EXISTED...
New podcast is up! I've been struggling to work out how to make a talk about dominance interesting and informative, and then I watched the Big Lebowski. So fuck it, let's go bowling.
On a side note from everything, I hate people who try to sell me magazines, especially when they call my phone to do it. If they sell door to door at least I can hide from them, and know the face of the enemy. On the phone though, I think "I don't know that number. Is that someone I know?" And I answer because it might be someone I'd like to talk to, and thirty seconds later I am hoping the other person dies in a fire.
Then I take a breath and cool down. After swearing at the soliciting sonofabitch, and reducing them to a quivering pile of human-shaped cowardice.
These are people who live in caves. They live terrible lives, eking out an existence only at the whim of their cruel telemarketer overlords. Their only source of solace is to call, and offer you a magazine subscription. They love magazines. They think you love them to. They don't realize there is an internet, where i can get news, photos, music and more. They are beaten every hour on the hour. These people live terrible lives, so when they call to offer you useless piles of glossy paper, be kind to them. Offer them the number of a humanitarian shelter, which rescues these poor souls, gives them a place to stay, and, if no one takes them into their home, will at least make their final days comfortable.
Don't stop hitting Jehova's Witnesses though. We are so close to a new high score.
Late Facts: The actual, real true face of madness is Patrick Rothfuss. He wrote a book called "The Name of the Wind", and another is due out sometime, and goddamit I want it now. The man is a devil.
Go to bed, already: But before succumbing to sleep, check this out!
http://puppetmonstermassacre.com/
http://strangekidsclub.blogspot.com/2010/09/interview-w-dustin-mills-director-of.html
And another blogger interviews the fellow.I desires much to watch this movie.
New podcast is up! I've been struggling to work out how to make a talk about dominance interesting and informative, and then I watched the Big Lebowski. So fuck it, let's go bowling.
On a side note from everything, I hate people who try to sell me magazines, especially when they call my phone to do it. If they sell door to door at least I can hide from them, and know the face of the enemy. On the phone though, I think "I don't know that number. Is that someone I know?" And I answer because it might be someone I'd like to talk to, and thirty seconds later I am hoping the other person dies in a fire.
Then I take a breath and cool down. After swearing at the soliciting sonofabitch, and reducing them to a quivering pile of human-shaped cowardice.
These are people who live in caves. They live terrible lives, eking out an existence only at the whim of their cruel telemarketer overlords. Their only source of solace is to call, and offer you a magazine subscription. They love magazines. They think you love them to. They don't realize there is an internet, where i can get news, photos, music and more. They are beaten every hour on the hour. These people live terrible lives, so when they call to offer you useless piles of glossy paper, be kind to them. Offer them the number of a humanitarian shelter, which rescues these poor souls, gives them a place to stay, and, if no one takes them into their home, will at least make their final days comfortable.
Don't stop hitting Jehova's Witnesses though. We are so close to a new high score.
Late Facts: The actual, real true face of madness is Patrick Rothfuss. He wrote a book called "The Name of the Wind", and another is due out sometime, and goddamit I want it now. The man is a devil.
Go to bed, already: But before succumbing to sleep, check this out!
http://puppetmonstermassacre.com/
http://strangekidsclub.blogspot.com/2010/09/interview-w-dustin-mills-director-of.html
And another blogger interviews the fellow.I desires much to watch this movie.
September 27, 2010
A Delicious Trap
The following occurred on Facebook. The name's have not been changed, because fuck it.
Alex Thompson Sell me your car!
Alex Thompson @Leo For the record, the insurance company said I was NOT AT FAULT! So stick THAT in you pipe and smoke it.
September 24 at 9:08pm ·
William Hohmeister I've got a deal for you, Thompson. It's a 2001 Chevy Fictional, only $1100. Got about 30k miles.
Saturday at 12:31pm ·
William Hohmeister You are my favorite person, Alex. From now, until forever, you are absolutely my 100%, completely non-gay favorite person.
2 seconds ago ·
Has this ever happened to you
I've been reading other blogs, trying to find out what they do that makes people like them, what I do that is similar, and what I can do better. And I think I've discovered that these people are just better human beings than I am.
Hyperbole and a Half for instance. Fucked if I know what it means, but it sounds good. It's an awesome blog too. And I feel bad because it took me like three weeks to come up with "House of Awesome".
Then I started reading blogs she linked to, like Steam Me Up Kid... which has this really funny account, right there on the front goddam page, about how her mouth smelled like a vagina. I laughed, and then I thought, man, I could never do something that good. And then the kinda douchey, 80s upbeat guy in me tried to cheer me up with shitty 80s music and a chorus line that's just "Sure you can!" which is no more believable than a little league baseball coach complimenting you on "good hustle".
So I thought about why I couldn't be that cool, and I considered several options:
1) I am not funny
2) They are much funnier than I am
3)They sold their souls to the devil for funny
Should I sell my soul for funny? Then a fly started buzzing around my spaghetti and pissed me off, so I spent ten minutes failing to kill it. I wished that it would die horribly, then I felt bad, 'cause how would I feel if someone wished that on me? Then it landed on my fucking fork, and all that guilt flew out the window as the smug sonofabitch sat there and spat all over my shit. What is there to like about flies? They distract you constantly, irritate wherever they land (a fly landed on me while I was asleep and I smacked the shit out of myself as I woke up), and then they have the indecency to land in your food. It's like having a little sibling, if that sibling puked over everything he touched.
I ended up failing again to kill it, and wishing death not only on the fly in question, but on his whole fucking fly family. I hoped that, if he had family, he had to watch them die in a fly house fire. Then it hit me.
I am a fly serial killer.
And that is why the other bloggers are much better people than I am.
Hyperbole and a Half for instance. Fucked if I know what it means, but it sounds good. It's an awesome blog too. And I feel bad because it took me like three weeks to come up with "House of Awesome".
Then I started reading blogs she linked to, like Steam Me Up Kid... which has this really funny account, right there on the front goddam page, about how her mouth smelled like a vagina. I laughed, and then I thought, man, I could never do something that good. And then the kinda douchey, 80s upbeat guy in me tried to cheer me up with shitty 80s music and a chorus line that's just "Sure you can!" which is no more believable than a little league baseball coach complimenting you on "good hustle".
So I thought about why I couldn't be that cool, and I considered several options:
1) I am not funny
2) They are much funnier than I am
3)They sold their souls to the devil for funny
Should I sell my soul for funny? Then a fly started buzzing around my spaghetti and pissed me off, so I spent ten minutes failing to kill it. I wished that it would die horribly, then I felt bad, 'cause how would I feel if someone wished that on me? Then it landed on my fucking fork, and all that guilt flew out the window as the smug sonofabitch sat there and spat all over my shit. What is there to like about flies? They distract you constantly, irritate wherever they land (a fly landed on me while I was asleep and I smacked the shit out of myself as I woke up), and then they have the indecency to land in your food. It's like having a little sibling, if that sibling puked over everything he touched.
I ended up failing again to kill it, and wishing death not only on the fly in question, but on his whole fucking fly family. I hoped that, if he had family, he had to watch them die in a fly house fire. Then it hit me.
I am a fly serial killer.
And that is why the other bloggers are much better people than I am.
September 24, 2010
Cats don't give a shit
See?
I've been depressed this week so less than usual has been done. It makes music listening-to not very happy and laughs are in short supply. But, I remind myself, this cat does not give a shit about how I feel. So I do more podcasts. And as my pappy always said, "I've never really been happy anyway; see no reason to start now."
The podcast is short, but full of music and rants, albeit rants about the included links. I have a small request after the link fields, so follow me down.
Links!http://www.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,1984685_1984864_1984871,00.html
http://www.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,1984685_1984864_1985415,00.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eJmYKN_1QE
http://www.ted.com/talks/natalie_merchant_sings_old_poems_to_life.html
I've been researching ways to spread the blog around and have come up with a few: please, if you like the podcasts and think someone you know might like them, let them know about it! Friendly recommendations can do a lot. Sharing on social networking sites can also help. This amount of self-pimpage makes me feel awkward and dumb, but I like doing the podcasts and the more people listen the more I feel, "Fuck yeah! Let's keep doing this." So I'll kick a rock and look bashful, and then go back to recording.
I guess that's the only one. There were more, then I forgot them. Oh! Technorati claim. I don't really understand it, but I did it. So maybe that'll help, accidentally or something.
Also there's this!
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/
This is basically what I hope my blog grows up to be, only with podcasts. I stumbled upon the story of a fish destroying her childhood, and have been hooked since. It is awesome, something I fully endorse here in the house of the same.
I am a Wabash Man
http://www.fox59.com/wxin-wabash-lawsuit-092210,0,6542976.story?page=1
Go watch this. Then come back.
The parents of Johnny Smith are suing Wabash College and the Delta Tau Delta fraternity (now no longer on campus) over his death from alcohol poisoning.
I can't judge the lawsuit. Far from having all the facts, I know Johnny Smith died from alcohol poisoning, there was an investigation, the fraternity he was part of was shut down, and that's it. I can't imagine what his parents feel; parents should never have to outlive their children. I know how the grieving process goes, so I hope they mourn, move on, feel bad about moving on, and then move on from that.
Not knowing the details, however, has not stopped the news organization from reporting, complete with stupid pictures, scary music, and the classic "dark figures moving in the background" which you can see at 00:52 seconds, and again later.They open with a ridiculous headline - "Out of control fratboys, drinking themselves to death" - and then pretend to know something about the schools history.
Then this guy comes on, says people are drinking and passing out every weekend. Who is this guy? Is he a lawyer? I guess, though broad claims like that don't speak to professionalism. Ah, later it is revealed he is a lawyer. One who can describe the night of Johnny Smith's death in detail. He must have been there, perhaps with the ghost of Christmas past. I guess interviewing people who were actually there must have been too much work.
Mrs. Smith is also in the report, visibly upset. I can't blame Mrs. Smith for participating, talking to anyone can often help a grieving person. But the reporters take several remarks of hers, sandwich them in between the lawyer and narration, leave out everything else she might have said - why she's suing, what she hopes to accomplish - and opt for the ole heartstring tug to get viewers on their side.
And their side is, pretty obviously, against Wabash. First impressions are important, and beginning a report with "Out of control fratboys" puts their objectivity into question. "Fraternity men" must have too many syllables. "Drinking themselves to death" sounds much more frightening than two deaths, And given the overall quality of the reporting, is anyone surprised that the administration didn't return calls? If this report is indicative of their general level of competence, I wouldn't say a word to them either. FOX59 seems to come with a guarantee that your words will be misconstrued, cut out of context, and used to reinforce the narrative they've already created.
Well, if by chance someone who watched the report and burned with hate against the monsters at Wabash should stumble across this blog, here are a few facts left out of that report:
Wabash does have a drinking policy. It is the Gentleman's Rule. Gentlemen obey the law, and the law says you can't drink before 21. Wabash men are trusted to take care of themselves and one another, and to accept the consequences of breaking the law.
Given the effectiveness of drinking regulations at other campuses (http://www.collegedrinkingprevention.gov/StatsSummaries/snapshot.aspx) increased regulation seems kinda dumb. Wabash has about 1100 men last time I checked. There are several hundred thousand incidents each year, according to these statistics; unless Wabash students are as highly motivated in busting shit up as we are at studies, these must take place at other colleges. Colleges with strict alcohol policies as well.
HELP is a twice yearly conference at Wabash that is designed to help (oddly enough) new fraternity presidents, RAs, and other campus leaders adjust to their roles. Included is a seminar on alcohol control.
Fraternities began policing themselves before Johnny Smith died. Alcohol regulation committees were formed, to prevent binge drinking and encourage more responsible behavior. Each fraternity abides by its own (fairly strict) code of "thou shalt not fuck shit up" with regards to people, property, and the good name of the school. Actives and alumni are expected to adhere to this code, and are disciplined if they fail.
A school full of men can be scary! Given the popular image of men in pop culture (sex-obsessed morons in sitcoms; sex-obsessed cavemen in many other shows) it can be easy to demonize Wabash with such a pathetic excuse for a news report. It is probably not that easy, non-Wabash folks, to accept my counter-argument that Wabash is a good place, turns out good students, and Johnny Smith was a tragic, extreme exception to the rule rather than the norm. That's okay. That's good! Not accepting things at face value shows you're thinking. If you have a college bound young man, take a look at Wabash. Judge it for yourself. Talk, not only to the administrators, but also to the men who attend it.
Late facts: At no point was it my intention to give offense to Mrs. Smith, featured in the news report. I can't imagine what losing a son is like. Best wishes go to her and her family.
Go watch this. Then come back.
The parents of Johnny Smith are suing Wabash College and the Delta Tau Delta fraternity (now no longer on campus) over his death from alcohol poisoning.
I can't judge the lawsuit. Far from having all the facts, I know Johnny Smith died from alcohol poisoning, there was an investigation, the fraternity he was part of was shut down, and that's it. I can't imagine what his parents feel; parents should never have to outlive their children. I know how the grieving process goes, so I hope they mourn, move on, feel bad about moving on, and then move on from that.
Not knowing the details, however, has not stopped the news organization from reporting, complete with stupid pictures, scary music, and the classic "dark figures moving in the background" which you can see at 00:52 seconds, and again later.They open with a ridiculous headline - "Out of control fratboys, drinking themselves to death" - and then pretend to know something about the schools history.
Then this guy comes on, says people are drinking and passing out every weekend. Who is this guy? Is he a lawyer? I guess, though broad claims like that don't speak to professionalism. Ah, later it is revealed he is a lawyer. One who can describe the night of Johnny Smith's death in detail. He must have been there, perhaps with the ghost of Christmas past. I guess interviewing people who were actually there must have been too much work.
Mrs. Smith is also in the report, visibly upset. I can't blame Mrs. Smith for participating, talking to anyone can often help a grieving person. But the reporters take several remarks of hers, sandwich them in between the lawyer and narration, leave out everything else she might have said - why she's suing, what she hopes to accomplish - and opt for the ole heartstring tug to get viewers on their side.
And their side is, pretty obviously, against Wabash. First impressions are important, and beginning a report with "Out of control fratboys" puts their objectivity into question. "Fraternity men" must have too many syllables. "Drinking themselves to death" sounds much more frightening than two deaths, And given the overall quality of the reporting, is anyone surprised that the administration didn't return calls? If this report is indicative of their general level of competence, I wouldn't say a word to them either. FOX59 seems to come with a guarantee that your words will be misconstrued, cut out of context, and used to reinforce the narrative they've already created.
Well, if by chance someone who watched the report and burned with hate against the monsters at Wabash should stumble across this blog, here are a few facts left out of that report:
Wabash does have a drinking policy. It is the Gentleman's Rule. Gentlemen obey the law, and the law says you can't drink before 21. Wabash men are trusted to take care of themselves and one another, and to accept the consequences of breaking the law.
Given the effectiveness of drinking regulations at other campuses (http://www.collegedrinkingprevention.gov/StatsSummaries/snapshot.aspx) increased regulation seems kinda dumb. Wabash has about 1100 men last time I checked. There are several hundred thousand incidents each year, according to these statistics; unless Wabash students are as highly motivated in busting shit up as we are at studies, these must take place at other colleges. Colleges with strict alcohol policies as well.
HELP is a twice yearly conference at Wabash that is designed to help (oddly enough) new fraternity presidents, RAs, and other campus leaders adjust to their roles. Included is a seminar on alcohol control.
Fraternities began policing themselves before Johnny Smith died. Alcohol regulation committees were formed, to prevent binge drinking and encourage more responsible behavior. Each fraternity abides by its own (fairly strict) code of "thou shalt not fuck shit up" with regards to people, property, and the good name of the school. Actives and alumni are expected to adhere to this code, and are disciplined if they fail.
A school full of men can be scary! Given the popular image of men in pop culture (sex-obsessed morons in sitcoms; sex-obsessed cavemen in many other shows) it can be easy to demonize Wabash with such a pathetic excuse for a news report. It is probably not that easy, non-Wabash folks, to accept my counter-argument that Wabash is a good place, turns out good students, and Johnny Smith was a tragic, extreme exception to the rule rather than the norm. That's okay. That's good! Not accepting things at face value shows you're thinking. If you have a college bound young man, take a look at Wabash. Judge it for yourself. Talk, not only to the administrators, but also to the men who attend it.
Late facts: At no point was it my intention to give offense to Mrs. Smith, featured in the news report. I can't imagine what losing a son is like. Best wishes go to her and her family.
September 17, 2010
Not Without My Anus.
Good students will recognize the title from South Park. A+ Students will know it is from Terrence and Phillip.
But first, some links!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqIidDuOuZQ “Hello, ghostbusters? There’s a transparent black man in my living room. Yes, he won’t stop singing.”
Of course, the ghostbusters just come over to get up, get down, and boogie.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc0mxOXbWIU&ob=av2n I know no other singers or bands. Cee-lo Green is my master now. There’s also a cover of Kung-fu fighting up, that was in Kung-Fu Panda, which is a good movie.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Na-xvlYMGck&has_verified=1 To break your hearts…
http://www.denofgeek.com/movies/320353/5_things_we_want_from_the_next_indiana_jones_film.html IJ 5? http://www.denofgeek.com/movies/405391/updated_86_movie_sequels_currently_in_development.html
And to shake your faith in God. Seriously. Does the prospect of G. Lucas making more money off fanboys for another steaming pile of shit, while other directors labor in obscurity, not piss you off?
Okay, the reason for the title; warning, this is about poop.
There are many kinds of poop. The log, the lincoln, the question mark. The most famous is the man-child, shat out by a fellow of the same name, it was about four foot, three inches, and weighed roughly twenty pounds. We gazed upon this foul harbinger of the end days, this Beast of Revelations, and then we sealed it away like the ark of the fucking covenant.
One of the worst is the Flamer. This is most commonly encountered after devouring bowls of chili, a couple of peppers, or anything particularly spicy. I experienced this recently, and it was the worst time of my life. Your butt feels like twelve badgers just burrowed out of it, on fire. And it doesn't stop! Even when you know everything you've ate has been shat out, your body devours itself to provide the necessary materials of pain.
Complementing this is a method of pooping. "But," you say (and I laugh, cuz you said butt), "there's only one way; sitting down on a toilet." True, but what if you're taking a walk and no toilet is handy? Or the poop is so monumental that any movement, any bending of the spine, will result in immediate evacuation regardless of where you are or what you are doing? Many have experienced the groundhog, in which the monster pokes its head out, and then just as quickly disappears back into the dark recesses of your bowels.
What I'm talking about is the birdwatcher.
You have to poop. The poop is ready to go. But you are not on a toilet. Worse yet, you're walking down a high traffic street, struggling to keep it inside, while everyone watches.
Someone approaches, not knowing how unwelcome they are. They ask, "What the hell are you doing just standing here?"
You look up at the trees, point and reply, "Birdwatching."
"Birdwatching?"
"Oh, aye. I think I spotted a Peregrine falcon earlier." You do not remember if Peregrine is a type of falcon, or hawk.
But thankfully, miraculously, the person leaves you with your lie, until the poop is manageable again, no longer pressing the silo doors with the urgency of WWIII, and you can Penguin your way home.
It has, at times, felt like my anus deserted me. Thankfully it always came back, and we are again fast friends. I think a day time soap opera called "Not without my anus" would make a good show. The main character could be a spy, or a cop or something where someone always yelled "We've gotta get out!" at the end of a show. And he would look at them (dramatically) and say:
"Not without my anus."
Bam! next episode has a hook. You're welcome, hollywood. I just made you seventy kabillion dollas.
Late Facts:
1. When the gastrointestinal horror is upon me, I hear In the air tonight, by Phil Collins.
2. The Wolfman is a terrible horror movie. A decent comedy though.
But first, some links!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqIidDuOuZQ “Hello, ghostbusters? There’s a transparent black man in my living room. Yes, he won’t stop singing.”
Of course, the ghostbusters just come over to get up, get down, and boogie.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc0mxOXbWIU&ob=av2n I know no other singers or bands. Cee-lo Green is my master now. There’s also a cover of Kung-fu fighting up, that was in Kung-Fu Panda, which is a good movie.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Na-xvlYMGck&has_verified=1 To break your hearts…
http://www.denofgeek.com/movies/320353/5_things_we_want_from_the_next_indiana_jones_film.html IJ 5? http://www.denofgeek.com/movies/405391/updated_86_movie_sequels_currently_in_development.html
And to shake your faith in God. Seriously. Does the prospect of G. Lucas making more money off fanboys for another steaming pile of shit, while other directors labor in obscurity, not piss you off?
Okay, the reason for the title; warning, this is about poop.
There are many kinds of poop. The log, the lincoln, the question mark. The most famous is the man-child, shat out by a fellow of the same name, it was about four foot, three inches, and weighed roughly twenty pounds. We gazed upon this foul harbinger of the end days, this Beast of Revelations, and then we sealed it away like the ark of the fucking covenant.
One of the worst is the Flamer. This is most commonly encountered after devouring bowls of chili, a couple of peppers, or anything particularly spicy. I experienced this recently, and it was the worst time of my life. Your butt feels like twelve badgers just burrowed out of it, on fire. And it doesn't stop! Even when you know everything you've ate has been shat out, your body devours itself to provide the necessary materials of pain.
Complementing this is a method of pooping. "But," you say (and I laugh, cuz you said butt), "there's only one way; sitting down on a toilet." True, but what if you're taking a walk and no toilet is handy? Or the poop is so monumental that any movement, any bending of the spine, will result in immediate evacuation regardless of where you are or what you are doing? Many have experienced the groundhog, in which the monster pokes its head out, and then just as quickly disappears back into the dark recesses of your bowels.
What I'm talking about is the birdwatcher.
You have to poop. The poop is ready to go. But you are not on a toilet. Worse yet, you're walking down a high traffic street, struggling to keep it inside, while everyone watches.
Someone approaches, not knowing how unwelcome they are. They ask, "What the hell are you doing just standing here?"
You look up at the trees, point and reply, "Birdwatching."
"Birdwatching?"
"Oh, aye. I think I spotted a Peregrine falcon earlier." You do not remember if Peregrine is a type of falcon, or hawk.
But thankfully, miraculously, the person leaves you with your lie, until the poop is manageable again, no longer pressing the silo doors with the urgency of WWIII, and you can Penguin your way home.
It has, at times, felt like my anus deserted me. Thankfully it always came back, and we are again fast friends. I think a day time soap opera called "Not without my anus" would make a good show. The main character could be a spy, or a cop or something where someone always yelled "We've gotta get out!" at the end of a show. And he would look at them (dramatically) and say:
"Not without my anus."
Bam! next episode has a hook. You're welcome, hollywood. I just made you seventy kabillion dollas.
Late Facts:
1. When the gastrointestinal horror is upon me, I hear In the air tonight, by Phil Collins.
2. The Wolfman is a terrible horror movie. A decent comedy though.
September 15, 2010
Holly Sheetz!
A podcast in the middle of the week!
And new features too! It's like goddam Christmas, except with fewer fat men breaking into your house. Well, unless I go crazy.
Included is the story I wrote to Neon Legion's "The Sun". It's short, and not at all proof-read. I figure the longer I think about it, the less chance of it going up at all. Beware! It's violent.
THE ART OF PUNCH DANCE
The air in the clearing was wet and cold. Dew hung on the leaves and grass, sparkling under the sunlight that wasn’t quite hot enough to evaporate them. Elsewhere in the forest birds sang, crickets chirrupped (although must were yawning and checking their watches, ready to punch-out and head home to their cricket wives), and the waking sounds of animals broke the stillness. In this clearing, however, the noises were so badly absent that the air felt heavy and expectant. The absence spoke of something coming, something the rest of the forest wanted nothing to do with.
A man walked through the shrubs and into the ankle high grass. The clearing was almost perfectly round, with just a small alcove to the north, where smaller trees clumped around a boulder, like Charlie Brown’s head with a painful bump. He seemed not to notice the quiet, but cracked twigs underfoot as he moved to the boulder. He carried a bottle full of amber liquid, and a pipe with a thin stem. He set them both down on the boulder, reached down to his shoe, and pulled out a tiny packet of tobacco. He took a drink of the whiskey, filled the pipe, lit it and puffed it to life.
He was a short, thin man, with a broad face and widely separated features. His limbs were small, but twisted with muscle. His eyes had huge pupils, and appeared almost entirely black with a hint of brown.
The forest stirred around him; he took another swig of whiskey, set it down, and clamped the pipe between his teeth. A small, strange smile worked its way onto his face.
Across the clearing a figure appeared from nothingness, clad from head to toe in black, with only a slit in the mask showing eyes. It crouched, studied the man for a moment, and leaped, pulling a tanto blade and coming down aimed at the man’s heart. The man twisted, ducked under the blade, pushed up on the hilt, and the blade tilted under his pressure, and as the ninja’s eyes widened and he fell into a roll, the blade tore through his mask and into his brain.
Eyes scanning the nearby trees, the man pulled out the pipe and walked behind the boulder. A small boombox sat there. He pushed the play button, and the clearing erupted with the sound of Neon Legion’s “The Sun”. He said, “If you’re gonna try, try all at once. No need to drag this out goin’ one atta time.”
Ninjas burst into the clearing from all sides, one even leaping atop the boulder. There was silence as the man’s smile grew, and he finished off the booze. Clamping down on the pipe again, he hefted the bottle and threw it.
The ninja he aimed at caught the bottle and threw it back. The ninja atop the boulder leaped at the same moment. The punch-dancer, leg vibrating to the beat, spun away, snatched the bottle back, and broke it over the ninja’s head. He collapsed.
The punch-dancer was surrounded now, ducking and weaving out of the way of deadly ninja strikes. He smashed his fist through the head of one, roundhoused another into New Jersey, and then he had to vault up and over to get out of the way of several sword strikes. One ninja followed his flight, and the punch-dancer connected his foot with the sonofabitch’s head, and stomped it into jelly as they landed. The cluster of ninjas turned as one, and the punch-dancer kicked the dead ninja on his boot into their midst.
He cocked his forefinger and thumb into the shape of a gun. “Pyew-pyew,” he said, firing twice. The body exploded, taking out all but a few of the ninjas.
The rest scrambled to get away, taking up positions at the perimeter. Each drew ninja stars, there was a beat, and then hurled. The punch-dancer’s hands moved so fast they became a blur. Each seized an incoming star and redirected it at another ninja. Some were fast enough to grab the stars and hurl them again, others dodged, but six fell to the weapons of their fellows.
Still, the punch-dancer knew he had to hurry. The music was winding up, and twelve ninjas remained. He sprang to them, put a fist through a torso, a kick cut one in half, and then he grabbed one by the ankles, punched him into the oncoming ninjas, and grabbed up the staff he’d left behind. He planted it in the ground, took a running start, and seized the bar with his ankles just as the ninjas were again upon him. He struck out at them as he spun, each punch making a hole. Finally there was only one.
The ninja backed up, cornered against the boulder. The punch-dancer grabbed him by the throat, drew him close, and pulled out his pipe in the other hand.
“Hey,” the punch-dancer said. “Smoking kills.”
He jammed the pipe through the ninja’s eye and into his brain, and dropped him as the music stopped. Three minutes fifty-five seconds, a new personal best.
There will be another podcast Friday. And Applejacks should reappear soon. Finally, look at this comic!
Goodnight!
P.S. Something bad happened to the Uncle Ben podcast when I uploaded the new one. And I don't keep the 'casts after I upload them. It is many sad times, since it was so young.
September 10, 2010
Corrections
Also:
The game is "Zombies Ate MY Neighbors"
The author is Larry McMurtry
The artist for "Cold Man of Steel" is Russ Aimz. I think I said Russet, or something. This bugged me enough to cry your pardon.
The game is "Zombies Ate MY Neighbors"
The author is Larry McMurtry
The artist for "Cold Man of Steel" is Russ Aimz. I think I said Russet, or something. This bugged me enough to cry your pardon.
September 9, 2010
Words is hard
The podcasts continue! Now at four, or two of the "new" 'casts, the third next week will break the old record for continuation. This one has two medium rants, and a rant about a book. It's a good book, and you should read it. Turn off the t.v. and get to it.
I haven't read anything more about the Quran-burner in Florida, but I hope he decided not to do it. Fighting stupidity with stupidity doesn't work, and burning a religion's holy book in the hope of hurting people who don't give a shit about it (the terrorists) is really stupid. Shouldn't we be burning Bibles for all the fucked-up things crazy people have done "for" Christianity?
Applejacks will continue, but later. Goodly James Morey has agreed to come onboard as artist, and I have sent him the next three scripts. AJ will likely be put up on a new site, one dedicated just to the comic.
I hope you enjoy the podcast, and tell your friends if you do. Making this into something sustainable would be so awesome I feared to actually put it into words.
September 4, 2010
Applejacks 3
September 3, 2010
Uncle Ben Must Die!
The podcast has returned! It's short tonight, but there are more to come, probably on a weekly, or twice weekly basis. I hope it has not been too long, and that you enjoy the show.
Also, because I promised, here is the first comic I did about Applejacks. The project is on hold right now until I hear back from James. He is a much better drawer than I am, but hey! look at that adorable sonofabitch! You can click to enlarge, and use the zoom (cntrl + +-sign) because if I make it too big it doesn't fit.
As I said in the newest post, the Uncle Ben 'cast was replaced by the new one because I failed to notice I had named the new one the same as this one; you'd think I'd have noticed "New podcast" as already there, but I is dumb. Dumb as hell. I'll try to find the old file and put it back up.
Also, because I promised, here is the first comic I did about Applejacks. The project is on hold right now until I hear back from James. He is a much better drawer than I am, but hey! look at that adorable sonofabitch! You can click to enlarge, and use the zoom (cntrl + +-sign) because if I make it too big it doesn't fit.
August 27, 2010
They is a coming
So, some stuff is missing. Particularly the stuff I didn't like, that I put little work into, and that seemed less funny as time went on. It's gone, adios, screw it, goodbye.
But new things are coming! Well, new old things. Like the podcasts. Like listening to music? It's back! Like rants? Maybe? Okay! We'll have some of those too. By next Friday I will put up the new episode, and a special surprise. Well, it's not really a surprise, being in the description, but it is new! And I hope you like it.
It involves aminals.
But new things are coming! Well, new old things. Like the podcasts. Like listening to music? It's back! Like rants? Maybe? Okay! We'll have some of those too. By next Friday I will put up the new episode, and a special surprise. Well, it's not really a surprise, being in the description, but it is new! And I hope you like it.
It involves aminals.
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btw, the score is
Alex totaled 2 cars
...LB = totaled 1 car
totaled = defined as not being able to drive it anymore.See More