What?
Someone in Argentina is Googling Monica marries Chandler and I'm the fourth entry on the page. What this means, I have no idea.
Occasional quotes from blogs, news, movies, books, overheard conversations
defender of fame-whores
Hater of New Blogger--thanks for nothing, Google
Still not sure what this blog is about, but whatever it IS about it's done well - XWL
"That Bill. Subversive. Sharp. Watch out for him. Misses nothing. A dots-connector." - reader_iam
Bill -- you have just won yourself a WGA-arbitrated credit
Q. Dear Sir or Madam: My client prefers to use the article a before an abbreviation such as LCMS. I suggest using an, since the letter L is pronounced “ell.” What does the Chicago Manual of Style recommend?
A. When an abbreviation follows an indefinite article, the choice of a or an is determined by the way the abbreviation would be read aloud, so in this case, we would use an. Please see CMS 15.9 for more information and examples.
An initialism such as AAA, normally pronounced "Triple A," should not follow an indefinite article; resort to rewording (e.g., "a map from AAA," not "a AAA map").
I know this is going to sound like a plot from a movie. It isn't. A very good friend of mine Linda Rayburn and her son Michael Berry were brutally murdered by her husband...the sons stepfather.
They were murdered on February 3rd, 2004. He then hung himself in the basement of their house. He left behind a number of disturbing items.
However, the most intriguing is a cryptogram handwritten on paper utilizing letters, numbers and symbols from a computer keyboard. Linda's daughter Jenn was the one who found the bodies. Jenn is a very good friend of mine and I told her I would do everything within my power to see if this cryptogram is truly a cryptogram with valuable information or if it is a wild goose chase to keep us occupied and wondering forever what it means.
$175 for eight courses with communal seating? I don't theenk so, señor. Sakai-san is mighty, but Chen Kenichi is the only Iron Chef for whose food I'd consider paying that kind of money to sit with strangers.
I was born with a coat hanger in my mouth
Oh yeah, and I was dumped down south
I was found by the richest man in the world
Oh yeah, who bought me up as a girl
My sheets are satin but my mind's a mess
But there are worse things I confess
Than drinking tea in a pretty dress
and I'm here to tell you that it's not all bad
Count your blessings and maybe you'll be glad
Goth girl
What are you wearing today
Black again
Goth girl
It's such a fine day in May
But you think it's raining
One day I'm gonna kiss the lipstick off your mouth
Sometimes the weather's worst
When you have some place to be
Like the time we drove to Boston
In the snow from New York City
Frozen to the bone
And we saw the planes fly high above
On metal wings and prayers
And tried to find some radio
Hoping one day we would be there
She's up and down, she's round the wheel
She's governed absolutely by the way she feels
That's a lethal combination in a small house when it rains
The colours fade to grey
And I'm left with black and white
Don't know why I try
To fight with what is right
People love to watch you die
It gets them sexually
And then they smoke a cigarette
And make a cup of tea
Once upon a time
I could have had it all
A princess with a price on her head
Or the prince who'd climb her wall
But when pride has it in for someone
None of us can check the fall
Now I'm humble as a bumblebee
I'm getting used to how things have to be
Just another mumble
Buzzing round and round in rings
So afraid that I won't be king
This is the sting, I still want everything
Here is the twist, you're on my list and
Here's what I mean, you're still the queen
And I want you
Now I wonder
If I will ever be
The lighthouse in a sea of shadows
That you were when you shined for me
When I was going under
You knew when and where to be
Now I'm as good as Ebenezer after his conversion
I'd give all my goods away with no coercion
I'd give almost anything
Just to hear the hum of your wings
This is the sting, I still want everything
Here is the twist, you're on my list and
Here's what I mean, you're still the queen
And I want you, honey, I want you
I was as 'umble as Uriah
Just before his tumble
But I fumbled for the best of me
Amongst the jumble
Heaven knows where we went wrong
Don Quixote or Donkey Kong
This is the sting, I still want everything
Here is the twist, you're on my list
Here's what I mean, you're still the queen
And I want you, honey, I want you
I want you
However … these people were protesting HAM. And I think you would have a very hard time finding someone willing to publicly take the position that these ham protesters are endangering our national security, or our soldier’s will to fight. Even here on the home front, I personally do not feel that my ham purchasing rights are threatened in any way. Nor is anyone forced to buy ham.
In America today, we just do not seem to have a ham problem.
Is it legal to take pictures of a legal ham protest? Of course. That’s not the question. The question is whether county, state, or federal resources that are supposed to be devoted to “Homeland Security,” i.e. protection from a primarily foreign terrorist threat, should instead be spent in a CVS parking lot watching vegans protest ham.
And the next question is, if they’re doing that, what the hell else are they doing that is so stupid it ought to be illegal?
The government, and the FBI in particular, likes to paint privacy (and the systems that achieve it) as a flagitious tool of the Four Horsemen of the Information Apocalypse: terrorists, drug dealers, money launderers, and child pornographers. In 1994, the FBI pushed the Digital Tekephony Bill through Congress, which tried to force telephone companies to install equipment in their switches to make it easier to wiretap people. In the aftermath of the World Trade Center Bombing, they pushed the Omnibus Counterterrorism Bill, which gave them the power to do roving wiretaps and the President the power to unilaterally and secretly classify political groups as terrorist organizations. Thankfully it didn't pass.
...The debate is ongoing. The FBI has been pushing for stronger anti-privacy measures: the right to eavesdrop on broad swaths of the telephone network, the right to install listening devices on people's computers--without warrants wherever possible.
...Also interesting (and timeless) are the philosophical issues. First, is the government correct when it implies that the social ills of privacy outweigh the social goods?
...Second, can a government take a technology that clearly does an enormous amount of social good and, because they perceive that it hinders law enforcement in some way, limit its use?
...I don't know the answers. A balance exists between privacy and safety. Laws about search and seizure and due process hinder law enforcement, and probably result in some criminals going free. On the other hand, they protect citizens agaisnt abuse by the police. We as a society need to decide what particular balance is right for us, and then create laws that enforce that balance. Warrants are a good example of this balance; they give police the right to invade privacy, but add some judicial oversight. I don't necessarily object to invasions of privacy in order to aid law enforcement, but I vociferously object to the FBI trying to ram them through without public debate or even public awareness.
In any case, the future does not look good. Privacy is the first thing jettisoned in a crisis, and already the FBI is tryng to manufacture crises in an attempt to seize more powers to invade privacy. A war, a terrorist attack, a police action...would cause a sea change in the deabte. And even now, in an environment that is most conducive to a reasoned debate on privacy, we're losing more and more of our privacy.
You know, to me Wal-Mart is a lot like George W. Bush. It's not that I'm that big a fan in the abstract, really, it's just that the viciousness and stupidity revealed in its enemies tends to make me view it more favorably than I otherwise would.
We can solve this problem with just one bullet
Well you better hope that they don't think that too
We're the only ones that get to have the bombs
Well you better hope that they don't think that too
My bigass god can beat up yours - Hey, Hey, Hey
Well you better hope that they don't think that too
I'm tired of being smooth
I'm tired of being nice
I'm tired of making it sound pretty
I want you gone like the wind
I want you gone like the wind
I want you gone, gone, gone, gone, gone!
Ak 47, B-52, C-130 Transport, F-16 - Hey, Hey, Hey
Since we're talking numbers and since we're talking letters
How about my 401k? - Hey, Hey I'm tired of being nice
I'm tired of making it rhyme
I'm tired of making it sound pretty
I want you gone like the wind
I want you gone like the wind
I want you gone, gone, gone, gone, gone! - Hey, Hey, Hey!
It's the economy stupid
not all the brown people in the world
I don't want a moron
gettin' this war on - and "nucular" is not a word
I want a lot more readin' and a lot less bleedin' and "nucular" is not a word - Hey, Hey Hey
I'm tired of being nice
I'm tired of making it rhyme
I'm tired of making it sound pretty
I want you gone like the wind
I want you gone like the wind
I want you gone, gone, gone, gone, gone!
In writing his shattering, beautiful memoir, A Million Little Pieces, James Frey does away with a lot of things: punctuation, standard grammar rules, 12-step programs, belief in a higher power, and, eventually, his addiction to alcohol and drugs. In doing so, he has rewritten the rules 'Recovery Memoir' and established himself as a major literary talent.
The stories you're about to hear are true. Except for the ones that are big honking lies.
In the space of 48 hours, the three top Democrats for 2008 proved themselves to have all the staying power of a nervous virgin on the set of a porn shoot.
If this is how the Democrats play when not much seems to be going well for Bush, then they're toast. It's too soon to predict exactly what will happen in 2008. But if today is any indication, then I can make a confident prediction about this year's midterm election: The Republicans will gain a seat or two in the Senate, and at the very least hold even in the House.
I just don't know what to do with the Democrats.
Look at me.* I'm pro-choice. I support gay marriage. I think porn is OK and that drugs (which aren't OK) ought to be legal. My taste in music and movies and entertainers are a lot more New York and LA than they are Nashville or Branson.
...
Democrats: I'm your target voter! Appeal to me! I'm sick of the Republicans already! Don't make me perform impossible physical acts! Please!
But they won't listen and, come November, I'll vote for a bunch of Republicans again. (Although I'll probably leave a bunch of choices blank.) I'll feel bad about it, of course, but I'd feel even worse if I voted for a Democrat.
And I'm their target voter. Sheesh.
Some wrote to ask why I didn’t pick apart the piece line by line – well, my appetite for fisking has abated; it feels like angry break-up sex, and I don’t quite see the point much anymore. Not to say I won’t ever again, but nowadays I read fiskable essays and just sigh: whatev.
Presented with the results of the study, Republicans vehemently insisted that its findings applied mainly to Democrats, while the Democrats maintained the reverse.
If it means John Lasseter will be a chief Disney director, though, it could mean great things. Like, say, maybe the reemergence of a 2D Feature Animation unit. And wouldn't it be funny if buying Pixar was what it took to reawaken Disney's interest in 2D?
My gut reaction is that Disney may have bought into a declining market. Pixar is a great company, but the computer-animation boom shows signs of having peaked; remember the reports that DVD sales of Pixar's The Incredibles and DreamWorks' successful albeit pointless Shrek 2 were less than expected. Of course, Jobs, Catmull and Lasseter are smart guys who know how to keep up with changing public tastes, so there's every possibility that they'll be able to keep turning out hits -- but I just wanted to raise the possibility that we've already seen the highest heights of the vogue for computer-animated movies, much as the vogue for hand-drawn movies hit its peak with The Lion King in 1994.
Jerry: No, it's smorgasbord, smorgasbord, with a "d" at the end.
George bluffs: Actually Jerry, it's you who is mistaken. It is smorgasborg, with a "g" at the end.
Jerry: George! It's smorgasbord. It's Swedish. It means sandwich table. What do you think? You go for the mashed potatoes and they tell you you're going to be assimilated?
`I didn't think,' said Beetle meekly, scooping out pilchards with a spoon.
`'Course you didn't. You never do.' M`Turk adjusted Beetle's collar with a savage tug. `Don't drop oil all over my "Fors," or I'll scrag you!'
`Shut up, you -- you Irish Biddy! 'Tisn't your beastly "Fors." It's one of mine.'
The book was a fat, brown-backed volume of the later Sixties, which King had once thrown at Beetle's head that Beetle might see whence the name Gigadibs came. Beetle had quietly annexed the book, and had seen -- several things. The quarter-comprehended verses lived and ate with him, as the be- dropped pages showed. He removed himself from all that world, drifting at large with wondrous Men and Women, till M`Turk hammered the pilchard spoon on his head and he snarled.
`Beetle! You're oppressed and insulted and bullied by King. Don't you feel it?'
`Let me alone! I can write some more poetry about him if I am, I suppose.'
`Mad! Quite mad!' said Stalky to the visitors, as one exhibiting strange beasts. `Beetle reads an ass called Brownin', and M`Turk reads an ass called Ruskin; and --'
`Ruskin isn't an ass,' said M`Turk. `He's almost as good as the Opium-Eater. He says "we're children of noble races trained by surrounding art." That means me, and the way I decorated the study when you two badgers would have stuck up brackets and Christmas cards. Child of a noble race, trained by surrounding art, stop reading, or I'll shove a pilchard down your neck!'
`It's two to one,' said Stalky warningly, and Beetle closed the book, in obedience to the law under which he and his companions had lived for six checkered years.
The visitors looked on delighted. Number Five study had a reputation for more variegated insanity than the rest of the school put together; and so far as its code allowed friendship with outsiders it was polite and open-hearted to its neighbours on the same landing.
`What rot do you want now?' said Beetle.
`King! War!' said M`Turk, jerking his head toward the wall, where hung a small wooden West-African war- drum, a gift to M`Turk from a naval uncle.
`Then we shall be turned out of the study again,' said Beetle, who loved his flesh-pots. `Mason turned us out for -- just warbling on it.' Mason was that mathematical master who had testified in Common-room.
`Warbling? -- Oh, Lord!' said Abanazar. `We couldn't hear ourselves speak in our study when you played the infernal thing. What's the good of getting turned out of your study, anyhow?'
`We lived in the form-rooms for a week, too,' said Beetle tragically. `And it was beastly cold.'
`Ye-es; but Mason's rooms were filled with rats every day we were out. It took him a week to draw the inference,' said M`Turk. `He loathes rats. 'Minute he let us go back the rats stopped. Mason's a little shy of us now, but there was no evidence.'
`Jolly well there wasn't,' said Stalky, `when I got out on the roof and dropped the beastly things down his chimney. But, look here -- question is, are our characters good enough just now to stand a study row?'
`Never mind mine,' said Beetle. `King swears I haven't any.'
`I'm not thinking of you,' Stalky returned scornfully. `You aren't going up for the Army, you old bat. I don't want to be expelled -- and the Head's getting rather shy of us, too.'
`Rot!' said M`Turk. `The Head never expels except for beastliness or stealing. But I forgot; you and Stalky are thieves -- regular burglars.'
The visitors gasped, but Stalky interpreted the parable with large grins.
`Well, you know, that little beast Manders minor saw Beetle and me hammerin' M`Turk's trunk open in the dormitory when we took his watch last month. Of course Manders sneaked to Mason, and Mason solemnly took it up as a case of theft, to get even with us about the rats.'
`That just put Mason into our giddy hands,' said M`Turk blandly. `We were nice to him, 'cause he was a new master and wanted to win the confidence of the boys. 'Pity he draws inferences, though. Stalky went to his study and pretended to blub, and told Mason he'd lead a new life if Mason would let him off this time, but Mason wouldn't. 'Said it was his duty to report him to the Head.'
`Vindictive swine!' said Beetle. `It was all those rats! Then I blubbed, too, and Stalky confessed that he'd been a thief in regular practice for six years, ever since he came to the school; and that I'd taught him -- à la Fagin. Mason turned white with joy. He thought he had us on toast.'
`Gorgeous! Oh, fids!' said Dick Four. `We never heard of this.'
`Course not. Mason kept it jolly quiet. He wrote down all our statements on impot-paper. There wasn't anything he wouldn't believe,' said Stalky.
`And handed it all up to the Head, with an extempore prayer. It took about forty pages,' said Beetle. `I helped him a lot.'
`And then, you crazy idiots?' said Abanazar.
`Oh, we were sent for; and Stalky asked to have the "depositions" read out, and the Head knocked him spinning into a waste-paper basket. Then he gave us eight cuts apiece -- welters -- for -- for -- takin' unheard- of liberties with a new master. I saw his shoulders shaking when we went out. Do you know,' said Beetle pensively, `that Mason can't look at us now in second lesson without blushing? We three stare at him sometimes till he regularly trickles. He's an awfully sensitive beast.'
`He read Eric; or, Little by Little,' said M`Turk; `so we gave him St. Winifred's; or, The World of School. They spent all their spare stealing at St. Winifred's, when they weren't praying or getting drunk at pubs. Well, that was only a week ago, and the Head's a little bit shy of us. He called it constructive deviltry. Stalky invented it all.'
`'Not the least good having a row with a master unless you can make an ass of him,' said Stalky, extended at ease on the hearth-rug. `If Mason didn't know Number Five -- well, he's learn't, that's all. Now, my dearly beloved 'earers' -- Stalky curled his legs under him and addressed the company -- `we've got that strong, perseverin' man King on our hands. He went miles out of his way to provoke a conflict.' (Here Stalky snapped down the black silk domino and assumed the air of a judge.) `He has oppressed Beetle, M`Turk, and me, privatim et seriatim, one by one, as he could catch us. But now he has insulted Number Five up in the music-room, and in the presence of these -- these ossifers of the Ninety-third, wot look like hair-dressers. Binjimin, we must make him cry "Capivi!" '
Stalky's reading did not include Browning or Ruskin.
`And, besides,' said M`Turk, `he's a Philistine, a basket-hanger. He wears a tartan tie. Ruskin says that any man who wears a tartan tie will, without doubt, be damned everlastingly.'
`Bravo, M`Turk,' cried Tertius; `I thought he was only a beast.'
`He's that, too, of course, but he's worse. He has a china basket with blue ribbons and a pink kitten on it, hung up in his window to grow musk in. You know when I got all that old oak carvin' out of Bideford Church, when they were restoring it (Ruskin says that any man who'll restore a church is an unmitigated sweep), and stuck it up here with glue? Well, King came in and wanted to know whether we'd done it with a fret-saw! Yah! He is the King of basket-hangers!'
Down went M`Turk's inky thumb over an imaginary arena full of bleeding Kings. `Placetne, child of a generous race!' he cried to Beetle.
`Well,' began Beetle doubtfully, `he comes from Balliol, but I'm going to give the beast a chance. You see I can always make him hop with some more poetry. He can't report me to the Head, because it makes him ridiculous. (Stalky's quite right.) But he shall have his chance.'
Did some of you get your BA in Missing the Fucking Point?
After a brief spate of hope, it turns out that the Bush administration does not care about us after all. The block grants are not enough, and this plan makes no provision for some of the hardest-hit areas (e.g. most of the Lower Ninth Ward). The Baker bill was one of our biggest and best hopes, and thousands of people in Louisiana, possibly including yours truly, are going to lose their homes because of this imbecilic decision.
Take a picture of your ass in the questionable pants and send it to: howsmyass@gmail.com.
Please don't tell me who you are, this is anonymous. Comments will be moderated to weed out cretins and letches. Now for the fine print: no porn, no g-strings. Full-coverage pants only, please (or trousers if you're a Brit). Photos under 400 x 300 mp might not make it.
Why? Because a) you can't see your own ass, and b) no one you know is going to tell you the truth.
Bill Gates's PR problems in the technology industry come from foisting low-quality products on an unsuspecting public. No clear-thinking, healthy person will confuse these misdeeds with the issues of the human race. In the same sense, no sane individual will directly compare the merits of Pixar to that of the One Campaign.
You can be my wingman any time.
Has there been any news (at all) regarding Stephenson's next novel?
Not that I'm aware of.
Idle speculation: either he's stopped writing for a few years to pursue other interests, or his next book is going to be big, for values of Cryptonomicon scale bigness. (It took him seven years to write the Baroque Cycle. It's already been a couple of years since "The System of the World" came out. Therefore, if he's not taking time out, he's had sufficient time to emit another wrist-breaker.
One thing I will say: On the basis of his interviews and public statements, I have no reason to believe that he next novel will be a slim, 150 page long volume that is free of digressions, curlicues, diverticulae, lacunae, footnotes, appendices (veriform and otherwise), endnotes, illuminating codicils, cryptograms, caveats, perambulations on foot through the Black Forest while meditating upon the impact of 16th century silver-working techniques on biodiversity west of the Urals, gothick embelishments, whoopee cushions, monologues, flights of fancy, barock excrescenses, meditations upon the manifest evils of Livejournal, dialogues upon the nature of True Love meandering betwixt pillar and post while the disputants duel with grenade-carrying carrier pigeons, exploding cigars, maps of uncharted territories, and divers alarums and excursions.
Our son, despite whatever innate abilities he may have, at age 5 is primarily about being, well, the classic little boy. He's interested in aliens and battles and knights and asteroids and taking things apart (ahem!) to see how they work inside. He's active and wiry and full of energy and very physical (though not particularly athletic, in the team-sport sense) and hands-on. It's not so much that he won't sit still and pay attention for long stretches of time, it's that it's an immense struggle for him to do so. When he succeeds at that struggle, there's not much energy or focus left to do the actual task at hand.
Especially if it bores him (like teddy bears) and he wants to learn about something else (like the 10th planet). Especially if it's coloring, which he's never, ever liked. (Now, drawing--and copying figures and forms out of art books--that he enjoys.) And most especially if it's filling out handwriting sheets to precise letter-forming specifications, which he hates and, understandably, being a boy of his age, struggles over.
I mention the letter-forming specs deliberately, because he has openly asked us--on a number of occasions--why he has to write them in just one way for them to be right, when he sees them in different fonts all the time. (And yes--he knows what a font is--regular readers may recall all of my allusions to him watching me work on the computer too much.) To which we say, "Because the teacher says so; it's just something you have to do." What else can we say?
Spits sunflower seeds in cup | Says "waz up?" | Says "what up dawg?" | Says "FANTASTIC!" | Makes animal-like noises |
Squeaking | Snorting | Yelling or Screaming | Whistling | Humming |
Facial Grimaces | Smelling Objects | FREE SPOT | Coughing | Echo phenomena: own words or sounds; other's words or sounds |
Sniffling | Unusual changes in pitch or volume of voice | Says somebody's full name by drawing it out unnecessarily long | Throat clearing | Burping |
Give the two thumbs up | Touching people | Says "AWESOME!" | Singing with headphones on | Says "WooHoo!" |
My guess - not a damn thing - bill
A new feature (I'm going to be all about the features) I'll be playing with on this blog is 'You Ain't Wrong Thursday'.
Just a few links to other bloggers who 'Ain't Wrong' (and being 'ain't wrong' won't automatically mean that the commenter is 'right').
So that leaves fantasy sports. Naturally, MLB has decided to discourage fantasy sports by charging a licensing fee. Yes, they are taxing their fans. As if Personal Seating Licenses, municipal stadium initiatives and 8 DOLLAR BUD LIGHTS are not enough. Not only is this greedy, it's stupid, and it will be darn right impossible to enforce. It's almost as if baseball is trying to lose its 'exemption' from the antitrust laws. Of course if drive of all of your customers, the Sherman Act is the least of your worries.
The comments regarding last night's episode of Lost raise a more macro level question about the show. In the unexpected world where Lost proved to be both a critical and a popular phenomenon, thus eliminating any concern about ratings or cancellation anytime in the foreseeable future, what do you do if you're JJ and the Island Band, busy planning the show's arcs for the season? They pretty much have to slow things down and dole the big events out sparingly, lest they be left with nothing to write about after this season or next.
- fantasy projection #1: Stop the show at the end of season 3. Have them rescued. Happy endings all around, except for the handful killed off for dramatic purposes.
- fantasy projection #2: Spring sweeps features the big battle. Last episode of season shows a rescue ship on the horizon. Next season the survivors realize they haven't been rescued, but picked up by a new version of the D.H.A.R.M.A. initiative. Lather, rinse, repeat. Basically turns into The Pretender - an interesting idea that loses our interest because it is unable to resolve anything.
- fantasy projection #3: stuff happens, people die, season ends being rescued. Next season, everyone tries to reenter their old lives. But they're probably being observed and keep having weird flashbacks they don't understand. Rent Jacob's Ladder for plot points.
It's more likely an Alice in Wonderland reference. The two main directors of the 1951 classic were Clyde Geronimi and Wilfred Jackson. It's also worth noting it's not the first AiW reference in Jack-centric episode.
"From the dawn of our species, Man has been blessed with curiosity. Our most precious gift, without exception, is the desire to know more - to look beyond what is accepted as the truth and to imagine what is possible.” Alvar Hanso, Address to the U.N. Security Council, 1967
If this was a real situation, I suspect Sayid and Locke would emerge as the leaders and everything would be organized and all would have tasks to keep them busy and prepare for survival. Jack would be made to sit quietly in his first aid tent waiting to fix boo-boos.
One of the things we wanted to do on that episode was answer the question about the plane.
The thing that all the flashes had in common was they seemed to be moments from Mr. Eko's life. Some of which we might not have even seen yet. So I don't know what I would intuit by the way the monster was sort of the ethernet connection to his emotions. Was in some way downloading his fears and anxieties. And analyzing them. And then somehow able not to attack him based on the fact that Eko didn't seem particularly afraid of it. Which might explain why Locke was not savaged by the monster.
I would put a lot of credence to that speculation. The monster might be reacting to certain aspects of the character it's facing.
You have to explain America to someone from not here, but you can only use ten movies to do it. Which ten do you choose?
The idea is not to give them a history lesson, so you don't have to start with The New World and end with Jarhead.
What you're trying to do is give them a sense of who we are---your take on our dreams, our attitudes, our idioms, what we think we are, what we are afraid we are, what we really might be.
By Ogdard’s girth, it’s cold!
(Got that from the Random Thor Oath Generator. There is no Norse god named Ogdard; sounds like Osgard's hapless twin brother.) (Note: there is no such thing as the Random Thor Oath Generator. But there should be.) (Sigh. Now checking the interwebs to make sure there isn’t.) (By Gromnar’s Fistula, I find the results lacking! Someone get on this right away. A need goes unfilled? In this day and age?)
But what can Apple do? AppleWorks belongs to the earlier era of Mac app design, where Apple made defeatured, not-very-compatible equivalents to well-established programs that would otherwise cost lots of money (or that weren't available on the Mac). AppleWorks was specifically meant to give people a low-cost alternative to Office, one that didn't necessarily have great file-format compatibility and far less than anyone could consider feature parity, but at least it let people write term papers and do their rotisserie stats. But it's old, it's decrepit, and it has no future on Mac OS X—and it's being left out of the Intel Mac game altogether, it seems.
I know I'm not the first person to notice this, but the Golden Globes have become far more entertaining than the Academy Awards.
A lifesaver to many of us in the hinterlands, the mini-market chain Trader Joe's will be invading Manhattan in just a few months.
A list of all the Trader Joe's products I find essential would take an essay, but let me single out one -- that frozen marinated rack of lamb kicks ass, and comes out perfectly every time.
"I Just Like To Impress The Ladies A Lot"
My son, explaining why he insists on applying deodorant and aftershave after his bath.
He added: "That's an important technique to know, Mom, don't you know that?"
His 6th birthday isn't until June.
It's My Life, I'll Take It If I Want To
Or hire somebody to take it for me. Because it's mine, and I get to decide what gets done with it, same as I get to decide what gets done with my pen or my desk or my iPod.
But let’s assume Iran acquires nuclear weapons by early 2009. What then?
- The Couch Spectator Solution...
- The “Don’t Make Us Spank You” Solution...
- The “No More Fondue Forks For You” Solution...
- The “Look Away and Let The Israelis Do It” Solution...
Tehran took over the American Embassy – an act of war - in 1979, and President Carter quickly responded months later with a half-assed military operation which failed completely. Three years later, Iran's proxies in Lebanon killed hundreds of Marines, and President Reagan responded by forcefully withdrawing the survivors back to the homeland. When the first President Bush was presented a golden opportunity to depose a Middle East dictator, he instead sold out the future (and Iraq's Kurds and Shiites) to the brutal status quo. Faced with 18 dead American soldiers in Somalia, President Clinton, taking his cue from Reagan*, caved in.
I’m being paranoid you say? This sounds like complete bullshit? Au contraire! There’s a place in Manhattan where, if you order a glass of soda with no ice, you’re charged more money! That’s right folks! This place makes you pay for the extra volume the ice would normally occupy. Next thing you know they’ll be charging for ice on the side too.
From my admittedly cranky perspective, Bush/Cheney are lousy on the Bill of Rights, Clinton/Gore were lousy on the Bill of Rights, and everyone within bribing distance of the 2008 election (Hillary, McCain, Giuliani) are lousy on the Bill of Rights, too.
1. Contact 2. Office Space/Fight Club 3. ...and Justice for All 4. Dirty Harry 5. Reality Bites 6. The Big Chill 7. Miracle/Hoosiers 8. 8 Mile/Walk the Line/Ray 9. Do the Right Thing 10. Wall Street.
I'm so pissed about this, sorry. It's just that in ten years time, this kid won't remember what she was doing on July 16th 2005. In ten years time, I will be remembering how I was deprived of this nerdly honor by an opportunistic twat breeder and her shitling. I'm hurt. All my life, nothing has gotten to me more than being deliberately ignored, or passed over. Honestly; that's the sort of thing that can make me cry in public. Or key your car. Or viciously murder you and your family in the heat of frustration and never-ending denial Congratulations breeders, you win.
So you've got the Cavanagh factor, good writing, cynicism in the one-liners and a love of top-shelf music, which gives it that "High Fidelity" cachet. There's a rich visual style in "Love Monkey," attacking New York from fresh angles. But this is ultimately a grown-up series about music and the passion it inspires. Yes, it's a what-am-I-doing-with-my-life tale of discovery and also features a commitment-phobe looking for sex in New York, but the music is the core, and CBS has apparently cleared quite a bit of good music.