Since monthly archives are de rigueur for blog sites, I suspect I'm not the only person who is keenly aware of the fact that his first post of the month will appear foremost on that month's archive page from then on.
But given that is the case, you'd think I could come up with something better than this to write, huh?
2004 Sep 01 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Tits & Whiskey" by Mary Prankster
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Thoughts on the meaning of the phrase “the exception that proves the rule:”
I've long thought the phrase “the exception proves the rule” was generally used incorrectly, if not nonsensically. People would use that catch-phrase whenever something disproved a generalization as if the disproof was itself a proof, and I couldn't see any way the phrase could make sense except ironically.
“My dog is friendly,” claims the girl.
The boy reaches down to pet it, and the dog rips his arm off.
“I thought you said your dog was friendly,” says the boy, then passes out from blood loss.
“That's the exception that proves the rule!”
As I said, the phrase didn't seem to make any sense except ironically, but it didn't seem most people were using it ironically. By definition, the phrase seemed self-contradictory nonsense.
Then a while ago a different definition occurred to me. I decided the word “prove” might be meant in the old sense of “to test,” as in a proving ground. An exception that proves a rule would, therefore, be something that tests a rule or calls into question the validity of the rule.
The phrase seemed not to mean that an exception validates a rule, but rather that an exception disputes a rule. Now at least it made sense to me, but if I was right then people seemed to be using the phrase incorrectly. (Much as people say “I could care less” when I suspect they mean “I couldn't care less.”)
For some time I concluded the phrase must mean a testing of a rule, but then one day when I was explaining my take on the phrase (to somebody who, I suspect, couldn't have cared less) I had another thought altogether. This new idea made much more sense, and I've come to believe the phrase must (at least when coined) have been meant this way:
An exception to a given rule proves the existence of that rule.
For instance, if you see a sign that reads “No Parking 4PM-6PM” then you can infer there is a rule that you are permitted to park at other times. If you could never legally park there, the sign would simply read “No Parking.” The fact that the sign is phrased in the form of an exception proves that a contrary rule must exist to which the exception applies.
I like this meaning of the phrase much more. It just feels right. On the other hand, it also means that most people do indeed use the phrase incorrectly. If you say “my dog is friendly” and then your dog bites somebody anyway, you don't have an exception that proves the rule—you just have a nasty dog.
But if you say “my dog doesn't bite people on Saturday or Sunday,” that's an exception that proves the rule your dog should be avoided on weekdays.
Isn't English fun?
2004 Sep 01 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Everybody Come Down" by Delgados
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The new iMac G5 design doesn't wallop me the way the previous one did, but it is growing on me. The problem I have with the new design is it's a bit, if not boring, at lease unexciting from the front: a little too much eMac and not enough wee!Mac.
It's a design to be appreciated from the side, but that's not what you see when you use it.
I like that it's VESA compliant, so I anticipate lots of nice support arms to make the new iMac float above desks. I'm a fan of all-in-one designs, too, and I think that aside from the unimpressive video card it seems to be a heck of a price/performance bargain.
The expanse of white below the display, though—that's a missed opportunity. I think it would have served Apple well to envision a creative new use for that area:
- A cork board? Perhaps a bit too 1970s, but it would have been useful to be able to pin notes and things to the computer. Still lots of room above that area for sticky notes. A cork board would offer interesting decorative options, too.
- Apple walked away from floppies many years ago (and good riddance, I say), so perhaps it would have been safe to make that area on the front of the computer magnetized (if the drives et al inside could be shielded). Another fun option for decorating your computer, handy for both fridge magnets and bad poetry.
- Perhaps the iMac could have shipped with some dry-erase markers and a little holster on the side to hold them.
- Even a little flip-out tray for CDs and DVDs, or a flip-out mirror to get ready for your incoming iSight calls, might have been handy.
Basically, I'm thinking along the lines of being able to customize the look of the iMac in ways that are temporary (so they don't hurt resale value) but also creative (so they increase perceived value).
I do think at the very least the bottom of the iMac, with its down-facing speakers pushing the air about, is ideal for hanging little tassels or better yet some grass skirt material.
In all, the iMac G5 has a pretty and functional design that I'm liking more by the day—but it cries out for a bit of personalization in the way the already personable iMac G4 never did.
2004 Sep 01 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Mayan Pilot" by Splashdown
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Jack "up against the wall, punk" Valenti, the soon-to-be-former head of the Motion Picture Association of America, recently gave an interview to Engadget.
I'd like to retort. In fact, I'd like to retort hard, so please eat my words…
2004 Sep 03 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Blue Collar Man (Long Nights)" by Styx
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My good friend Tanya Smith is back from the inaugural run of her brainchild The Actors' Retreat. By all accounts it was a smash.
I'm very proud of Tanya for this. I remember when she first proposed the idea, not too many months ago, and it's amazing that she pulled off such a great event. I suspect there will be a lot of people signing up early to reserve a spot for next year's retreat when word gets out.
Of course, Tanya's biggest accomplishment is still the fact that she starred in my first movie, but that goes without saying. (But not without linking.)
2004 Sep 03 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Walkin' The Dog" by Rufus Thomas
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I set out to add an RSS feed to this site last night, and I wound up adding a comment function instead. Strange how the mind wanders.
Since the commenting, like everything else 'round here, is the result of hand-coding the functions myself, please: (1) don't get too upset if I have to clear out the comment database if things go horribly wrong, (2) bear with me if there are kinks to unkink and bugs to debugificate, and (3) warn me if I start numbering the things I say.
But hey, at least this give y'all another way to request an RSS feed. ;-)
2004 Sep 04 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "I'm Not Your Mother" by Blake Babies
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I love to go on road trips. This past weekend I drove to Philadelphia and back to pick up a vintage Apple IIe computer. I drove 1,866 KM in 30 hours, and spent much of that time lost. But it was a fantastic trip.
I took along my camera, and used its voice memo function to record notes on the road. I took some photographs, too, but since I drove mostly at night my travelog is a little skimpy on images.
I've added a new Travelog section to my blog site to house road diaries like this one. I'll be uploading my scrapbooks from earlier journeys when I get a chance.
The Apple IIe Road Trip travelog I've just posted is only a draft. It definitely needs editing, particularly to trim it down, and I'll try to polish it this weekend. But even in this rough stage you can listen to bits of road wisdom like this:
My People Call It Maze [60K WAV]
Don't you wish you had my mad travel reporter skills?
2004 Sep 10 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Bright As Yellow" by The Innocence Mission
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Oh Real Networks, you silly thing. You state in your recent press release that you've sold a "record 3 million songs" during your three-week music sale.
And now I must ask you to eat my words…
2004 Sep 10 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Different Kind Of Wonderful" by Fisher
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Have I become one of THOSE people who immediately call for tech support when something goes wrong rather than first trying to figure it out myself?
Here's the context. Last night at around 10 o'clock I was on the net, and had been for about an hour, when suddenly my net connection was dropped.
aside:
I've always been the one my friends and family call for tech support. I'm the guy who gets the 2AM calls about accidentally erased term papers, and the “don't eat lunch, fix my PC” calls at work. I'm the one who is always told “nothing” when I ask what somebody last did, and I'm the one who understands that “nothing” is code for “it's silly, so I won't admit it—ha ha, try to figure out THIS one!”
I'm the one they call when an unplugged fax machine doesn't work, because I'm the one who has foolishly made it easier to call me than to try to solve the problem themselves. But to be fair, who could be expected to look at the power light before picking up the telephone? None of my relatives, that's for sure.
What my relatives don't realize is that when I ask “what did you last do?” I'm not accusing them, so I'm not fishing for a “nothing.” What I'm hoping to hear is a list of the troubleshooting steps they've taken on their own before calling me. I dream of the day one of them will say, “Well, first I checked that it had power. Then I checked that the telephone line was plugged in and snug. Then I turned off the machine, waited a bit, and turned it back on to retry. I checked that the “ready” light is green, and there are no other lights warning me of a problem like lack of toner or a paper jam. I opened it up to check for a paper jam just in case anyway. Then I looked through the troubleshooting section of the manual I keep under the machine itself, and it suggested I hold down the reset button for 10 seconds. I did that. Then I thought about what was different between this time and the last time that it worked, and I really can't see that I'm doing anything different at all. Then I checked the clock, and I figured you'd be home from work but not in the middle of dinner and not going to bed yet, and I thought it might not be too inconvenient if I called you to ask if you had any suggestions. Is now a good time to handle this, or would you like to call me back?”
That relative would be immediately entered into my will under the category of “Receives All My Worldly Goods.” And not a moment too soon since I'd probably die of shock.
end of aside
Since I had been on the net for about an hour, I knew my connections were good. The PPP server had probably just dropped for some reason, or perhaps I had a noise spike on the line. I looked over at the modem and saw it had three out of four lights green, so all was well except I wasn't connected. I tried to connect again, but no dice.
“Oh well,” I thought, “I'll give their server a bit of time.” Actually, that's only roughly what I thought; the actual quote might have had slightly harsher language.
An hour later, I tried again, but the same dice were not dicing. “Must be problems at Sympatico,” I thought, “gosh darn it and golly gee.” (That quote I'm pretty sure about.) Obviously there'd be no net for me for a while, so I went off to play with my new Apple IIe because it cares not for passing fads like the internet or lowercase characters.
This morning, fully 12 hours after I last tried to connect, I tried again. Still no dice. There simply were no dice to be found anywhere, not even the 12-sided Dungeons & Dragons dice that I used to have around me frequently when I last was using an Apple IIe regularly.
There were still three green lights on the modem, and since I was actually on the net when the service cut out I knew the problem wasn't with my own computer. I gave in and called Sympatico's tech support line. I assumed I'd hear a note on the answering voice mail about what the problem was, and perhaps an estimate of when service would resume. Worst case scenario, I'd talk to a techmonkey and ask him what was up in downtimetown.
While I was waiting in the telephone queue, I prepared to answer the questions the deskjockey would ask. I brought up my Sympatico account information on screen so I'd have it handy. I thought about the first basic questions he'd have to run through in case the problem was isolated to my situation:
What have I recently changed or installed on my computer (“nothing,” I'd delight in saying); am I running Windows XP (“no, I'm using Mac OS X” I'd surprise him with, and wait a very long time while he dug out the dusty Mac support sheets); is the modem powered up (“yes,” I'd say, smugly, not being able to hide the smugliness of my voice and, frankly, not trying to); how many lights are green on the modem (“three,” I'd answer, so quickly he'd know I was anticipating his questions because I'm Smarter Than That, oh silly techmonkey); is the ethernet light on the modem green to show a solid connection to my computer (“no, the other three are green but that ENET light is off” I'd answer with a smirk—hey, wait a second, what was that last answer…?).
My ethernet cable had come slightly out of my PowerBook. Argh and double argh, I can't believe I didn't actually look at which three lights were green. The cable looked like it was connected, but a quick push resulted in a “click” that definitely had the sound of snide laughter to it.
I hung up the telephone before the support person answered so I didn't have to admit what I'd done. I'd hate to admit this to anyone.
So, um, could you please disregard all of the above. Nothing to see here, folks, nothing to see at all. Please move along.
Hey, look over there!
[runs away]
2004 Sep 12 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Busted" by Vitamin C
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The co-founder of an Oklahoma prescription drug service that was, according to Wired, “shut down for violating federal drug importation laws” has started a new online drug pusher, um, supplier.
It's called “Integrity Meds.”
The mind boggles. (And the spam torrents.)
2004 Sep 12 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Nothing Natural" by Lush
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I was peer-pressured into taking one of those silly online quizzes that are so popular with other bloggers. (By “other bloggers” I mean “younger bloggers,” and by “younger bloggers” I mean “girls.”)
The bogus-stat-fest in question was the What animal best portrays your sexual appetite?? Quiz. Nothing says thoughtful scientific inquiry like a double question mark. [Update: I've been informed the site is down to a single question mark now. I wonder why??]
The rest of the group were dubbed kittens or gazelles, with one lion among them. Then I take my turn, and I'm told that I'm a rabbit. Specifically, a “horny rabbit.” Further, I'm a “sex-crazed nympho” and the descriptive summary ends with the comment “You probably need some sort of counseling.”
I suspect I'm supposed to have some sort of problem with that description, but I'm just not sure what. But what I am sure about is that it's fun to type “quizzes” because of the double z.
Quizzes. Quizzes. Quizzes.
2004 Sep 13 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "You Keep Me Hangin' On" by Diana Ross & The Supremes
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I think Google's job recruitment campaign with its math puzzle on a billboard is great.
The first thing I thought when I saw the ad was to recall the incredible grassroots marketing campaign for the less-than-incredible movie A.I. That one had secret web sites, messages buried inside HTML code, remote fax machines that would respond with instructions on how to find another message, and so forth.
What was great about that campaign was that I had no idea what it was all about (okay, maybe that's not so great for an ad campaign). All I knew was I spotted what seemed to be a hidden message on a web site, which lead me to a series of bizarre sites discussing “smart homes” that may have killed somebody, which sites contained hidden messages inside their own HTML code that lead to a large and detailed site for a university that didn't seem to exist, and so forth.
It was a great game, an intriguing mystery, and I just knew that any movie with this sort of ad campaign would have to be incredible.
I was wrong. But the ad campaign still rocked me like a hurricane. Nowadays, of course, hurricanes are trendy so we get a new one every week. But I was rocked like one of those old fashioned hurricanes, like Hazel or something.
2004 Sep 16 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May" by Suzanne Vega
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So much to blog about … so little actual blogging going on. I will update later today or tonight, and I thought I'd post a little reminder to myself about some of the things I might spout on about.
I might blog about how a local shop lost my business when I picked up their frequent buyer card.
I might blog about an upcoming vintage video game and computer show in Ohio that has my heart all aflutter.
I might blog about switching away from Safari as my web browser of choice, and why I did so.
I might blog about watching television tonight for the first time in about two years.
I might blog about the results so far of my first attempt at writing a piece of interactive fiction.
Who knows what you'll find when you check back tonight? Some of the above? All of the above? None of the above? A monkey?
Okay probably not the monkey, but I make no guarantees.
2004 Sep 22 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "The Only Living Boy In New York" by Simon And Garfunkel
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The day I got my frequent buyer's card from Sunrise Records was the day I stopped shopping there. In fact, it was the membership card that cost the store my business.
They gave me a discount, and that drove me away. To learn how, you'll have to open wide and eat my words…
2004 Sep 22 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Freeborn Man" by The Outlaws
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I recently picked up a vintage Apple computer, which was the subject of my first travelog and which has rekindled my interest in classic computing and 8-bit gaming.
I have thus far resisted my urge to redesign my blog site as green monospace text on a black background, and for that I am to be applauded methinks.
But it remains to be seen how much stronger that urge will become when I hit the road on a second classic computer road trip. This time I'll be headed southwest to Ohio on October 23, 2004, for The Classic Computing and Gaming Show.
Classic computers and 8-bit gaming all in the basement of a Presbyterian Church in Mentor, Ohio. I'm there!
I'm so there, I'm standing there right now wondering where the heck everybody else is.
2004 Sep 23 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "When Yuba Plays The Rumba On The Tuba" by Spike Jones
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The Word On The Street festival took over the grounds around the provincial capital building today. Is there anything better than walking around a park full of booksellers in tents on a beautiful afternoon?
Well, okay, sure, there are lots of things better than that. But it is a good thing is what I'm getting at.
There was a time years back when one could count on coming home from The Word On The Street with a bag full of free books. Such times are gone, but it's still a really nice way to spend an afternoon. I liked the new park setting, too; previous events were always held along Queen Street, and this new setting made for much more room to stroll and lots of shady spaces to take breaks. Bands played, children chased dogs, merriment was made, and books were celebrated.
I love a crowd that loves books. It was very nice to walk among hundreds, or more probably thousands, of people who dig reading. I must admit I fell in love with every girl I saw—“she's a reader,” I'd think, wistfully, and twang would go the strings of my literature-biased heart. I didn't talk to any of them, but if you were a young lady down at Queen's Park today you should know I love you and I'll always cherish the time we had together.
Call me.
At the festival I met up with Tanya, back from her Actor's Retreat, and we ate yummy Tai food at Green Mango. Funniest moment: me explaining to Tanya that she can't pet every dog she sees, and her exclaiming “But it wants me to pet it” with such certainty that I had to concede the argument.
If I had either the cable for my digital camera or my card reader on hand, I would be posting a photo or two of the event right here. Yes, right here. Instead, I'm going to write this far from interesting paragraph and later swap it for the photos. Aha, such sneakiness. And then, oh yes my dear reader, I will deny this paragraph ever existed. “Paragraph,” I'll ask, arching my eyebrow in a completely innocent manner, “what paragraph?” Oh yes I will, you wait and see.
The only book I bought at the festival was Jim Munroe's latest novel, An Opening Act of Unspeakable Evil. I was very happy to spot Munroe's booth in the park: there's no better way to buy an indie author's book than to fork over the cash person to person. Jim signed the book for me, and added a couple of splashes of blood:
By the way, he also has the best online guide to self-publishing. It covers economics, design, distribution, promotion, you name it. A must-bookmark site for anyone interested in putting out their own books some day.
After the festival I caught a showing of Stephen Fry's directorial debut, Bright Young Things. I think great novels don't make great movies, and this didn't change my mind. But it is worth seeing, especially if you already know the joy of Evelyn Waugh. (In fact, knowledge of Waugh's Vile Bodies is perhaps essential to enjoying the film at all.)
Fry's movie doesn't hold a candle to the one I saw on Friday night, however: Shaun of the Dead is my favorite movie of the year so far, hands down, no competition. I loved the characters, the plot, the lot. And I laughed my ass off. Honestly, right off. I'm having to stand up at the keyboard just to type this.
And that's what I did today, since you asked.
Oh, you didn't?
2004 Sep 26 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Down In The Tube Station At Midnight" by The Jam
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I picked up a new Moleskin notebook yesterday since my most recent notebook was full. As of my last one I have switched to the smaller sized ruled notebooks in place of the large ones for my “walking around notebook.” The large ones are a little easier to write in, and obviously hold more on each page, but the small ones are so nicely sized for pockets that they are more convenient for always-on-me carrying.
aside:
I use the larger size for my diary now. Yes, I'm a diarist. I've kept journals since public school, and now have boxes and boxes full of them. Diaries, that is, not public schools. Those I keep in bags.
end of aside
I'm sure I've gushed on about Moleskins before, but I intend to do so again. My blog, my rules. So there. The Moleskin is the perfect notebook. Acid free paper that doesn't easily bleed through (although I prefer pencil anyway). It has an elastic strap to keep it closed, a built in bookmark, and a handy pocket at the back. The binding never comes apart, and it opens flat for writing.
I'm happy that they've become popular because they are now much more readily available. I used to have to order them from overseas, but now there are lots of local resellers who stock them. Strangely, though, their prices have skyrocketed since becoming trendy—I'd have thought the additional production would have driven prices down. But they're still worth every penny.
Well, maybe not every penny. Not those rare misprinted pennies that are worth like tens of thousands of dollars. But Moleskins are certainly worth every normal penny. And a bunch of other coins, too, maybe even by the handful. They're that good.
2004 Sep 27 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett & Blackhearts
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The first Nerd Night is happening tonight. Well, I write “tonight” but I guess that depends on when you are reading this. Is it Monday, September 27, 2004, where you are? Then the event is tonight. If it's already Tuesday, then the event was yesterday.
Hmm, perhaps it's much later, and you're reading my blog archives. If so, hello, thanks for clicking on that link on that other blog site or for finding me on Google (speaking of which, ahem: FREE XXX NAKED PICTURES OF ZOE BALL—there, that's should bump up my traffic nicely). Anyway, thanks for visiting the site, and by the way you missed a really cool event, sucka.
Or maybe it's hundreds of years from now and you're reading this as part of your first year university survey course on the Life and Writing of Carrington Vanston. (Hey, I'm not a total egotist: I admit the possibility that it'll be an elective.) If so, you probably know all about the event from my diary, you big snoop, so go write your damn essay and leave me and my realtime readers alone.
But for those of you who aren't futuristic giant-brained hyperuniversity students, Nerd Night is a (hopefully monthly) evening of board and card games organized by my pal Erin (of Who Gives A Shirt? fame).
I think it's a great idea: gathering people at a restaurant to eat food and play games. Fun shall abound, I'm sure. I love games—board, card, parlor, you name it—but opportunities to play are unfortunately few. I'm really looking forward to this.
If you are in or around Toronto, the invitation to Nerd Night is open. Erin's got a web page up describing the location and some of the games that will be available. She is keen on something called Settlers of Catan, but as soon as I read the words "manage resources" I'm in snoozeville. However, games like Kill Doctor Lucky, Lunch Money, and 221B Baker Street are ones I've never played but which look very appealing.
Come out and play.
2004 Sep 27 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Respectable Street" by XTC
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The first Nerd Night was smashing fun. I played Scattergories, Smart Mouth, Lunch Money, and MahJong. I'd never played MahJong before, and even now I think I only have a vague grasp of the rules.
The game I enjoyed the most was Lunch Money. I lost both times I played, but I was almost victorious (ie. nearly the last kid conscious) in the second game. Winning is secondary to the game play in this one, though, because the game itself is so funny. It's a card game in which each player takes the role of a kid fighting in a schoolyard. Cards let you not only kick and eye-poke but also humiliate your opponents. It's hilarious. The images and text on the cards are laugh-out-loud funny (but very dark humor), and the game play is a hoot. How can you not love a game where you can play a series like this:
You play a Grab card and point to an opponent saying “I try to grab you.” Like all the cards, this has a dark, gothic image of a young girl (the game designer's daughter, I'm told). On this card she's opening a door, peering into a dark room. The card reads “Nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide.”
Your opponent doesn't have a Dodge or Block card, and so he says “I'm grabbed.”
You plop down a Choke card, which reads “I'm in my happy place. Aren't you?” You proclaim that you are now choking your opponent. That means he'll lose a point every round until he breaks free, and he's defenseless against attacks.
But not so fast: he breaks out of your choke with a Headbutt. His card reads “Twinkle twinkle little stars, how you wonder who you are.”
You're knocked back, dazed, and the girl beside you is pulling out a Knife card that reads “This may sting a little.”
It was a terrific evening of gaming fun, and it was a cheap night out, too: there is all-you-can-eat pasta for under ten bucks at the Pizza Nova where it was held. Tough to beat that.
I'm definitely going to attend next month's Nerd Night, and I'm looking forward to playing more new games. I'll post a note with some advance warning ahead of time in case any of y'all want to come out and join the fun. Just watch out for my Spinning Backfist card…
2004 Sep 28 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "The Dark Of The Matinee" by Franz Ferdinand
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I'm trying a new cereal today. It's called Oatmeal Crisp Triple Berry. It supposedly has “delicious hearty flakes with real strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries.” How they go about processing the berries so that they have an extended shelf life is something I choose not to think about this morning.
This cereal should have a warning label. Not about the berries, well at least as far as I know. The warning label I think should be applied is “Beware Of Errant Milk Pouring Angles.”
You see, the flakes are not flat. They are curled up in my bowl like little bowls themselves. This is dangerous for someone like me who doesn't hold the milk still when I pour. I'm not a “pour in one place” kinda guy. I usually move the stream of milk around as I pour, soaking the cereal from above.
I did that this morning, and discovered the little bowl-shapes are also little ramp-shapes. The milk went in … and it fountained right back out. Not in a random direction, either. It went right for me.
So scratch one outfit; I'll have to change before going to work. No cereal is worth that kind of effort, no delicious flakes are that hearty.
Except I just noticed that in the time it has taken me to type this the milk in the bowl has turned blue. I haven't had a cereal that changes my milk's color since I was a kid. All is forgiven. This cereal is now my favorite, milk fountain and all.
2004 Sep 28 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Gimme Three Steps" by Lynyrd Skynyrd
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Russ Meyer died last week. Bummer. He was one of cinema's greatest visionaries and, I'd argue, one of its most important filmmakers. His influence was massive, far beyond what many people suspect. From Baywatch to Tombraider, it all came through Russ.
Hey, I didn't say his influence was necessarily good, just massive. And that's fitting since big and trashy was what Meyer was all about.
It's been almost a week since Meyer kicked the bucket, and I've been thinking about what I wanted to write about him and his films.
What I always admired about films like Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! was the humor, the world view: any tongue not wagging was planted firmly in cheek. His films had all the fun and humor that mainstream pornography doesn't.
The main difference between Meyer's work and the creatively barren sex films produced today is that Meyer loved women and today's pornographer's seem to hate them. Meyer's films were a display of both his own big boob fantasies and self punishment for having them. In Meyer's movies the women won, and the men who objectified them were soundly thrashed.
In modern porn, on the other hand, the women are not empowered. They are degraded, or I suppose debased is a more apt term. It's all about scrawny underage(-looking) girls or surgically moulded women being literally used by men who really don't appear to like them in the least.
I'm not offended by pornography. I'm not offended by boobies and willies. I'm not offended by the bits I have, nor by the bits I like. Plus I'm not offended in the least by things that have no purpose whatsoever other than to try to titillate me.
But I am offended by most modern porn. Why? Because modern porn is not fun and sexy, it's angry and hateful.
Meyer's films were full of violence, sure. But it was a righteous violence directed at punishing objectifiers, couched in a b-movie playfulness that removed the sharper barbs. That's a totally different thing than acts of debasements directed at literal objects of lust. Meyer had fun, and so did his audience: it was titillation and even punishment but without guilt.
But how can one take pleasure from most modern porn without feeling guilty? Enjoying something that involves the debasing of a person should make you feel guilty. Society already associates sex and guilt, unfortunately, and it's a shame that modern sex flicks seeks to give credence to that misguided link.
Even the titles in porn have lost their fun. It's no longer a world of puns on mainstream cinema or titles that reflect a lighthearted view of sex. Oh sure, there's the occasional Forrest Hump or Sperms of Endearment out there, but most of them now seem to follow a basic formula instead: (size adjective)+(race)+(sexual organ)+(preposition or conjunction)+(size or age adjective)+(race)+(insulting term for females).
Give me Flesh Gordon any day.
aside:
I like it when mainstream movies themselves have titles that could easily have been porn films: Fists Of Fury; Adventures In Babysitting; Big Daddy; The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T. I look forward to your own suggestions in the comments section.
end of aside
Modern porn depresses me, for all of the above and for the fact that it's only going to lead to yet another generation of men afraid of public hair.
And I bet there's nothing we can do about it, because Russ Meyer is dead.
2004 Sep 28 // Link // E-mail
Song in my head: "Sit" by Nowhere Blossoms
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The difference between England, Canada, and the United States might just be found in searching their respective Amazon online shops. I just performed the same search on the .co.uk, .ca, and .com versions of Amazon and I found the results telling.
My search was prompted by the new special edition DVD of the hilarious British TV show Spaced. It's a terrific show, and fans of Shaun of the Dead who haven't seen Spaced are missing a great pair of seasons (and a lot of jokes in Shaun).
Searching for “Spaced” on amazon.co.uk, the first result is indeed the Spaced : Definitive Collector's Edition DVD.
Searching for “Spaced” on the Canadian version, amazon.ca, the first result is a book called Spaced Out: Policy, Difference and the Challenge of Inclusive Education.
The same search on amazon.com yields a CD called Spaced Out: The Best of Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner as the first result.
Who knew you could sum up whole countries in a click?
