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February 08, 2010
why i sold every last share of my microsoft stock
Three years ago, when HD-DVD and Blu-Ray were competing to become the next format, I confidently sunk $800 into a Blu-Ray player. How did I know it would win the format wars? Because Microsoft bet huge on HD-DVD. And if there's one thing I know, it's that Microsoft couldn't wipe its own ass if you gave it a mirror, map and three bloodhounds.
You probably know that too, but believe me, that degree of ineptitude permeates every corner of my life, every day. (And yes, I'm aware that that sentence came out unintentionally funny. I decided to let you enjoy it, too.)
Here's a taste of my life. Witness these two search ads, one for Bing, which Microsoft desperately wants you to use as a verb, the other for the company whose name you already do.
Remember when your middle-aged dad tried to impress your friends by saying that Wham! was, like, totally rad? That ad strikes exactly the same note. And it makes me cringe with embarrassment exactly the same way.
"Look! We, like, totally get that you think vampires are cool! We're cool too!"
Alternative intended message: "Use Bing, die horribly."
Now look at Google's brilliant ad. Simple. Elegant. Amusing. Sweet. Unmuddled. About its own product and not someone else's. And not embarrassing after 15 minutes have elapsed in pop culture.
So, to summarize these ads' messages: Google changes your life, and Bing ends it.
posted by john at 09:16 AM • permalink
February 05, 2010
giving the dexil her due
As I've written previously, my dog, Dex, was not exactly an early bloomer. "She's got doggie down syndrome," observed one person. I had just about accepted that she was a moron when at around 14 months, something clicked. In terms of IQ, she went from worst to first among my dogs, overnight.
My first indication was when she figured out the difference between shower lengths. If she sees me get out of the shower in less than a minute, she goes right into her kennel because she knows I'm adjourning to the hot tub. This was welcome.
Soon after that, she figured out how to lower the car windows. This was unwelcome.
Now she listens to my phone conversations. If she hears Dirt's ringtone, she gets up and listens attentively to what I say. And if she hears "See you in a few," she goes batshit, because that means she gets to play with her friend Evie.
At this pace, she'll eclipse my own intelligence by 6 o'clock tonight. I think. Maybe I should have her do the math.
posted by john at 04:08 PM • permalink
February 04, 2010
ganesha is his co-pilot
My favorite clip of the week.
posted by john at 09:42 AM • permalink
February 03, 2010
cracks
I was wary of Anna's friendship from the start. She's got the two qualities I look for in a woman:
- Beautiful
- Married
"Understood."
But bloom a friendship did, and, determined to start this off on the right note, I invited her, her husband and their kids over for dinner. All was apparently well. And then one night Anna and I were chatting when suddenly she went into confessional mode. Her husband had had an affair last year. Aw, crap.
"I will miss you," Allie said the next day, not entirely kidding.
The next time I saw the husband, I latched on to him to discuss football, and somehow we got to talking about the significant amounts of time Anna spends doing volunteer work. I told him how awesome I think he is for helping to accommodate all that time away from their home and kids. He snorted.
"I just had to put my foot down about that. When I've been working all day, I want a meal on the table and I don't want to have to deal with the kids n'shit. I said, 'You know, I'm sorry, but you are the woman. You need to take care of this shit,'" said the cheater of his wife, who incidentally also works all day.
I relayed this conversation to Allie. She sighed resignedly. "Seriously, what IS it with you?"
"It's a gift."
"See, I don't think it is."
Months have now passed, and if I had any nefarious designs, I obviously wouldn't be writing about Anna here. But all that backstory was necessary for you to fully appreciate how the following development makes me feel. A couple times a month, she and I will be talking, and I will make a remark, and she'll reply "That's exactly what my husband said! You two are so much alike, I swear!"
Charmed.
Charmed n'shit, even.
posted by john at 09:28 AM • permalink
February 02, 2010
saints nation
I hear an announcer say it at least eight times a year: "No one's fans travel like Steelers fans do. I think the Steelers fans might actually outnumber the home fans, Vern!"
This is, of course, complete bullplop. Steelers fans may travel well, but a good many of those fans woke up in their own beds on game day.
Is this because they're front-runners? Sure, some of them. More likely they're displaced Pittsburghers. There are large pockets of them in every major city. The numbers are truly astounding: when the steel industry collapsed in the 80s, Pittsburgh shed 150,000 jobs and over half (!) of its peak population. They scattered across the country and raised families. They are a "nation" in the looser meaning of the word: a body of people of common origin who may or may not be in the same location. They are, in other words, the lost tribe of Pittsburgh. And what connects them are the sports loyalties of their forbears. That's why their provincialism about the Steelers can seem a little...much sometimes. The ties run deeper than merely football.
It is unique. Or rather, it was.
As I look at the Saints prepare for their first Super Bowl, something looks familiar. A different sort of calamity hit New Orleans, a far faster and more devastating one. Its people scattered across the country and haven't returned. And now you see it: the lost peoples of that particular nation are stirring. They're seeking one another out and gleefully commiserating. They finally have something happy to share, the word "share" being more operative than even "happy." They're returning home, figuratively if not literally.
It's wonderful to see. I don't know that anyone could be as happy for them as this Steelers fan. I suspect that I know just how deep this joy is running.
You dat.
posted by john at 08:11 AM • permalink
February 01, 2010
evolution of my thoughts one sunny wednesday when i had the flu
Noon - iPad? Seriously? What a horrible name. It makes me think of feminine hygiene products.
12:05 - Heh heh. I hope my iPad comes with wings for heavy flow.
1:30 (on phone) - "Did you hear what they're calling the Apple tablet? Yeah! I'm gonna call it my maxi-pad and the iPhone my panty liner. Har, har!"
3:30 - Wow, there's a lot of tampon jokes going on out there. I guess it was sort of obvious.
4:03 - Ugh, I'd better stop with the tamPod jokes.
7:30 - My god, every media outlet, every discussion board, is saturated with people who think this is an clever joke. Stop embarrassing yourselves. Give it a rest, already.
9:04 pm - (comedian) "I hope my iPad comes with wings for heavy flow."
9:04 pm (me) - "Oh, HAR HAR. Moron."
Really, can you remember a joke going from hilarious to unfunny pop-cliche so rapidly? By comparison, "Yeah, that's the ticket" and "Talk to the hand" were multi-generational epics.
posted by john at 08:46 AM • permalink
January 29, 2010
managee
Last weekend, I went grocery shopping with a friend who happens to be a middle-manager at Microsoft. It didn't take long for me to start thinking of the outing as a microcosm of my professional life. First, she yanked me around the store willy-nilly, making me visit the same aisles, two, three times instead of simply formulating and following a plan. Then she forgot the one item we went there especially for. I reminded her. "Oh. Right," she said, yanking me to the bakery aisle for a fourth go-round.
The metaphoria in which I was drowning reached its apex in the hot-dog aisle. "We need to get these," she said. I grabbed the very package she was tapping with her extended index finger. "Not those!" she scoffed. "They have to be all-beef. Duh!"
posted by john at 11:27 AM • permalink
January 28, 2010
creepiness
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the fates of certain child actors. My Google stats for that post indicate overwhelmingly that people find it by googling Carrie Henn, the child actress who played Newt in Aliens. This, for a post that explicitly mentioned Superman's penis. I see zero hits from people googling the superwang, though.
This, this is why all of my friends are women. Deep down, they're just wired better.
posted by john at 09:38 AM • permalink
January 27, 2010
these are definitely not my bananas
If you didn't seen Brendan Frasier at the Golden Globes, by all means...
posted by john at 12:09 AM • permalink
January 26, 2010
what are my strengths and weaknesses? why do you assume they're different things?
The first interview I ever participated in was one of my worst. I was applying for a busboy position, the Bic Dispoable Lighter of jobs, but at 17 I didn't yet know that. I had a new girlfriend, hence had commenced the as-yet-unceasing era of needing a constant supply of cash. The manager sat me in the bar of the restaurant, positioning me facing the window such that I was looking into the blinding sun at sunset. So desperate was I for a job, it did not occur to me to move or to ask the favor of shutting the blinds. No, I sat there and suffered through his questions, tears running down my face as my corneas simmered in their own juices.
Interview debacle #2 occurred months later, when I applied a job as a library clerk. My interviewer was a cool middle-aged woman who listened to a lot of Teddy Pendergrass. I didn't know that yet, though. During one of my utterly incoherent, rambling answers, I mentioned having recently moved from home. "...but, you know, I wasn't kicked out or anything, it was more like my mom, um, died, kinda, so it was more like home left me than it was I left home, if you think about it, so it's not like I..."
"Wrap it up."
"Right. Bless you."
I saved my best work for Microsoft. I had just gone to the brink of bankruptcy over a girl, which resulted in the humiliation of my having to borrow money from another girl. And my first interviewer asked me that most original of questions: "Why do you want to work at Microsoft?"
I was confused by the question. "Your checks clear, don't they?"
Over the ensuring years, I would conduct many, many interviews, but two stand out.
Interviewee sitting in my guest chair realizes who I am: "Oh! Were you the contractor who called the manager a 'cocksucker' at the staff meeting and didn't get fired for it?" I've always loved his qualification. Apparently the manager was called that a lot.
Interviewer: "Do you know [name of wretched person]?"
Me: "Ugh, what a cunt."
Yes, I've come a long way since squinting in pain in that restaurant's bar. A long, classy way. And you know what? I was offered every single one of those jobs. Must have been that interviewing class Ohio State made me take.
posted by john at 07:41 AM • permalink
January 25, 2010
who dat?
If Haiti or Indonesia had an NFL team in the Super Bowl, I'd root for them. But they don't, so New Orleans it is.
Thank god it's not my team against the Saints in the Super Bowl. Who outside of Indy can morally root against that town getting some good news?
posted by john at 10:46 AM • permalink
January 22, 2010
what the kids have taught me
In honor of distinguished Stank troll Tamara's bun in the oven, I thought I'd depart from tradition a bit and reflect on what my friends' kids have taught me.
My 1st through 17th instincts were to leave a bunch of blank space after that sentence. But that wouldn't be honest. Here we go:
- Juice boxes are kiddie heroin. Well, no, these days heroin is kiddie heroin. Juice boxes are kiddie methodone. First, I started stocking them for my friends' kids. Then one day when I was out of all other beverage options, I drank one. Now I'm blowing transvestites for juice boxes.
- There's a time and a place for issuing unreasonable demands, and it's when your parents are contextually compromised. In terms of kids, this means shrilly demanding ice cream as an entree...when in a restaurant with your parents' friends. In terms of me, it means asking my boss, Flo, for paid time off...when in front of her new boyfriend. How accommodating she can be!
- Properly finessed, my friends have no rights in front of their four year old. This is how it works. If I press all the right buttons, if I embody exactly how they're trying to teach their kid to behave, right in front of the kid, they are morally compelled to play along. Example: "Katrina? May I ask you a question, please? May I please have half of your cupcake? Please? Thank you! Yum! That was very nice of you. Sharing is caring! May Annalie have the other half, please?"
- Band-Aids cure cancer. The placebo value of a Band-Aid cannot be understated. No abrasion or cut is necessary for it to be the right and only remedy. A kid could have an ear infection and it would still take a Band-Aid to get him to stop crying.
- The ultimate way to punish my friends for having kids is the kids themselves. A well-planned gift delights and annoys exactly the right people. Have another juice-box, Junior! Have some chocolate-covered espresso beans! Want some Silly String? Here's your drum-set! Here's your empty Star Wars action figure carrying case!
posted by john at 12:54 PM • permalink
January 20, 2010
i don't wanna miss a thing
"I don't get it. When I'm through with someone, I'm through. I never think about them again."
I had heard this argument before, usually from guys who are surprised that I'm friends with an ex. They not only don't understand why I would want such a horror to happen; they don't understand how it possibly could. I explain my ex-ship rules, to no avail. Once they wash their hands of someone, they very deliberately don't look back.
Pity. They're missing out on a unique kind of friendship. And just as much, they're missing out on a unique kind of closure. For every Allie, who's very much still a grudging participant in my life, there are a dozen Holy Fucking Shit Girls.
They weren't necessarily girlfriends, but I definitely had put some effort into dating them. And long after those efforts ceased, I got a glimpse where their life's arc had carried them after me, and I exclaimed "Holy fucking shit."
My dodged bullets tend to fall into one of these categories:
The bun warmer said she never wanted to have kids, and now she's surrounded by four children on her Facebook picture.
Defining characteristic then: incredibly funDefining characteristic now: incredibly religious
The ticking bomb was arrested two weeks after I broke up with her and consequently fired from her civil service job. She moved back in with her mother.
Then: seemed kinda nutsNow: kinda nuts
The innocent bystander spent her time before and during our courtship complaining about all the guys in her orbit, guys she'd never, ever led on. They could handle neither her unambiguous message nor proximity to her radiant beauty. And then she spent her time after our courtship saying the exact same things about me. Oh.
Then: constantly fending off the "unwanted" advances of menNow: zero healthy adult relationships with men
The navel gazer spends all of her time analyzing why her obviously atrocious choices tend to reveal themselves, over time, as atrocious choices. A big fan of being told it's not her fault, she single-handedly keeps the self-help book industry afloat.
Then: "God, she's deep and introspective."Now: "God, she never learns."
The herbalist spent most of our relationship assuring me that except for pot, her druggie days were behind her. This was a lie.
Then: making herself a pipe out of my Diet Coke canNow: running a skanky nightclub
The professional victim is incapable of making good choices. For whatever reason, she is hopelessly incompetent. She never plans, she gives the wrong people too much credit, and she's confident everything will work out just fine, my heart attack notwithstanding.
Then: wholly dependent on meNow: wholly dependent on someone else
The day planner is always concocting grandioise schemes. Her Indian name is She Who Talk'm Shit. At any given point in her life, she's got seven different five-year plans. School, career, motherhood, marriage, divorce, relocating, home ownership, business ownership, tap-dancing lessons, ponzi schemes: all of her much-discussed dreams have exactly one thing in common.
Then: babbled endlessly about plans on which she would never actually follow throughNow: babbles endlessly about entirely different plans on which she'll never follow through
The lily-padder insisted that the guy I thought was trying to get into her pants was just a friend. Moreover, my irrational jealousy was indicative of some serious issues I should attend to in therapy.
Then: me in her pantsNow: him in her pants
The goody-to-skank was downright virginal when we were together, but afterward started banging firemen, personal trainers, and bartenders.
Then: kinda clingyNow: asks me to lend moral support by accompanying her to her AIDS test
I wouldn't miss seeing that for the world, hon. That's pure gold.
posted by john at 12:00 PM • permalink
January 19, 2010
long painful boring death
Response to yesterday's post had a clear "winner:" The English Patient was definitely not a crowd pleaser. I concur. I didn't actually walk out, but I did zonk out. Sleep much improved the experience.
In this same category for me: Howard's End and Gosford Park. I also fell asleep during Analyze This, but I think that was more the tequila/vicadin combo than any sin of Robert DeNiro's.
posted by john at 08:37 AM • permalink
January 18, 2010
these boots
Heading into Oscar season, The Hurt Locker seems to be gathering the most momentum. It's universally loved by critics, scoring a gaudy 97 on RottenTomatoes.com. All of the people I know who've seen it profess to like it. Both of 'em. Yes, everyone acclaims, it is one damned fine movie.
It's also a movie I walked out of. With about 20 minutes to go.
Not that it was horrible. It was not. It's well-crafted, well acted. It just bored me. About the fourth time our protagonist was slowly defusing a bomb that might or might not go off, the ritual had for me become dull routine. And I reached a tipping point: with 20 minutes left to go, I realized that my lack of interest had reached such a state of inertia, the movie wasn't going to be able to budge it. "I'd rather get to bed early," I thought.
And then I watched the adoring reviews roll in. Those must have been some 20 minutes.
Hurt Locker was unusual in that my hooks are usually much, much faster. Take the latest Sherlock Holmes. Thirty minutes in, I found my mind wandering. For as unusual as this take was on Holmes, it was far from a unique take on modern bombastic CGI crapfests. Seen 'em. Next.
Prior to that, I think Shrek 3 was the last film I'd bolted. I loved the first two Shreks, but the third one was a nonsensical, empty-headed cash-in. By the time frogs were singing "Live or Let Die," I was thinking I'd really rather not sully my memories of the first two films any further. End scene.
Ah, Natural Born Killers. I found it a heavy-handed and unbearable piece o'crap. I don't remember much, other that not being able to afford the price of the ticket and afterward feeling positively nauseous about having wasted the money.
I ran out of Moulin Rogue about a half-hour in, during the intolerably shrill and stupid scene with Ewan McGregor hiding from the Duke in Nicole Kidman's bedroom. It made me want to claw my eyes and ears off. Later, I gave the film a second chance at home. I still hate that scene and, indeed, skip it entirely. But man, did that film rebound afterward. I'm fond of it now.
I'll never forget that Fucking Amy's Dad walked out on Sleepless in Seattle because of its obvious moral decay: "John, you won't believe this, but they...they...they showed a girl lying sleepless next to her fiance...in bed!"
Can you top that inanity? What films have you walked out on?
posted by john at 01:22 AM • permalink
January 14, 2010
 | ed koch |
Says the former NYC mayor:
"Of course the vast majority of Muslims, there are 400 million, are not terrorists. But there are hundreds of millions who are."
posted by john at 12:09 PM • permalink
January 13, 2010
it's not homophobia; it's more like heteroassholia
"We prefer 'the Butt Buddies,'" said Matt, upon my referring to my group of gay friends as the Fudge Pack.
Once you start, you don't want to stop. Not even when being strangled. Trust me on this.
The Dick Clique.I'll stop now. Throat chaffing.The Pink Posse.
The Man Mafia.
The Seat Warmers
The Future Farters of America.
The Washington State Fairies
Swishers with Fissures
H.R. Poof N'Swish
posted by john at 10:49 AM • permalink
January 11, 2010
i'd like to be hurt. i'd like to be offended. i just can't be anything but amused.
Michelangelo's David returns to Italy after a 12 week tour of the USA
posted by john at 05:22 AM • permalink
January 08, 2010
child, please
It all started with Superman's wang.
Watching 1978's Superman, I couldn't help but wonder what the emotional consequences were for the child actor who, playing a newly-arrived Kal-El, proudly bared his member for posterity. If this isn't what the Internet is for, I don't know what is.
Aaron Smolinski, 3 then, is now a creaky 36. I searched for references to any trauma caused by him exposing his wang, which led me to creepy gay sites that I will never, ever be able to unsee. (Plus a discussion of how really, Superman shouldn't be circumcised and that we should "really look closely at his penis.") As for any childhood trauma, well, he majored in child psychology. That might be telling. Then he moved to L.A. to become an actor, and he's been in nothing you've ever heard of since. Fun fact: he had cameos in Supermans II and III.
More. I want more. Some child actors, like Anna Paquin and Ron Howard, never went away, so I know what happened to them. But whatever happened to, say, Newt?
Ripley's sidekick in Aliens, played by Carrie Henn, never acted again. Now 33, she's an elementary school teacher married to a cop. She presumably cautions him that criminals mostly comes out at night. Mostly.
Once I started this, it didn't take me long to recall loathsome Cousin Oliver from The Brady Bunch, and here he is. Now 45, Robbie Rist never left the Hollywood scene, and he's been the Cousin Oliver of several music, film, and music projects you've never heard of. To his credit, even he admits he killed the Brady Bunch.
This one made me feel genuinely old. In A River Runs Through it, we see the very young versions of our protagonists lying on a bank. One kid, played by Vann Gravage, says he wants to be a professional fly fisherman. Gravage made one more movie, 13 years later. The other kid fared a little better. His character said when he grows up, he wants to be a preacher. Apparently he went into numerology. He was Joseph Gordon-Levitt, of 3rd Rock, 10 Things, and 500 Days fame.
Karolyn Grimes, who played Zuzu in It's a Wonderful Life, acted for another eight years, until she was orphaned. Much hardship followed, including divorce, widowhood, and the suicide of one of her seven children. At 70, she seems happy enough now and lives in my old stomping grounds of Carnation, WA, where the hardware store also sells guns and liquor. (I always wanted to walk in and say "Gimme a chainsaw, some barbed wire, some armor-piercing bullets, and a fifth of JD.") Here she is fishing the waters of Puget Sound.
Hadley Kay, who seemingly took three minutes to plunge down Niagara Falls in Superman II, is now 37 and the voice of the Cheerios Honey Bee. Moving on.
Midichlorian sac Jake Lloyd, now 21 (!), acted only one more time after slaughtering the Star Wars saga, two years later in a movie of no consequence. He is now trying to become a film editor. “I want to work with film footage because it would enable me to work with the results of other people’s genius." Good call.
The Poltergeist kids are, of course, largely dead. "They're here." girl Heather O'Rourke died of cardiac arrest at 12. Dominique Dunne, who played the older sister, was strangled to death at 23. But what of Oliver Robins, who did battle with the evil clown doll? He was last seen as the character "Customer" in Man Overboard, which was probably eligible to be nominated for some award, but wasn't. Thanks for the awesome suggestion of actors, Allie.
posted by john at 08:00 AM • permalink
January 07, 2010
i cried because an eagle crapped in my hot-tub until i met a man who...well, let's just say he dodged a different kind of eagle crap altogether
I am amazed that it took this guy's death for me to hear his story. A mere two days after my own zen koan—when falling eagle crap misses you but lands in your hot tub, is that good luck or bad?—I have been humbled by the master. Gentle readers, I give you Tsutomu Yamaguchi, who survived the Hiroshima bombing and then returned to his home. In Nagasaki.
Same question, different scale: is Yamaguchi the luckiest person in all of human history—or the unluckiest?
posted by john at 07:54 AM • permalink
January 06, 2010
it all started with superman's wang
I'm working on a post that's requiring more research than I can slog through this morning, so I'll just share its first sentence (above).
posted by john at 07:50 AM • permalink
January 05, 2010
some people would say their hot tub is half-full of eagle crap, while others...
This morning I awoke from my slumber, such as it was, and unloaded the dishwasher. The dishes were still quite warm. Is there a more certain indicator that a day is going to suck?
Figuring there was not, I cut a cigar and went outside to soak in the hot-tub and contemplate my lot. Just as I was considering whether Microsoft would take five years to collapse or ten, a majestic bald eagle soared twenty feet over my head.
"Please don't shit on m—"
My eyes followed the parabolic arc of the bird poo. It was a John-seeking missile. I flinched and protected my head, bird poo on my arms being marginally preferable to bird poo on my head and shoulders. Instead, the projectile plunked in front of me, right in the middle of the tub. I couldn't help but admire the accuracy.
And thus did my contemplations shift: is eagle poo missing you but landing in your hot-tub good news—or bad?
posted by john at 08:45 AM • permalink
January 04, 2010
i often suspected as much
Ladies and gents, I have a new favorite referrer. According to Stank's hit stats, someone came directly here from this page. I can only hope it was the right reader.
posted by john at 08:30 AM • permalink
time off
In response to the two, count 'em, two of you who asked, I didn't post during the holidays because my hits plunge 90% when your reading this drivel isn't an alternative to your working.
posted by john at 08:29 AM • permalink
December 29, 2009
me in your corner
The recent spate of kolachi-baking has led to thoughts of my Polish gramdma, the only relative I ever truly loved. She baked me things. She spoke hardly any English. What's not to love?
According to our parents, Grandma was in a perpetual state of dying. Every Easter, we made the trip to her decrepit neighborhood in Sharon, PA because "Your grandmother is getting old. This is probably her last Easter. Get your butt in the car." I heard that speech only a half dozen times, but my older siblings claim that that it went on for decades.
And so after the long drive, we would arrive at grandma's house and trudge single-file up the stairs to her back door, lining up to receive the worst part of the trip: sloppy old-person kisses on the mouth. Grandma would be cooking in her kitchen, see us, and spring to action, her gelatinous lips coming at us like flapping gator jaws.
"Linda!" she would greet the oldest. "You too skeeny!" Smooch.
"Mort! You too skeeny!" Smooch.
"Nadine! You too skeeny!" Smooch.
"Julie! You too skeeny!" Smooch.
"John...you look good." Smooch.
Christ, I've got to lose some weight, I'd think.
Our interactions were mostly over a card table. We played a lot of a card game called "Casino," which most of my girlfriends have been forced to learn since. The beauty, of course, was that a limited vocabulary was needed. What little Polish I know is all card terminology.
"It's going to be mine."
"You're out of turn."
"Suck it, Grandma."
Even at 212, Grandma was a sharp player, and one day when she was soundly thrashing us, I got frustrated and went to watch TV. My dad appeared five minutes into The Price Is Right. "Your grandmother isn't going to be around much longer," he said. "You sure you don't want to play cards with her?"
Groaning, I got up and got my ass soundly pummeled some more. Grandma was elated. Cackling, even. And then the very next day, she died.
We were back in Columbus when the news came. I remember Mort grumbling about having to do that drive again, but I was focused on my near miss. I had narrowly avoided guilt of epic proportions.
They asked me to be a pall-bearer, which in retrospect seems an unusual request of an 11 year-old, but I was honored. And so we carried her casket from the hearse to the church where she'd spent so much of her time. Where she'd been when her heart finally gave out. None of us were surprised she'd died there. She very nearly lived there, no doubt praying about her grandchildren's eating disorders and for her endless streak of hot cards to continue unabated.
Holy shit, look at those stairs. There were a couple dozen of them leading up into the church. My skinny 11 year-old arms strained beneath the torque of the coffin, until finally they could take it no more. I dropped my corner. We heard a dull ker-THUNK inside the casket. We looked at one another, horrified.
I'd evaded epic guilt for three days. It was a nice run.
posted by john at 08:27 AM • permalink
December 28, 2009
fight terror with error
Let's step through the confluence of events.
First, the Detroit bomber's dad contacted our government and said that his kid had radicalized and that Pops was worried about what Junior might do. Then young Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab pays cash for a plane ticket to America. For good measure, he takes no luggage on this international flight.
Were I king, I'd have diverted his flight straight to Guantanamo at this point. Save a few steps.
But let's review what we actually did. Was he stopped? No. Was his explosive-laden self searched? No. Did we so much as put him on the No Fly list? Uh-uh. Did we revoke his Visa? That would be rude. No, the sum of our government's response was to put a note in his file that maybe we shouldn't renew his Visa when it expires in June.
Fantastic.
What does a whackjob gotta do? Carry a bowling-ball candle under his arm as he boards?
posted by john at 12:00 AM • permalink
December 27, 2009
nick cage has officially lost his mind
I'm back. If you missed me, you'll now wonder why.
posted by john at 02:47 PM • permalink
December 22, 2009
anything i can do to help
I was telling Terrell and Don about Avatar. "What's the name of the actress again?" she asked.
"Zoe Saldana," I said.
She couldn't place the name. Her husband chimed in. "She played Uhura in the new Star Trek movie."
The following dialogue then occurred simultaneously:
posted by john at 07:54 AM • permalink
December 21, 2009
dances with smurfs
"More demo than drama."
"It's the human characters who enter the uncanny valley."
"Imagine getting to ride a super-cool ride, the best roller coaster ever, but only after you go to an interminable timeshare meeting where you've heard every pitch before and know exactly what they'll say two hours before they say it. Avatar is exactly like that."
- Two unknown critics, then me
posted by john at 12:35 AM • permalink
