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September 02, 2010
the sport of kings, better than diamond rings
It's like getting a new puppy. You tell yourself you remember how awful the last puppy was, but you don't. Not really. If you did, you wouldn't be considering another puppy.
Every year is the same. I get excited when the first NFL preseason games come on, but within 10 stupefying minutes of the first quarter, I'm wondering why on earth I fall for this every single year. Tonight will be more of the same. Ohio State kicks off their regular season, Dirt and I shall commemorate it with a lovingly prepared pizza, and before that pizza is gone I will already be renouncing my Ohio State alumniship. Normally my disgust with the Steelers would follow a week later, but this year is special. The revulsion started in March.
Thus today, along with the ritualistic pizza party, I obey another fine tradition: I've reset the countdown clock. Only 364 days until next football season.
posted by john at 09:35 AM • permalink
September 01, 2010
indispensibility
Former boss Flo looked at the text message described in the preceding post. "Why the fuck is 9 in quotes?" she asked, genuinely perplexed.
"That's the issue you have with it?" I replied.
I was in Flo's office yesterday to teach her how to do her job. For the last five years, she rather enjoyed not having to pay attention, but now she's screwed. Utterly.
It reminded me of nothing so much as when I first moved to Washington, leaving Maddie in the Midwest after our six years of living together. I'd been out here a few months when I got the call. "Um, this is kind of embarrassing," she said awkwardly, audibly digging her toe. "But what kind of maxi-pads do I get?"
posted by john at 08:00 AM • permalink
August 31, 2010
requiem for eight cents
I'm allowed 200 free text messages per month. After that, I have to pay eight cents per message. Yes, I could pay for unlimited, but only a couple of times would that have been worth the extra fee. No, I'll stay at 200.
This doesn't mean that when Bill sends his sequences of texts, I don't want to kill him. What he writes:
"i'll be working until 4"What I read:"or maybe 4:30"
"so come over at 5:30"
"or maybe 6?"
"actually"
"why don't i just call?"
"ca-CHING!"Vastly more expensive-seeming, though, is the brutally stupid text. This came in last night. If any reader can top this for sheer pointlessness, I will buy that reader a beer. This pained me so badly, you'd think it had cost me eight grand."ca-CHING!"
"ca-CHING!"
"ca-CHING!"
"ca-CHING!"
posted by john at 08:19 AM • permalink
August 30, 2010
g.i. joe
I just told this story to an incredulous audience, so I might as well share here, too.
When I was about 7, I asked for a G.I. Joe for Christmas. I did not receive one. My parents were locked in a heated debate about why I shouldn't. My mom argued that a soldier toy would make me violent, militaristic. Dad, meanwhile, argued that a doll would make me gay. One would think they could have settled comfortably in the common ground of my not receiving the toy and thereby not experiencing fleeting happiness, but no. They had to argue about whose reason had trumped whose. About whose reason was dumber.
In retrospect, I wish I'd become a gay Green Beret. That would have taught 'em.
Yep, these were my parents.
posted by john at 02:09 PM • permalink
August 27, 2010
imbecile, imbecile, imbecile
I've avoided the whole Dr. Laura thing. What more really needs to be said? Yet several people have written me, seemingly presuming I'm going to be on her side.
I suppose this is because I've ranted about young blacks correcting me about what white people think? That's my best guess. I fail to connect the dots, however. There's no mistaking what Dr. Laura thinks. She said it on the bloody radio. Have at her.
To the round of condemnations, I have little original to add. I find it incredibly disingenuous that anyone would use the n-word on the radio and claim surprise at the subsequent uproar. This intellectual leap would require that we believe Dr. Laura is not a bigot or shameless race-baiter, but an imbecile. But apparently that's the impression she'd prefer. Okay. I guess I can indulge her this wish.
And this is what now passes for conservative discourse? Offend, provoke, and claim victimhood? Really?
posted by john at 12:26 PM • permalink
August 26, 2010
if adolf hitler had lived to hire ben roethlisberger's media handlers
Today we’re going to do a mash-up of two things that annoy the hell out of me:
- comparing people to Hitler
- Ben “cuts, bruises and vaginal bleeding” Roethlisberger.
“Dear God…what were you thinking?” I imagine Allie saying in a couple of hours.
Reporter: “Adolf, how did it feel to be out there strolling the Champs Elysées today?”
Hitler: “Good, real good. Conquest is what I like to do, it’s who I am, and it feels good to be back out there doing what I love.”
Reporter: “Adolf, you were away for quite a while. What did you miss most?”
Hitler: “My boys. I missed being out here with my boys. I love and support my boys. We’re a band of brothers.”
Reporter: “Wasn’t the Band of Brothers on the Allied si—“
Hitler: “Also my fans. I’ve been really touched by how the fans have responded to me. I see lots of SS jerseys out here today, and I won’t lie to you, that feels good. Especially here in Paris. The warmth of my Parisian fans means a lot to me. I want to settle here, raise my kids here.”
Reporter: “So—“
Hitler: “Did you notice how many freaking autographs I’ve been signing?”
Reporter: “Not to mention how suddenly, you give the local media the time of day.”
Hitler: “Right. This is the New Adolf. All that other stuff is behind me. I turned the page. It’s time for a new chapter. I’m just happy to move on.”
Reporter: “New Adolf, is there anything you’d like to say to the families of the 20 million people you ki—
Hitler: “Just, you know, lesson learned. I’m moving on. I’m the new me, and I hope y’all will give the new me a chance to show how new the me is on this new page, or chapter if you will, ha ha ha, in my life. I’m excited by the opportunity to prove myself.
Reporter: “So in Warsaw today—“
Hitler: “TURNED. THE. PAGE. Notice the past participle. I’m told that means ‘what happened three months ago is such, such old news.’”
Reporter: “You’ve spoken about being caught up in the ‘Big Adolf’ persona. Can you explain how that happens?“
Hitler: “Sure. When all the media and fans are telling you how great you are all the time, you start to believe it, maybe you start to act like it a little bit. So even though I’ve turned the page, I want you to know that really, the preceding pages were more your fault than mine. If you stop and really think about it, it was like it was you pouring drinks down that co-ed’s throat and following her into the bathr—er, invading Poland. But hey, I’m not here to point fingers. Because—“
Reporter: “You’ve turned the page?”
Hitler: “For annoying media turds, you catch on fast.”
Allie, upon reading this: “You forgot the end of my sentence. ‘Dear God, what were you thinking when you created John?’"
posted by john at 09:26 AM • permalink
August 25, 2010
stupid pet tricks
A friend's dog ran away over the weekend. Mother and moron have since been reunited, but for 24 hours, there was much drama. For my part, I was driving in ever-increasing concentric circles around my friend's house, looking for corpses. We all do what we can.
The guy who found the dog posted a "FOUND" ad on craigslist. He told my friend that he'd gotten five bogus calls about the dog, each claiming ownership. This pissed me off. So I decided to do a sting. I would advertise that I'd found a Portuguese Water Dog roaming near Costco, and I would very much like to see this sweet girl reunited with its owner. And I would include an especially cute photo of Dex. And when the would-be dog thieves wrote me, I would publish their emails and names here. The bastards would get what they deserved.
And so I ran my ad. And the emails didn't come. Not one person tried to steal my dog.
I did get a couple of nice emails, from people suggesting that I check to see if the dog was microchipped. And I got one from Dex's breeder, some 100 miles away, panicked that Dex was roaming the streets.
Experiment summary
Pride in Dex: gone
Faith in humanity: restored. Well, not restored. Just not diminished any further.
Faith in myself: diminished further
posted by john at 08:35 AM • permalink
August 24, 2010
the man without fear
The dinner conversation was about monsters and their innumerable hiding places in the kids' rooms. These not being my kids, I wasn't sure if Santa Claus rules were in effect. Hmm. Is it okay to say there's no such thing as monsters? I can't really see the downside, but on the other hand, parents are really weird. No, best to err on the side of caution and pretend that something IS trying to disembowel them in their sleep.
That conversation winding down, Mom asked me a question I never know how to answer. "What are you afraid of, John?"
"A 13 year old son showing up at my door with a suitcase, a tuba, and a skull bong," I replied.
"Ha, ha. No, really."
Well, crap. I don't really feel fear, not like she meant it. I'd like to pretend this is a function of heroism (I'm Daredevil: The Man Without Fear!®) or bravery, but I think it's more that I'm just broken that way. I used up all my fear during childhood. Compared to how I grew up, nothing in adulthood is remotely scary. I don't fear being alone, unemployed, disliked, assaulted, and so forth. I would rather have had a decent childhood, but my experience was not without an upside.
Of course, the downside is that I'm often alone, unemployed, disliked, and punched.
posted by john at 10:08 AM • permalink
August 23, 2010
great moments in coordination, part iii
My dog did this with her head at the dog park. She was aiming for my knees, but I did a sweet toro! move.
posted by john at 08:07 AM • permalink
August 19, 2010
great moments in coordination, part ii
My buddy had just been dumped, and I was sitting at the desk in his dorm, pretending to listen to him moan. I had my feet on the edge of his desk, and I was tilting back in the chair while absent-mindedly tugging at the cord of his oh-so-clever banana phone. The phone suddenly launched off its wall-mount, striking me between the legs with appalling force. It was a nad-seeking missile. The shock sent me falling backwards in the chair, into the aquarium, which I badly splintered with my head.
In a movie, of course, the fish would have poured out all over my racked and battered body. But that would just be silly.
His depression was instantly cured.
posted by john at 10:15 AM • permalink
August 18, 2010
feelin' the love
I'm being socially tortured right now, to my friends' increasing delight. Out of fear of a certain someone finding this site and taking my mockery out on someone else, I cannot write about it here. Maybe someday. I'm dying to. But for now, a few yucks aren't worth that risk.
Nope. For now, my trevails will have to entertain only my real-world friends. You'd think it'd be offputting to have every single person in your life rooting for your continued drowning. But you'd be someone else. Nope, no surprises here. My friends don't want to see me hurt, particularly, but they sure don't mind watching me slip on a banana peel and bounding down a flight of stairs into a patch of mouse traps.
posted by john at 02:08 PM • permalink
August 17, 2010
great moments in coordination
My recent conversations have had a distressing theme lately: "You think this is uncoordinated? One time, I..."
I was 25 and in the best shape of my life. Through hard work and innumerable natural gifts, I had elevated my basketball game to "not always a liability." We were playing four on four on my old asphalt court with the threads of chain nets hanging from dunk-proof cast-iron rims. This was a brutally rough court. Blood flowed freely, not all of it mine.
On this day, I was leading a fast break.
Ahhhh. Let me type that sentence again.
On this day, I was leading a fast break.
One more time. Pardon my indulgence.
On this day, I was leading a fast break. I passed back and forth with the guy on my wing (who I'd like to say was d'Andre, but let's face facts: the guy was invariably gasping behind me, hands on his knees, lest he keel over). I decided to lay it in myself. I beat my guy off the dribble, leaped for the rim, and for some inexplicable reason thought that I was remotely capable of changing hands while mid-air. I was going for exactly this:
What actually happened was that I sort of schlubbed the ball in the general direction of the rim and, still at full sprint, rammed my extended knee into the solid iron pole. It didn't make the resounding GOOONG! sound a hollow aluminum pole would make. It made the exact same sound as a cantaloupe being dropped 20 stories on an anvil.
I could not stand, not that I tried very hard. The boys carried me and my broken patella home, depositing me on my couch unceremoniously and returning to their game.
"Did I make the shot?" I asked, hopeful.
Such a cruel, cruel laugh ensued. I had hit the bottom of the backboard, and the ball had ricocheted off and hit my head.
posted by john at 12:48 PM • permalink
August 16, 2010
reader mail: special guest
From time to time, someone about whom I write will google themselves, read my post, and write me back. Sometimes it's a complaint. It's usually a thank you. But recently I got my first "you're welcome." It was for one of my favorite posts ever, the Mike Tomczak saga.
To my rapturous delight, I got this.
My year is made.
posted by john at 09:24 AM • permalink
August 13, 2010
not quite there yet
Flipbook is an app that takes a bunch of feeds and assembles them into magazine format. For instance, here's a screenshot of my Facebook wall in Flipbook form. I can't decide what I enjoy more: the juxtaposition of Mark's Rush concert photos with Anita's headline, or the Yahoo!
Okay, it's the Yahoo, hands down.
posted by john at 11:03 AM • permalink
August 12, 2010
where ARE my glasses, anyway?
Sure, there are better athletes than me. Much better. And there are certainly more likable guys. Better looking guys. Better singers. Better cooks. My whole life, I could count on someone being better than me at pretty much everything. But I had one important refuge: I could count on being among the smarter people in the room.
And much like the beautiful, I've flaunted what I have. My brains have always been how I differentiated myself. I would look at folks older than me, their onetime beauty diminished by the ravages of aging. I would look at how bitter it made them to have lost their beauty. They could scarcely function now. And I would feel superior. What made me special, after all, would never be diminished by age.
And then I aged, and I became a moron. The neurons are flaking off like an arctic storm, now. I can neither remember what I did yesterday nor perform work tasks that I could do in my sleep just five years ago. It's horrifying. It's humbling.
All in all, I would rather have been hot.
posted by john at 11:19 AM • permalink
August 11, 2010
this post is almost straight
I haven't scrubbed a toilet in seven years.
I like living in a clean house, but not nearly as much as I hate cleaning my house. Thus do a never-ending succession of maids pass through my revolving door. With a couple of exceptions, they're middle-aged women who've gone through some sort of life-changing event. A recent divorce, perhaps. Or she was a realtor when the bottom fell out on the housing market. What she generally is not is gorgeous. Until this week.
Assisting my usual housecleaner was the sort of shimmering beauty I don't often see in my home. Okay, ever see in my home. Okay, ever see. While I was still trying to form a word, she went upstairs to clean. The usual maid and I remained downstairs. I tried to return to work. I violently shook my head, hoping the image burned on my retinas would clear like an Etch-A-Sketch. No dice. I worked, but my heart wasn't in it.
Daaaaaaaaaaamn...
The usual maid and I chit-chatted as we often do, and she apologized for being late. The customer before me had taken an unusually long time.
"Was the house disgusting?" I asked, hoping for a validating comparison.
"No," she groaned. "He just really liked Adrienne." She rolled her eyes upward, indicating the Venus fluffing my blankets upstairs, who I hadn't thought about for over two seconds, dammit, and now I had to restart the clock. "It was gross. He wouldn't leave her alone. So he's humping her leg, and I was like, Dude, you're like [AGE SLIGHTLY YOUNGER THAN MINE] years old! She's young enough to be your daughter! Not to mention, to her you're just a disgusting old man!"
"Men are such pigs..?" I managed to gag out.
Adrienne eventually came downstairs, of course, and if she remembers me at all, she probably wonders if she had the sort of booger that would make people so obviously avoid looking at her.
posted by john at 09:09 AM • permalink
August 10, 2010
gay math
Yeah, so maybe my posts are becoming swishier. You know why? Gay friends don't crap out kids and disappear. They're what's left.
This morning I was chatting with Mike about the young'un yanking him around. As usual, I had to ask him to translate.
(11:36 AM) john:
do young gay guys have daddy issues like young women do?
(11:36 AM) Mike:
oh yes
very much so
daddyhunt.com
(11:37 AM) john:
my god, just look at all of the abs on that page. my eyes! the burning!
man + man = shallow²
posted by john at 11:40 AM • permalink
August 09, 2010
gearstick lesbians
Percy has confirmed the purchase of his house. Our long national nightmare is almost over.
While I ponder what to do with Stank's first retired category (there will be no more "Percy" posts soon, after all), I've resumed my happy dance. Childless lesbians. I can't believe my luck.
Upon hearing about the new tenants, guy-friends get that look. That lascivious as-soon-as-the-women-are-gone-let's-hit-a-strip-club look.
"High five, John!"
I leave them hanging. "No, no. Not porn lesbians. Real lesbians."
posted by john at 11:21 AM • permalink
August 07, 2010
lost email
Ugh. This morning I discovered a screw-up (my own) that rerouted years of reader mail into purgatory. As my punishment, I am now reading misspelled death threats from 2008.
They seem strangely toothless, now.
I'll reply to stuff sent in the last year. I apologize for the seeming rudeness. I wasn't ignoring you. But now if I don't reply, yes, I want credit for ignoring you.
posted by john at 12:10 PM • permalink
August 06, 2010
into the mind of a modern teenager
Today, I'm starting a new post category: great reads. Whenever I come upon an article I love, I'll pass it on.
Tired of seeing his work stolen online, a composer had given up on doing anything about it. But then he realized there was one thing no one ever tried. So he personally wrote the thieves and asked them to stop stealing his work. Many wrote back. One was a teenage girl who didn't understand why he was infringing on her rights.
Fighting with Teenagers: A Copyright Story
This girl takes the classic "if a starving man steals a loaf of bread to feed his family, is it wrong?" ethical debate to a whole new level. She's an artist. Artists want, nay, need to steal his music and take money from his pocket. Why is he being such a douche about it?
posted by john at 09:47 AM • permalink
August 04, 2010
wither, percy
(as opposed to "wither percy." the comma is important.)
Percy has accepted a bid on his house, and when I met the buyers, I couldn't believe my luck.
Childless lesbians. My second choice of new neighbors. First choice, if you disallow Beyoncé, which I never will. But failing that particular miracle, can you believe my luck?
Better still, they're kind and complimented my house instead of bitching about it.
Better still, they're my age instead of the median Metamuvillian age of 104.
Better still, they're already talking about joint beach parties.
Better still, they have a house in Seattle and would only be here every other weekend.
Best of all, one of them works as a headhunter for people in my profession.
I could scarcely believe my luck. I was vibrating with rare levels of happiness. I offered them free wifi as an inducement. Every day, I watch Percy's sign for a "sold" placard. Every day, nothing happens.
"They came back with some requests from their inspection," Percy just snarled at me, visibly offended. "I said no to 'em all."
posted by john at 11:29 AM • permalink
August 03, 2010
fixer-upper, part ii
Kelly and her family visited again. I'll pause so you can catch up on last year's trip. And its aftermath.
This year as last, Mom chatted with me while I prepared drinks and dinner. Her other daughter now in a relationship, Mom didn't miss a beat. Even while kicking aside the women's slippers at the base of her barstool, Mom was trying to set me up with her neighbor. Her neighbor back in Georgia.
"She's a nice southern lady. Just widowed."
Egad. What do you say to that?
"And she's wealthy."
"She sounds really interesting," I replied. "Tell me more."
Kelly, outside playing with her kids, glared at me through two walls.
"She might be too old for you, though," Mom continued.
"IF SHE'S REMOTELY HIS AGE, SHE'S TOO OLD FOR HIM," the voice of God bellowed into my windows.
posted by john at 12:53 PM • permalink
August 02, 2010
somewhere in new york, a photo editor was just fired
The Bush "Mission Accomplished" sign, while an amusing icon, always made me feel a little sorry for the guy. It's not like he got on a stool and tacked up the banner. I wouldn't be surprised if he never noticed it until the derision that followed.In that spirit, I feel much, much more sorry for President Obama this morning. This ran in the New York Times, which astounds me but might also preclude the loony right from seeing it. Yeah, I know. Fat chance.
Postscript, 3:43pm: click the thumbnail pic, dimwits. Yep, these are my readers.
posted by john at 09:51 AM • permalink
July 30, 2010
training camp
Steelers training camp starts today, and as the players drove from Pittsburgh to remote Latrobe, PA, they were greeted with this roadside sign:
WELCOME BACK ALMOST ALL STEELERS(Only it was phrased "almost all yunz Steelers," but I didn't want non-Pittsburghers to stumble over what the locals use as a second-person plural pronoun.)
And nope, I haven't chosen a new team to follow. I have 4-6 games of following the Steelers, and I'm gonna savor that even if they lose. After that, I have no idea. Maybe Dirt's Vikings. I'm sure they're gonna be on every week at my house anyway. It would save time.
posted by john at 10:25 AM • permalink
July 29, 2010
you don't know me?
The idea was for me to take a month or two, get my technical skills more up to date, and then enter the non-Microsoft workforce.
"So how's Java programming coming?" Allie asked.
"Great. Fantastic. I've gotten so, so much done around the house because of it. Painted the foundation and bathroom, hung a flowerbox, stained the teak furniture, put up two fences. But now I've done all the work on the house there is to do. I'm officially out of distractions."
"And thus do we enter the era of John Sleeping 22 Hours Per Day."
posted by john at 08:30 AM • permalink
July 27, 2010
and a couple hours later...
To distinguished Stank troll Marita, who thought in misspelling "grammer" I had gone too far into hyperbole, I offer this fresh comment on this Dex Bryant story.
twinswin94 (7/27/2010 at 2:24 PM)Point, Stank.
when the biggest story in the NFL is Dez Bryant not carrying pads we have more to worry about then his bad grammer
posted by john at 01:59 PM • permalink
why your web comments matter
I know better, but sometimes I can't help myself. I'll point out when someone, in calling someone else stupid, butchers the insult to the point of illiteracy. I find this hilariously ironic.
"Hey, John McCain need to drop dead.when he chose that idiot Sara Palin as is running mate we could have file charges on his old butt.so John zip it."I did not call out Mr. Cador, but if I had, I assure you that his equally literate fans would have derided me as the Grammar Police and proclaimed something like "its just the web. grammer doesnt matter.'
— Norman Cador, in a comment on this article
I disrespectfully disagree.
In another irony, I'd originally read the comments to see if anyone else was amused by an atrocious dangling modifier in McCain's own ad:
"But Arizona has a senator with the courage and character to stand up to a president who is wrong: John McCain."
At least McCain wasn't claiming the President's grammar was wrong. That would have sent bolts of pain coursing through my left arm.
I do not mean to pick on Misters McCain and Cador. I mean to quote them, which is, truth be told, much more damning.
A funny thing happens after you critically read thousands upon thousands of student writing samples. You get good at it. After sampling cause and effect, cause and effect, over and over, you get pretty damned skilled at guessing causes from looking at their effects. Like the old country doctor who amazes you by rendering a swift and accurate diagnosis from your seemingly random combination of symptoms, I've gotten very good at "reading" writers. In every sense of the term.
From examining the mechanics in a small amount of your writing, I can tell if you're a reader. I can generally tell if you're educated, about how far you got, and how good a student you were. From the types of errors you make, I can tell what country you're from and in what country you studied English. I can spot learning disabilities from 100 words. I can spot the difference between uneducated and careless and informal and just plain stupid. From the risks you don't take, I can tell if you're careful but insecure about your writing. (I adore you people, by the way.) And from your syntactic complexity, I can certainly tell if you love wordsmithing.
And I cannot turn this off.
Is this superpower as useful as the off-duty doctor noticing your gum color and telling you to get your liver checked out? No. I would rather have that power. But it is useful, and however modest, it is the kingdom over which I rule. But I do not rule alone. There are scads of me out there.
And each of us thinks that Mr. Cador needs to zip it and read more before criticizing anyone's intelligence. Much more. Any reading would suffice, really.
As for the team who approved the splendid phrasing "a president who is wrong: John McCain," what more can be said? If the man could recognize and hire competent, qualified professionals, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?
posted by john at 09:34 AM • permalink
July 26, 2010
percy, we hardly knew ye
As I alluded last week, Percy's house is on the market. I haven't celebrated here because, well, I've been down this road before. As recently as May, they told me they were selling, then at the 11th hour didn't list it.
But finally, after years of teasing me, they put a sign in their yard. Rumor has it that they're close to selling. This has me thinking about who I want living 15 feet away. In order of preference:
- Hot single woman. (But we're talking Beyoncé hot. Surely she yearns for a yellow double-wide on a postage stamp of land in a community laden with bitchy white old farts.)
- Childless young gay couple (Preferably with a minor conviction in one of their histories that would preclude future adoptions)
- Infertile young straight couple
- More bitchy old farts. Sigh. (The devil I know)
- Single person of any age, gender, attractiveness, orientation, or race. No religiousness a turn-on. Must not talk about soccer.
- Hell's Angels
- Fertile young couple
- Family with kids, or
bipolar meth dealer (tie)
posted by john at 07:59 AM • permalink
a brief history: addendum
I didn't mean to alarm people. This shabby little Web 1.0 outpost is not going to be incorporating comments and social media. I hereby promise that Stank will never:
- Allow reader comments.
- Integrate with Facebook (for your privacy and mine).
- Distribute content on Twitter (ditto).
posted by john at 06:57 AM • permalink
July 23, 2010
a brief history of stank
When I started writing in this space in 1999, there were only 12,000 active blogs in the world. Now there are 11,750 times that number.
141 million.
When I started this page, the word "blog" didn't yet exist. I called it "my web site." I still do. "Blogs" exploded a few years later, and they were woefully uninteresting, self-indulgent, I-burned-my-toast-this-morning chronicles of uninteresting people's stupefyingly boring lives. They were atrociously written and of no conceivable interest to anyone but the writer—and probably not even him, given the number of abandoned blogs out there. Worse, they became vehicles through which people passive-aggressively communicated that they were crushing on you, or that they're thinking about something that reads a lot like suicide, so you better not break up with them.
Long-time readers are no doubt preparing a list of links to posts where I'm guilty of one or all of these indulgences. You can stop. I know.
And then every traditional media outlet decided that blogs are the future, so by damn, they better have one too. So they labeled reporters' columns "blogs."
To summarize, first I didn't call Stank a blog because the word didn't exist. Then I didn't because blogs were a fad among very stupid people. And now I don't because the term has become passe.
I've resisted all sorts of conventions. Comments, most noticeably. I could turn them on with the flick of a switch, and surely many readers would enjoy it. But the entire web has become a urinal for hateful, vile people, and I just flat-out don't want them whizzing on my little corner of it.
I caved to pressure in 2005 and implemented RSS, and at the same time I made a conscious choice to make the content more character-driven when I could. If you feel like you've gotten to know Percy, Dorkass, Allie, et. al., then that shift succeeded.
But that's it. That's as much as the site has evolved. I have resisted social networking integration as much as I've resisted comments and the word "blog." There are no mechanisms for Digging a post or Liking it on Facebook, and you do not see updates about my bowel movements in a Twitter feed on the sidebar. Why? After all, one well-Dugg post would probably increase my daily readership tenfold. Do I care?
Do you see a "Digg This" logo anywhere?
And so Stank stubbornly remains what the industry refers to as "Web 1.0." My question to you is a quite sincere do you care? Do you want to be able to Digg articles or to see that Twitter feed?
I'm implementing a retrofit. Speak now. What do you want?
posted by john at 10:03 AM • permalink
July 22, 2010
≠
I found looking at a gay buddy's "domestic partnership" license to be jarring. I mean, I knew this silliness existed, but actually seeing the official certificate...
Impossible not to think of Jim Crow.
posted by john at 01:23 PM • permalink
July 21, 2010
ye know on earth, and all ye need to know
Intuitively, we know that the more we challenge people's beliefs, the more they dig their heels into whatever bullshit they believe.
Well, these guys proved it. A fascinating study that indicts people all over the political spectrum. And my, does it support my core belief: that the human need for validation trumps everything else. Even iron-clad facts.
A great read.
posted by john at 10:25 AM • permalink
July 20, 2010
yet
Remember when you bought your lock-picking kit and you couldn't wait to tell your ex-girlfriend just so you could hear the horrified facepalm? No? God, it seems like yesterday for me.
For the record, I lost my keys. Sorry, no drama.
posted by john at 09:03 AM • permalink
July 19, 2010
the week in racism
I invited the real world to my house, always a mistake. Come to think of it, I accepted the real world's request to come visit. Seriously, what was I smoking?
I sat with a complete stranger, the parent of a friend, as he smoked my cigars and drank my liquor and ate the food I had so carefully slaved over. He looked at Percy's house, which by the way is for sale, and asked what the school districts are like here. I shrugged. Not the best. He seemed surprised.
"Huh. You don't have many African-Americans out here, so I'd think they'd be pretty good."
Again? The fuck. On what planet is it okay to say this crap to a complete stranger? At least this time I knew what to say. After his curious word choice, it was the only thing on my mind.
"Is using the PC term 'African American' supposed to somehow mitigate the racist remark?"
"Huh?" said the product of a school system no doubt blessed with an abundance of people just like himself.
Whenever I have some sort of hired-hand here while I'm working, I always let them choose the music to which we listen. Everything from crunk to baroque has passed through my stereo speakers in this way.
"Channel 867!" squealed Tomás just now, referring to a station called "¡Bailamos!" The description reads "Spicy hot Latin rhythms to fuel an endless tropical party." The music sounds exactly like the overthrow of Batista, if the overthrow were set to bongos duct-taped to a megaphone that was tumbling down a flight of stairs.
"Dude. Hell no."
"You said anything."
"I'm reaching for the show tunes channel..."
"OK! OK! Anything but that!"
And thus did we achieve the multicultural accord of listening to NPR.
posted by john at 09:27 AM • permalink
July 15, 2010
webtards
Yesterday's post spawned several conversations about the eight webtards found online. There are pretty much you, me, and these eight guys. And yes, I'm just being polite about you.
The "First!" Guy—Posts "First!" in any comment forum. Centuries from now, his motivation will baffle anthropologists instead of just us. He is the second lowest form of life on the web.
The Second "First!" Guy—Tries to post "First!" first. Fails.
The Hijacker—This guy has one topic he likes to beat to death, and he prides himself on turning every thread, no matter how irrelevant, into a vehicle for his views on that topic. True story: on 9/11, I went to a Steelers board to see how my online friends were faring. A guy took a thread called "World Trade Center attack" as his opportunity to bitch about Steelers coach Bill Cowher. No subsequent link between Cowher and 9/11 has been found, but I'm sure one person is still looking.
The Navel Gazer—A cousin of the Hijacker, this guy turns every thread into a referendum on himself. He is not satisfied until everyone's posts are about him. Two approaches that I've seen work: drama-queening ("Zoey360XXX insulted for the last time and I'm not coming here anymore!") and incessant badgering ("Speaking of the World Trade Center attacks, Cowher is a moron."). Directions for aspiring navel-gazers: indulge yourself liberally until everyone goes insane, and then indulge some more.
The Word Macro—This is the guy without an original thought in his bubble-headed little fingers. His posts are composed only of phrases you see every day on the web. "Stole two elections," "it's just a big iTouch," "socialist agenda," etc.
The Ratholer—This might be me. This is the guy who doesn't so much derail a thread as drill-down on some point so deeply, everyone else loses interest. What, you don't care that Edward James Olmos turned down a role in Firestarter? Well, fine. I suggest that you leave this barbecuing forum, then. Twit.
The "Who Cares?" Guy—Pick a topic, any topic. Smartphones. The Sacramento Kings. Twilight. Now find a forum created by people who care about that topic. He will already be there, calling them stupid for caring. Every once in a while, someone will ask why, if he cares so little about the HR-20 DVR, he took the time to locate a forum devoted to the HR-20 just to say he doesn't care. I have never seen him respond.
The Huddled Masses—Look at a forum where you're allowed to "like" comments (CNN.com is one). Now look for the most asinine, unconvincing, self-indulgent, irrelevant, misspelled comment. Find it? I guarantee you it has the most "likes." Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your lowest form of life on the web.
posted by john at 10:24 AM • permalink
