Lookout honey, ‘cuz I’m using technology.
…better than 20/20, and they’re blue!.” - John Crichton
A friend of mine asked me if I wear contacts. I don’t. Hearing this, naturally her next question was, “Did you have Lasik?”
I didn’t take stock of how unusual good vision has become, but I think I have more gay friends than friends with naturally good vision.
I mean really.
It’s no surprise that MySpace has the most unbelievably retarded banner ads. At first they started off normally, tricking dumb fools into clicking on them by having a big red button that makes the ad look like a video game. Press the button to kick! Press the button to shoot the clown! Yeah, that makes sense, but then they became ungrounded, and banner ads were inviting rubes to click the button to roll, or drink, or sleep, or do a pull-up. How do I click a button to continue sleeping? The ‘games’ theme had become so abstract that the button no longer made sense.
Meanwhile another genus of ads began to appear, the ’spooky’ ads, which warned you to NOT CLICK HERE if you were easily scared, accompanied by faces of creepy stock photo children. Then they began to focus on speculating on what date you’ll die — because what could be scarier, right? Then somehow, the two merged, and now there are ads inviting you into some kind of death game, all I have to do is sign up:
No chance to win an Xbox. No free ringtones. No products, no service. No company is being advertised. I’m not signing my soul away in exchange for some prize, I’m simply acknowledging that I’m dead. Unless this banner ad was placed by satan himself (which I can’t completely rule out), what could possibly be the appeal of this gigantic, full page ad?
As if an ad inviting me to kill myself wasn’t bad enough, there’s a catch:
Subscription to what?!
You know, if it meant never having to see another incomprehensible flash ad, I would sign my own death certificate.
Ohhhh…. NOW I get it.
I recently went to the movie theater at the new recession-defiant Americana supermall in Glendale, and couldn’t decide which movie to see. It was a tough choice between:
Iron Man
Iron Man
Iron Man
Iron Man
Iron Man
Iron Man
Iron Man
Iron Man
Made of Honor
Made of Honor
Made of Honor
Made of Honor
Made of Honor
Made of Honor
Son of Rambow
Son of Rambow
The Visitor
Young@Heart
I don’t want to imply that there’s still a paucity of choice even at these swanky upscale malls, but for those of you keeping track at home, that’s 18 screens showing a total of five movies. Which do you want to see, “Boys’ Movie” or “Girls’ Movie”?
What is arugula and why does its description on O Chef make it sound like a street drug?
Where were you in the 90s? That’s when arugula pretty much became our national salad green. Actually, it was popular in Italy and France for ages, but caught on in the US and Britain somewhat more recently. Perhaps you know if by some of its other names — rugola, rucola, roquette, garden rocket, Mediterranean rocket, salad rocket, Roman rocket, or Italian cress
Now my dealer knows what to get me when I’m jonesin’ for some garden rocket. (Don’t tell Fake Steve Jobs I had to look it up.)
I just had a bowl of cereal with milk that expired a month ago. Not looking forward to tomorrow.
You’re welcome, internet!
I try to avoid political pontificating since it’s the easiest way to start intractable disagreements with only a sliver of knowledge, but this insubstantial article (in Time magazine of all places!) irks me to no end. It’s about Obama getting mad about, or distancing himself from, this Reverend Wright guy who — if it merits an article on the front page of Time — must have said something pretty damning. But I read and re-read the article and couldn’t find the damnable quote. Was this it?
“Politicians say what they say and do what they do based on electability, based on sound bites, based on polls”
Sure it’s cynical, but also +1 Insightful. This is the only Reverend Wright quote I could find. That’s it? This merits controversy?
The thrust of the article from then on is about some faceless, nameless advisors and strategists saying Obama needs to get mad to show he can make it as president, and to be able to fend off Republican attacks. If we need a candidate who can get mad, just elect Bruce Banner in ‘08. What about leading the country, fixing the economy — isn’t that important, too? This isn’t Mad Max, we need a sensible, educated man as president, not an American Gladiator. And if a remark as flaccid as Reverend Wright’s is enough to stir up this much trouble, are politicians really fending off particularly vicious attacks? This is about a difference of opinion. This is kid glove stuff. I am appalled that this passes for news. The worst of the article comes at the end, when someone Time didn’t bother to get the name of criticizes Obama for not trash-talking enough, “Sometimes, he sounds like he is writing a Ph.D.”
Would that really be such a bad thing?
On a whim, I decided to skim a few pages of Charles Darwin’s The Voyage of the Beagle, and if discovering evolution through the process of natural selection weren’t enough, the stories of his adventures on the HMS Beagle are rich with exotic detail and are an engrossing read. The story reads like a precursor to pulp tales of daring explorers visiting strange lands, encountering wild natives and speciating island finches.
In the course of an hour we arrived at Ribeira Grande, and were surprised at the sight of a large ruined fort and cathedral. This little town, before its harbour was filled up, was the principal place in the island: it now presents a melancholy, but very picturesque appearance. Having procured a black Padre for a guide, and a Spaniard who had served in the Peninsular war as an interpreter, we visited a collection of buildings, of which an ancient church formed the principal part. It is here the governors and captain-generals of the islands have been buried. Some of the tombstones recorded dates of the sixteenth century.
My head is swimming with all the possibilities of adventure awaiting our heros, the Spanish war veteran, the mysterious black priest, and Charles Darwin as they explore the picturesque but ominous “Fort of Ribeira Grande!”
But that isn’t the end of it. There are so many great passages, I can’t leave it at just one.
The inhabitants had sufficient notice to drive all the cattle and horses into the “corral” [1] which surrounded the house, and likewise to mount some small cannon. The Indians were Araucanians from the south of Chile; several hundreds in number, and highly disciplined. They first appeared in two bodies on a neighbouring hill; having there dismounted, and taken off their fur mantles, they advanced naked to the charge. The only weapon of an Indian is a very long bamboo or chuzo, ornamented with ostrich feathers, and pointed by a sharp spearhead. My informer seemed to remember with the greatest horror the quivering of these chuzos as they approached near.
And even a little topical humor:
In the evening we reached a comfortable farm-house, where there were several very pretty senoritas. They were much horrified at my having entered one of their churches out of mere curiosity. They asked me, “Why do you not become a Christian — for our religion
is certain?” I assured them I was a sort of Christian; but they would not hear of it…
A “sort of” Christian. Charlie knew how to tell a coy joke that only gets better with age.
…but I can’t help feeling nostalgic looking at the nerd dream team of 1927. Wiki any of those names and you’ll find a person physics owes a debt of gratitude.
I can’t be certain which one is Heisenberg and which one is Schroedinger, but at least Pauli is making sure they aren’t taking up the same space.
[found via Reddit - tremendous nerdity ensues in the comments]
I know this because when I was leaving work, I tried hitting the B button behind my steering wheel so I could power slide out of the parking garage. If only.
To the approximately zero readers who sent in answers to my trivia question “What do these bands have in common?“, thank you! Thank you so very goddam much for your participation, each and every one of you. I know it’s driving you absolutely crazy not knowing, so here are the answers:
Which means these bands have, uh, not much in common. Hmm. Well this has gone over better than I thought! Look for another one next week… possibly never!
Recent Comments