New Comments System

Blogger finally revised its comments system to let non-Blogger users leave their names and web pages. I'll keep HaloScan around for a few days in case there are any problems with the new system and so people can read any comments made in the past week. I like HaloScan a lot, but the free version doesn't display comments older than six months and has a character limit. I have the impression Blogger doesn't have these restrictions.

The Contact Lens Story: An Objective View

Like the A-Team, I am often framed for a crime that I did not commit. My family, playing the part of the government, takes a perverse pleasure in conjuring various stories that reflect poorly on me and repeating them ad nauseum until truth is sufficiently battered into submission for the story to enter the family mythos.

It is with this aim that my sister Tina has prodded me incessantly to post an entry telling the story of how she lost her last pair of contact lenses.

A story that will now be told. In the spirit of fairness, I have offered Tina (and other family members) the opportunity to help me create a homage to Kurosawa's Rashomon by telling her version of the story, which she may do in the near future. I welcome the imaginative energy that fuels all her stories and encourage you to read her version of the tale, in spite of the fact that its function will likely be one of a fanciful appendix.

***

A few weeks ago, Tina and I spent the night at my Mom's place. My Mom beckoned us over with the promise of an extravagant meal, including salad topped with French mustard dressing, BBQ-glazed chicken, rosemary mashed potatoes, and Godvia chocolate ice cream for desert.

When we arrived, the reception was slightly different than expected. She handed us a frozen pizza and a pair of sweat pants so we could help her scrape off old wall paper.

I have learned the necessity of pausing at certain moments when telling people stories about my family. In the past I would blather on, almost in a stream of conscious, and my friend would interrupt: "Wait, your mother and two sisters contacted Ricky Lake and tried to convince her to do a show titled, "Dear Brother, We Have a Secret To Tell You: You're Adopted!"?

"Well, yeah" I would say, innocent at the time of how normal families work. "Is that unusual?"

So I pause after my Mom's minor bit of chicanery for your benefit, not mine. While you are catching your brief, I will mediate on the possibility of an alternate universe where moms feed you when they say they will feed you.

After working up an appetite completely satiated by ¼ of a vegetarian pizza with a single, withered green paper slice on it, I prepared for an early bed time. For some reason, I was weak and dizzy and could not stand on my own feet for much longer. I emptied the old solution from my contact lens case, refilled the case, and put my contacts in it and went to bed.

The next morning, I awake to hear a banshee-like shriek from downstairs. I sat alert and erect in my bed. Were we being attacked? Was one of my family members injured?"

"WHY DID HE DO IT?" yelled Tina. "WHY?"

My Mom: "I'm sure he didn't do it intentionally."

"HOW COULD HE HAVE NOT SEEN THEM?"

"I…I don't know."

"BUT WHY? WHY IS HE ALWAYS A BOZO?"

I gathered they were talking about me. The dresser vibrated as Tina ran up the stairs and rapped on my door.

"Did you dump out my last pair of contact lenses last night?"

Did I? We use the identical contact lens case, and I suppose in reaching for the closest case to me in my weary state it was possible.

"Dear, sweet Tina, I do admit the possibility of empting out your contact lens in my weakened condition. It was an accident, I assure you. Please accept my humble apology and allow me to pay for the cost of replacing them."

I said these words more out of self-preservation than good will. Tina has the capacity to hold a grudge, and assuaging her with supplication was my only hope to avoid either being punched in the arm or given the silent treatment for the next week.

There was a long pause. Finally, she said: "It's okay. I'm not mad." And went back downstairs for breakfast.

Puzzlement. That's it? Fear. Did I leave any valuables downstairs? More puzzlement. No being berated? Hope. Have we entered a new, more mature stage in our relationship?

I found out the answer at lunch.

"Where is the salt?" Tina said, patting the table like a woman recently struck blind. "Can anyone SEE the salt?"

"It's right there, Tina. Next to the packet of Hamburger Helper seasoning."

I held hope that her vision would clear up after lunch when my Mom sent Tina and I to Home Depot to pick up some caulk for the bathroom upstairs. We wandered among the mountainous aisles.

TINA: "Do you see the paint supplies aisle?"

ME: "Not yet."

TINA: "Well, keep looking. Because I can't SEE."

Fair enough. I would be mad if she had dumped out my last pair of contacts. We exited the store and were about to go home when a blind woman walked by us, tapping the ground with a cane. Tina ran up to the woman and grasped her arm. "My sister" she said, her voice quavering, "I know your pain."

I'd like to say this was the first time my family has used the blind to advance their own ambitions. I really would.

By the time we arrived home (I drove, of course), Tina had left Stage One: Groundwork, and had moved into Stage Two: Myth Building.

"Mom, let's call Michele." [my sister]

"But we just talked to her."

"I know. But we haven't talked to her since yesterday, if you know what I mean."

Oh, my Mom knew what she meant. Tina called Michele and told her a story that resembles the original story in the same way that road kill resemblances the original animal. And both of them told their friends, and my Mom told her friends, and the three of them, aware of the potential far-flung reach of the Internet, badgered me to recount the story on my web page for the past few weeks until I finally caved in.

And that's the real story, free of hyperbole and melodrama. Judge ye what you will. I welcome Tina or anyone else in my family to share their telling of the events, although I must warn them that the people who read my web page are exceeding intelligent and not prone to falling for--how should I say--a certain style of flim-flammery that has worked somewhat in the past.

The Real AARP

What does it say about our civilization when the line between parody and reality is completely destroyed?

Just look at this web ad, part of a right-wing campaign to attack the AARP for its resistance against the Bush administration's proposal to privatize Social Security. No application of my creative powers, at whatever strength or duration, could result in the creation of a funnier ad.

It can't be parodied. Comedy Emiril can not kick it up another notch. It is the only ad in human history where the addition of a monkey would make it less absurd.

I give up. I quit. What's the point in trying anymore? Hey, everyone! Democrats hate lollipops! Social Security sucks taffy out of your belly! Just say no to subsidizing robots!

I think I'm going to snap.

You know, I hate Duke as much as anyone...

...but is this really the best poll for The Washington Post to run in terms of promoting good sportsmanship?



After making fun of Duke many times in my life, and several times on this blog, I have no authority to criticize someone else for fanning the anti-Duke flames. In fact, I may be a hypocrite in saying this. But besides the Teen Beat wording of the poll, it makes me uncomfortable that The Washington Post is actively encouraging the dislike of people, especially a non-professional player, J.J. Redick.

This is the type of poll I would expect to see on a blog or The Diamondback's web site (UMD's college newspaper). It seems out of character for a national newspaper.

"Hope There's Someone" or Why I Subscribe to Salon.com

I have a subscription to Salon.com for two reasons.

One, to read Tom the Dancing Bug a day earlier than the peons who buy The Washington Post.

Two, because someone there has really good taste in music. You may have to watch a short ad to download this song,"Hope There's Someone" by Antony and the Johnsons, but it's worth the time. It's a stirring song that holds up to repeated listenings.

And if you're looking for a good indie rock radio station, give the IndiePop channel at Somafm.com a try. It's my favorite station on the web.

Grey Kitty Update

From Red Ralph:

"Last night after coming home from the vet Grey Kitty punched the black cat on the nose, took a swipe at Michele, and took a piss on our pillow. Michele has been heard under her breath saying things like "I hate Grey Kitty". Last night we changed Grey Kitty’s name to Rosemary's Baby.

Black Cat's name is still up in the air, but we are leaning towards Bird-Dog (or perhaps Bird-Dawg). That being said, name suggestions would still be very helpful."

A Post on Farscape, A.K.A. I've Neglected the Geek Inside Me for Too Long

Farscape has made me remember my inner nerd. I love science fiction, and considering so it's odd that I've written so little about topics related to it in the two-plus years I have been blog writing. Isn't that the point of having a blog, to share the minuate of your selective interests with a bunch of people, most of whom could care less?

What is Farscape? Why should I watch it? Oh, my friend, your questions will be answered.

The short:
Farscape, a sci-fi show that ran for 4 years, is the best sci-fi show in terms of character development ever made. No exaggeration. It has some flaws, but if you ever wanted to see a show where the characters and their relationships evolve in almost every episode, this is the show to watch. Some of the episodes also display a wicked sense of humor.

To get a sense if you will like the series or not, I suggest renting "Farscape: Season 1: Episodes 19 & 20: Nerve / The Hidden Memory" from an online DVD service such as NetFlix. And let me know if you do. Heck, if there's interest, I'll make it into a contest.


The long:
There are two types of TV shows: plot-driven and character-driven. In plot-driven shows, the characters and their relationships with each other are static, for the most part. The character in season 1 is essentially the same character in season 2 as he is in season 3, and so on. A plot-driven show can have extremely well-drawn out characters, but that alone doesn't make it a character-driven show. For example, the character's in Seinfeld were excellent, but no one tuned in to see if George would finally have an epiphany about his selfishness.

Character-driven shows are the opposite. In a good character-driven show, the characters gradually evolve from episode to episode. And because the character's development carries on from episode to episode, many of the plotlines carry over too.

Most television shows, especially sitcoms, are plot-driven. Season 1 Picard is essentially the same as Season 7 Picard, which is amazing considering that in real life, seven years of kicking ass and making Junior High kids titter every time you call for your second in command would change most people.

Deep Space Nine started off a plot-driven show and shifted towards being character driven in later seasons. When people argue whether ST:TNG or DS9 is the better show, they are essentially expressing their preference for plot-driven shows or character-driven shows. No format is inherently better. It's just a matter of preference.

That's why I suspect people who enjoy DS9, or character-driven dramas in general, would like Farscape because it has a relentless focus on character development. If I gave you an episode from the beginning, middle, and end of the first season without telling you when they took place, you could place them in order solely based on how the cast acts towards each other.

I think that's pretty cool. While this type of character development is a staple of any good drama, it is the first time I've seen it play a central role in a science fiction series. Central may even be too weak of a word--its really the defining characteristic of Farscape.

Well, that's my pitch. If you have a chance, watch two or three episodes and see if it catches your interest. It's been off the air for a few years; so your best bets are an online DVD service or downloading them from a file sharing service like EDonkey.

My Family, the Comedy Writers

I could make this blog a lot funnier with much less work if I would just post my family's email exchanges.

My sister Michele got two cats over the weekend. She asked us to suggest names.

My other sister, Tina, influenced by the Borg system of nomenclature, suggested calling them Cat 1 and Cat 2.

"Tina, those are dumb names," I said.

Tina: "Do you remember when Michele had a bird? She called it Birdie. These are good names for her."

Cat 1 and Cat 2 didn't fly with the rest of the family, so the cats kept their place holder names, black kitty and little grey kitty.

Michele took an instant liking to black kitty. The cat is very playful and energetic. She runs back and forth across the floor, jumps on the keyboard, approaches Michele and her boyfriend Evan, and tries to follow the grey cat around wherever she goes.

The grey cat is very shy. She hides under the couch and darts away whenever someone approached. And during the first few days, she wasn't eating any food.

This brings us to yesterday when Michele sent this email:

(Michele) "Everyone: the little grey kitty is in the hospital overnight. We should get her back tomorrow, unless something expensive is wrong and then let's just pretend there never was a grey kitty."

I laughed. I asked Michele if I could put it on the blog.

(Tina) "Oh, I see. the only way to get written on pancake city is to talk about little cats dying. I see how it is. Michele, can't we add on some new charges* for this."

(Jason) "Tina, you finally figured it out. Hey, I'm pet sitting some cats over the weekend. Any advice?"

(Mom) "My advice is to do a pet switch with Michele's grey cat."

And that's my family. Grey kitty had a respiratory infection and will probably be fine. If you want to suggest names for my sister's cats, one of which she likes a lot better than the other, go ahead. My suggestion is Danny and Arnold, in honor of "Twins," but the cats are both female and a male name for a female cat is almost as crazy as a man getting pregnant.


*"New charges" is a reference to some still-unknown crime I committed a few emails back when I made a harmless joke about the wording of an email my Mom wrote. My Mom responded: " I refer this matter to my lawyer, Michele, and my special assistant, Tina. Take care of this guy."

Yes, that's right. My family thinks they are part of the mob.

And the winner is...

It appears that I have greatly overestimated the nerdiness of my friends and other readers of this blog. The Pancake City "Name the Somewhat Obscure Sci-Fi Show" contest has ended without a single entry.

And let me indulge in the use of italics some more. "Name the Somewhat Obscure Sci-Fi Show". This wasn't "Space: Above & Beyond" or anything. You think someone would have at least tossed me a "Babylon 5" or a "Stargate: SG-1", for crying out loud, like Captain Picard* did in Episode 137 ("There are four lights!").

Sheesh. I had more people apply to my fake contest, "Post If You’re a Child Molester," that I ran as a sting with the police.

And you know when I said the winner would get, "A yet-to-be-determined** but likely crappy prize"? I lied. The prize was completely determined and it was fucking awesome.

You know what else is fucking awesome? The show in question, whose aforementioned awesomeness is so high that it requires a separate post for the singing of its praises. An encomium will come soon.

* Hey, spell check. You red squiggle my main man again and I'll cut you.

** Actually, I wrote "detrimed". I would have spell checked it, but my previous spell checker put a red squiggle under Sisko, there was a knife nearby and…well, we all do things we're not proud of.

Contest! Old content! There is only one letter different between contest and content!

I have difficultly concentrating on more than one writing project at a time. I've been focusing on writing comedy sketches for the past week, and every time I sit down to write a blog post I get wrapped up in the quite realistic worry that I will get distracted from my goal and have trouble regaining focus.

That's reason #1 for the sparse posts recently (or maybe they just feel sparse in comparison to my non-blog writing). Reason #2 is NetFlix. Reason #2.1: I joined NetFlix to watch episodes of the Best Sci-Fi Show You've Probably Never Heard About. Yes, I could just tell you the name of the show, but that would kill the suspense and this Pancake City contest.

A yet-to-be-determined but likely crappy prize for the first person to post the name of the show in the comments. Obviously, if I had a conversation with you in the last two weeks where I said something like "Hey, I found out about this really awesome Sci-Fi show called..." you are disqualified. But if you are miffed, I will create a special contest just for youse.

And...if you first visited this site in the last six months or less, you probably haven't read this. It's a column I wrote, the link to which got lost when I switched templates and may forever remain loss because I am Lazy.

******

Lying About Robots College

I called Montgomery College's bookstore, located in Maryland, a few days ago. The voicemail rattled off a list of choices. Just as I was about to press '2' and miss the opportunity of a lifetime, I heard,

"Press 0 to speak to an automated attendant."

Automated attendant? A robot! The future is here! I almost ejaculated over my collection of Issac Asimov books. 0, 0, 0!

"There is no automated attendant this time."

Hold on a minute. Now, I don't know a lot about robots. But I do know that they work 23/7, with an hour to lube them and to check that they haven't gone crazy.

Do you see what MC is doing? They're posing regular employees as robots and, we can deduce, forcing them to talk in stilted voices and wave their arms in a worried manner.

That's wrong for robots, and even more wrong for non-robots. It's also something I cannot watch while sitting idly by.

"
Subject: 01000001001000000110001101101111011011010111
00000110110001100001011010010110111001110100
[translate]

Dear Ms. Tammy Shawver,

I recently called your bookstore and was shocked, surprised, saddened, chagrined, flummoxed, and anti-delighted to find that you tease customers with the siren's call of the future but do not indeed deliver.

I am of course talking about your claim to "Press 0 to speak to an automated attendant", i.e. a robot. Yet when I pressed 0--repeatedly--the promised robot was not to be found.

I ask you, where is the robot? Where is Tibor, Robby, R2D2, Data, Number 5, Crow T., Gorog, or Vicki? Where is the rigid thinking, the tender humanity? The beeps, the boops, and most of all, the blips.

This is the moment to define yourself. Are you Montgomery College, or Lying About Robots College? Do you have a B.S. in engineering, or a B.A. in BS? Do you have a master's degree in truth, or an honorary doctorate in deception?

Please employ real robots in your store as soon as possible. Robots are our friends and we should not deny them a place in our society. I AM NOT A NUT. Nuts don't realize the possibility that they are nuts.

Sincerely,
Cashew Johnson

Virginia: Defending Its Citizens Against Underwear

One of the most homophobic states in the Union shows that it's about so much more than the gays.

Va. Bill Sets Fine for Low-Riding Pants

Can we get a referendum for a "Three Stupid Laws and You're Out" measure? The first time someone gets fined under this (proposed) law, the state is going to be hit by a lawsuit and spend tens of thousands of dollars defending it in a losing effort. Is this even going to help the re-election campaign of the delegates sponsoring it? "Vote for me. I'm tough on pants."

Pantaloony, I tell you. It still needs to pass Virginia's Senate and be signed by the governor. Let's see if the other leg of the legislature goes along with this.

Social Security Parody

From the President's talk on Social Security, February 4, 2005, FL.

* "So, to give you an example, in 2027, the system will be $200 billion short. In other words, they collect X amount of payroll taxes, but because baby boomers like me are living longer and have been promised greater benefits, we're $200 billion short that year -- that year. And the next year is bigger than $200 billion. In 3037 [sic], it's like $300 billion."

* "Now, there's some rules, and it's important for you to know the rules. One, you can't take your money that you set aside in the personal account and go to the race track." (Applause.)

* "All ideas are on the table except running up the payroll tax. And I don't care whether it's a Democrat idea, Republican idea, independent idea, I'm interested in ideas."

(From the 3rd Presidential debate:
KERRY:"And, like Franklin Roosevelt*, I don't care whether an idea is a Republican idea or a Democrat idea. I just care whether it works for America and whether it's going to make us stronger." )

(*One has to admire Bush's gumption in invoking the philosophy of the man who created Social Security to help destroy it.)


*(The grand finale: just try and make sense of what he is saying).

Q "-- really understand how is it the new plan is going to fix that problem?"

THE PRESIDENT: "Because the -- all which is on the table begins to address the big cost drivers. For example, how benefits are calculate, for example, is on the table; whether or not benefits rise based upon wage increases or price increases. There's a series of parts of the formula that are being considered. And when you couple that, those different cost drivers, affecting those -- changing those with personal accounts, the idea is to get what has been promised more likely to be -- or closer delivered to what has been promised.

Does that make any sense to you? It's kind of muddled. Look, there's a series of things that cause the -- like, for example, benefits are calculated based upon the increase of wages, as opposed to the increase of prices. Some have suggested that we calculate -- the benefits will rise based upon inflation, as opposed to wage increases. There is a reform that would help solve the red if that were put into effect. In other words, how fast benefits grow, how fast the promised benefits grow, if those -- if that growth is affected, it will help on the red.

Okay, better? I'll keep working on it. (Laughter.)"

On the back of bottles of Liquid-Plumr:

TO DISPOSE: Offer empty container for recycling. If recycling is not available, discard container in trash.


***
CUSTOMER SERVICE: "Liquid-Plumr. How can I help you?"
PERSON: Hi. What exactly do you mean by "offer empty container for recycling"?
CS: It means you can put it in your recycling container, if you have one.
PERSON: So that's an ix-nay on placing it outside on a pile of mulch, surrounded by a circle of candles, and smearing the blood of a sacrificial goat upon your naked body while you chant a paean to Kronos, God of recycling, as part of an effort for him to accept your humble offering?
CS: Yeah.

***
CUSTOMER SERVICE: "Liquid-Plumr. How can I--"
PERSON: "Hi. Me again. I tried discarding container in trash, but my trashcan won't take it."
CS: "It won't 'take it'?"
PERSON: "Well, it doesn't have an opening, so I threw the container at it and it bounced off the top."
CS: "Is the lid open?"
PERSON: "The lid! Yes. It all makes sense now. You've unclogged my brain AND my drain."

***
CS: "Liquid-Plumr. How can I help you?"
PERSON: "What happened to the B? Is Liquid-Plumrrr drunk?"
[click]
PERSON: "Is that a dial tone, or are you slurring an 'O'?"

***
CS: "Liquid-Plumr."
PERSON: "Have we spoke before?"
CS: "No. I just started today."
PERSON: "Excellent. I have a suggestion. On the back of the bottle, the directions say, "If recycling is not available, discard container in trash." Discard is a harsh word. It batters a container's fragile self-esteem at a delicate point in his life when he is wrestling with the question, "Now what?" That's why you should change the wording to "promote container to trash." Give them hope. Let them know that, whatever path life next takes them, it can be just as rich and fulfilling as unclogging hair out of drains."
CS: "Is this a joke?"
PERSON: "You got me. This is Ron from finance."
CS: "Ha ha! I knew it."
PERSON: "Ha ha! Kidding aside, I have some bad news. You're fired."

SOTU

I tuned in late to President Bush's SOTU address and entertained myself by getting a running tally of standing ovations vs. smirks. It was 17 standing ovations to 14 smirks when he said he supported a constitutional amendment against gay marriage and some Republicans leapt out their seats and erupted in glee.

I haven't seen people get this excited about discrimination since the 1950s. It's too bad our leaders don't get as excited about reducing the budget deficit. Bush mentioned "deficit" once and "freedom" 21 times. If only someone could get him to view the issue as "Freedom…from deficits!" or to reframe tax cuts as "Freedom cuts" we would be getting somewhere.

I wonder how long the President's mention of a gay-marriage amendment will go to satiate the religious conservatives who threatened to withhold supporting his Social Security proposal if he doesn't submit an amendment to Congress. (Evidentially, Jesus hates Social Security and gays.) I almost feel sad for the conservatives that thinks he really cares about it. Bush is going on daily trysts with his Social Security privatization proposal, doodling hearts over its name, spending all his time daydreaming about it, fantasizing about gliding his fingertips over Privy's rippling muscles that will tear Social Security apart out of love for him.

Then he gets home to Ms. Anti-Gay Marriage, her hair in curlers and covered by a fishnet cap, her pink bathrobe tightly knotted at the waist to squeeze in her corpulent belly. She is on the verge of tears. "I need to know: do you love me?" George sighs. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." She grabs his shirt, almost pulling it off with her pudgy, chocolate-covered fingers on it. "Then take me."

George muffles his revulsion. All that escapes is an almost imperceptible shudder. "How about next week? I'm really tired" he says and runs off to the bedroom before she can argue.

He pulls the covers tightly over his head. She pays the rent, but he won't need her for ever. "Just a few more months. A few more months."

Haloscan Makes Me Feel Good

I like how Haloscan says "Comment successfully posted" after sending a comment. It makes me feel like when I had to bounce a rubber ball in preschool 20 times in a row as part of a hand-eye coordination test, and I did it! That was the day the extra cup of juice was mine.

More computer programs should be like that. When you turn on your computer, the first message shouldn't be "File corrupted" or "ERROR at 07DE:0850" (I use Windows) but "Nice job pressing that power button!" Starting Photoshop: "Who's that cutie opening me up?" Deleting a file: "Did you do that all by yourself? Good job!"

And, most important of all, the 3.5 in. disk drive should be replaced with a cookie dispenser. Separate juice holder unneccessary. That's what CD-ROM drives are for.

A Few Washington Post Headlines

Council Chides Duncan on Costs
"$3.99 for half a dozen donuts? That's ridiculous."

Frost Drops Out of DNC Race
Now one-on-one contest between Dean, Ice Balls.

Redskins Drop New Payment Policy
Blood of first-born no longer required. Second born acceptable with deposit.

Chickenpox Cases Decline Sharply
Replaced with new, fearsome "Deathpox" cases.

(Live after the speech) Instant Analysis Discussion
Headline collapses under weight of own oxymoron-inity