WP Headlines

Alleged Cyber-Stalker Served With E-Lawsuit
Faces up to 1001 years in E-Jail

Leagues Unite to Battle Drugs
Justice League, Fantastic Four promise to render upon drugs holy mutant justice

No Neutral Ground in War Over Lyme Disease
We can’t even talk about tics without phrasing it as a war? It’s a disease, not a car bomb. “You’re either with us or against us.” Who’s the opposition, Scientologists?

• SCIENTOLOGIST1: “Hey, guys. Want to be against Lyme Disease?”
• SCIENTOLOGIST2: “Why the heck not? Send a memo to Tom, tell him they’re from the planet Lymos, and add it to the pile."
  

Gilmore' Fans Unhappy With Abrupt Ending?
Lovely. Two things I don’t give a shit about in one headline.

Deputy Attorney General Announces Resignation
That's senior official #4. Is anyone left? I envision Gonzalez sitting alone at his desk in a dusty, sunlight room. A squeak echoes through the halls. “Someone there? I’m free if you want to talk. I bought some jelly beans. They’re on my desk. Come on in. Hello?”

I LOVE THE MEDIA!!!!

INTERNET NEWS ROX. (1)

(1) Source: Wikipedia

I Know It's Wrong To Admire Him...

...but I can't help it.

Armless man eludes police in high-speed car chase

The story is even better than the headline. Not only is this guy, Michael Wiley, driving around with no arms and escaping the cops, he is a mean son-of-a-bitch. He has been arrested before drug and abuse charges, and has had his driver's license revoked. Armless doesn't cover it. He doesn't even have two legs. One of them was damaged in the electrical accident that made him armless. You know why he spent time in jail in 1996?

He kicked a state trooper.

An able-bodied person attacking a police officer is wrong. But when an armless, one-legged man kicks a cop, maybe he has a legitimate beef with the police. If you lose three out of four appendages, whatever you do with the fourth appendage becomes real important. Priority 1. This guy isn't patting his head and rubbing his belly at the same time. He's making choices.

That must have been embarrassing for the kicked trooper. How did the officer not see it coming? Wiley has one leg. His hand-to-hand combat options are limited. He's either hopping away or taking a stand. You don't even need to figure out which leg he is going to use. Cover your crotch and watch for arm bites. Not too complicated.

What I like about this story is that is about a disabled person who is absolutely, completely anti-inspirational. It's not about challenges that the mundane activities of life pose for the disabled. Wiley isn't fulfilling a dream of hopping up Mt. Kilimanjaro or grooming rescue dogs with a comb attachment for his big toe.

It's about a mean, probably horrible man with no obvious redeeming qualities who, when faced with a long, uphill battle to overcome his disability and use the challenge as motivation for life, said: "Screw it. I'm racing cops." It's a type of disabled person never promoted in the media, and I'm glad to have heard of him. Even positive stereotypes gets in the way of viewing people as individuals, and not just as a member of a group.

The Petulant Pessimist

"I hate lemonade. I don't want to make it."

The Optimist's Optimist
"I don't need to make lemonade. I love lemons!"

The Literalist
"How is making lemonade going to help me get through breast cancer?"

The Polite Cola Drinker
"Life, don't get me wrong. I appreciate the lemons. But lemonade isn't my thing. It's still sour. I mean, it comes from lemons. I'll tell you what. Next Pepsi, I'll squeeze a little in.

The Metaphorist
"Lemons, bad event. Lemonade, using the bad event to spur something good in life. But what does the rest mean? Okay, this is going to sound weird, but stick with me. The sugar: positive attitude. The stirrer: motivation and support. The container: the limits of individualism. Oh, come on, You didn't even think about it. Look, I said it would sound weird. Fine, do you have a better explanation? Yeah. Didn't think so."

The Lemon
"Oooh, that feels good. Hey, what are you doing with that knife?"

On Lemon Seeds
"When life gives you lemons, life also gives you a dozen little miniature lemon packets embedded in the original lemon, just in case you have any hope of not being completely screwed."

Small Rant

Why is it so difficult to print a playlist in Windows Media Player? It's one of the most simple and needed functions for a media player, and WMP doesn't have an option for it. You need to download a third-party program, and the program is buggy and I can't get it to work yet.

A college computer student would probably write one in half-an-hour. A playlist is just a bunch of metadata, right? Song titles, artist names, file locations, and so on. I suspect all of this information could be saved in a text file if disk space and efficiency weren't concerns. Yet it's not in WMP 11. Maybe Microsoft is saving it for WMP 27. "Awesome! WMP 27 totally crushes WMP 1-26. Now I can do this incredibly useful and easy-to-code function! Oh, what wonders will WMP 28 bring? What forth magic?"

I know how petty these concerns are in the grand scheme of things, yet they still annoy me. Some things are so simple that I don't understand why they aren't implemented from the start.

Art and Joan, You're Getting Your Mail!

Four months ago, a few weeks before Christmas, my roommates and I received a red envelope at our home in Washington D.C. The address was a little off. We live on 10th St. S.E. The letter was addressed to 10th Ave E.

And it was addressed to West Fargo, North Dakota.

Oopsie!

I assumed it was a Christmas card and, as a responsible citizen, quickly showed it to as many friends and family as possible, took a few photos of it, and promptly forgot about it for the next five months.

That is a slight exaggeration. I did reinsert it into the mail slot. The mail carrier didn't pick it up. Hey, buddy, I don't blame you. Not your state, nor your problem. I tossed it on a pile of junk mail, made a vague notion to do something about it, sometime, preferably soon, like before May.

And I did! I unearthed it while cleaning up a few days ago, beating the deadline that I have a very clear memory of probably making. I took action, removing the red missive from the pile of old Val-U-Pak coupons and letters of various importance for former housemates that they have no chance of receiving unless they get severe amnesia, turn to a life of crime, and then break into the house, creating a confusing and awkward moment for all when they see a pile of mail addressed to themselves, on top of our liquor cabinet and weighed down by an old, rotting onion.

The letter in hand, I vowed to make one more attempt to guide it back into the U.S. Postal System. Now is not your time, little one. This time, I would ensure the post carrier took the lost letter by writing "Misdelivered" on it, because evidentially "North Dakota" wasn't vaulting over the Try Again bar.

I gave up after writing the "M". I only had a red pen, and since the envelope was red (I give no extraneous details!) the writing was illegible.

What to do? Get a black pen, you say? Well, cowboy, here's the problem: the black pen was upstairs. I was downstairs. Lazy people don't go up and down the same flight of stairs unless it's an emergency. The practice is inefficient, and once we start, who knows what horrible chores our feet may take us to?

Instead, I left it on the dining room table, where one of my two roommates would surely see it and handle the situation, or at least have a dark-ink pen.

Alex ended up having the right equipment + gumption to do the job. I provided supervision, namely asking "Do you have a black pen?" and "Would you mind writing 'Misdelivered' on this letter?" I pointed out my red M, lest she think I was lazy and didn't follow through with my tasks. I also stopped her from opening the letter and peeking inside. She'll claim she was joking, but I think my tut-tutting and a weak bond of paper and glue were all that was protecting Art and Joan's perverted secrets.

Art, Joan, your letter is on the way. I hope your friendship with the sender is still intact. If it isn't, that's okay, because you two would have to be big jerks to break a friendship over a missed Christmas Card. Merry Christmas. I'll assume you'll write a wonderful thank you note to me, and that it will get lost in the mail.

From a Redneck Athiest

I got a message for all you illegal evangelical Christians speaking in tongues. "Goobitty goobitty gobity goobitty."

This is America. You speak in tongues in English.

DC Comedy Fest 07 and WoW

The DC Comedy Fest started last Thursday and ends tonight. I volunteered to take tickets and got a nifty T-shirt and a staff badge. On the badge is the customary comedy festival "I have to pee" icon, with the American flag waving proudly in the background. "Oh, say can you see..." Every time I see that bladder controlled-challenged, unisex hermaphrodite, a tear wells up in my eye. God bless comedy.

Watching stand-up comedy makes me long to get back into the scene and regret the time I wasted away playing computer games alone at home. I got sucked into World of Warcraft, a popular online game, for the past two months.

This is true: I have a half-written post about WoW making fun of the game, while I was playing it during a trial period. I didn't finish the game because midway through writing it my rogue reached level 20 and got the ability to apply poison to his blade. Then me and a raiding party killed Lord Meneon, and after a successful greed roll on the loot, I got the Tunic of Westfall, and then Lady Elvira flew down on her magical Griffin, and...

I need help. Help rescuing the Prince of Stormwind, who was absconded by a band of bandits and taken to...

No! I need real help. This game is addicting, and I have no self-control. This is also true: I canceled my account over a month ago because I felt I was wasting my life away on the game. On my last paid day, I killed a Feral Rage Scar Yeti (just keeping it real, people). and the monster drops an extremely rare, 1 in 10,000 chance sword. It's the WoW equivalent of kicking a bear and having the Hope Diamond pop out of its ass. Well, maybe I can renew for one more month...

Days later, I was killing Primal Oozes while yelling, "You ooze, you lose!" I got a few game pets, a cat (named him Dog), a bear (Unbearable), a boar (I'mBoard), and a crab (CrabbyMcClaws).

A few weeks after that, the start-up screen hint started displaying, "Do everything in moderation, even World of Warcraft!" You know there's a problem when your computer tells you to take it easy.

I got to the point yesterday where I opened up the parent control panel and limited my play time during the week. 10 p.m.-12 a.m. on weekdays, early in the morning on weekends to motivate me to get up and after 10 on weekends so I'm not tempted to stay home and play.

It's working well so far. Technically, there is nothing stopping me from disabling the restriction, but that extra step is enough for now to get me to stop. If I find myself slipping back, I'm going to put a random password in the Parental Control account so the change will be permanent.

Which means I'll be writing more posts, and doing other creative activities like taking photos and posting them on my Flickr account. Even if this break ends up being short-lived, a small break is better than no break. Which is also the motto of my Orc character, Sir ThugALot.

High Court Faults EPA Inaction on Emissions

From the WP:

• The Supreme Court rebuked the Bush administration yesterday for refusing to regulate greenhouse gas emissions, siding with environmentalists in the court's first examination of the phenomenon of global warming.

How lazy do you have to be to get the Supreme Court to tell you to do your job? There must have been a few people before it reached this point that said, "Hey, I'd hate to be a dick, but you haven't shown up for work in a while, and a few states are threatening to take you to court." How long until the Court hears the case? "Well, it may be a few years, but that doesn't mean--"A few years? Oh, sure. I'll get right on that.

Watch "This American Life"

The popular public radio show debuted its television version on Showtime last week. I'm watching it right now--Showtime is letting people watch the first (and future?) episode for free.

My Favorite Scam Site

Maybe Google is trying to tell me something by showing text ads for scams when I'm reading email from friends. Nice try, Meghan. You almost got me with Earth Day.

One ad has appeared several times and it is by far my favorite. It's a scam site about scam sites.

The brazenness of the entire enterprise is awesome. What's so funny is that the web site creator, "Danny", made the absolute minimum effort to fool people. It's Scam 1.0 from Web 1.0--no snazzy graphics or official-sounding dummy corporation like "Consumer Protection League" or "Web Business Bureau".

He didn't even bother to put names on the fake testimonials. How lazy is that? That's one of the reasons I like Danny's Scam Review. Danny has absolutely no respect for his target audience. I suspect if someone signed up for one of the scams he recommended, Danny would send that person an email saying "Got you, dipshit" followed by an ad for Donny's Scam Review beneath it ("Don't listen to Danny! These are the real non-scams!")

Some would assume that Danny is another morally bankrupt scam site operator willing to exploit people's gullibility for a quick buck. I don't. This web site is the equivalent of placing a wastebasket on the street with a sign that says, "PUT MONEY IN HERE." He set the stupidity bar so high that it almost absolves him from any moral culpability.

The underlying principle is that the amount of energy one puts towards tricking someone is tied to the amount of responsibility one has for the consequences. If you believe me if I tell you my name is JuJu the Conquerer, and I am wearing an ID badge with my photo and the name "Jason" on it, shame on you. If you believe me if I tell you my name is Ben, and I forge an ID with that name on it and get a friend to yell, "Hey, Ben!" when I am talking to you, then shame on me.

I suppose "Danny" is trying to trick people, but the effort put forth is so minimal that if it works, can he be blamed? I'm half-tempted to start Donny's Scam Review site, which would trash Danny and tell you the real secret information: it's all a scam. Except MakeMoneyWithJuJu.com.

Happy Birthday, Tina!

Let it be known across all nodes of ye Internet: it's my sister's birthday!

How I Almost Killed Pancake City

Subtitle: Finally, it's finished.

I love my family. They are my biggest support network and constantly share their kindness with me. I wonder who reads my web page, but I know my family does. When I ran a contest a few weeks ago, Tina was the first to fulfill the stringent requirements (post a comment) and "won" a cartoon based on a word or phrase of her choice.

Her choice was "space monkey balls," which I later learned was her variation of my Flickr account name. Time passed. She bugged me about my progress. "Still in the conceptual phase, Tina. I'll have it done soon. Probably tomorrow. Tuesday at the latest."

More time passed. I had some difficultly moving past the conceptual phase, i.e. a sheet of paper separated in uneven quadrants. Tina kept bugging me. Finally, to motivate myself and to show my sister how important it was for me to make a cartoon for her, contrary to my lack of action, I said: "I tell you what. I won't make another post until I finish your cartoon."

Dumb idea. The overall dumbness of the idea is that if I had the skills to make workable self-motivation plans, I wouldn't have needed to make that promise in the first place.

The specific dumbness of the idea is that I, an incredibly lazy person, said, nay, promised, laid my integrity on the line, that come Satan's dominion or a great flood, I just wasn't going to do the ordinary work I avoid doing until I do the extra work that I'm really trying to avoid doing.

That happened two, three weeks ago? I could check, but again, re: laziness. What finally motivated me is Tina driving four hours to here to celebrate her birthday this weekend. The threat of a face-to-face meeting was a shameful enough thought to spur me to get the cartoon done.

Also, and I wish I was making this up, I kind of don't have her Christmas gift done yet, and I am hoping this appeases her for a few days.

The cartoon.

Dude, Where's My Crust?

Someone--most likely evil space aliens (as if there were any other type!)--stole a large part of the Earth's crust.

That's not the fancy-shmancy "scientific" view, but dude, come on. It's obvious aliens took it to build more moon condos. Wake up and smell the coffee, which is made from dead bug larva. From the moooooon!

The Other 364 Days

7:00 A.M. LOS ANGELES. Jack Bauer is sleeping in his bed. The alarm goes off.

DISC JOCKEY1 VO: “Hello, Los Angeles! [DJ rings bell a few times] Time to stop L.Aying in bed and smell the sunshine.”

DISC JOCKEY2 VO: “More like “Smogshine” today. Yuck yuck!”

Bauer whacks snooze button.

7:09:57, 7:09:58, 7:09:59, 7:10:00
Bauer’s alarm goes off.

DISC JOCKEY1 VO: “Here’s Stacy McLacy with the Q107 Traffic Minute!”

STACY VO: "Bad news, Bob. Route 1 West is bumper to bumper after a tractor trailer hit another tractor trailer, which hit a school bus full of kittens. It’s going to be hours before—"

Bauer whacks snooze button.

7:19:57, 7:19:58, 7:19:59, 7:20:00
Bauer’s alarm goes off.

DISC JOCKEY1 VO: “Okay, Leslie. If you can scream like a hyena for 107 seconds non-stop, we’ll give you 107 dollars of Q Cash. Go!”

LESLIE: "AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Bauer grabs alarm clock and throws it across the room.

7:45 A.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is wearing an undershirt and boxers. He brushes his teeth for a few seconds, lifts up his undershirt, looks at his beer belly from the side, and sighs.

9:30 A.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is in a Laundromat, removing laundry from a dryer. He hears a sharp sound. He quickly ducks and rolls to the side, coming up with his gun drawn. A squeaky rat scurries past him.

12:30 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is making soup. He adds some vegetables, and then a skinned rat. The phone rings.

BAUER: “Bauer.” [caller says something unintelligble] “You have 15 seconds. Tell me everything you know about MCI.”

12:51:57, 12:51:58, 12:51:59, 12:52:00

BAUER: “...and then my daughter, Kim, gets kidnapped, get this. Not once, not twice. Three times. In one day. [garbled] Yeah. Totally unbelievable. Wow, I can’t believe I finally told someone about my feelings. You’re a great listener. [long garbled] Uh, the thing is, CTU has a long-term contract with AT&T, and... [quickly] Gotta go.”

Bauer hangs up. The phone rings again. Bauer hesitates. He quickly picks up the phone and hangs it up again.

2:15 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

BAUER is standing in front of a full-length mirror, and holding a long, pink dress. He holds it close to him, as if imagining what he looks like in it. He then throws the dress on the ground, too ashamed to look at it.”

BAUER: “No, no!”

3:30 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

A teddy bear is tied to a chair. The bear is in poor condition. It is dirty and has a few limbs and body parts disconnected from his body. Bauer is holding a red and blue wire connected to a battery.

BAUER: “Where is the bomb? Where is the bomb! [pause] You brought this on yourself.”

BAUER shocks the teddy bear with the wires.

5:10 P.M. LOS ANGELES.

Bauer is watching a small TV in a dim-lit living room.

OPRAH VO: “Today on Oprah: Estranged fathers reunite with their sons.”

Bauer tears up and cries.

9:45 P.M. LOS ANGELES

BAUER is sitting on his bed, twiddling his fingers. He makes a phone call.

VOICE: “Hello, this is Audrey.” [BAUER breathes heavily] Hello?”

BAUER hangs up. He sighs, crawls into bed, and turns off the light.

Gmail Trivia

I had no idea: Gmail doesn't recognize dots in an email address. Yourname@gmail.com is functionally the same as Y.o.u.r...n.a.m.e@gmail.com .

Gardening Advice Needed

I'm living in a house with a yard for the first time in years. It's a small yard, but enough for a few flowers.

I haven't made a garden before and don't know what to do. What are some spring flowers I can get that are easy to plant and take care of? What is the prep work I need to do? Do I need a Garden Weasel? I hope so. They look weaselly fun. Hey, weaselly is a real word. That's boomtastic. Damn. Right-click, Add to Dictionary. YES. Boomtastic.

Randon Pancake City Contest

First person to leave a comment for this post and has the ability to read directions wins!

The directions: Leave a random word or phrase--anything goes--as a comment. I'll make a cartoon inspired by your suggestion.

Dear One Person Who Uses the RSS Feed and Can't Even Read This Post Because She Only Has the Broken Link and Is Too Lazy to Type 1001words.com

It's fixed!

RSS link

No, Really

"Nerdcore hip hop, or geeksta rap, is a subgenre of hip hop music that is performed by nerds or geeks, and is characterized by themes and subject matter considered to be of general interest to nerds."

The above quote is both why I love and hate Wikipedia.

PCRN2~ Update

Check this post for the radio show link at 7:45 p.m. EST.

Update: Da link. Show stars at 8:00 p.m.

Ouch

Getting bit in the balls can really change one’s outlook on life.

Boomer, a stupid mutt that I walk, has been getting aggressive with me recently when his owner was in the house. He tore at my jacket and made a small rip in my jeans once. His owner brought over someone to work with him on Monday, and I came over to help them out.

The person his owner brought over, Diane I Don’t Know Shit About Dogs, didn’t have a good grip on the leash when she brought Boomer near me to desensitize him. He bit me on my ankle, thigh, and grazed my Voldemorts (You Know Where).

My ball sac quickly went to turtle mode, but it was too late at that point. Ouch.

The experience changed my outlook of my weekend. Up to that point, I had a great weekend:

• Friday: hung out with friends at a bar.
• Saturday: Spent time with my sisters and eat an amazing Iranian meal my Mom made for a dinner party.
• Sunday: Relaxed, read an interesting book (The Victorian Internet).
• Monday: Played with two Jack Russell’s that I adore, got bit in the balls.

Afterwards, this is how I viewed my weekend:

• Friday: Didn’t get bit in the balls.
• Saturday: Didn’t get bit in the balls.
• Sunday: Still didn’t get bit in the balls.
• Monday: Got bit in the balls.

If I had won the lottery on Friday, and someone asked me, “How was my weekend?” I’d say it was a wash.

I’ve had trouble falling asleep this week. I still have a lot of fear and anger about the event. The physical pain was minor, but it was traumatic, and I’m still dealing with it. Also, my balls itch.

You know what’s the worst? The next day, someone at the dog care company I worked for who knew about the visit but not the details emailed me to see how it went. She asked, “How was the dog psychic?”

What? Dog psychic? Are you kidding me? The person wasn’t a dog trainer, but a dog psychic? I remembered a comment the owner made a few days ago about “the dog psychic coming by” this weekend, but I thought she was using a cutesy way to say “animal behaviorist,” not “incompetent loon”. My bad.

I do have some responsibility to ask a person’s qualifications before putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation. But is it that absurd to expect someone whose career is to work with dogs to master THE MOST BASIC RULE OF DOG TRAINING: don’t put someone, especially a stranger, in a situation where he or she can get bitten.

Boomer was lunging at me the whole time. You think her psychic powers would have tipped her off that the dog was in heat-seeking crotch mode.

More than anything, that’s what makes me angry about this situation. The dog was just being a dog, but the “professional” should have known better. On my side, I need to stop worrying about appearing rude or untrusting in situations that affect my health, whether it’s a dog trainer or a doctor.

How To Write Your Name on a Building with a Laser

And not get into trouble.

The latest project from the Graffiti Research Lab: a laser pointer synchronized with a projector that lets people write in real-time on any large, flat surface.

Column: The Mystical, Magical Slurpee Tour

I wrote some columns a few years ago that few of you have seen. They were on the old version of the site before I redesigned it.

(Entire redesign process: [log in to Blogger] “Oooh, new templates!” [click] “Hey, where are my columns?”

***

The weather forecast was wonderfully wrong today. Sixty-five degrees, sunny the whole day, and the supposed afternoon showers didn't show until nightfall. I rode my bike for an hour and a half on the local trails.

I love bike trails, but they invariably have boring names like "W&O Trail" or--when the park department wants to turn on the Shake n’ Bake--"C&O Trail."

Where is "The Trail Less Traveled"? "A Trail of Two Cities"? "T-Rail Owens?" I'm already vibrating my lips like a motorcycle when I turn corners. Silliness isn’t a problem. Reality is.

Then again, reality occasionally has its moments. After my bike ride, I was parched and went in 7-11 to buy a Slurpee. My experience, without exaggeration:

ME: "Hey, can I try the flavors? I don't know which one I want."
7-11 EMPLOYEE: "Breakfast?"

(Perhaps this is a good point to mention that I have a severe stutter and many of my conversations start with mutual confusion.)

ME: "Take two. Can I try the Slurpee flavors?"
7-11 EMPLOYEE: "Try the flavors?"
ME: "Yes!"
7-11 EMPLOYEE: [thought hard for a moment] "No?"

In my younger years, I would have left, disappointed. Not this time. One, for all I knew, he may have thought we were still talking about breakfast. Two, he made a fatal mistake. He left doubt in his voice, like a person who is asked, “Do you want me to not not punch you?” Time to repeat what I want until he caves in.

ME: "I want to try the flavors before I buy a Slurpee."
7-11 EMPLOYEE: “Um...”
ME: "I'd like to try the flavors before I buy a Slurpee."
7-11 EMPLOYEE: “Try...flavors?”

(His manager notices the commotion and comes over.)

MANAGER: "What's going on?"
7-11 EMPLOYEE (about to cry): "He wants to try the flavors."

The manager, used to serving food critics, got me a Dixie cup. The situation was over. I poured a bit of the sour strawberry. To victory. I lifted the cup up to my lips, feeling strangely uneasy, and turned around.

They were both staring at me. These two were smarter than I thought. My original plan was to sample Dixie-cup sized Slurpee flavors until I was bloated, and then dash out of the store on my bike while those suckers foot the bill. But that was a trick no pony was going to pull on them.

At first, I tried to ignore them. I sipped the sour strawberry. Tangy and very promising. I advanced towards the root beer.

MANAGER: "You don't want that. It's frozen."

It didn't look more frozen than the other frozen Slurpees, but who was I to argue? I’m not an ice technician. I grabbed the handle for cherry.

MANAGER (and let me remind you that this is not made up): "That's cherry. Why do you want to try cherry?"

I turned around and gave my biggest fake smile. They both left. But her words made me think.

Perhaps his question was not accusatory but philosophical. Why did I want to try cherry? Why did I want to try any of the flavors? Why did I want to go bike riding, or eat Cheerios for breakfast, or scratch myself in CVS but refrain from doing so because of those damn 1984-style mirrors?

It tasted good. Is that enough of an answer? I feel almost sacrilegious saying this, but...could there be more to life than Slurpees?

I thought about this until I saw Blue Raspberry.

Best Response to the Boston\Mooninites Fiasco

Funny and well-done video.

Pancake City Radio: 9:30 p.,m. EST, Thursday

Stop on by this Thursday, 2/22, and listen to Pancake City Radio from 9:00-11:00 p.,m. EST. I'll post the link a 1/2 hour before the broadcast. The music is set, and I'm going to try to put up a web page with a "Now Playing" list and record a few short comedy bits by Thursday.

The best description I can come up for the music is catchy, evocative tunes from mostly independent labels. Some of the artists: Andrew Bird, Arcade Fire, Beulah, Gnarls Barkley, Ladytron, Lampchop, M. Ward, and Over The Rhine.

I'd appreciate feedback on the audio quality, server timeouts, and other technical matters. For now, I'll be broadcasting from my computer with a limits of five listeners at a time. If you like this type of music, let me know what times and days you want the station to be on. You will likely get your wish, as you will likely be 20% of the audience.

Very Precious

Barry White teams up with Gollum and Smeagol.

This Original Gansta/Gandalf mash-up is pretty good too. (Explicit language. Both links from BoingBoing).

I Figured Out How To Fix Campaign Financing

Send me the Nobel Peace Prize. Or, if I'm over-reaching, a MacArthur grant. Fine. Chocolate medallion wrapped in gold foil. Wrapped in a Ziploc bag?

I'll tell you what, humanity. You give me a bag of M&Ms now, and after my idea revolutionizes Presidential campaigns in America, I'll pick up the rest of my gratitude.

Nod to reality: actually, I don't feel like acknowledging reality. WHAT IS ABOUT TO FOLLOW IS THE MOST AMAZING IDEA IN THE WORLD.

Currently, candidates for federal office have two options for funding their campaigns: accept federal money but be limited to how much money one can raise, or reject federal money but be able to raise and spend as much money as one wants.

Many candidates in both the primaries and general election forgo federal funding because the spending restrictions would put them at a crippling disadvantage. Both President Bush and Senator Kerry turned down federal funding in the primary season because of this.

My opinion is that the excess of money in the campaign system creates an unlevel playing field to any candidate with a significant amount of money more than his or her opponents. The advertising buying power and media coverage that money brings drowns out the voices of lesser-funded candidates and prevents most Americans from being able to give them fair consideration.

One option is to increase the amount of federal matching funds given to candidates. Considering how great an effect a President can have on America's future, and how we should do everything possible to ensure that the best candidates are nominated and have a chance to win, this isn't a bad solution.

If it costs $200 million dollars for voters to get to choose from 6 good candidates instead of 2, isn't that worth it, at least for the Presidential election?

There is a better solution though. Here is my big idea. It's a game theory approach to the issue. Instead of offering each candidate federal funding individually, we pool the money together, and if one candidate decides to opt out of federal funding, that money is split among the other candidates.

Let's say Candidates A and B are offered $125 million each for their election campaign. Candidate A says, "I could raise $200 million on my own. I'm going to pass on federal funds." But then Candidate B will get his $125 million, giving him a total of $250 million if he decides to accept federal funding, which Candidate B probably will do now.

So what is Candidate A going to go? Accept federal money. Not for his gain, but because if he doesn't, it will put him in a worse situation than his opponent: having to spend months of his time raising $250 million or more against his opponent who would have all that money without having to spend the time and resources to get it.

This works for primaries too, where I think funding plays the biggest role. Let's say there are 6 Democratic nominees that meet the eligibility requirements for federal funding. The pool of money is $120 million, or $20 million for each candidate.

Senator Obama and Senator Clinton have already passed on federal funding for the primaries. Let's say they pass because they can earn $50 million on their own. But by them forgoing federal funds, the other 4 candidates now get $10 million more, from $20 million to $30 million.

Still a disadvantage, but less of one. The fewer candidates that accept federal funding, the more it benefits other candidates to accept it. In essence, any candidate who forgoes funds is automatically giving all of his opponents free money, narrowing the funding gap among them and administering an extra penalty for not accepting public financing.

The system becomes self-balancing and fair, provided some thought is placed into the funding amounts. The current flaws in our federal financing system is only part of the problem money plays in politics, but I also think it is one of the easiest parts to fix.

How Powerful is a Penny?

This isn't the beginning of a financial advice column on how to scrimp and save your way to being a millionaire. This is the beginning of a column, and possibly on-going series, on how to annoy your roommate with pennies.

When I got home, I saw some pennies on my drawer. I dislike pennies. They're like herpes: never around when you need them, and always there when you don't. Okay, that's nothing like herpes. There's a cure for herpes. But there's no cure for pennies.

There's no cure for herp--

Shut up. I read it on Wikipedia. Anyway, I saw the spare change and had a though that has occurred to many, if not most, of my readers: how can I use these to annoy my roommate?

I decided to see how many pennies I would have to throw at her door before she opened it to investigate the sound. My hypothesis is that it would take three pennies thrown intervals of 10-15 seconds before she opened the door and screamed at me, assuming I didn't run into my room and pretend to be sleeping when I saw her door crack opened.

The equipment was simple: me, pennies. The procedure was simple as well: Throw penny. Wait. Giggle. Repeat.

Result: It took four pennies. On the third penny, I knew I was close, because I heard her exclaim, "What is that?" The fourth penny did the trick. As a bonus, I no longer had four pennies.

Conclusion: There were several factors that contributed to my roommate opening her door after four pennies. One, pennies hitting a door make a loud and unnatural sound. Two, my roommate is smart and curious, making her disposed to investigate unusual sounds. Three, my roommate was unfortunately awake pre-experiment, shortening the length of this innovative excursion into the realm of psychology.


In case there are any science goobers out there, I know this isn't a real experiment. It can't be repeated. The best I can do is throw pennies at my other roommate's door, but she lives around the corner and down a long hall. That's why experiment #2 will measure the correlation between scream volume and #of Cheez-whip topped pennies on well-trained rats.

Pancake City Radio Test Info

Not sure anyone will see this in time, but PCRX will be running from 8-11 P.M. EST. Radio link.

Windows Media Player has trouble opening the link, try this one: WMP link.

The super-tentative program guide:
8-9: Nerd Orchestra
9-10: Randomly downloaded SxSW performers
10-11: Thrills and Chills

Please add "ish" after all times.

The format is 99% music, most of it from independent labels, although if I can get my roommate Meghan to listen to the station, I'm going to play some Dave Matthews just for her. (She has a poster of him behind hidden behind her Belle and Sebastian poster). Five listeners max for now. I'm broadcasting off my computer so that's all I can handle. Listen for as long as you want.

If you tune in, please let me know how the sound quality was, if you had any problems logging on, and if so, around what time the problem was. I will be running more tests in the next few weeks as I work on technical issues and add more features.

If you are interested in helping me test future broadcasts out, please email me at monkey.on.keyboard(AT)gmail.com. It would be appreciated.

I Am the World's Most Healthiest Man

Study: Napping Regularly Fights Heart Disease

My favorite quote: "Taking a nap could turn out to be an important weapon in the fight against coronary mortality."

Yes. And I will be your General.

The only better scientific news today would be a study titled, "The New Weapon Against Cancer: Potato Chips" with a full-page, color graph correlating the effectiveness of the potato chips' cancer fighting ability with the amount of artificial bacon flavoring on the chip.

I love it when science supports my lazy lifestyle. We all welcome scientific evidence that effectively says, "Keep doing what you've been doing", but think about how much more welcome that evidence is for lazy people. I and other members of the lazy community aren't going to change our eating, sleeping, or exercise habits, no matter how much longer the changes would let us live. We're lazy. That's what we do. Well, don't do.

Our only hope to reach a healthier lifestyle is to have scientists ("Glory be to them!") is to redefine the slothful behavior that we've been practicing for most of our lives.

I don't want to end this post with something along the lines of, "I'd write more, but I'd have to take a nap." It is so predictable that it approaches cliche, and I've overused it already. The thing is, I really am going to take a nap, and that really is why I'm not going to write more. Truth is a bitch when it doesn't sound plausible.

That will be the subject of one of my next posts.

Pancake City Radio: ALPHA

From 8-11 p.m, this Monday. It's just a test to see if it works. Let me know if you can hear it.

Changing Web Hosting Services

FYI: I'm changing my web hosting service, so the site may be down for a few days. Which means you probably won't be able to read this message.

Waking Up

My sleeping pattern, by most definitions, is irregular. It developed that way years ago after I got laid off from a full-time job and fell apart without the daily structure.

I’ve become more aware of the oddity of my sleep habits after living with my roommate, Meghan, for a few months. I find her schedule absolutely loony. She’ll wake up 5:30 A.M., paint for an hour or two, bicycle to work, get home in the evening, and be in bed by 10:00 P.M.

I know this because once I heard her go into the bathroom to take a shower at 5:30 A.M. I remember being annoyed because I was about to brush my teeth and go to bed.

We talk about our inverse sleeping habits occasionally. Once, she told me she heard my alarm go off at 8:30.

"8:30?" I thought. "Why was I waking up so early? I'm not a farmer."

She saw I was confused. "8:30 p.m., Jason"

"Ohhhhh...."

I tell you all this to give you the proper context for what I am about to say: I woke up so late today I was angry at myself.

Even when I turn off my alarm clock and sleep in, my not-quite-natural biological clock will wake me around noon. Today, that time was 5:15 P.M.

I felt a mix of shock and confusion that Rip Van Winkle must have felt when he stretched his arms, sat up, and experienced what few humans in the world have: his beard tickling his penis.

Sign #1 you slept for too long: you go into denial when you looked at your alarm clock.

I checked my cell phone clock for confirmation. I still wasn’t convinced, so I frantically shoved the blinds away from the window. A faint orange glow was in the horizon, the beams of light fading unto dark blue and then darkness.

Wow. Over 13 hours. Seven hours left in the day, if that. Time to eat brunchnner, do four loads of laundry in half-an-hour, clean my room in five minutes, and then construct a time machine so I can go back in time and slap myself today at 11:00 A.M.

What went on for the next few hours was a kind of reverse "bullet time" where I was infused with a fervent energy and able to do three times what I can normally do in an hour. I did the same amount of work in three hours today than I did for most of yesterday.

I'm finally settling down and returning to more lethargic normalcy. I'm still trying to get a whirlwind of tasks done, but what’s sad is that I'm already starting to feel tired again. Maybe it's having sit down and working on the computer instead of running around, but I could honestly go back to bed now.

If I hadn't slept for so long, I probably would have. I have almost no resistance to naps. Naps are like crack for me, aside from the fact that they have the exact opposite effect of crack. I’ve said this to myself many times before, and I sadly suspect I will again: I really need to do something between naps and crack. Like watch a movie while doing push-ups, or meditate as I play Hungry Hungry Hippos.

If you see another half-dozen posts by the end of today, you'll know I'm still being active. Otherwise, I'll write a half-dozen when I wake up...tomorrow?

SuperBowl XXXLVIIT'@ I Have No Clue

I have had a few of my friends remark, unprompted, how it's neat that both of the head coaches in the Super Bowl are black. It it neat. If you are not a sports fan, the significance is that no African-American coach has made it to the Superbowl before. Until the past ten years or so, few NFL team owners have been willing to hire black head coaches.

Now, whoever wins, one of them will make history and be the first black head coach to win a Super Bowl...unless the Man fixes the game so it's a tie. Which I think would be really funny.

MADDEN: "Manning steps back, throws, and...the ball is hovering in mid-air?"
ESIASON: "Our producer is telling us that a very strong wind current in the stadium."
MADDEN: "But it's a domed stadium."

[There is a short pause. The stadium dome explodes.]

ESIASON: "The football has now risen and exited the stadium"
MADDEN: "This has got to be the strangest thing I've ever seen at a football game. Get these guys another ball. Let's play."
ESIASON: "A referee has gone to the ball cart to get a new ball, and...it's hard to make out, but it appears that someone has replaced the entire car of footballs with bunny rabbits."
MADDEN: "There has got to be another football in this stadium."
ESIASON: "I'm sure there is. The players are standing around, understandably confused. I tell you, John, I--"
MADDEN: "Hold on. The head referee is trotting out to the field. He has found another ball...DEAR GOD! A 30-ft wide sinkhole has opened up directly under the referee."
ESIASON: "I tell you John, I was expecting razzle-dazzle, but not this type of razzle-dazzle."
ESIASON: , especially Understandable when team owners only began seriously considering been willing to hire Although it's too By the end of this Superbowl, one of the two coaches will be the first

Iran and the Red Wagon

I'll post some funny posts soon. Right after I try to tie potential military action against Iran with a fable...

You may have heard the children's story, "The Red Wagon". Three royal guards with superhuman eyesight proclaimed no one could sneak something pass them without them noticing it. A young boy tries to trick them by pulling a pile of leaves on a red wagon. The guards inspect the pile, scoff, and proudly proclaim there's not a pinhead of anything in the wagon besides leaves.

The boy tries again, this time with a pile of wood in a red wagon. Then a pile of cloth, a pile of bricks, and so on. The guards inspect every fiber, every crevice, and are assured not a speck of dust has escaped their watchful eye. Finally, the boy goes to them and says, "I've tricked all of you. I've sneaked something past you every day and you never noticed." The guards are incredulous and demand to know what it was. The boy leads them to the courtyard, and a pile of red wagons.

What does this have to do with Iran? The administration has been telling us of Iran's involvement in Iraq for several months now. It seems like the worse Iraq gets, the more Iran gets blamed. Many people are rightfully suspicious of the Bush administration, and some expect them to concoct a story or blow-up a minor incident to justify military action against Iran.

But how do we know that Iran is actively trying to undermine the U.S. occupation in Iraq in the first place?

The Bush administration has repeatedly claimed that Iran was been assisting insurgents in Iraq. The press routinely repeats phrases like "proxy war"; commentators accept on face value that Iran is playing a large role in this conflict.

But when have we ever seen any proof that the Iranian government is actively assisting insurgents? Many skeptics have been focusing on the "leaves"--the manner in which the government may justify a war against Iran. Yet the "red wagon"--the idea that Iran is supporting the insurgents, is being ignored.

I feel like we have all jumped ahead to the conclusion without any hard evidence to justify it. Maybe it "makes sense" that Iran is assisting Iraqi insurgents. It "made sense" that Saddam Hussein had WMDs. It made a lot of sense, more sense than Iran actively fanning this conflict. Yet we found out later the administration reached the conclusion first, and considering that, how could they not distort the evidence to fit what they already know?

The results was that it became dependent on the war's critics to prove that WMDs didn't exist, when the administration never proved they existed in the first place.

I wonder if we are making the same cognitive error about the degree, if any, of Iran's involvement in Iraq.

Pancake City Podcast--Dead Before Arrival?

The fees and hassle to produce a legal music podcast are prohibitive for me. My original idea was to make a biweekly podcast of six genre-related songs along with a bit of comedy. That's not going to happen. It's way too expensive, especially considering the small-scale nature of what I want to make.

The host of NPR's All Songs Considered podcast (excellent for anyone who likes new music) occasionally mentions, "We try to get rights to play full versions on the podcast. When we can't, you can listen to the whole version of the song at out website, ..."

When a large corporation like NPR can't get rights to include some songs in their podcast, and the DMCA doesn't include a special "Pancake City" exception in the law (I checked--thanks a lot, CONgress), it's time to ask a question that has always guided me through troubled times: "What would Liberal Jesus do?"

Liberal Jesus, is of course, NPR, and if NPR can stream a podcast on the web, maybe I can too.

I've found some answers to my questions, and at least one streaming company, LoudCity, that will supposedly stream a radio station and handle all the royalty paperwork for a monthly fee, starting at $20 per month. I saw supposedly because I need to check the fine print (Garamond, 8pt--very annoying) and see if thereis anything being left out or unmentioned.

I'm not sure I want to pay $20 per month to stream a few podcasts every month, but it's either that or do an underground, illegal version for a few dozen friends and acquaintances.

Bush Administration in a Nutshell

"In next week's State of the Union address, President Bush plans to foist fiscal responsibility on Democrats who blame him for federal deficit " (WP link)

Sand Cartoon

Mr. Smiley Goes to the Beach.

Obituary

Momofuku Ando, the creator of Ramen instant noodles, died on Jan. 5, 2007. It was a slow and painful death.

On his death bed, Ando addressed the long-time health critics of his deep-friend instant noodles. "Maybe they were right. Maybe my noodles are unhealthy." He died soon after less than a century old.

Future Projects

I'm trying to restore a sense of balance in my life by playing poker less and putting my energy into other activities. I have not been successful playing poker less often, in spite of the fact it is often frustrating, tedious, and lately, not profitable.

But as I am a man of leisure, I have enough free time for both. I'm trying to post more regularly. I will be adding a chunk of photos to my Flickr account soon (first one up).

I have also been toying with the idea of doing a bimonthly music podcast of about six songs a week. There are some logistical issues, and I'm not sure I'm up to the commitment of doing a biweekly podcast. Maybe I'll give it a shot for a month and see how it goes.

I have been thinking of writing a Pancake City book for a while now. Fifty/fifty old and new material. I like the idea of writing a book where I only have to write half the book.

I think I'm going to have to go back to unplugging my wireless adapter and put it in another room. It has been pretty effective in getting me to concentrate.

Just thinking out loud. Well, writing out loud. Except that I'm writing, so there's no sound involved. I guess I'm thinking out loud and writing out silently. My ideas, also silent, may be sound, figuratively. And literally? What are we to call the noiseless voice in our head that "says" our thoughts without lips? You know, the one we can hear without ears.

What is the difference between the memory of candy cane red and seeing the red in a candy cane in real life? Does the memory have any reliability, any truth?

Okay, I need to stop. I probably sound like the intro in a Philosophy 101 book. Leave some comments, people--it encourages me to write.

The Great Chair Heist

Well, this is one way to get new furniture.

Borat

Finally saw Borat. It's very funny, but not what I expected. My preconception was that, at its heart, the movie was a social satire, subversively illuminating people's hidden (and not-so-hidden) prejudice and stereotypes as Sasha Baren Cohen travels through America.

While that's part of the movie, I found the movie's center to be shock comedy above everything else. Sometimes the shock came from Borat saying something outlandish (and usually anti-Semitic), but much more often it was something else entirely: nude wrestling, stumbling in an antique store, the Pamela Anderson scene, and so on.

What social commentary the movie offers is more on how people react to outlandish statements from a stranger: usually with indifference or a conscious ignoring of the remark, out of uncertainty or a desire to avoid confrontation.

The movie paints a muddy picture in this regard. When Borat enters a gun shop and asks the owner "What's the best gun to kill a Jew?", I found it difficult to judge the owner's matter-of-fact answer. Did he understand Borat and have no problem with what he said? Did he feel disturbed but decided to ignore the comment out of misguided politeness, or that he was more concerned with making a sale? Did he rationalize what he heard, like "He can't seriously want to kill a Jewish person. He must mean something else by 'Jew'."?

I think one's view of scenes like this has more to do with one's opinion on human nature, whether it be cynical or optimistic, than anything else. These scenes are too short and edited to offer a definite conclusion. It puts the movie in the odd place of needing its DVD release, with substantial extended scenes, to fully answer these questions, and perhaps lay a true claim to the land of social commentary.

Odd Dream

I didn't realize this memory was from an early-morning dream until it popped in my head a few minutes ago and I realized how loony it was. Elvis was at a press conference in Washington D.C. to speak against anti-immigration legislation. I was wondering what Elvis' connection to immigrants is when the NPR announcer conveniently mentioned that Elvis was born in Mexico. I remember thinking, "That can't be right. Elvis is dead. It must have been an Elvis impersonator."

Case solved. I won't be hard on myself for not asking what an Elvis impersonator was doing at a news conference, or why NPR was reporting on it, as I was still technically asleep.

Random Roundup

• I haven’t read it yet, but I glanced through Dave Barry’s “2006 Year in Review” column. The Washington Post Magazine highlighted some of the sentences in yellow. Look, I like Dave Barry, but highlighting a Dave Barry joke is like putting glitter on a stripper.

• I’m writing a few proposals to companies about my ideas for new products. One of them is to Hostess, for “Hostess $$ugh Balls.” A box of miniature doughnut balls. Most of them are filled with a delicious lemon custard, but a few are filled with real dough!
  
  I’m picturing on the box the Twinkie Cowboy kicking his heels while holding two fistfuls of cash dough. This is the only relation cash has to the product. The winning balls will just be filled with regular dough, so not only will the consumer be confused, she will also be disappointed, as the regular doughnut balls are inferior to the custard-filled one.
  
  

• Ever since the advent of cell phones, I have been tempted to ride up and down in an elevator and have fake phone conversations when people walk in.

"He’s all whiny, like ‘You can’t fire me, I have cancer.’ So I tell him, ‘No. What you have is no job. Now get out of here, baldy.’ What? [...] Well, he wasn’t completely bald. But he was going to get there in a few weeks, so I went with it.’ "

"How should I know where to put the body?" [notices other riders] “Hey, call me back in a few minutes.” [...] “I’m in an elevator.” [...] “They didn’t hear anything.” [...] “Are you crazy? I’m not killing someone else.” [...] "They're not even on the elevator anymore." [mouths to other riders, run]

Happy New Year

Putting an exclamation point at the end would be emotional lying as I ended up going to bed at 11:30 p.m. on the 31th. Yes, I am an old man. I can't wait for Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes.

I went to Florida for a week with Mom and Tina. We mostly stayed at the beach, and had a relaxing time. Global warming though has taken away the cache of vacationing to a warm climate.

I live in Washington D.C., an area that, up until a few years ago, had a potent combination of unpredictable winter weather and neurotic, fear-spongy residents. The local news stations are experts at whipping up weather-related fear. One of their tools is promotional ads for their respective station's "Storm Center".

The ads start off with a gruesome collection of winter images. People trudging to work through wind-whipped snow. Cars stacked on top of each other. Babies floating down the Potomac. An announcer utters with immense gravity: "Washington. Under Siege". Or: "Winter Warning: Is the Snow-Nado Back?"

Oh, no! What do we do? The announcer's voices softens: "Tune in to Channel 5, the only local channel with the Channel 5 Snow Patrol Doppler 5000 Protection League! Of Justice." Whew.

Then Channel 7 airs their promo, except they have the Doppler 7000. Wow, that's 2,000 more Doppler! And Channel 9 has the Doppler 9000, and Channel 13 has the Doppler 13000, and...wait a minute. Those Doppler douche-bags.

Anyway, the weather has been so mild this season that it has derailed most of the usual weather hysteria. I wish the unseasonable weather was a fluke, but as the Bush administration has stated, the warming trend over the past several years is real, and is caused, we know now, by what the scientific community calls "Angry Monkeys in Outer Space".

These angry monkeys have made the last few winters in D.C. almost devoid of snow and forced local news stations to lower their promo airing standards from "Threat of Flurries" to "Brr! It's cloudy outside." (Seriously. They occasionally can't help to air one of the promos, but the announcer has a tint of shame to his speech, like a co-worker the next day after he crapped his pants at the office holiday party.)

Back to my point. Thanks to angry space monkeys, vacationing to a warm climate in the winter barely earns a quiver of jealously anymore. This is a typical conversation I had with my friends when I got home:

ME: "How was your Christmas?"
FRIEND: "I'm Jewish."
ME: "That's good to hear. Guess what! I was in Florida!"
FRIEND: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup. 70 degrees weather the whole time. What was the weather like here?"
FRIEND: "60 degrees the whole time."
ME: "Oh."
FRIEND: "Yeah, we had another warm front."
ME: "Well, it was so warm in Florida that I could wear shorts at night."
FRIEND: "Lucky. I had to switch to pants after 8:00 p.m."

There's no way to make people jealous anymore with a winter trip. Where am I going to fly to now to make people jealous? Outer space? Not without a food-fitted Gatling gun and a box full of bananas. Besides, I would probably just have this conversation:

ME: "Guess what! I went to the Sun!"
FRIEND: "That's nice."
ME: "Yup. 6,000 Kelvin the whole time."
FRIEND: "4,000 Kelvin here."
ME: "Oh."
FRIEND: "Yeah, we had another hole in the ozone layer."
ME: "Well, it was so warm on he Sun that I was vaporized instantly into hydrogen."
FRIEND: "Lucky. I had to be a semi-liquid after 10 p.m."

Our Spirit of Christmas

My family’s favorite part of Christmas isn’t receiving gifts. It’s not giving gifts. It’s using trickery and guile to find out what they’re getting from each other before Christmas.

By using “they’re” instead of “we’re”, it may appear that I consider myself an outsider to their shenanigans, one who holds surprise to be the best part of gift giving and looks with dismay on anyone who seeks to corrupt the joy of the unknown before the appropriate day.

It may appear this way because it is absolutely true. I love surprises. They love CSI: Christmas Scene Investigator. We battle yearly, the purist vs. “This one is practically unwrapped already. Might as well open it now.” I always lose, it’s just a matter of what degree.

Yesterday, I was wrapping their gifts in a bedroom in my Mom’s house. I knew ahead of time this was a huge tactical blunder, much like a dopey security guard walking in one of the worst neighborhoods in Brooklyn and swinging in each hand a large bag with a giant $ sign on it, while singing “Whistle While You Work” to himself and pausing occasionally to adjust his boxers or wave to strangers.

It was the only time I had to wrap the gifts, but I can blame no one but myself for what happened next. First, Tina tried the blunt approach. She walked in the room and began searching through the big bag of gifts that I brought. ‘Tina, what are you doing?” I snapped. She looked hurt. “What? I thought they were wrapped.”

Okay. Perhaps she didn’t see the scissors in my right hand. Or the wrapping paper strewn on the floor. Or that I had to spit out a piece of ribbon in my mouth before I could scold her. She stomped out of the room. “Everyone, watch out. Jason is Mr. Cranky Pants today.”

I could still hear the cries of “Mr. Cranky Pants” after she went downstairs, so I shut the door. I didn’t want to shut the door, because a closed door near Christmastime attracts a lot of attention in my family, much like a suitcase handcuffed to a courier pokes the curiosity of even the most virtuous.

A few minutes later, I realized I forgot to bring name tags for the gifts, so I opened the door a crack and slid out to grab some downstairs. Right after I put my foot on the first step, I heard a soft voice whisper behind me, “He’s gone, let’s go!” I turn around to see Michele and my Mom make a dash for the room.

I chased them down and shoved them out before they could discover anything. Then I locked the bedroom door, and, I’m being completely serious here, shoved a laundry hamper and a chair in front of the door to barricade it lest one of them pick the lock. Which they have done before. Usually with a letter opener, but they’ll use a paper clip if they have to.

After I finished wrapping the nameless gifts, I brought them downstairs. A luxury the family did not always have. After our dad passed away, there were a few hours in the day when Mom was at work and the three of us were at home, unsupervised. Michele and Tina used this valuable time for many tasks, one of which was to unwrap and rewrap their gifts.

They could have got away with it too, if they weren’t so proud of themselves that they burst into laughter in the midst of unwrapping presents Christmas morning (or occasionally crying to Mom a few days before Christmas because they unwrapped all their presents and found that they weren't getting something they really wanted). My family isn't Jewish, but we know the meaning of chutzpah.

Leaving gifts under the tree is no longer a risky behavior. Michele and Tina view surreptitious unwrapping the same way they view the Barbies and My Little Ponies they played with as children. They have moved on long ago to more sophisticated techniques.

All of which they learned from my Mom. Michele and Tina have come a long way, but they’re still not even in the same league as her.

This year, Tina had a good idea. Knowing my Mom loves to find out what she’s getting ahead of time as much as she does, Tina called Mom and proposed a trade: I’ll tell you one gift you don’t know about if you tell me one gift I don’t know about.

Mom agreed, and asked about the heavy, thin object. Mom thought it was a Picasso painting. Unfortunately it was a baking sheet. Tina asked about a medium-sized box, and found out Mom got her wine glasses.

Tina called Michele to crow about her cleverness.

“Guess what. I got Mom to tell me one of the gifts she got me.”

Michele knew most of the gifts Tina got. “Which one?”

“The wine glasses. I told her about the baking sheet, and she told me about the wine glasses.”

“Tina, you fool. Mom didn’t get you wine glasses. She hid the real present in a wine glass box."

"WHAT?"

"Oops. I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

As Tina and Michele were retelling the story on Christmas day, Mom shook her fist triumphantly. My Mom, the master bargain hunter, managed to get something for nothing again. Michele blabbed the goods to Tina, but Mom was still victorious: she pulled a fast one over her gullible kids.

I forget how I learned that Santa Claus isn’t real. I have a hunch though Mom had to resist doing a fist pump and saying, "Yes!" afterwards. And that, if I have kids, it will be hard for me not to do the same.

Update: After Tina read the post, she said, "I found out Santa didn't exist when Mom asked me to write his name on a gift tag."

Pretty Cute Kitty...

One of the Wii Kitties.

I have a lot of things I want to write about, but if I don't write them down soon, I'm going to forget them. Notes for myself:

sake, Mom's Christmas tree, family comments, podcast, bad dog, james bond, robot chicken, "let the cat out of the bag", poop bag review

Funny Onion Story

I missed this when it first came out:
Kevin Federline, Wife Divorce

Doggy Senility

I read a blurb in Psychology Today that 90% of dogs have a moment of senility by the time they are seven. How does a creature that chases its own tail, eats poop, and says hi by sniffing each other's butts have a moment of senility?

Broad Daylight: Derogatory to Women? You Decide.

No one gets killed in daylight anymore. When there's a news report on a day time killing, the person is always murdered in broad daylight. It reflects a sense of shock and outrage. Murder, we made a deal: you get the night, we get the day. But when death slips into the sunlight, it better have a good reason, and a gang shooting in front of a school yard doesn't cut it.

How are we supposed to feel when someone is killed on a cloudy day? Rain? The evening after daylight savings time, when someone expected there to be more anti-evil rays (sunlight) then they are on that day? News reporters should be more descriptive about the weather at the time of death.

"A bus load of children holding puppies selected for extra cuteness was killed in a head-on collision with a demon-possessed clown car driven by Michael Richards. Police say that Richards may have been distracted by the tornado wrestling with a giant rainbow."

I need to know how to feel when someone dies, and "broad daylight" doesn't illuminate my feelings the way it used to.

I Got Me In'Net!

The DSL service was activated earlier than I expected. Remember when I said in my last post how it was nice to be without Internet access? I lied. That was just to trick the Access Gods. IT WAS HORRIBLE. I spent hours each day, staring at a blank monitor, clicking my mouse like a puppy locked outside a house and pawing a frost-covered window.

The experience did give me valuable insight, thought, that will come in handy if I ever decide to live like a half-naked barbarian.

I missed you SO much Internet. This was the first time in years we were away from each other for more than a week. It was a difficult time. I admit, at times, I thought about having a fling with a trampy dial-up connection. Just for a day or two. But I held strong, and can still make up and respect myself when I look in the mirror. Which I won't be doing much of now, along with shopping, visiting art galleries, or frankly, leaving the house at all.

We have a lot of catching up to do, but once we're done reconnecting, I'll be back to my regular schedule of posting twice a month.

Where Have I Been?

Sorry for the lack of posts recently. Last week, I had my 30th birthday party. It's the first time I went out with friends for my birthday in almost a decade. For much of my life, I felt like I didn't have many friends that liked me enough to come to a birthday party, so I rarely had one. I feel blessed to be in a different place in my life now.

Also, two months ago, I vowed to myself that I would move out of my Mom's place before my 30th birthday. I was a day late, but I did it: I moved to NE D.C. It took a lot of hard work and\or me doing absolutely nothing while an opening came up in my friend Meghan's place and she asked if I wanted to move in. This just goes to show you that if you have a specific goal and focus intently on it and/or scratch your balls while random events in life conspire to deliver your goal to you, you can achieve anything. I am submitting a longer version of my inspiring story to Parade magazine (Motto: "Thank God We're Free").

The house is big, old, roomy, and has lots of neat quirks about it. There are cupboards everywhere, some of them 10 feet above the ground. There are about 3 dozen light switches in the house, none of which do what I expect them to do. For example, the garbage disposal light switch has three settings: Off, On, and Really On. Off and On do nothing. Really On, lifting the switch a little bit past the On position, like turning to the 11 setting on a Spinal Tap speaker, activates the disposal.

I like the place a lot, and both my roommates are awesome. We don't have Internet access though, and won't get it until next Friday, so I haven't been able to update the blog or do much besides check my email at the library occasionally.

When I have had Internet access, I was on the Internet for at least 2-3 hours almost every day, mostly playing online poker or reading poker web sites. Occasionally I would watch TV. We have neither Internet access or a TV at the moment, and I'm really surprised how little I miss it. I haven't been bored or going through withdrawal symptoms, as I do sometimes in the past. I'm happy in a way that the DSL won't be activated in a week. The only hassles are checking my dog walking schedule, posting on the blog, and checking my email, the total of which I could do in 15-30 minutes. I like being disconnected, although the second we get net access I know that I will likely fall in my old time wasting habits.

I'm going to try to upload something I wrote about the new James Bond movie before the post becomes irrelevant with time. Besides that, I doubt I will be able to update the blog. Check back in a week. I hope to have a few substantial posts ready to go by then.

Get Your Very Own PS3

This is funny.

Edit: Well, that was quick. EBay already took the auction down. It was for a PlayStation 3...made out of a PlayStation 1 and PlayStation 2 duck-taped together.

Worst Idea Ever

At least for 2006.

"O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened"

The follow-up interview: "If I did it, and happened to videotape it, here's what the videotape would look like."

MY SISTER IS A LAWYER!!!!

Michele found out today that she passed the New York bar. Let the suing begin!

Earth Global Warming Causes Hurricane-Like Storm on Saturn

I'm joking about the Earth global warming connection, but this is neat.

Random Election Thoughts

* I am thrilled that President Bush fired Donald Rumsfeld. I feel like the Iraq war is at a point where this is the last chance for America to salvage the situation. We need to make many changes in the next few months to have a chance of preventing a full-blown civil war, and the first was firing Rumsfeld and replacing him with someone competent. It gives me hope that the other necessary steps will be taken soon enough to make a difference.

But let us not forget Rummy's wonderful service to the army, the country, and the art of kung fu with this Internet classic.

* Most of the newly-elected Democrats to Congress are moderates. I also sense that many people will be frustrated if there is a lot of political fighting and personal attacks. At the same time, Congress' absolute lack of oversight of the executive branch has been horrible for the country's democracy, and needs to be changed. It's going to be interesting to see how the Democratic party balances legislative progress vs. investigating the executive branch, which may poison the political atmosphere and make it difficult to get veto-proof legislation passed.

* I had other thoughts, but at this point, I've had my fill writing about politics.

Not that anyone is visiting Pancake City for timely political analysis, but...

Unfortunately, I think George Allen is going to eek out a victory of about 15,000 votes. Although none of the major networks are ready to call the race, Pancake City analyzed the county-by-county data, estimated the projected final totals, and has CON-cluuuded that Webb can't make up the ground. It's too bad--Jim Webb was, to me, a more moderate, level-headed candidate than George Allen. I'd love to be wrong.


Update: This one won't be resolved for a few weeks. Jim Webb has a 3,000 vote lead (out of over 2,200,000 votes) with 99% of the precincts reporting. There is going to be a recount, and it will take a while to complete. This is also a good example of why I am not a political analysis. Pancake City has CON-cluuuuded that I have no idea what I am talking about.

See Ya, Santorum

I am very happy that one of the most anti-gay U.S. Senators will not be coming back for a second term.

Unfortunately, the same-sex marriage super ban was approved in Virginia by a solid majority. It's already banned, but now it's in the state constitution, written with unerasable ink.

Don't Have Sex Until You Are Thirty

The preacher--sorry, government--government says so.

The first step towards separation between church and state is separation between religious yahoos and state.