April 3rd thru the 9th, 2005Previous Week | Archive Index | Current Blog | Next Week Sleep, Mostly I woke up and it was an hour later then it had been at the same time the day before... you know what, that's the sort of sentence I would write when I was a heavy-duty writer. Language, eh? I hate it. I mean I love it. And none of this fine-line between love and hate nonsense. That's just a rationalization of realization, denies the nobility of emotion and insists on a kind justification for all action based on uncontrollable culpabilities. Or something. I mean language is meaningless, so I hate it when it screws everything up. But I love it like any other toy or plaything. What was I supposed to be talking about? Oh yeah, I woke up. An hour later.
 Dogville is beyond pretentious. It's beyond lengthy, too. Here's a quote from the IMDB trivia page:
"Was a critics' favorite to win at the 2003 Cannes Film Festival, but received no prizes." The movie got
watched though, with various foodstuffs being consumed, and the big payoff was waited for, and it came,
and it was good to see it, but not really worth 4.8 km of film length. That's not an exaggeration. The
film is really that long. Nearly 3 miles. 177 minutes- just about 3 hours. I don't even have the patience
to sit through 3 hours of GOOD cinema, much less bad. Oh well. I drank more 7 Up.
The Morning and the Week Begins The trip to the chiro, the browsing through People, the smell of the hand lotion and the cracking of the neck, the Howard Stern on the drive home, the chai latte from Starbucks, the working on documents, the arial typeface, the MxO and the bugs in that damned game, the decision to clean the kitchen.
"Atom Heart Mother (suite)"
More of Monday
Dane Cook at the Meany Theatre Then I went home, ate a pound of sugar-free gummi bears, watched an episode of Angel, and went to bed. Words to The Wise Unless you're weird, I would not recommend eating a pound of sugar-free gummi bears right before bed. Unless you like to get up in the middle of the night and sit for an hour on the coldest throne and wait for your stomach to sop making the weirdest noised it has ever made in its life. Not painful, just very very very inconveneient.
It's All About Venn Diagrams
Meh. This has stopped being interesting to me all of a sudden.
Not the Worst Movie, But It Tries
Coffee, etc. Did Many Things by the Look of It Got up early and took Mizzer to work, so that I could pick her up later and drop her off at the airport. I borrowed Gun, with Occasional Music from her, by Jonathan Lethem, the guy who wrote Motherless Brooklyn. So far so good-- a kind of noirish sci-fi, like what Raymond Chandler where to write if you made him to sci-fi but he was reluctant. Its almost a parody of itself, which I doth like. Tried to play MxO, since today is the big "The Race to Find the One" event. Crapshoot. The only "event" type thing that seems to be going on is a bunch of Agents poppoing up out of nowhere and everybody gang-ganking them. Then the hardlines went down, my contacts stopped talking, and when I logged out, I couldn't log back in. On the bright side, I am enjoying hyper-jump a little bit more.
Went to the gym with Espardille which was well and good as we have not done that in two weeks. After that I grabbed Mower and we went to Kirkland ot play racquetball. She is improving at an amazing rate. Soon i shall I have to play dirty. After that we shopped for some food and I bought... well, read the next bit.
Our Greatest Triumphs Will Be Our Most Grievous Failures
Perhaps it is appropriate that our greatest triumphs will be our most grievous failures. Whither peace? Whither justice? Whither mom and apple pie? Perhaps there must be a balance, and it will only be ever that when we can find a way to make peace on earth dangerous to our existence, that we can ever trully achieve it. Peace through the widespread administration of chicken tenders? I think you're feeling me. PDQ Bach  I have
added P.D.Q. Bach to the website list. I forgot what a genius he
is. Or Peter Schickele, to be more specific. The man is old, was old old old, he was old back in '96 when
I saw him perform in Lawrence, and that was nearly 10 years ago. But he's still going strong. That rocks.
I hope when I'm older than God I'm still writing classical song parodies. If I ever start.
Dinner With a Posse
What do Lumines and Kasabian have in common?
MxO's Level of Suck Increaseth  I'll try to keep this brief. When you start the game you have to do some missions for Zion.
After a handful of those, you are approached by an Exile named Flood who works for the Merovingian, and an
Agent named Gray who works for the machines. You can then do missions for any one of these three factions,
and doing so raises and lowers your reputation with them, depending on who you work for. I had been
working for the Merovingian, raising my Exile reputation-- then today, it's gone. Somehow the fact that I
had done those intor missions for Zion was erased, and had to do them all again. And because I'm atr level
11, they keep sending me to higher level zones. Which is fine, EXCEPT, the special eventy is going on, and
the place is CRAWLING with bad guys who find it all too easy to kick my ass in those higher zones. I sent
in a trouble ticket, they answered with some canned crap, I fired off aan angry reply- and small kudos to
them, they responded to that and finally adressed the issue. By that point I had finally redone all the
intro missions, and my rep IS where it was-- but it looks like I have to do the Exile missions over again.
Meh.
In The Really Real World... Saturn Day, But No Rings  Sorry, kids. This was mostly a nothing day. I played MxO, got very frustrated with it... Miss Liffo came over of the evening and we watched
Trekkies, a documentary about Star Trek Fandom... I have to say, I have a kind of respect for these people
now that I had not had before. Sure, they're uber-geeks-- but at least they have a passion. And they don't
throw it in anyone else's face. They just do their thing. And I would SO go to a dentist who had the
office decked out like the Enterprise, complete with uniforms for the people who worked there. After
Trekkies we watched the first disc of Netflixxed Alias. Wow. Way better than I thought
it was going to be. Sort of like Buffy-meets-James Bond. I think I might buy it. Sleep happened finally
at, like, 3 am.
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I was over at the LJ site of Malice, who I've been checking
in on every so often for a few years now. I suppose if I knew her in real life I would have a crush on her
because she's hot n' gothy, but since I don't know her she's just another sexxy celebrity to me. One who
sometimes talks back to her fans. Anyway, she sometimes talks about the various people who try and get in
her snakeskins, and how pathetic they are. She is good to point out it's the way they try, and not
that they try at all, which makes them pathetic. She doesn't think she's too good, she just isn't
willing to settle. In the final analysis, I realized, no one is unique. No one who comes to her with their
credentials is ever going to have a list that's exactly what she wants, or ever very different from anyone
else's list. That's true for pretty much any situation. So what DOES make anyone unique? Venn Diagrams.
You know 'em. Call 'em subsets if it makes it easier for
you. Or use the language of taxonomy. The point is, lots of people fit into lots of catagories, and it's
only when one starts combining categories that a perspective of uniqueness emerges. Some categories get
pre-merged, like white-male or even white-male-straight-liberal-30something. Then you diagram music
tastes, fetishes, body type, and so forth. Of course that still doesn't make a dude unique. I rant and
rave about contexts and so here I go again-- to get really unique, you need to put in other people. Let's
face it-- there's a big difference between the white male liberal straight 30something Tool-loving
stockings-obsessed medium-sized person that Malice would hang with, and the one, say, Debbie Gibson would
hang with. Neither is better than the other. And if it just so happens that one dude CAN be both, then
he's got a stack of other qualities we ain't diagrammed yet. Those hidden qualities would probably
pre-merge Debbie and Malice, and he WOULD be unique before we got to contexts-- but I'm talking about
perspective here, and people usually can't see the hidden, and tend to lump folks together
prematurely...
My stance-- they are no one's business. On 
Some say one of science's most amazing achievements is
the atomic bomb. And certainly it has been the cause of much anguish. To have harnassed the power of
something so infinitesimally small, to manipulate matter on a nanoscale, and to unleash such devestating
construction. But I say unto thee nay, the atomic bomb, stripped of its mystery, is merely the consequence
of one man's fevered dreams in a patent office, a necessary chain reaction which is exactly paralleled by
the chain reaction of explosions at the behest of men for whom violence and leadership are part of the
same democratic process. It's simple, really- time and space are relative, energy is quantum, not
continuous, if you explode TNT inward you can crush atoms which can split decaying plutonium, and killing
hundreds of thousands of civilians will make your enemies give up their fight. Easy. But what about
chicken tenders?
To think that over the course of a thousand-plus
years we discovered fowl, made them into chickens, domesticated them, bred them, figured out how to catch,
kill, pluck, drain, chop, debone, bread, fry, refrigerate, package, sell, and dip them in ranch dressing.
The breading alone is worthy of a doctoral dissertation, the ranch dressing a post-doc on the
phenomenological confluence of economy, celebrity, dairy. And yet this pure genius of foodstuff
brilliance, this epigee with the face of God's good grace, this nadir of the human soul will surely kill
us all. 27 carbon atoms, 45 hydrogen atoms, and a tiny hydroxide molecule-- get enough of this sticky
little bastards together and you've got yourself a heart attack. And chicken tenders are rife with
this stuff, which the laymen call: cholesterol.
Or do we call it a gang? A tribe? A club?
A gathering? Collective? Ensemble? Mixture, melange, menage, motley crew of mottled fools? (If you do a
Google search for that last phrase, you won't find it-- not until Google caches this version of my site!
Viva la me!) Anyscoot, over at Defilia's she made some chicken and then they watched