I'm back and ready to share. I have to spend some time organizing my notes and a few pictures I took, so that may take some time. I was in Idaho first, then in New York, New York - the city so nice they named it twice.
I have a lot of work to do in a few days, but here are some random thoughts:
If you're from there, it's pronounced 'Boy-see' not 'Boy-zee.' A sibilant versus a fricative, if you're into linguistics. And if you are, jeez, what a dork.
Many Idahoans near the Oregon border cross over to do their shopping. This is because Oregon has no state sales tax. And they seem to be doing just fine. In California sales tax is now 9.5 %, and the government is still ass-deep in debt. Maybe Arnold could go up to Oregon to find out what they're doing right.
Killdeer do not, in truth, kill deer. Disappointing.
Many men jogging in Manhattan wear shorts that are much, much too tight. And too revealing. If I wanted a salami I'd go to Little Italy, thank you very much.
Nobody seems to mind pigeons roaming around inside the Port Authority bus terminal.
People talking on bluetooth headsets on Park Avenue look exactly like crazy people talking to themselves on 11th Avenue. The crazy person's just more interesting.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Out For A While
I'm going on vacation starting today, so I won't be posting regularly for about a week. If I can get to a computer I may make a post or two, but don't count on it.
I'll be back in a week.
I'll be back in a week.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Things I Had To Go To Australia To Learn
I went to Australia two years ago, and it was a learning experience for us both. Here's what I learned:
You can put beets and pineapple on a hamburger and it's actually pretty good.
I didn't know if I would like a burger that way. I do like beets, and I do like pineapple, and I do like a good cheeseburger - but all at the same time? Yeah. Good on ya, mate.
Santa looks good in shorts.
A little pasty, but it's not the affront to my senses I imagined it might be. And there are some really cool Christmas sand castles. It's summer in December in the Southern Hemisphere, for those of you who don't know. Australia is in the Southern Hemisphere, for those of you who don't know that.
Up close koalas are a little creepy.
Sacrilege, I know, but the eucalyptus they eat don't give them very much energy, so they sleep all the time. So when they're active they have permanent bed-head and bags under the eyes. Like they're on the late shift at the cute factory.
The purple-flower trees lining many Pasadena streets are called jacarandas.
I never knew the name of this tree until I went to Australia. I was describing the scene - much like today - where the trees are all blooming and there is a riot of purple lining most major streets (except Colorado where they tore all the trees out). My friends told me the name of the tree, and I amaze and confound everyone with that knowledge to this day.
You can put beets and pineapple on a hamburger and it's actually pretty good.
I didn't know if I would like a burger that way. I do like beets, and I do like pineapple, and I do like a good cheeseburger - but all at the same time? Yeah. Good on ya, mate.
Santa looks good in shorts.
A little pasty, but it's not the affront to my senses I imagined it might be. And there are some really cool Christmas sand castles. It's summer in December in the Southern Hemisphere, for those of you who don't know. Australia is in the Southern Hemisphere, for those of you who don't know that.
Up close koalas are a little creepy.
Sacrilege, I know, but the eucalyptus they eat don't give them very much energy, so they sleep all the time. So when they're active they have permanent bed-head and bags under the eyes. Like they're on the late shift at the cute factory.
The purple-flower trees lining many Pasadena streets are called jacarandas.
I never knew the name of this tree until I went to Australia. I was describing the scene - much like today - where the trees are all blooming and there is a riot of purple lining most major streets (except Colorado where they tore all the trees out). My friends told me the name of the tree, and I amaze and confound everyone with that knowledge to this day.
Resistance Is Futile
I'm being assimilated by California.
Slowly but surely it's happening, like rust creeping up an unused swingset, this place is taking me over. At first it was small things: really reading the LA Weekly instead of just laughing at the medical marijuana ads, prefixing all highways with 'the' when I was talking about them - 'the' Five, 'the' 134, buying sunglasses to keep in the car, knowing the schedule of the really good taco trucks. You know, things you do to get along, unconscious habits you develop.
Then it started getting more serious. I knew it was getting bad when I accidentally bought tofu hot dogs... and didn't return them. I ate them. On hot dog buns. Like they were real.
Then it progressed. I started researching fault lines near my house. Instead of being amazed and intrigued when I saw a movie being made I grumbled at the interruption to my routine. I stopped being offended by oblivious jerks talking on their cell phones in the gym. Tiny dogs in purses became just another fashion statement.
But here's the worst: I bought a hemp shopping bag. From Whole Foods.
Seriously, I can't become a bigger douchebag, can I? A reusable hemp shopping bag from Whole Foods. I might as well just abandon all pretense, dye my hair and start wearing my sunglasses backwards on my head.
I think I'll take my cell phone to the gym, there are some people I need to call...
Slowly but surely it's happening, like rust creeping up an unused swingset, this place is taking me over. At first it was small things: really reading the LA Weekly instead of just laughing at the medical marijuana ads, prefixing all highways with 'the' when I was talking about them - 'the' Five, 'the' 134, buying sunglasses to keep in the car, knowing the schedule of the really good taco trucks. You know, things you do to get along, unconscious habits you develop.
Then it started getting more serious. I knew it was getting bad when I accidentally bought tofu hot dogs... and didn't return them. I ate them. On hot dog buns. Like they were real.
Then it progressed. I started researching fault lines near my house. Instead of being amazed and intrigued when I saw a movie being made I grumbled at the interruption to my routine. I stopped being offended by oblivious jerks talking on their cell phones in the gym. Tiny dogs in purses became just another fashion statement.
But here's the worst: I bought a hemp shopping bag. From Whole Foods.
Seriously, I can't become a bigger douchebag, can I? A reusable hemp shopping bag from Whole Foods. I might as well just abandon all pretense, dye my hair and start wearing my sunglasses backwards on my head.
I think I'll take my cell phone to the gym, there are some people I need to call...
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
All I Want Is To Love You...
This post today is for just one person. If you wonder if you might be that person, you're not.
It breaks my heart to see you so forlorn, to hear the anguish in your voice and to watch the tears fall from your eyes. How cruel it is to find love after so long but to have it stay just out of reach, something you can brush with your fingertips but never grab hold of.
We want love to be selfless and merciful, but love can be callous and indifferent. It takes you by the heart and steers you places you cannot go, but cannot avoid. The heart wants what it wants, and we have no choice but to follow it.
The pain will ease, the heartache will pass, and the clouds will break letting the sun in again. But it's going to take time. I love you.
Here are some words from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, I hope they give you some comfort.
In Memoriam
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
But who shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?
Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,
Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
"Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn."
...
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
It breaks my heart to see you so forlorn, to hear the anguish in your voice and to watch the tears fall from your eyes. How cruel it is to find love after so long but to have it stay just out of reach, something you can brush with your fingertips but never grab hold of.
We want love to be selfless and merciful, but love can be callous and indifferent. It takes you by the heart and steers you places you cannot go, but cannot avoid. The heart wants what it wants, and we have no choice but to follow it.
The pain will ease, the heartache will pass, and the clouds will break letting the sun in again. But it's going to take time. I love you.
Here are some words from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, I hope they give you some comfort.
In Memoriam
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
But who shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?
Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,
Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
"Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn."
...
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Seen on Green Street
I just went to the bank, and as I was walking down Green Street, I witnessed the most heinous fashion tragedy. What might I have seen? Glad you asked.
I saw a man wearing a blue beret, which is bad enough, combined with Birkenstock sandals and white socks - worse still - but he was also wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and camo sweat pants.
The crowning glory had to be the miniature poodle he was walking.
Swear to God, the dude was just out on the street. What is wrong with people?
I saw a man wearing a blue beret, which is bad enough, combined with Birkenstock sandals and white socks - worse still - but he was also wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and camo sweat pants.
The crowning glory had to be the miniature poodle he was walking.
Swear to God, the dude was just out on the street. What is wrong with people?
What, And Give Up Showbiz?
As I plan out my week, I try to think of some sort of cultural thing I can do, something to see or to do or to learn that will edify me, make me a better person. So this week I got to thinking about things I haven't done in a long while, and it hit me.
I should go to a crooked carnival.
I love carnivals and midways, the crookeder the better. I love the smell of popcorn and candied apples, hearing the sound of carnies trying to lure marks to their rigged games of chance, watching the looks of panic on people's faces as they ride the rickety rollercoasters. It's the best ever. My favorite is the Midway at the Texas State Fair. I got the idea for the Puercodrome by watching the pig races there.
See, the thing is, you can't go into a carnival expecting that you're going to win anything or come out ahead by any measure. Sure, the people running these things may not have a Harvard MBA, but they've been running the con longer than you've been doing whatever it is you do, so they're pretty good at it. And this is not the same as the midway games at Magic Mountain, carnies make their living by fleecing suckers of their money (yes, I mean you), and to them it's all business, not a way to kill time between semesters at junior college.
Oooh! New idea! Maybe I'll start my own crooked carnival. Yeah, that's the ticket... See, what I'll do is get a bunch of investors, and promise them a ridiculous rate of return. I'll then get new investors and pay the first ones off with the money I get from the next group. Then I'll get a third group to pay off the fourth group... I can't see how this could possibly fail
I should go to a crooked carnival.
I love carnivals and midways, the crookeder the better. I love the smell of popcorn and candied apples, hearing the sound of carnies trying to lure marks to their rigged games of chance, watching the looks of panic on people's faces as they ride the rickety rollercoasters. It's the best ever. My favorite is the Midway at the Texas State Fair. I got the idea for the Puercodrome by watching the pig races there.
See, the thing is, you can't go into a carnival expecting that you're going to win anything or come out ahead by any measure. Sure, the people running these things may not have a Harvard MBA, but they've been running the con longer than you've been doing whatever it is you do, so they're pretty good at it. And this is not the same as the midway games at Magic Mountain, carnies make their living by fleecing suckers of their money (yes, I mean you), and to them it's all business, not a way to kill time between semesters at junior college.
Oooh! New idea! Maybe I'll start my own crooked carnival. Yeah, that's the ticket... See, what I'll do is get a bunch of investors, and promise them a ridiculous rate of return. I'll then get new investors and pay the first ones off with the money I get from the next group. Then I'll get a third group to pay off the fourth group... I can't see how this could possibly fail
Monday, May 18, 2009
First Impressions
If I've learned nothing else from work, I've learned that first impressions are never wrong. Things might happen to make you think your first impression was wrong, but eventually you get back to the truth of the matter. My first impressions of non-corporate work were markedly different from my corporate first impressions.
Here are my post-college, pre-corporate first impressions, day one, after walking in the door.
Waiter
first impression: 'I really need a job and I don't have a car, thank God they hired me.'
second impression: 'Look at the ass on that waitress. Wonder if she has a boyfriend?'
Teacher
first impression: 'I'm actually putting my college book-learning to good use, and these people certainly seem dedicated to making a difference in their students' lives.'
second impression: 'Look at the ass on that teacher. Wonder if she has a boyfriend?'
Systems Implementer
first impression: 'Wow, these guys are serious, I better raise my game and do a good job. This the US military I'm working for.'
second impression: 'Look at the ass on that Sergeant. Wonder if she has a boyfriend?'
Contrast those with my my first impressions, day one, of each of my three corporate gigs
Insurance company (the Hive)
first impression: 'I think I made a mistake.' (I actually said these words to my mother when she called to ask how my first day went).
second impression: 'I really think I made a mistake.'
Mortgage company A (the Fiefdom)
first impression: 'Jeez, who does that asshole think he is?'
second impression: 'Jeez, why does everybody seem to care what that asshole thinks?'
Mortgage company B (the Empire)
first impression: 'This place smells like mold, and my half-cube faces a support pillar.'
second impression: 'God help me, I think I'm getting comfortable with systemic corruption.'
Here are my post-college, pre-corporate first impressions, day one, after walking in the door.
Waiter
first impression: 'I really need a job and I don't have a car, thank God they hired me.'
second impression: 'Look at the ass on that waitress. Wonder if she has a boyfriend?'
Teacher
first impression: 'I'm actually putting my college book-learning to good use, and these people certainly seem dedicated to making a difference in their students' lives.'
second impression: 'Look at the ass on that teacher. Wonder if she has a boyfriend?'
Systems Implementer
first impression: 'Wow, these guys are serious, I better raise my game and do a good job. This the US military I'm working for.'
second impression: 'Look at the ass on that Sergeant. Wonder if she has a boyfriend?'
Contrast those with my my first impressions, day one, of each of my three corporate gigs
Insurance company (the Hive)
first impression: 'I think I made a mistake.' (I actually said these words to my mother when she called to ask how my first day went).
second impression: 'I really think I made a mistake.'
Mortgage company A (the Fiefdom)
first impression: 'Jeez, who does that asshole think he is?'
second impression: 'Jeez, why does everybody seem to care what that asshole thinks?'
Mortgage company B (the Empire)
first impression: 'This place smells like mold, and my half-cube faces a support pillar.'
second impression: 'God help me, I think I'm getting comfortable with systemic corruption.'
Step Away From the Machine
I've been hitting the gym a lot in the past six weeks, and where previously I had advice for guys in the locker room, now I'm giving advice to guys out on the gym floor.
The following people are hereby put on notice: straighten up your act or else. Or else what I don't know, but it should be fun finding out.
Mr. Drop-the-Dumbell
You know, if it's too heavy to set down gently, it's too heavy for you to be working out with. And nobody's impressed with the loud clang, jerkoff.
Grunty
This is a guy who thinks he has to share his workout with the entire gym, with loud exhales on every rep. I'm at the gym to do my thing not to share in your experience, so shut the hell up.
Slimer Hagfish
They have the signs about wiping off the equipment for a reason. This guy leaves a sweaty trail of goo like a human-shaped slug. Ewwww....
Flexo McMeathead
This guy may look seriously dangerous, but if there's trouble all you have to do is get behind him. He's so pumped up with 'roids that he can't turn his head or raise his arms. Make fun of his acne and shriveled testicles and he'll start crying like a well-oiled, muscular baby.
Two-Rep Pete
Okay, dingus, if you're going to work out, you need to actually pump the iron, not pick it up and put it back down. The 2 pound weights are in the ladies' section.
The following people are hereby put on notice: straighten up your act or else. Or else what I don't know, but it should be fun finding out.
Mr. Drop-the-Dumbell
You know, if it's too heavy to set down gently, it's too heavy for you to be working out with. And nobody's impressed with the loud clang, jerkoff.
Grunty
This is a guy who thinks he has to share his workout with the entire gym, with loud exhales on every rep. I'm at the gym to do my thing not to share in your experience, so shut the hell up.
Slimer Hagfish
They have the signs about wiping off the equipment for a reason. This guy leaves a sweaty trail of goo like a human-shaped slug. Ewwww....
Flexo McMeathead
This guy may look seriously dangerous, but if there's trouble all you have to do is get behind him. He's so pumped up with 'roids that he can't turn his head or raise his arms. Make fun of his acne and shriveled testicles and he'll start crying like a well-oiled, muscular baby.
Two-Rep Pete
Okay, dingus, if you're going to work out, you need to actually pump the iron, not pick it up and put it back down. The 2 pound weights are in the ladies' section.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Welcome Back, Lumberjack
I love televised sports that aren't really sports at all. Except for golf, I pretty much hate that. I make time for poker competitions and fishing invitationals and caber tossing and the World's Strongest Man competitions.
But all those have to take a back seat to the lumberjack competitions, or 'timbersports' as these things have recently been called.
I love it all, the springboard, the chop saw, the single buck, the log rolling, the boom running. But my favorite has to be the Hot Saw. There are two competitors, each with a souped-up, bad-ass chainsaw, the object being to cut three discs from a big ol' log the fastest. But there's a catch... the discs have to be thin, all three can't take more than six inches of wood from the log. It's a gripping contest, head-to-head lumberjack action, with the excitement of dangerously powerful chainsaws thrown in the mix. That's man stuff happening right there.
I thank God for ESPN2 and lazy Sunday afternoons...
But all those have to take a back seat to the lumberjack competitions, or 'timbersports' as these things have recently been called.
I love it all, the springboard, the chop saw, the single buck, the log rolling, the boom running. But my favorite has to be the Hot Saw. There are two competitors, each with a souped-up, bad-ass chainsaw, the object being to cut three discs from a big ol' log the fastest. But there's a catch... the discs have to be thin, all three can't take more than six inches of wood from the log. It's a gripping contest, head-to-head lumberjack action, with the excitement of dangerously powerful chainsaws thrown in the mix. That's man stuff happening right there.
I thank God for ESPN2 and lazy Sunday afternoons...
Friday, May 15, 2009
Dangers of Late Night TV
Since my schedule is more flexible these days, sometimes I stay up later than I would have when I was working. Sometimes I keep the TV on for background noise, especially if I'm doing busy work like printing query letters. You see some really disturbing stuff after midnight.
Like the colon detox guy.
You've seen him, looks a little like John Waters but creepier. He has an entire 30-minute infomercial about cleaning out your butt. I watched the whole thing, with the same horrified fascination that LA drivers use when coming up on a highway accident. I don't want to see, yet I cannot look away...
This guy goes on and on for half an hour about poop. He asks squirmingly uncomfortable questions of the interviewer about the length, girth, and frequency of his bowel movements. Usually an infomercial should make you want to buy the product, but the constant BM talk just made me want to turn the channel, and I'm never grossed out by anything; I felt like I was watching a man publicly exercise a sick fetish. This makes the Sham-Wow guy's adventures with a prostitute seem almost family-hour stuff by comparison.
Oh yeah, and Consumer Reports researched the literature and talked to real doctors and confirmed there's no need for 'colon detox.' Unless you really like that sort of thing...
Like the colon detox guy.
You've seen him, looks a little like John Waters but creepier. He has an entire 30-minute infomercial about cleaning out your butt. I watched the whole thing, with the same horrified fascination that LA drivers use when coming up on a highway accident. I don't want to see, yet I cannot look away...
This guy goes on and on for half an hour about poop. He asks squirmingly uncomfortable questions of the interviewer about the length, girth, and frequency of his bowel movements. Usually an infomercial should make you want to buy the product, but the constant BM talk just made me want to turn the channel, and I'm never grossed out by anything; I felt like I was watching a man publicly exercise a sick fetish. This makes the Sham-Wow guy's adventures with a prostitute seem almost family-hour stuff by comparison.
Oh yeah, and Consumer Reports researched the literature and talked to real doctors and confirmed there's no need for 'colon detox.' Unless you really like that sort of thing...
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Don't Do It
Don't ask the McDonald's cashier why there's a sign advertising 'Braille menus available' at the drive-thru window. She doesn't appreciate the absurdity.
And she's only going to shrug and laugh nervously when you ask her 'get a lot of blind people driving through here?' Trust me on this one.
And she's only going to shrug and laugh nervously when you ask her 'get a lot of blind people driving through here?' Trust me on this one.
Around Town
Seen on my walks around Pasadena:
I've Heard This Before
There's a residential hotel on Colorado Blvd that's being renovated. As I was walking past I saw two guys struggling under the weight of a broken toilet, trying to get it to the dumpster. They were arguing - in Thai I believe - with the older guy fussing at the younger guy and the younger guy protesting. Even though I couldn't understand the words, I knew the conversation they were having, I've been on both ends before. "Go right." "I am going right." "No, my right, not your right."
Then they heaved the toilet into the dumpster after counting one-two-three in Thai.
Well-deserved Collision
Am I the only one annoyed by these bike-riding jackasses? You know the kind, they go 10 miles an hour and take up a car lane. They want to be treated like cars, but they ride up on the sidewalk at the first opportunity, blow through stop signs, and generally disobey any traffic rules they find inconvenient. Bastards...
Anyhoo - down by PCC I saw two oblivious bike riders crash into one another. Each was thinking the other was going to get out of the way, but neither did, like a slow-motion game of chicken. Then they started arguing, but neither was man enough to throw a punch. Sitting in my car I laughed out loud, and I saw other drivers doing the same.
All I can say is HA!
Suicide Squirrels
Back in Texas all the stupid squirrels have been culled from the gene pool, the dumb ones now reside in squirrel heaven. I used to see them waiting to cross the street, actually watching for traffic and only proceeding when it was safe.
Here in California, though, the squirrels seem to be adrenaline junkies. I've seen - many times - squirrels sitting on the curb, doing nothing until a car comes along. Then they'll dart out, scampering across the road inches away from being crushed under tires. They then stop on the other side, gazing triumphantly back across the road.
So far there have been no disasters, but one day I know I'm going to witness tragedy.
I've Heard This Before
There's a residential hotel on Colorado Blvd that's being renovated. As I was walking past I saw two guys struggling under the weight of a broken toilet, trying to get it to the dumpster. They were arguing - in Thai I believe - with the older guy fussing at the younger guy and the younger guy protesting. Even though I couldn't understand the words, I knew the conversation they were having, I've been on both ends before. "Go right." "I am going right." "No, my right, not your right."
Then they heaved the toilet into the dumpster after counting one-two-three in Thai.
Well-deserved Collision
Am I the only one annoyed by these bike-riding jackasses? You know the kind, they go 10 miles an hour and take up a car lane. They want to be treated like cars, but they ride up on the sidewalk at the first opportunity, blow through stop signs, and generally disobey any traffic rules they find inconvenient. Bastards...
Anyhoo - down by PCC I saw two oblivious bike riders crash into one another. Each was thinking the other was going to get out of the way, but neither did, like a slow-motion game of chicken. Then they started arguing, but neither was man enough to throw a punch. Sitting in my car I laughed out loud, and I saw other drivers doing the same.
All I can say is HA!
Suicide Squirrels
Back in Texas all the stupid squirrels have been culled from the gene pool, the dumb ones now reside in squirrel heaven. I used to see them waiting to cross the street, actually watching for traffic and only proceeding when it was safe.
Here in California, though, the squirrels seem to be adrenaline junkies. I've seen - many times - squirrels sitting on the curb, doing nothing until a car comes along. Then they'll dart out, scampering across the road inches away from being crushed under tires. They then stop on the other side, gazing triumphantly back across the road.
So far there have been no disasters, but one day I know I'm going to witness tragedy.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Have You Ever...
Have you ever had a dream in which you see a guy, a really intense, scary sort of guy with piercing green eyes who stares right back at you like he's looking through you, and it looks and feels so real, like you're not dreaming at all but it's real life, and the guy looking at you can almost tell what you're thinking and he says to you 'this isn't a dream, this is real life and it's really happening right now' and you get kind of freaked out and you wake up, but because it's dark and because of the dream you just had you're not really sure you're awake, and it takes you a long time to convince yourself that the thing that seemed so hyper-real, so alive and immediate and intense was just a dream and that the grainy, dim, half-seen shadow that is your bedroom, your life, is the real thing?
Nah, me neither.
Nah, me neither.
From My Bookshelf
This week I've decided to look at fiction. I cut my reader's teeth on sci-fi and fantasy books when I was younger, and these two were part of that education. From a literary standpoint one of these books is very good, and one is very bad, but they both brought me hours of reading pleasure.
The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart
This is the story of Merlin as a young man, in the time before Arthur. She gives Merlin a complex history, a tiny bit of fantasy (he can see bits of the future) and a whole lot of guile and cunning.
Mary Stewart wrote romance novels before she wrote 'The Crystal Cave,' and that cross-genre pollination works well. It's a shame that in the modern publishing world, this book would probably have never seen print because the publishers today so severely pigeonhole writers.
This is the good book I was talking about.
Quote: "This is true of all old men, that the recent past is misted, while distant scenes of memory are clear and brightly colored. Even the scenes of my far childhood come back to me now sharp and high-coloured and edged with brightness, like the pattern of a fruit tree against a white wall, or banners in sunlight against a sky of storm."
Lord of the Spiders by Michael Moorcock
Michael Moorcock wrote the Elric saga, a fantasy series well-loved by readers of the genre. This is not that book. This book is a pastiche of Edgar Rice Burroughs' John Carter books. The John Carter books inspired Carl Sagan to become an astronomer, but I'm afraid Mr. Moorcock's book may have scared some people off of it.
Mr. Moorcock wrote this book when he was 25 or 26. Think about the kind of book you would have written at that age, and that's the kind of book this is. It's bad. Really, really bad. Astonishingly so. And yet... Mr. Moorcock's work inspired another generation of writers, as Mr. Burroughs did him, so this book has its place.
The publisher Paizo is reprinting many old sci-fi and fantasy classics that have long been out of print, in an imprint called Planet Stories. They're bringing to a new audience the books that sparked a love for stories in years past. It's a worthy effort, you should go pick up a volume or two.
Quote: "It was the cry of the wolverine debased in the human throat. It was a cry not only to strike terror in the hearts of the women and children, but into the hearts of grown, brave men. It was a cry that was merciless, malevolent, already-triumphant. It was the cry of the human hunter of human prey!" (Yes, the exclamation point is in the original text. See what I mean?)
The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart
This is the story of Merlin as a young man, in the time before Arthur. She gives Merlin a complex history, a tiny bit of fantasy (he can see bits of the future) and a whole lot of guile and cunning.
Mary Stewart wrote romance novels before she wrote 'The Crystal Cave,' and that cross-genre pollination works well. It's a shame that in the modern publishing world, this book would probably have never seen print because the publishers today so severely pigeonhole writers.
This is the good book I was talking about.
Quote: "This is true of all old men, that the recent past is misted, while distant scenes of memory are clear and brightly colored. Even the scenes of my far childhood come back to me now sharp and high-coloured and edged with brightness, like the pattern of a fruit tree against a white wall, or banners in sunlight against a sky of storm."
Lord of the Spiders by Michael Moorcock
Michael Moorcock wrote the Elric saga, a fantasy series well-loved by readers of the genre. This is not that book. This book is a pastiche of Edgar Rice Burroughs' John Carter books. The John Carter books inspired Carl Sagan to become an astronomer, but I'm afraid Mr. Moorcock's book may have scared some people off of it.
Mr. Moorcock wrote this book when he was 25 or 26. Think about the kind of book you would have written at that age, and that's the kind of book this is. It's bad. Really, really bad. Astonishingly so. And yet... Mr. Moorcock's work inspired another generation of writers, as Mr. Burroughs did him, so this book has its place.
The publisher Paizo is reprinting many old sci-fi and fantasy classics that have long been out of print, in an imprint called Planet Stories. They're bringing to a new audience the books that sparked a love for stories in years past. It's a worthy effort, you should go pick up a volume or two.
Quote: "It was the cry of the wolverine debased in the human throat. It was a cry not only to strike terror in the hearts of the women and children, but into the hearts of grown, brave men. It was a cry that was merciless, malevolent, already-triumphant. It was the cry of the human hunter of human prey!" (Yes, the exclamation point is in the original text. See what I mean?)
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mid-Day at the Bookstore
I went to the bookstore in the middle of the day today, first time I've done that on my own since I've been 'between assignments.' Just a few observations.
Funny odors. And I don't mean ha-ha funny either. There was a definite funk in the air, and it wasn't the smell of paperbacks.
Lots of old dudes. I mean older than me old dudes, like retirement age. They crowded the coffee shop more than I've seen on a Friday night, all of them bent over their laptops, studiously ignoring one another. Kind of sad. And, no, I don't miss the irony of me making that observation, thank you very much. Shut up.
Books mis-arranged. You kind of expect that in a bookstore, what with people picking things up and putting them down again. It happens. But it everywhere in the store I saw books placed haphazardly on the shelves, almost like someone rearranged them improperly on purpose. That offends my sense of order. And it points to the store being short-handed.
I look like I work there. In the twenty minutes I was in the store I had three people come up and ask me for help finding book. I know I've been a little lax adhering to a professional dress code, but I didn't realize it had gotten quite so bad.
Funny odors. And I don't mean ha-ha funny either. There was a definite funk in the air, and it wasn't the smell of paperbacks.
Lots of old dudes. I mean older than me old dudes, like retirement age. They crowded the coffee shop more than I've seen on a Friday night, all of them bent over their laptops, studiously ignoring one another. Kind of sad. And, no, I don't miss the irony of me making that observation, thank you very much. Shut up.
Books mis-arranged. You kind of expect that in a bookstore, what with people picking things up and putting them down again. It happens. But it everywhere in the store I saw books placed haphazardly on the shelves, almost like someone rearranged them improperly on purpose. That offends my sense of order. And it points to the store being short-handed.
I look like I work there. In the twenty minutes I was in the store I had three people come up and ask me for help finding book. I know I've been a little lax adhering to a professional dress code, but I didn't realize it had gotten quite so bad.
Things That Worry Me Which Probably Shouldn't
Lately I've been watching the History Channel, which sounds like it should be edifying but instead is an exercise in terror. With shows like 'MegaDisasters' or 'Monster Quest' or 'UFO Hunters' it's easy to descend into the madness of conspiracy theories. Throw in a little Nostradamus and you're one step away from debilitating paranoia. But because of the damn History Channel there's one thing in particular that has me worried:
2012
That's right, the year 2012, not 2112 the album from Rush, but the year after the year after next. Three years from now. Evidently there's quite a bit of eschatology building up around December 21, 2012, and that worry is spilling over to me.
Let me explain. The Maya 'Long Count' finishes on December 21st, 2012. The intricate Maya calendar ends one cycle of 5,000 years (give or take) on that day.
So what?
While a reasonable person might claim that there's no difference between December 21 2012 and the last day of any other calendar - Muslim, Jewish, Chinese, Greek Orthodox, or Gregorian - an unreasonable person might assume this is the date when our fourth world ends in blood, fire, and a rain of turquoise snake feathers. And there seem to be a lot of unreasonable people out there.
There's also the concept that the Earth, the Sun, and the center of the Milky Way will align on that day, the sun rising across the middle of the galaxy. While a reasonable person might realize that such a cosmic conjunction happens every Winter Solstice, an unreasonable person might see this alignment as a sinister cosmic doomsday signal, announcing the end of us all.
As for me, I don't think there's really going to be any world-shattering consequences, but why take that chance? We should be proactive, we should be tossing the odd orphan into a cenote to placate Chaac. We should be asking President Obama where he stands on the 'end of the world question' since he's going to be in office on December 21st, 2012. We should demand that our Senators and Congressmen watch 'Decoding the Past' on the History Channel so they can share in the panic and paranoia.
Yeah, that's the solution.
2012
That's right, the year 2012, not 2112 the album from Rush, but the year after the year after next. Three years from now. Evidently there's quite a bit of eschatology building up around December 21, 2012, and that worry is spilling over to me.
Let me explain. The Maya 'Long Count' finishes on December 21st, 2012. The intricate Maya calendar ends one cycle of 5,000 years (give or take) on that day.
So what?
While a reasonable person might claim that there's no difference between December 21 2012 and the last day of any other calendar - Muslim, Jewish, Chinese, Greek Orthodox, or Gregorian - an unreasonable person might assume this is the date when our fourth world ends in blood, fire, and a rain of turquoise snake feathers. And there seem to be a lot of unreasonable people out there.
There's also the concept that the Earth, the Sun, and the center of the Milky Way will align on that day, the sun rising across the middle of the galaxy. While a reasonable person might realize that such a cosmic conjunction happens every Winter Solstice, an unreasonable person might see this alignment as a sinister cosmic doomsday signal, announcing the end of us all.
As for me, I don't think there's really going to be any world-shattering consequences, but why take that chance? We should be proactive, we should be tossing the odd orphan into a cenote to placate Chaac. We should be asking President Obama where he stands on the 'end of the world question' since he's going to be in office on December 21st, 2012. We should demand that our Senators and Congressmen watch 'Decoding the Past' on the History Channel so they can share in the panic and paranoia.
Yeah, that's the solution.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Stupid or Really Stupid?
I've seen a few Smart cars around, you know the little bitty car that's supposed to save modern urban environments. From what I can see it's intended to be for Eurpoean cities and places like New York, NY (the city so nice they named it twice), where cars intrude on a city plan. I'm not so sure it belongs in a place like LA, which is built around the idea that everyone has a car anyway.
And is it just me, or does the Smart car look really stupid?
Maybe it's my American sensibilities, or maybe it's the fact that I'm a heterosexual man, but aesthetically that car just doesn't work. And it makes anybody driving it look like some sort of self-satisfied urban-chic whitebread jackass, the kind who wears hemp-fiber clothes and claims to be a vegetarian when he thinks other people will claim to be vegetarians, even though he just ate a bacon cheeseburger that day.
Here's a measure of just how pretentious and self-congratulatory the whole Smart car thing is: they're starting a 'cars2go' program in Austin, TX, using Smart cars. The idea is that you can rent the car by the minute to go where you need to go, and then just leave it for the next guy. A few seconds of non-stoned thought will tell you that logistically this just doesn't work. They're always doing crap like this in Austin, it's the annoying little brother of Texas cities, a complete pain in the ass, but everybody else puts up with them because they're part of the family.
Do you remember when they tried the 'community bicycle' program in Portland a few years back? Failed miserably. This thing is going to go over like a fart in church too. I'm going out on a limb here and make a prediction: half the Smart cars in Austin find their way to a chop shop in Mexico the first week they try this ridiculous idea.
And is it just me, or does the Smart car look really stupid?
Maybe it's my American sensibilities, or maybe it's the fact that I'm a heterosexual man, but aesthetically that car just doesn't work. And it makes anybody driving it look like some sort of self-satisfied urban-chic whitebread jackass, the kind who wears hemp-fiber clothes and claims to be a vegetarian when he thinks other people will claim to be vegetarians, even though he just ate a bacon cheeseburger that day.
Here's a measure of just how pretentious and self-congratulatory the whole Smart car thing is: they're starting a 'cars2go' program in Austin, TX, using Smart cars. The idea is that you can rent the car by the minute to go where you need to go, and then just leave it for the next guy. A few seconds of non-stoned thought will tell you that logistically this just doesn't work. They're always doing crap like this in Austin, it's the annoying little brother of Texas cities, a complete pain in the ass, but everybody else puts up with them because they're part of the family.
Do you remember when they tried the 'community bicycle' program in Portland a few years back? Failed miserably. This thing is going to go over like a fart in church too. I'm going out on a limb here and make a prediction: half the Smart cars in Austin find their way to a chop shop in Mexico the first week they try this ridiculous idea.
LA Trickery
As Public Enemy has warned: 'Don't Believe the Hype.'
Last night I was watching TV and I saw an ad for Xenadrine, which claims to help people lose weight. They even have before and after pictures showing dramatic weight loss.
Don't believe it.
Here in LA they cast commercials constantly, that business is the bread and butter of many casting directors and, of course, ad agencies. In order to recruit actors for these commercials the breakdowns are posted on-line. So if someone is looking for a Caucasian man between the ages of 35 and 45 for an upcoming project, I'd see that in the breakdowns and be able to submit myself for it.
You've probably heard about dietary supplement companies that pay an athlete to get fat so they can have before and after photos - they just present the photos in the wrong order. But there's an easier way, one I've seen posted many times in breakdowns.
Dirty little secret: The breakdowns for many (most?) weight loss products specify identical twins, one of whom is fit one of whom is fat, The breakdowns further specify that the fat twin is for the 'before' picture and the thin one is for the 'after.' How cynical and borderline criminal is that?
So when you see late-night ads for weight loss products you should be skeptical right away - is anything good ever advertised after midnight? - but you should also realize that they're probably lying to you, and not even being particularly slick about it.
Last night I was watching TV and I saw an ad for Xenadrine, which claims to help people lose weight. They even have before and after pictures showing dramatic weight loss.
Don't believe it.
Here in LA they cast commercials constantly, that business is the bread and butter of many casting directors and, of course, ad agencies. In order to recruit actors for these commercials the breakdowns are posted on-line. So if someone is looking for a Caucasian man between the ages of 35 and 45 for an upcoming project, I'd see that in the breakdowns and be able to submit myself for it.
You've probably heard about dietary supplement companies that pay an athlete to get fat so they can have before and after photos - they just present the photos in the wrong order. But there's an easier way, one I've seen posted many times in breakdowns.
Dirty little secret: The breakdowns for many (most?) weight loss products specify identical twins, one of whom is fit one of whom is fat, The breakdowns further specify that the fat twin is for the 'before' picture and the thin one is for the 'after.' How cynical and borderline criminal is that?
So when you see late-night ads for weight loss products you should be skeptical right away - is anything good ever advertised after midnight? - but you should also realize that they're probably lying to you, and not even being particularly slick about it.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Cute, Like a Rock-n-Roll Hurricane
Looking Good...
When I went to the gym this morning I didn't think I was going to become a piece of man candy, but I have been working out lately...
Two women checked me out today. Yeah, me.
Okay, one was a nice little old lady who was asked if I knew which way down Colorado Denny's was. As I gave her directions (of course I know where the nearest Denny's is), I could tell she was looking me up and down. I can sense these things.
The second one was a homeless lady, the one who sleeps outside the closed furniture store by the gym. It's cloudy this morning, so I know the sun wasn't in her eyes. She may have been having a small seizure, but, come on, a wink is a wink.
Better and better every day, I tell you what.
p.s. Ten bucks to the first person who can tell me the show with the catchphrase 'Looking good...' Too late, I've linked to it.
Two women checked me out today. Yeah, me.
Okay, one was a nice little old lady who was asked if I knew which way down Colorado Denny's was. As I gave her directions (of course I know where the nearest Denny's is), I could tell she was looking me up and down. I can sense these things.
The second one was a homeless lady, the one who sleeps outside the closed furniture store by the gym. It's cloudy this morning, so I know the sun wasn't in her eyes. She may have been having a small seizure, but, come on, a wink is a wink.
Better and better every day, I tell you what.
p.s. Ten bucks to the first person who can tell me the show with the catchphrase 'Looking good...' Too late, I've linked to it.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Lebowski Fest - Part 2
Let's back up a moment, and pretend that the show hasn't started yet, that I'm still standing at the corner of Wilshire and Western waiting for my friend. What might that street scene look like?
There would probably be an awful lot of traffic, cars going every which way. And there were. But there might also be a surprising amount of foot traffic. Not only is this because the Los Angeles Metro 'Purple Line' terminates at that intersection (used to be part of the Red Line if you've never heard of the Purple Line) and because of the many LA Metro bus stops, but it's also because people in that part of LA tend to be pedestrians, surprisingly enough. So what might one have seen on a Thursday afternoon, anything of note?
How about two Mormon guys who looked about 14 years old, complete in their short-sleeved white shirts, black pants, carrying their bicycle helmets, and looking as out of place as... well, as Mormon missionaries at Wilshire and Western. Even better, how about the heavily tattooed pregnant woman who crossed the street with them, chatting on her phone? Or the Mexican ice cream vendor with his homemade cart and barely-audible tinkling bell?
It's a pageant of humanity, I tell you.
To complete the Lebowski Fest story, after the killer set by the little 9-year-old Japanese guitar god (he did, like six or seven songs, didn't miss a note as far as I could tell... I'm still flabbergasted), and a taped fake-satellite appearance by Jeff Bridges, they finally - FINALLY - started the movie. As I mentioned before, there were surprisingly few people dressed in costume. But there were many, many people who could quote the movie line for line. And they did. And quite a few of them snuck out from time to time to indulge in a little herbage, if you know what I mean. Smelled like the art teachers' lounge in high school. Which is why they have the time to spend on a Thursday night going to Lebowski Fest. It was, actually, very fun to have people recite the best lines with the film.
On the way out, the panoply of humanity continued. What might you have seen? Glad you asked. You might have seen a very enterprising young immigrant woman who didn't speak a lot of English but knew enough to set up her hot dog stand on the sidewalk right outside the theater exit. Stoned moviegoers can eat a lot of hot dogs, I saw it with my own eyes. You might also have seen another entrepreneur who dressed in a tattered hospital gown and held a pitifully hand-printed sign advising that 'they dropped me off from the syke ward' (yes, he misspelled 'psych' ward). This is actually a problem in LA, but about three miles East, in Skid Row downtown, so the guy would have been better off selling hot dogs. Or, perhaps, putting on a bright blue sombrero and playing the trumpet. Badly. As the guy hanging out by the parking garage did.
Lebowski Fest hasn't been in LA for three years, and this was very fun. Aside from the attendees mostly being men 'of a certain age' - as old as I am, and who had probably seen the movie in theaters originally - it was a great time. I'd do it again, as long as that little Japanese kid was going to play again.
There would probably be an awful lot of traffic, cars going every which way. And there were. But there might also be a surprising amount of foot traffic. Not only is this because the Los Angeles Metro 'Purple Line' terminates at that intersection (used to be part of the Red Line if you've never heard of the Purple Line) and because of the many LA Metro bus stops, but it's also because people in that part of LA tend to be pedestrians, surprisingly enough. So what might one have seen on a Thursday afternoon, anything of note?
How about two Mormon guys who looked about 14 years old, complete in their short-sleeved white shirts, black pants, carrying their bicycle helmets, and looking as out of place as... well, as Mormon missionaries at Wilshire and Western. Even better, how about the heavily tattooed pregnant woman who crossed the street with them, chatting on her phone? Or the Mexican ice cream vendor with his homemade cart and barely-audible tinkling bell?
It's a pageant of humanity, I tell you.
To complete the Lebowski Fest story, after the killer set by the little 9-year-old Japanese guitar god (he did, like six or seven songs, didn't miss a note as far as I could tell... I'm still flabbergasted), and a taped fake-satellite appearance by Jeff Bridges, they finally - FINALLY - started the movie. As I mentioned before, there were surprisingly few people dressed in costume. But there were many, many people who could quote the movie line for line. And they did. And quite a few of them snuck out from time to time to indulge in a little herbage, if you know what I mean. Smelled like the art teachers' lounge in high school. Which is why they have the time to spend on a Thursday night going to Lebowski Fest. It was, actually, very fun to have people recite the best lines with the film.
On the way out, the panoply of humanity continued. What might you have seen? Glad you asked. You might have seen a very enterprising young immigrant woman who didn't speak a lot of English but knew enough to set up her hot dog stand on the sidewalk right outside the theater exit. Stoned moviegoers can eat a lot of hot dogs, I saw it with my own eyes. You might also have seen another entrepreneur who dressed in a tattered hospital gown and held a pitifully hand-printed sign advising that 'they dropped me off from the syke ward' (yes, he misspelled 'psych' ward). This is actually a problem in LA, but about three miles East, in Skid Row downtown, so the guy would have been better off selling hot dogs. Or, perhaps, putting on a bright blue sombrero and playing the trumpet. Badly. As the guy hanging out by the parking garage did.
Lebowski Fest hasn't been in LA for three years, and this was very fun. Aside from the attendees mostly being men 'of a certain age' - as old as I am, and who had probably seen the movie in theaters originally - it was a great time. I'd do it again, as long as that little Japanese kid was going to play again.
Lebowski Fest - Part 1
I went to the LA Lebowski Fest last night, and it was AWESOME! Much better than I thought it would be. But there's more to the tale...
First, as with any LA story, is the trip there. The Lebowski Fest was held at the Wiltern Theater, which is at the corner of Wilshire and Western (duh), deep in the heart of Koreatown. Unless you live or work within a few miles of it, there's no easy way to get to this part of LA from any other part. Especially at 5:30 PM. So I knew what I was getting into. At least I thought I did.
It took 45 minutes to go fourteen miles or so, but that's pretty much par for the course in LA, not unusual. However, as I traveled down Western, I saw some examples of the worst driving LA has to offer, and that's saying something. People driving the wrong way down the street just to make a left turn into the parking lot for a pizza place (must be good pie), buses plowing through red lights at top speed, one gentleman walking down the center stripe - he wasn't begging for money, just trying to get somewhere with his rolling luggage and thought the double-yellow was a good place to do that. An amazing display of impatience, incompetence, and rudeness, even for LA.
After I got the tickets, my friend and I had Korean BBQ - naturally - a few blocks down Wilshire. After the security purse-screening we got in the theater and she got a White Russian (see the movie if you don't get it); it's a real theater, not a movie theater, they serve booze. We expected more people dressed as the Dude or Walter or Jesus than we saw.
There were a few introductions of bit players, people from the movie who had 5 lines or less, and the inspiration for the Dude, Jeff Dowd, who was, honestly, kind of incoherent.
But then, ah... but then... they introduced 9-year-old Yuto Miazawa. He's a little kid from Japan, who totally, completely shreds a rock guitar. Unbelieveable. He ROCKS!!! His set consisted of great guitar-melting old-school American rock like 'Highway Star' by Deep Purple, 'Crazy Train' by Ozzy, 'National Anthem' by Jimi Hendrix (the kid did it right), and even 'Freebird' by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Funny/tragic note: one of the LA 20-somethings actually leaned over and asked me - during the opening riffs - 'is this Freebird?' Douchebag. The best part of it all was listening to this amazing guitar virtuosity, backed by a 9-year-old Japanese kid's voice. Like listening to Pikachu rock out with his... you know what I'm saying. You have to listen to this kid play.
More about the screening and after the show in another post.
First, as with any LA story, is the trip there. The Lebowski Fest was held at the Wiltern Theater, which is at the corner of Wilshire and Western (duh), deep in the heart of Koreatown. Unless you live or work within a few miles of it, there's no easy way to get to this part of LA from any other part. Especially at 5:30 PM. So I knew what I was getting into. At least I thought I did.
It took 45 minutes to go fourteen miles or so, but that's pretty much par for the course in LA, not unusual. However, as I traveled down Western, I saw some examples of the worst driving LA has to offer, and that's saying something. People driving the wrong way down the street just to make a left turn into the parking lot for a pizza place (must be good pie), buses plowing through red lights at top speed, one gentleman walking down the center stripe - he wasn't begging for money, just trying to get somewhere with his rolling luggage and thought the double-yellow was a good place to do that. An amazing display of impatience, incompetence, and rudeness, even for LA.
After I got the tickets, my friend and I had Korean BBQ - naturally - a few blocks down Wilshire. After the security purse-screening we got in the theater and she got a White Russian (see the movie if you don't get it); it's a real theater, not a movie theater, they serve booze. We expected more people dressed as the Dude or Walter or Jesus than we saw.
There were a few introductions of bit players, people from the movie who had 5 lines or less, and the inspiration for the Dude, Jeff Dowd, who was, honestly, kind of incoherent.
But then, ah... but then... they introduced 9-year-old Yuto Miazawa. He's a little kid from Japan, who totally, completely shreds a rock guitar. Unbelieveable. He ROCKS!!! His set consisted of great guitar-melting old-school American rock like 'Highway Star' by Deep Purple, 'Crazy Train' by Ozzy, 'National Anthem' by Jimi Hendrix (the kid did it right), and even 'Freebird' by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Funny/tragic note: one of the LA 20-somethings actually leaned over and asked me - during the opening riffs - 'is this Freebird?' Douchebag. The best part of it all was listening to this amazing guitar virtuosity, backed by a 9-year-old Japanese kid's voice. Like listening to Pikachu rock out with his... you know what I'm saying. You have to listen to this kid play.
More about the screening and after the show in another post.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Never Say Die
It's good to see that in this economic downturn, some people still have the entrepreneurial spirit. Just the other day I got one of those Nigerian scam e-mails. Yeah, I know, it's 2009, you'd think somebody would have told Nigeria their cover was blown. But this e-mail was good, or at least good for this kind of fraud.
It seems that I 'legally won the sum of $800,000.00 USD from a Lottery Company outside the United States of America.' Which is really odd because I haven't entered a lottery outside the USA. But, okay, stranger things have happened to me, just read some of my earlier posts.
Here's the kicker: the e-mail doesn't come from Nigeria, or at least it doesn't claim to. It's from the FBI. Our FBI, the one in the United States. The message doesn't come from an FBI e-mail address, but from the 'Anti-Terrorist and Monetary Crimes Division,' which, as far as I can tell, doesn't really exist. The street address given is, in fact, the J Edgar Hoover building, but the phone number is an international one with a prefix of... 234 which is the international calling code for, you guessed it, Nigeria.
Does this work any more? I can see that back in 1995 it might have, e-mail was new, Al Gore had just invented the Internet, 'The Simpsons' was still funny and relevant, and cyberspace was fresh and unspoiled, ripe for abuse. Now, however, even little kids know that you can't get something for nothing out of Nigeria, and they still believe in Santa.
More importantly, do the Nigerians try this scam on Chinese people? There are potentially waaaaay more gullible people in China, do they get e-mail from the 'Chinese FBI' telling them they've won a lottery in a foreign land?
It seems that I 'legally won the sum of $800,000.00 USD from a Lottery Company outside the United States of America.' Which is really odd because I haven't entered a lottery outside the USA. But, okay, stranger things have happened to me, just read some of my earlier posts.
Here's the kicker: the e-mail doesn't come from Nigeria, or at least it doesn't claim to. It's from the FBI. Our FBI, the one in the United States. The message doesn't come from an FBI e-mail address, but from the 'Anti-Terrorist and Monetary Crimes Division,' which, as far as I can tell, doesn't really exist. The street address given is, in fact, the J Edgar Hoover building, but the phone number is an international one with a prefix of... 234 which is the international calling code for, you guessed it, Nigeria.
Does this work any more? I can see that back in 1995 it might have, e-mail was new, Al Gore had just invented the Internet, 'The Simpsons' was still funny and relevant, and cyberspace was fresh and unspoiled, ripe for abuse. Now, however, even little kids know that you can't get something for nothing out of Nigeria, and they still believe in Santa.
More importantly, do the Nigerians try this scam on Chinese people? There are potentially waaaaay more gullible people in China, do they get e-mail from the 'Chinese FBI' telling them they've won a lottery in a foreign land?
What Does It All Mean?
I need some help here. I had a dream last night, and I while I don't remember most of it, I do remember one particular thing.
I had long toenails.
I'm not talking comically long, not like two inches or two feet or anything, but on each of my big toes the nails were much longer than I normally keep them, like a quarter of an inch or more. You know, long enough that they would stick out past the toe and cut through socks, that kind of long.
I looked online for dream interpretation, and after wading through many, many crap New-Age (or newage, rhymes with sewage) sites with crystals and.... what have you... I found only one explanation regarding toenails:
"To dream that your toe nails are growing, symbolize an extension of your understanding in a particular matter."
I'm going to ignore the poor conjugation of the verb in the preceding sentence, because I'm not buying the whole interpretation anyway, so why nitpick?
How freakin' general and useless is that 'interpretation?' When I go to a regular dictionary to look up a word, I'm looking for definity, not a vague idea of what that word might mean. What understanding am I going to extend? My understanding of the need for proper foot care? 'Cause I got that covered.
I'm not even going to try to look up Madonna in the flying DeLorean.
I had long toenails.
I'm not talking comically long, not like two inches or two feet or anything, but on each of my big toes the nails were much longer than I normally keep them, like a quarter of an inch or more. You know, long enough that they would stick out past the toe and cut through socks, that kind of long.
I looked online for dream interpretation, and after wading through many, many crap New-Age (or newage, rhymes with sewage) sites with crystals and.... what have you... I found only one explanation regarding toenails:
"To dream that your toe nails are growing, symbolize an extension of your understanding in a particular matter."
I'm going to ignore the poor conjugation of the verb in the preceding sentence, because I'm not buying the whole interpretation anyway, so why nitpick?
How freakin' general and useless is that 'interpretation?' When I go to a regular dictionary to look up a word, I'm looking for definity, not a vague idea of what that word might mean. What understanding am I going to extend? My understanding of the need for proper foot care? 'Cause I got that covered.
I'm not even going to try to look up Madonna in the flying DeLorean.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Lessons Through Music
Everything I need to know I learned from KISS:
I know a thing or two about her, I know she'll only make you cry. She'll let you walk the street beside her, but when she wants, she'll pass you by. Everybody says she's looking good, and the lady knows it's understood. Strutter.
Lesson Learned:
Hot chicks like to walk, but they don't necessarily want you walking near them.
I know a thing or two about her, I know she'll only make you cry. She'll let you walk the street beside her, but when she wants, she'll pass you by. Everybody says she's looking good, and the lady knows it's understood. Strutter.
Lesson Learned:
Hot chicks like to walk, but they don't necessarily want you walking near them.
From My Bookshelf
I decided to go with an Economics theme this week. Two selections that should help anyone understand both micro- and macro-economics.
Winning Casino Craps by Edwin Silberstang.
Published in 1979, this book is still the definitive guide to the game of craps. If you don't know what craps is, it's the game played with two dice made famous in the musical 'Guys and Dolls'. If you don't know 'Guys and Dolls' then shame on you. Brando sings in the movie. For real.
Anyway, Mr. Silberstang explains the entire craps table completely, real odds vs. table odds, what sucker bets to avoid, and how to apply a winning strategy. Essential reading if you're planning a trip to Vegas and you want to toss the dice.
Quote: 'When you win at casino craps it's like coining your own money. The casino chips fill your rails, and as the winning streak goes on, these chips turn from $5 into $25 chips, then to $100 chips, and if the streak lasts long enough, into $500 chips. All it takes is one hot roll and you're on your way to big money, and I mean really big money.'
Freakonomics by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner
For the last ten years I've made my career doing data warehousing, and this book is an exploration of data points, unhindered by preconceptions. The authors explore the connections of things that may seem unrelated or counter-intuitive: how Roe v Wade helped precipitate a drop in crime, why most drug dealers live with their mothers, how sumo wrestling is fixed. It's actually science at its purest, asking a question and peeling back the layers of the onion to find the answer. The real answer.
Quote: 'When she sells her own house, a [real estate] agent holds out for the best offer; when she sells yours she pushes you to take the first decent offer that comes along. Like a stockbroker churning commissions, she wants to make deals and make them fast. Why not? Her share of a better offer... is too puny an incentive to encourage her to do otherwise.'
Winning Casino Craps by Edwin Silberstang.
Published in 1979, this book is still the definitive guide to the game of craps. If you don't know what craps is, it's the game played with two dice made famous in the musical 'Guys and Dolls'. If you don't know 'Guys and Dolls' then shame on you. Brando sings in the movie. For real.
Anyway, Mr. Silberstang explains the entire craps table completely, real odds vs. table odds, what sucker bets to avoid, and how to apply a winning strategy. Essential reading if you're planning a trip to Vegas and you want to toss the dice.
Quote: 'When you win at casino craps it's like coining your own money. The casino chips fill your rails, and as the winning streak goes on, these chips turn from $5 into $25 chips, then to $100 chips, and if the streak lasts long enough, into $500 chips. All it takes is one hot roll and you're on your way to big money, and I mean really big money.'
Freakonomics by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner
For the last ten years I've made my career doing data warehousing, and this book is an exploration of data points, unhindered by preconceptions. The authors explore the connections of things that may seem unrelated or counter-intuitive: how Roe v Wade helped precipitate a drop in crime, why most drug dealers live with their mothers, how sumo wrestling is fixed. It's actually science at its purest, asking a question and peeling back the layers of the onion to find the answer. The real answer.
Quote: 'When she sells her own house, a [real estate] agent holds out for the best offer; when she sells yours she pushes you to take the first decent offer that comes along. Like a stockbroker churning commissions, she wants to make deals and make them fast. Why not? Her share of a better offer... is too puny an incentive to encourage her to do otherwise.'
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Worst Sound
I heard a wreck at the corner by my apartment this morning. The plumber was here, I don't do my own work when I'm renting, and I had the patio door open to get a good breeze. The plumber had just finished with the kitchen sink when I heard the squeal of tires on asphalt and the crunch of one car crashing into another.
That noise - squealing tires - kind of makes you sick to your stomach every time you hear it, because you know that nothing good is going to happen afterward. And that metal-on-metal crumpling is not a sound you can mistake for anything other than what it is, the announcement of a tragedy.
I went out onto the patio to take a look, but trees obscure my view of that intersection. I saw there was a taco truck not too far from the light, so I thought maybe someone had gotten their own Montezuma's Revenge.
The plumber had nothing more to do so he left, and since I had nothing to do I wandered downstairs to go take a look. Normally I'm not a lookie lou, but what the hell, my schedule is really open these days.
Somebody in a little black car had plowed into the back of a pickup truck. The front of the car was caved in, totally destroyed, but the back of the truck seemed okay. The front of the truck, however, had run into the traffic signal and had a big U-shaped divot right where the radiator used to be. The Pasadena traffic light guys were already on the scene, repairing the damage. They're still there right now, as a matter of fact.
There was no ambulance and no fire truck, so at least nobody was hurt badly, or worse. I just really hated that helpless, hopeless feeling, knowing that something bad had just happened and that there was nothing I could do to help.
Final note: the taco truck was not involved in the accident in any way, it's perfectly fine. When I was downstairs the cop taking the accident report was having a cup of coffee from the truck. Probably for free.
That noise - squealing tires - kind of makes you sick to your stomach every time you hear it, because you know that nothing good is going to happen afterward. And that metal-on-metal crumpling is not a sound you can mistake for anything other than what it is, the announcement of a tragedy.
I went out onto the patio to take a look, but trees obscure my view of that intersection. I saw there was a taco truck not too far from the light, so I thought maybe someone had gotten their own Montezuma's Revenge.
The plumber had nothing more to do so he left, and since I had nothing to do I wandered downstairs to go take a look. Normally I'm not a lookie lou, but what the hell, my schedule is really open these days.
Somebody in a little black car had plowed into the back of a pickup truck. The front of the car was caved in, totally destroyed, but the back of the truck seemed okay. The front of the truck, however, had run into the traffic signal and had a big U-shaped divot right where the radiator used to be. The Pasadena traffic light guys were already on the scene, repairing the damage. They're still there right now, as a matter of fact.
There was no ambulance and no fire truck, so at least nobody was hurt badly, or worse. I just really hated that helpless, hopeless feeling, knowing that something bad had just happened and that there was nothing I could do to help.
Final note: the taco truck was not involved in the accident in any way, it's perfectly fine. When I was downstairs the cop taking the accident report was having a cup of coffee from the truck. Probably for free.
I Should Be On the Food Network
As my enforced vacation from corporate monkey-spank - uh... I mean regular work - continues, I'm finding ways to economize. For instance, rather than throw away the PennySaver that comes each week, I'm reading it. I don't want a puppy, or a roommate, or handyman work done so it's kind of a bust, but you never know when you might find something useful. I'm also reading the flyers from economy-minded grocery stores, looking for the bargains. For instance, did you know that at the King Ranch Supermarket ('un supermercado mejor') you could get 10 rolls of paper towels for $5? At those prices I can start being messy again. They have no web site I can find, because they're passing the savings on to me. And at SuperKing Markets you can get five cucumbers for 99 cents - compare that with $1.50 for one cucumber at Whole Paycheck, and you can see what I'm talking about.
Anyway...why I should be on the Food Network. I'm creating my own cheap meals, and they're tasty and nutritious. For instance, for breakfast today I had yogurt. With a twist.
Try this: Greek-style yogurt (the thick kind), a handful of walnuts, blueberries or dried cherries (or both, go crazy), a little bit of sugar, a little bit of cinnamon. Mix everything together and you have a great-tasting meal that's also good for you. Seriously. My doctor would fall over dead if he saw me stirring that up.
And, man, you should see what I can do with Beefaroni...
Anyway...why I should be on the Food Network. I'm creating my own cheap meals, and they're tasty and nutritious. For instance, for breakfast today I had yogurt. With a twist.
Try this: Greek-style yogurt (the thick kind), a handful of walnuts, blueberries or dried cherries (or both, go crazy), a little bit of sugar, a little bit of cinnamon. Mix everything together and you have a great-tasting meal that's also good for you. Seriously. My doctor would fall over dead if he saw me stirring that up.
And, man, you should see what I can do with Beefaroni...
Monday, May 4, 2009
Straight Guys Who Like Musicals
We have a newcomer to our meeting tonight. Go on, stand up. Don't worry, it's okay, you're among friends.
Hi, everyone.
Hi.
What do I... I mean... I never... God this is so hard...
It's okay, really. You know what to do, you've seen it in enough movies, right?
I guess so. Just... oh, God, what would my father think...
We're ready when you're ready. You just have to make the first step.
Okay. Whew.... okay. Hi, everyone.
Hi.
My name is Don, and I'm a straight guy who likes musicals.
Hi, Don...
It all started with Singing in the Rain. You know, with Gene Kelly? I saw it when I was a kid, couldn't have been more than eight.
Statistics show that the younger straight guys are exposed to musicals, the easier it is for them to be hooked.
What about gay guys?
They're born with it. Like being able to color-coordinate things and having a fabulous design aesthetic.
Makes sense. Anyway, it was on Saturday afternoon, you know? Back when there were only three channels and after cartoons there were either monster movies, Abott and Costello, or musicals.
Those were the days.
Yeah. Little Rascals sometimes, too. So I was eating a baloney sandwich, with the crusts because men liked the crust, but with Miracle Whip and cut diagonally because that's the way my mother did things, when I see this guy splashing around in puddles. My mother didn't like me splashing, but here was a guy on TV not only doing it, but singing while he was doing it.
Gene Kelly. One of the best. Singer, dancer, and actor.
No shit. Like the Brett Favre of straight Hollywood triple-threats. Brett Favre? Green Bay Packers? Two SuperBowls, one win? Nine-time Pro Bowler?
Hmm... doesn't ring a bell.
Played his first year for the Falcons?
Oh! That Brett Favre!
Yeah. So after that first taste, the first forbidden look at a grown, heterosexual man singing and dancing in a movie, I was hooked. I saw them all, An American In Paris, On the Town, Top Hat, Shall We Dance. All of them. But I couldn't let anybody know.
Your secret shame.
Exactly. Every Saturday I had to tell my friends I was grounded, or that I had to help my grandparents or something. It was hard, living a double life. I managed to suppress it for most of high school. But then in college a girlfriend dragged me to see the theater department's production of Guys and Dolls, and I was off the wagon. After that, it was anything goes. All That Jazz, A Chorus Line, The Lion King. Even... God help me... High School Musical. I'm so ashamed...
It's okay. Really. We've all been there.
Thanks. It's good to finally be able to talk about this. I mean... I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one.
You're among friends.
A few weeks ago I went to see Wicked. Great show.
You didn't go alone, right? Did you at least go with a girl?
Absolutely.
Was she hot?
Like you wouldn't believe. Beautiful eyes.
Nice rack? Hot ass?
Well, you know, kind of the whole package... I'm not sure I should be telling you...
Got a picture?
No, but she has a myspace page... wait a minute. I'm not showing you guys!
Well, we might like musicals, but we are straight.
Yeah. Yeah. Thanks for understanding, guys. It's good to talk.
Seriously, about this chick you took to Wicked, one a scale from one to ten...
Aren't you supposed to have sugar cookies?
Hi, everyone.
Hi.
What do I... I mean... I never... God this is so hard...
It's okay, really. You know what to do, you've seen it in enough movies, right?
I guess so. Just... oh, God, what would my father think...
We're ready when you're ready. You just have to make the first step.
Okay. Whew.... okay. Hi, everyone.
Hi.
My name is Don, and I'm a straight guy who likes musicals.
Hi, Don...
It all started with Singing in the Rain. You know, with Gene Kelly? I saw it when I was a kid, couldn't have been more than eight.
Statistics show that the younger straight guys are exposed to musicals, the easier it is for them to be hooked.
What about gay guys?
They're born with it. Like being able to color-coordinate things and having a fabulous design aesthetic.
Makes sense. Anyway, it was on Saturday afternoon, you know? Back when there were only three channels and after cartoons there were either monster movies, Abott and Costello, or musicals.
Those were the days.
Yeah. Little Rascals sometimes, too. So I was eating a baloney sandwich, with the crusts because men liked the crust, but with Miracle Whip and cut diagonally because that's the way my mother did things, when I see this guy splashing around in puddles. My mother didn't like me splashing, but here was a guy on TV not only doing it, but singing while he was doing it.
Gene Kelly. One of the best. Singer, dancer, and actor.
No shit. Like the Brett Favre of straight Hollywood triple-threats. Brett Favre? Green Bay Packers? Two SuperBowls, one win? Nine-time Pro Bowler?
Hmm... doesn't ring a bell.
Played his first year for the Falcons?
Oh! That Brett Favre!
Yeah. So after that first taste, the first forbidden look at a grown, heterosexual man singing and dancing in a movie, I was hooked. I saw them all, An American In Paris, On the Town, Top Hat, Shall We Dance. All of them. But I couldn't let anybody know.
Your secret shame.
Exactly. Every Saturday I had to tell my friends I was grounded, or that I had to help my grandparents or something. It was hard, living a double life. I managed to suppress it for most of high school. But then in college a girlfriend dragged me to see the theater department's production of Guys and Dolls, and I was off the wagon. After that, it was anything goes. All That Jazz, A Chorus Line, The Lion King. Even... God help me... High School Musical. I'm so ashamed...
It's okay. Really. We've all been there.
Thanks. It's good to finally be able to talk about this. I mean... I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one.
You're among friends.
A few weeks ago I went to see Wicked. Great show.
You didn't go alone, right? Did you at least go with a girl?
Absolutely.
Was she hot?
Like you wouldn't believe. Beautiful eyes.
Nice rack? Hot ass?
Well, you know, kind of the whole package... I'm not sure I should be telling you...
Got a picture?
No, but she has a myspace page... wait a minute. I'm not showing you guys!
Well, we might like musicals, but we are straight.
Yeah. Yeah. Thanks for understanding, guys. It's good to talk.
Seriously, about this chick you took to Wicked, one a scale from one to ten...
Aren't you supposed to have sugar cookies?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Chicken-Or-Egg Effect
Do disenfranchised, murderous loners read 'Catcher in the Rye,' or does reading 'Catcher in the Rye' make you become a disenfranchised, murderous loner?
Do crazy polygamist child abusers build fortress-like compounds in the middle of nowhere, or does building a fortress-like compound in the middle of nowhere make you become a crazy polygamist child abuser?
Do freaky dudes with tattoos for eyebrows look for midnight-shift work at 7-11, or does working the midnight shift at 7-11 make you a freaky dude with tattoos for eyebrows?
Do crazy polygamist child abusers build fortress-like compounds in the middle of nowhere, or does building a fortress-like compound in the middle of nowhere make you become a crazy polygamist child abuser?
Do freaky dudes with tattoos for eyebrows look for midnight-shift work at 7-11, or does working the midnight shift at 7-11 make you a freaky dude with tattoos for eyebrows?
Friday, May 1, 2009
The Underwear Ratio
Being a bachelor - NOT a 'confirmed bachelor,' thank you very much - I have developed my own way of doing household chores. Since I used to be a cook, I really do wash dishes promptly, I keep my kitchen pretty clean and my knives sharp, and I take the trash out regularly. I also keep the carpets swept and the furniture polished and vacuumed.
When it comes to laundry, though, I have developed my own formula. I realized early on that the frequency with which I would have to do laundry correlated directly with the amount of underwear I owned. The more underwear that I owned, the less frequently I would have to do laundry. I had enough shirts and pants to wear to work, shorts and t-shirts to wear otherwise, and plenty of socks to go around. I didn't need to wash the shirts every time I wore them, unless I wore them for a long period of time, but I wasn't going to compromise on underwear; one and done, as it were. When I ran out of clean underwear - getting close to the emergency stash - I would be forced to wash clothes.
The formula is this: the need to do laundry, N, is like a probablility, it ranges from 0 - absolutely no need - to 1 - an urgent certainty. That probability curve is represented by the number of dirty underwear, D, divided by the total number of underwear available including emergency pair, T, times the days since I last did laundry, E, divided by the number of days of non-emergency underwear, R (not T again). That would be:
N = (D/T) * (E/R)
You can see that as the ratios increase N approaches 1, meaning I must do laundry. To make it less abstract, let's substitute values. I have 24 pair of regular underwear and 3 pair of emergency underwear. If it's been 7 days since I last did laundry, the ratio would be:
N = (7/27) * (7/24)
or
N = 0.259 * 0.291
or
N = 0.08
No real urgency to do laundry.
If, however, we gor forward two weeks, the numbers become
N = (21/27) * (21/24)
or
N = 0.680
This is EIGHT TIMES the underwear urgency than two weeks before. That's pretty serious.
You might say that D and E should always be equal, but you'd be wrong. There's nothing that says I have to actually wear underwear every day.
Economics note: Underwear is a depreciating asset. And the more you wear it the faster it wears out. Some guys I know will wear a waistband with scraps of fabric attached and call it underwear, but not me, I adhere to strict depreciation schedule. And when I throw out a set, I tear it in half, so no one else would be tempted to put them on.
When it comes to laundry, though, I have developed my own formula. I realized early on that the frequency with which I would have to do laundry correlated directly with the amount of underwear I owned. The more underwear that I owned, the less frequently I would have to do laundry. I had enough shirts and pants to wear to work, shorts and t-shirts to wear otherwise, and plenty of socks to go around. I didn't need to wash the shirts every time I wore them, unless I wore them for a long period of time, but I wasn't going to compromise on underwear; one and done, as it were. When I ran out of clean underwear - getting close to the emergency stash - I would be forced to wash clothes.
The formula is this: the need to do laundry, N, is like a probablility, it ranges from 0 - absolutely no need - to 1 - an urgent certainty. That probability curve is represented by the number of dirty underwear, D, divided by the total number of underwear available including emergency pair, T, times the days since I last did laundry, E, divided by the number of days of non-emergency underwear, R (not T again). That would be:
N = (D/T) * (E/R)
You can see that as the ratios increase N approaches 1, meaning I must do laundry. To make it less abstract, let's substitute values. I have 24 pair of regular underwear and 3 pair of emergency underwear. If it's been 7 days since I last did laundry, the ratio would be:
N = (7/27) * (7/24)
or
N = 0.259 * 0.291
or
N = 0.08
No real urgency to do laundry.
If, however, we gor forward two weeks, the numbers become
N = (21/27) * (21/24)
or
N = 0.680
This is EIGHT TIMES the underwear urgency than two weeks before. That's pretty serious.
You might say that D and E should always be equal, but you'd be wrong. There's nothing that says I have to actually wear underwear every day.
Economics note: Underwear is a depreciating asset. And the more you wear it the faster it wears out. Some guys I know will wear a waistband with scraps of fabric attached and call it underwear, but not me, I adhere to strict depreciation schedule. And when I throw out a set, I tear it in half, so no one else would be tempted to put them on.
Only In LA
It's still not too late to get your bids in, today the Hollywood Wax Museum is auctioning off a lot of crap, presumably to make way for more crap.
It's like a dream come true for the eight-year-old in me. I could actually own wax figures of Dr. Zaius and Zira. What a time to be 'between assignments.' If I had the cash to spare I'd have two wax monkeys to put out on my porch. To guard it, or something; who doesn't need wax figures of talking monkeys, for cryin' out loud?!
In an incredible coincidence, the same auction house is putting up for bids not only the Dr. Zaius costume from 'The Planet of the Apes,' it's also putting up the costume Charlton Heston wore as Taylor. So not only could I have wax figures for my porch, I could also have actual costumes for my wardrobe. Think of the envious looks I'd get at the gym, working out in my Dr. Zaius coat.
Oooh! They have Deckard's blaster from 'Blade Runner.' I'm in nerd-vana...
They also have some garbage from the crappy 'Episode 1' Star Wars movie, you know the one, when George Lucas abandoned all pretense of competent film-making?
It's like a dream come true for the eight-year-old in me. I could actually own wax figures of Dr. Zaius and Zira. What a time to be 'between assignments.' If I had the cash to spare I'd have two wax monkeys to put out on my porch. To guard it, or something; who doesn't need wax figures of talking monkeys, for cryin' out loud?!
In an incredible coincidence, the same auction house is putting up for bids not only the Dr. Zaius costume from 'The Planet of the Apes,' it's also putting up the costume Charlton Heston wore as Taylor. So not only could I have wax figures for my porch, I could also have actual costumes for my wardrobe. Think of the envious looks I'd get at the gym, working out in my Dr. Zaius coat.
Oooh! They have Deckard's blaster from 'Blade Runner.' I'm in nerd-vana...
They also have some garbage from the crappy 'Episode 1' Star Wars movie, you know the one, when George Lucas abandoned all pretense of competent film-making?
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