Archive for January, 2007
Is It Really 9 Minutes Long?
Posted on January 28, 2007
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Yes, its really 9 minutes long. Special prize to anyone who makes it through the whole thing!
…not really. Its just that I haven’t done a SafeT’une in forever, and it took me awhile to figure out how to do it in Linux. But here is the product, such that it is. Try not to fall asleep listening to it.
Click on CD to Download. |
28, January 2007
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The Two Week Itch
Posted on January 24, 2007
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Perhaps I’m molting. It could be. This one time a dude was chasing me through Best Buy, and as soon as he grabbed my ass it fell right off in his hands, allowing me to make my escape. It grew back a few weeks later. No itching, however.
Since the second day of my Dallas trip (was it two weeks ago already?) I’ve been plagued with itchiness. No rash is evident, no funny smells, and the only blemishes I suffer are those I leave with my desperate fingernails. Completely diffuse, the itchiness is on my head, my back, my chest, arms, legs… everywhere except for the places that would freak me out*.
I figured it might have been the shower water at the hotel, which was probably a different formula than my rusty Utica brew. But its been too long.
Heather has lost patience with my scratching, threatening me with a bottle of caladryl, which I understand comes only in pink–unacceptable! I’m not a princess!**
* They should freak you out as well. They freak me and the missus out, anyway.
** We’ve already established that I am some sort of monstrous lizard-man.
Tube Bend of the Innocence
Posted on January 21, 2007
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There was a Conan O’Brien sketch in which Max Weinberg and Conan, stony-faced and dispassionate, helped themselves to carelessly assembled plates of Thanksgiving dinner in an NBC breakroom only to immediately dump them into a garbage bag on the way out. How I wish I could locate a video of this.
I’ve been notified by telephone that the family dog has consumed twelve cupcakes, paper cups and all, from a rack upon which they cooled. We await the inevitable production with horrified interest. I assume the new kitten had nothing to do with it, true carnivores don’t like sugar.
Kitten update: Sisco the cat loves our old dog, Tera. After four unsuccessful attempts to attack the dog’s nose and nibble her ear off, Tera sighs heavily and slowly, inexorably, rolls over on top of the kitten. Great stuff.
I work the Sunday away, victim of someone else’s IT emergency. As I worry about the outcome of the day’s efforts, my heart races and I despair. Did you know that Intel gives away bowling shirts to their vendors? Tres analogue.
Ah, the catalog is assembling. I worry slightly less now, as just moments ago I thought the tape to be hopelessly, disastrously blank. Backup-Exec, a product that has changed hands four times in the last ten years (Arcada, Seagate, Veritas and now Symantec), has often been the source of pain to me. Servers would never reboot if it weren’t for tape drives. Well, and porno. But then there’d be no reason for computers at all, if demographic usage research is to be believed.
If it weren’t for shitty searching, no one would research at all.
Question Mark Burnin’ Down the House
Posted on January 18, 2007
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Question Mark’s Michigan home has burnt down. Dogs are dead, gold records are melted, and music history is rendered asunder.
I won’t even TRY to tell you how many tears ran down my face when I saw the poor fellow through the fogged eye of local news footage, picking through the wreckage of his home, yappy dog under one arm, singed album cover in the other hand.
How many times have you heard this man’s two hits? Are you surprised that he lived with his manager and manager’s wife for 30 years with a gaggle of dogs and such? No, I suppose not.
Of course, if your crazy cousin’s house burned down, how many people would care? What if your cousin sang “Can’t Get Enough of You, Baby”?
Extra reading material here and here and here.
Sisco Cat and the Ice Storm
Posted on January 17, 2007
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Michigan Ice Storm, Aesthetically Pleasing!
You may know I was stuck in Dallas an extra day because the weather down there was terrible…by wimpy Texas standards, anyway. It was chilly and rainy, and the locals huddled in their adobe huts, shaking with fear at the wrath of Menzabac*.
I live in the Detroit area, where bad weather causes interior venues to become clogged with wandering humans. Malls, arcades, theaters, bars, they all get BUSIER when the weather sucks in Michigan. In Fort Worth/Dallas, however, I had the run of everyplace I went. Sega Gameworks, restaurants, Hyenas Comedy Club, Reunion Tower, Malibu Speedzone, Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza, ALL were beyond adandoned, even during prime time. Where’s all this cowboy courage I learned all about in Brokeback Mountain? None was evident in this frosty ghost-town. Phfagh!**
Which reminds me, Dallas–why don’t any of you know what/where Dealey Plaza is? 9 out of 10 people we asked had no idea WHAT Dealey Plaza was, and 10 out of 10 had no idea how to get there. That’s like people in San Fransisco not knowing where Alcatraz is, or people in New Orleans not knowing where the French Quarter is. JFK got peppered with paint balls and electricuted by his wife in Dealey Plaza***, quite possibly the most formative death of the cold war. How can locals NOT know about it? Whatever. Aside: Dealey Plaza won’t let you take pictures in their museum–a museum filled with not with art, but with historical documents and photographs. Have they succeeded in copyrighting history, then? Incredible!
Anyway, when I finally staggered down the tube into the bright lights of Detroit Metro airport on Sunday night, I was greeted by a typical Michigan ice-storm. Was Detroit paralyzed? No, traffic was just as bad as ever, everyone was out and about, and the trees looked BEAUTIFUL. (See the picture at the top of the post. Crystaline water coats everything the morning after an ice storm, making me think of force fields and tempting me to lick otherwise unpalatable objects…like my car.
Oh, yeah, Sisco Cat! I have a new kitten; a floppy, trusting little boy cat I’ve named “Sisco.” In honor of ‘Sysco,’ the food service company, ‘Cisco,’ the router company, ‘Sisco,’ the last name of the commander of Deep Space Nine, and ‘Sisco Kid,’ a puntific allusion at best. Here’s a picture of the little guy being roughly cuddled by my incongruously glowering self.
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Sisco Cat and SafeTinspector
* A Mayan god responsible for, among other things, weather, warts, marital impotence, and efficient grilling.
** No, not ‘fag’.
*** See Stuck in Dallas for details on this startling new theory.
