Rain Shadow People

Stank

2011-06-15T21:00:00.000-07:00

gyofb

2011-06-15T20:48:00.001-07:00

Trial Separation

2007-08-07T20:32:00.000-07:00

Dear ~~John~~ Internet,

Hey, baby! Listen, I've been doing some soul searching lately, and - well, there's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it: I think we could both use a time out. It's not you, it's me. We've been spending so much time together that I've been feeling kind of smothered. Like I don’t even know where you end and I begin. And let's face it – you've changed, too. Used to be we could just hang out, read, play some games. Watch porn. Now you're all about the LOLZ. Social networking and amateur videos. It's just not my style. And I have to be honest: I've met someone. Let's call her "RL." She doesn't even seem to know I'm alive right now, but maybe I could change all that if I had a bit more space to operate. So here's the deal: I'm going to put our relationship on hold to give RL a chance for a while. If I don't call, it's not because I don't love you. It's because I'm a selfish jerk.

Yours truly,

IRFH

It’s Raining Lasagna (Vegetarian Edition)

2007-06-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

[Per request from MetaChat, posted here for space considerations. I promise it's much simpler than it looks at first glance. I've over-explained, just because I can.]

The secret to making perfect lasagna is a complex sauce, a good cheese blend, and correct layering. I used to make the sauce entirely from scratch, and cut, chop and shred all of my herbs, vegetables, and cheeses by hand. I rarely have time to do so anymore, and have found ways to incorporate prepared foods without losing any of the personality. I don't actually measure spices as I add them, anymore, since I've made this many, many times, but the measurements here should get you close enough to modify according to your own tastes. This makes a HUGE batch, by-the-way, completely filling a 12 x 16 x 2 inch lasagna pan. The two of us usually get several meals out of half, and freeze the other half for later.

I'm including the brand names of the products I actually use most often (all trademarks & registered brands belong to blah, blah, blah, not me, you know the drill), but feel free to substitute. I would suggest that you adjust the recipe if you go with a cheaper prepared product, though. A cheaper sauce may need more seasoning and simmer time to really balance the flavors, for example, and a shredded cheese blend with fewer varieties of cheese should be supplemented. Don't leave out the fontina, for example. I'm telling you...

[Note for carnivores: For anyone interested, the only difference between this vegetarian recipe and my regular recipe is that I usually crumble and pan fry a half pound to a pound of Italian chicken sausage in a tablespoon or two of extra virgin olive oil and add it to the sauce along with the vegetables. I like it that way, but there's so much going on with this dish that I never actually miss it if I leave it out.]

Ingredients

Sauce:

1 @ 26 oz. Bottle of Classico Fire Roasted Tomato & Garlic Pasta Sauce (or equivalent volume of favorite pasta sauce or plain tomato sauce)
2 @ 14.5 oz. Cans Ready-cut Tomatoes (I use S&W Italian Recipe w/ Diced Garlic, Oregano & Basil, and/or Diced w/ Roasted Garlic)
3 Tablespoons Extra Virgin Olive Oil
2 @ Green Bell Peppers
1 @ Small Sweet Yellow Onion
3 to 4 Cloves Garlic
1 @ 13.75 oz. Can Quartered Artichoke Hearts in Water (I use Napoleon brand)
1 @ 2.25 oz. Can Sliced Ripe Black Olives (whatever is available)
1 @ 16 oz. Package Pre-sliced Ostrom’s Crimini Mushrooms (or slice equivalent)
¼ to ½ Cup Red Wine (I prefer cabernet, myself, but the idea is it should be something good enough to drink with dinner if you’re in the mood to do so, but cheap enough to cook with if you’d rather not imbibe. Last night, I used about a 1/3 cup of Yellowtail Shiraz/Cabernet)
1 Portabella Mushroom Cap (pre-sliced package, scrape the gills – or cut the cap from the stem of a full portabella, above the gills, and slice) cut into one inch pieces

Herbs & Spices (Measurements Approximate):

1 teaspoon Taragon
¾ teaspoon Basil
¾ teaspoon Fennel Seed
1/8 teaspoon Caraway Seed
1/8 teaspoon Anise Seed
¼ teaspoon Garlic Salt
½ teaspoon Dried Parsley
½ teaspoon Crushed Rosemary
½ teaspoon Thyme
½ teaspoon Oregano
1 Bay Leaf (tear in half)
Sea Salt (a few shakes to taste)
Cracked Pepper (a few turns to taste)
1 ½ Tablespoons Brown Sugar
A Dash of Cinnamon (less than 1/8 teaspoon)

Cheese:

8 Cups Shredded Cheese, Including Mozzarella, Provolone, Asiago, Parmesan, Fontina, Romano, and Cheddar

I usually buy it as follows:
3 @ 2 cup packages of Food Club Italian blend. I believe that Sargentos has a similar blend. The important point is that this is the exact same blend that I used to grate by hand, so I was very happy when they started selling it pre-shredded. It includes Mozzarella, Provolone, Asiago, Parmesan, Fontina, and Romano

1 @ 2 cup package of Tillamook Tuscan Blend. It includes more Mozzarella and Parmesan, but also adds enough Cheddar to improve the crust
32 oz. Low Fat Ricotta (I normally use Frigo)

Pasta:

16 Full Length Ronzoni Lasagna Noodles (or equivalent – lay dry noodles out in your lasagna pan ahead of time and calculate how many it will take to completely cover the surface with some overlap, then double the number – this is a two layer recipe)
You Should Always Have More Than One Bullet Point in a List

Preparation

Fill an 8 qt. stockpot approximately half full with water, dribble a few drops of olive oil in the water, and set on high to boil
While water is heating, chop green peppers, onions, and portabellas, and mince garlic
When stockpot of water reaches a hard boil, add lasagna noodles and cook at a rolling boil according to package directions for al dente doneness, approximately 10 minutes. As noodles soften, be sure to push all the way down into the water
Add 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil to a large skillet
Sauté green peppers, onions, and garlic over medium heat until soft, about 5 minutes, stirring frequently
Sprinkle a dash of Tarragon and Basil over the vegetables, add portabellas, and cook for 2 additional minutes, or until vegetables and mushrooms are soft; set aside
When lasagna noodles are done, carefully drain noodles into pasta strainer in sink
To save on dishes, use the same 8 qt. stockpot to cook your sauce – you don’t even need to rinse it
Add pasta sauce and ready-cut tomatoes to the empty 8 qt. stockpot, setting jar and cans aside without rinsing
Bring sauce to a low boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally; cover and reduce to low heat
Add the red wine to one empty tomato can, swirl to mix with the leftover juice, then pour into the other empty can. Pour back into original can and repeat until the sides of the two cans are mostly clean. Pour the resulting liquid into the empty pasta jar. Seal the lid and shake until the remains are well mixed. Set aside
Open and drain quartered artichoke hearts and black olive slices
Add sautéed vegetables, artichoke hearts and black olives, and all of the spices and herbs to the sauce. Stir well. Add crimini mushrooms, then pour the wine/sauce liquid reserve from the pasta jar over the top of the mushrooms. When the wine has been absorbed by the mushrooms, stir the mushrooms in with the rest of the sauce and cover
Cover and simmer over low heat for 15 minutes
Open your bags of cheese (or begin grating… now) and your container of ricotta. Set up your station for filling the lasagna pan
If lasagna noodles are too hot too handle, rinse with cold water
Carefully taste the piping-hot sauce. Adjust seasonings to your liking

Assembly

If you are planning to cook the lasagna right away, preheat the oven now to 350 degrees
Ladle half of your sauce into the bottom of the lasagna pan. The sauce should be very thick by now, but still have enough liquid to cover the bottom of the pan and keep the lasagna from sticking to the bottom of the pan
Cover the sauce with half of the noodles laid out flat with the edges overlapping. Try to completely cover the sauce
Plop spoonfuls of ricotta randomly over the noodles until half of the ricotta has been used. The heat from the sauce below the noodles should quickly soften the ricotta, allowing you to smooth the ricotta over the noodles somewhat evenly
Cover the ricotta with half of the cheese blend
Repeat steps 2 through 5 until ingredients gone
Caution – assembled dish is fairly heavy
Assembled lasagna can be covered with plastic wrap and stored in the refrigerator for up to a day in advance

Cooking

To cook immediately, set on middle rack in oven and cook in pre-heated oven at 350 degrees for approximately 45 minutes, checking after 30 minutes (ovens vary)
If the lasagna has been pre-assembled and refrigerated, you’ll probably need to cook it for an entire hour

Note To Self: Things YOU Can Do To Stop Global Warming

2007-06-07T16:25:00.000-07:00

Shut the damned door and turn off the furnace! What are you trying to do - heat up the whole outdoors?!
Stop eating so many energy bars
Recycle plastic - Melt down Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan to make next year's celebutants
Don't wear the black dress
Stick lumps of coal up ass; make diamonds

Hamster Deathmatch

2007-05-15T16:35:00.000-07:00

Two furballs enter, one furball leaves. Acute, cute battle for the big habitrail in the sky. No actual hamsters were harmed in the making of this post. Much.

Can't Keep A Good Man Down...

2007-05-10T09:24:00.000-07:00

...or me, neither.

So, I'm finally back from the hospital, and recovering fine. I still have pain from the clots and from the damaged kidney, and I get tired real easy, but I'm already bored, so that's a good sign. It will probably be at least a few more days until I can really hang-out online again, because one of the dvt (deep vein thrombosis) clots is around the inside of my right elbow and typing isn't all that pleasant. Which pretty much means you only get me when I'm on drugs. Which, if I'm being totally honest, is about 75% of the time right now. But, yeah. Not so much for the sense-making. So that's the update. Thanks again for all of your good thoughts and best wishes. It meant a lot to me.

Out Sick...

2007-04-23T14:48:00.000-07:00

I haven't really been hospitalized for exhaustion, though. I'm just laid up with a chest full of lung-butter oyster stew and a high fever that I just. can't. shake. My temp.'s been under 100 for about 3 hours out of the last 72, and that's on medication. Every time I get toward the end of my dose it climbs back up to 102 or 103. So I am exhausted, and my life right now is pretty much all about hanging out in bed all day, drinking, and taking drugs, but not like that. So, I guess my point is, if you can read this, go wash your hands. Or run a Norton sweep.

If The Internet Were On TV: The Equations

2007-04-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Boing Boing: Space Ghost Coast to Coast + 60 Minutes + Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip + McGyver = The A-Team. Well, The B-Team, anyway. Either way: RIAA? You better watch your backs, fools!

Suicide Girls: America’s Next Top Model + Attack of the Show! + The Real World = The Apprentice. Is it exploitation or empowerment? Who cares. If you’re not 17–36, conventionally unconventional and hawt, you’re fired!

Wil Wheaton dot Net (WWdN: In Exile): My Name is Earl + Family Matters + Celebrity Poker Showdown + Wheel of Fortune (I’d like to buy another “L”, Pat) = Max Headroom

Google = TV Guide

YouTube: America’s Funniest Home Videos + Nova + Public Access Television + Jackass = The Gong Show

Fark: The Gong Show + WrestleMania = When Animals Attack

MetaFilter: Mythbusters + The McLaughlin Group + The Soup + American Idol + Antiques Roadshow + Talk Sex with Sue Johanson = The Simpsons. Or Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader? I can’t decide. Maybe both, I guess. So what's The Simpsons + Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader? Ah. Got it. MetaFilter = South Park. I should have known. You bastards!

Which Food Network Celebrity Would You Eat?

2007-04-10T20:58:00.000-07:00

You're on board when the Food Network's private jet loses an engine and crash lands in the Andes. All of the network's celebrities survive. So... who do you eat? There are a few criteria to keep in mind:

1) Bam! for the buck. You'd want to pick someone with a bit of meat on the bones. Giada may look good enough to eat, but she'd hardly make for a feast.
2) Tenderness. Age may bring wisdom and superior wine, but youth just tastes better on the barbie. Paula Deen might be a good source of ready-made jerky, though, for the long hike out of the wilderness.
3) Quality of feed. Okay, more than one of the celebrity cooks are packing a few extra meals around on their frames, but what ingredients went into making all that well-marbled meat? If you are what you eat, you just know Sandra Lee and Rachael Ray are at least 75% artificial preservatives.
4) Cooking chops. Once the menu has been selected and dispatched, someone has to prepare it. You'd probably want to keep the best chefs around for sheer aesthetics. And because they'll cut you. Very, very efficiently.
5) Annoyance factor. Sure, Bobby Flay is the BBQ king, and undoubtedly the most qualified to whip up an expedient long pork banquet. You get the sense it's something he's done more than once before. But would you really want to be trapped on a mountainside with him?

All things considered, I'm voting go with the flo. Tyler Florence - it's what's for dinner.

Totally Childish Time Machine Hacks

2007-04-10T17:22:00.000-07:00

Travel to: 1895. Hack: The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells. Mod: Add brief descriptive text about the “Flux Capacitor”
Travel to: 1936. Hack: The international broadcast of the Berlin Olympic Games. Mod: Shave one side of Hitler’s moustache
Travel to: The Beginning. Hack: Everything. Mod: This is the way the world starts. Not with a Big Bang, but with a Big Whimper
Travel to: 1184 BC. Hack: The Trojan Horse. Mod: Paint “For her pleasure” on horse’s ribs
Travel to: 1812. Hack: Napoléon Bonaparte. Mod: Crazy glue right hand to chest. Short sheet his cot (will have to be very, very short)
Travel to: July 20, 1969. Hack: The Apollo 11 moon landing. Mod: Stick Suction Cup Garfield Plush to inside window. Attach “My Other Vehicle is a Lunar Rover, Bitch” bumper sticker. Change “Apollo 11” to “Capricorn One.” Replace Tang with Folgers Crystals
Travel to: Sept. 11, 2001. Hack: The Pet Goat. Mod: Change title to My Pet Goatse. Replace text with mirror. When Bush spreads the covers, the asshole in the middle will be clear.

Kids These Days...

2007-04-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

If you're like me (and you're not), it might be getting a little hard to tell just who all those little bastards are out there messing up your lawn. For a scorecard to keep the players straight, try yourscenesucks.com.

Confidential To Wendell

2007-04-05T19:41:00.000-07:00

Everything's fine. It was beautiful out today, so I went for a walk - then my head got too big to fit back through the door.

Piggish Latin: The Nested Fallacies Of The W Doctrine

2007-04-03T11:15:00.000-07:00

This Just In...

2007-03-21T13:25:00.000-07:00

Playground Rules

WASHINGTON, March 21, 2007
(IRFH) President Bush invoked the “I Know You Are, But What Am I?” defense this week in response to the Federal Prosecutor Firings (FPF) scandal, labeling congressional efforts to determine whether the firings of eight federal prosecutors were based entirely on partisan politics as “partisan politics.” Washington insiders have speculated that this move may perhaps signal a change in overall Whitehouse Scandal-Response Tactics (WSRTs), which until this week were primarily “I’m Rubber And You’re Glue, Whatever You Say Bounces Off Of Me And Sticks To You”-based. One senior administration official who refused to be named for this article claimed that the administration is rapidly running out of official “Bouncers” to rebuke the President’s detractors, while another unnamed source attributes the switch primarily to Bush’s difficulty remembering whether he’s supposed to represent rubber or glue.

Though Congress has yet to respond officially, one unidentified Senator was overheard confiding to his Personal Hollywood Lobbyist (PHL) that the Republicans should anticipate being put in a very long time out.

Passive-Aggressive Ninja: Driving To Jaded

2007-03-15T22:02:00.000-07:00

...But Maybe Armageddon Will Be Cute

2007-03-14T15:46:00.000-07:00

Some say the world will end in fire...

You Can't Handle The Truth

2007-03-09T09:02:00.000-08:00

Hoof In Mouth Disease

2007-03-05T14:15:00.000-08:00

Other terms Ann Coulter won't be using to refer to John Edwards:

Articulate
President
Babydaddy
Sugartits McJewsalot

Nature Abhors A Vacuum Cleaner Salesman

2007-03-01T20:50:00.000-08:00

Ockham's Spa Resort

2007-02-23T16:12:00.000-08:00

Mr. Rotten Potato Head

2007-02-23T00:56:00.000-08:00

Supply-Side Economics

2007-02-22T22:20:00.000-08:00

Everything you really need to know
about supply-side economics
can be learned by watching The Roadrunner.
Not everyone can be a roadrunner,
and coyotes are pretty much doomed
to be coyotes, but you should invest heavily
in the ACME Corporation, regardless.

Because so long as there are roadrunners
and coyotes, there will always be
an imbalance of power, and hunger,
and a nearly genetic refusal
to learn from the failures of history.

And even if it would be cheaper
to order takeout every night, roadrunners
and coyotes are tradition-bound creatures,
set by God or fate in eternal opposition--
and wouldn’t you just kill
for a pair of rocket-powered roller skates?

Four Personality Types of a Corpolypse

2007-02-21T21:12:00.000-08:00

Does it feel like the end times for your company? Maybe it is. Take a look at this handy chart of the 4 basic business disaster precursor personality types and see where you fit in the cycle of despair.

Slivers

2007-02-16T15:48:00.000-08:00

At first it was just Bennie and me, hauling ass along US 87 in the brand new '65 Ford Galaxie 500 convertible I'd stolen back in Denver. We'd had the top down all morning, and the high plains wind was whipping us like dogs. Bennie was having a hard time keeping his hat on, and the sight of him clamping that stupid out-dated fedora to the top of his head gave me a sudden fit of the giggles. I banged on the horn a few times to punctuate my amusement, swerving dangerously.

"Where the hell do you think that hat's going to go, you mangy reptile?"

Bennie flicked his elegant tongue lazily in my direction and gave me the evil eye.

I howled.

Due to the nature of my disease, it's impossible to be absolutely certain of anything; but I believe that I have met The Devil and lived to tell about it; and I believe that if you meet him, he'll as soon wear your own face as another...

[Read more!]

Wordsmiting

2007-02-12T22:29:00.000-08:00

sheam [shēm] n.
1. Guilt associated with actions occurring only in dreams.

2. Remorse following the sudden realization that hours of fantasies of outwitting the detectives on TV's CSI or Law and Order franchises almost incidentally also include plotting grievous bodily injury to members of your own family.

bus fucked [bŭs fŭk'd] n.
The state of having been pinned behind a stopped or slow-moving bus by the endless line of cars behind you switching lanes and passing too quickly for you to also get around.

wall of impenetrable ignorance [wôl ŭv ĭm-pĕn'ĭ-trə-bəl ĭg'nər-əns] n.
The unbreakable line formed when the lead cars in every lane of the highway drive unnecessarily slowly at exactly the same rate of speed, trapping miles of traffic behind them in a tide of seething rage.

I Get Mail...

2007-02-06T15:33:00.000-08:00

> From: Ted H.
> Sent: Tuesday, February 6, 2007 3:26 PM
> To: itsrainingmetaflo@hotmail.com
> Subject: A guy can dream, can't he?
>
> Oh, man, I had the freakiest dream last night! I'm at this posh lake resort when all of a sudden, Julia Roberts walks up with a bunch of her people. Julia Freakin' Roberts! And, oh, man she's happy to see me! Turns out we're very close friends. She gives me a big, warm hug, and we ditch the entourage to go sit together by the lake.

I kind of lie back and Julia curls up in my arms. I stroke her hair and kiss the back of her neck, and she holds me as tight as she can. And the whole time I'm telling her how beautiful she is, how wonderful; and how nobody realizes how special she really is as a person, as a woman - but I know.

And she's soaking it up, she's just absolutely loving and craving this shit. It's like our private ritual: I bathe her in unconditional love, and she's rejuvenated. And we're both filled with indescribable joy.

Then I woke up alone, and it felt like my guts had been ripped out! Talk about your nightmares! I mean: Julia Freakin' Roberts! What a talentless hack!

This Just In

2007-02-06T10:34:00.000-08:00

Top 10 Reasons You Haven’t Been Commenting On My Blog

2007-01-30T16:23:00.000-08:00

Top ten lists are teh lame
What blog?
Not enough nudity
Not registered, don't want to comment anonymously, and don't care about anything here, anyway
Never forgave me for that thing I did/said that one time back in the day
Don't want to encourage me
Your comments are trapped in Nigeria
Too busy spreading Democracy
In your day, you had to walk ten miles in the snow for a comment – and you liked it!
Never learned to type with one hand

A Passive Aggressive Ninja Guide to Gift-Giving

2007-01-26T16:51:00.000-08:00

Convince friends, family, and co-workers that this year you will not exchange gifts for birthdays and holidays. This year, you will plan get-togethers and events and revel in the true spirit of community. Then buy everybody gifts.
Always buy gifts at least $10 more - or less - expensive than everybody else. If you are financially comfortable, spend $10 less. If you are tight on money, spend $10 more.
Always buy the most expensive useless gift you can afford, within the parameters set above. If possible, buy something they might actually like, but in a format you know they can't use.
Make a big point of including a gift receipt for them to use "in case they don't like it." Just make sure it's the wrong receipt.
Say it with flowers. Where "it" is defined as, "Don't you have allergies?"
Always buy lingerie in the size you wish he/she were, and always include a large box of chocolates.
Public re-gifting in groups is for amateurs. Instead, give the same gift someone else gave last year - but with obvious upgrades.
Gifts for other people's children should always be noisy AND messy. Just one or the other might still be considered cute.
Never tell anyone what you would like. If asked, sigh and say, "Oh, I don't need anything."
If inspiration eludes you altogether, try giving the gift of charity. Donate money in the other person's name to an embarrassing or really, really depressing cause. Be sure to sign them up for the charity's newsletter.

SPOILER ALERT

2007-01-24T08:39:00.000-08:00

You are Spartacus.

Monkey With A Stick, 2.0

2007-01-23T15:22:00.000-08:00

Take Comfort in the Future

2007-01-23T12:05:00.000-08:00

I Get Mail...

2007-01-22T12:14:00.000-08:00

> From: An Infinite Number of Monkeys
> Sent: Thursday, January 20, 2007 1:42 AM
> To: itsrainingmetaflo@hotmail.com
> Subject: SPAMlet Fellas
>
> Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee:
What the fuck are you doing?
You're hanging around my fuckin' neck
like a vulture, like impending death!

You think I'm funny? I'm funny to you?
I'm a clown to you? How the fuck am I funny?
What the fuck is so funny about me?
Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of
me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know
my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my
mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to
the top of my compass: and there is much music,
excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot
you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am
easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what
instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you
cannot play upon me.

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Today everything is different.
There's no action.
I have to wait around like everyone else.
I'm an average nobody.
I get to live the rest of my life
like a schnook.

The rest is silence.

Three Short Pieces on Instinct

2007-01-17T09:04:00.000-08:00

I

I have nothing particularly insightful to say about instinct. Instinct is a rock balanced on a ledge. Though you may be crushed if you happen to be in its path when it falls, that fact means nothing to the rock. It is just a rock balanced on a ledge.

What interests me is how the rock came to be on that ledge in the first place, and how I got you to stand in its path at the critical moment, against your better judgment.

II

I once drove down a steep, winding, mountain pass in a storm at night with no headlights or windshield wipers. My alternator belt had apparently broken some way back, and the engine light that was always on failed to alert me. By the time the headlights and wipers started to go it was too late – I was already headed down, and there was no shoulder on the narrow mountain path for pulling over.

I locked my eyes on the taillights in front of me and drove far faster than anyone should who cannot even see the road. But I was more afraid of losing that one point of reference than of anything else. So I stayed close.

To say that I was not afraid would be an obvious lie. But I was not afraid. Not yet. I had entered some primal zone where all that existed was that pair of red eyes staring back at me from the darkness. Steering without thinking. Dancing by smell.

It was a moment that stretched on in the crooked timeless manner of dreams. And I suppose a part of me may actually have dozed off – the part that knew better, certainly; the part that might have frozen.

When it was all over and I had somehow survived, I got the shakes something awful. But when it counted, there was only the dream of what had to be done, and the strange stillness when all of the voices in my head went suddenly silent, waiting to see what might happen.

III

The art of civilization is learning not to notice what you shouldn't. The art of love is getting credit for not noticing.

Lost Lucas Xenosploitation Masters Found In Ford Galaxie, Far, Far Away

2007-01-11T17:02:00.000-08:00

Living in Denial

2007-01-08T10:04:00.000-08:00

Passive-Aggressive Ninja Standoff

2007-01-06T00:27:00.000-08:00

The Code of the Passive-Aggressive Ninja

2007-01-04T14:05:00.000-08:00

I am a Passive-Aggressive Ninja, and you are not worth the effort.
The path of the Passive-Aggressive Ninja is always ninety degrees from the destination.
A Passive-Aggressive Ninja never strikes in anger, for anger is a reaction, and reaction is an acknowledgement of my enemy's right to exist.
The strength of the Passive-Aggressive Ninja is in the weakness of my opponent. If my enemy strikes a mighty blow, I will not try to counter the blow; instead, I will ask: "Are you going to wear that?"
Revenge is best promised, hinted at, glimpsed briefly, and ultimately delayed indefinitely, so my enemy can anticipate it forever.
A Passive-Aggressive Ninja's nun-chucks are forged from sarcasm, rumor, and innuendo.
A Passive-Aggressive Ninja never brings a knife to a gunfight; a Passive-Aggressive Ninja always manages to just miss the gunfight due to traffic.
It's a Passive-Aggressive Ninja thing. You wouldn't understand.
A Passive-Aggressive Ninja did not just hit you. It was only a joke.
Or not.
Whatever.

Other Lists

2007-01-02T16:12:00.000-08:00

Kriegs List

Greg’s List

Grieg’s List

Kegs List

http://www.kegs.com/

Wordsmiting

2006-12-28T10:08:00.000-08:00

plat·i·tude [ plat'i-tood, -tyood ] n.
A trite or banal remark or statement, especially one expressed as if it were original or significant. See Synonyms at cliché.
Lack of originality; triteness.
[From http://www.yourdictionary.com/]

+

pal·try [ pôl'tree ] adj.
Lacking in importance or worth. See Synonyms at trivial. Wretched or contemptible.
[From http://www.yourdictionary.com/]

=

pal·ti·tude [ pôl-ti-tood, -tyood ] n.
1. A remark or statement so trite as to be insulting. An ordinary platitude is banal in the sense that the speaker is either a mental lightweight, or simply not trying very hard. By contrast, a paltitude is spoken by someone who not only doesn't believe it themselves, but also wants you to at least suspect that they are being insincere. A passive-aggressive dig, thinly disguised as positivism. A backhanded compliment.

Example: "What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is that they all want to stay in Texas. Everybody is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway so this (chuckle) – this is working very well for them." –Former First Lady Barbara Bush, on the hurricane evacuees at the Astrodome in Houston, Sept. 5, 2005

2. A banal statement that actually means the opposite of what the speaker intended to imply.

Example: "Free nations are peaceful nations. Free nations don't attack each other. Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction." –George W. Bush
(So you're saying... America isn't free? Damn - I guess the terrorists won, after all!)

Singularity

2006-12-27T11:09:00.000-08:00

She's afraid of the homeless, so she hunkers into her oversized coat and peers out at the approaching buses through a deep hood, sprouting wisps of perfect blond hair like some kind of mutant street anemone. Her fears of the homeless aren't based on the usual complaints - contamination, the stench, an exaggerated sense of danger. If asked, she would claim that it's the sudden outbursts she objects to. The unaccountable fits of muttering, shouting, and cursing.

But the truth is, she's afraid of being engaged. Afraid that some manic stranger will confront her, back her against a wall with oblivious insistence, and demand answers she can't possibly provide. She's afraid to look on the weathered face, with its odd, oily sheen and singular fixed expression; afraid she'll recognize the look in those eyes and lose herself for good, as if madness were a virus caught with simple sincerity.

On the bus, she spreads out and pretends to sleep. If the bus is full, someone inevitably forces into the space next to her, but tonight she gets away with it. Eyes closed, she listens to the engine whine, the other passengers talk, fidget, rustle their newspapers. The ambient chittering of the urban understory.

Once home, she sheds the coat and then her work uniform, showers, and dresses for tonight's party. She selects the classic little-black-cocktail dress. It's not a new dress, so she doesn't even bother to check herself in the mirror. She doesn't have to. She's unchanging. She knows exactly what she looks like, down to the last hair and pore. Knows the effect she has on people. Especially men.

Truth is, she enjoys the effect more than the men. The sex, but not the attachment. Even desire leaves her cold. She cares only for the act, itself, and then only with the most casual, disinterested partners. The kind of men who hit on her almost out of habit and invariably flee in the aftermath. Saving her the trouble.

She calls a cab.

Her birthday, though a milestone, means nothing to her. She celebrates only out of courtesy to the girls at work. Mindy from Accounting, in particular, thinks of her as a friend, which she finds vaguely depressing. Mindy is young and fatuous, and earnestly interested in all the usual subjects. Cars. Boyfriends. The job. The lottery. All things trite and popular.

She joins in the conversations only reluctantly, but gains a stiff satisfaction when no one quite understands her contributions. Cars? Too expensive. Too much trouble. They break down when you really need them, and replacing them's a pain. Men? Same answer. The initial laughter tapers off as the girls decide she's serious. A job's a job's a job, she says. The lottery? She supposes she'd plant a garden. No – she guesses you don't actually need to win the lottery to plant a garden.

At the restaurant, they drink heavily and have the waiters sing a generic birthday song. They bring out a store-bought cake, and everyone helps to blow out the candles. Blowing out 150 candles requires a bit of a group effort.

There are the usual cards and presents. Mindy gives her an assortment of seeds and some small gardening implements wrapped in a clay pot. Gloves. A mini rake. A hand trowel. Thoughtful gifts.

They've learned better than to ask her about the past. Others from that initial wave of medical immortals have become celebrities, making good livings out of their personal histories. As if each year that passes somehow bestows their memories with more relevance. Opinions made sacrosanct through the simple expedient of failure to rot, they dole out anecdotal wisdom like communion wafers. She never talks about the past.

She arrives home late and promptly disposes of the cards and gifts in the trash and recycling bins. There is no room in her tiny, spare apartment for 150 years' worth of accumulated possessions.

She undresses, changing into oversized, gray, flannel pajamas.

She makes a cup of weak tea and logs onto the Net. Her avatar is an amorphous blob with the alias Methuselah[Bot]. She dances through random games, newsgroups, communities, chat room conversations posting inane non-sequiturs. No one pays her much attention. The occasional exchanges are belligerent or playful, but never personal. Her cover holds. She is a rogue program, a shadow cast from lines of code. Voice without mind.

She floats like this through the immaterial world until, nodding off repeatedly, she finally stumbles off to bed, falling instantly into an anonymous, dreamless, bottomless sleep.

A Very Blogger Christmas

2006-12-23T23:54:00.000-08:00

The Last Post Before Christmas

Twas the last post before Christmas, when all through the land,
The atheists plotted to have Christmas banned,
According to talk show hosts, spreading the Yule love,
In hopes that their savior would make them more moola.

The Dems and the Lobbyists were hurriedly making their beds (together),
While visions of Hillary '08 haunted Republican heads.
With Ma at her scrapbook, I sat down to blog,
Armed with barrels of clichés and 90 proof nog.

While out on the tubes I dodged Britney's cooter,
It was behind every address, on every computer.
In windows and tabs, on YouTube and Flash,
It made my soul shudder, it made my snow crash.

But with filters and blockers I finally managed
To get back to surfing with minimum damage.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Damnit, Britney – I don't want to see your underwear, either!

Yadda, yadda, yadda…

The term's "morbidly obese," not "pleasingly curvy."
Now finish your veggies. You're going to get scurvy.

Yadda, yadda, yadda…

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a high click-through rate!

Worshipping The Big O

2006-12-22T19:42:00.000-08:00

WWOD

She takes another hit from her pocket Jesus.
Tries to buy a little peace – but she's crumbling to pieces.
Says, "Wish I could believe you when you say I'm not a lost cause.
Wish I could remember who I used to think I was.

Not old enough, not good enough to sell out.
Not young enough, not pretty enough to buy in.

Think I know I'm wrong, but that doesn’t make you right.
Too stubborn to give up. Too damn tired to fight about it.

Not pure enough, not broken enough to forgive you.
Not sure enough, not selfish enough to live without you."

She used to think she'd find a job, a man, a cause –
An orbit to fall into. Dreams of weddings, but no groom.
Looking for redemption on the Home Shopping Network^®.
When she's filled with doubt, she asks 'What would Oprah do?'

'What would Oprah do?
What would Oprah do?

[break]

Not fool enough, not lost enough to give up.
Not cool enough, not bright enough to break down.

God, this low-carb diet cuts into my drinking.
Mom wants grandkids, but I just don't want to think about it.

Not desperate enough, not lonely enough to fake it.
Not empty enough, not nice enough to just sit and take it.

What would Oprah do?
What would Oprah do?

Not old enough, not good enough to sell out.
Not young enough, not pretty enough to buy in.

Think I know I'm wrong, but that doesn't make you right.
Too stubborn to give up. Too damn tired to fight about it.

Not pure enough, not broken enough to forgive you.
Not sure enough, not selfish enough to live without you.

What would Oprah do?
What would Oprah do?'

She takes another hit from her pocket Jesus.
Tries to buy a little peace – but she's crumbling to pieces.
Says, "Wish I could believe you when you say I’m not a lost cause.
Wish I could remember who I used to think I was."

The Geek Bible

2006-12-20T21:42:00.000-08:00

1. In the beginning was the void. It was really boring. Nothing going on at all. God couldn't even get a date.
2. Eventually, God decided it would be good to make some stuff.
3. Some sources credit Steve Jobs with originating the whole "creation" meme. But God made it to market first with an entirely closed-source, proprietary design. The Universe (patent pending) quickly became ubiquitous.
4. On the first day, God created the heavens and the earth.
5. Actually, the term "day" may be a bit misleading, here. Keep in mind that there wasn't any consistent way to keep track of time until after God created the sun, moon, and stars, around "day" four. Prior to "day" four, God's cycles had pretty much been measured in units called "eternities." So God probably put in a bit of overtime that week.

Note: God did eventually adjust to local time in the early 1800's, but the jetlag was murder. And by then, God had sealed his reputation for always being late (see Luke 1.38b: And The Lord pulled up his breeches and said unto Mary, "I'll be right back. I’m just going to zip down to the store and pick up some smokes.").

6. On "day" six, God finally got around to making some people, which turned out pretty badly for everyone involved.
7. "Run, you fools!"
8. In which everyone commences begetting.
9. "Let my people go." "So let it be written, so let it be done." "A dingo ate my baby!"
10. After an age or two, The Lord decided to upgrade his design with the Jesus Release. But the effort was troubled from the start, when the Roman DOJ moved to break up God's monopoly by forcing him to separate religion from the OS.
11. "Take. Eat…." "Hey, careful, man, there's a beverage here!" "Father, forgive them. They know not what they do." "I'll be back!"
12. Industry rumors abound that Jesus 2.0 is scheduled for release any day now. But skeptics point out Heaven's^® abysmal track record at making deadlines.

Revelations

1. A prerelease bootleg of Jesus 2.0 is widely available six months ahead of schedule, taking Satan 2.0 completely by surprise.
2. The Singularity will be televised. Under a Creative Commons License.

# # #

Originally posted at hyper-textual ontology.

Carl Sagan, Ten Years Gone

2006-12-20T11:53:00.000-08:00

I don’t worship at the alter of science, but I do sometimes drink from the blood of her prophets. Carl Sagan was a prophet as surely as he was a scientist, so I offer the following in memorium:

String Theory of Divergence

If the universe, and all its properties, is composed from bits of string
and the harmonies resonating through them and between,
then life is jazz and every breath a song.
And when you leave, the quiet is deafening.

This Just In...

2006-12-20T11:38:00.000-08:00

Powerless Without You

2006-12-18T22:32:00.000-08:00

So I'm back in the modern age. I just spent the last four days without electricity after the worst storm to hit the Pacific Northwest in years took out the whole area. As near as the experts can tell, the Seahawks sucked so hard on Thursday night football, that a raging wind storm formed in the vortex.

The Resolution Will Be Televised

2006-12-14T12:55:00.000-08:00

Certainly the end of the year is a time for community and celebration, but it's also a good time for reflecting on past accomplishments and setting goals for the new year.

For me, 2007 will be all about upgrading the ol' consumer electronics.

Suicidal ideation just screams for high def.

Problems with being God

2006-12-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

Always knowing the end of the movie
Always expected to pick up the check
No question what everyone thinks of you
Nobody else to blame
Never any time for yourself on Sundays
Or Saturdays
Or Fridays
Or holidays, either
No real explanation for your Oedipal Complex
Nobody knows the trouble you’ve seen
Always the same cheap tie for Father’s Day
Crucified in the press
And now what?

Mr. T. Science Theater

2006-12-13T22:55:00.000-08:00

Star Wars, Episode IV - A New Pulp

"That's no moon - it's a space station, fool!"

Merry Newtonmas!

2006-12-13T09:45:00.000-08:00

via the inestimable Robn at hyper-textual ontology.

My First Sponsor

2006-12-11T19:51:00.000-08:00

They Made Me an Offer I Couldn't Refuse...

...out of rubber bands and soap.

A Very Special Webisode

2006-12-10T09:55:00.000-08:00

Johnny was a Mouth-breather

I've got a touch of the crud going on, and have been gulping my food in spastic, rapid-fire fashion, then jamming it down my throat with a candy-coated ramrod, due to excessive mucus buildup (as opposed to my usual habit of gulping my food in spastic, rapid-fire fashion, then jamming it down my throat with a candy-coated ramrod, due to sheer gluttony). Having been temporarily reduced to mouth-breathing and phlegmy Bea Arthur as Gollum^Flash impressions, I was reminded of a question that's been vaguely niggling at me for some time: Why all the mouth-breather hate? How exactly did "mouth-breather" become synonymous with "idiot"? So I Googled, and found the following:

mouth-breather n. a stupid person; a moron, dolt, imbecile.
Related: English, Derogatory, Slang

Editorial Note: The original definition of mouth-breather referred to a person that, due to medical problems (usually with the sinuses or nose), was forced to breath via the mouth. This leaves the jaw hanging open at most times, which has a tendency to make a person look dopey or spacey.

via Double-Toungued.Org

True confessions time: I started life out as a mouth-breather. In fact, I was about ten when I first discovered that most people normally breathe through their noses. My family was driving past the scene of a senseless hit-and-run skunk slaughter, and everyone was complaining. I said what's the big deal, yo? If something smells bad, don't smell. I thought noses were just for smelling, and it took an actual effort to use them. Several doctor-appointments later and I had my adenoids and tonsils removed. End result? My mouth-breather stigma was history. (Naturally, I had to get my first pair of glasses later the same year. Buddy Holly glasses, long before they became hipster-retro chic. So that year was a wash for me, style-wise.)

So what did we learn today? "Mouth-breather" is an insensitive term for stupid people. The correct term is "retard".

Note: Be sure to click the Gollum^Flash link. Really.

Gift Ideas, Part 2

2006-12-09T11:45:00.000-08:00

When all else fails, say it with velvet:

Jon Benet, from the "American Tabloid Heroes Collection" at http://www.velvetpaintings.com/.

Or - Have yourself immortalized - without all the fuss of actually doing anything special.

The Custom Elvis Make-Over at The Velvet Store. It'd be a blue Christmas without you... as Elvis.

Gift Ideas, Part 1

2006-12-08T19:46:00.000-08:00

A few gift ideas for those special, hard-to-shop-for someones, like the punks, goths, and cat lovers in your lives:

Plus so, so, so much more!!! From Custom Creature Taxidermy Arts.

Geek Love, Modern Poets Edition

2006-12-08T00:03:00.000-08:00

I wrote a sonnet for your mom.
She keeps it hidden in her sock drawer, sonny.
You know, I've seen it before:
She's just a poetry whore.
She's really partial to the Longfellows, honey.

She's just a different kind of meter maid.
She loves to couple with a couplet on her lips.
Not to damn her with faint praise,
But I enjamb her nights and days,
While she ignores the hipsters twixt her hips.

I wrote a sonnet for your mom.
A pornographic poem calligraphic is her downfall.
She sees the prosaic and the didactic
As a mental prophylactic,
But she'd spread it for a limerick on a bathroom stall.

I wrote a sonnet for your mom.

I wrote a sonnet... for your mom.

I wrote a sonnet for... your mom.