Get a job

Monty Python + Lord of the Rings + A Blog = Not In Any Way Employable

"Inspired" by watching Return of the King last night and wondering what the rest of Middle-Earth's populace thought of suddenly having a king thrust upon them after a long absence. How might they have evolved since the last Gondorian King (Eärnur, in case you were wondering, son of Earnil II, of course)...

[clop clop]
ARAGORN: Old woman!
DENNIS: Man!
ARAGORN: Old Man, sorry. Who lives in that barn at the top of the hill?
DENNIS: I'm thirty seven.
ARAGORN: What?
DENNIS: I'm thirty seven -- I'm not old!
ARAGORN: Well, I can't just call you `Man'.
DENNIS: Well, you could say `Dennis'.
ARAGORN: Well, I didn't know you were called `Dennis.'
DENNIS: (getting upset) Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you? Dennis, son of Dennisor.
ARAGORN: I did say sorry about the `old woman,' but from the behind you looked--
DENNIS: What I object to is you automatically treat me like an inferior!
ARAGORN: Well, I AM king...
DENNIS: Oh king, eh, very nice. An' how'd you get that, eh? By exploitin' the workers -- by 'angin' on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic an' social differences in our society! By using nationalistic propaganda to assemble the lower class in a misguided assault on a misunderstood culture? Orcs greeting Men as liberators indeed. If there's ever going to be any progress--
(woman enters)
WOMAN: Dennis, there's some lovely filth down here. Oh -- how d'you do?
ARAGORN: How do you do, good lady. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and King of Arnor. Who lives in that barn up there?
WOMAN: King of what?
ARAGORN: Arnor.
WOMAN: What's Arnor?
ARAGORN: Well, it's here. We're all part of Arnor and I am your king.
WOMAN: I didn't know we had a king. I thought we were an autonomous collective.
DENNIS: You're fooling yourself. We're living as part of a nomadic horse-mounted dictatorship. A self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working riding classes--
WOMAN: Oh there you go, bringing class into it again.
DENNIS: That's what it's all about if only people would--
ARAGORN: Please, please good people. I am in haste. Who lives in that barn?
WOMAN: No one live there.
ARAGORN: Then who is guarding the throne?
WOMAN: We don't have anyone guarding the throne.
ARAGORN: What?
DENNIS: I told you. We're an anarcho-syndicalist nomadic commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week.
ARAGORN: Yes.
DENNIS: But all the decision of that officer have to be ratified at a special biweekly meeting.
ARAGORN: (impatiently) Yes, I see.
DENNIS: By a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs,--
ARAGORN: Be quiet!
DENNIS: --but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more--
ARAGORN: Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!
WOMAN: Order, eh -- who does he think he is?
ARAGORN: I am your king! I summon you to fulfill your oath!
WOMAN: Well, I didn't vote for you.
ARAGORN: You don't vote for kings!
WOMAN: Well, 'ow did you become king then?
ARAGORN: Elrond, Lord of Rivendell,
[elves sing]
He revealed to me my true name and ancestry when I came of age, and delivered to me the shards of Elendil's sword, Narcil, the Sceptre of Annuminas and the Ring of Barahir.
[singing stops]
That is why I am your king!
DENNIS: Listen -- strange elves lying in the woods distributing merchandise is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the horse-riding masses, not from some farcical welding ceremony.
ARAGORN: Be quiet!
DENNIS: Well you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some skinny nance threw some broken sword bits at you!
ARAGORN: Shut up!
DENNIS: I mean, if I went around sayin' I was an emperor just because some singing albino lobbed some jewelry at me they'd put me away!
ARAGORN: Shut up! Will you shut up! (grabs Dennis)
DENNIS: Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system.
ARAGORN: Shut up! Behold, the sword of Elendil!
DENNIS: Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! HELP! HELP! I'm being repressed!
ARAGORN: Bloody peasant!
DENNIS: Oh, what a give away. Did you here that, did you here that, eh? That's what I'm on about -- did you see him repressing me, you saw it didn't you?
ARAGORN: (chops off Dennis' head)

"I wish I could believe that, (blank)"

So I'm working my way through the original Generation 1 Transformers tv series, you know, for shits and giggles. I've gone back a few times now to revisit my favorite childhood show but this time I'm starting at the beginning and going all the way through. At this point, I'm well past being surpised or disappointed with how truly stupid and crappy this show is. Don't care, still love it.

I'm finding though that watching a whole bunch of episodes back-to-back is that you can't help but find even MORE things that are wrong, stupid, or deliberate attempts to insult/confuse the intelligence of their target toy market: small children and eventual nostalgic twenty-somethings. I'd like to share a few of those issues with you now, if I may. The series aired between 1984 and 1987, so of course the animation looks dated and the production values are cheap. Instead, here's some other questions that I hope go beyond the obvious, like why nobody EVER gets hit by laserfire in the battle scenes, which also afford everyone so much free time to taunt each other.

1. How is it possible for the Decepticons to have possibly survived this long when they rely on human technology for ALL their energy? If it isn't some miracle new invention to solve all the world's power problems, it's a dam, or a volcano, or oil, or a wind farm, or Duracell batteries. How can they possibly be so "advanced" when they can barely dress themselves? They must have used awfully long extension cords to get around on Cybertron.

2. I purposefully said "Decepticons" above because the Autobots do not give two shits about Energon cubes. They blow them up, throw them away, use them as corner tables, anything but use them for energy. Somehow, since the Escape From Cybertron To Find More Energy, the Autobots figured out how to generate power out of Good Intentions and High Hopes.

3. Megatron is tough, ruthless, merciless. He is most certainly without mercy or Ruth. Well, no actually. He's a pussy. It's obvious Transformers cannot be killed by anything (other than a movie) so I can see why he doesn't just kill off Starscream, but what about some kind of demerit system, or sending him to the Decepticon Corner so that he can Think About What He Did? How much crap do you think you could possibly handle from one of your employees before handing out a well-deserved bitch-slap? Answer: A lot less than Megatron does from Starscream.

4. Why don't the Dinobots combine into anything? This is just a question I've always had, it's not a flaw in the show. Or maybe it is. I mean, there's five of them, they're all dinosaurs, and... well that's really the whole formula. Five or six Transformers who all do the same thing will invariably combine, those are the rules. The Dinobots are no different from other theme teams like the Arielbots, Stunticons, Protectobots, Combaticons. Why no "Dinosaurus," "Carnotron," or "Archoplex?"

5. How many kids broke their Soundwave toys by trying to jam two or three robot tapes inside him, like he does on the show? At least one :(

6. Every once in a while, probably by accident, somebody gets hit with a laserblast. Sparks fly and the Autobot (usually) goes down with the requisite grunt and moan. There's usually some indication of damage, either a dent or burn marks or something, but they're cars, right? With windows and windshields? Could they share this indestructible CarGlass, capable of sustaining laserblasts, collisions, and impact with walls and rocks, with us Puny Humans?

7. Speaking of which, why don't the Autobots ever teach the Puny Humans anything? Ever? Assholes.

8. The opening title sequences are incredible aren't they? Especially the Season 2 intro:



Though the Season 3 song was much better, the opening sequence just isn't as fast, not as action-dense, and while it does have a quick Metroplex vs. Tripticon shot, doesn't really feature that many sweet characters.



So, why don't they get the same guys who created the intro to do the rest of the show?

9. Why can't I stop watching this stupid show??? I'm sure Ebay owns a stake in the DVD releases; each episode features a new character that I end up wanting to buy as soon as that episode is over. Hey, just like in the old days!

Magic

I think there's two kinds of people in the world, one kind who wants to know how magic tricks work and another who does not. Of course, people change types depending on the kind of trick they're seeing. A couple goes to see a magic show, one is happy seeing David Copperfield's car disappear, the other looks for the strings and mirrors behind the scenes. Yet put those two people in a restaurant and they'll be the opposite, one having no interest in how the food is made, the other sneaking glances into the kitchen. They go home, rent a movie, one captivated in rapt attention while the other is looking at the camera angles, set design, sound, and auteur imprints.

I was thinking about this today, trying to figure out at what point exposing the trickery behind the scenes ruins and when it improves the product. I don't really want to know how Criss Angel does his illusions but I'd love to know how he does his street magic. The last thing I want to see is how the greasy 17 year-olds at Wendy's put together my burgers but when I worked at the Chinese food restaurant, I loved watching the cooks work their sweet and sour skills. Love knowing stories from movie sets about what lines were improvised and who hated whom, but there's nothing more boring to me than watching some white-haired engineer talking about how they had to built a whole city, with a working sewer system and everything, just because they couldn't find a city that, you know, looked right. I don't know how one can unify all those contradictions into a cohesive explanation, except that most couples I know, or am involved with, will contradict each other as often as possible.

What must be universal certainty, however, is how people hate finding out that great art was actually created out of economics. I was listening to a film critic on the radio once talking about how the increasing DVD player and disc sales were affecting film photography. The idea was that DVD sales are so high, and for many the preferred viewing method over the theatre experience, that directors are using more close-up shots in their movies to cater to the smaller size TV screens at home. That kind of takes the artistic pleasure out of movies, doesn't it? I like the idea of directors stomping their foot in their producer's office, refusing to allow his artistic vision to be contradicted. Finding out that they've capitulated to market factors really de-values the viewing experience.

That's kind of annoying, but not annoying enough to warrant a blog post. A better, more aggravating example is with the Transformers movie. No, not the new one, that was awesome, but the 1986 animated movie, which was also awesome. This is a great movie, relatively speaking. Lots of new characters, a truly epic plot, the death of Optimus Prime and Starscream, the evolution and promotion of secondary characters into headliners, and a massive villain worthy of the movie's grand scale. I remember watching this for the first time and being incredibly emotionally involved, far moreso than a 19 year-old should be. But come on! Killing off Optimus Prime and Starscream? That's ballsy. It's the equivalent of killing Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader halfway through Empire Strikes Back, or doing away with Peter Parker and Harry Osbourn. I mean, you're talking about the most important Autobot and second most important Decepticon. That's epic stuff! Congradulations to the filmakers for taking chances and working with the audience's expectations!

Ah, but the backstory cuts out the artistic heart of the movie. The reason they killed off Optimus Prime and the all the rest was because Hasbro was launching a new Transformers toy line featuring a bunch of new characters. The new TV show would feature only the new toy characters, so the writers had to "tie off" a number of the old characters. Pretty weak eh? And Orson Welles voicing Unicron? In declining health during his last film role, Welles really didn't have much idea what he was doing, and was completely oblivious to the cultural phenomenon of which he was excitingly a part.

I guess neither of those are surprises, that companies like to make money or that old people don't care about transforming robots. The appeal of watching a magic trick is that your senses are convinced of something you rationally know to be impossible. Like a computer being presented with statements like "this sentence is a lie," the human brain gets locked in this nexus point between imagination and reality. You can go one of two ways: remain in your state of confused bliss, or attempt to regain your hold on reality and try to make sense out of the incongruity of the experience. It's much the same, I suppose, with old cartoons. You know there's strings and mirrors and marketing ploys that you should be aware of, it's up to you to avoid rooting around backstage after the show's over.

The Unconscious Subconscious nonsense...

I don't put much credence into what dreams are about. I don't believe in any secret meanings or hidden clues that reveal supressed memories, hatred towards parents, or super-charged homosexuality. Sure, you might have dreams that remind you of some fear you have (I'm constantly having ones where I've lost my glasses and somebody needs help), but those aren't repressed or hidden feelings your subconscious suddenly released. You knew that stuff already. People are extremely gifted at finding patterns, and meaning as a result, from random piles of verbal or numeric nonsense. Dreams are just a gumbo of whatever thoughts you had rattling around in your brain during the day. Nothing more.

Last night, I dreamed that I was receiving job counselling in a deep underground mountain fortress. The setting looked exactly like Superman's Fortress of Solitude, except deeper, much bigger, and made of natural rock formations instead of ice. I was led into the deepest chasm by a nice chap wearing black pants, a white collared button-up t-shirt and a black tie. He was cleanshaven and shorter than his colleague, who I met only briefly. He had a nametag but I don't remember what it said. He sat me down at a picnic table and told me to "help myself" to whatever food I wanted while he checked out my application. He walked off towards a trailer, like the kind you see at construction sites, that was about fifty yards away. The only "food" was a glass jar of water, a tub of whey protein, glutamine, creatine, and a shaker cup. I started mixing up the ingredients when I noticed two other people sitting at the table. A tall skinny girl and a short fat girl. They stared at me while I mixed, saying nothing. I asked them "what they were in for." The skinny girl said she was recovering from an eating disorder and had a heroin addiction. The fat girl said she was depressed and had tried to commit suicide. They asked me why I was here. I told them it was because I couldn't find I job that fit with my degree and relative lack of experience. They nodded understandingly. I asked how long they'd been here. They both looked at me, confused.

"We don't remember."
"Well, how long did they say it would take."
"They didn't. Did they tell you?"
"No, actually, I guess not. I'll ask when he comes back."
"When who comes back?"
"That guy who led me over here? The one with the tie?"

They didn't say anything, just stared. I went back to my shaker cup, put the lid on, and shook up the drink. I took off the lid, let it sit for a while and watched the foam dissipate. When I looked up, the girls had gone and the fellow with the tie was back. He was holding a clipboard and was smiling pleasantly.

"I think we can help you. Are you ready to begin?"
"No. Let me finish my shake."
"Take your time. I'll be waiting."

He kept standing there, smiling. I felt angry, hostile all of a sudden. I looked down at my shake. The foam was gone. I looked at the shake, then looked back at him. He saw my hostility but it did not affect his mood.

"No rush."

The Sarah Connocles

Boy I was excited for this. Boy oh boy. Two episodes of "Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles" have fallen short of the expectations that this show would inevitably create. Considering the evolution of multi-season story arc TV shows in the last few years, emerging from HBO classics "Sex and the City" and "The Sopranos," gaining strength with "24" and "Lost" and peaking, of course, with "Veronica Mars," there was every reason to think that "Terminator" would greatly benefit from its rich sci-fi background and well-developed mythology. Time-travel, apocalypse, mother-son relationships, hot robots, these are all topics perfectly suited to a TV series rather than a movie franchise, especially considering how DVD sales of TV shows have made it possible for multi-layered character and story depth, previously impossible under the Slaves-to-Syndication mentality of the past.

The first two shows have fallen short of this promise, I think, because of their inability to focus on the strengths of the films. Arnold deadpanned lots of great lines before or just after blowing something up or beating someone up and while Summer Glau did much of the same on "Serenity," she hasn't yet been as violent or destructive as Arnold's T-800 was so there isn't the same kind of innocence/violent justapositioning. The pacing has been kind of slow, feeling more like a video game in that the characters may have an ultimate goal, but are just hitting checkpoints along the way. Run away from Terminator, meet Helpful Terminator, break into bank, transport into future, find new ID's, deal with complications. Very linear plotting, the opposite from what you'd expect from a show featuring time-travel as prominently as this one does.

The characters themselves are producing mixed results. Thomas Dekker as John Connor has given a solid performance with a well-written character. It would be pretty easy to portray him as young, whiny, feels-sorry-for-himself teenager but fortunately the writers spared us that cliche. Sarah Connor's voiceovers feel like knockoffs of Mohinder's existential intros on "Heroes." They aren't furthering the plot, they don't develope her character and they don't re-frame the story or the scene in any meaningful way. Voiceovers are used to provide the audience with a voice from outside the world they're watching. The point is to grant perspective on the scene and story in a different way than what the viewer can otherwise draw out from within the storyworld. By limiting Sarah Connor's voiceovers to little more than introspective nattering, no new perspective is gained and the opportunity to enhance the viewer's perspective is lost. Summer Glau's Terminator hasn't been asked to do much other than shove larger men through walls (No plasma arm cannon? No liquid metal? Just "Shoving," that's her power?), but so far is the only character through which the plot can evolve. This will need to change as the series goes on. Right now there's a real claustrophobic feel to the story, which if intentional can work (that the characters are isolated from the rest of the world in their mission) but the relationships between these three characters has to evolve beyond "I didn't know you could do that."

Another gap between the films and the series is the genre gap. The movies were action-science fiction, so far the show has featured little action (the most exciting happening in a dream sequence at the beginning of the pilot episode) and even less sci-fi (that gun they built in the vault was pretty cool, but that's it). Chase scenes in this show won't carry any suspense because we know John won't die, presumably Sarah, the titular character, will make it and the attractive robot will pull through. Miles Dyson was a very sympathetic character in T2, if the show can build in more charaters that the audience connects with, they'll be a lot more emotionally invested into the suspense scenes. I just worry that the show will be the same every week: Sarah and the Termihottie will go out to learn a little more about SkyNet, John will tag along but mostly be relegated to "trying to fit in" plots in his new school/chess team/group sports blog effort, periodically being interrupted by Evil Terminator for a lengthy chase scene featuring, of course, the great and mystical Robots Through Walls fighting technique. I'll stick with it, but I need a little more.

It's a New Year!

Well kind of. Like the Canadian dollar reaching par with its American big brother or $1.00/litre gas, January 1st is a pretty significant psychological barrier. I achieved none of the things I wanted to in 2007 (though it's possible that mail-order bride was merely lost at sea) but with the start of 2008 hope springs eternal. Well no, not really. It springs up once in while and hopefully just long enough to give me the energy to get a job. Edmonton is a nice city but I do not have a nice job, a nice place or a nice car, and as a result I'm getting pretty tired of this place rubbing its nice things in my face. The only thing I can do to fight back is move somewhere that has things Edmonton does not. Like a summer that lasts more than four months. That is this year's goal, to finish 2008 with a real home base, somewhere I'm happy to invite people to visit. Not just in terms of my physical housing space, but have a life worth being proud about. I've never been good at feeling proud of myself or anything I've done, so that's the goal this year. Have a nice pad, have a job I enjoy going to and feel good telling people about, and maybe a cool hobby. The goal for 2009 is to travel like a mad fool. It's probably telling that I'm further along on those plans than 2008's. Good luck to all of you who made New Year's resolutions, hopefully you were able to remember the ones from last year to see if you achieved them. Or hopefully not.

Blog Blog Baby

I was drivin', in my 5.0, when some radio caller suggested that all of Edmonton be subjected to four minutes and thirty-one seconds of the worst rap song ever created. It reminded me of my favorite added-in scene in the Two Towers (right?) when Saruman talks about how the orcs were actually elves who were tortured and mutated, using the wonderfully worded "foulcraft," into the Uruk-Hai. That's really what's happening here. You have a truly great song, Under Pressure, brutalized and punished into this horrible perversion then BASTARDIZED EVEN FURTHER by having it "sung" by a white chap from Dallas with less street cred than mysef when I wear that khaki-collared shirt-sweater combo that's keeping the Gap in business. His true name, Robert Matthew Van Winkle, is the whitest, cleanest most suburban name this side of Daniel Joseph Abraham, a random name I just made up.

Ice Ice Baby reached it peak in 1991 when it was nominated for a Grammy for Best Solo Rap Performance. In a tight race between two formidable opponents, the Iceman's dreams of Livin' Large in an ice manshion on an ice throne with, I suppose, Iced Babies at his command were smashed/melted when the much-coveted honour went to MC Hammer for his memorable and inspiring melody, U Can't Touch This. I was 10 that year and like all 10 year olds, my ability to pick out pure raw talent from the otherwise over-marketed, under-talented, purely manufactured music industry was impeccable. Sure, lots of people my age will giggle, blush, and shyly admit that Vanilla Ice is a guilty pleasure for them. Fine. I owned one of his tapes. I knew ALL the lyrics and loved saying "word to your mother" which, like most stolen ghetto sayings, may have made sense sometime but now it's just fucking nonsense. It's still a guilty pleasure for me and one that I dance to at every wedding and mouth the lyrics to in the car when some fool requests in on the radio. Until some black dude pulls up next to me at the light.

***Tangent: I don't think this is racist but if you think so I'll be happy not to listen. I like rap music. Rap culture has become garish and unconscionable but there's lots of great rap out there that's funny, skillful, true to its rebellious political roots and isn't about bitches and ho's. I don't apologize for liking rap because to me it's just catchy music that I can listen to at the gym and distract me from Naked Changeroom Man and his Neverending Wrinkles of Horror. Yet whenever I'm at the gym, listening to some Bumpin' Tunes, and a black dude walks by I feel like I should listen to something else. I feel like a poser, a foolish suburban middle class white kid listening to music born out of poverty, oppression and prejudice. That's how I see rap music, at least at its best and most meaningful, as statement music, written and performed by people whose past and present were full of inexplicable injustice, fear, ignorance and hate. That's why Ice Ice Baby is a truly guilty pleasure. It's both a catchy song from my youth and a song that, in its attempts to emulate, succeeds only in mocking it's own genre and with it the spirit and soul of rap's history. After that flash of white guilt at the gym subsides and I realize my own ignorance, common sense takes over and reminds me that Dr. Dre represents all blacks the same way Kid Rock represents all whites and changing music would merely affirm that foolish (and unsettling, in the case of Kid Rock) statement. Man I hate Kid Rock. Just die already. In my mind, those kind of sudden reflex thoughts aren't racist but merely ignorant. And yet, because it's an ignorant thought that manifests itself from my own guilt and shame over centuries of racially-charged mistreatment by British whities like me, is it a "bad" thought? Can a person be ignorant yet in a way that manifests itself not negatively but rather just unnecessarily cautiously? Sure, why not.

The mainstream music industry is based on style over substance and manufacturing false images for lesser artists rather than developing and promoting bands with something to say (not Bono, go back to Ireland and eat potatoes you sanctimonious asshole), and as such make it easy to deride any depictions of the music industry that celebrates artistic integrity. The whole Vanilla Ice construct was unfortunately not a mockery or satire of hip hop culture and if he were to come along today, he'd be called a genius for creating a persona that mocks the materialism, mysoginy and machismo that characterize contemporary rap music. Since it was played straight one can only say, in the wordsmithing skills of Todd Bertuzzi describing his actions that crippled a fellow player, "it is what it is." I have a lot of respect for the history and origins of rap but, like many, little for the industry which allows it to exist. It becomes somewhat of a quandry, to appreciate the painter but not the museum. It's a dilemma, how to extrapolate the good from the bad while each acts as a symbiot for the other. How to mock The Man without using The Man's resources? Good thing The Man is an idiot.

The Ego Has Landed

It works, but I know little to nothing about HTML so the links are messed up. One of those problems you have to throw money at, so I'll probably need new speakers.

New Venture

There's some blogs on the internet. I can't say for sure how many, but some experts estimate upwards of 20. I don't think that's enough, so I'm going to start another blog dedicated to sports commentary, mostly hockey. I have some thoughts on hockey, mostly about my own team, but like I found last year when I started writing a short story in this space, I'd rather keep this space for drunken ramblings and pithy observations. And again, since nobody reads this anyways, I can say they're pithy and nobody would dare argue in the comments section. Would they? Nah, they're too chickenshit. They wouldn't DARE.

My one concern with the new blog is updating it often enough since leaving your blog for months on end is the best way to kill readership. Also, as this blog has shown, blathering hollow nonsense is another good way. The whole point of the new blog will be to contribute something meaningful to sports discourse since there's so much shitty commentary out there, mostly on TV and much of it by Glenn Healy. There's also a lot of excellent stuff out there, and that's why I wanted to emulate it as best I can. I'll post a link on this site for all those who don't read and don't dare insult me in the comments section.

Social Apathy

Facebook. You either have an account and keep checking with those around you to see how comparatively popular you are, or you do not have an account and WON'T EVER GET ONE because you're badass and hate Facebook and all those stupid dorks who keep telling you to get on Facebook. Then people form a group with the bold Mission Statement: If 1337 "People" Join This Group Buck McFrisbie Will Join Facebook. Too bad Nazi Germany didn't have Facebook, they could have had fun groups like If 1,000,000 Fatherlanders Join This Groups Hitler Will Shave His Mustache And Invade Greenland. Interactive web-based populist politics, wait until Fox News hears about this. Good thing nobody reads this.

The reality is once you succumb and go through that first onslaught of emails and wallposts, that's pretty much it. You realize you know more people than you thought you did, met up with some people you haven't seen for a while because they moved or travelled or did other things that were cooler than you. Still, once you're adding one new friend every few months, short of adding a whole bunch of stupid applications (and receiving endless invitations to join more), that's pretty much the extent of it. As a colleague of mine wrote ("colleague" because someday we'll finally publish the most extensive, exhaustive, and surprisingly versatile triangulational oppositional pattern to date), I need a new bauble of entertainment.

Yet it's still there, so I figure, fuck the heck (scroll to the very bottom for the origin, if you care to), might as well use it for something. I use it to keep people up to date on absolutely nothing by changing my status to all kinds of random nonsense taken from popular culture, thus doing my part to add to the superfluous, ever-expanding cycle of self-reference that comprises the internet. It's like writing an academic paper, only people read it. What I noticed is how many others do this as well (well okay, everyone does it, that's what a status bar IS. I'm pointing out those who do it in detail), and how amusing it is to read their updates, often daily, and get a great idea as to how their dealing with some traumatic event. Thinking of one in particular, the Life Progress Emotional Scale began measurements at simply Reporting Event, then moved on to Dispair, to Distress, to Hopelessness, to Anger, and finally to Self-Righteousness/Self-Affirmation. An entire life story, played out for the enjoyment of several hundred friends, some of whom may actually have attempted actual, increasingly old-fashioned face-to-face contact but instead had to settle for Life Status Daily Updates. I think it's that phenomenon where it's easier to hang out with a group of people than just one other person, since with a group you never have to look at one directly. Facebook is that idea expanded, pretty easy to shout out into a huge group of people if you don't see individuals, just a crowd. And yet humans would rather be in the casket than giving the eulogy. Humans are stupid.

I Am A Blog Post

I know I'd find a use for this picture someday.

You heard me. I am a BLOG POST. I haven't written anything for a long time, so apologies to the millions (and MILLIONS) of Darth Forehand's fans. That's okay, because there hasn't been much new to report. Still no job, which is fine but because I've done some legwork, the worst thing that could happen is actually getting a job now, when the holiday season is close and I'd rather the extended time back in Prince George. You know, like most people would. Prince George is sweet.

In the last week the only notable thing that happened was going to a friend's house and acting like an 18 year old. That's a good comparison, since it was their parents' house, we drank Crown and coke out of JARS, and at the end of the night I refunded said drink along with everything else I'd eaten in the three previous days. So my six year streak, dating back to my 18th birthday, is now as dead as FDR's legs. Too soon?

Drinking Crown and coke by the jar, or as I was calling them, Rufi Coladas, is stupid. Hard alcohol is stupid in general and I love it. Beer, for all it's virtue as a safe drink since you'll be full and fat before really poisoning yourself, has nothing on the classiness and stature of a single malt. Ironic, since that's the stuff that'll have you dry heaving and telling your very supportive and patient (though somewhat condescending, though given my state understandably so) girlfriend that that's it, that's enough, no more, (all together now) I'M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN.

I've made that claim, going by memory, three times before last Sunday (Sunday! What would Jesus say? Who cares, eat some more bread and quit judging me). The first was on my 18th birthday, of course. The second was when my idiot friend Hans brought over idiot homemade wine while we played idiot Mario Golf with our idiot exchange student. That's not nice, is it? Mario Golf kicks ass. The next morning I woke up with not so much a hangover but the Plague, which would have been fine except that I'd told our exchange student I'd take him to a Generic Redneck Appliance and Cattle Feed store so he could peruse the finest in Hick-ccessories. Hans and I did not endear ourselves to the helpful staff by giggling like hungover morons whenever Fes would present his latest choice. Cowboy boots are stupid, and "fancy" ones look beyond absurd. I can't remember if he ended up buying any. Who cares. The third time, in case you're still reading and haven't left to shop for cowboy boots (try The Sharper Image!) was last New Year's eve, but that might have been just a general plea for quick death what with the stress of moving and packing and fighting and packing and fighting and drinking and drinking and drinking.

Re-reading this post (something I always do now to check for ethnic slurs that might have slipped out) gives the impression, at least to me, that I am a raging, debilitated alcoholic. Whatever. Like I said last Sunday, after too many Rufi Coladas and possible violations, I'm never drinking again anyways so who cares? Jesus, that's who. Lies make Baby Jesus cry, and it takes two to lie, one to lie and one to listen. So stop contributing to the lie by listening!

Reviewatron

Yes. Yes. F-U-C-K-Y-E-S.



I love the Predator movies, by which I mean Predator 1: Ahnold vs. PredaGrendel (more on that later) and Predator 3: Non-descript cast vs. Alien vs. Predaspartan Society, only to fall victim (in the simplest form possible) to Universal Enemy Theory. It should be called Universal Enemy Pattern, but Mike and I called it "Theory" the first time and now we're stuck with it. Predator 2: "I'm Getting Too Old For This Shit" vs. the Predator and Gang Violence was NOT terribly captivating, in the same way Swordfish was NOT a terribly accurate representation of the finer points of hacking. Hence, it is not included in the sweeping generalization that All The Predator Movies Kick Ass.

The first Predator movie is pure machismo. Quaint little backstory about hostages and cabinet ministers and CIA doublecrosses all swept aside like the nuissance they are to make way for the main event: PredaGrendel kills off Hot Bicepted Elite Military unit one at a time. Then, just when it seems things might fall apart with Ahnold dragging both an injured man and a female (two elements that always drag down and complicate action movies), he simply tells them to go away (but not before one gets shot of course) and he'll finish the movie himself. One on one, low-tech vs. high tech (which also becomes low-tech in short order), and things wrap themselves up nicely.

Oh yes Lannie, it's a lot like Beowulf. Both stories feature Hot Bicepted Elite Military units travelling into foreign territories to fight Bad-Ass Foreigner who's already whipped ass and ready to whip ass again, and proceeds to pick off the heroic Bicepted one by one. Both stories feature Protagonotron defeating Antagoniplex (I wouldn't know where to start pronouncing those either) ditching their heavier (thus more expensive) gear and use cunning and ingenuity to guide them to victory, pyrrhic as they are. Both stories feature legendary musclemen, Ahnold of course, and some other guy. It's possible they're not exactly the same, but being able to draw parallels towards great literature will make the experience much more credible when you're watching it with your woman and trying to keep her eyes from rolling out of her head. "MUD? That's why he didn't see him? MUD?" Tell her that for every eye-roll or sarcastic comment, she has to make a sandwhich. Then flex your own huge bicept, just so there's no misunderstandings.

The motivation for all this, of course, is that another sequel is set to be released on December 25 of this year. Since that's some sort of stat holiday, you'll have no reason not to get yourself down the nearest Film-O-Plex and catch 90 minutes of a B+ monster movie. That doesn't refer to my prediction of how good the movie will be, but rather to the fact that it's somewhere between a B movie and a real movie, fitting somewhere in the middle of Mortal Kombat (a real movie, if cheesy and badly acted) and Mortal Kombat: Annihilation (Now Showing Live In Your Guantanemo Cell!!! Tell Us Where You'll Strike Next Or You Get The "Director's" Commentary!!!). The film's quality and craftsmanship, undoubtably, will be fabulous.

House of the Rising Sun

I doubt the title of this post in any way reflects the content, but it's the song I was listening to when I wrote it.

Quit my job the other day. Still looking for a new one, but as my faux arrogance told someone "This is Alberta. A new job will find ME." Right now all I want to do is live in my little basement suite, watching Fight Club, selling homemade bombs online, and spewing out poorly constructed anti-establishment rhetoric. "Right now" actually means at this exact moment, since ten minutes ago I wanted to eat ice cream all day and ten minutes from now I'll be sleeping. Long weekends kick ass. I wonder if "Selling homemade bombs online" will pop up on Homeland Security's watchlist. If I'm arrested and sent to Guantanamo, I'll be sure to post all about it. Like what kind of mints they put on the pillows.

Much of my frustration these days comes from the way the "real" world seems so final. The reality and absurdity that goes on daily is simply accepted by those who have worked at it for even a small amount of time. When you're in school, it's pretty easy to be idealistic and defiant, thumbing your nose at those who say you should probably have a useful skill to ply. As soon as my time was winding down, I started looking for "professional" type jobs only to find that there isn't exactly a Political Science section. Accounting, Aeronomics Engineer, Biotech, these are the categories the world's jobs fit into. This lessened any chance that I'd be able to get a job with people like me, who knew the same things and had similar goals. So, I settled for a generic unremarkable job where I at least knew somebody. That worked for a few months, until things got worse at work and my accomplice not only quit but left town. You make one crack about the French...

I found myself working at this typical office with the same kinds of typical employees and typical office problems that I'd first been exposed to in a wide variety of secondary forms: satirical/humourous (Dilbert, Office Space, The Office) violent (Fight Club) and existential (The Matrix). Having prior exposure to the reaction against office lifestyle before the lifestyle itself made conformity difficult, as it was hard to take everyday workplace situations seriously. Seeing people complain about the fax machine and long boring meetings without a trace of irony took some getting used to. More than that, being exposed to the frustrations, apathy, and futility of the office world made me want to instill change rather than continue the bland status quo. That's why it seems so final, those who have lived in the cycle had to conform and attempt their best to excel in this silly little world despite, presumably, knowing from the start that it's pretty ridiculous. By the time my term at this bland generic job was over, there will not be a single thing I can point to and claim to have improved. I have to wonder if I hadn't already been told that office lifestyle is boring if I would ever have known.

When complaining about the many absurdities in my job, whether job-related or employee-related, to friends of mine who do not work in offices, their reponse is the same as the one I had when watching Office Space or reading Dilbert: "That boss is an idiot," "That policy is stupid, this is how it should be done," or "Your job sucks." Yet now I find that I understand why a boss said what he did, why the policy is the way it is, and that the job just "is what it is." What becomes depressing after a while isn't knowing that your job sucks, it's that you fear that all jobs actually suck and this whole little model we've built in our society is nothing more than an exercise in futility. Bosses will always be stupid, policies always obtrusive and archaic, and it will always suck to go to work instead of sleeping in. Yet somewhere, somehow, there are people out there who like their job and like going to work. Knowing this creates what I think is the central struggle for young professionals, which I base entirely on informal conversations at lunchtime: It it my job that feels so Sisyphusian (a word I just made up), or all jobs? If it's just my job, then my complaints are justified and I can do better, but if all jobs suck then my complaints are out of line and I'm the one with the problem. I have every intention of finding out how that's done and emulate these mythical creatures who don't wake up in the morning and feel like driving the car into a tree just for a good excuse to stay home. A whole new paradigm indeed.

PS:

I've read of a few studies on MSN that say things like 58% of Canadians like their job, 60% think there boss is super, stuff like that. I can't cite the specific articles (sorry school's over, I don't construct arguments with proper referencing anymore, but rather on VOLUME and arm gestures) but the impression is that the majority of Canadians actually like their job. Yet somehow there is a high volume of anti-job humor and satire relative to the apparently few disgruntled employees. The conclusion is clear: People who are unhappy or bored are funnier, more creative, and churn out more influential humor, satire and criticism than happy pleasant fools. It's also somewhat sort of kind of maybe just maybe possible that they're also more self-laudatory as a defense mechanism and simply choose to direct their creativity into their chosen frustration outlet rather than their job, meaning they don't get promoted and remain unhappy at work and continue the cycle. Great. Now I've really depressed myself.

"The Edmonton Oilers are Stanley Cup Champions for the 10th Year in a row!" "Hart Memorial Trophy: Jarret Stoll"

It's that time of year again, when the leaves change colour, the chill of winter enters the air, and filthy rotten maggots go back to school. Or at least that's what they tell me is happening, because this time of year sees the release of the newest edition of the NHL series from EA Sports and the outside world ceases to exist. With my ascension a few years ago (at least, I thought it was an ascension) into the world of PC gaming, which I was always told was better than console, I was looking forward to the new treats that would surely be offered by EA. Turns out, EA is not interested in treats. It's interested in producing games that suck for PC. Last year, EA made a big fuss over NHL '07 having a totally re-designed shooting system that would compliment its improved deking system, all of which would appear in brilliant detail thanks to the Hot Sexy New Graphics chip. Great! Except none of that was available on the PC version, only on the XBOX 360 and PS3. Weak. It was essentially the same game as the year before, with some roster updates and a new interface. Very weak indeed as my hard-earned money (well, earned anyway) went down the drain.

This year, not willing to shell out more cash for a product that was the same as one I'd put hundreds of hours into already (Oh, I still played it. Lots of it), I did some research to see if NHL '08 for PC was actually going to be any different. At www.easports.com, I read up on the NHL '08 PC forums to get an idea of what kind of game to expect, and the posts were enlightening. Turns out that once again, the game is the same as the year before with none of the thrilling new features that have made NHL '08 for XBOX 360/PS3 a very well-received game. So yeah, disappointment again.

The interesting thing about reading the posts, and the whole reason behind writing about it, was the emotion involved. People felt like they "just got slapped in the face" and blamed EA for being "consumed by corporate greed and continue to belch out crap after crap worth of game" and "would never buy an EA game ever again." Such a personal insult to their Nerdsmanship! Imagine, an company not providing a flawless simulation into which nerds can disappear and pretend they'd never chosen school over a sure-fire NHL career, which, in their minds, seems more and more likely as their years go by. These types of comments were everywhere, not just in the PC section. Complaints about all kinds of features that gamers didn't like. It's possible, just possible, that gamers can be a little subjective when it comes to evaluating the value of their Nerdplay. The new features that have been added to EA hockey games (presumably EA makes other sports games, and maybe even non-sports games as well, so this may be true of them as well. Still, those are all unconfirmed rumours, especially that they make a football game called Madden something. Football video games! Lewd, crude, sagacious, OUTRAGEOUS!) each year are sometimes a waste of time, such as Euro league teams the last bunch of years, and some times welcome, such as the impressive evolution of player instincts and AI on special teams. Obviously each player has their own preference, hence EA's increase in customization within the game (puck friction, penalty severity, game speed, etc.). My opinion was always that the games have gotten gradually better each year, with some cool new features added in each time yet perplexingly finding features that were welcomed in past year now missing. Some versions have suffered from just lack of common sense, like not telling the user when their injured players would return, or just awkward interface where the info you need all the time isn't immediately available. Really, until the last few years, the improvements were steady and reliable.

Back to the comments. The degree to which many posts were expressing anger and outrage over EA putting out a sub-standard weren't just surprising in that they were angry and disappointed, it was that they felt cheated out of something they felt they were entitled to, that something they were expecting was not gratified. It's rare to find that degree of customer response in regards to an entertainment product; it's similar to movie versions of beloved books or comics that take liberties with the plot and characters. Yet in most cases, if a customer doesn't get the product they want or expected, they simply go to another company and buy another version. It's reasonable to expect that Earl's obey all the Foodsafe laws, yet if you got sick after eating there you wouldn't rail away about what an injustice it was and how you were let down how the state of society is declining and nobody cares anymore and kids wear their pants too low and today's music sucks and is too loud and you want to get what pierced I don't think so you're not going out wearing that go to your room and change I swear that girl has a real attitude problem she gets it from your side of the family you know. No, you wouldn't say that. You'd bitch and complain about it, but ultimately you'd just avoid eating there and go elsewhere. There's a difference between This Product Sucks And I'm Disappointed and This Product Sucks, How DARE They! That's how the market works, the best products and services survive since if they don't appease customers, they're out of business. With entertainment, in this case EA Sports, the types of features that characterize a good or bad product are subject to the whims of an enormously varied customer base. That base runs the gamut of beginning players who can't find A and B to veteran players of the franchise that notice each addition and tweak from version to version. What makes the game "fun" is totally dependant on the player, hence the necessity to focus on variability within the game itself so that players can set it how they want it.

Back to the comments, again. I was bummed that the PC version wasn't going to contain any Hot Sexy New Features, but I didn't feel like EA owed it to me to do so. Probably most people felt the same way, that it's disappointing that EA chose to ignore it's PC customer base that, according to their own polls on their own website, occupies 45% of their total game sales. It's their loss, we just won't buy it. Once again though, we'll have to resort to other means to play out our sporting fantasies on PC...

The Official TRANSFORMERS Website

Hi, this site is all about TRANSFORMERS , REAL TRANSFORMERS. This site is awesome. My name is Chris and I can't stop thinking about TRANSFORMERS. These guys are cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.

Facts:

1. TRANSFORMERS are robots.
2. TRANSFORMERS transform into product placement ALL the time.
3. The purpose of TRANSFORMERS is to throw each other into buildings and taunt.


Weapons and gear:

Advertising

Toys

Puny Human helpers













Testimonial:

TRANSFORMERS can invade any planet they want! Even ones full of humans trying to pick up chicks! Transformers use Japanese fighting poses ALL the time and don't even think twice about it. These guys are so crazy and awesome that they search for the AllSpark ALL the time. I heard that there was this Transformer who was eating at a diner. And when some dude dropped a spoon the Transformer shot arcing lasers at the whole town. My friend Mike said that he saw a Transformer totally change scale at some some kid just because the kid opened a window.

And that's what I call REAL ULTIMATE POWER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you don't believe that TRANSFORMERS have REAL ULTIMATE POWER you better get a life right now or they will make sure to step on your mom's plants!!! It's an easy choice, if you ask me.

Transformers are sooooooooooo sweet that I want to crap my pants. I can't believe it sometimes, but I feel it inside my heart. These guys are totally awesome and that's a fact. Transformers are tall, metal, good at taunting and giving long-winded soliloquies, and sweet. I can't wait to start buying my first car next year. I love Transformers with all of my body (including my pee pee).

Q and A:

Q: Why is everyone so obsessed with Transformers?
A: Transformers are the ultimate paradox. On the one hand they're from Japan, but on the other hand they're GMC vehicles.

Q: I heard that Transformers are always running past the same background. What's their problem?
A: Whoever told you that is a total liar. Just like other robots, Transformers can be in space OR totally running around in a desert.

Q: What do Transformers do when they're not fighting civil wars or stealing Energon cubes?
A: Most of their free time is spent surfing the web to learn English but sometime they attempt to usurp leadership. Sometimes these attempts work, but mostly they anger Megatron. (Ask Starscream if you don't believe me.)

This is a picture of my best friend Hans showing off.













He's a lot older than me and almost done with with transforming his Jeep into spare parts, which is braggable.

The Contrabulous Databasenaval of Professor Horatio Hufnagel

(Open with high-angle shot of a thriving downtown.)

(Voiceover) "Hi, I'm Troy McLure. You may remember me from such corporate videos as Slaughterhouse 5 Million: The Miracle of McDonald's, and El Presidante's New Clothes: The Thriving Honduran Garment Industry. Today we're visiting the International Worldwide Global Headquarters of APRO Universal Databases and Shoe Repair."

(Camera pans quickly over to dilapidated house with a lady on the porch throwing cats at homeless people)

(Troy comes out of the house through the back yard screen door)

(Cut to mid-shot)

"Greetings friend, didn't see you there! All ready to learn about the magic of databases?"

"Mr. McLure, what's a database?"

(Troy looks confused, then looks down and sees a young boy with a high voice)

"Who said that? Oh, it's you, Jimmy."

"Billy."

"Sure. A database is made up of two things: Data, Latin for "cyborg" and Base, Latin for "low pitch." A database is kind of like a refrigerator. On the outside it looks like nothing special, just a mass of metal and ceramics taking up a huge amount of space and energy. But on the inside, you'll find a wondrous array of surprises and treats, though sometimes not where you left them and more often than not, improperly preserved."

"Mr. McLure, I have a friend who thinks that APRO databases are cheap and unreliable. Are they wrong?"

"Ha ha, of course they are Jimmy. Probably not a Self-Starter either. You see, Apro databases use an exciting new development in the database field, the Hierarchical Model that ensure timely and precise data extraction."

"Isn't APRO also the name of UFO research group that helped fake an alien abduction story in the 1970's? Do you think that has anything to do with their high fail rate and unreliability today?"

(Camera cuts to Technical Difficulties screen)

Was it the same cat?

It's a sad feeling when you discover something exciting but nobody else is as interested as you are. This morning, I went to Tim Horton's armed with only some change and an American $1 bill, hoping they would accept it. Not only did they accept it, but they used a 1.55 exchange rate, meaning that my $1.60 large mocha cost only $1.03. This morning the Canadian dollar, you may have heard, was worth over .96 cents. It's a loophole in the whole system! If only there was a retail store doing this as well, one could convert their money to US dollars, purchase products with their out-of-date exchange rate, then return them later and make profit out of nothing. That's a lot of work and I'm already bored of the idea, but finding a system glitch in the Matrix is always cause for nerdly blog entries.

Kirk out.

Bullish

Hot today. Hot yestaday. One-na deese days dat heat's goan leave, and all dem souls who's been-a bitchin and a-complainin' these past few weeks is goan be sorry.

Starting to get very acclimatized to the +30 weather the past while, which makes a move to the Okhanogan even more enticing. The nice things about Albertans is that despite their boastful attitute and supreme confidence in everlasting oil flow, they still know that when it comes to Stuff To Do Outside, B.C. reigns supreme. I know this, because Tyler knows this. Walking home in the evenings gives me the requisite fresh air for the day, and as such keeps my mood up, such as it is. This combination is good, and worth investigating further...

Truly, this is a post just for the sake of posting. I'm not ashamed, and perhaps this will lead to a Hot New Trend (TM).

Never did move into that cubicle, it was all a smoke and mirrors distraction. Instead, I've remained in my "bullpen," better titled the "Playpen." The job has changed though, from registrations to module registrations, as reflected in my Hot Sexy New Title: Senior Module Registrations Officer. Now, rather than make sure students have all their educational pre-requisites taken care of, I register, unregister, reregister, and throughregister students into our modules. I don't think I've ever been as bored in my entire life as I am right now typing this.

Here's something more amusing, at least to me:

The gunshot was deafening in the vault as Peavy went down, still holding the briefcase. Ritchie carefully wiped his fingerprints off, placed it in Peavy's palm, and picked up the case. It was still locked but he'd worry about that later. He stepped out of the vault door and listened carefully, making sure he was the only one there. He couldn't see much in the dark but he reassured himself that he must be alone. He moved quickly towards the office window and started to cut out a hole. He hated heights, and the view down from the 76th floor made him sick. He focused on the glasscutter, just needing to weaken it before busting it out. Chopper should be here soon, he told himself. He looked back into the vault and froze. Peavy's body was gone.

The barrel clicked behind his ear and Ritchie knew the heist was over. The glasscutter fell to the floor as his body went limp, the barrel smoking in the moonlight. Peavy tossed the gun to the side, took off his gloves, undid his jacket and took off the kevlar. He'd been wearing it all day and it was starting to stink. Off in the distance, the sound of helicopter blades grew louder. Peavy hurried back to the vault and grabbed a large box, pulled it off the shelf, and yanked it open from the top. He yanked out a single-use rocket launcher and brought it to the window. Setting it up just far enough into the office that he wouldn't be seen, he waited for it to come into sight.

What'll really upset y'all is that Peavy was stealing the money to pay for his daughter, a deaf mute club-footed paraplegic, to have an operation to remove a tumor from her brain. She was only nine.

It's probably pretty clear that at this point, I assume that nobody reads my blog so I'm going to write whatever I feel like. A few months ago, at my job's corporate retreat, I smartly aligned myself at the same table as the CEO, conducted myself pretty well, but the conversation somehow (not by my doing) turned to the internet and blogs. I mentioned that I had one and the CEO's interest piqued noticeably. Since then, I've got a little paranoid about the content so I made it a little harder to find. Not that I'm going back and editing any old articles, I probably wouldn't write them now but to engage in revisionism would make me a communist. As the great Spinafarian Popeye once said, "I yam what I yam." Everyone that reads this tell me if you think Popeye was an asshole. Thought so.