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.

Disclaimer

The problem with writing a blog is that you're always writing in isolation, without a nagging Voice of Reason to remind you that sometimes people are idiots. I've written about work a few times, considered a Bad Idea in today's Global Market, but each time it's obviously been quite tongue-in-cheek and ridiculous. No specifics, no names, safe right? Well, so far so good, but I just know some day I'll get a phone call from a student, looking to become a Chartered Accountant, who stumbles upon "The Official CASB Webpage" and thinks that the purpose of CASB employees is to deny some student's taxation course just because some kid opened a window. I really hate writing anything serious on here since this is my safe place to flip out and write nonsense, but just for a moment I might have to. Everyone works hard at CASB, they really care about the students, they try their best, and put in plenty of long hours. Anything silly and tongue-in-cheek that I might write to the contrary is to be laughed at or ignored, depending on your affiliation. Free speech should mean we don't have to undermine our public statements by posting Disclaimers for the Humor Impaired. We shouldn't have to fear that someone will misintrepret a joke then say that it's our fault they didn't get it. Normally the person who misunderstands a message is the one blamed.

Too bad it's not like that. Instead, I have to write a "Please don't sue/fire me" post. In the interest of disclosure, nothing prompted this but you never can tell who wants to usurp your Awesome Cubicle of Awesome Awesomeness by using a little dirt.

Gods vs. Clods II

With the prevelance of blogs moving increasingly into the mainstream and away from insomniacs living in their parents' basement, the impact of blogs (blogpact?) on every day life is being reported on more frequently. Articles on the dangers of writing a blog about work, the lasting efffect of one's "digital footprints" left online, and issues of blogger accountability seem to appear on MSN.com and Slate magazine every day. While the word "blog" refers mostly to individual online logs, the mentality and ideology appears from online encyclopedias (onlinecopedias?), Wikipedia the most popular, to Shoutwire, a "community based internet news website." The commonality between Wikipedia and ShoutWire is the weight given to viewer participation that determines published content. On Wikipedia, viewers determine what changes occur within the articles. Certainly there are guidelines and reviews to prevent libel or vandalism, but the principle, where material is updated from the grassroots rather than by an exclusive, top-down authority remains the same. On Shoutwire, the articles that have been commented on the most are listed first, at least in the case of websites that carry Shoutwire material, such as Torrentspy.com.

What individual blogs, onlinecopedias and community news sites have in common is the value they place on community participation. Comments from readers are always encouraged and often given in raw, unedited form. Comments are posted right away uncensored, often leading to heated, sudden debate. Wikipedia, which does utilize far more review and oversight over submissions, has nonetheless been victim of many vandalism attempts, some pranks (Stephen Colbert's African Elephants) some worse (one individual's biography listed him as a suspect in the Kennedy assassination, in his case clearly untrue).

The contrast between contemporary community news and traditional print or television news is the filtration utilized by the information source. Newspaper editors print only the letters they see fit, television news manipulates interviews for brevity and content. This level of top-down control certainly lends itself to a degree of elitism, but also a level of hindsight. Online news sites are filled with comments which, to be mild, give little effort to tact or moderation. In the end, more voices are heard but as a result, more are drowned out. The speed at which news stories are reported, commented, debated, and in some cases retracted has increased dramatically with the synergistic nature of internet information sharing. Convenience of access and volume of information are the benefit, but peer review, reflection and informed debate are hindered simply because the breath of information curtails the debth of analysis. With the emphasis on attaining more information on the latest news story, the analysis stage that used to be part of a viewer's digestive cycle is at risk of being lost.

Schadenfreude

Sure neglected the blog VERY badly the last little while. Mostly blame stupid FaceBorg for assimilating my free time, as well as some time that should not have been free. That addiction has worn off, but not enough to bring back the blog in full force. That changed, with this major news announcement. When this was announced on Friday, the news spread through my office faster than gossip about someone getting fired. In the four and a half months I worked there, I never saw everyone as happy as they were that day. Outright, unbridled joy spread through the halls as souls sang their unrequited happiness for all to see. 99% of the time the amount of attention given to young Hollywood trailer trash is representative of society's lack of guidance and failing morals. For one day at least, that misguided focus brought our shaken morals and failing hope up from it's knees and let it cheer from the rooftops. Now get back to work!!!

This is the manner in which I roll

Modern Poetry That Rhymes

I am a little worker Bee
Though closer to a grade of D
They do not seem pleased with me
But neither am I with thee.

The Man says I don't initiate
But rather than retaliate
The resume gets another update
Then to Tim's to re-caffeinate.

Upon return confusion shows
Within the depth chart, rows on rows,
Frustration on the faces grows
Long-term planning? No-one knows.

Morale is low but production high,
An equation for staff to say goodbye
It's the Soviet School of Just Add Try!!!
Who cares how many men will die?

Facebook

Facebook has stolen all of my blogtime. I hate it so much.

The Official CASB Webpage

Hi. This blog post is all about CASB employees, REAL CASB EMPLOYEES. This blog is awesome. My name is Chris and I can't stop thinking about CASB employees. These guys are cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.

Facts:
1. CASB employees are mammals.
2. CASB employees hold up student transcripts ALL the time.
3. The purpose of CASB employees is to train tomorrow's Chartered Accountants by generating paperwork.

Weapons and Gear:

Cubicle

PhotocopierFolders

Testimonial:
CASB employees can ruin the chartered accounting dreams of anyone they want! Even rich ones with good pre-requisite marks! CASB employees lose files and ignore emails ALL the time and don't even think twice about it. These guys are so crazy and awesome that they dress business casual ALL the time. I heard that there was this CASB employee who was eating at a diner. And when some student dropped his Blackberry the CASB employee deleted the Confirmation of Practical Experience for the whole town. My friend Kelsey said that she saw some CASB employee totally deny some student's Taxation course just because some kid opened a window.

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

If you don't believe that accountants have REAL Ultimate Power you better get a life right now or they will make sure your mature student application sits in a pile in the boss's office for months!! It's an easy choice if you ask me.

Q and A:
Q. Why is everyone so obsessed with CASB employees?
A. CASB employees are the ultimate paradox. On one hand, they have a lot of work to do, but on the other hand they use entire meetings to announce the new database's theme song.

Q. I heard that CASB employees are always slow and inefficient. What's their problem?
A. Whoever told you that is a total liar. Just like other mammals, CASB employees can be slow moving files OR leave early.

Q. What do CASB employees do when they are not ignoring phone messages or denying foreign students?
A. Most of their free time is spent going to get coffee but sometimes they Roll Up the Rim to Win. (Ask Danielle if you don't believe me.)

Like blowing too much air into a balloon!!!

Sometimes, once in a blue moon, when you least expect it, for reasons you can't explain, right out of the blue, when things seem like they'll never change, when life hurls you a lemon, in world where everything you know is wrong, at the edge of space, in a galaxy far far away, in the not-too-distant future, when all the world's a stage, where laughter was king, ONE MAN, armed with only his soul to protect him, will face insurmountable odds, to save himself, and everything he knows to be true....

All I wanted to write was that I'm moving up in the world, out of my workspace/playpen and into a real cubicle. Then I got stuck in a loop and realized that I didn't want to write about my cubicle, I just wanted to play with words. Join me as I tangent.

The Artist Formerly Known as Mad Scrolls was called a communist recently, merely for describing a pastoral setting where the residents were all equal, lived an agrarian lifestyle, each performed jobs according to their skills, and worked for the benefit of the community. Why someone, who shall remain nameless, would deface a defenseless blogger is a sad indication of the carelessness, and flamboyant inaccuracies, of many internet posts. What was even more disturbing was that some brave soul, a voice of reason and strength in an increasingly nihilistic world, attempted to counter-comment only to be censored by The Author. This kind of omniscient, top-down value enforcement by a faceless authority figure of unknown origin was uncalled for; the Speaker should not have been withheld from expressing his or her right to proliferate a mindless discussion about communism, of which few, if any, elements even exist within this topic. The phrase, I believe, was "flame on."

In keeping with the completely random, disconnected nature of today's soliloquy, I must confess that recently, in the heat of the tedium of the moment, I insulted someone over the internet once. It was nothing they deserved, but, alas, I fell victim to baser instincts. In a safe, polite, complimentary setting, I wanted to be the big man. I wanted to bully, hurt, scare others, just to prop myself up. I know, you don't believe me. Well believe it, you believers. I was lucky enough to get away with it, this time, since there's no way to know it was me. In fact, it looked like someone was going to reply but, showing maturity and grace beyond my own, chose to withdraw. I'm glad they did, for it quells the guilt inside me. It made me realize that better people are out there, and it gives me hope for myself.