Unclean! Unclean!

I thought about talking about this because it might offend some people, but some things just have to be discussed. You see, it seems that my readers have hygiene problems. At least, Google's AdSense seems to think so.

I added the Google ads to the site a couple of months ago, and the ads supposedly will be for things specifically targeted to the site. In theory, this would help me earn money each time someone clicks on the ad, but let's face reality: I did it because I could, because it was fun to play around with the template, and because it amused me, not because I thought I would actually make any money. Though to be fair, I believe I have earned a dollar so far. At the present rate, I should become a millionaire in slightly less than 140 thousand years. As usual, I have strayed from my original point, so I'll try to get back on task.

Recently, the headline for one of the ads Google was kind enough to provide read, "Do You Have A Fishy Vaginal Odor?" I'm not sure what I said that made the mysterious Google ad bot decide to ask this question (something about sniffing rotting fruit? That's the best I can guess.). I'm not sure who this ad was really intended to reach. I know it wasn't directed at me, you know, with me being a guy and all. I don't really know what the point was, but I think we've all been insulted.

I do know that if it comes up again, I'm going to change my settings to block that site's ads. There's just something disturbing about a computer asking such a personal question.

Just remember, if the ads offend you, don't blame me. Blame the ad bot.

Until later...

Leaving On A Jet Plane

As I sat in the Kalamazoo/Battle Creek International Airport waiting to board my flight that was scheduled to leave for Detroit 35 minutes ago, I began looking around the terminal for something to do. I could go to the snack bar or browse the gift shop, but that would involve going out of the gate area and having to pass through security again. While this might kill some time, it also provides an opportunity for security to perform a cavity search if I happen to set off the metal detector because I am still wearing shoes or because I forgot to remove a dime from my pocket. They would likely not catch you if you are carrying drugs or determined to carry out some horrific act, but loose change will get you taken to the isolation room. The airport has only 4 gates, and the terminal area consists of rows of seats, 2 payphones and a vending machine, limiting my choices to reading the book I brought with me, striking up a conversation with a complete stranger, or making observations about everything and everyone around me. I can't read while I'm waiting for a delayed flight, because I end up worrying that I've missed an important announcement and that my flight is about to leave without me. I can't simply start a one-on-one conversation with a stranger because that would involve talking to strangers. Apparently, the fear that our parents and the media implanted in us in the early 80's has remained and ensures that "don't talk to strangers" is the one childhood rule we all still observe. My options limited by my personality, surroundings and irrational fear of TSA agents, I began observing my fellow passengers, fitting them into broad stereotypical characters in the screenplay for the low-budget dramedy that is my life.

We have the bitter, pessimistic travel agent. "There's no way" She manages to make a sour expression despite the make-up that appears to have been applied by a particularly heavy-handed bricklayer. "I've done it before, and I can tell you from experience that it's just not possible to make it from our gate to the B concourse in only 27 minutes. This is the last time I'll ever work with Northwest. I'll have to stay overnight, and they won't put you up at the hotel at the airport either. They'll make you go all the way to the other side of town. Where are you going? What's your gate nuber? Oh, you might as well plan on an overnight stay too."

The grouchy redneck man, who as we board the plane an hour after our originally scheduled departure time asks, "Who do I hafta bribe to expedite this process? I've gotta make a flight in D-troit." "Naw, " he shouts into his newfangled cellphone as if speaking to someone quite far away or the way he speaks to someone who doesn't understand English, "I haven't even left for D-troit yet. They had better make sure I make that flight or I'm gon' miss golf tomorrow." When we do arrive he complains about the speed of those deplaning ahead of him, eventually shouting up to his friend, who wisely was seated several rows away, "If you get off here, make sure they hold the plane for me."

The woman who is either completely oblivious or is on her very first plane trip. I spotted her quickly, as she was the one attempting to roll her suitcase down the narrow, crowded aisle of the plane, smashing it into armrests before it became wedged halfway to her seat. It seems that no one bothered to explain to her that if the luggage is too large for you to carry on the plane it might be too large to qualify as a "carry-on." When she makes it to her seat, she hefts the gargantuan bag over her head, buckling under the weight and tries to force it into the overhead compartment that is half its size. Eventually, she gives up and and attempts to shove the bag under her seat. She is al least partially successful and finally takes her seat, her feet resting on the large Samsonite ottoman.

The double-coated man, who is either quite cold or on the cutting edge of a fashion trend of which I was, until this point, blissfully unaware. I first noticed him while waiting in the terminal. He is wearing slacks and a brown sportscoat. On top of the brown jacket is a navy suitcoat, an apparent result of a terminal case of indecision. The superfluous blazer is draped over his shoulders as if he were a double amputee, though the true explanation is likely that the sleeves were made to accommodate an underlying dress shirt, but not another jacket. I was forced to notice him again as he moved along the aisle of the airliner, his free swinging navy sleeve slapping my face as he passed. Fortunately, the buttons missed my eyes, managing only to leave a oddly shaped imprint in my forehead.

Once we were all settled on the plane the flapping sleeves were replaced by the stewardess whose disproportionately large posterior repeatedly punished any passengers foolish enough to utilize the armrests as a place for their arms or elbows.

We arrived at the Detroit airport over an hour behind schedule and everyone scrambled to make their connecting flights. I rushed to the monitor to find the correct gate for my next flight. It was 30 gates from where I had arrived, and I had little time to spare. I looked down at the black, captoe Oxford shoes on my feet and thought, "I really should have let that shoe shine guy at the Kalamazoo airport shine them for me. It's too bad he was on the other side of the security checkpoint." Then, slight more on the subject, I thought that these really were not the best shoes for trying to move between two places rapidly, but I had no other option. I began to rush toward my gate, weaving around the people watching giant television screens showing CNN, around the affectionate couple, who appear to be happy to be together even if it is in an airport. I rush past the sushi bar and ponder briefly how much I would trust sushi in an airport...in Michigan. I hear the message telling us that "Detroit, Michigan is in the Eastern Time Zone" in six different languages and wonder why there can't be a message telling these people to get out of my way. I arrive at my gate and sink down into a chair, underneath the banner reading, "Northwest. On Time. Time After Time." My feet aching and raw, feeling like they may be blistered inside my shoes, I don't have the energy to ponder the irony. I look at my watch to see how much time I have left, wondering if there is time to find the nearest men's room. As I hear a young woman a few seats away trying to explain the Mile High Club to her boyfriend who expressed confusion at her request to join, the gate agent picks up the microphone to announce the start of boarding, and it is time to leave again.

Until later...

Celebrity Gossip Amuses Me

Before I begin, please forgive me for going VH1 on you with today's post, but I love pop culture and even if I couldn't care less about it, celebrity gossip amuses me. The complete absurdity of everything in the lives of these people makes me glad to be an unknown nobody with a blog.

Today's example: Lindsay Lohan. I have two wonderful articles from MSN for your reading pleasure today. Up first is this one about a break-in at her house in LA. I'm not one to gain amusement from someone else's misfortune (ok, I am but this isn't about me), but this article does raise some questions.

First of all: How does someone break into a house and steal a big-screen TV? It's not really something you can just tuck under your shirt and carry away. It's got to be quite cumbersome to move around. After all, it's big. It says so right in the name.

Second: How does someone break into a house and steal two big-screen TVs? Were they pretending to be a moving company? Was this an episode of Punk'd? Was this actually a repo service?

Third: The thieves stole broke into her liquor cabinet and stole alcohol. She's 18. That would make her a full 3 years below the legal age to purchase, own or consume alcohol (though plenty old enough to vote, drive, consent or serve in the military). Shouldn't there be some question of who is selling to a minor? Or for that matter, why the alleged thieves apparently drank several bottles of vodka while removing things from her house? I guess that goes back to the pretending to be a moving company theory.

Finally and most importantly: There is a very brief mention at the end of the article of Lindsay sending drinks when she was at a restaurant and saw Robin Williams and Walter Cronkite at another table. What were Robin Williams and Walter Cronkite doing dining together? This has to be worthy of an in-depth expose from some news source.

I won't comment on the second article as much, as it pretty much speaks for itself. All I can say is that I hope and pray this is true, and that I hope someone had the presence of mind to video the whole thing. There is no higher form of comedy than a dance-off. Unless it's a celebrity dance-off.

Until later...

Look What They've Done Now

Last week, the temperatures here were up in the 80's. It was warm. It was dry. It was sunny. All was right with the world. Then came the weekend, and it all went straight down the toilet. On Friday the temperatures began to drop, and on Saturday it started snowing. Snowing!!! It didn't stop snowing until late in the day on Sunday. Fortunately the ground was still quite warm from the earlier weather, so we didn't have much in the way of accumulation, but I still had to get the snow brush back out to clean off the 3-4 inches of snow covering my car. So far this week, the temperatures have moved all the way up into the 40's and it's windy and rainy.

I realize that I live in Michigan so I shouldn't expect warm weather until July and I should only expect it to last through August, but why, why why must I be tormented with a taste of such wonderful weather followed by this awful, dismal, gray, cold, windy stuff we have now?

I've been thinking about this for the past several days and have narrowed it down to two reasons.

1. Someone has done something to upset Mother Nature, and she is showing wrath in the weather patterns.

2. It's not just weather patterns, and some of the towns in Michigan are more aptly named than I realized.

Right now, I'm leaning toward the first reason. Not only that, but I think I know why. I discovered it in the grocery store recently. As I walked through the produce section, I spotted it, sitting right next to the apples. The Grapple. No, not grapple, as in the verb meaning to grasp, but Grapple. Pronounced (according to the packaging and the website) as grape-L. The package has a seemingly harmless slogan, "Looks like an apple. Tastes like a grape." First of all, is the look of an apple that much more appetizing than a grape? Second, if I want something that tastes like a grape, why wouldn't I eat grapes? Oh, right because they don't look like apples. Sorry, I forgot. But why not go for something more useful: "Looks like an apple. Tastes like chocolate." or "Looks like a brussel sprout. Tastes like a grape."? Really, what kid isn't going to shell out the extra couple of bucks for brussel sprouts that taste like grapes? It pleases his parents, yet doesn't have the same effect as syrup of ipecac. Let's move on from the marketing issues here and get back to the real point. This abomination* is the root of the problem. Someone wasn't satisfied with apples or grapes the way they are and had to find a way to improve them. They are the ones responsible for this weather. That's right Grapple company, I'm blaming you. You messed around with Mother Nature, and now she's pissed and taking it out on me.

Until later...

*In the interest of full disclosure, The Fount would like to point out that the Grapple is simply a Fuji apple soaked in water and "Concord grape flavoring", and is probably not a crime against nature. This does not mean that we are not far too afraid to try the Grapple or that we are willing to pay the price that seemed more suitable on a product which "Looks like a lobster. Tastes like lobster."

Strange TV

While flipping through channels recently, I passed what had to be the strangest show ever. I saw two women working on crafts of some sort, while the host of show looked on. It turns out this is a show called Craft Corner Deathmatch. I suppose this may be like Iron Chef for the quilting circle, but I still felt that it was quite possibly the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. As we prepared to move on to the next channel, the audience began to chant, "Decoupage! Decoupage!"

I'd like to say that at this point I woke up or the drugs wore off or I realized that we were watching Saturday Night Live or Mad TV. Unfortunately, it was all real, and I was left sitting there speechless, hoping to find something on any other channel to remove this from my mind.

Until later...

StatCounter

I recently signed up for a StatCounter account. It allows me to look at several things about visitors to the site: How many people visit. How long they stay. Where they are from. If they follow a link from somewhere else. If they use a search engine to find the site.

For example, I found that today I had 40 different hits from people in England using various search engines to look up various forms of "alias used by directors wishing to disown a film." I don't know what was going on, but people really wanted to know that. Perhaps it was a trivia contest gone horribly wrong. Perhaps it was a strange internet scavenger hunt. I don't know why; all I know is that they needed the information.

So, if any of you are still out there and still want to know, the answer is Alan Smithee.

Hope that helps.

Until later...

Locusts: A Running Diary

9:00-I can't see this being any good, so I figure I might as well blog about it.

9:02-Locusts are attacking the college chick who's trying to feed them.

9:04-False Alarm. They were on her, but not attacking.

9:05-Lucy Lawless! Our first non-Xena Lucy Lawless sighting is of her in her underwear. It seems she's the Undersecretary of Agriculture.

9:06-Maritial issues for Xena. $5 says by the end of this movie one of the two of them is dead, and the other regrets being so unkind or he has a near death experience making him realize how wonderful she is.

9:07-The locust researcher is the same guy who plays the drunk father of ballistics expert Calleigh on CSI: Miami. CBS is connecting all of their crappy shows.

9:09-"This is DDT, the pesticide" Dialogue for the remarkably stupid. Exposition is fun isn't it?

9:12-The mad scientist has just explained that he made a super locust that is resistant to all pesticides, reproduces faster and lives longer. Xena isn't happy and forces him to watch as someone takes a flamethrower to his precious bugs. Then she fires him.

9:13-Uh Oh! The flamethrower guy is smuggling out a sample...and he dropped it. Two of the locusts escaped down the drain and out through the storm drain.

9:15-Xena's whiny husband just dumped her for putting her job first.

9:16-I'm pretty sure the music playing as she drives along after being dumped and as the mad scientist looks over his lab is the same music as when Tom Cruise thinks about his dead father in Top Gun.

9:18-The government agents just dropped the sample of the locusts. That makes 6 of them free.

9:18-Xena's knocked up, and trying to tell her estranged husband over the phone. It does not go well.

9:21-Ominous music. Something bad is about to happen. Look a black couple. They never fare well in horror movies. They're becoming amorous, also a bad sign in horror films. They luck out and just get covered in bugs, not killed by the vegetarian insects.

9:24-During this commercial break, I'd like to point out a problem I'm having. Locusts. Maybe it's one too many math classes, maybe it's too much molecular biology, but I keep wanting to call the loci. Yes, I know that's the plural for locus not locust, but that's

9:29-Sappy interlude with Mad Scientist and his daughter. Now he's pulled over to the side of the road because he heard the locusts devouring a field.

9:31-The world's ugliest child just delivered his first and only line.

9:32-The bugs are swarming a school bus, even smashing the windshield. Mad Scientist's daughter hits her head while flailing about screaming (the universal bug defense).

9:34-Mad Scientist shows up to save his child. He picks a bug up and seems to recognize it. I guess it's always easier to recognize one's progeny.

9:39-Xena is collecting specimens in a stripped vineyard. It appears to be cold.

9:41-I think CBS is recylcing documentary footage of insects.

9:43-Xena (I should really figure out her character's name) is talking with Mad Scientist about the bugs, when she realizes that they will probably be heading for a citrus festival.

9:45-"Sir, I am a Federal Agent, and I am dead serious" Did they really pay someone to write this?

9:47-Random Guy just fell fell off a ladder, while performing the universal bug defense.

9:49-Mad Scientist is driving to Pittsburgh, because that's where he thinks the swarm is headed. What exactly does the one guy think he's going to do? Run them all over with his station wagon?

9:51-The locusts are ruining the office birthday party of a girl named Stacey, who according to IMDB is being played by "Azure Dawn". I can't make this stuff up.

9:54-They just clogged up the engine of a plane. Fortunately, the writers of the movie chickened out and had it be a cargo plane so no passengers were killed. Mad Scientist winces in a way that looks half like horror and half like amusement. Yes, they spared no expense on the actors for this movie.

9:59-Just saw an ad for a new Elvis TV movie where Elvis is played by the same guy that played Joe, the soccer coach from Bend It Like Beckham. Odd.

10:01-Mad Scientist just explained to his wife that the unleashing of the plague was his fault. Apparently, their daughter is in a coma.

10:02-In a secret meeting, government officials are wondering if the locusts are the act of terrorists.

10:04-In a series of rapidly switching scenes, Mad Scientist and Xena are briefing the government on the situation.

10:07-I love the conference scenes in disaster movies, because they always have wonderful multimedia presentations showing the worst case scenario.

10:09-The military is now going to "take care of them." Hopefully, just like in all other disaster movies the answer will be nuclear weapons. That's always the final solution. When all else fails, nuke it.

10:09-The locusts are now eating meat. They really are super locusts.

10:11-Xena finally got to tell her husband that she's pregnant. Now he's happy and everything is ok. Looks like I'm losing that $5 bet from earlier.

10:16-I'm a horrible person for laughing at the commercial for this Rosie O'Donnell movie, "Riding The Bus With My Sister."

10:17-Darn, the option to kill the bugs isn't nuclear weapons, but VX gas. Nerve gas, that's quite the potent pesticide.

10:19-Oh no! The marital problems aren't over yet.

10:22-The VX killed a locust in the lab, so it's time to test it out over Ohio.

10:23-Xena doesn't agree with the chemical warfare plan and just put in a call to "GNN" news.

10:26-Xena actually just used the line, "I am pregnant and I am hormonal." as a threat to stop the gas test.

10:26-Xena is worried about her dad, BJ Hunnicut, because the swarm is heading for his farm in Indiana. The estranged husband has just volunteered to go check. Could this be the event that brings them back together?

10:35-BJ Hunnicut is risking his life and his daughter's to rescue two calves.

10:36-Hmm...hiding in the same place as the grain seems like a bad idea.

10:37-Oh dear, they're going to electricity the silo they are hiding in to kill the locust.

10:38-Mad Scientist just went out on what will unsurprisingly be a self-sacrificing mission. He got fuel for the generator, but has been assaulted by too many bugs. Shockingly, the person responsible for causing the disaster has redeemed himself by giving his life. It's nothing I would ever have expected in a movie like this.

10:39-The locusts are falling off the building and, I assume, dying.

10:40-Yes, there it is: a giant pile of fried insects on the ground.

10:46-We have to evacuate the middle of the country to allow for the nerve gas drop.

10:49-Now the plan is to make everyone--EVERYONE!--in the country stop using electricity so that they can increase the power along two sections so that when they fly through the area, the locusts will die.

10:52-To ensure the bugs are attracted to the area, they are now putting up weather balloons. Xena is running around barking orders about the balloons.

10:55-This is disturbingly bad.

10:56-It's raining bugs. Hallelujah, it's raining bugs.

10:56-The locusts were eradicated, and "as a result of their bioengineering, the remaining locusts are sterile." So, if the bioengineered locusts were sterile, how did 6 of them create two "mega-swarms"?

Mercifully, it is over. This brings up an interesting point. Many, many movies that get made and released in theaters are simply horrible. So how does one end up writing, directing or starring in a TV movie? Is it a requirement to have a complete lack of talent? Does anyone actually aspire to be involved with made-for-television movies?

Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe Locusts just made me more cynical than usual. Or maybe 99% of made-for-TV movies suck and should be replaced with better programming like CSI: Des Moines or another reality show. Maybe not.

Until later...

An Obsessive in The Produce Section

There are many reasons my wife shouldn't send me to the store. I'm slow. I'm indecisive. I have to open the carton of eggs and examine each one ensuring that I don't get home with eleven perfect eggs marred by the existence of their blemished companion. When sent to the store for eggs or milk, I may call home to see if she'd like me to make guacamole or if we should grill steaks tonight. "It's already 9:00, and it's snowing." "So, is that a no?" Left alone in a store, I may become convinced that I've forgotten something, panic and just start grabbing. I arrive home having spent $50 on ice cream, soda, chocolate, bread, chocolate, chips and chocolate. "Where are the eggs?" "Eggs? Oh! See, I knew I was forgetting something."

The worst for me is the produce department. A gigantic area full of choices. What fruit do I want? Ok, then what variety? Now choose the individual items that meet the acceptability limits. I realized how bad this was while I was at the store a couple of nights ago, sorting the apples.

I walked the aisles determining what type of fruit I wanted to bring home. I stopped in front of the pineapples. I examined the leaves of each one, making sure that I only choose a pineapple that had succulent, green leaves. I then examined the pineapple itself, looking it over and squeezing it to make sure it wasn't actually rotten inside. Then came the final test, lifting the selected fruit and smelling to make sure it smelled of fresh pineapple rather than partially fermented pineapple cider. My pineapple chosen, I moved on to the more difficult task of selecting apples.

With pineapples, there is only one decision to make about variety. Do you want a pineapple or not? Apples bring in a myriad of other questions. What am I going to do with these apples? Will I eat the out of hand or bake them in a pie or let them sit on the table and rot until I eventually throw them out along with the liquefied zucchini from the crisper drawer in the refrigerator? Do I want red or green apples? Tart or sweet? Crisp of mealy? When it comes to picking produce, I'm fairly selective in general. With apples to be eaten out of hand, I have very few varieties I will eat. I wandered over to the apple section and began looking through today's offerings. I was pleased to see that they not only had Fuji apples, but some Pink Ladies as well. I began combing through the bins, searching for just the right specimen. Pick one up: nope it has a soft spot. Another: no it's got a blemish. One more: It would be perfect if it weren't oddly shaped. Once I find an appropriately shaped, firm, blemish free apple, I must subject it to the final test. I lift to apple up to my nose and smell it. I'm not sure what I'm expecting here. It isn't as if I've ever selected just the perfect apple, smelled it and found that it smells of rancid bacon grease. They smell like apples. Still the rituals must observed before the apple can go in the bag. After selecting a four suitable Pink Ladies, I move over to the Fuji section and begin sorting again. Picking up apples and labeling them according to their shortcomings: Lopsided. Bruised. Underripe. Overripe. Wait a minute. This one isn't a Fuji; it's a Cameo. I'll just have to put that back in the right section. I bag the apples and move along to determine which bananas are at the absolute correct stage of ripeness.

There are plenty of reasons MK should never send me to the store alone. Unfortunately, these are all outweighed by the fact that sending me means she doesn't have to go.

Until later...

Television Thoughts

While it may have appeared that way recently, I have not decided to follow the example of Mike Tyson and fade into "Bolivian". Things have been more than slightly hectic. I hate it when real life interferes with my blogging. Tonight I just have a few thoughts on things I've noticed on television recently.

1. Kentucky Fried Chicken has several new commercials in which there is music playing in the background. This isn't really anything new or noteworthy as commercials go; what bothers me about this is their choice of music. Kentucky Fried Chicken has decided that the most appropriate song for their ads is "Sweet Home Alabama". What was the meeting like where this was suggested?

"We need a song to play during this commercial, something that represents our Southern roots. We are a Kentucky company, after all."
"Hmm...My Old Kentucky Home?"
"Well, that's not really the style we're going for. Maybe Sweet Home Alabama. That song rocks."
"But we're from Kentucky, not Alabama."
"Nobody will notice. Besides, rednecks are rednecks."

2. I watched CSI: NY for the first time last night. The show was bad enough on its own, but about five minutes into the episode, one of the cases began to seem familiar. Maybe I recognized it because I have a weird fascination with urban legends, but by the time we reached the second or third commercial break I was shouting, "You've got to be kidding me! That can't be what they're doing." Not only did they mine urban legends for ideas for a show, but they dug up one of the more idiotic ones.

3. I watched CSI (the original, Las Vegas version) tonight. (Before you ask: No, I don't know why.) Tonight's episode took place in LA, where we were introduced to several members of the LAPD and its crime lab. This made me wonder whether CBS is preparing for yet another CSI spin off. I haven't heard anything about it, but it really wouldn't be much of a surprise. Why come up with something new, when you can just rehash something popular?

Coming in the next few days will be a couple of book reviews and hopefully a return to more frequent blogging. Then again, I make%

Life on the Pharm: Wordsmithing

As a new feature here on the Fount, we'll be providing occasional work stories. Nothing that will get me fired or even in trouble, just amusing things from my place of work. Since I have made no secret about working for a pharmaceutical company (it even says it in my profile on the sidebar), I have decided to name the new column "Life on the Pharm." Yes, it's a stupid joke, but it amuses me and, in the end, isn't that all that really matters?

Today's story has to do with the corporate speak. We seem to come up with overly complex ways to say relatively simple things. Let me give you a couple of examples.

We received a safety warning a couple of years ago about walking through areas in which construction was currently taking place. Rather than simply saying to stay out of these areas or suggesting that we pay attention to where we are going, the notice suggested that we make sure to "Observe the Signage" in these areas. So, we're supposed to read the signs and not walk through the construction area? Why couldn't they just say that? Seriously, "signage"? Who ever says "signage"? That's not to say it isn't acceptable. It's a real word and everything; go check your dictionary. Back yet? What was the definition? If your definition is anything like the one at m-w.com, it was pretty simple: signs.

Another example comes from my meeting this morning. I was in a conference room reviewing a document with about 10 other people. (No, the life of a pharmaceutical microbiologist is not nearly as glamorous as you'd think.) As we reviewed it, several people would point out flaws in the wording which made a section too ambiguous or implied something other than what was intended. The answer, whether from the author of the document or from one of the other participants, was typically to "add some verbage" to the section to clarify. First, verbage isn't actually a word. It's defined by dictionary.com as "an intentional misspelling and mispronunciation of verbiage" to make it similar to the word garbage. I highly doubt that all of the people using it knew this and intended this context. I could assume they were actually meaning "verbiage", but that is defined as "a profusion of words of little or obscure content", so it doesn't seem to fit either...or maybe it fits too well.

My least favorite has to be when a project is referred to as "resource non-constrained". This means that whatever resources are needed for said project will be provided. The utter stupidity of this phrase would be almost excusable if it weren't a complete lie. Whether this term is used in your place of business or not, I think we are all aware that this phrase and others like it really mean, "make progress or else."

I may be overly wordy, and my syntax and word choice may be questionable at times, but at least you now know that I have an excuse. I have to fight the urge to declare some of my postings "resource non-constrained" and stop doing anything else until I find the appropriate verbage to properly express my thoughts.

Until later...

And You Think Your Parents Messed You Up

Some therapist is going to become very rich over the next 20 years or so.

See the announcement here, or read the MSN article.

I fear for the future...

I Was Born in a Small Town, And I Live in A Small Town

This may not have been exactly what Johnny Cougar John Cougar John Cougar Mellencamp John Mellencamp had in mind, but tonight I have a short story for you about the small town in which I currently reside.

First, let's meet the characters in our story. Me: Umm...me. The one writing this story. MK: My wife. I've talked about her. You've met her. She's got a blog. Drone: High school student employee of pizza place. Jaspare: Proprietor of pizza place.

I've decided to present this as a two act play for no real reason other than that it amuses me.

Act I

Int. House. Saturday around 1:00 pm. I am sitting downstairs at the computer desk MK is upstairs using her laptop.

MK: (via instant message) What are you doing?

Me: Nothing. Blogging. [Like any of you are surprised]

MK: Are you hungry?

Me: What are you making?

MK: Nothing. You?

Me: I'm not making anything.

MK: Do you want to order something?

Me: Sure. What do you want?

MK: Could you come upstairs so we can actually speak please?

Me: {sighs and goes upstairs}

Me: Well?

MK: Do you want pizza? We can order Jaspare's [Note: Jaspare's is one of two pizza places that can actually deliver to our house.]

Me: Sure. {sits down to look at menu and decide}

Act II

Int. bedroom. I have secluded myself because I refuse to talk on the phone with anyone else around.

Drone: Jaspare's Pizza. What can I do for you?

Me: Hi. I'd like to order a medium cheese pizza, an order of breadsticks and a two liter of Diet Pepsi.

Drone: Is that for carry out?

Me: For delivery if we can.

Drone: Actually, we stopped delivering.

Me: {thinking this is a permanent delivery stoppage} You stopped delivering?

Drone: Yeah, we stopped delivering at 1:00. Normally we stop later, but today we stopped at 1:00.

Me: {confused} Oh...ok...

Drone: Yeah, Jaspare's getting his hair cut this afternoon, so we stopped early.

Me: Oh, right. Ok. {acting as if this is a completely normal conversation} I'll just pick it up then.

Drone: Give us about 15 minutes.

Curtain.

Epilogue: Jaspare was back from his hair cut by the time I got there to pick up the pizza. Unfortunately, I was too much of an introvert (read: chicken) to comment on it.

So John, you may have been born in a small town, and you may be able to breathe in a small town, but you can't get a pizza delivered in a small town unless you work around the owner's hair appointments.

Until later...

Confessions Pt. 2 (Remix)

First, don't worry; I am aware that the horse is dead. I will not attempt to get any more mileage out of using various forms of that title. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I were to try it one more time I might end up with a cease and desist letter from Usher's lawyers. With the overused jokes out of the way, let's move on to the confessions.

1. I've talked before about loving the Pepsi iTunes promotion. The contest is just about over; tomorrow is the last day to redeem codes for free songs, and I realized the other day that we've cashed in around 30-40 of them. That's great, since it's the equivalent of winning $30, but it's not as good once I stop to consider how much I've spent on Diet Mountain Dew over the past couple of months. Well, that and I think my stomach no longer has any lining left.

2. I was at the store yesterday and went to grab a drink. They had a few Diet Mountain Dews, but none offering a chance to win. The regular Mountain Dews, on the other hand, had plenty of promotional bottles. What did I do? Of course I bought the regular. Sadly, after drinking diet for so long, the full-sugar version tasted like a green Otter Pop. Again, it's a good thing the contest is almost over.

3. We bought a cookbook by Rachel Ray this weekend. For those of you who don't know, Rachel Ray is the host of 30 Minute Meals on the Food Network. I'd love to blame MK for picking this book up, but unfortunately it was at least as much my fault as hers.

4. I'm a little upset that MK (who has now started her own blog) not only wrote about having to draw a nude model in her art class, but also used the Family Guy reference I had intended to include. Yeah, it was her story, but I've been waiting to write about that since she told me at the beginning of the semester that it would be a requirement.

5. Speaking of Family Guy (those of you who don't watch or don't like it, hang on, it's only necessary for the set up), we were watching an episode the other day and Stewie (the baby) was running away from home and left a note for Brian (the dog). Here is the text of the letter (from the memorable quotes section on IMDB):

Dear Stupid Dog, I've gone to live with the children on Jolly Farm. Good-bye
forever, Stewie. P.S.- I never got a chance to return that sweater Lois gave me
for Christmas, I left the receipt on top of my bureau. I'm probably over the
30-day return limit, but I'm sure if you make a fuss they'll at least give you a
store credit or something. It's actually not a horrible sweater, it's just I
can't imagine when I would ever wear it, you know? Oh and I also left a button
on the bureau, um I'm not sure what it goes to but um I, I can never bring
myself to throw a button away, I know as soon as I do, I'll find the garment it
goes to and then it'll, wait a minute actually could it have been from the
sweater? Did that sweater have buttons? Hmm. Well I should wrap this up before I
start to ramble. Again good-bye forever. PPS- You know what, it might be a
little chilly in London, I'm actually going to take the sweater.

After he read the note, MK said, "Wow, it's like listening to you tell a story." I should have been upset or insulted, but I really couldn't argue.

6. I'm currently watching Supervolcano on Discovery. It's a movie (on Discovery?) about the eruption of the supervolcano in Yellowstone. The volcano in this movie is apparently going to erupt and destroy most of North America. As I watch, I can't help but feel a little ashamed (thus it's mention in this post), but then I see Tom Brokaw introducing sections of it and think about the fact that it's on the Discovery Channel and I realize that perhaps I'm not the one who should be ashamed.

Until later...

Spring Cleaning

Yet one more reason to not enjoy the time of year when I can remove the snow brush/ice scraper from the car. In reality, I would probably prefer removing my own eyeballs with a grapefruit spoon to participating in the ritual of spring cleaning. Unfortunately, (1) I imagine there will be a time in the future when having eyes will come in handy, and (2) I'd like to keep some semblance of peace in the house, so I get to participate.

This weekend's portion of the cleaning involved the purge of books accumulated over the past few years. We collected all of the books and began to sort. This is the point when I realized that if I had not previously bought every book I saw on impulse, I might already be retired and living in a mansion on the beach somewhere. We go through the sorting process, placing the books we don't want in one pile and the books we want to keep in another. The discard pile grew larger and larger, while the keep pile consisted of only a few books I wanted to keep and a few I hadn't had a chance to read yet.

After the sorting, it was time to figure out how to get rid of the extras. I've been to second hand bookstores before, and they all seem pretty much the same: Way too happy lady sitting at the front desk...Every book that has ever been on the best seller list available in 15 copies in each of 10 editions...Shelves upon shelves of romance novels and "historical fiction", which is, in fact, code for porn for (post-) menopausal women, not to mention likely the reason why the lady at the front is so happy...anything and everything brought into the store is purchased, but you receive only store credit. That seemed like the best way to go, so I looked in our phone book and found the location of the nearest used bookstore. We loaded up the car and were on our way. It certainly didn't quite match up with my expectations.

We walked in to the dimly lit, crowed store to find an bearded, older gentleman at the desk, and an woman sitting on a stool in the middle of the entryway eating a sandwich. I asked about selling used books and he said to bring them in, but warned that he turned away most things. As we went to the car to get books to bring in, MK told me she was going to stay in the car, as the store gave her the creeps. I understood. It didn't exactly give me the creeps, but it was overcrowded and smelled like urine; I didn't have much desire to be in there either. I brought the books in to be scrutinized by Bearded Man and began to browse the shelves (by this point, the Sandwich Lady had disappeared and was not seen again before we left). I found the selection of books to be much like I expected: some general fiction, every Stephen King and Dean Koontz book ever written, a romance section large enough to be broken into subsections like "Harlequin" and "Bodice-rippers", a large sci-fi/fantasy section with a disturbingly high number of Star Trek and Star Wars books.

After Bearded Man completed his appraisal of the books, he selected a few that he wanted and separated them from the rest. The others, he said, were too common or in poor condition. I couldn't help but feel a little insulted that any of my books were in too poor of condition to be in this shop with boxes stacked to the ceiling, but I realized that it really didn't matter. He evaluated the books he had chosen (there were only a few...eight to ten at most) and offered me fifteen dollars. I was pleased for several reasons. First, I would have gladly taken fifteen dollars for all of the books I brought in, just to get them out of the house. More importantly, I was pleased that by giving me cash rather than store credit, I didn't feel any obligation to come back to the urine-scented shop to utilize my credit on books I would eventually have to try to sell back to him. Finally, it made me realize how incredibly glad I am that we have a library that, if not spectacular, is at least decent.

If I can manage to curb my spending on books and just borrow from the library, maybe we can afford that mansion on the beach.

Until later...

Book Review: Me Talk Pretty One Day

Me Talk Pretty One Day is a collection of essays (for lack of a better word) by David Sedaris. The book follows Sedaris from his childhood in North Carolina, through various stages in life in various locations until he eventually ends up in France, where the second half of the book takes place.

The book takes its title from a story about learning to speak French from a sadistic teacher in a classroom full of other non-native Parisians, including two Polish Annas, an Argentinean musician and a Korean student whom the teacher eventually pokes in the eye with a pencil. His difficulties with the language led to many problems. Initially he spoke only a few words, all of them nouns, and wandered around saying things like "Bottleneck!" and "Ashtray!" Eventually, he managed to grasp the language better, but still had issues determining the gender of words. This unfortunately resulted in speaking mostly in plurals to avoid figuring out which article to use.

The stories he tells in the book range from discussions of speech issues (not only with French, but also with his speech therapy as a child) to his family's quirks to his absolute failure as a talentless performance artist to dealing with the loss of pets. While the subjects may be varied, each essay kept me involved all the way to the end of the book. All of them were funny (some even had me shaking with laughter), and some allowed a warmth to show through the humor.

The Verdict: 2.5 Stars. Recommended.

Until later...

Da Vinci Code Follow Up

No time to post anything major, so I thought I'd give you this link as a follow up to my Da Vinci Code review.

It seems the book was not bad enough on it's own, so now we have to base tours of Europe (or just the Louvre) around it.

The review of Me Talk Pretty One Day is coming up tomorrow (or soon after).

Until later...

Rapid Fire Rambling

The NCAA National Championship game is on and the Illini are playing, so I'm not going to spend too much time blogging tonight. Just a few quick points.

1. Check out The Letter D, a blog from a fellow Michigander. I wrote a longer post earlier today encouraging you to go visit it, but unfortunately the post disappeared when I tried to put it up on the site.

2. I'm making a few editorial changes on the site. One of them will be a change to the description posted at the top of the blog. I've decided that I'll come up with a few different slogans and rotate them on a regular basis...well, ok, maybe not a regular basis, but on a basis.

3. CBS has been running ads non-stop during the NCAA tournament for a movie they have coming up on the 24th of April, Locusts. I probably shouldn't admit this, but I'm actually considering watching it. Don't get me wrong, it isn't as if I think it will be good. However, there are few times in your life when you realize that you might be able to witness one of the greatest unintentional comedy moments in television history. I don't want to miss out.

4. My library list is getting out of control. My library account currently has requests in for three books that I'm waiting to be returned and another 4 on my list of things I am planning to read after that. I partially blame the Diane Rehm show for this. It's hard for me to go an entire week without hearing her discuss at least one book I would like to read.

5. We had our book club meeting to discuss Northanger Abbey last week. I'm not going to report anything about the discussion of the book, because I already reviewed it here. Rather than picking up pizza or Chinese takeout like the previous meetings, we went potluck style this time. I ended up responsible for dessert. Actually, I volunteered for it. I ended up making a flourless chocolate cake (recipe liberally stolen from foodnetwork.com). I tried the recipe out before the actual meeting, and decided that, while I liked the heat provided by the ancho chile powder called for in the original recipe, it might be too much of a departure from the norm for most people. I decided to swap the chile out for cinnamon. I really couldn't tell there was any cinnamon in it, but the cake went over quite well. Really though, it's butter, eggs, chocolate and sugar, how could it not go over well.

6. Bruce Weber, coach of the University of Illinois men's basketball team, is currently wearing a bright orange blazer. Yes, orange and blue are the school colors, but come one Bruce, you did know you were going to be on TV, right? I'm blaming him and the pumpkin coat for tonight's loss. Clearly the players were too busy trying to figure out why he wore that to concentrate on the game.

Until later...

The End of Winter

The calendar has changed to Spring, and so has the Michigan weather. This should be a good thing, so why does it annoy me so much. I'll list (and do my best to explain) some of my reasons for not being 100% pleased with the end of Winter.

1. The Spring weather is more than slightly fickle. One day last week the temperature was all the way into the high 70's. Of course this means that any winter clothing, coats or insulating layers of fat should be discarded to prevent excessive perspiration. The next morning, the temperature was around 50 degrees, which would have still been nice if it weren't the highest temperature we had all day. By lunch, MK decided that she needed to make a quick run in to Target to get a hooded sweatshirt to wear in her office. Which brings us to point number two...

2. The instant Spring officially begins, all stores remove any merchandise that might be winter related. It was in the mid-30's, misting and windy when we went to Target. All we needed was a hooded sweatshirt so that MK didn't freeze in an office that had already switched to air conditioning the day before. Yeah, right. Women's section: Nothing. Maybe we can just find one in the men's section: Not there either. Back into the cold we went, empty handed.

3. Spring means rain, flowers and, in my neighborhood, a constant cloud of acrid, throat-burning smoke. As I sit here writing this, I'm suffocating because one of our neighbors has decided that the warmer weather is much better for burning. Typically the burn piles on our street consist of leaves and maybe a few limbs downed in the most recent storm. Tonight, however, it smells as if the neighbor felt that rather than recycling, it would be much easier to just put all his plastic bottles in a pile in the yard and light them.

4. More issues with clothing. Spring means the switch from normal clothing-you know, the type that most people would wear-to hideous colors out of place anywhere but on an Easter egg. In the mail this weekend, I received a copy of the new Land's End Men catalog. As I leafed through the catalog, I found that unless I wanted to buy pants in "light coral" or a "pale jonquil" polo shirt, I wasn't going to be purchasing anything from this catalog. You've got to love the Spring colors.

5. I can't wear my coat. Despite how it sounds, this isn't an issue of vanity. The real issue is what happens when I need to go to work in the morning. I get dressed, get everything together and prepare to go out the door. Let's make sure I have everything. Cell phone: check. iPod: check. Sunglasses, check book, badge: check, check, check. A way to carry everything...no. If I have my coat, I have an inside pocket specifically for the check book, one for the cell phone, and one for glasses (sun or otherwise). The iPod and badge fit easily into the outside pockets along with the dozen or so notes I have written myself, but haven't done anything with yet (call this person, check this out from the library, fill this prescription). Now that it's Spring and the weather is warm, I can't wear my coat, but I still need to carry the same things. I could start putting some of these things into the pockets of my pants, but that just creates bulges that can only be described as unflattering. I'm going to have to figure this out soon or I'm going to end up carrying a man-bag to work everyday. It's one thing in school. You carry a backpack like every other student. Work as a professional and unless you're having a to carry a laptop, that bag's just a purse. All you need is to toss in some gum and a few stray Kleenex.

Until later...

Friday Film Festival Vol. 7: A Visual Spectacle

This weeks F3 gets posted a day late because yesterday I had a day off (about time!) and spent most of it gaining material for this post. That may not have been the intent for the days plans, but it certainly worked out that way.

We drove to a theater north of here that is not only far nicer than any of our local cinemas, but also has an IMAX screen. Since we were driving that far, we decided to make a day of it and take in a couple of movies. At first glance they had almost nothing in common, but after seeing them both, I realized that perhaps there were similarities I hadn't considered.

First we checked out the 3D IMAX undersea documentary Aliens of the Deep. Somehow this comes from James Cameron, the same man who brought us Aliens (but not Alien), Terminator (1 and 2) and Titanic. The film takes on a journey down to the portions of the ocean which never receive any sunlight, yet have a diverse, thriving ecosystem.

For years, the basic assumption has been that all life is dependent on the sun. The sun shines down to the Earth's surface and drives photosynthesis. Animals then eat the plants, only to be eaten in turn by other animals, and so on. Remove the sun from this progression and nothing ever happens. No sun, no life. This belief was turned on its head a few decades ago when life was discovered in regions of the ocean that never saw the sun. If there was no photosynthesis to start the food chain, then how were there animals living down here? The answer was microbes. Around hydrothermal vents, microbes live off of the chemicals coming up from the beneath the ocean floor. All sorts of creatures from shrimp to crabs to small fish live by eating the microbes then are eaten by the larger animals, higher up on the food chain. The same ecosystem as up above, only without a sun.

As we journey down to the depths, we experience life in all its beauty. Faced with what we would consider impossible conditions-almost freezing water in most areas, boiling hot water spraying up from the ocean floor, no light, pressure high enough that it should crush everything that far down-there are creatures that are not only living, but growing...thriving. The crew on these dives included marine biologists, geologists, and astrobiologists. The astrobiologists view these areas as the closest we can get to examining the possibility of life on other planets. While we may have perfectly hospitable environments here, few other places we can see would be suitable for our photosynthetic based ecosystem. A much more likely scenario would be for an ecosystem like that at the bottom of our own oceans.

While I watched this film, I couldn't help but think that this is what 3D technology should be. Forget about the space battles and the monsters jumping off the screen at you. The beauty of nature leaping off the screen. Not muted like the pictures from the old-style 3D films that required the red/blue lenses, but clear and sharp. Cameron used special effects by the boatload (if you'll pardon the pun) in his previous films, but here he is content for much of the film to let the images exist on their own, resorting to special effects only when absolutely necessary to show space travel or the possibility of life underneath the ice crust of Jupiter's moon Europa. Even so, these effects take a backseat to the amazing visuals of the reality of our own world.

The Verdict: 2.5 Stars. Recommended (the only thing preventing this from getting a Highly Recommended is that I realize that many of you are not quite as much of a nerd and therefore may not be as interested in the subject matter.)

The second film we watched was Sin City. Based on 4 graphic novels by Frank Miller, Sin City is an episodic neo-noir telling the stories of Basin City, a place where nothing is free from corruption: not the police force, not the elected officials, not the clergy. First, let me say that this was certainly one of the most brutal movies I have ever seen. The violence was more than over the top. At times, it was so outrageous that it became almost funny. At other times, it was cringe-inducing and stomach-turning. Much of the movie was in black and white (more on that later), which helped to tone the gore down slightly. The gore, however, wasn't all that made it so brutal; it was the atmosphere and the callous disregard for anyone and anything by almost all the characters, but then again, that's Sin City.

Like the other film, the visuals were simply stunning. Rodriguez took Frank Miller's art and words off the page and brought them to life on the screen. Most of the film was set against a digitally created backdrop, with the color schemes set up like Miller's original works. The background, the characters and the props were all in black and white with the exception of a few items Miller had colored because of their significance: Goldie's hair, Junior's yellow flesh and a few others.

I ended up feeling somewhat conflicted about the movie in general. It did almost nothing to alter my thoughts on Robert Rodriguez as a director. The look of the film: great. Style and atmosphere: great. Action scenes: enthralling. (Can't really look at dialogue for Rodriguez this time since he basically used Miller's text word for word in most places) Acting...well, here's my issue with Rodriguez: From all evidence, he simply cannot coax a good performance out of anyone from whom you would not already expect it. Looking back at Once Upon a Time in Mexico, the movie is saved by Johnny Depp, but we've come to expect near miracles from him on screen. In Sin City, performances by Mickey Rourke, Bruce Willis, Benicio del Toro and Clive Owen were all good, but not surprising. Brittany Murphy was nothing other than her typical self, and Michael Madsen was simply horrid. In fact, he was bad enough that we discussed later that we both wondered during his first scene if it was intentional. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Was it good? Some things were some weren't. Was it like everything else Hollywood puts into our theaters every week? No, definitely not, and I feel that I have to cut it some slack for taking that risk.

The Verdict: Too conflicted to assign a rating.

Even if they had almost nothing else in common, both films were visually stunning. The day was a virtual feast for the eyes, and a literal one for the mouth with all of the popcorn, soda and candy.

Before I go, I must point out that we saw a preview for House of Wax before Sin City started. The whole thing left me quite perplexed. Apparently there isn't enough of an issue with making yet another teen horror film (without any teenagers actually in it) or with having Elisha Cuthbert go the Jennifer Love Hewitt I Know What You did Last Summer tank top route, so they had to put Paris Hilton in it? Why? Was her family paying for the movie? Were they trying to lower expectations to the point that they might actually reach them? I need to understand.

Until later...