Dave McKain was a good friend--one of the best I've had.
Dave and I met in the fifth grade and remained close until he moved to Brentwood prior to our sophomore year in high school. He was a skinny guy, like me, but was a few inches shorter than I was. Beyond that minor dissimilarity, we were pretty much the same exact person for five or six years in the 80s. The two of us were into a lot of the same things when we met--college football, WWF, hot girls . . . the usual stuff. But after we'd been friends for about a year, there was absolutely no divergence in our interests. Dave's likes became mine, and mine his. Thus, his fascination with the glam-rock band KISS was transferred to me, my adoration of Kirby Puckett spread to him like a virus, and so on.
He got me into comic books and I, in turn, brought baseball cards to his table.
During middle school, it didn't seem like a weekend could go by without Dave sleeping over at my house or vice versa. At my place, we watched movies and played wiffle ball in the yard. When I stayed at his house, things were a bit more interesting.
Dave had a big family, and, interestingly enough, a very small house. His siblings were all brothers--from oldest to youngest: Pat, Terry, Chris, and Jon--were all older than Dave, and were all of the gangly variety. If I recall correctly, Pat was in the U.S. Air Force and lived in the Southwest somewhere. The others, though, were always around and seemed to have an affinity for picking on Dave and I.
The parents responsible for this crew of lanky, longhaired Irish teenagers were a nice enough couple. The father, a bulbous, hardworking man, who you could just tell was underpaid by PAT Transit, was madly in love with his wife and she--while maybe not as taken with Mr. McKain as he was with her--seemed to at least really like him. The couple held hands often and kissed each other upon departures. They were a team, and that was that. Together they struggled to get by and to make ends meet in what always appeared to be a paycheck-to-paycheck scenario. Sometimes it worked out, and sometimes it didn't, but a few things always remained constant at the McKain home. First and foremost was the fact that in a three-bedroom house with four hungry boys, both space and food would always be in heavy demand and short supply.
It was Dave who first introduced me to ramen noodles and the art of sleeping on floors--both of which would come in quite handy during college.
Sleepovers at Dave's house always meant lots of ramen, staying up late to watch WWF Saturday Night Main Event on NBC, and Honey Combs for breakfast. Those were givens. But beyond that just about anything could happen. And I loved every single minute I spent with that family.
Once, Chris, Jon, Dave and I went on a graffiti rampage after finding some spray paint cans in the woods. We wrote our initials and other assorted nonsense on the undersides of a few small bridges and were, for a brief moment, transformed into kings of the world--our names emblazoned for all of eternity on that concrete where, in fact, no one other than those who frequent bridge bottoms could see them.
Another time, me and a couple of McKain brothers went fishing for these giant carp that lived in a creek fairly close to their house and were forced to run from a grumpy landowner who Dave swore was wielding a shotgun.
And then there was the cat-astrophe that ensued when Dave's mother accidentily left the door to the clothes dryer open in order to take a phone call. It turned out that at some point while Mrs. McKain was on the phone, unbeknownst to the poor woman, the family cat hopped in the dryer. The door was later closed, the drying cycle activated, and the cat killed.
Dave's mom, as you would imagine, was pretty upset about the whole thing. She would later promise never to leave the dryer door open again, despite the fact that the family dog, O'Maley, was far to big to fit into the machine.
"You never know," she said. "Just in case . . . that door will stay closed when I'm not around. That machine's had enough to eat. It doesn't need O'Maley" (Thinking back, a quick tumble in the dryer may have been just what the doctor ordered for O'Maley, and may have served to rid the animal of the fleas that seemed to perpetually burden his existence and bite those who spent nights sleeping on the floors of the Casa McKain.).
Sometimes Dave and I would go to Pitt football games with my father, or to comic book conventions with his brothers. But, for the most part we would just hang out and do kids' stuff.
Our favorite way to pass the time was via competition in a baseball-derivative game that we invented. The only thing I can remember about the game was that the batter was armed with one of those novelty, stadium-giveaway minibats that measure about two feet in length, and the pitcher delivered a smashed-up, golf-ball-sized piece of alluminum foil. After the foil ball was pitched and swung at, I have no idea how things proceeded.
What I do remember is how much that game fucking rocked.
You cannot imagine the crazy things one can make a thrown ball of alluminum foil do, and, for some reason, trying to hit flying foil with a minibat was the epitome of enjoyable. In fact, I have no qualms about stating that foilball, or whatever we called it, was the most enjoyable game I've ever participated in.
And we would play this game for hours and hours without end.
Dave was much better at it than me. On some days, his pitches were nearly unhittable. And he consistently crushed even my most flittery knuckle ball.
Unfortunately for Dave, mastery of foilball was not a foolproof predictor of success on a regulation-sized field.
In retrospect, when he was cut from the high school baseball team during our freshman year and I was selected to join the squad, Coach Kaufman's determination marked the advent of a beginning-of-the-end scenario.
I was devestated for him on that day. And although he shrugged off the cut with a "whatever," I could tell he was hurt by what went down.
A few months later, Dave's family would move to a more affordable--and even smaller--home in Brentwood. O'Maley, I am sad to report, was shuffled off the pound, a victim of the dreaded "no dogs allowed" rule.
The new McKain place was only about 10 or 15 minutes away from my house. But after Dave moved, something changed.
I remember calling him a couple of days after the move and a week or so after school began. The conversation went something like this:
M: "Hey Dave, it's Matt." D: "Oh . . . Hi. Why are you calling me?" M: "Huh? What do you mean?" D: "What do you want?" M: "Dave . . . come on. It's Matt. What are you talking about?" D: "Matt who?" M: "Malady" D: "Oh my god. I thought you were this other Matt from Brentwood. Sorry."
And, as they say, that was pretty much that.
Dave's universe of Matts had expanded while my list of important Daves was still hovering at one.
I saw Dave maybe once after that unfortunate phone conversation, but it just wasn't the same. I often wondered how he was, but could not bring myself to contact him following that phone call and the awkward time we spent thereafter. I still thought very highly of Dave, and respected him a great deal, but our time had passed.
Interestingly, I saw his brother Jon on two separate occasions during my junior year. When the baseball team that I played on in high school faced off in an away game at Brentwood High, Jon sat alone in the bleachers that were perched precariously in left field at the edge of an abrupt dropoff. A few months later, he happened to be serving as the ticket-ripper-in-half guy at the local movie theater when I dropped by for a matinee.
For the life of me, I cannot imagine what drove him to attend some crummy high school baseball game at Brentwood Field and I have no idea why I pretended not to know him when he ripped my ticket at the theater. But both instances saddened me quite a bit and made me genuinely yearn for the days when Matt and the McKain boys were kings of the world.
Eventually, I got over the fact that I had lost Dave McKain as a friend. That's just how things go sometimes.
Within about six months or so, Matt Quiring stepped in and became what amounted to Dave McKain II. Matt moved to my school district in the eighth grade and, as far as I know, he didn't even know Dave. Matt and I weren't really close until after Dave moved away. But between sophomore and senior year, there was absolutely no divergence in our interests. Matt's likes became mine, and mine his. Thus, his fascination with classic rock became mine, my adoration of recreational golf spread to him like a virus, and so on.
He got me into street hockey and I, in turn, brought homerun derby games to his table.
After our senior year, Matt ran away from home and took to making a life for himself that didn't involve college or his stepmother in any way. I bumped into him once in downtown Pittsburgh during my freshman year in college, but we didn't exchange numbers.
I still thought very highly of Matt at the time, and respected him a great deal, but our time, too, had passed.
Eventually I got over the fact that I had lost Matt Quiring as a friend. That's just how things go sometimes.
I'll probably never see Matt or Dave again, and that's not a big deal. But it is my sincere hope that somewhere, somehow, Dave McKain and Matt Quiring have become best friends. I'm convinced they'd get along quite swimmingly. ------------------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) John Gnodtke: 148 (8 points for improper use of "entitled," Cliffs Notes, abberration, apocalypse, childbirth, sneaker, knockin', glamour, and 2 points for being the first to respond with errors) 2) Jason Nypaver: 146 (abberration, apocalypse, chillin', sneaker, knockin', glamour) 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (none) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady: 1 (none)
errors recognized:
1) improper use of "entitled" 2) Cliffs Notes 3) abberration 4) apocalypse 5) chillin' 6) childbirth 7) sneaker 8) knockin' 9) glamour
posted by mjxm at 12:51 AM |
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
For those of you who are new to mjxm.com, I thought it would be a good idea to summarize what's been going on here over the last few months. So, in the spirit of A Tribe Called Quest's masterful, 1991, Jive/Zomba recording entitled "What?," I give you the following mjxm.com-centric 2003 remix. Now, I did recently create archives for the older blizog submissions on the site, but this Cliff's Notes version of my entries provides a quick-hitting, to-the-point, fat-cutting encapsulation. And it should give you just about everything you need to know. For those familiar with the song "What?," the remix should match up fairly well. You may have to speed up or slow down the pace a bit in some places, but it should be close. It works best if you listen to the song while reading, but it's your world. I took the liberty of changing the original wording in one instance--to hilarious results, I might add--and astute Quest fans will have no trouble spotting the abberation. Unfortunately, for those who don't know the song, the whole thing will probably just read like a jumbled mess--without a keen knowledge of the applicable intonation, emphasis, and flow, everything just sort of runs together. For those who find themselves in this camp, I recommend a quick MP3 download of the track or, alternatively, very low expectations as to what comes next. Anyway, please feel free to submit alternate lines in the "comments" section below the standings, but without further ado:
"What? 2003"
Babies babble on, they lookin' for excuses Game for the buzzer who kicked it to the losers Lame as a brain, could be, golly gee If you see a shrink he'll charge you a fee If ya see me ya see the fee is nothin' Fee will be for patience, all backs no frontin' What is a party if it doesn't really rock? What is a dog when attacked by a hawk? What are the Dems if they don't have a general? What's Channel 9 when a blackout wrecks the cable? What is a scooter if you can't have fun? What's the best adjective for those who weigh a ton? What's apacolypse in the form of a comet? Nothin'. Fake throw-up smells like vomit. What is a blog if the readers ain't willin'? What is a roach if I don't do the killin'? Excuse me if I'm chillin, hey what, say what What's a burly man without food in his gut? What's a child birth, without the umbilical? What's a DVD, without the deliverer? What's momma-sann, without poppa-sann? What is the meaning of "You don't know Nann"? What's there to do when a car hits your sneeker? What's a game of hangman without More-a-neeka? Nada, Nada, Nada . . . Not a damn thing What's Jason Bradburn without that swing? What is a job if you don't wear suits? What's a scientist if he ain't knockin boots? What's a black crow, without crow supremacy? What's a mispelling if it's just between you and me? What is Friendster when it enters porn status? What's a Nicewanger . . . or, that is, What is a kid who teased other people? What are cops if they ain't fair and equal? What's Jack Tripper in a telephone booth? What is a postcard without any proof? What's Weird Al if his hair ain't gellin'? What's a noisy rooftop . . . Where people are yellin' . . . about cavortin' . . . and coke snortin'? What is "coochie coochie" if there is no contortin'? What's the A-Team if it doesn't have violence? Chill . . . on his birthday, MJ's voice goes silent. *four second pause* What's a mailbox if the stuff don't fit? What is a hometown if it ain't Pitt? What's that smell rising up from the drains? What's the best way to get a bug out of your brains? What's NYC without weed and glamor? What's a blog writer if he doesn't have stamina? What's a pair of socks if there is no haunt? What's a broken foot . . . and still no tort? What's a busted iPod worth on eBay, baby? What's Cammie Diaz when her dress goes crazy? Baby lay down, I'll remove the frown What would be my Padres' hat if it wasn't brown? What is a nation with a dumb president? What is a maid who steals from a resident? What's Jeff the Chef if he don't spike the punch? What does Sandra Bernhardt buy for lunch? Oooh ooh, it's like that you keep goin' Freak freak y'all cause you know that we showin' What tigga what tigga what tigga what tigga what tigga what tigga . . . What! ------------------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) Jason Nypaver: 140 (2 points for 6'3" and Caucasain, and 2 points for being the first to respond with errors) 2) John Gnodtke: 138 (Caucasian) 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (none) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady: 1 (none)
(Preface: I did not bid on or purchase any of the items listed, but the listings are real. I did indeed submit the questions below, and the answers are reproduced verbatim.)
1) Item Title: Stinky Used Haunted Men's Socks
Description: You are bidding on old men's socks. They are size 12. They are both well worn and one has a small hole in it. I think they may also be haunted. They might be posessed by the ghost of an indian warrior. I cannot garuntee that they will be haunted for you. Socks will be laundered as per E-Bay standards. Bid with Confidence! Any questions...just email!
Picture: Yes. Two dirty-looking socks.
Question Submitted: Hi. I may bid. But I need to know what exactly leads you to believe that the socks are haunted? Also, exactly how big is the hole?
Answer from Seller: Just a hunch. Bid and find out for yourself if they're haunted. You can see the hole in the picture. It is not very large.
Winning Bid: $4.25
2) Item Title: SPICE GIRLS IMPULSE POSTCARD WITH SMELLY BIT
Description: Spice Girls Impulse postcard with unopened smelly bit on the inside so you can get a whiff of the deodorant. Features the full 5-piece line up with a buxom, sexy Geri Halliwell NOT the dried-out husk we have today.
Picture: No.
Question Submitted: Hi. I may bid. What do you mean by "smelly bit." It sounds pretty gross, but I am confused. Thanks.
Answer from Seller: The "smelly bit" is a sample of the perfume. If the auction ends before you get this then you can have one (I have two) for £2 and 50p postage.
Winning Bid: $5.67
3) Item Title: NEW three tubs of FAKE VOMIT slime LOOK REAL
Description: You are bidding on three (3) BRAND NEW 3" tubs of Fake Vomit Slime. Each tub is sealed in plastic and is unopened and unused. This stuff is just NASTY!!! It looks like the real thing, complete with colored plastic chunks to give it that fresh look, it even smells real. This is a classic gag and is the best I've ever seen. If you want to clear a room, just dump one of these on a table and watch the fun.
Picture: Yes. Chunky green and brown slime in a plastic container.
Question Submitted: Hi. I may bid. I have just one question. You say that the fake throw-up "even smells real." What do you mean by this? Does it just smell like food, or smell like actual throw-up? Or does it just smell bad generally?
Answer from Seller: Shut the hell up.
Winning Bid: $4.89
4) Item title: KRISS KROSS - JUMP - CASSETTE SINGLE
Description: "Jump" cassette single by Kriss Kross in very good condition -plays fine.
Picture: No.
Question Submitted: Hi. I may bid if this is the group that I am thinking of. Is this the little kids who used to wear their clothing backwards? If so, does this one have the song "I Missed the Bus" on it?
Answer from Seller: It is them, but not that song. The song is similar though.
Winning Bid: No bids.
5) Item Title: Denture uppers & lowers false teeth GREAT SET
Description: OK so I thought when I was told some one may want this perfect set of dentures that the person telling me so was as crazy as I was for even listening to them. Here I have a perfect set (worn twice before a second set was produced by a non smoker) of upper & lower dentures. No over bite, alignment is perfect and the set is completely free of wear or any discoloration and have been in water since they were produced but were worn for 2 weeks after the initial extraction in 1996 {cleaned from time to time with cleanser and denture paste & brush). These were made for myself a caucasian, 5'8" German & Irsih male with strong bone structure and a weight of approximately 170 lbs. The reason for the removal of my original teeth was solely due to a misdiagnosis as I hadn't even a cavity when ALL my teeth were pulled. In fact it was an ear disorder that was the original culprit, nothing whatsoever to do with my teeth. I've done my best to describe these teeth and have provided three photos so you be the judge. If I can answer any reasonable questions please feel free to ask. As these are teeth I can only warrant them to free of any cracks or other obvious defects, I have described them to the best of my ability thus these are sold as a set only and "as is".
Picture: Yes. Clenched, false teeth and gums on a table.
Question Submitted: Hi. I weigh about 30 pounds more than you, but am 6'3. Do you think these will still fit? Also, I am not caucasian, but I am Asian. Will that be a problem or matter? btw, did you sue the dentist who mistakenly removed the teeth? What a shame.
Answer from Seller: Sir: With all due respect I don't know how to answer several of your questions. I just thought my bone structure would or may have been important to a potential bidder. I am no an anthropologist nor do I profess to knowing anything about biology. Deep down we are all human and all bleed red. No in fact in FL doctors are well protected by Tort laws or the lack thereof, so suing wasn't an option and to this day I still have chronic reoccurring bouts with the same ear inflammations as I was struck by lightning while on the phone in FL, thus the original problem still appears only now I know the source. My friend weigh the matter and see if it is worth the risk, I can also tell you I was only 36 y. o. when my teeth were indeed removed. So if age ways into your calculations perhaps I have helped.
Addition to Item Description Following Questions: After fielding several emails I should add the following. I was 36 years old when my teeth were removed. I am a male. I have no cummunicable diseases whatsoever nor ever had any (I will bleach these upon your request, however after the bleaching I can not be held responsible). I have only added my nationality and ethnicity for you to make the best informed decision possible. As I am not an anthropologist nor do I lay claim to being an expert or having specialized knowledge regarding precise fitting of this set of teeth of people of various sizes or other nationalities/ethnicities. If you want additional photos please request same. The original "problem" occured after taking a lightning strike while on a corded phone within the State of Florida, and I'm fairly sure these weren't the "economy" brand of dentures but were indeed fairly "pricie". I hope this all helps...
Current High Bid: $9.95
6) Item Title: WEIRD AL YANKOVIC-Candid Photos-WOW!!
Description: WEIRD AL YANKOVIC-Handsome Sexy Singing Sensation!-Candid Photographs-Set of Three Different 4x6 Color Glossy Photos! Shot by L.A. Photographers "On The Scene"! Printed from the Original Negatives on Agfa Paper. The Images seen below, on eBay, are scanned at Low-Resolution. Photos are Crystal Clear! The photos you receive do NOT have the ebay mark on them and are REAL photographs, NOT computer scans.
Picture: Yes. Three photos of what is clearly Mr. Yankovic.
Question Submitted: Hi. I may bid. I just have one question. How can I be sure that the person in the picture really is Weird Al? His hair looks different there.
Answer from Seller: You either believe me or you don't. I'm showing you the photos. That's who the photographer says it is. If you are unsure, don't bid.
Current High Bid: No bids.
7) Item Title: CHARO SIGNED CUCHI CUCHI SALSOUL ORCHESTRA LP
Description: Record Condition: Very good with a significant scratch on side A. Jacket/Sleeve Condition: Fair - Signed by Charo in black sharpie, Inscribed to "John & Kelly." Company name: Salsoul Records.
Picture: Yes. Large picture of record cover with very clear autograph that reads: "To John and Kelly Love Charo"
Question Submitted: Hi. I may bid. You are not going to believe this, but my parents are huge Charo/Love Boat fans and are named John and Kelli. It really is an amazing coincidence. My question is whether you think I could easily change the "y" in "Kelly" into an "i" without making it look obvious.
Answer from Seller: Wow. That is great. I would say you could definitely change it. If you look closely at the photo the y doesn't even really look like a y anyway. I bet if you just put a dot above it it would look more like an i and no one would probably notice. Like you said, this is a huge coincidence. Don't let it pass by.
Current High Bid: No bids. ------------------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) John Gnodtke: 137 (1 point for the fact that "Lineman" should have been "lineman," and 2 points for being the first to respond with errors) 2) Jason Nypaver: 136 ("Lineman" should have been "lineman") 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (none) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady: 1 (none)
errors recognized:
1) "Lineman" should have been "lineman"
posted by mjxm at 12:32 PM |
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
As someone who likes to think of himself as a writer, I have the utmost appreciation for top-dog (alternate: note-perfect) adjective and adverb selection.
Perfection in this arena isn't common among writers who ply their craft in the mainstream (alternate: traditional) media, but when it happens the results can be quite spectacular (alternate: staggering).
After all, anyone can describe a waterfall as "great," or "wonderful," but there's little denying that, in such instances, there were better descriptive (alternate: modifying) options available. A big guy can, of course, be "big," but he can also be so many other (alternate: fresh), much cooler (alternate: better) things.
To be more precise, allow me to invoke the example of this week's news-making (alternate: modish) big guy (alternate: oaf) of choice, Jeffrey Lee Parson. Jeffrey, you will recall, is the 18-year-old Minnesota student who faces federal charges for developing a particularly baneful (alternate: pestiferous) version of the Blaster worm virus that set computer users to fits a few (alternate: two) weeks back. Today, the teenaged (properly alliterative alternate: T-shirt-clad) tech-terrorist was in Seattle to enter a not guilty plea in response to hacking charges.
To set the scene, Reuters' wire story gave us the following description: "Parson, flanked by two federal public defenders, appeared in a gray T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. Standing over 6 feet (183 cm) tall and weighing over 300 pounds (136 kg), he sported a bleach-blond Mohawk haircut and occasionally wiped sweat from his forehead."
As far as descriptions go, this one rates out at well above average (alternate: peachy).
But the more impressive (alternate: notable) coup came higher up in the Reuters piece when, in a moment of adjective perfection, the wire service described our hefty (properly alliterative alternate: husky) hacker as a "burly high school senior."
Simply put, it was like adjective magic.
To see what I mean, go here: http://www.mugshots.com/Current-Events/Jeffrey_Lee_Parson.htm. Now attempt to come up with a descriptive adjective that is more apt (alternate: appropriate) than "burly."
Seriously, try it. I dare you.
In my estimation, it cannot be done--at least not without using a hyphen, or some faux adjective along the lines of "John Goodmanesque."
The real (alternate: true) beauty here lies in the attention to detail. The eleventh edition of Merriam-Webster's unabridged dictionary defines the adjective "burly" to mean "strongly or heavily built." It's a short and sweet (alternate: efficient) definition, but one that serves to immediately distance the word from the more common (alternate: pedestrian), and less specific (alternate: nebulous) adjective "fat." The word "burly," as defined, refers not simply to one's weight, but rather to how someone carries said weight. It's best applied in reference to that subset of people who are said to be "big boned"--Goodman, Charles Barkley, those guys who compete in the "World's Strongest Man" competitions that ESPN seems to perpetually broadcast at 3 a.m.--but don't really seem to match up with the word "fat." There's simply no equal (alternate: equivalent) adjective in these cases.
This is because not everyone who weighs a great deal is best described as "fat." The word just doesn't get at the crux of Linemen-types--guys who are both big and tall--and comes off in such situations as nothing more than a lazy (alternate: negligent) cop-out.
Other potential (alternate: possible) fill-ins fall similarly short.
"Heavy" doesn't present the full (alternate: complete) picture. After all, a jug of quarters can be heavy. "Overweight," on the other hand, is improper not because of the word's applicability to inanimate objects but rather due to the fact that it is little more than a degree of "fat." Unlike one who is described as being "burly," those who are deemed "overweight" can be either more or less so, and thus the word does not really fit. "Portly," "beefy," "bulky," "chunky," and "dumpy," are all cool adjectives. But, when it comes down to it, they're all just funnier (alternate: sillier) ways to say "fat." "Stocky" and "squat" may, at first glance, appear to be legitimate (alternate: valid) contenders, but, upon closer examination, I think you'll find that they seem to connote shortness along with, um . . . bigness.
"Brawny" is perhaps the runner-up, but this is really not a close (alternate: hotly-contested) race at all. That word implies, I believe, an element of muscle development and shapeliness that folks like Barkley just don't have.
For guys like Charles and the Minnesota Microsoft fiend, "burly" wins hands down as the descriptive adjective of choice.
They're not "fat." They are something different (alternate: distinctive), something more complex (alternate: elaborate).
They, my friends, are "burly."
Most writers, and certainly most speakers, don't really care to recognize the distinction, but it exists. And Reuters hit the nail on the head with their piece on the hearty (properly alliterative alternate: hefty or husky) hacker.
So, Reuters, I salute you.
Good (alternate: well-done) show.
You showed fleckless (properly alliterative alternate: fuckin' awesome) and fitting (properly alliterative alternate: flawlessly badass) adjective selection. ------------------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) Jason Nypaver: 135 (3 points for apparently, non-capitalization of "naked, and OK, and 2 points for being the first to respond with errors) 2) John Gnodtke: 134 (apparently, en masse, missing "to") 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (none) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady: 1 (none)
errors recognized:
1) apparently 2) en masse 3) "naked" should have been capitalized 4) "In the time it takes the Friendster police go after . . ." is missing the the word "to." 5) "Ok" should have been "OK"
posted by mjxm at 10:29 PM |
Monday, September 15, 2003
Friendster (www.friendster.com) is a lot of things.
First and foremost, though, it's entertaining.
Friendster is a free, people-connecting website that sprung up back in March. By July, it had more than one million users, and the folks in charge claim that the number of people participating in the Friendster experiment is expanding by 20% each week. The idea is to allow users to connect with their friends' friends--and, in actuality, their friends, and their friends, etc.--by creating networks of user profiles. Basically you log on, sign up, post your profile and picture, and ask some friends to do the same. They ask their friends, and so on, and so on. Friendster then provides a homepage of sorts for you on their site that shows all the people you are connected to and the respective degrees of separation that exist. Most users are in the 25-35 age bracket, and live in New York, San Fran, or some other large city.
I hopped aboard in the middle of July, and, as I write this blog, I am "connected to 149,712 people in [my] Personal Network, through 14 friends." So, in sum, I know 14 people in the Friendster world--friends from undergrad, fantasy baseball league adversaries, graphic designers from the magazine I edit--and together we know people, who know people, who know people, such that the total number of people known adds up to 149,712.
What this means is that I can contact any of these people at any time and be like, "Hey, I'm Matthew . . . my friend Kevin knows Erin, who is friends with Joe, who works with Pam, who dates your brother Jake . . . . Do you want to ________ ?"
I guess many people actually do fill in the hypothetical blank above with the words "hang out," or "go out on a date," or something along those lines. Some folks, I am told, actually do use the site to meet new friends or land dates.
Me? I use it to make me laugh.
Out of the 149,712 people within my reach, I have contacted exactly none.
I'm not looking to score or to, as they say, "meet people with interests that are similar to mine." If I had to pigeonhole myself with respect to the role I play in the Friendster universe, I'd say I'm akin to the cynic sitting on the bench at the park so as to have the best view of all the freaks that stroll by.
Basically, I'm just along for the ride.
I keep coming back, though, because I've noticed something interesting about the site and how it is being used.
You see, the folks at Friendster have a cool idea on their hands and have done a reasonably fair job of thinking the whole thing through, but they're far from perfect. Because thousands of people sign up each day, it is aparently quite difficult for those in charge to monitor the profiles that are being created, the pictures being posted, or the attributes being assigned to newbies. Additionally, there's really no mechanism in place to determine whether new users really are who they proclaim to be.
As a result, a few noteworthy things have occurred over at Friendster during the last couple of months. First, and most noticeably, strippers, exotic dancers, porn stars, and other patrons of the seedy arts have swooped in and made Friendster their home away from bed. The addition of this population, en mass, to the website's ranks has been both swift and stunningly comprehensive. At this point, the ratio is about six aging, urban-hipster wannabees from Williamsburg, Brooklyn to every one wannabee porn goddess. Photos of stubbled men sitting with a group of buddies at a bar are only outnumbering T & A pictures three-to-one at the moment, and the gap is shrinking--or, perhaps better yet, being filled--with each passing day.
naked bodies are everywhere . . . and have been since August.
Every time you log on, your profile page shows thumbnail photos of new users who have joined the ranks and are, in some way, connected to you. Every time, at least one of these people looks like Jenna Jamison and claims to be interested in things like "sex on film" and "not wearing any underwear."
I don't know how these people are connected to me, but they are, and I still can't believe Friendster has not cracked down on them.
It seems to me that the people in charge of the site have simply thrown up their hands at this point. And I guess I can see where they're coming from. In the time that it takes the Friendster police go after these people, twice as many new hoochie mamas have already joined the fray and posted pictures--the limit is five per profile--of themselves bending over, squeezing their boobs together, and whatnot.
I honestly don't think the creators of the site really knew what they were getting themselves into on this front, and it's been fun watching things spiral out of control.
The other interesting Friendster phenomenon is the popularity that the site has garnered among celebrities . . . wink, wink.
There are like seven Ashton Kutchers up in there, and I've seen George Bush profiles every now and again. His interests always include things like "bombing people" and "rodeo."
The entry for "Christina" shows a picture of Christina Aguilera and lists her interests as: singing, stripping, being naked, sex, and coke. In the "About Me" section of her bio, Christina gives us this tidbit of background info:
"Well, as you can see...I'm a dirty sex kitten now. I used to be sweet and cute, but I decided that this is much more "me". Also I smoke alot of stuff. I don't know what it's called, but I get it from this guy that stands at the corner of this one street alot. I went to his house once and he was yelling at me, but I just asked for more cookies!"
"Alyssa"'s Friendster portfolio features three almost nude pictures of Alyssa Milano, and the following tidbits of info:
"My interests include the privacy rights of celebrities on the web! In December 1998 I succeeded in legal action against a web designer that posted nude pictures of me, and have been trying to help other celebrities ever since. Im 5'2", although with wonderful cinematography I can appear much taller! Im a sagitarius with great love for body art: Tattoos : 5 of them; Rosary bead on back, angel on left ankle, garland of flowers on right ankle, sacred heart on her behind, fairy kneeling in grass on hip. My current loves are my beautiful Dogs Ripley, Stella, Hugo. I love Hockey, the tv show E.R., listening to Dave Matthews Band, Del Amitri, The Beatles. Please send all fan mail to: Fan Mail: C/O United Talent Agency 9560 Wilshire Blvd. Suite 500 Beverly Hills, CA 90212 USA"
Ok.
"MilliVanilli" has one entry for both members, even though one of the members is no longer alive. Milli's entry says he/they want/s to meet the following people: "We would like to meet anyone who really can't sing but pretends that they can. We would also like to meet anyone who bought our album after we got caught. You are our truist fans and we love you all. Our email is fakesingers@yahoo.com."
Jabba the Hut, Notorious BIG, Usher, Randy "Macho Man" Savage, and a host of other celebs have profiles up there. Each and every one of them is hilarious. It's actually quite impressive.
My favorite Friendster entry is the one created by "B.A. Baracus." B.A., we are told, is 51 and lists his occupation as "soldier of fortune." He enjoys milk, "crashing my van through walls," and "not gettin' on no planes." In his "About Me" section, B.A. notes: "I don't have time for Jibba Jabba and I ain't gettin' on no plane. Oh yeah, and I can't stand that crazy fool Murdock."
The picture of B.A. popping out of a wedding cake with a machine gun is the kicker, but the whole profile is grand.
In fact, I think I may contact him to see if he and his crew can help me to get back the "Ghost World" DVD from those bastards at the post office.
I pity the fool who tries to steal mjxm's DVD . . . I pity him indeed. ------------------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) John Gnodtke: 131 ("must" should have been "most," driver's license, improper punctuation after "Are they holding you somewhere," Mr. Angelino, Mr. Angelino, two periods after "woman" ) 2) Jason Nypaver: 130 (2 points for improper punctuation after "Are they holding you somewhere" and two periods after "woman," and 2 points for being the first to respond with errors) 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (none) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady: 1 (none)
errors recognized:
1) "must" should have been "most" 2) driver's license 3) improper punctuation after "Are they holding you somewhere" 4) Mr. Angelino 5) Mr. Angelino 6) two periods after "woman"
posted by mjxm at 6:54 PM |
Friday, September 12, 2003
Last year, my Aunt Karen called me up on my birthday and told me that she wished I had never been born on that day in 1974.
I knew what she meant, and didn't take any offense, but still, that's not the easiest thing in the world to hear.
Thankfully, after two years of experience with being a "9/11 Virgo," I am getting used to stuff like that.
When people ask me when my birthday is, I respond in complete seriousness with the following: "It's the day of death and destruction."
Some respond with "Huh?" but must get what I'm saying straight away and respond with something along the lines of, "Wow, that sucks."
And they're right.
Don't get me wrong, being born on September 11th is nowhere near the worst thing in the world--the fact that I am alive and blog writing today when thousands of people a lot like me lost their lives in the terrorist attacks that took place not too far from my apartment is a testament to the fact that I am indeed quite fortunate--but there is little doubt in my mind that having your birthday on September 11th does kinda suck.
This is especially the case if you live in New York City. It's hard to be exceedingly happy or celebratory on the 11th anyway, but if you live here it's even worse.
It's pretty much common knowledge that everything that exists in the non-NYC world is either bigger or multiplied when manifested in this fair metropolis. Numerous examples of the phenomenon immediately spring to mind: The roaches are bigger, and the price of roach spray is multiplied by two; the slices of pizza are bigger, and the rental prices for apartments are multiplied by three; the post offices are much, much bigger, and the number of attorneys, shrinks, dentists and Pilates adherents is multiplied by four.
You get the idea.
Anyway, the level of grief, sorrow, sadness, and pain felt by those living in New York City with respect to the September 11th attacks falls right in line with this Manhattan multiplier reality. Here, gloominess and long faces prevail on the day of my birth. That's just the way it is, and I have come to accept it.
But, this year, two intervening factors combined to make things, well, how should I put this . . . even suckier.
First, I wake up on Tuesday to realize that my voice is shot--I mean completely shot--for no apparent reason. It's now Friday, and I still cannot speak. I can whisper, but only to the extent that it completely exasperates the person who is trying to communicate with me.
I have no idea what's going on.
I'm not sick--in fact, I feel great physically--and have no other symptoms of anything. I just have no voice.
When my mother called to wish me a happy birthday, she said that she was frightened by the voice she heard and thought that I sounded "very spooky." Then, after she realized that the person on the other end of the line was indeed me, she was positive that I was just playing another one of my stupid little practical jokes (Cut to my trip to Seattle a few years back. During our stay, Evelyn and I took a drive up to Vancouver, whereupon I proceeded to purchase a postcard featuring that city's skyline. It was one of those oversized postcards, and I write very, very small. On the back of the card, I penned what would turn out to be a comprehensive and intricate tale for the ages. I wrote that because of bad weather our flight from JFK to Seattle was re-routed to Vancouver, where we had a two-hour layover. Unfortunately, when we tried to re-board a plane headed for Seattle we were not allowed to get on because my diver's license has no picture on it, and the Canadian airport people would not accept my ultra-smiley, expired University of Michigan ID as proper identification. Thus, I wrote, we were stuck in Vancouver, and despite "making the best of it" were unsure as to when or if we were going to be able to fly back to New York. I then put a stamp on the postcard and mailed it to my mother prior to driving back to Seattle. The whole thing, of course, was one lie after another, and despite the fact that she knows my penchant for doing silly things like this, she bought it hook, line, and sinker. When the postcard arrived in her mailbox a few days after being dropped in a nondescript, Canadian mail receptacle, she called me on my cell phone. Raised voice in full regalia, she half-yelled "Where are you?" and similar exclamations of concern. "Are you still stuck in Canada? Are they holding you somewhere." When I told her I made the whole thing up, she could've kicked herself. Poor lady. She should've known better, and, at that point, realized it. She now tells the Vancouver postcard story with great fondness, but vows never to be fooled again.).
The more people who called to wish me a happy birthday, the more I felt absolutely silly. Most callers got creeped out by my absurd whisper fairly early on in conversation and removed themselves from the awkward situation by using the "I think I should let you go and rest your voice" line.
It truly was an unfortunate turn of events. Birthdays and whispering, I have found, make strange bedfellows.
Still, by the time I got the new iPod from Evelyn, all the sorrow, sullen dispositions, and silence had been pretty much forgotten. Say what you will about Steve Jobs, but he does have a knack for making everything alright, and by midnight I was one teched-out, happy camper.
Before retiring for the evening, I watched two episodes of "Three's Company" on Nick-at-Night. I do this nearly every night. "Three's Company" is one of my all-time favorite shows, and it clearly set the bar for misunderstanding-based sitcoms.
On this night, both episodes were hilarious, but the first was an absolute gem. Mr. Angeleno, Jack Tripper's boss, introduced Jack to his super-hot daughter, who immediately took a liking to the clumsy chef. Noting the obvious chemistry between the two, Angeleno warned Tripper that he'd be fired if he was ever caught with the brunette beauty. Jack, not able to afford the financial strain that would've arisen had he lost the job, devised a plan to keep the horny-as-hell daughter away from him. He decided to tell her that he was married, and then invite her to his apartment where she would see him making out with his "wife"--a blow-up doll dressed as a woman.. According to Jack, this would cause the young lady to stop coming on to him and allow him to save his job.
The blow-up doll scene was pure comedic genius. The part where the doll lost its air and Jack was forced to blow it up while still pretending to make out with it had me laughing out loud. Ritter, a master among men when it comes to physical comedy, was simply hilarious. This episode--along with the one where Jack is trying to learn how to ski in order to impress a woman--epitomizes his immense level of talent.
By the time I finally fell asleep, I had 1,736 songs, 8.02 gigabytes and five days of music stored in my calculator-sized iPod and a Jack Tripper-induced smile on my face.
When I woke up this morning, I read that John Ritter had passed away on my birthday at the young age of 54. At the time when his character was making me laugh and smile the night before, he had already died.
Fuck!
I may be learning to handle the whole death and destruction thing, but don't take away my voice and Jack Tripper on September 11th, too.
Everyone has their limits, and that's just too much.
I will close by saying rest in peace to John Ritter, and by noting that, for those interested, I'm taking bets on when the new iPod will break.
I've got dibs on September 11, 2004, but it may not even make it that long. ----------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) Jason Nypaver: 126 (Midwestern, now, missing quote mark, improper use of double quotes, missing period, "of" instead of "a," Risk, 10th, 20th, Write, "He's" should not have been capitalized, Cyndi Lauper, and Suzanne Somers, and 2 points for being the first to respond with errors) 2) John Gnodtke: 125 (straightforward, Midwestern, 35 years old, Pauly Shore, Cyndi Lauper, Gallagher, Suzanne Somers, Alf has been elected, Gallagher, voters do not select the president, 10th, 20th, Risk, Write) 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (none) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady (none)
errors recognized:
1) straightforward 2) Midwestern 3) 35 years old 4) "I can hear the responses know," should have been "I can hear the responses now" 5) double quotes around "A" "B" and "C" should be single quotes 6) missing end quotation marks in "Who's to say . . ." entry of list 7) missing period in "Being president isn't about . . ." entry of list 8) "game a Risk" should "game of Risk" 9) Pauly Shore 10) Cyndi Lauper 11) Gallagher 12) Suzanne Somers 13) Alf has indeed been elected to office. Alf Landon held the governorship of Kansas. 14) Gallagher 15) The electoral college, not voters, select the president 16) 10th 17) 20th 18) Risk 19) Write 20) "He's number one" should not have been capitalized
posted by mjxm at 12:41 PM |
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Let me start by pointing out that I know very little about General Wesley Clark.
Thus, I'm sure that this blog will come back to bite me in the ass. At some point, I am quite certain, someone who knows both my politics and the policy positions of General Clark will attest to the divergence of these two things and inform me that I need to watch who I say nice things about.
Still, all that aside, I have decided to throw caution to the wind and expressly state that something about this guy has struck a nerve with me.
It's not the fact that he recently informed the press that he is a Democrat, or the fact that he was something called "Supreme Allied Commander and Commander in Chief" for NATO in the late '90s. And it most certainly is not the fact that he doesn't know whether or not he's going to run in the 2004 election for the presidency of the United States.
Nope, it's much more straight forward than all those things.
I am intrigued by General Clark because he, apparently, is a really fucking smart guy.
According to the admittedly few news pieces I have read about him, Clark is an intellectual badass of the highest degree. He graduated first in his class at West Point, earned a Rhodes Scholarship to study at Oxford, and holds a Master's Degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics.
Now, to me, all that stuff reeks of presidentiality.
Say what you will about the often spurious relationship between book smarts and practical, real world achievement--not to mention the potentially flawed assumption that someone really smart would be best suited to lead a government that is largely run by an amalgamation of bureaucrats--but something about that whole "first in the class" thing registers with me.
I mean, I have no clue who graduated first overall in my law school class, and I have no idea whether I would agree or disagree with said individual's positions on the issues of the day. But, I do know this much: He or she is intelligent as all get-out.
That guy or gal is smarter than I am, a great deal smarter, and I have absolutely no problem with the fact that he or she is probably much better suited than I am to succeed in a number of positions that require supreme intellect.
This person is #1 for heaven's sake.
And that's just a midwestern law school graduating class I'm talking about. Being number one out of 300 or so is pretty cool, but each graduating class at West Point consists of well over 1,000 students, most of whom were the valedictorians of their respective classes in high school. What's more, these folks are all serious and disciplined enough to want to be soldiers in addition to students, so you know that they are not going to simply roll over and let someone else graduate first in the class without putting up a fight.
Add to this the fact that Clark earned his "best of" honor back in the day--before beer bongs, ecstasy, and hacky sacks really hit; an era when undergrads in college actually studied quite seriously--and his achievement becomes all the more impressive.
I, for one, am impressed.
Anyway, by now, I'm sure you can see where this is going.
I hate to be an educational snob, but I have to admit that our current president's well publicized, losing battle with both the report card and the written word continues to gnaw at me. It just doesn't seem right that the president--the one individual that we, the American people have chosen beyond all others to represent us--is someone that people all over the world make fun of for being . . . how can I put this delicately . . . not so smart. I mean, I have to admit, I would feel much more secure that the leadership of our nation was in good, reasonable hands if I had absolutely no doubt that the person in charge of it was a great deal brighter than me. Right now, frankly, I'm not so sure about that. And I, as many of you know, am not all that smart of a guy.
It's hard for me to imagine others not feeling these pangs of doubt about our current president, but, strangely, I really haven't seen or heard much at all on this issue from the press.
Am I missing something here? The universe of people available for the position is quite broad. According to Article II, Section I of the federal constitution, these are the only requirements that must be satisfied by those looking to apply for the job of president: The applicant must be a natural born U.S. Citizen, must have lived in the states for at least 14 years, and must be at least 35-years-old.
That's it.
The resulting list of potential applicants includes millions and millions of names.
For instance, under the constitution, each of the following people could--if they wanted to, and if they won a few elections--become president of our great nation: Paulie Shore, my Uncle Gary, Cindi Lauper, George Foreman, Gallaghar, Suzanne Summers, the maintenance man for my apartment, and Keanu Reeves.
Let me repeat that. Under our system of government . . . Keanu Reeves could be president.
Wow.
Seriously, Alf could almost be president.
Fortunately, we haven't elected any Laupers or Alfs yet. But, under the constitution, such is not impossible. In practice, it is the voters--and to an extent that grows less and less with each passing day, the press--who are to provide the checks and balances necessary to separate the wheat from the chaff and select the best candidate for the job.
In 2000, the process resulted in the election of George W. Bush--an admittedly poor student during his time at Harvard and a person not known for his intellectual wherewithal. As such, I can't help but feel that we may not have done such a great job with the whole choosing thing.
I'm sure he knows more than Gallaghar, but I'm just not convinced that he really is the best that we have to offer. I mean, maybe smarts shouldn't be the determining factor here, but, as I see it, it's gotta be at least somewhere in the top two or three.
I know, I know . . . I can hear the responses know:
"What do grades mean anyway?"
"Who's to say what the difference is between an "A" and a "B," or even a "C"?
"Academic excellence is subjective."
"There is no appropriate way to quantify how intelligent someone is by using tests or exams."
"Presidents need to be leaders first, and smart guys second."
"Being president isn't about essays and multiple-choice questions"
"Cocaine is responsible for decreased academic performance."
All true, of course.
But still. Admit it, if we're playing a huge game of trivial pursuit, or, perhaps more appropriately, Risk, and your life is at stake, you're picking the "A+" dude for your teammate over the "C-" cool guy. Nothing against the "C-" guy. "He's fun and all," you will tell yourself. "I like hanging out with him and stuff . . . but this is a really big game a risk."
I don't think I'm going out on a limb in stating that people who have proven themselves to be really, really smart are usually pretty good at doing things that require a great deal of thinking, and all sorts of reasonable ramifications trickle down from this reality.
This is why, for instance, you didn't see Princeton banging down my door after a high school career noted more for smartassness than scholastic achievement. Put another way, it's why you're not an astronaut.
It's a cruel world, but that's the way it goes. Genius types often do well with intellectual pursuits, it's just that simple. And I would hope that our nation's presidency has not fallen from the ranks of those occupations that can be deemed of the "intellectual pursuit" variety.
Yet, we trot out G.W. and make excuses for his nuc-U-lar pronunciation gaffes.
To me, this is absurd.
I don't know if I'd go as far as to suggest an SAT-type qualifying exam for those wishing to run for president, but I also don't know that something along these lines would be such a bad idea. Intellect, it seems to me, should be one of the early ways to whittle down a field of presidential contenders--sorta like that line beyond which one's head must extend in order to ride the biggest roller coaster in the park. Those, who don't quite measure up could, potentially, be offered lesser positions in government--in keeping with the college admissions comparison, I would align this concept with the "safety school" phenomenon. Some people will have to go to Penn State rather than Princeton, and some folks are just going to have to settle for ambassadorships. That's just the way it goes.
Now, before you allege sour grapes and attempt to assert that I'm only resorting to this line of reasoning because I am not a Republican and can't stand Mr. Bush, let me assure you that my "only really smart presidents" platform applies across the board. That is, regardless of the party affiliation of a given president, I would indeed feel better about our country knowing that the person in charge is bright . . . and, ideally, a good bit brighter than me. I'm not saying that our president has to be the smartest person in the country. Hell, the prez doesn't even have to be in the top 10 or 20 percentile in terms of intellect. I just don't want to have to worry about whether or not the person leading our country is smarter than I am.
I implore you, there should be no question as to this matter.
So, there you have it. I don't really know who he is, but I urge you to vote for General Wesley Clark in 2004. write him in if you have to.
After all . . . He's #1. ----------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) Jason Nypaver: 111 (Maddonna, in terms "of" celebrity, sightings, nobodies, trajectory, attempting, improperly capitalized "let") 1) John Gnodtke: 111 (Maddonna, Kofi Annan, in terms "of" celebrity, are at least sort, sightings, nobodies, 28th Street, trajectory, and attempting, and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 3 (Kofi Annan) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none) 13) Rege Malady (trajectory)
errors recognized:
1) Maddonna 2) Kofi Annan 3) missing "of" in phrase "in terms of celebrity" 4) missing "at" in are "at least sort of" 5) sightings 6) nobodies 7) 28th Street 8) trajectory 9) attempting 10) improperly capitalized "let"
posted by mjxm at 1:19 PM |
Monday, September 08, 2003
I'd like to thank Ms. Diaz.
She's not my type, and, frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about. But I really do owe her one.
I mean, before Thursday, the list of celebrities I'd seen since moving to New York City in 1999 looked like this:
Paul Shaffer Gilbert Gottfried Sandra Bernhardt John Norris
That's it. That's the list.
Pretty sad, isn't it?
And when you get right down to it, it's a bit embarrassing. Everyone I know here has seen far more stars than I have, and the names ticked off their respective lists are not of the John Norris variety. Their lists are filled with big-time public figures--Harrison Ford, Maddona, Kofi Anon, folks like that.
My list? Paul Shaffer tops it. 'Nuff said.
Now, the fact that I don't see celebrities at the same rate as my city-dwelling compatriots, in and of itself, isn't that big of a deal. What galls me is that almost everyone I know from outside the city has, at one point or another, asked me about my celebrity run-ins.
In these situations, all I can do is trot out the names above and hope that the person asking the question has heard of someone on my list of pseudo stars. Usually, they haven't. Then I have to explain.
Have you ever tried to explain exactly who or what Gilbert Gottfried is terms of celebrity . . . to your grandmother? Trust me, it ain't easy. And, regardless of who the person on the other end of the explanation is, their response is inevitable:
"Hmm, wow . . . anybody else?"
When I reply with a resounding "That's it," most people try to be nice and pretend that they are least sort of impressed by my list. But I know it sucks, and I know when I'm being humored. I realize that I'm a huge failure when it comes to the art of standing in a place where someone famous is also standing. I just don't have the knack, it seems. What's worse about my crummy list is that I'm pretty sure that Gottfried, Bernhardt, and Norris all live in my neighborhood--I've seen them at the grocery store, the laundry, or other such places--so those ones are kinda like "gimmies." I see Gottfried constantly. He's always wearing a purple backpack, and each time I see him he looks as though he's lost his way. The first time, I thought it was pretty cool. The second time, I was still a bit psyched. But now, after four or five sighting, he just pisses me off. As it stands, the sight of Mr. Gottfried in person simply reminds me that, despite living in the center of Manhattan, I never see any real, big-ticket stars.
I almost pushed him over a few weeks ago out of spite.
Still, the events of the past few weeks lead me to believe that things may be turning around for me on the celebrity front. A month ago, my list consisted of just Gottfried and Shaffer (who I saw with some little kid as the circus let out at Madison Square Garden). I was beginning to think that I only had passerby access to "stars" who were both male and short. I figured that Danny DeVito and Ross Perot were the best I could hope for from here on out.
Then, this summer, all of a sudden . . .
Bernhardt almost barrels me over with her shopping cart at the Whole Foods on 7th Avenue.
Cha ching.
Norris says "excuse me" as he squeezes past my laundry bag at a bodega on 20th Street.
Boo-ya.
I was on a huge roll after seeing those two nobody's, but last Thursday I scored what can only be considered the equivalent of at least 500 Gottfried-Shaffer-Bernhardt-Norris sightings.
Last Thursday, I saw Cameron Diaz's underwear.
Now, before I explain the circumstances that led to this most unexpected occurrence, I feel it necessary to preempt the emails that I would've otherwise received by swearing to you that I am not making this up . . . it really did happen. With that out of the way, Let me set the scene:
It was midday, and I had just exited my apartment onto what was a typically chaotic and busy 28th street. When I got passed the sidewalk and reached the street, I immediately hopped on my trusty scooter and thereafter almost got knocked on my ass by Diaz, who had, on this day, apparently decided to take up the role of bicycling beauty.
I first saw her when she was about 30 yards away. She was riding a shabby-looking 10-speed, had obviously just turned onto 28th Street from 7th Avenue, and was not moving all that fast. I didn't know it was her for probably at least another 10 yards, but I was immediately struck by the fact that the blond cyclist coming my way was wearing a mid-length dress that she seemed to be struggling with. When I realized who it was, I also noticed that Diaz looked as though she had grown tired of having to continually check to make sure the dress--a polyester or rayon, thick-striped, pink, retro deallie that looked expensive in the way that cheap-looking retro clothes do nowadays--was not getting stuck in or stained by the bike chain. She was within about 20 feet of me when she decided to give up all hope of monitoring the dress. As such, Diaz quickly grabbed at the bottom of it with her right hand and pulled it up so that more of the material resided under her backside and the bottom of the dress now fell at about the mid-thigh level. By this time, due to all the fidgeting, she was moving at a snail's pace. Diaz was about 15 feet away from me and fully engrossed in the process of clumsily hiking up her dress when she unwittingly gave me and at least a few other people on the street what amounted to a surprisingly extended, celebrity crotch shot.
For at least two or three seconds, Diaz was fiddling with the dress such that her plain white, dare I say pedestrian, panties were on full display for all of 28th Street to see.
By the time that she got to within about seven feet of me, Diaz had figured things out with the dress and was in the process of trying to get her bike-riding bearings back. I was planning on entering the street traffic after she passed, and I suppose that at this point I may have creeped out a bit with my scooter from between the parked cars where I took in the panty shot. But if I did, it was just a few inches or so.
This minor movement on my part, coupled with the fact that Diaz's depth perception had clearly not returned to full strength after her focused battle with the dress, nearly resulted in a crash that would've likely netted me at least two or three more of these blogs. Diaz reacted to me and my scooter like a deer in headlights. I can only assume that she thought a collision was imminent because as she looked up from her dress and made eye contact with me, she appeared quite frightened. I was on her right, and she immediately swerved left into the line of cars that were slowly making their way through the stop-and-go reality that is 28th Street in the early afternoon. Unfortunately for Diaz, her leftward trajectery was far too sharp, and she quickly realized that if she didn't readjust her path she was going to slam right into a red minivan.
By this time, it seemed to me like Diaz had realized that her initial reaction was indeed an overreaction, and that things would have been fine if she would've just stayed the course and not turned so drastically in the first place. But there was no going back. In order to avoid the minivan, she had to make a pretty abrupt right turn, and that more than anything else put her in a position where one could imagine her having to worry about crashing into me. But, even then, it would have been a stretch. Everything was fine, and by this time Diaz knew it.
She was laughing a bit at herself as she passed by me, and through her clear, trendy sunglasses I noticed that her eyes were fixed on mine as if to inquire whether me and the others had noticed her harried steering.
Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure that I just looked back at her as though she was crazy.
I kept watching Diaz as she rode beyond me. After she got about 10 feet past where I was standing, she turned her head back around, tilted it to the side just a bit, looked at me, and shot me this full, sweet smile.
I don't know why, but she did.
Within the blink of an eye, Diaz's dress had fallen back down from underneath her legs, and the moment was preempted as she swiftly turned to the task of again attmepting to remedy that situation. ----------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) Jason Nypaver: 104 (11 points for monthly, asteroid, Earth, repay, moratorium, whatever, scary, astronomers, astronomers, improper apostrophe in "NERDOs'", and Earth, and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) 2) John Gnodtke: 100 (monthly, asteroid, repay, moratorium, whatever, scary, astronomers, astronomers, pissing off, 20-million-atomic-bomb-sized, improper apostrophe in "NERDOs'", question mark after "heard about it") 3) Evelyn Segura: 27 (repay, astronomers, astronomers, pissing off) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Nada Payne 2 (repay, scary) 12) Eric Garr: 2 (none)
errors recognized:
1) monthly 2) asteroid 3) Earth 4) repay 5) moratorium 6) whatever 7) scary 8) astronomers 9) astronomers 10) "pissing of" should have been "pissing off" 11) should have read "20-million-atomic-bomb-sized" 12) improper apostrophe in "NERDOs'" 13) should have been a question mark after "heard about it" 14) Earth
posted by mjxm at 2:29 AM |
Thursday, September 04, 2003
On Tuesday, at 1:15 in the afternoon, the top news story on Yahoo was preceded by the following headline:
"Asteroid Heading for Earth, May Hit in 2014"
Yikes.
A scan of related links turned up this gem of a headline from "The Independent" in London:
"Make a note: 21 March 2014 might just be Asteroid D-day"
My first thought upon reading these headlines was something along the lines of, "That can't be good." After reading the full story, a wire piece put out by Reuters' London bureau, my initial thought was validated as right on the money. This most certainly was not good.
A few things about the story caught my eye, but right up there at the top of the list was the fact that, "On impact, [this asteroid] could have the effect of 20 million Hiroshima atomic bombs."
Nope, that's not good, not good at all.
Still, news of the potential end of humanity didn't send me into a tizzy of panic. It actually got me thinking about some things. The first thing I thought about--I swear to you--was adjusting my Stafford Loan repayment schedule such that my current 10-year repayment period would be stretched out to the maximum 25-year period. My thinking on this was simple. If we're all checking out in 2014, why not reduce the obscene $967 monthy bill to a comparatively manageable $284 and stick it to the man as the asteriod careens toward earth. Under my plan, the years 2015 through 2025 would represent a period where I was obliged to reapy the government on a monthly basis, but would not have to . . . because the world would be blown up by that point.
Right on!
The next thing I thought was that if this asteroid thing really was gonna go down, I wouldn't be the only one looking to score an apocalypse-aided windfall from the federal loan people. So, I reasoned, I had to act fast. The feds would surely catch on soon enough and place some sort of bogus moritorium on repayment period adjustments. I'd be left out in the cold if I didn't snap to it and contact my loan officer, or whaterver.
So, first thing this morning, I jumped into action.
As I was looking for the 1-800 number, a few other thoughts popped into my head about this evil rock and the eerily precise date that it would be smashing us all to bits. Now, when faced with the potential of earth's destruction, most folks' thoughts would likely turn to concerns for family and friends, or to ideas for how to best live out the 11 years remaining before A-day. All reasonable concerns I suppose, but I'm just not on the ball like that at this point. My thoughts were more along the lines of "Can't we just shoot it down with a big laser or something?" and "This is a job for Superman!" What's more, as I found the number to the loan center, I was thinking about whether Elvis, Tupac, Jim Morrison, or any of the other allegedly-alive dead guys would suddenly turn up near the end of 2013. After all, what's the point of hiding out when the earth is due to explode, right?
Before dialing, I decided to check my Yahoo email account, and what do ya know . . .
There was a new asteroid-related story in the news section. But, this time, things were a bit different. The apocalypse, as it turned out, would not soon be upon us.
The headline "Asteroid Doomsday 'Risk' Evaporates after Media Fans Flames" resulted in both my hanging up the phone and my coming to grips with the fact that I will not be getting the iPod that I envisioned would result from all the leftover loan money. The story's lead graph said it all: "A newly discovered asteroid that generated doomsday headlines around the world yesterday morning was, by the end of the day, reduced to innocuous status as additional observations showed it would not hit Earth."
I had not intended to read any further than that. I was pissed about the whole loan payment non-windfall--the fact that the earth was saved from obliteration, was of little consolation--and needed to mail out the $967 check along with some other bills.
But just as I was about to click the webpage closed, my eye noticed something in the article's text about fighting and name calling. I had to read on.
It turns out that there is quite a history of SNAFUs along the lines of what happened with the killer-turned-harmless boulder the other day. The geeks who name the asteroids are known as the Near Earth Object Community (the "NEO" for short), and this telescope-wielding crew has tons of sects--although, I imagine, very little sex--all over the world. Today's article described these folks as "a loose-knit group of global researchers who couldn't find a date to the prom but who find, catalogue, analyze and frequently spout off about asteroids that might one day slam into our planet."
Ok, I added the stuff about the prom, but the rest of the quote is verbatim.
It was the Lincoln Near Earth Asteroid Research Program (LINEAR, for short) that discovered Tuesday's non-rock of ages and named it "2003 QQ47." This title, as far as I can tell, cannot be shortened to some clever acronym, but I'm sure that it encompasses some sort of inside joke that you would find amusing if you were really, really dorky--something along the lines of a lost scene from some Star Trek episode strikes me as eminently plausible.
I'm dorky, but not quite that dorky. So, to me it's just a couple of letters and numbers.
Anyway, the gaffe with QQ47 is reminiscent of what happened with XF11 in 1997 and NT7 in 2002. In other words, the media's seen this whole thing before, and nonetheless keeps trotting out scray headlines like the one that made its way onto Yahoo on Tuesday. This time, though, it seems like things have gotten a bit out of hand. The resulting bad blood that has developed among competing astronomers, and between astronmers and the press, has now set off what can be best described as a Battle of the Near Earth Object Nerds.
It turns out that QQ47 was only categorized as a "1" on the 1-10 scale used to measure the likelihood of a big rock destroying our planet. Still, the British Governments NEO Information Center issued a cryptic press release and set people to worrying about loan repayment schedules. Within 24 hours of this announcement, astronmers had concluded that there was no chance of a collision in 2014. According to various press outlets, a mistake like this happens, on average, once per year.
In addition to pissing of the media, many in the NEO/NERDO community are getting fed up with these 20-atomic-bomb-sized cries of wolf. Benny Peiser, dork and author of an electronic newsletter about the research and risks associated with NEOs, was quite heated about QQ47. "I'm afraid that any attempt to justify an ill-timed and unnecessary media campaign doesn't bode well for the NEO community's efforts to avoid false asteroid alarms that only risk undermining our integrity," he said. In the same vein, NASA researchers have referred to past reports of earth's impending doom as "utter rubbish," and have indicated that they take such claims with a very large grain of salt.
To the British NERDOs' who found QQ47, these views miss the point. Their take on all the false alarms, according to spokesman Kevin Yates, is that "sharing this sort of information, in a non-sensationalist way, should help to dispel the popular myth that governments and astronomers would keep the discovery of a dangerous asteroid secret."
First off, if that myth is so "popular," then why haven't I ever heard anything about it. Secondly, Mr. Yates, we really need to find you a girlfriend.
I hate to break it to you, but spending your days thinking about how giant rocks could destroy the earth and whether the government is trying to cover up this fact equates to a life of very little, if any, play. Think about this: When that day finally does come, when that one-in-a-million, giant mass of rubble finds its way through the universe and actually does collide with our planet, don't you at least want to be able to say that you've gotten to third base?
Mr. Yates . . . Kevin, my man, how about you forget about the whole death and destruction thing and refocus some of that energy on landing a honey. At least give it a try for a few weeks and see how it goes. I can promise you that no asteroid will be colliding with earth during that time, so, the way I see it, you've got nothing to lose.
Drop me an email if you want, and I'll see what I can do about landing you a date with Kac. ----------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) Jason Nypaver: 91 (6 points for ellipses, quizzes, potential, respectable, Jell-O, and snatch up, and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) 2) John Gnodtke: 88 (none) 3) Evelyn Segura: 23 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Eric Garr: 2 (none)
errors recognized:
1) ellipses 2) quizzes 3) potential 4) respectable 5) Jell-O 6) "snatch a guy like that up" should have been "snatch up a guy like that"
posted by mjxm at 12:13 AM |
Monday, September 01, 2003
In an effort to improve the blizog and learn a thing or two from my blogging brethren, I recently took some time to scope out what other folks are doing with their respective pieces of the internet. I found a lot of really good stuff--writing that is unique and interesting, stuff that you would not find in any other forum--and a great deal of mush.
But, more importantly, I found myself trying to do a good deed.
After a few hours of traversing the bloguverse, I realized that there are lots of funny blogs authored by high school kids who are pissed off about their parents and all their "stupid teachers," but quite taken by the concept of acquiring beer. If you dig "The Breakfast Club," and I do, these sites are a gold mine. Witness a little blog I ran across entitled "i kinda feel like....PARTYING!!!!" It's written by a sophomore in high school named Bryan, and in addition to all the elipses and exclamation points, the blog is adorned with a huge icon in yellow that is made to look like a street sign. It reads "CAUTION" on the top line and "PARTY BOY" on the bottom. Interestingly, the blog isn't about partying at all, and Bryan seems to be a pretty straight-laced kind of guy.
My favorite lines from the site are the following gems: 1) "school sucks, like always. PE has become like my favorite class. With AP US and AP chem and stuff, i really don't feel like thinking. PE is so mindless and it's just whatever. and also, a lot of my friends are in there, so it's fun. we just talk and crap." 2) "man, my mom is giving me all this crap about SAT's and stuff." 3) "man, I am so craving gummi worms right now." 4) "man . . . i really want a girlfriend."
Man, those are some good lines.
Anyway, immediately after reading favorite line number four, I knew that I had to act. Bryan's disdain for "AP chem and stuff," along with his desire for gummi worms, combined to strike a nerve with me.
The poor guy deserved a break, and I just had to take a shot at hooking him up. I mean, after all, I've been there. I know what it's like to have back-to-back exams in AP courses, yet no woman or gummied goodies to speak of.
So, I decided to go about the task of finding Bryan a girlfriend.
My first step was to check out the convenient list Bryan posted on his blog that provides his answers to one of those stupid "do you know your friend" quizes that everyone was emailing out two or three years ago.
In addition to "PARTYING!!!!," it would appear that Bryan enjoys the group Linkin Park, Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, and "girls who don't say one thing but mean another." In response to the question "What is the stupidest song you've ever heard?" Bryan said, "Rock your Body...Justin Timberlake." So, he's clearly much more than just AP book smart--he's reasonable, to boot. He also seems like a really good person. In response to a question asking "Who do U want to spend the rest of your life with?" Bryan answered "God, my wife." The next question asked, "Where do U wanna go on your honneymoon?" Bryan answered that he was going to, "let my wife decide."
Hell, I have four of five female friends in Manhattan who would snatch a guy like that up sight unseen. So I figured this was going to be a cakewalk. Bryan would have a hottie in no time. I was sure of it.
At first I thought maybe I could hook him up with Devon, author of the "Angry Nerd Talk" blog. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Devon, in her own words:
"i am DEVON. also known as "Devon" without the "N". i am 17, and a girl, although the name may fool you. i am in love with jason, kurt cobain's dirty kool-aide dyed hair, and leopard print. i enjoy good music, especially nirvana, millencolin, and goodtime 80's. i admit that avril's songs are catchy, and it saddens me. i swim a lot. i wish i was faster. i despise kids but i teach them swim lessons all summer. i enjoy sap-ass teen movies because they make me feel...something. i also sit in an office all day, and do absolutely nothing but what you see here, and get paid for it. i quite like ashton kutcher, punk'd, and shopping at goodwill. despite anything you may say, hear, or think, i do have a life, most of the time."
Devon sounded cool enough. But on a second read I noticed that she said she was "in love with jason." Since that phrase was followed by something about Kurt Cobain, and Devon doesn't like using capital letters, I figured "jason" was some band. Upon further inspection, I found that Devon's 8/29/2003 blog entry stated only the following: "I love jason, his sister and his mom. :D" and that the site is overflowing with professions of love to a high-school-aged Jason pictured throughout the blog.
Stiiiiiirike one.
Following the Angry Nerd Talk site, I moved on to numerous other blogs authored by high school girls. It turns out that Bryan's completely reasonable anti-Justin stance is quite the spoiler of potenital matches. After searching for about a half hour or so--coming across failed matches with the likes of Julie at the "Why Linkin Park Sucks" blog, and at the blogs of many girls who seemed like they would indeed "say one thing but mean another"--it came to me.
Bryan was selling himself short.
A close inspection of most of the blogs authored by high school girls convinced me that Bryan needed to move up in the ranks. He was far too mature for most of his peers, and chicks with one-sentence blogs that said things like "Christina's such a slut," or "Abercrombie and Fitch me!" in a really big font size just didn't seem to strike me as good matches for this little prince of Phys. Ed.
Nope, Bryan needed an intellectual match--a mature, respectible woman.
He needed a college girl.
Following an initial search, I thought I'd see what Michelle, author of the "Jello Queen" blog, was like. After all, jello is sort of like gummi bears, and she was only a few years removed from high school.
Initially, things looked quite promising.
According to her "likes/dislikes" list, she enjoys "beaches," "alternative music," and "good hygine," and hates the word "horticulture."
Sounds good.
Unfortunately, things quickly went south from there for young Bryan. Turns out she also likes "DWI"--I'm clueless on that one--and in the month of July "partied/drank for 5 days in a row." Knowing Bryan--and despite the name of his website--I don't really think he could handle that much partying and drama, what with his heavily AP-laden course load.
So, I quickly jettisoned Jello Girl for Kristen, the author of "Yackity Yack From A Girl Named Kac." Kristen's nickname is "Kac," and her blog informs us that she is a senior at the University of Georgia. This fact does admittedly put our boy in a tough spot as the younger party to the hypothetical relationship, but sometimes age really is just a number, right? It could work. Maybe they were destined for each other. I certainly wasn't going to test fate and discontinue reading Kac's blog just because she was a bit older than Bryan. He deserved better from me, and that's what I was going to give him.
I read on.
About halfway down in the blog, Kac unveils her list of the "Qualities I Would Like Mr. Right To Have."
This didn't strike me as strange. I'm pretty sure that most folks have such shorthand, checklist-type notes packed away somewhere, and that these lists move to the forefront when they're looking to meet someone. They are full of quips like "I want him to be strong," or "she should be smart." We all have five or six things like that, which, if pressed, we would admit to look for in a partner. The fact that Kac put her list out there for everyone to see told me that she was honest and mature enough to be in Bryan's league. There was only one problem.
It turns out that Kac's list is 117 qualities long.
It includes the following, verbatim:
5) He must own many non-pleated Khakis. 8) When he is not wearing polo shirts he must be wearing button down plaid shirts. 23) He must not have been with any more than 10 people before me. 30) He must not wear black and navy blue together. 33) He must not wear old spice. 36) He must have a cute flaw, for instance, he could have a stupid laugh or something of that effect. 39) He must not ever say Howdy. 55) He must not wear brown and black together. 77) His mom must love and adore me. 78) His dad must also love and adore me. 94) Must not brag about prior girlfriends. 105) Must realize that I cannot handle cooking and cleaning, well,l I can cook a few things but it is not gourmet. 115) NO WHITE JEANS PLEASE.
Following the list, Kac gives us this bit of boilerplate: "These things are a big deal for me. I feel like I'm on a huge quest for woman kind. This list embodies everything that every normal girl could ever want in a guy. I really don't feel as though any of these things are too much to ask."
Wow, OK, where to start. I figure if Bryan just decides never to wear black at all, he won't have to worry about numbers 30 and 55. A quick trip to the Gap will allow him to cross off numbers five, eight, and 115. The Old Spice one is not a problem, and I have a feeling that Bryan's got a long way to go before he has to do any worrying about number 23. The rest, as I see it, should just fall into place.
From what I could see, Kac's list for the ages, this epic "for woman kind," said absolutely nothing along the lines of "Cannot be in high school, or younger than me," and made no mention at all of not looking for "guys who love gummi worms."
So, there you have it. A match has been made.
Bryan meet Kristen. Kristen meet Bryan. ----------------------------------- CONTEST STANDINGS:
1) John Gnodtke: 88 (none) 2) Jason Nypaver: 83 (5 points for visited, Union, myself, Ph.D, and they, and 2 points for being the first to reply with errors) 3) Evelyn Segura: 23 (none) 4) Kevin Pimentel: 16 (none) 5) Craig Rathmill: 7 (none) 6) Tim Wells: 6 (none) 7) Bill Sherman: 5 (none) 8) Michael Shagalov: 5 (none) 9) Cheryl Stafford: 5 (none) 10) Richard Kriheli: 4 (none) 11) Eric Garr: 2 (none)
errors recognized:
1) visited 2) "union" should have been "Union" 3) "myself" should have been "I" 4) "Ph. D" should have been "Ph.D" 5) "the" should have been "they"
posted by mjxm at 11:03 PM |
