I’m baaaaack. As you can probably tell, I’ve managed to redo my styles a touch. It ain’t done yet, I’ll keep hammering away. (And feedback on how this thing looks on different browsers is appreciated.) Oh, and pity me: I’m temporarily on dialup, a.k.a. Sucky McSuck.
I’ve moved, and as always my connection to Internet trails me by at least a week. This cockup is more serious than the usual Bell clownaround, so if I update infrequently, send hate mail to Bell.
When I’m jacked in again I have unrealistic plans for a redesign here and an upgrade to the latest MT release. Little tweaks I should mention: a new category, world, for the odd time I emerge from my cave of shallow self-interest. Also, email addies are now coded in such a way as to confound spam-facilitating harvesting spiders (what an image), so you shouldn’t worry about including an address when you leave a comment. Oh, right – no-one leaves comments any more. Forget it, then.
argues the next great geopolitical rivalry may not be between the US and the Arab world, or even the US and China, but rather the US and the EU. (via megnut)
Greatest MeFi thread ever. Dig the sick shit they eat in the south (mayo & cheese on a pear?) Dig the Mayo in Art History gallery (angelfire; popups galore).
Hey now: “Push It” by Salt-n-Pepa is now the #9 ringtone at Fido. I did this! Ask those whom it pestered; I had “Push It” as my ring tone before the Rogers ad came out (It wasn’t even available as a downloadable at the time). Then some degenerate ad-creative-type pilfered my ingenuity, and now this! Of course my tone is long changed: “Final Countdown.”
I was first! I was first! I was first! Mememememe! (putting the ‘me’ back in ‘meme’, of course)
No, you’re not, are you? You’re cleaning each other, late at night, in our flowerpot. You’re adventuring buddies, crime-solving sisters in black and grey – we don’t know your sex. No one’s interested in checking the genitals, and who can blame them? We don’t look to strays as models of germ-free living.
You won’t go away, now, not now of your own volition, now that you know a bowl of what passes for food will be distributed each day. Yet it grows cold, doesn’t it? This sort of compassionate indifference, that we specialize in here, it will no longer be enough. Although I would never abide your entrance into the warm sloppy shithole I call home – and no offence, germ-ridden mysteries, I’m allergic, you see, that’s why I scare you off like I do – I’m on my way out, myself. I’m moving out. You, I think, will stay. Either this is a testament to your superior coping abilities, or to the bigheartedness of my roommate friends here. They feed you, and talk to you. I will never do this.* Some nonverbal assent will be granted, near-imperceptibly; some informal contract will sign itself into being, gradually. And I’m not sure I’d object, were it my place to do so.
But I hope they clean your asses up first, you dirty little wretches.
Shit. stavros is back weblogging (I had no idea), but it appears one of his friends was badly hurt in that Bali terror attack. Words fail.
Like JS, I love chimera, but now that I have mozilla all pinstriped, I’m in browser heaven, looking down at the rest of you poor sinners. Tabs? Yes, please. Pop-ups? Fuck that noise. (And now I can go back to all those craptastic pop-up-bloated sites I’d given up on.) I’m also grooving on NetNewsWire, BBEdit, OmniGraffle, and all of the Apple iWhatevers, which tend to be of extremely high caliber. Basically, OS X is now full of so many beautiful and usable programs that I want to spend my every minute geeking out, at a time when this is the last thing I have time for. Blast.
On Saddam Hussein’s imminent sham reelection: “his campaign song, Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” has been getting lots of airtime.”
Medical consequences of attacking Iraq: Helen Caldicott, ‘narrator’ of the anti-nuke NFB film If You Love This Planet, and president of the Nuclear Policy Research Institute, writes about the ill effects of depleted uranium, used extensively by the US during the Gulf War. (via boingboing)
Asimo, Honda’s backdoor robot, plays soccer to Walkin’ on Sunshine Lite. It’s the first video on this page, the Robo Cup shit. Skip to about 2 minutes in and marvel at slow-motion, expensive soccer-esque posing. (via Acts of Volition)
Please join ‘bags in toasting Mario Lopez.
Don’t forget to submit the sexiest sentence alive, should you know it.
The wisdom of supermodels. & Unrelatedly, what’s up, 24.130.248.43? Quit pingin’ my trackbacks with empty shit!
Hooray… my camera is back, after a year abroad! Welcome back, little buddy, and say hi to your new pardner, d/photo. (not to imply there are any new pics there yet)
On October 9th, Lawrence Lessig goes to the Supreme Court to challenge the Sonny Bono Copyright Term Extension Act, a.k.a. the Mickey Mouse Preservation Act. Basically, whenever Steamboat Willie’s copyright is due to expire, some magical pixie in the US government extends the term of copyright for everything, retroactively. Lessig is challenging the latest effort in Eldred vs. Ashcroft. Read all about him here
, courtesy Wired mag.
A pleasing 1995 interview with Bruce Robinson, director of Withnail & I and How to Get Ahead in Advertising, about writing, poverty, and other things.
The U.S. National Security Strategy, published Sept. 20 2002, contains the phrase “the best defense is a good offense.” Here’s a good overview of its thrust, which is towards full-assed unapologetic global empire.
Mistaking mass appeal for excellence, researchers discover what they claim is the funniest joke in the world. (via MeFi)
Ron MacLean and the CBC can’t agree on his contract, so he won’t return unless things get better. The online petition. And now Labatt’s is gravely concerned. Ron MacLean gets $400,000 a year and wanted a 10-15% raise this year. Don Cherry makes $700,000. In what world, tell me, is Cherry worth more than MacLean? The latter can manipulate the former with but a cock of the eyebrow. Although I am concerned over the future of Hockey Night in Canada, I can’t help but love the situation – Beer Baron calls the public broadcaster over concerns with the staffing of a hockey opinion show… only in Canadia, eh? Know what I’m talkin’ aboot? (thanks Jost)
Assignment: kick writing ass at an old haunt, Tequila Bookworm. And it comes time to take a slash. Do I leave the gleaming supermodel on the table, trusting in my fellow human? Hell-ass no, I tuck it under my wing and bring it down with me. As I emerge, post-slash, machine pressed against my breast, I’ve creeped myself out. I feel like a pervert.
Here’s something cool. The Game Neverending – I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk about it too much, but go and sign up to alpha test and give it a spin. I had a real blast on the thing and am itching to get back on…
My duties at work compelled me to compose some horror poetry, and I found this most handy. But I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of maniac would “add RhymeZone to your toolbar.”