81. A 5 way intersection
82. Ghostwritten autobiographies
83. When someone you're sharing food with covers the entire portion with their condiment of choice without first getting your approval.
84. Cutting a piece out of the book jacket (or even just magic markering it) to get rid of the price. Look, it's perfectly obvious that the book was something like $21.95, and I would much rather just have an unmutilated jacket. I think that's reasonable.
85. Teaser Trailers with no actual footage
86. Striking up a conversation at the urinal
87. People who specifically request Captain Morgan
88. Why does the E Network only air Howard Stern shows featuring models or porn stars? Well, yes because people like hot chicks. But Stern is soooo much funnier when he's got a good celebrity guest or a funny topic. Having porn stars promote their websites is just not the best Stern. And yet E cannot bring itself to air any Stern episode that doesn't feature nudity. It's like they've got some bullet-point, ten-words-or-less understanding of what Stern is about. He's about hot chicks. Jesus.
89. "Gentle reader"
90. Selecting The Four Seasons or Mozart's A Little Night Music for that scene in your movie where you need some classical music.
91. Arial. It’s the ass of fonts, yet somehow everywhere you go it pops up as the default font. Why?
92. Saying "in statu quo" instead of status quo. Ooooooh I'm so impressed.
93. When books are written and published about current events and the events in question are still very much in progress. Some recent examples: a book on the 2004 presidential campaign published in August 2004 - a 9/11 retrospective published a month after 9/11 - a book on the Scott Peterson trial published during the trial, etc.
94. Low carb bread?
95. That weird, V-holdish blurry distortion when a computer monitor is on TV.
96. When you spend extra time making absolutely sure that you only took one paper plate, I mean really making sure, and yet you somehow took 3 plates.
97. Station Identification
98. When a line of dialogue is written to interrupt another line of dialogue, and there’s that just-noticeable-pause after the first actor artificially stops in his middle of his sentence and before the second actor actually butts in with the interruption. So it sounds like this:
Scotty: “But Captain! The torpedo tubes are jammed and I can’t possibly fix…”
Kirk: “……Damn it Scotty, there’s no time!”
99. Just ordering water.
100. The agony of deciding whether to pay or ignore the parking lot payment box, even when it seems logically impossible that the lot could really be monitored effectively, and even when the lot didn't use to charge anything and how dare they, and ultimately having to squeeze 3 dollars into a little slat into which 3 dollars cannot be squeezed.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Christmas Observations
On December 25th, I made an interesting observation. It was about Christmas music. You know by now I'm sure how much I hate the annual aerial bombardment of Christmas music. From the first moment some daring indivdual decides to pipe in "Silver Bells" over the system in the mattress store sometime in mid-October, to a few days after new years when the last Starbucks clerk realizes he needs to change the store CD back to Louis Armstrong, it's all-Christmas, all the time.
And of course, it's all really lame remixes of classic carols. I've commented on this at length before. But my observation this week was noticing the dramatic change on Christmas Day itself. For months, all the music we are subjected to is this pop-tripe. Hip teenage country vocal starlets giving us down-tempo Silent Nights with too much vibrato. Then suddenly on Christmas Day, no more of that shit! For one glorious day it's all bell medleys, purely instrumental versions of carols, boys choirs, orchestral pieces with generous horn sections.... Now that's good Christmas!
Too bad it's only one day a year we actually get some decent Christmas music. Or maybe, good that it's only one day. We wouldn't want to get sick of it.
Another observation. The calendar-as-Christmas-gift is PLAYED. It's the official least imaginative, least original, least exciting gift in the gift universe. It makes socks look like a 1st edition autographed copy of a favorite book.
I mean, sure, it's a somewhat useful gift. Sort of. And there are ways of personalizing your calendar choice. Kind of. But even if the person gets you a Weimeraner calendar because they know you love Weimeraners, there's still that feeling that they used Microsoft Gift-Wizard to get you the present.
For me, a present warms the heart in a direct proportion to how much thought was put into it. It's not about money, and it's not about practicality. Isn't it about an expression of affection? The calendar is the anti-affectionate gift. It says "I was obligated to get something, but I either a) don't care one bit, or b) lack rudimentary present skills."
And this years award for most irritating Christmas commercial goes to....
Honda's "Happy Hondadays" - for actually blending the loathsome use of holiday in the singular (as in "Have a great holiday" or "This holiday...") with blatant greed ("Hondaday") and simultaneously exploiting their little play on words as a way of excusing their taboo use of a Christmas Carol through humor. Hmm, I bet no one understood that. I think when it comes to hating Christmas marketing, I'm in my own little universe that only I can understand. Basically what I'm saying is, most commercials are too timid to actually use Christmas Carols in the commercial. It's too preferential to Christmas as the expense of say, Kwanzaa. Honda found a way around that politically correct obligation - not by growing a backbone - but by gently mocking the holiday through the use of a pun. Instead of "Holy", now it's "Honda"! Isn't that funny! Using a Christmas carol is okay, since it's meant in jest!
These are the things I think about.
Finally, I have a Christmas gift for anyone who's reading this. Don't think I haven't forgotten about you. Your present is that I'm going to spare you the long, detail filled, terminally boring story of my hassle-filled airport experience coming home yesterday. See, most people would tell you every last excrutiating detail, as if they were the only people in history who ever had hassles at the airport, and as if it was an interesting story, even though it would not be one. Like these people, I too am seized with a desire to start talking about it. But I will refrain. Merry Christmas.
And of course, it's all really lame remixes of classic carols. I've commented on this at length before. But my observation this week was noticing the dramatic change on Christmas Day itself. For months, all the music we are subjected to is this pop-tripe. Hip teenage country vocal starlets giving us down-tempo Silent Nights with too much vibrato. Then suddenly on Christmas Day, no more of that shit! For one glorious day it's all bell medleys, purely instrumental versions of carols, boys choirs, orchestral pieces with generous horn sections.... Now that's good Christmas!
Too bad it's only one day a year we actually get some decent Christmas music. Or maybe, good that it's only one day. We wouldn't want to get sick of it.
Another observation. The calendar-as-Christmas-gift is PLAYED. It's the official least imaginative, least original, least exciting gift in the gift universe. It makes socks look like a 1st edition autographed copy of a favorite book.
I mean, sure, it's a somewhat useful gift. Sort of. And there are ways of personalizing your calendar choice. Kind of. But even if the person gets you a Weimeraner calendar because they know you love Weimeraners, there's still that feeling that they used Microsoft Gift-Wizard to get you the present.
For me, a present warms the heart in a direct proportion to how much thought was put into it. It's not about money, and it's not about practicality. Isn't it about an expression of affection? The calendar is the anti-affectionate gift. It says "I was obligated to get something, but I either a) don't care one bit, or b) lack rudimentary present skills."
And this years award for most irritating Christmas commercial goes to....
Honda's "Happy Hondadays" - for actually blending the loathsome use of holiday in the singular (as in "Have a great holiday" or "This holiday...") with blatant greed ("Hondaday") and simultaneously exploiting their little play on words as a way of excusing their taboo use of a Christmas Carol through humor. Hmm, I bet no one understood that. I think when it comes to hating Christmas marketing, I'm in my own little universe that only I can understand. Basically what I'm saying is, most commercials are too timid to actually use Christmas Carols in the commercial. It's too preferential to Christmas as the expense of say, Kwanzaa. Honda found a way around that politically correct obligation - not by growing a backbone - but by gently mocking the holiday through the use of a pun. Instead of "Holy", now it's "Honda"! Isn't that funny! Using a Christmas carol is okay, since it's meant in jest!
These are the things I think about.
Finally, I have a Christmas gift for anyone who's reading this. Don't think I haven't forgotten about you. Your present is that I'm going to spare you the long, detail filled, terminally boring story of my hassle-filled airport experience coming home yesterday. See, most people would tell you every last excrutiating detail, as if they were the only people in history who ever had hassles at the airport, and as if it was an interesting story, even though it would not be one. Like these people, I too am seized with a desire to start talking about it. But I will refrain. Merry Christmas.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Man of the Year
Time Magazine's Person-of-the-year award just annoys the hell out of me. And for so many, many reasons. It's POTY season just about now, in fact I think the POTY is being announced in a day or two. But let us look back at the many failures of this botched enterprise, and see just what they're doing wrong.
Let me start by pointing out that the reason I'm able to get pissed about the many glaring failures in the history of Man of the Year is because Man of the Year is, genuinely, a really good idea. You don't see me getting worked up over the daytime Emmys or the People's Choice awards. What would be the point? Time's POTY, by contrast, is actually really cool. It's cool because it acknowledges the "Great Man" theory of history, which I strongly concur with - basically the idea that the tides of history can turn on the actions of individuals. That a charismatic, passionate individual of will and determination can really change the face of history. Maybe by being a head of state, or an artist, or a scientist, or a general, or even a poet - who knows. The individual can make a difference. I think that's just obviously true.
So bravo Time Magazine. I love the idea. But man, sometimes they just really make terrible choices!
First offense: whenever they choose a non-person. Like "The Personal Computer" or "The Endangered Earth"
Obviously I won't dispute that the personal computer has massive historical importace. And global warming too is an important issue. But, um, so is the rise of the internet... and the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the disintigration of the USSR, and 9/11, and the end of South African apartheid, and genetically engineered food, and the transfer of Hong Kong to Chinese rule, and HUNDREDS OF OTHER THINGS. Time has over 50 other weeks during the year to do a big cover on global warming. This is the MAN of the year issue, not the PET CAUSE of the year issue.
There will always be big stories. But POTY should acknowledge a person.
Second Offense: choosing whole groups of people. Like "The American fighting man.", "Middle America", "The American Woman" and I even include "The Peacemakers" (concerning the Oslo Accords)
The American fighting Man was from the Korean War era I think. But just last year it was "The American Soldier". No no no no no. Nyet. I hate these the most, even more than the abstract choices like the personal computer, because they represent to me a denial of the Great Man Theory. A lot of people don't like the great man theory. They think there's a kind of arrogance or elitism in saying that this one person made more of a difference this year than everyone else. In their view, the common man and his culmulative actions are really in history's drivers seat.
Now I don't wholly disagree with that point. But I reject that naming one person the Person of the Year is an arrogant, elitist thing to do. It seems like everytime Time Magazine gives it up for "The American Soldier", they do it as kind of an apologetic concession to this alternate viewpoint. "Hey readers," Time seems to be saying, "Most years we give this thing to a CEO or a president, but our hearts just go out to the troops right now. They're the ones making it all happen. They're the people of the year!"
Well, except that it's just not true. In WWII, at various points, Hitler, Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill were all men of the year. Why wasn't it "The British Soldier"? When the CEO of General Motors won it, how come it didn't go to "The Assembly Line Worker?"
Do you see my point? If the purpose of the award is to say "Here's one person who changed history this year", then give it to one person. If the purpose of the award is really just "The Big Thing of the Year", then give it to "The Iraq War". Either way, giving it to "The American Soldier" is not correct, and obviously just a concession to the Great Man Theory rejectionists.
Unless, I don't know, did the American Soldier really reinvent the wheel on soldiering in 2003? Were they an entirely new kind of soldier? I don't really think so.
Third Offense: The provincialism. Examples: every newly elected or newly reelected US president - also "The American Soldier" and the "American" anything.
Granted, the US is the lone superpower and all that. The things we do as a nation and a culture are worthy of a little extra scrutiny. Our trends can become global trends. But that's no excuse for the way-over-the-top America-centric worldview of POTY. I mean, if you want to add the disclaimer that the POTY award is meant to be by Americans, for Americans, about Americans, then yes, many of the choices are fine. But I don't think that's what Time has in mind. Time wants it to be global. Every single US president since POTY got started (hmm, except Ford) has been included. Is there no difference in importance between Carter and FDR?
A politician who I will not name, said (during the debate from 1999 about who should be named Person of the Century) that it should be "The American Soldier". Wow, I just find that so arrogant it makes me want to cringe and apologize to anyone reading abroad. Now if you wanted to name "America" the country of the century, then you have a case. But the "American Soldier?" Are we talking about the same American soldier who turned a blind eye to global atrocities in two world wars and only belatedly joined the struggle each time?
Now, I love my country and I love our soldiers, but how is the American Soldier any braver, nobler, smarter, stronger and more courageous than any other soldier of any other nation fighting the good fight? How about the British soldier in WWII, fighting on against Hitler after every other ally had given up and surrendered, fighting on for a year with no help when England's defeat seemed inevitable. The Brits alone in 1941 against the entire nazi war machine. But no, let's give it to the "American Soldier". Great suggestion Hillary. (whoops!)
Fourth offense: the whole gender thing with the name of the award.
Look, they found a great way to do it in the 80s and 90s. If it was a man, then that year it was the Man of the Year. If it was a woman, then it was the Woman of the Year. That's great. That works. Now, whoever wins it, it's the person of the year. That sucks. It's doesn't sound good. It's annoying in that unique way that only a politically correct phrase can be.
And how about that 1975 winner "U.S. Women"? It's the hat trick of bad. It commits offense two, offense three, and also this one. Just as "The American Soldier" is really just a concession and an apology to the "Great Man Theory" rejectionists, isn't "US Women" really just a way for Time Magazine to declare that the Man of the Year award is not sexist? Does it serve any purpose besides the rah-rah cheerleading of the "American Soldier" variety?
Now who could possibly agree with everything I've just said? Probably no one. Oh, one more: naming Gorbachev man of the decade for the 80s. Great choice comrades. Really, there's maybe half an argument for "Reagan & Gorbachev" as a men of the decade duo, but just choosing Gorbachev? Time could have just sent Reagan a private letter saying Fuck You and spared their readership the burden of actually having to read all that drivel.
There. Now definitely no one can agree with all that.
But I will give Time props for the eventual man of the century choice: Eintstein. That was the right choice. Though an equally opinionated friend of mine was insistent that it should be Churchill and we almost came to blows.
Here, for reference, is the full list. http://www.time.com/time/personoftheyear/archive/stories/
Let me start by pointing out that the reason I'm able to get pissed about the many glaring failures in the history of Man of the Year is because Man of the Year is, genuinely, a really good idea. You don't see me getting worked up over the daytime Emmys or the People's Choice awards. What would be the point? Time's POTY, by contrast, is actually really cool. It's cool because it acknowledges the "Great Man" theory of history, which I strongly concur with - basically the idea that the tides of history can turn on the actions of individuals. That a charismatic, passionate individual of will and determination can really change the face of history. Maybe by being a head of state, or an artist, or a scientist, or a general, or even a poet - who knows. The individual can make a difference. I think that's just obviously true.
So bravo Time Magazine. I love the idea. But man, sometimes they just really make terrible choices!
First offense: whenever they choose a non-person. Like "The Personal Computer" or "The Endangered Earth"
Obviously I won't dispute that the personal computer has massive historical importace. And global warming too is an important issue. But, um, so is the rise of the internet... and the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the disintigration of the USSR, and 9/11, and the end of South African apartheid, and genetically engineered food, and the transfer of Hong Kong to Chinese rule, and HUNDREDS OF OTHER THINGS. Time has over 50 other weeks during the year to do a big cover on global warming. This is the MAN of the year issue, not the PET CAUSE of the year issue.
There will always be big stories. But POTY should acknowledge a person.
Second Offense: choosing whole groups of people. Like "The American fighting man.", "Middle America", "The American Woman" and I even include "The Peacemakers" (concerning the Oslo Accords)
The American fighting Man was from the Korean War era I think. But just last year it was "The American Soldier". No no no no no. Nyet. I hate these the most, even more than the abstract choices like the personal computer, because they represent to me a denial of the Great Man Theory. A lot of people don't like the great man theory. They think there's a kind of arrogance or elitism in saying that this one person made more of a difference this year than everyone else. In their view, the common man and his culmulative actions are really in history's drivers seat.
Now I don't wholly disagree with that point. But I reject that naming one person the Person of the Year is an arrogant, elitist thing to do. It seems like everytime Time Magazine gives it up for "The American Soldier", they do it as kind of an apologetic concession to this alternate viewpoint. "Hey readers," Time seems to be saying, "Most years we give this thing to a CEO or a president, but our hearts just go out to the troops right now. They're the ones making it all happen. They're the people of the year!"
Well, except that it's just not true. In WWII, at various points, Hitler, Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill were all men of the year. Why wasn't it "The British Soldier"? When the CEO of General Motors won it, how come it didn't go to "The Assembly Line Worker?"
Do you see my point? If the purpose of the award is to say "Here's one person who changed history this year", then give it to one person. If the purpose of the award is really just "The Big Thing of the Year", then give it to "The Iraq War". Either way, giving it to "The American Soldier" is not correct, and obviously just a concession to the Great Man Theory rejectionists.
Unless, I don't know, did the American Soldier really reinvent the wheel on soldiering in 2003? Were they an entirely new kind of soldier? I don't really think so.
Third Offense: The provincialism. Examples: every newly elected or newly reelected US president - also "The American Soldier" and the "American" anything.
Granted, the US is the lone superpower and all that. The things we do as a nation and a culture are worthy of a little extra scrutiny. Our trends can become global trends. But that's no excuse for the way-over-the-top America-centric worldview of POTY. I mean, if you want to add the disclaimer that the POTY award is meant to be by Americans, for Americans, about Americans, then yes, many of the choices are fine. But I don't think that's what Time has in mind. Time wants it to be global. Every single US president since POTY got started (hmm, except Ford) has been included. Is there no difference in importance between Carter and FDR?
A politician who I will not name, said (during the debate from 1999 about who should be named Person of the Century) that it should be "The American Soldier". Wow, I just find that so arrogant it makes me want to cringe and apologize to anyone reading abroad. Now if you wanted to name "America" the country of the century, then you have a case. But the "American Soldier?" Are we talking about the same American soldier who turned a blind eye to global atrocities in two world wars and only belatedly joined the struggle each time?
Now, I love my country and I love our soldiers, but how is the American Soldier any braver, nobler, smarter, stronger and more courageous than any other soldier of any other nation fighting the good fight? How about the British soldier in WWII, fighting on against Hitler after every other ally had given up and surrendered, fighting on for a year with no help when England's defeat seemed inevitable. The Brits alone in 1941 against the entire nazi war machine. But no, let's give it to the "American Soldier". Great suggestion Hillary. (whoops!)
Fourth offense: the whole gender thing with the name of the award.
Look, they found a great way to do it in the 80s and 90s. If it was a man, then that year it was the Man of the Year. If it was a woman, then it was the Woman of the Year. That's great. That works. Now, whoever wins it, it's the person of the year. That sucks. It's doesn't sound good. It's annoying in that unique way that only a politically correct phrase can be.
And how about that 1975 winner "U.S. Women"? It's the hat trick of bad. It commits offense two, offense three, and also this one. Just as "The American Soldier" is really just a concession and an apology to the "Great Man Theory" rejectionists, isn't "US Women" really just a way for Time Magazine to declare that the Man of the Year award is not sexist? Does it serve any purpose besides the rah-rah cheerleading of the "American Soldier" variety?
Now who could possibly agree with everything I've just said? Probably no one. Oh, one more: naming Gorbachev man of the decade for the 80s. Great choice comrades. Really, there's maybe half an argument for "Reagan & Gorbachev" as a men of the decade duo, but just choosing Gorbachev? Time could have just sent Reagan a private letter saying Fuck You and spared their readership the burden of actually having to read all that drivel.
There. Now definitely no one can agree with all that.
But I will give Time props for the eventual man of the century choice: Eintstein. That was the right choice. Though an equally opinionated friend of mine was insistent that it should be Churchill and we almost came to blows.
Here, for reference, is the full list. http://www.time.com/time/personoftheyear/archive/stories/
Friday, December 17, 2004
Magicians and Plants
A word now on magic acts.
Anyone else out there like a good magic show? No? Well too bad. That's our topic for today. I like a good magic show. I like the oohs and ahhs and the howd-they-do-that puzzling during the drive home. Vegas has a lot of magic shows and I've seen a bunch now.
But here's a big word of warning to the magic world at large. Having your "volunteer from the audience" be a plant is just not acceptable. I think we should ban the audience plant.
Take the Cirque du Soleil show "O" here in town. It's technically not a magic show, but there is a little bit of that. Specifically, 3 times during the show they came into the audience and drafted a volunteer. And to make a long story short, with each of the three audience volunteers, the "O" crew does an amazing trick, involving the life-or-death peril of the audience member. And each time, we ooh and ahh. And then each time, a-ha! The audience volunteer is revelaed to be part of the show, a skilled acrobatic performer.
Not once. Three times. That is so lame. The third time the seemingly uncooperative audience member had to hand his coat to his wife and get pulled onstage by a clown, I'm thinking "They're not going to do this AGAIN, right? He's not going to be a plant, right? They wouldn't go for this cheap, unearned nickel & dime surprise for a third time, right?"
And then a-ha! Presto! He was a cast member all along! Just like the other two times! Let's have a hand!
That's just one example of how cheap it is to use plants. Consider a Sigfried & Roy performance I once attended. (pre-mauling of course) Toward the end of the show, right before the big finale where they make an elephant disappear, my eagle eyes noticed men and women sneaking in to the audience from the back and qiuetly taking seats. About 15 people secretly entered from the back and took empty seats while the audience's attention was distracted on stage. I felt triumphant. When these people were eventually used for a trick, I alone would know the secret. But then the show ended - without Sigfried and Roy using the plants. Huh? Why were they there then? They were obviously part of the show.
But the secret was revealed when Siegfried and Roy came out for their bow. The 15 plants, scattered through the audience, initiated a standing ovation with practiced coordination.
Yep.
But the more general problem with audience plants is that they have the capacity to ruin any trick. Take Penn & Teller's magic bullet trick. (The trick they've been closing their show with for years and years) The trick has worked so well for so many years because it really is unfathomable. Two volunteers from the audience write their initials on two bullets, which are loaded into guns - the volunteers inspect the guns and the bullets for authenticity - then the guns are fired across the stage into Penn & Teller's mouths - and then Penn & Teller spit out the bullets - at which point the two volunteers confirm that yes, those are the actual bullets they signed just moments ago. Ta-da.
Now if those audience members were plants, then there was no trick. "Yes, Penn, that was indeed the bullet that I just signed. How did you DO that? Whoops, sorry, have to run, Siegfried & Roy need me to generate a standing ovation."
There's just no way of knowing if those guys were plants. Anytime I see a trick using a volunteer, the easiest explanation for the trick is going to be "The volunteer was a plant. He's in cahoots with the magicians. The trick therefore is childishly simple."
So this is why I think plants should be banned. I don't really suspect that Penn & Teller were using plants for the bullet trick, but then again I don't know for sure. And if plants are used, then that's really, really cheap. Your magic act sucks if you use plants.
A general proclamation or sign would suffice. "This show does not use audience plants. All volunteers are 100% legit. We would not jerk you around in that sorry manner. Thank you."
Anyone else out there like a good magic show? No? Well too bad. That's our topic for today. I like a good magic show. I like the oohs and ahhs and the howd-they-do-that puzzling during the drive home. Vegas has a lot of magic shows and I've seen a bunch now.
But here's a big word of warning to the magic world at large. Having your "volunteer from the audience" be a plant is just not acceptable. I think we should ban the audience plant.
Take the Cirque du Soleil show "O" here in town. It's technically not a magic show, but there is a little bit of that. Specifically, 3 times during the show they came into the audience and drafted a volunteer. And to make a long story short, with each of the three audience volunteers, the "O" crew does an amazing trick, involving the life-or-death peril of the audience member. And each time, we ooh and ahh. And then each time, a-ha! The audience volunteer is revelaed to be part of the show, a skilled acrobatic performer.
Not once. Three times. That is so lame. The third time the seemingly uncooperative audience member had to hand his coat to his wife and get pulled onstage by a clown, I'm thinking "They're not going to do this AGAIN, right? He's not going to be a plant, right? They wouldn't go for this cheap, unearned nickel & dime surprise for a third time, right?"
And then a-ha! Presto! He was a cast member all along! Just like the other two times! Let's have a hand!
That's just one example of how cheap it is to use plants. Consider a Sigfried & Roy performance I once attended. (pre-mauling of course) Toward the end of the show, right before the big finale where they make an elephant disappear, my eagle eyes noticed men and women sneaking in to the audience from the back and qiuetly taking seats. About 15 people secretly entered from the back and took empty seats while the audience's attention was distracted on stage. I felt triumphant. When these people were eventually used for a trick, I alone would know the secret. But then the show ended - without Sigfried and Roy using the plants. Huh? Why were they there then? They were obviously part of the show.
But the secret was revealed when Siegfried and Roy came out for their bow. The 15 plants, scattered through the audience, initiated a standing ovation with practiced coordination.
Yep.
But the more general problem with audience plants is that they have the capacity to ruin any trick. Take Penn & Teller's magic bullet trick. (The trick they've been closing their show with for years and years) The trick has worked so well for so many years because it really is unfathomable. Two volunteers from the audience write their initials on two bullets, which are loaded into guns - the volunteers inspect the guns and the bullets for authenticity - then the guns are fired across the stage into Penn & Teller's mouths - and then Penn & Teller spit out the bullets - at which point the two volunteers confirm that yes, those are the actual bullets they signed just moments ago. Ta-da.
Now if those audience members were plants, then there was no trick. "Yes, Penn, that was indeed the bullet that I just signed. How did you DO that? Whoops, sorry, have to run, Siegfried & Roy need me to generate a standing ovation."
There's just no way of knowing if those guys were plants. Anytime I see a trick using a volunteer, the easiest explanation for the trick is going to be "The volunteer was a plant. He's in cahoots with the magicians. The trick therefore is childishly simple."
So this is why I think plants should be banned. I don't really suspect that Penn & Teller were using plants for the bullet trick, but then again I don't know for sure. And if plants are used, then that's really, really cheap. Your magic act sucks if you use plants.
A general proclamation or sign would suffice. "This show does not use audience plants. All volunteers are 100% legit. We would not jerk you around in that sorry manner. Thank you."
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
More Magazine Suggestions
I felt good ranting about how asinine it was to put the wrong date on the cover of your magazine. Like calling the April newsstand issue "The May Issue". So here are some more problems.
Why must every magazine and newpaper article without exception stop halfway and redirect me to a new page? Why?
Why?
Wouldn't it be nice if they didn't do that? I can understand if A) you want to cram a lot of headlines on the first page of a newspaper, and therefore each front page article needs to be continued elsewhere, or B) you're having trouble fitting everything neatly so one or two articles need to be cut up and finished elsewhere. Those things I can understand. But EVERY article in the magazine?
And how about the table of contents. Why is it on page 6? Wouldn't this be satisisfying, just once - you open your magazine - BAM! Table of Contents!
Subscription cards.... in my subscription copy?
Hey editor in chief, isn't it enough that you're the editor in chief? Do you really deserve a whenever-you-feel-like-it column on the FIRST PAGE, wherein you never say anything more substantial than "2004 was a great year to be a wine enthusiast"?
The local news section of the paper? Boooooooorrrrrrrrrinnnnnnnng.
The 3 dense pages of stock quotes in tiny font? Let me be the first person in a G8 nation to point this out: These Pages Are No Longer Necessary. Any real person who still actually relies on the newspaper for his stock quotes is not someone you want to trust with your money. I'd sooner trust my money to a guy with one of those bubble domed telegraph-powered stock quote machines from the 40s with the little white tape that sputters out.
If you're going to direct me to a new page, NUMBER THE PAGES. I know you don't like to put page numbers on, say, an ad; but if your magazine is all ads, like Vogue, then how the hell am I supposed to find the new page? Not that I would, a-hem, read Vogue. Heh heh.
Now USA Today. I admit it, there's a guilty pleasure. It's just so well formatted. And it's so nice and predictable. It's like the McDonalds hamburger of newspapers. It's warm, spongy... well no. But it's concise, no big words, a big 'ol friendly weathermap. A little McNugget of news from each state. (Dayton Ohio is hosting the nerf oylmpics! Get outta town!) And sure, they'll give you an actual article or two about, say Colon Powell giving testimony to some committee. But it won't be a long article. They keep it nice and digestable. Like McDonalds, the nutritional value is negligable - in fact at the end of some USA Todays I actually feel like I know less - but the sense of satisfaction is unmistakable.
Oh, and just about every arts/TV section in USA Today has a guy with a cowboy hat on the first page. Howdy partner!
Why must every magazine and newpaper article without exception stop halfway and redirect me to a new page? Why?
Why?
Wouldn't it be nice if they didn't do that? I can understand if A) you want to cram a lot of headlines on the first page of a newspaper, and therefore each front page article needs to be continued elsewhere, or B) you're having trouble fitting everything neatly so one or two articles need to be cut up and finished elsewhere. Those things I can understand. But EVERY article in the magazine?
And how about the table of contents. Why is it on page 6? Wouldn't this be satisisfying, just once - you open your magazine - BAM! Table of Contents!
Subscription cards.... in my subscription copy?
Hey editor in chief, isn't it enough that you're the editor in chief? Do you really deserve a whenever-you-feel-like-it column on the FIRST PAGE, wherein you never say anything more substantial than "2004 was a great year to be a wine enthusiast"?
The local news section of the paper? Boooooooorrrrrrrrrinnnnnnnng.
The 3 dense pages of stock quotes in tiny font? Let me be the first person in a G8 nation to point this out: These Pages Are No Longer Necessary. Any real person who still actually relies on the newspaper for his stock quotes is not someone you want to trust with your money. I'd sooner trust my money to a guy with one of those bubble domed telegraph-powered stock quote machines from the 40s with the little white tape that sputters out.
If you're going to direct me to a new page, NUMBER THE PAGES. I know you don't like to put page numbers on, say, an ad; but if your magazine is all ads, like Vogue, then how the hell am I supposed to find the new page? Not that I would, a-hem, read Vogue. Heh heh.
Now USA Today. I admit it, there's a guilty pleasure. It's just so well formatted. And it's so nice and predictable. It's like the McDonalds hamburger of newspapers. It's warm, spongy... well no. But it's concise, no big words, a big 'ol friendly weathermap. A little McNugget of news from each state. (Dayton Ohio is hosting the nerf oylmpics! Get outta town!) And sure, they'll give you an actual article or two about, say Colon Powell giving testimony to some committee. But it won't be a long article. They keep it nice and digestable. Like McDonalds, the nutritional value is negligable - in fact at the end of some USA Todays I actually feel like I know less - but the sense of satisfaction is unmistakable.
Oh, and just about every arts/TV section in USA Today has a guy with a cowboy hat on the first page. Howdy partner!
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Ice Cream
This is especially petty, but can a man get a pint of ice cream that doesn't have chunks of crap floating around in it?
Not actual crap of course. I mean almonds, brownie chunks, sponge cake, reeses cups, cookie dough, brazilnuts, etc. etc. Can a man get a pint of ice cream that is free from all this shit? Besides chocolate and vanilla?
Here's another newsflash: Haagen Daaz is way better than Ben & Jerrys. That's right hippies. It's better ice cream. Take a pint of HD side by side with B&J, leave them out of the freezer for a few minutes, and then open them up and take a scoop from each. You can tell right there as you scoop that Haagan Daaz is the real deal. Ben & Jerrys is a lighter, fluffier ice cream, and I don't mean that in a good way. It's got a vaguely grainy feel to it, and it's a little gummy in the mouth. When you scoop it, it's almost like it's coming out in tufts.
Now Haagen Daaz. That baby scoops like liquid silk. And when you taste it... it's like Holy Shit. Haagen Daaz is that good. It's makes me feel like my tongue is taking up valuable real estate in my mouth, space that could be better utilitized by Haagen Daaz ice cream on a 24/7 basis.
Now I know that B&J is this great organization that treats it's employees really well, they're eco friendly, they saved the rainforests, they promote Phish and the Dead, they just want everyone to be happy, etc. And Haagen Daaz is this corporate bully that broke a bunch of laws. There was that whole "what is the doughboy afraid of?" scandal. And they aren't even really German. Or Dutch. Or whatever nationality the name is meant to suggest. They just invented it to give them some ice-cream cred. And that's exactly the sort of bullshit I take a strong stand against.
But my friends, the proof is in the ice cream, and HD puts out a better product.
And then we get to the chunks of crap. Now maybe you like chunks of crap in your ice cream. God bless. Mazel Tov. But me, I like that liquid silk sensation thing I was talking about earlier. And you know what brings the whole smooth and creamy reverie thing to a screeching halt? An almond does.
And the problem is that chunky ice cream, for a long time now, has completely dominated the market. It's taken over. Ben & Jerrys made their name by trying out weird and wacky new chunk flavors and eventually finding a few winners and now everybody is following suit. And it sucks. Sure, there's still chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and maybe coffee if we're lucky, but that is it for those of us who like a smooth ride. Your average ice cream selection at the Quikie Mart now is only going to have flavors with Bannana chunks, and oatmeal cookies, and marshmellow bits and pretzels....
Yes, pretzels.
And how about that flavor, Chubby Hubby? Every single purchase of ice cream for me is a little private guilt battle. If I win the battle, I buy the ice cream. If not, I don't. It's usually 50-50. But no waaaaaaaay am I going to buy a pint of ice cream that is basically called "Fat Man".
Now Haagan Daaz's Dulce de Leche. That's a flavor! Caramel ice cream with a caramel ripple. Or is it a ribbon? Either way it aint a chunk. When you dig that spoon into the virgin topsoil of a pint of dulce de leche and come back with a glistening ribbon of caramel, it must be just like when our ancestors drove that axepick into the mountain and exposed that rich vein of silver.
Yep, just like that.
And then it was Ben & Jerrys turn to be the Digimon-style imitators. They couldn't just sit by and watch Haagan Daaz corner the caramel market with their exciting new flavor. No, they had to act. And they acted the only way they knew how: by taking a decent flavor idea and injecting chunks of crap into it. So they gave us Triple Caramel Chunk, which was essentially Dulce de Leche with chunks of caramel filled chocolates floating in it. Bravo Ben & Jerrys. Another masterpiece.
Ben actually spoke at my college once. I went to hear him talk. This was 97 or 98. The lecture topic wasn't ice cream and the great chunk debate, it was US military buildup and how unnecessary it was. I remember he used long rolls of toilet paper to make a point about the US military budget. I also remember how he ridiculed the idea that a "rogue nation" like Afghanistan could possibly pose any kind of actual threat to the United States. Yeah that was some sharp analysis there Ben. Don't quit your day job.
Not actual crap of course. I mean almonds, brownie chunks, sponge cake, reeses cups, cookie dough, brazilnuts, etc. etc. Can a man get a pint of ice cream that is free from all this shit? Besides chocolate and vanilla?
Here's another newsflash: Haagen Daaz is way better than Ben & Jerrys. That's right hippies. It's better ice cream. Take a pint of HD side by side with B&J, leave them out of the freezer for a few minutes, and then open them up and take a scoop from each. You can tell right there as you scoop that Haagan Daaz is the real deal. Ben & Jerrys is a lighter, fluffier ice cream, and I don't mean that in a good way. It's got a vaguely grainy feel to it, and it's a little gummy in the mouth. When you scoop it, it's almost like it's coming out in tufts.
Now Haagen Daaz. That baby scoops like liquid silk. And when you taste it... it's like Holy Shit. Haagen Daaz is that good. It's makes me feel like my tongue is taking up valuable real estate in my mouth, space that could be better utilitized by Haagen Daaz ice cream on a 24/7 basis.
Now I know that B&J is this great organization that treats it's employees really well, they're eco friendly, they saved the rainforests, they promote Phish and the Dead, they just want everyone to be happy, etc. And Haagen Daaz is this corporate bully that broke a bunch of laws. There was that whole "what is the doughboy afraid of?" scandal. And they aren't even really German. Or Dutch. Or whatever nationality the name is meant to suggest. They just invented it to give them some ice-cream cred. And that's exactly the sort of bullshit I take a strong stand against.
But my friends, the proof is in the ice cream, and HD puts out a better product.
And then we get to the chunks of crap. Now maybe you like chunks of crap in your ice cream. God bless. Mazel Tov. But me, I like that liquid silk sensation thing I was talking about earlier. And you know what brings the whole smooth and creamy reverie thing to a screeching halt? An almond does.
And the problem is that chunky ice cream, for a long time now, has completely dominated the market. It's taken over. Ben & Jerrys made their name by trying out weird and wacky new chunk flavors and eventually finding a few winners and now everybody is following suit. And it sucks. Sure, there's still chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and maybe coffee if we're lucky, but that is it for those of us who like a smooth ride. Your average ice cream selection at the Quikie Mart now is only going to have flavors with Bannana chunks, and oatmeal cookies, and marshmellow bits and pretzels....
Yes, pretzels.
And how about that flavor, Chubby Hubby? Every single purchase of ice cream for me is a little private guilt battle. If I win the battle, I buy the ice cream. If not, I don't. It's usually 50-50. But no waaaaaaaay am I going to buy a pint of ice cream that is basically called "Fat Man".
Now Haagan Daaz's Dulce de Leche. That's a flavor! Caramel ice cream with a caramel ripple. Or is it a ribbon? Either way it aint a chunk. When you dig that spoon into the virgin topsoil of a pint of dulce de leche and come back with a glistening ribbon of caramel, it must be just like when our ancestors drove that axepick into the mountain and exposed that rich vein of silver.
Yep, just like that.
And then it was Ben & Jerrys turn to be the Digimon-style imitators. They couldn't just sit by and watch Haagan Daaz corner the caramel market with their exciting new flavor. No, they had to act. And they acted the only way they knew how: by taking a decent flavor idea and injecting chunks of crap into it. So they gave us Triple Caramel Chunk, which was essentially Dulce de Leche with chunks of caramel filled chocolates floating in it. Bravo Ben & Jerrys. Another masterpiece.
Ben actually spoke at my college once. I went to hear him talk. This was 97 or 98. The lecture topic wasn't ice cream and the great chunk debate, it was US military buildup and how unnecessary it was. I remember he used long rolls of toilet paper to make a point about the US military budget. I also remember how he ridiculed the idea that a "rogue nation" like Afghanistan could possibly pose any kind of actual threat to the United States. Yeah that was some sharp analysis there Ben. Don't quit your day job.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Homework Psychosis
Have you ever been sitting around, Sunday afternoon, nothing to do? Maybe there's a light drizzle, maybe you've been working on a crossword, maybe somewhere in the background Wolf Blitzer is talking about seatbelts...
And you feel vaguely disconcerted. Like you shouldn't just be sitting around. Like you shouldn't be wasting time. Isn't there something you should be doing? Isn't the clock ticking on some important task and you're just letting precious time slip by? Are you wasting the day? Why are you just sitting around on your lazy ass?
This, I believe, is the damage that homework does to the brain. Grade school, high school, college, grad school. I think we've been conditioned to feel like we should never have a free moment.
Because homework is never done. You can't do ALL the reading. You can't do ALL the recommended exercises and problems. You can't possibly have gotten an adequate start on that term project. Homework is never really finished. You can take breaks, and parcel out the work in chunks, but every minute you're not doing anything is a minute when you could be doing homework.
This mindset becomes ingrained in your teenaged head and never leaves. Shouldn't you get some of that homework done? You haven't even cracked that one book. How can you sit there and watch TV when that rough draft is due Monday?
Homework invades your personal space. You aren't safe at home. You're not even safe in your bedroom. You could be working.
One thing I loved about my old job is that when 6 o'clock came around, the day's work was over. You were done. The rest of that evening? Not a care in the world. If you wanted to do nothing but watch ESPN classic and drink Coors until you dozed off in front of the TV, then you had a big 'ol green light.
But some people get permamently frazzled by the homework psychosis and never learn to give it up. Some people just aren't comfortable doing nothing. Oh, they'll do nothing. But it won't be a comfortable nothing. It will be a vaguely stressful and agonizing nothing. They'll never feel like Ron Livingston from Office Space when he says "I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing. And it was everything I thought it could be."
I think it's wrong that school related work is allowed to invade every single moment of your day. Maybe The Brak Show had a good idea when Brak and Zorak went back in time to prevent the invention of homework. When they arrived back in the present, school work was only allowed to be done at school.
I recommend to everyone that they set aside a day to do absolutely nothing. Well, not literally nothing. But nothing of significance. Plan it in advance so you know you won't have any obligations, and then just let the sweet nothingness fly.
And you feel vaguely disconcerted. Like you shouldn't just be sitting around. Like you shouldn't be wasting time. Isn't there something you should be doing? Isn't the clock ticking on some important task and you're just letting precious time slip by? Are you wasting the day? Why are you just sitting around on your lazy ass?
This, I believe, is the damage that homework does to the brain. Grade school, high school, college, grad school. I think we've been conditioned to feel like we should never have a free moment.
Because homework is never done. You can't do ALL the reading. You can't do ALL the recommended exercises and problems. You can't possibly have gotten an adequate start on that term project. Homework is never really finished. You can take breaks, and parcel out the work in chunks, but every minute you're not doing anything is a minute when you could be doing homework.
This mindset becomes ingrained in your teenaged head and never leaves. Shouldn't you get some of that homework done? You haven't even cracked that one book. How can you sit there and watch TV when that rough draft is due Monday?
Homework invades your personal space. You aren't safe at home. You're not even safe in your bedroom. You could be working.
One thing I loved about my old job is that when 6 o'clock came around, the day's work was over. You were done. The rest of that evening? Not a care in the world. If you wanted to do nothing but watch ESPN classic and drink Coors until you dozed off in front of the TV, then you had a big 'ol green light.
But some people get permamently frazzled by the homework psychosis and never learn to give it up. Some people just aren't comfortable doing nothing. Oh, they'll do nothing. But it won't be a comfortable nothing. It will be a vaguely stressful and agonizing nothing. They'll never feel like Ron Livingston from Office Space when he says "I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing. And it was everything I thought it could be."
I think it's wrong that school related work is allowed to invade every single moment of your day. Maybe The Brak Show had a good idea when Brak and Zorak went back in time to prevent the invention of homework. When they arrived back in the present, school work was only allowed to be done at school.
I recommend to everyone that they set aside a day to do absolutely nothing. Well, not literally nothing. But nothing of significance. Plan it in advance so you know you won't have any obligations, and then just let the sweet nothingness fly.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Modern Art
I hate modern art.
And you want to know why? It's because of what modern art has done to me. Here I am, just minding my own business, not offending anybody, whistling a pleasant tune - and then suddenly I am dragged against my will into this place called the MOMA, and forced to stand in various rooms for hours on end.
The MOMA is New York's museum of modern art. And I could live a thousand years and never set another foot in that temple of boredom.
Imagine for a moment, that modern art does nothing for you. It does not move or stir you. It awakens nothing within your spirit. It neither excites nor intrigues you, it doesn't impress you and it doesn't get you thinking. It is an utterly neutral object in your field of vision. A bit like a mailbox.
Keep in mind for this hypothetical that you've given modern art many, many chances. You've approached it with an open mind and have been quite willing to be moved and stirred, if only the modern art would live up to its end of the deal. But at the end of the day, you have to conclude that this whole modern art thing is just not doing it for you. From the minimalist to the abstract and everything in between, modern art is just not on your wavelength.
In fact, you're slightly suspicious that it might all be a bunch of bullshit.
Before this starts to sound like Bright Lights, Big City, let's drop the second person. Let me stress though that I have nothing, nothing at all against the devotees of modern art. If you think modern art is way cool, then God love you. Go to it, my man. Godspeed. You have my full support. But if you try to drag me to the museum with you and then intimate that if I don't want to go then there must be something wrong with ME, then my hatred for you will burn with the fire of a thousand suns. I have kooky art preferences of my own too. I'm a big fan of the post-tonal stylings of early 20th century German composer Paul Hindemith, but I have never once tried to stuff his music down anyone's throat. I know that Hindemith may not be everyone's cup of tea. If you think he sounds like butt, I'm not going to argue with you. In fact, you're not even wrong. To you he does, and that's legitimate.
But many, many times during my childhood and teenage years, I was pushed into compulsory visits to the MOMA. Set aside for a moment the fact that appreciation of modern art may require some nuance and experience that is beyond a junior high student. I actually had to bring a notebook with me and jot down how this particular Jackson Pollack piece made me feel. What did it do to me? What did it say?
Now, with the understanding that to me modern art is about as exciting as a mailbox, or a box of seran wrap, or a handicapped parking spot, try to imagine having to spend a mandatory afternoon in the MOMA. You stand in one room for a while, contemplating the seran wrap. Then you move a few yards to the left and observe a box of pencils. For ten mintes. Now do this until four hours have elapsed.
Everything would be cool between me and modern art if this could be an acceptable conversation:
Friend: Hey! There's a Lichtenstein exhibit opening at the MOMA this week. Let's check it out!
Me: No thanks. I don't really get modern art. As a result, trips to the MOMA for me are just staggeringly boring and unpleasant. But definitely, you should go. I'll just play some Gamecube until you get back.
Friend: Sounds good! I'll be back at 6.
Ah, that would be nice. But no, here's the real conversation.
Friend: Hey! There's a Lichtenstein exhibit opening at the MOMA this week. Let's check it out!
Me: Ehhhh... you know, the lines will probably be real long.
Friend: Not if we leave now. Hey, we could walk there!
Me: Oh, it'll be so crowded. And it's stuffy in there. And what's that "suggested donation" all about? If they don't let you in without making it, why is it "suggested"?
Friend: Jeez, where's your artistic curiosity RD? It's Lichtenstein! Don't tell me you're just an uncultured boob?
Me: ....(defeated simper) I'll get my coat.
Oooooh, Roy Lichtenstein! He's using the classic charcoal sketch technique, but to draw a dirty sock? And a car tire? Genius! The contrast! The irony! It's so self aware! Oh! Oh!.... I'll need some clean pants.
And you want to know why? It's because of what modern art has done to me. Here I am, just minding my own business, not offending anybody, whistling a pleasant tune - and then suddenly I am dragged against my will into this place called the MOMA, and forced to stand in various rooms for hours on end.
The MOMA is New York's museum of modern art. And I could live a thousand years and never set another foot in that temple of boredom.
Imagine for a moment, that modern art does nothing for you. It does not move or stir you. It awakens nothing within your spirit. It neither excites nor intrigues you, it doesn't impress you and it doesn't get you thinking. It is an utterly neutral object in your field of vision. A bit like a mailbox.
Keep in mind for this hypothetical that you've given modern art many, many chances. You've approached it with an open mind and have been quite willing to be moved and stirred, if only the modern art would live up to its end of the deal. But at the end of the day, you have to conclude that this whole modern art thing is just not doing it for you. From the minimalist to the abstract and everything in between, modern art is just not on your wavelength.
In fact, you're slightly suspicious that it might all be a bunch of bullshit.
Before this starts to sound like Bright Lights, Big City, let's drop the second person. Let me stress though that I have nothing, nothing at all against the devotees of modern art. If you think modern art is way cool, then God love you. Go to it, my man. Godspeed. You have my full support. But if you try to drag me to the museum with you and then intimate that if I don't want to go then there must be something wrong with ME, then my hatred for you will burn with the fire of a thousand suns. I have kooky art preferences of my own too. I'm a big fan of the post-tonal stylings of early 20th century German composer Paul Hindemith, but I have never once tried to stuff his music down anyone's throat. I know that Hindemith may not be everyone's cup of tea. If you think he sounds like butt, I'm not going to argue with you. In fact, you're not even wrong. To you he does, and that's legitimate.
But many, many times during my childhood and teenage years, I was pushed into compulsory visits to the MOMA. Set aside for a moment the fact that appreciation of modern art may require some nuance and experience that is beyond a junior high student. I actually had to bring a notebook with me and jot down how this particular Jackson Pollack piece made me feel. What did it do to me? What did it say?
Now, with the understanding that to me modern art is about as exciting as a mailbox, or a box of seran wrap, or a handicapped parking spot, try to imagine having to spend a mandatory afternoon in the MOMA. You stand in one room for a while, contemplating the seran wrap. Then you move a few yards to the left and observe a box of pencils. For ten mintes. Now do this until four hours have elapsed.
Everything would be cool between me and modern art if this could be an acceptable conversation:
Friend: Hey! There's a Lichtenstein exhibit opening at the MOMA this week. Let's check it out!
Me: No thanks. I don't really get modern art. As a result, trips to the MOMA for me are just staggeringly boring and unpleasant. But definitely, you should go. I'll just play some Gamecube until you get back.
Friend: Sounds good! I'll be back at 6.
Ah, that would be nice. But no, here's the real conversation.
Friend: Hey! There's a Lichtenstein exhibit opening at the MOMA this week. Let's check it out!
Me: Ehhhh... you know, the lines will probably be real long.
Friend: Not if we leave now. Hey, we could walk there!
Me: Oh, it'll be so crowded. And it's stuffy in there. And what's that "suggested donation" all about? If they don't let you in without making it, why is it "suggested"?
Friend: Jeez, where's your artistic curiosity RD? It's Lichtenstein! Don't tell me you're just an uncultured boob?
Me: ....(defeated simper) I'll get my coat.
Oooooh, Roy Lichtenstein! He's using the classic charcoal sketch technique, but to draw a dirty sock? And a car tire? Genius! The contrast! The irony! It's so self aware! Oh! Oh!.... I'll need some clean pants.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Arcade Prizes
Something else I've had it with these days are the cheap, sub-Mexican almost-toys that pass for "Prizes" at your local arcade. Are these not the lamest, crudest, fragile and most depressing little toys you've ever seen?
For a long time I never made it to the prize counter at an arcade simply because I sucked too much at the games. Oh, I was good at Golden Axe and 1945, and the arcade games - but those didn't spew out any tickets when you did well. If you wanted the little yellow tickets you had to master Skee Ball, or Hoops, or Whack a Mole. I was too much of a spaz to really succeed at these more precision oriented games.
I would usually end up with about 6 to 8 sympathy tickets. You know, when every skee ball went into the gutter and you'd get three tickets just for playing. And I'd take my 8 tickets to the counter, hoping at least to get maybe a single Jolly Rancher. But no, the cheapest prize was 10 tickets for a tootsie roll. And not a normal tootsie roll, but this weird extra extra small tootsie roll. Really a very small tootsie roll. Like Tylenol capsule size. And I couldn't even afford it.
Then one day, I was playing Pachinko. Or one of those games where you navigate a ball down a ramp and launch it and hope that it goes into one of the target holes. And I was expecting to fail utterly at this game and get my sympathy tickets. But the Gods were smiling on me that day, and I accidentally launched the Pachinko ball into the tiniest, most remote and valuable hole. And the siren went off and the machine started spewing massive amounts of yellow tickets. I was convulsing with joy.
This wasn't in my childhood or anything by the way. This was maybe last year. And I was scooping up the tickets, and there were so many I couldn't gather them faster than they were coming out. It was like Christmas. I even earned the jealous eye of the fat, tight-shirted, trailer park chicks who always seem to be walking around with their kids holding thousands of tickets.
In the end, it was only about 400 tickets, but it was more than I had ever had, or ever would have. I carried the bundle over to the counter, thinking about what kind of booty I would select. The Carribean Cruise? The Aspen ski chalet? The fantasy practice with the Chargers? Hmm, it's only 400 tickets. Best not to get my hopes up too high. Maybe I'll settle for a surfboard.
At the prize counter, some B.O. and a harsh reality check were waiting for me. The best prize available was a shitty, off-brand little personal boombox. And it was 35,000 tickets. No, scratch that, the off-brand Razor scooter was 40,000, and the skateboard was up there too. So what were my real options? The super soaker? Hoo-boy, no. The shitty, shitty remote control car? 11,000 tickets. The Nascar calendar? 7,500. The really cheap-looking inflatable ape? 8,000.
Okay, I took it down another notch. The deck of Uno cards. 3,000. The 500 piece tiger puzzle. 4,000. Finally I just got angry. Here I was, the greatest pachinko champion the arcade had ever seen, and my skill didn't even warrant a deck of cards? Or a pair of novelty sunglasses? I said to myself "If I can't at least afford that comically oversized lollipop then I will officially be pissed." Comically oversized lollipop - 2,500 tickets.
Eventually, feeling much humbled and slightly dirty, I traded in my 400 tickets for a normal sized lollipop and a keychain with a whistle on it. I had invested serious ego in these prizes, and they let me down big time. These yellow tickets said "winner", but the lollipop and whistle were not saying "winner". Not so much. No, they were saying "loser". Big time loser. I was thinking that maybe it would be like the old Wheel of Fortune where the winner got to pick prizes out of the showcase. "I'll take the Color TV for $300!" Okay then, Bill, that leaves you with $2,200. "The sofa! The sofa!"
Which brings us back to the crappy prizes. These prizes are pathetic. They belong to a special class of crappy toys that you just won't see anywhere else on the planet. Imagine an action figure, if you will. And imagine that it's stiff and doesn't move. And that the art on the box is really terrible, and that it's part of a series of action figures with a really bad generic title like "Tank Heroes!" that came from a cartoon that may never have actually been broadcast in the states, and the clothes don't match, and the back of the box is blank except for a "Do not insert in mouth" warning that is misspelled and then repeated in 10 other languages.
Toys that are so bad they make you consider suicide, or at least abandoning all commercialism and becoming a Buddhist monk. Toys that no reputable toy store would shelve, that were passed on to discount toy stores that turned them down, then sat in a surplus warehouse for a year or two, then were declined by the dollar stores, then were given back by goodwill after another year because they couldn't sell, then were rejected by Christmas charites because they didn't meet safety standards, and were finally abandoned, unopened, by homeless children in Tijuana. This is when they go to the arcades.
If I ever open an arcade, (and to be honest, it's not high up on the list) the prizes will be of the highest quality. And if you are a pachinko champion, you can expect to be honored and fetted by the establishment. You can expect to gaze out over a massive display of awesome prizes and simply point to the ones you want like the king you are.
And finally, can we please retire the machines where the quarters are all tottering seductively on the brink of the cliff, and it seems like if just one more quarter were pushed out it would send them all spilling over, making the player fabulously wealthy? I've just had too much disappointment at the hands of that machine, and it's come to me to represent deep, personal failure. And if the arcade took half of the bolting-that-machine-to-the-floor budget and spent it on prizes, maybe none of this ranting would be necessary.
For a long time I never made it to the prize counter at an arcade simply because I sucked too much at the games. Oh, I was good at Golden Axe and 1945, and the arcade games - but those didn't spew out any tickets when you did well. If you wanted the little yellow tickets you had to master Skee Ball, or Hoops, or Whack a Mole. I was too much of a spaz to really succeed at these more precision oriented games.
I would usually end up with about 6 to 8 sympathy tickets. You know, when every skee ball went into the gutter and you'd get three tickets just for playing. And I'd take my 8 tickets to the counter, hoping at least to get maybe a single Jolly Rancher. But no, the cheapest prize was 10 tickets for a tootsie roll. And not a normal tootsie roll, but this weird extra extra small tootsie roll. Really a very small tootsie roll. Like Tylenol capsule size. And I couldn't even afford it.
Then one day, I was playing Pachinko. Or one of those games where you navigate a ball down a ramp and launch it and hope that it goes into one of the target holes. And I was expecting to fail utterly at this game and get my sympathy tickets. But the Gods were smiling on me that day, and I accidentally launched the Pachinko ball into the tiniest, most remote and valuable hole. And the siren went off and the machine started spewing massive amounts of yellow tickets. I was convulsing with joy.
This wasn't in my childhood or anything by the way. This was maybe last year. And I was scooping up the tickets, and there were so many I couldn't gather them faster than they were coming out. It was like Christmas. I even earned the jealous eye of the fat, tight-shirted, trailer park chicks who always seem to be walking around with their kids holding thousands of tickets.
In the end, it was only about 400 tickets, but it was more than I had ever had, or ever would have. I carried the bundle over to the counter, thinking about what kind of booty I would select. The Carribean Cruise? The Aspen ski chalet? The fantasy practice with the Chargers? Hmm, it's only 400 tickets. Best not to get my hopes up too high. Maybe I'll settle for a surfboard.
At the prize counter, some B.O. and a harsh reality check were waiting for me. The best prize available was a shitty, off-brand little personal boombox. And it was 35,000 tickets. No, scratch that, the off-brand Razor scooter was 40,000, and the skateboard was up there too. So what were my real options? The super soaker? Hoo-boy, no. The shitty, shitty remote control car? 11,000 tickets. The Nascar calendar? 7,500. The really cheap-looking inflatable ape? 8,000.
Okay, I took it down another notch. The deck of Uno cards. 3,000. The 500 piece tiger puzzle. 4,000. Finally I just got angry. Here I was, the greatest pachinko champion the arcade had ever seen, and my skill didn't even warrant a deck of cards? Or a pair of novelty sunglasses? I said to myself "If I can't at least afford that comically oversized lollipop then I will officially be pissed." Comically oversized lollipop - 2,500 tickets.
Eventually, feeling much humbled and slightly dirty, I traded in my 400 tickets for a normal sized lollipop and a keychain with a whistle on it. I had invested serious ego in these prizes, and they let me down big time. These yellow tickets said "winner", but the lollipop and whistle were not saying "winner". Not so much. No, they were saying "loser". Big time loser. I was thinking that maybe it would be like the old Wheel of Fortune where the winner got to pick prizes out of the showcase. "I'll take the Color TV for $300!" Okay then, Bill, that leaves you with $2,200. "The sofa! The sofa!"
Which brings us back to the crappy prizes. These prizes are pathetic. They belong to a special class of crappy toys that you just won't see anywhere else on the planet. Imagine an action figure, if you will. And imagine that it's stiff and doesn't move. And that the art on the box is really terrible, and that it's part of a series of action figures with a really bad generic title like "Tank Heroes!" that came from a cartoon that may never have actually been broadcast in the states, and the clothes don't match, and the back of the box is blank except for a "Do not insert in mouth" warning that is misspelled and then repeated in 10 other languages.
Toys that are so bad they make you consider suicide, or at least abandoning all commercialism and becoming a Buddhist monk. Toys that no reputable toy store would shelve, that were passed on to discount toy stores that turned them down, then sat in a surplus warehouse for a year or two, then were declined by the dollar stores, then were given back by goodwill after another year because they couldn't sell, then were rejected by Christmas charites because they didn't meet safety standards, and were finally abandoned, unopened, by homeless children in Tijuana. This is when they go to the arcades.
If I ever open an arcade, (and to be honest, it's not high up on the list) the prizes will be of the highest quality. And if you are a pachinko champion, you can expect to be honored and fetted by the establishment. You can expect to gaze out over a massive display of awesome prizes and simply point to the ones you want like the king you are.
And finally, can we please retire the machines where the quarters are all tottering seductively on the brink of the cliff, and it seems like if just one more quarter were pushed out it would send them all spilling over, making the player fabulously wealthy? I've just had too much disappointment at the hands of that machine, and it's come to me to represent deep, personal failure. And if the arcade took half of the bolting-that-machine-to-the-floor budget and spent it on prizes, maybe none of this ranting would be necessary.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Pier 1 Answers
Here were the answers from the Pier 1 Quiz.
S = Shakespeare
P= Pier 1
S-P-P-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-P-S-S-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-S-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-P-S-P-S-P-S-S-S-P-S
Now score yourself:
42-44 - "Scent"er of the universe
35-41 - Cogno"Scent"i
28-34 - Common "Scents"
20-27 - Fifty "Scent"
0-19 - Unscented
S = Shakespeare
P= Pier 1
S-P-P-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-P-S-S-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-S-S-P-S-S-P-P-S-P-S-P-S-P-S-S-S-P-S
Now score yourself:
42-44 - "Scent"er of the universe
35-41 - Cogno"Scent"i
28-34 - Common "Scents"
20-27 - Fifty "Scent"
0-19 - Unscented
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Pier 1 Quiz
I went to Pier 1 and bought a few candles recently. Not my usual sort of activity. In fact, aside from a few Chrsitmas gifts over the years, I don't think I've ever actually bought candles before. Not for myself anyway. You candle-shopping veterans may scoff at my ignorance, but I simply was not preapred for all the frufru fanciness to describe the various scents of these candles. I thought each scent would be limited to one word, like "Cinnamon" or "Peach" or something like that. Nope, each Pier 1 candle apparantly is a heady blend of about 8-12 spices and scents, most of which I had never heard of. Candles with names like "Asian Spice", "Riverwood" and "Waterberry" each had a list of about 10 sub-ingredients, such as "White Quince", "Warmed Musk" and "Lively Green Basil". All combining masterfully, I suppose, to create a unique, one of a kind candle fragrance.
The Pier 1 candle marketers need to ease up off the gay.
As a service to all holdiay candle shoppers, I offer this quiz:
Pier 1 Candle Fragrance? Or Shakespearean Character?
Imogen
Anise
Jonquil
Ajax
Muguet
Caliban
Mopsa
Vetiver
Nutmeg
Seacoal
Cyclamen
Dr. Pinch
Froth
Freesia
Bergamot
Sugarsop
Tuscan Herb
Alarbus
Lysander
Sir Falstaff
Fir Balsam
Oatcake
Old Gobbo
Cassis
Marigold
Tressel
Peasblossom
The Earl of Kent
Kava Kava
Melun
Dogberry
Plumeria
Crisp Greens
Arcite
Cardamom
Hamlet
Ylang Ylang
Cinna
Tonka Bean
Torchbearers
Mustardseed
Pandar
Heliotrope
Lord Falconridge
If you think you got that 100% right, you're wrong. Answers forthcoming.
The Pier 1 candle marketers need to ease up off the gay.
As a service to all holdiay candle shoppers, I offer this quiz:
Pier 1 Candle Fragrance? Or Shakespearean Character?
Imogen
Anise
Jonquil
Ajax
Muguet
Caliban
Mopsa
Vetiver
Nutmeg
Seacoal
Cyclamen
Dr. Pinch
Froth
Freesia
Bergamot
Sugarsop
Tuscan Herb
Alarbus
Lysander
Sir Falstaff
Fir Balsam
Oatcake
Old Gobbo
Cassis
Marigold
Tressel
Peasblossom
The Earl of Kent
Kava Kava
Melun
Dogberry
Plumeria
Crisp Greens
Arcite
Cardamom
Hamlet
Ylang Ylang
Cinna
Tonka Bean
Torchbearers
Mustardseed
Pandar
Heliotrope
Lord Falconridge
If you think you got that 100% right, you're wrong. Answers forthcoming.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Creditors
Let me fill you in on a little situation, and then I'll need some suggestions.
Ever since I moved to Las Vegas and got my new local phone number, I've been getting around three calls a week for "Andy" and "Patricia". Clearly, Andy and Patricia were the previous owners of the phone number. No big deal. But no matter how many times I explain to these various individuals that "Andy and Patricia don't live here no more." or "There ain't no Andy here, man." or "Dude, you've got an old number." the volume of these calls does not go down. In fact, it's been increasing.
And these callers aren't like normal wrong-number callers, who usually will apologize and hang up promptly when they discover their number is wrong or obsolete. No, these guys are persistent. Where is Andy? "I really don't know Andy. This is just his old number." How can I reach Andy? "Well, like I just said, I don't know Andy." But Andy just called me from this number. "Um, don't know what to tell you there." Well who are you? "Who am I? Who the fuck are you?" (click)
Clearly, these are creditors. Damn persistent creditors. Really persistent. You see, they're convinced that I AM Andy. And that I'm lying to them. The more honest I am, the more they think I'm lying through my teeth.
And they're employing some impressive creditor tricks. They call at various times of day. Early mornings, late nights. It's not just one person, it's several. There are businessy sounding guys, seductive women, old pal type guys... I pick up the phone and say hello, and it's "Heeyyyy, Andy!" "Andy, man, what's up!" Or a female voice "Hiiiiii sweetheart, Patricia there?" But then after my attempts at honest resolution of the wrong number, the tone gets angry and serious. WHERE IS ANDY. HOW CAN I REACH ANDY. WHO ARE YOU?
So you know what? I'm done being polite and honest. I am now officially prepared to fuck with these people. The next time they call, I am going to be Andy. The only question is how should I play it? Here's a scenario I came up with last night at the gym.
Them: "Hey Andy, how's it going?"
Me: "Mike! Thank God. Look, tell your brother we'll be in Vancouver tonight."
Them: "Um, this is Andy, right?"
Me: "Jesus! Why don't you say it a little louder? Just be quiet for a second. We're leaving for the airport in about 30 minutes. We're on American, flight... (talking away from the phone) Hey Pat... what's our flight number? What? Yeah Mike, it's flight 11-0-something. Look, you guys need to meet us at the airport in Vancouver. I do NOT feel comfortable carrying around all this cash in a suitcase, you understand? That was not part of the arrangement."
Them: "Uh... Andy?"
Me: "You're never going to see my ass in this country again, that's for sure."
Them: "....(pause)... What was that flight number again?"
Ah, that would be satisfying. Of course, that's a little high concept. Here's something a bit more basic.
Them: "Hello Andy?"
Me: "Yeah this is Andy."
Them: "Yes hello Andy! This is Mort Shackhauer from Visa collection. Hold on for just a second please, I'm going to conference Las Vegas Metro PD on this call.... Officer?
Officer: "Yes Mort, go ahead."
Them: "Andy. Are you aware that you've been ordered by Clarke County District A Superior Court to pay VISA an initial installment of ten thousand dollars by September 1st of this year, and that you have not made that payment?"
Me: "Relax guys! Look, I'm going to be a little late with the money."
Them: "The payment is already 3 months past due."
Me: "I just made a down payment on an Escalade this week for twice that much. And I'm going to be paying that thing off for years. You're going to have to cut me some slack."
Officer: (garble garble)..can impound that vehicle...
Me: "And let me tell you, it looks like a fucking behemoth I know. But it handles like a dream."
Them: "You think this is funny? You think you're being smart?"
Me: "Isn't there some statute of limitations on this? You should see what I got away with with my Amex. You think a wine cellar fills itself?"
And so on and so on. But really, there are an endless number of approaches here. I'd love to get some suggestions. Anyone?
Ever since I moved to Las Vegas and got my new local phone number, I've been getting around three calls a week for "Andy" and "Patricia". Clearly, Andy and Patricia were the previous owners of the phone number. No big deal. But no matter how many times I explain to these various individuals that "Andy and Patricia don't live here no more." or "There ain't no Andy here, man." or "Dude, you've got an old number." the volume of these calls does not go down. In fact, it's been increasing.
And these callers aren't like normal wrong-number callers, who usually will apologize and hang up promptly when they discover their number is wrong or obsolete. No, these guys are persistent. Where is Andy? "I really don't know Andy. This is just his old number." How can I reach Andy? "Well, like I just said, I don't know Andy." But Andy just called me from this number. "Um, don't know what to tell you there." Well who are you? "Who am I? Who the fuck are you?" (click)
Clearly, these are creditors. Damn persistent creditors. Really persistent. You see, they're convinced that I AM Andy. And that I'm lying to them. The more honest I am, the more they think I'm lying through my teeth.
And they're employing some impressive creditor tricks. They call at various times of day. Early mornings, late nights. It's not just one person, it's several. There are businessy sounding guys, seductive women, old pal type guys... I pick up the phone and say hello, and it's "Heeyyyy, Andy!" "Andy, man, what's up!" Or a female voice "Hiiiiii sweetheart, Patricia there?" But then after my attempts at honest resolution of the wrong number, the tone gets angry and serious. WHERE IS ANDY. HOW CAN I REACH ANDY. WHO ARE YOU?
So you know what? I'm done being polite and honest. I am now officially prepared to fuck with these people. The next time they call, I am going to be Andy. The only question is how should I play it? Here's a scenario I came up with last night at the gym.
Them: "Hey Andy, how's it going?"
Me: "Mike! Thank God. Look, tell your brother we'll be in Vancouver tonight."
Them: "Um, this is Andy, right?"
Me: "Jesus! Why don't you say it a little louder? Just be quiet for a second. We're leaving for the airport in about 30 minutes. We're on American, flight... (talking away from the phone) Hey Pat... what's our flight number? What? Yeah Mike, it's flight 11-0-something. Look, you guys need to meet us at the airport in Vancouver. I do NOT feel comfortable carrying around all this cash in a suitcase, you understand? That was not part of the arrangement."
Them: "Uh... Andy?"
Me: "You're never going to see my ass in this country again, that's for sure."
Them: "....(pause)... What was that flight number again?"
Ah, that would be satisfying. Of course, that's a little high concept. Here's something a bit more basic.
Them: "Hello Andy?"
Me: "Yeah this is Andy."
Them: "Yes hello Andy! This is Mort Shackhauer from Visa collection. Hold on for just a second please, I'm going to conference Las Vegas Metro PD on this call.... Officer?
Officer: "Yes Mort, go ahead."
Them: "Andy. Are you aware that you've been ordered by Clarke County District A Superior Court to pay VISA an initial installment of ten thousand dollars by September 1st of this year, and that you have not made that payment?"
Me: "Relax guys! Look, I'm going to be a little late with the money."
Them: "The payment is already 3 months past due."
Me: "I just made a down payment on an Escalade this week for twice that much. And I'm going to be paying that thing off for years. You're going to have to cut me some slack."
Officer: (garble garble)..can impound that vehicle...
Me: "And let me tell you, it looks like a fucking behemoth I know. But it handles like a dream."
Them: "You think this is funny? You think you're being smart?"
Me: "Isn't there some statute of limitations on this? You should see what I got away with with my Amex. You think a wine cellar fills itself?"
And so on and so on. But really, there are an endless number of approaches here. I'd love to get some suggestions. Anyone?
The Progress Bar
Ah, the march of technology. In our lifetimes, we've seen the personal computer go from the Commodore and the Altair all the way to the Vaio and the G-whatever. It's been a great ride.
I can remember hitting control-G on the Apple 2 to make it "beep". And what fun it was. I can remember executing a very simple two-picture animation on the Logowriter application on Commodore 64 to sorta make it look like two people humping. Oh the joy.
We've come a long way. We now live in the age of Cialix spam, pop up ads for spy cameras, pop up ads for software to block pop up ads, trolls, lurkers, newbies and flame-wars - all presided over by his dark lordship, the demon Clippy.
Well, that's just being negative. There's been plenty of positive delevopments too. But today I just have to complain about one piece of computing technology that was introduced maybe 20 years ago and just hasn't seen any improvement. It's still around, and it still sucks. I'm talking about the Progress Bar, or sometimes the "Time Remaining" display.
You know what I'm talking about. The indicator bar which tells you how much of your installation, download, or other time consuming operation is left. And my question is: how come, in all those 20 years, the progress bar or time-reamaining bar has never once been an actual reflection of reality?
You know it's true. You've long since learned to ignore it, or conditioned yourself to live with it, but now I invite you to give it some fresh consideration and share my righteous disgust.
I'll give you my bottom line right away, and that is this: if the progress bar doesn't work, if it's wonky, then I don't want to see it. Make it go away. It's worse than useless if it's giving me a faulty impression. Let me list the various problems.
1. We're all familiar with the visual, horizontal progress bar - the one that fills up from left to right. Why does it zip merrily along for the initial 75%, and then hit some kind of wall for the final quarter? Has no one in 20 years of Mac and Windows updates noticed this?
2. Why does the "Time Remaining" display not count seconds at the speed of, say, one second for every second? We've all seen this I trust: we start our download and the time remaining is 30 minutes. Then, time begins to elapse at about one minute every couple of seconds. This starts to slow, and eventually, we're only moving at around double time. Finally, for a single instant, the countdown elapses at an actually correct pace, and then time slows down, and slows down, and down... The final two minutes are like the final two minutes of an NFL game. You can pack a lot of timeouts, bathroom breaks and commercials into those two minutes. So basically, the whole thing is just one big parabola of incompetance.
3. Don't let me forget this one. The Time Remaining display that actually will start gaining time. You've seen it. You're down to 25 minutes, and then whoa... whoa... back up to 27! Then down to 26... then up to 28!
4. A progress bar that will appear to be legit. It moves along at basically a steady pace, a few hiccups, a few bursts of sudden speed, but nothing major. Finally, it fills up completely. Ah, you think. Job well done. But no, not quite. It doesn't go away. Now you're treated to a series of text messages: "creating directory".... "repaginating".... "verifying format"....."checking modular sync database recalc"... And before you know it, you've sat there another two minutes.
This would all be excusable as late as, maybe, 1995. But it's still just as bad as it ever was. Wouldn't it be cool, if, once in your lifetime, a progress bar appeared and moved at a deliciously smooth, regular pace? Then, the moment it was done, it was actually done? Why do we tolerate a 0.0% accuracy rate from our "time remaining" counters and progress bars?
Damn you Cohaagen! Give these people air!
I can remember hitting control-G on the Apple 2 to make it "beep". And what fun it was. I can remember executing a very simple two-picture animation on the Logowriter application on Commodore 64 to sorta make it look like two people humping. Oh the joy.
We've come a long way. We now live in the age of Cialix spam, pop up ads for spy cameras, pop up ads for software to block pop up ads, trolls, lurkers, newbies and flame-wars - all presided over by his dark lordship, the demon Clippy.
Well, that's just being negative. There's been plenty of positive delevopments too. But today I just have to complain about one piece of computing technology that was introduced maybe 20 years ago and just hasn't seen any improvement. It's still around, and it still sucks. I'm talking about the Progress Bar, or sometimes the "Time Remaining" display.
You know what I'm talking about. The indicator bar which tells you how much of your installation, download, or other time consuming operation is left. And my question is: how come, in all those 20 years, the progress bar or time-reamaining bar has never once been an actual reflection of reality?
You know it's true. You've long since learned to ignore it, or conditioned yourself to live with it, but now I invite you to give it some fresh consideration and share my righteous disgust.
I'll give you my bottom line right away, and that is this: if the progress bar doesn't work, if it's wonky, then I don't want to see it. Make it go away. It's worse than useless if it's giving me a faulty impression. Let me list the various problems.
1. We're all familiar with the visual, horizontal progress bar - the one that fills up from left to right. Why does it zip merrily along for the initial 75%, and then hit some kind of wall for the final quarter? Has no one in 20 years of Mac and Windows updates noticed this?
2. Why does the "Time Remaining" display not count seconds at the speed of, say, one second for every second? We've all seen this I trust: we start our download and the time remaining is 30 minutes. Then, time begins to elapse at about one minute every couple of seconds. This starts to slow, and eventually, we're only moving at around double time. Finally, for a single instant, the countdown elapses at an actually correct pace, and then time slows down, and slows down, and down... The final two minutes are like the final two minutes of an NFL game. You can pack a lot of timeouts, bathroom breaks and commercials into those two minutes. So basically, the whole thing is just one big parabola of incompetance.
3. Don't let me forget this one. The Time Remaining display that actually will start gaining time. You've seen it. You're down to 25 minutes, and then whoa... whoa... back up to 27! Then down to 26... then up to 28!
4. A progress bar that will appear to be legit. It moves along at basically a steady pace, a few hiccups, a few bursts of sudden speed, but nothing major. Finally, it fills up completely. Ah, you think. Job well done. But no, not quite. It doesn't go away. Now you're treated to a series of text messages: "creating directory".... "repaginating".... "verifying format"....."checking modular sync database recalc"... And before you know it, you've sat there another two minutes.
This would all be excusable as late as, maybe, 1995. But it's still just as bad as it ever was. Wouldn't it be cool, if, once in your lifetime, a progress bar appeared and moved at a deliciously smooth, regular pace? Then, the moment it was done, it was actually done? Why do we tolerate a 0.0% accuracy rate from our "time remaining" counters and progress bars?
Damn you Cohaagen! Give these people air!
Monday, November 08, 2004
80 Annoyances
61. The icy center of a microwaved burrito
62. A commercial describing a car as having “aggressive lines”
63. Alex Trebeck’s smug satisfaction after he makes a lame pun
64. When characters in sci-fi movies say “Whoa whoa! Say that in English!”
65. The “grooming” of Brian Williams
66. How U.S. News & World Report can somehow produce a “Special Commemorative Issue” every freaking week
67. Clippy
68. A locked piano
69. Local news
70. How the guy who got the game winning homer in extra innings will always be the “player of the game” despite absolutely anything that may have happened over the course of the first nine innings.
71. When you sit through a 5 minute talk radio commercial break and when the host comes back with all the usual music and fanfare, he just pitches some vitamins at you and then goes on break for another 5 minutes.
72. A school bus deploying the stop sign
73. Thinking it somehow makes you more of a man to call Heads on a coin flip
74. Handrails that move faster than the escalator
75. Interviewers interviewing interviewers
76. Cheap video game level design where the player is intended to die on his first attempt, so that he’ll memorize the trap and know how to avoid it the subsequent time.
77. When you had a complex question for your French teacher, and it was way beyond your ability to ask it in French, but she wouldn’t let you ask it in English. Not even after class.
78. Giving your pet a two-syllable name with the “eee” sound at the end.
79. People who just aren’t convinced by a locked bathroom door and insist on knocking to get a verbal confirmation
80. The policy at the New York Times Magazine where all cover photo subjects have to look glum, sour, pained, weary and vaguely angry, apparently regardless of all context
And this may not be here or there, but don't you think it would be nice if Chinese restaurants and other eateries that offer "family style" meals exclusively, if they'd offer some sort of solo-entree option? I mean, if I'm in the mood for cashew chicken, and I don't conveniently have people to join me, why should I be screwed? Yes, I can take the leftovers home, but what if I don't want to? What if I just want a portion of General Tso's chicken on a plate, with rice and a vegetable? Is that too much to ask?
62. A commercial describing a car as having “aggressive lines”
63. Alex Trebeck’s smug satisfaction after he makes a lame pun
64. When characters in sci-fi movies say “Whoa whoa! Say that in English!”
65. The “grooming” of Brian Williams
66. How U.S. News & World Report can somehow produce a “Special Commemorative Issue” every freaking week
67. Clippy
68. A locked piano
69. Local news
70. How the guy who got the game winning homer in extra innings will always be the “player of the game” despite absolutely anything that may have happened over the course of the first nine innings.
71. When you sit through a 5 minute talk radio commercial break and when the host comes back with all the usual music and fanfare, he just pitches some vitamins at you and then goes on break for another 5 minutes.
72. A school bus deploying the stop sign
73. Thinking it somehow makes you more of a man to call Heads on a coin flip
74. Handrails that move faster than the escalator
75. Interviewers interviewing interviewers
76. Cheap video game level design where the player is intended to die on his first attempt, so that he’ll memorize the trap and know how to avoid it the subsequent time.
77. When you had a complex question for your French teacher, and it was way beyond your ability to ask it in French, but she wouldn’t let you ask it in English. Not even after class.
78. Giving your pet a two-syllable name with the “eee” sound at the end.
79. People who just aren’t convinced by a locked bathroom door and insist on knocking to get a verbal confirmation
80. The policy at the New York Times Magazine where all cover photo subjects have to look glum, sour, pained, weary and vaguely angry, apparently regardless of all context
And this may not be here or there, but don't you think it would be nice if Chinese restaurants and other eateries that offer "family style" meals exclusively, if they'd offer some sort of solo-entree option? I mean, if I'm in the mood for cashew chicken, and I don't conveniently have people to join me, why should I be screwed? Yes, I can take the leftovers home, but what if I don't want to? What if I just want a portion of General Tso's chicken on a plate, with rice and a vegetable? Is that too much to ask?
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
The Freakishly Tall NBA
Just a brief topic today.
My problem with professional Basketball. Don't you think there's an inherent problem with a sport that offers such an enormous built in advantage to being taller than your opponent? Other sports demand things like speed, strength, agility, dexterity, endurance... all things that can be earned through hard training and work. And yes, certain sports rewards things like sheer size and height - a boxer's reach or a jockey's tinyness for example.
But no sport goes to the length that basketball does in this regard. The basketball height advantage isn't something you can gloss over. It isn't just a slight edge. It's 100% crucial and completely determinative. In order to play professional basketball, you must, MUST be freakishly tall. You need to be a 7'1" circus freak. I, personally am 6'4". I am the tallest person I know. I see people taller than me maybe 5 or 6 times a year, and when I do I think "Fuck, look at that guy." So I'm tall. And I, a taller person than 99.99% of the human population, couldn't even show up for basketball tryouts because I'm too short. My point is that there is something seriously wrong with that.
Now yes yes, I know, you hard core basketball fans can now start naming a list of 6'1" speedy guys who are crucial to their teams. I don't care. They are the exception that proves the rule.
My problem with the freakishly tall NBA is this. 1) We're not getting the best game of basketball we could be getting, (more on that in a bit) and 2) It goes against the American ideal that sports is supposed to be a meritocracy. That with a lot of hard work and effort and dedication, you too could be a superstar. Not in basketball you can't.
We have weight classes for wrestling and boxing, don't we? And isn't it true that middle weight boxing is generally more interesting and strategic than heavyweight boxing? That it's better boxing? Heavyweights punch with such strength that if they can land just a few direct hits, it's lights out. Also, then burn fuel super quick so they're exhausted by the second round. Boring.
Basketball needs height divisions. I bet if you organized a "no bigger than 6-foot" league and a "no bigger than 6-5" leagure, you'd see some damn good basketball. Maybe not as many theatrical dunks, but damn good basketball.
Am I supposed to be impressed when Yao Ming swats away a shot or a rebound without even jumping, due simply to his mutant, freakish height? That's not great athleticism, that's a sideshow act.
My problem with professional Basketball. Don't you think there's an inherent problem with a sport that offers such an enormous built in advantage to being taller than your opponent? Other sports demand things like speed, strength, agility, dexterity, endurance... all things that can be earned through hard training and work. And yes, certain sports rewards things like sheer size and height - a boxer's reach or a jockey's tinyness for example.
But no sport goes to the length that basketball does in this regard. The basketball height advantage isn't something you can gloss over. It isn't just a slight edge. It's 100% crucial and completely determinative. In order to play professional basketball, you must, MUST be freakishly tall. You need to be a 7'1" circus freak. I, personally am 6'4". I am the tallest person I know. I see people taller than me maybe 5 or 6 times a year, and when I do I think "Fuck, look at that guy." So I'm tall. And I, a taller person than 99.99% of the human population, couldn't even show up for basketball tryouts because I'm too short. My point is that there is something seriously wrong with that.
Now yes yes, I know, you hard core basketball fans can now start naming a list of 6'1" speedy guys who are crucial to their teams. I don't care. They are the exception that proves the rule.
My problem with the freakishly tall NBA is this. 1) We're not getting the best game of basketball we could be getting, (more on that in a bit) and 2) It goes against the American ideal that sports is supposed to be a meritocracy. That with a lot of hard work and effort and dedication, you too could be a superstar. Not in basketball you can't.
We have weight classes for wrestling and boxing, don't we? And isn't it true that middle weight boxing is generally more interesting and strategic than heavyweight boxing? That it's better boxing? Heavyweights punch with such strength that if they can land just a few direct hits, it's lights out. Also, then burn fuel super quick so they're exhausted by the second round. Boring.
Basketball needs height divisions. I bet if you organized a "no bigger than 6-foot" league and a "no bigger than 6-5" leagure, you'd see some damn good basketball. Maybe not as many theatrical dunks, but damn good basketball.
Am I supposed to be impressed when Yao Ming swats away a shot or a rebound without even jumping, due simply to his mutant, freakish height? That's not great athleticism, that's a sideshow act.
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