Archive for May, 2005

Death to Newsmonster

Newsmonster is a humongous piece of shit aggregator that completely, and utterly fucks up Mozilla Firefox. Worst part is, you can’t unfuck Mozilla using the directions the shitty asshole creator puts on Newsmonster’s website.

When someone posted a query about how to uninstall this worthless, shit-eating, extension on a forum the high-holy douchebag himself, Kevin A. Burton, comes back with some fucked up response: “You read the documentation for a start.”

How’s that for audacious? The fucked up part? You can follow the fucking documentation to the fucking letter but it still won’t work because little Kevvy is as shitty a programmer as he is a human being.

By all means, steer clear of Newsmonster if you’re looking for an aggregator, even though Blogger recommends it. It took me 10 minutes to download, 30 seconds to hate, and an hour to uninstall. Just go into your C drive, open the Program Files folder, open the Mozilla Firefox folder, and delete EVERYTHING that says “Newsmonster”. Then reinstall Firefox.

Shitty fucked up ass piece of shit.

Any recommendations out there for a good, free aggregator?

A Review

On Saturday ACWF and I went to see her cousin in a ballet recital. Unfortunately we had to sit through some of the most sub-par dance performances I have ever seen.

First of all, the theme was “America” but it may as well have been “Ignorant Jingoism.” The “ignorant” theme was fulfilled when songs such as “This Land is Your Land” and “Born in the USA” were used. Had the choreographer or the music director even listened to the words of those songs they would have realized that they were meant not as respect to the US, but instead as critiques of US culture, politics, and ideals.

Other songs, that had little or nothing to do with the theme, included Aretha Franklin’s “Freedom” seemingly chosen for it’s title only, and a techno/electronica version of “O Beautiful” that did more to make the amber waves of grain look like a coked out flashback than it did to inspire pride.

The jingoism, though subtle, was apparent in all the costumes, and in the dance routines as well. At least we didn’t have to sit through the damnable “God Bless the USA.”

However, the biggest problem I had with the performance was the overall lack of skill. Apparently, these performers had been practicing for months, if not the whole year, for this recital, and yet their skills were lackluster at best.

The 3-year-old to 5-year-old category was laughable. None of the wretched little spawn, in garish matching tutus and tiaras no less, knew any of their steps, and so would simply spin, hop, and giggle their way through the songs. The crowd applauded, yes, but only because they were happy to see the sausage legged dumplings heading for the stage wings.

The next age group was equally as insufferable. Though they were a bit more in sync with the music to which they were dancing, they made no attempt to hide the glee at their errors. They prattled around on stage with goofy smiles plastered all about their pre-adolescent gobs. Some of the dancers looked as if they had only learned their routines the day before, and frankly, it was at that point that I realized I had been severely cheated out of my 7 dollar admission price. I was secretly hoping that the storm outside would tear the roof off of the auditorium so that I could be fully refunded my ticket price, and an end would come to this travesty of modern dance. I was not so lucky.

Finally, ACWF’s cousin danced out on stage, and I’m sad to say, was no better than any of the other dancers we saw. At 5 years old you would figure that one year of dance lessons would be quickly absorbed and perfected. This day and age it seems like those would be high hopes. Though she was one of the best dancers in her group, she would have made any one with any semblance of rhythm wonder where the hell white people went wrong.

Overall, I encourage all to avoid this recital if it manages to travel outside of the school district unless they are heavily under the influence of drugs, alcohol, or some combination of the two.

===================================

Actually, the recital was fun, for the most part, and all the kids were cute. However, we also got to see the high-school aged dancers, and I learned something that day. You can teach someone to find the beat and dance to it, and you can teach someone dancing to the beat to feel the rhythm, but you can’t teach people to dance with rhythm. It seems to be inborn, and it didn’t seem like many of the dancers that we saw had any. They looked robotic, like they were simply counting out their steps. It wasn’t pretty.

On the other hand, the youngest dancers were so hilarious to watch that I wished I was under the influence of something. They would all spin, and hop, and blow kisses, and so on, and it was hysterical. I couldn’t stop laughing at how cute they all were. I strongly recommend spending a few bucks to see a recital like this if you need something to do while high.

If you don’t know, now you know… June Blogger Happy Hour

Lifted completely from this guy:

June Blogger Happy Hour
When: Wednesday, 15 June 2005, 5:30 PM
Where: Little Havana Restaurante y Cantina Cubana (location and directions can be found here)
What: The consumption of margaritas, mojitos, and other adult beverages with fellow bloggers and friends.

As mentioned here, after some early-morning negotiating sessions, a date and place have been designated for the June Blogger Happy Hour. The salient details are above, but many thanks to Neckbone and Ice Queenie for their efforts.

I must admit that Neckbone did more of the planning than I did, as I
did not want to steal his thunder given his recent introduction to this
circle. I suggested that since the weather was turning nicer that
we (hopefully) enjoy tasty adult beverages at a place with an outdoor
patio. Little Havana won out given its selection of tasty Cuban
beverages, delicious food, and outdoor patio overlooking the Harbor and
Marina at Harborview.

Looking forward to seeing you there. Please feel free to comment on your availability for the event here and here.

Bachelor Party

As promised, here’s a post on the bachelor party to which I was invited. Not as promised, it’s on Tuesday, not on Sunday.

The bachelor party would have been much more fun had a swarm of horrible germs (who probably caused this incident) not reared their ugly heads. I had no appetite, and I had no interest in drinking. As a friend put it, “You don’t want to be tasting beer and whiskey for the next 3 days if you start throwing up because of that virus.” Sage advice.

So I hung out, watched the ballgame, watched everyone get drunk, watched the amputee, midget stripper perform sexual acts on a tranquilized donkey, and then went out to the club.

The club was kind of fun, because there were about 15 bachlorette parties there, and it seemed as if we were the only bachelor party. The ratio was definitely in the favor of the gentlemen. But, after about an hour at the club, I was starting to feel sick again, so I headed back to the apartment.

All in all it was a good time, and it was interesting to see things with a clear head. I only wish I could have been drinking with my buddies, but if I had, I imagine I would still be throwing up Maker’s Mark today.

THIS USED TO BE CALLED FLAMING

NOW IT’S CALLED SHOUTING. SOMETIMES PEOPLE CALL IT SPAM. I’M USING IT TO REPRESENT HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW.

How should you read this post? First, spin around in circles 10 times. You can use a chair or your feet. I won’t tell anyone.

Next you should read the post out loud. As fast as you can. In a chipmunk voice.

Why?

Because I am cranked full of caffeine!

Have I told you that I don’t drink caffeine? I can’t remember, but I usually don’t. Not for years. Then I started to drink the immaculate ejaculate that is Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. It’s got caffeine, but it’s like you just sucked Jesus off. You take what you can get.

Anyway, because of my recent caffeine intake, I thought I was prepared to ingest caffeine again, but I guess I’m not. I only noticed that I was juiced when I couldn’t stop moving in my chair. I’m probably not going to sleep tonight.

Damn. I love sleep.

Once again, I cannot think of a title.

I’m kinda busy today. A 2 hour meeting this morning, and then out of my suit and tie into jeans and a polo for a picnic I planned for this afternoon ergo light poting.

But (and that’s a big butt) I’m going to a bachelor party on Saturday, so I’m bound to have a ton of crap to post on Sunday. As you may or may not know, I rarely post on the weekend, so this is my special Memorial Day weekend treat to you.

Plus, I’ll probably be able to throw up a lil’ sumpin’ sumpin’ for the end of the day today.

To sleep, perchance to dream

The last thought I had before I fell asleep last night was, “I love sleep.” I really do. I enjoy nothing more than feeling tired, putting myself to bed, and then waking up naturally the next morning. Usually this only gets to happen on Saturday and Sunday, but every now and then, if I’m treating myself right, I can get into a good rhythm in the middle of the week. I usually have my most vivid dreams during those sleeps as well.

Last night was no exception. I dreamed my ex-girlfriend’s mom’s mother had died (and I classified her as such, not as my ex-girlfriend’s grandmother) and I went to the viewing. As soon as I walked into the funeral parlor, I saw my ex-girlfriend and her mom. My ex-girlfriend had on a platinum wig, she stared at me for a second, I smiled politely, and then she walked away. She always was a bitch.

I sat down next to my ex-girlfriend’s mom, offered my condolences, and she offered me some cake. I looked up at her with surprise and noticed that the funeral parlor had morphed into a high school dance in a gymnasium, with a Chuck E. Cheese’s in one corner. Teenage attendees were getting into fights all over the gym, and I was shocked by the sudden change of surroundings.

I turned to ask my ex-girlfriend’s mom what had happened, but she was gone, and so was her lying, cheating, two-faced, platinum-headed daughter. I shrugged, got up, and headed for Chuck E. Cheeses. The last thing I remember about the dream was that I was thinking how cool it was that someone FINALLY thought to install video games in the ball pit.

When I woke up, my first thought was that my last thought was how great sleep is, and my next thought was that I didn’t have any dreams, but I thought I remembered dreaming. I didn’t really remember my dream until I was in the shower.

Star Bores

Well, Kmart and I went to see Episode 3 last night, and let me just say that I feel in no way guilty for buying $6 Senior Citizen tickets from the kiosk instead of the $9 regular ones. How stupid is that? You can just walk up to the machine and decide how much you want to pay, and then it spits your tickets out. I guess it relies on the fact that people will be honest, but I don’t have that problem.

We also got to see it on a digital screen, which was kind of like trying to polish a turd, but it made the movie LOOK better nonetheless. At the end of the movie I looked at Kmart and said, “Buh” which means, “It wasn’t as bad as Chronicles of Riddick, but it could have been so much better.” Kmart loved it, in a way very much like, but not completely, the way Hitler loved Jews. The movie also proves to me definitively that there is no God. If Jar Jar had spoken it would have proved that there is a God, and that he hates us, so we’ve got that going for us, which is good.

Okay, it wasn’t as bad as all that, but Darth Lucas has some ’splainin to do. This trilogy could have been 2 movies, if not 1 movie, had Lucas had just a bit more focus. I’m sure we can all think of places where a 15 minute scene could have been chopped down to a 3 second glance between characters.

Also, what’s the deal with the “Savior Complex” that big budget CGI films seem to take on? Does the hero/anti-hero always have to be an allegory for Christ for Christ’s sake? Jesus Christ! I’m looking at you, The Matrix.

And what’s with the new technology Lucas used? He used it over and over. What was it called? Oh that’s right, it was a symbolism bat. He kept using it to beat symbolism into our brains until we we’re bloody and senseless. I imagine people who enjoyed the movie had some sort of resistance to it. For example, after the Chancellor politically dismantles the senate, Darth Sidious physically dismantles it. Get it? GET IT!? Oh, and when the Chancellor gives the executive order to kill the Jedi, did we really need to see every single damn clone soldier get the message? Once was plenty. Twice would have sufficed for the knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathers among us. But Darth Lucas did it so much that the retarded children on a school trip in front of us were sighing with contempt and holding their heads in embarrassment.

Speaking of embarrassment, I think we should all be embarrassed, all of us, for having seen Darth Vader’s “NO!” at the end. Lucas shouldn’t have written it, and James Earl Jones shouldn’t have said it. The only rational explanation is that Lucas showed up at Jones’ house with a sack full of sweaty cash and an actor in a Chewbacca suit to satisfy Jones’ wookie fetish. Nothing else but that would explain such a hackneyed, cliche, and completely ridiculous scene.

The Death Star, though, really did it for me. It takes, apparently, 16 to 20 years to complete before Luke destroys it the first time, then just a few years to rebuild it again in its entirety before the rebels destroy it a second time? What the fuck!?

I don’t anticipate watching any of these movies ever again, but I wouldn’t immediately discount them if I could see them for free, without commercials. I certainly wouldn’t purchase them though. I imagine they bring some sort of curse reminiscent of Tutankhamen, rendering their owners fans of all things from NASCAR to Everybody Loves Raymond reruns.

That movie. You know which one.

I can’t post about it yet because in my pants-crapping tornado of lateness, I acidentally left all my notes at home. I’ll have to wait for Kmart to IM them to me.

I’m pooped

Last night Kmart and I went to see the Star Bores, I mean Star Sucks, I mean Star Snores, whatever, the movie bites ass. Anyway, more on that later.

So we didn’t get home until late, and we had stopped at Wawa on the way home to grab a quick dinner while we were driving. When we got back we watched a few minutes of American Psycho, and then I went to bed. I read a little bit of the Ultimate Unabridged Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy first, though.

When I woke up this morning, my stomach still felt funny. I wasn’t sure what was up, but I went on with my morning routine. I got dressed and then went out to the kitchen to make breakfast. As I was sitting watching terrible music videos (because bastard TV Land won’t show MacGyver on Thursdays) I had a rumble in my tumbly, and the not completely unfamiliar feeling of “the vapors” in my lower digestive region, if you get my drift.*

So, I leaned over and let it slide. And that’s where all my troubles began, because it slid. So, I hopped up and headed to the bathroom to confirm that I, a 24 year old man, had in fact shat my pants. Confirmed!

So, I cleaned myself off, changed clothes and took the soiled garments downstairs to the laundry. I thought about not telling Kmart, but then I thought, ah, what the hell, nobody is perfect.

We had a good laugh, and then he asked me if I was going to blog about it. I thought for a moment, and then said, “Probably.” You would have never seen this blog earlier, as I was going to come in and blog about Star Wars, but that crapping in the pants things really messed up my morning. I got so behind that I forgot to bring in my notes for the movie blog. (Yeah, it was so bad it needed notes. And it gave me diarrhea. Don’t see Star Wars or you’ll crap your pants, I think, is the lesson learned here.) So I was supposed to be into work at about 8:30, which would have been enough time to post about the movie, but instead I pooped in my pants, and come in later, and went right into a two-hour meeting.

The worst part is that I now have fart paranoia, so every time I have to let off a little steam, I feel terrorized into making sure my butt is planted atop a porcelain throne.

Oh well, at least you got a laugh out of it.

*I had to fart.




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