Everyone knows that the Superfriends were meant to be abused in homebrew video editing redubs for humorous or time-wasting results. Granted, the Superfriends reenacting an ad execs idea of pop culture generating gold could slip under the radar, but when your local troupe of 70′s superheroes renders their own version of the Hollywood masterpiece, Office Space, then it requires a bit more effort to attend the experience than a passable minute where they employ slang to shout greeting to one another. “Wazzup!” this is not, I mean, the lip synching is commendable, the original material is dear to me, the video and audio quality is good and most importantly, today is a slow day at work. Boredom makes all the world a comedy, if you’ll only pay attention.

Watching this video is just about the most fun I can have at work without spiking the water cooler or even taking off my pants. I say “just about”, because my office has more to keep me entertained than just non-dairy coffee creamer, or breakroom blackpowder as its referred to on the street.

We’ve got RF generators the size of two or three Cadillacs stacked atop one another, process gasses ranging from pyrophoric (don’t be lazy, just look it up) to carcinogenic, more acids than you can shake a silicon carbide coated molybdenum plate at (Why would you shake silicon carbide coated molybdenum plates at acids? Don’t ask, it’s a long story, which I may tell at another time.) and liquid nitrogen, liquid oxygen, liquid hydrogen, liquid argon, liquid liquid, liquid paper and anything else that can be liquefied. If you’ve got it, we’ve got a device like an industrial juiceman in the back that’ll liquefy it.

Okay, honestly, we don’t have Liquid Liquid or any other classic 80′s No Wave bands here, however I think this place would make for a terrible concert venue. Between the acoustics of the factory space, my disregard for the safety of concertgoers (see the “Who’s Who” of my workplace hazards above) and the fact that I can’t find a way to listen to more music than I already do at work, I think bringing a band onto the production floor is a bad idea.

Michael Bolton: “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life, Tom.”

Samir Nagheenanajar: “Yes, it is horrible.” Continue reading →

The U.S. Supreme Court upheld the state of Alabama’s right to ban the distribution of “any device designed or marketed as useful primarily for the stimulation of human genital organs.” Butt plugs and jelly dildos have never sounded so sterile. This ban isn’t just on the sale, but on any distribution of such devices. This means that you, being a craftsman of sorts, can fashion your own anal beads, but give them to someone else and you could be out 10k$ and jailed for a year. Now, I know your mind went racing off on a tangent, as mine did as well, once I referred to the act of giving a sex toy to another. I sit in anticipation for the day when I can see the Alabama Coalition for American Values and Ethics present in court that to use a sexual device on another is to “give it to them” over and over again, as it would be, and then assert that this is clearly distribution of the faux phallux to the genital region of the subject. Distribution of sex toys being illegal in Alabama, the court would hand down a stiff penalty for this illegal transfer of a rubber dong.

Now I know there are many more words to descriptively refer to sexual devices in a humourous way, but the point of this post is still looming. The legal action in this case centers on Alabama’s 7 year old law that intends to prohibit the sale of synthetic genitals and their look alikes, so long as they are primarily designed or marketed as sexual aids. This sort of allowance makes way for neck and back vibrators and other such massage tools, but the word of the law refers to exemptions for sexual devices intended “for a bona fide medical, scientific, educational, legislative, judicial or law enforcement purpose.” That list goes on futher than I think it should, but let us just take a look at it quickly.

I can understand medical, scientific and educational exemptions. This is so doctors, scientists and teachers can still buy all the strap-on, sit-on or ride-on devices they care to busy themselves with. They’re hard working people and they’re what keeps creativity and innovation moving in this country… they need all the breaks we can provide for them. They also need drugs, so I think a “medical, scientific and educational” clause in the country’s drug laws are in order. No chance? Where would this country be without medicine, science and education professionals? Do you want them all to go to Europe and Canada where sex toys come free in cereal boxes and the drugs can be delivered right to your door? Sex, drugs and innovation for all, I say.

No, the problem doesn’t lie in the first half of Alabama’s too-lengthy exemption list. No, I find increasingly disturbing issues as the sentence plays out. Legislative, judicial or law enforcement purpose? Yeah, all three of them… in a row. Okay, legislators, I’m sure, will have no problem finding a use for a vibrating rod of latex. It’ll look great in their constituents’ collective rear as they make more restrictions on civil liberties for the “immoral” to utilize the “obscene”. After the legislature is allowed their dirty devices, the same right is retained for judicial purposes. Will the judge weild a neon colored, semi-soft “penis gavel” to preside over cases of a sexual nature, or is it just to give the judge an obvious sexual advantage over a (well) hung jury?

Courtroom copulation aside, the most interesting stipulation, to me, is for law enforcement. Now I know this law wouldn’t ban nightsticks or plungers, as those choice sexual assault / interrogation tools aren’t designed or marketed for genital stimulation. So, why this allowance for the cops? Well the mind brings to light several brightly colored, buzzing and vibrating weapons that the pigs might break out and oil up to deal with a crowd of Conservative Christian Radicals. Should the weight of “anti-choice abortion stopping” and “anti-progress stem cell research blocking” protests become too much for them to bear, leaving them to hurl D-cell batteries and homemade firebombs at honest, hardworking police officers, the quadruple headed vibrating dildo assault system would be broken out. A shoulder-fired LAWS rocket based plastic wang accelerator could easily take out a dozen bible thumping minions while scattering the rest with the threat of high speed pentration from the extremely long arm of the law.

Do I really believe that the above situation is applicable to the world which you and I share? No, of course not. The cops would never attack Conservative protesters, even if they were letting loose with the lead-acid projectiles or even the occasional “rag in a fifth” IED. These aforementioned law enforcement tools would be used solely on the captured, subdued and restrained, but those who also fall into categories pertaining to minority status with regards to race, religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation or even political views. These such people are at the highest risk of being terrorists, and as such should be awarded no rights. Trial by a jury of your peers? Nevermind the peers or the jury, the trial is simply out of the question. Constitutionally protected due process shouldn’t stand in the way of securing the safety of Americans. We’d rather live in a cage on antibiotics than risk dying at the hands of, well… anything. Fuck safety, fuck the government and fuck the police!

And now, your moment of zen: Alabama Attorney General Troy King says that this case involves conduct that is both public and commercial, the sale of sexual devices to the general public in commercial retail shopping centers and at in-house Tupperware-style parties.

For serious? Continue reading →

Next weekend, I’m going to do what any white boy would do when presented with a snow covered mountain and a plank of wood; I’m going to ride the timber down the mountain. Nine seasons of snowboarding and I’m still not what I would consider a “good” snowboarder. Some might call this a modest move, but I’d say I’m an “okay” snowboarder. I do well enough to have a good time, and I’m occasionally confident enough to push my limits into small jumps and light glade boarding.

So, what do you do when your activities are short of spectacular? You take pictures of people engaging in spectacular activities… it makes you more spectacular by association. In this ruse of greatness, I’ll need a tripod for my camera, so I can set up on the edge of the terrain park and grab shots of people doing things I’m far too sober to do (id est: any attempts to break orbital escape velocity off of a jump, and such endeavors that provide for my feet being further off the ground than my head).

On tuesday, I decide that on my way home from work, I’ll stop at WalMart and buy a simple tripod, provided I can get it very cheap. Nearing the store, I recognize that my fuel gauge is navigating the quarter tank designation, so I arrange a visit to the local BP filling station.

This choice seems obvious, as I’m a sucker for their sign: a bright, pure white deal with the avocado starburst emblazoned dead-center, weighted by the lime green “bp” brand offset in the upper-righthand corner. It inspires a sense of cleanliness and simplicity, but also nascency, as this petrol stop is a late addition to my hometown.

Fringe to my choice, however, is that the attendant at this full service establishment bears a special doubt in my mind as to his national lineage where it, oddly enough, relates to his mental acuity. The situation went down thusly, after the first occasion I patronized the station:

Brandon: Hey, have you been to that new BP?
Steve: No/Yes (at this point it’s unimportant)
Brandon: The guy down there, I’m not really sure about him.
Steve: What do you mean?
Brandon: Well, he could be Turkish… could be retarted.

This isn’t quite as mean-spirited as it sounds. He’s got a full, round face and big lips, and it seems as though his tongue gets in the way when he speaks, however, I do detect a bit of a Turkish accent beneath his mumble and he seemed adroit for the fuel pumping task.

Later I’d come to realize that I had ruled out the chance of him being both Turkish and retarted. There certainly is the presence of mental fault in Turkey, and my lapse in ruling it out is now corrected. Still, this fresh theory didn’t take root with me, and upon subsequent visits to the facility, I’ve ascertained that he is more likely Turkish than retarted, but that he has a slight speech impediment and a problem with the English language.

Certainly proving his aptitude with his craft this tuesday, while filling my tank up with regular octane gasoline, he spotted a nail in my tire. To indicate the discovery, he bent down to my open passenger-side window and began, what I thought, was a poorly stated explanation of tires. He then frames a statement about nails and tires in soft-spoken tone and broken English.

In my curiosity for his lecture, he encouraged me to step out of my vehicle and inspect said tires. I’m a fan of visual aids, so I remove myself and proceed around the back of my car. He then points out, somewhat unnecessarily, the long, thick roofing nail placed deep, but obvious in the sidewall of my rear-passenger side tire. I gingerly touch the head of the spike and then thoughtfully pace back around the car and return to the driver’s seat.

The attendant calls the other workers to witness the integrity of my tire being actively broken. They talk amongst themselves about fixing versus repairing tires in general, then mine specifically, when I inform them that I’ve got a broad warranty policy on my tires, and that I’ll just get it replaced for free. This stunts their debate and they walk off without entertainment. Now I eschew further travel, skip the tripod purchase and head straight home.

The following day, having changed the critical tire out for my donut spare and having spotted a bubble in the sidewall of my front-passenger side, I set off on my twenty mile daily pilgrimage to my office. This, you see, is where the inspiration for the post enters, upstage, with the quickness.

There are three things that are important to note at this point:

1. I take Sunrise Highway to work, where the speed limit is 55 mph.
2. The average speed on Sunrise Highway, I’d guess, is 70 mph.
3. I actively try and maintain my speed as no more than 75 mph at all times.

That day, being conscious of the hobbled state of my car, I remind myself upon setting out that I will, at maximum velocity, obey the speed limit. This is easier said than done. It seems that on Long Island (as I’m sure it is in other places), everyone on the road is mad at two people at all times, those going faster than them and those going slower than them. The fastest and slowest people on the road, having the extreme to themselves, retain an anger towards the police, however, for opposing reasons.

Despite taking me a bit longer than usual to get to work, (and to be honest, it wasn’t that much longer) I noticed that driving the speed limit on Long Island during rush hour isn’t something easily subscribed to. Among many incidents of fear that the truck in my rear-view mirror isn’t going to slow down when he parks in my trunk, were two stand out incidents of absurdity. For the latter half of my commute I was being tailgated. I expected this, and thought myself prepared to ignore such aggressive intimidation tactics.

This proved ineffective when I found that I was being shadowed by an old, yellow short bus. The canary blaze in my rear-view was too much for me ignore and I desparately wanted the bus to go around me in the unoccupied passing lane. This bus wanted blood on the pavement, however, and was not dissuaded from it’s bullying by the availability of the two neighboring lanes for traffic to flow.

It was at the point that I began to fear that the bus was, indeed, a Decepticon involved in a poorly executed attempt to mount my car and make sweet buttlove to it, that the most unexpectedly humorous event transpired. In the passing lane, surely pushing the limits of it’s engineering, came theHybrid of the Opera, Honda’s Insight. Surely it was the most rediculous that any Japanese designer could actively imagine a car; this R/C wedge smoothly and swiftly carried out its lane choice intentions and passed me in my Mitsubishi (Goofus and) Galant. Now as it may not strike you as light enough to bring about laughter, that is exactly what it did. Perhaps to bring you into the joke, you’ll need to be familiar with the Honda Insight’s spec sheet:

Engine: 1 cyl. Vespa-type
Battery: 4 D-cells (NB: my maglite uses 6 of these)
Zero-to-Sixty: Yes (with the wind at your back)
Buttplug/Sneaker On Wheels: Both
Fuel Efficiency: 60 AU* / gal.

*AU (Astronomical Unit) = 9.3×10^7 mi

It’s nice to see something humbling on your way to work, espcially when you find out that the free warranty replacement really involves prorating replacement costs, along with installation factors you neglected to acknowledge. Now, the driver’s side tires on my car are further along in wear than the new passenger side tires (I can’t honestly tell from driving it), but I had a little adventure in humility in the rectification process.

Roofing Nail: $0.05
Tire Replacements: $80.00
New Tire Warranties: $20.00
Having an Insight pwn you: Priceless Continue reading →

I tried for a good 10 minutes to find a suitable fit for the above Slashdot formula for Soviet Russia raping John’s fat hosting pipe, and thus, revoking my blog posting for a few days. I give up, you don’t do anything to a blog that becomes vulgar through word rearrangement. Apparently, though, those commies love their UNKLE, though now that Vladimir and his boys seem fit with their Lavelle fix, I can get some short bursts of blogging out of my system.

I know Mark would be happy. I mean, there’s only so many times you can look up “bantam” and “praxis” before you realize that my comment relates less to your post than to the post I’d have written if I hadn’t forfeit my blog to “the people”.

Volksbloggen aside, as I recover from my withdrawal I can see more clearly now that I’ve gotten quite a bit done at work due to the afterclap of the UNKLE77 board blowing up my spot. Cuntpunt as they cuntpunt unto ye; now I must get some words out from my head and onto the interweb. This, expectedly, takes place from my desk at the office… I’ll go home soon.

A quick explanation before I do: A slight change in prefixation turns the Viennese sign above from “Placarding is forbidden.” to “Sex with animals is forbidden.” Experience the magic of Pictures of Walls for a good hour. It’s certainly cheaper than hitting up that strip club after work, and be honest, you like grafitti more than you like nudity anyway.
John: Some personal favorites involve-
In Soviet Russia, tetris piece rotate you.
In Soviet Russia, library checks out you.
In Soviet Russia, road forks you.
In Soviet Russia, environment pollutes you.

and this one pwns me,

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue;
In Soviet Russia, poem writes you. Continue reading →

I’ve now spent more time than I’d like to admit to, soaking in the absurdly useless content of FezGod. From Celebrity Head (John F. Jong Il) to This Day In History (1865: Doctors discover it wasn’t the bullet that killed Lincoln, it was the humidity.) and a Daily Bummer (“Every time a restaurant runs your credit card TRW also tells your waitress your dick size.”) that reads like a The Parking Lot Is Full punchline. I can’t forget the hilarity in fake ads (“Come out of that closet Gaybraham! -Queer Eye For The Dead Guy”) and last, but certainly not least, The Squooshy Pineapple. Satirical fake news is only as funny as the thousand words you put behind it… or a picture.

I’d also like to thank Ben of Robot Comix for giving me the help I need to avoid doing my job. If it wasn’t for wading through the archives of Robot Comix, I may have gotten something done today.

Reading Google News, Slashdot, Gizmodo, the updates in my favorite blogs and trying to figure out who I know with a CostCo membership doesn’t really add up to a productive day, but I did just finish an orange that was both tasty and delicious, so I think I’m ahead of the curve on getting something done.

I need a new job in a new location or a thick oversized envelope from RPI’s grad admissions. Either one would keep me from relegating myself to what I’ve got now: a shite job, hardly related to my education. I’ve got such a motivation problem, it’s a bit unsettling. But to cheer me up… a mock advertisement courtesy of FezGod.

John: I too dig Fez God / The Squooshy Pineaple. I discovered this a few days ago and had the link sitting on my desktop for whenever I wanted to post something but had no material. Apparenly Brando beat me too it. I compiled a bunch of them that made me laugh out loud like a retard at the office… Dare I share?

I’m quite keen on publishing in many forms, especialy web publishing, and I support the availability of publishing resources to many, many people.

This article, therefore, makes me a happy person. As a matter of fact, the rest of Cool Tools, and indeed Kevin Kelly’s entire site are especially interesting. Blog style news sites seem to be palatable informatives, and the Gawker media consortium’s gamut proves mildly indispensable to my daily information collection, with special emphasis on Gizmodo‘s feed for a tech toy habit to rival any coca/opium dependencies.

But I don’t leave public-personal journal style blogging out of the mix. MarkDrago.com and DogPoet lead my own drive to blog, along with my desire to see John blog here a bit more than he does. I can’t quite remember who it was that recommended DogPoet to me. This person deserves my thanks. Michael shows alot of great talent in writing, and his ability not only to interest, but to captivate me comes as a surprise. A paragraph into the first blog entry I read on his site some five months ago and I could tell that I would frequent this nook for some time.

So that’s it. That’s the post, and it was brought to you by my undying love of information in all forms. Blogs yield no exception, and I feel happy to have them support my regular pleasure-reading of dead-tree style books in various short and long formats.

Note: I suppose I should explain that the image is only tangentially related to the post as it comes from one on my less frequented blog roster, the lithium journals, but damn, if he isn’t so cute like an innocent little hatemonger. Continue reading →

Did someone say that young lawyers aren’t soulless husks? Not quite, but it seems like the corporate fuckpuppet status is something to drop in reverence and soon be regarded with confusion over past motivations. Honestly, the frat hazing attitude that some people have over their own long gone hardships confounds me more than those dumb fuckin’ “I Support Our Troops” magnetic ribbons on the back of every suburban cunt’s armored little league troop carrier. It’s the only reason I can see partners at a law firm so upset over their young associates inability to forfeit their lives to a fundamentally dishonest entity that would more likely confiscate their sister’s anal virginity than offer them their lofty reward for such undying sacrifice. Maybe I’m not the vindictive cocklunch these older tortured litigators are, but it seems the oppression is misplaced on their juniors and would only serve to perpetuate the vicious circle alluded to in the article. Maybe things aren’t looking so bad for the so called “Generation Y” (what a horribly unimaginative appellation), and in fact we may well be starting to care more about quality of life than quantity of money.

Casey McCall: It’s a vicious circle.
Dan Rydell: Yep. Just keeps going around and around.
Casey McCall: Never stops.
Dan Rydell: That’s what makes it vicious.
Casey McCall: And a circle.

Those fuckers stole my CatCam idea and strapped it to poor Lucky the german shepherd. He doesn’t look too happy about the facebelt snuggling that photo WAP up against his brain. I’ve got a fiver on Rover taking a finger with him when you try and put that motherfucker on him again. Besides, I like the idea John and I came up with to have the apparatus knitted into a pet sweater so the cat could wear it in a less awkward place than his forehead. Honestly, that dog is what happens when you get a Borg, a Klingon and a unwitting canine in a room with some pornography and lube.

EN sent me the Microsoft guide to reading your children’s chatlogs a few days ago and I’ve been trying to ease “|-|4/\/\” into an online conversation. It hasn’t come up. In addition, EN just sent me a link to the original Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy text adventure game in flash, complete with images for the scenes. The Bill Hicks quote is a classic, and more people need to read and follow it. I think with the posting momentum we’ve got now, we’re both required to keep posting at this rate or faster. Feel obliged… feel very obliged.

Note: SM seems to have a big problem referencing itself on a TrackBack ping. My attempt at TrackingBack has failed and I am worse off for it. I’m going to go kill myself… with media. Continue reading →

Mark got his first issue of Make magazine a few days ago. It seems really nifty, and I can imagine it’s the sort of thing I’d like on my coffee table. I’d also like to get my subscription to Res back and, of course, finally go through with that subscription to Giant Robot. I like the short formatting of magazines and also the portability of a magazine as opposed to a news website or online content aggregator.

Please don’t use the word aggregator around me. It makes me think of agriculture, and by way of association through a lens of non sequitur, makes me think of a ponderous beast of farm equipment weilding silver bladed arms and a crop thrashing set of teeth lining its cavernous maw. This steel skinned, dielsel smoke belching abomination harvests, not assorted crops as foodstuffs to feed the mouth, but RSS feeds, emerging ever so slightly, like juvenile stalks of corn, from a rich soil bed of digital content, in order for we, the digital populous, to feed our brains. It’s a complex scenario to build that takes up most of my ability to process information, and makes it difficult to pay attention to, nevermind take part in, a conversation. Oh, how I digress.

To say that I like magazines is a bit aside from the point. The point may well be that I enjoy magazines. Especially the monthly Res DVD that came slipped inside the magazine, serving as a sort of extra dimension for illustrative purposes to the articles and reviews. This comes across to me, as the extra mile between description and experience. That’s where Make comes into the picture as a tome of experiential articles that beg to be attempted. The city smiles contentedly for homebrew kite photography and your handicam yearns for a chase scene, if only you’d build him the stabilizer he could don, just to make you proud of the footage, calm as a windless lake. Make magazine shows promise, and may well be one of the magazines I subscribe to.

Where does Giant Robot fit into my peculiar appreciation of periodicals? If you’re thinking that I need it as little more than a centerpiece to my coffee table, or because the title “Giant Robot” showing cleverly from my magazine rack would make me seem trendy and not just a little smart, then you’re only slightly right. I mean, who doesn’t love Japanese culture? If, right now, you’re saying that you don’t, then you’re engaging in what we in the business refer to as “lying”. You know you like it because that’s what it’s all about. It’s engineered to be likable and in some spots absurd, bordering on insane. They’ve had many, many years to design a culture that their expats can research, critique, review and present to you in glorious dead tree formatting.

It’s really something, how a collection of strangers opining on subjects at least tangentially related to your interests can be organized into something you’d pay to have delivered to your door to read. And with that reflection on the magazine business, we see my hurdle in getting in on this trade. My door keeps moving, and to be unsure of where you’d like your mail delivered, is to be left out of the monthly portion of shining golden content of magazines.

Oh well, maybe when I move again to a residence a bit more permanent I’ll get back my subscriptions. It’s not like I have any shortage of reading material. The stack of unread books is towering over me by now, and even with short format selections to keep the pace up, such as The Best American Nonrequired Reading series, I can’t seem to find the end of the queue. Hopefully, I never will. Continue reading →

8:55am

Today, upon arrival at work, I begin a double-blind competition with Mark to see who can drink more water during their work day. Once I arrive, I fill my water bottle, a 20 fluid ounce vitamin water bottle, with water from the water cooler just a few meters from my desk. As I sit down to look over the morning’s news on Yahoo’s front page, I drink slowly from the vessel. Crisp and cool, the water soothes my dry throat, having had nothing to drink before leaving the house this morning.

Continue reading →