That age where complaining about having too much hair approaches complaining about having too much money.
I only listen to music for the inconsolable heart.
Finding Nemo holds up; Toy Story 3 does not.
Watching a season of Mad Men, then In the Mood for Love, renders a man skeptical of fidelity, and sour on the the human condition.
Par for course
In the past month, I have become an avid up cigar smoker, and have just bought my first set of golf clubs. I did not realize that in my 30s I would transform into a middle aged white man.
I once quarreled heatedly with a friend, where he said– okay shouted– that I was a horrible person; that the only reason people were friends with me was because they had known me since childhood; that in every group of friends there is always some loser that is tolerated out of sheer loyalty; and that I was that loser.
Yknow, in fights and arguments, there are good ways to fight and bad ways to fight… And then there are fucking dirty-nukes-in-briefcases-hidden-in-grade-schools ways to fight. Oof.
I find airport terminals to be places from which one can replenish one’s pre-existing notions and prejudices. It seems logical, dunnit; a spectrum of people all heading to or coming from a single common place. Eg., Them people from that state sure are fat. Lotta Asians over there live in that city. And yonder: a real horror show, a parade alternating betwixt the ugly and the grotesque. Take this gate for a flight bound for LA, for example. All the attractive people are obviously would-be actors.
One girl, tall, slim, a substitute Thandy Newton, and wearing pink heels that match her pink shirt. She’s accompanied by a squat man with greasy skin and purple dyed hair, dressed in all black, adorned in too many rings, necklaces, and charms (and lacking in any his own). I want to call him Roadie, or Roach, or Toad. They appear to be a couple, but a reluctant one. He puts his hand on the small of her back, and she is uncomfortable, but somehow feels obligated to oblige him. At first glance, I thought he was a fanboy asking an autograph from a starlet, but now I almost suspect some form of low level sex trafficking.
There are also children. Lots and lots of children. They are making noises. It is chaos, and I want to lie down, and I have been standing here for 5 minutes. To be clear, it’s not crying or yelling that upsets me– I’ve put up with worse flails from human adults– but rather it’s their chaotic sense of merriment that irks me. They have a positive feedback loop where yelps beget shrieks, shrieks beget aural maelstrom. I pray that the flight attendants permit us to place them in the cargo hold.
Here is another girl who i recognize from before the layover, all the way from LGA. She must have been the pretty girl in her class the one everyone said would make it. She is encased in light coffee skin, wrapped across a toned body. She must be a yoga instructor, because only professional aptitude would explain her body; there is no way that is the product of a mere hobbyist. She is wearing a tank top, yoga pants, and an actual fanny pack because it seems that functioning pants pockets would ruin the clean silhouette she is currently burning into the collective memory of the world. She has a stern face. This is a protective measure she learned long ago, lest she appear approachable, because if she did, um, men would approach her.
Her on-flight reading material? A script, of course. The word WIN is scribbled across the cover page. Mid flight, she gets up to retrieve a pouch from the overhead compartment. She reaches up, on her toes; her back arches; and half of the cabin sighs. The Frenchman sitting next to me notices her and instantly furrows his brow in disbelief. He mutters something in French, which I assume is a curse word for “gods curse this unfortunate seating assignment.”
The plane is delayed one hour for plane maintenance, and then another hour because the engineer working on the aforementioned maintenance forgot to return a logbook to the airplane, and he was now nowhere to be found, so until someone returns a physical item made of bound and dried parchment having information describing the maintenance of a modern avionics device, we should– WHY IS SAID LOG BOOK NOT DIGITIZED AND WHY CANNOT THEY JUST WHISK THE INFORMATION VIA TELECOMMUNICATION. I mean, i keep a maintenance notebook in the glove compartment of my 2001 Honda Accord, but I don’t have 150 people waiting on a Tarmac. Crab out.
Question of the day
Is this considered prostitution if it’s a prize raffled by lottery for charity?
Things I learned 2012-06
- ojeriza – a characteristic of the dog Fila Brasilerio, which roughly translates to xenophobia, or a deep dislike of strangers. Is often controversially selected for in that breed. [via]
- MOLLE – a system of webbing sewn into most modern military gear for modular attachment [via]
- Meanwhile, the Marines had their own system designed by outdoor outfitter Arc’teryx
- “The skunk’s scent glands have evolved into structures that look like swollen nipples, each able to swivel independently of the other to take perfect aim, and to perfectly calibrated effect”. [via]
- sinecure – n. well-paying job requiring little work. [via book Ghostwritten]
- Forget Battle Royale, Hunger Games is inspired by the legend of the Minotaur:
“After his son was assassinated in Athens, King Minos ordered the Cretan fleet to set sail for Athens. Minos asked Aegeus for his son’s assassins, and if they were to be handed to him, the town would be spared. However, not knowing who the assassins were, King Aegeus surrendered the whole town to Minos’ mercy. His retribution was that, at the end of every Great Year (seven solar years), the seven most courageous youths and the seven most beautiful maidens were to board a boat and be sent as tribute to Crete, never to be seen again.”
- From the what-not-to-do-during-patent-litigation archives:
The Cadence group Quickturn was also involved in an unusual series of legal events with Mentor Graphics/Aptix. Mentor purchased rights to an Aptix patent, then sued Cadence. In this case, the CEO of Aptix, Amr Mohsen, forged a notebook in order to make the patent case stronger. When suspicions were raised, he staged a break-in of his own car to get rid of the evidence, resulting in charges of obstruction of justice. Trying to avoid this, he attempted to flee the country, only to be caught with an illegal passport and a pile of cash. While in jail for this offense, he was recorded offering money to intimidate witnesses and kill the judge. In order to fight these charges, he tried to show psychological problems, but left a trail of evidence of his research into this defense, and how it might be done. He was charged with attempting to delay a federal trial by feigning incompetency, but was convicted anyway. According to the lawyers concerned, the original notebooks were not needed for the trial. The patent filing date, which was not in dispute, would have sufficed.
- The Nickeldeon 90s stars, including Pete from Pete & Pete, Ferguson from Clarissa explaisn it all, and the kid in Salute Your Shorts have grown up and live in Brooklyn now, and they somehow agreed to be cast in some cheesy music video starring Marc Summers from Double Dare. [via]
- The old TWA terminal at JFK airport is being preserved historically and may one day e adapted for use as a hotel. [via]
I hear them kids. Their racket, their cock blooded cacophony spilling into the streets. I ain’t so old, but I could retire with what I know. I get it– the future– this future we pretend not to recognize, in an awkward dance around a former acquaintance, as if to do so would gainsay its basic essence as a repackaged form of the past. I see the patterns, the repetition, the inevitable periodic pain, like a boxing glove whirling around on a string– the kids…
I am a sourpatch kid in reverse: sweet-looking on the outside, and…. utter poison on the inside.
Sorry I was unable to attend
Am proud of this note I scribbled for a gift offa wedding registry last week:
May your marriage retain warmth,
be free of rust, and full of lovin’
just like this Le Creuset
enameled cast-iron Dutch oven.
Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose,
Crab and Co.
Failure as a human. Success as a garbage receptacle. La di da.
List of desired but highly unlikely 30th birthday gifts to myself
- Family dog
- Photorefractive keratectomy (PRK) laser eye surgery
- 3D printer
- Every item in Steve Martin’s A Christmas Wish
Update: I bought myself a charming NAS bay and 1TB worth of beautiful redundant hard disk storage.
The Social network – review
Recently saw the film The Social Network, and I question what the universal acclaim is for. Isn’t this merely “Pirates of Silicon Valley” but with better writing and directing?
I suppose that’s ironic criticism for a movie whose very subject matter is about an origin and worth of an idea. If Steve Jobs has taught us anything, it’s that actualized execution is what has the most value, not a mere idea. In this case, Zucks’ clean and simple design (as compared to Adam Goldberg’s “CU Connections”) won him a lot of users. The Winklevoss clowns remind me of every friend or friend a friend that’s ever come up to me and said “We got a great idea, we just need a programmer.” Really? You just need a person that will be providing all or nearly all of the value while you have no useful skills whatsoever?
Also, who knew 100% of all Facebook founders love Asian girls? (Zuckerberg is taking Mandarin lessons for Priscilla, and apparently Eduardo is living in candy land in Singapore). This movie must be the most widely seen documentation of WGWAGs since, why, perhaps, the Joy Luck Club?
I am such an absentee landlord that i cannot even be bothered to shutter this place. I guess i will keep you around after all. Happy 11th anniversary, blog.
Seeing a cherished old friend get married; gaining 5 more pounds of gut fat; and watching your sports team squeeze out a playoff loss to a lower seed, makes for one toxic cocktail of self loathing pit and sorrow.
You know it is time to give up playing Starcraft 2, when after a long day of work, you log on, proceed to lose 7 brutal games in a row, and at the end one of your opponents heckles you and calls you a “faggity fag.” Cheers.