8.30.2006

The Somber Summary (or, the funereal Flash animation)

When one is in a foul mood, the gloom of Lemony Snicket's books can prove bracing. The final book in the series is scheduled to be released in six weeks - plenty of time to read the twelve preceding stories and their companion piece, Lemony Snicket: The Unauthorized Autobiography.

If. however, you are a 21st-century guy/gal-on-the-go and have only a matter of minutes to devote to this series, then you could certainly do worse than to listen to Tim Curry recap the twelve volumes as Brett Helquist's lovely drawings flash past your eyes.

I also highly recommend the AuthorTracker e-mail updates - they've proven invaluable to me. Without them, I might still be in the dark about the Friday the 13th (of October) release date for The End.

Speaking of which, The End looks rather grim for the Baudelaires, doesn't it?


8.29.2006

Turns the stomach

I cut running short today because I had to do a slow, careful, stomach-churning walk to the nearest bathroom - which, by the time I finally decided I couldn't tough it out any more, was about a mile and a half away.

It's five hours later, and the sketchy Thai food I had for lunch has finally decided to stop making its presence known. But as this Waiterrant post reminded me, bad food isn't the only thing that can tie your insides in knots. (You like how I connected those things? Think maybe I have a future in punditry?)

Waiter wrote, among other things, about hearing the news of a terrible plane crash in Kentucky. You can tell it's been a grim week for Cincinnati news when a story like this - 49 dead an hour away from here, aboard our local airline - is not at the top of the front page.

Nooo, the story of a 3-year-old autistic boy being wrapped with blankets and packing tape and locked in a closet for two days, then taken out to the country and incinerated by his foster parents, who later tried to cover up this horrible crime by saying he "wandered off" at the park - that definitely trumps the plane crash.

No wonder the follow-up on the man who was shot to death on his front porch Sunday got pushed below the fold.

And the trial of two 15-year-old boys who sodomized another boy with a pencil on a school bus is a mere blip on the radar; I can't even find the story anymore without help from Google News.

Hmm - this has turned into a depressing and rather inarticulate "what's the world coming to" kind of post. At least the Bengals are lookin' good! I went to the game Monday; perhaps I'll talk about it when I'm feeling cheerier.

8.25.2006

Suck it, Pluto!




Take that, tiny lopsided-orbit Kuiper object!

(Sorry about the wacky colors; Photoshop was not kind to my PDF)

8.10.2006

Oh, ew.

This LA Times profile of the man behind "Girls Gone Wild" just really could not get any more disgusting.

That's because of the man, not the reporter, by the way. I'm rather jealous of AE right now.

8.09.2006

7.29.2006

In which I suck the Internet from the very walls!



After a few weeks of radio silence, I finally have consistent home access to the mother of all time-sucks.

I went with Current, that company that somehow squeezes Internet access from the electric lines. I have no idea how they do it, but they do, and so far the service has been, um, serviceable. Every now and then I have to wait a while for a page to load, but I'm learning to think of those short interruptions at built-in break times, perfect for refilling my coffee cup or plucking my eyebrows.

The ease of setup is impressive. The photo above shows the contents of my installation kit (including a handsome mouse pad). The modem is the transformer-sized black thing on the left. I plugged it into the wall, connected the Ethernet cable to it and the computer, and signed in to the Current website. That was it!

I wonder if I'll miss reading books ...

UPDATE. I think I figured out the reason for the occasional stutters in service: I was plugging in to a faulty socket. With some rearranging of plugs, the issue seems to be resolved.

7.26.2006

"Hot as balls" is a misnomer

Because the testicles, residing outside the body, are actually several degrees cooler than the rest of the body.

That's all. Carry on.

7.06.2006

Overheard in the cruise ship gift shop

"I have a tank top with 'Aruba' on it, but I never wear it. I just don't feel like I can support Aruba after what happened - after they didn't help find that little girl."

6.27.2006

No more free rides

Well, it seems the open wireless network I'd been using finally wised up and got itself some password protection. Blogging will be sparse (-er than usual) until I bite the bullet and start actually paying for Internet access.

6.21.2006

Story time

Garlic Soup
as remembered from Highlights magazine

There was a kind man who owed a great debt to his landlord. The man was poor, for nearly all his money was spent trying to pay back the loan, but he managed to survive on what little he had.

One snowy night, there was a knock at the man's door. He opened it to see an old woman, dressed in rags and weak with hunger. Of course he invited her in to warm herself by his fire.

Presently she asked if he had any food to spare. Upon checking his pantry, the man found only a bulb of garlic and a tiny lump of butter. But he was used to such limitations, and before long the smell of roasting garlic filled the house.

He returned to the table carrying a steaming bowl of garlic soup. The butter he had mixed into it pooled on top and made hundreds of tiny rrops of gold on top.

The old woman smiled at him and said, "You are a good man. You have taken me in and offered me your food. This is how I will repay you. Close your eyes and count to one hundred. When you open your eyes, for every golden circle in this bowl of soup, you will have a gold coin."

The man, surprised, nonetheless did as she said. When he reached one hundred and opened his eyes, the woman was gone, but the bowl which had held the garlic soup was overflowing with gold - enough to pay off his debt entirely and live in comfort for the rest of his life.

The next day, the man went to his landlord to repay his debt. When the landlord saw the gold coins spilling out of his tennant's purse, he raised his eyebrows and said, "Robbed a bank, did you?"

"Oh, no," said his former tennant (for now that the debt had been repaid, he owned his own house and was no one's tennant). "I just ... got lucky, I suppose."

But the other man pressed him, and he eventually related the incredible story of the old woman, the garlic soup, and the gold coins. The landlord (he was still a landlord, for many other people still owed him debts, and he was a rich man) thought about this for a long time.

That night, it snowed again. The landlord paced up and down his living room, stopping every few minutes to glance out the window. Finally, he saw a hunched figure making her way down the street.

"About time!" he said, and he rushed outside and dragged the old woman into his house. "Here, sit," he snapped, shoving her down into a plush armchair by the fire.

"Thank you, kind sir," came her voice slowly and creakily. "Might I trouble you for -"

"- some food, of course, fine!" the landlord barked, racing to the kitchen. He grabbed a bulb of garlic and tossed it into a pot of boiling water, then dumped in a large block of butter. He than carried the entire mess out to the old woman and set it before her, saying, "There! That's more food you've seen in a long time, I reckon."

The old woman said, "You will be repaid for your generosity. Close your eyes and count to one hundred. When you open your eyes, for every golden circle in this bowl of soup, you will have a gold coin." And as the greedy landlord closed his eyes and excitedly started to count, he thought he heard a small, creaky laugh.

The landlord counted slowly at first, then faster and faster still. When he reached eighty-six, he couldn't take it any more. He opened his eyes and turned to the large pot where the soup had been.

And in its place, he found just one coin. And this is why. When the large block of butter the greedy man had dumped into the pot melted, it did not form tiny drops as a smaller amount might, but rather collected around the edge of the pot in one large, greasy ring.


What the story's moral is I leave to you, but I take it to mean, "Cook with care."

ShareThis