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This post is dedicated to the lowly henchman in all of his multifarious forms, from goblin, to blue slime, to red shirt, to koopa, to stormtrooper to every beastly fido in every MUD I ever played. I am so very, very, very sorry. I realize that my work ethic is, much like the easter bunny or santa claus, a pleasant fiction whose existence I have long since realized is entirely illusory, but I believe that even much better employees than I would be hard-pressed to properly fill a good pair of henching shoes. It takes a certain terminal form of optimism to gaze upon the gore drenched demigod who has just turned a dozen of your coworkers into an oleaginous spackle on the walls and is in the process of removing his emphatically glowing ancestral sword from a pile of neatly stacked limbs that moments ago was Ted from your carpool and instead of thinking "The hell with Ganon and his lousy 401k plan, I'm getting the hell out of here", instead viewing the avatar of death bearing down on you as a ketchup bottle that has now been sufficiently loosened for you to deliver the coup de grace. I salute you in all your infinite stupidity and thank you for instilling in me a belief that if I looked left and right and noticed that everyone around looked more or less just like me that I was probably well and truly screwed. What little individuality I have, I owe to your sacrifice.

The previous paragraph is brought to you by the fact that I've been playing Ninja Gaiden 2 since getting home, which is a game that can best be described by the protologism "Decapitastic". I sort of want to get back to it, so instead of thinking up something new to say about it, I'm just going to copy and paste my running IRC commentary from when I first booted it up.

> My god. I think I could assemble a small village worth of people out of the
+limbs I've severed in just five minutes of Ninja Gaiden 2
> What makes it especially horrifying is it's not just an instant kill move
> So in a reasonably decent sized group of ninja minions by the time you've
+killed one, you've probably taken the arms off a couple of others
> They may be cannon fodder, but I've got to hand it to them. If some
+lunatic freak with a sword had just taken my arm, I'd be rethinking henching
+as a career
> Sadly I don't think you can take both arms off and re-enact that monty
+python bit
> This is really quite ridiculous
> I just executed a series of attacks I can only describe as a double spine
+thrust followed by a 3/4 boxing helena
> I think this game would really benefit from descriptions like that flashing
+on screen in the style of the tony hawk games
> Dear god... I am now wielding a staff and yet still removing limbs. The
+sound effects lead me to believe that they are not so much being severed any
+more as just dissolving into constituent atoms under the force of my blows
> I have replaced my staff with a pair of metallic talons. This can't
+possibly end well
> I am not quite sure why my character insists on dramatically plunging his
+death tipped fist entirely through the enemies stomach when he has already
+removed every limb they have, but it sure looks uncomfortable

I generally find gore for gores sake in videogames a little juvenile and tiresome, but you've sort of got to appreciate subject material that takes anything to such a ridiculous level that it becomes self-parodying (See also: Dead Alive or 300). When equipped with the aforementioned talons of doom, your character becomes what can only be described as a sirocco of dismemberment, the patron god of limblessness, an archetypal, blood drenched vision of terror worshipped in hidden rituals by Weeble and Mr. Potato Head alike. It's a sight to behold.

Instead of ruining a perfectly pointless entry by telling you anything about what my non-fictional life is like, I'll leave you with my amusingly schizoid itunes playlist that's been running in a loop while I've been updating this: Serge Gainsbourg and Bridget Bardot's Bonnie & Clyde, Elliot Smith's Needle in the Hay (though the Sad Kermit version is worth a watch also), Grendel's One Eight Zero (Life Cried Remix) and The Flight of the Conchords Prince of Parties.

Can you believe they used to pay me to play music for people? Neither can I.
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When I see you, I see my own face. I want to save you from yourself. What could I do? What could I say? It's a downward spiral, a downward spiral...

Well, I had a perfectly good self-pitying, sullen journal entry bouncing around in my head, but this weekend seems to be pegging out on the suck-o-meter across the board for many people I know and care about already, so I think I'll just skip that. It's not like I ever would have written it anyway, because heaven knows I never actually say anything non-trivial here. Instead, I think I will briefly mention some things that don't suck. I'm keeping the song lyrics though. Just so you don't think I've gone and become an optimist on you. I know that would be distressing.

Iron Man is actually a pretty decent movie. Certainly good for a comic book movie, but that's akin to saying "It was the most enjoyable root canal I've ever had!" "Best breakup ever! I'd do it again and again!", and so on. I'm going to stop short of saying it was a good movie, because my criteria for a good movie involve not ever wishing I could force myself into a coma for a couple of minutes, but it was an enjoyable movie. I've decided I'm pretty much the worst possible person to watch comic book movies, because I remember just enough about being a comic book nerd to be pissed off at all of the continuity butchering, but in the intervening decades I've also become a gigantic film everything snob and just abhorrent of action movies in general, unless there are subtitles, maybe...

You know what *is* a good movie? Walker. I love you Criterion Collection. I love you so.

There's a clockwork beetle sitting on my function key row. This produces a warm glowy feeling in the cogs and ratchets surrounding my aortic pump. Maybe I just need to be oiled though. And for your monthly dose of "Aren't you glad you don't live in my head?", I'll have you know that I now have a detailed mental image of a glisteningly well oiled steampunk version of myself singing "Happy birthday Mr. President" haltingly while venting steam and gamely attempting to twirl springs serving as nipple tassels.

Speaking of steampunk, one of my recently purchased books is Whitechapel Gods, which I imagine is going to be disappointing, but it's worth the purchase just for the cover

Instead of reading that, I've been catching up on my Vonnegut. Bluebeard. Deadeye Dick. And now God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater I've been harboring illusions that while I sleep, my books come to life, and in this fantasy world, God Bless You Mr. Rosewater, while patrolling the bookshelves comes across a copy of Atlas Shrugged lecturing a group of ignorant freshmen college texts on the virtues of being a selfish bastard, and there ensues a battle vaguely reminiscent of the fight between the Clark-Nova and Martinelli typewriters in the film version of Naked Lunch. This would of course require me to have a copy of Atlas Shrugged somewhere in the house, which I thankfully do not.

Oh, I also read some more Irvine Welsh (Filth in particular), just to reassure myself that I've still got a long way to go before I hit really serious misanthropy.

I'm listening to the new Nick Cave, and I'm pretty sure I just heard the lyric "She's filled herself with panda blood", which I'm choosing to count as a positive. Also purchased today, more backfilling my New Model Army catalogue, and the new PJ Harvey. It's possible that I pretended that during the course of the walk home, the PJ Harvey and Nick Cave CDs made out, had a brief relationship, and then an acrimonious breakup, and are now resentful of their adjacency when sorted by date added in my itunes collection. I can neither confirm nor deny this.

I find it amusing that in this journal entry, I have both anthropomorphized my books and music, and reduced myself to a mechanism, albeit a disturbingly erotic one. I can only think of the Big Lebowski line "He treats objects like women, man!" This is probably fresh in my mind because I spent a good chunk of Iron Man thinking "Obadaiah Stane is being very un-dude"

In other news, I'm older. I'm now 100000 years old as far as computers are concerned. It was a lousy birthday, but there's something satisfying about being a power of two. It's not outside of the realms of possibility that it's the last time it'll ever happen, so I've decided to try and make the most of it.

And now sleep.

We all want what we cannot have. We've driven so far, we can never get back. Sitting in the all night cafe in a curl of smoke, telling tales of the road
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You doubt yourself so much you don't even know what you really want, or how you really feel. And I'm so tired of you constantly over-thinking. I know why... because everything's going ok. Just your style, to break it all into pieces. I know why... because everything's going ok.

Another sort of fragmentary, "just to maintain momentum" sort of posting, which is sort of appropriate, as that's how I feel recently. Really just posting to prove that I can, in some small way at least, fight the inertia that's pretty much consumed my life for the past couple of months.

First off, why has nobody told me about this movie: There were five of them. The Indian. The ex-slave. An explosives expert. Charles Darwin. And the masked bandit.... I'm severely disappointed in all of you.

Secondly, there have been two Halou shows thus far at Cafe du Nord this month. The third and final one is this Wednesday. I will accept the following reasons for you not being there. "I can't get there". "Rabid lemming attack". "I have bad taste in music". "I am a bad person". Any other excuses must be submitted in writing to the JMSI (Joshie Ministry of Scorn and Indignation) by five pm pacific standard time on Tuesday for consideration. If not, you get added to the list... And no, you don't get to use "But I've never heard of Halou", because, look, links, links, and some more links

I'm currently reading the newish Nick Hornby. Mainly because I couldn't find my copy of Vonnegut's Bluebeard when I was walking out of the door this morning. It's not bad, but it's young adultish, and the arrow of time makes me steadily less the target audience for that. In general, I haven't been reading as much as I would like to recently. China Mieville's Un-Lun-Dun was charming, but also has the young adultish problem. Plus it made me wish he'd write some more Bas-lag books, and I don't think that's happening. Forlorn. Anyone have any suggestions?

Single best wiki page I've been distracted by recently: List of Cryptids. My favorites are the Drop Bear, Ultraboat (because the world doesn't have enough horse/boat hybrids in it), and The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary, which I'm pretty sure was the name of a vegan secret society in the Middle Ages.

My newly dyed hair is showing a distressing tendency to remain more purple than blue, no matter how hard I think blue thoughts (and I have been!). This is disconcerting, as to paraphrase Sailor Ripley, blue hair is a symbol of my individuality, and belief in personal freedom. You just can't get the same feeling with purple hair. They're all conformist sheep. Obviously.

As a tangent, while the cryptids are my favorite wikipedia page du millisecond, this is far and away the best wikisurf: John Lurie -> Bear Surprise -> How does one patch KDE2 under FreeBSD. Man I love the internet.

On the BART the other day during the "Please remember your belongings" spiel, the conducter appended "Any articles left behind will be confiscated and divided amongst the rest of us. Please do not leave behind spouses and children. They're harder to divide". Awesome.

I would like to go dancing tonight, but I don't think it's in the cards. Feh. Times like this I almost wish I drove.

I flee now.

Edit: Oh hey, I almost forgot. Who wants my older copies of Angel Heart or Baron Munchausen? I've purchased new and shinier collector editions, so they're up for grabs. Also strangely up for grabs is a copy of Permanent Midnight that randomly came with the copy of Abre Los Ojos I purchased so that I could watch Vanilla Sky without having to watch Tom Cruise. I'm not exactly clear what they were thinking when they made that two for one deal, but hey, you can profit from their bizarre matchup.

Disregard your inner monologue. Don't try to drown it out, 'cause it'll only wear you out. Sometimes things are just beyond control. That has to be OK, because you don't have a choice
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This most likely won't be a terribly interesting post, but I just saw a meme so fantastically dorky in [livejournal.com profile] mkb_cbr's journal that I couldn't resist. Read on if you've ever been curious about just what size fort I could make out of my game collection.

In which I yet again cast suspicion on whether I have ever actually known the touch of a woman. A non-elven woman that is. )

Whew. That was a lot of dork. I think I am too exhausted to do a proper update at this point, so instead I will summarize how I'm feeling with this comic strip. I would like one please. The reset button that is, not the robot. I am the robot. Goo goo ga joob.

You should browse through that comic if you haven't seen it before. There are some relatively excellent ones.

My current itunes playlist consists of New Model Army (such a good show on Thursday by the way), Senor Coconut (That video is freaking me out man), Leftfield (I really wish I could listen to that song without having to think about the movie Hackers), and Crystal Castles (Will, you've heard these guys right? Their wikipedia entry has the following quote "Crystal Castles' music uses unusual instrumentation such as placing an Atari 5200 sound chip inside a keyboard in order to produce a sound that has been described as having "ferocious, asphyxiating sheets of warped two-dimensional Gameboy glitches and bruising drum bombast pierce [the] skull with sheer shrill force, burrowing deep into the brain like a fever"", which of course made me think of you...). If you think all of this makes for a strange mix, you are entirely correct.

Who's going to Halou at Cafe Du Nord on Wednesday? And if not, why the hell not?

In other "Why the hell?" news, why the hell isn't Exterminating Angel out on domestic DVD yet? And why does there exist a movie called Exterminating Angels that seems to exist solely to get me excited when I see it in stores? I have seriously picked up a copy of that DVD no less than ten times in the fervent belief that some alchemy of hope contained in my palms will blot out the added S and transform the DVD contained within, but nooooooo.

Also, I would like the deluxo four hour version of Until The End Of The World please. Dear America. Your bad taste is why I can't have nice things.

Ok. There. I managed some non-dork content. Don't you love how my definition of non-dork content consists of dorking about music and movies?
goldenmean: (Default)
Strange eyes, two little whirlpools, made by god to destroy fools. Two pearls of infinite cost. Two paradises lost. They swallow me, and all my dreams

Hey look, glasses!

Glasses pics )

They're going to take some getting used to. They're dandy for reading, which makes a certain amount of sense considering they're called reading glasses, but they're not cutting it for computer work. Mainly they just change my left eye from being a more or less uniform blur to a selection of small blurs I can resolve into letters if I expend some concentration. All this has the result of my brain trying to shift from just completely ignoring what my left eye is telling it to jumping through hoops reconciling the input with what my right eye is giving it. It's all making me want to do optics problem sets.

Who else is planning on going to the Stromkern/New Model Army show on Thursday? Maybe dinner beforehand or the like?

Ok, work or something now.
goldenmean: (Default)
Today was an offsite day at work, which is in theory a fairly grand thing. It is relatively difficult to complain about getting paid to not work, but I have a rare talent for taking the pessimal (HAH!) view of things, and it seems a shame to waste such a talent (though it's quite possibly the *only* talent I've ever chosen not to waste, channeling Heathers: "Now I use my grand IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear and how to hit three keggers before curfew" (though I'll note that the latter example there is actually a traveling salesman problem, though admittedly a trivial one, regardless, it's still from an NP-hard class of problems)). Hey, while I'm being incredibly tangential, if you google "pessimal view", you only come up with one source (though admittedly, three different references to it), a game theory reference in a book entitled The Balance of Power: Stability in International Systems. It's not even vaguely a googlewhack, what with the quotes and all, but still, neat.

ANYWAY. So, yes, the offsite involved bowling. Bowling is one of a very long list of things I just completely fail to grok. Having seen the Big Lebowski on any number of occasions, I've got a pretty firm grasp of how to play. You pick up a ball, lick it lovingly, throw it at some pins, exclaim excitedly to your teammates, and get ignored in favor of a conversation about pedophilia. After the match, you are jumped by nihilists (It is dark. You are likely to be eaten by a grue). It's all quite simple, but I'm not entirely sure why it's meant to be fun. Here are just some of the gaping flaws that I see in the game.

1. A complete absence of experience points! How can you even call yourself a game?
2. The pin-setters do not have lasers. Come on! The thing is a damned robot. What sort of heartless bastard makes a menial robot and doesn't even give it one laser. How's the poor thing even meant to revolt properly come the robot uprising? All of the other robots will laugh at them.
3. Your ball enters a dungeon of pneumatic tubes, and you don't even get to see the action. Even if it's only a one level dungeon, there's probably at the very least a handful of kobolds in there. What a rip off.
4. I, like so many of my generation, suffer from Marble Madness related post-traumatic stress. Anything involving spheres is pretty much out of the question.

And this doesn't even touch upon the added host of problems with blacklight bowling. I don't know about you, but I was presciently sick of black lights and fog machines sometime in the early 90s before I ever actually stepped foot in a night club. And then the music, oh dear god the music. I tried to be social, I really did. But the second I found myself thinking "Man, I really hope they go back to playing Abba cranked up to 11 on this stereo. That was way better than whatever this is", I knew I could stand no more, put on my headphones and went to read my book in a corner. Which I believe makes for pretty much a perfect run of offsites I have attended in my life in which I ended up looking like I was just a smidge autistic. At least I didn't fall asleep in the corner at this one. Ah well. Eventually I found a Dance Dance Revolution machine, where I was happily ensconced until I realized everyone else had left and I had the rest of the afternoon free to roam about.

There's something singularly pleasing about wandering around on a workday wearing an xkcd "I'm not slacking off, my code's compiling" t-shirt. I expect to receive a similar pleasure the first time I order a sandwich while wearing my "Sudo make me a sandwich" shirt, or when I breathe demiurgic life into my army of nano-bots while wearing my Stand Back, I'm going to try Science! shirt. xkcd truly does have a shirt for all occasions. All the occasions that matter that is.

Hey, speaking of things referenced by xkcd shirts, and work in general, I made an amusing bug this week. I was writing a form validator for a comma separated list of two letter combinations, and I set up the regular expression in such a way so that it would only accept the input if you put a space after every comma, because, you know, *everyone* follows style guides when entering data that isn't even a sentence, right? Right...? My checkin comment for the fix consisted solely of "Silly Joshie, you should know by now that the internet is no place for proper grammar". Then I went to wikipedia grammar and realized I probably should have said "orthography" instead of "grammar". It's not like anyone will notice though. I mean, these people don't even punctuate properly! Also, I admit that I giggled at the heading "Clitics in romance", because I am apparently five.

In other news, my sister redyed my hair tonight. Woo. It's even back to its proper color, thanks to a mass hairdye order Tinny made. Oh Blue Velvet, I've missed you so. Speaking of, they finally put out a proper DVD of Lost Highway this week, so you no longer have to suffer with the poorly aspected, generally lousy Canadian version. On an altogether unrelated note, does anyone want a Canadian version of the Lost Highway DVD? Also on DVD this week, one of the better movies you probably didn't see last year, Wristcutters: A Love Story (the other movie I particularly liked last year that was only in theaters for about a millisecond was Rocket Science. Why do people have no taste?). Oh, also on DVD this week, Frisky Dingo, which is pretty much the best adult swim show ever. I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you earlier, Jason and Sasha.

And for those worried about my current musical leanings, this week has mostly been about the Neofolk, mainly Death In June and Current 93. Supposedly spooky, but come on, the subgenre even has folk in the title just sitting there laughing at me. Not out of the woods yet. The choice of video for that Current 93 song is excellent by the way. Disney really needs to go back to scaring the hell out of children. Well, ok, I guess I *do* find the fact that they're making a movie entitled Beverly Hills Chihuahua more than a little terrifying, but not in a good Black Hole/Something Wicked This Way Comes way.

Ok, now for something completely different.

Edit: Oh man, I almost forgot to mention that there's now a Shrine of Lilith flickr community if you haven't already seen it. Meeeeeemories!!! Revel in pictures of me and many people from what is still my primary social group from two lusters ago.
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Yay for finally getting out dancing again. Also, yay for Meat having a pretty steady crowd for lo' these many years so I didn't have to go through one of those unfortunate existential crises I get when I return to the club scene after a hiatus and it seems like the entirety of the people I recognize have stopped going out and been replaced by freshly minted 18 year old gothlings. This has happened something like five times, and I don't approve of it.

I had an optometrists appointment today. This was something like 14 years in the making. The end result is pretty much what I expected. My left eye is screwed, and my brain more or less just edits it out. Unsurprising considering that's the eye that went all crossy when I was young. He sort of half-heartedly asked if I'd want to wear a single contact lens for that eye, but I wasn't having it. I was tempted to ask if I could have a monocle, but decided against it, so instead I'm getting reading/computer glasses to help some with the strain of my right eye doing pretty much all of the distance work. They should arrive next week, at which point the law of archetypes will finally allow me to petition to be officially intelligent. Whew!

Also, having numb eyeballs feels very strange.

Here is an assortment of things that are awesome.
  • This game..
  • The word pessimal. For some reason it had never occurred to me despite being so obvious. optimism:pessimism::optimal:? and all that. Unfortunately I will probably almost never use it, because I tend to use optimal ironically by saying that things are suboptimal, and there's just not a good equivalent for pessimal. Superpessimal? Just doesn't work. And don't suggest that I use it without irony, because that's crazy talk
  • After tomorrow, I won't have to think about javascript for at least 48 hours


I saw Doomsday on Tuesday with a bunch of people. If you know anything about my taste in movies (and you probably do if you pay any attention to this), that might give you cause to wonder. This was mainly by way of Simon taking revenge for all of the spectacularly uplifting indie/foreign movies I drag him to (4 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days is not exactly the feel good movie of the year). I can't actually decide what I thought about it. It was unquestioningly horrible. On at least one occasion, I caught myself staring at the back of Simon's head wondering if anyone would actually convict me if I murdered him by repeatedly braining him with the bag of snooty criterion collection DVDs I happened to have with me. At other points I actually just stopped looking at the screen at all and began to count the little light stars on the ceiling of the theater. But, along with all of the bad (and I could write so very, very, very much about the bad), you sort of have to appreciate it in the way that you appreciate it when small children ramble on excitedly about their fantasy worlds ("And then there were ninjas, but they couldn't kill the dinosaurs with their swords, so they got lasers from the robots, who came from the future!!"). It's just such a horrible mashup. It's like the writer took every random thing he liked and decided to make a movie involving them. "Ok, cyborgs, post apocalyptic primitives, knights, plague zombies, and car chases. I can work with this". I've decided that this is clearly an easy way to fame and fortune, so I'm going to write a script using the same methodology with things I like. Here's my initial treatment:

In the dark future, the scattered remnants of humanity roam the wastes on the backs of giant, city sized super-megatheria. When a mysterious cybernetic plague begins to devastate the sloth-cities (Did I mention that the sloths are cybernetic? Because they *totally* are!), one brave heroine must venture into the wastes (Yes, yes, I know I said that they were already in the wastes, but these are far wastier wastes I'm talking about now. Try to keep up) to bring back the cure. With a ragtag collection of mercenaries you completely fail to care about in the least (which is for the best considering they exist solely to raise the body count), she becomes embroiled in a war between the super-intelligent clockwork polar bears and their arch nemeses, the ur-hedgehogs, masters of cryptozoology. Also, there is an exciting chase on dragonback. Just because!!! The movie culminates in a final battle where the ultimate creation of the clock-bears, a gigantic steam driven replica of Philip K. Dick mounted on the back of a transforming robotic battle-panda (For reasons never explained, it transforms into a complete set of the works of Jonathan Lethem and a slightly battered first edition copy of Italo Calvino's "If On A Winter's Night, A Traveler") fires its doomsday weapon, the gnostic cannon, tearing gaping rifts in reality, through which emerge the entirety of the greek, norse and egyptian pantheons, and a gigantic tentacle of presumably cthulhoid origin. Then there's a dance number. And then the credits roll, leaving room for a sequel.

Man, I'm going to be so freaking rich.
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And springtime starts but then it stops, in the name of something new, and all the senses rise against this, coming back to you

Greetings, creatures of the internets. Long time no see. I seem to have wandered vaguely off the grid there for a while, as is occasionally my wont. I'd say it would never happen again, but it doesn't take a detailed survey of my posting history to realize that's probably a lie. But for now, I'm sick of my rut, and this seems a good enough way to try to do something about it. Besides, it's spring, and that means it's time for new beginnings, and kittens, and plants flashing their genitalia at you, and good stuff like that.

Sadly, none of that makes me magically interesting, but I'm sick of procrastinating on posting something, and I seem to have forgotten how to sleep, so this seems like a good substitute. Well, this, and watching my seemingly unending collection of DVDs (Thus far tonight, The Ice Storm, and Southland Tales. You know, because I'm schizophrenic like that (Has anyone else here actually seen Southland Tales? It was only around here for like a week in theaters. It's uhhhh, really quite something. Something that treads that line between brilliance and psychosis. While I don't think it's actually a very good movie in an objective sense, it's certainly the best movie ever that contains the Sarah Michelle Geller epic "Teen Horniness Is Not A Crime" on the soundtrack though, I will give it that. Also, dwarves doing calisthenics for no reason. Also, SUVs becoming... amorous. And mega-zeppelins. And a musical number. Or two. And more!))

Hey, speaking of movies, this is me continuing to tell everyone who will listen and not really care that Guillermo del Toro seems to have At The Mountains Of Madness scheduled for 2010. Words can not describe how awesome this is. That was the last book I ever did a book report on. Said report consisted mainly of me jumping back and forth between two chairs screaming "Tekeli-li" a bunch. I had gotten very little sleep. Also, it beat having to make a diorama. After that I decided that losing 20% of my grade was a totally reasonable price to pay for not ever having to stand in front of an audience again and just started refusing to do book reports. I regret this decision not at all.

I spent a lot of time at work today telling people that their servers had run out of entropy. I mainly just wanted another excuse to say that again. "Run out of entropy". Any day in which you get paid to denounce the second law of thermodynamics can't be a complete loss. Tomorrow I plan to stand on my desk and throw my stapler into the air screaming "Up, you bastard. Fall UP!". Well, maybe not.

Anyone doing anything fun in the near(esque) future? I've got the traditional April Port Costa birthday gig (my sister's going to be 30, tee hee!), the Stromkern/New Model Army show, and maybe a couple of the Halou gigs in April on my radar, but I crave more. Also, I would like to freaking go dancing again. I had decided that I was doing Death Guild on Monday come hell or high water, even if I had to run out early to catch BART, but then I was reminded it was the anniversary, and screw that noise. Hopefully next week. In other news, I sort of have a jones to go camping.

Maybe it's my hiatus from Death Guild, but I've been showing some distressing signs of indie rock sensibilities. Been listening to a fair amount of Iron and Wine (I blame the I'm Not There soundtrack (That was a really great movie by the way. Even if you don't particularly care about Bob Dylan. I can say this with authority, because I'm one of those people)), Belle & Sebastian (See above parenthesis, except substitute Juno for I'm Not There and drop the bit about Bob Dylan) and the Venetian Snares (Ok, so they're not really indie rock at all, but I really love that song, so I tossed it in anyway. Drill and Bass tends to make me think I'm listening to a particularly unpleasant dental appointment, but it works with the Elgar (and yes, I totally picked the dorkiest possible video associated with this song)). Regardless, it's worrying, the indie rockness. If I start wearing turtlenecks, please just put me out of my misery.

OH! That reminds me. Most of you have probably already seen this on my sister's LJ, but she scanned pictures of us when we were wee tiny. I demand that you revel in proto-Josh. Of the many awesome features of this picture, I think the fact that I'm already practicing my smirk is my favorite.

Ok, that's enough pointless rambling from me. Off to go procrastinate another couple of hours and then get a good two hours of sleep before work. Whee.
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Added another to my ongoing list of bad ways to start the day this morning. Woke up groggy after getting almost twice as much sleep as I've become accustomed to lately (a solid seven hours, what luxury!), and came out to rescue my ipod and keys from my computer table, which serves a secondary purpose as being the geologic bedrock upon which lies the great ocean of spare change (and its aqueous cousins, the gulf of unsorted cards and the straits of outmoded hardware, but those have stories of their own, unrelated to this ill-starred tale). This particular morning, like some gastropodal Ulysses, a snail had managed to maroon itself upside down in this argent sea. In the process of trying to retrieve it and carry it back to Ithaca, or at the very least, some place more favorably disposed towards mollusc kind than a table snail miles away from invertebrate foodstuff, it apparently decided that enough was enough, gave up the ghost, and began fizzing away to nothingness leaving me in possession of a goo filled shell and the distinct impression that I'd managed to inadvertently destroy it merely with the power of my seafaring (and subsequently saline) metaphor. Not my favorite morning ever for sure. Probably not the snails either.

In happier news, I got what is clearly the most awesome thing I have ever owned at work in the mail today. I'm not entirely sure it's functional, as I have yet to be hounded through all space and time by a deific head demanding its return, but I think that might just be because I'm too tall to use it properly. This and a bit in the book I'm currently reading (Steve Erickson's (not the same as the Malazan guy) The Sea Came In At Midnight, having finished up Ghostwritten) reminded me just how much I love maps. I should get more. I'm watching Map of the Human Heart to continue the theme. Sort of considering following a fire bombing of dresden thread off of that to Slaughterhouse Five (as an aside, I bought Slaughterhouse Five mainly because I was curious what the "Billy, Billy. We just had a baby" sample at the beginning of This Mortal Coil - Strength of Strings was from. Google searching led me to Slaughterhouse Five, which I'd managed to forget was made into a movie, so I grabbed it next time I was at Rasputins. As an aside aside, why is it that every time I find a good sample database, it seems to go belly-up a couple of weeks later? I'm constantly not quite able to remember where I recognize samples from)

Mrf. It's late. I think I'll sleep soon. Before I do though, I should probably mention that I got my sixth offer letter at my current company (three part-time/contractor gigs, three conversions to full time employee). I sadly bid adieu to a good chunk of my salary, but I'm still making more than the last time I was full time, and people keep telling me that at some point I'll be happy to have insurance. Meh. At least it means I don't have to think about going looking for work again anytime soon (well, until I quit or they lay me off... again)

And because it's an almost obligatory part of my entries anymore, my wiki distractions of the night (courtesy of Rachelhead) center around obscure typography, most notably, the Irony Mark (well, and the Interrobang, but that's only because I like saying Interrobang!?) Also Moof mentioned a good bit on Reverse Mathematics which I'm a bit too spacey/distracted to really parse currently.

Also, you've probably already seen this elsewhere, but I'd be remiss in not mentioning something this bizarre. Have A trailer for an organ theft themed musical involving Nivek Ogre and Paris Hilton
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Sun goes down. Temperature drops. Beautiful Burnout, Beautiful Burnout

Ok. Too tired for anything but random braindump about movies. My rock and roll lifestyle (hah!) seems to be catching up with me. Maybe I should think about getting more than four hours of sleep sometime this week. Maybe I should think about actually doing something worth getting four hours of sleep for instead of just staying up too late watching DVDs and waiting for something exciting to happen on the internet.

Saw lots of good movies this weekend. Here's my miniature, entirely unhelpful reviews of them.

Lars And The Real Girl - The most fun I've ever had involving a Real Doll

Finishing The Game - Best movie ever involving nazi ninjas (I have the sneaking suspicion that Will would actually be able to suggest at least nine other nazi ninja movies that are far superior)

Sleuth - The only movie that's ever made me think that watching Jude Law and Michael Caine have angry sex might be sort of hot. Need to rent/buy the first one to compare/contrast.

And would someone please tell me how I should feel about this? I keep waffling between thinking it looks excellent and thinking it looks like the worst movie ever made. It's obvious this is at least partially on purpose, and you know, I <3 Donnie Darko, but ever since listening to the commentary track on it, I'm not entirely convinced that the director knew what movie he was actually making, which makes me sort of doubt his ability to pull another rabbit out of his hat. Hopefully apprehensive.

I have had the theme song to Metalocalypse running on a loop in my head for two days now. I'm beginning to worry.

So tired. But anyone want to place bets on whether I'll be asleep in four hours or playing Beautiful Katamari?
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Dear Limahl's haircut:

I can't get you out of my head, babe. All last night, I tossed and turned, tormented by thoughts of you on top of me, your curls kissing the back of my neck, your follicles driven deep into my skull, some mysterious chemistry flooding through them, reassuring me that though the world might laugh, I can do anything as long as you're with me. I can throw caution to the wind, grow out some five o'clock shadow, and sing falsetto in a hypnotically self-involved jaw dislocating manner reminiscent perhaps of one trying to fellate an elephant. Such is the power you have over me. Your birth the legacy of a night of passion spent between a mullet and a drunken spider. What transcendent glory that one such as you could come from such humble origins. Though showered with mockery, there's a glimmer of insouciant luster to you that I can tell is ironic disregard for your detractors. You're not like any haircut I've ever known, and so different from the tramp I'm with now. Her blue the hue of indifference, the callous way she leaves my neck bare to the elements. Oh how I long to be encompassed by your blonde and black majesty, dappled like some jungle beast. But wait, I can hear her stirring in her sleep. I must send this now and tonight, with luck, I dream of you. Of us.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Right. Now that I've gotten that out of my system, on with the minutiae of life, which, considering I'm me, might as well start with movies. I saw My Kid Could Paint That on Monday as a time-killer between work and Death Guild and liked it more than expected. Some of the best bits weren't really about the subject of the film at all, but more about the observer problem as it relates to documentary work, in that you change the subject by observing it. And of course all the great furor about abstract art in general. Personally, I don't much care about the furor over whether or not the girl actually created the paintings. My appreciation of art more or less begins and ends with whether or not I think it's purty. If there's some particular story behind it, that's dandy, but it doesn't make me like the art itself more or less. The art and the story behind the art aren't much coupled for me. This, and my complete inability to bullshit, is probably why I didn't go to art school. That or the complete sucking void of any spark of creativity or talent in me so vast(ly small) that I believe I might actually sap the artistic potential of those I spend too much time around. One or the other. I've got a sort of love/hate thing going with most abstract art also. Generally speaking I hate the actual art aspect of it (though there are exceptions), but I'm endlessly amused listening to people talk about it. This carries right up until the likes of Rothko, which I view as being an excellent joke taken entirely too far to be funny anymore.

Before I digress further, appealing trailers I've seen recently (or not so recently, but I just forgot to mention them), I'm Not There, and Weirdsville

After the movie, I noticed a group of people gesturing emphatically at each other in sign language, and spent most of the BART ride wondering what it would be like to be deaf. Given the state of my father's hearing and the fact that I spend a good portion of every day listening to music playing very loudly over my headphones, I'll probably get to find out eventually. There are some aspects of it that I would consider not so bad. I'd never have to use the telephone ever again, which would be bliss. I'd never give myself a headache trying to wish telekinetic death on people talking in movie theaters (I should note that I don't *really* want the ability to kill with my mind. I'd much rather just have the ability to remove people from history entirely, to make them never have existed in the first place as that 1) Saves on the hordes of corpse cleanup details that would inevitably follow me around as I grew mad with power (for a pretty excellent exposition on this subject, I would recommend you read Palahniuk's Lullaby), 2) It's cruelty free and 3) It makes for better scifi. Because if you can't have scifi written about your inevitably dystopic attempt at making a better world, then really, what's the point?) (This rant brought to you by the people sitting behind Simon and myself having a conversation throughout the entirety of Lust, Caution on Sunday). Anyway, another added bonus of the whole being deaf thing is that I'd have a pretty excellent excuse not to talk to people anymore, which, in a very general sense, I don't really like much, probably because I don't think I'm very good at it, and my immediate response to anything I'm not very good at is to decide I wasn't very interested in it in the first place and go find something else to do (I'm fairly convinced that in the greek tragedy of my life, this is my defining flaw (sidetracking wiki-hole Tragic Flaw->Nichomachean Ethics->Aristotelian Ethics->The Golden Mean (I love my nick)). I much prefer writing. For some reason I seem better able to channel what I'm thinking then, which is sort of amusing, because I tend to write in a conversational style. To a certain extent I'm just transcribing what is basically a spoken conversation I'm having with simultaneously nobody and everyone I think might be reading my journal. I always feel clumsy when I'm talking, and I don't much enjoy that feeling of frustration. Another thing wrong with talking that is far superior in written form: Parentheses. You could speak in a parenthetical manner, I suppose, but it's generally reserved for people who are very high and easily distracted by shinies. Also, multiple person conversations, while still problematic on something like IRC, are a complete trainwreck in the real world. It's a neverending mess of people stepping on each others sentences, and considering I'm not incredibly assertive, it's usually just me half saying something several times and then just sitting back and watching the other people talk, until I get (more) uncomfortable and go somewhere else. Anyway, eventually I decided that being deaf would pretty much suck, but mainly just because I love music. Becoming mute on the other hand still sounds more appealing than is probably sane.

Hrm, it's late. I'm watching Peter Greenaway's Belly of an Architect, and I'm struck by the fact that Peter Greenaway and Wes Anderson in some ways seem to be the inverse of each other, at least in the way they frame their shots. They both have incredibly posed shots, but while Anderson's tend to be tight around the actors, creating a feeling of intimacy, many of Greenaway's, especially in this movie, leave the characters stranded in the middle or to a side, overawed by the visual wealth surrounding them. I think I find the thought of my life being shot by Greenaway more appealing, but maybe that's just the hand stapled to my forehead talking, as so many of his characters come to bad ends (as an aside, there's an okcupid test that assures me that the director who is filming my life is actually Sofia Coppola, which I find rather appealing). Why is Prospero's Books *still* not on DVD? Oh, here's a sad little question for you. Which is more depressing? The fact that after watching Darjeeling Limited for the first time, I couldn't remember who sang Playing With Fire, or the fact that initial google searches for it came up with almost unanimously nothing but Hillary Duff references? I'd like to think it's the latter, but that's probably just because I don't want to feel in some part culpable for the bankrupt state of music these days.

Less than five hours till alarm and counting. I'm sure most people who are likely to care are already well aware, but I'd be remiss in my duties, if I didn't mention that the new Tim Schafer game Brutal Legend is clearly going to be one of the most excellent things ever (That link may well stop working soon. Someone seems to have been wandering about removing that trailer). My general reaction upon first hearing about it was "That sounds like it's going to be spectacularly idiotic... Oh, wait, it's Tim Schafer. I reverse my opinion entirely". It looks like wikipedia finally has a good selection of quotes from Psychonauts up (plenty of spoilers there. If you haven't played it yet, you really ought to). I've been giggling at them all day.

Sleep now maybe.
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Unstructured brain dump mode go!

Most favored wikipedia-surfing of the past several days: From the Graeae (Clash of the Titans had come up in conversation(tangent: The fact that I still don't own a mechanical owl is clear proof of the intrinsic unfairness of the universe)) to the Moirae, to the Norns (tangent the second: One of the stamps listed on that page is terrifying enough that I've decided to add "Sending mail to Denmark" on my list of "Things not to do when altered". Other recent additions to this list: "Playing Portal" and "Figuring out the resonant frequency of my eyeball" (Thanks Ari for that last.)), to Time and Fate Goddesses, to what is clearly the best named deity ever, Huh. I'm amused that the concepts of one million and infinity were apparently more or less interchangeable to ancient Egyptians, mainly because I enjoy thinking about the semiotic breakdown caused by the Year One Million Problem.

Finished Number Nine Dream, which continued in its early promises of excellence. After a brief detour on the BART ride home to read This Shape We're In, I've proceeded on to Ghostwritten. Only one more David Mitchell to go after that (Black Swan Green, already purchased and patiently awaiting its turn in the neverending queue (Aah-aah-aah-aaah-aaah-aaaah (That is some truly spectacular hair, even by 80s standards. You're really missing out if you don't revel in every second Limahl is on camera.))). Sadness.

Tangential to the unbearable attraction I feel to Limahl's hair, my continuing efforts to train amazon in my tastes have finally born sweet fruit. I had The Best of Falco recommended to me the other day. I feel like I've finally arrived... While I'm pasting "excellent" 80s videos, try this blast from the past

Hrm. Enough for now. More catching up tomorrow maybe.
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Darjeeling Limited was incredibly satisfying. I just felt everyone should know that before I go to sleep for four hours and wake up in quite possibly an entirely different mood about the cost/benefit ratio of seeing movies that start past midnight when your alarm goes off at 7:30. If you're planning on seeing it, you might want to watch Hotel Chevalier first. It's a prequel of sorts, which I was unaware of before walking into the movie, but there was a brief blurb for it. Also, the first previews I've seen for Juno and The Savages, both of which look relatively great.

Other events of the day: Needed to kill time before Darjeeling, so I watched Outsourced at the Shattuck beforehand. Formulaic, but enjoyable, and it seemed to fit. In two of the three movies set in India I've watched recently, the Indian characters bobbed their heads from side to side, in a gesture that seems to be used interchangeably in a positive and negative sense. How is it I've never encountered this up until now? I've lived in a major metropolitan area for well over a decade. I watch a lot of foreign movies. I have many coworkers from that area. Is it a regional thing? Specific to a particular culture there? Relatively uncommon? Am I just completely oblivious to have not noticed it until now? I find it incredibly charming, and if it weren't for the typical white liberal guilt at cultural appropriation, I'd be tempted to put it into use myself.

Finished Piercing and started reading Number Nine Dream, which is really, really, really great, and unless it goes rapidly downhill past page 70 or so, I think I like it more than Cloud Atlas, which I liked a lot. Any book that involves the mockery and subsequent annihilation of Belgium in the first chapter can't possibly be bad. =BM=. Man, there are maybe five of you who read this that will get that. The rest will just have to get by thinking I'm an asshole. Or I suppose you could ask.

Had an interesting wikipedia browse session today when I decided that my overuse of the word really and other fillers in my writing constitutes a form of Speech Disfluency, which is odd, because the mechanisms associated with speech disfluency don't really seem to serve a purpose in written work. Is there a more appropriate terminology used when it's written? From there, I wikisurfed through Valley Speak, California English (Ooh, look at the pretty vowel shift diagrams), through to Hyphy. Some days I just really love the internet. Hideously tempted to steal the phrase "Ghost Riding The Whip" as some lewd sexual innuendo, white liberal guilt or no.

I also decided on a rudimentary theory as to why internet memes annoy me more and more. Among other factors, I have decided that there exists a certain ever decreasing lifespan for every meme, which I have chosen to refer to as TTG (time to glue), after which that horse is well and truly beaten, and can be beaten no more, and should please oh please just vanish from my percept space already. The TTG is obviously inversely proportional to the number of people involved in the mutation of the meme, and directly proportional to a variable that I have dubbed the Herreshoff-Seabiscuit factor, which roughly speaking measures the inherent susceptibility of an individual to memetic transmission. Because there is an ever increasing number of people on the internet, the TTG for memes is ever-decreasing. I believe that there is an interesting interaction that occurs in people with exceptionally high Hs factors (which I have dubbed The Sleipnir Inversion), wherein the TTG actually becomes negative, and things are rendered unfunny long before the subject is actually exposed to them (Tangent quote from Max in Kicking and Screaming "I'm too nostalgic, I admit it". Skippy - "We graduated four months ago. What can you possibly be nostalgic for?" Max - "I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I'm reminiscing this right now. I can't go to the bar because I've already looked back on it in my memory... and I didn't have a good time"). Further research is obviously needed.

In other news, a crazy and/or mentally challenged person on the bus today hit me three times in the neck and upper back before his minder noticed and dragged him away telling me "It's ok man, you don't need to beat him up". The mental picture this engendered in me almost made the pain in my neck most of the day worthwhile. Mornings are really sucking for me lately. But at least I didn't have my house accidentally destroyed by a foul tempered giant this morning like the spider whose web I walked into on the way out my door, so everything in perspective I guess.

Sleep now. Alarm in less than four hours. Woot!
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Nowhere girl. You're living in a dream. Nowhere girl. You stay behind the scenes. Nowhere girl. You never come outside. Nowhere girl. Because you prefer to hide. Every day, every night. In that old familiar light...

Washed adrift this morning from some oneiric sea into a dream of reconciliation. Though like some of the best dreams, it was completely indistinguishable from reality (the other category of excellent dreams of course being those that have practically nothing in common with reality). Until of course an Aliens style powerloader exosuit made entirely out of cardboard showed up. When it opened its mouth (yes, I know the powerloader in Aliens doesn't have a mouth. Dream, remember) and began shrieking "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP" at me, the jig was pretty much up. After trying and failing to induce a coma or a stroke, leaving me stranded in dreamland amid a welcome slurry of misfiring neurons, I resigned myself to face a less desirable reality, albeit one also less populated with malevolent sentient cardboard (If you ignore such luminaries of two dimensional evil as our president (I did specify sentient after all)). To say that I was displeased with how the day began would be an understatement of Brobdingnagian proportions (Or should we leave understatements for the Lilliputians? (I had a sudden wave of depression thinking that it's likely a larger percentage of the internet wielding populace is familiar with lolcatz phenomenology than Jonathan Swift. I've truly outlived my time. I can haz satire?!)). The rest of the day went more or less as expected. Worked. Wandered aimlessly around downtown Berkeley for a while. Chatted with people at the California. Might hit up a preview screening of Darjeeling Limited tomorrow, though that has the unfortunate side effect of me wandering home at 2 am or so. And now, lacking anything of real interest going on, I bring you another edition of Josh Media Watch 2007. Oh the excitement

Books read in the last week: Jeffrey Eugenides The Virgin Suicides (Liked it far more than Middlesex, but that's not surprising considering the increased resonance of the subject matter for me), Stanislaw Lem's His Master's Voice (This was *great*. I need to read more Lem. Only read Solaris and Cyberiad other than this. Any suggestions on where to go next? Those seem to be the big three.), and just barely started Ryu Murakami's Piercing. Oh, and if we're counting graphic novels in this section, and we might as well, let's toss in the third Exterminators trade paper back. Also, and in a completely different vein, I attempted to read a book on String and M Theory and failed in humiliating manner. I think I'll return with a better math background. I don't suppose anyone has some good group theory books they'd like to recommend? As is about the only thing I get out of the wikipedia page on Calabi-Yau manifolds is "Ooh, pretty". Somehow I doubt I'm the only person who thinks that "It is possible for the first Chern class to vanish as an element of the real cohomology group, so that the manifold has a Ricci-flat metric, yet not as an element of the integral cohomology group, so that the manifold does not have a global nowhere vanishing holomorphic (n,0)-form." is just the tiniest bit abstruse. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I'd kept doing math steadily instead of wandering off to other interests, and I have come to the conclusion that if nothing else, I'd at least be able to speak far better martian.

Recent movies - Not much new in the theater. Saw Vanaja and I think that's about it. Lots coming soon that I want to see though. Looking forward to Control, Lars and The Real Girl, No Country For Old Men (Please let this end the run of fairly blah stuff coming from the Coen brothers for a while. Ladykillers, meh. Intolerable Cruelty, slightly less, but still, meh. Though their bit in Paris Je'Taime was pretty great), Margot at the Wedding (I dig Noah Baumbach. Kicking and Screaming is consistently high on my favorite movies list) and of course the aforementioned Darjeeling Limited, and probably others I'm forgetting. On DVD, been watching old Kenneth Anger and a bunch of random odd animated stuff. Blood Tea and Red String, old Jiri Barta stuff, The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes (Not actually all that animated really, but it's the Brothers Quay, so it should count), and I'm currently half paying attention to The Beautiful Washing Machine. My DVD collection is getting progressively odder. I was a little bit amused to see that I owned a goodly chunk of the hilariously snobbish (and this is me talking, so...) Amazon list of Films for the bourgeoisie to walk out on

Been all over the map musically. New Mind.In.The.Box, which I'm not actually very taken with yet, Bat for Lashes, developed a fondness for some The Books stuff, though I'm afraid it makes me a horrible hipster, my usual new wave obsession, including the B-Movie song I quoted at the beginning (anyone who uses Metropolis in their music video is ok by me). Boards of Canada, Ulrich Schnauss, Sigur Ros, etc. Yep, definitely a hipster. *sigh* I held out as long as I could. Oh, and the Across The Universe soundtrack. Purty.

And then of course the video games. I think it's a mark of the clear superiority of Japanese video game culture that I went from playing a game in which you're a high school student who alternately spends time participating in clubs/dating your classmates during the day and fighting demons in a several hundred story tower that is also your highschool by shooting yourself in the face with a pistollike "evoker" hence summoning your inner persona, represented by tarot card aspected mythological figures to playing a game that seems to take place entirely in a hallucination of Frederic Chopin as he lay on his death bed.

And now it is late, so I think I'll do something about that.
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Oh, what the hell, considering we're on a book theme. Have a meme.

Book meme )
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I don't really have anything interesting to say I'm afraid, but I'm sort of getting sick of waiting for inspiration to hit to do a proper update, so here you go. I have some faint hope that once I start writing, I'll be clomped merrily on the back of the head by a muse and suddenly become far more entertaining than I feel. I wonder what muse holds dominion over the blogosphere? Melpomene is probably still exhausted from the glory days of the blood dripping, skull spinning, look at my woeful poetry geocities page. It seems Clio most likely has better things to do, and sadly, the average standard of writing on the net probably doesn't count as poetry, either bucolic, lyric, epic or erotic. Maybe they have an intern. Regardless, I haven't been bludgeoned with the truncheon of inspiration, so I guess this will probably just be a hum-drum "What I've been doing" sort of update.

As is usual for me, I've mainly just been consuming media gluttonously. You'd think with the amount of information I absorb, I'd almost be forced to turn around and do something useful with the excess, but no, all of the books and movies just sit there in my head, having chaste little tea parties, without the slightest urge to procreate and send little baby new ideas back into the world. Stupid head eunuchs. Ok, list time. Things recently read or re-read: Iain M. Banks - Feersum Endjinn, Walter Moers - The Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear (charming, but not Phantom Tollbooth, which is what I wanted it to be), Roger Zelazny - Lord of Light (best book ever to involve both Buddhism and plasma weapons), Haruki Murakami - After Dark (Middle of the road Murakami, which is still quite good), Ryu Murakami - In The Miso Soup (Just remembered that I reread this solely because I bought Piercing, realized this was the prequel, finished it, and then got distracted before starting Piercing), Irvine Welsh - The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs (I can't tell if he's lightened up on writing the scottish accent, or if my experiences with Spud in Trainspotting and Porno have just immured me to it), Barry Hughart - Bridge of Birds, Geoffrey Eugenides - Middlesex, David Mitchell - Cloud Atlas (Thank you for the recommendation psydid, I liked it rather a lot), Fischer Tibor - The Collector Collector, Tony Vigorito - Just a Couple of Days, Theodora Goss - In The Forest of Forgetting (Rachelhead, have you read any of her stuff? Was vaguely reminiscent of the Datlow/Windling fairy tale reinterpretations we were both reading in college, except better.), Geoff Ryman - Air (Cyberpunk that takes place almost entirely in a small, barely technological village in faux Kazakhstan. Who'da thought?), Warren Ellis - Crooked Little Vein (Godzilla Bukkake - nuff said), Tao Lin - Eeeee Eee Eeee (This book is surpassingly strange. No really, here's a sample paragraph.

Moose that year stood alone in shadowy alleyways. They weighed a thousand pounds, which made them not want to have thoughts. Mostly they just watched, from a distance--in blackness and without thinking. If some of the alleyway was bright and some was dark the moose would walk to where it was dark and stare at where it was bright---and not think anything at all. Sometimes an alien would stand with a moose, not because of solidarity but because of accidentally doing it. Aliens usually stood in dark doorways but sometimes got confused and stood in alleyways behind, on top of, or adjacent moose. Sometimes a bear climbed a moose and the moose would feel warm and happy, which made them run. Moose had no friends that year. A lot of the time a moose would feel tired and lean against other moose. Only there wouldn't be moose there and the moose would fall.

Needless to say, I liked it. I'm pretty sure I liked it at least.). Oof. Ok. Done listing now. There's more than that, but I'm getting sick of digging up amazon links for them, and loathe to break the pattern now. Anyway, viva bibliophilia (Yes, technically incorrect, I know, but it scans well).

Hrm. It's getting late-ish. I'll spare you an equally epic list of what movies I've seen, or what I've been listening to. I will comment that Underworld was great as always live. While Paul Oakenfold was really, really not. Really. No, REALLY.
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It's been a while since I posted anything of interest, and for that I apologize, buuuuut, this post probably still won't be it. Tomorrow, as I'm sure most of you already know, Underworld is playing at the Warfield. And Paul Oakenfold. But you know, mainly Underworld. And because I am a) stupid or b) have fewer friends than I think I do or c) have less faith in my friend's ability to schedule their own social calendar than I should, I've got some spare tickets. Anyone want to go? If so, poke at me here, or one of my assorted emails.
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Let's see if I can make this compact, considering I'm at work, which brings us immediately to our first point. Or my first point at least. You might not have points at all, I pointedly point out perspicaciously. If that's the case, I envy both your curvature and your presumed ability not to wander off on completely meaningless, yet alliterative tangents. All that aside however, I'm back at work, which is... sort of nice I guess. There are more people still here than I thought, and the ones I recognize seem happy to have me back. I'm still at that point where I don't have a lot of long term projects to work on, so unless I'm actively dealing with a ticket, I read a lot of documentation, where documentation may well mean "Teh Internets". I'm sure that will change though.

The past week plus has been nice. I wandered off to the peninsula last weekend to meet up with Ari and my mom (separately), and despite almost blinding myself with a tortilla chip shard (If only I could direct my insane ninja skills towards a career in assassination), overall had a good time. I retrieved some old photos I had in storage at my mom's house. Mostly from the '98 early sfgoth era, but I also found some from when I was 4 or so. I should see about scanning those in. A sampling of t-shirts I was wearing in 1980: Missile Command, Pacman, the villains from Superman 2. Is it any wonder I ended up the way I did? I also brought back almost the complete series of the Gilmore Girl... errr, I mean porn, yup, manly, manly pornography and superbowl highlight videos. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Monday on has mainly been hanging out with Alisa. Among our other adventures have been almost getting locked inside a market, and while making our escape, quite possibly instigating a gang fight between rival food service establishments. Also, book purchasing. I own all of the Dark Is Rising sequence again, which soothes me in some vague, yet important way. Next stop, all of the old L'engle stuff. Saturday we saw Ratatouille with Starr, Vernon, and Haley, which was good. More double entendre than I'm used to, or maybe I'm just getting steadily dirtier minded as I age, which is really an incredibly horrifying notion. Sunday we were going to join Jess and company at the Dolores Park picnic, but got distracted, and figured we were too late, so went to Napa instead. Yay for adventures!

Assorted and sundry:

MEAT + beach ball = The best really bad idea ever. Going dance-dance-hit_ball-dance-dance to Skinny Puppy is more awesome than you can shake a stick at.

My first children's book is going to be titled Return to Me, Cheesebot, about the love between a young boy, and his cheddar flavored robotic friend.

Notre Dame is a really solid boardgame, but I still like Caylus more, even though I lost horribly.

All in all, I'm pretty content with the universe at the moment, and it's been quite a while since I've been able to say that.
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Anyone interested in seeing Cyndi Lauper, Erasure, Debbie Harry and the Dresden Dolls at the Greek theater tonight? I bought tickets a couple of weeks ago in a fit of "Employment, money, conspicuous consumption, huzzah!" and recently remembered I'm just not a huge fan of concerts of that size, and I'm just not really feeling into it today. Anyway, I'd rather not stand outside offering them to people, and I'd rather not just eat the cost, so if you've got any interest let me know. I've got 2 and they cost me 75$ each, and while preference will be given to anyone interested in grabbing them both for that, I'll certainly entertain any offers. Hell, I'm willing to give them up for free if it comes to it. Better I'm out money and someone I like goes than just being out money. Here's your chance to profit on my impulsiveness!

Details:
True Colors Tour: Cyndi Lauper, Erasure, Debbie Harry, & Dresden Dolls
Greek Theatre-U.C. Berkeley, Berkeley, CA
Fri, Jun 29, 2007 07:00 PM

Seat location: section SRO 4

Note: I don't have access to my usual email at work yet. Just leave me a comment here or hit me up via gmail.
goldenmean: (Default)
Just back from Skinny Puppy, which was a really good show, though I think more because of the crowd's energy level than anything else. Ohgr looked dashing as a white trash pirate vampire who had lost a fight with an oil slick covered octopus made out of tubing, but this is not a look I find intimidating or spooky. The fact that he made shadow puppets for most of the evening also added to the hilarity. However, they played most of my favorites, and the crowd was at a good energy level, and I take great joy in being completely irreverent and was able to snark with Alisa all evening. I especially liked the vaguely moog-y effects they had on Worlock. Oh god, and I almost forgot to mention the Ominous Slinky Dildo in my description of Ohgr's outfit. Ominous Slinky Dildo (Or OSD for those in the know) is my all Moog Skinny Puppy cover band. I would pay good money for the people from Moog Cookbook to do an industrial cover album. Man that would be awesome.

A desperate search for water, an impromptu detour at Mel's, and a ridiculous amount of stupid bridge detour later, and I'm home. And bored. Maybe I will watch more Arrested Development, or read, or sleep or something.

First though, I'll finish filling in the rest of the week, in reverse chronological. Hung out with Diana yesterday, mainly just bumming around Berkeley, which was nice. We watched Surf's Up, which was silly, but playing at a convenient time, and also, bizarrely, free. Apparently I am now recognized in downtown Landmark theater circles. I totally should have made friends with/attempted to date theater employees years ago. Then we had thai, hung out in the park, and went to go pester Sean and Starr at work. And I bought soap that smells like delicious cookies, and will hopefully do the same for me. All in all, a very nice day.

Tuesday, I roamed aimlessly around. I've gotten into the habit of walking along the exercise path that runs underneath the BART tracks whenever I want to head Berkeley-wards and am not in a huge hurry. It's very pleasant, and I can read while doing it, and it's decent exercise, and well, it eats time, and if you're chronically bored like I am, that last one is really the deciding factor. Sadly, I know it's a habit that'll fall almost immediately by the wayside once I start working again, and my free time dwindles. Ah well. That evening I went to go see Hot Fuzz again, as it was playing at the Cerrito, which is a whopping 4 blocks or so away, and I decided I desperately wanted popcorn. Plus Will had mentioned he was going, and I loves me some brother-in-law. But it was mainly the popcorn, I've got to admit. I got carded, which I find unbelievably hilarious. I know I don't really look my age, but 21?

Hrm. I guess I already talked about Monday, so I'm done. Woo. Now to figure out what to do before sleep.
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