Feasts, Famines, and Emcees

The laptop now plays Half-Life. Peace reigns throughout the universe. The Boy even got up with me at 7AM to resume playing the game.

That was an absolute lie. The snooze button got a workout this morning. I wish I knew what was different of late; usually I hit the sack at 1AM, when I am too tired to do anything but sleep (yes, this is necessary – otherwise, I don’t sleep), then my traitorous brain awakens me at 6AM or even earlier. Lately, I’ve been sleeping until my alarm. I’m grateful, but I’d love to know what is making my nighttime different.

Possibly it’s due to the prospect of the feast/famine dichotomy finally turning the corner into Feast territory. People are nibbling at the outreaches of my availability, intimating they are getting ducks in rows for future productions. Whip those ducks into shape, say I, Daddy needs a new pair of glasses.

But the part about The Boy not sleeping in until Noon? That was The Truth.

Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have to go work magic on some emcee speeches I promised to write for a church function. That would be the one where I was waiting for more information to be given, and I now realize this info is not coming. Or if it does, it won’t be what I need. Why, for instance, I was given the recipes for the desserts that will be served is quite, quite beyond me. This is to be an evening of jazz music, not a cooking show.

I’m not even sure why they need anyone to write emcee speeches. They are not that difficult. “Good evening, Here’s the band. Bid at the silent auction. Give us money. Don’t drink and drive. Thank you.”

I will just, as ever, throw up my hands, exclaim, “Civilians!” under my breath, and get on with it.

(The image is from Savage Chickens. They funny. Go read.)

Man vs Machine

Caramba, that was a weekend. Or, rather, it wasn’t, if a weekend is defined as “time off”. There are a certain number of things which need to be accomplished this week, and I’m trying to spread them out so as to not get overwhelmed. Ha! I almost said that with a straight face.

My wife is in Florida at an education conference this week, and took her shiny new netbook with her. This, of course, was causing my pre-teen son to wither and die, as he was consuming gaming videos 18 hours a day on the damned thing and would now be forced to… oh no, do something. (again, ha! Like I’m any different)

SO I’ve been attempting to resuscitate my old Gateway M675 laptop, which is hard to do on a limited budget. I had figured out, long ago when it went to techno heaven, that it was the hard drive that was the main culprit, with a boot sector that was defying all attempts to repair. The model is now old enough that I can get a replacement on eBay fairly cheap, but then comes the next hurdle: where the heck did I put that driver disc?

That question is still not resolved, incidentally. Gateway’s support pages provided most of what I needed, and another week was spent trying to get those to work in harmony. Kept getting the dreaded blue screens with a different stop code every time, started over, same thing happened, pulled one of the RAM chips – sorry kid, you’ll have to get by on a mere 512 megs – and everything works. At least for a netbook substitute.

So now he’s wondering why he can’t play Half-Life on it (heavy pre-teen sigh).

Well, while wrestling with the damned thing yesterday I watched (deep breath) Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (long title) with him, because he’s a big fan of the books. I was entertained. Some of the CGI didn’t hold up too well; that may be one of the reasons, besides money, that I’m in nooooo hurry to upgrade to Blu-Ray; watching Spider-Man 3 on a monitor at Fry’s Electronics I found myself looking at each scene and cataloging the various CGI elements therein.

Back to the library this afternoon to turn in the Simon/Kirby Sandman collection, among others, and pick up more Osamu Tezuka manga. Then trying to get the laptop to play Half-Life without screwing up what I’ve accomplished to this point. Pray for me.

Pause Button.

Wow, now that I’m done with this week’s work deadline, I find that it is not yet time to relax.

I have two shows in the next 36 hours. Have to take some folks to the airport. Shop for groceries. Return important correspondence which may (I hope I hope) mean more employment in the coming year. Try to finish repairing my old notebook so my son can use it while my wife takes her netbook to an education conference in Florida (yes, she’s one of the folks I’m shuttling). Also need to go to the grocery store. That at least has to be put off until I get the pay from the shows, so I guess that’s not an “A” priority.

I don’t blog over the weekend, and I probably won’t be doing much of anything else, social media-wise. In fact, I am considering actively withdrawing from every-bloody-thing this weekend except perhaps a book and some cartoons, because frankly folks – the air of stupidity and meanness that has typified what passes for conversation and coverage in this age went from merely toxic to positively carcinogenic this week. Comic strip artist Tom Tomorrow has Tweeted that he doesn’t want a Kill Switch, but a pause button would be in order, and I am actively going to use it before I get seriously ill again.

That said, have a nice weekend.

Deadline Blues

It happens, folks. Up against a deadline, got no time to urp up 500 words on flossing or suchlike. Instead, have the results of two minutes surfing on YouTube:

Is it just me?

Listening to NPR on the way to work, heard a story about the tip structure at restaurants – turns out some guy had noticed that the “suggested gratuity” on the ticket printed was a percentage of the post-tax total, not the pre-tax total, as he had done in his head. Who was to blame? INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM AHOY!

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I thought, “Uh, that would be a function of the processing software, no?”

After grilling Mastercard and the owner of the restaurant (who was shocked, shocked that this was happening), our intrepid truth-seeker found out… it was the processing software.

I swear to God, sometimes I think I’m the only guy tangentially involved in the industry who has ever made a spreadsheet.

Conversely, you gotta fill that air time somehow.

But enough of that. Here is a girl being eaten alive by pug-dogs. Enjoy.

This is how movies happen, people

From the LA Times: Thousands of Spiders Pour From Ship’s Cargo.

This is, of course, a recipe for a very profitable exploitation film. (or at least, it would be, if the box office failure of Snakes on A Plane hadn’t poisoned that particular well) It follows the lines of a classic Hollywood pitch: “It’s Kingdom of the Spiders … on a boat!”


Correspondent Professor Mortis suggests using Bill Cosby rather than the over-exposed Samuel L. Jackson: Cosby’s version of swearing would, at the very least, ensure the all-important PG-13 rating. I would also suggest Steven Seagal as a Buddhist scientist who hampers our hero by insisting that we try to communicate with the spiders. And we must have William Shatner for nostalgia value.

(Despite the title of that clip, I think blaming Shatner for the ridiculousness of the moments is, to quote Bobcat Goldthwaite, like blaming Ronald MacDonald for a bad cheeseburger)

But enough of this. Let’s have a pug dog saying, “Batman!” (He can be in the movie, too!)

Rumors may not have been rumors

So, without a show Saturday night, I found myself with two days off in a row, an oddity in my life as it stands now. So, of course, having convinced myself I was well enough for two grueling days of outdoor shooting and two days in the office, my body decided it was time for a complete collapse. My body can be a real jerk sometimes.

So I lost a fair portion of Saturday to fitful sleep, but awoke feeling somewhat better. Overall, the best way to describe weekend (besides urpy) is to state that as of Friday evening, I had 18 books checked out from the library. As of today, that number is 11, and I am better for it.

I finished 101 Sci-Fi Movies You Must See Before You Die. and (I suppose) unsurprisingly, I had seen most of them.  Like the documentary Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession, it serves mainly as a reminder of movies I haven’t seen yet that I really should, like the original Solaris or The Amphibian Man. There are some entries that are unapologetic, too, though they make good points about the much-reviled Signs and the personally-despised Starship Troopers. Though not I, Robot. I ain’t never gonna like I, Robot.

Also finished How to Survive a Horror Movie. It ran out of steam for me in the last quarter, but I feel that was largely me and certainly not the writing, which remains sharp and funny to the end. I think I had simply tired of the central joke and was ready for it to be over. That’s a danger for extended riffs.

The rest were from the world of graphic novels. Welcome to Tranquility, which is a great story set in a retirement community for super heroes and villains, written by Gail Simone, art by Neil Googe. I loved this book, and apparently it is coming back, but without Simone at the helm. Le sigh.

Next up was the first volume of Weapons of the Gods by Tony Wong. Chinese kung fu comics! I loved the Jademan translations during their brief American runs, and the genre is occasionally problematic. This is the culture that brought us novels like Heroes of the Marsh and The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, thousands of pages long with hundred of characters. This shows in the comics, and there are at least three major cliffhangers in play by the time the volume ends.

Next up, a volume of Larry Marder’s Tales of the Beanworld, A Gift Comes! – I had forgotten just how beguiling Beanworld was. The expansion of the world beyond the process that is Beanworld doesn’t feel forced, but rightfully makes you miss the simplicity of the early world. If that doesn’t make sense to you you should be reading Beanworld.

Then, finally, the first volume of Russ Manning’s Magnus, Robot Fighter 4000AD. Quite a title, and one of the favorites of my youth. An admitted attempt to re-invent Tarzan in a science-fiction setting, Magnus is trained from birth by an intelligent robot to be strong enough to smash robots with his bare hands. You see, in the year 4000, man has become too dependent on robots, and would be helpless in the face of rebellious metal men were it not for … wait for it… a robot fighter! Yeah, the stories are kinds simplistic, but these were definitely adventure comics for boys. And, I suppose, girls who liked men in shorts who could shatter steel with their bare hands.

Still in my possession: three works by Osamu Tesuka – the youthful mandate for more manga has some benefits for me, even if I gave DMC a try and found it not to my liking – more Batman and Jack Kirby. I heart my library.

Rumors of My Demise

Well, to get the obvious Monty Python reference out of the way, I’m not quite dead yet.

Two days of shooting video outside in the July heat was brutal. Spending those two days standing was less that salubrious, bum leg wise, and two days later I’m still using my cane.

I was at the Fort Bend Museum in Richmond, the county seat, covering their Summer hands-on history classes. School-age kids learning how things were done in the pre-Civil War days, when the white man started moving into Texas. The disjoint was often amusing, as when on the “Chore Day” section of the workshop, kids were washing clothes with scrub boards and a hand-driven wringer, then hanging the laundry on a clothesline. One stated simply that he would “hire a girl” to do this.

The lesson from the prior day Frontier Survival, hadn’t sunk in, ie, there is no girl to hire. You are miles away from anyone else, and it is on you to do this, and do it right. Carrying water from the well didn’t go over well, either. Half of it was spilled, necessitating more trips. Starting a fire with flint and steel was equally mystifying.  “Why don’t you just use matches? My father would use lighter fluid.”

Well, hopefully the kids learned something that can be put to good use, later in life. Like when the dryer breaks down, or something. Or to keep an eye on the kid who kept asking during Chore Day when they were going to slaughter an animal.

Me, I learned to schedule inside stories in the Summer.

Speaking of history: I had heard an interview with Daniel Okent on NPR about his book, Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition, and immediately put a request for it into my local library. Picked it up Wednesday (part of an epic 10 books my library had processed for me- damn, my library rocks) and am thoroughly enjoying it. This is the kind of history book I love, examining the inter-connectedness of events that at first glance would seen unconnected, but which give rise to unexpected developments and consequences.  James Burke’s appropriately-named Connections first turned me on to this view of history, and it changed the way I looked at events forever. Here, have a taste:

The series seems to have a strong presence on YouTube, and definitely deserves to be checked out. (well, actually no it doesn’t, and appears to be scrubbed out completely)

No show for me this weekend; the loss of revenue hurts, but my body will appreciate the chance to heal. Have a good one, folks.

Here’s Where I Am. Where are you?

Sick Day

I’ve managed to catch whatever stomach bug was messing up my wife’s life this last weekend – marriages are about sharing after all – and faced with the horror of two days outside shooting video while sick, I’ve elected to stay home today to… uh… get it out of my system. As it were.

Any hours this last weekend not spent fighting down nausea or doing the show while fighting down nausea were spent either playing with my new Tumblr toy or reading. While fighting down nausea.

It was my intent to sleep in this morning, but of course the sounds of Cat Rugby in hall at 6:30am scotched that. Got up, fed the horrid little creatures, and eventually went back to bed. After an hour, as usual, I had a dream that the doorbell rang. My subconscious is a jerk.

Well, on the weekend I did finally got around to Wonder Woman #600 and waaaah and boo hoo for the departure of writer Gail Simone.  She left on a note that was both suitably bombastic and sentimental. Odd that the fan resentment that met the pin-up pages in Batman 700 is seemingly non-existent for the art pages here. Probably because these are loads better, and they’re the last we’re going to see of the one-piece bathing suit costume for a while.

Yeah, the reboot starts in this issue, too. It’s not hateable. I’m willing to see what’s going to happen, but it definitely has temporary written all over it.

Enough. I’m hungry. I hope that’s a good sign. Rest of you have a good Monday.