Hello Chieftain!

Baby you can drive my car

2009-11-25T15:38:00.003-08:00

You all know Bob, our beloved 1990 Plymouth Voyager. Bought new by Shellswick's grandfather (in whose honor it was named), we inherited Bob in 2003. Even then, Bob had some problems; the brakes needed bleeding every few months, the driver's side lock wouldn't accept the key, forcing us to unlock the passenger side, then lean over and unlock the other side, and I can't remember a time when the "check engine" light WASN'T perpetually on.

Still, Bob was a workhorse, as long as we kept up the maintenance. Until Shelly's recent immigration woes kept her stuck in the US, Bob was great for making the regular trips between Seattle and Vancouver. And Bob had tons of storage space. We moved ourselves with Bob. We helped other people move with Bob. Bob helped us when we bought furniture, when other people bought furniture, when I moved offices, or when we had to bring stuff to the dump. And Bob did it all without complaining.

This past year, however, Bob's been showing his age. We had to finally deal with the brake problems after a few near-accidents; the cooling system gave out, resulting in the removal of the heater core, which we've really been feeling since the weather turned cold; more recently, the ceiling's been leaking. Then, just a couple of days ago, the door got snagged on a post and now won't close. Even though Bob still runs as strong as ever, we finally made the decision to let the old soldier fade away. It was time to get a new car.

After some research, we found an ad for a 2000 Daewoo, ahem, "Nubira." My last experience with a Korean-made car was my old 1986 Hyundai Excel, which ran great...until everything went wrong at once. But in the meantime, apparently, Korea has built itself a pretty decent auto industry; the reviews for this Daewoo Nubian were surprisingly good. So we went ahead and called.

For the sake of this story, let's call the seller "Chucklehead." We quickly found out he was Russion, his name being short for Chucklevich Headorov. He told us that he had bought the car for his wife, hoping she would learn to drive, but she got pregnant instead. He would be happy to meet with us the next day, provided she didn't go into labor in the morning.

So the following afternoon, Suzy drove us down to Renton to meet with Chucklehead. To our surprise and relief, the car looked good. Nice and clean, in good shape except for a couple of door dings. When Chucklehead let us take it for a test drive, the handling was good, or at least as good as the reviews had led us to believe. Though it did seem to be idling a little sluggishly. We soon found out why that was - the car ran out of gas a couple of blocks from Chucklehead's apartment.

Still, from what we had observed, the Nibblonian seemed in pretty good shape, and the price was right. As we walked back, we agreed that we would buy the car, pending the results of a mechanic's inspection. But first, we told Chucklehead, the car would need some gas. So, armed with an empty milk jug, I hopped in Chucklehead's car and we headed for the gas station.

Chucklehead filled the jug most of the way with gas and we went back to the Nubbin. With no funnel, about a third of the gas seeped back out onto my hand, leaving me smelling of gas for the rest of the day. I didn't think we had put in enough, but Chucklehead assured me it would start.

Long story short, it didn't. Chucklehead was undeterred, though, insisting thagt I try it just one more time. Finally I managed to convince him it needed another gallon to get started, so we got back in his car and returned to the gas station. This time, I left him to it while I went inside in search of a funnel. As I was waiting in line to ask about one, Chucklehead comes in and sheepishly tells me that he locked his keys in his car.

Chucklehead and I formulate a new plan; since he also locked the milk jug in the car, I'd buy a gas can and a couple of gallons, while he would walk back to his apartment to find something to jimmy the lock (because he could have a spare key, but where's the challenge in that?).

I get the can, I get the gas, I get back to the Naboo, and it starts up just fine. I go back to the gas station and fill it up, where I meet up with Chucklehead. He couldn't find anything to open his car, so he asks me to drive him to the dealership. He also mentions something about the sale of the Nabisco needing to be notarized, which doesn't sound right to me. Deciding to worry about that later, I reluctantly agree to drive him to the dealership, coordinating with Shelly and Suzy by phone.

By the time I get off the phone, there's a new problem; now I can't find Chucklehead at all. I finally drive back to his apartment and find he walked back there to get his wife's cellphone, since his - you guessed it - was in the car with his keys.

He's already called the dealership, he tells me, and they can't help. So he called a locksmith and they're on the way. In the meantime, we hash out the details of the sale. He agrees to our terms, to buy the car with the option to return it if it doesn't pass an inspection. He won't take a personal check, insisting on a cashier's check. Well, okay. But he still insists that the sale needs to be notarized, which we can't do today because the local notary has already closed. Suzy finally convinces him that a notary isn't necessary; he looks mortified that a woman is speaking to him so authoritatively, but she tells him that they just sold a car six months ago, and finally gets through to him. So we leave him to wait for the locksmith while we go to BECU for a cashier's check.

I should point out that most of the day's events so far - all the walking back and forth, all the negotiations, and so forth - have taken place outside, in a pretty constant light drizzle. I've had a cold for about a week and this really wasn't helping. I was coughing pretty harshly on the way to BECU and back.

On the way to BECU, Chucklehead called me to remind me that the cashier's check would have to be in his wife's name, since the car was registered to her. But just as he was about to tell me her name, the locksmith beeped in. He hung up on me to talk to the locksmith - or so he thought. He started telling me where his car was and asking how much it would cost for me to let him in. I tried a few times to tell him, "no, Chucklehead, it's still Rich." But he wasn't getting it, and Suzy was laughing so hard I thought she was going to drive off the road, so I hung up.

We get to the bank, I get the wife's name, we get the cashier's check, we go back. That part, at least, went easy. I'm still coughing like an asthmatic smoker, and I haven't eaten since breakfast. I just want this over.

In the car, Suzy tells us that while we were test-driving the car, she was getting Chucklehead's life story. He used to teach physics in Russia, he told her, and now he's starting an eBay business. We're getting the impression he yada-yada-ed over some important stuff in the middle. He had tried talking up the eBay business, saying "some of my friends said they're going to start an eBay business and work for that. I start eBay business and make it work for me." It sounds suspiciously like a sales pitch from the kind of seminars desperate people attend at the Airport Hilton Cascade Room.

Back at Chucklehead's place, he brings his wife out and we sit in the Nabisco to sign the paperwork. The wife is a good twenty years younger than he is, with that strange sullenness that seems to be inborn in Russian women. She spends most of the transaction sitting in the back, yelling at her child in Russian while Chucklehead and I fill out the title.

He adheres scrupulously to the "how to sell a car" instructions he downloaded; I notice frequent use of the word "notification" in those instructions, figuring that's probably where he got the idea that we needed a notary. Finally I hand him the cashier's check, and he hands it back to Mrs. Headorov. She stares at it suspiciously, and they argue in Russian for a minute before he finally gets through to her. "It's money," he tells her in English. "Money for you."

Finally we're done. Chuckle and Mrs. Head go inside, while Shelly and I hang out in the lot, thanking Suzy for the ride and the patience. Chucklehead comes out one more time and heads straight for the Naboobie.

"I can't find my keys," he says.

Feed me!

2009-09-29T08:58:00.002-07:00

How about another little preview of my current work-in-progress?

2009-09-24T14:26:00.003-07:00

Naturally, I've been playing The Beatles: Rock Band a lot. Like, a lot lot.

And, just as naturally, I've been listening to everything Beatles I can get my hands on. I've listened to all the newly-remastered albums (so far, only in stereo - I still need to get the mono versions), all the singles, the official mashup album Love (the only good thing ever to come out of Cirque du SoBlecch), a bunch of unofficial mashup albums, and tons of bootlegs, full of the kind of studio chatter and infinitesimally different alternate mixes that only a borderline-autistic geek like myself could appreciate.

I can tell you dozens of supposed clues to the "Paul is dead" urban legend. I can tell you where John's voice breaks in "If I Fell," and where you can barely hear Paul say "fucking hell" in "Hey Jude." I can tell you that the spoken bits in "I Am The Walrus" came from a BBC Radio production of "King Lear" that just happened to be airing while the song was being recorded. I can tell you that the piano chord at the end of "A Day In The Life" is 42 seconds long and was played on three pianos, with John, Paul, Ringo, and Mal Evans each playing the same chord. My Beatlemaniac bonafides are unchallenged.

So, yeah, it's a good time to be a Beatles fan right now. I've been so immersed in all things fab that it's gotten me reminiscing about previous high points in my history with the Beatles.

Naturally, there was the release of the Anthology documentary and CDs in 1996. I was already well-versed in Beatles lore, but this was what sent me down the rabbit hole of Beatles boots. A few years later, when Bittorrent took off in popularity, I started downloading copious amounts of unreleased and alternate material.

The biggest time, of course, was in high school, when, after years of listening to the earlier, poppier material, I bought my first copy of Sgt. Pepper, leading me to investigate their 1967-1970 output. That was a real mind-expander for a sheltered Parkland kid. I made tapes of all those later albums, and would keep them in constant rotation in my '72 Gremlin while delivering pizza. I would often time my deliveries so I could sing along with side 2 of Abbey Road - including "Her Majesty," of course.

Before that, there was a year or two after the death of John Lennon; my curiosity had led me to ask my sister's husband, the biggest music lover I knew at the time, about the Beatles. He obliged by giving me an abbreviated history (appropriately for a 10-year-old) and a tape of his favorite Beatles songs. It included a lot of songs from Sgt. Pepper and Let It Be, most of which went over my young head, as well as part of the "Band On The Run" album from Paul McCartney and Wings.

That was also when I found a trove of mid-60s Beatles 45s at a neighborhood garage sale. These were vintage stuff; there's even the Capital Records single for "Help!" with the legend "from the forthcoming motion picture Eight Arms To Hold You." I still have all these old discs, now mostly unplayable, but I'll never part with them.

Of course, it all began when I was about 4, and I happened to see Yellow Submarine on TV. Yes, even before my first exposure to Monty Python (at age 6), I sat, transfixed, in front of our gigantic old vacuum tube tv, the one that smelled faintly of ozone, having my tiny mind blown by this psychedelic masterpiece. At that age, I had no idea what I was watching; it wasn't until two or three years later, when I saw a newspaper ad for an upcoming airing and recognized the art style as "that weird cartoon I saw when I was little."

So, as I've established, I've been a Beatles fan from a very early age. But I've never told the whole story before. Until now.

You see, there was one crucial element that taught me that there was more to the Beatles than I ever knew. In that 1980-81 period when I was listening to the Beatles mixtape and the old Capital 45s, there was another compilation that spanned the whole wide-ranging history of the band.

Yes, Stars on 45.

For those not familiar: Stars On 45 was a studio project that would release medleys of soundalikes of popular songs, intended to be played in discos and clubs. It was a cheap novelty act, and they've rightly been forgotten by now. But their first album, which I got for my birthday in 1981, included a fifteen-minute Beatles medley. I listened to that thing constantly, giving me snippets of the songs I would eventually learn by heart.

It wasn't perfect; some of the songs were sped up or slowed down to match the mechanical disco beat, and the singer gets a little adenoidal at times. In addition to the Beatles canon, the medley includes George Harrison's solo song "My Sweet Lord," as well as, inexplicably, the Archies' "Sugar Sugar," making me think for several years that that was a Beatles song.

But the fact remains, many of the Beatles songs I know, I first heard as part of that gimmicky novelty song. I love you, you magnificent bunch of anonymous session players. And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.

2009-09-21T15:38:00.004-07:00

When he told his design team that his figure-hugging outfits would be paraded down the runway by size 12 and 14 models, two of his people were apparently so angry they quit.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1214799/London-Fashion-Week-stylist-resigns-designers-decision-use-size-14-models-show.html#ixzz0RmePr0li

Look, I'm not some kind size-politics type. But the fact is, if you think this:

is fat...then fucking die.

Okay, I exaggerate. Don't die. But you do suck and should fuck off.

Open For Business

2009-09-19T00:55:00.002-07:00

Don't feed the plants!

2009-09-04T15:04:00.002-07:00

A little preview of what I'm working on. If I don't bugger this royally, I think I may end up being really proud of the final result.

Pleasant Dreams

2009-08-19T17:24:00.001-07:00

2009-08-04T17:53:00.002-07:00

Here’s how it is with me.

See, it’s not that I like going out without you (that’s the editorial you, of course, meaning whoever happens to be reading this, particularly if we have a social, matrimonial, or familial relationship), it’s that sometimes, I like going out by myself. There’s a difference.

Like last night. Shellswick and Le Sistre were out doing the stuff they like to do. So I decided to go to a movie by myself.

Time was, I preferred it that way; too many of my childhood friends were the type of moviegoers who spend the whole movie nudging your arm and demanding, “who is that? Why is he doing that? What did he do there? Is he gonna die?” I mellowed as I got older, but there have still been times when circumstances forced me to spend most of my time alone, so, y’know, I got used to it. Sometimes, I enjoyed it.

Then there’s the fact that sometimes it’s just exhausting to be me, and I don’t want to put other people through that. Last night was one of those times.

Absent of the womenfolk, I decided to finally go and see Moon, with Sam Rockwell, something I’ve been wanting to see for weeks. The Stranger movie listings said it was playing at 8:50. So I get to the theater at 8:30, giving me plenty of time to get my ticket, get a Coke and some Reese’s Pieces, play a video game or two, and still get settled in with a good seat.

The theater, however, had other plans.

Moon, you see, wasn’t playing at 8:50. It was playing at 9:20. And the guy in the box office seemed honestly flabbergasted that I would get my movie times from anywhere other than Fandango.

Not a problem, I decide, buying a ticket. I figure I’ll play a few more video games. But now I’m wishing I hadn’t dismissed the idea of bringing a magazine or a sketchbook.

So I go to the first floor, where I put a buck in the change machine and get some tokens. I play a game of Galaga, then I go upstairs to see what’s there. On the way, I do this complicated dance with one of the theater employees when we both get on the escalator at the same time, and she turns out to be a “walk quickly up the escalator,” person, while I’m a “stand and let it take you where you want to go,” type of guy. Anyway, on the second floor I play a game of Time Crisis and one of Guitar Hero Arcade (a mistake, given the loudness of the game v. the quietness of the theater on a Monday night, where everyone can hear me whizzing “sabotage” down my leg).

I go back downstairs, to the level my theater’s on. The same theater employee is coming back down the escalator at the same time. There’s still more than twenty minutes till the movie starts, so I decide to play one more game of Galaga. By now I’m out of both tokens and dollar bills; I pull out some quarters, but I find out the change machine on this level only takes dollars. So I get BACK on the escalator upstairs, and guess who’s also going back up? And giving me nervous looks over her shoulder, now apparently convinced that this giant hairy thing is stalking her?

Finally, after one more quick game of Galaga, I get settled into the theater. I was, admittedly, already planning this post, as an example of how the universe conspires against me. I might as well have let out a sigh of relief and said “well, what else could possibly go wrong?”

Recruiting ads; check. Order to silence your phone: check. Trailers: check. Finally, the movie. And the text comes up, informing us that it’s 1933, and John Dillinger is escaping from prison.

I don’t know how much you know about Moon, but it doesn’t take place in 1933. As far as I know, there was no Helium-3 mining station on the moon until at least 1942. This isn’t Moon, it’s Public Enemies.

There are about fifteen people in the theater at this point, all of us thinking the same thing: I didn’t go to the wrong theater, did I? Aren’t they showing the wrong movie?

Finally, I decide to take some initiative. Another guy is having the same idea, and we form a unified front as we go out and talk to the manager. I’ll give the manager credit; he knew there was a problem, he had already sent someone to stop Public Enemies, and a few minutes later, he came into the theater and personally handed out free tickets. Not that that’s much of a sacrifice, given that movies are the smallest part of the theater profit pie, but I appreciated in nonetheless.

That’s not the end of the story. A joke like this needs a punchline, and here it is. They got things started again, including another round of trailers. The first image on the screen was a title card for “FOCUS Features.”

And it was out of focus.

And so, as the movie got started, a mere hour after the anticipated time, a profound truth hit me, one that will transform how I interpret all my past and future experiences:

I’m perfectly normal. It’s the entire rest of the world that’s crazy.

Snuffy Smith, y’all.

2009-07-30T14:13:00.002-07:00

Hey, didja ever wonder where the name of this site came from?

Okay, so it's not EXACTLY what he said. I made it my own thang.

And while I have your attention:

Weird Al + Jungle Cruise = JOY!

2009-07-15T15:20:00.002-07:00

2009-06-25T12:26:00.003-07:00

Hey, with how badly I've been neglecting the blog, you know what I've really missed? Five Things. I enjoyed the now-classic Five Things You Need To Know About Doctor Who, and the Five Things You May Not Have Known About Superman allowed me to combine my love of Superman with my love of pedantry. So everybody wins, really.

In the past year I came close a couple times; this year alone, I considered Five Things About Watchmen (including how the characters were based directly on the old Charlton Comics line), as well as Five Things About Red Dwarf. In 2007, I actually made notes toward Five Things About Harry Potter, which you still might see when Half-Blood Prince comes out next month. Stay tuned, true believers!

On a semi-related note, I've occasionally felt a twinge of guilt over my complete disdain (or dislike, antipathy, white-hot contempt, call it what you want) for the show Smallville. I gave it a chance, honestly I did; I downloaded and watched the first three seasons, until it became clear that their version of Superman's mythology was being made up as they went along. I kept checking in occasionally after that, but it never got any better, and the constant repetition of recognizable Vancouver locations just got old.

Oh, they dangled the occasional super-carrot; hey, look, the Flash! Bizarro! You kids love the Martian Manhunter, right? But no matter how long it goes on (nine seasons now, and counting), there's just no polishing this piece of brown Kryptonite. At this point, he's grown up, living in Metropolis, and working at the Daily Planet with Lois Lane and Jimmy Olson, so just fucking put on the tights already. Or just give it up.

So how did I get over the guilt? Easy. Look, Superman is one of the five most recognizable characters in the world, along with, at various times, Mickey Mouse, Sherlock Holmes, Santa Claus, and Darth Vader. He's always going to be around. It's not like DC will stop publishing the character if a movie or TV show flops. This ain't Swamp Thing we're talking about.

So I don't need to keep watching a bad TV show just to support Superman. Quite the opposite: if I keep watching bad Superman, you know what you get? More bad Superman. Which we don't need.

In the time Smallville has been on the air, we've had plenty of good Superman in multiple media. There's been Superman Returns, the animated Justice League Unlimited, Superman: Doomsday, and Brainiac Attacks and the current "New Krypton" story arc running through the comics line. So there's plenty of great Superman material out there, without having to sit through another iteration of "watered-down version of classic Superman villain/Clark investigates/villain targets supporting character/Clark rescues supporting character, who gets conveniently wanged on the head and forgets they saw Clark using his superstrength." We just don't need it.

So what do YOU want to know Five Things about?

2009-06-19T10:44:00.002-07:00

Do ya like pop music? I mean the kind they don't make anymore, with catchy melodies, and lyrics that tell a bittersweet story? Like Harry Chapin used to do, or Billy Joel, or Randy Newman, before he started oozing treacle? Of course you do. That's why you should check out one Andy Werth. Andy and his 14-piece band do some amazing stuff, that would make Burt Bacharach roll over in his grave, if he was dead. And soon, he's going to have a killer video, made by an award-winning director.

2009-06-19T10:41:00.003-07:00

We all knew that Pixar's movies are filled with warmth and emotional honesty. You know how they do it? By being fucking human beings, that's how.

Excuse me, there's something in my eye...

Fresh content? On MY blog? It's more likely than you think!

2009-06-18T17:02:00.002-07:00

Yes, I've been neglectful again. Yes, I'm sorry. I'm trying to pick it up again, especially with Scott and Debbie moving away. Heretowith, then, a few things that have been on my mind lately:

It sickens me that David Letterman had to apologize to Sarah Palin, but in doing so he's proving himself to be the better person. In pushing the issue, and especially in claiming to speak for "all women," Palin is once again proving what a classless attention whore she is.

Having said this, I will now say that I'm actually trying to back off from the angry-leftie posts. It's hard, though, when the right wing has started resorting to actual armed terrorism to accomplish their goals. I'm not afraid of al-qaeda, I'm afraid of some dipshit who STILL clings to the "Obama won't show his birth certificate" meme deciding to shoot up someplace I just happen to be. And working at the Very Big Software Corporation Of America, I'm afraid of some deranged Ken Hutcherson follower deciding to pull a von Brunn.

And speaking of THAT guy, I gotta say, the apology his son posted is the most incredibly tragic-and-classy thing I've ever read. I can only imagine what it took to stay sane with the upbringing he must have had. At least I have a blueprint for the day my Dad shoots some teenager walking past his house, or one of my brothers shoots someone whose car radio is too loud, or, well, someone in my family shoots someone. Because at this point I'm considering it an inevitability.

Fuck, I did it again.

Okay, moving on to better news, a few keywords:
The Brave and the Bold
Musical Episode
Neil Patrick Harris

Is "heretowith" a word?

Me fail America? That unpossible!

2008-11-08T13:31:00.002-08:00

Said Palin on Friday: "The Alaska voters have spoken and me not be a dictator, won't be telling anyone what to do."

"Oil and coal, of course, it’s a fungible commodity, and they don’t flag, you know, the molecules, where it’s going, and where it’s not, but in the sense of the congress today, they know that there are very very hungry domestic markets that need that oil first. So I believe that what congress is gonna do also, is not to allow the export bans to such a degree that it’s Americans who get stuck holding the bag without the energy source that is produced here, pumped here, that’s gotta flow into our domestic markets first."

...And the American way!

2008-11-07T11:58:00.002-08:00

"I promise to reduce government Kryptonite stockpiles, to hunt down and capture Lex Luthor, and bring freedom to the people of Kandor!"

(h/t to Say It Backwards)

Thanks for a fun halloween!

2008-11-02T11:22:00.002-08:00

2008-09-12T07:01:00.003-07:00

"Maybe what I find so unfunny about a show like (MST3K) is that while on one hand it's a type of humor rooted in an attitude of superiority - We're so much hipper than that garbage - yet the unfunny material utterly contradicts that assertion because it's on such an anti-creative level."

Believe it or not, not everyone is a fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000 or any of its recent spinoffs. For my money, though, if you refer to yourself unironically as "this reviewer," you are a pretentious twat and your opinions can be safely disregarded.

BTW...

2008-09-11T21:51:00.000-07:00

I have a new post up on Family Forward.

2008-09-09T07:59:00.001-07:00

Is it November yet?

2008-07-29T07:59:00.001-07:00

"Inside the house, officers found "Liberalism is a Mental Health Disorder" by radio talk show host Michael Savage, "Let Freedom Ring" by talk show host Sean Hannity, and "The O'Reilly Factor," by television talk show host Bill O'Reilly."

EDIT: Let's talk a little more about this. Let's compare it to the Virginia Tech shooting spree last year. Remember that one? For days you couldn't look at any news outlet without seeing the pictures of Killy McDouchebag and his widdle guns. There were the predictable calls to ban video games, despite the fact that the guy DIDN'T FUCKING PLAY VIDEO GAMES. Columbine, same thing, let's ban black trenchcoats and Marilyn Manson. Oh, and video games.

This time, though, it's been a veritable media blackout; after the breaking news reports, there's been almost no followup. What's the difference this time? Is it because only two people died? Not really. Is it because it's an old man, rather than a teenager? Getting warmer. Is it because he went to a Unitarian church to "kill liberals?" DINGDINGDINGDING

I admit I'm not too conversant in Sean Hannity. He gets namedropped in most of Al Franken's books, and I know his job is to debate with Alan "Straw Man" Colmes. He's a fuckwad, but he's more henchman than supervillain.

Michael "savage" Weiner has only recently come onto my radar; a few weeks ago he made comments that autism is "a racket" and that kids who are labeled autistic just need to be smacked around more. I'm exaggerating that, but only a little bit. In reading about this shitstorm, the fact comes out that, while he goes by "Michael Savage," his real name is Michael Weiner, which explains everything you need to know about him. I guess "Michael Schwarzenegger Badass-who's-TOTALLY-had-lots-of-girlfriends" was taken.

And then there's BillO, the best-known of this demonic trinity. Start with the combination of ignorance and arrogance pioneered by Rush Limbaugh, add in the apelike aggression of a high-school jock, throw in a dash of sexual predator, and you have the man who even Limbaugh can't stand.

So, am I turning the situation around, and suggesting that we ban books by these and other right-wing blowhards? As much as I'd like to live in a world where I don't have to hear this shit, I do believe in the first amendment. But with every other incident, we have to watch the scapegoat du jour squirm under all the scrutiny and try to explain how Columbine totally wasn't their fault, and I for one would like to see the spotlight turned in the other direction.

Bill, you were the one who declared a "culture war." And now it has casualties. Happy, you sleazy piece of shit?

2008-04-29T07:46:00.003-07:00

Last year I posted this account of my dealings up to that point with Qwest and their heartfelt dedication to incompetence. Well, recently we were able to dump Qwest in favor of Comcast, in a "the enemy of my enemy" kind of situation. So here's an update of the dealings with Qwest since the last post.

I detailed the situation with our two accounts; after I finally convinced Qwest that we didn't need two phone numbers, we got them to cancel the temporary account. However, in what was admittedly our bad, we inadvertantly paid three months worth of bills to the wrong account, after we forgot to update our bank's autopay. This meant another round of calls between myself, Qwest and the bank; the bank had to send Qwest records showing that the payments had been made (even though they were showing in Qwest's system, just on the wrong account). Qwest swore that they would simply redirect those payments to the correct account. After another month worth of twice-weekly phone calls, they did.

For the most part, we were happy with our satellite and DVR service. Oh, sure, there were fewer HD channels, and I missed the Video-On-Demand that Comcast offered, but at least...wait, what was the appeal again? Oh yeah, saving money.

Then came the day that the local HD channels stopped working. ONLY the local channels, mind you (not counting the local HD channels they didn't offer), the other HD stuff came in just fine. So I did some Googling and found our how to reset the receiver. When that didn't work, I finally bit the bullet and called.

I explained to their CSR what the problem was, and what I had tried to correct it. So naturally, the first thing she did was to start talking me through the process of resetting the receiver. Well, whatever, maybe this person at the company knows something the internet doesn't. Why do I still fall for that idea?

Just like before, the resetting didn't work. After I convinced the CSR that resetting the receiver a third time wouldn't work, they agreed to send out a technician. Imagine my surprise when the tech actually showed up on time, and hey presto, got the problem (whatever it was) solved. So once again, we were able to watch CSI, Lost, My Name Is Earl, and additional CSIs in glorious, bandwidth-throttled, artifacty, high-definition.

Until the channels went out again a month later.

This time I didn't bother with Qwest, I just went ahead and bought an antenna. Yes, it was a specially designed, high-tech piece of machinery, designed to offer the best HD signal available.

But it was still rabbit ears.

In the 21st century, when I'm paying a buttload every month for HD satellite service, I still gotta put a pair of rabbit ears on my TV. And they never worked right. I'd get NBC perfectly, only to find that CBS is now fuzzier than my head after a night out.

(in our next installment, I detail why the satellite dish sat inside our apartment for months, and how Qwest proved to be a sore loser)

2008-04-29T07:35:00.001-07:00

Your paradox for today: The Gawker.com network hosts a lot of very enjoyable sites. And yet Gawker itself is completely fucking useless. Discuss.

Context Is For The Weak

2008-04-11T14:49:00.003-07:00

And why don't you read Scans Daily?

2008-04-10T16:15:00.003-07:00

I want to talk to you about the worst thing that's happened to me in the last few days.

Let me tell you what it's not. It's not the laptop problem. I was working at the office last week, using both my office desktop, and my agency-issued laptop, when the laptop suddenly gave me the ol' blue screen of death. UNMOUNTABLE BOOT VOLUME, it told me. Some Googling confirmed my worst fear: I would have to have Windows reinstalled. No rescuing for me, no sir, my files were wizziped.

That's not the worst thing that happened.

Nor is it the situation with my computer here at the office. At some point monday, it started rebooting. I'd be working along, computing my ass off, and suddenly, BEWZZZZP...sudden reboot. It would happen every three hours or so, and without the laptop to work on, I had to work carefully and save constantly.

After some discussion with MS's IT guy, guess what was decided? I had to reinstall Windows on this one too. Worse, my office computer runs *sigh* Vista. So I did that this morning, and hey, whaddaya know, there's a glitch, and I'm currently in the middle of the SECOND Vista installation today, so that I can get it working long enough to roll back to XP.

So you might think that having to install Vista twice in one day (or indeed at all) is the worst thing that happened to me this week. You'd still be wrong.

No, the worst thing that happened to me this week was yesterday, as I was in the men's room here at work. I do my business, I finish up, I put things back in their proper receptacle, and I go to zip up, not realizing that the flap on my gonch is fairly loose, and therefore the Li'l Chieftain is still exposed. And right in the path of the zipper.

Don't talk to me about childbirth. You women don't know pain like this.

Still, it helps to have something like this happen. When you have to go through three Windows installations in a week, there's nothing like getting your tallywhacker caught in your zipper to put it all in perspective.

Snuffy Smith, y'all.

UPDATE: The one plus side is that I finally was able to get XP back on my work machine.

Hey, you take your victories where you can get 'em.

2008-03-17T14:49:00.003-07:00

March 17. Saint Patrick's Day.

The one day of the year when I can pretend that the fact that my grandmother came from Tipperary is actually relevant to my life. All you dillettantes, wearing your green novelty-shop suspenders and your green plastic hat, drinking your green beer and puking up green chunks, y'all can step off, because, genetically at least, I AM Irish.

That's why I make a point of not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, because I have nothing to prove. That would also give me an excuse to go off on THAT person at work. You know the one everybody's worked with at some point or another, the busybody with a kitten-emblazoned sweatshirt for every holiday, who tries to get all pinchy with anyone not wearing green. Well, I'm not going to have my inborn Irishness questioned by someone who's as Irish as a bottle of Cuervo.

Today, however, the date completely slipped my mind as I got dressed. I looked in the closet, spotted a light green shirt that I like that I haven't worn in a while. Then I get to work and realize I'm just as lame as every Czech-African-Japanese-Latino who wears a green shirt but thinks Guinness is just a little too, y'know, bitter.

Well, bollocks to the lot of youse, ye wee gobshites. I ain't participating in your little greenface minstrel show. As the hardest working band in Dublin said, say it once, say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud!

Hello...hello...hello...

2008-03-14T14:53:00.005-07:00

Got quiet around here, didn't it? Time to start posting again. Stay tuned.

EDIT: Oh, incidentally, one of the highlights of the year for me at work is a Comics-To-Film Trivia game, to ride the coattails of/coincide with whatever major comics-based movie is about to come out. This year, in honor of the upcoming Iron Man and Incredible Hulk movies, I whipped out this little gem, which I thought came out really well:

2008-02-04T10:42:00.000-08:00

Customers know what they want, but they want what they know.

Happy now?

2007-12-13T14:05:00.000-08:00

The two times I was lucky enough to meet Neil Gaiman, I was struck by what genuinely nice bloke he seems to be. Of course, my cynical side said, it could all be an act. But moments like this have me convinced that, yes, Neil Gaiman is a real mensch. But don't just take Boingboing's word for it, watch the video.

2007-11-02T13:14:00.000-07:00

Incidentally, November is National Novel Writing Month. The rules are simple: try to write a 175-page novel by midnight on November 30. I've been talking about doing this for years, but was put off by the fact that, well, I wrote a novel once, between 1988 and 1991, and after three years of work...the end result was bad. Really bad. Like, Star-Trek-Harry-Potter-Crossover-Slash-Fiction bad. Okay, not as bad as that, but bad. This time, however, I don't care. My only goal is to get as close to the 175 pages as I can by the deadline. I don't wanna talk about my novel-to-be just yet, other than to relate the title: Grey City. Catchy, no?

If you wanna join the NaNoWriMo fun, just do what I did: grab a notebook and pen and start. It doesn't matter if you don't have the perfect opening sentence; I certainly didn't. The point is; get something down on paper. Write it now, make it good later.

Or submit it to a Sulu/Dumbledore shipper site, if that's your thing.

2007-10-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

You want this on a t-shirt.

You know you do.

2007-10-02T11:17:00.000-07:00

I have seen the true face of insanity

2007-09-24T23:22:00.000-07:00

Now, I know I've brought you some real WTFery in the past, and I don't regret a bit of it. Whether SFW or not so much, it has been my true pleasure over the years to seek out the strange, the fucked up, the wrong.

But sometimes when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also at you. That was in Watchmen.

What I'm about to show you did not come from the internets. This was found by Shellswick and myself in meatspace, in a thrift store about six months ago. It's only recently that I've been able to scan it; oh I've had a working scanner...but when I look at it, all sane thought abandons me. Indeed, I've been known to enter a fugue state when looking at this, only returning to my senses after several days, often in distant cities, with no memory of the lost time, and with strange and frightening souvenir t-shirts. Thus is the eldritch power of this image.

Friends, I can no longer bear this terrible burden alone. I've been driven to the very brink of madness trying to divine the meaning behind this image. The time has come. Gaze upon this picture...if you dare.

Join me in the comments...those of you who retain your sanity.

2007-08-27T17:26:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me (sorry guys!) that I was remiss in hot-linking to this image without giving proper credit to one of my new favorite sites, LP Cover Lover.

You want dubious TV tie-in records? It's got dubious TV tie-in records. You want disturbing, locally pressed religious ballads? Oh, it's got disturbing, locally pressed religious ballads. What's that, you're demanding cheap cheesecake shoring up half-assed easy listening? Well, sahib, this is your lucky day.

It's even got this, for when you're not at work.

Again, my apologies for ganking their images without linking (the internet equivalent of forgetting the reacharound). That's lpcoverlover.com. You go there now.

Your daily dose of wrong

2007-08-17T17:06:00.001-07:00

With extra bonus wrong!

Generation Chickenhawk

2007-07-26T15:58:00.000-07:00

The College Republican National Convention: Tomorrow's Unindicted Co-conspirators Today!

2007-07-12T17:21:00.000-07:00

"(Criss) Angel isn't fake, in fact I'm 100% convinced he does have some supernatural power. Yes yes I know that the point of his illusions is make you think so, but some things he does is absolutely impossible by any means. In addition to his "panty-color predicting" trick, another one comes to mind: He takes a painted card out of a strictly ordinary painting...literally. When he takes it out, the card is no longer there, then he creases it, and puts it back, and it's painted with the crease, when it wasn't there originally. He also takes a $100 bill and a martini glass out of the painting, and again when he takes them out they're not in the painting. He then puts it back. And this is (as far as I can tell) a continuous camera shot, so there's no way the painting could have been replaced. That's my proof. I'd like to see a skeptic try to refute that trick. -Eridani 03:18, 31 May 2007 (UTC)"

You want some fun? Read the discussion pages of some Wikipedia entries.

So what's with the name change?

2007-05-17T00:15:00.000-07:00

Here's what's going on, kids. As most of you know, we're gearing up to make a new pilot for Das Klaun's Klubhaus; the surreal comedy show, not the blog. We plan to go public with this thing, and given posts like this or this, I don't want someone to Google Das Klaun, the show, not the blog, and end up looking at this. So Das Klaun's Klubhaus, the blog, not the surreal comedy show, has to change form.

This site will remain my personal blog, but from now on will be known as Hello Chieftain! and will be located at hellochieftain.blogspot.com. But that's not all.

This blog will still be the place for all that Tacoma-angst and lefty blasphemy you can't get enough of. But all the pop culture stuff, the five-things-about-Superman and the George-Lucas-apologist will now reside at the brand new site, Junque! But don't go there yet, because there's nothing there yet.

So, to sum up, Rich Bowen's personal demons live at hellochieftain.blogspot.com. The pop-culture stuff that clogs up my brain lives at junque.wordpress.com. Snuffy Smith, y'all.

2007-05-15T11:43:00.000-07:00

'"The ACLU's got to take a lot of blame for this...The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way--all of them who have tried to secularize America--I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."

Just a little reminder, in case anyone thinks a certain blog post goes too far. I hope there is a hell, because you belong there, you worthless fuck.

2007-05-08T21:58:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to warn people about this for years.

Now she's back - and she brought the NAZIS with her!

2007-05-05T20:12:00.000-07:00

This is the greatest Photoshop contest I have ever seen.

2007-05-02T13:08:00.000-07:00

If you're one of those who thinks George Lucas raped your childhood with the newest trilogy, follow this link.

Neato Coolville: WELCOME TO STAR WARS: 30 DAYS FOR 30 YEARS

A whole month of vintage Star Wars goodness, to celebrate the 30th anniversary this month and maybe heal your inner child.

Hi, I'm a Marvel...and I'm a DC.

2007-05-01T12:54:00.001-07:00

*sigh*

2007-04-28T02:01:00.000-07:00

There’s a story my mom liked to tell, that I think revealed more about her than she ever realized.

It was when Little Charlene was in first grade. It was time to pick the new readers, those books with the basic poems and stories to teach reading skills. The kids were allowed to choose between two different books; they would take a few minutes to look over each one, and then they would vote. For purposes of this story, let’s call them the blue book and the red book.

There was one particular story in the red book that intrigued her, but she didn’t have time to finish reading it before it was time to vote. The class was told to stand up, and those who wanted the red book stand on one side, while the blue book voters stand on the opposite side.

It became immediately clear that more kids wanted the blue book, by a pretty wide margin. But--and here’s the part that really got to her—when the other kids in the red book group saw that they were outvoted, they all went to the blue side, leaving her all alone, one little girl against her peers.

Her bitterness against her classmates was surpassed only by her bitterness against her teacher, who never took the time to find out why Charlene was so adamant about the red book. “So I was outvoted,” she would say, not realizing how much she would be shaking at this point in her narrative, “she could have at least offered to let me read it on my own.”

I tell a lie when I say she was most bitter against her teacher. I think she reserved her greatest anger for herself. Her natural instincts would almost invariably be the opposite of those around her, leading to that moment where everyone would be staring at her, wondering what the hell’s wrong with Charlene.

There was a similar story from around the same time. For PE, her class was going to be playing softball for the first time. Understand, this was the early 40s, before TV, so it was entirely possible for a little girl at that time to have no idea of how baseball works, which happened to be the case with Charlene. Watching the other kids in confusion, she tried to figure out this strange game that she had only heard about; okay, when they throw the ball to you, hit it with the bat and run to the base. She could manage that much, she figured, and puzzle out the rest as she went along.

Unfortunately, since her last name started with C, she was one of the first kids up to bat. Gamely but awkwardly she swung at the ball, missing once, twice, three times. She wouldn’t give up, though, and waited for the next throw. She had no concept of “three strikes, you’re out,” no matter how many times the other kids screamed it at her. She merely stood at home plate, holding the bat and waiting for someone to explain to her what she did wrong.

These were the moments that would stay with her. I didn’t hear much about good times, and honestly, I don’t think there were that many.

This is all stuff I would get in drips and drabs over the years; It wasn’t until the months leading up to her death that I started to get a clear picture of how my Mom became the woman I knew. I had heard the story of how she met my Dad; by 16, her family was living in Alaska, where she went to a USO dance and got hit on by a cocky young airman with the so-lame-it’s-almost-cool pickup line “you’re drinking Pepsi?” Once I started putting all the pieces together, it actually makes perfect sense to drop out of high school and get married at 16. I actually have to wonder about the timing of my oldest brother’s conception and birth. I wonder if she went to that USO dance looking for an escape.

Unfortunately, by the time I started putting those pieces together, the damage had already been done.

More to come, maybe.

2007-04-17T23:56:00.001-07:00

*sigh* It all makes sense now.

2007-04-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

Listen:

Kurt Vonnegut wrote novels. He also wrote plays and short stories and essays. This is what Kurt Vonnegut looked like:

Kurt Vonnegut didn't get his first book published until he was in his late 30s. It was called the Sirens Of Titan. It was a science fiction novel. But Kurt Vonnegut wasn't classified as a science fiction writer. So it goes.

Kilgore Trout was classified as a science fiction writer. Kilgore Trout appeared in most of Kurt Vonnegut's novels. Kurt Vonnegut called Kilgore Trout his "alter ego" and "someone he used to be." Kilgore Trout was not a very successful writer. Kurt Vonnegut was a very successful writer.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote a very successful book called Breakfast of Champions. I didn't like that book very much. I think he deliberately wrote it to see how self-referential and obnoxiously self-indulgent he could make it and still get people to fall all over themselves praising it. A lot of people fell all over themselves praising Breakfast of Champions. So it goes.

I didn't start reading Kurt Vonnegut until I was in my early thirties. I could see the influence Kurt Vonnegut had had on writers like Stephen King and Douglas Adams. Kurt Vonnegut's books are funny as hell, cynical and pessimistic, with a heartbreaking streak of humanity that makes you wish the world made sense. I've only read a few of his books. I plan to read them all. There won't be any more.

Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. He smoked, he drank, he had seen a lot of the world, and he was 84 years old.

So it goes.

Peanut Butter proves the existence of God!

2007-03-29T18:25:00.001-07:00

Via Wired; follow the link for bonus crazy.

2007-03-20T18:38:00.000-07:00

This past sunday was the fourth anniversary of the day my Mom died. My Dad and brother and I marked the day with dinner, which turned out to be the best time we've had as relatives in a long time. Meanwhile Shelly had some moving things to say about the day, and about my Mom.

I think now that I'm at a point where I can talk about her both as my Mother and as a person. There may be some extremely disorganized and intensely personal words going up here as I attempt to be her Speaker For The Dead.

Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

2007-03-13T09:48:00.000-07:00

This is a copy of an email I just sent. No names have been changed, because who among us can truly be called innocent?

If this is not the correct forum for my complaint, please forward it to the appropriate department. I signed up for Qwest service in January of this year, and in that very short time the service I have received has been abysmal, with an ever-increasing amount of mistakes made by your company that now have me seriously considering cancelling my service.

Previous to this, I relied on Speakeasy for my DSL and phone (with VOIP), and Comcast cable for TV. I was happy enough with these services, and decided to switch to Qwest for the sole reason that it would be a lower monthly bill.

I placed my order for phone, DSL, and Directv service on tuesday, January 23, in a phone call lasting nearly 90 minutes. I was told that I would be able to keep my phone number (206.xxx.xxxx), but that I would be assigned a temporary number until it could be connected. I also asked whether you offered VOIP for phone service and was told that you do.

I called back a few days later to confirm that my DSL installation kit was on the way. That was when I learned that somehow my order had never been placed. I had to spend another 90 minutes placing the exact same installation order. I work from home two days a week, so by this point nearly three hours of work time had been taken up trying to get service.

The second order was placed, and a few days later I received my DSL installation kit. I installed the DSL modem, and after calling to resolve some connection issues, I was up and running.

A few days later, however, I received an identical DSL kit. On closer inspection, I saw that the paperwork for the first one had listed the temporary number (206.yyy.yyyy) that I was given, while the second one had my permanent number. I called Qwest and was assured that it would still work when my permanent number was installed, and told to return the second DSL kit.

Around this time, a separate issue arose when my DSL connection quit working. When I called for technical assistance, your CSR was able to get me reconnected, but only after having to describe my setup repeatedly; at one point, he suggested that I unplug my phone from the wall jack, apparently unmindful that that was the phone from which I was speaking to him. It was also at this time that I was informed that, contrary to what I was told when I placed my order, Qwest does not offer VOIP in my area.

Meanwhile, I had placed an order for installation of a Directv satellite dish, with an HD-DVR receiver. The scheduled installation date came and went with no sign of the installers. I called and was informed that they were out of the equipment I had requested. However, no attempt had been made to call and inform me, which led to another day of wasted work time.

When the installers did come a few days later, the installation went smoothly enough. However, I was put on the phone with a Directv rep to order service, and was quoted a different price than I had been told by Qwest. A short battle of wills ensued with the telephone rep telling me one price, and the installers in my apartment telling me another. To this day I'm still not sure how much I'm paying for my Directv service.

Eventually my temporary phone number was disconnected and my regular phone number was put back into service. There was some minor confusion when I was sent a separate bill for each number, but everything seemed to be in order. The bill for the temporary number was dated february 15, and due March 6. This bill was paid via the internet on March 4; I received a confirmation email telling me that the funds would be withdrawn from my account within 72 hours, and my bank shows that this was the case.

However, on March 12 I received a notice from Omnium collection agency, demanding payment for the bill for the temporary number. When I called Qwest again, the rep I spoke to was clearly able to see a balance of zero, and I forwarded her the confirmation email I had received. She discovered that the bill had been sent to collections on March 5--not only a full day after payment was received, but a full day BEFORE the bill was actually due. The rep told me that the collection agency has been contacted to correct the mistake, but I'll be watching them closely to see if this actually happens.

So, to sum up, in less than two months, there have already been five major mistakes on the part of your company, along with at least two cases where I've been given false or conflicting information. As I said, I switched to Qwest to bundle services and save money, but at this point, I have to seriously consider whether the aggravation I've been put through is worth those extra few dollars a month. Consider this a warning; one more blunder on this level, and you will be losing my business forever.

2007-02-13T16:40:00.000-08:00

And here's what I have to say about this whole astronaut love triangle business;

First off, yes, she drove 900 miles in a diaper. That's the part the news people keep expecting us to snicker at, but I ain't biting. They wear them when they're, y'know, going into space, so that's no big thing. Grow up, bitches. Beats hell out of a catheter.

No, I'm more concerned about a much smaller detail that gets thrown into all the news reports almost as an afterthought. During her 900-mile bediapered road trip, this woman had the kidnapping paraphernalia, as well as hand-written directions to her lover's house.

Hand-written directions. Hand. Written. This is a fucking astronaut here. She doesn't have a GPS? Hell, this woman could well have deployed one of the satellites. I have a GPS. My sister-in-law has a GPS. You got GPS, you got Google Maps, but hand-written directions is the best she can do.

Is this what astronauting has come to? We used to thrill to the true-life adventures of Space Captain John Glenn And His Intrepid Sidekick Buzz. Now thanks to this useless cunt astronauts are no better than Tonya Harding. Come on, NASA, get it together, for fuck's sake.

Copyright 2007 Rich Bowen

Incidentally, there really is more to come on the Christmas post. I have more to say, once I figure out exactly what words to use to say it.

Happy birthday to me!

2007-02-01T11:03:00.000-08:00

I'm drinking the eggnog

2006-12-06T17:05:00.000-08:00

Something a little more serious, though I hope not too much. I have to say a few unpleasant things, but bear with me, I'm going someplace good in the end.

If you know me at all, then for many years now you've probably had to endure my December funk, the annual black rage that sets in around august and lasts until New Years Eve, when only alcohol is powerful enough to kill it. Simply put, I got me some issues with Christmas.

A big part of it is, simply, that I've had some shitty Christmases. The worst, with a bullet, was 1992 when my family's griping over Clinton's recent election quickly mushroomed into a five-way screaming match that led directly to my storming out the door, and not coming back until I'd found myself a new place to live.

But that's just the star on top of my tree of Christmas grievances. On a personal level, there's the years of working shitty jobs that only get shittier with the season, giving me lots of overtime money but no time to buy presents with it. On a wider level, there's just the fact that this time of year encourages, nay, rewards behavior that I find abhorrent.

Good taste and restraint are not only forgotten, they're actually considered bad things. Hey, put on this sweatshirt with an airbrushed kitten wearing a Santa hat! Then let's put some NASCAR ornaments on the twenty-foot tall tree! Put enough lights on the house to be seen from space! You got some space on the lawn, why not get an inflatable snowglobe with a snowman fellating Santa! Then we'll put some tinsel on the Hummer and listen to Kelly Clarkson sing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer as we go see Tim Allen as MC Scrooge getting taught a lesson by Ice Cube in the hip-hop musical A Chrizzle Carol!

As you can see, hating Christmas is not something to do lightly; you have to be committed, especially if you're gonna keep from disemboweling everyone who calls you a "scrooge" or a "grinch," and get indignant with you for the heinous crime of just wanting to be left alone. Do what you want, I tell them, but, y'know, I'm behind on my bills, and work is really busy, and I'm just not interested, okay? No, you have to join us! If you don't put on the Santa hat the terrorists win! Drink the eggnog!

Thing is, though...I love eggnog.

You know what I always think of, this time of year? A Charlie Brown Christmas. That comes on, and suddenly I'm six, watching the old "CBS Special" bumper, with the word SPECIAL spinning towards you, backed by that bossanova beat, and all those Dolly Madison commercials you never saw any other time of year. It didn't even matter that you couldn't get Dolly Madison snacks here, the point was that when you saw A Charlie Brown Christmas that meant that CHRISTMASTIME IS HERE. It says so right in the first song! I watch it to this day, and goddammit, I get squishy when he hangs that first ornament and makes the tree droop.

I love those Rankin-Bass specials, with the crappy stop-motion and Paul Frees doing every other voice. I love the streets where the trees are full of white lights, casting a soft glow and creating the illusion that things are all right. I love the quality the air takes on, when it's snappy-cold but clear.

I always rail about how the stores start bringing in the Christmas stuff around august, before school's even started. This year was no exception, but I started realizing that my anger didn't run as deep this time. I was merely venting about an annoyance, rather than making a declaration of principle.

As Christmas tree lots started popping up (a couple of weeks before Halloween), I found myself eyeing the goods, picturing how various ones would look in the apartment, what kinds of decorations would look best...I found myself getting alarmed.

I've been rolling this over and over in my head, and there are certain truths that cannot be ignored. I've got a good job, the best job I've ever had in my life. I'm back home, around all my friends, and I'm here with the woman who I love, and who makes me realize that I deserve to be loved.

There's no getting around the disturbing truth. I'm happy. This is a new thing to me.

Even more disturbing, I'm fully on board with Christmas this year. Like, not just tolerating it, I'm actively looking forward to it. I'm getting squishy right now just at the thought of watching White Christmas with Shelly's family.

I'm drinking the eggnog.

More to come.
Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

2006-12-05T13:03:00.000-08:00

There's a longer post coming in the next couple days, but until then there's something I want to address.

You know how every so often some waggish columnist will decide to characterize all geeks (by which they invariably mean anyone who ever saw a Star Wars movie, or watched an episode of any Star Trek series) by the usual stereotypes? You know, lives in parents basement, can't get laid, thinks D&D is real, and so on.

But there's another, more insidious subculture that is not only larger, they are actively evil while ours is merely socially awkward. I'm speaking, of course, about sports fans. Our social awkwardness is fairly self-contained. We're smart enough to know, and have fun with, our peculiar interest. Sports fans, though, those are the guys who go forcing cities to spend billions of dollars replacing sports stadiums that are less than ten years old. When we geeks are happy that a movie did well, we celebrate by picking it apart in chat rooms. When your sports team does well, you go and burn down your city. If we don't like someone, we fucking deal with it. You invent games like Smear The Queer.

So it's time we turn the tables and start exposing these cretins for the cancer on society they are. Bloggers, columnists, journalists, the next time you talk about sports fans - any fan, any sport, we have to be as hardline as they are - be sure to work in the following officially notarized stereotypes:

- Illiterate
- trailer-dwelling
- Bud-swilling (or Miller Lite-guzzling)
- meshback cap-wearing
- date-raping OR wife-beating

Note that I've kept them short and simple, to facilitate spreading of the hate. See if you can come up with some of your own - after all, we need something about that idiotic habit of painting their pasty, flabby naked torsos in their team colors.

Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

ZOMG IT'S TEH SN0WPOCALYPSE!!!!111!!!ONE!!!!

2006-11-28T07:26:00.000-08:00

Wow, it looks like it's gonna stick around a while, eh? That hasn't happened for a while. When the snow started falling sunday, we rushed home to avoid traffic snarls, and more importantly, to giggle at the news.

The local news is always entertaining when there's snow, and this time was no exception. We watched KOMO for about an hour, during which they filed such hard-hitting news reports as:
-Trees are drooping from the snow!
-A Rite-Aid sign had a light dusting!!
-Some kids built a pretty busted-ass snowman that was more dirt than snow and wore a helmet (leading to lots of "Dirtball The Retarded Snowman" jokes)!!!
-Kramer is still a racist!!!!
-If you stick a pencil in the snow A FULL THIRD OF IT WILL BE BURIED!!!!!

I always find this stuff the most entertaining part of any snow we get around here, because let's face it, usually the stuff doesn't last through the following day. So I say, bring on teh snowz, because we could damn well use some.

Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

2006-11-22T10:33:00.000-08:00

Mythbusters slash fiction.

I'm gonna say that again, because I want you to take the journey with me.

Mythbusters. Slash. Fiction.

And since Shelly's gonna hit me anyway...

2006-11-21T16:31:00.000-08:00

Some links very near and dear to my heart, documenting some especially egregious abuses against the inglish languij.
Here are some sign's where someone misuse's their apostrophe's.
And some "interesting" images of "misused" quote marks.
And finally, this thread made me weep tears of joy. Finally someone else shares my pain!

Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

2006-10-30T15:19:00.000-08:00

So, been a while since I posted, hasn't it?

No, I haven't given up. I still love all you crazy kids. But the fundamental nature of the klubhaus has changed. When I started this, it was a lifeline to my homeland from the snowy wilds of Canada, a way to keep up with y'all without having to clog your inboxes. But now if I have news, it's just as easy to, y'know, tell you the next time I see you. And if a pseudo-meaningful thought occurs to me, I can verbalize it and let it waft off to nowhere, rather than write it down and pretend that something like this is worth preserving for posterity.

So, the ol' blogadoodleehoo is changing, in ways that I can't quite predict. There'll be fewer of the "don't click this link" links, mainly because I do most of my websurfing at work, where I can't click the links myself. Less of what's going on with me, for the reasons above, though probably more of the Shelly immigration stuff, because it gives me a migraine having to repeatedly recount the hoops they make us jump through.

What does that leave? Well, I could finally continue the sporadic geek-autobiographical posts. I could keep up the comics and pop-cult critiques, because I know you're all champing at the bit for my analysis of Infinite Crisis and its negative effects on Giffen and DeMatteis' 80s Justice League. Cause I know you can't get enough of that stuff.

So, that's where we're at, wherever that is. More to come. Meanwhile, click here for a chance to see me Riverdance.
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-10-06T07:05:00.000-07:00

I just want to make one quick point about Mark Foley; he's been referred to a lot lately as a "pedophile," which is not, strictly speaking, accurate. A pedophile, in the strictest definition of the word, is someone who is "sexually attracted primarily or exclusively to prepubescent or peripubescent children." Foley appears to prefer some grass on the lawn, as his targets were all around 16 or 17. That makes him an ephebophile, defined as an adult who is "primarily or exclusively sexually attracted to postpubescent adolescents."

Of course, a definition I think we could all agree on is "perverted jackass who deserves to be sent to a PMITA prison where he could be repeatedly violated with broom handles and baseball bats." Just in case anyone thought that by classifying someone as not being a pedophile meant I was excusing him. Just want to be accurate, y'know?

Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

Seetharaman Narayanan

2006-09-28T13:31:00.000-07:00

Photoshop geeks only.

Copyright 2006 Rich Bowen

"Prosecutors dismissed a child molestation charge in which Handy was accused of giving a young girl Herpes"

2006-09-21T10:24:00.000-07:00

“I feel there’s two types of people in this world – us and them, predators and prey,” Handy said. “I’m damn sure not prey.”

He told the families (of the people he killed), “Pain is part of life. Deal with it, get over it.”

From, naturally, the Tacoma News Tribune.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-09-12T11:16:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't heard, today the original Star Wars trilogy is coming out on DVD again, this time the original, un-special editions. This is being accompanied by the usual wave of bitching by "fans" about how George Lucas is a moneygrubber, how he's "making" us shell out for the movies again two years after their original DVD release. This, of course, is followed by the parrot-like cries of "doesn't George Lucas have enough money?"

Well, pardon me for not toeing the geek party-line here. Hey, fanboys, you know why he keeps rereleasing this stuff? Because, as much as you bitch that your childhood was raped, you KEEP FUCKING SHELLING OUT. If you think he has enough money, why do you give him more of it?

I skipped the first release of the original trilogy for three reasons. One, I didn't like some of the changes made to the movies. Two, the special features didn't include deleted scenes. Three, following from one and two, I knew that there would be future releases. Lo and behold, here they are. But I'm not buying these ones either, for two reasons. One, the non-special editions are not remastered or cleaned up; they're just ported from the 1992 laserdisc release, with matte lines and miscolored lightsabers intact. Two, LFL has already discussed their plans for HD-DVD releases for all six films, so I'll wait for that.

Fine, George has raped your childhood. Your childhood was asking for it.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-09-03T23:19:00.000-07:00

Some people are so memorable, so larger-than-life, that when they die, even if it's not entirely surprising, it just feels impossible. Steve Irwin was one of those guys. Yeah, you watch him swimming with bloody great crocs, or getting right in the face of a poisonous-ass snake, and you laugh that it's just a matter of time before something happens, but goddammit, it's just not supposed to happen. We need guys like Steve Irwin, who bring enough color and life to the world to make up for the drudge that is our daily life.

So long, mate. Crikey, you were a lummox, but no one could put the biff in like you.

2006-09-01T14:27:00.000-07:00

Today is an important day, and my kittykat will tell you why, much more eloquently than I ever could.

More posts to come, if I ever think of anything interesting to say.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

I love it when I fuck myself

2006-08-11T14:52:00.000-07:00

So, I got this thing going at work, doing artwork for Back To School trivia. Trivia games like that are a double-edged sword; on the one hand, they have a shelf life of about a day, so why bother with anything special? On the other hand, it's a good excuse to come up with some really nice pieces for my portfolio. That's the approach I was taking with this one.

So after I spent yesterday on the various assets, today I spent about four hours working on the desk on which those assets would appear. It came out pretty decently; I'm getting pretty good at creating artwork in Flash, if I do say so myself. But don't take my word for it, check it out for yourself:

Alex Ross has nothing to worry about, but not bad, eh? I'm happy with it. I better be happy with it, and I'll tell you why.

The image above is not the original; the original is full of layers and vectors and masks and all that other Flash stuff I didn't understand when I started this job. This is just a flat image that I managed to export before I fucked myself. See, I was working in Flash. I did something, and it froze up. So I waited for it to unfreeze. I worked on some other stuff. Occasionally checked back with Flash--nope, still frozen. So finally I forced it to quit, so could reopen it and not do the thing I did that made it freeze.

That's when I found out I hadn't saved for several hours.

All that work, completely obliterated. If I wasn't sharing the office with the rest of the team I would have started throwing things, Keith Moon-style. As it is, I may still crawl under my desk. So hopefully I won't have to change the color of the desk, or adjust the angle of the seatback slightly, because that means, essentially, starting over from scratch.

The moral? SAVE YOUR FUCKING WORK. And really, that's more of a warning to myself; you're probably smart enough to hit ctrl+s every few minutes.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-08-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

Off to Canada. the next time you see me will be as half of a couple.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-08-06T18:57:00.000-07:00

"As he opens the door, a fat hermaphrodite with a Flock of Seagulls haircut and only one nostril barges in and, after a fierce struggle, makes off with the snorkel."

A slightly more literary look at Weird Al Yankovic's "Albuquerque"

2006-07-31T17:44:00.000-07:00

From time to time I get people who tell me I should be closer with my family, that they can't be as bad as I make them out to be. Now, most of you Klubhaus Kids have heard some of the stories, and you know that Tacoma is my personal Nam. For the rest of you, who still think that nobody can be as bad as all that, I give you the following...

When I started my job back in January, I told my dad that my work email was the easiest way to get hold of me, since I'm there all day. What that means is that I still don't get any of the important family news until well after the fact, but I do get forwarded every piece of emailed outrage, ethnic humor, or perverse patriotism that lands in his AOL inbox.

Last week it was a joke, a typical "XXXX is so dumb" type gag that had been given a racist overlay. I deleted it and got on with my life.

Today, though, came one titled "How cruel." The email began with "An 8 year old child caught stealing bread in a market of Iran and he is punished in a public place, in the name of Islam!!! His arm will be crushed and will lose its use permanently. A religion of peace and love, they say? How can anyone believe them when they commit such inhuman acts?" This is followed by a set of pictures, purportedly showing this "inhuman act."

Of course, what was left out, and what I remembered seeing when this story showed up on Snopes, was the fact that it was all a bit of street magic, with the last pic showing the boy hale and hearty.

This happens with most of my Dad's emails; he forwards something he was sent, I reply with a link to the page on Snopes showing that Oliver North didn't actually warn congress about Osama Bin Laden back in 1987, or that those planes forming a flag in the sky were photoshopped, or the big one, that no, Target, like French's Mustard, is not owned by the French.

So like usual, I send on the Snopes link, with a few relevant excerpts from the article. I considered politely requesting that racist bullshit be sent to my home email rather than work, but thought the better of it.

A little later comes the response from Fundamentalist Brother:

"I figured it was staged. That doesn't change my course of action though.
We must still slay the infidels in the name of OUR God. Fervor is important, facts don't matter."

Slay the infidels in the name of our god. And people wonder why I won't go into his house.

So, yeah, maybe there are families out there that are worth being a part of, but mine is not one of them. Any sense of family values I once had died the day I had to say to my brother, "can you please not point that gun at me?"

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-07-28T11:16:00.000-07:00

The Welcome Home party for Shelly will be August 12th. Time TBD, location most likely the Mowrer home. Belated presents for my b****day will be accepted as well, but are by no means required. Details to follow.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-07-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

Brady Bunch Babylon

See the famous scene from the Brady Bunch where Barry Williams was stoned out of his gourd. No doubt posted in honor of yesterday's tenth anniversary of the premiere of the Movie Geek Show.

Don't feel bad, I forgot too.

2006-07-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

SHELLY APPROVED FOR K3 SPOUSE VISA STOP.

WILL BE COMING TO SEATTLE EARLY AUGUST STOP.

MAJOR RAGER PARTY TO FOLLOW STOP.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-07-21T07:32:00.000-07:00

Happy birfday to me...

In more interesting news, you may have heard that Shellswick's visa interview is scheduled for Monday the 24th. Assuming they don't decide she's some kind of gay commie terrorist, she'll be here in early august. I say it's about time. I don't think it's unreasonable to want my, y'know, wife to live in the same country as me.

There was some confusion last week when I opened my mail and found the exact same form that she had just sent in two days before. Turns out this one was the application for her Green Card, the one that will allow her to be a permanent resident, to get a job and not have to get something called an "alien parole" if she needs to go back to Canada.

Here's the kicker, though: with her visa, she can't go back to the GWN without this Alien Parole thingmy. But her Green Card interview is supposed to take place in Montreal, which I've just learned is in Canada. So does she need the Parole to go to her interview? Does she have to stay in Montreal until she gets her green card? Is the government an ineptly run bureaucracy at odds with itself? And what about Naomi?

Anyway, yeah, 36 today. The party will take place upon Shellswick's arrival. I could joke that she's my birthday present, but she was already my 30th birthday present, and regifting is just tacky.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-07-17T08:38:00.000-07:00

So as you know, Cartoon Network has unceremoniously dumped Justice League Unlimited and Teen Titans, which suxxors all around. But one bit of good news is with the end of the series, the spinoff comic Teen Titans Go! is free to use a character who was too tied up in licensing issues to appear on the show.

Those of you who don't recognize Donna may go about your business.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

Here's what Michael Bay is trying to pass off as Optimus Prime

2006-07-12T17:14:00.000-07:00

Whee.

*waiting for that cease-and-desist letter from Paramount...*

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

"I'm tight on time too, I don't have time for bitches"

2006-07-10T10:35:00.000-07:00

For the first time ever, Adam Carolla earns some respect.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-07-07T15:10:00.000-07:00

My iTunes here at work, which I keep on shuffle, has decided that every third song I hear should be a christmas song. Thanks to apple, I can now start loathing christmas as early as july. Thanks, apple!

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-06-29T22:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm not much into the whole rah-rah Amurca thing, but some things are just too good to pass up.

2006-06-27T14:17:00.000-07:00

2006-06-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

Look! Up on Niagara Falls!

2006-06-26T08:04:00.000-07:00

A new approach to movie marketing:

This is happening at Niagara Falls, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and other cities, but sadly, not Seattle.

Cinerama, tuesday night, 10 PM. Who's with me?

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-06-17T15:06:00.000-07:00

"On our first backstage stop, a utility area behind Pirates of the Caribbean, Matthew points out a rubbish compactor the size of a four-unit apartment building. Remarkably, before the garbage is sucked here from around the park by a Swiss-built network of pneumatic tubes, it's sorted by hand to pull out recyclables and all the wallets and cameras people toss by accident. The combustibles are burned to generate a third of Disney's electricity."

Okay, we so gotta do one of these tours.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-06-15T12:12:00.000-07:00

Last year’s post about 5 things you need to know about Doctor Who seemed to go over fairly well, so I’m gonna do something similar in anticipation of Superman Returns (June 28—IN IMAX!), except this time I’m assuming you know the basics; Clark Kent, Lois Lane, the Daily Planet and whathaveya. So what I’m gonna do this time, I’m gonna hit you with Five Things You May Not Have Known About Superman.

1. Like a modern mythology, the details of Superman’s reality can change at the whims of the storyteller. Most recently, elements of Smallville and the Christopher Reeve films have been creeping in; suddenly, the Fortress Of Solitude is made of crystal, and the S emblem is a Kryptonian family crest, rather than just something Ma Kent thought would look nice. This is par for the course these days—look at how the X-Men adopted black leather after the success of the movie—but Superman blazed the trail.

Did you know that when Superman premiered in 1938, Clark Kent was a reporter for the Daily Star? His editor was George Taylor. More surprisingly, he couldn’t fly, only leap an eighth of a mile. There was no Kryptonite, hell, Krypton didn’t even have a name.

The instant success of Superman naturally led to appearances in other media, which led to the first major changes to the mythos. Nowadays, Superman flying seems perfectly natural, an important part of who he is. But it was the early 40s cartoons by the Fleischer studios (they’re public domain—grab ‘em on the Internet Archive and enjoy) that gave Superman the power of flight, after the leaping looked clumsy in early pencil tests.

The cartoons were an offshoot of the highly successful radio series, even featuring series star Bud Collyer. It was the radio series that had the biggest impact on the comics, changing the Star to the Planet, and introducing Perry White AND Jimmy Olson. Though Krypton had already been named in the comics, the radio series was the first appearance of the deadly Kryptonite—more on that later.

The entire mythos has been repeatedly overhauled, tweaking details here and there; Krypton went from a vibrant utopia, to a cold world of science-worship, then back to the utopia, and now it’s pretty much like the one we saw in the movies. After the late-90s animated series, Lois Lane has taken to calling Clark “Smallville.” Time will tell what they take from Superman Returns.

2. Modern Metropolis is portrayed more or less as New York City; the first two movies were filmed there, and Tom De Haven’s 2005 novel It’s Superman drops the whole pretense and calls it New York. But the city was originally modeled on Cleveland, home of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, with a soupcon of Joe Shuster’s birthplace, Toronto.

Most portrayals depict Metropolis as your basic art-deco, well, metropolis. There was a brief period in 2000 where the whole city was upgraded by Brainiac, becoming a high-tech futuristic “city of tomorrow,” but like most changes, this was quietly dropped.

The exact location of Metropolis remains a mystery; generally it’s portrayed as somewhere on the east coast. Some portrayals put it within a couple hours of Smallville, making it somewhere in Kansas. And while older comics had it set far away from Batman’s home turf of Gotham City, it’s now just over the “Gothamboro” bridge, making crossovers that much easier. One guidebook for the DC roleplaying game put Metropolis in Delaware, with Gotham in Rhode Island, but again, most people just consider it a fictionalized New York.

Then there’s Metropolis, Illinois, population 6.482.

Since 1972, the city has been known as the “Hometown of Superman,” with a Superman statue, Superman museum, and annual Superman Festival every June. In addition to well-known figures from movies, TV and comics, the festival features a real-live Superman, a real honor for the actors chosen to play the Man of Steel. For this year’s festival, a statue of Lois Lane was added near the Superman statue, in honor of actress Noel Neill’s 85th birthday.

3. We all know about Kryptonite: Green glowing rocks, radioactive chunks of the destroyed Krypton, that are the only thing that can weaken or kill Superman. But at times, there have been nearly a dozen other varieties, each with their own effects.

Blue Kryptonite was the only thing that could kill Bizarro. White Kryptonite kills plant life. Gold Kryptonite leaves a Kryptonian alive, but permanently robs them of their powers.

And then there’s Red Kryptonite.

The effects of Red Kryptonite, see, are unpredictable. It’s perhaps the silliest form of Kryptonite, the one the writers would trot out in the 50s when they wanted to turn Superman into a monkey, or a beatnik, and not enough time had passed for another Mr. Mxyzptlk story.

In the regrettable Superman III, Richard Pryor created an artificial chunk of Red Kryptonite that turned Superman evil. This has carried over to Smallville, with Red K turning up when they need an excuse for Clark to ride a motorcycle and slap Lana around.

By the early 70s, “K-Metal” had grown to be seen as a cheap plot device. So in a memorable series of stories, Superman’s powers were drastically reduced, and nearly all Kryptonite on earth was turned to iron, adding more menace to the few remaining pieces.

Since the big reboot, Green has largely been the only form of Kryptonite, but the other colors have slowly been returning. Can the human-killing Anti-Kryptonite be far off?

4. For a dead planet, there seems to be a lot of remnants of Krypton floating around the universe. Superman has a ton of Kryptonian artifacts in the Fortress of Solitude, including the Phantom Zone Projector, a device that phase-shifts criminals into a ghostly purgatory That weird diamond thingy that General Zod came out of in Superman II was their version of the Phantom Zone.

Argo City was a Kryptonian city that was miraculously flung free of the explosion and floated in space (don’t ask about things like gravity or an atmosphere) until the inhabitants, realizing they were dying, sent a young girl into space to live on earth. That girl was Kara Zor-El, cousin of Kal-El, and better known as Supergirl.

Another city that survived the destruction was Kandor. The former capital of Krypton, the city was shrunk by Brainiac and kept in a bottle in his spaceship. Superman retrieved the city and kept it in the Fortress of Solitude, where it was kept under a simulated red sun. One Kandorian was Mon-El, Superman’s identical cousin. In the late 70s, Superman finally devised a way to restore Kandor to its normal size, and the Kandorians settled on an uninhabited planet and began building New Krypton, offering the promise of an intriguing new setting…but it was never mentioned again, and Kandor has only recently returned after the big reboot.

In fact, most remnants of Krypton are gone now, with DC preferring to play up the tragedy of being The Last Son Of Krypton.

5. Mxyzptlk is pronounced mix-yez-spit-lick. Pronounced backwards (which sends him back to his fifth-dimensional world of Zrff), it’s kltpzyxM, or kul-ti-pi-zix-em.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-06-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

You might want to go to MSN games today and check out the new Comics To Film Trivia game.

Cool artwork, don't you think?

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-06-06T11:33:00.000-07:00

*sigh* So those of you who've known me for a while may remember that--believe it or not--I am in fact married. I remain so, despite the best efforts of the US Government, who keep reaching into their ass and pulling out new hoops for us to jump through.

I'll try to walk you through the process so far. We began the whole kerfuffle back in January when I moved back to Seattle. There was one form which we'll call Form A, which was simply to register her with Homeland Security ("Impotently Threatening the Law-Abiding Since 2001!") as my spouse. Form A, I was told, would take up to two years to process, but as soon as it was received, I would be able to send in Form B, which would register her as, um, my spouse.

Still with me? To recap: Send in Form A, get it received and in process, then send in Form B. Once Form B is processed (in about two months, they said), then Shelly can go to the US Consulate in Vancouver and fill out Form C, and receive a K-3 Visa, which will allow her into the US.

So, Form A got received, so I went ahead and sent in Form B. A couple of months later, I get a notice of approval for...Form A? The one that's supposed to take two years? Well, okay. A week later comes the approval for Form B. Now we're talking. Now it's time for them to send Shelly Form C, so she can go get the K-3.

Well, she got Form C. Trouble is, Form C includes Supplemental Forms D, E, and F, mostly information that I already sent in with Forms A and B. In addition she needs a Canadian passport to proceed, which means going to the Canadian government and filling out Le Forme...what's French for G?

Oh, and as you probably figured, each form included copious fees, the amount of which varies depending on which version of the form you look at. I particularly enjoyed when I was making a final inspection of Form B and discovered it had been updated while I was getting ready to send it in, with the requisite fee increase. Oh, and since I was listed in Form E as her US Agent, that meant a surprise bonus fee!

So at this point, Le Forme Grande is turned in and we're just waiting on her passport, so she can turn in Forms D, E and F and get her Visa. It would seem to be going well, except that based on the information we were originally given by Homeland Security ("Defeating Terrorism By Halfassedly Enforcing Non-Existent Anti-Porn Laws!"), we thought she would be here by the end of April. So that's when she gave her notice at work. Meaning that for over a month now she's been unemployed and living in her parents house (we gave up the apartment back in march), and doing more than her fair share of Oma duty.

So be sure to drop by The Enchanted Forest Full Of Chinese People and show some love. And if any of y'all feel like spending, say, a weekend in the land of the still-favorable exchange rate, I know it would be appreciated.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-06-03T22:53:00.000-07:00

"Oh brother. I don't even know what the FIFA World Cup is. I'm guessing it's soccer, which I hate just as much as any other pro sport. Every editor at Boing Boing detests professional sports, and we would sooner stream a video of a crumpled up paper napkin in the corner of a room than show some jackasses running after a ball. The only time we would ever post anything about pro-sports would be to make fun of them."

This is another reason why I love BoingBoing.

2006-05-31T17:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, personal update time. Let's start with the leg, shall we?

I was planning to make this post sooner, but my combination of laziness and embarrassment has pushed it out to now. About three weeks ago now (see previous sentence), I went back to the dermatologist for a follow up. At that point, I still had no idea what had caused the infection; the best guess I had heard was when Shellswick suggested that it was due to a spider bite, which sounded logical to me, especially when a spider the size of a Yugo came brazenly strolling through the living room. After sending the little fucker to a grisly fate, I reluctantly collected the carcass in a Ziploc and stuck it away, in case the dermatologist was able to do some CSI mojo on it.

Well, the dermatologist figured it out. He didn't even need to see the spider. You know what caused the leg infection that's plagued me for two months, and put a damper on our weekend in Victoria?

Athlete's foot.

I've got itchy toes and callused, cracked heels, something Shellswick has been bugging me about for years, especially when they scratch her at night. Whatever bacteria got into me found its ingress through the small cracks in my heels.

I'm not the heroic survivor of a vicious attack by slavering arachnids. I'm the guy who missed a week of work due to athlete's foot.

The dermatologist did do a bit of CSI-ing to figure it out; I had always worn shorts to my previous doctor appointments, so they could get to it easily without me having to doff my trousers (though it didn't matter much when the other doctor decided to check me for jock itch; there are very few contexts where one WANTS to be told "spread your cheeks"). This time, though, I went before work, so I wore jeans. When I was taking off my shoes, one sock slipped down, and that's when he thought to ask if I'd ever had athlete's foot. That's some Grissom-worthy work right there.

So now I have three different greasy substances I have to smear on my lower extremities; one for around the toes, one to soften the heels, and one to rub on the infected area twice a day. In addition to using baby powder in my socks and alternating different pairs of shoes every day. Thank god the jock itch didn't last long and I don't have to keep using THAT cream.

The leg's almost better, and by next week I'm confident I'll be able to start wearing shorts, as long as the weather keeps up. The only problem now (apart from all the aforementioned unguents) is that gigantuous spider carcass I saved. I, um...can't remember where I left it. I really should try to take care of that before Shelly gets here, because if she opens a drawer and there's a dead spider big enough to eat a golden retriever, I don't think she'd see the humor in it.

NEXT: Where the hell is my wife, already?

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-05-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

Shelly's gonna hit me SO hard. (mostly SFW)

Belgium!

2006-05-25T10:35:00.000-07:00

I didn't know they were still doing this: after Douglas Adams died five years ago (five years? gak), May 25th was declared Towel Day, a day you were supposed to carry a towel with you all day in DNA's honor. I thought it was a one-off thing, and I did in fact carry a towel all day, a ratty yellow one hanging from my back pocket as I dealt the cards. But apparently this is an annual event, meaning that for five years now I have been an unhoopy non-frood who does not, in fact, know where his towel is.

2006-05-22T10:19:00.000-07:00

I had been planning a big post, updating my current situation on a number of fronts (my bum leg, my job, my recurrent yearning to make another film), but all that has been pushed out of my mind by the fact that, while I was in Canada this weekend, our van was broken into.

I will grant, we have been pretty lackadaisical about locking the doors; the driver's side lock won't accept the key, so most of the time we skip it. But this means that some little shit (or shits) from the subdivision where Shellswicks family lives were just going around saturday night, trying car doors and grabbing whatever was in easy reach.
There are a number of names for someone like that; I'll stick with little shits, and I'll offer this helpful message: If robbing cars is what you do for fun on a saturday night, then you are a complete waste of space in this world, and the world will be vastly improved on the day that you die in an alley of an incurable venereal disease that you will contract by sucking off a diseased rottweiler for meth money, you little fuck.

Relax, I'm not gonna turn into some rabid, ship-em-all-to-gitmo gun fetishist. I'm still your unrepentant, soft-on-crime, blame-the-victim liberal. I'm just telling this little cuntsmear something he needs to hear.

So here's the tally: they got my MP3-CD player, the one Mowrer got me for my birthday. They got Shelly's MP3 player, which is just the right amount of music for the trip between Seattle and Vancouver. They got my brown leather coat, which had in the pockets my cellphone, my keycard from work, and my SOG, the multitool Shellswick got me for christmas, and has practically replaced the penis as the most useful accessory a man can own.

They also got the CD that was in the player, an audio care package I had burned for Shellswick less than two days before, with both Mitch Hedburg albums, a couple of Bill Hicks, and the George W Bush Singers. I can't imagine a little ass-eater like that would be too into Bill Hicks.

The good news is, I can buy a new phone and keep the same account. The bad news is, since the phone didn't include roaming in Canada, I can't call the little shitstreak and fuck with his mind, telling him I'm going to drag him into a bomb shelter and cornhole him with an AK-47.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

Everything you love, everything meaningful...will be appropriated, mishandled, watered down...repackaged, marketed and sold to the people you hate"

2006-05-15T16:42:00.000-07:00

I admit that I'm not up on my Von Dutch, but I understand this all the same.

2006-05-11T10:34:00.000-07:00

The GINO crowd are gonna hate this. Me, I think it's the Best. Caricature. Ever.

2006-05-05T13:37:00.000-07:00

This September: Original Unaltered Star Wars Trilogy on DVD

This, of course, has been followed by the usual whinging about George making us shell out AGAIN for something we already bought back in 2004. Well, I don't usually like to get my smug on, but I would like to point out that when the OT first came out on DVD in 2004, my attitude was this: I don't particularly care for the changes he made, I think the set needs more extras, and if I ever do want the set, I'm sure I'll be able to find it used, especially once the next release happens.

Y'know, we've been through this cycle enough times that we should know. Y'know?

2006-04-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

Suddenly, Scrappy-Doo doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

2006-04-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, when all this business with my leg started, I wasn't worried about this happening. But I am now.

2006-04-26T18:03:00.000-07:00

Just put my old fan edit of the first Pirates Of The Caribbean teaser on Youtube. I was going to put my Haunted Mansion trailer up too, but it seems to have vanished from the hard drive. The pirates musta took it.

Leg still isn't completely healed. Though a pegleg would be kinda swank.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-04-19T13:48:00.000-07:00

Back at work this week. But I'm keeping the option to bail.

My leg is still nowhere near back to normal, but it's less scary than last week. I'm able to actually get out of bed in the morning, rather than lay there for fifteen minutes preparing myself for the pain, sitting up, putting my leg on the chair by the bed, getting used to the pain from that, then slowly moving myself down onto the chair with my leg on the floor, experiencing a whole new set of pain from that, then finally hoisting myself to my feet, bracing myself on the table, and hopping across the room, moaning like a crack baby every time I put any weight on it. So, progress.

It occurred to me that if this had happened at any other job, I would have been screwed; leaving aside the issue of having to stand in one spot all day, there's the simple fact that a vast majority of employers operate on a simple principle: when someone calls in sick, assume they're screwing off.

Shit, at the framehole they took it as read, and made no secret of it. One manager used to say that if we were sick, we should come in anyway, to show him we were sick, and if he decided we were sick enough, THEN he'd let us go. That backfired on him when the medicine I was taking for my carpal tunnel syndrome was making my anus bleed. He took my word on that one.

It was also how I got fired from the first casino. I called in sick, next thing I know John "I Give Herpes To Babies" Pruitt is in my face, sneering that he could hear me trying not to laugh as I pulled one over on him. I'll grant, that the new management was looking for excuses to replace anyone who predated their regime, so if not that it would have been something else, but still...

(And on a side note, yes, I know I make a policy of not slagging anyone off by name on here, but John Pruitt is such a sleazy piece of shit that he's a special case. I'll repeat, just to make sure this shows up in searches: John Pruitt Is A Sleazy Piece Of Shit Who Rapes Kittens)

So, yeah, it's nice to be at a job where they treat you with a minimum of basic dignity, and don't proceed on the assumption that you're trying to put one over on them. Though between this and my bout of intestinal distress last month, I'm kinda done being sick for now. I'm really not looking forward to seeing how small my next paycheck is.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-04-14T15:28:00.000-07:00

Hello there. Still alive. We're fine here, everything's fine. How are you?

So, yes, somehow some kind of bacteria got into my leg, and since monday my right calf has looked like that of a burn victim. I went through a series of tests and exams early in the week which told me...that my leg is infected. And that it's not a blood clot, which is, admittedly, a relief.

My kittykat has already told you about how this affected our trip to Victoria last weekend (it can never happen, say, while spending time with Oma), and by the time I got home sunday night, I was still mostly just dizzy. My mantra that night was "one night in my own bed and I'll be right as rain. Just let me get a good night's sleep and everything'll be fine."

Despite the fact that it took me several hours to get to sleep. Despite the fact that I woke up at the time I was supposed to be leaving, and that the pain in my leg had started in earnest. I sleepwalked (sleeplimped, really) through the morning and fell asleep in a meeting before Mowrer pulled me aside and essentially, told me I was in no shape to be there.

Since tuesday I've been popping two different antibiotics and rubbing steroid cream on the bad area and I'm FINALLY starting to see and feel some improvement. The real fun part is that even as my leg is getting better, my head is getting worse. Though that may just be from being stuck here in the apartment all day; being alone here all week has really gotten me ready to get this place in order.

Thanks to everyone for your concern, and thanks to Chris for bringing some essentials over last night. And no thanks to DirecTV for not being able to install here last week, which has left me scrambling for entertainment.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

Free Cy!

2006-04-06T10:41:00.000-07:00

The Oregon woman who owned the kitten said she turned down Ripley's Believe it or Not! and sold the remains to John Adolfi of Granby because she liked his religious reasons for wanting them. The museum founder, who believes in creationism, said the kitten is meant to launch another debate about how science and religion intersect.

Why cheapen Cy's short little life by making it about Jebus? He has now become the feline Terry Schiavo.

Spielberg Creating Reality TV Series - Hollywood North Report

2006-04-05T09:56:00.000-07:00

Shellswick will confirm that I suggested something along these lines over a year ago while watching that Trump show. Look, Hollywood, am I gonna have to start wearing tinfoil on my head to block your telepathy?

2006-04-04T18:28:00.000-07:00

You know, the really sucky part about JP Patches being retired is that I can't have him turn on the ICU2 TV and announce that Shelly in Vancouver turns 27 today, and to tell her to look in the dryer. She loves JP so much, I know she'd enjoy that.

Happy birthday, Kittykat. I love you.

Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen

2006-03-29T11:43:00.000-08:00

So, here at work we've been given the opportunity to create character icons that may or may not be used in an upcoming game. This has been perfect practice in some of the software I'm not really up on yet. Many of my experiments in Adobe Illustrator have been surprisingly successful.

This one, however, was not. This was my first attempt at a self-portrait, because, hey, it'd be cool to see myself on the Box of X...

This one, I'm afraid, was just a little too accurate.