from nanovirus

aeforge has has an excellent essay on the drive to blog and a bending-back (a reflexive turn, perhaps?) of the Internet to its discussion-based roots.

Read it. Now.

I really don't remember much of Gasparilla yesterday. All I know is I started the day off like this:

And ended something like this:

I don't know how I got home, who I saw, what I did... which I guess means it was your usual Gasparilla.
See all the pics

So a few days ago we passed the first anniversary of my making this little place on the web. While we've had our ups and downs, occasionally I've written some items that I'm proud of. In light of my impending (within days) departure to Movable Typeland, here's my ten favorite posts from the past year. They're not in any order, really. Except chronological.

23 January 2005 - I investigate the disappearance of my favorite soda, Kick

07 February 2005 - The annual Super Bowl Ad Review (parts one, two, and three). Don't worry, I'll be doing it again this year. Or worry. 'Cause I'm doing it again this year.

08 February 2005 - I write a story about my grandfather's wake

08 March 2005 - I take a trip back home to Ohio that ends up a lot more interesting than I'd expected

20 March 2005 - Memories from the NCAA Tournament in Nashville

03 May 2005 - Gender trouble

10 May 2005 - Old women playing beer pong

11 July 2005 - My dad's retirement party becomes more than I was looking for

21 July 2005 - Vignette from an airport

06 September 2005 - On "refugee"

07 September 2005 - I break down a local shooting

08 October 2005 - The glory of baseball

21 October 2005 - Memories, memorials, and my lost green jacket

24 November 2005 - I have a conversation with SmarterChild

Okay, that was more than ten. Sorry.

Well. I did it. Movable Type is running on kate.entertainmentweakly.com. I'm pretty stoked.

How many people ruin themselves by laying out money on trinkets of frivolous utility? What pleases these lovers of toys is not so much the utility, as the aptness of the machines which are fitted to promote it. All their pockets are stuffed with little conveniencies. They contrive new pockets, unknown in the clothes of other people, in order to carry a greater number. They walk about loaded with a multitude of baubles, in weight and sometimes in value not inferior to an ordinary Jew's-box, some of which may sometimes be of some little use, but all of which might at all times be very well spared, and of which the whole utility is certainly not worth the fatigue of bearing the burden.

-Adam Smith, 1759.From This Blog Sits At The

While working on my new music site, I was typing up lyrics to some of my songs. My lyrics aren't that insightful; I spend about two minutes on every song I write. Yet while typing the words to 37, I realized that they were kind of poetic. Far more so than anything else I've ever written, that's for sure. Here's the lyrics if you've never heard the song.

Via EDSBS and our friends at Miami Hawk Talk

New (and former) Toledo mayor Carty Finkbeiner delivered his State of the City address yesterday. In it, he announced a new fitness campaign for a city that is, frankly, a beer and polish sausage community.

In the coming year we will work hard to create a walking path that stretches from suburban Toledo all the way to downtown Toledo. And Get Fit Toledo will support in every way, shape and form, the journey to fitness of our spokesperson, Toledo’s favorite coach, Tom Amstutz.

Now, I won't criticize the crowning of Amstutz as Toledo's Favorite Coach, though Stan Joplin or Mud Hens manager Larry Parrish might have some qualms. However, TOM AMSTUTZ AS A FITNESS SPOKESPERSON?If you're not familiar with Tom Amstutz, here's a picture. tinafizz loves this guy.

He looks particularly good on widescreen TVs that aren't set up correctly. Which is about 90% of them.

Ran across something I found many, many years ago. It's so terrifying,I simply have to share it with you. I beg you, stick with it, or atleast skip to the middle where he starts the "Lil Marky" bit.

It's fairly terrifying how large of an audience he has

Last night's 24confused and disoriented me. I'm not entirely sure that show isexisting in any kind of reality anymore. Perhaps its producers, in astroke of Derrida, have elected to construct a multiverse oftruth-neutralization. Or maybe they're just out of plot ideas. One orthe other. Pretty much the last two and a half seasons or so haveconsisted of the following:

Chloe: Edgar, I need you to provision the sockets.
Edgar: (out of breath) I'll get to it when I get to it.
Chloe: Edgar, why are you always being so difficult?
Edgar: (shoveling Cheetohs into his mouth) mmph mmrph gorble.
CTU Chief: Chloe, where are we on the surveillance?
Chloe: I don't know, ask that fat fuck Edgar.

If you don't own the Neko Case record Blacklisted, why not?

In an extraordinarily selfish act of self-promotion, I've set up a myspace for my music.I'm so lame it comes out my freakishly large ears and pours in rapidfashion to the pavement where it collects in cracks and soaks its wayinto your water supply.

It's noon and I still haven't gotten my morning blogroll reading done yet. It's off to work I go!

Tonight's Grey's Anatomy has a subplot about a female competitive eater. Of course, I have a certain thing for such women.

Fridaynight was a boys' night out at the Hangout. Lee, Dave, Brian and Igawked at women, bowled, and drank like the bachelors we are. Tworednecks started brawling and connected on each others' jawsimultaneously, knocking them both out. Yes, the ending to Rocky IItook place right before my eyes. It was classic.

Met up with Lil Sis (you know, Rachel*'sLil Sis) and found her to be lovely. Later to escape the flood ofunderage and thus impatient coeds roaming the bar we took solace on thepatio, where Dave attempted to light the propane heaters and blow usall up:



Whileon the patio we watched a horrendously drunk girl across the street runsmack-dab into an advertising marquee, falling flat on her ass. If Iwas a good person, I'd admit feeling kind of bad for her. Alas, I'm anasshole and thus found it hilarious. Later, to a big-eyed blonde, Iused the standard "So, which one of these guys is your boyfriend?"approach only to have her point out the man who was, indeed, herboyfriend. He wasn't fond of my approach. Neither was she. It seemsthat line only works when she doesn't actually have a boyfriend.

Ithought, at the moment, I might have a shot at a dream I've had for tenyears now: having a guy say to me, "I don't like the way you're lookingat my girlfriend." To which I would reply, "Hey, don't you flatteryourself. I don't think that much of your girlfriend." Like a spring,it is coiled and ready to be unleashed smoothly and with a grin,whenever the opportunity arises.

(For those not familiar with the song,the guy punches me in the nose and I fall down on the ground and hesays, "What do you think about that?" and I reply, "Doesn't changeanything. Still don't think that much of your girlfriend."

Some day. A man must have a dream, after all.

Saturday found me at Tampa Bay Brewing Company for a brief celebration of karmaconniption's boyo getting old. We had a grand gathering and I drank the fine in-house brews. The cask-conditioned IPA is, like Hot Shot City, particularly good.

Chris puts me to shame when it comes to being the smoothest brother in the department:



And karmaconniption looked fabulous as usual.



Congratulationsto the Seattle Seahawks and #93 Craig Terrill, whom I've met once andwill pretend from this point on to "know," despite the fact that Ireally only know his fiancee. Though I did meet him. Once.


omg a Mouse

When every weekend is a four-day weekend, Sundays take on a more ominous tone. I still don't see Sundays the way berrydip and sickdogg do, but, then, I don't really do "work."

My 1998 Jetta reached a notable milestone yesterday.



I've had her since she was a wee 28,975. That was 10 January 2001. How far we've come, my little automobile.

Also, I think I've officially declared the Inspiron dead. We tried invasive surgery and implanting a pacemaker:



Yetit was to no avail. As soon as that little video chip heats up enoughthe screen goes berzerk. If anyone knows a cheap source for a 64m ATI Mobility Radeon 7500 for the Dell Inspiron 8000/8100 series, I am in desperate need. There's one on ebay for $60, I might have to pony upthe cash. No other video card will work with that computer, alas.

I'vehad her (CORI is her name) since early 2002. In the meanwhile, I'm forced to use the lumbering BRITTA in the desolate regions of my loft for computering.

So I have a new phone. I've actually had it a week, but I wanted to make sure I was going to keep it before I told you all about it. After four years with T-Mobile, using the Samsung Q-105 that's been my partner everywhere I go, I've moved on to Verizon, the new RAZR V3c to beexact. I've already loaded it with pictures and video and "Molly's Chambers" by Kings of Leon as my ringtone which you all should listen to if you haven't ever heard it.

I'm sad, though. I love that Q-105 and it still works as well as it did the day I got it. Yet I need a phone I can use in my house, and T-Mobile wasn't helping. The RAZR is slow and awkward and I'm not sure I'll ever embrace it like I did theQ-105. Alas, it can take pictures and video and all sorts of fancy things, so perhaps it will dazzle me with its superficialities enough to make me forget what was my first love.

aeforge(who is many, many times greater a writer than I could ever hope to be)has been pondering the usefulness of writing for a limited audience when the sheer quantity of writing is increasing every day in the sphere of literature. I see where he's coming from, yet, I know thatthe number of people who stop by here is going up every day. While I can't tell if they (and perhaps I should be speaking to YOU, thereader) actually read the stories in their entirety, I know at leastthat exposure is happening. Yet do I write for an audience? I don'treally know. I know that I put a lot of work into writing because I came to Florida with the purpose of becoming a great writer, andgetting a Ph.D in the process. aeforge unlike me, doesn't need practice. He's a fantastic writer whom you all should go add to your friends list.

Istill have stories to finish. There's three more days of my trip toBoston to talk about. And I have a parable I've written to share withyou, when I have the chance. a thinly-disguised one, for anyone whoknows me.

Back to work, for the first time in five days. My newyear's resolution is to make this place an international sensation. Andby that, I mean figuring out how to install MySQL onentertainmentweakly.com. Because damn, it's a bitch.

I finally solved the issue where you Mac and Linux users couldn'taccess anything from kate.entertainmentweakly.com (which means photogalleries, sickdogg's stuff, et cetera). bit_zero had me check Debian's MTU, which of course I'd neglected to reset to 1492 like the rest of the network.

Everything is fine now. And so here's sickdogg's photo gallery from New Year's Eve!

http://www.entertainmentweakly.com/sickdogg/nye2005/nye2005.html

THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 2006

Marquis Ballroom Salons 3 & 4: EXHIBITORS’ HALL

Thursday, April 13, 8:00–9:30 a.m.

Burgundy

060 Media & Gender I: Third Wave Feminism

and Television Studies

Chair: Merri Lisa Johnson, Coastal Carolina University

“We used to be friends”: Third-Wave

Feminism and Veronica Mars

Tim Burke, University of South Florida

Chapter Two of the Boston NCA Experience. For Chapter One, click here.


Every year at NCA, it's my point of pride to make it to an 8:00am panel --the earliest scheduled -- every day of the convention. That never happens, of course; rolling in drunk, stoned, or worse at an average hour of 5am makes that pretty difficult. Yet I boldly set my presence at 8am panels as a goal, and do a decent job of achieving it. Sleep, as you know, can be acquired while rotting in the grave. I've never had much need for it, and NCA is the perfect example of my shunning of it.

sickdogg and I in the Toledo Blade

The problem with a strong self-esteem is an inability to ever give up. You think you're so awesome that you can't let go of something that clearly is never going to go your way. And yet I cling to empty dreams. Because I am awesome. And she'll realize that eventually.

It *is* pretty emasculating to have to hold purses while they dance, though.

Thanks to extempore, I now know that "efficable" is not a word. I've been using it for a good six years or so; used it in my classes, in myriad persuasion speeches, etc. For the record, the word I was intending to use was "efficacious." I'm sure I picked it up from common use in the forensic community. Thus, if you are in forensics, please stop using "efficable." Spread the word!

As long as that word isn't "efficable."

The sportswriters today are sounding the deathknell of the pocket-passer. Yes, Vince Young had a huge game last night; Heisman-worthy, if you ask me, and certainly yet another argument for holding Heisman voting post-bowls. Yet I recognize that knell. I heard it when Randall Cunningham took over for the Eagles. I heard it when Michael Vick was drafted by the Falcons. Yeah, I heard it when Eric Crouch won the Heisman Trophy. I hear it a lot. Does it mean anything? Maybe we can ask Peyton Manning, easily the NFL's top quarterback for the past three years. (Sorry, Tom Brady.) What people forget is that NFL defensive players are so superior speed-wise that while mobile quarterbacks have several advantages over pocket passers, those advantages are diminished considerable compared to the college game.

Of course, if a scrambling quarterback has the same skill set as a pocket passer -- the same intelligence, field vision, and discipline -- then you'll have the greatest quarterback ever. We haven't seen that human yet. Maybe we never will. But to say that the days of the pocket passer are numbered is complete bunk. Put down the crack pipe, sportswriters. The world isn't your personal game of EA Sports.

I thought I might leave some cryptic post here, but the call went to voicemail. Which means the cryptic post will have to wait until tomorrow.

Edit:

She returned my call. Of course she had to have some jackoff ruin the rest of her night so much so that I couldn't really approach the subject. My meager attempts were either deflected or didn't make the point, but the timing just was very bad. It looks like this one's going in the clearance bin. And I'm stuck between the mirror and the wall.

Oh well! Life goes on. A bird in the hand is worth a bird in a cage is worth a bird on a telephone wire. Sorry to all of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, which is pretty much all of you except berrydip, sickdogg, langster, obetz, and xxsmittenxx. And even you guys are probably very much WTFing right now.

Bar Louie was more packed than last year. Over a hundred more partygoers willing to pony up sixty clams for a night of free food and drinks stuffed themselves inside the glass-walled establishment. The number of bartenders, alas, did not increase, and it took two hours for me to get my first drink. The food line was similarly long; an hour just to get a plate of lukewarm, soggy poppers. The booze was so slow in coming that I actually DROVE HOME, I was that stone-cold sober. And yet it was my best New Year's ever.
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