Words for the wise from the mouth of a fool.
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Saturday, February 22, 2003
I'm still tweaking it a bit, but the Pine Curtain sub-blog is up, archiving posts to the regional forum.
Bah! HULK HATE THIS.
Hulk want to go to movies, but Captain America is all in Hulk's face saying Hulk have to repair damage Hulk did!
WHY WE GET INSURANCE IF HULK CAN'T BREAK WHAT HULK WANTS?
The Hulk has a blog. Incredible! (via Metafilter)
(The jokes can only get better from here, folks.)
Friday, February 21, 2003
After six months without posts, I put CRADDICKWATCH! to bed tonight. It was probably time for the joke to die, anyway.
Good night sweet webpage:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
(Of course, the CRADDICKWATCH! Store remains for anyone who has some loose change in their pockets.)
The blogosphere story of the day, about the collapse of Nauru (which I crosspost here for the few that haven't seen it and to archive it for myself):
The tiny Pacific island of Nauru has spent weeks completely cut off from the outside world after its telecommunications network collapsed.
Its isolation is so complete that no one is even sure who the country's president is any more.
Nauru, an isolated speck in the southwest Pacific with a population of 12,000, is in a "critical situation", according to the last message received by the outside world.
That came via an address given three weeks ago by the man last believed to be running the country, President Bernard Dowiyogo, details of which were given on Friday by Radio Australia.
"The Lockheed missile, for example, sprouts wings and fins and flies to a map coordinate, then can wander above the area for 45 minutes, directing a laser-radar seeker to search the ground for a target to destroy"
Via DefenseTech, a story about one of the latest ideas in smart weaponry, the LAM--the Loitering Attack Missile. Fire and forget indeed.
War has broken out in the Pine Curtain region of NationStates, and things are happening fast. I'm setting up a secondary blog to catch all the exciting fictitious events as they occur! Look for it tomorrow!
As promised, here's Dr. Chris' story of life, love, and tiger surgery.
A bit of background for those who don't know: in addition to running his own vet clinic, Chris volunteers down at a large animal sanctuary in southern Wisconsin, the setting for the tale:
"The Brave-Stupid-Instinct Triangle"
Last fall, I vasectomized a lion named Chaucer. Chaucer had just lost his brother, his sole companion of over a decade, and was as lonely the lioness across the hall from him. With no risk of cubs, we paired them up, and they got along quite well, after a fashion. Unfortunately, Chaucer took great exception to having his new girlfriend being looked at by their neighbor, Goliath the tiger. Chaucer decided against a leaflet campaign and went straight into combat, tearing down what had until then been a perfectly serviceable barrier between their cages.
If I could choose any half-ton predator to meet in a dark alley, it would be Goliath. He's a thousand pounds of very amiable fuzz; wouldn't harm a fly. It's tragic that Chaucer had to pick on the sweetest cat in the sanctuary. I won't detail the fight. Suffice to say they were quickly separated, but Goliath's face was full of holes. Big ones. We put him on antibiotics and only a month later, he was totally healed, save for one nasty spigot of pus on his left jawline. I was asked to take a look. In the cage. Without anesthesia. Goliath would be awake, too.
The singular attitude I purposely invite as my "instinct canvas" for dealing with big cats is that my life is in jeopardy every single second. No matter how friendly, no matter that we meet each other with a greeting chuff or a mutual shoving of shoulders, these top predators react to annoyance with alarming speed and stupefying might. Every assessment, every approach, every detail about their cage security is life and death for me and all the cats there. The mantra at the sanctuary is, "If anyone gets hurt, we bury them all." Which reminds me of the second thing that goes through my mind when going into their cage: "I don't have to be faster than the tiger, I just have to be faster than you."
Let me slip into present tense to give you a better sense of what it was like in the cage:
Even knowing that Goliath is the only animal we trust enough to enter his cage, he is hurt--and that means all bets are off. As usual, Goliath gives me a greeting puff, and shoves his head into my hand. It's a head the size of a quarter barrel, his nose is as big as my palm. Examining the open sore is difficult, because he's trying to play. He's sniffing the flashlight, he's sniffing my shoes. Imagine trying to dress a half-ton two-year old. Eventually we manage to distract him with petting from his "mom,"--the owner of the sanctuary--and I'm able to look at the wound. It's a two-inch pink hole, the hair around it is slick and matted with pus, and the smell is rank. (I promise, you have no idea what it takes to make a veterinarian think a smell is even "bad", let alone rank.)
So I brace myself to take flight and risk touching the fur near the wound, intellectually knowing there is no way I could react fast enough if Goliath gets angry. I'm kneeling on the ground in front of him, and even though Goliath is relaxing on the floor his four-inch canine teeth are only a foot away from my eggshell-thin skull.
No reaction to the touch. Whew.
I move the hair out of the way. No reaction.
Now I can see something sticking out of the wound edge. It's a round ball, dime-sized and dark yellow, like the fat on a leftover steak that's been in the fridge too long. I figure it's just that--connective tissue or fat that was torn loose in the fight, and is now simply doing what dead flesh does. (Eat your heart out, James Harriot.) My medicine-man desire is to touch it, explore it a brief, fleeting moment for texture and firmness, hoping it helps me guess what the heck it has to do with this oozing hole. I touch it, and it surprises me by being rock hard. Petrified hard. The next 5 seconds are a seizure of images and primal urges.
I recall three distinct and simultaneous surging "voices" in my mind. Let's call them Doc, Captain Safety, and Monkey Brain.
T minus 0:
Doc discovers the thing is petrified. "Fascinating. That should not be there nor feel that way."
Captain Safety says, "How can that not hurt? Where's the door? Let's find the door."
I say out loud, "What the heck is that?"
T minus 1: My thumb and forefinger seize upon the thing almost as a reflex.
Doc: "I wonder if that thing is loose. Let's find out."
Captain Safety: "What... what am I doing? Why am I grabbing this so hard?"
Monkey Brain: (Nervously pacing back and forth up until this point, stops pacing and stares intently at my fingers) Imagine a Tim Allen "puzzled monkey" noise: "uuueh?"
T minus 2: Goliath's "mom" asks me, "What is it? What did you find?" All I can eek out is a puzzled, "It's...."
Doc: "Hmm, it seems unattached. Let's rotate it back and forth to see just how loose. I wonder if there is any feeling in this area."
Captain Safety "Wait. What? Teeth. Death. Dismemberment. This can wait. Knock him out, and then do this."
Monkey Brain: (Eyes widen, pupils dilate.) "hoooh?"
T minus 2.5: My fingers gently rock the hard ball back and forth. I feel the unique sensation of bone grinding against bone.
Doc: "Huh. It's grating on something. I can't let go now. That has to come out. Pull on it."
Captain Safety: "Sour idea. Bad plan. Flashing teeth, roar, death. Stop, STOP."
Monkey Brain: (Fear grimace, and a low keening.) "hoooooo.........."
T minus 3: I begin to pull.
Doc: "Neat, it's coming out. Gosh it feels big. I wonder what this thing is? This is why the wound won't heal! Gosh, I am going to solve this. I rock."
Captain Safety: "Is pulling this out worth dying for?"
Doc: .... .... "Yes."
Monkey Brain: "Hoo, hooh, HOOOH, HAAAH, HOOOOOH ! !"
T minus 3.5: I feel a sliding, sucking, and gentle grinding. The thing keeps coming and coming.
Doc: "Wow. Freaky. Huh, interesting that Goliath isn't reacting to this at all."
Captain Safety: "Stupid. Stuuu-piiiid."
Monkey Brain: (In shock, lying down awaiting the oblivion of death, hoping it doesn't hurt too much.)
T minus 4: Pop. Out plucks this enormous piece of bone. Two huge plunks of saliva drip from Goliath's mouth, and he glances at me. Two enormous golden-green eyes focus on me from two feet away. I feel the breath exhaled from his nose on the back of my hand.
Doc: "Huh. Interesting. Bone. Jaw? Zygomatic arch?"
Captain Safety: "Gah... gah... mub... NAH."
Monkey Brain: (feels his adrenal glands screaming like dry ice squeezed in a pair of pliers.)
T minus 5: Goliath turns and shoves back into the noogies his mom has been giving him the whole time.
Doc: "I am a healer. I have helped my friend. He will get better now. That was worth 8 years of college."
Captain Safety: "I am a fucking moron. That was the stupidest thing I've ever done."
Monkey Brain: (Woozy with adrenaline, he lifts his eyes from the dirt.) "hoooo?...haa? "
I walked around in adrenaline shock for an hour. I'm going back in 2 days to check how he's doing. And there you go.
Whew.
Doctor and patient shortly after surgery.
I just noticed that the Onion website has a PDF of the letter page depicted in this week's "Girlfriend Stops Reading David Foster Wallace Breakup Letter at Page 20".
Thursday, February 20, 2003
James Groff, LA Observer: But why don’t you want to allow inspections to continue?
Bush: Here we come to the very crux of the matter. As I have just elucidated, so long as Iraq is kept in this state of superposition it only half-has weapons of mass destruction. But the mere act of observing Iraq may force it to enter one state or the other; analogous, in the demonstration I just gave, to the opening of the box and immediately rendering the cat either dead or alive. By continuing inspections, we run the risk of giving Iraq the WMDs it so desperately wants. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather deal with a Saddam that only half-has WMDs rather than a Saddam who, you know, like totally has them.
--from the excellent Schrödinger’s Iraq by Defective Yeti's Matthew Baldwin
I'm not a fitted hat kind of guy. But if you are and you're a GTA fan, you might be interested in a Radio Lazlow hat.
Great day in the morning! Brian has posted on the FFG Rants page! And he's posted two other times in the last month! World...crumbling....
From Dr. Chris, a picture of the piece of tiger jawbone that he removed by hand from a tiger while it was unanaesthetized!!!
Hopefully Chris will come by and tell the harrowing details himself.
The press release that's making the rounds today is the NSF's announcement of a breakthrough in storage tech. My favorite part of Bruce Sterling's Heavy Weather comes when a character bored by a bus ride cracks open his laptop and starts browsing through the contents of the Library of Congress. I can't tell you how excited I am to see that idea approach reality.
Of course, it does throw a few curveballs at yesterday's link du jour, a rebuttal to the RIAA's claims of how easy it is to transport large files.
I love the narrative tone of this ethanol site (link via Mike):
Alcohol is a remarkable substance: it gives us pleasure, can be used as medicine, and has many commerical uses, including automotive and aviation fuel. I like to think of it as "sunlight in a bottle".
I heard back from Orisinal's Ferry Hamil this morning:
hi,
Thank you very much for the kind appreciation! ^_^
Glad that you like the games.
I'm trying my best to find a new host. There's a good chance that the site will survive.If you're not broke, you can send Paypal donation to my email. Thank you for your kind generosity.
Keep playing, have fun!
regards,
[ Ferry ]
I'll be sending off a Paypal donation later today. Hopefully some of you will do the same.
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
"Your book is printed on very white, shiny paper."
That's the nicest thing the reviewer for the Washington Post had to say to the author of Great American Parade, a retired UW prof. And that was at the end. His opening salvo: "in my professional judgment, (your book is) the worst novel ever published in the English language."
Read and laugh along with the whole interview.
A terrific interview with Harvey Smith and Chris Carollo about the upcoming (not soon enough!) Deus Ex 2. I can't wait to play around with some of the tools they'll be handing over to players--especially the drones.
I wish JP's blog was still up and running--he's had some great war stories lately from his ongoing attempt to play through DX1 without killing anyone. You have to love a game that makes that a possibility.
I'm trying to reconcile the words "duct tape link via Gawker". But while I do: How to Make a Duct Tape Wallet.
Libellus tuus est iactura probosa pellium papyrique et sententiae tuae indignae etiam plebecula humillima sunt. Si imperator essem, tum tu eiectus in exilium vitam reliquam miserrime degeres scribens Philippicas acerbas in frustra corticis in gurgustio male olenti apud Dalmatas.
Even insults sound better in Latin.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
I'd like to reprint the single post (to date) from a lonely boingboing comment thread:
i've always wanted to do a game about the time my family's house was infested with rats. my mom wanted to get an exterminator but my dad said we should do it. band together as a family and engage in toe-to-toe with the rodents. and at first it's kind of like a game to catch rats with traps but then they get awfully good at it (they go up to level twelve basically). and it gets to the point that my parents are too afraid of the rats so they left the house.
that's actually the part of the game that gets good. cause you could have this part where you are my parents running away from the rats and they could climb up mountains and get in canoes and try to get away. still the rats follow.
then, they could get on an airplane and take a seat and kind of knowingly smile at each other (*phew*) (like how couples smile at each other and its kind of tense but kind of sexy) but then they'd look out the window of the airplane and see rats flying for them. at that point, they'd totally spaz. and so they start freaking out and running around the plane (let's say there's a chandelier on the plane that they could swing on to try and get away). but eventually they'd realize that they have to face their destinies. so they could jump out of the plane straight toward the rats (kind of like one of those Hollywood jumps where Tom Cruise jumps right into another guy and its raw savage melee).
so in the end you couldn't possibly win this game. except the player would leave with a great feeling of peace that they finally accepted death. too many games don't really deal with the finality of death because you get so many lives. with this game you could say at the end, "you gave your lives for your country and your children and everything that's good." i mean what a way to end a game.
i mean that would be nothing short of phenomenal.
Joke? Or unintentionally, breathlessly hilarious?
You be the judge.
Ferry Halim says that Orisinal might be going away as of Thursday if he can't find new megabandwidth hosting. Please please please pass the word to anyone you know who might be able to help. Papa needs his regular Truth is Up There fix...
(not trying to get in trouble, but can't resist the post...not trying to get in trouble, but can't resist the post...)
Fun with Google, Part MCCXIV:
Surprisingly, a search for "bible drinking game" comes up empty. I see a niche waiting to be filled--"Each time the LORD speaks, take a drink..."--and variants--"Each time a verse in the RSV starts in the middle of a sentence, take a drink...
Communion wine never tasted so fun!
I made a few submissions to Mad and Cracked a couple years back, and while I engaged in some of the funniest editor/freelancer correspondance it's ever been my pleasure to be a part of, it didn't end with anything published. Sounds like it might be time to try again. (via boingboing)
Some of the leaflets being dropped over Iraq (via the Washington Post, via Slate).
Today's phrase that pays on Information Radio is "Attacking Coalition aircraft invites your destruction!"
Things continue to get interesting in the Pine Curtain region of NationStates.
(On a side note, I weep for the inability to edit posts to the regional forum, and hang my head in shame at my idiotic desert/dessert typo. Now you see why I need editors.)
Updated to add the text of my post that day to the regional forum. Because I enjoyed writing it. And since it's here, I corrected the spelling errors. (To explain the schtick, as New Ober has been eating its national animal--the wolverine--for some time, this is a New Oberese restaurant serving up the national animals of all the other countries in the region.)
JUDGE, JURY, and DESSERT
Food around New Ober
Special to the New Ober Register
by Sally Pontiac
Last Friday night I attended the opening of "Curtainia", a new restaurant in Ober Tower. As we were seated at our table in the small but lushly appointed main dining room (where we saw Commandant Sjink himself dining across the room!) we were greeted by head chef Oliver Frigidaire, who promised that the evening's meal would be "new and vivid". Pointing to the flags draped on the surrounding walls, he declared that he had spent the last year studying the cusines of the entire Pine Curtain and distilled it into a singular cullinary experience that would become the can't-miss stop for the New Ober gourmand.
As we enjoyed a fine wine of local vintage we speculated how Frigidaire might top last year's "wolverinevore" trend--a fad-turned-national-cusine that he himself had sparked with his now-famous kababs. As a heaping tray of Lepertine stickinsects rolled in butter and breadcrumbs were brought to the table, we saw the hint of an answer. Frigidaire's continued to push his point home one appetizer after another--succulent and spicy kelp-wrapped ferret legs, thinly sliced manta ray on garlic-brushed bruschetta, a delicate broth-suspension of chives, elephant ear, and what looked like the kidneys of a pygmy hippo.
Finally the entree arrived, brazed haunch of donkey rubbed with peppercorns and oil. As the chef himself cut into the haunch were thrilled to see a cocoon of rice surrounding a core of juicy tiger sweetmeats. The aroma of hickory smoke and honey announced the arrival of the side dish, embracing chimp and gibbons howler, blackened and drizzled with a thick honey and lemon sauce and lying on a bed of greens and Old Fruit.
My dining companions and I paced ourselves, knowing that Chef Frigidaire's true specialty is desserts, and we weren't disappointed. After a palate-cleansing brandy and cigar, we were treated to a bowl of candied Doberbees, burrow owl eyes dipped in sourberry sauce, and the piece d resistance--Kiwi parrot marinated in liquors and powdered sugar and served flambe.
Again Oliver Frigidaire has reached above the pallid haze hanging over our capital city to pull down a gleaming star. A pioneer leading our culinary tradition into the future, you can bet that I'll be following whatever trail he continues to blaze long into the future.
Final verdict: * * * * *
CURTAINIA
7701 Ober Tower, New Ober
Reservations required.
Strangest Google hit I've seen to OD in a while: league extraordinary gentlemen eldred copyright. Wondering if all of the characters in the League fall outside copyright, I would guess. (Sofar as I know, the answer is yes, unless there's some sort of American IP weirdness now that Tom Sawyer has been added to the group for the movie.)
In related news, OD is also the top Google hit for pizza cutters palsy. If the Google buyout of Pyra really does have significant ramifications, I'm going to look back fondly on the days when I was the Internet's top pseudo-"authority" on an obscure disesase.
The east coast gets burried under two feet of snow, and I'm driving to work with my window rolled down. The world has officially gone mad.
New pictures in the sidebar. Just to restate my rules: all pictures are taken by me, and no alterations are made to them aside from resizing and format compression in compassion for the bandwidth-restricted. I'm also trying to toss in a self-portrait every once in a while. No, it's not the guy in the pig mask.
Monday, February 17, 2003
Bibliofecalmorphophobia
n. The unreasonable fear that the previous day's writing has transformed into squid droppings overnight.
It's always good to know I'm not alone.
Sunday, February 16, 2003
Wow.
The big news in the blogosphere: Google has purchased Pyra Labs, makers of Blogger. (Follow links on that page to commentary around the web.)
UPDATE: Evan Williams talks a bit about the acquisition. The most amusing thing to me is the updated right sidebar at the top of evhead.
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