A Touching, Heart-Felt Episode

In what will surely be a made-for-TV movie coming soon to the Hallmark, Family, or Lifetime (possibly) channel, my mother was able to re-connect with her (literally) long-lost half-brother and half-sisters this week via Facebook. As a result, I now have an excess of riches in the aunt, uncle, and cousin department.

In the beginning, I was quite apathetic towards the different social networking sites, especially MySpace. However, two things won me over to Facebook. First, it has a clean, mature, professional look. Second, I found many old friends that I had lost in my trails, travels, and travails through the site. When one of my mother's old friends popped up on the 'book, I told her she ought to join up.

Fast forward a few months and my mother decided, on a lark, to try searching for one of her half-sisters whom she hadn't seen in forty years or so, give or take a few years. Surprise of surprises, she got a hit. Not long after, first contact was made.

Casting Note: The part of my mother will be played by either Valerie Bertinelli, Jo from Facts of Life (Nancy McKeon), or Bebe Neuwirth.

As of... now, three siblings have been reclaimed from the murky waters of Lethe. Conveniently, none of them live far from me or my sister. Consequently, the first meeting in the flesh between the lost family branches will take place next Saturday in Philadelphia. We're all very excited.

I guess this means I can be counted among the social networking success stories. I have to give them credit where credit is due. It's times like this that make me forget the propagation of cyber-stalkers, hackers, spam-artists and mega-perverts that these sites seem to spawn with geometric rapidity. So, with that caveat, thanks Facebook, I owe you one. Don't let it go to your head.

Production Note: My script, tentatively titled "Time Bandits Stole My Family" (based on a true story) is being handled by top men at an important studio. Top. Men.

The Boulevard of Broken Umbrellas

It's funny. Every time it rains in the city the aftermath is written in the scattered skeletal remains of broken umbrellas. Their spines twisted, nylon skins ripped and flayed, their bodies lie crumpled and forgotten on the sidewalk or in the street or else ingloriously dumped into trash cans.

It occurs to me whenever I witness this carnage that the cost of more expensive, durable umbrellas is totally justified. After sacrificing a couple of cheap drug-store umbrellas on the altar of the stern New York winds, spending $30 or $40 for a umbrella that will last not only seems like a good idea but a prudent one. A gentleman should not be without a good umbrella.

The Legend of Hancock?

My friend Paul sent me this tidbit from Dark Horizons:

They may be amongst the weakest films he's done, but Will Smith's two most recent major hits look like they're about to become franchises.

Source: "Legend" Prequel, "Hancock" Sequel? by Garth Franklin

My response? No. And I mean it. No.

Wiped Out

I was a huge found of WipeOut XL on the Playstation. However, since then I had drifted away from the series. It was therefore with much anticipation that I downloaded the brand new WipeOut HD from the PSN store. I was feeling the need, the need for speed.

I only had a chance to fire up a few races but I learned something valuable in the process: I stink at WipeOut HD. Whatever skills I had I let drift a long time ago. Out of three races, the best I finished was 6th (out of 8). My other finishes? 7th and 7th. Both times the 8th racer did not finish due to obliteration. Basically, I finished last, last, and then close to last. I can say this: I am trending upward. That's gotta count for something, right? Don't answer that.

It goes without question that the game is an absolute beauty to behold, hear, and play. At $19.95, it's absolutely cheap for what it delivers in terms of quality and quantity, including online play. However, at my current skill level, online is the last place you'll find me. I don't need some mouthy 12 year old to tell me how much I suck. Not yet anyway. Queue the training montage!

Melniboné!

Sometimes you just know you're getting sick. I knew it the moment I woke up this morning. There was a rough patch at the back of my throat that scraped like sandpaper at every inhaled breath, every sip sip and swallow. I took what precautions I could but as I walked home this evening in the light rain, I felt the shiver, the slight lightheadedness that told me the fever was coming.

My feverish sleep seemed to dilate space-time itself. I felt like Elric of Melniboné, trapped in a place without time, beset by demons so terrible and fell that I dared not name them, kept alive only by a curse almost as horrible as the creatures that attacked me. Surely, if I awoke from this infinite torment, I would find myself in an alabaster sarcophagus, in a forgotten marble tomb. A fine dust would cover me. My name would be forgotten and even my people dead beyond legend. I would wake to find the world thrown upside-down in time. Only Ookla the Mok would stand beside me to take on a world I hadn't made, a world that had forgotten me.

When I did finally awake from the half-sleep, chilled from hot sweat gone cold, and beyond (at least for the moment) fever's ragged touch, I looked at the clock: barely two hours had passed since I had gone abed. How is this possible?

Clearly the Lords of Chaos have plans for me, here, and in this time. Tis a sobering thought. The fever is gone though. At least I can get some sleep.

The Iceman Cometh

I managed to do two things this weekend: put together a new TV stand and play NHL 09. While it's nice to have the TV elevated off the floor, the former was not nearly as fun as the latter.

I was big into hockey games going back to the classic Genesis titles but I had gotten away from them until recently. NHL 08 rekindled my interest in the games and 09 has added gasoline to the fire.

The big draw has become the online and offline Be A Pro modes. What is it? You play as a single player on the team of your choice. No switching between all the players and no control of the coaching decisions. When you're guy hits the bench for a line change, you sit, when he plays, you play. While the scope of play is therefore more limited than the usual total team control, I also found it liberating. I don't agonize over team losses because I'm not wholly responsible for them. I've also got a finer appreciation of the role of a single position and the discipline to confine yourself to that role. Try to do too much and suddenly you're out of position. Bad things tend to happen when you're out of position. Seeing a great play materialize out of solidly playing your position is a great reward and more meaningful because the play had to form outside your sole control.

Online play only takes this sensation and improves it. Now, it isn't you and a bunch of AI guys but you and a bunch of real people. Being online poses the same hazard of asshattery as other online games but the experience when you can find a team of people willing and able to play team hockey is the best online sports game experience I've had. It took me a bit to convince myself to try to go online (fears of idiot kids and morons) but, once I did, I was hooked.

Once nice feature: during games, the only chatter you hear is from your own team. A nice touch to at least avoid some random idiocy.

There is one catch to all this concentrated win: joining games can be seriously buggy. Seriously, annoyingly buggy. There's nothing that can more efficiently sap fun than to constantly struggle to get into a game. Once in, the game is gold. Getting there can be way more of a struggle than it ought to be. Hopefully, whatever is causing the problems can be patched. It's not bad enough not to bear but it ought to be patched. It needs to be patched.

I'd stop playing in protest but... I can't do it. I'm already thinking about by next shift on the ice.

Sporadic Fun

I've gone into the Space stage in Spore but rather than the game opening up for epic exploration and discovery, I find instead that it has constricted the game mechanics until the endless repetition of frustrating busy-work is almost the antithesis of fun.

I imagined the Space stage to be the embodiment of Star Trek's "to boldly go" axiom but, unfortunately, this impulse is aggressively thwarted by a system of inter-galactic politics and bureaucratic hand-holding.

The first issue is money. Spice is the only commodity in the Spore universe. It must be harvested then sold for money. This, in itself, is not an issue. The issue is that the spice economy must be manually supervised. There is no automation. I have to go from planet to planet, picking up spice, then going from planet to planet, selling it for the highest price I can find. I can set up trading routes between star systems but this, oddly enough, does not automate this system. It's only use is to fill a meter that, when filled, will let me buy the star system.

Now I am busy with economic pursuits but still I have time to reach out into the void and explore. Exploring inevitably leads to contact with other space faring races. For some reason, a good number of these hate me on first contact. Before I know it, my homeworld or one of my colonies is calling me to defend them from hostile attack. Some are only pirates but most are from these mysteriously hateful, aggressive empires. Sometimes you can pay them off but often I didn't have enough money. The attacks begin. Once they begin, they don't seem to let up. Ever.

So, instead of working my way towards towards the galactic core, I find myself fighting the same tired battles over and over again, building and rebuilding my beaten down colonies, and then trying to build my bank roll back up before the next, inevitable attack.

I suppose I could go and destroy the empires attacking me. I could but that isn't what I want to do. In a game that implies so many choices, why do I feel like I'm railroaded down a single path? Still, if that's the only way to get some breathing room, I guess I'll have to do it. I'll do it. But I won't call it fun. Because it's not. I just have no other choice.

Out on the Fringe

I watched the pilot and second episode of the new show Fringe via Hulu. I've heard it characterized as a poor man's X-Files but I find it leaning closer towards Millenium, shadow groups, patterns of paranormal events, and (so far) a lack of alien intervention.

At this point, I'd say Fringe is a step below those other shows but it is still showing me enough that I'll keep watching. Each episode to this point has been a single serving. I wonder if any over-arching story will emerge. Only time will tell.

Wierd Science

Well, I've been playing Spore. It's an interesting animal: both toy and game, linear and sandbox at turns, single player and massively multiplayer. for my money, the creators are the most interesting aspects of the package. Through them, creatures, vehicles, and buildings can be created, customized, and shared through the Spore universe. As a creator, you build creatures or things and then share them. Once shared, they may appear in other people's games. It's a great feeling to get a message from a stranger that they encountered your homemade creature on some distant planet in a distant game. Unfortunately, so far, Spore doesn't provide enough depth and control to really take advantage of our creativity.

To be sure, there are plenty of physical choices to be had. All it takes is a short glance at the Sporepedia to see the width and breadth of people's imaginations brought to virtual life. However, this creativity is only skin deep. There is so much we can't do, such as set behaviors, habitats, attitudes, etc. Is my critter a social animal, travelling in packs, or does he wander alone? Is he nocturnal? Is he aggressive or passive? Do they live if forests or plains, mountains or valleys? Do they migrate or stay put? I'd love to have control of not only what my creature looks like in another game but how it behaves in other games. Right now, I can't do it.

Even though we're essentially gods leading our creatures from single cells all the way to space, even though we can manipulate how our creatures evolve, our scope is limited. I'd like to be able to build my creatures then let them go and watch. Instead, often I'm embroiled in the minutia of empire building that, in this game, I don't fundamentally care to do. Unlike in The Sims, I must personally shepherd my creature at all times. I am trapped by my avatar.

I hope, via expansion, that such vistas of less limited godhood will be opened up, in which I can really stir up nature's pot and watch it coalesce without worrying about such mundane concerns as feeding a handful of critters, building cities, or balancing alliances between petty empires. This is what I want and I still hope, at some stage, Spore will deliver it. Still, it's not bad fun as it us. It just could be more, much more.

Here are a couple of my creations (works in progress all):

We Dislike Ike

It is weird watching the great media anticipation surrounding Ike's inexorable march towards the Texas coast because, right up until a couple of years ago, I was there. I was there for Katrina and I was there for Rita. I've got plenty of friends and family who are there now. It's different watching it from afar, where the only fallout from the big storm will be some extra rain and a lot of gratuitous news coverage. There's a palpable disconnect now because I'm not there. I'm just another bystander tuning in to watch the giant storm donut churn over the gulf. It's a strange feeling.

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Am I the only one who thinks of Ike Turner every time I hear or read the name Hurricane Ike? I guess it's a silly question because I know I'm not, having received this wonderfully evocative image in my email inbox today (thanks Paul, Shaun):

Well, if there's anything that can stop Ike, it's Tina.

So, for the city of Houston, Harris county, and the state of Texas, please play the above YouTube video or any of the many great singles, EPs, or albums of the incomparable Tina Turner. It may be their only hope.

Hang in there, H-Town!

We're Green, Baby, Green

I'd like give a brief doff of my cap to the Myrtle Avenue Brooklyn Partnership and volunteers for guiding three blocks in the 'hood to finish in the money in the Greenest Block in Brooklyn Competition. Kudos to all.

Saturday, Bloody Saturday

Matt, aka Max Power!, sent me an email about the next Bloody Battle, Saturday at the Pillow Cafe. The last Bloody Battle at Rope Bar featured Matt battling some Myrtle Ave. bars and restaurants in a Bloody Mary contest. This time, he's challenging spots on DeKalb. Here's the official marketing spiel:

You Are Invited To A BLOODY BATTLE!

WHEN: Saturday September 13th voting begins at 4pm ends at 9pm. Stop by just to vote or party all night! Winners will be posted for those who are unable to stay 'til the end.

WHERE: Pillow Cafe – 505 Myrtle Ave between Ryerson and Grand, Clinton Hill Brooklyn. Subways: C or G to Clinton/Washington -- walk to Myrtle and take a right.

WHO: Max Power VS Dekalb Ave

• Rustic
• Bonita
• Chez Oscar
• Madiba
• Alibi

WHAT: A bloody mary contest with a winner determined via a blind popular vote. Mixes are labeled A-F. The voting populous purchases a "Flight" of Bloodies, voting on their favorite mix without knowing the bloody identity. Each constituent turns in their ballot for a discount on the first order of their favorite mix. We calculate votes and number of each bloody sold to determine the winner. We announce the winner and which mix is whose after voting ends. It will also be posted afterwards for those who have to leave before voting ends. In case of a tie there is a special judges panel.

WHY: An ongoing battle to find the best bloody in Brooklyn! (aka The World!!) The Brooklyn Battle will culminate with all winners from each neighborhood competing for the Brooklyn Bloody Crown. Then it's on to Manhattan… with a brief stop in Costa Rica.

FAQ:

Q: How did the Bloody Battle start?

A: The first one started as a joke after months of shit talking amongst the bartenders on myrtle. I decided to have a throw down to prove I was the best. I came in 2nd by one vote – but I blame it on a chad!

Q: When will the Bloody Battles end?

A: Do you know how many places in the world make Bloody Mary's?

Q: How come you, Max Power, get to compete in each battle after not winning the first?

A: This seems like a really stupid question but people ask me all the time. The answer is simple really; it's my Battle and I can do what I want. Next Question!

Q: Likes?

A: Gouda

Q: Dislikes?

A: Non-pasteurized Gouda. Thank you, no more questions...

There you have it.

How to Eat Old Meat and Influence People

After a three week stay, my mother left for back home oversees on Tuesday. For a farewell dinner, I took her to the Peter Luger Steakhouse. At $83 for a finely aged steak for two, it's not a bargin but it is a damn good meal. The meat was buttery in that Food Network/Travel Channel talking-head foodie show sense and absolutely tasty. We made sure to leave enough room in our stomach for deserts. She went with the cheesecake and I went with the apple strudel, both with real shlag. Yeah, it was good.

If there was one low point to the meal, it was the service. Our waiter was nice enough but he didn't seem all there- we'd ask for something and he seemed to forget over, and over, and over again. It wasn't a big deal but it added an unneeded note of frustration to the meal.

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It's not every day that I actually get a response to something I post (almost never) so I didn't want this comment, in response to my mini-rant to get buried in the ever-growing strata of blog posts. Here's what I said:

...A man in a suit was handing out pamphlets. Well, I assume that's what he was doing because he handed one to the man walking about fifteen feet ahead of me. However, he conspicuously turned his back as I approached and remained fixed, looking away, as I passed by him and down the stairs.

(See "Walter Mosley Doesn't Want Me" for the complete post.)

Here's the comment I received:

Todd,

I want to sincerely apologize if you believe my actions where intended to intentionally ignore you. When at a train station, one always tries to give campaign material to people leaving (for the "pm" rush hour traffic) the station and those who are entering (for the "am" rush hour") in order to maximize one's time and impact. So, again, I apologize if you believe I intentionally ignored you or if your feelings were hurt. Be well and have a productive remainder of the week.

Walter Mosley

I can't say that I understand exactly what he's saying. If he wants to give pamplets to people leaving and also to people entering, isn't that everyone who is accessing the station? Or, if he's saying he gives pamplets to people entering the station in the morning and then to those who are leaving the station in the evening, that doesn't wash either because I was entering the station in the morning. Therefore, I ought to have been targetted. I wasn't. Still, it's flattering that 1) he found my humble blog post and 2) responded. Dialog, people. That's how the healing starts.

Sour Grapes

I saw Bottle Shock in Philly. It's not good. It's got not enough Alan Rickman, too much of some guy I don't know in a bad surfer wig, a terrible (TERRIBLE) tacked-on love triangle, and a too-big dollup of wine masturbation. Hey, I liked Sideways but enough is enough and this was too much.

It's too bad too because the story is pretty fascinating. Essentially, in 1976, a British wine merchant in Paris decided to hold a blind taste test between a selection of French wines and Californian wines. In one of the great culinary upsets, the Californian wines won. Great story, right?

Unfortunately, it's a short story and so, to pad it out to feature film length, all sorts of detritus has been flung in the way. Maybe this stuff was true too but it doesn't make a good story. We've got the father-son static between bitterman farmer Bill Pullman and surfer-wig-guy, we've got Freddy Rodríguez as the great oppressed voice of the vinyard, and a blond hotty intern. Blah.

Too much Napa Valley melodrama and not enough Rickman, nor enough Dennis Farina who was criminally underused.

Sloshing underneath this film like a turgid sea is an overwrought wine-as-religion frottage that is just too much as if the scenes had been brought to the screen by the Napa Valley Chamber of Commerce or the Wine Makes of America. Fondling grapes like testicles while smiling guiltily does not a movie make. Well, a movie for the messy crowd maybe.

If you're tempted by Bottle Shock, then rent Die Hard for your Rickman fix and top it off with some classic Pullman in The Serpent and the Rainbow. Now THAT's a movie.

Just a Hunk, a Hunk of Burning Pig?

War Pigs. No, not the song. As I am wont to do when things slow down at my desk, I was surfing randomly through the internet when I stumbled upon this nugget of information concerning the ancient use of war pigs. How did I end up at war pigs? I can't remember how I got started but I ended up looking up elephant factoids, drifted from there to Hannibal, and from there to anti-elephant battle tactics. Yes, it's a strange road but, then again, my mind moves in strange ways. Anyway, about the war pigs:

War pigs, also known as incendiary pigs, are pigs speculated to have been used at most rarely in ancient warfare as a countermeasure to war elephants. The pigs were allegedly covered with tar, pitch, olive oil, or other flammable materials, set on fire, and driven towards enemy war elephants, with the intention that the elephants, terrified by the piercing squeals and oncoming flames, would flee in panic through the lines of their drivers' own army. A burning pig cannot be easily controlled, and could quickly turn into a loose cannon causing harm to friendly soldiers. However, the hope of stopping war elephants was enough to make war pigs a desirable tactic.

Source: Wikipedia (emphasis mine)

The ancients sure were enterprising folks, weren't they? You have to wonder- you have to wonder- how they arrived at this particular solution to the problem and how many solutions were tried and tested before being thrown out in favor of the war pig system. And who did the testing? That was a grisly, thankless job though I suppose the guy got some free meals out of it.

For myself, elephants or no, if I see a gang of burning pigs stampeding towards me, I'm going the other way. Fast.

Black, Chrome, and Premier

I saw a blog entry at Google about their new browser titled Chrome. I decided to give it a download. I haven't put any browsers other than Explorer on the new PC (Firefox was giving me some issues previously). So far, under light browsing conditions, Chrome is performing well. Only time will tell if it has got the stuff to become my everyday browser.

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I received an email yesterday from Best Buy, congratulating me for obtaining an elite Reward Zone membership level: Premier Black. It sounds like a tequila. Not that I drink tequila but if I did, I would proudly order a shot of premier black. Here's the verbiage from the email:

We'd like to welcome you to the Best Buy® Reward Zone® program at our most elite membership level - Premier Black.

Premier Black is a pilot in select areas that rewards our best customers for shopping at Best Buy stores.

According to the literature, I now have access to a premier black concierge. I don't know who or what this is, but if it's someone I can boss around and generally belittle, I'm all for it. Apparently, there are other perks but they pale in comparison to this virtual butler. I shall call him Jeeves. What the name lacks in originality, it makes up in style and tradition. I'm all about tradition. Premier Black: it's good to be the king. This program just promotes itself.

Word of the Day: Swamp Donkey

I'm somewhat behind in uploading, updating, and generally using words that begin with "u". As part of my u-centric initiative, I went through some photos I had stashed away. Of interest at the moment, was the image of a defaced poster featuring the words "swamp donkey". Swamp donkey? What's a swamp donkey? I'm glad I asked.

According to UrbanDictionary.com:

of British origin, meaning a slobbering blob of a girl who hangs out at shady bars hoping for some action.

I don't know how this description became translated into a swamp donkey (are there donkeys from swamps?) but, I'm here to say that I am totally on board. This is the best word (phrase?) I've heard since merkin and anybody who knows anything knows how much I love a good merkin!

A World Without Movie Voice-Over Guy

It feels a bit strange to mourn a man whose talent was providing a deep, overly serious voice to movie and TV commercials and trailers but there it is. They called him the voice of god and now he's gone. RIP.

Don LaFontaine, the man who popularized the catch phrase "In a world where..." and lent his voice to thousands of movie trailers, has died. He was 68.

...LaFontaine made more than 5,000 trailers in his 33-year career while working for the top studios and television networks.

Source: "Don LaFontaine, voice of movie trailers, dies" by Raquel Maria Dillon

As a poor memoriam, here's the GEICO spot that featured the voice a bit back: