Not-So-Random Detritus: Monday Edition

Weekend with cousin Paul came to an end. It was a good time but we didn't get to do a couple of things I wanted to do (the Unfancy Food Show and McCarren Park) and a couple of things he wanted to do (a Broadway show, a museum). I should have known some devilry was at work when Paul's flight got cancelled and he had to fight and claw to get into a later flight to Newark and ultimately arrive at my apartment at 3:30 AM.

Given that we didn't get to sleep until 4, I think we did well to get up and going at 11. After brunch at the Pillow Cafe, we took a jaunt around the 'hood and through Fort Greene Park.

It was about 2 PM when we finished there and headed down to Prospect Park with an eye for hitting up the museum. We got to the park and took a turn through the grounds but we began to tire and the weather began to sour. We turned back. A party in Prospect Heights ended the evening. The party was excellent except for a viscous, neverending conversation I got sucked into. By the end, I was praying for the Nothing to sweep me away into sweet oblivion. Where's Gmork when you need him?

Sunday, after brunch at Maggie Brown, we went perusing at the Brooklyn Flea. I came out a winner but, again, some grumpy weather turned us back. The afternoon was consumed by Metal Gear Solid IV. Dinner was pizza, followed by some of my British TV imports (The Smoking Room, Peep Show, assorted Mitchell & Webb) and, just like that, Sunday was in the books.

I liked that we stuck to Brooklyn this time around. He got to see a different flavor then he usual, something more unique, in some ways more quintessentially New York. I hope he enjoyed it and doesn't regret not seeing Manhattan. I think he did. I'm reasonably sure. Plus we got to avoid the G train over the weekend, bonus!

Talking About Clown Music

I took my cousin to the Brooklyn Flea today. As we wandered past the eclectic stalls, I caught sight of this old-timey music album: "Fairground Favorites: Music of the Circus Midway". I had to have it.

Look at the clown, how he shrugs, his "So, I'm a clown" expression confessing so much while saying so little, mostly because it's a picture. If only the old clown could talk.

The back cover of the album has some wonderful flavor text. It's too good not to post the whole thing:

The spashy colors, the smells and the nostalgic sounds of the circus midway are brought to life on this record! Featuring authentic old-time fairground instruments recorded by the latest in modern techniques you'll almost feel that you're there in person as you hear the melodies.

On its way into town the Tangley Calliope leads the circus parade. Its high-pressure tones are carried by the wind a mile away--and bring people in throngs to see the caged lions, the red and gold painted bandwagon, the jolly clowns and the ponderous elephants.

"Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!," cries the circus barker. Before you try your luck at pitching rings you pause in front of the gay little (but very LOUD!!!) Wurlitzer brass trumpet organ. It then becomes silent for a few moments as the roll rewinds--and then the trumpets sound forth again! People come by the dozens to see what is making all the music!

Now we go for a ride on the merry-go-round. Climbing aboard our brightly paited steed we gallop up and down to the strains of the mighty Wurlitzer 165 band organ as it plays "Our Director" and "Skater's Waltz." All-too-soon the bell clangs and the carousel comes to a stop. We step down and, for a change of pace, head for a nearby pavilion for some soda and ice cream.

Music! Music! Music! In the circus the music is everywhere! As we pause to collect our thoughts we are fascinated by the mellow strains of the Jazz Orchestra which sounds just like a toe-tapping combo!

Before we realize it our day at the circus is over. Now we can hardly wait 'til it comes to town again next year!

The prose is so vivid, you can almost smell the carnies. Notice, they don't mention how the ring toss is probably rigged, the appalling conditions of the caaged lions, or the substandard working conditions. Maybe things were different then. Maybe.

Unfortunately, I do not presently own a turntable so I won't actually get to listen to the album for the moment. Until then, I'll just bask in sad-eyed stare of the old-timey clown. Jolly, indeed.

Send In the Titans

My friend Paul sent me this piece of news:

"The Incredible Hulk" director Louis Leterrier is set to direct Warner Bros. Pictures and Legendary Pictures remake of the 80's classic "Clash of the Titans" reports Variety.

Source: "Leterrier Helms "Titans" Remake (June 27th 2008)" by Garth Franklin (Dark Horizons)

The Greek myths have so many stories, did they really have to pick this one to do, given that the original is so good? I guess Hollywood is banking as much on the name as the source material. Given that I am a big mythology buff, I'm cautiously intrigued. For the moment.

The Discrete Charm of Corporate Culture

It has occurred to me that, as far as work goes, I am almost completely powerless. I can maintain, sure, everybody is trying to maintain, but I can't do anything. I can't effect changes, I can't repair the system against issues I know exist. The corporate architecture seems practically built to withstand any positive progress. All I can do is go with the tide, repeat the same tasks over and over, floating in an endless, sluggish, urine-warm corporate lazy river. I do not like it. No sir, I do not.

I've seen so many people leave in the past year and a half that I've been there, people with vision, people with ideas and the skill and knowledge to actually put them into motion. I believe that the bureaucratic immune system must be deliberately and systematically trying to remove everyone with a pulse. Eventually, only the hollow shells of mindless middle-managers will be left. I assume my days are numbered.

Am I looking for something else to do? Hell yes I am. However, until then, while my paycheck cashes every week, I'll keep going around that lazy river, around and around and around. No way out. No way out. No. Way. Out.

---

Pretty grim, eh? Well, it's Friday. Marx clearly did not anticipate the modern work environment: the weekend is the opiate of the masses. Or has the weekend become our religion? Food for thought. Mmmm... food.

DEVO At the Pool

I mentioned yesterday that DEVO played the pool at McCarren Park while I was undergoing my strenous kickball training. BrooklynVegan got some montage video from the concert. Cue the video!

Port-A-Posse Flushes the Rule of Law

For $35. For $35, some dopes pistol-whipped, beat down, and stuffed two security guards in port-a-potties, then undressed them and left them lying on the ground. For $35. It would be funny accept for the beat-downs. Beat-downs just aren't funny, even if they involve portable toilets.

Three thugs forced their way into a Lombardy Street parking lot on June 22, confining the security guards in a portable toilet and beating them mercilessly with the butt of a handgun.

Source: "CANNED! A Port-A-Potty posse beats up a security guard" by Ben Muessig

read more

Random Detritus: Thursday Edition

Ah, Thursday: it was the best of times, it was the blurst of times? Well, let's just say it was a time.

First, the blurst. Work was absolutely hellish. We've got problems and, unfortunately, there isn't much I can do about it but try to triage the damage. We know the issue but not what's causing it. The nature of the trouble means lots of labor-intensive effort to repair the damage. We're plugging our fingers into the dyke to hold back the flood. And the water is rising. I'm looking forward to the weekend like an inmate pining for a furlough. Thank goodness it's almost Friday.

After work, I had time to come home and change before heading back out to McCarren Park for kickball practice. We threw the ball around for a bit, kicked it for a bit, and then got into a bit of a scrimmage. It was good, clean, wholesome fun, except for Super-Competitive-Guy™ who tried to make every play by himself, as if the rest of us were mere obstacles for him to race around on the field. It's kickball, dude. Scrimmage kickball.

One cool bit: Devo was playing at McCarren Pool. Their set formed a soundtrack to our scrimmage. They sounded really good.

And now, back at the ranch...

My friend, Ian, had been struggling to drum up some work back in Houston. He got good news today about a technical writer gig. Congrats to him. According to my cousin, he's now talking about buying a house in Humble (a suburb of Houston) and raising chickens. Yes, chickens. Because, apparently, they eat anything, including ticks*. I have no idea why tick-eating is important or even desirable in pet poultry but there it is. I will have to learn more from the man himself.

Speaking of my cousin, he arrives tomorrow to begin his summer trip. Saturday will probably be a show (via TKTS) and, weather permitting, the park. Sunday, I've got penciled in the Unfancy Food Show and some general wandering. We'll see how it goes.

---

* A bit of research reveals that this tick-eating chicken idea must be either a translation error or a mistake. Not only couldn't I find anything about chicken that eat ticks, there's a specific tick that eats chickens, the Common Fowl Tick:

This tick, known also as the chicken tick and the "blue bug," is a soft tick common in poultry houses in the southern and southwestern United States. It may injure or even kill chickens, and may attack humans.

So much for pathos.

Related articles

• Hipster Kickball League Appears to be Under Control, For Now [Hipsters] [via Zemanta]
• Hipster Kickball Scandal: Dive Bar Served with List of Demands [Shut Up, Brooklyn] [via Zemanta]

MTV's Slow Slide Into Irrelevance Graphed!

So sad and so true. Music on MTV? How old-timey. Remember when MTV showed music videos? Pepperidge Farm remembers.

read more | digg story

Zach Lives!

If I'd been drinking coffee at the time, I would have spit it out. Thank goodness I wasn't, since I was standing in a crowded subway car at the time. That time was when I casually flipped open the June 19-25 issue of Time Out New York to find my nemesis Zach staring back at me.

“Do you like the Rolling Stones?” Zach, 50, asked me as he pushed buttons on the jukebox. “Hell, no!” I shouted. “Only old people listen to that shit!” Zach frowned. “How about the Beatles?” I shrugged: “They’re okay. Why do you have stains on your shirt? You need a bib,” I said, tucking a cocktail napkin inside his i love ny tee. Zach stepped away: “Fuck you! Go home to your rich boyfriend!” I upped the ante. “Go fuck yourself and stop playing shitastic music!” Zach took his middle finger and began sucking on it, and then stormed out of the bar in anger. Cheers, mate.

Source: "Tippler Tolerant" by Alexis Tirado (TONY)

Stained "I Love NY" t-shirt? Sound familiar? Here's what I said about my encounter with the Zachster:

He stumble-bumbled, stumblebummed into us and forced his way into our conversation. He looked vaguely like Sloth from The Goonies in a wine-spattered "I Love NY" t-shirt. He claimed his name was Zachary...

I am now more disturbed than ever. Who or what is Zach? Does he only wear a single, perma-stained, "I Love NY" t-shirt? Or is he some sort of apparition, a souse caught in a Möbius strip, forever gamboling in and around the Mars Bar, an East Village Enkidu yet to be tamed by the ways of civilized man. With some luck, I'll never find out. With some luck. But I stand by my statement: he looks like Sloth (post a bit of Hair Club for Men action).

I Have Tasted Evil

I went a-wandering for lunch today and paid the price. Not the ultimate price, thankfully, but a price.

I don't remember now where I had intended to go but I found myself on Chambers street and very, very hungry. By chance, I was standing in front of the Soda Shop. The front was all glass so I took a peak: it looked like a cross between Beefsteak Charlie's and the candy shop from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, in other words, an old school ice cream parlor. I went in.

I ordered a burger because, among the hodge-podge of mundane fare, I figured this at least would be safe. I was wrong, so very wrong.

When I got the burger, it came on the bun with some sort of sauce and nothing else. Nothing on it, nothing on the side. There was no onion, no tomato, no lettuce, no nothing. The burger did come with a salad. I could have converted the side salad into fixings but that would only have multiplied this burger's crime. Besides the salad, there were fries, a few fingers of somewhat warm steak fries. They weren't good.

When I flipped off the top bun to take a look at the burger I found, staring back at me, a homogeneous gray-brown mass. I don't know if it was boiled or processed by some other infernal means but there were no char-marks to indicate any sort of grilling or pan-frying. It was a mass of moon meat, a protein hockey puck. And salty. Dead Sea salty. It was pure ground evil.

This bad a burger, in this town, I did not think was possible. I thought the forces of culinary darwinism would have pushed this monstrosity to extinction long ago. No. Some La Brea like tar pit abyss has hid and nursed this burger away from the world... until now. It was the broodwich made flesh: the Harmburger. And I ate it. I ate it because I was filled with Sinistar-like hungers. At that moment, I would have eaten the One Ring with Frodo's finger still attached. There are prices to be paid for this trespass. I am prepared to pay them.

There was one bright spot. Being that I was in a soda parlor, I ordered an "Old Broadway" which had iced coffee, vanilla creme, and whipped cream. It was quite tasty. But not nearly enough to overcome the harmburger. Only years and years of therapy, prayers, and electric-shock therapy can do that. Excuse me while I go burn off my tongue.

Not Food For Dandies

I've been keeping my eyes peeled for things to do this weekend with my cousin coming to town. This looks like a good one: the Unfancy Food Show. A bit of research revealed some info on the food fair:

This year nearly 20 producers, from Jasper Hill Farm in Vermont, where brothers Andy and Mateo Kehler make amazing cow’s milk cheeses, to Cut Brooklyn in Red Hook, where Joel Bukiewizc makes amazing knives (for cutting the farmstead cheese), will be hanging out at the East River Bar in Williamsburg all Sunday afternoon, beers in hand, courtesy of Sixpoint Craft Ales.

Source: "UnFancy Food Show and BBQ" by Annaliese (Brooklyn Based)

This sounds like a winner to me.

New 'This Date in History' Entry Found

Cue Mötley Crüe's "Home Sweet Home".

Using clues from star and sun positions mentioned by the ancient Greek poet Homer, scholars think they have determined the date when King Odysseus returned from the Trojan War and slaughtered a group of suitors who had been pressing his wife to marry one of them.

It was on April 16, 1178 B.C. that the great warrior struck with arrows, swords and spears, killing those who sought to replace him, a pair of researchers say in Monday's online edition of Proceedings of the National Academy of Science.

Source: dsc.discovery.com

Just two days after my birthday too.

He Was the Walrus

I don't know precisely why, but this bummed me out:

The New York Aquarium is mourning the loss of a Pacific walrus named Ayveq. Ayveq was about 14. He died Sunday after a short illness.

Source: "Death of a Coney Walrus" from Gowanus Lounge

I almost went to the aquarium after watching the Mermaid Parade... but I didn't. Oh well.

A melancholy goo-goo-ga-choo to you too.

Curry On My Wayward Son

It ain't easy to find a good pun to go with curry but I, I am a master of the form, and, basking in the glow of dinner, I was inspired to rarefied pun-ish heights (I am the pun-isher).

Dinner was yellow curry with beef from Thai 101. Curry is not normally on my culinary short-list but, tonight, I was inspired. Inspired but not blind, I also ordered, as a backup, nice, safe fried rice. However, the curry, a bit sweet, a bit spicy, hit the spot so completely that the fried rice has been relegated to the fridge for tomorrow.

Those are some big shoes to fill.

My bigfoot post got a wee bit of attention which is cool. I really think that the bigfoot community needs to distinguish between the researchers whose undertakings are honest, scholarly, and those people trying to turn a buck, make a name, or just hijack the forum because they can. Maybe this whole to-do will push people in the right direction. We'll see.

Getting crabby.

I watched all four episodes of After the Catch yesterday, the last one when I really should have been in bed. I don't know why The Deadliest Catch captures my attention so completely but I am like an Opelio crab caught in its pot and I can't get out. After three or four seasons, you'd think all the tales have been told (and, honestly, they have) but I haven't tired of them. Not a bit.

Showtime.

My cousin, Paul, arrives this Friday to stay with me to start off his summer vacation. He wants to see a show but doesn't know what show to see. I get the feeling he doesn't actually like theater over much but he wants to do it because, as he said, it's a New York thing to do. Well, plenty of things are New York things to do, like taking a dump on the edge of a subway platform, dodging hobos, and bitching about gentrification. I told him to find a couple of shows he wanted to see. He's having a hard time coming up with anything. At $40+ a pop, even via TKTS, I figure he should see something because he wants to see it, not because he feels obligated to see something, anything, in the pursuit of the New York state of mind. (Where have you gone, Billy Joel?) I suppose we'll figure something out.

I'm going to watch Anthony Bourdain slough his way through Indonesia on the TV. I like his caustic brand of narrative - he's a man after my own heart. Plus, I've got nothing more to say (yeah, right).

Related articles

• Real stories behind Deadliest Catch [via Zemanta]
• Anthony Bourdain Cuts Loose on FN [via Zemanta]

MiniBlackHole Won't Swallow Earth, Same Can't Be Said For Artie Lange

I know I can rest easy now... well, easier.

Our planet is not at risk from the world's most powerful particle physics experiment, a report has concluded.

...Critics have previously raised concerns that the production of weird hypothetical particles called strangelets... could trigger the mass conversion of nuclei in ordinary atoms into more strange matter - transforming the Earth into a hot, dead lump.

Source: news.bbc.co.uk

Hot dead lump - sounds t-t-t-tasty!

Now that we've checked that one off the list, can we start working on polution, global thermal nuclear war, and reality TV? Please? ...Please?

Related articles

• Mad Scientists Will Not Destroy Earth After All [Whew!] [via Zemanta]
• Earth 'not at risk' from collider [via Zemanta]
• Swiss Particle Accelerator Deemed Safe [via Zemanta]
• Science: Report Rules Out Subatomic Doomsday [via Zemanta]

Neanderthals Smart, Savvy, Still Dead

Extinction: it's not just for the dumb. Let this be a lesson to all of us.

Britain's last Neanderthals had sophisticated weapons and lived in strategic spots, demonstrating impressive command of their territory.

Source: dsc.discovery.com

So, next time somebody calls you a Neaderthal, you can take comfort in the fact that they were "in complete command of both landscape and natural raw materials with a flourishing technology"... right before they collectively tripped on a banana peel, lost balance, windmilled their arms, and fell smack, face-down, into oblivion.

RIP: George Carlin

Another day, another great shuffles off into the Stygian abyss. This time it's George Carlin. The man was funny, on point, and had something to say. Something meaningful to say, framed so that you could laugh at it, even if you were the it being called to the carpet. I don't want to say that they don't make them like him anymore or, that old standby, they broke the mold when they made him but... they don't make them like him anymore. The mold, it is broken.

Kicking Ball and Taking Names

For the past month or so, I've been trying to get onto a kickball team. About a year ago to the week, my cousin and I were in Central Park and we saw a kickball game in progress. It looked like fun. He suggested I try to get in a league but I couldn't find anything open. That was last year.

It wasn't until last month that I remembered to try to get into a kickball team. At first, it was a replay of last year: everything was booked. I did get myself on a free agent player waiting list. I decided to wait to see what developed. I waited. Waited. And waited some more.

By sheer chance, I was checking my email when someone (the lovely Liz as it turned out) sent a message to the free agent pool looking for players. I rattled off a reply as fast as I could get one off. She responded quickly. I was in. That was yesterday. Today I met the team: Team Peavy.

We met at Radegast Hall in Billyburg. The team was in its bye-week but decided to get together for some bonding time, particularly in light of gaining quite a few new team-members. It was a smart play. Some intros, bratwurst, and assorted beverages later, we headed to American Apparel to look for team uni colors. Right now we're undecided. Judging from the color combos being bandied about, we'll be colorful, to say the least.

After that, we headed out to McCarren Park. There are a lot of kickball teams out there: playing, waiting, hanging out. My first thought was: I need practice, STAT. (We're talking about practice.) We spent the rest of the evening meeting a couple of folks from the team, The People's Court, eating a couple of street tacos, and nursing a few discreet alcoholic beverages in Styrofoam cups (water for me).

Coming home, I'm ready to play. I am ready to play. Well, I'm ready to go out there and kick some balls in the park. I think I can say that much. But I am intimidated. There are teams out there, teams of people in tank tops with their names (or at least a name) and numbers on the back. These are top players. Top. Players.

Thursday is practice. I need practice. I am ready for that. Well, I think I'm ready. I'll say I'm ready. I can say that. I think.

iTweet

I'm wiling away my Sunday waiting for the weather to turn bad, watching last season's Deadliest Catch spin-off, After the Catch, and fooling around on the laptop.

One thing I had meant to do awhile back and never got around to, was to give a shout-out to Hahlo. A couple of months ago, I had tested out PocketTweets, a Twitter front-end for the iPhone. Bottom-line: as much as I liked the interface, it just wasn't lean enough for me to use on over EDGE. I decided to stick with Twitter's mobile interface.

A few weeks ago, from somewhere, I came across Hahlo. It's got everything PocketTweets had and, though it's graphically as pretty, it loads up much faster. I can use it over EDGE without losing any sanity. The only thing it doesn't have (neither did PocketTweets) is a self-refresh. With everything else it does so well, I can live with that.

Related articles

• ★ The Unsatisfying State of Twitter Web Clients for the iPhone [via Zemanta]
• Hahlo 3 [via Zemanta]
• How We Tweet: The Definitive List of the Top Twitter Clients [via Zemanta]

A Day at the Beach

I'm back from the Mermaid Parade and all I got was a couple of lousy t-shirts. And pictures. Lots of blurry, badly framed pictures:

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

I got some color, maybe a bit too much color. I guess I should have worn some sunscreen, especially up top but I'm trying to lose the duo-tone look of the newly bald man. We'll see what happens, besides skin cancer.

Related articles

• Coney Island Mermaid Parade This Afternoon [via Zemanta]
• Mermaid Parade & afterparty vs Make Music & afterthejump [via Zemanta]

Send In the Clowns

Two big summer comedies opened today, The Love Guru and Get Smart, so why do I have absolutely no desire to see either one of them? And when I say no desire I mean it: no desire. None.

It's not because I have hatred for either film. Neither of them is directed by Michael Bay (yes, I'm one of those). Really, I'm just completely apathetic. I see the commercials and my first thought is "Meh". I just don't care.

The "buzz", whatever that is, says both these movies are not very good. Does it surprise me? No. Both films look like the definition of cookie cutter. Where's the creativity of a 40 Year Old Virgin? Knocked Up? Juno? It ain't here. Cookie cutter, assembly line, this is what Smart and Guru look like to me. So, instead of dumping cash at the box office, I'll head outside, go to the Mermaid Parade, and enjoy the first few official days of summer. Who's with me?

Related articles

• Stupid Looking Movie Actually Stupid [via Zemanta]
• POLL: What Are You Watching -- 'Get Smart' or 'The Love Guru'? [via Zemanta]
• The Love Guru reviewed. [via Zemanta]

Missing Inaction

This is creepy in so many ways. A woman is reporting missing. Nobody finds her for over forty years. Guess where they find her? In her apartment, in front of the TV. Well, not all of her, but what's left of her. She'd been dead for a long, long time.

THE remains of a woman have been found sitting in front of her TV - 42 years after she was reported missing.

Hedviga Golik, who was born in 1924, had apparently made herself a cup of tea before sitting in her favourite armchair in front of her black and white television.

Source: dailyrecord.co.uk

Everything in the apartment was just as they had been when she died... in 1966.

Looking For Life in All the Wrong Places

Japanese astronomers are honing in on a single star hoping to find proof of life (not the bad Russell Crowe movie). Here's hoping, if they find something, it's not King Ghidorah.

Japan's biggest astronomical observatories are teaming up for an unprecedented quest to find out whether there is life in outer space.

The project, led by Japanese astronomers, will bring together a dozen or more observatories from all over the country to study one star that researchers see as a potential home to an extraterrestrial civilization.

Source: "Life in outer space? Astronomers hunt aliens" by Reuters

The odds of this actually finding anything have got to be the cosmic equivalent of picking the proverbial needle from the haystack but I wish them luck!

Lopan: There are many mysteries, many unanswerable questions, even in a life as short as yours.

Jack Burton: Yeah, well, the way I see it, that doesn't mean we shouldn't ask.

(Big Trouble in Little China)

Prince Namor Approves This Message

The Mermaid Parade is tomorrow at Coney Island. I went last year. It was a good time. I thought that was going to be the last but here it comes again. Hopefully, this isn't the last.

I'm going to try to make it out there. Who can say no to dancing, whirling mer-people? And I can wait an hour in line for a Nathan's Famous. It's all part of the atmosphere. Hot dogs, mer-hippies, pseudo-homeless guys smoking spliffs, carnies. Ah, who can forget the carnies. There's something about a game called "Shoot the Freak" that warms the cockles of my heart. Run, freak, run!*

* No freaks are hurt during the playing of "Shoot the Freak". Since 2002, they only use mock-freaks. How I miss the good old days...

G Train Gets the Screw Job

What does the G train have to do to get some love from the MTA?

A burgeoning financial crisis will prevent the Metropolitan Transportation Authority from delivering on most of a series of promised service expansions — but a more modest set of changes aimed at easing subway crowding is still in the works, officials said on Wednesday.

...One line that had been scheduled for more service in the original proposal last December but was not included in this round of improvements was the G. Riders on the G often complain of long waits between trains. Officials said the G did not exceed the loading guidelines.

Source: "Subway Service Increase to Be Less Than Hoped" by William Neuman (NYTimes) via Curbed

Great. Just great. I must say, I haven't had any issues during the week taking the combo G to the A/C route into the city. The weekend, however, is another thing entirely. It's a complete crap-shoot. Complete crap. Shoot.

Post-Its From the Edge (Thursday Edition)

I didn't mention this but I had my credit card stolen last week. Not the physical card but the digits. Hat's off to my bank (love you, Wamu) for catching it on the quick. It's been more of a nuisance than a problem: I use my bank card a lot for bill-paying and, having canceled the card, I'm finding my finely tuned financial plans collapsing like a house of (credit) cards. And I've had to start packing cash, which I'm not used to. Hopefully my replacement card will show up sooner rather than later.

Paging Inspector Gadget...

I saw a posting over at Engadget of job openings for tech bloggers and editors. I've decided to give it a go. Regardless of what happens, it'll be a good writing exercise. I'll post my pseudo-Engadget entries here after I submit them. Who knows, maybe something will shake loose.

What is brown doing for me?

I've got big issues with packages being delivered home and I'm not sure what to do with it. I had one case a couple of weeks ago when Fedex left a package outside, citing some signature release form that I don't remember signing, certainly not since I moved. I live in a walk-up so outside means outside which meant gone by the time I got home. UPS, at least, doesn't just leave my stuff out on the street but I can't seem to figure out when they deliver. I've been home and missed them. I'm not sure they're making much of an effort to check if I'm actually around before leaving a sticker and hightailing it.

I order from Amazon pretty regularly so this is an issue. I guess I could put in special instructions to always hold for pickup somewhere but I have no idea where the closest Fedex or UPS locations are. I guess I better find out. It's getting out of hand.

Getting grilled...

I need to buy a grill. Now that I have a backyard of sorts, I'm ready to break out the charcoals and start burning steaks. However, since I don't feel safe ordering one online at the moment, I need to find a local vendor. Anyone know where to buy a grill? I think I want a Weber: a nice, not complicated, classic Weber. My cousin is coming to visit next weekend so I'd love to have it by then. If anybody knows a local grill seller, kindly let me know.

Remember Me?

Anytime I watch Monster Quest, UFO Hunter, or any of the other paranormal investigation type programs, the weight of their evidence always lies heaviest on eyewitness testimony. Whether it's bigfoot, the greys, or men-in-black, the sum of the "evidence" tends to be what somebody saw or heard. Or at least what somebody thought they saw or heard. If there were any doubts that this is fundamentally unreliable, here's another nail in the coffin. According to a report by Prof. Martin Conway of Leeds University:

Memories are essentially a construct from a variety of sources and experiences, Prof Conway says. They are not necessarily a factual account of what happened.

What's more, a significant proportion of people seem to be highly suggestible and will quite readily change what they remember if given appropriate cues.

Source: "What do you remember?" by Rebecca Fordham

I'd wonder why there is still such a reliance on eyewitnesses in these types of studies when we know that they are ultimately unreliable but the answer is obvious: without the eyewitnesses, there is nothing to study. No study means no program. Or, a very, very short program. Plus, what would they do with all those eyewitness reenactors?

Nibiru! Nibiru!

Oh, that naughty Planet X. Why can't we quit you? According to SPACE.com (via LiveScience), computer models are now predicting the existence of a hidden planet to explain some strange happenings in the Kuiper Belt.

An icy, unknown world might lurk in the distant reaches of our solar system beyond the orbit of Pluto, according to a new computer model.

The hidden world -- thought to be much bigger than Pluto based on the model -- could explain unusual features of the Kuiper Belt, a region of space beyond Neptune littered with icy and rocky bodies.

Source: "Large 'Planet X' May Lurk Beyond Pluto" by Ker Than

Time to welcome our new Annunaki overlords?

Don't blame me, I voted for Upnapishtim!

Yeti in Them Thar Hills

I learn something new every day. Today's mostly useless factoid is that India's version of the Yeti, mande barung stalks the impenetrable wilds of the Garo Hills. It's a jungle out there (techically a subtropical forest). However, the BBC was on the case:

I was invited by passionate yeti believer Dipu Marak to travel throughout the area to hear for myself what he says is compelling evidence of the existence of a black and grey ape-like animal which stands about 3m (nearly 10ft) tall.

There have been repeated reports of sightings over many years by different witnesses in the West, South and East Garo hills.

Mr Marak estimates the creature weighs about 300kg (660lb) and is herbivorous, surviving on fruit, roots and tree bark.

Source: "On the trail of the 'Indian yeti' " by Alastair Lawson

I guess as far as these things go, this is as good as spot as any for a Yeti to hang out. The environment is crypto friendly and, as is the case in many other crypto-hominid hotspots, there's a cultural heritage to the beastie. Who knows, maybe as India has taken over the customer service/technical support industry, they'll now take over Yetis, I mean, mande barungs.

Yeti still sounds better.

Hancock as Social Rorschach Test?

It looks like the Hancock movie poster plastered on the wall of my local G subway stop has inspired quite the socio-philosophical responses from the pen-wielding deep thinkers who inhabit my 'hood.

What do the subway stoics have to say?

• "I'm the real O.G."
• "Wanna b Method Man"
• "WAKE UP Y'ALL! Apocalypse for Negroes 101 / Hollywood Tool Sambo @ Large"
• "Not Funny" (responding to Will Smith and "Wake Up Y'All")
• "Concerned White Guy Here"
• "Midwestern sandals, dog having, yuppie bitch homo" (responding to "Concerned White Guy")

They said a mouth-full! Who knew Hancock could generate so much emotion. It's just too bad none of it is positive.

Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite

Image via Wikipedia

I went to the supermarket this evening to pick up some fixings with which to create a plate of mega-nachos to go with game 6 of the NBA Finals tonight. As I returned, sitting on top of my mailbox was a glossy postcard ad for the Bed Bug King.

The "king" promises rapid results, guaranteed, and, as an added bonus, he apparently speaks Spanish and Russian.

What most impressed me about the ad wasn't the way-too-graphic thumbnail photos of bedbug infestations but his abbreviated business name: b2k. That sounds like shorthand for the bedbug apocalypse. Judging from the stories I've heard, that just might be coming. It's a good thing I've got this card.

Bed Bug Dr. Egon Spengler: I'm worried, Ray. All my readings point to something big on the horizon.

Bed Bug Winston Zeddemore: What do you mean, big?

Bed Bug Dr. Egon Spengler: Well, let's say this Twinkie represents the normal amount of bed bug activity in the New York area. Based on this morning's reading, it would be a Twinkie thirty-five feet long, weighing approximately six hundred pounds.

Bed Bug Winston Zeddemore: That's a big Twinkie.

Mmmm.... twinkies...

When Elohim Attack

How does this guy always end up in the right place at the right time?

i was out taking pictures as usual and this cloud appeared. it moved closer and closer to me. i noticed there were lights in it and shooting out of it.

previous to june 11, i had a dream that 2 little white aliens came to glass doors and they were looking at me with curiousity, like children. i woke up from the dream and instantly thought little ones which a reference to the Elohim.

it is my opinion these divine crafts are the Elohim and they've been here for quite some time. they come with the clouds and they can pretty much transform however they want and travel however they want. they seem protoplasmic in nature.

From "The Day The Elohim Fell In My Hands" on ATS.

And here's the video:

Is this guy lucky or what?

My favorite response so far:

WOWW. Incredible video!!! I had some elohwim fall into my hands the other day too!!! It was called cotton.

Brilliant.

They May Take Our Planet, But They'll Never Take OUR FREEDOM!

Muckraking on a galactic scale or giant waste of time? It's good to know that, with everything going on in the world today, that so many people are focusing their energy on making sure no shady deals are being struck with powers from beyond the sun.

A multinational consortium of citizen organizations has issued a Galactic Freedom Day Declaration calling for an end to all secret government and corporate agreements concerning extraterrestrial life. The Declaration establishes 08/08/08 as "Galactic Freedom Day" and asserts that hidden agreements concerning extraterrestrial life have been secretly entered into by a range of government authorized agencies, departments and corporations. In some cases, these pacts involve representatives of advanced extraterrestrial civilizations whose existence has not been disclosed to the general public. Evidence of these secret agreements, as well as the full text of the Declaration, special Galactic Freedom Day events schedules, and an online petition are available at the official website: GalacticFreedomDay.com

Source: prweb.com

What is Galactic Freedom Day? From the website:

A world wide positive intention experiment will be conducted at 8 pm (Universal Time) 08/08/08 to put an end to secret agreements that have prevented the revolutionary technology and knowledge of extraterrestrial life entering mainstream society. A Galactic Freedom Day Declaration has been issued by cooperating citizen organizations clearly expressing humanity's intent to put an end to secret agreements concerning extraterrestrial life.

Join the 8/8/08 global celebration by forming your own prayer circle, meditation group, or 'Citizen Contact Council' to formally inaugurate Galactic Freedom Day.

I'm not sure how prayers and meditations are going to stop the star-spanning dealmakers. Unless the Force is with them.

Nah, they're no Jedi.

Silent Boom!

We are closing in on the elusive cone of silence. Cue the science!

Scientists have shown off the blueprint for an "acoustic cloak", which could make objects impervious to sound waves.

The technology, outlined in the New Journal of Physics, could be used to build sound-proof homes, advanced concert halls or stealth warships.

Is it too much to ask for a conversion of this technology into gun form? There are quite a few people I'm exposed to that I'd love to zap with some silent justice... or just silence... or both.

Say Goodbye to Bluff Creek

Image via Wikipedia

Unless you follow the bigfoot research community and its attendant blogosphere satellites, you may have missed the brouhaha over a new theory (I use the term very lightly here) concerning the famous Patterson-Gimlin bigfoot video (the bigfoot video). The theory, to put it bluntly, suggests that a bigfoot massacre took place in Bluff Creek during the trip in which the famous footage was shot (pun!).

What evidence for this theory is there? Exactly none. But it hasn't stopped the in-fighting that has, to lend the tussle some dramatic flare, shaken the community to its core. Well, if not that, then at least ripped at certain factions within the bigfoot community (the people not the cryptids... in case you weren't sure).

As someone who has purely participated passively in the community- I read the literature and theories though I am not, strictly speaking, a believer- I have found the hunt for the hairy humanoid to be a fascinating subject. However, this time, things have gotten too far. It's time for the community to do the difficult thing. Difficult, but the right thing: retire the Patterson-Gimlin film.

The relationship has turned sour, incestuous, Oedipal even. The film has done what it can. It's time to send it out to pasture. It's subject, called "Patty" to give it Care-Bear sweetness, cannot be proven beyond doubt to be genuine. Given that, there is no point to continually poring over every grainy shot, looking for some magic detail that will somehow force bigfoot acceptance into existence. No bulge, no suggestive shadow, no distinctive walk will ever, ever do it. To spend time now, after forty years, is to waste it. The battle is out there, in the deep woods, in the mist-laden mountains, in the field. Not at a computer station playing with virtual knobs and dials to squeeze things that may be or create things that never were from something that has nothing more to tell. The film is spent, let it go.

No film is ever going to convince science. Deep inside, everyone knows that. They must know that. Science demands remains: a body or, at the very least, bits of a body enough to verify identity beyond doubt. This is what makes the massacre idea so loony. If Patterson, Gimlin, or the shooter on the grassy knoll, had multiple bodies to bring home, they would have done it in a heartbeat. We may be squeemish now but, back then, that was an acceptable result. But instead we are to believe that they buried the bodies and hitched their wagons to the star of a grainy, inconclusive video when irrefutable proof was underneath their feet? C'mon now.

The underlying problem is that the bigfoot community has no self-government. There is no procedure of peer-review, controlled theoretical publications, or codes of conduct. For every scientist or genuine enthusiast, there's a business man, a huckster, and a conman. As long as the community is riven into competing motley gangs, as long as there is no control, no organization, there will be more massacres. Only it's not the beast being driven into the ground, it's the search, it's the community, it's the reputation of the cause. If this is the fruit of the Patterson-Gimlin film, it's time to say goodbye, and walk away.

Movie Monster Master Dies

Special Effects god Stan Winston passed away last night.

We’ve been hearing for a while that effects maven Stan Winston was in bad health, but this is still incredibly shocking. On June 15th, 2008, Stan Winston passed away at the age of 62.

Over his long career, Winston was responsible for more movie monsters than I can even name right now, but Predator, The Terminator, Aliens, Pumpkinhead, The Monster Squad and Jurassic Park were just a few of the film his work was featured in. In addition to visual effects, sculpting and creating unforgettable monsters, Winston was also a director, writer and producer.

He will be greatly missed by fans all over the world. Rest in Peace, good sir.

Source: dreadcentral.com

Stan Winston's name attached to a movie was as much a pull as the director or the star. His work was so... badass that I would check out certain flicks just to see what he did. He was the direct inheritor to Harryhausen and his stop-motion genius. I don't know what ultimately laid him low: 62 is not old by today's standards but I have to wonder what wonderful creations we will miss because his genius has been silenced.

His monsters will carry his legacy onward but the man himself will be dearly missed. RIP.

Who You Gonna Call?

Nothing, and I mean nothing, good can come from this:

hey, does anyone know any PROVEN methods for contacting "greys". By proven, i mean that you yourself has tried the method out and have been successful. If you havent tried it yourself, or you haven't gotten contact, DONT POST!!!! Also, let me specify what I mean by contact. I'm am looking for PHYSICAL contact, as in at an actual location. No planes of exsistence, no seeing them in your head. I'm looking for contact with my EYEs. (though i guess if you can exsist physically in another plane of life, so be it)

There's so much going on here, I don't even now where to start...

Some random thoughts:

• If someone could prove they'd been talking with the "greys", I hope they've got something better to do than troll internet forums.
• I assume that mental scars do not count as evidence.
• He needs to see the aliens? ...So I guess just arranging a call on Skype wouldn't suffice.
• Would an anal probe count as physical contact?

Look, It's a Super Earth!

Not just one, in fact, but three:

Astronomers have identified a trio of so-called "super-Earths" - rocky planets between two and 10 times the mass of Earth.

The three new planets were detected using the Harps instrument at the La Silla Observatory in central Chile.

The star they circle is slightly smaller than our Sun, and is located 42 light-years away near the southern Doradus and Pictor constellations.

Source: news.bbc.co.uk

As far as we can tell, none of these three earths was Third Earth. We're still safe from the Mumm-Ra menace.

Metal Mouth

Saturday I put in a few solid (pun!) hours into Metal Gear Solid 4. I finished Act I, took out Laughing Octopus and had good fun skipping around merrily stealth-killing various mercenary henchmen. It's been great. Really great. So why do you get the feeling I'm about to pull a Debbie Downer? The cut-scenes. Those damn cut-scenes.

There is probably a school of thought that I shouldn't even mention the cut-scenes, that the cut-scenes are as much a part of this game series as Solid Snake. They are probably right. However, let me narrow the focus of my ire. It isn't so much their existence as the preponderance of ponderous dialog that leads to bloated, overlong cut-scenes.

Every cut-scene follows a basic formula: an NPC will mention a concept to Snake. Snake then repeats the concept back to the NPC in the form of a question. The NPC, to answer the question, embarks on a five, ten, fifteen minute exposition on the concept. Rinse and repeat, and repeat, and repeat. Sometimes more than once within the same cut-scene.

The dialog, within this exposition, could easily be pared, trimmed, and cut to be lean and mean and, importantly, short. Unfortunately it's not. I do not need arms-dealer Drebin to spend fifteen minutes explaining to me what a war economy is. I get it. I can figure it out. Even if I couldn't, a couple of words would do. But what can be done with a couple of words, MGS4 accomplishes with thousands.

The game is enough fun that I want to get back to the action. I want to keep my flow. I want to get back to my murderous ways. If I could be sure, absolutely sure, that a given cut-scene wouldn't contain some vital tidbit I'd need down the line I would skip them without a second thought. But I can't. How can I know what tiny nugget of gold is buried in the avalanche of verbal dross? I can't. So I sit. And I wait. And wait. And wait.

Me: You guys have a war economy when what you needed was a word economy.

Snake: Word economy?

Me: Oh shut up.

Attack of the Guerrilla Marketeers

On my way to Manhattan this afternoon for what was to become a merciless handball beat-down (thanks Angel!), I found some new graffiti work adorning the posters on display at my local G train stop. Looking more closely, I saw that the graffiti consisted of bald schills for someplace called Hotness Factory:

What is Hotness Factory? t-shirt store. A pretty good one, it looks like. And, judging from their contact number, a local one. If you can't read it from the images, their URL is HotnessFactory.com. I need some new t-shirts.

...Does that mean their dastardly deed worked? Have I fallen for their evil plot? Yes, I guess I have. Do not ask me what marketing monsters I have just let loose on an unsuspecting world. I know what I have done. Someday, you'll forgive me.

Yoinks... and Away!

I have a new hero and he is the Snickers commercial Robin Hood guy. He's the best thing I've seen on TV since the Earl of Sandwich. "The feast is mine."

Never has a daring daylight highway robbery been so fun... and delicious!

UPDATE!

Some kind soul concatenated all the Snickers commercials into one video. FEAST!!!

For the Hulkamaniacs

My immediate impression of The Incredible Hulk as the screen went to black and the credits began was that this was a great comic book movie. However, unlike the best movies based on comic books (Batman Begins, Iron Man), Hulk doesn't transcend this niche. It's a great comic book movie but not a great movie. Does that make any sense?

The movie is, through and through, for the fans. If a Hulk fan scrawled a wish-list of must-see moments on a greasy McDonald's napkin, I think he would have walked out of the theater with at least eight out of his top ten moments marked complete. There are cameos by Bill Bixby (from beyond the grave!), Lou Ferrigno (still huge), and Stan Lee (of course). There are sonic cannons, references to Shield, Tony Stark, and Super Soldier Serum. Hulk is filled to the burst point with fan service. That being said, the actual story stays firmly in the shallow end of the pool, wearing floaties and a life jacket.

There isn't much of a character arc for poor, afflicted Bruce Banner and less than that for anyone else. Unlike Tony Stark or Bruce Wayne, he doesn't go through any journey of self-discovery. Unlike those other heroes, Banner's transformation is both mental and physical: a gamma powered trans-substantiation. The Hulk and Banner remain completely separated and this disconnect is heightened by the use of CGI to create the Hulk character. The movie, thus, cannot explore the emergence and divergence of the hero persona the human personae. Tony Stark, Bruce Wayne, Peter Parker, even Clark Kent, all had these moments that loom so large in their stories. It doesn't exist in the Hulk and it is missed.

I don't have much to say about the acting. The performances were good but nobody stood out for good or for ill that really grabbed my attention. The special effects were top-notch but almost ho-hum. Movies are engineering incredible effects so often and so consistently, I hardly am surprised by what shows up on the screen anymore. This is a critical point for Hulk because our not-so-jolly green giant needs to look and feel completely integrated with the rest of his world. And he does. Kudos to the team.

It is clear now why this film could inspire a rather turgid response from the NY Times and an ejaculation from Ain't It Cool News. From the view of a comic book fan, this film will rock your socks. Your distance from this point on the cultural map will determine how much less the film appeals to you. While I'm not at ground zero, I was close enough to feel good about the flick. It's not as ambitious or genre-transcending as the greatest of the great comic-based movies, but it is a gamma-powered good time. Good enough for me. Excelsior!

---

A few notes:

• This might have been the best audience I've ever watched a film with. They were so in tune and into the movie, boisterous at all the right moments but never out of control, intruding in the wrong spots. It was a crowd full of fans and they were awesome.
• My vote for most misplaced ill-fitting movie trailer of all-time goes to the Mama Mia! trailer that preceded Hulk. Not only must this have been the director's cut, extended edition of the trailer (it went on just short of forever), it was oozing estrogen in a room full of testosterone. Who the hell thought Hulk represented the target audience for this abomination? When the trailer ended (finally!), the crowd spontaneously erupted into a LOUD chorus of boos. I told you they were awesome.
• Just about everyone stayed through the entire credits hoping for an Iron-Man-esque postscript. It didn't come. More booing (lightheartedly). I've never seen so many people stay past the credits.

Sorry, Says the Body Thief

Being that it's Friday the 13th and all, I was disappointed that news of the macabre was not clotting and clogging my reading this morning. Until now.

A New Jersey dentist behind a scheme to steal body parts from corpses, including that of British journalist Alistair Cooke, faced relatives of the dead in court on Thursday and apologized for the anguish he caused.

Michael Mastromarino, 44, in March admitted to leading a $4.6 million operation that stole body parts from funeral homes in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania.

The ring dismembered more than 1,000 cadavers in unsanitary conditions, and sold parts to doctors who transplanted them into patients.

Source: reuters.com

No disrespect to Alistair Cooke (ok, maybe a little disrespect), but as great a guy as he was, he was older than Methuselah. Whoever paid to have his 95 year old parts sewn on to him better have gotten a good bargain. That stuff was way past its warranty. Something tells me Mastromarino didn't check the expiration dates.

Note: Ok, that was a very bad joke. But it's Friday the 13th, dammit! If I can't use that joke here, when can I use it? You tell me. Or don't.

The Adequate Hulk?

That's the bottom line of the NY Times review of the new Hulk film. Here then is the flip-side of the AICN gush-fest from last week:

...let’s not get carried away: “The Adequate Hulk” would have been a more suitable title. There are some big, thumping fights and a few bright shards of pop-cultural wit, but for the most part this movie seems content to aim for the generic mean. If you really need a superhero to tide you over until Hellboy and Batman resurface next month — and honestly, do you? really? why? — I guess this big green dude will do.

I would guess that the smart money puts the film in between the polar extremes of this sentiment and the pant-spoiling excitement of the earlier review. Wherever on the spectrum the Hulk lands, I'll be there to see it tonight. I gotta have faith.

Athlete's Foot of the Sea

Dr. Scholl's might have the cure to the ocean's red, itchy, inflammations.

Two agents used to treat athlete's foot may also help battle harmful algal blooms, which can be toxic to fish and shellfish, and potentially lethal to humans.

Source: dsc.discovery.com

Coming soon, gel inserts for the seven seas. They'll be gelling like Magellan.

Afternoon in the Sun

It was a beautiful day this afternoon. Rather than ride the subway all the way home, I decided to walk home from Hoyt-Schermerhorn via DeKalb and Fort Greene Park and then down Willoughby to home. Pictures were taken, of course. Of course.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Today's Tin Foil Report

Tin Foil Hatter
Originally uploaded by Critical Todd

I found some good stuff this morning. Be warned though, reading these posts may cause some slight insanity. And irritable bowels. But such is the price of science.

First, the so-called most frightening thread ever: possible attacks of time-traveling stone "aliens". This guys got the goods and some strange color-coded images to prove it.

A poster in the thread of fear bottom-lines the theory much better than I can:

SO I think what you are saying is that the ancients knew better than to make images of anything of stone because these creatures could survive inside the stone carvings and then take control of any native creature taht fit intot eh same family or desription?
And that only you are aware of this?

Yes. That's pretty much it. As for the odd color coded images, they're just wacky. If someone figures out exactly what they're supposed to mean, please let me know. They are somewhat psychedelic and a bit scary. Maybe they're just for effect.

In the What Do Angels Need With a Starship department is this gem, entitled ELOHIM ORBS & SHIPS & TECHNOLOGY ON VIDEO, UP CLOSE!!. You read that correctly. This one comes with a nifty YouTube video:

See the blurry flying objects! Read the informative title cards (my favorite: "Manna Orbs Ship Essence"). I would be more intrigued by the video if it didn't seem a bit too staged. Though the falling cotton fluff- err... manna was a nice touch. Oddly enough, no one has responded to his story. I guess watching angelic power made manifest can have that effect.

... I should get back to work.

Stay Classy

Clinton Hill house and church
Originally uploaded by threecee

Another day, another foray through my news feeds. Today: a nice article at The Real Fort Greene about the fear of a neighborhood losing its coolness via excess gentrification, mallification, and other evilications.

As a new resident in the area (though technically in Clinton Hill), I am, in a real sense, one of those people. I moved in to escape rent insanity rampant on the other side of the river. What appealed to me are the very qualities that people fear being destroyed. I moved here to get away from it not aid and abet it's Saharan encroachment.

Some things cannot be stopped: the gentrification is going to keep on keeping on. There are too many pressures on the housing market. According to Rentometer, the median rent for a 1-bedroom apartment in my zipcode (11205) is $1,950. That ain't a bargain. And it isn't the end of it. And it isn't going to stop.

What we can do is try to prevent the malling, the homogenizing, the giant-super-storizing processes that ride the migratory beast like fleas. As Winston Zedimore said, "We've got the tools, we've got the talent!" We can fight this. The question is: do we have the will to do it?

Do we?

Feeling Patriotic

I picked up my copy of Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots. I played about two hours give or take before putting it down to fix some dinner and watch The Cutting Edge (yes, watch The Cutting Edge, I'm weak like that.)

First things first, mainly because you have no choice: there's an eight minute install during which Snake smokes a cigarette and the game doles out some dollops of wisdom.

Once that's done, the game is a bit slow to hit its stride. Shifting back and forth between short moments of user control and cut-scenes, the flow is off. I would have rather they just let me play or given me a cutscene. Continually going back and forth did nothing but frustrate me. Soon enough, though, Snake is finally given over to my total control.

There aren't too many surprises at this point, mostly because all the videos I've watched in anticipation for the game have been culled from these first few hours of play. The bad? Nothing yet I didn't really expect. The good? Nothing has been spoiled from deeper into the game. A good trade off, I'd say.

During my all too brief foray into the Metal Gear Online beta, I never really got a good handle on the shooting controls. I've got a better grasp of them now, though I still end up hitting the wrong buttons to either ready my weapon or fire it. My struggles haven't resulted in fatalities (yet) so I'll file that away under "No Harm No Foul".

I know that the internet has whispered about some seriously long cutscenes. So far, I've only run into one sorta long cutscene. It wasn't uninteresting, as things go, but it was a bit long, for my taste. I didn't time it though. No, it wasn't forty minutes.

Obviously, I've only gotten my first mouthful of the game. I'll be back for more. But not until after the pamchenko. Toe pick!

Shifting Into (Metal) Gear

Metal Gear Solid 4 screenshot
Originally uploaded by gamesweasel

Happy day, happy day. I just got the call from my local independent game retailer of choice and the copy of Metal Gear Solid 4 I pre-ordered awhile back is in store and waiting for me.

I haven't yet read any of the reviews yet and the Konami secrecy protocol hasn't inspired me to read the reviews already extant. Basically, I'm going in blind. I liked the past Metal Gear games (ok, 2 almost killed my will to live) so I've almost convinced myself that I know I will like it. And knowing is half the battle.

Hulk Not Fat, Just More Hulk to Love

The movie's not even out yet but there's already a longer, more gamma-irradiated, cut of the film being planned for the inevitable blu-ray release:

During an interview with director Louis Leterrier, he mentioned that the upcoming Blu-ray release of 'The Incredible Hulk', which is set to be released this Friday, will contain 70 minutes of cut footage. Apparently, during the editing process, some much-loved scenes got cut (including one which is in the trailer, but won't be in the final cut of the film), and the Blu-ray will showcase them all.

Source: blu-ray.com

This seems less a director's cut than a kitchen sink cut. 70 minutes is an awful lot more Hulk. Hopefully, it's not just awful.

Papa Smurf's Got a Brand New Bag

Gargamel chases a smurf
Originally uploaded by smurfun

Gargamel, it's time to put your big-boy pants on.

The Smurfs, those blue-skinned cartoon gnomes with short tails and white hats, are celebrating their 50th anniversary with a Hollywood movie deal announced on Tuesday by Columbia Pictures.

Source: news.yahoo.com.

I don't know how smurfy (yes, smurfy) this movie's going to be, given how successful and yet dreadful Alvin & the Chipmunks was. Still, I would hold on for a very smurfy Smurf movie. Plus, we've got Smurfette to look forward to. I'm going to go ahead and call my shot and pick Jessica Alba. Smurfy.