The 400 blows

Hey, it's a milestone -- this post you're reading here is number 400. Only took me a little more than four years. Four hundred posts, four and a half years -- about 90 posts a year, which is one every four or five days. Not a bad average, considering there have been a few months-long stretches where I posted nothing at all. (It hasn't been hurt by the last few months, when I've been averaging better that a post a day. Yay for high-speed internet access!)

This easily ranks as my longest-running writing endeavor; every other long-term project has been abandoned well before the four-year mark. Even Revolver is only two years old. (Ten episodes, two years. That average sucks.)

Thank you for reading. And at this rate, I'll be at 500 by Halloween.

(If you'd like to bask in some jwalkernet Greatest Hits nostalgia, you can read these two posts from December of 2005. They're probably my favorites.

Lucky.
Lucky, Conclusion (?): The Ancient Wisdom of the Orient.)

Oh, dear

I've mentioned Heroes: Origins before -- you know, the new spinoff that'll be airing this season on NBC, telling one-off little pieces about new characters.

They made an announcement regarding it at Comic-Con.

Weekly iPod Shuffle: 7/29/07

1. "Sell Sell Sell," Barenaked Ladies
A theatrical song about a theatrical actor hitting the big time. It's also noteworthy for implying that a government would start a war in the Middle East to divert attention away from itself. This song being from 2000.

2. "Stand Up (For It)," Dave Matthews Band
In which the phrase "stand up!" is repeated about 384 times. It's a groovy enough song, don't misunderstand me, but jeez -- "Stand up! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up!" Kill me.

3. "The Real Slim Shady," Eminem
On this single, Em gives a shout-out to his buddy Fred Durst. He would later devote almost an entire track, a B-side called "Girls," to eviscerating the guy. Even his friends hate him.

4. "The Lonely End of the Rink," The Tragically Hip
The Hip have more songs about hockey than I can count off the top of my head. This is one of the better ones. But then, they're all one of the better ones.

5. "You," Radiohead
The first track from Pablo Honey, their first album. This was back when they merely a post-grunge Britpop band, and not the Greatest Band in the World. Thankfully, that transformation would begin on their next album, because Pablo Honey isn't very good. This song isn't bad, though.

6. "Alice Childress," Ben Folds Five
The ghostly Alice Johnson (later Alice Wright), my favorite NPC ever, was named from this song. A stunning number of NPCs from that chronicle had their names taken from Ben Folds songs -- Zack, Sarah, Katherine, Stan, and a few others. You'd never believe me if I told this was a coincidence, would you? (And while "Alice's Restaurant" was the song used to introduce Alice, that didn't occur to me until after I'd named her.)

7. "Welcome to the Machine," Pink Floyd
One of the most menacing songs I've ever heard. The lyric "Where have you been?/It's all right, we know where you've been" used to creep me the fuck out when I was kid. Still does, actually.

8. "Get in the Ring," Guns N' Roses
Okay, lots of rock bands have mean things written about them in the press. Comes with the territory. And lots of songwriters take aim at the press, fighting back at them in song. Hey, gotta that aggression out somehow, right? Nothing wrong with firing back. Only Axl Rose, though, would write a song fighting back at the press and then call out those reporters by name. And then challenge them to a fight. "You wanna antagonize me? Antagonize me, motherfucker! Get in the ring, motherfucker! And I'll you bitchy little ass, punk!" Axl is possibly the whiniest shithead on Planet Earth. Oh, and that new GN'R album? The one we were absolutely promised in 2006? Still nothing. Thanks, Axl.

9. "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite," R.E.M.
During the writing for their masterwork, Automatic for the People, it occurred to the band that perhaps the album was a little too somber. As a remedy, they decided to write something deliberately upbeat -- the result was this song, in which they mixed "The Lion Sleeps Tonite," Dr. Seuss, Nescafe, "kiss my ass," and a pay phone into a stew so ludicrously pleasant that Michael Stipe can be heard giggling while singing one of the choruses. It's a wonderful song, even though the band later admitted on their greatest hits collection, "Maybe we went a little too upbeat."

10. "This Is the Thrilling Conversation You've Been Waiting For," Harvey Danger
You remember Harvey Danger, yeah? "Flagpole Sitta"? One-hit wonder back in 1997, thereabouts? Well, they kept releasing albums, and they're all phenomenal -- this song is from King James Version, which was almost a success back in 2000 when it was released, but fell victim to record label mergers and such. Too bad.

Never mind -- apparently, it's just the Bush administration

What did I say yesterday about Ensberg being so bad that he was guaranteed a job? Yeah, evidently he's even worse than that: the Astros just let him go.

Well. Can't blame 'em. Though it's sad to watch him go. I just don't see how he could still fit in with the club. They just couldn't take anymore of his poor performance.

He lets a lot of good pitches go by, see.

Well, that solves all our problems, then, doesn't it?

Failed Astros closer Dan Wheeler has been sent packing to baseball's Elephant Graveyard, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, in exchange for mild-hitting third baseman Ty Wigginton. This gives us one less inconsistent reliever and yet another third baseman.

We've got him for the rest of this season and the next two, which is good -- it won't be like the last time we got a third baseman from the Devil Rays, when we saw Aubrey Huff leave after only a few months. But I'm not sure Ty will be the final puzzle piece we'll need next season. (Yeah, next season. We're twelve games under .500, this season's long since over.)

But you know who has to be more than a little worried? Morgan Ensberg. You can't tell me they'd trade one of their favorite relief pitchers for a third baseman if they planned on giving the Voyeur a spot next year.

Of course, he has nothing to worry about. He's so fucking bad that he can't be traded anywhere. Baseball may be the only job in the country where truly despicable job performance actually guarantees you job security.

That, and working for the Bush Administration.

Oh, there's a joke in there about the episode where Spock's brain was stolen, but I'm in too much of a hurry to come up with it myself

Zachary Quinto, whom you know better as the brain-eating serial killer Sylar on Heroes, will be playing Spock in next year's new Star Trek movie. As will Leonard Nemoy, apparently.

This is acceptable.

I've been saying this shit for years

I found this today -- a website that proves Nickelback's laziness and incompetence by playing their first two really big hits -- "How You Remind Me" and "Someday" -- simultaneously. The difference, it turns out, is negligible. It's hilarious.

This is why I love having a camera

Tommy hated taking me to the movies.

Well, that's not exactly true -- he seemed to love taking me to see shitty movies, because of the delight he'd get from watching me squirm during their running time and growl afterwards. But there was a part of it that bugged him whenever I'd go off on some crappy movie we'd sat through.

"You always go looking for things to complain about," he'd say. He'd accuse of me of going out of my way to find plot holes and such, reasons to denounce the movie as bad.

Not true. I just notice those things.

At Job Number One, Airfon will often hand me a new piece of paper that's come into the building and say, "What's wrong with it?" Inevitably, I'll find something.

Again, I don't typically look for these things. I just see them. And it bugs me.

Moreover, I don't see how someone can not see them. Take this sign I saw this morning, for instance:



Obviously, a spelling error. A simple transposition. But it bugs me. How can no one notice? Or notice, but not tell those responsible to fix it? Or do those responsible know, and not care? (This is to say nothing of the fact that that should probably say chopped beef on the second line; I'm willing to excuse things like that on a marquee, when you have limited space.)

But then there are signs like the one I'm about to show you.

Now, I didn't go looking for anything wrong when I passed by this sign the first time. But I noticed something just the same. And then I noticed something else wrong with it. And then....

This sign, for those of you familiar with the geography of Dickinson, is located at the corner of Deats and Nichols, just past the railroad tracks. Delivering pizza, I pass this sign several times a day. So I get a chance to look at it a lot.



Seems perfectly innocuous, doesn't it? But this sign was made by crazy people.

About the only thing right on this sign is the name of the company and its contact information. That, and the arrow -- if you follow the arrow, you will find the Berry Field subdivision.

However:

1. You forgot the $ before 0 DOWN. This is petty, yes. But...
2. Yes, that says $500 MOVIE-IN. I don't know what a movie-in is. (I guess they meant move-in. But still, I don't know.)
   
3. "HWY 517 WEST" -- FM 517 is not a highway. It's a farm market road, hence FM 517. The difference is irrelevant perhaps, but it's still wrong.
4. Furthermore, FM 517 West is on the other side of town. Several miles away from Berry Field. Berry Field is on Nichols, which is off of FM 517 East. I know this, because I live on FM 517 East. Also, I'm not an idiot and I can read.
5. Lest you think that "west" is indicative of where you should go from 517 to get to Berry Field, I can stop that right here -- Berry Field is north of 517.
6. And furthermore, to turn left on Nichols from 517 and get to Berry Field, you'd have to be going east, not west.
   
7. So. It tells you to turn "LEFT ON NICHOLS." Except the sign is on Nichols, not on 517, and it faces Deats. If you turn left on Nichols from where the sign is, you'll go the wrong direction. In order to turn left on Nichols and get to Berry Field, the sign would have be about half a mile away. Do that, though, and the arrow would be pointing the wrong direction.

Somebody designed this piece of advertising. Someone else made it. It was shipped. It was put in its place. And no one noticed, "Hey, everything on this sign is wrong!"

And these people want to build you a house.

No, thank you.

Yes yes yes yes yes

But that bastard -- much like Rob Zombie stole my idea to use "Free Bird" over a shootout, Wes Anderson has stolen my idea to use "This Time Tomorrow" and "Strangers" in a trailer. Damn you!

Bud Selig stops being a punk-ass little bitch!

In other news, temperatures in hell have plummeted dramatically in the last few hours...

[Major League Baseball commissioner] Bud Selig will be in attendance at AT&T Park in San Francisco on Tuesday night and said he will try to be in attendance for future games as Barry Bonds attempts to set Major League Baseball's all-time home run record.

"Out of respect for the tradition of this game, the magnitude of the record, and the fact that all citizens in this country are innocent until proven guilty, I will attend Barry Bonds' next games to observe his potential tying and breaking of the home run record, subject to my commitments to the Hall of Fame this weekend. I will make an additional statement when the record is tied," Selig said. {From ESPN.com}

Well done, Mr. Selig. It's the only choice you can make at this point -- you allowed the Player's Association to screw you with your pants on for years on the steroids thing, and this is the corner you've painted yourself into in the process. (Sex and painting -- yay for mixed metaphors!)

So good on you for finally making the inevitable decision. You're still a spineless little weasel.

Here, at the end of all things (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)

[Spoiler-free!]

The door was partially open, so I saw her coming. She bounded up with a distinctly gleeful skip in her step, clad in blue, as you'd expect, and her hands filled with packages. She wrapped on the door twice with her elbow and called to me, "Harry Potter!"

As though accepting a precious heirloom, I took the small box from her. It was white, with a machine-printed picture of an owl clutching an envelope. DO NOT DELIVER OR OPEN UNTIL JULY 21, 2007, a red banner warned.

"Thank you very much," I said, still looking at the package. When I did glance up at her, she smiled and gave a little nod.

"You're welcome," she said, already heading for her next delivery. "Happy reading!"

I looked at the box again. In a little square on the side, in a now-familiar font, was more print. YEAR 7.

And so it was, thirty-two hours ago, I received my copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. And so it was, a little less than one hour ago, I turned the last page and finished my journey through those books.

What a long, strange trip it's been.

It began in 2001, with perhaps my greatest example of one of my great pet peeves. I took an English class at College of the Mainland, and on the first day glanced at the course syllabus. After the expected lists of short stories -- Poe, Faulkner, Hemingway, naturally -- and Shakespeare, I noticed this unusual entry:

Novel: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

What? What?

We're gonna read Harry Potter for the course novel? In a college English course? Have we completely lost our damn minds? The professor, it turns out, is a huge Potter fan. She wore her Gryffindor Quidditch jersey to class one day. At the class's skepticism at her choice of novel, she pointed out its long-reaching influence and popularity, and surmised there must be something worth studying there.

"Plus," she said with a smirk, "it's a really good book."

The next day, I dutifully picked up a paperback copy at Waldenbooks. Now, this is before the first movie was released, before it had even been filmed, and adult acceptance of Mrs. Rowling's book wasn't yet widespread. So I got a few odd looks.

I took it home and tried to read it, but I only got two pages in before tossing it aside. I couldn't get it out of my head that I was reading children's literature. I told my mom. She joined me in scoffing. I mean, come on.

Three months later, our professor reminded us, "You need to have at least the first half of Sorcerer's Stone read by Thursday." This being Tuesday.

Oh, shit! I'd forgotten about it completely.

When I got home that afternoon, I dug through boxes in my room until I found my copy. I poured a glass of Dr Pepper, sat at the dining room table, and forced myself to read it.

Four hours later, my mom came home and saw me. "Reading the Potter book?" she said, her voice teasing me.

"Yeah," I said, not looking up. "Do we have any barbecue sauce?"

"What?" She was in the middle of pouring herself some iced tea, and my out-of-nowhere question confounded her.

Still without looking up: "Do we have any barbecue sauce?"

"Uh, yeah," she said. "Why?"

"Because I need to eat my damn words."

I finished the book during lunch the next day. Within a week, I managed to convince both my mother and my sister to read it, too. With two further days, my mother had acquired the next three books, which were the only ones published at the time. The books were like a foul virus, and I had exposed my entire family. We were goners.

I read Chamber of Secrets in two days. I read Prisoner of Azkaban in one sitting.

And now, that journey is over. The series is complete.

Am I happy? Yes. Am I sad? Oh yes.

There are volumes I'd like to say about the book itself, but refuse to -- I absolutely refuse to spoil anything. (There are legions of bastards running around out there doing exactly that -- I saw spoilers dropped in comments on YouTube videos...freakin' Family Guy videos, at that. I will not join those douchebags.) I went into this one blind as can be, and believe the experience the better for it: I didn't even read the table of contents, afraid the chapter titles might give something away.

The big pre-publication spoiler from Madame Rowling was that "two major characters" would die. I will say that that is...true. In a technical sense, it is very, very true.

Am I satisfied at the conclusion? Yes. It is logical, it is emotionally resonant, and it has enough closure to feel like the end of something epic. (Nor is it psychologically harrowing and terrifying, as Mr. King chose to be at the end of the Dark Tower.) The book is unflinchingly dark, and ceaselessly depressing...and yet filled with -- and ultimately about -- love.

If I were to meet Mrs. Rowling today, I would thank her for the seven books of wonderful stories and memories. And then I would slap her in the face for her wicked cruelty.

And then I'd remember these are fictional characters she was cruel to, and I'd remember my own wicked cruelty, and I'd apologize profusely and offer to get her some ice, and she'd have me escorted off the grounds and thrown in British jail.

Goodbye, Harry, Ron, and (sigh) Hermione. Goodbye, Ginny, Snape, Dumbledore, Sirius, Fred, George, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Grawp, Lupin, and Tonks. 'Bye Moody, Draco, Lucius, Narcissa, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Dudley, Neville (the man!), Luna, Cho, Cedric, and Percy. And goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick, and Peeves, and the Fat Lady; to Bellatrix Lestrange, and to Dobby, and to Kreacher, and to S.P.E.W., and to the D.A. And Bill and Fleur. And Professors Flitwick and Trelawney, and Cornelius Fudge and Peter Pettigrew. And Lily, and James. And even to You-Know-Who.

You will be missed. Sorely.

Going off the grid

Four years ago, I very nearly had the ending of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix spoiled for me. I didn't get the book right away, and soon after its publication, a newspaper in Toronto published an obituary for, um, the character that dies, and I almost read it. I managed to click the "back" button fast enough to avoid reading the name. (And look at that -- the book is four years old, and I'm still not willing to spoil the ending. Ain't I grand?)

Not again! I will not inadvertently have The Deathly Hallows spoiled or revealed to me in any fashion. With my copy set to arrive tomorrow by owl package delivery person, I will go into complete radio silence until I'm finished. I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to sign off the internet, and I won't be watching any TV, outside of what I have already DVR'd.

See you on the other side.

(Thankfully, I read really fast. It shouldn't be long.)

The Republicans will probably just filibuster that, too

So apparently Michael Vick is pissing off everybody -- including Congress:

Fallout intensified Friday from NFL star Michael Vick's indictment on charges linked to dogfighting, a practice that a longtime lawmaker denounced as "barbaric" on the floor of the U.S. Senate.

Democratic Sen. Robert Byrd of West Virginia, who has addressed lawmakers often about his love for animals, shook with emotion during a forceful condemnation of dogfighting.

"Hundreds of thousands -- if not millions -- of dollars are often at stake in the breeding, the training and the selling of fighting dogs. How inhuman, how dastardly!" shouted the senator. "The training of these poor creatures to turn themselves into fighting machines is simply barbaric."

Senate criticism increased Friday as Sen. John Kerry said he had sent a letter to the NFL commissioner calling for Vick's immediate suspension.

"Dogfighting is one of society's most barbaric and inhumane activities," Kerry wrote to Commissioner Roger Goodell.

"As the most popular team sport in America, professional football has a responsibility to showcase the highest levels of behavior and sportsmanship," Kerry's letter said.

The 2004 Democratic presidential nominee also said he planned to introduce anti-dogfighting legislation.

Kerry's proposal would make it illegal to transmit images of dogfighting, to run Web sites that cater to dogfighting, and to won or train dogs for the purpose of fighting, according to his office.

Not that I don't admire what you're doing, there -- dogfighting is repulsive and should be stopped. But...this is what you're fighting for? To save dogs? There's a President over there responsible for the needless deaths of thousands of humans, and you're not doing much to stop him.

I feel the earth move under my feet

San Fransisco had a minor earthquake this morning. Nothing to worry about -- it was only a 4.2, so there's no real damage or massive injury or anything. I remember dealing with several such mild quakes when we lived in California -- my mom would bring my sister and I home at the end of the day, and we'd find paintings crooked, candles (unlit candles, obviously) fallen down, and, most tellingly, my mom's crystal unicorn statues overturned (and occasionally broken).

My favorite earthquake story, and the one that gives you an idea of just how mild and insignificant something like a 4.2 is, comes from 1988. My mom was driving me to school, and, just as she's pulling up to drop me off, the car starts to shudder. Mom lets out a string of obscenity, thinking she has a flat tire. We stop, and we each check one side of the car for the bad tire -- but there isn't one. Mom lets out another string of obscenity, thinking there's something very wrong with her car, but as she drives the remaining 100 feet to the drop-off zone, the car works perfectly. On a whim, Mom turns on the radio, and finds the morning deejays marveling at the earthquake we had just experience. "Oh," my mom breathes with relief. "It was just an earthquake. Thank god."

When we returned home that evening, my mom's mirror would be crooked, and the pendulum clock she had hanging next to the kitchen table had stopped. Several of her unicorn statues had been knocked askew, but -- thank the Prophets! -- none had broken.

The ground had, without warning, shaken violently for several seconds. This happens all the time in California.

Humans can grow accustomed to anything.

The closest thing I have to a holy day

It's July 20, people: thirty-eight years ago today...

I have funny friends

I don't know if I'm going get around to Hunter recaps again -- I'm writing several other things at the moment -- some dealing with you-know-what -- and all of them take precedence. (I can write these blog posts because they take ten minutes at the absolute maximum; a Hunter recap tends to take a great deal longer, and I'd rather spend time on other things.) I might briefly wrap up the remainder of the season if I get a chance, but no promises.

But I couldn't let this pass by without comment. In last night's game, the Hunters found themselves cornered and outnumbered by werewolves. The wolves did not mince words: they were there to kill the Hunters, for no adequately explained reason. (They found out why later, of course.)

The leader of this pack of wolves tried to make it clear that the Hunters didn't have to fight -- they were outnumbered by a superior foe, and there was no need for bloodshed and agony. Unfortunately for her, Willem -- the Dr. Smith of our little group -- undercut the seriousness of her little speech. To quote the episode:

"Now. We can make this painless--"
"YES!" *relieved fist-pump*

That right there became my new favorite quote for our Hunter game. It eclipses the old one, which was from back in season two -- the Hunters were investigating a ghost, and tracked down a woman who used to be a friend of hers...

"We were college roommates."
"Ah. Were you ever...you know...college roommates?"

I enjoy our Hunter game.

'Cause I think it's funny, that's why

People are really quite amusing.

Chess rules. Rollercoasters, not so much.