The Incredible Shrinking Blog

You're probably not that observant or as anal as I am, so I'm going to point out that I've spent a day cleaning up old blog posts. Basically, I went through the two-hundred-and-thirty-odd posts from 2003 and either applied labels to ones that passed my rigorous standards or deleted the rest. In the end I deleted about 80 posts mostly because of dead links.

In of itself, dead links are to be expected over time. (Ironically, my techical advice to people at work is to avoid linking documents because "links are made to be broken".) The problem comes when your entire post consists of: "Hey, look at this guy! I can't believe he did that!" or "I complete disagree with this position because of the following reasons..." If the links go bad, your posts ceases to make sense and therefore, in my estimation, can be ELIMINATED. In the process of the cleaning, I noticed that ESPN, BBC, Cinescape/Mania, Amazon, and the NY Times have held up good, while MSN and MSNBC, CNN, Washington Post and many many others didn't get their archiving together for some time, if they ever have. The lesson for me is to always include segments of the linked material in your post, in case the source decides to move.

And, I realize that going through two hundred posts from five years ago is a colossal waste of time, but it is my own special way of protesting my lucrative yet insanely boring and unrewarding job these days. It could always be much much worse, but mental flacidity is its own demon.

Short Story Submission

A short while ago, Jaquandor pointed to a short story contest in the Buffalo News, whose rules go something like this (or, exactly like this):

In the end, Chris decided, it had all been about the snow.

If Chris had not trusted the weatherman -- or had managed to pack up and leave before Lee showed up with that package -- everything would be different now.

But there was the snow. ...

Want to try your hand at writing a short story? This month, The Buffalo News is sponsoring a Short Story Writing Contest, and all you have to do is start with those sentences above and then create the rest of the story.

Entries, which are due Jan. 20, can be fit into any category desired -- mystery/suspense, science fiction, historical fiction, romance, chick lit or even nonfiction.

All entries should be a maximum of 1,500 words in length, must be original work and must begin with the sentences provided.

The contest is open to writers of all ages, but only one entry per person is allowed.

You also must title the story -- the more provocative title the better.
The top two best stories, which will be chosen by a panel of Buffalo News editors, will be published in the Life & Arts section on Feb. 1.


Stories will be judged on plot, use and development of characters, quality of writing and creativity.

The grand prize winner gets a year's worth of Buffalo News Book Club .selections and a $20 Barnes and Noble gift card. Runner-up gets six months of Book Club selections and $10 gift card to Barnes & Noble.

Not a helluva exciting prize, but I hadn't written anything in a while, so I decided to give it a whirl. Though I hated the opening sentences, I figured I'm reasonably talented to overlook the Buffalo News' craptacular beginning and rattle something off. Well, rattle I did, and all told it took about an hour and a half to punch this baby out. For those of you who care, it's about an hour to put it all down and a half-hour to whittle it down to under 1500 words. No, there will be no DVD-release of the 'writer's cut'.

I don't anticipate getting any prize for this work. Really, how good can something be when I spent a grand total (including plotting) of about 2 hours creating it?
So, by popular request, here is, in its entirety, an original work by yours truly. Happy Friday. I encourage comments, but if you are writing to comment on grammar and such, you know where to stick it.

"Expectations and Puppet Wisdom"

In the end, Chris decided, it had all been about the snow.

If Chris had not trusted the weatherman - or had managed to pack up and leave before Lee showed up with that package - everything would be different now.

But there was the snow. He had always been a person who enjoyed the change of the seasons, a person who thought that Californians probably never really appreciated warm weather as much as someone who spent six months of the year in heavy coats and driving on salty roads.

Unfortunately, the roads were not salted or even plowed, and they wouldn’t be for quite some time. The storm had caught the city unawares, a rarity as unusual as never hearing the phrase ‘lake-effect snow’ on the news in February. As such, the over thousand strong of dedicated climate control specialists (guys who drive the salt and plow trucks) had gotten a late start on the road-clearing task, a start which ensured that Chris, with his beloved Corvette, wouldn’t get the hell out of Dodge until much later than planned.

He glanced out through his bay windows at his rear-wheel drive baby, and just knew that his neighbors were silently shaking their heads yet again for owning such a ridiculously poor snow vehicle. He knew this because one of those neighbors, his nemesis, Lee, was doing just that in his doorway.

“Whew, where the hell did this storm come from?” the visitor asked, stomping his shoes on the worn welcome mat. Chris knew he didn’t have to answer, as Lee always preferred his own replies to that of anyone else in the room. “I swear on the local news last night they said nothing about this,” Lee continued. “Nothing. Just goes to show you that weather prediction still isn’t a science. How do they expect to predict global warming if they can’t tell me whether or not it’s gonna snow in the morning?”

Lee couldn’t resist weaving in a political trap into his comments. Chris just shrugged his shoulders as if he too were baffled and exhaled.

Lee seemed to notice and said, “Well, there’s nothing we can do now but wait it out. Damn side streets never get the first treatment. We’ll be a few hours before this stuff is cleaned off. And then we can break out the shovels and did out the driveway after the plows barricade us in.”

“Yeah.”

“So anyway, I’ve got this package from Karen for you,” Lee said, almost apologetically. “She said that she didn’t want it anymore, that it was all your stuff…”

“What’s in it?” Chris asked, already suspecting the contents, and knowing Lee’s insatiable (read: nosy) curiosity wouldn’t have allowed him to deliver ‘a package’ without first going through it.

A package. Chris snorted, still staring out at the Corvette. Lee’s overblown imagination had probably figured it was something private, personal, or hopefully sordid. Maybe some old letters between former lovers or pictures ripped up or maybe even a dead fish wrapped in Chris’ favorite t-shirt. Yes, her love for me now sleeps with the fishes.

Lee didn’t answer right away. Given his penchant for speaking without thinking, it was a sure sign that he had indeed looked at the contents. “Well, Chris, you know, I don’t know. She just said that you were expecting it and I should give it to you today.”

“When did you see her?”

“Last night. She stopped by for two seconds. Left the package and vamoosed. So do you want it?” he asked, with a hint of eagerness, as a child might then follow up with a request to keep it.

“Yeah,” Chris said. Karen had left a message on his machine saying that she was going to drop off something for him. She also rightly guessed that he was screening his calls.

Lee’s shoulder’s seem to sag just an inch. He looked at “the package” and held it out to Chris.

“Can you just leave it on the table?”

“Sure,” Lee said, and turned to find an appropriate place on the coffee table. “You know, what was the issue with you two? From my perspective, she wasn’t all that bad, right?” he said, finding his rambling tongue again. “I mean, she was nice – is nice I mean – we all liked her. I guess just not your type, Chris.”

Or maybe what you imagine your type to be, which would be anyone who can stand talking to you for more than ten minutes without searching for a trap door, Chris mused.

“I mean, you’ve got this whole thing going with the flying and the trips out of town and the lifestyle. You know. Karen needed a little more domestication. She just needed someone a little more stable. Domestic.”

Once Lee found a word he felt captured what he wanted to say, he wouldn’t let it go, as if finding the perfect phrase that should be repeated for all the world to hear his wisdom.

“Yeah, I guess,” Chris replied, still gazing blankly out at the white flakes keeping him from leaving. “Maybe someone more like you.”

“Me? No, no way. Not my type,” Lee said. “I mean, I don’t really know her. She was okay, well, she was real nice. I mean good figure and cute, sure. But yeah, you know, I don’t think so.”

“I wasn’t really suggesting that you and her should get together, Lee.”

“Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together that signaled his intent to leave. “Well, I better get going.”

“To where?” Chris asked. “There’s a foot of snow on the ground.”

“Uh. You know. Go down to the store and get some smokes or something.”

“Or something.”

“Yeah,” Lee said, stomping his feet on the welcome mat to shake off of any remaining snow he’d missed dumping on his way in. “Okay, see ya later,” he said, opening and closing the door behind him in a smooth motion.

Lee. Karen no doubt gave the package – the “package”, he mused – to Lee knowing he’d dive through it first. Karen knew Chris was irritated by his harmless but steadfastly busybody neighbor, mostly because Chris held things close to his chest. He was a private man. Well, she was making sure he wouldn’t keep this to himself. She liked symbolic gifts, and this was meant to remind him that he blew it by keeping himself closed off.

For the first time he turned away from the window and looked at the shoebox. “The package”, he thought, and wondered if the movie of the same name with Gene Hackman was any good. He tried to think of who else was in that film, but couldn’t place the actress’ name. A little disappointed in his trivia failure, he reluctantly plopped down on the couch before “the package”.

Karen and Chris’ last conversation wasn’t pleasant. She wanted more from him, and he was too busy with work. He wanted to, or at least he thought he did and hoped he’d gotten that across, but wanting wasn’t the same as doing. Damn, she even turned Yoda on him when he said he’d try, and she came back with ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’ That was painful to have his favorite movie betray him.

How could he fight that? In all his geekly wisdom, he couldn’t argue with the puppet – back in the day when it was a puppet, he wistfully thought. A small, green, furry Styrofoam Buddha. He couldn’t admit that he was making the same mistakes, so he just said he was sorry, and she matter-of-factly said she’d be returning his things.

Not that he’d kept all that much at her place to get back. Except for his favorite t-shirt. Now, looking at “the package”, he braced himself to see what manner of destruction had befallen the old blue shirt. I deserve this, Chris told himself, loosening the top of the shoebox. I deserve this.

Inside, neatly folded, was the shirt. He picked it up and inspected it. Smelled it. It didn’t appear to be damaged in any way. She had returned it in pristine condition, maybe even ‘Downy’ fresh. Chris felt a little let down. Wasn’t he worth some measure of revenge?

Aha, he thought. There was a card inside. He withdrew the handwritten note from the standard white envelope (“To Chris”). When he unfolded it, two airline tickets were tucked in the center. He was surprised to see they were from Buffalo to Jamaica.

He read: “Chris – I’m sorry, too. I won’t just try if you don’t. Let’s do. Starting with getting the hell out of this icebox for the weekend. I’ll pick you up in my Blazer at 4. I know you won’t be going anywhere in the ‘Vette ;). Love, Karen. PS. Lee, if you don’t deliver this I will hunt you down and destroy you. For pleasure.”

Chris sat back and chuckled to himself. She was his type.

Evil. Time. Suckage.
Thanks to Jaquandor, I've lowered my already record-low Friday productivity with this. Pfeh! I've earned it!

80's Music Lyric Timekiller
Thanks (or bitter intentions) to this time-suckage post for pointing me towards this 80's music lyrics timekiller. My final score was 94 (out of what?). However, since I happen to know that Legolas' slightly gayer brother spent the 80's tied up in a cave without benefit of television, I know that will be more than enough to best him. Or any of you, for that matter. Yes, YOU.

Theismann fever
In addendum to Mysterioso's Theismann rant:

"Nobody in football should be called a genius. A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein."
- Football commentator and former player Joe Theismann

Approved time-wasting activities
Thanks to dedicated morning research, I have decided to endorse (TM) the following acceptable electronic procrastination exercises for today. If you try them tomorrow, I do not approve.

• A list of Actual Hong Kong subtitles. Courtesy of a guy who would know. So far my favorite is "San-Pao, take him to the toilet. Take off his trousers. Crack his nuts... so he understands how a depressed sex life feels like." Um. Yes.
  
• Listen to Kevin Spacey's SNL impersonation of Christopher Walken as Han Solo. The radio call at the top of the page isn't too bad either.
  
• Take the color test until you get it right.
  
• Make nonsensical comments on Plato's Bills rant. He's lonely.

My work here is done.

Mourning
I haven't been blogging because I'm still weak from the Cubs series. But now I'm regaining strength, and what do I do when I become stronger? I focus my "chi" on deserving foes, exposing their weaknesses and dragging them out of their beds in the pajamas onto the street for their nightly beatings. Really.

James Patterson's envious doppleganger has provided an update on his latest work (of fiction, allegedly), in which he admits to (allegedly) killing off an (alleged) character whose sole (alleged) purpose was to (allegedly) die in the first (alleged) place. Allegedly. Well. This seems like the mother of all spoilers to me. I mean, the book ain't even done yet, and already we know that some ass-clown will be getting killed right around 62,000 words? Moreover, we know that at least one of the "main" characters is just a red shirt (Star Trek lingo for nameless crewmember who escorts the away team and gets killed every time), so why get invested in the characters at all? Okay, I'm just joking around on that one. I'm actually curious when I read the book (allegedly) if I can spot the character by page 2 (hint on reading Jaquandor's stuff: any character who has a discernable permutation of the name "Matthew Jones" is sure to suffer a fool's death).

It's about here that I would hear the gripe that I haven't written anything in a long time so should just let sleeping dogs lie (alert -- I have compared a childhood friend to a dog). However, this doesn't matter for I have created this world and in this world in which I am meglomaniacally insane (natch) Jaquandor has been created for the express purpose of dying at 75,000 words. Luckily for him I am pretty lazy these days. Now go off and enjoy life's wonderful gift of life. Life, that is. Allegedly.

Of all the jail cells in all the towns in all the world... he walked into mine.
'Delicious' is an adjective I rarely apply to the word 'irony', but in the case of the convicted child molester beaten up by former victim in Florida jail, I think it's appropriate today. The corrections officials are contemplating filing new charges against the men, but I find that would be laughable.

It's all about the Cheese
I get nostalgia from the strangest places. I will be receiving an order shortly from Cuba Cheese, specifically my beloved Old York Sharp. Yes, I said beloved. However, an added bonus was provided when I check the UPS tracking:

Sep 30, 2003 7:08 P.M. ALLEGANY, NY, US DEPARTURE SCAN

Yes, it's true. Something actually shipped out of my home town! And it was good! Nevertheless, this will not delay my meglomaniacal plans for... well world domination, what else?

Neat article
I don't know if it's true, but it sure seems plausible. Here's a little article my dad sent me today:

Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in
waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the
frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total mses
and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos
not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Then again it may all be in perfect order and I have become dyslexic overnight. Let me know.

No Death Eaters?

A photo of a sign from the Massive Attack tour. Considering the nature of their songs, this seems odd.Anyway, I need to get one of those signs for my room. Or someone should make a t-shirt.

I know doctors say I should have two, but I just don't think I can drink that much
More great advertising news for wine makers. Sigh. Why don't they ever say anything nice about Jack? Oh well. I guess eventually I'll have to get into wine. I'm not a fan of much that you have to sip. I like gulping, and coldness.

PS. The header line is in reference to an old episode of the Simpsons -- where Homer moves to Terror Lake and works for Hank Scorpio. A great piece of false drama involves Marge, stranded in the house with nothing productive to do, seen to start drinking glasses of wine (accompanied by foreboding musical cues). Later on, she confesses that she drank the wine, but just couldn't consume the recommended amount. If you don't get the joke in that then die die die.

Blue Sky on Mars
Orbital Oddities: Why Mars will be So Close to Earth in August

But no sign of Corner Paul
Those of you curious to get a small glimpse of my favorite haunt -- you're in luck (but only if you have cable and a VCR)! The Food Network's series, Date Plate, will be airing some upcoming repeats of a recent episode filmed at Southside. I make a small cameo as a fork.

Greatest Cheese In the World
It's a very subjective title to grant, but for my money Old York Sharp is the greatest cheese in the history of the world. I grew up on this stuff in Western NY state, and I order it online today. It's that good, and nothing I've ever sampled anywhere else (and I like cheese) comes even close.

So THERE.

I was working and then...
For the love of god take Mr. Poo's advice and don't go here, especially if you have a work ethic.

I used to love playing games like Monkey Ball and Gyro Ball.

Although this version of Spank the monkey is quite enjoyable, it isn't as fun as the good old original (my record is 244 mph -- I think you'd have to throw your mouse through a wall to get the record).

I haven't killed anyone... since 1984
Not surprisingly, it turns out that having relationships with people who you have both good and bad feelings towards can make you sick. I've known this for a few years now. Oh well.

Blame it on science
Although the tagline of the article suggests a 'free pass' for any guy naive enough to use it as justifications, Is infidelity ‘natural’ for men? is an interesting piece on evolutionary psychology, although it says really nothing new for those of us who are able to think logically. However, it's always handy to have a scientific study handy to debunk or explain away the stereotypes of 'gold-diggers' or 'cradle-robbers':

Many evolutionary psychologists say these divergent sexual strategies also explain two corollary findings of modern studies. One says men seem more disturbed by sexual infidelity and women seem more disturbed by emotional infidelity. The other says heterosexual men seek women who are young and beautiful because these are viewed as signs of fertility, while heterosexual women seek men who are rich because that helps in raising children.

I looked for the reason why it is impossible (for heterosexual men) to look at a pair of breasts and remain focused on... whatever you are doing (I lost my train of thought there for a second visualising)... but that will perhaps have to wait for the next study. There were more interesting results about the honesty, to self and others, that women have about sexuality:

In the study[she asked men and women to report whether they masturbated, watched soft-core pornography or hard-core pornography. Each “yes” got a point], both men and women had been told to hand their questionnaires to a researcher. But when women were told to deposit their answers in a locked box supervised by a researcher, their average score jumped to 1.53. And when the women took the test alone in a locked room and then deposited their answers in a locked box — ensuring privacy and anonymity — their score shot up further, to 2.04. The men’s answers did not change significantly, indicating they were less concerned about their opinions being discovered.

Ah, the old double-standard is still alive and well. It's fascinating to see it at work in the social setting, and self-reinforcing; I have observed that women are the ones who (for the most part) use words like "slut" and "whore" to describe other girls. It's a vicious and yet fun circle! Free your mind... slut!

You've Got Mail!
Over the years we've all received various forms of chain email, from petitions to prayers that really work, to my favorite, Bill Gates will send you money! And though most automatons can figure out that this is just an electronic version of an old scheme, you don't want to be the one to miss out on ol' Bill's free $1000 bucks, do you?

Well, chain email has become urban legend, but knowing about it and it's many examples is the best way to combat it.

Or, at the very least, get a really good laugh out of it.

Utter Defeat
Well, it's official. The 17th Earl of Bruce has been published in the Buffalo News. Thus, it appears that our longtime race to see who would be published first has not so much been won as lost by me (mostly for distracting things such as gainful employment and, well, my superior ability to procrastinate). Nevertheless, congratulations are in order for not only the nice article, but for his photo preserving the ever-present malevolent gleam in his eye.