Where's Ringo?

Virgin says there are 74 bands in this image. How many can you find?

(click the image for the full resolution graphic or you'll be missing half of the easy ones...)



My finds are in the comments so as to not spoil all your fun with the easy ones.

"And in my dying breath..."

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and it was brought to the forefront of my actual conscious brain today when I got an e-mail reminding me of a very specific event in my past. We're talking a split-second, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of thing. It is the kind of thing that brings back a flood of memories -- all of them good -- and it made me give voice to what I had been going over in my head.

As I look at all the things I've done -- including all the stupid shit, terrible decisions, bad choices, and horrible people I've put up with over the years... I realize that every bit of that stuff, no matter how terrible or how amazingly fantastic all adds up into what I am today. If you take away any part of my past experience, I would not be the same person. If you were to take away just one wrong choice or derail one thread of unhappiness, where would that leave me today?

It's something I've often pondered - and moreso since getting the lyrics to "A Question" stuck in my head over ten years ago. But now there's a physical manifestation of these thoughts.

When I look at my little boy I see the sum of all the things I've done. I see the toll of all the choices I've made.

And I see without a doubt -- I have no regrets. Given the chance, I wouldn't change anything. I would love to go do some of those thing again (and again, and again,) but I see no need to change any of it.

The question that lies within
Is so hard to understand
It still tears at me
And in my dying breath
My heart holds no regrets
I wouldn't change a thing

Failing at not sucking

I stand by my previous posts about NaNoWriMo - sit down and write your story. It's not too late, but you'll have to work extra overtime to ever get finished.

But, as I say that, I have to admit that I am sucking big time. I should be at around 20,000 words in my NaNo Novel. I'm about a quarter of that. And you'll even just have to take my word on it because I haven't bothered to update the word counter thing.

It's not a matter of drive or lack of ideas - I actually had less tangible story when I got to this point last year. All I knew when I started that one was where it was going to end up and that it needed to take the most ridiculous route possible to get there. I had no idea what that route would involve, but I slogged through it and I was pretty happy with what I got out of it.

This year, I started a new one on an old theme -- one of my seminal ideas going back to a WordStar document on my old XT Compaq Luggable. I got about 1500 words into it, thinking to myself that I really might have it this time -- I might be able to take this one all the way to the bank, er, word counter. Whatever.

The second day of working on it, I was blindsided by a whole new idea - one that came fully formed with opening paragraphs and a pretty good idea of where it was going and how it would get there.

So -- I scrapped the first one. Again. I started up the new one about a guy who wakes up with a lump on his forehead. I started writing about how he doesn't understand why his house isn't what he remembers his house to be. And I've got more. It's waiting to come out. But holy shit is it ever hard to write on my current schedule. I've been tapping away on breaks at work (and I should be tapping away here - how many words are in this post which could have been put to better use?) which is why my word count isn't updated... I've got little text files scattered here and there (which my fancy new USB flash drive thing should remedy) and I haven't yet combinated the whole thing back into one document.

I feel compelled to write this novel for many reasons, and most of them selfish, but thanks to Kingo I may have found a bit more inspiration. I'm not sure if it's enough to push me over the top, but it's certainly enough to kick it up a notch and try a little harder.

Kingo sent me a link to Sarahdigm Shift. Now I'm linking right back so you can see what he said she said.

I don't even know what to say here. What I want to do is go find her house and knock on the door and say, "Thank you," in person. I'm sure after reading any part of that book she'd never even unlock the screen door, but I would still offer my thanks for her comments. I also owe her a corrected copy of the book when I get around to it -- that one's got quite a few typos in it.

I'm going to stop blabbering here and go back to the guy with the bump on his forehead. He's about to meet Ted S. Edwards, in the flesh.

Anger Management - Step by Step

1. Grab your guitar. Tune it to standard intervals. The fat string should be tuned to C#.

2. Grab your amp. Turn the pre-gain up all the way. Try to twist the fucking knob off.

3. Still at the amp, turn the post gain or master volume up to a very loud level. From prior experince you should know which point on the indicator summons the cops. If you're only kind of pissed, put it a hair below this point. If you're really pissed, just go a hair past that point.

4. Cue up the CD, record, tape or MP3 of "I'm Broken" from Pantera's Far Beyond Driven album. Make sure it's loud enough to be heard along side your blazing guitar amp.

5. Get ready to go - the guitar starts on the fucking downbeat.

6. When it gets to the halftime part be sure your head swings forward on the kick drum and snaps back (hard) on the snare. Be careful with the string skips, but don't stop the neck snapping.

7. Repeat. Maybe try it with Cemetery Gates or (if your wrist is up to it) the Cowboys.

7a. Kick stuff.

just another day

Thirteen years ago today I had a busy day. I remember very clearly that it was a Friday. I had just had the transmission replaced in my fabulous '81 Buick Century. When I picked it up, the brakes still didn't work worth a shit, so I ended up taking my mom's car to work. I was working at the college campus in the shitty convenience store they had wedged into a double-sized closet and on Fridays I had to arrive early to unload the weekly delivery truck.

The Friday before, I had gone to work aiming to win the Halloween costume contest. I showed up at work dressed as a buxom bimbo - and I neglected to take any other clothes with me so I got to go to a meeting at the radio station and hang out with my friends in the afternoon wearing my mother's skirt which I could barely pull up over my fat ass.

Despite my ridiculous attire, my best friend Paul still stopped by and dragged me out of that shithole so we could go have an ultra-healthy Marriott fried lunch nextdoor. But, the whole thing was worth it. I weathered all of the, "Holy shit that's one ugly fucking woman," comments and ended up with a gift certificate to the mall (which was promptly exchanged for a Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack.)

But thirteen years ago was the week after Halloween. As I said before, I had a busy day. I had to go to work and unload the truck. I had to actually pick up my car after work, then I had to drive back to the college to pick up my share of band crap because we had a show that night.

My band played every year for some fraternity's benefit party. You probably know the fraternity even if you didn't go to our college -- it was the one which not only admitted girls, but didn't haze or initiate or turn anyone away. All geeks welcome.

We had one of the better (at least better attended) shows that year. I remember my brother dragged a bunch of his friends out to see us play. I remember my friend Trevor showed up toward the end of the evening. When I saw Trevor I remember that I had a brief realization that Paul hadn't met me for lunch that Friday and he had said he was going to come to the show, but I hadn't seen him there. I also remember going home and collapsing out of sheer exhaustion around 4 A.M.

Sometime early the next day, I was aware of someone knocking on my door. My stepfather was telling me to get the phone. I don't think he said who it was, but he might have said something about it being "some girl."

As I reached for the phone, I was overcome by a very real sense of dread and somehow I knew who it was and what she was going to say even before I said, "Hello?"

The phone call was from Paul's girlfriend. She told me he had shot himself the night before. I didn't have to ask if he was OK. I knew he wasn't.

I spent the next period of my life in a daze - that period lasting for around ten years. Throughout the year I would battle low periods and thoughts of suicide. The only guarantee was every year at Halloween I would become incredibly depressed and suicidal. I came very close on a few occasions, but something always stayed my hand.

A few years ago my wife talked me into seeing a counselor. I was reluctant, but I eventually gave in.

Thirteen years ago I lost my best friend. I spent the next decade of my life trying to follow his path. This year is the first time I can look back to that day and remember the songs I played with my band and the fun that we had without thinking about how, at the same time, my best friend was dying.

So on this Guy Fawkes night, do me a favor and raise a glass to your heroes whoever they may be. You can also do yourself a favor and get some help if you're being crushed by depression. Try this for a start:

Post Secret

Write it. Now.

If the image doesn't show up, try again. The NaNoWriMo server appears to be getting slaughtered by page requests.

(which is just a fancy way of saying, "Everybody else is doing it, why aren't you?")

remember...

I _need_ an Esteban Chord Chart

Seriously, my life seems incomplete without one.

If you haven't seen it, you should really try to catch Esteban on HSN when he's hawking his shitty burswood (fancy slang for PLYWOOD) guitars and bunging up scales like a true tone-deaf champion.

Anyhow, the chord chart is easily the biggest item in the package - like a big-ass movie poster... and it says "ESTEBAN" right at the top and has a fancy Esteban silhouette behind the (hopefully) misfingered chords and you can hang it up to show everyone how awesome you are.

I really want people to know how awesome I am. I need an Esteban Chord Chart.

Unfortunately, the only way you can get one is to order a package deal from HSN. The trouble with that is that it comes with the guitar. And other shit which I really don't need to spend good shipping fees on just to have it brought to my house. And really, who believes it when HSN tells you their $197.95 price is a fantastic deal since the retail value on all of the items in the package, if purchased separately, is over $802.67?

First, you can't buy the items separately. I tried. HSN would not budge when I insisted they sell me the chord chart for $14.95 or $19.95 or whatever the fuck was on their "if priced separately" list. I even offered them more. I think I was offering $30 or $40 and they still said they couldn't do it.

Second, HSN seems to be a little dodgy with their decimal placement. By my estimation, all of the stuff in the package -- the plywood guitar, the pre-rusted strings, the already-has-a-short-in-it cable, the can't-hear-it-because-I'm-breathing-and-that-masks-the-sound guitar amp, the picks, the chart, the books, the fabulous DVD's -- all of that shit comes up to about $8. And that includes the shipping from China.

But, I digress. I need an Esteban Chord Chart.

Isn't there someone out there who got one of these hunks of shit from their grandma, or from their evil step-mother? Give me the chord chart. You can keep the other crap so you can point it out when the demon-spawn who foisted it on you comes by for a visit. "See there Grandma? There's the Esteban guitar you got for me. I'd love to play it for you, but I was playing "House of the Rising Sun" on it earlier and the sharp fret edges filleted my finger tips. I'd love to play it for you, but I have to wait until my hamburger hands heal up."

And now, here's the saddest news of all.

I found the chord chart. It had to dig several pages deep into a google search to unearth it. You can find it here.

I'll wait down here while you check that out.

_____________________________________







Isn't that just a pisser?

$11.95 for the chord chart. And they give you a free amp, cable, and books, too. I guess that's to weigh down the package so it doesn't blow away when UPS leaves it on your porch. (unless you have the spiteful UPS man who silently sneaks up to the door and slaps his yellow tag on the window without bothering to knock. "No. Really, mr. UPSman, I wasn't waiting here all day for that delivery. I'm really glad you took my highly anticipated, and probably very valuable purchase with you to sit in your truck overnight in some nasty UPS hole. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I guess you probably thought I ordered an Esteban guitar and you were thinking you were doing me a favor.'")

WHY IS IT FUCKING SOLD OUT? WHO THE FUCK WOULD EVER WANT ONE? It's not even advertised properly - they're trying to sell you on the amp. Jeez. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Give it to Mikey.

Funky Smith posted a recipe. My wife wants to try it. She told Funky about this. Now Funky is telling my wife to eat Spag. instead of her recipe. I dunno why. That's just the story I heard.

So, to make Funky feel better, I will post a recipe that she (and everyone else) is welcome to try. I hear it goes great with fresh bananas and milk.

1 oz. toenails

2 tbsp. dead arm hair

1 pinch of crud from under the lip of the kitchen counter

4 early-morning eye crusts

3 dozen chocolate chips

1/2 cup egg beaters

1/3 cup cottage cheese

15 bite-sized chunks of beefsteak

7 sticks of sugarless gum

Mix first five ingredients in a small sauce pan on high heat.

When the chocolate begins to burn to the bottom of the pan pour in the egg beaters and the cottage cheese. Stir for twenty-five minutes. Keep heat on high. Do not stop stirring.

Balance the beefsteak chunks on the ends of the gum sticks. You have an extra one in case you drop one on the floor. (you wouldn't want to get any germs in the recipe)

Drop the balanced beef-gum into the pot one at a time. The gum should get sticky and wrap around the beef. If it doesn't, try to stab it with a fork and twist it around.

Once you have the gum wrapped neatly around all the beefsteaks, stir the whole mess for about an hour. But take a ten minute break every fifteen minutes. Leave it on high heat the whole time or it won't come out right.

After you've stirred it for an hour, place the pan on a cookie sheet and put the whole shebang into a preheated 550 degree oven.

Bake for 45 minutes.

Take it out of the oven and serve hot.

Serves two.

Protesting the Stupids, pt. 2

I HATE THE FOOTBALL TALKER.

FUCK.

He is now READING STATS off of some web page OUT LOUD for the benefit of
everyone around him.

One pick. 33 yards.
358 yards. That's a league record.
So is the 386.

I hope he chokes on a field goal.

a day late. several dollars short.

See here for National Protest the Stupids Day

I am protesting the stupids today.

Honest.

I am lodging a full-scale protest.

The stupid is RIGHT HERE talking about the football. I protest.

Thanks.

I may be Sacky, but...

I don't care what kind of horn you play:

GROWN MEN SHOULD NOT BE HEARD TALKING ABOUT SACK RATES.

It's just not right.

I got my pencil...

now gimme something to write on.

Dust off your AST PowerExec laptop and your fancy clip-on trackball.

Less than two weeks until another installment of NaNoWriMo.

For those who don't know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. You get 30 days to eat turkey, visit the in-laws, shop for Christmas, and somehow hack out a 50,000 word novel.

I did it last year. I actually finished a book for the first time in I dunno how many false starts.

This year leaves me wondering if I should even bother -- let's compare:

Last year I had a stupid job which had me home most of the time.
Last year I had a pregnant wife who also wrote a novel while she continued being pregnant.
Last year I had a semi-fresh idea which I wasn't afraid to explore.

This year I have NO TIME. None. Time is extinct as far as I'm concerned.
This year we have a baby who requires LOTS OF ATTENTION. Giving attention to a baby is time consuming. Back up a few sentences if you forgot how much time is available.
This year I have a new slant on an old idea, but I'm scared of it because I've started and restarted it several times over the years and it never goes anywhere.

So yeah, write a book. Maybe I'll read it in my spare time.

my brain is turning to mush

1. I have a cough. Probably bronchitis. Or worse. I wish it would stop.

2. The football guy is going NON-STOP because there are no calls coming in.

I'm so sick of hearing about Raven's stats from '99 and 2000. Seriously. WHO THE FUCK CARES?

I wonder if he knows what kind of picks Jeff Loomis uses. I could tell him, but I don't think he'd give a shit - kinda the same way I feel about everything coming out of his mouth.

OH. I should clarify something from my initial post about the Football Talker.

He does have something to do with the Ravens. He plays in the band. He gets to go to all the home games for free and toot his horn.

Whatever.

fartypants jones

I can eat a box of cookies for dinner if I want to. Can you do that?

No, you can't. Because you're a fart-faced kid.

Get 'em while they're young

Make sure your children get an early start in computer education.

Here's what my son, who is just five and a half months old can do (with a little help from his mother):

From MSN Messenger

Baby says:
';' cv
Daddy says:
hi there, mr. baby
Baby says:
d ]]]]-]`====-
Daddy says:
are you having a good day?
Baby says:
[''gbf-p/..c
Daddy says:
don't tear off any keys
Baby says:
./=- i7j88uh7tr6555555555555555555y6gv bn u=76
Baby says:
8ip8o0-9999999999999999999099 0p-['?
Daddy says:
where is your dog book?
Baby says:
qq`dxqa1wQqazcxzx
Daddy says:
I don't think it's there.
Daddy says:
Where did you leave it?
Baby says:
I gave him his own computer and now he's kicking it
Baby says:
Off the couch
Daddy says:
that's what he usually does with it
Baby says:
but he's mad because his doesn't light up
Daddy says:
that's for sure
Daddy says:
take the battery out of mine and put it in that one. It might turn on if you're persistent with the power button
Baby says:
RJHNVJGG
Baby says:
NOT WORTH IT FOR 20 MIN.
Daddy says:
Why does he like the CAPS LOCk so muh?
Daddy says:
much
Baby says:
under his hand
Baby says:
he likes whatever is under his hand
Baby says:
do you get free pizza toay?
Daddy says:
i dunno what we get
Baby says:
ikj9788ok
Baby says:
doodle says ok
Daddy says:
that's good
Baby says:
78888888YMV`GHY7FCV ``````````````````````````````````````````28IJK PU,U,7

Way to go, Microsoft!

I know I'm not stupid. However, it's nice to have it validated from time to time.

The following is from a recent book on how to write DirectX code outside of C++:

"Managed DirectX was released with the latest version of the core DirectX libraries in DirectX9. It enables developers using the new .NET languages (i.e. C#, VB.NET, etc.) to develop rich multimedia applications with DirectX. Unfortunately the Managed DirectX runtime was released without adequate documentation, and developers are having a hard time figuring out the best way to write managed applications. This book covers how to use the Managed DirectX objects, how they differ from the core DirectX libraries..."

the_fuck_you_say.c

5 CLS
10 PRINT "MR. ALBRIGHT IS A GEEK ";
20 GOTO 10

There you have it. The first kind of computer program I learned how to write. I could even do it in two versions. The one -WITH- a semi-colon would print horizontally, wrapping the text when it got the edge of the fabulous 80-column green or amber screen (IF YOU WERE LUCKY) or the TV (NOT SO LUCKY NOW, ARE YOU?) that you had your Tandy hooked to. OR -- if you left out the semi-colon then it would just print a single in-line column of your selected slogan.

Simple. Maybe that's why they called it BASIC.

Somewhere along the line, I learned PASCAL, as well. Shortly thereafter (along the line) I forgot anything at all about actually DOING Pascal. I do remember making a fully functional Minesweeper program in my fancy class, however. I also remember having Kingo help me with some part of an assignment and we got some kind of crazy error message upon running whatever the program was. We dug deep into the manual and found a reference to it - which stated specifically, "You should never see this error."

So yeah, even way back, I was perfectly adept at ruining the innards of computers.

Around about 1998, I stumbled upon VBScript. VBScript is an offshoot of Microsoft's Visual Basic language. Visual Basic is a souped up version of the old standby which I first learned - only now it has Windows form components so you can drag-n-drop buttons and text boxes and menus and assign some code to events - like when the user clicks on the "OK" button.

VBScript left out most of the GUI garbage and focused on getting shit done - shit in a "sneaking around behind the beast" way of administratinizing Windows machines.

I managed to cobble together some VBScript tools for my job and realized a new sense of satisfaction. Sure, they were simple tools but -- no one else had done it (and many had tried) and, most importantly, they fucking worked. In one instance my VBScript which took a few days of learning-while-coding saved the company a lot of money by negating the purchase of some outside tool.

I also played around a little bit with the full-fledge Visual Basic, but not much. And then I left that job and didn't touch any programming for the next 8 years.

Which brings me to my new job. I'm helpdesking, and over the course of any given day, I can be called on to execute the same task, or set of tasks, a number of times. Since I hate repetition of labor, my mind instantly starts churning and looking for a way to make it easier, faster, better, or more fun.

In the sense of most of the jobs I've had, the "more fun" option is the only one which ever seems feasible, but is usually out of the question due to some shitty policy like, "no throwing cakes" or "don't ride the shopping carts."

In the sense of Windows administration, this line of thinking leads to creating working tools that cut repetition out of the picture. Never mind that the actual task only takes 3 minutes. If I have to do it three times in a day, I become furious and frustrated. So, I take the time, away from work, or on breaks, to dust off my scripting skills and create a utility to do my job for me. In the sense of this particular utility, all of my co-workers will also benefit.

But that brings me to the deeper problem. I'm never really content with any one thing. I've always been flighty when it comes to my interests and I've never managed to acquire any real mastery of all the things I pursue. Except for fixing the hardware side of computers. On that count, I will dare you to find an equal.

But with everything else, I manage to attain some modicum of proficiency and that's usually good enough for me. I can play the guitar, but I don't have mastery of music theory. I can bash out a beat on a drumset, but I lack the nuance and feel of a good drummer. I can make a guitar or write a story, but all of these efforts seem as if they're forced into existence as half-assed creations and not the true artistic expressions they could be.

The same goes for the various jobs I've had - but over these years I've recognized a certain feeling of belonging. A feeling of "this is right" that rarely comes along. In the eight years since I stumbled upon VBscript programming, I've only consistently maintained an interest in one thing. Race cars and toys and bands have all come and gone - but I've been unable to go more than a few days without futzing with some kind of audio recording. I get a feeling that says "this is it" and it seems right.

I get that same feeling when some program I wrote actually does what it's supposed to do.

I tried to make a living at the audio recording. It might have worked, but I took too big a step - more like a giant fucking leap - to actually maintain any momentum in the cold, harsh real world of bill collectors.

And now I've made the switch from fixing computer hardware (remember - I said up above that it's the one skill I've attained any real mastery in) and I'm back in the kind of environment I was in back in 1998 when my utility programs saved the day.

And I've done it again. And I want more. And I've developed a plan.

My plan is this:

1. Learn by doing.

That's it. That's the whole plan. If I set out to -DO- programming, I'll be able to do it. But in order to make it work and make it stick if it gets tough, it has to be interesting, it has to fit together and it has to bring back that feeling.

So how better to do that than to make some kind of program which records audio?

And that, ladies and germs, is why I try not to make plans.

Because - I have an understanding of how to put things together in Visual Basic - it's easy to follow since it kinda reads like English. Broken, terribly formatted English, but English nonetheless.

What I'm finding is that PEOPLE DON'T MAKE REAL PROGRAMS IN VISUAL BASIC. Actually, I pretty much already knew that. I just chose to ignore it and hope it would go away.
And -- it seems like it's trying to go away. Microsoft has revamped their line of Development tools and Visual Basic is -SUPPOSEDLY- capable of doing anything the others can do.

But I cannot for the life of me find any way to access a soundcard device through Visual Basic.

I can make it play a sound. That's easy. But I'm using system defaults for that. I'm not telling it WHAT DEVICE to use to play the sound. I'm letting Windows pick the device. I WANT TO PICK THE FUCKING DEVICE.

Which leads me to the whole point of this idiotic rant.

Real people use real tools to create real programs.

Real tools in this case means C++

I don't know shit from C++. Not nothing. Not one fucking bit. It strikes me as pathetic that I can copy a few lines of text from a tutorial and make the C++ pop up a box with a message on it, BUT I STILL HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE HOW THE SYNTAX AND STRUCTURE WORKS.

With Visual Basic and VBScript I was able to look at a few lines of code and adapt them to whatever my actual need was. Not so with these crazy bracketses and double colons.

I guess I need a book. Or maybe a class. I fucking hate a class.
____________________________________

#include "unintelligible.h"
#include "make_no_sense.h"
#include "lots of fucking brackets.h"

*/
Don't forget the fucking semi-colons.
/*

static int sound_scream;
static int sound_shout;
static int sound_yell;
static int sound_punch;
static int sound_curse;
static int sound_fuck;

void any_kind_of_sense_at_all (edict_t *self, edict_t *other)
{
gi.sound (self, CHAN_VOICE, sound_fuck, 1, ATTN_NORM, 0);
}

void what_the_fuck (edict_t *self)
{
gi.sound (self, CHAN_VOICE, sound_scratchy, 1, ATTN_NORM, 0);
}


void fuckit (edict_t *self);
mframe_t berserk_frames_stand [] =
{
ai_stand, 0, berserk_fidget,
ai_stand, 0, NULL,
ai_stand, 0, NULL,
ai_stand, 0, NULL,
ai_stand, 0, NULL
};

*/

I promise, I didn't make this last part up.

/*

Running -> Arm raised in air

void() berserk_runb1 =[ $r_att1 , berserk_runb2 ] {ai_run(21);};
void() berserk_runb2 =[ $r_att2 , berserk_runb3 ] {ai_run(11);};
void() berserk_runb3 =[ $r_att3 , berserk_runb4 ] {ai_run(21);};
void() berserk_runb4 =[ $r_att4 , berserk_runb5 ] {ai_run(25);};
void() berserk_runb5 =[ $r_att5 , berserk_runb6 ] {ai_run(18);};
void() berserk_runb6 =[ $r_att6 , berserk_runb7 ] {ai_run(19);};
// running with arm in air : start loop
void() berserk_runb7 =[ $r_att7 , berserk_runb8 ] {ai_run(21);};
void() berserk_runb8 =[ $r_att8 , berserk_runb9 ] {ai_run(11);};
void() berserk_runb9 =[ $r_att9 , berserk_runb10 ] {ai_run(21);};
void() berserk_runb10 =[ $r_att10 , berserk_runb11 ] {ai_run(25);};
void() berserk_runb11 =[ $r_att11 , berserk_runb12 ] {ai_run(18);};
void() berserk_runb12 =[ $r_att12 , berserk_runb7 ] {ai_run(19);};
// running with arm in air : end loop

It's good that I have friends. If I didn't, I wouldn't know about half of the fabulous ways to waste time on the Internet.

On our next program: Yeti Sports

a L p

1. This should be. No - fuck that. NEEDS TO BE a TV show. Like NOW. Pay the man some money for his idea. Kill the people who made the AvP movie. Buy the rights from Fox, and make this TV show. NOW.

2. Seeing as how there are more than 200 of these, it makes me sad to think how much fun and giggling I've missed.

I guess I'll have to make up for it and read them all tonight.

Favorite Word