Sentential Links #59

It’s that time again. I’m doing something new this time out: none of the blogs linked below have ever been linked by me before. In fact, few of them have ever been seen by me before. I’m just doing some Googling and linking, in an effort to shake things up a little. Some of this will be exceedingly weird; some of it will be perfectly normal. And you won’t know until you click which are the weird ones! Ha!

:: THE PLANES USED IN THE ATTACKS ON THE TWIN TOWERS WERE PILOTED BY REMOTE CONTROL. (Well, you can probably tell whether this one’s weird or not without clicking through. But it’s pretty trippy, anyway.)

:: Second week of my wild foods class…learning about all the edible weeds growing around is like meeting new friends.

:: I should say something pithy: hmmm. Maybe do a “what I learned” rant or something. Well, what I learned: some people in the field of UFO studies are idiots.

:: We listened as speakers at Penn State were shouting their opposition to a war in Iraq, but what they failed to understand is that this is the most important area of the world right now. The Controllers – architects for the New World Order – have pinpointed the Middle East and Eurasia as the most valuable real estate on the globe because of its oil and raw materials. If the United States doesn’t take this land – or, should we say the “Controllers” – somebody else IS going to. It won’t sit there forever unclaimed. (There’s probably niftier stuff in there, but this blog’s color scheme is very hard on the eyes.)

:: And when I drive back into San Francisco from the airport, it will no longer be the city I share with Trousers. It’ll be a different place, minus one absolutely unique, amazing, precious person and a little bloody chunk of my heart. (Not safe for work.)

:: That’s what I love about David Gemmell; you’ll never see a hero like Aragorn, only Boromir. You’ll never read of King Peter, only Edmund. And that’s exactly what real life is: deeply flawed people sometimes rising to the heroic. (David Gemmell died the other day. I’ve never read him. I will make a point of doing so.)

:: I know those who hail from the Northern Hemisphere are melting in a heatwave, but down South, things are rather cool and grey. Very dull.

All for this week. Remember, I’ve never read a one of these before, and I didn’t “vet” them by digging into their archives either, so your mileage may vary!

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Can I have a green ray instead?

I’ve been observing the introduction of HD-DVD and Blu-ray with some befuddlement, because I just can’t convince myself that a new format is needed. Of course, I’m not a technodweeb kind of guy: as I noted recently, I have the same Sony Discman I’ve been using for over a decade, and I still have the same shelf stereo that I’ve been using for a year less than the Discman. I didn’t get a DVD player until 2003. I’m not afraid of technology, but I never get this sense of urgency about it.

Anyway, here’s an interesting article about HD-DVD and Blu-ray. Its tone is very skeptical.

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Another Answer….

Here’s a quick answer to another question from Ask Me Anything!:

How did you and The Wife meet?

We were in the band together in college. She played the oboe; I played the trumpet. It’s not like we sat next to each other in the band or anything, but I didn’t “meet” her in the sense of thinking, “Hmmmm, I should ask her out” until halfway through my sophomore year. We were both good friends with a third party, who went with my roommate and I to the local bar to celebrate his birthday that year. (This was February 1991.) The Future Wife came along for the ride. After a few hours of drinks and bar food, everyone else went to the dance floor. Not being a dance floor type, I stayed at the table to continue my assault on a pitcher of Bud Light. And the Future Wife stayed as well, to my surprise.

A few days later, I asked her out. Our first date was to go see Edward Scissorhands. We talked a bit beforehand, liked the movie, talked a bit afterward, went on our way. We didn’t hold hands or kiss or anything like that. I wanted there to be a second date, but I wasn’t sure she felt the same way. Turned out she did; another mutual friend (later the Maid of Honor at our wedding) told me so. We somehow ended up hanging out together the next night. And the night after. And the night after that.

Other stuff about our early relationship? Let’s see — she turned 21 just a few days after we started dating, so I had a steady source of alcohol until I turned 21 myself a year and a half later. When she met me, she had never seen a single Star Wars movie. Having grown up in a family of farmers (though she didn’t grow up on an actual farm, I think), she knew a lot of stuff that I had no idea whatsoever about, and she used to derive great amusement from my inability to distinguish chickens from turkeys. (I got better.) She drove herself to New York to spend a week with me that subsequent summer. When we’d been dating about a year and a half, I bought her her first pair of overalls. (God, she looked cute that night.) She stayed in Iowa when I graduated, while I moved home. We were apart for nine months. That sucked. She moved to New York in 1994, with the help of myself and my parents in getting her stuff out of Iowa. We continued to date. And date. And date. Many nights spent at a bar called the Bird Cage, drinking and eating chicken wings. In 1996 — I can’t remember the date — she proposed to me, but in my defense, had JCPenney actually had the damn ring in the right size the day before instead of having to special order it which took an extra two weeks, I would have proposed to her. When I went to pick up the ring, somehow JCPenney misplaced the paperwork, and some poor clerk spent his entire lunch hour looking for it. And I’ve just now realized that I never wrote a letter to thank the guy. Shit.

Anyway, that’s how we started dating. I’m not sure when, or even if, we actually “met”. Do we ever actually remember meeting the most important people in our lives?

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Beat your children! It’s legal!

That was the solicitation shouted out, in an overly-thick British accent, by the attendant at the pillow-fight game at the Sterling Renaissance Festival yesterday. I’m happy to report that on balance, a wonderful time was had by all, even though our day at the Festival was cut short by a persistent rain that set in about 5:00 pm. We stuck around for the 6:00 joust, watching from beneath the eaves of the waxworker’s shop, although we passed on dinner at the Festival. Life affords fewer finer pleasures than sitting in the grass as the sun dips behind the hills and dining on street food prepared “Renaissance style” while guys in armor on horseback tilt at one another on the field before you, but the sad fact is that street food stinks in the rain. Oh well. We arrived at the Festival shortly before 11:00 am, so we had a good seven hours there. Good for us. Next year, we hope to go in costume. I’ll try to have pictures up sometime next week, after the film gets back.

Random thoughts on our day at the Festival and our drive there and back again (now, what does that remind me of?):

:: We drove most of the way to the Festival on the New York State Thruway. We drove back on regular, toll-free roads. I like the toll-free roads better.

:: I have to note that driving through towns in Upstate NY gets more and more depressing every year. Every town has a “business district” that consists of a bunch of empty buildings. It’s really pretty sad. I was especially saddened to note that, on our drive home, we found ourselves at the very foot of Irondequoit Bay. There’s a building there that once housed a restaurant, but now houses nothing. That restaurant would have had one of the most gorgeous views in New York State, and it’s closed. So here in New York we’ve managed to create a business climate that actually refutes the longstanding notion that “location is everything”.

:: If you’re going to go to a Renaissance Festival in costume, great! But you gotta make some effort, folks. No, you don’t have to go all-out super-elaborate, like the guy in the full-bore Knights Templar armor, but you do have to not spoil the illusion. That means being in costume from head to toe. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and then throwing a velvet cape on over the top of this, doesn’t cut it.

:: And I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that I’ve rarely wanted to punch a complete stranger more than the two doofuses who showed up to a Renaissance Faire dressed as Superman and Spiderman.

:: God sure likes to send mixed messages, doesn’t he? He gives us this faulty, violent world — and he also gives us Renaissance Festivals frequented by busty young women in corsets.

:: OK, folks, I know that it’s one of the greatest examples of the comedic art, in any form. I know that it’s absolutely hilarious and magnificent, and I know that the temptation to quote from it can be hard enough to resist in real life*, much less in a setting like a Renaissance Festival, when that temptation can become overwhelming. I get it, folks.

So it’s with nothing but love and heartfelt concern that I inform you that walking around shouting quotes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail like “I’m bein’ repressed!” and “Ni!” is the Renaissance Festival equivalent of shouting “Freebird!” at a rock concert. Don’t do this, folks. Wandering through a Renaissance Festival with your friends, pretending to debate the airspeed of an unladen swallow, is just shooting fish in a barrel. Don’t do it.

* A litmus test I sometimes use at The Store is, when I’m pushing around this big gray cart that I use to collect full trash bags from our trash cans, to intone “Bring out your dead!” If you laugh, you’re golden.

:: I didn’t buy as much stuff as I’d kind of hoped. Much, if not all, of the merchandise is hand-made, and is all very beautiful. I’d love to own a pewter tankard from which I’d quaff my ales, but I can’t yet justify $75 for such a thing. I was planning to get back to one earthenware maker’s shop whose wares I’d liked the look of the first time through, but the rain at the end of the day pretty much put that thought out of my mind. Oh well. There’s always next year. I did buy The Wife a stoneware mug for coffee, and The Daughter got a princess hat and a woven pouch to wear around her neck and a couple other trinkets. I bought a few notecards from this artist. This is what I love most about the Renaissance Festival scene: in a world where everybody’s buying the same mass-produced stuff at Target and Wal-Mart, what a fine pleasure it is to buy something that someone made, and to hand my money for the item to the person who made it.

:: If you want to see grace, craftsmanship, and artistry on display all at one time, find a master glassblower and watch him or her in action. It’s truly amazing. Would that I had been able to afford his wares!

And so ended our day at the Sterling Renaissance Festival. Folks, I can’t recommend this event highly enough, if you have any kind of Romance in you at all. Maybe we can even make it a BloggerCon next year! (OK, that was a goofy thought. But still, it’s a wonderful place to go.)

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Ahhh….time for some restful blogging….

It’s been a few days since I posted something, mainly because it’s been a very busy few days here at Casa Jaquandor Jaquandor’s Cafe Americain Moe’s Tavern. Friday was a very busy day at The Store (it kind of harshes the bakery department’s mellow when their oven door breaks halfway through the morning baking), followed by lots of preparations for a busy weekend. Yesterday was the Sterling Renaissance Festival (more on that a bit later), which involved lots of driving and getting caught in the rain. Today was church, followed by a quick round of grocery shopping, followed by a return to the church for the church picnic. Then there were two loads of laundry, dinner for The Daughter, and falling asleep on the floor for about twenty minutes. Now it’s 8:00 p.m. and I’m blogging for the first time since whenever the last time I blogged was.

So, in short, why yes, I would like some cheese with my whine.

I’ll now be back to my regularly scheduled irregular posting in this space. In fact, I may be posting more through the first three days of this week, since we’re on the cusp of a series of days on which the high temperatures are forecasted to be such that I may well work up some heat exhaustion just from the exertion of applying my right foot to the gas pedal for the drive into work.

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Five Things

I’m stealing this from Paul. It’s just “five things…”

…in my refrigerator.

1. Strawberries.
2. Blueberries.
3. A 2.5 gallon jug of spring water, the kind with the spigot.
4. Several bottles of Yuengling’s.
5. A very old bottle of huckleberry syrup — wonder if that stuff’s still any good!

…in my closet.

1. All of my uniform shirts from The Store.
2. All of my overalls.
3. All of my tie-dyed stuff.
4. A number of pairs of shoes.
5. My telescope. Gotta get it out again one of these years.

…in my purse.

Errr…let’s change that one, actually:

…in my toolbox.

1. A set of Klein screwdrivers and nut drivers.
2. A carpenter’s square.
3. A whole bunch of drill bits, including four different size countersink bits, five sizes masonry bits, four sizes of glass/ceramic tile bits, and a whole bunch of different size driver heads for my quick-change system.
4. A small Mag-light flashlight.
5. A bunch of pairs of pliers.

…in my vehicle.

1. Two boxes of books for the next library book sale.
2. About thirty granola bar wrappers. (I eat them on the way to work in the morning, stuff them in a plastic grocery bag when I’m done, and toss the bag when it’s full.)
3. A spare tire.
4. The ribbon from a birthday gift a friend gave me.
5. A couple of empty water bottles.

I guess I might as well add a few more categories:

…on my desk.

1. Three different candle-holders that use tealights.
2. Two cups full of pens: one holds fountain pens, the other ballpoints, rollerballs, Sharpies, and highlighters.
3. Two die-cast Millennium Falcons. Yup, I have two of ’em now. Wanna make something of it?
4. A box of 3.5 inch floppy disks. Wonder if there’s still anything important on those….
5. My eleven-year-old Sony Discman. Paid $200 for it back in 1995; still going strong. Yeah, the same player would cost about $40 today, but so what? It still works.

…on my walls.

1. A Phantom Menace poster.
2. A map of the world from National Geographic.
3. A Casablanca poster.
4. A Celtic wall-hanging.
5. A wooden shelf laden with knick-knacks.

…on my bookshelves (other than books).

1. Three chess sets: a Mayan set that I got at the Fair last year, an Isle of Lewis set The Wife bought me years ago, and a set that my sister bought for me also years ago. Can’t wait until The Daughter learns chess.
2. A clone-trooper action figure, posed standing with a tripod-mounted blaster rifle.
3. An early manuscript of The Promised King, written before I realized that a hundred-page infodump wasn’t a good thing.
4. A fake gargoyle.
5. A multicolored candle that was also a gift from a friend. I probably won’t burn it because it’s a memento.

…in my head.

1. “God, our President is a pinhead.”
2. “Two days to training camp! Woo-hoo!”
3. “Two days to training camp. Man, are they gonna suck….”
4. “I could go for some pie.”
5. “The mist of May is in the gloamin’,
There’s lazy music in the rill;
So take my hand and let’s go roamin’
Through the heather on the hill!”

…I want to do in the next few years.

1. Learn carpentry.
2. Read as much space opera as possible.
3. Finish The Promised King.
4. Attend the Sterling Renaissance Festival in costume. (We’re going this weekend, in boring modern wear.)
5. Read. Think. Learn. (Thanks, M-Mv!)

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Ranting about the TeeVee

I’m on record as being a hopeless addict of American Idol. Having stipulated my hopeless love of that show, I have to note that I’m getting sick of the idea that every damn reality show now has to be a competition of some sort.

I’m getting a big kick this summer of watching all of the acts on America’s Got Talent, from the somewhat normal (acrobats) to the bizarre (a guy who balanced a running lawnmower on his chin and then had assistants toss heads of lettuce into it). But the “competition” aspect of the show is utterly annoying.

I could not conceivably care one whit less what David F***ing Hasselhoff thinks of jugglers, nor could I possibly be less interested in what some woman named “Brandy” thinks of a ventriloquist, and I absolutely could live my whole life without knowing what some pompous-assed Brit named “Piers” thinks the problem is with the act he’s just watched.

So you know what, TV networks? How about just bringing back the good old variety show, and tell these celebrity judges to get bent and just go back to wherever it is they came from so they can keep living off the residuals from Knight Rider and Baywatch? Let’s just have Regis introducing whacky, fun acts for an hour. Maybe have the audience vote on a favorite each week, and give that favorite act some kind of small prize, like a thousand bucks or something. Lots of folks in this world will happily develop their mad unicycling skills or whatever for a shot at a thousand bucks and five minutes of TV time.

(Oh, and Piers? The problem I have with you is that you think the fact that your accent makes it sound like you know what you’re talking about actually means that you know what you’re talking about. Wanker.)

UPDATE: OK, here’s an example of how full of shit this Piers guy is. The way the show works, at this point, is that fifteen acts are sitting in the audience, waiting to see if they are called to the stage to perform in one of ten slots. So, five acts never make it to the stage, and they don’t know their fate until the last act is called. OK? So the very last act on tonight’s show is a group of people who do an intricate dance routine on stilts, with lots of very athletic activity. And in the course of doing their performance, one of them fell and then had to get back up and recover.

So in his comments, Piers the Twit Who Thinks He Knows WTF He Is Talking About pronouces that the act is unworthy, because “at this level in the competition, if you fall in your act, you don’t deserve to move on”.

One of the troupe’s members, though, points out what should be really obvious: their stilt-dancing act is a highly athletic one, and athletic acts would never sit still in their chairs for two-plus hours before performing with no notice at all. Before any performance, an athletic performer will be warming up, stretching, and getting ready. Hell, it isn’t even any athletic performance — all performers have to warm up and get ready to be on stage. Does Piers imagine that NFL players arrive at the stadium at 12:45 p.m. for a 1:00 game, toss on their pads, and run out onto the field? or that the musicians of the Berlin Philharmonic just toss on their tuxes or gowns at 7:30 for an 8:00 concert, walk out onstage, and put their bows to the strings or their lips to their instruments only on the conductor’s first downbeat of the performance?

Piers is the worst kind of idiot: a guy who makes his idiocy sound reasonable by virtue of good diction and a British accent. Wanker.

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Circumventing the Link-Blocking

Ahhh, I see that Glenn Greenwald has attained the position of being a sufficient nuisance to right-wing blogs that the more odious of them are doing the good old “linkage blocking” trick. In this case, Greenwald wades into the cesspool that is Little Green Footballs, and apparently has his link redirected. Well, as I posted last September, there’s a simple enough way around that, if liberal bloggers really want to link something in the fetid swampland of Far Right Blogistan:

But anyway, it doesn’t matter, because there’s an easy way for us liberal bloggers to get around this, and as a service to my fine liberal brethren, here’s how it works. Instead of using the URL to the right-wing blog post in question when creating your link, first take this string:

http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=

Then, you simply append the post URL to the end, immediately after the equal-sign. So, if you’re going to link Byzantium’s Shores, instead of linking this URL:

https://forgottenstars.net

…you’ll actually link this URL:

http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=https://forgottenstars.net

What you’ve just done is create a redirect through Google, which according to my brief experimentation with SiteMeter and this blog, shows up as a hit but one with an unknown referring URL. Likewise, I doubt Technorati would pick it up as a link. And besides, no blogger is going to be insane enough as to block referrals from Google, right?

So there you go, liberal bloggers — break free of the traffic-blocking shackles! Link whomever you desire!

Never hurts to revisit the basic techniques, folks.

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More Answers

Time to give a few more answers to questions posed in Ask Me Anything!. In no particular order:

You once called “The Stackhouse Filibuster” the first bad episode of the West Wing. As it happens, it’s my favorite. Why do you think it’s bad?

I actually outlined my reasons for disliking that episode in the post on my favorite TWW episodes, but for the sake of simplicity I’ll just excerpt the relevant portion here:

Why do I seriously dislike “Stackhouse”? Well, I do like the framing device of the episode a lot: each act is told from the point-of-view of a different character, with that character narrating from a letter to a loved one. But that’s about all that I like in this episode. The main story is that some health care bill that’s a slam-dunk to pass is suddenly filibustered by some elderly Senator, and this sends everyone into a massive tizzy as they try to figure out what’s going on. This all grinds on and on, until finally Donna raises her hand and makes a simple suggestion that turns out to be exactly what the doctor ordered, the filibuster ends, and everyone goes home happy. That sounds good, except that it’s a classic example of “the idiot plot”. An “idiot plot” is a story where the characters are kept precisely as dumb as they need to be, at all times, in order to keep the story moving until the right time. (For further examples of the “idiot plot” in action, watch just about any episode of Three’s Company or Seventh Heaven.)

“The Stackhouse Filibuster” also sports the single most cringe-worthy scene in the show’s entire run, a horrible, horrible moment in which Sam is taken to task by some lowly intern because he is singling out annual government reports for cancellation. This scene is bad on so many levels it’s hard to sort them out. First, the intern is just plain snotty, and I can’t believe for one second that Sam (or any White House senior staff member) would not only put up with that kind of behavior, but praise it; and worse, this was at least the third or fourth example of a meme that Aaron Sorkin wisely quashed after its completion, namely, “A plucky intelligent woman gives Sam food for thought”. After his conversations with Leo’s daughter, Laurie the call-girl law student, and Republican lawyer Ainsley Hayes, the idea that Sam could be rendered speechless by some intern just made my skin itch. Bad, bad scene.

So there it is. I couldn’t believe that the White House staff would just sit around during a filibuster and never once wonder if maybe the guy who’d specifically met with Josh to have funding for a specific ailment added to a healthcare bill and who’d been pissed off by Josh’s refusal to do anything about it just might have a personal reason for caring deeply enough about that particular ailment to filibuster the bill, I couldn’t believe that nobody in the entire White House senior staff knew anything about Senate floor debate rules excepting Donna (surely Josh, having been a senior aide to Senator John Hoynes, would have known something about it), and I couldn’t believe that an intern would speak to Sam in the way that Winifrid did. (Thank God that Winifrid didn’t become a recurring character.)

If you could change one thing that you did in your past, what would it be? Do you think it would have made your life better or worse?

I’ve probably noted this in the past, but when we first moved to Buffalo from the Southern Tier in late 2000, I applied for a bunch of jobs, including my first application with The Store (another location, but same company). I also interviewed with the telesales company I’ve mentioned in the past, and got hired there. So when The Store called me after the telesales company had already offered me a position, I never returned their call. Eighteen months later, the telesales company showed me the door (frankly, I don’t blame them, because my sales skills were such that had I been Dr. Faust, Mephistopheles would have walked away from the deal, and I would have left them a month or so later anyway when The Wife’s transfer to Syracuse came through). It took until early 2004, and six more applications, before I finally got on with The Store. Persistence pays off, yes, but so does actually listening to those nagging doubts.

Would my life have been better if I’d joined The Store in January 2001 as opposed to three years later? My, yes. I wouldn’t have struggled through six months of unemployment in Syracuse followed by another eight months of it back in Buffalo between June ’02 and January ’04, for one thing. And certain people whom I have come to love dearly would have been in my life that much earlier.

Robert Frost’s poem aside, sometimes you do get to revisit old forks in the path of life. They might be a little more overgrown, a little more grassy and in want of wear, but they’re the same forks. And as Mr. Berra said, when you come to fork in the road, take it!

What was the first album you ever purchased and why?

With my own money? The soundtrack album to The Empire Strikes Back. It was a double LP, with a gatefold cover. Inside was a booklet that told the tale of the film with big pictures, and there were pretty good liner notes, too. I played that album so much over the years that, when I last played it during the summer before college, the pops and scratches in the LP surface made the music nearly unrecognizable in spots. I bought that album with my own allowance money. For the first few months I owned it, I didn’t even own a record player of my own (this was 1980, and I was eight years old), so I had to listen to it in my parents’ bedroom where they kept their record player. I’d get my own record player later that following Christmas, and the first record I played on it was that very copy of TESB.

On many film music albums, even to this day, the music is often re-edited out of the order in which the cues are heard in the film and into kinds of “suites” designed to make for better sit-down listening, and that original release of the TESB score was no exception. One track, for example, was titled “The Heroics of Luke and Han”, and began with music from Luke’s escape from the Wampa creature’s cave, which was followed by some action stuff that wasn’t even used in the film (but was intended for portions of Luke’s peril in the Hoth landscape all alone and Han’s search for him), and then concluded with the final moments of music from the Battle of Hoth sequence — “Imperial troops have entered the base!”, the Millennium Falcon‘s escape, and finally Luke’s departure from Hoth for Dagobah. This is standard procedure for many film music albums; what you hear on the disc isn’t the exact same thing as what you hear in the film.

Years later, in 1993, the soundtrack albums from all three original trilogy Star Wars films appeared on a box set, which was the first time most of that music was on CD at all. (The original CD release of TESB was a travesty.) But on that CD, the music was resequenced out of the original album order into the order the tracks are heard in the film. And four years after that, the definitive version of this score was issued on a 2-disc set in conjunction with the Special Editions. For four years I listened to the 1993 box set TESB disc, and since 1997, I’ve listened many a time to the 2-disc SE set. And even still my ears want to fill in the music as I learned it, from the RSO double LP, over twenty-five years ago.

All for now, more to come!

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