Since June, I've been freelancing. Which includes playing video games, sleeping in, watching Scrubs 4 to 6 times a day, and complaining about how the feral cats in my backyard bring down my quality of life. In my spare time, I collect back-pay from the New York State Dept. of Labor and hope jobs will fall in my lap. These include digital tech, when I go on a shoot with a photographer and art director, hook a camera up to a laptop, and tell them the photos all look good, and doing color correction and retouching for photographers I made contacts with at my old job. It's been swell, and I haven't been too stressed out.
That is until I picked up a job with a fashion photographer named J. Castle Greyskull.* She had placed an ad on Craigslist looking for people who had worked at my company and a few others; I answered, and one short interview that involved playing Spartacus' favorite game (try to bite whatever part of me is near his teeth)**, I was hired. The job involved 10 hour a day shifts, editing and slight color correcting photos at Fashion week. Visions of beautiful models crowding around my laptop and offering to rub my broad shoulders flowed through my mind.
The vision started to blur a little and the women seemed less attentive to that knot in my back on arrival. I was greeted by 6 plus foot tall giraffe women, each weighing maybe 24 pounds, handing out copies of Metro. These weren't even the runway models, yet they made me look fat! Next, everything came to a sudden halt when I realized I was going to be spending 8 hours out of every day sitting in the Kinko's next to Bryant Park with a mostly incompetent partner (and next to a guy playing some first person shooter from the 90's) followed by more hours in Greyskull's apt. with her assistant, Judy Judgemental. Who was a flamboyant gay man who spent as much time as possible discussing how fat Britney was at the VMAs, anal bleaching, and how he didn't have an original opinion of his own. Wow, was this job turning out to be fun.
After 4 days, working 12-13 hours per day plus 3 hours of travel round trip, I ended up getting sick. It was after this that I complained that 13 hours is not the same as 10 and the photographer and her cowering minions laughed at me. Two days later, I had quit from coughing and overt surrounding crappiness. I was blissfully sick for another week, but at least had no reason to leave the apartment.
I realized something then. I'm willing to put up with a lot (such as 18 hour work days when I was in St. Maarten) in pursuit of something I want to do. Greyskull had some terrific connections. Still, I couldn't imagine myself cornering a celebrity and, along with 12 other vultures, asking them to swivel their heads my way "one more time" seventeen times more.
*Part of that name is real. You figure it out.
**Spartacus is a dog.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
It's RAIDing on my umbrella (of data storage devices)
Tonight I decided I needed to understand how RAIDs work, so I went to whom wikipedia's technology section would be if it was ever actualized in 3 dimensions: Human Dynamo.
"Dynamo, I do not understand. How do RAIDs work? I'm all confused, cause I thought a RAID was one thing, and it turns out if could be many different things...well, let me use an apt metaphor to describe it. It's like if you see an animal, and you tell someone 'I just saw a grey wolf outside' and they know exactly what you mean. But then you find out people use the word grey wolf like they use the word canine, and so what you saw could have meant red fox, grey wolf, dog, hell even dingo, to many different people."
*stunned silence from Dynamo*
Dynamo's lady friend: "No, I completely understand. It's like when you're in school, right, and your teacher tells you that a square is a parallelogram, but just because something is a parallelogram doesn't mean it's a square."
*High fives for the assist on the metaphor and explanation. Understanding is key to any good relationship.*
"Ok, but that's not...something about a grey wolf could also be a female or a male...so you see," Dynamo possibly said.
"No, Dynamo, that is completely incorrect. Whether it's female or male, it's still a grey wolf," I scientifically explained. "Also, in hindsight, I would like to tell you that there's no way you should get close enough to a live wolf to tell if it's male or female," I said, thinking ahead.
"See, L-Bo, a RAID IS* a bunch of drives all working together like you thought, but there can be different arrays and setups: mirrored, stripey-striped, mirror-stripey-striped and parity check.**"
"Dynamo, despite me being a 12th level intellect, and stunningly handsome, I do not understand."
"Ok, let's say there's a bunch of wolves, and they're out hunting in a pack..."
"WHOA, WHOA!! Why did you go with wolves, and not parallelograms? Huh??!!" Said an angry Dynamo's lady friend.
"Because, silly, parallelograms don't hunt in packs. They prefer to go the solo route."
"Oh, now I understand. Thanks L Bo," said a mollified and still anti-hyphenation Dynamo's lady friend.
"Anyway," began Dynamo, vainly trying to refocus the conversation, "let's say the wolves are out hunting bucks. Big buck hunting, if you will."
"Wolves don't hunt bucks," said a quite contrary D.L.F.
"No, they do." Said I. Quite succinctly.
"Well, a striped array would be like if one wolf went this way, and the other kind of flanked him, and this one went after the buck first and then this one followed."
"Okkkkk. I don't get it," said I, not getting it.
Eventually it was all explained, making me expert enough to write this article for you all to fully understand how a RAID worked, what it does and why they're so important. In case you need further details, however, go here: RAID.
*Is is just capitalized, IS does not stand for anything. RAID on the other hand stands for Redundant Array of Independent Drives.
**Note: I put no actual research into this and just kind of wrote things I thought I remembered.
"Dynamo, I do not understand. How do RAIDs work? I'm all confused, cause I thought a RAID was one thing, and it turns out if could be many different things...well, let me use an apt metaphor to describe it. It's like if you see an animal, and you tell someone 'I just saw a grey wolf outside' and they know exactly what you mean. But then you find out people use the word grey wolf like they use the word canine, and so what you saw could have meant red fox, grey wolf, dog, hell even dingo, to many different people."
*stunned silence from Dynamo*
Dynamo's lady friend: "No, I completely understand. It's like when you're in school, right, and your teacher tells you that a square is a parallelogram, but just because something is a parallelogram doesn't mean it's a square."
*High fives for the assist on the metaphor and explanation. Understanding is key to any good relationship.*
"Ok, but that's not...something about a grey wolf could also be a female or a male...so you see," Dynamo possibly said.
"No, Dynamo, that is completely incorrect. Whether it's female or male, it's still a grey wolf," I scientifically explained. "Also, in hindsight, I would like to tell you that there's no way you should get close enough to a live wolf to tell if it's male or female," I said, thinking ahead.
"See, L-Bo, a RAID IS* a bunch of drives all working together like you thought, but there can be different arrays and setups: mirrored, stripey-striped, mirror-stripey-striped and parity check.**"
"Dynamo, despite me being a 12th level intellect, and stunningly handsome, I do not understand."
"Ok, let's say there's a bunch of wolves, and they're out hunting in a pack..."
"WHOA, WHOA!! Why did you go with wolves, and not parallelograms? Huh??!!" Said an angry Dynamo's lady friend.
"Because, silly, parallelograms don't hunt in packs. They prefer to go the solo route."
"Oh, now I understand. Thanks L Bo," said a mollified and still anti-hyphenation Dynamo's lady friend.
"Anyway," began Dynamo, vainly trying to refocus the conversation, "let's say the wolves are out hunting bucks. Big buck hunting, if you will."
"Wolves don't hunt bucks," said a quite contrary D.L.F.
"No, they do." Said I. Quite succinctly.
"Well, a striped array would be like if one wolf went this way, and the other kind of flanked him, and this one went after the buck first and then this one followed."
"Okkkkk. I don't get it," said I, not getting it.
Eventually it was all explained, making me expert enough to write this article for you all to fully understand how a RAID worked, what it does and why they're so important. In case you need further details, however, go here: RAID.
*Is is just capitalized, IS does not stand for anything. RAID on the other hand stands for Redundant Array of Independent Drives.
**Note: I put no actual research into this and just kind of wrote things I thought I remembered.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Commitment to weddings
Mr. Mario Fontana and Ms. Brooke Aldrich exchanged vows and last names (well, except Mario, who stubbornly kept his own) in what was a beautiful ceremony of matrimony and commitment this weekend. Or so I heard. See, I wasn't actually at their wedding. My reasons were threefold, as I explained to many a perturbed wedding fan:
1. I'm here for the free booze only, who are Mario and Brooke?
2. I got an image to maintain... so I do what I do.
3. Jews can't go inside churches, especially Catholic churches. When I tried, it burned.
The truth of the matter was i had the wrong address and got crazy lost, traveling all 4 cardinal directions in my quest to arrive only moderately tardy. That's what happens when the directions tell you to make a left at the intersection, followed by a right on to the street YOU WERE JUST ON! The good news, of course, was my early arrival to the wedding reception, which featured lasted for thirteen hours. Or, at least pouring alcohol down my throat did. I wasn't the only one to miss the ceremony; a friend also missed it, as he was changing into his fancy clothes. Either the vows weren't that long, or he has problems putting on his pants in pressure situations.
Luckily, I have many terrific photos of the wedding reception to preserve it in my memory. You can see all 3 below.
Mario seemed to have the opposite camera problem as I. He decided that when he wasn't getting somehow paler in Hawaii on his honeymoon, he'd read Harry Potter and post all his photos from that day on Facebook. That's some dedication man.
1. I'm here for the free booze only, who are Mario and Brooke?
2. I got an image to maintain... so I do what I do.
3. Jews can't go inside churches, especially Catholic churches. When I tried, it burned.
The truth of the matter was i had the wrong address and got crazy lost, traveling all 4 cardinal directions in my quest to arrive only moderately tardy. That's what happens when the directions tell you to make a left at the intersection, followed by a right on to the street YOU WERE JUST ON! The good news, of course, was my early arrival to the wedding reception, which featured lasted for thirteen hours. Or, at least pouring alcohol down my throat did. I wasn't the only one to miss the ceremony; a friend also missed it, as he was changing into his fancy clothes. Either the vows weren't that long, or he has problems putting on his pants in pressure situations.
Luckily, I have many terrific photos of the wedding reception to preserve it in my memory. You can see all 3 below.
Mario seemed to have the opposite camera problem as I. He decided that when he wasn't getting somehow paler in Hawaii on his honeymoon, he'd read Harry Potter and post all his photos from that day on Facebook. That's some dedication man.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Physics may finally be foiled! (subtitle: research gone astray)
It's no secret that I've been mad for about 2 years now. I don't mean steaming, ready to punch someone in the throat mad. It's more of a low level, constant frustration. The cause? You guessed it, that nasty no-goodnik, Physics. Sure, it reared it's ugly head in 10th grade, when I battled a mostly senile knight who tried to trick me using trajectories of imaginary balls thrown in the air. But it wasn't until 2 years ago that I realized the full extent of this diabolical science when it was pointed out to me Physics was behind one of the biggest travesties of all: namely, my inability to shoot lasers from my eyes.
It was while surfing the internet (note how the title is cleverly tied in to the rest of the story here) that I came across this story: Scientists reveal secret of levitation. Hoping against hope that it had nothing to do with David Blaine, I scoured the article in order to provide a summary for you non-science types who wouldn't be able to understand otherwise:
By using groundbreaking methods, scientists hope to destroy the evil Casimir force, long hated by men in ruffled white lab coats for its almost 50 year refusal to be measured. Furthermore, after watching geckos with malfunctioning toe pads get forcefully repelled away from their glass aquarium walls, these scientists realized that harvesting this mystical force would be beneficial and enable them to levitate tiny objects.
The most enlightening of all, however, was this exact quote from the article: "Scientists have discovered a ground-breaking way of levitating ultra small objects, which may revolutionize the design of micro-machines, a new report says." While Micro Machines haven't been manufactured in the US in quite some time, new models still come out in the far off land known as Europe, which means speed speaker record holder John "Mightymouth" Moschitta, Jr., should be psyched. And, as this can only mean having a green hard light projecting ring powered by willpower is only a few years away, so am I. So am I.
It was while surfing the internet (note how the title is cleverly tied in to the rest of the story here) that I came across this story: Scientists reveal secret of levitation. Hoping against hope that it had nothing to do with David Blaine, I scoured the article in order to provide a summary for you non-science types who wouldn't be able to understand otherwise:
By using groundbreaking methods, scientists hope to destroy the evil Casimir force, long hated by men in ruffled white lab coats for its almost 50 year refusal to be measured. Furthermore, after watching geckos with malfunctioning toe pads get forcefully repelled away from their glass aquarium walls, these scientists realized that harvesting this mystical force would be beneficial and enable them to levitate tiny objects.
The most enlightening of all, however, was this exact quote from the article: "Scientists have discovered a ground-breaking way of levitating ultra small objects, which may revolutionize the design of micro-machines, a new report says." While Micro Machines haven't been manufactured in the US in quite some time, new models still come out in the far off land known as Europe, which means speed speaker record holder John "Mightymouth" Moschitta, Jr., should be psyched. And, as this can only mean having a green hard light projecting ring powered by willpower is only a few years away, so am I. So am I.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Rock the Bells, yo
This past Saturday I, along with 3 of my cohorts, made the trek to Randall's Island for the 2007 Rock the Bells festival (sponsored by SanDisk, Heineken, Port-A-Potties and the Get Busta Rhymes Lots of Legal Help Fund). The 2-stage lineup was mostly hip-hop oriented, with Rage Against the Machine headlining. I held my head when the beat dropped for Mos Def and Talib Kweli, listened to Flavor Flav blather on about something or other, learned what it meant to be a rock superstar with Cypress Hill, faked dancing to the Roots and threw my W's up for the Clan. Arriving later in the afternoon, I had missed Pharoahe Monch, EPMD, Jedi Mind Tricks and unfortunately Immortal Technique.* Fortunately, that also meant I missed David Banner. Even though my arrival was tardy, I still had plenty of time to conduct research. I was able to prove my theory that high priced rap festivals (according to one rapper, where hip hop lives and not one of those fake hot 97 concerts) are THE place to go if you want to see drunk, shirtless white guys stumbling around.
***
I recently got new glasses, which I was all psyched for. The nice lady at the glasses store told me they were revolutionary, trendy ahead of their time and looked great on me, and recommended them over a more expensive pair. I was hooked and tried them on multiple times. Having picked them up last week, I realized one fatal error I made in judgment: I can't see out the sides of either eye due to a protruding ear piece in the way. This was abundantly clear when I had to yank them off hastily while driving. If these are my "horse blinders," then what the hell was I wearing when I first looked at them?
***
Someone I live with who isn't me recently made a huge, horrible, awful, unforgivable mistake. They bought Aquafresh's Berry Fresh flavor toothpaste. "But L-Bo, what's the big deal? You routinely devour blue, black, rasp, and gooseberries, and love being fresh (to death nothin less)." The big deal is this toothpaste is vile. It's the worst thing I've ever tried to brush my teeth with, it's the Keystone Ice of minty teeth cleaning supplies, and it belongs in the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans box.
***
In light of this article, I got to wondering: is Pacman a troubled football player who may wind up in a jail, or a terrific criminal who sometimes plays defensive back?
*Immortal Technique, aka Felipe, was the terror of the high school playground. I fondly remember Anthony Roque fondly retelling the time he stood up to Felipe. "He was going to put me in the garbage can, but I was like 'nah,' and I jumped in myself. Take that, Felipe!" Now, Immortal Technique is getting shoutouts from Zachk de la Rocha and the only thing he's kickin is nasty rhymes. Word.
***
I recently got new glasses, which I was all psyched for. The nice lady at the glasses store told me they were revolutionary, trendy ahead of their time and looked great on me, and recommended them over a more expensive pair. I was hooked and tried them on multiple times. Having picked them up last week, I realized one fatal error I made in judgment: I can't see out the sides of either eye due to a protruding ear piece in the way. This was abundantly clear when I had to yank them off hastily while driving. If these are my "horse blinders," then what the hell was I wearing when I first looked at them?
***
Someone I live with who isn't me recently made a huge, horrible, awful, unforgivable mistake. They bought Aquafresh's Berry Fresh flavor toothpaste. "But L-Bo, what's the big deal? You routinely devour blue, black, rasp, and gooseberries, and love being fresh (to death nothin less)." The big deal is this toothpaste is vile. It's the worst thing I've ever tried to brush my teeth with, it's the Keystone Ice of minty teeth cleaning supplies, and it belongs in the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans box.
***
In light of this article, I got to wondering: is Pacman a troubled football player who may wind up in a jail, or a terrific criminal who sometimes plays defensive back?
*Immortal Technique, aka Felipe, was the terror of the high school playground. I fondly remember Anthony Roque fondly retelling the time he stood up to Felipe. "He was going to put me in the garbage can, but I was like 'nah,' and I jumped in myself. Take that, Felipe!" Now, Immortal Technique is getting shoutouts from Zachk de la Rocha and the only thing he's kickin is nasty rhymes. Word.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
St. Lucia Vol. 3 - Back to the Future
In honor of Pkilla's birthday that I managed to miss while stalking crabs on beautiful tropical beaches, I'm going to predict the events of the last day of my trip. This is no easy task, mind you, as I'm figuring out what will happen...in the FUTURE!!
I see...catastrophe. Yes, it's not quite clear what will happen, but I detect broken glass (everywhere) and a sweet smell. There's much buzzing about the place, but for Human Dynamo, there will be nothing sweet.
My bag will be so heavily laden with delicious LLB that it will take 7 porters to carry it 3 feet, and then they'll have to rest. So worth it.
Psychically, I'm deducing I'll spend the short plane ride from St. Lucia to San Juan exactly as I would hope...by reading about Genghis Khan's treasure and lost tomb, and sleeping. Then, I'll have mediocre mexican food at the airport terminal, and on the flight back I'll watch a movie that I will later forget all about.
Despite my best efforts to recreate the Caribbean feel by constantly saying "ye, man," something will feel amiss. Perhaps losing my minority status?
I see...catastrophe. Yes, it's not quite clear what will happen, but I detect broken glass (everywhere) and a sweet smell. There's much buzzing about the place, but for Human Dynamo, there will be nothing sweet.
My bag will be so heavily laden with delicious LLB that it will take 7 porters to carry it 3 feet, and then they'll have to rest. So worth it.
Psychically, I'm deducing I'll spend the short plane ride from St. Lucia to San Juan exactly as I would hope...by reading about Genghis Khan's treasure and lost tomb, and sleeping. Then, I'll have mediocre mexican food at the airport terminal, and on the flight back I'll watch a movie that I will later forget all about.
Despite my best efforts to recreate the Caribbean feel by constantly saying "ye, man," something will feel amiss. Perhaps losing my minority status?
Monday, July 16, 2007
St. Lucia, Vol. 2 - Are You For Scuba?
Things in list form (and not just because I'm too lazy to make proper paragraphs that somehow flow well):
- St. Lucians don't really celebrate the 4th of July. So rather than draping ourselves in the American Flag, setting off fireworks and eating hotdogs, we ate sugar cane and watched Monk. O yeah, and draped ourselves in the St. Lucian flag.
- Sugar cane is amazing! Unfortunately, it evolved so that white people can't eat it. I had to get a waiter to cut mine and then hire a guide to teach me how to eat it. You don't want to swallow the fibrous parts, apparently.
- It's impossible not to watch ALF or Different Strokes once you know they're on!!
- There's many different kinds of mangoes. None of them are called by their real name by St. Lucians, who insist on naming things in their native Creole and then speaking that language, too. Very inconsiderate, guys.
- Despite mangoes being so plentiful that it was impossible to walk on a trail without one falling into your hand at the exact moment you were hungry or thirsty, no country in the Caribbean is actually a world leader in growing them. That honor falls to India, by a huge margin too.
- On Friday, it's Fish Fridays down in Anse le Reye and up in Gros Islet. Mistakenly believing Anse le Reye to be where we snorkeled the previous day, we had a less enjoyable experience, swimming through silt, getting dragged towards large rocks by the current and seeing (but not freaking out about at all) what we mistakenly believed to be a sea snake . Of course, when I calmed down and gave it some real thought, I realized, as everyone knows, that although sea snakes ARE poisonous, there are none in the Caribbean despite many sightings, and it was more likely a snake eel, or even a snake that decided to go for a quick dip. I also befriended a local fisherman named Leroy, who noticed our two names were remarkably similar. After this stunning revelation, he told me how he captured some fishes named BLAOW (ok, actually, ballaowoo) and if I was staying longer, he'd cook them up for me. The story unfortunately has a sad ending, as I walked around the cookout asking if anyone had ballaow, and no one did. After, we went up to Gros Islet, which was a lot more happening, rowdier and with better and cheaper food, but shitty music that you could hear on Z100.
- Everyone in St. Lucia loves Rihanna's Umbrella song.
- Back to fruit knowledge. Supermarkets in St. Lucia carry ripeness charts for bananas, detailing 9 different levels of ripeness and giving colors. That's just being thorough.
- Sunblock is invaluable if you're pale.
- Human Dynamo was able to get everyone on the island to either feed us in their home or volunteer to drive us wherever we wanted to go. Such are the benefits of being St. Lucia's favorite son and not having been back there in 20 years. Family as well as friends of the family treated us to amazing home cooked meals and provided fantastic company, taking me in and treating me like HD's actual brother. My plate overflowedeth with mangoes, plantains, lobster and local fish, and my cup with LLB, aka nectar of the gods. I even learned a patois phrase: ve sala ca plae wae (not actually spelled that way) which means the glass is dirty. Technically, it means the glass is crying (probably gets teased a lot for being dirty) and it was the ONLY creole phrase to stick with me.
- Much of the island's tourist attractions are, oddly enough, built for tourists. But not the cool kind. More the pasty, over-privileged European/middle-American caricatures of tourists in movies from the 1970s kind. The tropical rainforest walk wasn't a hike, but a path carved out, covered in stones. The loud crunching that occurs while walking on the path all but guarantees you won't see any cool wildlife except for omnipresent lizards who have no fear.
- Our rainforest tour guide took us in a sky air-car-thingy (probably called a gondola, but trying to keep the romance out of it) to see the canopy and all the cool tropical trees and some birds. I learned that everything in the rainforest* has medicinal purposes and can be used by science to help cure people. If they're suffering from impotence. Because EVERYTHING in St. Lucia is used to help men have sex. There's not a single female sex aid. But passionfruit? Good for the erection. Sea-moss, which can't even be a real thing? Good for the erection. Turtle penis or shell or whatever part they have? Good for the erection. Tree bark of any tree with leaves and branches and bark? Good for the erection.
- The sulfur springs are hot and really smelly. Nothing can survive in the area. Or so we were told. I definitely saw large, stone like creatures moving about and trying to hide. But I know what I saw.
- "Bus" "drivers" in St. Lucia are something to be avoided for long trips. For your average Rodney Bay to Castries trip, definitely pay the 2 EC and get in and watch Soca videos with your bus driver and try to refrain from asking him to watch the road instead of the new Soca video. Nobody likes a back seat driver. However, for longer trips, like say to Soufriere, stay the hell away from the buses. Not only do you have to sit in a bus and wait 2 hours for the driver to get enough victims in his death machine, but then you have to suffer through hairpin turns. I don't get car sick, but when I looked out the window while driving through St. Lucia's ridiculously omnipresent hills/mountains and saw only 3 of the wheels were firmly on the ground, I got a little worried. Sharp curves are not the place to pass on 1.5 lane roads, and not having guard rails on the side is not a dare to see if you can slip over the edge. I later found out we had the worst driver in St. Lucia (yelp.com???). I refused to drive back along the route, threatening to whole up in Soufriere for the duration of the trip. We met up with a friend of HD's mom at the Diamond Falls and she told us if we ran through the entire garden and only quickly glanced at the falls, we might barely be able to meet her and get on her boat tour for free or close to it. We didn't make it. Luckily, we found a friend of Dynamo's cousin named Ghost** who was the guide on another catamaran. Next paragraph, please!
- Ghost welcomed us on board with open arms that each held alcoholic drinks for us. We traveled to Anse Concho and went snorkeling. Coral and tiny colorful fish were everywhere, and it was beautiful. Peaceful, too, if you forgot about the 7 other identical boats docked there. Funny story about that...we didn't know it was our boat leaving, so we raced to shore, legs cramping up despite our Olympic swimmer abilities, ran across the sand to return our snorkeling equipment and swam back out to the boat, which had forgotten we were on it. And then I bought a conch shell.
- To read actual detailed stories of what we did and see some photos, read HD's many trip summaries here. It's well worth it. But come back to my blog at some point too, so I don't get lonely.
*By rainforest, our tour guide meant all of St. Lucia and probably the whole Caribbean too.
**Actually, probably nicknamed Ghost
- St. Lucians don't really celebrate the 4th of July. So rather than draping ourselves in the American Flag, setting off fireworks and eating hotdogs, we ate sugar cane and watched Monk. O yeah, and draped ourselves in the St. Lucian flag.
- Sugar cane is amazing! Unfortunately, it evolved so that white people can't eat it. I had to get a waiter to cut mine and then hire a guide to teach me how to eat it. You don't want to swallow the fibrous parts, apparently.
- It's impossible not to watch ALF or Different Strokes once you know they're on!!
- There's many different kinds of mangoes. None of them are called by their real name by St. Lucians, who insist on naming things in their native Creole and then speaking that language, too. Very inconsiderate, guys.
- Despite mangoes being so plentiful that it was impossible to walk on a trail without one falling into your hand at the exact moment you were hungry or thirsty, no country in the Caribbean is actually a world leader in growing them. That honor falls to India, by a huge margin too.
- On Friday, it's Fish Fridays down in Anse le Reye and up in Gros Islet. Mistakenly believing Anse le Reye to be where we snorkeled the previous day, we had a less enjoyable experience, swimming through silt, getting dragged towards large rocks by the current and seeing (but not freaking out about at all) what we mistakenly believed to be a sea snake . Of course, when I calmed down and gave it some real thought, I realized, as everyone knows, that although sea snakes ARE poisonous, there are none in the Caribbean despite many sightings, and it was more likely a snake eel, or even a snake that decided to go for a quick dip. I also befriended a local fisherman named Leroy, who noticed our two names were remarkably similar. After this stunning revelation, he told me how he captured some fishes named BLAOW (ok, actually, ballaowoo) and if I was staying longer, he'd cook them up for me. The story unfortunately has a sad ending, as I walked around the cookout asking if anyone had ballaow, and no one did. After, we went up to Gros Islet, which was a lot more happening, rowdier and with better and cheaper food, but shitty music that you could hear on Z100.
- Everyone in St. Lucia loves Rihanna's Umbrella song.
- Back to fruit knowledge. Supermarkets in St. Lucia carry ripeness charts for bananas, detailing 9 different levels of ripeness and giving colors. That's just being thorough.
- Sunblock is invaluable if you're pale.
- Human Dynamo was able to get everyone on the island to either feed us in their home or volunteer to drive us wherever we wanted to go. Such are the benefits of being St. Lucia's favorite son and not having been back there in 20 years. Family as well as friends of the family treated us to amazing home cooked meals and provided fantastic company, taking me in and treating me like HD's actual brother. My plate overflowedeth with mangoes, plantains, lobster and local fish, and my cup with LLB, aka nectar of the gods. I even learned a patois phrase: ve sala ca plae wae (not actually spelled that way) which means the glass is dirty. Technically, it means the glass is crying (probably gets teased a lot for being dirty) and it was the ONLY creole phrase to stick with me.
- Much of the island's tourist attractions are, oddly enough, built for tourists. But not the cool kind. More the pasty, over-privileged European/middle-American caricatures of tourists in movies from the 1970s kind. The tropical rainforest walk wasn't a hike, but a path carved out, covered in stones. The loud crunching that occurs while walking on the path all but guarantees you won't see any cool wildlife except for omnipresent lizards who have no fear.
- Our rainforest tour guide took us in a sky air-car-thingy (probably called a gondola, but trying to keep the romance out of it) to see the canopy and all the cool tropical trees and some birds. I learned that everything in the rainforest* has medicinal purposes and can be used by science to help cure people. If they're suffering from impotence. Because EVERYTHING in St. Lucia is used to help men have sex. There's not a single female sex aid. But passionfruit? Good for the erection. Sea-moss, which can't even be a real thing? Good for the erection. Turtle penis or shell or whatever part they have? Good for the erection. Tree bark of any tree with leaves and branches and bark? Good for the erection.
- The sulfur springs are hot and really smelly. Nothing can survive in the area. Or so we were told. I definitely saw large, stone like creatures moving about and trying to hide. But I know what I saw.
- "Bus" "drivers" in St. Lucia are something to be avoided for long trips. For your average Rodney Bay to Castries trip, definitely pay the 2 EC and get in and watch Soca videos with your bus driver and try to refrain from asking him to watch the road instead of the new Soca video. Nobody likes a back seat driver. However, for longer trips, like say to Soufriere, stay the hell away from the buses. Not only do you have to sit in a bus and wait 2 hours for the driver to get enough victims in his death machine, but then you have to suffer through hairpin turns. I don't get car sick, but when I looked out the window while driving through St. Lucia's ridiculously omnipresent hills/mountains and saw only 3 of the wheels were firmly on the ground, I got a little worried. Sharp curves are not the place to pass on 1.5 lane roads, and not having guard rails on the side is not a dare to see if you can slip over the edge. I later found out we had the worst driver in St. Lucia (yelp.com???). I refused to drive back along the route, threatening to whole up in Soufriere for the duration of the trip. We met up with a friend of HD's mom at the Diamond Falls and she told us if we ran through the entire garden and only quickly glanced at the falls, we might barely be able to meet her and get on her boat tour for free or close to it. We didn't make it. Luckily, we found a friend of Dynamo's cousin named Ghost** who was the guide on another catamaran. Next paragraph, please!
- Ghost welcomed us on board with open arms that each held alcoholic drinks for us. We traveled to Anse Concho and went snorkeling. Coral and tiny colorful fish were everywhere, and it was beautiful. Peaceful, too, if you forgot about the 7 other identical boats docked there. Funny story about that...we didn't know it was our boat leaving, so we raced to shore, legs cramping up despite our Olympic swimmer abilities, ran across the sand to return our snorkeling equipment and swam back out to the boat, which had forgotten we were on it. And then I bought a conch shell.
- To read actual detailed stories of what we did and see some photos, read HD's many trip summaries here. It's well worth it. But come back to my blog at some point too, so I don't get lonely.
*By rainforest, our tour guide meant all of St. Lucia and probably the whole Caribbean too.
**Actually, probably nicknamed Ghost
Sunday, July 15, 2007
St. Lucia, Vol. 1 - A New Beginning
Me and Dynamo's trip to St. Lucia started off super promising. I was well rested from my 3 hours of sleep and in a very good mood when I stepped outside in the inky black of 4 AM to see our cab not in front of the apartment. After all that, there's nothing like the invasive fluorescent lights while waiting on a line at the airport. Nothing, except perhaps being told there's a mechanical problem on the flight, we can't take off yet, the engineer's in the cabin signing some papers and we're going to miss our connecting flight in San Juan. Oh, did I forget to mention the airport security thought my camera's batteries were a magazine for a gun, and all i could think of to say was sorry?
All bad feelings disappeared once we actually made it on to the 2 PM (wait, actually 3 PM since the plane was delayed) stand by flight, met Dynamo's brother (who seemed like a character off 21 Jump Street), were picked up by Dynamo's friend and didn't actually crash when his friend took his eyes off the road when HD demanded cash payouts. Yes, according to him, St. Lucia was basically one giant ATM machine.
We stayed at the Bay Gardens Hotel, deciding to go with a locally owned and run hotel rather than one of those ubiquitously invasive resorts that all the tourists go to (there's a reason it rhymes with Vandals). Arriving to find our twin beds clearly separated, a tropical motif and an A/C that kept out St. Lucia's humidity, we started to unpack.
"I think I will unpack my clothing and put it in the closet so it is well organized and nothing wrinkles."
"I don't think there's anywhere to hang them though."
*checking the closet* "There's hangars man. Like," *counting,* "11."
"So what, like 10?"
"Are you retarded?"
"Maybe. Does it help me?"
After that clever exchange, we headed to the beach, as we had info from our reliable CI that's where the party was. And she was right. Or it could have been he was. If by party, she meant really really dark night with some tourists partying at an overpriced resort and nobody else around. We took a nice, non-romantic stroll up and down the beach, chasing smaller crabs and running like crazy from larger crabs since they'll attack with them claws. It was during this time that I managed to get a shot of the previously elusive (and possibly unheard of) St. Lucian Loch Ness Monster. We also kept hearing this really weird noise, as if there were birdbats* around, which was explained to us by friendly hotel staff as "what we call crickets here." So, they clearly weren't crickets. Using my clever sense of deduction and realizing that lucians call bananas figs (which are clearly much smaller) I extrapolated "crickets" must be Mothra, or at least something comprable. Vacations are a lot more fun when not petrified of encountering giant flying insects.
*"What are you, some sort of weird half-bird, half-bat?"
"No, I'm 100% batbird!"
All bad feelings disappeared once we actually made it on to the 2 PM (wait, actually 3 PM since the plane was delayed) stand by flight, met Dynamo's brother (who seemed like a character off 21 Jump Street), were picked up by Dynamo's friend and didn't actually crash when his friend took his eyes off the road when HD demanded cash payouts. Yes, according to him, St. Lucia was basically one giant ATM machine.
We stayed at the Bay Gardens Hotel, deciding to go with a locally owned and run hotel rather than one of those ubiquitously invasive resorts that all the tourists go to (there's a reason it rhymes with Vandals). Arriving to find our twin beds clearly separated, a tropical motif and an A/C that kept out St. Lucia's humidity, we started to unpack.
"I think I will unpack my clothing and put it in the closet so it is well organized and nothing wrinkles."
"I don't think there's anywhere to hang them though."
*checking the closet* "There's hangars man. Like," *counting,* "11."
"So what, like 10?"
"Are you retarded?"
"Maybe. Does it help me?"
After that clever exchange, we headed to the beach, as we had info from our reliable CI that's where the party was. And she was right. Or it could have been he was. If by party, she meant really really dark night with some tourists partying at an overpriced resort and nobody else around. We took a nice, non-romantic stroll up and down the beach, chasing smaller crabs and running like crazy from larger crabs since they'll attack with them claws. It was during this time that I managed to get a shot of the previously elusive (and possibly unheard of) St. Lucian Loch Ness Monster. We also kept hearing this really weird noise, as if there were birdbats* around, which was explained to us by friendly hotel staff as "what we call crickets here." So, they clearly weren't crickets. Using my clever sense of deduction and realizing that lucians call bananas figs (which are clearly much smaller) I extrapolated "crickets" must be Mothra, or at least something comprable. Vacations are a lot more fun when not petrified of encountering giant flying insects.
*"What are you, some sort of weird half-bird, half-bat?"
"No, I'm 100% batbird!"
Sunday, July 08, 2007
LLB for the L - B - O
I came across the most delicious drink in St. Lucia, called Lemon, Lime and Bitters. You'd think this would be a Caribbean version of Sprite, but you'd be wrong. Mostly because you, like everyone else in the world, has absolutely no idea what bitters are. The real problem was, despite the abundance of the drink, it was impossible for me to ever get one, because this conversation kept taking place:
Do you have any LLB?
What?
LLB
*confused look, silence*
Ya know, Lemon Lime and Bitters
*more confused look and more silence*
Random good Samaritan: He wants an LLB
OHHH, LLB. Yea man.
After this exchange, I'd end up with an LLB, so I could never be too upset. Plus, I bought a whole bunch and snuck them through customs (haha, a little joke US government, haha), so now, I don't even have to ask for one. I can just take it out the fridge.
Do you have any LLB?
What?
LLB
*confused look, silence*
Ya know, Lemon Lime and Bitters
*more confused look and more silence*
Random good Samaritan: He wants an LLB
OHHH, LLB. Yea man.
After this exchange, I'd end up with an LLB, so I could never be too upset. Plus, I bought a whole bunch and snuck them through customs (haha, a little joke US government, haha), so now, I don't even have to ask for one. I can just take it out the fridge.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Hence, Cuteness Ensues
This morning, I found 2 kittens curled up outside with a larger cat, presumably their mother. But most likely, their body guard cat, like Heathcliff used to have.
I wondered how the mother cat already had kittens, since 6 months ago she was well tiny herself. This line of questioning ended when I saw the kittens playing around my tomato plants. The tabby managed to climb in and sit in one of the pots, which caused the grey one to try and pull the tabby out by it's tail. This chain of events caused me to form my "kittens are easily tricked by dimensions and barriers in regards to semi-translucent materials" theory, which I also then proved. On the spot.
This whole cuteness saga also led me to finally realize the synergy between kittens and tomatoes when Tab the tabby (named after the soda) curled up around my tomato, sheltering him from wind and providing vital love minerals for the fruits to grow.
I wondered how the mother cat already had kittens, since 6 months ago she was well tiny herself. This line of questioning ended when I saw the kittens playing around my tomato plants. The tabby managed to climb in and sit in one of the pots, which caused the grey one to try and pull the tabby out by it's tail. This chain of events caused me to form my "kittens are easily tricked by dimensions and barriers in regards to semi-translucent materials" theory, which I also then proved. On the spot.
This whole cuteness saga also led me to finally realize the synergy between kittens and tomatoes when Tab the tabby (named after the soda) curled up around my tomato, sheltering him from wind and providing vital love minerals for the fruits to grow.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
On and on and on and...
No, this isn't some set up for me talking about how I rocked it till the break of dawn. This is yet another forum for me to throw in an "I hate Suze Orman" comment. Last night, Dynamo decided it would be "funny"* to play the !Viva Pinata! video game he borrowed from Shiv (note: Shiv is now dead to me and banned from my apt. To be fair, I have an entire policy on banning corpses from my apt. anyway). This was funny in much the same way Dynamo's girlfriend thinks it's funny to make me watch Suze Orman. Who I LOATHE. I've told her, while I love TiVo with all my heart, I will destroy it to prevent another episode from playing while I'm within 200 yards of the apartment. In much the same way, I will sacrifice the XBox 360 for the greater good if I ever hear Leafass give hints as to how to bring more Pinatas into your garden. I wonder, was the target audience for this game chimps with brain damage? Or, worse yet, did someone let David Caruso come up with a video game for kids?
*Note: Why, in Time Out NY, is there an ad for Snapple declaring it the official "Iced Tea" of concerts? Is something sinister afoot in the world of best stuff on earth?
*Note: Why, in Time Out NY, is there an ad for Snapple declaring it the official "Iced Tea" of concerts? Is something sinister afoot in the world of best stuff on earth?
Thursday, May 17, 2007
And Justice For All
Not only did Dynamo getting Xbox 360 usher in AX, it also brought many other changes. For one, he's now obsessed with firing on Panzer tanks and has gotten super good at avoiding grenades. In addition, our entire system of ownership has now changed. Thanks in part to a high level of nerdosity on my part, as well as a need to play as Moon Knight and Colossus in video game format, I purchased Marvel Ultimate Alliance (which I may already own for a different system) for what is currently Dynamo's Xbox 360. Then, Shiv came through for my birthday and gave me another game, giving me a grand total of 2. As Dynamo only has 3, it seems to me that ownership is up for grabs. Thinking over the situation carefully, I realized we should employ the Supreme Court Initiative. This is, of course, the principle that 5 is more than 4, so whichever side has 5 wins. Of course, if the side has MORE than 5, they'd win too (unless Justice Alito raised both hands, which would be cheating). Therefore, I only need 3 more games to be triumphant. Or, one Clarence Thomas.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Lost in a fantasy
I finally made good use of Dynamo's Tivo remote Wednesday night during Kate's "Oops, I'm conveniently wearing a thong" scene. Imagine getting on that plane in granny panties, and then crashing on the island. I'd be mortified, and wishing I listened to my mom when she told me to wear clean underwear and pack extras, just in case.
50 something days on an island though, and she's still white as heavy cream. Smooth, luscious, delicious heavy cream wearing a mismatched thong and bra.*
Hmmm.
Sorry.
SPF 5000 much, Kate? At least she could never reject me based on my own whiteness flaw.
*Note: None of this matters much. The owner and sole contributor to this blog is completely in love with Evangeline Lilly. If you're reading this (and why wouldn't you be) come to my apartment and eat marshmallows with me, sans clothing, on my shiny copper naugahyde couch. Though this offer is too good to be true, it's also ongoing.
50 something days on an island though, and she's still white as heavy cream. Smooth, luscious, delicious heavy cream wearing a mismatched thong and bra.*
Hmmm.
Sorry.
SPF 5000 much, Kate? At least she could never reject me based on my own whiteness flaw.
*Note: None of this matters much. The owner and sole contributor to this blog is completely in love with Evangeline Lilly. If you're reading this (and why wouldn't you be) come to my apartment and eat marshmallows with me, sans clothing, on my shiny copper naugahyde couch. Though this offer is too good to be true, it's also ongoing.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Go Dynamo. It's your birthday.
We're gonna party like there's a nor'easter on your actual birthday (so not so much, as rain dampens spirits, umbrellas, and once, my wallet. That sucked, and then it took me a long time to replace it.) But the rest of the time was fun. Everybody, have fun checking out a recap of Dynamo's birthday. Everybody, check out Dynamo make adjectives out of nouns too! But mostly, everybody read about his birthday fun!
1 more minute of birthday fun, Dynamo (according to the highly accurate and never tampered with blogspot official timepiece). Enjoy it while it lasts, because tomorrow I'm going to sucker punch you. Just cause.
1 more minute of birthday fun, Dynamo (according to the highly accurate and never tampered with blogspot official timepiece). Enjoy it while it lasts, because tomorrow I'm going to sucker punch you. Just cause.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Lymon Buccaneer
Lymon Buccaneer, Scurvy Pirate, the Scurvinator. No matter what you call it, Captain Morgan's and Sprite is still gross, pkilla!
I found this out at a recent concert that pkilla and Al Franken's stunt double took me to during Tartan Week. Nicole Atkins and the Sea opened, and opened hard. Then came 1990s, whose bassist wore an old school batman tee and whose drummer was like a real life version of the Gorillaz in cartoon form. Sons and Daughters headlined, but I was less than impressed. I almost caber-tossed them, but thought better of it and left.
I found this out at a recent concert that pkilla and Al Franken's stunt double took me to during Tartan Week. Nicole Atkins and the Sea opened, and opened hard. Then came 1990s, whose bassist wore an old school batman tee and whose drummer was like a real life version of the Gorillaz in cartoon form. Sons and Daughters headlined, but I was less than impressed. I almost caber-tossed them, but thought better of it and left.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Lost Wages (NOT!)
I don't understand why people cleverly and ironically call Las Vegas "Lost Wages." If anything, it's nickname should be "City of Secondary Income." I recently went there for another photo shoot for a few days, and came back with more money than I left with. In fact, my first night out there, I played craps for about 20 minutes and playing loosely and falling asleep between rolls, I made 20 bucks. Using algebra, we can discover that $20 in 20 minutes = $60 in 60 minutes. Taking this one step farther, we realize that that's a wage of $60 dollars an hour, quite higher than my actual salary. Frivolous gambling, or working hard for the money?
Things that I want to put into list form:
You can view photos of the desert adventure, as well as casino adventure and bubble bath adventure here. After teaching 5 people how to play craps, I'm up $30 on Vegas and anxiously awaiting a rematch. And no, I don't have a gambling addiction. I have the Protestant work ethic and urge to make money.
Things that I want to put into list form:
- It seems my company flew me out there to sit in my room 8 hours a day, backing up hard drives and processing RAW images. Taking photos of myself in a bubble bath probably wasn't one of their ideas.
- Neither was going on Rolling Stones magazine's "best near death experience in Las Vegas": extreme dune buggying in the desert. That's sort of what happens when the company uses both $3500 Macbook Pros as props and I get tired of observing shoots where I feel useless.
- I didn't get to eat at In n' Out Burger, one of the great fast food franchises of our era. Apparently, burgers are not a 24 hour item like casinos. If only they would make slot machines that spit out Double Doubles Animal Style, or Flying Dutchman. With shakes and fries, of course.
- Speaking of slot machines, they assault the senses immediately after entering the Las Vegas airport terminal.
- In fact, most of Las Vegas assaults the senses. It is excessive excess, and one of the strangest places I've been. I'd like to go back, since my time on the strip consisted of sneaking into the MGM Grand so we could shoot in one of their $1600 a night suites without their permission. A building is considered old when it was built in 1990. Hell, if they want to raze a 1990 building and build a casino/hotel, come to my hood and knock down my condo.
- My bosses probably didn't envision me moving the food tables out of the way at the wrap party so I could take crew members money in silo. 4, 5, 6 baby!!
- I found out playing craps by yourself in a mostly empty resort casino on a Wednesday night may be worse than drinking alone. I work hard for my money, though.
- I am not used to luxury. We stayed in an immense resort in a suburb called Sumerlin, where I had a king bed to myself, a rainfall shower with a regular showerhead too and a jacuzzi. Free food, 18 pillows on my bed (actually, 17 of them were useless and weirdly shaped) and maid service? I'm just a simple dude from Queens, but all that after my St. Maarten experience makes it hard to come home to my not finished condo.
You can view photos of the desert adventure, as well as casino adventure and bubble bath adventure here. After teaching 5 people how to play craps, I'm up $30 on Vegas and anxiously awaiting a rematch. And no, I don't have a gambling addiction. I have the Protestant work ethic and urge to make money.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Lies I've told
Those avid readers of my blog (hi Pris, Dynamo and sometimes mom!!) also happen to be people who know the real life, flesh and blood me as well. I'm sorry for deceiving the entire online community with that last post. In truth, a lot has been going on.
Right before I had blogged about my hatred for Suze Orman (which hasn't really abated) I went to Sint Martin, or St. Maarten as the Dutch prefer, for a photo shoot with work. We rented a 110 foot yacht for a few days and shot black people living luxuriously. I volunteered to model too, but was politely turned down. Something about being too good looking, and needing to man the computer to make sure everything turned out ok. I got to be the digital assistant, which means ensuring all the digital images capture correctly, checking focus, helping Erik, the photographer out in any way possible, making sure there's a minimum of things for me to retouch and flirting withe the pretty models.
It was an amazing shoot, despite the immediate setback of snow storms grounding our original departure. This slightly messed things up, as we were more rushed on the yacht and I lost out on a full day vacation on the island. I felt extraordinarily useful and an integral part of the shoot. In fact, when we got back the head of the department told me the shoot wouldn't have happened without me. The days were long, as the makeup artist and I stayed onshore while the rest of the crew and cast were all on the yacht. It meant waking up at 6 AM and getting back to the room after midnight, but I was happy the whole time. My room, for what it was worth since I was never in it, was huge, with a kitchen, dining room, living room, double balcony with hot tub, two bathrooms, a stand up shower and tub and a huge bedroom with a comfortable bed. All this for a guy who'd be happy staying on a cot in a Motel 8, just to get to travel. I was definitely psyched for this first job on set, and a little nervous, but I did a good job and it paved the way for my trip to Vegas later in the month.
The crew and cast were amazing people and super nice. I was allowed to shoot the second camera during breaks and take photos of the models with my own camera as well. The photographs were high quality and arty, not typical stock shots of people on cell phones. The first night we were there, Erik did a fashion shot on the boat. Because of the dark, he couldn't focus, so Mike or I would aim a flashlight at the model's face. Growing tired of "on, off," we decided to use "peanut butter" and "jelly" as signal words. We were catered to non-stop, with a crew member whose sole job was to ensure our happiness and would bring us anything we asked for. I'm not used to luxury, so all this blew me away. I discovered that yachts in the Caribbean never run out of fresh lobster or Ting (the greatest grapefruit soda ever), despite me and Mike drinking it nonstop, and there's nothing more beautiful (despite how cliched it may be) than lying on the top deck while the boat's in open water, feeling the cool breeze in the warm night air and enjoying the stars.
The last day of the trip, I had 5 or 6 hours before I had to catch a nearly empty plane back to reality. I'd never been interested in visiting any of the island nations in the Caribbean before, figuring countries in Europe or a road trip across the US would be more interesting. That soon changed when I walked around Marigot, buying some interesting jewelery at the market while laughing at pasty cruise ship tourists, sampling a guavaberry colada (made using old timey island folk liquor recipes), picking up some for the trip home, visiting a local nude beach and wishing I could walk with my eyes closed, and seeing wild cotton and goats. Driving on the island was adventurous (dangerous as hell), and it was disheartening to see all the recent developments that would block locals from having beach access, turning the island over to the greed of the tourism industry. I regret not having been able to visit more of the island, to see the difference between the French and Dutch side, but only because I loved it so much and wanted to spend more time there. I had finally seen the allure to a tropical island getaway, and returned relaxed, if impatient to visit my next Caribbean island.
Right before I had blogged about my hatred for Suze Orman (which hasn't really abated) I went to Sint Martin, or St. Maarten as the Dutch prefer, for a photo shoot with work. We rented a 110 foot yacht for a few days and shot black people living luxuriously. I volunteered to model too, but was politely turned down. Something about being too good looking, and needing to man the computer to make sure everything turned out ok. I got to be the digital assistant, which means ensuring all the digital images capture correctly, checking focus, helping Erik, the photographer out in any way possible, making sure there's a minimum of things for me to retouch and flirting withe the pretty models.
It was an amazing shoot, despite the immediate setback of snow storms grounding our original departure. This slightly messed things up, as we were more rushed on the yacht and I lost out on a full day vacation on the island. I felt extraordinarily useful and an integral part of the shoot. In fact, when we got back the head of the department told me the shoot wouldn't have happened without me. The days were long, as the makeup artist and I stayed onshore while the rest of the crew and cast were all on the yacht. It meant waking up at 6 AM and getting back to the room after midnight, but I was happy the whole time. My room, for what it was worth since I was never in it, was huge, with a kitchen, dining room, living room, double balcony with hot tub, two bathrooms, a stand up shower and tub and a huge bedroom with a comfortable bed. All this for a guy who'd be happy staying on a cot in a Motel 8, just to get to travel. I was definitely psyched for this first job on set, and a little nervous, but I did a good job and it paved the way for my trip to Vegas later in the month.
The crew and cast were amazing people and super nice. I was allowed to shoot the second camera during breaks and take photos of the models with my own camera as well. The photographs were high quality and arty, not typical stock shots of people on cell phones. The first night we were there, Erik did a fashion shot on the boat. Because of the dark, he couldn't focus, so Mike or I would aim a flashlight at the model's face. Growing tired of "on, off," we decided to use "peanut butter" and "jelly" as signal words. We were catered to non-stop, with a crew member whose sole job was to ensure our happiness and would bring us anything we asked for. I'm not used to luxury, so all this blew me away. I discovered that yachts in the Caribbean never run out of fresh lobster or Ting (the greatest grapefruit soda ever), despite me and Mike drinking it nonstop, and there's nothing more beautiful (despite how cliched it may be) than lying on the top deck while the boat's in open water, feeling the cool breeze in the warm night air and enjoying the stars.
The last day of the trip, I had 5 or 6 hours before I had to catch a nearly empty plane back to reality. I'd never been interested in visiting any of the island nations in the Caribbean before, figuring countries in Europe or a road trip across the US would be more interesting. That soon changed when I walked around Marigot, buying some interesting jewelery at the market while laughing at pasty cruise ship tourists, sampling a guavaberry colada (made using old timey island folk liquor recipes), picking up some for the trip home, visiting a local nude beach and wishing I could walk with my eyes closed, and seeing wild cotton and goats. Driving on the island was adventurous (dangerous as hell), and it was disheartening to see all the recent developments that would block locals from having beach access, turning the island over to the greed of the tourism industry. I regret not having been able to visit more of the island, to see the difference between the French and Dutch side, but only because I loved it so much and wanted to spend more time there. I had finally seen the allure to a tropical island getaway, and returned relaxed, if impatient to visit my next Caribbean island.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Still not much going on
It's about 10 minutes later, and I still hate her. It's bordering on loathing. Stop pushing your book, yo. The Suze Orman of my apt. keeps talking also. It's getting difficult to drown her out.
Nothing is going on right now
Suze Orman (pronounced Suuuuuz Annoying) is rapidly overtaking David Caruso as most annoying television personality. She's probably not that smart, deals with morons who can't count or figure things out on their own, and smells like rotten cabbage. I kind of hate her.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Discovering the Cookie Bunny
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wqxFJj9V7U
My friend J$ recently passed along this exquisite clip from Sesame Street, which teaches youngsters many important life lessons:
My friend J$ recently passed along this exquisite clip from Sesame Street, which teaches youngsters many important life lessons:
- White cookies are completely different than blue cookies
- Both are delicious, in their own special ways
- Plausible deniability. When Ernie tells Cookie Bunny that one plus two equals three, he responds "It's possible." Just in case, at some latter point, he receives intelligence countering that mathematical claim.
- Ernie's kind of a prick. He keeps berating Cookie Bunny with "1 plus 2. 1 plus 2," never offering any advice or shortcuts to doing the math, like counting the cookies. Unreasonable pressure to do addition causes many children to turn to a life of crime and alcoholism. I sure hope Cookie Monster won't suffer the same fate. I mean, Bunny.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Nerds Discover Even Smaller Something or Other
Extra, extra! Read all about it! Scientists create even smaller transistor. Most people don't know what that is. Extra, extra!
I came home the other day, and that's how Dynamo greeted me. Well, a little less like a 1930's news-hawking newsboy, but still with great enthusiasm. Apparently, transistors are used somehow in computer chips. Now, since these new transistors are no longer "leaky," in 17 years they will replace silicone chips and nano-technology will be for real. Computers and devices which utilize computer chips (such as fancy cell phones, my blender and my Kate from Lost action figure) will be shrunken down to fingertip size.
This is a scary idea. Has anyone ever seen a movie that takes place in the future where people have finger-tip sized Dells and nothing bad happens? No? That's because bad things ALWAYS happen. In 17 years, we're going to find out the only thing keeping the Terminator and those 3 freaky things from Minority Report away was large computers. You'll see. Don't let the most likelier than likely inaccuracies and blatant falsities written above lead you astray.
I came home the other day, and that's how Dynamo greeted me. Well, a little less like a 1930's news-hawking newsboy, but still with great enthusiasm. Apparently, transistors are used somehow in computer chips. Now, since these new transistors are no longer "leaky," in 17 years they will replace silicone chips and nano-technology will be for real. Computers and devices which utilize computer chips (such as fancy cell phones, my blender and my Kate from Lost action figure) will be shrunken down to fingertip size.
This is a scary idea. Has anyone ever seen a movie that takes place in the future where people have finger-tip sized Dells and nothing bad happens? No? That's because bad things ALWAYS happen. In 17 years, we're going to find out the only thing keeping the Terminator and those 3 freaky things from Minority Report away was large computers. You'll see. Don't let the most likelier than likely inaccuracies and blatant falsities written above lead you astray.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Lost
Tonight's episode of Lost taught me that Cheech Marin is capable of making people fat with harmless "live a little, eat a candy bar" speeches. It also taught me never go inside any fictional chicken joints owned by Hurley when a meteor or cruise missile plans on going inside said joint.
Speaking of Lost, I spent no less than an hour and a half on Sunday putting together my super-duper Kate action figure that Priskiller got me. Yes, I'm bragging; it could have taken way longer. The box has no instructions, extra pieces and nothing fits logically together. There's not much shame in being outsmarted by inanimate objects, as long as it doesn't happen more than once a week or so.
My other complaint is that Kate doesn't look as sexy as she does on the show; her arms, in fact, resemble mummified tree branches. Also, the plane prop they threw in is rather a waste. I'd be much happier with a scantily clad photo of Evangeline Lilly instead. The action figure speaks, but so far I haven't heard "Oh L Bo, come carry me away in your big strong arms and let me be the other half of the equation when you sire our children. Please!" I hope Todd McFarlane puts out an updated version soon, like he does for his baseball series when a player gets traded to a new team.
Speaking of Lost, I spent no less than an hour and a half on Sunday putting together my super-duper Kate action figure that Priskiller got me. Yes, I'm bragging; it could have taken way longer. The box has no instructions, extra pieces and nothing fits logically together. There's not much shame in being outsmarted by inanimate objects, as long as it doesn't happen more than once a week or so.
My other complaint is that Kate doesn't look as sexy as she does on the show; her arms, in fact, resemble mummified tree branches. Also, the plane prop they threw in is rather a waste. I'd be much happier with a scantily clad photo of Evangeline Lilly instead. The action figure speaks, but so far I haven't heard "Oh L Bo, come carry me away in your big strong arms and let me be the other half of the equation when you sire our children. Please!" I hope Todd McFarlane puts out an updated version soon, like he does for his baseball series when a player gets traded to a new team.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Mystery of the day
Why does my cell phone's alarm, which is set to go off at 8 AM and again at 8:30 AM (due to my propensity to sleep longer than I should) Monday through Friday go off, without fail, EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY MORNING? Will this issue get worse with the whole Daylight Savings time coming earlier this year? Is my phone really that malicious and sinister that it plots to be the most annoying sound early Saturday, even more so than Dynamo's coffee grinder or air-raid-siren-teapot? Did Saturday become a weekday and I wasn't notified?
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Professional Movie Review #1
I just saw Children of Men. It was really good.
Let's see your witty, intelligent and completely misspelled response to that, Anonymous! If that's even your real name, you cowardly commenter.
Let's see your witty, intelligent and completely misspelled response to that, Anonymous! If that's even your real name, you cowardly commenter.
Imagin-haters
"Although the book was originally criticized for having a loose plot and poor characterization, it remains popular worldwide even sixty years after its first publication primarily for the enhancing illustrations and effective pacing."
-- Wikipedia's featured article on February 11th, on Make Way for Ducklings
Really? A loose plot and poor characterization? Effective pacing? This wasn't a Dickens' novel, this is the Caldecott Medal award winning children's book Make Way for Ducklings. Make. Way. For. Ducklings. As in, tiny, cute baby ducks. Doesn't it feel like attacking this book is the same as kicking one of those adorable previously mentioned tiny water fowl? Not to mention the book is intended for kids aged 3 to 8, who's idea of effective pacing is eating as much candy as possible and instantaneous travel (if you don't believe me, refer to "Are we there yet?")
This book starts off with " Mr. and Mrs. Mallard were looking for a place to live." Why can't a book about duck parents looking for a place to live just be that? What's next, criticizing Snuffleupagus' trunk as being anatomically incorrect in proportion to his IMAGINARY body?
-- Wikipedia's featured article on February 11th, on Make Way for Ducklings
Really? A loose plot and poor characterization? Effective pacing? This wasn't a Dickens' novel, this is the Caldecott Medal award winning children's book Make Way for Ducklings. Make. Way. For. Ducklings. As in, tiny, cute baby ducks. Doesn't it feel like attacking this book is the same as kicking one of those adorable previously mentioned tiny water fowl? Not to mention the book is intended for kids aged 3 to 8, who's idea of effective pacing is eating as much candy as possible and instantaneous travel (if you don't believe me, refer to "Are we there yet?")
This book starts off with " Mr. and Mrs. Mallard were looking for a place to live." Why can't a book about duck parents looking for a place to live just be that? What's next, criticizing Snuffleupagus' trunk as being anatomically incorrect in proportion to his IMAGINARY body?
Monday, January 29, 2007
What was she thinking?!?!???
Polar Bear Cub Unwanted
In case you're too lazy to go to the link and read the story and see more photos of this ridiculously cute beast, here's the nutshell: Knut, the cute polar bear cub, was rejected by his mother, Beastly McBeasterson of the Berlin zoo (and not even for wanting to live an alternate lifestyle) and the bearded man gets to hand feed and play with the cub.
In other, related news, I'm moving to Berlin, to pursue my true calling: Playing with cute animals. I've tried to add that on as a job description, along with researching adorable creatures, but have so far been rejected. I have to make it to the Berlin Zoo while Knut is still feeling rejected and confused, so it'll be easier to convince him to live with me in Brooklyn.
If I can't get to Germany, I'm hoping to dupe someone into taking my apartment as trade for a bear. Getting a little desperate, so any kind of bear will do. Hey, if the white man could trade beads for Manhattan, I should be able to pull this off.
But the day hasn't been all fun and games. I had to educate my sister, as this real life conversation proves (this conversation took place via Electronic Instant Note Passing):
I think this conversation should serve as evidence that, had I been able to conversate with Knut's mom, she would have kept her baby. However, her loss will be my gain. Germany, ho!
Photos courtesy of me stealing them from Reuters
In case you're too lazy to go to the link and read the story and see more photos of this ridiculously cute beast, here's the nutshell: Knut, the cute polar bear cub, was rejected by his mother, Beastly McBeasterson of the Berlin zoo (and not even for wanting to live an alternate lifestyle) and the bearded man gets to hand feed and play with the cub.
In other, related news, I'm moving to Berlin, to pursue my true calling: Playing with cute animals. I've tried to add that on as a job description, along with researching adorable creatures, but have so far been rejected. I have to make it to the Berlin Zoo while Knut is still feeling rejected and confused, so it'll be easier to convince him to live with me in Brooklyn.
If I can't get to Germany, I'm hoping to dupe someone into taking my apartment as trade for a bear. Getting a little desperate, so any kind of bear will do. Hey, if the white man could trade beads for Manhattan, I should be able to pull this off.
But the day hasn't been all fun and games. I had to educate my sister, as this real life conversation proves (this conversation took place via Electronic Instant Note Passing):
Sis: Awwwww I want one!!!!!!!Me: I KNOW, me too. It's the cutest thing ever.Sis: And then when it grows up we can make it eat people we don't likeMe: YEAAAAAAAAAAwaitno!Sis: lolMe: Bears like chocolate and berriesSis: Chocolate? Are you sure?
Me: POSITIVE! I've done hours of extensive research. Besides, I'm 3 years older, and therefore i know more.Sis: Oh of course. Silly me.
Photos courtesy of me stealing them from Reuters
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Brilliant Roommate Conversation #1
Me: Yo man, where all the bears that I was told live in Brooklyn? I haven't seen any!
Human Dynamo: No, that's a tree that grows in Brooklyn.
Human Dynamo: No, that's a tree that grows in Brooklyn.
Oh Boy
Cam'ron is the David Caruso of the rap game. Well, minus the red hair, stupid sunglasses and lecherous behavior. Take this Killa Cam lyric, from a battle rap between some crappy rappers and some other, less crappy rappers (my viewpoint is slightly biased since I believe Freeway to be the best rapper ever):
"I'm the pink panther, my panther is pink
My mink is mink
Huey and screwy, huey duey and louie
Nah they ain't ready for this."
The words may be slightly wrong, because I don't care that much, and while looking them up, got completely involved in a re-run of Scrubs with the Silver Spoon NYPD Blue nurse detective and why Cam'ron wears Rocawear boxers but hates Jay-Z. The point remains however. Cam'ron has ruined rap, much like David Caruso has ruined Miami and forensics, with stupid and smarmy catch phrases and some sort of bright reddish trait (pink for Cam, fake flame hair for David).
"I'm the pink panther, my panther is pink
My mink is mink
Huey and screwy, huey duey and louie
Nah they ain't ready for this."
The words may be slightly wrong, because I don't care that much, and while looking them up, got completely involved in a re-run of Scrubs with the Silver Spoon NYPD Blue nurse detective and why Cam'ron wears Rocawear boxers but hates Jay-Z. The point remains however. Cam'ron has ruined rap, much like David Caruso has ruined Miami and forensics, with stupid and smarmy catch phrases and some sort of bright reddish trait (pink for Cam, fake flame hair for David).
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Where could I be?
I came home last night, feeling something was amiss. It wasn't that all the lights were off, as Dynamo is quite energy conscience. Walking past my diamond studded door, in which I usually see my solid gold four poster bed and beautiful harem with ostrich feathers and grapes, I noticed something strange. My door was closed!
I began to panic a little bit. Dynamo and his lady friend were both downstairs. Was I in my room? If so, should I keep it down, in case the me in the room was asleep? It would be awful rude to wake me up. Most annoyingly of all, I couldn't remember being in my room and closing the door.
I steeled myself, and cautiously pushed the door open. I was immediately greeted with fanning and delicious grapes. All was well. This time.
Stay tuned for more, next time on "When Past and Present Larrys Collide"
I began to panic a little bit. Dynamo and his lady friend were both downstairs. Was I in my room? If so, should I keep it down, in case the me in the room was asleep? It would be awful rude to wake me up. Most annoyingly of all, I couldn't remember being in my room and closing the door.
I steeled myself, and cautiously pushed the door open. I was immediately greeted with fanning and delicious grapes. All was well. This time.
Stay tuned for more, next time on "When Past and Present Larrys Collide"
Friday, January 05, 2007
America's Most Hated
It's not K-Fed. I mean, him and I will probably never be boys, but I'm willing to live with that.
No, last night's episode of Scrubs, in which one of the characters (Dr. Perry Cox, played by John C. McGinley) calls out Dane Cook for being an unfunny buffoon, has given me hope. Hope, and the desire to see "America's Most Hated: David Caruso" front page in tomorrow's New York Times. As I don't actually read the New York Times, or any newspaper not named Metro, someone else will have to look for me, and diligently report back to me. Since this blog lacks the technology were-withal of Time magazine to include a mirror, I will just have to settle for naming the person. You. Yes, you will need to get back to me. And for the love of all that is good, do not fail me.
Yesterday night, at the West 4th street stop, I crossed paths with John Hodgman, author, actor and hobo afficianado. He turned away, no doubt shy after he recognized me as one of his myspace friends. It took you long enough to accept me, Hodg-man. I forgive him though, as it's always a little uncomfortable meeting an internet friend for the first time, especially one who you've never actually spoken to, except through words in a book you've written.
No, last night's episode of Scrubs, in which one of the characters (Dr. Perry Cox, played by John C. McGinley) calls out Dane Cook for being an unfunny buffoon, has given me hope. Hope, and the desire to see "America's Most Hated: David Caruso" front page in tomorrow's New York Times. As I don't actually read the New York Times, or any newspaper not named Metro, someone else will have to look for me, and diligently report back to me. Since this blog lacks the technology were-withal of Time magazine to include a mirror, I will just have to settle for naming the person. You. Yes, you will need to get back to me. And for the love of all that is good, do not fail me.
*************
Yesterday night, at the West 4th street stop, I crossed paths with John Hodgman, author, actor and hobo afficianado. He turned away, no doubt shy after he recognized me as one of his myspace friends. It took you long enough to accept me, Hodg-man. I forgive him though, as it's always a little uncomfortable meeting an internet friend for the first time, especially one who you've never actually spoken to, except through words in a book you've written.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Caruso in a box
While watching the semi-hilarious "Dick-in-a-box" video from SNL's Andy Samberg with Justin Timberlake, I realized two things. One: Justin's wearing a wig that looks exactly like David Caruso's hypnotically red "hair;" and Two: I'm probably going to end up blogging about this. Oh, and Three: I no longer believe I have a great shot at stealing Cameron Diaz away from Justin. Now, there's only two others Caruso's wig should fit, based on the size of ginormous melon, and that's present day Barry Bonds, and an African elephant, which begs the questions, is Justin a pachyderm on 'roids, and why is everyone so obsessed with David Caruso.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Oh, Possum!
Thursday night, quite drunk, stumbling back from my boss' housewarming party, I turned the corner on my block and came face to...uhm, ankle, with an opossum. I'd never seen a live one in the wild before, so despite it's rat-like appearance, I was quite excited. I was also intoxicated enough to believe it was Splinter. It was so surreal, standing on the corner of my block in Brooklyn, with an opossum on the curb in front of a car (probably not its own, they're notorious for riding shotgun) that I didn't even think to take a photo with my camera phone as proof against naysayers. By the time I thought about it, Mr. Opossum had smoothly slid under the automobile, out of sight, and a little voice in the back of my head told me reaching my hand into a dark space to grab the opossum was a bad idea.
I've also discovered parrots (or perhaps parakeets) in my neighborhood, but haven't been able to take a photo of them yet. Watching one fly with wire in it's beak to build/repair their nest on top of a telephone pole was quite cool. Plus, I thought maybe they'd be good for home improvements on my condo.
Unfortunately, both of these species do not belong in Brooklyn, further underscoring the problems with global warming and keeping exotics as pets, which is often times how exotic birds end up in Hasidic areas of Brooklyn. Hmmm, maybe global warming isn't so bad, if it will eventually allow kangaroos to migrate to Brooklyn too.
I've also discovered parrots (or perhaps parakeets) in my neighborhood, but haven't been able to take a photo of them yet. Watching one fly with wire in it's beak to build/repair their nest on top of a telephone pole was quite cool. Plus, I thought maybe they'd be good for home improvements on my condo.
Unfortunately, both of these species do not belong in Brooklyn, further underscoring the problems with global warming and keeping exotics as pets, which is often times how exotic birds end up in Hasidic areas of Brooklyn. Hmmm, maybe global warming isn't so bad, if it will eventually allow kangaroos to migrate to Brooklyn too.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Dream Log 6907.2
Everyone always wonders why I'm perpetually late to everything. It's because I sleep. I oversleep. And I don't do this out of any immense feelings of being tired. No, I do this because my dreams, as you will see once again, are simply awesome:
I woke up (in my dream of course) to find Ms. Dynamo (his girlfriend, not mom) eating my bagels. There was only one left, a multi-berry from Massachusetts. I'll be damned if I'm going to let her eat it!* I told her I was upset with the amount of bagels she'd already consumed and if she touched that one, I'd run her through with my saber.**
I sort of realized this was a dream when my apartment contained a tank full of 3 ducks, who were often quiet, but one moment when they thought I wasn't paying attention, they all had a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. I also had 2 puppies who could sort of talk, miniature grizzly bears (mom and cub) that lived in a fish bowl, and a terrarium full of terrarium creatures.
Next up, I was hanging out by a pool, showing off my really tanned skin, huge pecs and generally awesome physique, when Cynthis (name changed to protect identity of Cynthia) rides up to me on a bicycle. This was made more impressive owing to her being in the pool, ON TOP OF THE WATER (like Jesus, if you're missing the damned analogy), peddling. Sure, she was swaying back and forth a little bit, but who has perfect balance biking on H2O?
She was one of my 4 girlfriends in my dream. It was just like the time there were 4 Supermen in Metropolis, but all were fake Supermen, and 1 was the 1/2 cyborg Superman who was all evil and totally bent on world domination. Only this was way more useful, because I had FOUR GIRLFRIENDS. None of them wanted to kill me with cyborg strength, but rather with kindness. They were all fighting over me, wearing short skirts or performing Christian miracles for my affection.
Now I recognized 2 of the women, the third didn't matter (yea, I love em and leave em in my nocturnal slumber), but the fourth intrigued me. She was 1/2 Asian, 1/2 something else, and all ridiculously fine. Being as how my dreams are portents of the future, 1/2 Asian woman, wherever you are, don't make me wait. I mean, we're going to be together again (probably tomorrow night after about 11:30 PM), so let's get started on this now. Neither of us really has a choice anyway, since it's fated. I just hope you don't ride an early train, cause that'll make this all more difficult.
*Note: Not that she's not super nice or anything. But, it's a multi-berry bagel from Massachusetts!
**Note 2: I don't condone violence, especially towards women, and the closest thing I've ever owned to a saber is a broom whose handle I took off and waved menacingly.
I woke up (in my dream of course) to find Ms. Dynamo (his girlfriend, not mom) eating my bagels. There was only one left, a multi-berry from Massachusetts. I'll be damned if I'm going to let her eat it!* I told her I was upset with the amount of bagels she'd already consumed and if she touched that one, I'd run her through with my saber.**
I sort of realized this was a dream when my apartment contained a tank full of 3 ducks, who were often quiet, but one moment when they thought I wasn't paying attention, they all had a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. I also had 2 puppies who could sort of talk, miniature grizzly bears (mom and cub) that lived in a fish bowl, and a terrarium full of terrarium creatures.
Next up, I was hanging out by a pool, showing off my really tanned skin, huge pecs and generally awesome physique, when Cynthis (name changed to protect identity of Cynthia) rides up to me on a bicycle. This was made more impressive owing to her being in the pool, ON TOP OF THE WATER (like Jesus, if you're missing the damned analogy), peddling. Sure, she was swaying back and forth a little bit, but who has perfect balance biking on H2O?
She was one of my 4 girlfriends in my dream. It was just like the time there were 4 Supermen in Metropolis, but all were fake Supermen, and 1 was the 1/2 cyborg Superman who was all evil and totally bent on world domination. Only this was way more useful, because I had FOUR GIRLFRIENDS. None of them wanted to kill me with cyborg strength, but rather with kindness. They were all fighting over me, wearing short skirts or performing Christian miracles for my affection.
Now I recognized 2 of the women, the third didn't matter (yea, I love em and leave em in my nocturnal slumber), but the fourth intrigued me. She was 1/2 Asian, 1/2 something else, and all ridiculously fine. Being as how my dreams are portents of the future, 1/2 Asian woman, wherever you are, don't make me wait. I mean, we're going to be together again (probably tomorrow night after about 11:30 PM), so let's get started on this now. Neither of us really has a choice anyway, since it's fated. I just hope you don't ride an early train, cause that'll make this all more difficult.
*Note: Not that she's not super nice or anything. But, it's a multi-berry bagel from Massachusetts!
**Note 2: I don't condone violence, especially towards women, and the closest thing I've ever owned to a saber is a broom whose handle I took off and waved menacingly.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
The Prestige
I recently saw The Prestige, a movie that can't quite be described without then being ridiculed. That's not to say that it wasn't good, because it was. Quite good, in fact. However, the premise contains some elements of science fiction as well as the possibility of the occult. Two magicians, Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman, are constantly dueling and sabotaging each other's acts in a relentless obsession of one-up-manship.
Unfortunately, I couldn't watch Christian Bale without "I am Batman" running through my head, and was quite pissed when Hugh Jackman didn't simply eviscerate Christian with a simple Snick-snick-snickety-snick of his claws. This might just be me, because I also had brief, nightmarish flashes of Hugh in Kate and Leopold.
Some other notable scenes/thoughts during the movie:
So if you want to convince your friends to see this movie, which was really quite good, please do not try to explain the plot. Trust me, Christopher Nolan tells the story WAY better than you would.
Unfortunately, I couldn't watch Christian Bale without "I am Batman" running through my head, and was quite pissed when Hugh Jackman didn't simply eviscerate Christian with a simple Snick-snick-snickety-snick of his claws. This might just be me, because I also had brief, nightmarish flashes of Hugh in Kate and Leopold.
Some other notable scenes/thoughts during the movie:
- Hugh Jackman wanders into a giant, alternating current, crazy-ass lightning machine, in the hopes of mimicking Storm's powers.
- Christian Bale picks up a woman by showing her nephew a magic trick. He later takes her out for dinner, and drops her off at her apartment, where she refuses to let him in. Being a magician, he decides to break in, and when she turns around, he's offering her a tea kettle. She laughs at this. Yes, breaking and entering, with the possibility of sexual assault, is apparently the way into her heart.
- At some point, Christian's wife is railing on and on about how she knows what he is. I guessed correctly, but I also wondered if he was somehow a zombie. Then I realized being the undead probably wouldn't help you make canaries disappear, would lead to a constant threat of decapitation by overzealous zombie hunters and would cause dogs to bark at you.
So if you want to convince your friends to see this movie, which was really quite good, please do not try to explain the plot. Trust me, Christopher Nolan tells the story WAY better than you would.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Movin' on up
Dynamo and I finally moved in to our condo in Midwood, Brooklyn. For those of you unfamiliar, Midwood is EXTREMELY close to Manhattan, has a lot of really cool, hip things to do, and all the meats are easily identifiable at the neighborhood stores.
However, things aren't all perfect. I'm living out of my suitcase, but at least my bed is in my room to stay and will never be in the living room and the PS2 is set up. But I predict in the next 2 weeks, I'll be cooking all my meals and buying tons of groceries and putting them in our new fridge that will replace the old one that doesn't fit, using any single spatial dimension, in the space it was meant. And though I don't currently have internet access right now (which means this blog was created in the future and sent back through time somehow), I also predict my computer will soon be here, along with a nice dresser for my clothes. Yes, everything will go smoothly in the next two weeks, I can feel it.
Photos of new apartment are sure to follow.
However, things aren't all perfect. I'm living out of my suitcase, but at least my bed is in my room to stay and will never be in the living room and the PS2 is set up. But I predict in the next 2 weeks, I'll be cooking all my meals and buying tons of groceries and putting them in our new fridge that will replace the old one that doesn't fit, using any single spatial dimension, in the space it was meant. And though I don't currently have internet access right now (which means this blog was created in the future and sent back through time somehow), I also predict my computer will soon be here, along with a nice dresser for my clothes. Yes, everything will go smoothly in the next two weeks, I can feel it.
Photos of new apartment are sure to follow.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Robots Amongst Us
I think my coworker is a robot. Of course I'm scared, cause all robots are programmed to kill, usually women named Sarah Connor. Ok, so this guy/metal man isn't The Terminator, but he could be A terminator. I'd like to present Exhibit A, an email conversation with him, as evidence:
And if that's not enough to convince you that the robot invasion is in full swing, witness the picture I found on the internet and decided looked just like him:
Me:
Mr Roboto,
I assume Angl0-Saxon Roboto is a
decently common name, but I came across this while searching for myself:
http://tedleoguide.com/tedleolive.credits.html
Were you ever affiliated with the band in some way?
I took photos of them back in the day that they used on their site…
Possible Robot Guy:
Not me. You are right both my first and last name and the combination of the 2 are very com-mon in the U-nited States of A-mer-i-ca, England, Ireland and Scotland. Please give me robot food.
*arms swinging back and forth mechanically*
And if that's not enough to convince you that the robot invasion is in full swing, witness the picture I found on the internet and decided looked just like him:
Viral Self Defense
About a month ago, I was required by my job to complete a security awareness training course. There were a couple of parts to the course, including Email Awareness, which involved knowing that electronic mail messages are now all the rage, and Defend Yourself Against Viruses, which I was so excited about passing that I printed up the certificate and hung it on my cubicle wall.*
All of the sections had a course to read through before taking the quiz, which of course I skipped and went straight for the tests. Who needs background information when you're a genius in your own mind? This backfired when I failed one of the categories. A 75% is passing. As long as I get 7.5 out of 10 right, I'm good. Sadly, there was no partial credit for a half-right multiple choice answer.
Rubbish! I closed and reopened one of the sections, as I decided the tests were getting too taxing and wanted a short break. That counts as a failure, and I only have 5 tries per test. Not I look like I complete dullard!
Perhaps the best part, even better than the questions, was the goofy illustrations
*Is there a more depressing sentence than this? Maybe only involving land mines.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Eat at Joe's
Do you live in broadleaf or coniferous forests, 5 to 10 thousand feet in altitude? Like resting in the trees but feel constantly pushed out by developers taking your land? Do you posess a pseudo thumb, useful for grasping stems and shoots as you sit, human style, on the floor? If you are an up to 250 pound male, or 220 pound female, with distinctive black and white marks, and the above applies to you, why don't you come snack on our delicious bamboo flooring. Stop on by. Dynamo and myself are always receptive to visitors. We have only the finest caramelized and pre finished bamboo planks, and for your convenience, they're just sitting in tons of boxes in Dynamo's room. Help yourself. Perhaps enjoy a side order of drywall, or bring back some screws for the kids to play with. The deliciousness is limited, so call today.
Sorry, but zebras, red pandas painted white, and all other imposters WILL be turned away.
Sorry, but zebras, red pandas painted white, and all other imposters WILL be turned away.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
The Strongest Bird
At my superbly creative job, I'm in charge of digitalness. One aspect of this tremendous responsibility is handing hard metal objects, with cords and cables, to creative types who take said objects, head to Brazil for a week, and drink on the beach. The metal objects, or hard drives, which should be used to store images in the form of digital information, are more often used as frisbees or pawned to buy more caipirinhas.
To keep these coveted items safe, I ordered Pelican cases, which are hard on the outside, soft on the inside (think Arnold Schwarzenegger in "Kindergarten Cop"). These suckers are tough. A tank could run over them, even stopping to rest on them while the driver does presumably more important things (like shoot at the enemy a la G.I. Joe) and the case would hold up.
But like all superheroes and strong cases, Pelican has its weaknesses. While searching the website, I found the comforting "Pelican Unconditional Lifetime Guarantee of Excellence" section. This was followed by the less comforting "The above guarantee does not cover sharkbite, bear attack or children under 5" section. I wonder if real pelicans need be so worried by Jaws, ursines and toddlers.
To keep these coveted items safe, I ordered Pelican cases, which are hard on the outside, soft on the inside (think Arnold Schwarzenegger in "Kindergarten Cop"). These suckers are tough. A tank could run over them, even stopping to rest on them while the driver does presumably more important things (like shoot at the enemy a la G.I. Joe) and the case would hold up.
But like all superheroes and strong cases, Pelican has its weaknesses. While searching the website, I found the comforting "Pelican Unconditional Lifetime Guarantee of Excellence" section. This was followed by the less comforting "The above guarantee does not cover sharkbite, bear attack or children under 5" section. I wonder if real pelicans need be so worried by Jaws, ursines and toddlers.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Halloween
I've become increasingly less enamored with Halloween. It's still a more sacred holiday to me, than say Bastille day, but for how long? I've been driven to this position by costumes, as well as my neighbors.
Now I'm not attacking all the cute little kids in costumes. At least, not right now. But I will, to steal all their candy, and then I'd be the Candy Don, ruler of the sugar market. I think children usually dress up cute, and I applaud parents for taking them around, like a pack of really dense locusts, whatever area they live in to get food that will rot their teeth. In addition, I officially approve of costumes for women. So what if they're completely ridiculous, and basically an excuse for women to dress up like sluts. I remember Halloween parties in college where every single woman was either a sexy nurse, a sexy angel, a sexy devil, a sexy catwoman, or in very rare cases, a slutty, strip teasing, sexy nurse who moonlights as Catwoman. Thus is my concept of Heaven.
My problem isn't even that I never have a really good idea for Halloween, and if I did I think of it in February and then forget it well before the time to implement it. My problem is I can't dress up for Halloween without revealing my secret identity:
A few of my neighbors have put up a ridiculous amount of tacky decorations, including, but not limited to: saran wrapper bats on the walls, fake cobwebs on plants with plastic spiders, a sad looking dracula but an excited Frankenstein, etc. Do they keep all this elaborate nonsense the entire year? It seems a shame to throw it out, especially the giant skeleton on the door. The worst part, however, is a witch in the corner of the hallway, which everytime I walk past, I think is a person lurking to get me, and I immediately drop into Chuck Norris mode. The damned wicked witch also apparently lights up and cackles. I'm gonna drop kick that motherfucker!
Now I'm not attacking all the cute little kids in costumes. At least, not right now. But I will, to steal all their candy, and then I'd be the Candy Don, ruler of the sugar market. I think children usually dress up cute, and I applaud parents for taking them around, like a pack of really dense locusts, whatever area they live in to get food that will rot their teeth. In addition, I officially approve of costumes for women. So what if they're completely ridiculous, and basically an excuse for women to dress up like sluts. I remember Halloween parties in college where every single woman was either a sexy nurse, a sexy angel, a sexy devil, a sexy catwoman, or in very rare cases, a slutty, strip teasing, sexy nurse who moonlights as Catwoman. Thus is my concept of Heaven.
My problem isn't even that I never have a really good idea for Halloween, and if I did I think of it in February and then forget it well before the time to implement it. My problem is I can't dress up for Halloween without revealing my secret identity:
A few of my neighbors have put up a ridiculous amount of tacky decorations, including, but not limited to: saran wrapper bats on the walls, fake cobwebs on plants with plastic spiders, a sad looking dracula but an excited Frankenstein, etc. Do they keep all this elaborate nonsense the entire year? It seems a shame to throw it out, especially the giant skeleton on the door. The worst part, however, is a witch in the corner of the hallway, which everytime I walk past, I think is a person lurking to get me, and I immediately drop into Chuck Norris mode. The damned wicked witch also apparently lights up and cackles. I'm gonna drop kick that motherfucker!
Monday, October 30, 2006
Celebrating closing
Here, Dynamo and I have perfected the fine art of celebration. After one of the biggest moments of our lives, we ate gyros from a nearby, Hungarian/Turkish gyro shop; washed it down with Arizona's fine 99 cent green tea from a can, 2006 vintage; and relaxed on our only piece of furniture, a heavy wooden desk and rolling chair.WOOOOOOOO PARTAY!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Closing Costs
Friday, October 6, 2006. Dynamo and I were scheduled to meet at Michael and Swerdloff, attorneys-at-law's office. The name itself throws me off, because very few people use their first names for the law firm. Take, for example, Crane, Schmidt & Poole, the law firm on spectacular TV show Boston Legal (I may have a man-crush on James Spader). Those are all last names. They're pure fiction, but so is the use of Swerdloff as a first name.
After searching around for what we imagined the law firm's building would look like, we found a house. With a sign. A paper sign. Taped in the window. An 8 x 11, printed on an inkjet printer, sign taped to the window mostly hidden by blinds, welcoming us to the law office of Michael and Swerdloff. It was more like a dentist's office. We all took seats in the waiting area, half expecting a swerdly looking oral hygienist to come out and offer to clean our teeth while we closed.
Closing went smoothly, except for a few things. Such as our lawyer not understanding basic principles of math. Us not understanding basic principles of not getting extra money back. Finding out our monthly payments were going to be $500 higher than originally expected. Being moved from the first room because some guys had to do something with air ducts or something .
Closing is an exciting, yet extremely stressful time, and any little thing sent my eye twitching. We wanted to make sure everything was completely in order. Two and a half hours later we were in the clear. Except, at the very last moment, I noticed my name was spelled incorrectly on the housing deed and title, which actually were not in the expected Monopoly form. If it wasn't for my timely actual reading of the papers thrust before me to sign, the small error would have granted my condo to Phinneas Q. Sherberthead.
We had finally closed! And the first mortgage + city taxes + pickle taxes + not having a pet dingo charges weren't due until December 1st! Free ride, baby! To this end, we hopped in my pimped out pimpmobile (1993 Mercury Villager with questionable turn radius) crusin' and playin' Wu-Tang (on the radio)...with no particular place to go.
Everything was high 5s and W signs, until we got close to the apartment. There, in an act of ridiculously bad driving, I managed to hit a cop. Not a cop car. An actual, ticket-giving, clearly-shouldn't-have-been-walking-so-far-in-the-road, definitely-shouldn't-have-raised-his-left-arm-when-he-did, cop. My right side-view mirror cracked back into the passenger side window and I had an "Oh Crap" moment. I always considered myself a rational person, until Dynamo had to calm me down and direct me not to flee from the scene. I pulled over, got out the car, and walked towards the policeman, shaking like a Polaroid picture the entire time.
"Holy crap, oh crap, are you okay? I'm so sorry. I have no idea what happened, I thought I was further over on the left, and I think a car came into the lane and I moved over and didn't have as much space as I thought..."
"It's okay, I'm fine...you barely grazed my elbow, which was jutted out way into the road while I made my 'I'm a little teapot' pose."
Well, I'm glad he was fine, but my mirror was cracked right down the middle. And those things are not cheap to fix. I'm still waiting on the cop to give me money for the damage he caused!
After searching around for what we imagined the law firm's building would look like, we found a house. With a sign. A paper sign. Taped in the window. An 8 x 11, printed on an inkjet printer, sign taped to the window mostly hidden by blinds, welcoming us to the law office of Michael and Swerdloff. It was more like a dentist's office. We all took seats in the waiting area, half expecting a swerdly looking oral hygienist to come out and offer to clean our teeth while we closed.
Closing went smoothly, except for a few things. Such as our lawyer not understanding basic principles of math. Us not understanding basic principles of not getting extra money back. Finding out our monthly payments were going to be $500 higher than originally expected. Being moved from the first room because some guys had to do something with air ducts or something .
Closing is an exciting, yet extremely stressful time, and any little thing sent my eye twitching. We wanted to make sure everything was completely in order. Two and a half hours later we were in the clear. Except, at the very last moment, I noticed my name was spelled incorrectly on the housing deed and title, which actually were not in the expected Monopoly form. If it wasn't for my timely actual reading of the papers thrust before me to sign, the small error would have granted my condo to Phinneas Q. Sherberthead.
We had finally closed! And the first mortgage + city taxes + pickle taxes + not having a pet dingo charges weren't due until December 1st! Free ride, baby! To this end, we hopped in my pimped out pimpmobile (1993 Mercury Villager with questionable turn radius) crusin' and playin' Wu-Tang (on the radio)...with no particular place to go.
Everything was high 5s and W signs, until we got close to the apartment. There, in an act of ridiculously bad driving, I managed to hit a cop. Not a cop car. An actual, ticket-giving, clearly-shouldn't-have-been-walking-so-far-in-the-road, definitely-shouldn't-have-raised-his-left-arm-when-he-did, cop. My right side-view mirror cracked back into the passenger side window and I had an "Oh Crap" moment. I always considered myself a rational person, until Dynamo had to calm me down and direct me not to flee from the scene. I pulled over, got out the car, and walked towards the policeman, shaking like a Polaroid picture the entire time.
"Holy crap, oh crap, are you okay? I'm so sorry. I have no idea what happened, I thought I was further over on the left, and I think a car came into the lane and I moved over and didn't have as much space as I thought..."
"It's okay, I'm fine...you barely grazed my elbow, which was jutted out way into the road while I made my 'I'm a little teapot' pose."
Well, I'm glad he was fine, but my mirror was cracked right down the middle. And those things are not cheap to fix. I'm still waiting on the cop to give me money for the damage he caused!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
A P-Killer Dedicated Polar Bear Update
This post is dedicated to P-killer, who always makes an effort to get me to write more consistently and considerately provides this blog space with humorous commentary. And as we all know, humorous posts plus humorous comments is a great recipe for chili.
It's been a solid 15 days (or what the experts refer to as "more than enough time to get a polar bear) now since we've painted the apartment "Polar Bear," and still no luck. Thinking perhaps the paint was not so much a lure as a way to transform our condos walls into living, breathing, actual polar bears, I started petting the walls. To no avail. Not only are the walls NOT super furry, cuddly and seal-hunt-ly, but they're filled with roller drip marks.
This proved my original idea of paint as a lure must have been correct, and yet so far only failure. Meditating on the problem, I thought maybe the polar bears were actually being camouflaged, and running out before we could properly introduce ourselves. To this end, I painted one wall "Chile Pepper," figuring there's no way a polar bear could blend in against a bright red/orange wall. That is, until I watched Lost and realized how smart they were. The bear could paint itself bright red/orange as well! This was going to be trickier than I thought.
On this same episode of Lost, however, I realized some polar bears (some, not all, before you start badgering innocents) are actually quite dangerous and live in caves on lush tropical islands and eat people with walking sticks. Dynamo had a cane, and maybe these clearly insane polar bears can't differentiate, so maybe it's best not to lure one in.
I'd do more research on this topic, but I've got to go paint my walls "Delicious Golden Honey." To lure in grizzly bears, of course.
It's been a solid 15 days (or what the experts refer to as "more than enough time to get a polar bear) now since we've painted the apartment "Polar Bear," and still no luck. Thinking perhaps the paint was not so much a lure as a way to transform our condos walls into living, breathing, actual polar bears, I started petting the walls. To no avail. Not only are the walls NOT super furry, cuddly and seal-hunt-ly, but they're filled with roller drip marks.
This proved my original idea of paint as a lure must have been correct, and yet so far only failure. Meditating on the problem, I thought maybe the polar bears were actually being camouflaged, and running out before we could properly introduce ourselves. To this end, I painted one wall "Chile Pepper," figuring there's no way a polar bear could blend in against a bright red/orange wall. That is, until I watched Lost and realized how smart they were. The bear could paint itself bright red/orange as well! This was going to be trickier than I thought.
On this same episode of Lost, however, I realized some polar bears (some, not all, before you start badgering innocents) are actually quite dangerous and live in caves on lush tropical islands and eat people with walking sticks. Dynamo had a cane, and maybe these clearly insane polar bears can't differentiate, so maybe it's best not to lure one in.
I'd do more research on this topic, but I've got to go paint my walls "Delicious Golden Honey." To lure in grizzly bears, of course.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Polar Bear Picking
In a last ditch effort to attract a polar bear companion, Dynamo and I painted our new condo. Planning for days, we decided to paint it white. But not just any white. Polar Bear white. And not just any Polar Bear white paint, but Behr Premium Plus. You know, for more Behr attracting action. While Behr is spelled incorrectly, I can assure you their logo is an actual bear, which in turn reassured me that my plan would work.
So far, however, all I've gotten is 3 kittens and one cat, who may or may not be feral but are ridiculous cute anyway, that crap a lot in our condo's shared backyard.
While this is a hotly debated issue, I've come up with a few reasons why so far a polar bear hasn't sauntered into our living room:
1. I calculated incorrectly, and their favorite color is yummy seal gray or coca-cola black
2. It's not yet cold enough
3. The paint that attracts them is flat finish; we used eggshell and semi-gloss
So far, however, all I've gotten is 3 kittens and one cat, who may or may not be feral but are ridiculous cute anyway, that crap a lot in our condo's shared backyard.
While this is a hotly debated issue, I've come up with a few reasons why so far a polar bear hasn't sauntered into our living room:
1. I calculated incorrectly, and their favorite color is yummy seal gray or coca-cola black
2. It's not yet cold enough
3. The paint that attracts them is flat finish; we used eggshell and semi-gloss
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