Hey, Where the White Women At?

So yeah, politics. I know, I know - I said I wasn't going to talk about this stuff, but it's an election year. What are you going to do?

The fact is, I've been pretty well avoiding the topic for the most part. I skipped the coverage of the entire Democratic convention, and unsurprisingly, I intend to do the same when the Republican version comes around. Why? Because I can't take any of these people seriously anymore. It's becoming a real problem.

But then the news came in that McCain had selected a running mate, and that it was Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin, and I officially went into overload. What I would like to say is that this is a terrific sign of the progress we've made. What I'd like to say is that it's encouraging that after the historical battle between Clinton and Obama for the Democratic ticket, now we have an equally important event on the Republican side. That's what I'd like to say, but I'm not going to.

Here's the thing. I'm afraid that at times, I can be pretty cynical. I know, you're all saying, "But Roger, we come here and read these bubbly, life affirming posts of yours and can only assume that this is your natural state". I can see where regular readers might not be able to help picturing me in a field of sunshine, petting unicorns and farting rainbows.

I'll give you a moment to go wash up - sarcasm stains you know.

Anyway, I can be pretty cynical, and nowhere am I more so than in my views of politics. So when I see this announcement about the presumptive Republican VP choice, all I can think is that it was done for the simple reason that it will encourage the former Clinton supporters that were threatening to vote for McCain to actually do so. I mean, the person he's chosen has less than two years experience as Governor. This in a race where his primary argument against Obama is lack of experience. The whole thing smacks of a political maneuver, and frankly, I'm tired of feeling like the whole show is put together in the name of getting elected instead of, oh I don't know, actual concern for our country or what we could do to fix it. What makes me madder is that I'm also cynical enough to think that a lot of Americans will be making this choice for the wrong reasons, and that stupid political ploys like this happen because they work.

Now, I don't know much about Governor Palin. Maybe she's brilliant. Maybe she'll make a great Vice President. Hell, maybe she'll make a great President (McCain isn't exactly a spring chicken). My problem with the selection is that why it was done seems pretty clear, and I don't think it has to do with experience or knowledge, but an agenda to split the Democratic party further, and I'm sick of feeling like all politicians do is make decisions to win votes.

On the bright side, I live in Michigan, where political stories read more like bad television shows, and my cynicism is not just justified, but practically demanded.

Harold and Kumar Go Back to the Future

As a geek, there are certain shows that the crowd I hang with (read as "talk to online") are drawn to. These tend towards science fiction and fantasy, shows that probably never really took off to achieve main stream glory, but still amassed a reasonable cult following. You know what I'm talking about. The Star Treks and Dr. Whos, the Buffys and Fireflys. That kind of thing.

One of these shows has come up in multiple conversations, and seems to be, if not incredibly well liked, at least recognized as being interesting. It seemed well made. It starred reasonable talents like Jerry O'Connell and John Rhys-Davies. It was prematurely cancelled by Fox, which almost invariably means that it was high quality and people loved it (not that I'm bitter over their cancellations of Buffy, Firefly, The Tick, or The Family Guy). The thing is, I never have and probably never will watch the show based purely on the name.

I am, of course, referring to Sliders.

See, as we have established here on multiple occasions, my sense of humor ranges from dry wit to childish, and most shades in between. That means that the thirteen year old boy in me can't fathom someone sitting around trying to come up with an edgy, sciifi name for a show and settling on Sliders. Even if I didn't live in the Midwest and associate the name with White Castle (a burger joint I have never actually been to, and since turning vegetarian doubt I ever will), I can't hear it without at least a tiny inner giggle at the connotations.

According to Wikipedia, the name is a reference to their method of traveling between dimensions, sliding through wormholes. Not very dignified, but not all of us can have a Tardis at our disposal I suppose. Nonetheless, I stand firm in the opinion that any other name would have been an improvements. Seriously. Dimension Jumpers. Wormhole Riders. Alternate Universe Traveling Group Selected To Appeal To The Vast Majority Of Television Viewers Despite Falling Into Slightly Cliched Roles. Anything.

Of course, I could be missing out. Hell, I missed out on the first five seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer simply because I couldn't bring myself to watch a show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and as a result almost missed out on what I consider to be one of the finest shows ever on television. So maybe someday, if I come across it at a video store, I'll get over my naming prejudice and rent Sliders. If so, though, I'll make sure I'm in the television or science fiction section of the store.

With a name like that, better not be renting it from the small, adults-only section.

Just Call Me the Orkin Man

I'm afraid that today is code freeze at work. That means that this entire week I'm playing the programming equivalent of whack-a-mole, fixing bugs, checking the code in, waiting to see if more bugs come up (they always do), and fixing them again. It's...entertaining.

I typically enjoy programming, but these weeks are rough. The problem is one of scope. See, with so many people making changes at once, it's inevitable that something gets broken. Okay, a lot of somethings. Seeing as how this is expected, you'd think it would be a situation I'm accustomed to, but alas, it is not so.

A big part of the problem stems from my inherent infallibility. See, the drawback to always being right about everything is that when something breaks in my screen, clearly it has to be the doing of someone else. Some nefarious do-gooder is mucking about in the code somewhere, and eventually does something that I will have to hunt down and correct just to get things working the way they were before. I mean, clearly I wouldn't have made such a change.

**********BLOG DISCLAIMER**********
Statements about the perpetual correctness of the author are made with the caveat that his lovely wife has ceased regularly reading this blog. Should she begin reading again, all such statements will be rendered null and void, except in Rhode Island, where all rules have to have an exception. I'm not sure why - maybe they're just trying to be difficult.
**********BLOG DISCLAIMER**********

So yeah, it's stressful, and in all seriousness it is hard to have something break and resist the urge to point fingers, especially when it really is something someone else did. Heck, the only reason I even have time to write today is that someone has crippled my screen so badly that I can't get into it to test anything until they post the fix. Of course, I've been guilty of the same on past occasions (my infallibility being a recent development). Anyway, good times.

Maybe He Figured Out That I Don't Understand Football

I have to talk to you guys about something, and it's not easy for me. I'm not a big fan of telling people when things upset me, preferring a simple "I'm fine", even when it's said through grated teeth. For me, this is my natural state, as things that upset me tend to blow by eventually, and making a big deal out of them just exasperated the situation. It has become clear to me, however, that this is not something that is just going to blow by any time soon, and thus, it is something I have to deal with.

The Moose likes his mom a lot better than he likes me.

Don't get me wrong. The little man and I get along. We wrestle, he giggles, all the usual stuff. But if his mom is in the building, I'm suddenly an unacceptable substitute. I'm Crisco in a recipe that calls for butter, skim milk where heavy cream is needed, Spam in place of bacon (maybe I should stay away from meat based metaphors, and in reading that last sentence I'm realizing I probably should have eaten breakfast as well). He's not subtle about it either. When she hands him off, he literally wails, tears running down his little cheeks, crying for mama.

Needless to say, this is not doing much for my self esteem.

What really chaps my diaper (keeping with the theme and all) is that while he's wailing, I'm doing all of this parenting stuff. I get him ready for bed and give him baths and get him ready for school. Frequently while I'm doing it, he's crying, unless my lovely wife happens by and sits down to talk to him while I work.

The worst though is bedtime. See, I'm the one who puts him to bed each night. As a result, bedtime means trying to snuggle with his mom as long as he can, and then wailing when I take him away as if I'm taking him off for torture. Previously, the bedtime routine consisted of saying goodnight to all of our stuffed animals, daddy getting a big hug, and then I would put him down for the night. Now I say goodnight to everything while he cries, and worse, he refuses to hug me anymore. If anything, he'll put his head down on my shoulder for a minute, but he still keeps saying mama the whole time. So that's it. My last baby has decided at the tender age of two that daddy hugs are out. That hurts.

Now I know that these things happen. He'll be a momma's boy for a while and then come back to me. I remember the same thing happening with the Princess. The thing is that right now the Princess is kind of finding her feet, and it's coming out as a lot of rebellion against me, so for the first time I'm feeling like maybe she's not my little girl anymore. As such, I'm sort of losing them both at once. Maybe I'm being oversensitive (illness and exhaustion tend to do that to me), but it makes me feel very alone lately.

The solution is obvious of course - I think it's finally time I got myself that monkey.

But Now the Grass Is Greener On My Side, So There

So, another weekend has come and gone, and since I went into the weekend sick, waking up on Saturday with a slight fever, I took the opportunity to lay around and relax. Nah, I'm just kidding. I spent a lot of the weekend outside pulling up sod in the hot sun. Oddly enough, I'm not feeling a ton better this morning. Go figure.

I'm not sure what it is in me that prevents me from simply calling a time out when I need it. Maybe it's that I continue to feel behind. Don't get me wrong - things have improved immensely. We've gotten the calendars under control, neither of us are working crazy hours anymore, and we're far more prepared for the coming school year than last year.

Still, in my head all I can see is the to do list, ever present. So when we get a weekend where we haven't promised to go somewhere, I find myself undertaking these project, which is ironic because, as is often the case, now it's Monday, I feel like death, and our bonus projects over the weekend meant getting behind in our standard tasks, like laundry and groceries. Ugh.

Unfortunately, neither illness nor exhaustion nor extreme burnout can hinder me from plodding forward. I think it's guilt from all those years of being a slacker, sitting on my hind end in a semi-comatose state watching television and playing video games. Those wonderful, wonderful years...wait, what was I saying? Ah, yes. To make up for what I put others through, and out of fear that I won't be able to tell excuses from actual issues, I push ahead through all conditions, trying to be the person I think I ought to.

Apparently, there are times when I'm under the impression that the person I ought to be is dead, because I'm starting to think I might be pushing a bit too hard.

It's Only a Flesh Wound

As you may recall, I got to go to the emergency room a few months ago for some weirdness with my heartbeat. I didn't want to go, but my doctor acted like it was a big emergency, so I went. As usual, it's months later and I'm just now ironing out the whole who's-going-to-pay-for-what situation with the insurance company, and I've learned an important lesson that I would like to share with all of you in hopes that you don't get burned in a similar manner.

So, I received a hefty bill from the hospital, which surprised me, as I though we had met all of our deductibles. So, I find the matching statement from the insurance company, and it says that they didn't participate with our insurance, so we would have to pay for the whole thing. Having previously confirmed that the hospital did accept our insurance, I was, shall we say, perturbed by this suggestion.

I called the insurance company, and then I called the hospital. What I got was the most preposterous statement yet. I was told that while the hospital accepts our insurance, that doesn't necessarily mean that the doctors do.

I'll give you all a moment to reflect on that last statement.

So, having gotten a little terse with the person from the hospital due to my not being able to comprehend such a thing, she went on to give me a helpful suggestion. If I find myself in the emergency room, and I can afford to wait, I should request that I see a doctor who participates with my insurance. This concept intrigues me, because when I actually do find myself in an emergency room, that comes with the implication that there's A &#$%ING EMERGENCY. I'm trying to ponder the situation where I'm there with one of my kids bleeding from the head, and I'm supposed to size up just how much blood they've lost so I can decide whether to wait for a doctor that accepts my insurance. Quite a system we have running here.

Anyway, I'll grudgingly pay the bill, but this just reinforces my attitude of waiting until I'm reasonably sure I'm going to die from something before I go to the doctor. You know, when I called my doctor about this, and they told me to go to the emergency room immediately, I actually hung up the phone and stood there for a minute weighing my options, because I knew that somehow I was going to get screwed on this, and I didn't want to spend the money. Now, I'm even more likely to ignore their advice and just wait out these issues, which is probably not great for me medically, but at the same time, I'd prefer not to be shelling out the Benjamins to find out I need to take iron supplements regularly.

Return of the Son of Stimpy

For a long time now, I've been aware that deep down inside, I harbor the spirit of an evil genius. Fortunately, my better nature (as well as my lovely wife) keeps me in line, so this part of me is not allowed to flourish and bloom into a full blown super villain. This is probably a good thing, what with the career path of the average super villain ending in imprisonment, commitment to a mental institution or early retirement via death. This aspect of my personality, however, does allow me to truly appreciate a dastardly deed when I see one, or as the case was yesterday, actually fall victim to one.

After skipping lunch due to illness, I packed up my loot promptly a five, figuring I'd beat the family home and prepare dinner. I get my stuff together, and began walking for the exit commonly used by those in my area of the building. As I approach, I notice the person ahead of me pick up his pace substantially prior to hitting the door.

About twenty feet from the door, I realize why. Someone had left a vapor trail of funk, deftly covering a full area leading up to the exit of the building. Realizing that I was now walking in the wake of someone else's flatulence, I inhaled once and then held it in an effort to avoid breathing in any more of their odoriferous particulates than I had to.

Here's what separates this from the standard office crop dusting and elevates the perpetrator to the pantheon of evil genius. As I'm resisting the urge to breathe, I realize that walking a few paces behind me is a girl from another department who is also heading out for the day. Upon realizing this, it struck me that not only was I being forced to walk through the bakery of someone else's air biscuits, but that the stranger behind me would almost definitely associate this offense with me. This would be the one thing this person would think they knew about me - that I'm the type of person that eeks out noxiousness while walking through office halls. Not cool.

Therein lies the genius of it. By making sure that the storm was near the exit, they not only guaranteed that a maximum number of people would be forced to walk through the eye of it, they set up a ripple effect that each person would be concerned that the person behind would attribute it to them. Thus, a single SBD becomes a chain reaction of paranoia and discomfort (not to mention the occasional retching - it was vile). Brilliant.

I'll probably never know who the real perpetrator was, but I assume that he'll be hearing from the recruiters of the Evil League of Evil in the near future.

With Matching Spats On Their Little Paws

Today saw the first major casualty of my now full blown illness. Instead of working out over my lunch break, as I had planned to, I'm working through and nursing a serious NyQuil hangover from last night. I haven't even been able to take any more medicine for fear that I'll pass out or go hallucinogenic or something. I'm having enough trouble at work right now. I don't need to start ranting about the walls melting and the floor being covered in multicolored mice wearing vests. Always, always with those damned, tiny vests.

Anyways, I packed up my gym bag this morning with every intention of working out, but it's not going to happen. Right now, I want nothing more than to be home in bed. I'm not sure I'd even play video games. I think today is more of a hide under the covers watching bad television day.

The thing is, when this happens, part of me feels like I'm copping out. I really should take it easy, but I find so many creative reasons not to work out that the genuine ones feel faked. Silly, but true.

Ah well, at least I've got a mountain of work to take my mind off of feeling crummy. Hopefully the NyQuil will wear off before I go home and I can at least hang out with the family without being completely spaced out. Somehow I don't think they appreciate how I've perfected the "I'm not feeling good" thousand yard stare when they're trying to tell me a story.

Why Cook It When It's So Good Raw?

I've been playing that game with myself whereby I am clearly coming down with some form of illness, and yet I deny it to the bitter end. I have patches of inability to breathe fully and write it off as allergies bothering my asthma. I wake up all stuffed up, and again I just say allergies and walk away. I resist the urge to actually call myself sick and act upon that declaration as if this is in and of itself a sign of weakness, and acknowledgment that some virus or bacteria has gained some ground on its attack on my person.

Well, deny as I might, something has set up shop at the temple and is now shilling various forms of ick from its little booths inside me. It becomes hard to deny such things when you start your day by coughing up a small amphibian in the shower. Previously, I had thought such things were one of the many benefits of smoking a pack of cigarettes a day, but since I gave up that charming habit a few years ago, one must face the reality of the situation, and that reality is that I'm sick.

Fortunately, there is a simple method of clearing the temple of these mucus vendors, a savior to throw over the tables and scare off the livestock in a fit of righteous anger. This morning, I brought down the big medicine chest, and ingested my salvation, a tremendous 12-hour Sudafed. Sweet, glorious Sudafed.

Now I'm not talking about that crap they shill on the shelves in the guise of Sudafed. No, I'm talking about the good stuff, the stuff they make you sign for. Oh sure, it ticks me off a little bit that the war on drugs (which I'm still hoping will be won by drugs) required making it a borderline crime possessing my good friend psuedoephedrine on the off chance that you're going to go home and produce meth out of it. I don't really get this, as I find it a perfectly pleasant experience as is, but since I've never tried meth, I defer judgment to those who enjoy it enough to blow their houses up for it. Must be a hell of a drug.

So now I'm sitting here, able to breathe again, headache abated for the time being. Sure, I'm enjoying a little Sudafed head along with it, but what are you going to do? Better this than laying around in bed all day, right?

Well, okay no it's not, but I gots things to do.

No Seriously, It's Actually That Cool

Somehow, the stars have aligned, the gods have smiled down on me, and the result is a beautiful rain of technology. As you may or may not recall, last week at this time I was brimming with glee over the acquisition of a shiny new PSP, complete with shiny new games. For me, this was the equivalent of a pony, and in the last week I've managed to work in more game time that the month proceeding it.

Well, we were slated to get new cell phones, mostly because mine is getting pretty old. Actually, it's the first cell phone I ever had, and I was using it as the result of putting my newer one in my jeans pocket, and then laundering the set. Oops. Anyway, my phone gets lousy reception, which means it doesn't always ring. When you have cell phones pretty much for emergencies, that's kind of a problem. So, we went Friday night and I wrestled with kids while my lovely wife looked at various phones so we could figure out where we wanted to sign a contract.

Now, my lovely wife is an interface designer. This means a lot of things, specifically with regards to shopping for gear. For example, I looked at one phone, and though to myself, "Hmm, that's interesting. Not really useful, since all I need is a phone, but whatever". When she looked at the same phone, her comment about it, to no one in particular, and I quote, was, "If I have to use this, I'll kill myself". This caught the attention of one of the employees in the store, who was not used to having an interface designer in the store. I was exempt from such a nonplussed state, as I'm used to such commentary.

Anyway, after going to a couple of shops for cell phones, I would say that the expedition could safely be called a miserable failure. We went home, and I declared that I wanted to stay with our service, I didn't need a new phone, I didn't want to talk or think about it anymore. (I was in a bit of a mood - biting toddlers do that to me.) I figured that I would go out and buy a phone used or something, and just have our carrier activate it. Problem solved.

Well, Sunday morning my lovely wife comes up from the basement and declares that we're getting iPhones. I wasn't sure how to react, because I had given up entirely on that pipe dream. I made it very clear that I was simply following instructions and that this decision was hers (a little CYA never hurts), and then we went and bought iPhones.

So there you go. I can watch YouTube on my phone. I can browse the internet on my phone. I can read my email and look at my calendar on my phone. I'm pretty sure I can even make phone call, although I'm not sure that I've actually tried. It's hard to explain how wierd this makes me feel, this constant connectivity, this ability to grab data wherever I am. This morning, I silenced two arguing kids by reaching down to my belt and firing off a music video, and they stood next to each other, dead quiet, just staring at it.

Dude, I'm like a superhero now.

Regrets...I've Had a Few

And now, without further ado (and in no particular order), I present things I regret

Cutting up jalapeno peppers and then going to the bathroom without washing my hands first.

Mouthing off at work that I knew the best way to do something. I did, but now I actually have to do it, and teach everyone else how to as well. It would have been a lot easier to just let everyone do it the wrong way.

Eating Quest Doritos.

Ever hesitating to tell my wife how much I love her and how much she means to me out of fear that I might sound silly or contrite.

Coming in from outside in the winter and then going to the bathroom without warming my hands first.

Losing my patience with my kids.

Eating an entire Mancino's meatball sub and drinking a two liter of Mountain Dew in one sitting while watching a zombie movie. I totally should have had Pepsi.

Ignoring dad's last email.

Not always being more understanding about the lifestyle choices of others, with the exception of furries, who remain &#^%ing freaks.

Frequently choosing to write about something funny rather than how I feel, because I assume that, just like in real life, if I actually tell you how I feel about things regularly, you'll lose interest and stop coming here.

Not being prepared enough for the impending zombie apocalypse. (For God's sake, I haven't even bought a machete).

I'm sure there's more, but you know, I try not to be someone who sits around regretting things. I'd prefer to take whatever information I can glean from a mistake I've made and move on, hopefully wiser. Why bother myself with something that's done and over with when I can just let it go? It's bad enough that there are things that, no matter your attitude, simply can't be shaken off or forgotten.

Quest Doritos - the flavor still haunts my taste buds to this day.

On the Temporal Nature of Digital Works

I just finished writing up a tremendous blog entry on conspiracy theories. It was well researched, full of WikiPedia links for those who wished to delve deeper into the topics (which is a habit I seem to be getting into lately - please, let me know how you feel about that). It was amusing and interesting and all that you've come to expect from the good folks here at DLOG.

And now it's gone.

Just like that. Gone. One minute on my screen. Next minute gone. No automatic backup made. No recovery possible.

It's hard to express how much this has bummed me out. I fear I have neither the time nor the energy to reproduce it today. Maybe tomorrow.

For now, go read Wondermark. Here's the one that got me hooked. You can roam the archives from there, which I highly recommend:

Wondermark!

Facing the Book

A while ago, I bit the bullet and signed up for a Facebook account. I didn't do much with it other than gawk at pictures of people I used to hang out with and their offspring, who are all almost but not quite as cute as my own. (I keed, I keed. Well, sort of anyway.) I added a link to this blog, I made sure that none of the people I try to avoid were there, and then I moved on.

Well, it's becoming kind of an issue now, as my Facebook is hooked to my spam email account, as are almost any online sites that require an email address. This is just good practice, as eventually one of them is going to get hacked or sell their email lists, and when that goes down I won't start getting all sorts of interesting offers in my regular email.

What this means is that I tend to ignore notifications being sent to me from Facebook for a random amount of time. Once in a while, it will suddenly strike me that I haven't checked my spam account in a long time. I'll open it up, and there will be invites from people I know in Facebook. The problem is that this almost always occurs while I'm at work, and can not access Facebook to accept the invitation.

No big deal. Not the sort of thing I would typically do at work anyway. The problem is that things remain slightly hectic in my life (it's getting better, but still), so there's a significant chance that I will go home and not go anywhere near the computer. Then, a week or two later, I realize I haven't checked my spam account in a while, and in doing so remember that I never accepted the invitation.

Now I understand that there is a big group of you who do not regularly interact with your computer. You don't think of email as pressing, and things that happen online are a peripheral part of your existence. You might not even use the Internet for days at a time.

You people freak me out.

Well, not really, but by nature of my career, I'm permanently wired into the net. For me, there was a great triumph in being able to grab my PSP, hop online, and look up the answer to some question my lovely wife asked me, all without actually getting out of bed. It was sublime.

As a result of this wired nature, I tend to think of these interactions as real time. I'm picturing someone inviting me to be their friend, and then wondering why I'm ignoring this request. Does it hurt their feelings? Are they offended? Do they sit there and wonder why they sent it in the first place, quietly listing to themselves every thing I ever did to piss them off? In reality, they probably send the invite and then forget it ever happened, but it worries me. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, even virtually. If any of you are reading this, I'm not ignoring you. I'm just busy and forgetful.

Oh the bright side, I'm pretty sure I've elevated being socially awkward to an art form.

My $.02: Book Review - Watchmen

So, according to the current ticket figures, if you're anyone who isn't me or my lovely wife, you've probably seen The Dark Knight. As a part of that experience, you also probably saw the trailer for Watchmen. Those who, like me, don't hit the theaters, watched it online. Some of us watched it repeatedly. Either way, it's coming out next Spring, and it's causing quite a stir in the geek community.

See, Watchmen is based on a comic series, but it isn't a traditional comic book. Watchmen is kind of a meta-comic. It's a series about a world where comic book heroes are real, where people actually dress up and go out fighting crime, or at least they purport to. They don't have super powers (with one exception, which is handled brilliantly), and they have all the psychological issues that one would actually expect from someone who gets dressed up and plays vigilante.

This right here is why Watchmen is a success. It's a realistic book, and as such it's nearly impossible to say who the good guys are. The title comes from the Latin phrase "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?", theoretically written by Juvenal in ancient Rome. It translates to "Who watches the watchmen?", a phrase that is partially written (but never completed) throughout the book, typically in the form of graffiti. It sums up some of the major themes of the book, questioning why we give people the authority to "protect" us, whose interest these people really act in, and what happens when this authority is allowed to run unchecked.

The book works well in a lot of areas though. It brings up questions of alliances. It deals with human failure, and nostalgia. It also deals with the damaged psyches of the main characters, what brought each of them into the odd world of adventuring, how that world has affected them, and vice versa. It goes far deeper than most comics I've read with the possible exception of Niel Gaiman's Sandman series and V for Vendetta, another of Alan Moore's series.

One thing I would warn people of is that this is a graphic series. There's a lot of violence, and some sex (although that's handled delicately and out of frame). If you're queasy, I can't recommend it. I was planning on suggesting my lovely wife read it, but having finished it again, I'm thinking no.

Overall, Watchmen is a great book, and it's clear why it's considered a standout among comic series. This is why there is such a furor over the movie. To some comic book fans, this book is sacred, and to see it get anything like the typical Hollywood treatment would be heartbreaking. Moore himself refuses to see anything made based on his books, and I can understand why (The League of Extraordinary Gentleman, while an interesting comic series, was such a steaming pile of bad on film that if you walk past it quietly enough in the video store, you can actually hear it suck). So far, everything on this one looks good, but I know better than to get my hopes up. For now, I'll read, and recommend, the book.

What's More, This Completes My Console Trifecta

This weekend, a wonderful thing happened. No, it wasn't the second family reunion weekend in a row (which was fun, but frankly means a lot of driving these days), nor the confirmation that I am not expected to attend my fifteenth high school reunion (every ten years is plenty, thanks). No, this weekend, I got a new toy.

Gleeee!

After leaving this weekend's reunion, I went straight to the Toy's R Us and bought a PSP, my first ever foray into Sony gaming systems (I've have the XBox and have previously owned various Nintendo systems). Now, the PSP is not exactly a new piece of hardware, but that fits in well with my practice of staying a generation behind in gaming technology (remember kids, just because a game is new doesn't make it the best game ever - Super Mario Brothers is stil,l more fun than American McGee's Bad Day L.A.). Even better, I got a bundle, so we have a family friendly game (Daxter), a game of killing (God of War: Chains of Olympus), and a UMD Family Guy: The Freakin Sweet collection. All good.

What's really funny is that I keep up so much on gaming stuff, even though I don't often participate, that I knew exactly what to expect. As such, when I got the inevitable dead pixel (link has NSFW language), not only was I not crushed by the lack of perfection in my new toy, I actually felt like I was part of the group. Why yes, yes I did find my dead pixel and what's more, DUDE, I TOTALLY HAVE MY OWN PSP WITH A DEAD PIXEL ON IT!

Okay, maybe I'm a little out of control here, but try to understand, I have become a dreadfully responsible person in the last decade or so, and a big part of the is the constant denial of expenditures in the "fun" category. Every time I eyeball some toy, I tell myself that the money would be better spent on something responsible. Of course, I'm right. Still, once in a while it's nice to drop the ball, give it an official what-the-heck, and get a new toy. It's a bit embarrassing, but I'm pretty sure the whole ride home (in which I made my lovely wife drive so I could play) I was actually beaming.

So there it is. Christmas came early this year, and apparently I've been a good little boy. You'll probably notice a dramatic slowdown in the book reviews, as I'll be spending my alone time engrossed in gaming goodness, but I'm guessing that they aren't anyone's favorite reason for coming here anyway.

If it helps ease the transition, I'll happily describe the visceral joy I'll take in ripping a harpies wings off and beating it with them.

Why You Never Find Me In Best Buy

Today found me the forced observer of my own dark side. Over lunch, I went to the mall with my lovely wife, and in doing so found myself in a store full of objects that I have long coveted. What's worse, we were actually there for the purpose of consideration and potentially purchasing said object. We looked. We played. We considered. And then my wife uttered words that struck terror into my heart.

"Do you think we should sleep on it?"

Now, internally I didn't have a dialog so much as a panicked emergency response. Klaxons were going off. People were rushing to attack positions. Red shirts fell dead as the hull was breached. It was ugly. Nonetheless, the part of my brain that has somewhat evolved since childhood took control and responded in the affirmative, as I knew deep down that this was the correct response.

So far so good, right? We're taking the time to think this over before committing to a reasonably large purchase, like responsible adults should. So then why is it that the entire walk to the car, the entire drive back to work, and pretty much the entire afternoon has seen me pouting like a six year old? No, I'm not even going to give myself that much credit. The Princess would, without a doubt, currently be handling this better than I am.

I'm reacting like the kid who goes to the toy store, plays with a bunch of stuff, and then is told that we're not buying anything right now. Sure, part of me knew that going in. Nonetheless, the eternal promise of "maybe Santa will get you one" eventually falls through, because as an adult I know the realities of the situation. If you take the time to think these things through, the end result is almost always the same. No matter how shiny it is, no matter how much you think you deserve it, there's always something more important. It's part of being a responsible adult. The part that sucks.

Now of course, there is a chance that we will go back and make the purchase. I'm just surprised at myself and how immature I became in the face of this. I mean, at some point I won't be like this, right? The allure of gadgetry and new, shiny toys eventually wears off and is replaced with a more mature, realistic view of the world where I can look around with complete satisfaction, no longer pining for some trinket to fill the void, right?

Please, just lie to me.

Why Mario Always Seemed a Little Tense

My lovely wife was out of town for a couple of days, and I used that time the way I usually do - I got caught up on some of my tasks, and then I played video games. It's funny, but a couple of hours of Knights of the Old Republic, and I just felt somehow better. I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think I at least partially understand why.

Everything in my life is transient. Nothing ever feels done. Getting things finished around the house just leads to an inevitable, "Well, that just leaves..." followed by a long list of things to come. My job is just made up of finishing parts of tasks, always knowing that in a few weeks, there is a list of things to add to whatever I did before. Every time I think I have the family under control, I discover some new situation that I'm not used to (let me tell you, the whole "terrible twos" thing is not my cup of tea - I love that kid with all my heart, but Daddy's getting really worn out). I rarely ever feel like I accomplish anything.

Games aren't like that. When I play a game I pick up an objective, puzzle out how I'm going to accomplish it, and then actually accomplish it. Finished. Done. No follow up. No, "Hey, that's great, but we forgot that we also need you to do this". (This is of course ignoring that *$&%ing toadstool and his "but our princess is in another castle" thing. God I hated that little ^#%$er.) It's actually done.

It's weird how therapeutic this is. Yes, I realize that what I accomplished is virtual, but does that really matter if it makes me feel better? I come away feeling stronger, more confidant, because dammit, I got something done. I have the closure that doesn't seem to exist in real life, no matter how badly we seem to need it.

Of course there's more to my loving games than this, but I never recognized that particular aspect of it before. I think it's why I always preferred role playing and action games to fighting or sports games (well, that and getting your %#$ handed to you by your lovely not yet wife is a humbling and sometimes frustrating experience). Those games never end - it's a round, a winner, and then a new round. I like having easy to understand and complete objectives. Steal the plans. Kill the demon. Find my pants.

Wait, that last one wasn't in a game.

Dude, where the hell are my pants?

That Wriggled and Giggled and Tickled Inside Her

Another day, another bloodletting. I went to the doctor this afternoon for a couple of unrelated issues, and it naturally let to a blood test. As I believe I mentioned before, the heart trouble was eventually tracked down to low iron, which I think this has a lot to do with the fact that every time I go the the $&#*ing doctor, they take some of my blood.

Anyway, I've been stricken with two new maladies, and both are ridiculous. The first is aching fingers. This in and of itself is not ridiculous. What's ridiculous is that they drew my blood to check for arthritis. Now, I know better, but I can't help but feel like that's and old person problem, and so between that and the fact that my beard seems noticeably grayer than when it started, I'm feeling slightly ancient.

The other issue is even stupider. Apparently, now at random times during my sleep, I click. That's right, I said "click". My lovely wife wakes me up and tells me, "You're making that clicking sound again". What the hell is that? Now, it occasionally wakes me up. It's like I close the back of my throat, and then try to inhale. So I had them look to make sure I wasn't swelling shut or something, which apparently I'm not.

So I'm supposed to track these things and get back to the doctor later. Take Aleve for now and see if it helps. Also, I'm supposed to enlist my lovely wife in figuring out if I'm acting restless when I start clicking at night. Personally, I don't think I am. I just think I'm being defensive. After all, we've all heard the old yarn about how many spiders people swallow per year, mostly while they sleep, and even though I know it's hooey, I think my subconscious mind is being protective, which is fine with me.

Those little eight legged bastards aren't laying any eggs in my gullet.

And the answer is none. None more black.

As part of my efforts to pretend that I'm still entrenched in video game culture, despite rarely taking the time to actually play games lately, I read up on all the latest stuff. I watch the trailers. I admire the screen shots. I idly wonder if my children will play Duke Nukem Forever, or if a mere generation will not be sufficient to actually get to a release date. Anyway, I know what's going on in the game world.

One of the latest trends really bugs me. It would seem that color has officially become passe for anything but children's games. To some extent, I guess I can see why this is happening. People want realism in their games. Brightly colored ghosts chasing around a banana colored circle lacking eyes was not exactly a hallmark of realism. Fine.

But for some reason, someone decided that realism meant either extremely dark and gritty, or even stranger, realism meant brown with big time lighting glare. I don't know what kind of world these people live in, but when I go outside, this is not what I see. Admittedly, not a lot of games take place in the country suburbs, but still. I've been to cities, and shockingly, cities come in full color too.

Not everyone screws this up, but what really gets to me (and prompted me to rant about it here) is that now the fans are actually altering released screen shots to look more like what they want to see. Apparently, what they want to see is "not much". For the most part, all they did was suck the color out of the shots. In looking at it, all I could think of was some goth kid sitting at his desk, resenting the fact that the game he was looking forward to playing would actually contain color, unlike his world, which is entrenched in darkness.

Seriously, if you follow the link, my favorite part is #6, "Necromancer's Choice". First, and this is important kids, if you want some industry to take your opinion seriously, I find that the best way is to do a side-by-side comparison of what you like vs what they have, and then at the top of their product, put the words "Wow gayness". That'll show them. Besides, I thought part of the joy of playing a Necromancer was sort of playing the scary guy (or girl, for our female frighteners). What fun is it to be a monster in a world of darkness?

Me, I'd rather be a monster in the mall any day.

Meltdowns of the Majestic Moose

Sometime while I slept last night, by beloved son was replaced by a rabid fuss monkey, which came as somewhat of a surprise, as I do not believe that fuss monkeys are indigenous to this area. Nonetheless, when pulled from his crib and presented with the plan of his sitting down to eat breakfast, a great tantrum ensued. The net result was that he skipped breakfast (which just means I pack it so he can eat at school) and I got to do all of our morning activities (getting dressed, brushing teeth, etc.) while he howled and cried and kicked, occasionally pausing to make sure I was still aware of the tantrum going on.

Tantrums are not my strong suit. I know how to handle them and all, essentially ignoring the Moose until he feels like being more reasonable, but I'm a big softy when it comes to my kids. So while I'm doing the right thing, the whole time I feel like a heel for letting him lay on the floor crying while I iron my shirt and drink coffee. When I finally got him out of his car seat to drop him off at school, a trip he continued fussing through, he gave me a big hug, and I felt even worse.

I don't know if it's accurate or not, but the Moose feels a lot more prone to tantrums than his big sister was. I think it's more likely that I am simply more aware of it in him. With the Princess, my lovely wife did a lot more of getting her ready for school and whatnot, as she was working on her Master's degree at the time and thus didn't have as rigid a schedule as I did. Now that I have assumed the responsibility of prepping the two for their day (which frankly makes more sense, as I'm traditionally more of a morning person than my lovely wife), I'm seeing more of him than I think I did of the Princess at this age.

It's especially striking with the Moose because he's been such a mellow, happy kid thus far. For the most part he still is. He's just developing these weird battles, like not wanting to sit in his high chair to eat or fussing for extended periods at bedtime, although the latter is undoubtedly related to the removal of pacifiers from the situation a few weeks ago. I guess I just have to get used to holding my ground. It's just hard when it's my babies. I feel like I'm being mean to let him cry like that, even though I know that it's best in the long run.

There's Something Happening Here

You know, I had written up a big long rant against the government for their new ability seize our laptops and other electrical devices indefinitely at the border, with or without reason. The thing is, I can't even get upset about this stuff anymore, because we all let it happen. Maybe I'm just depressed, but it seems to me like we, as a nation, have officially failed.

Look at the headlines. People making ridiculous suggestions about how to solve the oil crisis, leading to outright childish behavior on the part of both major parties, or my previous gripes about the ridiculous handling of the housing crisis. I don't know if it's that it's a presidential election year, or maybe I just haven't been paying attention, but all I hear about from our government seems to be partisan asshattery. It does not bode well for us as a people.

Is it our apathy? Is it that we think we're so much better than all the other countries that our own failings can be forgiven? Are we simply a nation of tools? I'm afraid that lately, I'm leaning towards the latter. I mean, it's hard for me to believe - most people I know seem intelligent. At the same time, only 69% of Americans can name the Vice President. Louisiana just signed legislation that seems to be targeted towards allowing intelligent design to be taught in schools. (And please, for my religious readers, don't misunderstand my being upset at this with persecution. I don't particularly care what you believe, but I feel that pushing ID as science is purposefully fraudulent.) It just looks like we're backpedaling here.

I'm guessing that my current chagrin is simply a product of todays bad attitude (went to bed in a funk, and while I slept it grew into a megafunk or George Clinton proportions). Hopefully so. A good night's sleep, and I'll go back to my otherwise sunny and ignorant self, perfectly willing to put my rose-colored glasses on and face the world anew.

On a side note, do these rose-colored glasses make me look gay?