Thanks Wired!

Thanks Wired, for providing further evidence that the majority of people are ridiculous.

Invention by deletion.

I'm not a huge fan of just direct linking other people's ideas that I run across through my daily RSS feeds here. That's what shared Google Reader is for.

However, the idea behind "Garfield without Garfield" fascinates me. It is the true genius of Jim Davis--because, face it, Garfield him/herself has never broken the humor threshold.

It is the hidden story of Jon Arbuckle, which the "re-creator" puts perfectly:

Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle [Special props to those who "get" this link reference"]. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb.

The Good Kind of B.O.

So the last few of my admittedly-few-and-far-between blog posts have been about Barack Obama. I deleted them because I hate repetition in writing. This blog isn't only about politics, even if it is what I've felt moved to write about recently.

The first Obamapost detailed my excitement over him winning Iowa and my humble pleading of Iowa to forgive me for so diligently making fun of it and its Midwestern neighbors from my East Coast Ivory Tower. Go Iowa. The second lauded John Lewis, my local rep and long-time hero of mine, for switching his support to Barack. What took him so long, I don't know.

Well, plenty of other states have fallen suit. There's momentum. Fantastic momentum (excepting dumb Texas, Ohio, and Rhode Island, the new "Midwests" for me).

Just when you thought the train was headed in the right direction...

Barack tosses a huge ol' shovelful of coal into the furnace and the train levitates off of the tracks, turns skywards, Autobots itself a bit, turns into a freakin Millennium Falcon and jumps to lightspeed.

See one of the best speeches ever here: A More Perfect Union

A lot to catch up on....

...but first, I was pointed this Craigslist post that I think encapsulates the internet--and perhaps the current humor zeigeist--as well as I could possibly imagine.

Survival Of The Fittest

---

Date: 2007-08-30, 2:03PM EDT


Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 409930561

Twiddlin thumbs.

Just sitting here, hurdling towards thirty. Late Friday night.

Twiddling my thumbs.

Heavyweights.

Just a quick note, since I haven't updated in a while.

I LOVE MY TEAM.

and they deserve love.

More tales from the office

Fantastic e-mail quote of the day regarding fantasy football league from our resident scholar aesthete Will:

I joined, made no trades or adjustments to my roster, and still did just fine. That was the point. Fantasy Football is a crap shoot, a chance game like Roulette, except the randomizing element is the health, drug addiction, and extracurricular dog-fighting that cripples the idols of Mammon that you worship.

But I'll play if you'll stop being mean to me.

________________________________________

And finally, as part of my office manager duties, I bring you an example of a new employee introduction, such as I write on the first day someone is here and send to the office. Welcome to the company.

________________________________________

*new employee alert*

The last few entries in the diary of Cary Collins, Jan 2^nd, 1999.

Morning

It’s supposed to be July 23^rd 1923, but it surely doesn’t feel like it. Brendan, diva that he is, is chugging his 2^nd bottle of Cristal while we all wait for him to get his nails done. Vosloo’s head is pouring sweat and makeup they caked on it about an hour ago. This goddamned desert sun is breaking my spirit, as I find myself giving my all as Jonathan Carnahan. Brendan, that fop, he’s basically dialing it in nowadays after his agent negotiated the deal and all the contract riders following Airheads. This is the second role he’s stolen right out from underneath me!

At least Rachel’s wearing one of those thin white linen tops…how I long for her darling accent.

Afternoon

Brendan, drunk as a skunk, hid on set wearing nothing but toilet paper. As we all fanned out looking for him, I’m appalled to say that poor Rachel, darling Rachel, nearly had a heart attack as he jumped out and grabbed her, screaming “I’m The Mummy!!! Unravel me!!!!”. Luckily I was there to catch her fainting body… The guys we hired locally to move the giant set pieces and carry Brendan back and forth on a raised throne, promptly handed in their resignations. Eagle-eagle-snake-cat-river. Strong words indeed.

Evening

Another day’s shooting behind us. I’ve probably found at least a pound of sand in my nether region, rushed there by the angry winds that surround our shooting location. Patricia, the actress who’s playing Anck Su Namun, has succumbed to what we on-set have called “The Mummy’s Curse”—Fraser’s Condyloma. I stole myself into Brendan’s RV today and found the script to Monkey Bone. The writing is incredible, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s really a clever metaphor for his personal life.

My sweet sweet Rachel calls to me in my dreams, I must attend her.

Jan 3^rd, 1999.

Morning

We finished off the last few scenes this morning. Brendan’s taking to wearing a leather jacket and matching hat, cracking a whip and dragging himself beneath a Nazi troop transport truck. He betrays the spirit that is Harrison Ford and Sam Spiro. He disgusts me.

Afternoon

I was in Four Weddings and a Funeral! I delivered Auden with the best of them! Now I play second fiddle to George of the Jungle?!

We traveled to visit the Sphinx today, as a thank you gift from the producer. Throughout the whole ride Brendan was regaling us with stories of the parties he had with “Sean and Pauly” after Encino Man. As if he knows them that well! Hookers and blow. Blow and hookers. Same ol’ same ol’. I perform Shakespeare on my Saturday nights at the community theater!

Night

I saw Rachel and Brendan kiss today. My Rachel. My sweet, Princess Nefertiri. I must do something. This must stop!

Jan 4^th, 1999.

If you are reading this you know it has come to pass. Either I will have slain the beast that is Fraser or he will have bested me. I could not live a day longer living in his shadow. In either case I am through with acting, my one great love besides Rachel. I hold no misconceptions in my heart that she will rush into my arms like she should, a woman with her grace and power could not settle for Hugh Grant’s eternal second fiddle.

What shall I yearn for? What to do with the rest of my life? Some of the gents at ILM have suggested that they’d support me in my assassination attempt—make it look like he’d been swallowed in a sandstorm. If I fail, they promised to get me a job in programming. Either way, this is my last journal entry for a long while. Wish me luck as I face the monstrous Brendan—fully determined and with righteousness on my side!

[The following was found inserted in the diary, with the caption “The metaphor of a love triangle”]

Please join with me in welcoming the real Cary Collins (who strangely resembles actor John Hannah). He’s one of the Workshop Candidates (programming) for the World of Darkness MMO, and will be situated betwixt Orrin and Chris, in what I hope isn’t a new love triangle.

Icky Thumpin'

Get in your car.
Go to the record store.
Don't delay.
Do not dally.
Do not lollygag.
Do not hesitate.
If you need to pee first, just go in your pants.
If you need to get gas first, then just run.
If you don't have the money, come borrow it from me.

Go forth and purchase the White Stripes new album, "Icky Thump".
Trust me.
I don't lie about music.
This album is good.
It rocks my face off.
It'll rock yours off too.