Andy Warhol's famous print of Marylin Monroe has become a common vanity item, with people commisioning artists to have their heads in place of Marylin's. As far as I know, no one has ever done this for Dom DeLuise, so I thought I'd give the ol' guy a makeover.
Instead of spamming people with email, I'm posting a link here for the Virtual March on Washington (if you don't have a blog, I don't blame you for emailing people). Go there and participate if you want to. At least give it a read. If it turns out to be a front for some ultra-radical marxist group, I apologize.
We moved desks on Friday. Everybody in my group, as well as a few others, switched around in the grown-up, and more equitable, version of musical chairs. The end result is that I now sit where I originally sat as of my hiring. I have come full circle.
As a creature of habit, I'm a little uneasy. I can't put my right leg up on my cpu, rest my left foot on the power supply, or dart my eyes around in the accustomed fashion to check on the availability of coworkers. I'm farther from the kitchen, but closer to the bathroom. It's not all bad, just unsettling.
As I was exiting a cab last night, I reached into my wallet to pay the fare and out popped a Swiss franc. I haven't been to Switzerland in close to six years (unlike some), but I've kept some various currency tucked away as a reminder of my fleeting time there. It's funny - all the times over the past six years that I've reached for down home 'merican currency (last night was a "Jackson" I believe) nothing else has come out. Yet there it was, a rose-colored 20 note staring me in the face as I tried to mentally tabulate the proper amount of change for which to ask.
Awash in a wave of sentimentality bordering on maudlin, I came to a few realizations:
1) My wallet is absurdly old and cluttered. I could probably reduce its bulk by close to 50% with a little spring cleaning (an idiomatic expression predicated upon a time of year when it's not freezing or snowing, a season I'm beginning to believe doesn't really exist).
2) Do I really still need my AAA card when I don't even have a car?
3) I've been stateside for too long. A year from now, I'd love to have some Yuan and Pesetas nestled amongst what I'm certain will be a comically copious amount of Benjamans (come on IPO!).
I don't, at the moment, have the money to travel to exotic locales (read: beyond New Jersey) for the weekend (unlike some), let alone for any extended period of time (unlike some). But I want to. Badly.
And so I sit here, frustrated that I had to move away from my old desk, and wishing I'd been displaced 10,000 kilometers instead of 10,000 millimeters. This wasn't the move I had in mind.
Funny how we loathe the little transmutations and long for the large.
Have been a little delinquent regarding pictures. After all, if I did not purchase Rupert to shower my beloved fans with images, then why else? (specious justification?)
Last weekend, I (in chronological order):
1) was trapped in the subway for half an hour under the east river at 2am with Josh, Josh, and Cristina
2) witnessed Barrett take a little cat nap in the middle of a rather large party
3) frolicked in the snow, as pedestrians usurped the streets with impunity
Lots of snow. My neighborhood was completely devoid of vehicular traffic, and with the sidewalks shaky, the streets were reclaimed by pedestrians. Lots of snow fights, dog walking, even jogging right down Avenue B. Will post a few pictures soon, but in the meantime, enjoy these pics from my boss.
I work in the technology industry. I am constantly exposed to a barrage of shiny new mobile devices and sometimes impressed by the new features their manufacturers decide to incorporate. We (and by "we", I mean myself and the people from whom I'm most likely to contract a communicable disease: my 9 to 5 brethren) are awash in a deluge of ever-improving PDAs and mobile phones, which is, depending on the mood, alternately manna from heaven and a plague of locusts.
The driving impetus behind accruing this techno-cache, as well as its primary benefit, is the honing of our expertise and ability to deploy successful mobile applications. It serves its purpose... sometimes.
That aside, there are a number of ancillary advantages. On occasion, the frighteningly rapid pace of technological advancement serves (somewhat paradoxically) to assuage any concerns one might harbor about any comparably rapid fundamental evolution of human behavior. Or, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Take, for instance, a phenomenon prevalent during the nascent 20th century in association with the completion of the Flatiron Building in New York City. Utilizing innovative and ground-breaking (pun intended) new technologies, the designers were able to build what was then the world's tallest building. The skyscraper did more, however, than simply allow for a quantum leap in urban density and commercial office consolidation - it fostered abuse as well. The odd shape of the building provided a salubrious environment for gusts of winds that would periodically lift the petticoats of female pedestrians, and unsavory types would linger to gawk at the racy sight of women's ankles. The problem eventually reached such proportions that police had to constantly patrol the adjacent street corners, shooing away the leering men (this was not, as the above link indicates, the origin of the phrase "23 skidoo" - follow this link for apocryphal info - though the phrase was undoubtedly quick off the tongues of the constabulary).
We received a phone a while back which has been languishing in a coworkers desk since its arrival. The small size of the device belies its usefulness, as it contains not only all the features one might reasonably expect from the upper echelon of today's untethered talking-boxes, but a camera as well. The lens does not protrude or call attention to itself in any way, unlike many of its contemporaries equipped with comparable photographic abilities. In fact, the lens is almost seamlessly flush with the back of the phone's case, and is so inconspicuous as to be unnoticed in an initial cursory glance or handling. This is an excellent addition. Users need not sacrifice anything at all (size, weight, form factor) and in return receive a fully functional digital camera, albeit one that takes images far (FAR) inferior to dedicated devices (like my digital camera, Rupert). You're out with a friend, enjoying some drinks, waxing nostalgic for olden tymes, and -snap- you've taken a picture and sent it off (flying through the air in millions of tiny pieces, to paraphrase Gene Wilder) to another friend around the world. Sentimental bonding ensues.
The first phones to have cameras incorporated made quiet clicking sounds, mimicking the ancient shutters of the first analog cameras now well past the sesquicentennial anniversary of their invention. The phone of which I speak, however, makes a very audible BEEP! - one that is not easily ignored (even by Gene Wilder's character in "Hear No Evil, See No Evil", who was deaf) and one that cannot be disabled. Why? Much like the Flatiron building, this new technology was abused. It seems that, like their lewd predecessors before them, lads of the modern age could not resist the temptation to peer underneath women's skirts and, having their phones on them omnipresently, would reach down for surreptitious and stealthy Kodak moments without the knowledge or consent of their subjects. The loud BEEP! of this new model is intended to notify those in the vicinity that a picture is being taken, lest anyone's modesty be compromised (this tidbit courtesy of our CEO). It is the cell phone equivalent of a 23 skidoo.
So there you have it - the twenty-first century's answer to the epic perpetuity that is the battle between randy gentlemen aching to glimpse up a woman's skirt, and those who would put an end to it. We should not forget, as we barrel down what might seem like a chaotic, evolving, and unexplored road, human nature's constancy, and its ability to force the repetition of history ad infinitum.
Nor should we ever forget the rhetorical pertinence of Gene Wilder.
Tomorrow is St. Valentine's day. It is for some an occasion to reaffirm, cherish, and renew long-lasting bonds of love - a moment to examine and enjoy l'amour on its own terms, unencumbered by the baggage that so often plagues us in our daily routines. For others, February 14th is a day to express true feelings we might have kept under the surface for some time now; a catalyst to turn potential and possibility into reality and romance. It is just such a day for yours truly.
I've been eyeing you for a while now. When we were first introduced, you were quite clear about your limits, and I never tested them, although you have since become a bit more lenient. You've never ceased to amaze and surprise me with a rock-solid consistency that belies a diverse and carefree appetite for everything under the sun. While I must admit that you've grown a bit since we first became acquainted, it has only increased my already pressing desire to fulfill your every need.
When I went snowboarding, who was there to remind me, those many weeks later, of the good times? When I bought my digital camera, who made me appreciate just how much it was really worth? At times I may have shunned you, but you've never left my side. Whenever I brought you out with my friends, I saw nothing but smiles.
I can't afford to wait any longer. I know that if I miss this opportunity, it will haunt me forever. I don't want these life-long repercussions. I don't need these scars.
Yes, tomorrow is Valentine's day, but it happens to be payday as well. With that in mind:
Citibank MasterCard Debt, will you be my Valentine?
NASA placed time capsules aboard the Voyager 1 and 2 spacecraft. These capsules included data about the solar system, Earth, human anatomy, mathematics, units of measurement and other bits of important information that might be of universal interest. Not stopping there, the UN and NAIC placed various images aboard the capsule, hoping to provide a wide-ranging and multi-faceted glimpse into the life and times of the human race. Everything was encoded on a record, complete with instructions on how to decipher the data.
The site was down for several hours this morning. The problem seems to have been with Alter.net, which is a subsidiary of UUNet, which is a subsidiary of WorldCom, so I blame departed CEO Bernie Ebbers. In any case, I apologize. Now back to researching centroid data sets.
There's a scene in "The Living Daylights" where Timothy Dalton (James Bond Dark) and his cohort slide down a snowy mountainside on a Stratavarius cello, dodging bullets and alpine vegetation, whilst using the bow as a crude rudder of sorts. Now any red-blooded American boy has ridden down an icy slope on lunch trays and garbage can lids, but compared to Timmy D's brash and wily repurposing of the "Lady Rose", these exploits seem a bit pedestrian. We here at "Morland the Blog" were inspired to experiment: how would other objects, ostensibly bereft of any tobogganing capability, fare when placed in similar circumstances? While devoid of the spontaneity shown by Bond (which some may argue is the crux of his whole glib endeavor), we hoped to ensure a comparably comical "fish out of water" result by utilizing a broad range of items, which may or may not have plausibly fit in with the context of the aforementioned film.
After a rigorous scouting process, we selected Eaglecrest, just outside Juneau, Alaska as the test site. We felt this best approximated the heavily-forested wilds of rural Austria, while "taking it up a notch" with regards to the frigid climate. Not willing to sacrifice the element of human danger, we hired Ted Nugent and his personal arsenal to take aim at our testers, hoping to replicate the adrenaline-laden energy of the analogous sequence in TLD.
Testing consisted of a series of runs down blue, double-black, and wilderness trails, punctuated by breaks for lunch and/or espresso. Items were graded on an "A through F" scale in the following categories: speed, stability, agility/ease of navigation, durability, kitsch factor, reaction to bullets, and smell.
With no further ado, let's examine the results:
Chuck Woolery
Speed: A-
Stability: B-
A / EoN: C-
Durability: F
K.F.: A+
R2B: C
Smell: B
Chuck had certain criteria down pat (totally decimated career + 60's game show host = unbeatable kitsch value), but the ice-packed snow began to chafe and flay Woolery's frostbitten flesh soon after the first few runs down the slopes, causing a stochastic inconsistency of surface - we never knew what to expect! This made him almost intolerably difficult to ride. Furthermore, while still conscious (the first two runs), Woolery reacted aversely to the Nuge's veritable hailstorm of rifle rounds, arrowheads, and shotgun pellets by constantly whining and complaining that such treatment "wasn't in [his] contract!" One unforeseen benefit of this was that the ball-gag used to silence him doubled as a convenient steering grip.
The state of Alabama
Speed: D
Stability: A-
A / EoN: F
Durability: D+
K.F.: A-
R2B: A
Smell: C-
While some may consider the inclusion of Alabama in any competition to be anathema, we found it a formidable asset. Its verdant, swampy marshlands and gun-obsessed denizens provided great cover from Nugent's suppressing fire, and its sizable footprint resulted in a highly stable mode of transportation. And who needs maneuverability when you can coast down the slopes in the comparative luxury of Birmingham or Mobile (compared to Woolery's back, it's like Xanadu)? Unfortunately, and we're going to be frank here, the rank petrochemical odor and sloth-like pace really hurt Bama's chances. Durability was also an issue: after several breakdowns, we just decided to rest it on some cinder blocks and put it out in the front yard.
The loaded nuclear missile tubes of the fictitious Soviet submarine Red October
Speed: A
Stability: A-
A / EoN: B
Durability: A
K.F.: C
R2B: F
Smell: B
Properly waxed, we found the loaded nuclear missile tubes of the fictitious Soviet submarine Red October (immortalized in the Tom Clancy film "The Hunt for Red October" as well as the eponymous novel) to be a blast. Racing down the mountain on these highly combustible, yet durable titanium cones afforded us the headache-inducing adrenaline rush we were craving from the start. The sterile odor of communist disinfectant wasn't all that displeasing to the nostrils, although the bleak and oppressive aesthetic prevalent throughout really ruined any potential for kitsch. One major drawback proved to be the incendiary combination of copious amounts of missile fuel and 5 megaton nuclear warheads with the laser-like accuracy of Mr. Nugent. Another Bond, one Mr. Sean Connery, hit the nail on the head when he noted that "some things in here don't react well to bullets."
80's retro-cachet
Speed: A
Stability: B
A / EoN: B+
Durability: D-
K.F.: A
R2B: A
Smell: C
With all the talk of the 80's recent resurgence back into the mainstream, we thought it'd be rad to wrap ourselves up in "me" decade nostalgia and see how it fared on the slopes. Wallowing in mounds upon mounds of uncut Columbian cocaine must have really prepared 80's retro-cachet for white powder of a different nature, because it took to the slopes like a fish (called Wanda?) to water. Thanks to K.I.T.T. (the car from "Knight Rider") and his molecularly-bonded shell, 80's retro-cachet scored high on both the K.F. and R2B scales. This venerable hit-parade did have its Achilles heel however: durability. Sadly, the inherently cyclical flash-in-a-pan nature of retro-chic means before you can say Eric Estrada, any warped sense of individualism or identity derived from co-opting this bygone era will vanish under your feet. That's perfect (by definition) for a trend, but lousy when you're hurtling down 1100 vertical feet of backwoods terrain at a 12% grade. Another less than stellar showing involved the smell, which kind of resembled Ronald Reagan's aftershave, and made us nauseated.
Your favorite teddy bear
Speed: F
Stability: F
A / EoN: F
Durability: F
K.F.: F
R2B: F
Smell: F
We tried really hard, but honestly we just couldn't find a more useless piece of cloying tripe than your favorite teddy bear from your childhood. It was slow, unstable, hard to steer, fell apart in seconds, was way too full of sincere sentimental value to be kitschy, couldn't take a punch - let alone a bullet - and smelt like it had been cooped up in your mother's basement for twenty years (which it had). Basically, your favorite teddy bear sucked ass.
A giant spork
Speed: A-
Stability: B-
A / EoN: B+
Durability: B+
K.F.: B
R2B: B
Smell: A
Who knew riding a giant spork down a steep, snow-covered incline under the duress of gunfire could be so enjoyable? The clear winner - Dalton would be proud.
So there you have it. If you have to get involved in an international web of intrigue and espionage all for the sake of a talented young woman seeking to defect, make sure she plays the spork - it'll come in very handy during the chase scene.
Burritohelle day 3: the miracle of digesting solid foods.
My god... what is this? Cous cous? And what do I spy here? Chicken adobo! And over here? Spinach with chick peas and feta. A veritable smorgasbord of culinary hedonism!
And you're telling me that if I choose to ingest these items, they will be processed by my gastro-intestinal system slowly, as it extracts vital nutrients? These morsels will not, as I have been lead to believe over the past three days, merely take the time to liquefy as they pass through me, exiting a sparse half hour after entry? And there will be no pain, caustic bloating, or tumultuous, unholy gurgling?
I am wary of your claim, but curiosity alone necessitates that I test its validity. If you are right, I shall be rewarded with a bounty of tasty, stable nourishment. If you are wrong, it will be another day of consumptive upheaval for the likes of me.
One benefit of being kept up until 6 in the morning with food poisoning is the delirious, half-conscious dream state in which you find yourself. At one point, I was convinced that my body constituted a whole product line of miniature people, and by alternately lying on my font and back I could allow my customers to search through the catalogues, to find the homunculus just right for them. Then, of course, there was my pillow, which handled sales and distribution, and let's not forget the power cord to my ipod, which was the bridge over which customers came and went.
Another notable delusion involved a mission to self-destruct some sort of submarine, my reward for which was to be dropped off in a strip mall somewhere in Texas on a Sunday morning, when everyone was lining up for brunch. Luckily, my mother and brother happened to pull up in their cherry-red sports car and drive me to the airport.
Good show Burritoville. The way you wrested contol of my bodily functions was admirable. That you made me two hours late to work because of it was supreme. And the fact that I'm now contemplating leaving work early because I still feel horrible is simply divine. You have proven yourself a worthy nemesis.
Seems to be a bug with the comment counter. I think it's only on the most recent entry. While I'm investigating, enjoy this, courtesy of some anonymous benefactor. Created in college, it serves as a testament to idle pursuits.
Okay... so apparently the good people at "American Idol" have enlisted some musical accompaniment in the form of a pianist named Michael Orland. Here are some links that I find very, very scary:
- added ATT J2ME press release,
- pondered nature of acronyms
- became transfixed with 80's cult movie D.A.R.Y.L.,
- wondered whether adding a press release stating we were planning a J2ME/BREW app based on said movie would result in grounds for dismissal
- answered self-posed musing in the affirmative
- further pondered nature of cybernetic man-child coming-of-age story
- again contemplated issuing faux press release
- asked self, What Would D.A.R.Y.L. Do?
- briefly flirted with money-making bracelet parody scheme
- rejected scheme on grounds of being overly esoteric
- returned to WWDD quandary
- mentally reviewed plot of movie
- ascertained that D.A.R.Y.L. would probably refrain from such a potentially self-damaging strategic move
- realized precedent had just been set establishing a treacly, anachronistic genre film as a personal moral and tactical heuristic
- retired to bathroom to cry
- returned from bathroom, smoked a nice big bowl of hashish with the Albanian cleaning crew (a nice elderly couple)
When I first moved into my apartment, the building two doors down hadn't yet been finished. The construction site proved to be a virtual Xanadu for a little tribe of rats, and for a while I spotted them so frequently I abided by a self-imposed restriction not to enter my front door until spying at least one of them.
[ When liberated from sobriety, I would alternately vehemently adhere to this rule, or flippantly disregard it. I still harbor regrets stemming from this vacillation, and attribute the weakness of those times when I broke rank to a combination of a brittle constitution and total absence of any independent regulatory body able to sanction my transgressions with punitive measures. Nevertheless, I do take some solace in the fact that, as much as I might have breeched the aforementioned contract with myself on occasion, I did have spells of iron willpower, waiting upwards of one quarter of an hour before catching glimpse of a fleeting worm-like tail. But I digress. ]
That building has since been completed, and assorted homo sapiens sapiens have usurped the place of muridae rattus norvegicus (homo sapiens are #1!). For a while it seemed that my block would be visibly rat-free.
Thankfully, the building directly next door burned down (as I've mentioned before) and last night I noticed that it now has some beady-eyed squatters. The jury's still out on whether I'll reinstate the mandatory rat-spotting entrance policy.
Speed: A-
Speed: D
Speed: A
Speed: A
Speed: F
Speed: A-
