Archive for January, 2008
Beyond the obvious, investing, the sports betting and a bit of comic collecting, one thing I'd like to do with a time machine is go back to right before Einstein's Eureka! moment about the Theory of Relativity, hang behind his shoulder, wait for it and shout, "A-Duh!" Just for laffs.
In the interests of keeping fun levels low, the first thing that happened after I created my Rock Band band was a warning that while I could name the band "Trucker Sex" if I wanted to, it would appear as "ROCKBAND1" or some generic placeholder text. This is to prevent offending the legions of small children who've spent $170 on a game for their $300-500 console. It also suggests a deep disconnect between theory and implementation; who's protecting me from being called any number of inaccurate ethnic and sexist slurs by those kids on X-Box Live? No one, that's who, which is why my headset is still in the packaging a year later.
Is "Trucker Sex" truly offensive? I don't think so. I think it's sordid. It was two words that came together one night (and left each other early the next morning) in a perfect coupling. I like sordid. The Hold Steady1, 2, Raymond Chandler3, James Ellroy, I've got 0 interest in starting each day with tallboys and booger sugar, but I sure as hell like hearing about it. It's every "bad" kid when you were growing up, that feeling of being scared and feeling sad for them at the same time. Didn't even want to be invited to Krylon huffing parties, but it's fun to imagine it. So cram it, failed nanny from Washington state (and cram that tone of "Do you really want to go through with this"; you ought to be praising me for spelling two consecutive words correctly given typical video game message board dross). We're sticking with the name. Heck, the first couple covers (inspired by chico's inspired design exercise) are already in progress.
3. "I had been shot so full of dope to keep me quiet that I was having the French fits coming out of it. That accounted for the smoke and the little heads on the ceiling light. The doped whisky was probably part of somebody else's cure."
Ignoring all its faults, this is what I think of when I think of Wikipedia. And now I have it on the web for reference when I'm trying to explain what I mean.
Michelle is just putting the finishing touches on Joyce Carol Oates' The GraveDigger's Daughter, and I, for one, am ecstatic. The back-cover, the side that faces me when reading in bed unfortunately, features a large photo of the author's corpse, inexplicably standing upright while wearing a plum hat and OMIGOD SHE'S STILL ALIVE! Call the paramedics, stat! There's a pulse. Faint, but a pulse.
Guess no one would have paid attention if Peter Tosh wrote about "Reggae Bursitis".