Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
By that I mean, there are 6 spaces inside a courtyard, and the modern SUV would not fit through that space. When I asked if where I had parked (on a side street) was all right, they said, "This is ah pahkin right hee-ya." loudly.
Myself, I don't care about Egyptology, but it is what brings the kids in. People want a mummy.
Not enough fuss about Eleanor Norcross
I suppose if you grow up in Fitchburg, and you came here as a kid, you got the whole tour. And if you didn't, why would you be here? I wanted a book from the giftshop.
Friday, August 17, 2007
This is an easy topic to attack, and I know you would rather ask me why I am going to McDonald's in the first place, and then.... why I am ordering a Happy Meal?
And thirdly, why I care what the toy is.
So I'll oblige.
the last 5 reasons I went to McDonalds in descending order of visit
Driving on Rt 2, 97 degrees outside, and half an hour to my next stop
- The one in my town is open 24 hrs; everything else closes at nine. It was 11
- Out of calories and dehydrated getting off the refrigerator crate known as the Nantucket ferry
- 2 glasses of wine in an hour, stumbled out to the daylight and realized I shouldn't drive home. The fact that I didn't go back into the bar I just stumbled out of is some measure of how badly I needed some fry soaking.
- I wanted some Chicken Selects. Don't act holier than thou.
Why I order the Happy Meal
Remember before the Happy Meal (1979 , if you are wondering), when the hamburger, small fries, small Coke combination was under $1? The Happy Meal is an emergency calorie infusion that can usually be purchased with what's in your coin tray. I do not claim this is better for you than eating a Power bar, or even 3 packs of salt and a pixie stick. I am just answering the question.Why I care what the toy is.
I sort of care. When I had an office (with a fireplace, a couch, and french doors, but don't make me cry) and the disposable income of a 25 year old, AND... when Happy Meal toys were a whole lot better.... AND... I was going through a Disney revival period I have never yet explained except as a compulsion... I had a mantelpiece lined with Happy Meal toys. And in "them days," you were collecting movie characters so you could build a whole playset. No one cared whether you were a boy or a girl.
Today I sort of care because if it is any good, I'll throw it in the toy box I keep for visiting kids, where the rest of the good action figures are.
But they aren't. They are crappy. Dig the Mulan figures from 98. Hand-sized, posable, ripe for play. Today's toys -- right now today -- are a Legion of the superheroes figure (the size of an adult index finger, and made by people who had the specs delivered by cell phone). Below, DC help us, is the Man of Steel. He seems to have just heard the Five for Fighting Song.
or a Build a Bear bear, which is already built, by the way, what you get to do is dress it.
So when the kid says to me, "Boy or a girl?" I said, "what are the toys?" and then pretended to think a long time about it, as if conferring with my child, which he will soon see is not in the car. I chose the Superhero. Don't lick it; you don't know where the plastic has been.
Wonder Woman, even in a sickly version, is not in the collection
Finally, I am pleased to report that in preparation for this story, I learned that stories about things found in Happy Meals are easier to find that we might like.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I have chosen this brilliant Jot artifact.
Jot : Baptists as Davy : Lutherans as Charlie Brown : UU
But we're here to talk about Jot. This clip is the longest 4 minutes you will ever imagine a child sitting through. If you can get your child to sit through it, please write in and tell us which method you used. Please also tell how you explained the allure of a propeller party hat. Because that I would like to know.
Even one that quotes Exodus must run thin after a while.
I adore this find for the same reason I adore my afterschool specials -- they are the documented proof that I am not remembering the 70s wrong. And that kids today really are a bunch of pansy-asses.
I am quite sure none of them know all the words to Blessed Redeemer (#103).
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Remove, and while still warm, squeeze garlic out of roasted head.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
I realize I probably do this on purpose, but never consciously. I was curious about Second Life back when S@L was hooked on it (evangelically hooked on it) mostly about the mechanics of it all. But there was only the company computer at home, and I wasn't willing to be so vulnerable.
So anyway, fast-forward: I've wandered in. And what we knew about ham radio, CBs, party phone lines, chat rooms, MySpace, and yes, the blogosphere is also true in virtual reality: you are not any more interesting as a cartoon.
S@L is right about many things though, mostly that you can spend an entire hour fussing with your appearance. What's hilarious is that in the Orientation room (get ready to know that I don't know the lingo for anything. Someone moments ago asked me if I wanted to "camp," and I have a feeling it didn't mean anything I thought it might have meant), everyone looks alike because you start as one of 6 or 8 stock characters before you are let loose with alteration tools. There is a strong drive to individualize. (with or without furries)
You recall I am not very avatar friendly, but when you first get in-world it is about the only controls you can figure out., and they provide immediate results. I am not as fat in 2nd life as I am in Land's End, but I was surprised to learn I had made myself too short. My 2nd Life self is only 5'3" according to an object that offered to measure my height.
You spend most of your time walking behind yourself, so I know that I have a bald spot I can't get rid of and a fairly ponderous ass.It is not my fault the shirt doesn't fit. My shirts don't stay tucked in in real life either.
The first person I encountered in SL kissed me uninvited; the 2nd one followed me around practicing his English. I've been run over by a car, and have a tendency to get trapped behind furniture in small rooms I can't get out of. I got the warmest welcome at a beach I went to; unfortunately, it was Beach Japan, so I have no idea what was going on.
And other than those vignettes... there is no one there. SL is a ghost town. Even at the Virginia Tech Memorial, which I had posted about, so I thought I should go. No one there. Nor at the bookstore, movie theatre, bowling alley (I collected several bowling balls, but couldn't throw them), real estate office, reggae bar, church, sex club (oh yes, I did -- as we used to say in public television, follow the porn). I found a beautiful neighborhood of homes I barged right through, completed with blazing fire...no one home. There was a beachfront boardwalk in French. A flight school. A gym.
The image above, which appears to be in Busch Gardens, was actually at "Camp 80s," where I was not served a Slamma or an oat-bran muffin, but was invited to "camp," whatever that could be.
Today in real visceral life I went exploring the Case Estates, where no one was either. Just me and a camera and a backpack, walking through empty fields listening to the wind blow. And, except for not having to watch myself from behind, it felt pretty similar, only less creepy. Certainly better exercise, and Vitamin D.
I promised Miss Minchin I would give her a peek, and if S@L tells me her in-world name, we can go back to the sex cl----I mean, boardwalk together. Or we can just sit on her transparent floor and bang the pots and pans. I've gotten good at sitting on things.
There were bouncers. Security guards. "Friends of ours," if you will. 4 of them, who all looked like this guy, in Damon Runyon suits.
I think they were disappointed no one needed to be tasered. I thought of Jerry Maguire's departure speech, and since I wasn't being laid off I should throw my comrades a bone and freak out as if I had -- not only to give Jimmy Two-Times Repozzio something to do, but to create enough of a diversion that the departing could actually lift a fax machine.
I thought if I could get my hands on a goldfish and a baggie, I would race after one of the fired like Renee Zellwegger. You had me at severance.
I told one of my teammates I would give him $100 if he approached one of the Suits (as we had named them by 10am) and ask what they were doing. $150 if he would approach them as if they were new hires, bring them some corporate swag and invite them to lunch. "So, is this where where you'l be sitting, or just temporary?"
Dodie says she would have done it no charge.
Truth is, I didn't do anything. On account of not giving a damn, and all.