I interviewed a guy about 10 months back who we've since hired. Having now worked with him on a project, I realize I should have listened to that little voice. Here's the email I sent to my architect after finishing the interview:
Interview went pretty well. He’s a nice guy and I think he’d fit in with the team really well. That said, I’ve got a reservation or two.Yeah. I should have paid more heed to that little voice.
He wrote *the single strangest* factorial I’ve ever seen anyone write. Other than a couple of small bugs with it which I helped him see and work through, he had this...well, let me see if I can reproduce it:
public int factorial(int x) {
int[] arr = new int[x];
for (int y = x; y > 0; --y) {
arr[y-1] = y;
}
int value = 1;
for (int x; x > 0; --x) {
value *= arr[x - 1];
}
return value;
}
I think that’s it, after we fixed his bugs. It took a while for me to get him to figure out he didn’t need that array. Afterward, we were talking and he said he tends to think of solutions to problems with loops and arrays and that’s just where his mind naturally gravitates. That is one big hammer he carries around and it concerns me.
He was open and listened clearly and didn’t *ever* get defensive about what he’d written, but it still gave me pause. He knows what he knows, wants to keep learning more, and would fit in great on a team. But...
We've been rewatching The West Wing because it's summer and there's not much on. This weekend, we watched episode 2.09 - "Galileo". In this episode, the President is preparing for a national classroom to discuss science and math in honor of the landing of the Mars probe Galileo. And even though the probe fails, Bartlett decides to go on with the electronic classroom anyway because we - and our children - can learn as much out of failure as success.
Being a smart writer - with some notable faults - Aaron Sorkin tried very hard to avoid painting Republicans and the right wing as villains. He also worked very hard not to write straw men. So this episode has no crazy wingers screaming and crying that the President is trying to indoctrinate their children. No one pressuring school boards to cancel the broadcast. No one pulling their children out of school to protect them from the President's message of hard work and education.
Because Sorkin wouldn't have wanted to be accused of creating outlandish, unrealistic, crazy characters just to make the right wing look insane. You know?
Hey everyone, it’s Anaïs,
bringing you the week 5 wrapup, and we’re getting close to the end of
this cycle. How will our stories end? You’ll have to check in and see
what the original authors of each story come up with.
This is Maria, bringing you this week’s wrapup in which we are now closer to the end than the beginning. Of the story cycle, that is.
Finkle, Out of Sorts.
I explored our hero’s nightmare, which may or may not have included an
appearance by Ursula the sea witch. And then there was a dramatic
reversal in the fate of the crew of the Imperial Star Navy. Or was
there? It’s in Anaïs’s hands now.
The Last Time I Saw Richard.
Anaïs got Richard talking and introduced a sinister and controlling new
character. Will the narrator ever get the real story from Richard? And
how will they extricate themselves from Roswell? Coyotesqrl will tell
the tale.
The Letters of Rose Constance.
Coyotesqrl’s letter took a fascinating turn. He explored Rose’s tragedy
of sickness and loss, and fleshed out the character of Mrs. Dandry, who
is more powerful and pivotal than first seemed. He close with a happy,
warm memory. What will summer bring? Will James ever return? Only
Oledoc knows.
Night Vision.
Oledoc continued the story I started with a hilarious phone call, some
Boy Scout antics and a comfortably silent ride to the hospital. He also
treated us to several sweet moments between the young Zoie and Gregory.
I can’t wait to see where Paulos takes the narrative next.
Limbs Akimbo.
Paulos painted a scene that was simultaneously beautiful and haunting,
in which Charlie, helpless and detached, observes himself as if
watching a play. Will he ever be able to release his pain and guilt?
Can he shake off his impotence and reclaim some power, ease the brutal
images in his mind and start down the road to forgiving himself? I’m
not quite sure yet, but I’ll have it sorted out by Friday.
Week 5 promises to be fascinating, gut-wrenching, paranoid, delirious, hopeful and sweet. You won’t want to miss it.
In keeping with our rotating writers theme, this wrapup was written by Jay, who is currently following me. Poor guy has to try to make sense of the insane scribblings I leave behind on each story!
I rehabilitated a snowclone a couple of weeks back. What? English. Can you speak English?
Sorry. I took an extremely cliché joke template and used it in a way that is fresh, doesn't appear to have ever been used before, and I believe is pretty damn funny. I liked this joke so much, I decided I wanted a t-shirt with the joke on it so I drew a (not very good) picture to go with it and designed a shirt at Zazzle.
Then I wondered, "Why should I be the only one sporting this fine design and joke? I shouldn't right?" Y'all are definitely going to want one, or maybe a coffee mug. Yeah. Anyway, take a look.
This most likely won't be the last thing I design to sell at Zazzle; it's just so damn easy and I amuse myself, if no one else.
I've got *another* group writing blog going. This one's quite different from Sketch War and I would really appreciate it if y'all came on by and gave it a look. We've got five people writing and five stories going concurrently. This past week we started, each of us posting the first chapter - between 500 and 1000 words or so - of a story. One story for each weekday. This coming week, each of us rotates and writes chapter two of a different story. After five weeks, each of us will have written a chapter to five different short stories.
I expect we'll see a mix of ugly, awkward pieces that don't stitch together well and stories that become much better than the originator could have hoped. Regardless, I think it'll be interesting to watch. Either you see a trainwreck or a good story coming together, one chapter at a time. Here's the wrap up from the past week:
Five days and five stories started. I’m pretty pleased it all worked
out, especially since we had to make some last minute schedule changes.
But it will really start to get interesting this week coming up when we
all switch to another person’s story.
I haven't been writing much lately but that's of a piece with my general mien. I've been unmotivated and unproductive since December or January and going through the motions.
I wake, exhausted and drained, and drag my ass out of bed. Despite the CPAP I still feel worn down by sleep. (Or maybe it's because I usually stay up until two or three and get up at six.) I'd traditionally go to the gym when I get up at this hour but that would put me into the office around nine, keeping me there until long past my breaking point. I rush to the office so I can leave it sooner.
What's odd is that I don't hate my job. I don't like it, not one bit, but I don't hate it. This is my second go around working for this company and it's incredibly relaxed this time with precious little stress or drama. I don't interact with other business units much, have no crappy secondary responsibilities beyond backing up the build manager, and am not even mentoring anyone right now.[1] I work, take ample mental health breaks during the day for Twitter and Tumblr, go to lunch,[2] go home. Easy peasy.
Why do I hate it so?
Beyond doing work I don't enjoy - writing software is neither emotionally rewarding nor mentally stimulating - for a company I don't particularly like,[3] I realized a few weeks back I don't like anyone at work. I don't actively dislike anyone which is nice, but there is not one person on my team, in the rest of the department, or anywhere in the company I want to talk to or spend one minute more than necessary with. In 25 years in the work force, over 15 in software, I've never worked somewhere and not struck up at least one friendly relationship.
Most of those friendships are fleeting, blinking out of existence when the ties of a common job are severed. A few have lasted years. And of course there's TheWife, whom I met when we worked on opposite ends of the country for the same company.[4] But I don't have that now. I don't have a single connection, close or casual, at work and it's very draining.[5]
Then again, I don't really have any friends here in AZ that I see with any regularity. There are maybe a half-dozen people in the area I genuinely like and enjoy spending time with but very rarely see any of them. Which, beyond the obvious social isolation, means no tennis, no basketball, and no volleyball. So I haven't worked out regularly in months and haven't played any sports in something like three years. Do the math. It's not pretty. I'm out of shape and out of practice and haven't had the beneficial boost of exercise's neurochemical cocktail in months. And of course I've not had the bonding benefits of team play and competition in far longer.
Did I mention I don't like AZ at all?
Yeah there's that, too. We're stuck here for the foreseeable future in a house I can't find the energy or interest to maintain properly[6] in a place I just don't enjoy. For the first two years we had Suns season tickets, giving me a little local rooting interest, but the greed of R. Sarver and the incompetence of S. Kerr killed that for us.
Hell, I haven't eaten sushi in almost four years.[7]
On top of all this, I've almost given up on my dream job. I didn't realize it last fall, but my Pushing Daisies spec failing to crack even the semis of ABC-Disney[8] was like a J. Frazier left hook to the liver. Which body blow didn't put me on the canvas immediately but took the fight right out of me. I know the road is long and twisty and cratered but starting late as I am, I don't imagine having much success with the traditional route. Who wants a 41-year-old assistant getting them coffee and copying scripts? Also: with responsibilities and debts, how could this 41-year old even take a job like that if offered? No, the way in for me needs to be non-traditional and the Fellowship was one of my best hopes.
In December I stretched an old sketch out into a script for a short and submitted it to a few competitions. I continued writing reviews and sketches after that, but haven't taken any idea longer than a sketch beyond rough outline through the first half of 2009. I skipped ABC-Disney this year, rationalizing to myself that focusing on the YA novel I've been noodling these past few months instead of cranking out more specs might more effectively open a backdoor into a staff job. Eminently logical...if only I were actively working on the novel.
The ultimate sign that my malaise is worsening? I skipped Sketch War last week. Hell, if I don't manage to crank out a sketch tomorrow I'll have skipped two weeks running. A consistent, unbroken run that lasted for a year and a half, shot to hell because right now I'd rather stay up till all hours playing with my new drawing tablet than writing. And I love to write, especially the short stuff. Longer pieces can get wearing after the fourth or fifth draft, leaving just the joy of "having written," but sketches? That's like candy to me. And right now I can't find the drive and motivation to spend two short hours writing one.
I'm fucked.
Notes:
"Lou? You awake?"
Lou opened his eyes and squinted against the late afternoon sun, Eleanor's silhouette ebon against the azure sky.
"Yeah. Just enjoying the sun on my face."
"We should pack up, don't you think?"
"Let's lie here a bit longer."
"Okay."
Eleanor looked at Lou's face in repose. There were more laugh lines
than she remembered, but he still looked so young. It wasn't fair.
"Hey Ellie? What I said yesterday? I was wrong." He squeezed her
hand; his grip felt strong as ever. "Today. Today I consider myself the
luckiest man on the face of the earth."
I posted this originally on Tumblr in response to another poster who was excited to see the young people of Iran fighting to take their country back from 30 years of oppression and fundamentalism. I see that possibility too, but I can't really help but see that with three levels of observational bias in play. Besides, being a misanthrope and cynic means I don't buy into the hype of hope. Ever.
===
I agree that we’re seeing a lot of young people expressing their
anger and resentment and desire for change. These brave souls - and I
think they are nothing if not brave and a also little righteous - are
risking life for the pursuit of liberty and happiness. I sit here,
comfortable in my western lifestyle and struggling to remember how long
it’s been since I felt the hot passion for justice burn so hot I needed to do something. Needed to march, scream, protest, fight. It’s been a long time.
But we’ve got a double dose of observational bias - actually a
triple dose - acting here. First off, we’ve got our own prejudices
coloring what we see. Then we’ve got the media choosing what to show
us, framing their narratives in ways that are compelling and speak to
their audience. Finally and most significantly, we only see the young
people who are expressing their anger and resentment.
We don’t see any of the young people who think things have been
hunky-dory under the mullahs, who think the regime is swell. Are they a
small minority? Or are they, to repurpose a hideous moniker, a silent
majority? We don’t know and really can’t know. We can’t know because
Iran isn’t open. Which, depending on the answer, might be very ironic.
If the protesters represent a relatively small and vocal minority, it
would be in Iran’s best interests to show us that. But that would
require them to be an open and free society. And who’d be protesting
then?
I’ve been lax the last few weeks in wrapping up the battles. But
this week I was Shanghaied and conscripted to service aboard the
‘Bountiful Booty’. It’s write this wrapup or scrape the barnacles off
Captain Jack’s peg leg.
I've been lax around these parts lately, doing most of my small posts on Tumblr instead of here. It's a simpler, cleaner, quicker interface for short-form posts and other than sketches and TV reviews, that's mostly what I've been cranking out lately. Really short pieces, barely longer than what I might Tweet. If y'all aren't already following me over there, you should - either through Tumblr's follow mechanism if you've got an account or through the RSS feed.
But anyway...
I've been doing this series of pieces that I think are worth reposting here, so below are the first three. Hope you enjoy.
Did you know I'm on Tumblr, too? It fills that niche between micro-blogging I get on Twitter and the full-fledged blogging I do here, or on one of my specialty sites. But sometimes, like with my weekly recaps of Sketch War, I feel a need to post in more than one place. Like this piece...
Indefensible is right. We’ve
got slave owners on our currency. Sucks. But not all of the old dead
white dudes were slave owners. So for those of you abroad, or those who
went to school in California, Mississippi, or - well, most anywhere in
America, unfortunately - here’s a primer on the dudes wot be pictured
on our moolah.
Coins
Emily asks...
What would chairs look like if our knees bent the other way?The latter question is the easier of the patella-oriented queries, so let me answer it with the following diagram:
Also
Do penguins have knees?
There is NO question I can't answer.
Of course, not all my answers are serious or useful, but that's a risk you run with a wizard.
Questions about me, advice for the lovelorn, software questions, writing questions, questions about the annual cinnamon harvest in Sumatra...ask 'em and I'll answer 'em. I make no guarantees of the quality, veracity, or utility of the answers, but you'll get *something* either useful or funny.
Ask your questions in comments and I'll be posting your answers through the following days. This will keep you coming back and keep me more actively engaged over here. See? We *all* win.
With cable, satellite, and millions of websites streaming content, 24/7/52/7/71 straight into our brains2
you’d think we’d be hard-pressed to find any interviews that hadn’t
filled up *someone’s* empty airtime. I mean, have you *seen* the crap
on FOX and CNN?
But succeed we did, three times over. These interviews have been in
the vaults, in one case for millenia, and unseen by the public until
this week. Aren’t you lucky!
Owing to the runaway success of the Star Trek reboot, I'm going to start on my script for a reboot of Star Wars. Someday, George'll finally be dead and gone and we can sully his reputation for him, instead of him doing it himself. I thought I'd give you a little taste of my reboot right here, though.
===
Everything goes sideways when a traveler from the future replaces the Emperor's coffee with Folger's Crystals. Turns out the Sith *can* tell the difference. So Palpatine puts on his cranky pants one morning thanks to this time traveler and rips Vader a new one. He tells Vader he'd better step up the work on the Death Star or else.
So Vader cracks the whip, the Death Star gets finished six weeks ahead of schedule, and that causes ripples in the time stream.
Suffice it to say, with Han dead (he shot first, but his blaster malfunctioned) and Luke too busy raking in the credits through water profiteering, it's going to be tough to get the old gang back together again. But we will!
With a topic as rich and pregnant with possibilities as this, I’d
hoped the warriors would have come from far and wide to toss their
humor grenades into the ring. Then I remembered not *every* comedy
writer has a Jewish mother. While being chosen isn’t a requirement for
being funny1 and is certainly no predictor for comic ability,2 it does give us an edge in writing funny stuff about mothers.
I mean, with my goyim friends, what can they do? Make fun of
sandwiches made with mayonnaise and white bread? Mock index funds? Mine
comedy out of minivans?
So we had a short week, but three excellent entries:
Oops! Very late, sorry. I’ve had my nose buried in “Anathem” for the
past few days, every moment I’m not working or sleeping, so I kinda let
this slip. A bit. Again, sorry.
Anyway…
"This war has gone on far too long."
Kai-ying nodded. "What can I get for you?"
"Angel, please."
Who was the first person to eat an oyster? Was it on a dare?
"You'd think someone would at least pick up the corpses. Getting
so you can't walk down the street without tripping over a broken wing
or cracked halo."
"At least they don't smell bad."
"Yeah. Kinda like cinnamon. Heh. Should juice 'em. Sell 'em like lattes."
"Yeah, Ben. You let me know how that works."
Kai-ying smiled as she took the woman's money in exchange for the frothing cup.
It looks like a few of our warriors got caught up having tea or
standing in line at the Post Office this week. Either way, only three
of us entered the ring. Fortunately (or un-, depending on your opinion)
I stretched my entry into a four-part runner when I decided I hadn’t
ended the first part strongly enough. So from three battlers: six
sketches.
While the kids are crumpin' and humpin', we all be up in here askin' and answerin'. Tha's right, boyee...it's Wizard Wednesday.
Questions about me,
advice for the lovelorn, software questions, writing questions,
questions about the annual cinnamon harvest in Sumatra...ask 'em and
I'll answer 'em. I make no guarantees of the quality, veracity, or
utility of the answers, but you'll get *something* either useful or
funny.
Ask your questions in comments and I'll be posting your
answers through the following days. This will keep you coming back and
keep me more actively engaged over here. See? We *all* win.
There. I’ve said it. Feels good to get that off my chest after all
these years. All these years of pretending to be a fan, of making
excuses for why I can’t make someone’s improv show, of feigning
interest in watching people exercise.
Look, I’ve done my share of improv. It’s important to any actor
honing his craft to learn to be agile and quick-witted on stage. You
never know when someone’s going to go off book. Hell, it might be you,
losing your place and forgetting your lines. Though I haven’t trod
boards for years, I’m still blasted awake by the actor’s nightmare once
or twice a year: it’s my cue to go on and I have not idea what play
we’re doing or what my lines are.
Improv can save you. Once, my fellow actors and I - *six* of us -
all simultaneously forgot our place in a party scene. I have no idea
how or why, but we knew our characters and were able to vamp our way
back to solid ground. And it can do much more. It can teach you how to
quickly establish character and setting to an audience. To the
non-Method amongst us, that can be important.
So if improv is useful to learn, important to practice, and can save your ass on stage, why don’t I like it?
Well, doing squats is essential to a point guard but I’m not going
to pay money to watch Steve Nash do a lower body workout for two hours.
Improv’s the same to me: a series of exercises that improve one’s
ability to perform. They’re part of the road, not the destination.
So, no. Unless I’m thinking about casting you in something, we’re very close, or I owe you, I’m not going to your improv show.
Sorry. That’s all I’ve got to say about this past week’s topic. We tried, I swear.
Longtime friend of the blog Angela asks...
Okay Mr. Wizard...why do I keep falling for assholes? It's a terrible pattern and I don't seem to learn from my mistakes. Should I see a shrink?Short answer: yes. Long answer: you probably don't need to spend your time on a therapist's couch, especially as it might lead to *time on a therapist's couch* if you pick as poorly there as you have on the personal front of late.
What's that the kids across the land are yelling? That's right...it's Time for Mr. Wizard!
Questions about me,
advice for the lovelorn, software questions, writing questions,
questions about the annual cinnamon harvest in Sumatra...ask 'em and
I'll answer 'em. I make no guarantees of the quality, veracity, or
utility of the answers, but you'll get *something* either useful or
funny.
Ask your questions in comments and I'll be posting your
answers through the following days. This will keep you coming back and
keep me more actively engaged over here. See? We *all* win.
I'm such a prick sometimes.* Monday's prompt at 100 Word Stories was a lyric from a Nickelback song. So...
Pink shirts. Popped collars. Faux hawks. Chad, Rick, and Other Chad looked like page 63 of the Abercrombie catalog strutting through the door. Other Chad surveyed the room over the top of his Revos.
Sidling to the bar, Rick barked, "Three Johnny Walker Blues."
The bartender opened his mouth, then reconsidered. He poured three from the bottom shelf. "That'll be ninety."
Rick floated a hundy to the bar. "Keep it."
Hours later, his brahs collapsed in pools of their own vomit, Other Chad swayed to Nickelback, one hand on the jukebox for balance. The bartender wiped down and muttered, "Douchebags."
Damn Horatio Caine and his concern about cataracts!
Depending on how you want to count Ken’s brilliant four-part runner,
this was either a banner week for us with eight sketches, or an average
week with five. I think for voting and wrapup purposes we’ll call it
five.
So what did the sketch warriors bring to this weeks topic?
The Internet's favorite way to while a Wednesday is here. One quick guarantee: my answers might be snarky, but they won't be altered by the fact today is April Fool's. I have grown to loathe April 1st. Probably only a short trip to eating the blue plate special, but it's a fact.
Anyway...
Questions about me,
advice for the lovelorn, software questions, writing questions,
questions about the annual cinnamon harvest in Sumatra...ask 'em and
I'll answer 'em. I make no guarantees of the quality, veracity, or
utility of the answers, but you'll get *something* either useful or
funny.
Ask your questions in comments and I'll be posting your
answers through the following days. This will keep you coming back and
keep me more actively engaged over here. See? We *all* win.
Whoops! Not only did this week’s topic bring us our fewest sketches
in several weeks, but…um…this was not our best week. And that’s, o-kay.
There were a few chuckles though, so let’s get to them.
Jacob stepped onto the platform into the wall of stifling air and commuters. He knifed through the crush, using his shoulders like wedges, and ran through his mental checklist. Seven months and no nibbles; a lot was resting on this interview. He focused on the exit. Then, as if yanked by a string, Jacob's head spun left.
Mental checklists, rent, medical bills: they all flew from his head, replaced by Erica.
Erica. Months after the breakup, he still clutched her pillow to his face, breathing ghost traces of her perfume as he drifted to sleep. He wouldn't be interviewing today.
"Whoa, whoa! Where you headed, partner?"
Felix froze on the spot and slowly turned to face the voice. His
combover flopped wrongways, grazing his left shoulder instead of
covering his shiny, sweaty pate. He was out of breath and out of time,
a hundred yards from the gate and freedom.
Black shirt, black jeans, black boots, and mirrored sunglasses
towered over him. He could hear the fabric straining to contain the
bulging muscles on the guard. His voice boomed like dynamite in the
hills.
"Mitzi played; now you gotta pay. There ain't no bonin' and boltin' at the Bunny Ranch."
The girl practically skipped inside, her basket cutting huge arcs through the air. "Grandmama? Where are you?"
"Back here, dear."
Grandmama had been sick awhile and the girl made a sort of
frowny-smirky face. Then she remembered what her mama had said and put
on a big smile and walked to the bedroom.
"Come closer, so I can see you better."
"What's that over your mouth?"
"A mask."
The girl had seen sick people wear masks like that before. She knew it must be bad. She leaned in to kiss her grandmother.
"The better to hide my teeth, my dear!"
I had a few things - 3000 words or so - to say about the BSG finale over at DreamLoom. If you care, you should take a look.
But for me what BSG meant is something different. I felt when watching, particularly when watching the long goodbyes, absorbed in a sweeping epic. Characters I cared about and had traveled with for half a decade fought, drank, screwed, cursed, fraked up, lived, and died. As the final hour was unwinding, especially the last 30 minutes, I wanted it to last longer.Read the whole thing here.
Against all rules of narrative, I wanted to know I could come back next week and watch BSG: Little House on the Prairie, where Baltar and Caprica build themselves a log cabin. I wanted to know I could watch BSG: The Highlander, where Galen Tyrol started speaking with a French accent, wearing a kilt, and running around saying, “there can be only one.” I wanted to watch Hera grow up, learning to hunt and farm and build a house from her human daddy and Cylon mommy. I wanted to watch Michael Hogan and his amazing acting eye as Saul Tigh taught the protohumans all about fermentation and distillation. Each week a new delicious alcoholic beverage could be discovered.
Damn it, I wanted Kara and Lee to have a happy ending.
I hope you all enjoyed following along this week as much as we
enjoyed bringing these characters to life. In some ways, this was a
really tough prompt, but I think everyone managed to bring their A game
this week.
Nine sketches (thanks to a double bonus from Ken whose initial
trepidation hid a torrent of creativity) and not a single Hans und
Franz amongst them. Thank god.
Last Words
The El Camino sputtered out in the driveway. Jethro and Tyrone hightailed it to the door.
"You sure ain't nobody home?"
"I'm tellin' you, they left for Disney World Friday and ain't comin' back till weekend."
Tyrone found the Hide-a-Key in a fake rock. "No alarm?" asked Jethro.
"Nope."
Tyrone reached for a switch; Jethro batted his hand away. "Can't risk a neighbor gettin' nosy."
"What's stinks? Rotten eggs?"
"Gas?"
Jethro rolled his eyes. "Gas don't smell. Don't you know nothin'?"
"Well, I don't wanna step in whatever's makin' that reek."
Tyrone pulled out his lighter.
"Maybe this will work..."
Oy. I’m getting worse, not better! This time, four sketches
have been posted before I got around to the wrapup for last week. I
think I need to be a bit more proactive about these!
Julie Gray ran another of her periodic short scene competitions this past week and the three finalists are up now for voting. Mine didn't make the cut, again. It's been months since my sole victory and feels like it'll be a long time coming before I even make the cut again. Oh well.
I don't like to waste anything I write, so here ya go.
INT. STUDIO APARTMENT - NIGHT
WALTER stews on the ratty couch. A bitter leprechaun on the wrong side of 40, all ginger and freckles, pores oozing cheap beer. His dingy T-shirt of a piece with the squalid room.
WALTER
Your brother came by the garage.
EILEEN (O.S.)
What did he want?
WALTER
What does he ever want? Money.
An off-screen FLUSH.
WALTER (CONT’D)
Gave him a twenty and an alcohol wipe. Told him to say hi to the Wizard when he got to the Emerald City.
EILEEN enters. In bra and panties, her body belies her age. Rapidly approaching 40, her stomach bears no stretch marks.
EILEEN
You’re a prick.
WALTER
You think this time was different?
Eileen closes the single, grimy window.
EILEEN
It’s cold in here.
WALTER
Maybe if you didn’t parade around like a whore all the--
Eileen flies at Walter and cracks him across the face.
EILEEN
Maybe if you could get it up like a real man I wouldn’t dress this way.
Walter clomps to the door and slinks into a leather jacket.
WALTER
I’m going drinking. Don’t wait up.
He slams the door. Eileen collapses, sobbing.
I voted for the guy knowing what to expect: a typical Chicago machine pol. I'm pissed about this, but not surprised. Business as usual in DC.
The White House this week declared (.pdf) the text of the proposed treaty a "properly classified" national security secret, in rejecting a Freedom of Information Act request by Knowledge Ecology International.But people shouldn't get too upset over it. I mean, the Clydesdales at Budweiser get to take a shit on the document to grant it their approval.
A Twitter friend writes for a site, 100 Word Stories, where each contributor crafts a 100-word story on daily prompts. Y'all know I like *short*, so here are some pieces I've written in reaction to the prompts from the past two days:
What makes this garden unique?
The roses glisten with morning dew. The old woman tends them
diligently, rising each day with the sun to unkink and unbend and fight
rigor nocturnis.
Franny watches from her bus stop. Despite her mother's warnings, she
is drawn to the roses that throb red and orange and lavender.
The old woman has prepared the rich brown earth, soil spilling
gently into the fresh hole. All that waits is the blade, sharp and
slender, to cut the beating heart from Franny's chest.
The roses glisten with morning dew. Today a new bush grows, flowers pink like a young girl's lips.
Very old friend Michele asks...
What did you think of Watchmen? You had so much about it beforehand yet nada about your opinion. So unlike you not to voice an opinion. *grin*Well, I contributed to its box office take on Sunday, with two tickets I bought for me and TheWife. But did I mention the various flus, sinus infections, and bouts of food poisoning running through Casa Wizard? No? Aha. You see, tickets were NOT used; Mr. Wizard has NOT seen Watchmen.
Mr. Wizard was feeling a little poorly last week and stayed in bed. But now it's a new week, his intestines are intesting, and he's ready to go. So...
Questions about me,
advice for the lovelorn, software questions, writing questions,
questions about the annual cinnamon harvest in Sumatra...ask 'em and
I'll answer 'em. I make no guarantees of the quality, veracity, or
utility of the answers, but you'll get *something* either useful or
funny.
Ask your questions in comments and I'll be posting your
answers through the following days. This will keep you coming back and
keep me more actively engaged over here. See? We *all* win.
How slow am I? Peter got his analysis commentary up before I got my wrapup done. Oh well. At least I beat the first sketch this week.
SEVEN sketches this week on the topic at hand. Some very good stuff.
Six men Five men
and one ¡woman! entered the battle last week and delivered some very
funny and unique takes on social networking. Let’s have a look.
Steve Gimbel asks...
Who wins: the movers or the shakers?
sme asks...
For some reason my computer won't go into sleep mode unless Internet Explorer is open. Any ideas why? Is this weird? Why does my computer favor the crappy web browser? I use Windows XP. However, my boyfriend has installed a shitload of programs that he uses for poker and I feel like one of them may be the culprit. He's put in Poker Tracker and something called Team Viewer and then there's Skype. He uses the last two so other people can watch him play. I don't know anything about it, but I think it was after he started using them that the computer wouldn't go to sleep.I'm not familiar with the poker tracking software you have installed (and I don't want to go too deeply into it because I suspect it might violate the ToS for whichever online poker sites you frequent) but I don't think that's your problem. I think Team Viewer is hanging you up. Before trying to put your computer to sleep, make sure you've disabled or turned off Team Viewer. I'm going to guess that'll resolve it.
There's video above, FeedReader, HT Galactica Sitrep.
I was always curious what this trailer looked like. Back about a decade ago, Richard Hatch spent his own money trying to bring back BSG and produced this trailer. It got shown at a few cons, as I recall. Interestingly enough, I think it's about halfway between the camp of the original and the dark tragedy we have now.
Everyone's favorite day of the week (other than Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and payday) is here: Wizard Wednesday.
Questions about me,
advice for the lovelorn, software questions, writing questions,
questions about the annual cinnamon harvest in Sumatra...ask 'em and
I'll answer 'em. I make no guarantees of the quality, veracity, or
utility of the answers, but you'll get *something* either useful or
funny.
Ask your questions in comments and I'll be posting your
answers through the following days. This will keep you coming back and
keep me more actively engaged over here. See? We *all* win.
For your regular fix of humor, don't forget to check in at Sketch War. But for my regular readers, here's something newish. A short I wrote last fall. Enjoy. Three Faces of Steve
I used to think it was porn. Don't get me wrong, porn is awesome, but that's not why the Internet came into being. Nope. Not porn. Not online shopping. Not even the sites dedicated to the ranking of various women's body parts or the posting of photos of ridiculously drunk women making out.
Nope.
Here it is.
There's video below, FeedReader.
Another good week for us here. Six men entered and brought forth six great sketches designed to star Stephen Fry and Brent Spiner.
Why? Because the thespians had Twitter all aflurry last week as they
discussed the possibility of working together. We thought we’d toss our
ideas out for the fun of it.
