The Year in Review

As 2005 draws to a close, let us look back at the year’s high points in posting:

In February,

Santa brought me many fine things this year. Dorkiest of them all is an off-brand Lego Batcave set.

Five awesome things about my Batcave playset:
1. The set is multi-level with a stately Wayne Manor up top, and a batcave on bottom.
2. The set is a funky amalgam of Adam West style, Michael Keaton style, and more traditional styles. It’s got a little something for everyone.
3. The included Joker Minimate looks downright evil.
4. Lots of sweetass pieces that Lego doesn’t make, including a baseplate with a huge, rotating section.
5. A giant portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne serving as an iconic reminder of Bruce’s unmanaged grief and his perpetual sense of failure…in Lego!

Five non-awesome things about my Batcave playset:
1. Nobody makes interlocking brick systems as well as Lego. This set is actually unbuildable as is.
2. The set is missing about twenty pieces.
3. No Tyrannosaurs Rex. No giant penny. No robin costume in a glass case, serving as an iconic reminder of Bruce’s unmanaged grief and his perpetual sense of failure.
4. Minimates ain’t got shit on Lego dudes.
5. No Alfred.

Reason none of those non-awesome things matter:
They’re Legos! If I wasn’t going to modify the shit out of this set, I shouldn’t be playing with Legos in the first place.

So did Santa bring y’all anything this dorky?

Happy Holidays N’ Shit!

As the interwub clears out for the Holidays, I feel compelled to send off a sappy holiday greeting.

Merry Christmas, Internet! You’re the best livejournal friends list a boy could ask for. Thanks for a year of distracting me at my job.

I wish you and yours love and pleasure.

Your pal,
Isaac

Coming soon to a theater near you…

Accepting that Hollywood will eventually make a movie based on The Watchmen, means accepting that the movie will be travesty. Here then, is who I think should star in the fucker!

Rorschach – Vin Diesel
Night Owl – Samuel L. Jackson
Silk Specter – Sara Silverman
Ozymandias – Ben Affleck
The Comedian – Robin Williams
And
Dakota Fanning as Inky, Rorschach’s spunky junior partner!

Nothing’s the same any more.

I NO LONGER KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THE BLACK EYED PEAS!!

I was totally digging their first couple albums. They were fun. They were dancy. I approved. Then, My Humps happened. I felt violated. How could a good band produce such a terrible song? Nothing made sense. Things were not as they should be.

But now I am bewildered. Yesterday, as I am driving home, the radio played for me Dick Dale’s Misirlou, aka the best surf rock song ever. But the Black Eyed Peas were singing over it. What the hell? I have no idea if their song was any good because I completely tuned it out.

The Peas were smart enough to know how great Misirlou is, but not smart enough to know not to sing over top of it. They broke the Overdrawn at the Memory Bank rule: Never put a great song into a bad song.

This song is completely unnecessary, but I’m kind of glad it exists. If I can either not hear Misirlou on the radio, or hear it with annoying chatter in the background, I’ll take the latter.

TANGENTAL QUESTION: How the hell do you pronounce “Misirlou” anyway?

I am a pussy

So today I eat lunch with this sweet woman at my work, who thinks I’m a “nice young man.” She’s trying to tell me it isn’t good to dwell on the past, and to illustrate her point she has brought up the story of Lot’s Wife. And I’m squirming in my seat, but I just can’t bear to tell her that I don’t believe in god. That I think the bible is bullshit. That stories involving the righteous burning of Sodom and Gomorrah don’t have a great deal of sway with me.

I just couldn’t do it. It made me very uncomfortable.

By the bristling of Odin’s Beard, say it isn’t so!

I’ve been reading early issues of Journey into Mystery (aka The Mighty Thor), and I’m starting to get a funny feeling about ‘em. The early issues of Thor are one thing. Stan Lee’s brother writes ‘em and they deal with the classic struggle of Gods vs. Commies. With each issue, it’s a safe bet that Thor will hit some Reds with his hammer until they stop trying to destroy capitalism.

But then, Stan and Jack took over the book, and it seemed as if the stories were less about hitting people with hammers and more about feelings.

Most issues written by Stan follow the following formula: Nurse Foster senses that the man she loves, Doctor Donald Blake (on the surface, a wussy cripple, actually a beefy blond Norwegian Demigod), has deep feelings for her, but she cannot understand why he never brings up the subject of marriage. Conversely, Thor, as Doctor Donald Blake, loves Nurse Foster but is forbidden by Odin to marry a mortal. Thor spends the next fourteen pages hitting somebody, either to distract him from his love-angst, or to protect Nurse Foster, who gets kidnapped a lot. Then on the last page, Odin says, “Rar! How dare that son of mine defy me by loving a mortal still! This cannot stand!”

I think I’ve been tricked into reading girl comics.

I feel like a cowboy!

One of my co-workers, Hollie, gave me a package of smoked meat just now, because she had a surplus.

It is labeled Double Barrel Cooked Salami Sticks. There are two barrels worth of sticks, and to emphasize the point, there is a picture of a cowboy (perhaps Lee Van Cleef) leveling a shotgun right at me. Hollie lucked she way into this meat product and she thought of me. This made my day.

John Porter thinks I’m a jerk

Some phrases are used only by liars. It is understood that whenever someone says, “I’m not a racist, but,” they will always finish the sentence with an indefensibly racist sentiment.

Yesterday I started qualifying some of my statements in this manner.

“I’m not racist, but I sure am looking forward to Christmas!”
“I’m not racist, but, damn, that chick is hot.”
“I’m not racist, but Andrew Jackson’s fight against the National Bank led to the Panic of 1837, one of the worst economic crises in American history.”
“Batman would totally win in a fight against Superman, not that I’m racist.”

It’s fun. You should try it!

Open Mic

The third time I crossed paths with Domenic Squire was during an Open Mic Night at Dottie’s.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the stage that night. I was busy flirting with important girls. I was knocked off my stride when I heard an all-too-familiar voice sneer, “This first song goes out to Craig, the only man to ever best me in hand to hand combat.”

Flinching with dread at the sound of my name coming from that voice, I turned my attention toward the stage. Standing at the microphone was Domenic Squire, behind him, a full backing band. The band started playing the most horrible noise since Metal Machine Music. After at least two full minutes of this horrible din, Squire started screaming into the mic,

“I’m the one who raped your cat!
“I did it to teach you a lesson!
“The best sex I’ve ever had!
“God, I’m so lonely!
“I miss your cat! I miss your cat! I miss your cat!
“I’m so fucking lonely!”

I cut out early that night, and so missed the remainder of the set. I really hate that man.

Originally published at The Triangle. You can comment here or there.

Open Mic

The third time I crossed paths with Domenic Squire was during an Open Mic Night at Dottie’s.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the stage that night. I was busy flirting with important girls. This flirting was interrupted when I heard an all too familiar voice sneer, “This first song goes out to Craig, the only man to ever best me in hand to hand combat.”

Flinching with dread at the sound of my name coming from that familiar voice, I turned my attention toward the stage. Standing at the microphone was Domenic Squire, behind him, a full backing band. The band started playing the most horrible noise since Metal Machine Music. After at least two full minutes of this horrible din, Squire started screaming into the mic,

“I’m the one who raped your cat!
“I did it to teach you a lesson!
“The best sex I’ve ever had!
“God, I’m so lonely!
“I miss your cat! I miss your cat! I miss your cat!
“I’m so fucking lonely!”

I cut out early that night, and so missed the remainder of the set. I really hate that man.

Say it with a card

For a while I was considering starting my own greeting card company. I was going to have clever sayings for all occasions.

Valentines Day

I like my women like I like my coffee…
Up the ass.
INSIDE: I don’t know what that means, but I know that I mean it. (And that it means I like you.)

Birthdays

To a co-worker:
INSIDE: Not really my friend, but still worth a three dollar card.

According to the Bible, John the Baptist was punished for celebrating his birthday by way of beheading.

Get Well Soon cards

Two Millon people died last week. I’m glad you weren’t one of them.

Fuck.
INSIDE: Your friends love you.

Christmas

The suicide rates peak at Christmastime. Maybe we should think about whether this stressful nightmare of a tradition is worthwhile.
INSIDE: And give people one more reason to think we’re assholes.

Graduations

Art Major?
INSIDE: You poor, dumb fucker.

English Major?
INSIDE: You poor, dumb fucker.

Anniversaries

Happy Anniversary!
INSIDE: See, I can remember the arbitrary shit you think is important.

I hate you
INSIDE: No, really. You’re a useless fuck.

4. “NINJA THROWING STAR!” I shout as I let loose my deadly shuriken. The Little Demon is fast as she expertly dodges my volley, taking refuge behind an old couch-that-smells-of-cat-urine.

My brother pulls out his sword and smiles. I feel the nervousness behind the smile. His steel has seldom tasted crimson iron in the killing field as mine has. I pray that he does not underestimate our opponent.

My attention is drawn away from my brother as The Little Demon fires upon us with her gunpowder-pistol. It is a coward’s weapon. I see with clarity that The Little Demon has no honor. The shots go wild. It is what I am told Westerners call “suppressing fire.” She has taken one of the flabby children as a shield, hoping mercy for the child on the part of my brother and I might protect her.
“NINJA THROWING STAR!” As the flabby child’s head explodes like a melon, she is disabused of the notion of mercy.

Even as I throw my shuriken, my brother cries, “FLYING DRAGON BLADE OF SEVEN REVENGES!” as he hurtles towards The Little Demon, our fallen Master’s blade extended toward his prey.

Cowardly as it may be, the gunpowder pistol proves a deadly force. The bullets that tear into him forever preserve my brother’s honor.

“ON THE NAME OF MY BROTHER, I SHALL HAVE MY VENGENCE!” I shriek as I pull my Three Lucky Monkey Dagger.

I do not know if The Little Demon possesses some degree of honor, or if she merely has run out of gunpowder-bullets, but she throws down her coward-weapon, and draws a dagger of her own, already copper with blood.

We dance the dance of blood enemies.

My enemy is ferocious, never wavering, never relenting. She mocks me with her demon eyes and with the blood of my brother, splashed across her smiling face. I fend off her advances for several minutes, and I fear this is a fight I cannot win. Abruptly, The luck of the Three Monkeys seems to be with me as I succeed in knocking the blade from her hands.

For half a second I am stunned by my apparent good fortune, which is all the time my cursed enemy needs to grab my brother’s fallen blade and run me through.

My life quickly runs out of me, and I die, my brother’s vengeance denied.

3. Mary never hid her craziness from Brian, but at first he had liked it. He had been wasting time at the Student Center, reading a book, when Mary peeked up at him behind a couch.
“I need your help, she staged whispered to him. “I’m trying to find the soft people.”
Bemused, he asked, “Oh? What are soft people?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “People without bones. They’re evil,” she explained, as one would explain something obvious to a young child.
“I see. Is that why you’re hiding behind the couch?”
“Yeah, they’re everywhere, and they look just like real people. You should join me.”

And he did.

Dating Mary was like entering a world of magic. Everything was larger than life through her eyes. The complexities of the world were made simple as Mary explained how things really worked. There was a surprising amount of thing that, although apparently benign, were, as Mary would explain, actually purest evil. Like her baby brother. To Brian it was like a vacation from the real world.

They would wander around town with clipboards, cataloguing who was a soft person, and who was a real person. They would make plans for how to survive Armageddon. They played the sort of games of the imagination you wished you hadn’t outgrown. It was a summer of fantasystuff.

One night, the two of them were lying on the roof of Mary’s Mom’s house staring at the stars.
“I’ve never been as happy as this, right here,” Mary told Brian.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice isn’t it?”
“Brian, I love you so much, I’ll kill you if you ever break up with me.”
“That’s so sweet.” But really, it was creepy.

Mary said creepy things like that all the time. She was always talking about killing: “They should all be put down like animals,” or “The world will be safe after I kill my mother’s son.” At first, Brian had thought nothing of it, it was part of her whimsical fantasy world. But as he spent more time with her, it slowly became apparent that all the fantasy wasn’t a game to her. That she really believed all the stories she spun. Her crazy act wasn’t any sort of act at all. And Brian was afraid of her.

When Brian told her that things weren’t working out, tears welled up in her eyes. All she could say was, “But, we’re supposed to be in love.” And then she just walked away. Brian thought it went down all right. He was sorry to hurt her, but he was immensely relieved to be free of her craziness.

Brian wasn’t wrong about Mary being crazy, but nevertheless, everything she ever told him was true.

Originally published at The Triangle. You can comment here or there.

3. Mary never hid her craziness from Brian, but at first he had liked it. He had been wasting time at the Student Center, reading a book, when Mary peeked up at him behind a couch.
“I need your help, she staged whispered to him. “I’m trying to find the soft people.”
Bemused, he asked, “Oh? What are soft people?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “People without bones. They’re evil,” she explained, as one would explain something obvious to a young child.
“I see. Is that why you’re hiding behind the couch?”
“Yeah, they’re everywhere, and they look just like real people. You should join me.”

And he did.

Dating Mary was like entering a world of magic. Everything was larger than life through her eyes. The complexities of the world were made simple as Mary explained how things really worked. There was a surprising amount of thing that, although apparently benign, were, as Mary would explain, actually purest evil. Like her baby brother. To Brian it was like a vacation from the real world.

They would wander around town with clipboards, cataloguing who was a soft person, and who was a real person. They would make plans for how to survive Armageddon. They played the sort of games of the imagination you wished you hadn’t outgrown. It was a summer of fantasystuff.

One night, the two of them were lying on the roof of Mary’s Mom’s house staring at the stars.
“I’ve never been as happy as this, right here,” Mary told Brian.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice isn’t it?”
“Brian, I love you so much, I’ll kill you if you ever break up with me.”
“That’s so sweet.” But really, it was creepy.

Mary said creepy things like that all the time. She was always talking about killing: “They should all be put down like animals,” or “The world will be safe after I kill my mother’s son.” At first, Brian had thought nothing of it, it was part of her whimsical fantasy world. But as he spent more time with her, it slowly became apparent that all the fantasy wasn’t a game to her. That she really believed all the stories she spun. Her crazy act wasn’t any sort of act at all. And Brian was afraid of her.

When Brian told her that things weren’t working out, tears welled up in her eyes. All she could say was, “But, we’re supposed to be in love.” And then she just walked away. Brian thought it went down alright. He was sorry to hurt her, but he was immensely relieved to be free of her craziness.

Brian wasn’t wrong about Mary being crazy, but nevertheless, everything she ever told him was true.

Futurism

In the future, everyone will carry with them little computers that they can use to take pictures, get the news, and make phone calls with.

In the future, people will be able to get the news for free whenever they want and it will be updated every second.

In the future, people will be able to carry around every album they own in their pocket. They will also be able to give free copies of their albums to complete strangers in other countries.

In the future, people will be able to go to the bank, the grocer, and the fill up station without ever interacting with another human.

In the future, six corporations will provide all our television, movies, music, and news.

In the future, we will have outgrown our need for freedom and liberty. Instead, we will have security and secret police.

In the future, we will ruled by a grinning ape king following the orders of an insane god only he can hear.

In the future, police will have kill quotas.

In the future, sin will be illegal.

In the future, every month will have a Christmas.

In the future giant robots will patrol the streets of every major city, but we won’t know why.

In the future, everyone will be gay.

In the future, chickens will be on the internet.

In the future, the aesir will fight the fire giants in a battle that will rip the world asunder.

In the future, toasters will have usb ports.

In the future, Tupac will release a new album.

In the future, girls will like me.

2. So, yeah, we were all playing Super Monkey Ball, at Brian’s house, ‘cause what the fuck else are we gonna do on a Tuesday, y’know? Mark was in the kitchen or takin’ a shit or something. He wasn’t in the basement with the rest of us.
Anyways, I was all into the game, when there’s this loudass bang from behind the couch, and the TV goes black. I turn to look to see what happened, and Brian’s fucking dead, with a big fuckin hole in his head. Tim starts screaming, cause, fuck, he’s got Brian all over him. I mean Brian’s blood and brains and shit. Fuck! I’d scream too, y’know?

So who shot Brian? Some chick with a big ass gun. Like, maybe a forty-five? Isn’t that a big one? Whatever it was, she shot Brian, and I guess it went straight through him into the tv. And this chick just shot my best friend, but fuck me if I wasn’t a little turned on. Is that terrible? But she was really cute, and the way she was holding the gun like a badass, from a movie or some shit. And also she was wearing a real short skirt. Damn, I love that shit.
And then she shoots Tim. She’s fuckin’ stonecold, and fuck me for thinking that’s hot. I knew she was going to kill us all, and I was going to die with a boner.
And that’s when the fuckin’ ninjas showed up.

1. Mary could feel the weight from the gun in her pocket. It felt reassuring. She had spent yesterday in her back yard, practicing shooting the gun, until she heard a police siren, and she ran away. She increased her pace, slightly, as the anticipation grew.
Her iPod changed tracks. Heaven Can Wait by Meatloaf started playing. Mary frowned slightly. Now was not the time for Meatloaf. Now was the time for violence. With an easy touch, she turned the clickwheel. As Ennio Morricone’s Esctasy of Gold came through her earbuds, Mary smiled. Now, this was killing music.

“Remove the head or destroy the brain.”

Saturday was Zombothon 2005.

Tessa, Troy, Ethan, Marquis, Sophie, Xavier, and Jai were in attendance, and a good time was reportedly had by all.

Our featured films were:
Night of The Living Dead (1968)
Dawn of The Dead (1979)
Shaun of The Dead
Land of The Dead

Shaun was the big hit. Land was the big dud.

These were complex and allegorical films, meditating on the nature of evil. They asked the hard question, “Who is the real monster?” I think it was the zombies.

The menu consisted of Chili, Buffalo wings, macaroni and cheese, stir fry, pizza (Domino’s) and pizza (DiGiorno’s). Watching the shambling dead feast on the entrails of the living produced quite the hunger amongst us.

Xavier is ten, and he has concluded that Zombies and comedy mix very well. I have concluded that Zombie movies and ten year old kids mix very well.

I’m sort of thinking out loud tonight.

I sorta set up shop on livejournal on accident. A couple years back I was writing a daily thing called Dispatches From the Moon. I decided to post it on livejournal. Eventually, Dispatches got really crappy, and I had developed a friends list. So I made the decision to start blogging on livejournal. What followed lacked focus: Random snatches of stories, political bitching, amusing linkage, and the occasional glimpse into my personal life.

I never figured out what people liked to read, or what I liked to post. But I enjoy my little patch of internet land.