Ewwww!

Ayelet Waldman, Salon: Even now, although Zeke's [age 7] pride does not allow him to linger in my arms for much longer than a minute or so, he still calls for me to lie with him at night, he still gives me ‘movie kisses’–kisses that last for a little longer than usual and involve a lot of twisting of the head and moaning.

Sooo gross.

And I say this as a mother of a grown son. This is genuine ick.

(And what's with the brackets?)

Sorry, Ayelet, but from all grownup parents: get help.

Developers Developers?

I, CRINGELY “What's key here is Microsoft's innate inability to do something right the first or even the second time. The nature of Internet services is that to be successful, they have to come at little or no cost and JUST PLAIN WORK. What Microsoft products or services would that historically describe?”

Hey, if Microsoft has become the donkey, is it my fault? Is it Cringely's fault? Hell, no. Where would writers be without fools.

And you know and I know what marked the epochal turn. The beginning of the end. Though I don't think we could have quite guessed at the time—though it is said that the intuitive brain takes in far more than our daily minds could ever handle. The abundant present is enough.

Yet what a signal moment it was, in the confident glow of hindsight. Mr. Ballmer squealing like a stuck pig, sweating through his button-down. I watched it again last week, and thought of the dear departed Richard Pryor's imitation of white folk getting down.

Perhaps we all do the same—though not in such publicly embarrassing ways ... but it's likely that we all telegraph the future, one way or another. Even more important than what you do is the observing self. Do you have one. What does it tell you, as the material of now ceaselessly churns into the past.

Once you know that you are the audience for whom you act out in perpetua—you're free. Free of the terrible and very boring bondage to the self. You get to be a real person. I like knowing real persons. It would be a lonely life without.

Perhaps the (alleged) snark-unto-cruelty of humor like mine is based on a very healthy sense of rage. Perhaps it is genuinely enraging when someone who could be a wonderful part of this arduous, lengthy party opts out, and plays the fool instead.

(The clip also known as “CEO of the Dance.”)

Mr. Attractive

If you want to pretend that blogrolls, popularity lists (et.al.) don't exist, that's fine. If you want to claim that they hurt people, then you are engaging in something I can only call stupidity. Sorry–I call them the way I see them. –James R.

World Wide Web: big downside: great staggering masses of cluelessness.

Not all male, but for the most part.

Shelley Powers is one smart and gracious woman. What I might be like, if only I were nice. So why are the geek-syndromers drawn like moths to leave the proud little turds of their comments on that loveliest of blogs, Just Shelley, where they will make special fools of themselves.

Because they must. Next!

Every Life Is Pre-cious

Isn't that a Monty Python song, or am I imagining things again.

You believe, as I do, that every human life has value, that the strong have a duty to protect the weak, and that the self-evident truths of the Declaration of Independence apply to everyone, not just to those considered healthy or wanted or convenient.

How like Dubya to spread a clause until it touches—just barely touches—upon the magic word. The trigger, the hot-button. The code in which he speaks, and in which they hear.

Healthy…okay, passable. Wanted…still room for debate. And then the sly death grip closes in on the terrible and bald-faced lie, “convenience.”

How damaged. How broken. Because really, the fair sex is condemned aforehand, and those with the sanity and the shovel might dig out to say a piece or two, but millions don't.

You want to know where equality starts? About two, three thousand years ago. And it is categorically NOPH. (Not our problem, honey.) No matter that they imagine this, and try to imagine they do, the male gender cannot fully, ever, project their entire litany of cruddy thoughts onto the female. It just plain doesn't work. He is not She.

And It makes less of a man of whomever tries to do so; no one sane and in full possession of himself has the need for a scapegoat. Process and forgiveness, that's what life's about. There's a way in which casting all one's own crap onto someone else and punishing it there is, in the existential sense, a stillborn thing of its own. An aborted attempt to somehow remain above and beyond the fray, and thus, oh greatest prize: be In Control.

And this autistic removal? Who, exactly, thought up the idea that being not with life was superior than being with. Talk about never getting born.

"Republicans Discuss Ethics Rules"

From the Chicago Tribune. [Caution: do not read article on empty stomach. Or full].

I cannot list the numerous and stunning sacrifices under consideration. They are too numerous, too, too noble. And that bitch Nancy Pelosi (it's always a woman) has the nerve to suggest, sure, now they “discuss ethics.”

Hastert also sidestepped questions about whether he would curb one of the most coveted perks that corporations give members of Congress: the use of private jets that stand waiting to ferry friendly influential lawmakers around the country for campaign trips and other appearances.

Not the fucking private jets again.

Say, I wonder ...

And Thanks For The Page Rank!

I left the following note at the latest Google Maps mashup. Ready to join, until I took a look at the setup. Am I alone in this? (And do I care?)

Now, what are you going to do about those big ugly placemarkers when more people sign up, and why does everyone who fucks with Google maps, including Google, have this strange bent for big ugly placemarkers?

Just wondering,
Zo

It really is a wider problem, as my picking on poor Platial suggests. Though this newcomer really does take the Big Ugly Markers cake. Somehow hideous—which is to say, that which ignores aesthetics to a near-violent extent—has gotten loosed on the internet…and perhaps Google is to blame. I haven't decided yet. I mean, those unreadable blinking-marquee Home Pages from the mid-90s—and they're all still around, don't kid yourself—were a whole different breed. They had aesthetics—just very, very bad aesthetics.

It's the clinically bad, the bereft of artistic thought, that gets my goat, and you know what, I have this sneaking suspicion the trail does leads back to, you got it, Sergey & Larry.

Hey, guys, love your work!

I don't want you going design crazy or anything, but there is this small matter of yin to all this yang: You cannot have just function! Yes, even if you are Sergey and Larry!

You're still computer wonks, which is why I am explaining this so nicely.

This is how it goes: Form and Function. See? Just Function, why that's just half a thing. You want the other half. That would be: Form.

No prob. Anytime I can help. And really, thanks for the blog.

The Kids Are Alright

Got broadband? Honey, it's a big world out there, and it wants to come home. Here, have a little Bush Administration-antidote. It's almost spring.

Watch here, or click the link. Two Chinese students, courtesy Google Video, courtesy the world-wide heart.

external link: play in new window
technorati tags: videos humor backdorm boyz

Game Called On Account of Smoke

STOWE BOYD'S SOAPBOX: I predict that 2006 will be a time when it becomes increasingly obvious that businesses are going to move away from Microsoft, and not return. Aside from the missteps and design flaws of Microsoft software itself, here's why:

Web 2.0—new online applications will provide capabilities that match Office and other Windows apps at a fraction of the price.

Apple and the Battle for the Living Room—Apple's Kaleidoscope project, which couples a souped-up Mac Mini with DVR software and iPod docking station, will destroy Microsoft's hopes for living room / entertainment center dominance. This product will be a huge, iPod-sized hit, and all of a sudden millions of American homes will have a Mac in the living room. Game over.

Nice going, Boyd. Even if it has always been painfully apparent that the exhibitors in Las Vegas vie at blowing smoke up Mr. Gates' ass. As if Mr. Gates gives a shit. When it is painfully obvious he does not. Give a shit. He sure didn't give a shit whether his own products worked—and why should he? The man is way past embarrassment. (Okay, I grant you, he and Monkey Boy both seem to have taken a lifetime pass re: embarrassment.) He has moved on to saving the Third World. Literally. And I have no doubt will do so.

But does anyone think for one rabid second that the great lumbering behemoth of Microsoft will ever accomplish one other thing, as it staggers through the undergrowth towards its demise. It may heave about for a long, long time—we're talking major carcass. But when it does finally keel over, no one will notice. They'll be home watching movies, probably exactly as Cringely wrote: (I believe Cringley to have magical powers) having downloaded said films into their iPods at the kiosk on the corner. Bye-bye Blockbuster. Bye-bye love. Wait, wrong song. Right, however, story.

tags: microsoft bill gates ballmer apple mac mini ipod web 2.0 microsoft office media center