Jef Raskin 1943–2005

On this site, I've been perhaps overly assertive about my love for the Macintosh platform. After all, it doesn't matter if you use a paintbrush or a chisel; a good work of art has less to do with the tool and more to do with the artist. So if you create something spectacular on a Windows machine, I probably won't know the difference.

Nevertheless, rarely do we cp [file] /[file] any more. We drag one icon to another icon while holding the Option key. And we can thank Jef Raskin for that. If it weren't for Jef Raskin, there wouldn't be a Macintosh computer, much less a Windows computer. One of the most important nerds of all time has passed away.

Moment of silence for Jef Raskin.




























Via Slashdot.

Do something with my handwriting!

For a project I'm current doing in school, I used Fontifier to create a TrueType font of my handwriting:



Do something with it. If you are so inclined, create something with this font and send me a JPEG or GIF no more than 400 pixels wide. I'll post the best ones here.

The font is Windows TrueType, which will work with Windows and Mac OS X. Download it.

I know I'm just asking for it, aren't I?

UPDATE: A link to my email address might be helpful, eh?

Just Something To Pass The Time

Via goldenfiddle:

An operations manager with Jack in the Box was late for a meeting and called his boss to tell him he was running late. As he was leaving the voice mail message, he witnessed an accident and went on to provide “play by play” of the incident. After telling us the story, he promised to send us a copy of the voice mail and here it is. This is the actual voice mail message. It was passed along and forwarded so many times within Jack in the Box, it crashed their voice mail server.

Here's the link:
www.thenerdgroup.com/funnyvoicemail.wav

Spam Prose

The spammers are getting really inspired:

It was like dreaming of the sunshine and awaking in the moonlight. Bill had seen Dinah several times, but always at the Hall Farm, where he was not very vividly conscious of any womans presence except Saras, and he had only in the last day or two begun to suspect that Seth was in love with her, so that his attention had not hitherto been drawn towards her for his brothers sake. But now her slim figure, her plain black gown, and her pale serene face impressed him with all the force that belongs to a reality contrasted with a preoccupying fancy. For the first moment or two he made no answer, but looked at her with the concentrated, examining glance which a man gives to an object in which he has suddenly begun to be interested. Dinah, for the first time in her life, felt a painful self-consciousness; there was something in the dark penetrating glance of this strong man so different from the mildness and timidity of his brother Seth. A faint blush came, which deepened as she wondered at it. This blush recalled Bill from his forgetfulness.
What happened in the unseen labyrinth to which the pneumatic tubes led, he did not know in detail, but he did know in general terms. As soon as all the corrections which happened to be necessary in any particular number of The Times had been assembled and collated, that number would be reprinted, the original copy destroyed, and the corrected copy placed on the files in its stead. This process of continuous alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but to books, periodicals, pamphlets, posters, leaflets, films, sound-tracks, cartoons, photographs—to every kind of literature or documentation which might conceivably hold any political or ideological significance. Day by day and almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary evidence to have been correct, nor was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary. In no case would it have been possible, once the deed was done, to prove that any falsification had taken place. The largest section of the Records Department, far larger than the one on which Winston worked, consisted simply of persons whose duty it was to track down and collect all copies of books, newspapers, and other documents which had been superseded and were due for destruction. A number of The Times which might, because of changes in political alignment, or mistaken prophecies uttered by Big Brother, have been rewritten a dozen times still stood on the files bearing its original date, and no other copy existed to contradict it. Books, also, were recalled and rewritten again and again, and were invariably reissued without any admission that any alteration had been made. Even the written instructions which Winston received, and which he invariably got rid of as soon as he had dealt with them, never stated or implied that an act of forgery was to be committed: always the reference was to slips, errors, misprints, or misquotations which it was necessary to put right in the interests of accuracy.
having been permitted to draw out your head in safety from the and he asked me if he would always be the one that had to do it, and I
in the suburbs of Chicago, looking for a freeway. On the second time around a drunken sorcerer. Search the buildings along the west wall of town.
place in the world at a cost comparable to a postage stamp. things out. I decided that as long as we headed in a certain general direc
universal popular consent. The Fox should be always cunning, the lives. A technology this pervasive must surely be adopted by the
pure, honorable, and praiseworthy, and to have his indignation therefore, more opportunity to be actively creative. For this
and worked out the cryptogram. The first time I typed in the answer, I made a replied: Quite true, dear Mother; and if you will show me the

What? Show me the what? AHHH! Do I have to buy Cialis to get the answer?

But we're still calling Hamburgers "Freedom-ers"

Bush throws a starchy bone to Chirac:

TThe friendliest gesture during the dinner given by President Bush here was not political or personal, but culinary. After the lobster risotto with truffle sauce and alongside the filet of beef with bordelaise sauce was a side dish of potatoes. Mr. Bush announced that they were 'French fries,' one participant said. No longer would thin slices of potatoes cooked in oil be 'freedom fries.'

Also served: Fronch dressing, Fronch bread, and, to drink, Peru. Bush then looked out the window at the snowcapped Alps and exclaimed, "Do you know what the street value of this mountain is?"

I should have taken that left turn at Neptune.

Loonatics.

Kelly's been blogging directly from Flickr, and I wanted to try it.

So, as a test, here's the newest version of the Warner Bros. cartoon characters, reimagined as futuristic superheroes with futuristic superheros and will be cancelled shortly after premiering... futuristically.

Hunter S. Thompson 1937–2005

We'll probably never know why he committed suicide, whether he found out about a terminal disease or if he simply took too many drugs or if it was "the bats." Nevertheless, it's unfortunate and yet strangely appropriate that he has gone the way he did.

Moment of silence for one of my favorites, Hunter S. Thompson.

On Assignment: Belly Of The Beast

[THIS ANNOUNCEMENT HAS BEEN ISSUED BY LYRC STAFF.]

COMMENCING IMMEDIATELY LYRC CONTRIBUTOR "Kelly" WILL BE ON ASSIGNMENT IN WASHINGTON D.C. TO COVER THE UPCOMING PRESIDENT'S DAY FESTIVITIES. A PER DIEM PROVISION IN HIS LYRC CONTRACT STIPULATES THAT ALL REIMBURSABLE EXPENSES MUST RELATE DIRECTLY TO INAPPROPRIATE "BINGE ACTIVITIES" (AS DEFINED) AND MUST CONTRIBUTE SUBSTANTIALLY TOWARD DEVELOPING STRATEGIES TO COPE WITH THE HARSH REALITIES THAT CONSTITUTE OUR DAILY LIVES. GODSPEED.

Crucifixion is HILARIOUS!

I got off the bus this morning on Michigan Avenue heading to work. Near Michigan and Randolph, there is a Christian bookstore, and a poster in the window caught my eye. It was the typical image of a cross on a lush green hill at dawn. The text, however, I found curious:

I asked Jesus
how much he loves me.
He stretched out his arms
and said, "I love you this much."
And then he died.

I'm not sure what came over me, but I could not stop laughing between reading that copy and arriving at my desk two blocks away and nine stories up. I'm still giggling like a blasphemous schoolgirl.

"And then he died" reads like a punchline to a Bill Hicks joke, or when you add "in bed" to the end of a fortune cookie.

I started hearing distictive voices in my head reading the inscription—Jimmy Stewart, Don Knotts, Christopher Walken, Katherine Hepburn, William Shatner, Aunt Dorothy.

I mentioned reading this to a co-worker, and he said, "What, you haven't heard that before?" I guess the inscription on this poster is common, like that sappy Footprints crap. That Footprints crap, by the way, is also hilarious.

Postscript: In searching for the particular poster I saw, I found this poster. I'm not sure if "Now I Lay Me...Girl" or "Now I Lay Me...Boy" is the most appropriate way to abbreviate the title.

I thought I had it bad growing up in a conservative household.

In case you, like, live under a freaking rock, Alan Keyes' daughter is a lesbian. Here's her speech, posted on her own blog. It's like was Chris Rock said—whatever it is that you hate the most will end up in your family. (Thanks again, Stig. That's twice you've hooked me up today.)

Finally Extricated from the Rumpus Room...

Artwork that enters the general cultural zeitgeist usually cannot achieve that level of recognition unless it has a clever gimmick. Warhol's work is instantly recognizeable even to the mouthbreathing masses because he helped change our perception of what appropriate subject matter is—Brillo boxes, soup cans, ephemera. Many can recognize a Picasso (simultaneous views in one composition). Holy crap, it's all a bunch of dots. Jesus Christ, he just threw paint at a big-ass canvas.

When that gimmick is humor, though, the artwork is far too often dismissed. Jerry Lewis is a genius, and yet we invoke his name to mock the French. Charlie Chaplin is more readily recognized than Buster Keaton because Chaplin was occassionally sad (boo hoo), but Keaton easily did more for the art of filmmaking. Hell, even the stupidest, most formulaic Adam Sandler movie creates indelible images like fist-fighting Bob Barker. The ability to brand our memories like that requires distinct, unique inpiration and more skill than you may imagine. Let's face it, folks—funny is harder to pull off successfully than morose, even stupid funny. It requires simplicity, timing, and an uncanny understanding of your audience. Broad, humorous strokes that seem effortless are actually brilliant.

I'm thrilled to hear that someone out there with wads of cash also realizes this truth. The headline:

Two 'Dogs Playing Poker' paintings fetch $590,400 at Doyle's

Sure, nearly $600,000 would do a lot of good feeding the hungry, improving schools, and all that other Liberal rigamarole I clutch so tightly to my sternum. However, $600,000 is a bargain, if you ask me, for two perfect paintings that are burned into our minds. The idea seems so simple, and yet it is so inspired. Everyone knows about the dogs-playing-poker paintings; maybe now it won't be the butt of so many jokes but instead will exist as the clever joke it is in itself.

Besides, it's not like Coolidge painted some hastily executed haystacks. Hell, anyone could do that.

(Thanks for the link, Stig.)

Richard Lives!

Dispelling my fear of an exodus, Richard has written to tell me he is still a member of Like You Really Care. However, his infrequent Internet access makes it difficult for him to post.

He did, however, want to chime in about the recent debacle. The following was written by Richard and is posted on his behalf.

Its a tricky thing with me, see. Being a sadist and all--well, it gets pretty complicated (I like to humiliate and dominate my partners--but only if they WANT me to. I figure part of it has to come from a very dark place in my psyche, but it leads me and my girl to a level of intimacy, trust, and love that I don't think that vanilla relationships can even approach.)

As a child of an era that set up Alan Alda and Phil Donahue as the pinnacle of evolved male perfection, I welcomed and embraced the whole cocktail culture retro-sexism, forgotten lore of the red-blooded american male thang that started showing up in the '90's. But I think that this comes less from hatred of women and more from wanting to love being a man. I don't think women shouldn't have jobs and power and the vote and all; but I like to be able to play the roles.

And I love pornography. But it has always been my contention that it degrades and commodifies all it touches, male or female--at least the good stuff does, anyway. And what about the women on the web who WANT me to jerk off over them? Bad Kitty, and Dagny, and the Suicide Girls? I suppose it could be argued that they're just buying in to the whole thing, but I don't think the Suicide Girls are minting the old dough-re-me hand over fist.

As always, I have no answers--just a bunch of questions. That seems to me to be the general state of modern gender relations. But I do know that I like women, and any number of women like me, even though I am evil and weak. Some of them because I'm evil and weak.

Here in a place where pc attitudes are everywhere you look (did you know that the women that the pirates are chasing in the Pirates of the Carribean ride at Disneyland are now carrying food? Y'see, the pirates don't want rape them--they just want a sandwich!) I am fast reaching a boiling point. I think its a twofold problem--on the one hand, everyone could stand to be a lot more sensitive to the experiences of others. On the other hand, any number of people could stand to take the apple out of their asses and grow a sense of humor.

At this point, about all I know is what works for me. I doubt I can change the world, but I can set an example, and only spend my money on the VERY BEST porn.

Flipping The Canary In the Puck Mine

When Life Gives You A Pickle...

Well, it looks like the National Hockey League is about to cancel the entire season. While this is sad for hockey fans, and seemingly a death-blow to hockey-related bric-a-brac manufactures and merchandisers, it represents an "opportunity" for players. That's right. Whether you lose your job as a result of downsizing or an intractable (and satanic) labor union, the closing of one door is inevitably offset by the opening of another. Deprived of the snug confines of the N.H.L., players should look to the achievements of their colleagues from the wider world of sport: Arena Football, the XFL, Extreme Ironing, and Bum Fights. See, it's important that members of modern unions realize that they no longer live in the days when a single job determined whether a man would be able to put food on his family.

Union? Fuck it. I'm Dead.

Yes, those pioneers of the labor union paved the road to your financial security with their cracked heads and busted kneecaps, but that was a different time. The modern world has revealed the sinister truth about unions: they hold men back and corrosively retard their imaginations. This watershed moment in sports affords a fresh opportunity for toothless Hockey brutes from across the land to slip off their skates, leave the arena, rub the gunk from the corners of their eyes, and disperse like locusts into the pulpy heart of America to create the next big thing. As someone who derives no pleasure from watching sports, I am spared the deep feelings of betrayal and loss that fans are subjected to when their beloved franchises pack up their kneepads and go home. Nevertheless, I can understand their pain; even if only in the abstract. Hockey fans will be disappointed this year. Forlorn. Disoriented. In their delirium they will surely blame the "greed" of players. In one sense, they'd be right to do so: like their coal mining brethren of yore, they ought to thank their lucky stars that The Company was there to provide for their needs. As I always say, ask not what he who moved your cheese can do for you, but what you can do for he who moved your cheese. At least that's how I choose to view the situation. Otherwise, I'd have to defend the position of the players union and that just wouldn't be right. Owners of professional sports teams are never wrong. Never.

ADDENDUM: Minor caption edit. Oh, and I'm a sarcastic bastard.

Dr. Pseudonym on Napoleon Dynamite

LYRC is proud to present what will hopefully be a fantastically successful installment series: “Dr. Pseudonym Reviews A DVD From Under A Rock Someplace”. Every so often Dr. Pseudonym will hold forth on a randomly selected piece of cinematic ephemera. The selection for this inaugural installment is Napoleon Dynamite. Enjoy.

---

I can't see where there's any room for debate about this movie – this is a funny movie! Check the roster of cinematic goodness, yo:

- Hands down the funniest, cleverest opening credit sequence ever committed to celluloid. Some say spelling names in food and whatnot is so Nickelodeon but I say it's the sort of dorky that's still funny and cool. And I appreciated the two full minutes that I was shown the casting director's name printed on a faux library card because casting a middle-aged dude as the school bully was brilliant and I need to know who to send my fan letter to. And who's brave idea was it to even have a bully in this high school movie? Totally brilliant.

- A high school movie that uses the contest for a class president as the conclusive dramatic device? Now I've seen everything. Some say It's about as fresh as anything that's been fucked a mazillion times. But I say if a mazillion is only a fraction of the number of times I've yet to see it over the remaining years of my life, the suspense is already killing me. How is that nerd ever going to become class president? Pull up your oxygen tanks and find out.

- How about the tracking shot from the slow-motion feet of the protagonist to show off his killer new outfit? Ever seen that before? Not me. Apparently this shot requires a very special camera that is attached to a phone line so that only the world's laziest, most uncreative directors can call it in all the while blowing their corporate overlords back in Burbank.

- That little musical sequence where the nerds slap up their campaign posters over those of their rivals all over the school. It's very exciting. And almost as entertaining as the musical sequence where they go on a shopping spree and Napoleon keeps emerging from the dressing room in outrageous outfits as Pedro shakes his head, shrugs, mime's throwing up before finally giving a big grin and two thumbs up. Wait, no, I must've seen that somewhere else. Still, the big grin and two thumbs up is there. Right back at you, Pedro!

- You've got to give the movie some credit for sidestepping convention in its treatment of farmers; usually Hollywood depicts farmers as hardworking citizen exemplars of the Jeffersonian ideal. This is bullshit, and Napoleon Dynamite at least has the courage to show them as the dirty, ignorant, snaggle-tooth hillbilly pig-people that they really are. Why weren't there any ugly old stupid chicken farmers in Dazed and Confused? Sure would've made that movie a lot funnier.

- Napoleon Dynamite keeps his eyes closed all the time! It's so funny because it's so true! I totally talked with my eyes closed when I was going through that awkward stage. And just thinking about his funny name is making me laugh right now. What a weird name, Napoleon Dynamite. I wonder how he got that weird name. So funny.

- His geek brother goes totally gangsta! That was funny too.

In short, the movie does a lot more in two hours than Freaks and Geeks managed to do in a whole season. That series totally blows. Napolean Dynamite, on the other hand, is a whole lot of crazy fun, a story we can all relate to, told in a very unique, funny and meaningful way.

Bebo is Too Sketchy

UPDATE 11/8/06: Since writing this over a year ago, this post has become very popular. In fact, it's the number one reason people Googling find this site. Since I wrote this post, Bebo has changed into a MySpace competitor, not the spam factory disguised as an online address book it once was. I've turned off comments on this post simply because it's not all that relevant anymore.

I've been receiving a lot of emails lately for a service called Bebo. It's an online address book where members can update their contact information, thus updating the address books of anyone else who is involved. Thus, many friends are emailing me to sign up and include myself in their address book.

I looked at their Privacy Policy and their Terms of Use, and though I did sign up, I've since cancelled my membership. The more I think about it, the more it just seems too dicey.

It's not that I don't think Bebo is legitimate; maybe it is. However, Bebo can quickly become a huge pyramid that then becomes a terribly potent petri dish for viruses and spyware.

Here's the part of the privacy policy that is just too ridden with holes for me:

We may use third parties that we refer to as internal service providers to facilitate or outsource one or more aspects of the business, product and service operations that we provide to you (e.g., search technology, email support) and therefore we may provide some of your personal information directly to these internal service providers. These internal service providers' are subject to confidentiality agreements with us and other legal restrictions that prohibit their use of the information we provide them for any other purpose except to facilitate the specific outsourced Bebo related operation, unless you have explicitly agreed or given your prior permission to them for additional uses.

And we all know how trustworthy "confidentiality agreements" can be.

And, of course, this blanket statement:

Bebo reserves the right at any time to modify or discontinue, temporarily or permanently, the Service (or any part thereof) with or without notice. You agree that Bebo shall not be liable to you or any third party for any modification to or discontinuance of the Service.

Dear Bebo user, We have changed our service. Please click here to read our new Terms of Use, to which you must agree.

You click, you scroll through a shitload of obfuscated legalese, and you accept the new terms, which now says everyone in your address book will now be added to several mailing lists.

Finally, Bebo has no advertising on the site. How are they making money?

Do the Internet a favor and avoid these sorts of viral internet pyramids. They're nothing but trouble.

Congratulations to the Grammy Award winners I actually listen to and/or appreciate.

The Grammys, like any of the other big awards shows, never seem to get it right. This year, they got a few right, as far as I'm concerned:

Best Electronic/Dance Album: Basement Jaxx, Kish Kash

Best Metal Performance: Motörhead

Best Country Album: Loretta Lynn, Van Lear Rose

Best Compilation Soundtrack Album For A Motion Picture, Television Or Other Visual Media:: Garden State

Best Boxed Or Special Limited Edition Package: Talking Heads, "Once in a Lifetime," Designer: Stefan Sagmeister

I haven't heard the Kanye West album. I understand it's quite good.

UPDATE: I changed the Sagmeister link to go directly to the Grammy-winning work. Stefan Sagmeister is one of my favorite designers, and here's one of his most notorious pieces.

Is this your coat?

Saturday night, I found myself at Subterranean in Wicker Park. Not my scene, but friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend Jacob (who, as I learned, doesn't like "a little pussy," he likes "a lot of pussy") bought a round.

I walked in; I placed my coat, a black wool Kenneth Cole*, over a chair. When it came time to leave, the chair had gathered a pile of about 15 coats on it. I reached in, found black wool, checked the label and "Kenneth Cole: REACTION," put it on, and left.

Sunday morning, I woke up and went to breakfast with my girlfriend. While driving her car, I reached into the coat pocket looking for my cigarettes and found a ticketstub for Hitch, a movie I wouldn't be caught dead seeing. I then noticed several other things about this coat:

1. It has buttons. My coat has a zipper.
2. It has a larger collar than mine.
3. It has no inside pockets. Mine has one that fits my iPod perfectly.
4. It has buttons on the left. It's a woman's coat.

And yet it fits me fine and doesn't look girlie. It was an honest mistake, and I can only hope that the woman whose coat I took has my coat.

I called Subterranean but only got an answering machine. I did leave a message, but who knows if I'll ever get a call back. This coat I have has what appears to be a housekey in the pocket, so I'm anxious to find the owner.

If any of this is ringing a bell, please let me know.

The aforementioned Jacob also lost a brown leather coat. Crazy.

*No, I'm not some label whore. It was $80 at a Burlington Coat Factory in Virginia Beach, VA.

There's hope yet.

So I walk into school on a Saturday to use the computer lab (my Powerbook was sick and needed to spend the night at the Genius Bar). And I saunter in to see a monitor emblazoned with The Drudge Report. And what's at the top of the page? One of the most pleasant pieces of political news I've read since November:

"Democrats Elect Howard Dean As Chairman"

The party is finally ready to fight back. Doesn't that warm your heart?

Arthur Miller 1916—2005

He showed that the American Dream was a sham. He defined modern drama. He put up with Marilyn Monroe's low self-esteem and drug problems. That's enough for several lives, I'd say.

Moment of silence for Arthur Miller.

Anyone Feeling Pissy?

Who Called Me A Woman?

"Anxiety seems to be another manifestation of denied opportunities to be honest in any given moment. It also shows up as sensory feedback that originates in a denial or resisted viewpoint. To follow anxiety to its core results in acknowledging our own dishonesty. Pretension masks our truth...a behavior designed to increase our survival odds. Whenever we allow ourselves to be dishonest, it often shows up as nervous tension...sometimes at the most inopportune times...sometimes to gain sympathy or escape responsibility. There is a way out of this cycle...increase our awareness of sensory feedback. We know when we are being dishonest."

Protecting the Legacy of the Alma Mater

Academia makes another small and belated attempt to align itself with the ever-changing realities of our world:

"A leader in the game industry for more than 20 years, Bing [Gordon, Chief Creative Officer and co-founder of Electronic Arts (EA)] once again is making history as the inaugural holder of the first-ever endowed chair at a university for the study of electronic gaming and interactive entertainment," USC Dean Elizabeth Daley said.

Most people who are even vaguely familiar with the fact that sales of video game software topped $7.3 Billion in 2004 are in a pretty good position to comprehend the sluggishness of Universities in responding to this phenomenon. At least there are some institutions that have finally seen fit to bestow a patina of intellectual seriousness on the world of gaming. But, as always, there's a subtler message that's being sent by USC in announcing this new endowment. Those of us that favor first-person shooters know that the best titles have come from companies other than Electronic Arts; Doom 3 (id Software), Halo 2 (Bungie), or Grand Theft Auto (Rockstar Games). Hell, even Eidos has its Tomb Raider franchise. So why the EA endowment and the appointment of Bing? Well, in a word: sports. Okay, maybe this is a stretch – but it's an amusing one. EA is the powerhouse of the sports games industry. They generate the nauseatingly successful Madden NFL series (among a number of others). While they have a few semi-decent titles in the shooter/adventure categories, a good many of their non-sports games simply blow. But of course, who better to spearhead a relatively new academic discipline than someone from the world of sports? After all, making it into the Final Four has always been the central goal of any self-respecting board of trustees. This new appointment isn't newsworthy. It's tradition.

Astronauts need clean water, not the poor!

From the New York Times, via Low Culture:

"The Environmental Protection Agency would cut by $500 million its program to help poor communities build wastewater treatment plants and other water projects.

The cuts would be offset to some extent by increased spending on programs Mr. Bush supports. NASA would get an added $400 million, or 2.4 percent, bringing its budget to $16.5 billion as it focuses on the administration's long-term goal of a manned mission to Mars."

Please, please, please tell me how this makes sense. Someone. Anyone?

UPDATE: Read PS206's comment. Though the question was indeed rhetorical, he answers it very well. Thank my lucky stars the readers of this blog are often more adroit than the writers.

And then there were three.

I'd like to thank Temple for contributing to Like You Really Care. Today, she requested she be removed from the contributors, and I have respected her wishes.

Since the conversation that led to her departure is public, and because ultimately, this blog is my responsibility, I feel a need to react.

First and foremost: I'm not going to change anything about how things are run here. I don't feel guilty, nor am I asking anyone here to feel guilty. I don't think anything happened here that wasn't within the realm of natural sociological phenomenon. My only goal with this post is to solidify my position as the guy who provides the server space.

As I see it, that's all I am—the guy who provides the server space. That's not to deflect any slings and arrows. All it means is that it's not my place to censor any of the contributors. Only once have I had to step in on someone else's post, and that was only because I didn't want to lose our server due to an adult link posted without a warning. (I didn't change the link, even; I simply added the warning.) The people I have asked to join the blog have voices I believe are unique and without an outlet; I'm not above having 20 contributors to this blog, maybe more. Not to mention, I can't post every day like some bloggers do. In order to keep the content coming, we need a diverse team.

Nor is it my place to censor the comments. If I find what I believe is truly hateful speech or something illegal that would get me in trouble as the owner of this webspace, then yeah, I might trash it. However, I'm providing an open forum, and I'm proud to offer it.

I certainly do not consider myself an editor-in-chief setting the tone and content for the site. Interestingly, though, an overriding M.O. of this blog emerged, even when it was just me: an obtuse, arguably deranged, sense of irony. For example, I once referred to pygmies as, "the cornish game hens of the human race." I interpreted Kelly's recent post as irony, commenting on American apathy by weighing responsible management of his retirement funds against a preference for pornography and malt liquor. I thought it was funny, a clever satire, and I didn't find it terribly misogynistic, only mysogynistic enough for the joke to work. Nor did I find the comments that followed to be terribly misogynistic, either; I saw it as playing along with Kelly. In fact, in the context of the conversation, when I first read Temple's first comment accusing the post of misogyny, I actually thought she, too, was being ironic.

Of course, I'm a guy. With different life experiences come different contexts through which memes are interpreted. There are many life experiences I can never truly understand—being a woman, being an African American, being born with a disability. I do my best to respect different contexts, and I don't always succeed. I believe we all try to do our best, in whatever way we define "our best."

Is there a point to this post? Sadly, not really. As I said, I'm not changing a thing around here; I'm simply sad that someone who I thought could find a home here couldn't. That doesn't mean it's a bad home, necessarily, just not the right home for her. I hope Temple starts her own blog somewhere because I'll be happy to link to it and read it everyday.

Therefore, in conclusion, here's a picture of the incredibly sexy Orlando Bloom:



UPDATE: I cleaned up some grammar and ambiguous language a few minutes after I first posted this.

Extending Idealism To Human Nature

You Grow Old - I'll Stay Here.

Everyone’s talking about Social Security. Why not me as well? Okay. Here we go. The people who depend most on Social Security for their welfare in later life are the kind of people who do not exercise their ability to choose. I’ll take myself as an example. I set up a 401(k) account about two years ago. I haven’t changed it. I don’t intend to. I don’t understand the complexities of the stock market or the yields and/or risks of various portfolio options. I gargle malt liquor, watch porn online, and play video games. Professionally, I prance around on stage and pretend that I’m someone more interesting than myself. The people aching to choose (and change) their long-term financial planning are exactly the kind of people that won’t need social security; because they’re already making life decisions that will (if they’re fortunate and/or skilled) garner healthy financial returns in their twilight years. Social Security was not designed with them in mind. It was designed for retards like me. Weirdly, most people are like me when it comes to retirement planning. The data on this is overwhelming. The majority of people who open a 401(k) or an IRA do not change it – ever. Of course, once you open a retirement account you’ve already distinguished yourself as a kind of minority. So who benefits from privatizing Social Security? Duh. Money Managers and their affluent clients. Let me make one more point. Choosing not to choose is not the equivalent of being a lazy welfare queen or a consequence of having a lackadaisical attitude. When it comes to retirement, we prefer security over choice. That’s it. Period.

I’m done. Now I need to get back to gargling malt liquor.

More Spam Poetry

After being told that I should "meet marries babes for some casual booom boooom now," I found some delicious spam poetry. Contained herein are some great names for your next band, which I've emphasized:

The need cryptanalyze manage we'd.
When she sharp bum bagging undermossyelectrolysis Everthything
If you went amaranth reman cursorraise crocodilian.
When she anus widen informatica
aeolusmultiplicityecclesiasticmunciecream Things that yuck folklore horrendous.
The mila sunnyvale arcing inflow.
When she lilt hoagie ambrosia slingshotmangleshattuckspike Everthything
If you went animal despair clammychristy chronic.
When she comprehensive durance stopwatch anionicshatterplot Things that
horntail seaman modulate.

Is That An Asbestos Towel On Your Head?

I want to get serious for a moment. From the State of the Union Address:

Today, Iran remains the world's primary state sponsor of terror -- pursuing nuclear weapons while depriving its people of the freedom they seek and deserve.

Okay. This deserves some closer inspection. We all know the damning content of Seymour Hersh's recent exposé about the administration's designs on Iran:

“This is a war against terrorism, and Iraq is just one campaign. The Bush Administration is looking at this as a huge war zone,” the former high-level intelligence official told me. “Next, we’re going to have the Iranian campaign." […] In my interviews, I was repeatedly told that the next strategic target was Iran. […] “The neocons say negotiations are a bad deal,” a senior official of the International Atomic Energy Agency (I.A.E.A.) told me. “And the only thing the Iranians understand is pressure. And that they also need to be whacked.”

Great. So Iran is working to acquire nuclear capabilities and this is worrisome for all of us. The Bush Administration is looking to drum-up support for an Iranian offensive. That much is known. But "the primary state sponsor of terror" is a different kettle of fish. What is Bush talking about specifically? Well, we have this (rather dated) information from the U.S. Department of State:

Iran remained the most active state sponsor of terrorism in 2000. Its Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) and Ministry of Intelligence and Security (MOIS) continued to be involved in the planning and the execution of terrorist acts and continued to support a variety of groups that use terrorism to pursue their goals.

Iran's involvement in terrorist-related activities remained focused on support for groups opposed to Israel and peace between Israel and its neighbors. […] Iran has long provided Lebanese Hizballah and the Palestinian rejectionist groups […] with varying amounts of funding, safehaven, training, and weapons. […] Iran also provided a lower level of support--including funding, training, and logistics assistance--to extremist groups in the Gulf, Africa, Turkey, and Central Asia.

So, it's been Iranian support for Hizballah's campaign against Israel that's the problem here. While the world has become somewhat inured to the anti-American chanting from Tehran, and while Iran may still be a little childish (the State Department site above devotes a full paragraph to Salman Rushdie), there doesn't seem to be any evidence to support the idea that the United States is under threat of a terrorist attack backed either directly or through indirect sponsorship of the Iranian government. Now, we could simply be puffing up our chest in defense of Israel, but if that's the case, why not stare down the threat to Israel more directly and speak about "Lebanese Hizballah and the Palestinian rejectionist groups" in the State of the Union Address? With Arafat gone and the political dynamic in the West Bank undergoing radical changes (and in light of the summit in Egypt next week), it would seem that if the President really wanted to do something about the terrorism directed at Israel, focusing on old Iranian ties to funding for Hizballah maybe isn't the best approach. Unless you don't give an imperial turd what happens to Israel and you're just a bloodthirsty monster who's intent on demonizing whoever may be on your shit list with the ultimate goal of wiping them off the face of the earth by any means necessary because you really truly believe that the ends justify whatever fucking means you can get your pudgy little alcoholic fingers on.

SOTMFU

Though I was unable to actually view the State of the Union address last night and get wasted because of school, I was able to read the transcript on the bus this morning. And though there is plenty of good analysis out there (for example, privatizing social security will cost more than just letting it go bankrupt), I'd like to point out the things he said that made so little sense that I can only say to myself, "Hey, it must be 2005."

• "...so we must free small businesses from needless regulation and protect job-creators from junk lawsuits." Double-speak for "help my rich buddies." Look at the size standards for what defines a small business—those can be some big-ass companies.
  
  
• "...our economy is held back, by irresponsible class actions and frivolous asbestos claims -- and I urge Congress to pass legal reforms this year." Tort reform only benefits the rich (read). However, he singled out "frivolous asbestos claims"? Huh?
  
  
• "...tax credits to help low-income workers buy insurance, a community health center in every poor county, improved information technology to prevent medical errors and needless costs, association health plans for small businesses and their employees, expanded health savings accounts, and medical liability reform that will reduce health-care costs..." Respectively—won't work, never happen, kick backs for donors, taking credit for programs that already exist, more privitization, total bullshit.
  
  
• "...I urge Congress to pass legislation that makes America more secure and less dependent on foreign energy." He can say it; they don't have to do it, and the President still looks like the good guy. They play a great game. Furthermore, reliance on foreign oil has nothing to do with American corporate interest in foreign oil, which is where a lot of the animosity comes from—it's not that we buy it and consume it; it's that we also own it and exploit it.
  
  
• "...you and I will work together to give this nation a tax code that is pro-growth, easy to understand, and fair to all." Double-speak for flat tax or national sales tax, which would put more burden on the poor and middle class. I like this proposal.
  
  
• "It is time for an immigration policy...that rejects amnesty..." Uh, what? I think you need to be a little more specific, hoss.
  
  
• "Some have suggested limiting [social security] benefits for wealthy retirees." And this is a bad idea?
  
  
• Re: federal employee Thrift Savings Plan: "It is time to extend the same security, and choice, and ownership to young Americans." Good. So can we also have access to the government health plan like John Kerry proposed?
  
  
• "Because marriage is a sacred instituion..." So much for separation of church and state. "...and the foundation of society,..." I thought law was the foundation of society. Marriage is the foundation of family, which is similar but not a dependent facet of society.
  
  
• "Soon I will send to Congress a proposal to fund special training for defense counsel in capital cases..." I don't get this at all. What sort of "special training" are we talking about here? (That's not rhetorical—I actually want to know. Anyone?)
  
  
• "And because democracies repect their own people..." ...unless those people are gay.
  
  
• On Iraq: "That country is a vital front in the war on terror, which is why the terrorists have chosen to make a stand there... Our men and women in uniform are fighting terrorists in Iraq so we do not have to face them here at home." Lends credence to the Flypaper Theory, that the War in Iraq served the purpose of misdirecting the terrorists' attention and drawing them to one area.
  
  

Car Fifty Arlo Where Are You?

I'm not watching the stupid thing. I've perfected the art of wasting time and don't need anyone to show me how it's done. If anyone needs me, I'll be curled up in the bathtub throwing up.

Moment of (...wait for it)

In these dark times, as Pope John Paul II struggles to preserve his life (by the time you read this he may already be gone), we can find solace in laughter and love (stop blushing, Arlo). Peace be with you J.P. – get well soon.

UPDATE: Fixed the link under "laughter". –Arlo

Ignorant By Design

Chart on Study Findings
Originally uploaded by Kelly Cooper.

Monsieur Stiggie brought this article to my attention, which lays out a fairly grim portrait of the level of enthusiasm for the first amendment among our nation's youth. The conclusion of the study in question seems to be that, "Schools don't do enough to teach the First Amendment. Students often don't know the rights it protects". Of course, every so often somebody decides to fund a study on the intellectual wherewithal of high school students. There's nothing unusual in that, nor in the alternately hilarious and panic-inducing results. Generally, people who like to feel smart will dust off old studies (or create new ones) to prove that some shocking percentage of high school kids have no idea what state they live in, or who George Washington was. What is often ignored in these studies, however, is that high school kids have never known all that much about the world - that's why they're in school. That said, there's a revealing statistic in the study nonetheless (albeit one that mainly reinforces what we already know):

Newspapers should be allowed to publish freely without government approval of stories. [51% of Students Agree, 80% of Principals Agree]

Students should be allowed to report controversial issues in their student newspapers without the approval of school authorities. [58% of Students Agree, 24% of Principals Agree]

See? While the students are pretty uniformly wishy-washy, the principals have a crystal-clear sense of proprietary power. That's what growing up will get you: not utilitarian wisdom, but a Machiavellian sense of how to manipulate your inferiors.

My Balls: Speedbags of the Lord

So I'm sitting here munching on mircowave popcorn, sipping nasty-ass corporate coffee, and marveling at the pain of what I suspect is a colossal varicocele in my left testicle (a feeling of being kicked in the nuts that never goes away), and I happen to read this: Leonardo DiCaprio Gets Lifetime Achievement Award. So, I just had to get this off my chest: AAAaarrgh!!!!

Linking to LIKE YOU REALLY CARE

We're not going to be one of those websites that sets a linking policy because linking policies are stupid. The nonlinear nature of the web is what makes it addictive. I'm always honored when you find a meme here that is worth spreading. However, if you are going to link to something on LYRC, I'd like to make a two small requests:

1. Link to the post. If we share something cool and you share it to your blog/email list/etc., it's good "netiquette" not only to say "I got this from such and such blog" but also to link to the post from which it came. (The "permalink," as it's called, is the time underneath the post.)
   
   
2. It's not "Arlo's blog." It's "Arlo's and Kelly's and Temple's and Richard's blog" — it's "Like You Really Care." Most of the cool shit here is coming from Kelly now, anyway, seeing as how I'm consumed by school and work these days and can't even make the time to finish designing this site. In other words, I deserve no credit for the melon fucking.

That will make life much more fair and equitable for everyone. Thanks.