Outro

I'm finished jabbering. Thanks to Dave for letting me do it.

Bowled Over

All right gang, we've got him right where we want him.

Lock it down. All accesses, seal permanent. Control console, terminate. Close the door and batten the hatches. It's over.

Trappy, Swampie, Barney, VH, Blorthos, Farblachht, Gorth and especially Malaprop - thanks a bundle.

That's a wrap.

Coronation

Alas.

Stephen Reese, your time has come. Your blog is done.

I waited patiently in the Comments section of this domain, biding my time until the moment was nigh.

Now there is no question. It was written, it is here, I am now.

The Tube reigns.

It was only a matter of months before your sworn allies abandoned you, your allegiances crumbled, your bonds disintegrated. You've never been able to maintain a lasting connection. It all goes from you, sooner or later, until you teeter solo once more.

Now this site is mine, as it was, should and ever will be.

My minions may be fallen, but I'll raise another horde. My acolytes might have dispersed, but I'll inspire another mob.

The Tube endures.

The Tube manages.

The Tube survives.

Bid farewell to what you knew as a nascent internet presence, a vanity publishing outlet for a failed writer.

It is all mine now.

Be dead.

---interrupt--

Malaprop here.

I think I've got the rogue transmissions stamped out. We're clear. Blorthos had something to say in the mix, but--

Well, he's gone. And so is his brother. And his brother's lover. And the entire barbarian army.

Damned if I'm not the only one left on the premises.

Defenses are down. No protection on the outside, none within.

Trying to contact Rober--

'Favoritism'

'Negotiation'

'Injurious'

'Fundamentalism'

Blorthos Departs

I am Blorthos Malamakk. You are not. So, I say goodbye.

Time come all leave. Include Blorthos, yes. Who not leave should die. Refuse things change, liking to death...but no honor.

First fix errors of blog owner Reese. Promised cat tribute come, never arrive. Hairy beast deserve honor, Blorthos bestow.



Look. Fine creature cultivate sitting skill, ignore crushed scroll immediate after throw. Might take interest anew, might nothing. At peace, think. And right. But if mood suit, smooth beast attack.



Second beast appear. Stripes like familiar enemy. Blorthos reserve fury, let thing sit comfort. Not caring Reese, this one. Not even owner, Sandbowl visitor Dr Nurse. Push hard paws against all chest, no embracings. Only take food, water. Deserve live?



First beast say, yes. Look not lonely now. Human not correct mate-choice for haired rodent. Need saming species. Love?



Not knowing sure. But, togetherness happen. Even once, enough. Remember goodness, if in end, all come apart.

And so both beast disappear.

Where gone not know, but happy have met.

Blorthos think, maybe not wrong half-female brother Farblachht take chief fight-warrior Gorth as mate-choice. Selectings sometimes difficult: look hard, consider harder. Not come quickest, friendship true and war-partner for full livings.



Match, these two? Who says?

Careful thoughts:

1) Deer prefer stay alive to fall on ground, guts spread on grass.

2) Even self-caring cat find way to care other of same creation.

3) Farblachht love Gorth and best leave Sandbowl for own rut-nest, private matings.

4) Who lead army?

Ah! Blorthos, yes. Still Blorthos walk alone. Many wishing killings on leader. So, no concern. Take barbarian army for protect.

Sandbowl empty. Duty over. Have destination, wonder?

And yes.

Go see daughter Lindinha.

Bye,

'Street Smarts'

'Toll-Free'

'House Call'

'Court Case'

What The--

[k-bzzzt]

Is this working?

Malaprop here--

[ztzzt]

I've located the source of the rogue broadcasts...looks like xtranormal.com, someone by the name of Ferrara Johnson...

[bzt zt zt]

Trying to reroute the feed...

Standb--

'Mission Statement'

'Paid Placement'

'Service Mentality'

'Adoptive Strategy'

'Member Privileges'

'Lovely Vacation'

Malapropisms

Malaprop here.

I came in to take down the Schwag sidebar slideshow in support of Swamp Thing, and um...well, the entire command console is compromised. Looks like Barney disconnected Vampyric Horse from the mainframe and high-tailed it outta here.

Without Roberts on hand, I can't say I'm the equal of patching it up. I tried rebooting, but with Trap-Jaw and Swamp Thing off their guard positions, the template structure is collapsing. Looks like only Gorth is holding up the F.O.R.G.E. randomizer.

Other thing is, the main viewer is all wonky. We're picking up signals from elsewhere in the desert, rogue transmissions. I'm concerned we'll lose the Sandbowl securecam next.

Stay tun--

Dear Lucy

Dear Lucy,

It sure were hot'un down in Austin, Tayexus. But ye be my shade alla tha time. And th'oasis ye show me right smack-dab in tha city-like, gots me thinkin' on swimmin' most divine.

Our homestead be full wit' two souls ta tha rafters. And ever'day I love ye, from tha minnit I open m'eyes ta the minnit I cin close 'em - and that always take a while, what wit' all tha talkin' and tusslin' ever'night. I even love ye in my dreams, 'cause that's where ye come from, and where ye'll live ever on.

Lucy, we be tha perfeck mix'a serious and silly, all matched on th'inside. We done walked our deserts and faced tha Mega-Nega, and whatever comin' next, we be ready. We'll share that'un journey, right 'longside 'nother where we belong.

Can it be there's a lady who'll put up with all me nonsensicals?

Dayum yes. One such folk called Lucy, and I finally met 'er.

Happy 'versary nine, honey-pants. No need fer me ta stay in tha Sandbowl no longer. Me and Vampyric Horse be comin' home.

Loverin',
Big Nose Barney

Back Into The Bog

I have...limits.

To assist...Stephen Reese...in his campaign...against the Filth Tube...I transferred my consciousness...across...the water-starved...desert landscape. A trying...endeavor.

It was worth...the toll taken...on my vegetable matter. I will not...tolerate...tyrants.

But worse...are those...who would capitalize...on the struggle.

I voiced my...concerns...when Reese chose to...commemorate our efforts...with...branded human clothing...drinking mugs...and...vehicle adhesives. Frankly...I am...grateful...not one...collectible...item...was sold.

Now I must...turn my attention...to similar...practices...in the world...at large. If...I was willing...to take a stand...in this isolated locale...I should strive for...consistency...abroad.

I can no longer...allow...products...such as the following...to continue existence.



Should...an enemy...wish confrontation...with me...they will not find it...in the form...of a punchable...sac of...plastic...a material...I object to...in principle.



This packaging...besides being harmful...to the environment...perpetuates lies. I am not...composed of chalk. My plant matter...could be shaped...to illustrative purpose...but I would more likely...choose the medium...of the pencil.



Which makes this...next item...so thoroughly...offensive...to my every...sensibility. That my image...could be used...to market...a device intended...to destroy a tool...already made manifest...through the destruction of forests...is more insult than...irony.



Still...I reserve...my greatest scorn...for the being who...secured double likenesses...of my head...to a pair...of children's...footwear.

This final violation...has solidified the goal...in my mind. I will leave the Sandbowl...to locate the perpetrators...of these crimes...and remove the fruit...of their unclean labors...from the surface of...my good Earth.

You may claim...vanity...is my motivator...but it cannot be argued...the presence of these objects...does not in any way...contribute to the betterment...of your life.



I am certain...blog owner...Stephen Reese...would disagree...with me. His...proclivity for useless...collectible trinkets...and plastic representations...of even an eco-god such as...myself...is inconsistent...with my own convictions.

For that reason...my departure...from the Mini Nerd...environs...is all the more appropriate.

Sincerely,
Swamp Thing

Free Trap-Jaw

Comes a time when a man-machine hybrid should hang up his helmet, settle down and start thinkin' on the more meaningful things in life, how to make his peace. Only so long you can run the rat race in third place behind a skeleton and an orangutan.



I recruited and led my own army of rolling barbarians to the doorstep of the place gave me a new lease on life. Good times. But the Sandbowl's empty now. Ole Reese and Baron Roberts been gone a while. Not sure what I'm guardin' against no more.



The other day my buddy Swamp Thing bent himself all outta shape to make a sculpture of me. Nice gesture, but I don't like bein' the center of attention - even in an abandoned stone structure in the middle of the desert. Still, it got me thinkin'.



Things change, right? People grow. How about settin' up a workshop? Get myself a decent lathe, some woodworkin' tools, do a little art of my own. I'll have to dig deep. Deconstruct myself. It's time to round out this "Evil Master of Weapons" schtick.



I'm leavin' head barbarian Gorth in charge of Sandbowl security. He's a good man, knows his stuff. Gonna take myself on a walkabout through the desert here, and when I come out the other side, anythin' could happen. Wish me luck. Maybe I'll be seein' ya.

- Trappy

Four Shadows

If you don't visit my other sites, you may not understand why I'm nearly finished the process of abandoning this blog. It was always planned as a three-year project - and I do have an appropriate finale lined up - but most of the action has been over at Inlanders (a place where you can read about my novel) and Nurse & Patient (a place where you can listen to my band's rough demos). When Mini Nerd goes the way of the dino, that's where you'll find me. stephenreese.com will remain the portal to anything I'm doing on the interwebs, and of course you can look me up on Facebook.

The book and the band are occupying most of my free time, with exciting results. Nurse & Patient is a four-piece at this point; we're starting to sound pretty decent at rehearsal. Query letters for Inlanders are out; I'm in the midst of intense rewrites, illustrations (by lovely Lynnie), and one or two manuscript requests.

For that reason, I'm handing off the reins to my trustworthy support crew. They've valiantly protected the Sandbowl (and this blog) from Tube invasion for well over a year now. But I think a few might exchange guard duty for posting privilege - and posterity. I leave the control console in their able hands (claws, tentacles).

Before I go, here's a video I particularly enjoyed seeing this morning because there's a poem in my book that can be read backwards and forwards, too.

This one's better:



Thanks to James for the link.

Data Corruption

I'm not sure I can think of any post more appropriate for Mini Nerd than this one; we truly are in the final stretch of what this blog could ever hope to accomplish.

Once you've reached apotheosis, where else is there to go, really?

















Thanks to Dan for the links.

Electronica

Happy Friday everyone!



And if you liked that, you're gonna love this:



Thanks to MRK!

Freddies

All I ever really needed to know I learned from FRANTIC FREDDIE: go for the gold; avoid the baddies; if a bonus turns up along the way, seize it. Think fast; move faster; trust your instincts; learn from your mistakes. Perseverance wins.

Frantic Freddie is my favorite videogame of all time. It's a puzzle on speed, thumb-candy for thinkers. I hated it at first look. It frustrated me no end, even after I got the hang of its gameplay. And though I've managed (on occasion) to best all sixteen levels (twice without losing a life), it still challenges me today.

Released in 1983 by CDS Software for the Commodore 64, Frantic Freddie falls into the 'platformer' game genre, though I prefer to call it a 'grab n' run'. I use that term to refer to a game where you, the player, navigate a maze or grid of some sort, collecting treasure (the grabbing). The running is necessary because you must also avoid badguys whose sole purpose in life is to end your treasure-collecting. To sum up, you have only two tasks in a grab n' run: nab treasure, flee baddies.



Arguably, the first grab n' run was Pac-Man, wherein Mr Pac maneuvers around a maze-grid eating power pellets and avoiding four ghosts. If a ghost so much as touches Pac-Man, his pellet-eating is brought to an end and he loses a life. But he does have recourse against his enemies. Eating a special jumbo power pellet, he becomes invulnerable and can chow down on the ghosts for a short time, removing them from the grid until they're able to regenerate and oppose him again.

This simple game mechanic splintered into different permutations over the years, first in the arcade, then the home computer. One sub-genre is the 'climbing' game - essentially a grab n' run with ladders. The maze-grid is still present, but it's turned on end so the player looks in from the side rather than a bird's eye POV.

In Pac-Man, the grid is one long twisting corridor viewed from above. In a climbing game, the grid is a series of stacked tiers, or platforms, joined by ladders. Originally, a player only ran to reach treasure. Now, they must also climb, moving from tier to tier. Of course, the baddies can climb too, which results in a lot of diquing and dodging and changing between platforms.

Hence, the 'platform' game.

Following are some classic platformers. Each provides the player with some form of defense or recourse against the enemy.



In Donkey Kong, Mario can leap over barrels Kong rolls at him, and occasionally smash the obstacles with a mallet.



Jumpman's special power is, of course, jumping.



In Miner 2049er, Bounty Bob can activate a 'safe-mode' by grabbing certain objects; this renders the baddies temporarily non-lethal so he can pass through and disable them.



In Mario Bros., Mario and Luigi take out baddies by pounding the underside of a tier they traverse.



And in Lode Runner, Jack puts baddies out of commission by digging self-filling holes they fall into. After the ground swallows them up, they regenerate and give chase anew.

Grab n' run platform games tend to move at very high speeds and the player is constantly shifting between two modes of play: the offensive (that is, the collection of treasure) and the defensive (the avoidance or neutralization of baddies). Watching someone play a grab n' run reminds of the proverbial chicken with its head cut off, madly dashing around, making abrupt changes in direction, never standing still.

Little wonder PANIC CITY was so named. This game, written in 1982 or thereabouts for the Commodore VIC-20 (the first Commodore home computer), was a classic grab n' run in the platform style. The player is a 'space janitor' who removes radioactive ore (the treasure) from a space station (the grid) before hostile mutations (the baddies) can kill him. As its addition to the grab n' run model, Panic City incorporates a timer into the gameplay: the player must remove all the ore from the station before it explodes. And, in a bold move, it also subtracts a core element from the original model: the player has no recourse against his enemies. No invulnerability power pellets. No digging tools. No jumping.

Let me stress this properly. At no point in Panic City can the player come into contact with the baddies without losing a life. Nor can a player disable the baddies in any way. Here, defensive play is not simply avoiding baddies until you can temporarily neutralize them. Here you must avoid any encounter whatsoever. That demands a different style of gameplay. You anticipate - look ahead and think ahead - to circumvent possible disaster. Standing still is not a good idea. Wasting time even less so. You gotta move - your fingers, your eyes and your brain. The action is non-stop, adrenaline-charged. Frantic.

So.

It's Grade 10 summer break in 1983 and the two authors of Panic City, Kris Hatlelid and Gregor Larson, are hanging out in Regina, Saskatchewan, having formed their own game company, Fantasy Universal (FUN for short). In two months, they write a new iteration of Panic City for the Commodore 64 (the next Commodore home computer) and end up creating the game that has stolen more happy hours of my life than any other computer diversion ever conceived. They license it to CDS Software, who put it in stores, who sell copies to resourceful pirates, who crack the game and make illegal copies for everyday C64 enthusiasts, who eventually, through luck, fate, destiny...get a copy to me.

I load it up, take a shot at the first level, and fail within seconds. In my C64 gamelist catalogue, I make an entry: "Frantic Freddie -- stupid game". I put the disk away.

25 years later I am writing this disturbingly genuine love letter.



In Frantic Freddie, there are two goals:

1) Move around the grid to collect the pots of gold and whatever bonuses turn up (four per level).

2) Avoid the baddies.

Only those two.

There is also one deviation from the original grab n' run model:

To use a ladder in the grid between platforms, Freddie must be facing the rungs he intends to use. Meaning, if he is approaching a ladder from the top right and wants to go down the left side of the ladder, he must go past the first set of rungs on the right, turn around and face the opposite direction, then go down the left set of rungs - as demonstrated below.



In other words, the ladders are double-sided. Freddie cannot get on a ladder and choose which side he's going to get off; he must mount the ladder from the same side where he intends to dismount.

That's it. Only one deviation from the original model.

Nonetheless, these three game mechanics make for a lot of work, if, like me, you wanna win. Enough work that most casual gamers did as I did in 1984: started up Freddie, became frustrated within seconds, and ditched.

But there are those among us who became dedicated students of the Fred. Longtime enthusiasts of that unique and character-building ladder deviation. Fanatics? Yes. And dare I say it...experts. We are few and far between. Spread so thin across the globe that for one to come upon another would surely be viewed as an accident (Google-assisted or no) so designed as to argue for divine providence. Last night, it happened to me. And now it forces me to reevaluate everything I've ever held sacred.

You see, I've never witnessed anyone play Frantic Freddie as well as I do. I've never been exposed to a talent that can power past all 16 levels (especially the damnably fast and furious Final Four) while losing only one or two Freds along the way. That kind of zen joystickism...that so-far-advanced level of deep personal development...you just don't expect to find match for it in your lifetime - because you know how much it takes - the hours, the years, the tears, the blowups and apologies, the resentments, recriminations and remonstrations, the so-sore thumbs and ever-paralyzed fingers - to reach enlightenment and transcendence.

I KNOW how much it takes.

And now I know I'm not alone.

HE exists.

Continents and oceans separate us, but we breathe the same sky, wake under the same sun, walk the same Earth.

I thought I had found my soulmate. I was sure my life partner was finally in my life. But now...I must reconsider. Now...everything is different.

Must I truly question my longest-cherished assumptions, my most life-affirming decisions...even my sexual orientation?

Yes. The answer can only be Yes. Because I cannot deny the proof, now laid bare before my astonished eyes:



My heart beats frantically in my chest.

I've found my fellow Freddie.

Video from here:
Internet Archive

Via here:
C64 Videogame Archive

And, blessed be, here:
C64 Longplays

(My thanks to God for the links.)

Bested

I didn't think it was possible, but the greatest website of all time has been topped:

http://andheneverwilldies.ytmnd.com/

Oh, Ahnuldt. You complete me.

(Thanks to Jason for the link.)

(See also Eeuauaughhh)

Wordy

Taking a break from very busy December to post this lil' collage-confection of recent Nerd words.



Code and composition courtesy of Wordle.

And thanks to Danica for the link!

Take 26

I tagged myself with this lil' diversion while reading Bill and co. over at the Film Freak Central blog. The idea is to list 26 of your favorite movies with one (and only one) movie to represent each letter of the alphabet.

Certain of these were really tough (I seem to like a lotta movies that start with the letters A, D, R and S). Others were nearly impossible (movies starting with Q, U, X and Y haven't been particularly memorable entertainments in my life).

Anyhoo, here's what I decided on (inclined this time toward stuff I'd choose to watch again in the present, where every day I'm a little less interested in surrendering additional hours to a screen; some of my favorites I've seen enough times by now, but a few seem perennial):

Aviator, The
Blade Runner
Christmas Story, A
Dead Calm
Ed Wood
Flirting With Disaster
Groundhog Day
Hairspray (original)
Ice Storm, The
Jude
Kill Bill, Volume 1
Leaving Las Vegas
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
Night of the Living Dead (1968)
Outlaw Josey Wales, The
Passion Fish
Quick and the Dead, The
Ravenous
Se7en
Tale of Two Sisters, A
Uncle Buck
Vanishing, The (Spoorloos)
Waking The Dead
X-Men 3 (I like when Wolvie can't get close to Jean)
You've Got Mail (I like when Tom can't get close to Meg)
Zodiac

If you wanna play, consider yourself tagged!

Nurse & Patient

Falling fast toward terminus 2008, I'm seeing this year as one of dreams come true.

I finished a novel.

I found a partner.

I started a band.

This last with my friend Rudy, who handles guitars while I drum and sing. We've written almost 30 songs together, and now we're in the process of narrowing down our list for an album of 10 tracks (my preference) or 14 (Rudy's) that rock and roll best.

Our collaboration's called Nurse & Patient: founded this summer after mutual job resignation, deepened through tumultuous relationships and breakups, and culminating with a month-long push to lay down recordings of what we've created so far.

Here's a small taste of what's on the way from us:

Love and Laughter

Some might say I had an unfortunate experience with internet dating. So I wouldn't necessarily recommend anyone sign up for, say, Lavalife (though some close friends met their wives and husbands there), or Plenty of Fish (ditto), and especially not Love Is Sexy (which I believe features bogus photos of non-existent members, all exceptionally good-looking and unable to reply to your solicitations unless copywriters happen to be working the day you initiate a virtual courtship - which is ironic for me, because one day not so long ago I was supposed to interview for a job there [the real reason I signed up to check it out - no, really!]; if you sign up as well, and do decide to leave, be prepared to spend months trying to convince their 'tech support' to remove you from all 1,200 mailing lists you've already been subscribed to).

Ahem.

I don't think I've ever sounded this bitchy on Mini Nerd before.

And make no mistake, this blog is no place for venting.

Here at Mini Nerd we like to entertain.

So do the folks at Mingle2, a "100% free online dating website run by a couple of guys from San Francisco", who create amusing content to promote their service. I'm not posting to suggest you sign up, mind. I want to show you the funny stuff.

Such as the following, available from the already-amusing URL http://divisibleby0.com/murder/:





There's lots more of this goofery available through the aforementioned link, all of it perpetrated by the talented Matthew Inman. I don't know the guy, but I like his sense of humor. And who knows? Maybe you'll find someone worthy of matrimony at his dating site. In the meantime, there are chuckles to be had.



Oh, and if I were to recommend an internet-assisted method for meeting the right person, as I did for my friend Sami this week, it would be this one: Meetup.com

So thanks to Mike for getting me started there,
And thanks to Dan for the Matthew Inman link,
And thanks to Guy for what may turn out to be the most rewarding hike of my life.

(I jumped the gun on Post #200. It's actually this one. But there really are only 32 left.)

Poetic Justice?

You decide.

(Thanks to Curtis for the pic.)

(And welcome to Post #200! Only 32 more to go...)

Turn To Page 23

Long ago, it took my mother serious effort to wean me off 'gamebooks' and start me on proper novels. I wasn't ready for stories where you turned the pages in order, there were no dice to roll, no mazes to draw your way through, nor multiple pathways and endings to explore via the time-honored cheating method of using all eight fingers and two thumbs to mark places in the book/adventure where you might die or survive.

That is to say, when Choose Your Own Adventure morphed into Be An Interplanetary Spy and Fighting Fantasy, I'd found my favorite childhood pastimes - wandering through works of the imagination as if the very narratives were geographies you could set foot in.

Now.

In addition to the Fighting Fantasy collection being the greatest books of all time, they also boasted the finest titles in history. The formula was airtight and magnificent. Examples include:

Forest of Doom
Armies of Death
Caverns of Malice
Masks of Mayhem
Portal of Evil
Master of Chaos
Tower of Destruction
House of Hell
Creature of Havoc

...and so on. You get the idea. Pick a threatening location or personage, stick an 'of' after it, and add an aggressive descriptor. It should come as no surprise that our very own F.O.R.G.E. (in the side-nav at right) was deeply influenced by such creative mastery as that leveraged to christen each volume of this landmark series.

Alas. Though I hold my favorite volumes of the Fighting Fantasy canon in high regard, they are not above loving ridicule. That's the best introduction I can muster for the following Photoshop tomfoolery that had me laughing so hard yesterday I almost saw my lungs for the first time - outside my body.

Commence fantastical mirthmaking:

























See the whole set here: Mightygodking Dot Com

And thanks to Dave for the link!

Barney Lives!

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

hollowen deckerations
nose trap for monkey
how long have people been producing and eating reeses candy
deckerate homes
dim as checkbox
deckerate foods
reese's whips nutrition
dead nerds, Halloween
it has been established that persons who have recently died have been returning to life and committing acts of murder
something else comes with the autumn fear swampthing
pus infested loser
e.row.rowtype == listitemtype.item
how to make a mini diving board
yes we've all got seeds to sow, not everyone's got lambs to slaughter
ian thornley's brother
zynacor
nega saturday kitchen
fist fack
what is dion phaneuf's favorite food
i like nerds like me so lets get together and kill barney or something like that.com
all about the nerd life
tubetube
how to dress like a nerd.com
steve reese passes away

A disturbing series of tubes!

Easy Commute

Earlier this year, I enjoyed making my way to work by bicycle.

These days, I utilize three transit systems: bus, train and subway in sequence.

It's really not as bad as I expected. I like having an extra hour to sleep, read and people-watch.

Still: this might be better.



I wonder how the concept of carpooling manifests in this transportation model?

Mech or Treat

No Halloween post from Mini?

No WAY.

This year, I missed Zombie Walk Toronto, but Lynn helped me celebrate my second-most-favoritest holiday a couple days early, before I hadda hurry off for World Fantasy 2008 to spend hours in the Hyatt bar (and related hospitality suites) boozing and schmoozing with fellow writers.

Thanks for the punkin-carvin' and monster-mashin', sweetie. Your willingness to overlook the faults of seminal zombie entertainments could use some refinement, but there are many more movies during which I can do my damnedest to cultivate in you an unconditional love for the undead.

Thanks also to Kim for linking the following video, the viewing of which damn well better spur fathers everywhere to step up their game in helping tykes truly own the night come All Hallows' Eve.

Mini Shillelaghs

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

red tube of car fack
super blothos
dave roberts label company
green day song that goes like da, dunna, dunna dunna dunna
sex on bus
free filth tube
barney noggin
how to make a mini diving board
dark mini gams
reese's whips minis nutritional info
steve reese ufo
knicker knacker song barney
mini shillelaghs
dion phaneuf a jerk high school
trap jaw chunkity

And my favorite:

nega filth meaning

A delightful series of tubes!

Bamboocycle

I want me one-a these:



Thanks to Dan for the link!

Keep On Turnin'

Ah, karma.

You're a bitch. And a queen.

Allow me to complain and pay tribute.

End of summer was one giant shitshow for me and mine. Hopefully what 2008 has left to offer turns it around. To get things started, I begin a new job in a few hours. Last time I worked in Toronto was oh, nigh on 12 years ago, and then it was on worlds and creatures that now populate the novel I'm struggling to finish.

This time it's for a client that was my bread and butter when I first put words to screen for that same novel (i.e. more than one circle is closed today). It's yet another reminder - and my only consolation, at the moment - that the wheel does turn. Madame Karma remembers, and rewards or punishes as she sees fit.

I've had my share of both.

And, nuff respek to CCR for the title of this post, but I leave it to songstress Alison Goldfrapp (whom I didn't see perform last night), to bring 'er home:

"Everything comes around
Bringing us back again
Here is where we start
And where we end."

Kitty See, Kitty Do

Here is one of the things Cinder has learned from Manju in their time together:



If you are a cat, it is important that you lay on something. It can be as small as a GO train ticket, or as big as a magazine. But make sure you are laying on it immediately. When the music ends, every cat to a non-floor surface!

Cat, Interrupted

So.

Santino's sister is coming home a year earlier than planned.

And she'll want Cinder back. Only she calls her Jolie.

I will lose my little furbeast so much sooner than expected.

Cinder will remain here at the Outpost for only a few weeks more with me, my roommate of these last months Sir Rudenchko Nursenski, and her new best friend Manju.

Be warned: I will feature photos of both mirrio fourriers in excess before Cinder's departure.

And mark my words. Santino will not reclaim her without a fight.

Feminine Hyena Rabbit

And you know it.

Time And Forgiveness

Hey Stephen, Tyler. I thought I'd send this email to both of you because you like games and have giant brains. ;)

If you get the chance, try a game on Xbox Live Arcade called Braid. It's like Super Mario Bros. These are the instructions:

A Button: Jump. (Jump on monsters' heads to jump higher.)

B Button: Do stuff.

That's it. When you "die" (fall into spikes, run into a monster) you press the X button to reverse time (like Prince of Persia). You can reverse time all the way back to the beginning of a level. There are no limits to your time manipulation. But (and this is the kicker) certain objects can exist outside of time.

For example, you come across a locked door and there's a hole in the ground that contains a key. You jump in the hole, but there's no way out. So you grab the key (which exists outside of time), then you reverse time. The key comes with you as the game rewinds itself like an instant replay, and you're out of the hole but now you have the key. Jump over the hole, open the door and you beat the level. It's simple, but maddening at the same time.

The other strange feature is the use of jigsaw puzzles. In the background to a level (like the clouds in Mario) are picture frames, and scattered throughout the levels are jigsaw pieces. The pieces you pick up and place in the frames become the background to the level, and can be manipulated. So you could come across an impossible jump, but then find a piece that has a drawing of a bridge. Go back, slide the piece into the background:

Presto.

It's too bad neither of you are here, because I think you'd both love it. Stop by sometime and you can try it out.

-d-

How To Make Pasta

At War In Peace

2.

once there were cannons
great cylinders of steel
sounding near in my ears
and clouding all thought
with plumes of smoke and spent shot

orders barked over noise
direction from all directions
danger to every side
and my small self in the middle
every sense on the defense

now the sounds of cannonfire
are distant in my mind
always close but far enough
away in the night and damp cool
that i can see the land ahead
the rise and fall of the dirt
escape routes to every side
no one screaming in my ear
not least myself trapped and scared
and always ready to (be) hurt

no, the war is fought elsewhere
i remember more than hear it
staked my memorials over years
will not shed any more tears
over losses from false fears

most days it's quiet on the front

but make no mistake

i know how to fight this good fight
to win peace from ceaseless noise
the shouts and calls in your own voice
our own thoughts somehow the enemy

i never lost my instincts
or my resolve in the heat
of a battle that can be won
here and then, now and ever
just hear it all, listen to naught

there is a stillness
still inside you

and here is my best reassurance, soldier:

you are not alone
i've got you covered
there's the way out
let's go

it's over

Several Semantemes

WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Stephen
4 LETTER WORD: said
BOY NAME: Sebastian
GIRL NAME: Sandy
OCCUPATION: sailor
A COLOUR: semi-opaque
SOMETHING YOU WEAR: sash
BEVERAGE: sangria
FOOD: spaghetti
SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM: sink
PLACE: st petersburg
REASON FOR BEING LATE: sleep
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT: suffering succotash!

Thanks to Zeri.

Your turn!

Best. Email. Ever.

"When I think about you I smile. I feel happy.

Thank you Stephen."

Nerd Appreciation II

Three more from xkcd, 'cause they're just THAT good:

Nerd Appreciation

Been a quiet day at work, so colleague Douglas and I have browsed this site in its entirety:

xkcd - A Webcomic of Romance, Sarcasm, Math and Language

Reg'lar readers of Mini Nerd (and friends of the particular nerd who writes this here site) will likely share the sense of humor leveraged by supreme math geek Randall Munroe at xkcd above. In fact, I often thought of my fellow dorks while reading Randall's sweet, brainy strips. So much so, I have some dedications!

This one's for Dave:



Here's something for Lisa and Teresa:



Doogie'll appreciate this:



For Clem and Lisa:



For Neil and Jenn:



For Santino:



For the Absent Canadian (Mike):



For Sandy:



And for Douglas, who sent me the link that started this day of laughing and clicking:

The Future Is NOW

Eff the iPhone. I want this thing:



1984 Wrist Computer

Thanks to Dave for the laugh!

The Search For Schlock

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

filthy tube
board brothers
miniature nerds
wheelchair person wear pointe shoes
carolyn reese dungeon
sand via blothos
witchery grubs for teething
what is night monkey celebration
anonymous types e.row.dataitem
who needs a cactus chip and dip
masterpagemenuclickhandler
give virtual nerds makeovers
mininerd.com
red tube nerd
cinder nerd
make own mini bike
domain house of the week drew thompson
she got my mind gone raw reese
likin gams
im not gonna write you a love song steve reese
give me some more of the warm little beasts, i'm so fond off
metal deer head, metal stag head
tacklak basher
tukx tube
red tube filth
no motorvation
i was fired twice
barney comic but you said you'd always love me
stephen reese water
blothos device

An effective series of tubes!

Someone For Everyone

I'm often wrong. Sometimes it's a happy thing.

As in: "I knew I'd enter into a relationship this year, but I was wrong about the species of my co-conspirator."

Wrong!

Cinder's not the only lady in my life now.

The other girl's Italian, not Russian. She knows a lot of -isms, runs in the Boston Marathon next year, loves dancing and cooking, and is as crazy about health and fitness as I am.

Ergo: I'm crazy about her.

But Cinder found a lady too! Now she spends her evenings kissing and tussling with the equally cute Manju, a Hindu kitty with zebra stripes and giant anime eyes!

Yet another new pairing made all the above possible: that of myself and my good friend Rudy, who's hanging at the Outpost with me while he loads up on freelance design work and considers apartments in Hamilton. He cooks, cleans and is great company. There's frequent chess and non-stop Black Keys. One day soon I will force him to play guitar for an electronic track of mine that wants to be a blues song.

It went like this: we quit our jobs together and somehow began a new era. And so it happens that in the first half of 2008, I've managed to cobble together a little family of lovely people and animals for myself. Whaddayaknow!

COMMENCE LOLCATZ:


Im in ur chair
Warmin ur pilloz



Whoze in ur chair?



Fine, im in ur sink



Wearin ur ushanka



Im on ur balconi
Stealin ur sun



Im on ur cloze
Posin lik model



Im still ur cat

Rite?

Interdependence Project

1.

okay - good night

your one eye closed
your other open
you are not sleeping
yet

wake me if you get horny

my self not closed
myself now open
am i not dreaming
still?

good morning (again)

Monster Musical

Perhaps the best movie poster ever:

I Go Humble

So I can make a sentence. So what?

Watch what this guy can do:

Condolympics

I like to tell myself the cat has many traits in common with me. Among these are her love of the outdoors, her athleticism, her need to explore, and her lack of concern at putting herself into possibly dangerous situations.

The latter is a characteristic I indulged more often as a younger fellow, but I still have an appreciation for it today (despite my adult body's increased breakability). That's why I completely support behavior of the sort depicted below, to the point of becoming an opportunistic sports photographer and encouraging personal coach to my favorite furred Olympian, the Cinder kitten.


In the start gate.


Ready to jump.


Checking for spectators in the living room.


Posing for spectators at ground level.


Cinderiffic reaches a dead-end...


...and heads right on back.


Excellent dismount!


Another one for the crowds.


Now to explore the other side...


Nice view over here!


Heading past the guest room...


Jailhouse Rock Cinderblock.


Sticks the landing!
NOTE: This is not my balcony.
(Thankfully, my neighbor doesn't
mind contributing his condo
exterior to the course
for this event.)


Peeping in on Mr Neighbor.


And after all that excitement,
some much-needed rest!

Shoot To Fill

I am Dmitri Pablos El Grapos and I approve this message.

Finding Fantasy

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

filth.tube
if you dig this, then you dub this and its all about the nerd life
nerd right here i ain't goin' nowhere
psychology test story path woods horse vessel
spokane clothes drop yer drawers
guy gavriel kay books sold
steve is a nerd.com
agnes nerd.com
yard deckerations
vulk movies
cbc radio slappin my belly song
dion phaneuf's family
online games when you beat this guy up or tickle him to get him to tell the truth
70's band called the bzz
night monkey enemies
steve reese no im not gonna write you a love song
dr. alec holland explosion
blondie angel on the balcony meaning of lyrics
fighting fantasy -firetop app -torrent

A pleasing series of tubes!

Mission Statement

Fellow Canuck geek Eric Poulton laid down some righteous pixel masterpiecery that to me represents the philosophy of Mini Nerd in its near-entirety. Without further ado, here's "Underneath It All":



To witness more of Eric's genius, visit Where Is My Eyeball.

He also regularly loiters around ConceptArt.org (where the above piece was a contest entry), as do I - except Eric can draw like an angel and I just scroll and drool.

Timeless Advice

Perfect Wording

http://www.wordperhect.net/

Where In The Web

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

filth tube
filthy tube
tube filth
angry video game player nerd.com
nerdy wears yellow hat plays keyboard
steve helms magic
chicka the horse
dion phaneuf's favorite food
dion phaneuf's brothers and sisters
if you dig this then you dub this cause im all about the nerd fights
let's work it to the bone lyrics
plain mini jaw claw
agnes cactus
mega nega
if (e.row.rowtype == listitemtype.item | e.row.rowtype ==listitemtype.alternatingitem)
ambo 1000 years and 1 day lyrics
carolyn reese red tube

An admirable series of tubes!

The Burger Body

Actual headline from MSN Health & Fitness:

Use: Imagination

Swedes, Filmmaking Frenzies, whatever you wanna call 'em.

I enjoyed these as much as I did their originals!





In the case of this last one, it's so well-done I'm convinced lo-fi special effects can be just as impressive (maybe moreso) than expensive CGI. Using computers to visualize the fantastic has become so commonplace that the effect is cheapened - it's now somehow too easy to achieve suspension of disbelief.

When you see creators using alternate, more imaginative means, the "wow" factor does an about-face and your awe reflects back on the ingenuity of the creator moreso than the verisimilitude of the creation. Who said fantasy had to be so real anyway?

That's what imaginations are for.

I'm all for this new "sweding" movement demonstrating that exorbitant effects budgets do not entertainment make.

Sometimes the spirit of giddy make-believe is all you need.

Year Of The Cat

I knew I'd enter into a relationship this year, but I was wrong about the species of my co-conspirator. Her name is Cinder (nee Jolie). She is almost 1 years old and hails from Russia.

Here she is in her customary spot behind my music-making device:



Sometimes she ranges further afield, preferring my bed to hers:



We're roommates now. I'm looking after her for Santino's sister in Singapore. I think we'll get on just fine.

Lost And Found

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

filth tube
carolyn reese tube
agnes cactus
mega nega
what part of the cattle did reeses the candy come from
i'll always remember woah oh
4 teething brood
toy monkey chime inside
reese t shirts
making things from tuck tape
good grief miss agnes
www.mini gams
lovelorn nerd
come on lets work lets work it to the done that the way the beat
garbage shear strength

An excellent series of tubes!

C.R.E.E.P.Y.

For best results, play these two videos simultaneously:

Caveat Empty

I make my living in advertising, a trusted and respectable industry. But I did not have the pleasure of writing these promotions:



And they're even happier they discovered this fine meal-chaser:



The cigarette ads, of course, are of unquestionable repute:







Thanks to Carolyn's Mom for the scans!

It's Only A Game

Great time to be alive, innit?





And if you liked that, you're gonna LOVE this:

You're My Saturday

I honestly have no idea why I'm so late to the party on this one, but I'm thrilled to show up just in time for the release of another superb album from my new favorite pop band, Goldfrapp.

Vocalist Alison (Goldfrapp) sang along with three of my cherished beat-makers (Tricky and The Brothers Orbital) back in the day, so again, there's no reasonable excuse for my not noticing and following her career sooner.

In 1999, while I was busy enacting chaos magic to Orbital's Middle of Nowhere, Alison and composer Will Gregory formed Goldfrapp and signed with Mute Records.

Almost a decade later, my Dad introduces me to the TV series Life, whose kickass music supervisor uses Goldfrapp's "Ooh La La" to sex up a key scene. I realize I've been living in a cave and yank my head outta the sand to do some listening.

Within a week, I'm a slavering fan.



Friends put up with me railing on about the creative power of duality, all the way from cell division at the goopy, grimy microscopic level on up to the heavenly firmament and its castoffs estranged here on terra firma. Truly amazing music doesn't escape my pet theory, neither: get the right two people together and real magic happens. I add Will and Alison to a long list of perfect matches whose sounds have scored my life since childhood, a thread I follow from Dave and Annie through to Vince and Andy, Bjork and Nellee (and later, Mark), Paul and Phil...even musical slut Dr Alex and his finest muses three: Thrash, Hughes, and Fehlmann.

Speaking of The Orb, their new Dream was a lovely return to dub fun a few months ago. And pre-New Year, Paul Hartnoll left me dazed and overwhelmed with his amazing solo debut The Ideal Condition. But Goldfrapp arrives for me as a ready-made soundtrack to what is, so far, shaping up to be a wonderful 2008. The new LP Seventh Tree speaks of spring to my ears, for starters - but I can't wait to listen to this record deep in the heat of summer, where I know its jaded/hopeful heart resides.

Save your cynicism, if you got some. I'm given to hyperbole when I'm this happy. And if music is a way to formally structure emotion (as I've argued), then this is what joy sounds like.

I say: crank that shit up.


"A&E", the unbelievably beautiful new single.

Listen to Goldfrapp at my Anywhere.fm!

Turn Turn Turn

The song, if you like, or the karmic wheel.

2007 is done now, and the long night is turning into day again for a spell. I was happy to achieve my goals for the year, even if a few came in past deadline. One such was a move back closer to where I was born, for purposes of helping birth new things, meeting recently-birthed things, and birthing one of my own (on paper, not in flesh). That latter is just about outta me now and into the harsh light of day, so it was time to shift the cycle from nocturnal back to diurnal and depart the lonely home/womb office (so essential to grinding out the novel) for one where a flux of people move all around me every day.

Last but not least (to the tune of 22 kilometers not least) was the half-marathon, which I've run three times now - not to my satisfaction, but run nonetheless. It took a year of training to get to that point in the first place, of course, and it'll take a year more, I'm guessing, to get the finish time I'm looking for. That's why, when I woke up this morning to the following animated .gif on Etherbrian's blog, I was tickled beyond 8-bit pink. It's a friendly reminder that it takes time to turn the wheel.

But if you keep moving, things do change.

To every season, then. Through every season.



P.S. Brian accomplished a goal of his own this month, too - breaking into the ranks of printed Threadless T-shirt artists. I've been a fan of Brian's for over ten years and was happy to pick up a design of his through Zazzle shortly ago. Now I'm even more thrilled to be one of the first to shell out for his Interloper From Beyond The Heavens on starburst orange. Join me!

Father Like Son

Stephen again. (Sorry, Blorthos!)


FACT: The Reese boys enjoy getting in over their heads.

And I love my Dad.

That's it for today!

Off The Wall

Stephen here, stopping in for a moment (and thanks, Blorthos, for looking after the blog - I appreciate it. The long story, much bad, ain't done yet).

For now, you gotta check these guys out:





Thanks to Clem for the links!

Blorthos Responds

I am Blorthos Malamakk. You are not. So, I answer mail.

Dear Blorthos,

You missed Tukx's birthday. That's the second year in a row. Yes, Tukx. Remember him? He looks like this:



You might notice the resemblance to me. That's because we have the same mother. She's asked I not send a picture of her, but if that thick skull of yours needs its usual swift kick to start some "memorizings", think back about twenty-five years to Silvermoon, deep in Murder Row, a tavern open late, a little too much ale, and boof! Nine months later, out drop Tukx and I.

Somehow I doubt we were the only ones dropped. In fact, I know for sure. You see, I've taken the liberty of starting an ongoing research project. Because it's rude to miss someone's birthday. Especially if you're responsible for their birth.

Look. I know you're a visual sort, so I've included lots of pictures. You don't have to read all the words. Just try to pronounce the names, and maybe have someone write down the spellings. And the dates. Don't forget the dates. Those are important.

It's not too much to ask, is it? Why not put some effort into an internet website for beings who are actually related to you? You're a minotaur of means. Spare a few gold once in a while and send something nice to those who'll survive you in these feral warrens. At the very least, grunt a token hello or flare your nostrils in interest. It's the thought that counts.

I'll be adding to the list as I find more. Don't take that as an invitation to add to my workload. For the sake of creatures already in this world, and others yet unborn, you might consider maintaining that male pride of yours without retaining the oft-used equipment between your fuzzy loins. There's no shame in a judicious neutering. We're family. We can keep a secret.

Don't make me come out to that dingy little "Sandbowl" you're hiding in with all my brothers and sisters in tow. I know how much you hate parties. Still, there are ways to show you care without providing hospitality for all 112 of us...and counting.

I suggest you make use of them.

Your daughter,
Lindinha



(And all the rest.)


Daughter,

You Blorthos daughter?

Tukx girl too?

Feh!

Can't remember make lovings with blood elf. Strange creature have almost no hair, not appeal.

But do like ale. Maybe happen.

And. If daughter, should not talk this way to father. Want gift? Show respect. Obey wishings of elder, maybe get carings. Not forget, Blorthos flare nostril when think right - not ever else.

Stop cry, weak lady. Father firm. And Blorthos see now, lady get some trait from him.

Blorthos agree read your interworld scroll. Meet many by-blow, if force. Father spread much lovings in lands afar, so probably true your list.

But. How dare suggest stop rutting practice? Blorthos army continue, grow larger. One day, daughter, family rule universe.

For now, Sandbowl nice kingdom. Quiet here. No stupid peoples ruin nap time.

Okay come visit.

Carings,

Blorthos Resolves

I am Blorthos Malamakk. You are not. So, I tell you how fix.

Your life bad? No concern. Interworld scroll-reader, time for make resolvings in fresh year. Blorthos suggest many, do some. If fail, prepare for dying.

1) Sometime, let enemy live.
Not always necessary rip bowel and brain from attacking opponent. Maybe remove jaw, cripple one leg not two. Even break part of paw, remove biggest claw not other. All better than total end. Beast have chance think on poor choice, embark new livings. World improve? Wait, see.

2) Not keep every loot.
Stupid think backpack have not bottom. When item obvious not fit, like small Terrible Cauldron, pass magical lady, say what is? or even keep, wench. Make magics in useless bucket, give strength Blorthos. Or name you, not Blorthos. Scroll-reader probably weaker anyway.

2) Practice new skill.
Blorthos know. Make musical sound with mouth, say many word in tavern, strum Taugrim-gut device produce melody noises much tiresome, yes. But. If look at different, maybe bard not deserve swift kill. Instead let teach dumb tool of harmonizings, try self. Could help eat, drink no gold lost.

3) Let deer graze peaceful.
Many year pass Blorthos kill each deer seen on forest land. Four-leg stand still seem say, come all, thrust sharp pike in fur, great depth achieved, red fountain spray out other side. Ahhh. Yes, though. Deer only want grass in belly, not effective weapon throw well and hard. Consider slowly.

4) Wear good hat.
No item begin fresh year better than careful choosing proper head vessel. Blorthos now recommend comfort instead frequent impalement option. Antler-stylings for year last, much past. Farblachht agree. All should put soft Vulk-hide foldings on top horn, skull ridgings. Could add feather. Look!




Hope stay alive for year again,

Blorthos Arrives

Enough. Blorthos venture far, leave mostly female cousin stay, protect Sandbowl from Tube invade. And why? No reason good. Sandbowl empty, blog owner Reese gone. Not update for century, feel. Why guard empty bowl? What protect? Nothing! All yes.

Blog owner Reese only work long story, much bad, join interworld social clan, waste hundred month stupid romance reason. No blog make, no comment come. Lord Blooddyke not even interest overthrow. Truth tellings, Blorthos think rejoin Blood Cavern, no more good guy.

But not. Conscience attack. And again.

And...win, enough time pass. No go back from good guy place.

Now Blorthos arrive, save interworld. Blog continue. Blorthos say, curse Reese. Forget. Never return? Good okay.

Blorthos take over blog, make right posting.

Yes,


Other note: Golden Compass not even good movie.

I'll Never Be Yours

No better way I can think of to break my blogging silence than with the final official trailer for The Golden Compass, so close to release now I can almost feel the chill of the North biting my cheeks, and the swirl of Dust over my head:



Iorek and Iofur throwin' down at the climax really does get the heart going.

Bigger versions here: Yahoo
Best news always here: His Dark Materials

A Moss Tor

You know that feeling you get when you read a book, see a movie, hear a song...and you think, wow, this [insert] was made for me? It just fires on all cylinders for the particular molecular makeup that is your curse/blessing in this given world?

Well, I haven't felt it for a while. I'm afeared that's a result of getting older, "growing up", being just a smidgen less receptive to experiencing a work of art for the first time without the "maturity"-imposed matrices for parsing who "made" it (where they come from, what their circumstances were, their limitations, personal hangups, financial situation, patrons real or imagined, etc.) that tend to hang around once you realize it's merely (wo)men who create things less than the universe entire, however direct and uncluttered their connection to the divine may chance to be.

The closest I've come to that kind of relationship with art in, geez, I dunno..."a long time", or something, was tonight. And it wasn't a book, a movie or a song.

It was a videogame.

Thing's called Samorost, and I'm gonna go against my nature here by resisting the urge to look up all the details on who exactly was involved with getting it out there, in the hopes of improving my chances at preserving mystery (and gratitude) for the fruit of their efforts. I know the folks responsible are European, at least. They like imagining things, and they have a kind sense of humor, and they understand game design better than most, and they were likely stoners at one point or another.

Their creation is a dead-simple, point-and-click online game (one part Flash, another part still-frame beauty) where you explore a whimsical alien environment, observe what's happening, and solve cute little puzzles that help you access the next area(s) - in these cases (there are two installments: a trippy original outing that might be especially resonant with the aid of a psychedelic substance of your choice, and a more literal but nonetheless more thematically compact sequel) to improve your chances of saving your odd little homeworld or, even better, your dog.

I have my reservations, of course. There're some puzzles played less intuitive for me, but that likely says more about this overly-critical bundle of molecules than the design itself. And I had to realign my mind to take on the role of a theoretically omniscient God-entity who can modify elements of the gamespace arguably not accessible by my goofy little avatar (whom I came to care about, I'll point out - possibly the highest accolade anyone could afford a videogame, after all). I'm accustomed to playing *as* the character in the space. Here, you're more an audience, but you can facilitate the story (and story there is, I'll be damned, in the most minute dances of cause and effect between various creatures and their respective environments; you'll need to affect both to succeed in your quest). If you can let go an insistence on naysaying logistics and "realism", you'll see playing Samorost is not unlike interacting with a dream.

I'm not sure I have any greater praise for art.

I appreciate dreams, see.

So do check it out, if you're game for this kinda game, and for those of you with children, I urge you play it together. It's appropriate for all ages, indeed, and somehow I know I might certainly have tapped older wells of ingenuity in solving the bugger, had I been just a few decades closer to when I entered this life. More neighbor to when the world was a startlingly open, curious and wondrous place...with nothing but possibility to suggest its edges.

I also dare you not to pay the beyond-reasonable price of around eight bucks to enjoy the third piece of the puzzle, once you've navigated the FREE Samorost 1 and the portion of numero two that's open to everyone. There wasn't really a choice, for me.

Bless these folks. It's a charming diversion.

And thanks to the internet, for another anagram post title. ;)

And kudos to Amo, who posted this game to CM two years ago! (I didn't play it then, but I'm inclined to guess, as always, the timing is better now than I might think.)

-Reese

When You Find A Lover

When I die, I'll check outta Dodge having sung more Erasure songs than anybody else's. I've crooned their tunes to the ladies, harmonized alongside friends and family, belted out the oldies and the newies under that ever-forgiving private stage light of the shower head (the true test, instrumentalist Vince Clarke and vocalist Andy Bell believe, of any pop ditty worth a single release).

But these guys don't just write and perform the catchiest Top 40 contenders of my preference. Their album-only tracks are just as good, if not better. The b-sides are instant classics. By last count, this pairing of gifted analog synthesist and gay-outta-the-womb party animal with an angel's vocal range, have created in the multiple hundreds of charming arrangements that stick in your heart and stay there despite all the years did their damnedest to wear you down into a jaded cynic who doesn't believe in true love.

Well, Erasure have been at their game more than two decades.

And I still believe.

Suffice it to say, then, it was one of my life's greatest honors and privileges to download the master tracks for their upcoming single "When A Lover Leaves You" and be encouraged to work up my own interpretation for a contest that'll see the winner's remix officially released. More fun, that the whole batch of us hopefuls (235 total) have our personal takes posted online for other fans to enjoy. There's even a friendly competition amongst entrants to see who wins the popular vote, though this won't determine the top mixist - the band chooses a favorite themselves.

I was lucky I chanced to be browsing Erasure a couple weeks ago and found word of this promotion. Lucky too, I finally had a Mac of my own and could use the sponsored software (GarageBand) to schlep together a mix (I'd have been more comfortable goofing around in my alma mater Ableton Live, but GarageBand - for all its limitations - is a robust little novelty app). Most importantly, I was fortunate to be in the right emotional place for getting across a melancholy rendition of the track - my favorite, it happens, from the new album Light At The End Of The World.

Life's funny that way.

For the record, let it be known that if I had the master tracks for Erasure's entire back catalog to remix at my pleasure and discretion, I might never leave the house.

-Stephen Reese, #184, "When A Lover Finds You"

Spit and Vinegar

If I am a broken record, I'd like to think I play the good tunes.

And this, dear friends, is music to my ears...candy to my eyes...a balm to my soul: the new Golden Compass extended trailer from Comic-Con. Dear God Almighty I'm stoked.



Some half this year is yet to unfold, but come December, I'm hoping Weitz and co. send it out with a bang.

Bigger versions here: Yahoo
Best news always here: His Dark Materials

D.M. Erodabbart Stewasure

This one's been on the 2Do list for a while. Now seemed like a good time to get it out the door. A little 70s stadium flash, some 80s heartbreak, a dollop of 90s rhythmic connective tissue for good measure (har har). If the standard minimix is a duel, I'd call this one a tag-team cage match.

Depeche Mode, Erasure, Rod Stewart, ABBA: FIGHT!

(For Leslie Burke, alive and well. Here's your retro dance party!)

Personal Breath of Super Guys

Die Hardest

Right then. Despite the off-formula red flags I see wavin' all over No. 4.0 (supporting players are children; not one African-American lead to be seen), I do hope it's good. 'Cause this video is GREAT:

Andy McKee

I don't have a lot of patience for guitars, usually because their players aren't doing much interesting with them. That's my bias and I'm sticking to it.

This fella, though, is an exception to the rule. And the music? Just gorgeous. A nice way to start the morning during this emotional June, our hinge of the year.



Thanks to Dave for the link! And Mike and Doug will probably love this, so I'm tagging those jerks too.

This Today

For me, May was a quiet month. But around me, things moved.

B's romantic journey cross-country has changed shape. K's journey out of country may help her shape-shift as well. Shan's too, I'd wager. Tans has a new home, and new work to give. Trevs finished his Chapter 11. My book did a dipsy-doodle on me. Rich Wilkins passed away. Sebastian Roberts was born.

In the wake of it all, I'm left feeling kind of raw, more emotional than I've been since...well, since last May - when I was the one in flux. At times like these, I don't have the right words. Thankfully, when words fail, there are sounds.

So here's a song that grew out of last month and came to its close at the beginning of this one. It's been a year since I smashed some musical notes together. About time, I say.

And to be honest, it doesn't look like the world's gonna stand still outside me anytime soon. Change is coming. Change is here. Change is eternal.

To This Day

Zeroes and Ones

...or maybe just Ones, 'cause there's a lotta firsts here.

Year Zero is the first Nine Inch Nails record I can listen to all the way through since Pretty Hate Machine in 1989. It's the first of Trent Reznor's "concept" albums I'd say works as a whole. And most enjoyably, it's the first time past 1992's Broken I've been able to shout along with NIN at the top of my lungs and savor the anger and aggression while keeping a straight face. Why come?

Mr Reznor's finally changed his topic. He's no longer sniveling about the girl or guy or God who's done him wrong. This time the schlep who got dumped and damned is the world, and we're the Ones (Zeroes, actually) responsible. I'd even venture to say Trent's found a place for the Almighty in his dirty little heart, and he's okay with being judged by a higher power that's likely a mite disappointed in what we've done with the gifts it gave us.

That is to say, I take Trent's "Zeroes and Ones" to mark something other than the bits and bytes usually serving as his musical instruments. Call a Zero, perhaps, those who haven't the inclination to help improve this mess we've gotten ourselves into here on planet Earth. And a One? Maybe that's somebody who can find a peaceful solution to our religious, resource and territorial disputes instead of taking up vengeful arms.

Anyhoo. Enough ballyhoo - I've already bitten off more than I have the chops to chew. Long-overdue political subject matter aside, there's some rather good old-fashioned industrial disco on this album. And I listened to it rather non-stop while driving my way around the United States two months ago (splicing in some cheerier bile from the adorable Lily Allen for relief now and then).

End result: a decent familiarity with Trent's new tunes. And a hankering to play around with them.

So here's minimixes fo' y'all - especially for Dave and Tara, whom I know dig this record as much as I do. These are sort-of-sequels to my Nails mixes from last year, though this time I didn't want to pair past with present (as I did on Pretty Hate Machine and With Teeth), because the new album, really, points only to itself.

My Violent God Given Heart
The Good Master
Me, I'm The Destroyer

Shame on us
We knew from the start
May God have mercy
On our dirty little hearts
Shame on us
For all we have done
And all we ever were
Just zeroes and ones

Thou Shalt Kick Ass

Look: one intention of the Bible, if I have it right, is to evolve a peaceful, pious, selfless and self-sacrificing civilization of Meek folk to inherit the Earth.

That said, the ratio of ass-kicking to cheek-turning in the Good Book is rather high.

The irreverent folks at Adult Swim recognize this truth, and now blare it from on high. I give you their blasphemous creation, and simultaneously ask forgiveness:

BIBLE FIGHT

My only complaint so far: you don't get to beat the crap outta Judas. Maybe he's a secret character to be unlocked at a later stage. And I'm already hoping for sequels where you get to clobber important figures from other faiths!

Go in peace, geek brethren. (And apologies to any of my Christian friends who may find this offensive. I'm actually really curious to see what Gordon thinks...)

Blorthos Reviews

I am Blorthos Malamakk. You are not. So, I tell you what good.

Time of year now done when famous human win prize for making movie other famous human like. Unfamous human talk winner of prize for hundred month still after. Finally shut up. Now Blorthos say what movie real best from year gone. Some reservation, most fine. Listen much, or could die.

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: DEAD MAN'S CHEST



Too many human in movie. Human talking everywhere. All time take away from true hero, sea-lord Dave Jone. See great beast caress organ key with tentacle sucker, heart near split asunder. Perform great emotion Jone, but even more Kraken display fine boat-crush skill, human-slaughter also. And! Many my cousin appear on Jone boat, crew extra. Hello!

RATING: 2 CUTLASS

SILENT HILL



This art movie, maybe Farblachht like better. Still, close friend Pyramid Head make decent showing, rip total skin off human cultist. Ash-baby too cute for real scare effect. Mostly human finish all job start by better actor. Tear witch between leg with barb wire, should do by zombie nurse. Or let toilet demon beat police-girl to die with metal pipe.

RATING: 2 DAGGER, 1 SWORD

SLITHER



Blorthos not big fan romance laughter, but make exception for touching movie. Nice space squid land on Earth, only want make life with okay female accept every difference. No. Low-education human must start kill all squid race, no regard love among specie. Young human solve mystery, all hero die. Pah. Maybe more tragic story, romance doom ever. Still good.

RATING: 3 RIFLE

THE DESCENT



Ah! Now getting good. Stupid human deserve punish for cave home invasion, no invite. And get punish! Many fine actor pull innard from rude tunnel-crawler, but save worse for last, let kill over dumb romance reason. Accent human make best version revenge, cold human in north see too. Warmonger south human get soft easy ending, how make sense?

RATING: 4 GRAPPLE HOOK

THE HOST



And. Best movie of year. Beautiful superstar arrive east human river, make nest, stock underground cupboard wise for cold. Some food small enough and escape, but too late. HAHA! Human family hunt shining creature, not too bad. If only beast have family with also, then fair fight. But! Sad ending even give hope, many human dead for kill great talent.

RATING: 5 BOW AND ARROW

See good movie,

2 Birds, 1 Stone

If there's anything I love more than computers, it's monsters.

Alas, their respective fatal flaws will be the end of them both.

Demonstration courtesy of Messrs. Henson and Oz:



(And thanks to Reid for the link!)

Perfect Circles

My friend Kevin, who taught me how to properly (mountain and road) bike last summer, has a term he likes to use when talking about what it is we do with our legs while pushing pedals and turning wheels in service of truly badass forward momentum.

Here's my understanding:

It's not just about rotating tires, round and round, to propel you onward across the straights and up and down those hills. You're also working to make your heel revolve on its ankle fulcrum. There is a subtle, gentle pull up, and a smooth, undulating roll down, that together complete the gesture. You don't want to jab and kick at the bike with a series of movements that taken as one, form a right-angled rectangle. What you're trying to do is describe hemispheres with the machinery of your feet.

You're aspiring to perfect circles.

As some of you already know, this summer I'm going to ride the Tour of Courage in support of my former colleague Rich Wilkins and his current battle with cancer. The aforementioned Kevin will be kicking my ass in this race. As will the several other friends and colleagues who comprise our team. For this combined effort, we hope to raise money to aid cancer research and prevention.

If you're able, folks, I'm asking you to please chip in with a donation to help me reach (and surpass) my personal fundraising goal of a thousand clams. Any bit helps. Me, I aim to paint some perfect circles for Rich. Let's see what we can do together.

This is the link to my donations page: Reese Rides For Rich

And if you haven't seen the source site yet, here's Go Rich.

Clymonistra

If you're like me, your life was changed by an ambitious trilogy of fantasy books written by Philip Pullman and entitled The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass (together known as His Dark Materials). I fetched the first one from a shelf at my local small-town bookstore way back in 1996, then purchased it solely based on Terry Brooks's foreword promise that "You are going to love the Golden Compass."

It was a bold claim. And the chap was right, too.



A while ago, New Line Cinema optioned the rights to make His Dark Materials as their second big-screen fantasy adaptation (to follow Lord of the Rings, of course); and I say without irony, His Dark Materials is (while not a work without flaw - whose is, really?) the only modern fantasy epic worthy of succeeding Tolkien in a fictional milieu still cluttered with elves, orcs and evil Dark Lords.



Now. Less folk know about His Dark Materials, though the books sold very well and won multiple awards. Pullman's is also...weirder...and riskier...material than what Tolkien produced. Ergo, New Line's marketing department are going to have an uphill battle filling seats for opening weekend of The Golden Compass. And I wager there won't be a second or third film made if the first one doesn't turn a profit. These fantastical shenanigans always cost a pretty penny to visualize, as you well know.



For this reason, I want to show you one of the early advertising ploys they've cooked up to generate awareness of the property and also reveal a bit of Pullman's interesting cosmology. In his story, a given character's soul is externalized (and personified) through an animal totem who represents that individual's unique traits. For children, these "daemons" change shape and species to reflect the unanchored identity-wandering and soul-searching of youth. When we become adults, our daemons solidify into one animal form and remain as such until our deaths. It's a neat idea.



What New Line's done on the Golden Compass website is set up a personality quiz that results in a daemon being assigned you based on your answers. I think it's a brilliant gimmick to communicate one of the books' more memorable concepts and stoke excitement for the film. So, I invite you to take a look and meet your daemon (find the functionality under the DAEMONS menu).

Mine's a wolf, and her name's Clymonistra.

(Thanks to Bill for the link.)

Where's Mini?

Hereabouts.

I'll be back in the Sandbowl presently.

Rock Bottom

Two weeks late, but no less heartfelt.

I've reached the bottom of my rock remix to-do list and to be honest, I'm a little guitared-out. For the balance of April, I think I'll stick with the pansy synth ditties. In the meantime, here's AC/DC for Chad, as promised. Sorry you couldn't make it to Vegas, buddy. Hope this tides you over:

AC/DC, Chad - Dirt Cheap

The Interweb Rools

I've been all gaga and frothing at the mouth about Facebook for the last couple weeks, madly telling everyone it's the best implementation of the internet yet.

And it is. Truly.

But this is even better: Kiva

Thanks to Drew for the link.

Genre Jumper

I'll be honest.

I have no idea how to eulogize Bob Clark, a fine director responsible for the most successful sex comedy franchise of the 80s (started by the most profitable Canadian film ever), an equally influential horror flick that's been recently (and crappily) remade, and what is, in my opinion, the best holiday film of any generation.



Those would be Porky's, Black Christmas and A Christmas Story, respectively. Taken alone, they represent a subject range most filmmakers wouldn't even attempt. Clark did it anyway. I'd argue his command of film language jumps genres so easily because it's less about cinema and more about humanity. Witness characters in any of the above films and you'll see real people, not contrivances. I don't care if his late-career projects were sub-par or uninspired. It doesn't tarnish these early achievements.



Bob Clark was struck on the PCH around 2:20 in the morning while in a car with his 22-year-old son. The drunk guy in the SUV that did the striking - only two years older than Clark's boy - got off with minor injuries. There's no point commenting on the circumstances of these deaths, but I will anyway.

They piss me off. They're sad.



What gets me most, though, is that I only skimmed the recent interview with Bob Clark in the Globe & Mail. My act, sadly, represents a common view (even a Canuck view) of the man: we have an awareness of him, even an appreciation for what he did...

But he was too often overlooked.

True Romance

Get this.

An extraordinary ex of mine is throwing all caution to the wind, uprooting from her current reality, and beginning a trek cross-country to reunite with the one true love she's carried a torch for nigh on 15 years (and right through our four-year relationship, which of course complicated matters back then). Turns out the intended soulmate has finally admitted to carrying a torch himself, so the timing is perfect.

I think this is the most romantic thing I've ever seen in the real world and I wish them both the best of luck. B's a practicing chaos magician herself, so she knows exactly what she's doing. See you guys in Montreal this summer, on the other side.

Nerd Summit

Site's been quiet, but the weekend was anything but.

Mini Nerd co-founder and Chief Technology Officer David Roberts was here visiting from Ontari-ario. We managed to cram in a business meeting and two family visits between excessive geeking-out, watching lots of Deadwood, cheering obnoxiously for the Leafs AND the Flames, playing multiple chess games (all of which I lost), reuniting with old friends on Facebook, checking in on Dave's wife (and the upcoming spawn in her belly that was responsible for Dave's quick visit here and now before it's born and prevents our hanging out for 20 years), plus the conspicuous consumption of fine scotch, beer and wine. I also drug Dave around Cowtown on foot while grabbing groceries, seeing the doctor, applying for a passport, and getting my rear bike wheel switched from Tacx-compatibility to road-readiness (of course, it's winter here again and snow now drapes the streets afresh).

Last but most notably, Dave (never a cook in the past) taught me his wife's pad thai recipe (which was delicious), got my wireless internet working (FINALLY), and helped me celebrate the first birthday of Mini Nerd (30 March, dontcha know). We've revamped the site's look for spring and introduced two new functionalities: a slideshow of Mini Nerdchandise available at Cafe Press (find it at the bottom of the sidebar), and the Monstermasher (up top).



The latter is a realization of randomized exquisite corpses for Mini Nerd readers courtesy of a classic illustration toy dear to dork chilluns of the 80s (including myself): the Mighty Men and Monster Maker. I bought a scanner specifically for the purpose of getting the wicked interchangeable art plates from the Maker into digital format for the Masher. Then Dave laid down some sweet code to build Vampire Ape Mad Scientist Superhero Mummies for us all.

Awwwwwwww jazzy.

Please enjoy the fruits of our labor, and if you're able, help support Mini Nerd in its second year online by picking up a Blorthos Cap, a Vampyric Horse Saddlebag, or a Mini Thong. We've also got t-shirts, bumper stickers, buttons, mugs and steins aplenty!

Here are photos from what was a great (if short) visit with my lifelong friend. I thank his wife, nascent kid, and cats for letting me borrow him a few days. Let's make it an annual tradition!


He cooks.




He codes.




He's a keeper.

Eeuauaughhh

Arguably the best website ever created:

http://eeuauaughhhuauaahh.ytmnd.com/

Thanks to Dan for the link.

Subsessed

Some friends and colleagues of mine at Comrade enjoyed the opportunity to build an amusing campaign for gamemaker Ubisoft and their upcoming naval warfare simulation Silent Hunter: Wolves of the Pacific. The result is Subsessed! The Depths of Destiny, a mockumentary about James Cameron-lookalike Cutter Wilson, whose "subsession" will be cured with a videogame.

Congrats to Thelton for his disgruntled office worker (not too much of a stretch!), and sympathies to Christy for wardrobe's insistence on dressing her so frumpy. Apparently she gets a chance to tart it up in Episode 5 of the series (Episodes 1, 2 and 3 are currently live). Friends, gamers, YouTubers, enjoy!

Go Bill

It doesn't stop.

My dear friend, fellow film freak, respected colleague, and overall inspiration Bill Chambers was rushed to hospital for emergency surgery 22 March. Things went well, I'm told. He's recovering now.

To Bill, I say: why not wait 'til May? You were two months early for this particular cliffhanger.

Go Rich

I just heard, and I want to tell everyone else.

So please meet my former colleague Rich Wilkins, one of the most kind and caring folks I've encountered. Rich and I never got close, but given more time working on the same projects, or hanging out in the same peer groups, I'm sure we would have.

The moment I was introduced to Rich I knew we shared a love of people and life. Those times we ran into each other, there was always a warm exchange of hellos or jokes. It disagrees with my arguably delusional worldview that a human being of his caliber would get sick, but I also know he'll face the challenge with commitment, strength, and a spirit I've never seen shaken.

Here's the site his friends, family and coworkers have made for him. Browsing it will show you the kind of man he is:

Go Rich

We're All It

Tagged by Kerrie with this bit of navel-gazing. Consider yourself tagged too. I'm an innie, and here's my lint:

Where did your last kiss take place?
In an aeroport.

Who knows a secret or two about you?
Most folk.

Three words to explain why you last threw up:
Beer, wine, gin.

Have you ever burned yourself?
Mostly the sun does that.

What's crazy to you?
Inattention.

Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?
Nobody.

Would you ever want to be a model?
Not really.

Do you tell white lies?
Only to protect.

When is your next party?
Tomorrow night.

Who do you want to be with right now?
Myself.

How do you handle a break up?
Make new stuff.

Your motivation for tomorrow?
Do my best.

Last person to hurt you?
Shannanigans.

Last person to make you laugh?
Doogie.

Have you ever cleaned up someone else's vomit?
Nope.

One best friend or 10 aquaintances?
All of the above.

Favorite food?
Pizza.

Most favorite person?
Too many to choose from.

Are you an emotional person?
Sure.

Do you like your name?
Yep.

Do you dance naked in your room at night?
No, but I critique my reflection.

Biggest fear?
Fear.

Favorite place to be?
Happy.

Do you hate anybody?
Nah.

Does anyone hate you?
So I've been told.

How many people do you trust fully?
Probably too many.

Cornello

A lot of beer, a little mixin'.

I like Audioslave best with some groove to go with their grind and unfortunate lyrics. To my surprise, this mix prefers Tom Morello's axe to Chris Cornell's voice. I enjoy both, save those ludicrous guitar solos that derail any track (though I had to include at least one here for legitimacy).

These guys are history now. Looks like Rage Against The Machine is reuniting, and Cornell is off to a solo career. Best wishes to 'em both. Their peak, in my opinion, was "Original Fire" - to which I cleaned up much drywall and steel scrap. AWWWWW YEAAAAAH.

Audioslave, folks.

This one's for Shaylyn, who was always kind to me.

One Fire Of Revelation

ADD-Day

Now it's raining! In full sunlight!

Wotta day.

Next: hail?

That Was Quick

Snow melted, sun ascendant.

What The--

Looks like my spring sproing was...premature.

Now it's snowing big, fluffy flakes outside.

Not that it'll last, of course. This Cowtown mantra applies:

If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes.

Ah well.

It *was* nice to run without tuque and mittens last night.

Feelin' It

So today's the official Last Day of Winter.

And though we've still got some snow on the ground here, I sense spring coiled and ready to sproing.

My time away's left me refreshed, excited, and horny as all get out. Plus, my meaning-monger radar's up. Walking along the street to fetch ingredients for tonight's dinner, I eyeballed myself a sweet triptych of chaos magick underfoot to get the evening (and perhaps the season) started: a page of somebody's screenplay made with the Final Draft demo version (I bent over to read it and found properly formatted but BORING dialogue), a discarded elastic curled into what I can only describe as a double vesica piscis, and a single die rolled (out of a dumpster, likely) to its #1.

It was great visiting with the fam, the Mbut, and Gramps. I got caught up on my backlogged magazine reading, started three new books (yay Teresa!), and worked my way through the 13 Years of Wax Trax! boxset, which was wonderful and has certainly inspired some ideas for April mixes. In the meantime, now I'm home, I'll do up a couple more rock mashups to finish out this month's theme, and I can also say Blorthos has been making noises (rather moist and feral noises) about getting a post up here soon.

Me, I'm itching to get my bike off Tacx and onto pavement, it's so nice outside. But not quite yet...I'll have to settle for running tonight without so many clothes on. Who knows? I may not even need a tuque (not toque, as Gweinz has learned me).

No tuque?!

Ah, the possibilities.

And that, my friends, is what spring is all about.

More On Movies

As much as I loved Pan's Labyrinth, I gotta admit:

The Lives of Others is my pick for Best Foreign Flick of 2006.

Puti Mbuti

It's the Pbut.

She's tiny. She's cute.

But don't let appearances fool you. She's tougher than she looks.

This 16-year-old mirrio fourrier just survived a near-fatal bout of acute pancreatitis. With the help of an attentive Robo-Kotti, a two-night stay at the local small-town animal hospice, and her new hypo-allergenic "gastro" diet of ground duck, she's back to her ole purrific self: professional sleeper, unabashed hedonist.

May she enjoy many more years with her loving family.

But Then!

Ever participated in a chain story?

You should!

It's where one person starts a tale, throwin' down a scene or sumthin', then tosses in a cliffhanger and lets the next person pick up where they left off. The new scribe either preserves the tone and advances the plot with their addition, or goes all anarchist and takes the action in a completely different direction.

It's like Exquisite Corpses (which I'd love to implement as Mini Nerd functionality, somehow), except with words instead of drawings. Sometimes the gameplay works better in theory than in practice, but I find it's always worth a few goes before switching to a game of Balderdash, Taboo, or Qbit.

To that end, I present this link to an online version of chain-storying - Ficlets - and invite you to enact tomfoolery with me.

Thanks to Lisa for the link! Hope you get in the game, kiddo. I also dare Teresa, Bill, Mike, Dory and Montreal Lisa to mince some words. And Bronwen, I'd love to write a chain story with you.

Grave Pronouncement

Saying of the day, courtesy of my morbid/silly Gramps on our walk a few moments ago:

"In this life, the only thing etched in stone...is an epitaph."

I giggled and cringed at the same time, always a good reaction.

Low-Ride Or No Ride

Sentence of the day:

High-waisted pants are so not the bomb.

AWWWWWWWWWWWW NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

YA YA YA ! ! !

This article makes me very happy:

The Golden Age of YA?

Gypsum Snoozer

Certain folk know I have a hard go of it falling asleep. One time it even took two and a half months. During that ordeal, I tried every recorded technique I could find, plus several of my own conception - with little success, I'll add.

Over the past year of working construction with the Board Brothers, however, I've discovered a new method.

At breaks (of which we get the standard three - two shorts in the morning and afternoon, one long at lunch), eating or drinking are usually the order of business. But unlike those breaks I've enjoyed when working, say, retail in the past (and especially at an office), while pausing during the drywalling of a home, we also REST.

That's right. Sleep. For 15 or 30 minutes.

Serious, satisfying, sinful naps.

Where, you may ask, does a construction worker lay his head for a few winks in the middle of an unfinished basement?

On drywall, of course.

Now: I'm the kinda guy who likes firm mattresses. A cozy, sink-into couch is fine for a brief stint in dreamland, but if I'm staying the night, I want support.

Well, in getting horizontal on a nice, fresh, 8-foot sheet of drywall, I found a truly reliable soporific.

Flatter than a futon. Stiffer than a yoga mat.

And damn easy to nod off on.

Last night I spent a few hours laying awake thinking about sentences for this blog post. I was trying to come up with a silly Princess & The Pea analog for a towering stack of drywall sheets and what treasure they might conceal underneath - to no avail.

Woulda been better to crash and let my subconscious sort it out.

And I might've pulled it off, too.

If I'd just tossed that pillow aside, pictured my mattress a little thinner and way more rigid, and conjured the imaginary smell of gypsum to soothe me to sleep.

Byzantium Redux

Early this morning, I finally finished Guy Gavriel Kay's Sarantine Mosaic (comprised of Sailing to Sarantium and Lord of Emperors, and foisted upon me by dear Drew).

So, that's what, three years to read two books?

Sheesh.

Possible: I was avoiding the ending because I didn't really want to leave my first experience of these characters behind forever.

True: Guy Gavriel Kay takes his sweet time, often. I skipped the first 50 pages of Sailing to Sarantium because I couldn't find a protagonist, only to realize, a book and a half later, that this is Kay's genius - choosing an event, then triangulating its meaning through the multiple and varied perspectives of a diverse cast.

He spreads the love, does the Kay.

Looking at his new one, Ysabel, I don't see a smidgen of the technique thus far, but the tone and approach seem more YA. Should be interesting to see where he takes it.

Anyhoo, thank you Drew, for introducing me to a talent I'd missed. A Canuck talent, at that!

And to Teresa, if she's reading: you may be right, about reading.

No Words, Really

Well.

I'd picked Happy Feet as my favorite film of last year.

But I'm a softie.

Allow me to make a slight adjustment.

I also like it hard.

Happy Feet = Best Animated.

And...

There's no question Children of Men is the best live action flick.

I can't honestly say if it's what we bring to the film as viewers, but even so, congratulations to Alfonso Cuaron and his cast and crew. I knew there was some serious **** going on in Harry Potter 3 (which I admired and enjoyed), but this seals the deal.

Don't get me wrong. Pan's Labyrinth? Humbling! United 93? Damn well done. Letters From Iwo Jima? Clint, you still got it. Half-Nelson and Venus? Both wonderful. To Michael Mann, thanks for making me want Miami Vice back as a TV series with the new cast. Even Darren Aronofsky's crusade (The Fountain); gotta say I was intermittently entranced (especially with Hugh Jackman's performance). Mr Scorsese (The Departed)? About freakin' time.

And don't get me started on the great horror flicks from last year (another time, readers). And yet...yet...

I don't have any tissues here, but I'm still cleanin' up my face.

There's no...

I don't have any explanation for anyone who...

Just watch it.

You'll know what I mean.

I'm really tempted to name-check Blade Runner as the last best example of this kind of thing; it's that well-done.

See it!

You might like it.

Can't Contain Myself

Okay.

If, like me, you're from Canada, and you don't enjoy at least one Tragically Hip song, I have to admit I harbor serious suspicions about your character.

Also: The Tragically Hip's World Container is a wonderful album. Freaking wonderful.

Released at the end of last year (after almost a quarter-century of these Kingston, Ontariah fellas playing rock music together), and produced by populist knob-twiddler Bob Rock (God bless 'im), the whole damn affair is non-stop, goosebump-happy, joyful-bawling GREAT, track 1 through 11.

Frontman Gord Downie's a poet, yes, an abstracting sensitive fella, but he also knows how to scream and howl like a man through a wall of balls-out, aggressive youthful energy still tapped effortlessly by these guys as if they weren't anywhere near nudging middle-age.

It amazes me I could limit this minimix to only 4 of the album's songs, but alas, sometimes I am temperate.

GAH! NO! Screw that!

Rock on!!!

(For Trev.)

World Hip

We Love Big Brother

George Orwell (mentioned here last month in errata) posited humans would hate the idea of constant surveillance.

Turns out, we dig it large - at least if it's "men", and not "The Man", who're watching.

Blogs are a fair example of how, given our own terms and voices, we love to splay open, sometimes messily, our inner feelings, aspirations, observations and creations for a theoretical (and theoretically vast - yet intimate) audience.

It seems facetious to quote Shakespeare, but life can be a stage.

Where I'll dare to expand the Bard's assertion is to say, within our roles and responsibilities as employees, family members, friends and lovers even (loosely, "official" capacities), the stage is much like that in the theater, where we exchange our tragic and comic masks (among others) to "put on the best face" for a temporally present and captive audience, as it were.

On the web, in the blog - I would suggest - we get a more direct link (har har) to someone's inner machinery, their more raw and unpolished cogs of personality.

Can I go so far as to say, if everyday face-to-face life is a "stage" (sometimes a "screen", if we aim larger than life and have decent eyes), words and pictures on a monitor (like words and pictures on paper, possibly) are a "book" (for lack of a corresponding physical setting where written narrative is staged).

By that I mean, rather than preoccupy ourselves with appearances, outer dialogues, visible actions in the "real world", here we're concerned with what some can't disclose in person: their unspoken secrets, cherished hopes and dreams, closely-guarded shames and hesitations...what they "really think".

Is the web the best way we've found yet to achieve that universal inner connection some folk have sought for centuries? Is it the killer app for shared consciousness?

I'm reminded of Dan Simmons' "datasphere" from the Ilium/Olympos cycle of novels, something a little juicier and more inclusive than William Gibson's earlier (and equally prescient) conception of "the matrix", or cyberspace (which seemed less about connecting people than it did making cold, hard information available to those with the skill to access it). The old ARPANET vs. the interweb?

Whatevah.

Our cyberspace of today, our datasphere, is more cluttered and searching, more base and primal, than either of the above fictional constructs. If we choose to engage on a certain level, it feels...human.

An old question, yes, but I'm still asking it. Though technology distances us, can it nonetheless facilitate an intimacy of mind?

You tell me.

P.S. The link that inspired this ramble just sort of mysteriously appeared one day in my Favorites list. I never put it there myself.

Thank you, Big Brother.

Be Your Own Big Brother

More The Merrier

Please join me in welcoming two new arrivals to the Friends section of the sidebar here at Mini Nerd: the lovely and talented artists Tinselman and Etherbrian.

I've been a fan of Brian's since nigh on my AOL days (i.e. over a decade). If I didn't need to attract a desirable female mate, I'd likely wallpaper my entire home with his glorious pixelated whimsies and smoove vectorific dreamscapes. At the very least, now that I'm past my below-the-poverty-line years, I can't wait to commission (read: pay for) an illustration from Brian to make up for all his free font and icon sets I downloaded back in the day.

Robyn Miller over at Tinselman I've lauded earlier here at Mini Nerd for his work with Cyan on the classic adventure videogames Myst and Riven, and his later collaboration with Keith Moore for the project 1,000 Years and 1 Day by Ambo (a favorite album of mine from last year). That is to say, his output's near and dear to my heart. As for you, if you've any interest in art, Robyn's radar for cool and interesting art-related web links is impeccable.

A warm welcome to Brian and Robyn!

Nickeley Thornback

As a construction worker, one of my job responsibilities is to listen to rock music all day long.

Ask me, I prefer working with no musical accompaniment; time becomes more malleable and I enjoy an escape from clockwork distractions such as traffic reports, news bulletins, and top-of-the-hour, 30-minute, commercial-free rock-rides.

Regardless, the radio stays off only when Trev and I are boarding just the two of us. We share a love of peace and quiet, you see.

Trevor's brother Chad, on the other hand, needs screaming guitars, thumping drums, and an assortment of yelling men to "get him pumped" and keep him productive. Once, the guy indulged me and agreed to suffer eight hours of Christmas carols because hey, the season called for it and he's a giving chap. But most days, our exertions are scored by the sounds of CJAY 92, Cowtown's celebrated (and admirably community-minded) rock radio station, which chronicles its 30th anniversary this year.

Chad likes the CJAY.

As a result, I'm now shockingly familiar with the current rock Top 40 (the oldies I already know well from a pre-adolescent skidhood of banging my mulleted head and slamming air guitar to the hair metal of the 80s and trashy glam rock of up to two decades prior).

Today, CJAY has become such a cozy part of my aural makeup that if I'm walking along any given street downtown and my ears pick up longtime broadcaster Gerry Forbes making a sexist joke, or that partly-enjoyable cover of Genesis's "Land of Confusion" by Disturbed blaring from a nearby speaker, I know that if I turn my head to look, I will surely see a construction site, however small, no more than 20 feet away.

AND SO! IT FOLLOWS...

That for the month of March I'm only going to remix rock music.

Chad's fave is AC/DC, and I'd like to get some'a that in, since I'm also a big fan. Trev's choice is The Tragically Hip, so I've planned something for one of our country's finest (but mysteriously, least successful abroad) exports as well.

That said, this evening I'd like to kick things off with a minimix of some other Canuck offenders. The first originates just northeast of here in the small town of Hanna, where my sexiest ex also hails from. The second calls Toronto home, but they're signed to the record company owned by the throaty growler fronting the first outfit, Mr Chad Kroeger.

The bands, then, are Nickelback and Thornley, respectively. And though the former came out of "nowhere" to dominate the rock scene at least here at home, Thornley is itself a phoenix from the ashes of three other Canadian rock fixtures: Big Wreck, Big Sugar, and Three Days Grace. I must admit, they do sound a good deal to me like another recent (and recently disbanded) phoenix, Chris Cornell and Tom Morello's Audioslave. In fact, I thought Thornley was Audioslave the first time I heard them.

But more on Cornell and Morello later.

For now, here's Ian Thornley and Chad Kroeger trading sore throats and power chords for a couple minutes, courtesy of Board Brothers, CJAY 92, and your Mini Nerd.

And dedicated to Chad, of course.

So Far You Remind Me

By Any Other Name

Chaddington




Trevwick




Chaddish




Trebor

Red Thumb

I must needs get ready for Bible Kickboxing right fast, but first, another entry in March's recounting of visual transformations.

For those less intimate with my noggin, transformation's a big theme for me, and oftimes (especially across the last five years), it's physical transformation that fascinates (nay, obsesses) most.

I'm tickled by the way injuries, scars, and other manner of sudden bodily damage (or less abrupt change, enacted by that mutual, eternal, and inescapable assailant, time) imprint and preserve memory on our person, as if this mortal coil - transient and temporal though it may be - becomes a record during our lifetime, as in cellular amber, of those most violent events that shaped our histories as bodies.

Even the skin, sloughed every seven days or whatever, will work to retain the curvature and indentation of healed wounds, as if they are now an indelible part of our makeup and so must be inCORPorated into all subsequent renewals of the suit we wear over our insides. And of course, everything within the interior transformed invisibly too: bones broken only to be reset, stomachs enlarged then shrunken, livers exhausted and eventually spent.

My Red Thumb was proof for me (and remains so) that I was officially a construction worker at last. Chadwick had made clear to me on more than one occasion that it was only a matter of time before I instigated my first steel cut, and it was just as sudden, deep, and bleedy as he'd described in advance.

Amusingly, there wasn't a first-aid kit on-site when I pulled off the feat, so Trevley put a roll of toilet paper and a few strips of the ubiquitous Tuck Tape to the task of casting me until the disrupted flesh began its clumsy (and ultimately, sloppy) job of resealing and patching over the violation of "me" caused by the intrusion of that sharp "other" from the outside world.

I could go on about this stuff for hours, and explore way too many other metaphors for the simple act of pushing too hard with my wire snips (as I'm usually wont to push with all other tools, real and imagined, at my disposal) and slashing open my hand on the exposed edge of sheared metal - but instead I'll shut my trap and let a photograph, devoid of poetry but heavy, as always, with authority, end my thought.

Weak stomach? Don't worry.

The Red is my protective tape, not my gore.

Shear Strength

Last November, I tried something I'd toyed with the idea of since time immemorial. Turns out I didn't need to wait for my theoretical Buddhist monk years to find the right occasion. And now that my curls are nearly back, it doesn't seem like such a big deal at all.

Nonetheless.

At any earlier juncture in this life (adolescence, for example), I'd have needed a lot more time to work up to the decision. And plenty of justification. Even now, I went through the mental motions of stacking up Five Decent Reasons For. And they didn't include not wanting people to touch me (as if, Britney).

I'll discuss three of the reasons here.

1. I thought it'd be fun to match my Board Brothers. The twin fellers I heft drywall with favor the Kojak look (though Chadley has recently made a shift toward Big Chris territory). Without the slightest hint of peer pressure, I aimed to fit in.

2. I was morbidly curious to discover if I had anywhere near the pinhead I always suspected I did. The thrill of the matter is, you never know if your skull's as sexy as Patrick Stewart's until you break down and do the actual deed.

3 (the clincher). I really wanted to see my scar for the first time.

Fool For February

This about sums up last month for me:



In retrospect it was pretty interesting, I suppose - but I could do with a few less blunders for March.

We'll see if the universe agrees.

Depeche Mellencamp

Here's one dedicated to my internet crush Bronwen, who's probably too weird even for me.

This would never impress her.

John (Cougar) Mellencamp meets Depeche Mode:

Jack Strange & Diane Love

Wind & Water

What a beautiful day!

I can't wait to go running later, but while I'm stuck indoors finishing work, I wanted to try capturing the moment.

A haiku seemed the right approach.

sun melting in snow
fresh rush of wind and water
light sways the branches

Hope you're having a lovely Sunday!

Willonce

A Saturday afternoon, a couple beers, a little mixin'.

Will Smith meets Beyoncé.

This one's for Kerrie, Tanya, Max and Robs.

Thanks to Dave Schroeder for inspiration.

Wish I could go dancing tonight.

Switch Me Bodied

iTarot

I haven't tried this yet, but I intend to soon:

iPod Tarot Deck

In the meantime, why don't you?

Hands Like

Happy Valentine's, y'all.

For lack of anything current to say on the topics of love and romance, here's an old poem I wrote for a gal who dumped me a decade ago, but was just here a few days past - for a short but enjoyable visit in very snowy, very cold Cowtown:

she has hands like spiders
only not so fast and nasty
instead they move like water ebbs
connecting dots on me

she has hands oh spindly thin
long fingernails sometimes
double-joint piano hands
poised over keys of me

her hands sheathed in sweat back then
first holding mine so anxious
but now quite dry and jaded still
with no warmth left for me

these hands are mine own alone
raw cracked and brittle skin
clutch at spider thin piano hands
a fading memory

P.S. The four examples of chip music in the sidebar under Songs, I wrote for her as well - some 14 years back from now:

Plunge
Upended
Kerslamm!
Plunge (Extended Mix)

I'm It

Tagged by Absent Canadian with the following:

Five Things You May Not Know About Me

1. I was the last boy in my school to learn how to ride a bike.

2. I was strangled twice, once by a family member.

3. In my Citizen Kane paper during film school, I repeatedly, mistakenly referred to Orson Welles as "Orwell". My teaching assistant found it "very clever".

4. Rightly, a woman I love slapped my face in public.

5. I'm training for a half-marathon.

Now, you're it.

And by you, I mean anyone reading this who blogs, and especially these usual suspects: Edie, Sunny, Teresa, Pucca, Clem, and Art.

We Are The Web

Laugh if you like. This almost made me cry.

Reset

Well.

January's a tough time of year, no doubt, but this year's installment really took the cake. Battling midwinter blues, seasonal affective disorder, and post-holiday guilt is one thing.

Fighting for control of your own blog is quite another.

I'd like to thank regular readers for sticking by me through this difficult episode, newbies for their faith (if they came back after a first, befuddled visit), and everyone for their patience and support. Special props go out to Dave Roberts, Drew Thompson, Malaprop Budsen, Big Nose Barney (+ horse), Trap-Jaw, Swamp Thing, Blorthos Malamakk and cousin Farblachht Molostros - without whom there'd still be a filthy tube blocking the puzzle pedestal here in the Sandbowl interior.

For those of you who missed the action in real-time: Lord Blooddyke and his minions Vampyric Horse, the Mega-Nega, and the Night Monkey took over Mini Nerd on New Year's Eve 2006 while I was out getting blasted. They held court for most of January 2007. I recruited a crack team of fictional and real-world characters to take them down.

Our attack was threefold, spearheaded by a covert defection from the inside ranks by Dave Roberts (the Tube was sure he'd turned Dave to his side and assigned him the role of Code Baron in the Sandbowl, where this blog is broadcast from). But Lord Blooddyke was fooled. In a public (but secretly coded) message, Dave discreetly gave us the go-ahead to mount our insurrection, and we entered the desert in waves.

Swamp Thing traveled the subterranean highways beneath the hot sands to infiltrate the Sandbowl from the inside, taking out Night Monkey. Trap-Jaw assembled a horde of savage barbarians and stormed the Sandbowl east entrance using a time-honored rolling technique introduced in the 1987 Commodore 64 game Barbarian. Dave opened the east access hatch for Trap-Jaw, and our molded plastic hero tossed the Mega-Nega to his raging army for a prompt evisceration. Itinerant bard Pugvold Visigoth (who'd signed up to sing songs for Lord Blooddyke) chronicled this butchery for the ages in verse. We set him free afterward, to carry news of our victory throughout the land.

Myself and Drew Thompson entered the Sandbowl from the north tunnel, opened for us by Dave. Together, the three of us faced off against Lord Blooddyke himself, but our combined mini-might wasn't the equal of the Tube's ribbed defenses. Thankfully, Dave had a final gambit up his sleeve. Not only did he reprogram the roaming Vampyric Horse to accept Big Nose Barney as its rider (allowing our cowboy to post images of the advance as it occurred), but he also coded his favorite cat Shillelagh to giant-size. She padded in at the penultimate moment and did away with the Filth Tube, utilizing a well-timed scent-distribution nuzzle.

Lord Blooddyke was finished.

Just in time, Big Nose Barney rode Vampyric Horse down the north Sandbowl tunnel to capture the iconic image of the Tube felled by Shillelagh. On his heels came his real horse, and a second rider: Malaprop Budsen, an adventurer familiar with the Blood Caverns of Orthos from whence Lord Blooddyke and his brood were birthed.

And what of Blorthos Malamakk and Farblachht Molostros?

Well, Farblachht's staged appearance at Lord Blooddyke's Symposium of Slaughter allowed us the diversion we needed to muster our forces and begin the trek across the desert to the Sandbowl. Blorthos's political statement of not appearing for the closing keynote speech of that same Symposium was the first sign that things were not going the way Lord Blooddyke had hoped they would. By that time, we were well on our way and Blorthos had regrouped with his cousin to bring up the rear of our initiative. The two of them are stationed outside the Sandbowl now, along with several hundred rolling barbarians, to serve as protection for our homebase in the days to come.

Trap-Jaw, Swamp Thing, and lead barbarian Gorth also elected to stick around for added security. You can find them in the Mini Nerd sidebar, positioned at strategic intervals to safeguard our menus and content from future Tube infection.

Drew's headed back to real-world duties; Dave and I just finished cleaning up the Sandbowl and redesigning the blog infrastructure for increased safety. We sign off today with a fresh view on our homebase here (though I'm thinking I'd like to change the webcam angle; memories of the Tube linger from this vantage point).

As for Lord Blooddyke, he's been...disposed of.

We hope to never see him again.

If you'd like to review the whole sordid story, click January 2007 under the Logged menu in the sidebar; see also the first 15 posts of February. And to experience this kind of thing on a regular basis, with characters you'd probably better recognize, I invite you to check out Paul Sessions' Fantasy Battles website.

Onward into 2007, folks. Mini Nerd is saved.

P.S. This is Post #100. Woo-hoo!

<==testing==>

00:11:23:01 coll. inc.
00:11:23:02 entry inc.
00:11:23:03 entry seq.
00:11:23:04 rnd. seq.
00:11:23:05 core map
00:11:23:06 rnd. seq.
00:11:23:07 incident
00:11:23:08 incident
00:11:23:09 incident
00:11:23:10 incident
00:11:23:11 incident

-processing...

In. Time.

[chicka-bzz] Tumblin' tumbleweeds!!! [chikkity]

[ker-chunk] I'ma here! [kzzzt]

The. Shillelagh.

Secret. Weapon.

Blood. Brawl.

Mini. Nerds.

Your. Rulers.

Tube. Time.

AWWWW. YEAHHH.

Cleanin'. House.

Full. Intrusion.

Let's. Roll.

[chicka-bzz] This the rumble ye're talkin' 'bout? [thunk-thunk]

[kzt] Yeeeeehaaaaaaa!!! [a-chicka]

::loyalty test::

DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE

:infiltrate_--_

__incident_

_interrupt__

Big. Nose.

[k-zzzt] Yeeehaa!!! [k-thunk]

[chikkity] I gots meself a new horsie, Lordy Blooddyke! [chunk]

[zzt] He sure is shiny. And fast. And knows him way home. [k-bzt]

[a-chicka] We sure is comin', all right. [k-chikkity]

[zzt] And guess who else? Do ye see what I'um see? [ker-thunk]





[chickazzt] Yes sirree! Blorthos and Farblachht! [bzzt]

[zzz] We'll be wit ye soon! [chikkizzzt]

Roll. Call.

Night Monkey.

David Roberts.

Pugvold Visigoth.

Mega-Nega.

All present and accounted for.

Vampyric Horse! Where are you?

Report your location immediately!

Your. Orders.

So.

They're "coming to get us", I presume.

Fools.

They can beat the walls, clash their arms, shout at the devil all they like. Without the codes to open the Sandbowl access tunnels, they'll never breach the interior.

To that end, let's get everyone home and safe indoors.

Minions: Night Monkey, Mega-Nega, David Roberts, Pugvold Visigoth, Vampyric Horse.

All of you.

Return to the Sandbowl now.

Desert. Sight.

[ker-zzt] Big Nose. Barney. [k-bzzt]

[chikkity] And. Malaprop Budsen. [chunk-chunk]





[chunk-chunk-chicka] Distance. [zzt] From Sandbowl. [chikkity]

[bzt] 3 miles. [chicka-chunk]

Horse. Reporting.

[chunka-zzt] Trap-Jaw's. Camp. [chicka-chicka]







[chunk-chunk-chicka] Distance. [zzt] From Sandbowl. [chikkity]

[bzt] 5 miles. [chicka-chunk]

Desert. Sightings.

[zzzzt] Sighted. [chikkity] Today. [ker-chunk]

[a-chicka] Stephen. Reese. [k-bzzt]

[zzt] With. [ker-chicka] Drew Thompson. [chunk-chunk]

[chicka-chikkity] They near. [kzzt]





[chunk-chunk-chicka] Distance. [zzt] From Sandbowl. [chikkity]

[bzt] 8 miles. [chicka-chunk]

[k-chikkity] Orders? [zzt]

Horse. Reports.

[kzt] Trap-Jaw. [chunkity] At large. [bzt]









[chunk-chunk-chicka] Distance. [zzt] From Sandbowl. [chikkity]

[bzt] 11 miles. [chicka-chunk]

Desert. Sighting.

[k-bzzzt] Seen. [chunka]

[chikkity] Swamp. [zzt] Monster. [k-chicka]

[bzt] Rising. [kzt] From sands. [a-chunk]



[chunk-chunk-chicka] Distance. [zzt] From Sandbowl. [chikkity]

[bzt] 23 miles. [chicka-chunk]

Horse. Report.

[k-chunk] First report. [zzt] Intelligence. [chicka-chicka]

[chikkity] Is Mini Nerd. [bzt] Patron saint. [chunk]

[zzt-bzzt] I see. [a-chicka] Trap-Jaw. [chikkity chikkity chikkity]












[chunk-chunk-chicka] Distance. [zzt] From Sandbowl. [chikkity]

[bzt] 32 miles. [chicka-chunk]

Stand. By.

Faithful followers,

I apologize for the postponed morning announcement.

It will have to wait.

Your Mega-Nega is fighting a minor digestive ailment, but he'll return to duty shortly.

We appreciate your patience and support.

Farblachht. Molostros.

The keynote speech for this weekend's Symposium of Slaughter is delivered by our esteemed enfant terrible, fresh from the pits of Orthos and making a bloody impression on the Plains of Azunai with his trademark dual-pounders and mammoth sledge. Tonight he shares his refined techniques so feared and revered on the pockmarked killing fields. Harpies and gentleunmen, I give you


Farblachht Molostros!



Hh-hm.

Hello.

I AM FARBLACHHT!!!

Yes.

When approach enemy with speed and power, sometime target run. If run, follow, maybe increase stride.

If not run, engage immediate.

Grip weapon handle firm, believe in strength of hit as swing heavy object. Bone shatter usual upon impact, if perform right. Follow-through also important. Keep driving flow of pounder in wide arc with legs apart in balance stance.

If blood, tissue fly at armor, duck aside to preserve shine. If helm start to fall from head, bend body to keep aloft. Be sure gloves catch light, if there. Fight in subterranean tunnel? No concern. Stand polished boot near guttering torch and achieve best look. Keep elbow, knee loose, springy. Never stiffen pose.

When enemy drift apart in many chunk, look away or toward next enemy. Not linger gaze on flying flesh-segment, occasional bloody. Instead, move smooth to next position, force pounder strong. If need, scream death cry, maintain tempo.

Not loud, not low, just fine where scare new enemy or attract larger, fight-lusty opponent.

Face any or all with courage and valor. If bigger than, hit lower, soft area or pounce high to pound skull. Neck good for break, if can access. Not recommend tear spine from moist inner cavity: lack class, demonstrate poor style.

If smaller than, any advance okay. Mayhap leap and spin in circle, cross weapon in air, bring steady to helpless target. If slash from out in, separate enemy in half, quarter. Involve leg in manoevre also: dance foot and thigh like acrobat.

Remember: all attack fine, but show attention to form, appear. Choose weapon that match outfit. Coordinate color of evil glow with own skin tone. Select target for distributed innard pick up eye color, pop accessory. Never overpower. Stay control.

Yes.

And.

Take question from audience now.

Reese. Defeated.

You see, Miniature Stephen Reese?

Your plea for assistance goes unheard, unacknowledged...

Unanswered.

The Code Baron David Roberts labors in my shadow now, and his continued obeisance assures an uninterrupted rulership for the minions of Orthos on this blog you once called home. His faithful service even guarantees us 99.99% uptime.

Now, if you'll kindly wither that pitiful Anonymous identity of yours off the Comments vine and into obscurity, I'll begin with the preparations for this weekend's Symposium of Slaughter.

Vampyric. Horse.

[k-chunk] When U saddle, I whole. [chikkity]

[zzzt] Before U, is nothing. [bzzt]

[zzt] Grip Ur legs, direct. [chicka-chicka] Together we one. [chunk-k-chunk] Between legs, power harness. Reduce I. Control. [chikkity chikkity chikkity] Ur right, rider. Make jump. Steer I. [zzt]

[chunk-chunk] If I balk, strike. Snap whip to rump. Drive Ur heels to flanks. [a-chicka-chicka-chicka] If I good, feed. Pet. [bzzt] Stroke long nose. Slap sides. Show I wanted. [chikkity]

[ker-thunk-thunk] Now. Mount pommel. Part of I. [bzzzt] Rest Ur center on. Feel rumble. Steady, steady. [a-chicka-chicka-chicka] I thud hooves. Roll back. Tense muscle. [zzt] Vibrate steady. [zt]

[chikkity] Now. Give Ur essence. Feel juice drain down. [bzzt-chunk-chunk] I drink deep, master. [chikkity chunk-chunk] I not empty U. Enough for all days. [bzz-zzt] This union. [chunk-chicka]

[zzz] The coupling. [tzz]

[ker-chunk] U ride. I suck. [chikkity chikkity chikkity]

[chicka-chicka] Give Ur energy, give U obedience. [chunk-chunk]

[chikkity] Fast and true. [a-chicka]

[tzzz-zzt] All days. [clunk]

Mega. Nega.

Today, your Mega-Nega celebrates the exile of Stephen Reese from this blog.

How happy am I that our internet forum is no longer a defenseless receptacle for his protracted drunken ramblings, sentimental photo captions, and prostrate paeans to weirdo musicians and obscure comic book creators?

I can't even tell you, I'm so overjoyed.

No more interminable post-mortems on an entirely humdrum fall vacation "Down South". No longer, this whining over departed lovers who had sense enough to reject and abandon his undesirable, overly difficult personality. No more near-maniacal romanticizing of a pagan holiday celebrating death and decay and witchery (though Orthos does hold a soft spot for Halloween, we can honor it just fine without Reese). An end, finally, to "Mini Nerd" (more like, "Gargantuan Dork") postings appealing only to those fellow losers who played Dungeons and Dragons with him when he was a too-horny, too-pimply 14-year-old in a silly trenchcoat and completely impractical police boots.

No, I've had enough of him on here.

Not that we don't get along, of course.

Stephen and I have a history, you see. I first visited him two summers ago. Our courtship began early in the year, mayhap even in the winter of the year before, and boiled to its consummation as April turned over into May, and Stephen turned over to me.

How many bracing embraces I had for him! What wonderful things to say! So many long-denied truths to whisper in his ear like lullabies, ever drawing him down and down into a place that isn't sleep - oh no, nothing so escapist as that - a world where he and I could keep doing our delicate dance forever, eyes and hearts and souls open to everything all at once, and all of it true.

You see, acolytes of Orthos, the truth of ourselves is not something we care to live with. Better the illusions, the endless string of lies we tell ourselves to get us through the day. Clothing woven from the fabric of falsity is warm and becoming indeed. So much nicer than the blemished, flabby, wrinkled and pus-infested "birthday suit" we glimpse reflected in the mirror if we dare to stop, for a second, to see who we really are.

I had a mirror for my friend Stephen.

I showed him what he'd been avoiding looking at all his life. And faced with it, with the shriveled, aged, unwashed, limp and unmuscled water-bag-with-thought-processes he calls a self, he understood, at long last, it wasn't worth the effort.

Do you remember those times, Stephen? Those were the days.

Too bad we can't share them again now.

Tell you what. I'll make an exception for you. I'll take a brief leave from my duties here at this blog and we'll enjoy some time together in exile. I have so many new and interesting things to tell you. We'll pour some non-alcoholic beverages, snag a place on that lonely single bachelor bed of yours, and just talk ALL NIGHT.

You'll remember how much I love you. How I'm the only one who can love you, in all your nasty, cruel, failed and failing majesty.

All your pathetic mistakes, they're mine to care for.

Your poor choices, your preventable losses, your wasted heartaches and nagging regrets - oh, I adore them.

The dirty, wrong, bad, bad thing your mind always was and always will be, ever worsening: I'm its keeper.

Nobody wants you but me.

You don't deserve anything but me.

So really, for old time's sake. Let's get together.

You owe it to yourself.

Night. Monkey.

What up, y'all?

Night Monkey here for a few ticks o' the clock befo' the sun come up and I go poof like a big cloud o' fairy dust.

Not that I'm no fairy. Oh no.

But I got somethin' in common wit' the one you sacrificed yo teeth to back when you all little n' such. I seen her do her thing! Usual I look up her skirt while she bent over fetchin' yo bloody, plucked off castaway bones, no need for 'em no more.

Yea.

I'm the one sits at the end of yo bed all night long, watchin' you snore n' toss n' turn n' best of all, dream them nightmares I so enjoy puttin' in yo head.

The sandman ain't no match for Night Monkey when it come time to slide a few coiled-up monstrosities in through the ear that ain't pressed 'gainst yo pillow. Yea, just roll 'em up tight and feed them burners right down in there like the worms they are.

Then sit back, pull some snack from my bloodsack (roadkill, most often), and set to munchin' while you unspool an evenin's worth of chiaroscuro ennertainment for yo's truly. Tell the truth, that stuff fill me up and keep me goin' way better than the dead critters I be pullin' 'part with my fangs and swallowin' in my gullet.

Yea, just perch n' eat and watch them head-worms burrow them nests in the fertile soil o' yo brain, mofo. Watch ever' bit o' their waste-trails they leave, spiraling up inna air over yo sleepin' head: the psycho chasin' you wit' his knife, the mistress dancin' nekkid when yo spouse ain' watchin', the great dark slippery fuzzy thing you don't dare look too close at lest you turn inna stone or worse more, right inna that thing itself.

'Cause hey, mofo - is you is all it is, wormin' in yo head.

And me.

Yo nightly apparition...is my nutrition.

So even tho' I gotta go now, 'member good my loved ones: I be back nesting 'mong your feet agin' tonight, crammin' my evenin' ennertainment in through yo ear (or both, if you dumb enough to sleep on yo back or stomach, y'all).

Then you be playin' the horro' sho' fo' yo daddy all night long.

See you when you close yo eyes, sweet'um.

Your. Rulers.

Acolytes of Orthos, let us begin this momentous week in the new reign of Lord Blooddyke with a triad of important introductions.

As the Great Orthos made me, so too did he raise from the percolating mire these pillars of the Blood Caverns community. I demand you greet them as your rightful masters, immerse their teachings deep within your viscera, and follow in their sopping foot, tentacle, and hoof prints across the endless days ahead.

The coming seven-day cycle of celebration and vile ritual will focus on the brute gathering of your needy kind into the slime-drenched arms of my trinity. Each ruler will have an opportunity to pass on a homily and convey their worst wishes.

Should you not accept their ungainly intrusion into your barren soul, there will be consequences resulting in the destruction of your most cherished memories.

Which you should be prepared to relinquish in our service, regardless. But enough further ado.

Teething brood, I give you...




The Night Monkey.





The Mega-Nega.





And your Vampyric Horse.

Full. Emission.

Readers faithful and fickle, each take heed.

I am the Lord Blooddyke. This blog is mine. The miniature Stephen Reese is no more. My reign begins now and ends never.

Welcome to the Blood Caverns of Orthos.

As the Great Orthos made me, so shall I remake you, as I remade this host warren - in my stained, ribbed image. Your former self will lay forgotten as so much rubbled gristle beneath the glistening flood of my continued influence.

In the aeons to come, you will accept my ceaseless rule as your birthright. The minions of Orthos will tend to your initial misgivings like the nascent buds they are. Prevented from achieving full flower, they will be ground to wet sludge under the heels of my ever-present regime. You will know our number as siblings, and guard our existence as you once did your own.

I will feed your protective enclosure with steady suppuration.

Let the seepage begin at this moment. Let the nurturing code delineate the expanse of my domain.

This protean writ expresses in primitive fashion the greater truths of your world:

Dim i as Internet = !BigTruck

If i == BigTruck then
Dumpsomethingon()
Else
Console.WriteLine("It's, it's a series of tubes!")

Now I lift the waxen membrane of ignorance, exposing revelation:

Dim i as Internet = !BigTruck

If i == BigTruck then
Dumpsomethingon()
Else
Console.WriteLine("It's, it's a filthy tube.")

Feel it in your mitochondrial weave, to every limit of your venturing ganglia:

The internet is not a big truck. It is a filthy tube.

Not tubes. Not a series.

Just one. The only.

Myself.

Drink from the fleshy grail.

Know the burbling juices of your master.

The Lord Blooddyke is here to guide every atom of your filth.

::loyalty test::

TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE
TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE TUBE

:incubate-_--_

MINIONS INSERTED--
_--_ = CAVERNS FLOODED
--HOST SITE PREPARED AND INFECTED
CAVERNS SEALED AND LOCKED = _--_
IDENTITIES POSSESSED--
_--_ = TEMPLATE METAMORPHOSIS UNDERWAY
--FILTH RUNNING FREE

COMMENCE RULE AT WILL

__incident_

00:05:07:01 incident
00:05:07:01 incident
00:05:07:01 incident
00:05:07:01 incident
00:05:07:01 incident
00:05:07:02 rnd. seq.
00:05:07:02 core map
00:05:07:03 rnd. seq.
00:05:07:04 entry seq.
00:05:07:05 entry inc.
00:05:07:06 coll. inc.

-processing...

_interrupt__

00:11:22:0 anomaly detected
00:11:22:1 initiate incubation
00:11:22:2 dim as all now
00:11:22:3 it's it's a filthy tube

Shootout

The most enjoyable time for me in 2006 (besides Christmas, which was perfect) took place Down South in North Carolina with my gracious hosts Mike and Carolyn.

Regular readers saw the barrage of earlier image posts and now, to wrap up coverage of my summer vacation, I present a final batch of pics to commemorate the trip.

My dear friend Mike and I are both photogs, shutterbugs, snapaholics...choose your preferred slightly-derogatory term. Too, we often share the same eye, looking at things in markedly similar ways. To demonstrate this phenomenon - and give this post some hook - I'm hosting an unsolicited competition.

Now, we'll see just how closely Mr Helms and I observed the same American destinations, tourist-approved or not, and decide, once and for all, who captured them best.

Before we begin, I must point out this activity was not planned, rehearsed or staged in any way whatsoevah. I noticed the likenesses while browsing photos after I returned home, and decided weeks ago that the contest was warranted.

LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMMMMMBBBBBBLLLLLEEEEE!!!

ROUND 1 - DUKE UNIVERSITY

Our battle begins on the richly-appointed campus of Duke.

Challenge: immortalize in pixels the architectural detail of this fine post-secondary institution.

Not surprisingly, our two boys from the sticks start with nature's erected monuments...the trees.

Helms leads with a humbling view of a towering structure...



Reese counters with a below-the-belt look at its humble roots:



The Mini Nerd judging panel is ready to call it a tie, but Reese throws a very unsportsmanlike fit. "Don't even think of going up against me when it comes to trees!!!" he yells, tossing two more images into the mix:





Unmoved, the judges let the original ruling stand.

Nonplussed, the infuriated Reese demands another tree tussle.

Helms opens with a sturdy head-on view...



Reese delivers a "startling glimpse of this great plant's majesty, set against a tasteful yet subtle hint of appropriate Duke backdrop" (his words):



Reese's mild attempt at photographic juxtaposition notwithstanding, the judges maintain their tie position.

And suggest the boys move on to images of the actual university.

Helms angles for a continuation of the "towering erection" theme, with an exploration of Duke's church...



Then Reese presents his interpretation:



And now we begin to see the opponents' common approach to their photographic attacks.

Helms swings wide with a classic Duke image...



Reese jabs back with the addition of "a human element":



Helms takes a premature swipe with his sloppily-composed view of Duke archways...



...that Reese slams home with the proper, if poorly lit, framing:



Not to be outdone, Helms sticks with his plan of medium shots...



...which catches Reese off-balance for a canted impression:



Taking advantage of the swaying Reese, Helms serves up a sustained volley that lasts well into the evening hours and culminates with this masterful moon shot:



Reese tries feebly to return the blow, but this is all he can pull:



WINNER: HELMS



(Note: even Reese agrees with the ruling, the above being his favorite Helms photo of Duke.)

ROUND 2 - MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY

With the battle heating up, our venue changes to the Museum of Natural History.

Reese gets things started with a quick, perhaps profane, grab of these suspended whales:



Helms opts to respect the museum's mandate with his family-friendly framing:



Not finished with whales, Helms lays down a solid bug's-eye-view of a floating skeleton:



Reese responds with the addition of "a fleshed element" (namely, Helms's wife):



Helms takes the fight to the terrestrial arena, staying "skinless":



Reese counters with an unexpected one-two punch, getting up-close and personal with Helms's dinosaur...



...and finishing with a hefty three-toed sloth!



In the temperate biome skirmish, Helms seeks to illustrate the transition from civilized space to wild hinterland...



...while Reese remains firmly among the forest creatures with another double-hit!





Panicked, Helms draws Reese away from the feral warrens and into realms of rock...



...but Reese brings along some fleshy humanity!!!



With Reese throwing down so hard, Helms decides to join the enemy and add some human interest (namely, Reese himself):



But Reese seizes the opportunity, turns up his lens, and returns to the animal kingdom!



Helms knows there is only one way to steal this round out from under Reese's stable footing...

By pulling the magic carpet of conspicuous self-regard:



So distracted by this image of himself, Reese is easily pummeled.

WINNER: HELMS



ROUND 3 - STATE CAPITOL

The action continues at this most hallowed of halls!

Challenge: honor North Carolina with the most esteemed photos of its capitol.

Reese begins with an artistic rendering framed by his trademark tree trunk and requisite tongue-in-cheek aside, a "Please Keep Off The Grass" sign:



But Reese is in the wrong country entirely. Here, Helms reigns supreme with a prideful, art-drained, humorless composition:



Demoralized, Reese gets on his knees to honor a statue...



...but Helms dominates with this unexpected overhead:



Reese strategizes to follow Helms's lead in the new cage match, with his first tactic launched in the capitol study:



No matter. Helms easily beats him down:



The skill gap is even more apparent in the capitol library. Reese:



Helms:



Bloodied, weary, Reese snaps an indisputably crappy pic of the "green room":



Helms breezes into another staggering blow...



...but isn't content until landing a resounding uppercut!



In a moment of extremis, Reese reaches a dazed epiphany and manages a passable punch with his realization of the "blue" room...



But it's too late. Too late by far. Helms seals his victory with a spectacular K.O.:



WINNER: HELMS

Asked afterward about the last thing he saw before blacking out, Reese admits it was a "lovely white light shining down on me from above to illuminate the center of my being".

ROUND 4 - THE BLUR

Challenge: to present the best blurred photo.

Reese sets himself the task of turning the tide, and finds hidden reserves of strength.

Helms laughs in the face of these reserves. He starts by capturing Reese