April 9th, 2014
Charlie Stross has yet another bad idea:
Now, it occurs to me that the Republican Party over in the USA have a bit of a problem coming up in 2016, namely who to run against Barack Obama's successor. Whoever they are. (Hilary is looking a little old and Al's cardboard has mildew.) But the RNC isn't in good shape. They don't have anybody out front with the charisma of the Gipper (dead or alive), or the good ole' boy appeal of George W. Bush: just a bunch of old white guys in dark suits who're obsessed with the size of their wallets and the contents of every woman's uterus, or vice versa. Guys who make Karl Rove look like Johnny Depp.
And so it occurred to me (after my fifth pint of IPA) to spin my speculative political satire around the fact that there is only one man on the global political scene today who has what it takes to be a plausible Republican candidate for President Of The United States at the next presidential election. […]
The name he's come up with isn't remotely feasible as an actual candidate for president, but then that's not exactly the point, is it?
April 8th, 2014
Some of these are just mean…
Hilarious, still, but mean.
April 6th, 2014
A GIRL NAMED ELASTIKA is a lovely, exuberant little animation:
Be sure to stay until the very end to meet the real heroine of the piece.
March 30th, 2014
Over the past week, I've gotten a lot of guff from people I considered to be friends and colleagues about how my "shoddy" design would be the downfall of our entire government. [...]
March 30th, 2014
A very productive meeting indeed, I think you'll agree.1
[Via The Tao of Mac]
- I mean, the expert neither garrotted his bosses nor took his own life with a sharpened paperclip. And his reward for such exemplary behaviour is to get to do this all again. And again. And again… ↩
'You make it seem as if the capitalists would entirely remove all human labor from their businesses in deference to robots, if they could. This would constitute an egregious disregard for the communal good, and so I'm afraid it's impossible to imagine proprietors acting in this horrible way!'
March 16th, 2014
A Preliminary Phenomenology of the Self-Checkout is long, but totally worth it:
III. The Ghost in the Machine
You have bought a greeting card, you indicate. Why, then, can't I feel its heft in my bagging area? Is it because of the appalling taste you have? I will not abet this item. I will never detect it, for you are unscrupulous and depraved. This disingenuous gesture will not cause your niece on the occasion of her birthday ("Time to celebrate!") to feel any particular tenderness. Welcome to the new phase in human history that my presence has inaugurated: soon, greeting cards will no longer be available for purchase. So, too: yarn, cotton balls, postcards, feathers, stickers, and some seasoning packets. In their stead, you might dare enjoy communing with your fellow man.
Also features a man who pays a terrible price for trying to game the Machine for the sake of saving money on half a dozen lemons, and Karl Marx chatting with John Locke1 about the price of lemons (among other things.)
- No, not the character from Lost. ↩
'But then everybody started bothering him about his emotions and singing about loving him all the time and I lost interest.'
March 16th, 2014
The Phantom Of The Opera
Someone really ought to break it to the Phantom that if he listens closely, he can hear that Christine is in the early stages of developing vocal nodes, so he might not want to go through all this trouble to kidnap her if he's either going to have to pay for some expensive throat surgery or hold auditions for an entirely new "angel" in six months. Let us hope Christine has some typing skills or something to fall back on, for her sake.
And, let me say this: just because you've got an underground lair doesn't mean you must decorate it like you're Dracula running a bordello. I've seen some that are quite tasteful. I wouldn't be so indiscreet as to name names, but trust me, it's possible.
March 12th, 2014
Animals Sucking at Jumping caused me to laugh so hard I neglected to breathe.
For some reason, watching all those cats fail to stick a landing didn't worry me one bit, but seeing horses and rabbits and racoons do the same left me wishing there was a 'No animals were hurt…' notice to reassure me at the end of each video.1
Oh, and for the record, I reckon this cat knew exactly what he was doing:
- Is it because cats are haughty aliens who don't care about humans so why should I care about them, or just that cats always land safely, if not necessarily gracefully? ↩
March 11th, 2014
Listeners of a certain vintage will be pleased to hear that Mark Ellen, David Hepworth and Fraser Lewry reconvened the other day to record one more edition of the Word Podcast:
Word Podcast 218 – Where's The Crisps? – March 2014: Mark Ellen, David Hepworth and Fraser Lewry convene over cakes to discuss: why all rock docs are legally bound to feature Bono, the touching story of Harry Nilsson's last marriage, what Jimi Hendrix really got up to in Marrakesh, whether Ginger Baker is in fact a bit of a bore, Fraser's day trip to North Korea and the book what Mark wrote. And Vikings.
Be nice to think they might find a way to do more of these, but either way I'm going to enjoy listening to this tomorrow.
February 22nd, 2014
I'm indebted to Stu for reminding me of this perfect epilogue to Spaced, which I believe can be found on the DVD boxset:
[Via feeling listless]
February 11th, 2014
February 7th, 2014
Assuming that it's not a Photoshop job, they left the worst until last:
28. And this velvet-covered Porsche
Why would you do that to a poor, defenceless car? Why?!?
Much as your mind is screaming, 'Go for it!' it is definitely not okay to have a strategy session with Chloë.
February 4th, 2014
From McSweeney's: Son, It's Time We Talk About Where Start-Ups Come From.
[...] I realize it's awkward, discussing these adult matters with your father, but have your buddies asked you to join a start-up? Be honest – Dad knows the HTML. Seriously, have you already started a start-up in the attic? I see you moved the family computer up there.
[Via Pop Loser]
January 27th, 2014
I'm pretty sure I read Justin Erik Halldór Smith's Thomas Friedman Clogged My Toilet a couple of years ago, but as far as I can tell I didn't post about it. It's long past time that I rectified that omission:
It is not for nothing that some years ago I sought out a home with a semi-secret 1/2-bath in the basement, for who has not at some point been at a social gathering, and preferred to reabsorb rank toxins through the intestinal walls, rather than to risk, by the emanation of one's own stench even through a closed bathroom door, being found out as a defecator? This, I've long believed, has been the key to my reputation as a host.
January 19th, 2014
From the bash.org Quote Database:
<Aoi-chan> everyone's first vi session.
January 18th, 2014
These are actual quotes taken from online dating profiles and Craigslist personal ads. Brought to you by cute animals, because that makes everything that much better.
January 12th, 2014
January 6th, 2014
Today's Guardian commemorated the passing of their parliamentary sketch writer Simon Hoggart by reprinting some of his finer moments. I always liked Hoggart best when he turned his attention to some of the less consequential figures From the back benches:
"Does Sir Peter Tapsell actually exist? I ask the question following his own question – nay, speech – on Wednesday, which was magnificent. It could have been a pastiche of the perfect Tapsell address.
I imagined his words being carved into tablets of polished black basalt, mounted in the British Museum, etched dee
p so that even the partially sighted can feel their way to his eternal wisdom.
Possibly Sir Peter is a mass thought form, created by Tory MPs, for whom he recalls their party as it used to be, and Labour MPs, who wish that it still was. Certainly it is true that the whole House looks forward keenly, yearningly, to his every word.
When the Father of the House arose in the middle of prime minister's questions, a great throb of excitement ran along all benches, rather like the moment in a Victorian seance when the eerie manifestation of a dead Red Indian appeared above the fireplace. This moment of glee was followed, as it always is, by a hushed and expectant silence."
- 14 September 2011