I'm assuming everyone here knows what RTFM means. If not, well, SNAFU, which, as you most likely know, means Situation Normal (or Nominal, in some cases), All Fouled (or a similar adjective, stemming from another four letter word beginning with f) Up. Likewise, RTFM means Read The Friendly (and, again, F can stand for other adjectives...) Manual. If you already knew this, then SUSFU. Onwards.SUSFU, by the way, means Situation Unchanged, Still Fucked Up.
The word of the day is Hoodwinked. Archaicaly, this meant blindfolded. An obsolete meaning of the word is that of concealed. Currently, it means decieved. Also, it's the title of a movie.
Before you profile it as a "kiddie movie", just because it's approved for all audiences and it's CG animation and it tells the ancient story of Little Red Riding Hood (with many a twist, mind you), I'd just like to say screw you, it's a bundle of laughs and if you can't find it in you to laugh at the many funnies in it, your loss. If, however, you weren't planning on profiling it in any way, then don't screw you. Be merry, read on.
I had had the pleasure of seeing this film before, although through the veil of a dubbing. Sure enough, in some countries, dubbings are of very high quality indeed (I'm told that in Germany, for example, the most renowed actors are dubbed by the same voice actor in every movie, so that his/her voice may be easily recognised in any dubbing), but over here someone even managed to translate a word processor cursor as if it were the word "I" (in Superman Returns. By the way, not impressive). This time I got to see it in it's untranslated glory. But that's not what this entry is about.
The young lady at the ticket counter must have misinterpreted my very odd accent (which, to this day, I didn't know I had) and was probably not sure if I had asked for a seat "in the centre of the room" or "way back and in a corner", so she gave me something in between. A waste of good seats, I say, the room was just about empty, except for myself, a couple or two and a very odd group, the very focus of this entry.
They were four, and four they were. Not three, not five, not six, but four. Four girls, two pre-teen girls, a very young child and (probably) her mother, nearly all with extra bright (hmm, not very catchy... how about Xtra-Brite?) cellphones, very crunchy popcorn and pretty slurpy drinks. Perfect...
At this point, I'd like to toss this little tidbit of meat to the beasts: what is it with popcorn at the movies? Bevrages i can understand, since even with air conditioning it gets pretty stuffy and dry in a theater, but popcorn? They always look and smell better than they taste, with artificial colorant and artificial butter-ish flavour, but in the end, they're just sugary, bland noisemakers, aren't they? Why do people still buy them? Why, o, why...
Onwards, then. Just as they find their seats they take their time to settle. Mathematics (Combinatory Calculus, to be more precise) tells us that four people can occupy four seats in a row in 4! (that's factorial, not "four!" as in "Oh my God, four!") different manners, that is, 4x3x2x1=24 manners. They tried nearly all of them until they found themselves comfortable. Then comes the crunching of popcorn, and the slurping of drinks and the beeping of cellphones and the lighting up half the room with them and we're not even done with the trailers yet. Also, they're talkers. I know... bliss, isn't it?
And then the movie starts. Just as the narrator begins his tale, the white subtitles sprinkle the bottom of the screen (you wouldn't believe the effort I've put into training myself not to get distracted by those things. I really don't need them, but I find myself rushing to read them out of reflex...) and the oldest (sounds a bit mean... let's say "least young" instead) of them says "It's in English?". Well, congratualtions, madam, you sure know your languages. I was hoping they'd be able to slip some five, maybe ten minutes of film before you noticed. What was it that tipped you off? Was it the "VO" (Stands for original version, in case you're wondering) next to the movie title above the room door? Was it the "VO" in the fliers outside? or was it the colossal sticker reading "Original Version" on the poster?
Dope...
Innevitably, pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark Sits idly by, grasping, to the best of his ability, the few remaining days of his vacation, yet ever aware that with each day gone by, he's one day closer to his dreams.
Liebe schmeckt wie Kaviar
Some of you might recall this line from one of the (not quite) recommended titles from this post. It means "love tastes like caviar" (or at least I think it does). But then again, "Love is only any good when it hurts" (For 200 points, which misician was that from?), and caviar... I suppose something is very wrong when caviar hurts. And just what is all this talk about caviar all about? Patience! I'm getting to it! Since when do I tolerate you to be so pushy!?
I had never really enjoied caviar before, but then again, I don't think I had ever had propper caviar before. At any rate, it's not my fault. Do you know what kind of stuff gets peddled around as caviar? Ever had some very fine, pitch black roe from a tin labeled "Caviar"? In all probability, that wasn't caviar at all. Actual caviar, I'll have you know, doesn't need to be pitch black or very small eggs. Caviar can be grey, brownish and even reddish in colour and each individual egg can be anywhere from as small as one millimeter in diameter to as large as a pea. And don't you go buying Beluga caviar (unless you're in Russia, in which case I envy you), because you're lucky if that's even caviar at all. And I'm nowhere closer to making a point, but you know what, that's the beauty of being the blogger around here. My blog, my rules.
Me, I've just had some real osetra caviar, brouhgt by a beloved relative from a vacation in Russia, and, my, I can't believe I've waited this long to get my hands (and my taste buds) on the stuff. I've just split a tiny jar of it with... erm... never you mind who I split it with... and I'm almost glad it was such a tiny portion, otherwise I'd be hooked on it by now. Whoosh!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is very seriously considering a trip to the Caspian Sea to look for some Russian sturgeon. Not to eat it, mind you, but the roe...
I had never really enjoied caviar before, but then again, I don't think I had ever had propper caviar before. At any rate, it's not my fault. Do you know what kind of stuff gets peddled around as caviar? Ever had some very fine, pitch black roe from a tin labeled "Caviar"? In all probability, that wasn't caviar at all. Actual caviar, I'll have you know, doesn't need to be pitch black or very small eggs. Caviar can be grey, brownish and even reddish in colour and each individual egg can be anywhere from as small as one millimeter in diameter to as large as a pea. And don't you go buying Beluga caviar (unless you're in Russia, in which case I envy you), because you're lucky if that's even caviar at all. And I'm nowhere closer to making a point, but you know what, that's the beauty of being the blogger around here. My blog, my rules.
Me, I've just had some real osetra caviar, brouhgt by a beloved relative from a vacation in Russia, and, my, I can't believe I've waited this long to get my hands (and my taste buds) on the stuff. I've just split a tiny jar of it with... erm... never you mind who I split it with... and I'm almost glad it was such a tiny portion, otherwise I'd be hooked on it by now. Whoosh!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is very seriously considering a trip to the Caspian Sea to look for some Russian sturgeon. Not to eat it, mind you, but the roe...
Crickey!
Do remind me to get cable TV next time I go on vacation. Public Television (actually, Independent Television... a station that shall remain unnamed) would sooner make a silk purse out of a sow's ear than get their own programming right. My staying up until quite unhealthy hours in hopes of catching House M.D. was rewarded with a very generous delay, a first (they come in pairs. I guess the humble people of this network view themselves as Noah) episode that was defenitely not the one scheduled and a non-existing second episode. Thanks a bunch. But that's a rant for another day. Meanwhile, the pox on you, filthy scum who cannot find your own arse with both hands, and your kind!
Public Television (Government owned and all) sometimes has a brilliant idea. About once every thirty years or so. Last time it was colour picture, this time it was Discovery Moment. Little tidbiths of civilization in the form of Discovery Channel documentaries, ever so often, free of charge. These, believe it or not, are actually quite alright, if you're into the sort. I suppose I like it. Most of it, that is. The documentary explainig (or rather attempting to explain, with various degrees of success) the myth behind werewolves and the truth in the French werewolf trials was pretty good. The Australian zoologist whose aspiration in life was to touch a King Cobra was alright, although fellows who aren't really fond of snakes might have taken a rain check on that. Most docuentaries on Sharks are good as well (surprise surprise). Now, this Aussie the other day really takes the cake. And I'm not sure I mean it in a good way... you be the judge of that.
This fellow would like to give us an in-depth view of insects and the like in our own homes and ackyards in a segment he called "Bugs in the Burbs". I only caught the second half of it, but it was plenty. He told us how quickly aphids reproduce. He taught us that aphid females can even reproduce on their own, effectively cloning themselves. He even showed us that aphid clones are often born pregnant with their own clones (I gues being a copy of a copy of a copy works for them...). Then he reminded us that, although one could just kill them with an insecticide spray, we'd be wiser to introduce the aphid's natural predator to the scene, that is, the lady bug. Now things get strange. Sure, lady bugs love aphind in the way I love porterhouse stake grilled rare, that's hardly wierd, but seing this caring insectologist have a bunch (and a very large bunch at that) of lady bugs crawl over his arms, his face and into his clothes is... unnusual. Then come bigger fish, or should I say, bugs, as he finds his way into an africanised killer bees nest. Sure, he wears his protective gear and his bee net over his face he even locks off his cuffs and his pants with duct tape. you wouldn't think he'd go on and provoke the bees, now, would you? Yet he did, he went on and blew into the bees nest. sure enough, he got stung a couple of dozen times through his socks and, reportedly, couldn't walk for a few days. You'd think he's learn his lesson by now, but no, he goes on to mess with yet another type of bug: cockroaches. He seeks to demistify the myth that cockroaches byte, and so he sticks his bare leg and foot into a conrolled environment acrylic box and pours some roaches on himself. If you're not wierd out yet by now, perhaps you'd like to know that cockroaches do bite. not only that but also they can digest ceratonin, which means they can even ear your hair (appearently, very few animals can).
So... crickey, mate!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is cooking up another update for very very soon... but he'll reveal nothing at this point, leaving you to marinate in the atecipation. What do you mean, there's no sarcasm tag in html!?
Public Television (Government owned and all) sometimes has a brilliant idea. About once every thirty years or so. Last time it was colour picture, this time it was Discovery Moment. Little tidbiths of civilization in the form of Discovery Channel documentaries, ever so often, free of charge. These, believe it or not, are actually quite alright, if you're into the sort. I suppose I like it. Most of it, that is. The documentary explainig (or rather attempting to explain, with various degrees of success) the myth behind werewolves and the truth in the French werewolf trials was pretty good. The Australian zoologist whose aspiration in life was to touch a King Cobra was alright, although fellows who aren't really fond of snakes might have taken a rain check on that. Most docuentaries on Sharks are good as well (surprise surprise). Now, this Aussie the other day really takes the cake. And I'm not sure I mean it in a good way... you be the judge of that.
This fellow would like to give us an in-depth view of insects and the like in our own homes and ackyards in a segment he called "Bugs in the Burbs". I only caught the second half of it, but it was plenty. He told us how quickly aphids reproduce. He taught us that aphid females can even reproduce on their own, effectively cloning themselves. He even showed us that aphid clones are often born pregnant with their own clones (I gues being a copy of a copy of a copy works for them...). Then he reminded us that, although one could just kill them with an insecticide spray, we'd be wiser to introduce the aphid's natural predator to the scene, that is, the lady bug. Now things get strange. Sure, lady bugs love aphind in the way I love porterhouse stake grilled rare, that's hardly wierd, but seing this caring insectologist have a bunch (and a very large bunch at that) of lady bugs crawl over his arms, his face and into his clothes is... unnusual. Then come bigger fish, or should I say, bugs, as he finds his way into an africanised killer bees nest. Sure, he wears his protective gear and his bee net over his face he even locks off his cuffs and his pants with duct tape. you wouldn't think he'd go on and provoke the bees, now, would you? Yet he did, he went on and blew into the bees nest. sure enough, he got stung a couple of dozen times through his socks and, reportedly, couldn't walk for a few days. You'd think he's learn his lesson by now, but no, he goes on to mess with yet another type of bug: cockroaches. He seeks to demistify the myth that cockroaches byte, and so he sticks his bare leg and foot into a conrolled environment acrylic box and pours some roaches on himself. If you're not wierd out yet by now, perhaps you'd like to know that cockroaches do bite. not only that but also they can digest ceratonin, which means they can even ear your hair (appearently, very few animals can).
So... crickey, mate!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is cooking up another update for very very soon... but he'll reveal nothing at this point, leaving you to marinate in the atecipation. What do you mean, there's no sarcasm tag in html!?
Some like it hot...
... and, sure enough, some don't. Me, I like hot weather as much as The "Next" Bloke, who just so happens to be a guest on this blog today. How do you do, Mr. Bloke?
The, please.
Right, then. Tell, us, The, how was it that you came across that nickname, "Next"?
Well, now, it all started back when I was about twelve and I started going to the movies by myself. I remember being in line to the tickets and even though I would be first in line sometimes, nothing felt quite as nice as being "next" in line. You know, I'd just see whoever was in front of me get their turn and think, "Woohoo, I'm next"! When my mates found out how much I liked that special feeling, they began calling me "Next"."
And so you're known as The "Next" Bloke today.
Exactly
Now, then, what we'd all like to know is how much do you like warm weather, The?
Not one bit, Shark, old chap, not one bit.
Thank you, then, The. I hope we'll be seing plenty more of you around here.
My pleasure.
That was The "Next" Bloke on Shark Nibbles, and he doesn't like warm weather. And so, as previously stated, neither do I and, for the issue, neither does my laptop charger, who, just last night, overheated twice and scared the lights out of me when I thought it had sent its soul to its maker. Turns out ten minutes in the freezer (in a plastic bag, mind you) did the trick... for another half hour.
So, my advice on how to deal with the heat, keep to the shade, drink plenty of fluids (cold, preferably) and put an ice pack on that laptop charger. If you don't have any, you can fashion one by soaking a rag, wrapping it in a plastic bag and putting it in the freezer. Works fine, if you don't mind sitching the makeshift ice pck every twenty minutes or so. This little trick did wonders for me last night.
You didn't think I'd wrap up without a secret message, did you?
Sizzling hot farewells.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is dealing with the heat in his own way, i. e., dreaming of cooler places. Syberia sounds just right...
The, please.
Right, then. Tell, us, The, how was it that you came across that nickname, "Next"?
Well, now, it all started back when I was about twelve and I started going to the movies by myself. I remember being in line to the tickets and even though I would be first in line sometimes, nothing felt quite as nice as being "next" in line. You know, I'd just see whoever was in front of me get their turn and think, "Woohoo, I'm next"! When my mates found out how much I liked that special feeling, they began calling me "Next"."
And so you're known as The "Next" Bloke today.
Exactly
Now, then, what we'd all like to know is how much do you like warm weather, The?
Not one bit, Shark, old chap, not one bit.
Thank you, then, The. I hope we'll be seing plenty more of you around here.
My pleasure.
That was The "Next" Bloke on Shark Nibbles, and he doesn't like warm weather. And so, as previously stated, neither do I and, for the issue, neither does my laptop charger, who, just last night, overheated twice and scared the lights out of me when I thought it had sent its soul to its maker. Turns out ten minutes in the freezer (in a plastic bag, mind you) did the trick... for another half hour.
So, my advice on how to deal with the heat, keep to the shade, drink plenty of fluids (cold, preferably) and put an ice pack on that laptop charger. If you don't have any, you can fashion one by soaking a rag, wrapping it in a plastic bag and putting it in the freezer. Works fine, if you don't mind sitching the makeshift ice pck every twenty minutes or so. This little trick did wonders for me last night.
You didn't think I'd wrap up without a secret message, did you?
Sizzling hot farewells.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is dealing with the heat in his own way, i. e., dreaming of cooler places. Syberia sounds just right...
Blood drinkers, unite
Recently I found myself reading a would-be serious vampirism manual, by a Brazillian author, Paulo Coelho. If you have never read any of his work, count your blessings. If you've ever read anything by him then you'll understand how come my stomach churns every time I see six copies of "O Zahir" on display on a bookstore window like it's God's gift to readers.
This Practical Vampirism Manual, however, is different. It's not (supposed) to be fiction. This is (supposed) to lift the shroud of mysticism that surrounds vampires and bare the whole truth about them, that they exist and what's fact or fiction about them. Mind you, it's as poorly written as any other one of his works and has nary a speck of verifyable fact about it. In short, a bundle of laughs, if you think someone expected readers to swallow this codswallop.
One of the aspects it focusses on is how to recognise (and avoid, if you'd like) a vampire, and so I've compiled, from it's pages, a handy list of things to look out for:
Well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive Europeans looking for one night stands are likely to be vampires;
Bissexual men have "vampire" written all over them;
Bissexual women are all vampires;
Lesbians are vampires too. All of them.
If you can read this you might be a vampire too.
At this point I'd like to remind you that I myself would never label anyone as "vampire" or anything else based on his/her sexual orientation, but it seems Mr. Coelho would disagree. Bear in mind, though, this is just for laughs. It cannot be any other way.
ArabianShark wonders what are the odds of running into a well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive European bissexual woman looking for a one night stand. Now paging Dr. van Helsing.
This Practical Vampirism Manual, however, is different. It's not (supposed) to be fiction. This is (supposed) to lift the shroud of mysticism that surrounds vampires and bare the whole truth about them, that they exist and what's fact or fiction about them. Mind you, it's as poorly written as any other one of his works and has nary a speck of verifyable fact about it. In short, a bundle of laughs, if you think someone expected readers to swallow this codswallop.
One of the aspects it focusses on is how to recognise (and avoid, if you'd like) a vampire, and so I've compiled, from it's pages, a handy list of things to look out for:
Well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive Europeans looking for one night stands are likely to be vampires;
Bissexual men have "vampire" written all over them;
Bissexual women are all vampires;
Lesbians are vampires too. All of them.
If you can read this you might be a vampire too.
At this point I'd like to remind you that I myself would never label anyone as "vampire" or anything else based on his/her sexual orientation, but it seems Mr. Coelho would disagree. Bear in mind, though, this is just for laughs. It cannot be any other way.
ArabianShark wonders what are the odds of running into a well groomed, kind mannered, well spoken, attractive European bissexual woman looking for a one night stand. Now paging Dr. van Helsing.
That'll work...
I wonder what posesses someone to send a chain e-mail claiming that for each person the e-mail is sent to, something will happen. The list is endless: that you might win a free cellphone, that some organisation will donate a minute amount of money for each time the messge is forwarded to help some ill and dying person, that some organisation will donate a huge sum if the message is forwarded more than so many times, that one's e-mail/MSN Messenger account will be deleted if the message isn't forwarded, that MSN will cease to be a free service unless so many names are signed and sent to Microsoft, that one's MSN Messenger account will remain free whereas all others will become a paid service if the holder's name is on the list to be sent to Microsoft... I could type all day and not list half the story behind these messages. I wonder what posesses someone to start one of these things. I suppose one could do it as a prank, but I can't possibly understand how on earth does one believe a word of those messages. What on earth posesses people to believe anyone has a means to track where the messsages will end up?
Honorable mention and single exception: the bonsai cat. This is a truly horrific practice, IMO. It consists of locking a kitten in a jar where his bones will take the shape of the container he's stuck in as he grows for decorative purposes. I've recieved mail rallying people to lobby against this practice. Lobbying is one thing, expecting miracles is quite another.
Just today I recieved a PowerPoint presentation attatchement (those are the worse... forward these, people, help viruses spread, please, I beseech you), which I treat with a little special care, i. e., dump into a decaying old would-have-been excuse for a computer which may not be hooked up to any network lest the network becomes haunted by evils unspeakble of and run it. This one claims that some organisation will donate six cents (yes, it's not a typo, six whole cents. A full nickle and a free penny! Lets hear it poor old Uncle Ebeneezer, if you remember him) to a dying baby for each person I forward the potentially dangerous file to. If only I kept the e-mail addresses of people I don't like... Now I can just imagine the company representative talking to the sick baby's parents, going "We might have the money to cure your child and we might even give it to you, but only if some e-mail message featuring our company's name gets sent all over the world. And yes, in case you're wondering, we're all callous, money-driven, insenitive, cruel, petty and evil bastards, looking for a would-be humanitarian publicity campaign. We figure one person knowing how kind we are and that we'll help your child is worth a dime in potential profits, so we'll spare a whopping 60% of that to treat your beloved baby. And don't ask how we'll know just how many people have read the message; it's magic, we've a pact with Satan of which you should not have known. Well, chop chop, mail away." That would have gone nicely.
Let's make the best out of this. I declare a competition. Comment with the most riddiculous pretence you've ever had the displeasure of receiving and we'll have a poll. The winner just might win a free Nokia 5G cellphone, complete with live video call, wireless internet access, bluetooth connectivity, esspresso dispensing function, a 100 free SMS package and a non-retractable blade built into the vibra-call motor that might shred your thigh to minced meat if you have your phone in your pocket when someone calls, but is just so handy to chop onions (mind you, warranty void if removed)... or not.
Spam-free farewells (because there is no processed canned spiced pork meat in them).
ArabianShark wonders if all the hexes he's been cursed with for breaking e-mail chains will eventually cancel each other out. Two wrongs dont make a right, but, given enough wrongs... who knows?
Honorable mention and single exception: the bonsai cat. This is a truly horrific practice, IMO. It consists of locking a kitten in a jar where his bones will take the shape of the container he's stuck in as he grows for decorative purposes. I've recieved mail rallying people to lobby against this practice. Lobbying is one thing, expecting miracles is quite another.
Just today I recieved a PowerPoint presentation attatchement (those are the worse... forward these, people, help viruses spread, please, I beseech you), which I treat with a little special care, i. e., dump into a decaying old would-have-been excuse for a computer which may not be hooked up to any network lest the network becomes haunted by evils unspeakble of and run it. This one claims that some organisation will donate six cents (yes, it's not a typo, six whole cents. A full nickle and a free penny! Lets hear it poor old Uncle Ebeneezer, if you remember him) to a dying baby for each person I forward the potentially dangerous file to. If only I kept the e-mail addresses of people I don't like... Now I can just imagine the company representative talking to the sick baby's parents, going "We might have the money to cure your child and we might even give it to you, but only if some e-mail message featuring our company's name gets sent all over the world. And yes, in case you're wondering, we're all callous, money-driven, insenitive, cruel, petty and evil bastards, looking for a would-be humanitarian publicity campaign. We figure one person knowing how kind we are and that we'll help your child is worth a dime in potential profits, so we'll spare a whopping 60% of that to treat your beloved baby. And don't ask how we'll know just how many people have read the message; it's magic, we've a pact with Satan of which you should not have known. Well, chop chop, mail away." That would have gone nicely.
Let's make the best out of this. I declare a competition. Comment with the most riddiculous pretence you've ever had the displeasure of receiving and we'll have a poll. The winner just might win a free Nokia 5G cellphone, complete with live video call, wireless internet access, bluetooth connectivity, esspresso dispensing function, a 100 free SMS package and a non-retractable blade built into the vibra-call motor that might shred your thigh to minced meat if you have your phone in your pocket when someone calls, but is just so handy to chop onions (mind you, warranty void if removed)... or not.
Spam-free farewells (because there is no processed canned spiced pork meat in them).
ArabianShark wonders if all the hexes he's been cursed with for breaking e-mail chains will eventually cancel each other out. Two wrongs dont make a right, but, given enough wrongs... who knows?
I'm still not a comedian...
... so if you've com here in search for a laugh, you should know better. It would appear, however, that you don't. I could try to be funny; that would make sure you'd never come here for a laugh ever again. Or I could send you on your way to something funnier. And since I'm such a big nice softie (that could change. Keep on your toes), I'll just do it. I'll give you only one word... well, ok, make that two words... I'm too kind:
Comedy, Inc.
What can I say, it presses my buttons. I could come to like Aussie comedy as much as I like British humour. Or maybe that's just the best (as far as I'm concerned) example os Aussie comedy. Or perhaps I just caught one of the best episodes. Or it could be that Aussie comedy really is that good.
If you're unfamiliar with the show, there's nothing to be ashamed about it; I was once in your shoes, not that long ago, really. I can lend a hand. If you are, however, familiar with it, skip the paragraph. And thus, let the healing begin. Comedy, Inc. is made of short (and I mean short, for the most part) sketches, not unlike "Smack the Pony" or "Big Train" (as opposed to "Black Adder" or "'Allo, 'Allo", which tell a long story by comparison), but, unlike, say, "The Office", the said sketches aren't bound to a single theme, although recuring themes abound, especially with shorter sketches. Also unlike "Saturday Night Live" (how does that rate in the funny scale? Mild? Moderate? Doesn't really work for me...), there are no musical guests, no musical interludes every two sketches (or at all) and no monologue bits, at least not in the Jay Leno or Conan O'Brien sense of the word "monologue". Also no lengthy opening credits to make you wonder why don't they call the show "Sunday Dawn (barely a-) Live".
It just presses my buttons. As a rule of thumb, whatever mocks the Spice Girls is alright. Having a go at Las Ketchup is really just icing, but who doesn't like icing? Or maybe it's the general australian accent that makes everyting sound so great (doesn't it?).
Comedy, Inc., Stingers and House, M.D. (Jesse Spencer is in it. It counts as Australian Television. It does! No? Well, ok, but it's still alright) really make me want to flog myself to the bone for missing Neighbours all those years ago, when I had the chance to watch it. Really, I could just punch myself, if only I knew how to do it propperly (that's me, do it right or not at all... except when it matters). On the other hand, I just recently discovered I can put my hands in a reversal praying stance with minimal effort. Think of the implications! This could come so handy if only I weren't an atheist...
Until we meet again.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark really should have remembered that parting sentence for his previous update. Try to make a double entendre out of that.
Comedy, Inc.
What can I say, it presses my buttons. I could come to like Aussie comedy as much as I like British humour. Or maybe that's just the best (as far as I'm concerned) example os Aussie comedy. Or perhaps I just caught one of the best episodes. Or it could be that Aussie comedy really is that good.
If you're unfamiliar with the show, there's nothing to be ashamed about it; I was once in your shoes, not that long ago, really. I can lend a hand. If you are, however, familiar with it, skip the paragraph. And thus, let the healing begin. Comedy, Inc. is made of short (and I mean short, for the most part) sketches, not unlike "Smack the Pony" or "Big Train" (as opposed to "Black Adder" or "'Allo, 'Allo", which tell a long story by comparison), but, unlike, say, "The Office", the said sketches aren't bound to a single theme, although recuring themes abound, especially with shorter sketches. Also unlike "Saturday Night Live" (how does that rate in the funny scale? Mild? Moderate? Doesn't really work for me...), there are no musical guests, no musical interludes every two sketches (or at all) and no monologue bits, at least not in the Jay Leno or Conan O'Brien sense of the word "monologue". Also no lengthy opening credits to make you wonder why don't they call the show "Sunday Dawn (barely a-) Live".
It just presses my buttons. As a rule of thumb, whatever mocks the Spice Girls is alright. Having a go at Las Ketchup is really just icing, but who doesn't like icing? Or maybe it's the general australian accent that makes everyting sound so great (doesn't it?).
Comedy, Inc., Stingers and House, M.D. (Jesse Spencer is in it. It counts as Australian Television. It does! No? Well, ok, but it's still alright) really make me want to flog myself to the bone for missing Neighbours all those years ago, when I had the chance to watch it. Really, I could just punch myself, if only I knew how to do it propperly (that's me, do it right or not at all... except when it matters). On the other hand, I just recently discovered I can put my hands in a reversal praying stance with minimal effort. Think of the implications! This could come so handy if only I weren't an atheist...
Until we meet again.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark really should have remembered that parting sentence for his previous update. Try to make a double entendre out of that.
Mockba!
The above should be pronounced "Moskva".
Not only is Moscow a lovely vacation spot (I hear. I've never been there, much as I'd like to someday), but also the inspiration for two distinct German bands more than two decades apart. If we're going to talk (notice how I slip the words "we" and "talk" inconspicuously int the same sentence, creating the illusion that there's an actual dialogue in the making) about music, we (meaning I) should make sure we (for once, meaning we) both know the tunes being discussed. Hello, copyright laws. We wouldn't steal a song. I suppose I could direct you to the lyrics, but that's hardly any substitute, so I'll allow myself to be unburdened with a couple of links for your pleasure and Google Video can handle all the copyright fuss for me, with the added bonus of coloured, moving image.
Enough ado about only too little. Onwards then.
First, by alphabetic preference and chronological precedence, "Moskau", by the 1979 Disco Band Dschinghis Khan.
For those of you who don't speak German, I've taken the liberty of translating the first verse. It conveys the tone of the tune well enough:
Moscow
Beautiful and mysterious
Towers of red and gold
Cold as ice
Moscow
Who does really know you
A white fire burns
In you so warm
For those of you who do speak German and agree with my translation... uh, great.
For those of you who do speak German but do not agree with my translation, well, give me a break, people, I don't speak German myself, I'm using Babelfish, and we know how trustworthy that little gadget is.
Fast forward twenty something years and voilà, "Moskau", this time by the well known Metal (is it?) Band Rammstein.
Before we go into lyrics, do notice that the Google Video title mentions Tatu. Although it was rumored that they'd lend their voices to this theme, the female voice heard in Russian is actually of Viktoria Fersh, who, to the best of my knowledge, is not a member of t.A.T.u..
And onto the translated lyrics:
This city is a prostitute
It has red spots on her forehead
Her teeth are made of gold
She is fat and yet so lovely
Her mouth falls to my valley
When I pay her for it
She takes off her clothes but only for money
The city has me in suspense
And so on and so forth... it doesn't change much as the tune goes on.
Now picture this: Talking to a Russian person who very much loves his/her country and, specifically, the city of Moscow and who happens to have somewhat conservative moral values (just enough to take offense in hearing their Capital being compared to an old tart, how conservative would that have to be?), you casually drop into the conversation how much you like that "Moskau" song by some German band, can't quite remember the name off the top of your head... and neglect to mention the fact they sang at the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow... and, as luck would have it, your Russian acquaintance figures you're too young to remember the Disco Age... or perhaps they're too young to remember the Disco Age. Where does this leave us? With a very angry Russian, I trust. And all you wanted to evoke was that light-hearted, joyful tune about love tasting like kaviar and merrily dancing on tabletops under the (less than) slight influence of cold and pure Vodka. Makes you think, huh? That's why I've been trying to find words such as "joyful" and "light-hearted", because "gay" might have misled you.
And now that that's come up (Oy vey! At least I didn't say "come out"...), a question: has homophobia stripped us of gaiety? More importantly, why am I rambling about double entendres when I should be revising for my last exam of the season (Human-Computer Interfaces... doesn't sound like much? You should try it!)?
Mellow Farewells... as in relaxed and unhurried, easygoing farewells... as in kind farewells... as in... Oh, just peace out!
ArabianShark is polishing his favourite buzz-saw for the ritualistic June Deforestation of the Chin, also know as, the removal of the Exams Stubble. I never seem to find five minutes to shave in January or June...
Not only is Moscow a lovely vacation spot (I hear. I've never been there, much as I'd like to someday), but also the inspiration for two distinct German bands more than two decades apart. If we're going to talk (notice how I slip the words "we" and "talk" inconspicuously int the same sentence, creating the illusion that there's an actual dialogue in the making) about music, we (meaning I) should make sure we (for once, meaning we) both know the tunes being discussed. Hello, copyright laws. We wouldn't steal a song. I suppose I could direct you to the lyrics, but that's hardly any substitute, so I'll allow myself to be unburdened with a couple of links for your pleasure and Google Video can handle all the copyright fuss for me, with the added bonus of coloured, moving image.
Enough ado about only too little. Onwards then.
First, by alphabetic preference and chronological precedence, "Moskau", by the 1979 Disco Band Dschinghis Khan.
For those of you who don't speak German, I've taken the liberty of translating the first verse. It conveys the tone of the tune well enough:
Moscow
Beautiful and mysterious
Towers of red and gold
Cold as ice
Moscow
Who does really know you
A white fire burns
In you so warm
For those of you who do speak German and agree with my translation... uh, great.
For those of you who do speak German but do not agree with my translation, well, give me a break, people, I don't speak German myself, I'm using Babelfish, and we know how trustworthy that little gadget is.
Fast forward twenty something years and voilà, "Moskau", this time by the well known Metal (is it?) Band Rammstein.
Before we go into lyrics, do notice that the Google Video title mentions Tatu. Although it was rumored that they'd lend their voices to this theme, the female voice heard in Russian is actually of Viktoria Fersh, who, to the best of my knowledge, is not a member of t.A.T.u..
And onto the translated lyrics:
This city is a prostitute
It has red spots on her forehead
Her teeth are made of gold
She is fat and yet so lovely
Her mouth falls to my valley
When I pay her for it
She takes off her clothes but only for money
The city has me in suspense
And so on and so forth... it doesn't change much as the tune goes on.
Now picture this: Talking to a Russian person who very much loves his/her country and, specifically, the city of Moscow and who happens to have somewhat conservative moral values (just enough to take offense in hearing their Capital being compared to an old tart, how conservative would that have to be?), you casually drop into the conversation how much you like that "Moskau" song by some German band, can't quite remember the name off the top of your head... and neglect to mention the fact they sang at the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow... and, as luck would have it, your Russian acquaintance figures you're too young to remember the Disco Age... or perhaps they're too young to remember the Disco Age. Where does this leave us? With a very angry Russian, I trust. And all you wanted to evoke was that light-hearted, joyful tune about love tasting like kaviar and merrily dancing on tabletops under the (less than) slight influence of cold and pure Vodka. Makes you think, huh? That's why I've been trying to find words such as "joyful" and "light-hearted", because "gay" might have misled you.
And now that that's come up (Oy vey! At least I didn't say "come out"...), a question: has homophobia stripped us of gaiety? More importantly, why am I rambling about double entendres when I should be revising for my last exam of the season (Human-Computer Interfaces... doesn't sound like much? You should try it!)?
Mellow Farewells... as in relaxed and unhurried, easygoing farewells... as in kind farewells... as in... Oh, just peace out!
ArabianShark is polishing his favourite buzz-saw for the ritualistic June Deforestation of the Chin, also know as, the removal of the Exams Stubble. I never seem to find five minutes to shave in January or June...
Re-Runs
TV can have very odd efects on you, if you stare at it for long enough.
Just yesterday I thought it was yestersay, thus today, yet, sa I watched the very same shows I had wathcehs the day before, i.e, yesteday, I came to realise it was the day before yeaterday, that is, yesterday, since yesterday is actually today and today can only be tomorrow, when I'll undoubtedly write this post. Making sense? No? It's OK, it's no supposed to.
Still, what is it with re-runs? Fox channel has re-runs boiled down to a science. I know there's a pattern somewhere in there, and I just know I'll crack it as soon as I can be bothered to see a programming guide. Until then, I have other things in my mind. Things like Networking Fundaments II.
Meanwhile, there's no reason why you shouldn't have a bit of fun and games. How about 10 different puzzles? The rules are simple and half of the puzzle is figuring them out. Go on, give it a try.
Until I find another wacky reason to write a weired paragraph.
Senseless, but by no means nonsense farewells.
ArabianShark is swimming in circles. Whales often do that as a menas of rounding up prey in a cylinder of air bubbles, yet sharks have no means of producing such an effect. Why on earth and sea is lil' shark over there going about round and round beats the crap out of me, but there he goes again.
Round and round and round and round and...
Just yesterday I thought it was yestersay, thus today, yet, sa I watched the very same shows I had wathcehs the day before, i.e, yesteday, I came to realise it was the day before yeaterday, that is, yesterday, since yesterday is actually today and today can only be tomorrow, when I'll undoubtedly write this post. Making sense? No? It's OK, it's no supposed to.
Still, what is it with re-runs? Fox channel has re-runs boiled down to a science. I know there's a pattern somewhere in there, and I just know I'll crack it as soon as I can be bothered to see a programming guide. Until then, I have other things in my mind. Things like Networking Fundaments II.
Meanwhile, there's no reason why you shouldn't have a bit of fun and games. How about 10 different puzzles? The rules are simple and half of the puzzle is figuring them out. Go on, give it a try.
Until I find another wacky reason to write a weired paragraph.
Senseless, but by no means nonsense farewells.
ArabianShark is swimming in circles. Whales often do that as a menas of rounding up prey in a cylinder of air bubbles, yet sharks have no means of producing such an effect. Why on earth and sea is lil' shark over there going about round and round beats the crap out of me, but there he goes again.
Round and round and round and round and...
Do I look funny to you?
If you thought my last post was made in a bad mood, you have seen nothing yet. Last time I was slightly disgruntled; today, I'm angry. I mean angry angry. Or is it angry angry? You figure it out.
People, get this through your heads: I am not a comedian. If you're looking for comedy search google for Rowan Atkinson. Or John Cleese. Or Benny Hill. Or Pedro Tochas (Scotts and Aussies might know him, aside from the Portugese). Or rent a comedy flick. Or catch one at your local theater. If you've ever come here in search for a laugh, my, the joke's on you.
If ever you've found mirth in my words, good for you. If ever you've laughed at a pun you've found here, great, you managed to find the lighter side of my life. If ever you've laughed sadistically at my misfortune, I'm glad at least some good came out of it. If ever you've read (or heard, for that matter) a joke from me, it's time to cut down on those brownies. Or those muffins. Or whatever it is you're getting your hallucinogenics from. I don't tell jokes. I like jokes, I find (some of) them funny, but I don't tell them. If you care to know why, look up Rowan Atkinson's qoutes from IMDb. If you can't be bothered, I'll even lay it out for you. According to Mr. Atkinson, he himself is not a funny person, and one can't be expected to be made to laugh by him. He's a dull individual who happens to be a performer. And a great one, IMO. That said, I am neither funny nor a performer of any sort, thus a joke told by me is wasted on whoever should listen to it, for I couldn't make it sound funny if it was Monty Python's fabled "joke who makes whoever listens to it laught to death". If, from here on out, you think I might be telling a joke, here's a simple test to dismiss your doubts on that matter. If ever a story told here by me starts with "An englishman, a welshman, a scott, an aussie, a priest and a rabi all walk into a pub...", you're about to read a joke. Otherwise, no, I'm not telling a joke. I'm not even attempting to be funny. If you just happen to think otherwise and are amused by my words, that's fine, really. If you're not amused by my words and feel like complaining about my puns or my funnies, don't! I make no such things as puns, jokes or funnies and you'd be a fool to expect otherwise.
That said, I'll keep on blogging as usual from here on out. In fact, this whole raving is pretty much about my life outside this blog (yes, I have one of those). Bear with me.
ArabianShark has been counting quite the number of pet peeves. Perhaps he should drop a few. Do you think the yellow pages list "mercenary marksmen"?
People, get this through your heads: I am not a comedian. If you're looking for comedy search google for Rowan Atkinson. Or John Cleese. Or Benny Hill. Or Pedro Tochas (Scotts and Aussies might know him, aside from the Portugese). Or rent a comedy flick. Or catch one at your local theater. If you've ever come here in search for a laugh, my, the joke's on you.
If ever you've found mirth in my words, good for you. If ever you've laughed at a pun you've found here, great, you managed to find the lighter side of my life. If ever you've laughed sadistically at my misfortune, I'm glad at least some good came out of it. If ever you've read (or heard, for that matter) a joke from me, it's time to cut down on those brownies. Or those muffins. Or whatever it is you're getting your hallucinogenics from. I don't tell jokes. I like jokes, I find (some of) them funny, but I don't tell them. If you care to know why, look up Rowan Atkinson's qoutes from IMDb. If you can't be bothered, I'll even lay it out for you. According to Mr. Atkinson, he himself is not a funny person, and one can't be expected to be made to laugh by him. He's a dull individual who happens to be a performer. And a great one, IMO. That said, I am neither funny nor a performer of any sort, thus a joke told by me is wasted on whoever should listen to it, for I couldn't make it sound funny if it was Monty Python's fabled "joke who makes whoever listens to it laught to death". If, from here on out, you think I might be telling a joke, here's a simple test to dismiss your doubts on that matter. If ever a story told here by me starts with "An englishman, a welshman, a scott, an aussie, a priest and a rabi all walk into a pub...", you're about to read a joke. Otherwise, no, I'm not telling a joke. I'm not even attempting to be funny. If you just happen to think otherwise and are amused by my words, that's fine, really. If you're not amused by my words and feel like complaining about my puns or my funnies, don't! I make no such things as puns, jokes or funnies and you'd be a fool to expect otherwise.
That said, I'll keep on blogging as usual from here on out. In fact, this whole raving is pretty much about my life outside this blog (yes, I have one of those). Bear with me.
ArabianShark has been counting quite the number of pet peeves. Perhaps he should drop a few. Do you think the yellow pages list "mercenary marksmen"?
You wouldn't steal a car...
... or would you?
No? Not even an Aston Martin?? Good. Stealing is wrong. Unless you're stealing away from bad company. But I digress...
Sure, you wouldn't steal a car and you wouldn't steal a purse and you wouldn't steal a TV set, so you shouldn't steal a movie because unauthorised downloads are illegal and piracy is a crime punishible with up to 3 years of imprisionment in some countries... yada yada yada (not Yadda, who, if you don't know, is a Jedi master of the same species as Yoda). For those of you who don't recognise this gibberish, it's the ethics appeal you can often see at the beginning of a movie screening. And voilá, we have a topic for today's rant.
Dearest folks who push this copyright stuff;
We're aware of your message. We've been aware of it since the earliest days of good ol' departed Napster. Computer users, even the least savvy ones, are aware that if there is a way of acquiring goods or services for free whereas other ways would have one pay for the very same goods or services then the former must have some measure of illicity to it. Furthermore movie-goers pay for their tickets before they even see this very annoying advertisement of yours, often not knowing if the movie they are about to see is even worth the ticket price, only able to judge (or misjudge) from trailers, which can be deceiving. How many times has one sat through a screening of a movie they wouldn't have given the time of day just because the ticket was already paid for? However, stolen movies don't have your ethics appeal (I'm guessing. Not that I've ever stolen a movie, but why would one bother to steal such an annoying , not to mention utterly useless, little thing such as your silly ad?). So, bottom line is, you punish honest people (or less than straight-arrows in their moments of honesty) with your propaganda whereas the rotten get away with it. As if having to sit through blatantly capitalistic commercial publicity even before the trailers wasn't bad enough.
My advice to you: Sod off already! Ignorance isn't an excuse for any sort of crime, so don't even bother to argue that your piece of refuse you push on movie-goers serves the purpose of deterring copyright pirates with a warning-veiled threat. They, of all people, are aware of the risks they may be taking breaking your laws. Furthermore, even those laws are, ultimately, pointless, as there are quite a few ways around them. Hint: Sweeden has no copyright laws, China's government, who polices and censors Chinese web servers, offers great leniency to all forms of piracy, concerning itself with dissident anti-government propaganda and works of art which violate their laws, such as that no drawing may represent corpses or skeletons. So, really, pack your poorly shot would-be ad and find some lint underneath your beds. It must be way more interested in it than we are.
And for the humorous part, can you believe I've been shush!-ed by a talker for commenting on a trailer during the ethics appeal? Those crazy kids...
ArabianShark just loves the movies... like you hadn't guessed yet.
No? Not even an Aston Martin?? Good. Stealing is wrong. Unless you're stealing away from bad company. But I digress...
Sure, you wouldn't steal a car and you wouldn't steal a purse and you wouldn't steal a TV set, so you shouldn't steal a movie because unauthorised downloads are illegal and piracy is a crime punishible with up to 3 years of imprisionment in some countries... yada yada yada (not Yadda, who, if you don't know, is a Jedi master of the same species as Yoda). For those of you who don't recognise this gibberish, it's the ethics appeal you can often see at the beginning of a movie screening. And voilá, we have a topic for today's rant.
Dearest folks who push this copyright stuff;
We're aware of your message. We've been aware of it since the earliest days of good ol' departed Napster. Computer users, even the least savvy ones, are aware that if there is a way of acquiring goods or services for free whereas other ways would have one pay for the very same goods or services then the former must have some measure of illicity to it. Furthermore movie-goers pay for their tickets before they even see this very annoying advertisement of yours, often not knowing if the movie they are about to see is even worth the ticket price, only able to judge (or misjudge) from trailers, which can be deceiving. How many times has one sat through a screening of a movie they wouldn't have given the time of day just because the ticket was already paid for? However, stolen movies don't have your ethics appeal (I'm guessing. Not that I've ever stolen a movie, but why would one bother to steal such an annoying , not to mention utterly useless, little thing such as your silly ad?). So, bottom line is, you punish honest people (or less than straight-arrows in their moments of honesty) with your propaganda whereas the rotten get away with it. As if having to sit through blatantly capitalistic commercial publicity even before the trailers wasn't bad enough.
My advice to you: Sod off already! Ignorance isn't an excuse for any sort of crime, so don't even bother to argue that your piece of refuse you push on movie-goers serves the purpose of deterring copyright pirates with a warning-veiled threat. They, of all people, are aware of the risks they may be taking breaking your laws. Furthermore, even those laws are, ultimately, pointless, as there are quite a few ways around them. Hint: Sweeden has no copyright laws, China's government, who polices and censors Chinese web servers, offers great leniency to all forms of piracy, concerning itself with dissident anti-government propaganda and works of art which violate their laws, such as that no drawing may represent corpses or skeletons. So, really, pack your poorly shot would-be ad and find some lint underneath your beds. It must be way more interested in it than we are.
And for the humorous part, can you believe I've been shush!-ed by a talker for commenting on a trailer during the ethics appeal? Those crazy kids...
ArabianShark just loves the movies... like you hadn't guessed yet.
Blame it on the weather
Haven't I always?
Blogo ergo sum (or something along those lines), and so, for the past two weeks, I haven't been. One could argue it's the weather's fault, and really, one wouldn't be all thar wrong. It's not just the sun (I got me some fly shades), it's the heat and lately, it's been even worse. Somewhat overcast weather has been making for this awful stuffy weather. Fortunately today presented us with some late evening "rist", wich isn't a real word yet. I hereby proclaim "rist", meaning a mixture of rain and mist, a word. There, now it's a word. For those of you not familiar with rist, it happens when the air is so damp you can't actually go outside and not get wet, because the tiny raindrop-like droplets of water are actually suspended in mid-air very close to the ground (and not so close to the ground and everywhere in between). A very nice surprise after a stuffy day. Think cool moist towel. Ah, bliss.
Yes, one could blame it on the weather... but one would be, ultimately, wrong. The one to blame is not one alone, t's a whole team. Bethesda Softworks, it is. For the crime of unleashing upon humanity the evil known only as "The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion" and by the powers in me invested by... "it" (do remind me to fill in this gap more appropriately sometime), I hereby condemn you to be merry for the rest of your hopefully very long and rewarding lives. Now that is one good RPG. And it's not even D&D based. In fact, it's ruleset is quite original. The graphic beauty is mesmerizing to say the least and please don't anyone come bitchin' about clipping bugs, of course there are clipping bugs, it's a game, for Ctuchlu's sake. Just be glad there aren't any clipping bugs IRL. Now that that's settled and we all agree the graphics are, for want of a better word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, where this here piece of work really shines is in the NPC's very advanced and independent AI. Yes, NPCs each have independent AIs which are not ruled by some would-be The Force-like entity, NPCs intercat with each other as they would with the player in each and every way, and I do mean every last way, from greeting each other as they pass by in the street to having heated discussions prone to end with the punctuation of clanging steel and the underlining of spilt blood. So, in short, get this game.
Hey, I almost forgot to give you my farewells. Almost...
ArabianShark is not, however, oblivious to the fact that some more movie-related ravings are due. Patience...
Blogo ergo sum (or something along those lines), and so, for the past two weeks, I haven't been. One could argue it's the weather's fault, and really, one wouldn't be all thar wrong. It's not just the sun (I got me some fly shades), it's the heat and lately, it's been even worse. Somewhat overcast weather has been making for this awful stuffy weather. Fortunately today presented us with some late evening "rist", wich isn't a real word yet. I hereby proclaim "rist", meaning a mixture of rain and mist, a word. There, now it's a word. For those of you not familiar with rist, it happens when the air is so damp you can't actually go outside and not get wet, because the tiny raindrop-like droplets of water are actually suspended in mid-air very close to the ground (and not so close to the ground and everywhere in between). A very nice surprise after a stuffy day. Think cool moist towel. Ah, bliss.
Yes, one could blame it on the weather... but one would be, ultimately, wrong. The one to blame is not one alone, t's a whole team. Bethesda Softworks, it is. For the crime of unleashing upon humanity the evil known only as "The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion" and by the powers in me invested by... "it" (do remind me to fill in this gap more appropriately sometime), I hereby condemn you to be merry for the rest of your hopefully very long and rewarding lives. Now that is one good RPG. And it's not even D&D based. In fact, it's ruleset is quite original. The graphic beauty is mesmerizing to say the least and please don't anyone come bitchin' about clipping bugs, of course there are clipping bugs, it's a game, for Ctuchlu's sake. Just be glad there aren't any clipping bugs IRL. Now that that's settled and we all agree the graphics are, for want of a better word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, where this here piece of work really shines is in the NPC's very advanced and independent AI. Yes, NPCs each have independent AIs which are not ruled by some would-be The Force-like entity, NPCs intercat with each other as they would with the player in each and every way, and I do mean every last way, from greeting each other as they pass by in the street to having heated discussions prone to end with the punctuation of clanging steel and the underlining of spilt blood. So, in short, get this game.
Hey, I almost forgot to give you my farewells. Almost...
ArabianShark is not, however, oblivious to the fact that some more movie-related ravings are due. Patience...
Poll II: the Results
Thank you all who voted in last time's poll. Unfortunately, not even all of you were sufficient to make a good statistical sample. Thus, I'm forced to resort to other means to discover the answer to my question.
The question at hand is not one befitting the answer "42", but simply "Which one is the cooler car." I feel this is to petty a matter to figure in the universal source of all knowledge (Wikipedia), and certainly not worth disturbing the Powers (Usenet Oracle). But, in the end, coolness (is that a word?) is merely a popularity contest. That can be solved easily.
Here is the winner. So, at the date this is being written, Vanquish got... Vanquished.
Tune in tomorrow for some more movie-related raving. Farewell.
ArabianShark is at a loss for a witty last remark. One could argue it has always been so, but one would be kind not to... or get some vital organ bitten off.
The question at hand is not one befitting the answer "42", but simply "Which one is the cooler car." I feel this is to petty a matter to figure in the universal source of all knowledge (Wikipedia), and certainly not worth disturbing the Powers (Usenet Oracle). But, in the end, coolness (is that a word?) is merely a popularity contest. That can be solved easily.
Here is the winner. So, at the date this is being written, Vanquish got... Vanquished.
Tune in tomorrow for some more movie-related raving. Farewell.
ArabianShark is at a loss for a witty last remark. One could argue it has always been so, but one would be kind not to... or get some vital organ bitten off.
Poll
Polls, for the most part, as far as I'm concerned, are pretty much... useless. They don't define (ooh, define! Read with Hugo Weaving's tone!) reality, they don't shape reality, they merely report of reality, with varying levels of accuracy, depending on how well the poll was done. At this point I'd like to make a very clear difference between a poll such as this and a poll in which one goes around ringing doorbells to ask Everyday Joe how he/she(/it? Why not?) feels about this or that with aims to improve some product or service so that Everyday Joe and his wife/husband/children/parents/pets/furniture and such may have more fun and spend less time with their chores. Those aren't just use useless. They're also annoying.
Onwards...
My question: Which car do you like best: the Aston Martin DB9 or the Aston Martin Vanquish? One should hardly think you have never heard of them or that you don't know what either of them looks like... but if you don't, just go ahead and make an image search on google for either of them. What's that? Can't be bothered!? Why, of all the lazy... oh, alright! I spoil you!
Aston Martin DB9 (more)
Aston Martin Vanquish (more)
Sleek and shiny farewells.
ArabianShark looks forward to hearing your opinions in the shape of comments.
Onwards...
My question: Which car do you like best: the Aston Martin DB9 or the Aston Martin Vanquish? One should hardly think you have never heard of them or that you don't know what either of them looks like... but if you don't, just go ahead and make an image search on google for either of them. What's that? Can't be bothered!? Why, of all the lazy... oh, alright! I spoil you!
Aston Martin DB9 (more)
Aston Martin Vanquish (more)
Sleek and shiny farewells.
ArabianShark looks forward to hearing your opinions in the shape of comments.
Not even a full nibble...
Just a little tidbit...
We all know Google's "I'm feeling Lucky" button is a little prone to hilarious situations. Another one:
Make one such lucky search for "failure" (no quotes). Careful, now, no typos. Looking for "faliure" will return no hilarious first result.
ArabianShark would send his farewells, had he been here long enough.
We all know Google's "I'm feeling Lucky" button is a little prone to hilarious situations. Another one:
Make one such lucky search for "failure" (no quotes). Careful, now, no typos. Looking for "faliure" will return no hilarious first result.
ArabianShark would send his farewells, had he been here long enough.
It's been a while...
Right, I'm back. Anyone miss me? There's quite a bit of catching up to do, now, so let's get to it. What's on the menu for today...
Oranges: Actually, tangerines. I thought we'd have some fruit first. a bit of an appetizer. Loads of vitamin C in those. Great to keep the common cold at bay. Also, vitamin C is quite helpful in dealing with hangovers, as are natural non-refined sugars. A neat suggestion for a part of a day-after-a-bender breakfast. If no oranges are avaliable, another good source of vitamin C are kiwis (the fruit, not New Zealanders and certainly not birds). But, if you recall, the topic is tangerines. Is it me or do the ones with the most seeds always taste better? Does, likewise, a rose smell all the sweeter the more thorns it has?
Eagerly awaiting your comments, farewell.
ArabianShark settles in after quite the long absence. Not much has changed, however.
Oranges: Actually, tangerines. I thought we'd have some fruit first. a bit of an appetizer. Loads of vitamin C in those. Great to keep the common cold at bay. Also, vitamin C is quite helpful in dealing with hangovers, as are natural non-refined sugars. A neat suggestion for a part of a day-after-a-bender breakfast. If no oranges are avaliable, another good source of vitamin C are kiwis (the fruit, not New Zealanders and certainly not birds). But, if you recall, the topic is tangerines. Is it me or do the ones with the most seeds always taste better? Does, likewise, a rose smell all the sweeter the more thorns it has?
Eagerly awaiting your comments, farewell.
ArabianShark settles in after quite the long absence. Not much has changed, however.
Daylight saving time
Why are people afraid of running out of daylight? You know, the sun will (most likely) rise tomorrow too; there's no need of saving today's daylight when there's plenty of daylight for the picking tomorrow. Besides, where are you storing the daylight you are meant to be saving with the hour of sleep they took from me a week ago last Sunday?
Really, I don't get it. Right, so it might have been useful in the past, when they were still trying to invent a better lightbulb, but really, I find myself in brighter environments at night than during the day (well, not really. Except in the Winter). With this crazy Summer Hour, I find myself going for dinner barely at sunset. It messes with my internal clock (my most geeky readers will be glad to know that my other internal clock remains with equal up and down times and at the precise same frequency). It's weird. It's unnatural. There is no longer a "night meal", only an "early evening meal", and that's hardly dinner at all. Lunch is a drag for me, dinner was good. Now, dinner is no more. I take pleasure in food no more. Hey, that's going to help my weight loss program, eh? I guess some good may come from the whole daylight saving time after all.
Still I wonder how vampires are coping. It's still the first few days of Daylight Saving, I wonder if any of them are turning in their graves, going "Man, oh, man, I could so go for a neck right now, but I just can't go out yet." Or do you think they migrate like swallows? Going South?
Bright and Light farewells to you all, mortal and otherwise.
ArabianShark is now going for a bite. Not to the neck, though.
Really, I don't get it. Right, so it might have been useful in the past, when they were still trying to invent a better lightbulb, but really, I find myself in brighter environments at night than during the day (well, not really. Except in the Winter). With this crazy Summer Hour, I find myself going for dinner barely at sunset. It messes with my internal clock (my most geeky readers will be glad to know that my other internal clock remains with equal up and down times and at the precise same frequency). It's weird. It's unnatural. There is no longer a "night meal", only an "early evening meal", and that's hardly dinner at all. Lunch is a drag for me, dinner was good. Now, dinner is no more. I take pleasure in food no more. Hey, that's going to help my weight loss program, eh? I guess some good may come from the whole daylight saving time after all.
Still I wonder how vampires are coping. It's still the first few days of Daylight Saving, I wonder if any of them are turning in their graves, going "Man, oh, man, I could so go for a neck right now, but I just can't go out yet." Or do you think they migrate like swallows? Going South?
Bright and Light farewells to you all, mortal and otherwise.
ArabianShark is now going for a bite. Not to the neck, though.
Who's up for fishing?
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says that the Babelfish is simply the most wierd thing in the universe. What do you know, it could be right.
If you're not familiar with the Hichhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (tho original BBC series, not the more recently released film), shame on you. At any rate, to understand the Babelfish one must, right off the bat, know what a fish is. I'll be assuming you all know what a fish is. If, however, you don't know what a fish is... Right, this is plain silly, isn't it? Second, one must know of Babel. The tower of Babel was a great construction of man, made to challenge the heavens themselves and raise mankind to the statute of God. God, however, would sabotage this enterprise by mixing the tongues of man, thus creating the many languages spoken around the world. Thus, a Babelfish is a creature that can understand any language in the universe. In the Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy, you stick it in your ear and immediately you'll be able to understand any alien dialect as though it were your own mother tongue.
Of course Babelfish can also mean another thing. Out of waiting for a download to complete-induced boredom, I figured I could have some fun with it. give it a chunk of text, have it translated into another language, than yet another language without going back to the original language and back to the language you typed in. If you gave it a simple sentence, the result should be approximately the same sentence you gave it. An example:
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
Translate from English to Portuguese, from Portuguese to French, form French to German and from German to English:
"The kastanienbraune fox fast reversal on the lazy dog."
Note: Just so you don't think I ever made any typos, I copy-pasted in between languages.
Fair enough. Small sentence, few mistakes. Now give it a large, complicated piece and add in a few more translations and watch the fish wiggle. Here's a suggestion:
(Form "V for Vendetta")
"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."
Give it a try.
Tongue tied farewells.
ArabianShark cannot possibly be tonge tied, because a shark's tongue is quite stiff, seeing as it is cartali... cartile... cartela... it's stiff.
(Incidentally, I meant, of course, cartilaginous)
If you're not familiar with the Hichhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (tho original BBC series, not the more recently released film), shame on you. At any rate, to understand the Babelfish one must, right off the bat, know what a fish is. I'll be assuming you all know what a fish is. If, however, you don't know what a fish is... Right, this is plain silly, isn't it? Second, one must know of Babel. The tower of Babel was a great construction of man, made to challenge the heavens themselves and raise mankind to the statute of God. God, however, would sabotage this enterprise by mixing the tongues of man, thus creating the many languages spoken around the world. Thus, a Babelfish is a creature that can understand any language in the universe. In the Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy, you stick it in your ear and immediately you'll be able to understand any alien dialect as though it were your own mother tongue.
Of course Babelfish can also mean another thing. Out of waiting for a download to complete-induced boredom, I figured I could have some fun with it. give it a chunk of text, have it translated into another language, than yet another language without going back to the original language and back to the language you typed in. If you gave it a simple sentence, the result should be approximately the same sentence you gave it. An example:
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."
Translate from English to Portuguese, from Portuguese to French, form French to German and from German to English:
"The kastanienbraune fox fast reversal on the lazy dog."
Note: Just so you don't think I ever made any typos, I copy-pasted in between languages.
Fair enough. Small sentence, few mistakes. Now give it a large, complicated piece and add in a few more translations and watch the fish wiggle. Here's a suggestion:
(Form "V for Vendetta")
"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."
Give it a try.
Tongue tied farewells.
ArabianShark cannot possibly be tonge tied, because a shark's tongue is quite stiff, seeing as it is cartali... cartile... cartela... it's stiff.
(Incidentally, I meant, of course, cartilaginous)
Hypergraphy
Lately I've been posting far too long updates and comments, and I've heard complaints that my blog entries won't fit some screens, even at high resolution and in full screen mode. Mea culpa. A post to indulge those of you who can't be bothered to read for too long.
And for those who'd whine about there not being any content to it, it's sunny, Daylight Saving Time took night hours from me and I'm disgruntled about it all.
Bye.
ArabianShark is gone.
And for those who'd whine about there not being any content to it, it's sunny, Daylight Saving Time took night hours from me and I'm disgruntled about it all.
Bye.
ArabianShark is gone.
What's a W but a stuttered V?
A very silly title, wasn't it? I suppose that's the best I could come up with, attempting to get W and V in the same sentence tongue-in-cheek. Right, then; onwards.
At any rate, why W and V? W is the initial of the last name of many famous people, such as Andy Wachowsky, Larry Wachowsky and Hugo Weaving, to name a few. Where am I going with this? And how come there's a V in it as well? What is the V for, why should there be a V, why, why?
Why, for Vendetta, of course.
(And that's what it's all about. A whole rant just to introduce yet another movie review. Well, then, here be slight spoilers, none of which about the plot (and most certeinly none about the gunpowder plot), yet some about the other aspects of the movie. Read on.)
First and foremost, Hugo Weaving makes my skin crawl. In a good way, that is. Every single line he delivers my hair stands on end. Picture that, sitting next to a porcupine at the movies.
Before the review, how about an overview? The place is London; the time is in the near future, most likely in the next 20's or about that time. A totalitarian regime has taken over the United Kingdom. Media, politics and police are all about a single goal, that of a single man; a Chancellor set on total domination of the people of England. Enter V, a man behind a Guy Fawkes mask, a man who wont sit and be spoon fed whatever laws, whatever lies "they", whoever they might be, see fit that he abide by. Enter the villain.
Despite being set in the future, this is no Sci-Fic flick.
The shooting and directing is much like those of The Matrix (as one would expect), with great results as well. Unlike The Matrix series, however, great emphasis is put on the little things, or rather lack thereof. Not that there aren't any little things, for they are many, but because the little things are not allowed to be or remain little. (I still have Mr. Weaving's voice in my head. Try to read this paragraph as though Weaving were delivering it.) Every little thud or tap of small objects being dropped, flung or merely knocked over is emphatised and exagerated until it becomes quite simply and delightfully ominous, grown or overgrown to a thunderous boom.
The main character draws from several sources, not quite copycatting any yet merging several elements with all which is only his own to a most exquisite result. First and foremost there is the black cloak and hat from which shines a white mask, à la Phantom of the Opera. Also the cloak and mask, the colour black and the fact the V is more than merely man, but the icon of a concept, a recurring theme of fear and hatred, that he is no more hero than anti-hero, that he is such a charismatic villain, that his voice was probably dubbed in in post producing (I should think that it should be rather hard to accurately record voice from beyond the mask of from within it, for that matter)and even that his name is the letter V spell out Darth Vader. Besides the impecable conception of the character is Weaving's spectacular performance, not just as vocal talent but also as physical talent. Unlike David Prowse's interpretation of Darth Vader, V is hardly the masked character that makes you wonder weather there's actually a person underneath the costume; Weaving's body language convey every last little twitch that his face would, were not for the mask.
Other elements drawn upon are mainly of historical nature, most strikingly, a very deliberate resemblance to Adolph Hitler whenever the Chancellor is seen adressing the public and (skip the remainder of this paragraph, lest you read spoilers) in the scene when thousands of ordinary people don Guy Fawkes masks and black cloaks and hats to join in the revolution, which draws upon Mahatma Ghandi's gathering of 4000 people to collect a bowl of sea water to produce their own salt (which, if you recall your history, was illegal at the time).
Where the movie really shines, however, is in its music. Not just background, taylor-made music for any specific scene (which I have nothing against, on the contrary), but the usage of music an element of a scene, particularly classical music. I won't go in much depth, but, again, mind the little things. The keyword is sync.
The lighting is to be commended as well. Hard contrasts of light and shaddow are cleverly applied to establish moods and even mislead the viewer for some more plot twists. Softer transictions set different moods, some with warm lights to express comfort and intimacy, some eerie shadows to induce a sense of mistery and deceit.
Much powerful imagery was used to great effect. Many short shots of episodes of violence, passion, death and love succeed masterfully at conveying simple concepts in flashbacks and minor subplots.
Right, that's enough. Just go and see the movie. It's well worth it.
Sighing for the streets of London... Farewell.
ArabianShark will now be setting off for a journey towards the North Sea, up the Thames and off to a little vacation in London... In his dreams.
At any rate, why W and V? W is the initial of the last name of many famous people, such as Andy Wachowsky, Larry Wachowsky and Hugo Weaving, to name a few. Where am I going with this? And how come there's a V in it as well? What is the V for, why should there be a V, why, why?
Why, for Vendetta, of course.
(And that's what it's all about. A whole rant just to introduce yet another movie review. Well, then, here be slight spoilers, none of which about the plot (and most certeinly none about the gunpowder plot), yet some about the other aspects of the movie. Read on.)
First and foremost, Hugo Weaving makes my skin crawl. In a good way, that is. Every single line he delivers my hair stands on end. Picture that, sitting next to a porcupine at the movies.
Before the review, how about an overview? The place is London; the time is in the near future, most likely in the next 20's or about that time. A totalitarian regime has taken over the United Kingdom. Media, politics and police are all about a single goal, that of a single man; a Chancellor set on total domination of the people of England. Enter V, a man behind a Guy Fawkes mask, a man who wont sit and be spoon fed whatever laws, whatever lies "they", whoever they might be, see fit that he abide by. Enter the villain.
Despite being set in the future, this is no Sci-Fic flick.
The shooting and directing is much like those of The Matrix (as one would expect), with great results as well. Unlike The Matrix series, however, great emphasis is put on the little things, or rather lack thereof. Not that there aren't any little things, for they are many, but because the little things are not allowed to be or remain little. (I still have Mr. Weaving's voice in my head. Try to read this paragraph as though Weaving were delivering it.) Every little thud or tap of small objects being dropped, flung or merely knocked over is emphatised and exagerated until it becomes quite simply and delightfully ominous, grown or overgrown to a thunderous boom.
The main character draws from several sources, not quite copycatting any yet merging several elements with all which is only his own to a most exquisite result. First and foremost there is the black cloak and hat from which shines a white mask, à la Phantom of the Opera. Also the cloak and mask, the colour black and the fact the V is more than merely man, but the icon of a concept, a recurring theme of fear and hatred, that he is no more hero than anti-hero, that he is such a charismatic villain, that his voice was probably dubbed in in post producing (I should think that it should be rather hard to accurately record voice from beyond the mask of from within it, for that matter)and even that his name is the letter V spell out Darth Vader. Besides the impecable conception of the character is Weaving's spectacular performance, not just as vocal talent but also as physical talent. Unlike David Prowse's interpretation of Darth Vader, V is hardly the masked character that makes you wonder weather there's actually a person underneath the costume; Weaving's body language convey every last little twitch that his face would, were not for the mask.
Other elements drawn upon are mainly of historical nature, most strikingly, a very deliberate resemblance to Adolph Hitler whenever the Chancellor is seen adressing the public and (skip the remainder of this paragraph, lest you read spoilers) in the scene when thousands of ordinary people don Guy Fawkes masks and black cloaks and hats to join in the revolution, which draws upon Mahatma Ghandi's gathering of 4000 people to collect a bowl of sea water to produce their own salt (which, if you recall your history, was illegal at the time).
Where the movie really shines, however, is in its music. Not just background, taylor-made music for any specific scene (which I have nothing against, on the contrary), but the usage of music an element of a scene, particularly classical music. I won't go in much depth, but, again, mind the little things. The keyword is sync.
The lighting is to be commended as well. Hard contrasts of light and shaddow are cleverly applied to establish moods and even mislead the viewer for some more plot twists. Softer transictions set different moods, some with warm lights to express comfort and intimacy, some eerie shadows to induce a sense of mistery and deceit.
Much powerful imagery was used to great effect. Many short shots of episodes of violence, passion, death and love succeed masterfully at conveying simple concepts in flashbacks and minor subplots.
Right, that's enough. Just go and see the movie. It's well worth it.
Sighing for the streets of London... Farewell.
ArabianShark will now be setting off for a journey towards the North Sea, up the Thames and off to a little vacation in London... In his dreams.
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