My Addled Brain

Two in one year!

She stared at me across the fresh fruit display.

I had gotten used to this by now. Sometimes, they would curse at me in their strange tongue. Occasionally, they would try to get rough, swinging at me with their beaks. While I’d love to say that I am as nimble as my name would lead one to believe, these scuffles often resulted in some type of injury - bruises, gouged fur, chemical burns, the occasional falling anvil. I can understand the anger directed at me - it’s only natural. Playing a bloodthirsty antagonist opposite their sweet, innocent, nigh iconic counterpart would naturally engender those emotions.

Yet, here was a different look. There wasn’t a burning hate behind her eyes, no fire of disgust, no desire to right my fictional wrongs with pain and suffering. Instead, as she tilted her head to one side, sweeping the feathery tuft atop her head briefly across her face, I saw only pity. I froze, my basket of tofu and vegetables clenched solidly in my right hand. I expected anything when venturing outside the studio and into the public eye - anything except this. We stood, this moment in time stretched across infinity, thin and delicate, but mesmerizing.

That night, I sat on my patio, under the cold, indifferent stars, and wept at what my life had become.

- From “I Was A Teenage ACME Addict” by Wile E. Coyote, Super Genius

Happy Thanksgiving!

Grandma, did you frost the turkey with chocolate icing again?

Seriously - I don’t get why people use it. Social networking is all the rage apparently, but I find the concept elusive. As far as I can tell, it’s a bad blog site that you can link a music video to, making the already craptacular load time into an excruciating foray into cyberspace. Maybe someone can explain it to me? You can use my MySpace account.

What do you mean, “ironic”?

Ok, two. Sue me. But they’ve been action-packed, Pee Wee. I’m in charge of a bunch of stuff now, including people. My boss expects me to accomplish certain tasks on time, and have something to prove I’ve done what they asked me. Kinda like showing your work in Algebra class. This is a marked change from the past, and adjustment has not come easy.

Teh One and I have decided to attend the second annual New Years Eve with the Barenaked Ladies. However, we have decided not to relive all of last’s year’s outing, so you won’t get another essay out of me. Unless the drummer takes off his shirt and starts demanding pillows and blankets. It is New Years - anything can happen.

In dual honor of both this event and MCG’s birthday, I decided to karaoke “One Week” at the festive, nautically themed Gaspar’s, after imbibing not nearly enough Killian’s. I must admit to some lyrical skill with a microphone - if he were alive, Gene Siskel would have called it a “show stopper”.

And it stayed that way - until my brother, who has never, ever performed karaoke, or sung to anyone who is not The Princess before, took up the mic, and proceeded to kick Chris Issak’s punk ass all over the street, singing “Wicked Game”. He was nervous before he started. He was so good, Gene Siskel returned from the dead, drove down to the bar and proclaimed, “That shit was AWESOME!” He then turned to the bartender, ordered a scotch, and spontaneously decomposed. Fortunately, the nautical theme included the scent of sick cabin boy, so nobody really noticed. In any case, MCG tore the roof of that mother, and we have witnesses to refute any claims to the contrary

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

You might not know it
from the movie; apparently
Hogwart’s is a school.

But since we all know that school and teachers are boring, they decided to skip all that and just stick with the parts that deal with dragons and embarrasing attempts at talking to girls. Now that I’m thinking about it, my first date was a lot like Harry’s. Only there weren’t any midget conductors or dudes that could turn themselves into sharks. There was an unfortunately aimed pool cue, however…

My not-so-little bundle of joy has become my favorite household appliance. Like a seasoned porn star, it’s reliable, sturdy, and can handle a LOT of meat. But unlike a seasoned porn star, it’s free of communicable diseases. Might have something to do with being able to acheive 600+ degree temperatures. Or maybe it’s the monthly checkups at the clinic.

I decided, after a few months of putting it through it’s paces with steak, chicken, fish, veggies, and the occasional unruly pet, that the Weber needed a real challenge. So, several phone calls and a 50$ investment at New Tampa Gourmet later, I had procured three of the biggest slabs of baby back ribs I’ve ever witnessed for a small, late birthday soiree at the humble abode. Yes, I have to cook for myself at my own parties. If I didn’t enjoy it so much, I might feel insulted by that.

We went all out. Worked up a sweet dry rub for the ribs. Made BBQ sauce - a KC-style number with a Dr. Pepper base. Prepped like a madman.

And I have no shame in saying I thought those were some damn tasty ribs. There was WAY too much meat on the bones to fall off them (they almost resembled lamb shanks), but they were tender all the same. My guests tended to agree, although MCG didn’t like the sauce so much. This cooking thing is working out for me, I think.

The event itself was a smallish affair - a few friends, MCG, his wife, and the Princess, who spent her evening alternately watching Finding Nemo and tormenting the cat. (One day, she’s gonna catch the furball, and then it will be on, as the kids are fond of saying.) As the first dinner party I’ve hosted at our Wesley Chapel hovel, I’d have to say things went pretty smoothly. Had enough cervesa y vino, enough snacks, and Teh One donated a cheesecake to end things juuuuuuuuuust right.

Next time, I might consider a bigger party. I wonder if we could hold the TBBF at my house…

Mark Russinovich is a pretty smart guy. As half of the duo that run SysInternals, a freeware website devoted to computing-related utilities, and author of a few books that prove, if nothing else, he’s significantly more experienced with Windows than, say, Bill Gates, the man’s got a lot of “street cred”. (Or is that “information superhighway cred”?) People tend to believe what he says regarding things like Windows security. So, when he used one of his own tools to check out his home machine, and discovered he had a rootkit installed - he got suspicious.

I’m not a l33t h4xx0r. I have a good grasp of how the web operates, and I occasionally leverage that knowledge to make web sites that, if not masterpieces of the modern web, at least don’t suck very much. So when I tell you that his explanation of how he discovered this issue, and the eventual source that materialized as a result, is pretty easy to read and understand as long as you have a basic knowledge about how Windows works…well, you can read it for yourself. But for those with a less technical background, I’ll give you the short answer: by using Sony’s DRM protected music CDs in your computer, you are thanked for your honesty in purchasing their product by having hidden files and spyware installed on your system. Poorly written spyware to boot, according to Mark. Poorly written spyware that can be taken advantage of by hackers to break into your computer.

I’m not really surprised by this turn of events. I’ve talked about the potential evils of IP and corporate interests at some length previously, so I’ll spare you the rhetoric a second time. (Please hold your applause until the end.) But believing something is a possibility and then actually seeing it happen are two rather different things.

This morning, Sony released a statement to alleviate concerns. They’re issuing a patch to “mitigate” some of the concerns by security experts like Mark. Oh good, now that Sony’s been found out, they’ll play nice. But what if Sony had instead declared that the spyware was protected by the DMCA, and that by removing it, Mark had broken the law? Could he have been sued for DMCA violations? Would anyone have any recourse should he have been found guilty of such things? Are we slowly inching closer to a corporate state - something that should be infinitely more frightening to everyday people than a police state?

Another day, another year closer to paying AARP membership dues. Despite my membership in the evil scorpio club, my day will be filled with meetings and workshops. The sexual deviance and mean-spiritedness that affects most of my fellow zodiacial bretheren doesn’t hit me as hard, probably because I was born on the least well known holiday on the calendar. I usually dedicate this day to St. Bacchus.

Oh, and I’ve got actual posts brewing in my head right now. Just have to find the time to type them…