But nonetheless, fish heads:
Eat them up at Archie McPhee’s for twelve bucks apiece. Warning: they’re not good dancers.
But nonetheless, fish heads:
Eat them up at Archie McPhee’s for twelve bucks apiece. Warning: they’re not good dancers.
There are something like 12,200 posts in this WordPress database, which begins in the second week of September 2006. (The URL says “15050,” but as anyone who runs WordPress finds out quickly enough, the autosave function eats up several numbers all by itself, which irked me enough to install a plugin whose sole function is to tell it not to do that.)
What bothers me is that there are nearly 10,000 tags, and I didn’t start tagging stuff until 2009. I’ve done several consolidation sessions — there didn’t, for instance, need to be a dozen different Chevrolet tags, and I cut them down to five — but until we start getting some 36-hour days around here, I’m not going to have time to clean up this mess.
This landed in the mailbox last night from contact at banana-hanger.com, and I reprint the entire text thereof:
you there? What happened last night? Are you mad?
Of course, this was from viewing it in plain text, the way God and/or RFC 822 intended. With HTML toggled on, up popped several dozen words in the sort of sequence you’d expect if someone had thrown a faxed stock tout in the air, sliced it into little pieces, allowed them to fall, and then typed them in the order of retrieval.
And we all know what I think about stock touts.
A reader complained, not unreasonably, that all the preceding vintage-hosiery ads included portrayals of women, and suggested a source for shots of the guys. It may have even included this one:
Although frankly, I was partial to the Gold Toe brand.
(Source: Found in Mom’s Basement.)
Neither rain, nor snow, nor heat, nor gloom of night, nor tropical storms in tropical-storm season, nor even the computer’s failure to boot six times out of seven, stays this weekly feature from its regular Monday-morning appearance.
rule34 dakota fanning: Um, no. Not here. And any you find is likely to be fake. Then again, you don’t care, do you?
“six to five against” +meaning: You have five chances in eleven, or a probability of 45.5 percent, of finding whatever the heck it is you’re looking for, and I hope it’s not what that guy in the previous item was looking for.
i can’t remember who i was back then: Behold, the serial identity thief.
mass of conflicting impulses: It’s positioned around the periphery of the cranium, and once set in motion, creates the condition popularly described as “My head is spinning.”
bad romance jokes: Are there good romance jokes?
what is a few inches later: The beginning of the punchline in a bad romance joke.
1988 mercury mystique transmission wont go forward unless: The car is atop Pikes Peak and heading downward.
who proved germs don’t come from water: Probably a German.
mitt romney’s father…an auto industry visionary: Anybody who had to drive a ’62 Rambler halfway across the country might have reasonably questioned that vision.
wile e. coyote breakaway mug: Who knew that Acme was building stuff for ThinkGeek?
charlie hill comic stroke: Because what could be funnier than someone having a stroke?
woman pantsless flight: Never seen that. And it’s just as well, because I would probably have a stroke, and that would be hilarious.
Iran has lowered the age of consent — as in “We consent to our daughter’s being taken away by a man three times her age” — to nine:
Iranian Christian news service Mohabat News reports a member of the Iranian Parliament (Majiles) Mohammad Ali Isfenani [as saying], “We must regard 9 as being the appropriate age for a girl to have reached puberty and qualified to get married. To do otherwise would be to contradict and challenge Islamic Sharia law.”
He argues, “Before the revolution girls under 16 were not allowed to marry. Parents determined to get around the law would often tamper with their daughter’s birth certificate. Under the previous constitution, people were legally regarded as adults when they were 18. After the revolution the age at which children were regarded as going through puberty was lowered to 9 for girls and 15 for boys.
The Saudis had announced in spring that the minimum age for girls to wed would be lowered to 10.
[They're] creating a severe shortage of unmarried women. The men, and you may infer any degree of sneer quote, don’t have the balls to go out and kill off enough of each other so that there are four women for every man, so instead they pull their beards and convince each other that a nine-year-old is “a woman grown”.
Context, people, context. Think of Muhammad and Aisha. Or, better yet, think of the US in 1880, where the age of consent was usually 10. Seven in Delaware.
Now if we were actually connecting this up to maturity, we’d be talking about an age of consent somewhere between eighteen and forty. (Or, in my case, perhaps sixty.) We don’t do that, of course, because in contemporary American society there is no shame greater than not getting laid.
Paul Allen, of course, was not available for comment.
(Via FAIL Blog’s WIN!)
(a) Visits for today are regularly updated as per normal, while the overall total remains static. So instead of these two figures growing consistently – as in n + 15 being matched by m + 15, n + 412 by m + 412, and so on – m (the total visits) remains at m all day while there are regular increments to n: n + 15, n + 412, n + 802 etc.
(b) At midnight, the total figure, m, does increase but not by the number of visits for the day just ended; rather for the same day a week ago. So, for example, if yesterday was Saturday 25 August, the increment to the total is the number of visits for Saturday 18 August.
(c) The shortfall in the total caused by the initial ‘loss’ at the beginning of August remains; it hasn’t been made good.
Which, I opined at the time, is probably due to the multiple databases involved getting out of sync.
These results were first observed on my own Sitemeter, but I have now also studied those of six other bloggers, with ‘open’ Sitemeters, and the results for them are identical (except that I don’t know the extent of their initial ‘loss’). That doesn’t, of course, show that the results hold good for all Sitemeter accounts, but it does suggest that the malfunction I describe is somewhat general.
I am one of the six Norm studied. My own observations are generally consistent with his. Today’s “Summary” will show 2,297,230 all day, though the actual meter at this writing indicates 2,328,640. This is a difference of 31,410, which has varied very little in the last four days. I continue to believe that the higher figure is correct, and that the lower ones resulted from failure to post changes during a period of site “upgrades.” The weekly report emailed me on Saturday had the correct Saturday total. Of course, I can’t prove it, and usually the only way to get through to tech support is to have your payment go troppo.
I’ve had enough issues with insomnia over the years to know better than to complain about sleeping late, but I feel at least vaguely guilty on weekends. Weekdays I can roll out at 5:59, and I’ll be groggy for a while, but at least I’ll be some semblance of functional. If I’m up by nine on a Saturday … well, we’ll wait until this actually happens before coming up with a metaphor.
Part of my problem is the three-headed cocktail that usually knocks me out at night: it’s unseemly that it should require three tablets, not expensive tablets but still three frigging tablets, to turn the noise in my head down below 11.
Furthermore, I have a very bad habit of coming up with very good ideas at something like 10:30 or 11 pm, when I should be winding things down. (Although last night I had no ideas at all and still didn’t come down until 1:30 or so.) And I don’t see any way around this other than heavier drugs, which I’d prefer to avoid.
Last time I felt like griping about the cost of cable TV, I pointed out that the alternatives were not likely to save me a great deal of money, and besides there’s always the chance that I might want to watch something on the spur of the moment, moments being unusually spur-rich these days.
And there’s this angle which should be obvious, but probably isn’t:
The thing about these “cut the cord” (cancel cable) articles is they all act like they are righteously retaliating against greedy providers. With the obvious exception of illegal downloading, who exactly do they think is giving them the means to do so? One way or another, they’re going to get their money. Or we’re going to stop getting content.
You can hardly blame the owner of a cash cow for looking askance at someone who threatens to pound it into Swiss steak.
What’s more, the urge to get television over the Net may lead to discouraging-sounding scenarios like this one:
[Television] is moving off the air and over the top of cable and telephony. Still, the Internet is sold as a service already by cablecos and telcos that hate the thought of remaining a “dumb pipe.”
If things go the way [Michael] Crossey expects, the Net’s carriers will likely expand Net service offerings in ways that fracture the Net into pieces, each with hard-wired dependencies on the carrier. The result will be the biggest body-snatch in the history of business. Standing where the Net used to be won’t be Telco 2.0, but TV 2.0, with lots of marketing gravy.
And being in a disfavored demographic, as I am, means any gravy I get will be cold and congealed and generally disgusting.
Sometimes it’s your turn to be breakfast, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Usually when I come up with a photo for Rule 5, I will also come up with some sort of explanation (read: “justification”) for its being here. Then again, when I come up with a photo of Sela Ward rocking a little black dress, well, it’s here because it’s Sela Ward rocking a little black dress, and that ought to be enough reason right there.
This shot comes from this year’s Television Critics Association tour, held last month, shortly after Sela Ward’s 56th birthday.
The journey of a lifetime begins with one small step.
Nancy Friedman was not overly impressed with the name of this indoor miniature-golf operation in the East Bay. Then again, I laughed my fool head off, which I suppose justifies “fool” as an adjective.
Why is Facebook’s common stock tanking? Would you believe injudicious ad placement?
Let’s peruse the ads currently on my Facebook feed and find out.
Seven advertisements in all: an invitation for my childfree self to join a “proud mothers” group; a local photographer who specializes in portraits of newborns; the chance to supplement my Master’s degree with a GED; an ad offering my 112-pound self the chance to lose 48 pounds as Rachael Ray did; an ad offering the chance to lose seven pounds a week; an ad telling me how to lose 23 pounds as Kim Kardashian did, and another ad offering me the chance to lose seven pounds a week.
So: two ads offering services I’d never use, one insulting my education and intelligence, and four offering advice that will literally kill me within a month if I listen to them.
It seems to me that in this day and age, having your education and intelligence insulted only 14.3 percent of the time is close to miraculous.
The Department of
Palpable Silliness Preposterous Symbolism Public Safety is gearing up to inflict these upon us:
A designer in the neighborhood has vowed to come up with something better. And really, do we need this much eye broccoli — opposite of “candy” — just to discourage twenty-year-olds from sneaking into Edna’s?
On the upside, Ms Sample doesn’t look half bad for sixty-one.
“I always feel like I’ve never finished unpacking,” said Rebecca Black after returning from what was by all accounts a semi-successful concert appearance on the Jersey shore: despite a long list of attractions, it was far from a sellout, and there was a grumble or two here and there about the general organization of the show, but judging by the scant available evidence, a splendid time was had by, if not all, certainly enough to generate some noise. (There was, briefly, a video of a sound check, but it vanished nearly as quickly as it appeared.) Said Pop City Life of RB’s appearance:
She had the crowd on their feet singing her songs “My Moment” and of course “Friday”. I don’t think there was a soul there who wasn’t belting out the megahit with her. She was having a blast and owning the stage. We are now a fan.
We demand an explanation, and by “we” I mean Lynn:
What makes a pro tip a pro tip, as opposed to just a plain, ordinary tip. Most of the “pro tips” I come across don’t seem to be related to any particular profession nor are they professional in any way. But of course I’m just assuming that “pro” is short for professional. Maybe it’s short for progressive? Profound? Probable? Or maybe just pro, as opposed to con?
Having seen the term inserted in front of some fairly unsanitary-sounding concepts, I can say only that I’m pretty sure it’s not short for “prophylactic.”
PROTIP is a term often used in forums and comments to preface snarky, obvious, counterintuitive, or sometimes genuine advice for the novice. Its usage is derived from the laughably obvious and even inadequate gameplay suggestions originally found in video game magazines published in the 1990s. While it implies an offer of friendly suggestion similar to FYI, “protip” is commonly used online as a false preface to obvious or sarcastic comments that are generally unhelpful.
KYM has an actual 1995 citation for the term.
Infiniti’s new luxury three-row crossover is being recalled due to a problem with a fuel line that can block the fuel level float that could yield an incorrect reading on the fuel gauge. With the gauge stuck at the same level, JX owners could run out of gas thinking they have more fuel than they do.
I don’t have a JX and don’t need three rows, but the fuel gauge in my old I30 gives a poor approximation at best: the descent of the needle is nonexistent for the first 40 miles or so after filling up, followed by a spectacular plunge to just below the ½ mark, after which things slow up again until just above ¼, and then back to Plummet City, followed by the dreaded orange light, which I got to see in living color halfway between Carlsbad and El Paso.
And allow me to point out that the JX seats seven and weighs 2.3 tons before any of those seven climb aboard. The tank holds a mere 19.5 gallons; if you’ve gone 400 miles and you’re looking at a needle still at the halfway point, your reality check is about to be cashed.
I am not yet finished with Comic-Con and the Business of Pop Culture: What the World’s Wildest Trade Show Can Tell Us About the Future of Entertainment [New York: McGraw Hill, 2012], Rob Salkowitz’s business-y (as distinguished from “fanboyesque”) take on the annual San Diego event, but early on I found this brace of paragraphs which I deemed worth mentioning:
[Stephenie] Meyer’s unconventional take on the whole vampire thing (the fact that vampires sparkle in daylight instead of turning to dust, and that they spend most of their time moping around and looking cool instead of tearing people’s throats out) has not earned her much love from horror/fantasy enthusiasts who like their brew a little bit stronger. I must admit that I have not cracked the cover of any of these books and don’t have much interest in doing so. I wouldn’t watch the movies for free if they were the only available entertainment on a 12-hour plane flight. I’m not sure I’d watch them if the alternative were a week’s stay at Gitmo.
And you know what? Who cares! I’m a 44-year-old guy with no kids. I am not the audience for Twilight in any way, shape, or form. But I’m all for any material that generates enough passion to get a completely new pop culture audience to stand in line for 40 hours and sleep on concrete for two nights just to bask in the presence of the actors who portray these characters in a film. That enthusiasm is the rocket fuel that drives the industry and the artform forward, and it doesn’t pay to be too picky about where it comes from.
I trust I don’t have to explain why this is here.