February 9, 2003

war games

SomethingAwful’s got the goods. Gulf War II: The Reckoning! collectable card game. Print off a few and slip them into your Magic deck and see what your opponent does!

I especially like the Weapons Inspections card: “Remove all enchantment, artifact and non-basic lands from game. At the end of any turn, return all enchantment, artifact and non-basic lands to play removed in this way. Or look at target player’s hand and remove all instants.”

Steven Den Beste is fond of the U.N. card. Aren’t we all?


footsteps of a side-stepping man

This evening I drove down to the Norshor to check out the going-away party for a guy I don’t really know. Hans went to Kenya a ways back and lived in a Masai village and recorded African folk music to tall stacks of minidiscs. He made a lot of friends and is now heading back over, and someone got the groovy idea of throwing together a slideshow and musicians and alcohol to help raise a few bucks for his trip.

As I was walking to the theatre a car started yelling at me across the intersection, so I ran over to it and climbed inside. Jen, Laura and Lizzy were headed to the show as well, but now had to drive back to campus to pick up Laura’s ID. On the drive they talked about a kind of bra that I found absolutely fascinating, a kind of bra that can turn into a strapped and a strapless and a crossbacked and an airplane and a boat and a gigantic robot with laser guns and morals.

We got to the theatre just in time to catch the tailend of Hans’ slideshow. The Mary Bue All-Star Band followed. A mean bar lady came by at 10:00 and tossed everyone under the 21 out the door, including the gang of cohorts I had amassed since the bras. A terrible, horrible shame, as they totally missed out on Indefinite Particle Article and Teague Alexy with Medication. Nate and I danced our asses off. Mary said that we were dorks. Nate and I traded high-fives, as ‘nerd’ or ‘geek’ would be givens but ‘dork’ was actually quite an honor.

Luckily I soon found out I knew everyone else at the show through people in my social circles. He’s in Wooch! and that girl on stage is dating him, who knows that guy through work. He’s a music nerd and he plays in a band with that guy. You’ve played a gig with that guy, who’s in that band that opened for those guys. You opened for that band with that guy in it, who knows her, who hung out with your roommate last year. It was like a web that’s been forming at the periphery of my consciousness for four years was just now, in my last semester of college, pulling into view. I mean, I always knew the web was there, but now the apparent scale, depth and symbiosis of it is astonishing.

I also found out that ‘a girl’ is dating the lead guitar player of the band I really like, which really shouldn’t come as a surprise because evidence has shown I’m only attracted to girls that already have boyfriends. I really wonder why that is. Are they the only ones that act confident enough to seem to be worth a damn? Do they emit some sort of molecular TAKEN pheromone that I am genetically predisposed to find irresistable? Do I only feel safe in pursuing a relationship that I know won’t happen?

M’eh. Whatever. I’m hot. By the end of the night my dancing had soaked my I.H. Racing Team shirt through with sweat, and my glasses were smeared, fogged and smoked to the point of uselessness. Chicks dig the glasses because poor eyesight implies intelligence and sophistication. Chicks dig the heavy plastic rims because dorky glasses imply I need to turn down my hotness factor to keep the ladies from fainting in my wake.

What hath my wake wrought?


February 8, 2003

very important news!

I’ve brought the online availability of my published works up-to-date so you can read them without picking up the Statesman. There are still a few pieces that are AWOL, but you won’t miss ’em.


the boilerplate chronicles

Went out to Spirit Mountain for some snowboarding this windy evening with some fine Woochers. Ryan, Sandy and others were taking noble stabs at learning to snowboard on boilerplate. Corey and I headed over to the terrain park to play until I took a fall that almost ripped off my feet. That would have been quite a disturbing scene, what with me lying in a pool of red snow and my snowboard and feet making their way down to the chairlift. We returned to the kinder side of the mountain and I practiced riding switch until I dug my front edge and catapulted face-first into the ground. My body took about a minute to reboot, run scandisk and decide what parts were going to hurt.

I decided to take it easy for awhile and practiced doing spins and landing switch 180s. Despite my obvious mastery of the spin (I got doin’ so many sequential spins so fast I got dizzy, like that board game called Dizzy, Dizzy Dinosaur, where all the kids play and sing “Dizzy, Dizzy Dinosaur! He knocks you out as he moves about! Dizzy, Dizzy Dinosaur! If you don’t run and hide he’ll rend your limbs and kick around your torso like a small child in a soccer riot!”) whenever I fell off a 180 I earned jeers from dorks on the chairlift.

I took their encouragement as a cue to go to the Chalet, thaw my toes and face and eat free nachos. I ate two plates. Ryan ate five. I ordered a Grainbelt Premium off the tap and they served it to me in a plastic glass. It was like drinking at a house party.

After taking a few more runs they closed down the lift on us and we had to find something better to do. Some idiot suggested Perkins. Another idiot suggested Caribou Coffee. We ended up at the coffee shop in Barnes and Noble because it was open late. Sandy ordered a turtle mocha. Ryan drank all their water. I drowned in a mug of coffee. Sandy comandeered part of my coffee and added intense amounts of sugar, cocoa, sugar, milk, cinnamon and honey. She winced when she could still taste the coffee.

Well lubricated, we went to the music section and dialed up Tower of Power, Phantom Planet, Wilco, Spacehog and Badly Drawn Boy on their handy little machines. Eventually we drifted about the store and ended up loitering in the Teen book section, where they cunningly mixed teen magazines into the non-fiction section. After some gentle coercion the shelf read YM, Teen Life, Teen Prom, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Communism, Seventeen.

My head eventually got eaten by the sci-fi section and Sandy fell asleep under the bestsellers table and the employees decided it was time for us to leave. Outside the store we found two Walgreen’s shopping carts. I climbed aboard one but was unable to get the straps to fit around my chisled figure. I got out. I stared at the cart and pondered riding it down the ski hill. Ryan suggested holding one of the shopping carts for ransom, calling Walgreen’s and making demands for its safe return.

“I don’t know, Ryan. We’ve made an awful racket already, and security is bound to show up if we try to steal a cart.”

“Well, we don’t actually need to steal it. We just need to call and tell them we stole it.”

“Ryan, maybe you don’t understand. If we do that we won’t have a shopping cart. The whole point here is to gain a shopping cart.”

We abandoned the plan in favor of moving five people and all their downhill gear from Ryan’s car into my own. We found that my car doesn’t hold five people and all their downhill gear at the same time, so we needed to take two cars to get everyone home safely. Nevertheless, my car still managed to be packed with gear and flesh tossed about.

“Dane, please drive safe.”

“Don’t worry, I always drive safe.”

And then I pulled the emergency brake and threw the car into a spin. We made it back to campus without incident and I tossed the gear and flesh down the campus baggage claim. Properly unburdened I drove back to my apartment, and took my car to the back parking lot through the service road that is for “UMD SERVICE VEHICLES ONLY ALL OTHERS WILL BE SUBJECT TO INTENSE SLEDGEHAMMERING”.

When I moved into my apartment 3.0 years ago they merely frowned upon apartment citizens that used this road illegally. 2.5 years ago they finally got fed up with our unlawful bizzyness and put up a fancy radio controlled barrier that could only be raised by UMD SERVICE VEHICLES ONLY. 2.50001 years ago citizens still used the road but drove around the barrier and tore up the grass something fierce. 2.50002 years ago UMD put down a hell of a lot of huge rocks that made it impossible for cars to drive around the barrier. 2.50003 years ago a student stole the barrier. 2.0 years ago UMD replaced the barrier. 2.00001 years ago a student broke off the barrier. 1.0 years ago UMD replaced the barrier. 1.00001 years ago a student broke off the barrier.

This Monday UMD replaced the barrier.

This Thursday a student broke off the barrier. God bless that selfless citizen.

I parked my car, collected my gear and headed for my apartment building. As I jostled my gear around trying to find my keys I saw that a thoughtful drunk accidentally dropped his glove in the entryway and jammed the locking inside door open. I grabbed the door right as the glove gave way and entered unhindered.


February 6, 2003

lot chaos

“Is it too much for you to remove the tattered remains of the American flag from your antenna?”

Today, everyone at Miller Hill Mall had to take stupid pills before parking their cars. You had to weave through crooked rows, searching for a parking spot that was hidden behind a truck or three parked smack in the middle of everything.

Ridiculous.


February 5, 2003

spitting into space

Sgt. Stryker’s got words on the space program. His conclusion? Do all those 7-year-olds out there proud. Go for Mars. Now.

Come to think of it, that may be why space and I had a falling out. Despite a probe here and a probe there (I remember being obsessed about the Mars Pathfinder mission, and throwing fits when the paper didn’t cover it, and checking out ‘sites’ on this newfangled thing called the ‘internet’) I started to realize that nothing was really happening. Nothing has happened in my lifetime. We’ve got pictures, we’ve got probes, but we’re still only flingin’ mankind as far as a low-earth orbit will take ’em.

I went to Space Camp when I was 12 and it was a real letdown. We built a pyramid in a swimming pool. We played on see-saws that were supposedly ‘astronaut training facilities’. The counselors stole my candy and hid it in the bathtub. We faked a shuttle mission and I got stuck in mission control with two scripted lines. All the cool kids got to play around in the shuttle all day. They made sure to give us ample time to visit the gift shop and buy International Space Station Apparel. I got a neat looking shirt, and one adult ruined my day by telling me, “That’s not what it’s going to look like.”

We built model rockets, and that pissed me off royally. I build model rockets when I was 7-years-old living in the suburbs of Minneapolis. Can’t you do better than MODEL rockets at SPACE CAMP in FLORIDA? We used cheap glue, no paint, and rushed the whole project to make launch in some sandlot at the end of the week. Most kids’ rockets fell apart on their first journey. I threw some ants in my rocket’s payload to liven things up.

Where’s the human interest? Where’s the focus? Where’s the drive? I stopped caring after I realized that everything I cared about, everything I thought the space program stood for, were all lies, lies, lies. It became clear that I wasn’t going to visit the moon. I wasn’t going into space. I wasn’t going to live on a space station. I was going to be stuck right here on the ground with all the other huddled masses, gazing up at a point where we knew mankind had been, but now no longer cared to go.

Rivers of sulfur on Venus? Giant volcanoes on Io? Underground seas on Europa? We’ve got pictures and they’re all fine and dandy, but pictures are just a bone to chew on. Nothing but throwaway answers in a trivia game. There’s no meat there to hold my interest. Forty years down the line, I want to be playing a Trivial Pursuit game that asks me who crossed the river of sulfur, and who climbed the volcanoes of Io, and who pissed in the underground sea.

Once, just once, I want to see mankind write his name in the snow on another planet.


February 3, 2003

humming in the wings

Yesterday was my second anniversary of going online. Whoopie. This past weekend consisted of a crapload of site redesign, among other more fun things.

I’m keeping the whole thing veiled until it’s done. Meanwhile, feel free to check out the trial run of the about section. No new content, but a slick interface that may or may not work.

New content will come later. Much later, but it will come, I assure you.


international voyeurism

Powell’s got pictures of Party Girls Gone Wild, and he’s got the soundtrack to Party Girls Gone Wild. He’s now the most popular guy on campus.

Meanwhile, Saddam’s ex-bodyguard, Abu Hamdi Mahmoud, is spilling his guts (figuratively, thankfully) to Israeli intelligence. It seems North Korea may have sold a scud or two or ten to Iraq. Nice guys.

Secretary of State Colin Powell will present photographs of mobile biological weapons and transcripts of overheard Iraqi conversations to convince allies that Saddam Hussein has potent arsenals in defiance of U.N. disarmament demands, an administration official said Monday.

Tomorrow I hope they run the photo of when Saddam peed his pants.

Your damp trousers are the least of your worries, buddy.


blustery training

It was a nice warm snowy day, today. Now it’s incredibly windy. From the northwest at 16 mph, gusting to 28 mph. If I was drunk I would have been knocked over.

I guess something’s gotta prepare me for the Gorge.


western motel club

Kofi Annan proves the U.N. is toothless when dealing with dictators. Again.

Secretary-General Kofi Annan appealed for funds Monday to “avert a major humanitarian crisis” in North Korea and create better conditions to peacefully resolve the nuclear standoff.

Surprised?

The United States has said it would consider food and other economic aid if North Korea dismantles its nuclear programs. North Korea has rejected the offer as a precondition for talks and has said the United States is insincere.

Well, if you give a little, you get a lot. I hope Bush stands by his pledge in the SOTU address.

America is working with the countries of the region — South Korea, Japan, China, and Russia — to find a peaceful solution, and to show the North Korean government that nuclear weapons will bring only isolation, economic stagnation, and continued hardship. The North Korean regime will find respect in the world and revival for its people only when it turns away from its nuclear ambitions.

The crisis can be averted. Ya just gotta say please.

UPDATE: “On second thought…” This one kinda dampened my mood.