I knew nothing then

That was a long time ago and now I know that
I knew nothing then, and if I had I wouldn’t
have gone on.

--Irene McKinney, “At 24″

Actual Terrible Movie

Mental Floss challenges worthy readers to identify movie titles as "Troy McClure films" or "actual terrible movies." You may remember Troy McClure as the character on the Simpsons who was always reminding people of his tenuous claim to B-movie celebrity while hawking products. Here's the quiz:

http://www.mentalfloss.com/quiz/quiz.php

I scored 73% (11 out of 15). Hey -- better than random chance (and better than the 66% averaged by test takers so far). Yay, me.

Make your own ringtone

More cool technology to pimp your life courtesy of Patrick:

Make Your Own Ringtone.

It's fun and it's free and I now have, as my ringtone, Darth Vader's Theme played on ukulele. Yessssss!

Hack your Comcast remote to skip commercials

Thanks to Patrick, I now know that you can hack your Comcast remote to skip ahead 30 seconds -- handy for something like, oh, I don't know -- skipping commercials, maybe? :-) It never occurred to me that I wanted -- needed! -- to do this and as soon as I found out about it I couldn't wait to Google for the instructions. I found 'em! Here they are! I totally copied 'em from this guy (but of course I couldn't resist making a few edits -- occupational hazard, you know):

1. Choose an unused or unneeded button on the “silver” remote to be the 30-second skip command. (Patrick recommends the red "Help" button, as there is no Comcast "Help" feature).

2. Press the “Cable” button at the top of the remote to put it into Cable Box Control mode.

3. Hold the “Setup” button until the “Cable” button blinks twice.

4. Type in the code 994. The “Cable” button will blink twice.

5. Press (do not hold) the “Setup” button.

6. Type in the code 00173.

7. Press whatever button you want to use for the 30-second skip command.

Congratulations! You have just stuck it to The Man.

Does whatever a spider can

Yesterday was World Environment Day. Alain Robert, France's "Spiderman," draws attention to climate change by scaling the New York Times building (as documented in the linked slideshow by the New York Times):

http://thesolutionissimple.org/

When he reached the top, the New York City po po promptly arrested him, which doesn't dilute the truth of his message but probably gratified everybody who was stuck in rush hour because of this stunt.

Right on, Alain!

I Am Cayenne Pepper

You Are Cayenne Pepper

You are very over the top and a bit overwhelming. You have a fiery personality, and you can give anyone a good jolt. You can easily take things up a couple notches, no matter what crowd you're running with.

What Spice Are You?

Men explain things to Rebecca Solnit

In honor of this awesome article on TomDispatch.com (Men explain things to Rebecca Solnit), I will describe a recent health care experience that made me think about differences in medical care that I may be experiencing based on the gender of the health care professional.

Today I went to the dermatologist's office for a followup visit about a plantar wart -- a wart that grows inward rather than outward because it's positioned on the bottom of your foot where you're constantly treading on it.

I saw a physician's assistant this time, instead of a doctor. Recently I've formed a healthy bias against seeing a PA instead of a physician, but that was for my annual checkups with the gynecologist. For that, you better believe I want to see the doctor. This was for a mere wart, which is treated with blasts of superchilly nitrogen -- a therapy I feel confident that I could even apply myself, if necessary. So I saw the PA today and noticed a few subtle differences between this visit and my last one.

1. For the last visit, I had a male doctor. The PA was female.

2. For both visits, I was sitting on the examining table with my foot in my lap (sole upward) when the health care professional came into the room. The doctor asked me to lie down on my stomach with the foot upraised. Gesturing to my foot and leg, I said, "So this won't work?" He said, "No -- just, mechanically, on your stomach is the better way." It's also a posture that doesn't let me see the action.

I expected the same thing from the PA, but she said, "No, that's fine," and treated the foot just as it was while I looked on.

3. The doctor stopped freezing the wart when I made a slight sound ("Ooh"). I told him, "No, that's okay -- go ahead," and he said, "No, that's fine, that's enough."

The PA said, "I know, ouch!" and kept on freezing it, and then after a pause she blasted it again for good measure.

4. I asked the doctor if I could have a band aid, and he said I didn't need it but asked one of the nurses to get me one.

The PA, unprompted, asked me if I wanted a band aid, and when I asked, "Do I need it?" said, "No, but often people want one anyway!"

These differences made my experience with the PA more satisfying, and I think that I received better medical care, honestly. I think the first appointment was a waste of time, because the doctor didn't really blast the nitro long enough. I liked being able to see what the healthcare professional was doing. I felt like the PA was more interested and in tune with me as a patient.

Remember, kids, don't do drugs

These guys are awesome -- another web site I hate to love.
http://jezebel.com/tag/pot-psychology/

Not totally crotchety. Cranky, maybe

moar funny pictures

Gin, Television, and Social Surplus

I just read Gin, Television, and Social Surplus, the transcript of a talk given by Clay Shirky at the Web 2.0 conference in April. I'm abashed to identify with the villain of the piece (well, maybe she's less villainous and more clueless and slightly hostile) -- the television producer who listened to his thoughts about how social media are changing society forever and marveled, "Where do people find the time?"

For example, Twitter leaves me cold. I can't imagine why anyone would feel the need to post 140 characters' worth of stream-of-consciousness non sequiturs. Even worse, from the standpoint of me trying not to be left completely behind by societal evolution, I can't understand why anyone *else* would want to *read* someone's Twitter feed. It seems absurd.

There's no getting around it. I am officially crotchety.

THINK

THINK, originally uploaded by nonesuch.

Next year, I'll
- charge business expenses separately
- keep all the receipts
- note deductible health care expenses (including saline solution)
- pay myself first
- discuss business at lunch
- record my mileage
- depreciate
- plan
- earn
- invest
- save
- think

Next year.

Tonight,

I think I need a drink.

Peace out, taxpayers!

Easter Shmeaster

I am supposed to be at my sister's house at eleven, quiche in hand. The oven is still preheating. Damn damn damn.

survived his checkup at the animal hospital

survived his checkup at the animal hospital, originally uploaded by nonesuch.

I took Zero to the vet on Saturday for his annual checkup. I was so proud of him; his behavior was excellent. Unfortunately, I was not impressed with the vet. I started going to this animal hospital because one of the vets there is a renowned regional expert on shepherds. The dodo vet we got yesterday doesn't even seem to like dogs. We have to go back next weekend because she was unable to draw a blood sample. No problem, I'd love to come back next weekend to spend another hour in your waiting room. Perfect.

kitchen table: extra leaf seldom needed

kitchen table: extra leaf seldom needed, originally uploaded by nonesuch.

This is the funtime configuration of the kitchen table, when it's set up for more than just me and my junk mail. I like to see it this way.

Bread dough will kill you, fool

Bread dough will kill you, fool, originally uploaded by nonesuch.

Dogs can't eat bread dough -- unless you turn your back. So don't turn your back.

Look how serious he is. How focused. His look seems to speak of a purity of motive, a nobility of purpose, as if his only wish is to protect and defend the bread dough, to guard it with zealous loyalty.

And inside his head, his thoughts are actually more like "Nom nom nom!"

Back off, dog! Bread dough will kill you.

He did get to enjoy some bread scraps, so don't feel too bad for him.

Sun comes up and we start again

toaster, originally uploaded by nonesuch.

After the memorial service, there were so many flowers. Stacy's family shared some of them with me, and they were beautiful. Beautiful in my yellow kitchen. Stacy never came over to see my kitchen, never sat at my table or drank my tea, because by the time I'd renovated it to a state where it was usable, she was too sick to leave her condo. And certainly too weak to handle the capers of my annoying dog.

It makes me sad to think of this, but also -- the flowers are beautiful. Looking at them and thinking of Stacy is not a bad thing.

Stacy, traveling at last

-->Stacy in Rome
Originally uploaded by nonesuch Stacy died this weekend after a five-year struggle with three bouts of cancer and the complications associated with cancer treatments. A few days ago in her blog, she talked about her struggle to breathe and her desire to visit Machu Picchu if her lungs ever recover.

"And when I'm dead, please don't philosophize
Or feel regret
Just remember me when I said
I had one hell of a life
One hell of a life
I had one hell of a life..."

(Katell Keineg, "One Hell of a Life")

6 degrees of cupcake

6 degrees of cupcake

So, not to freak you out or anything, but these cupcakes were baked by the mother-in-law of a person who is famous.

(I know! Exciting, right?!)

Well, not famous-famous, like your mom would recognize his name, but famous like he made a black-and-white indie film that inspired many young adults to quit meaningless McJobs and strike out on a quest for creative fulfillment. Or like, to wish they could, you know? If it weren't for all the bills.

The reason the cupcakes have great personal meaning for me is that I once asked this famous person to marry me and he said YES (I have a witness), but then he reneged and ran off shortly thereafter to marry a hot journalist whom he had been dating. Men are so fickle. Bastards.

Anyway, having obtained one of the cupcakes via mysterious means (actually, it's fairly straightforward, but I'm keeping it a mystery for the romance of it all), I have done the obvious thing and enshrined it in my office as a tribute to lost love. It rests in state on my windowsill in a clear plastic bakery sarcophagus. All alone. FOR ETERNITY. Or until something starts to grow on it (ick).

the illusion of control

the illusion of control

My big achievement for January was to make a tupperware drawer. (I know it sounds like I'm bragging, but if I can do it, you can do it!)

I had to displace a shoebox full of door hardware; 12 kinds of adhesive (seriously); some flashlights with dead batteries; a bag stapled shut which contained a remote control, warranty card, and owners manual for an air conditioner; many kinds of outlet covers; a broken scissors; picture hanging wire... the list just goes on and on. I mean, do those things belong in a kitchen? No! So I ruthlessly dumped them all into a Target bag, wiped the drawer clean, carefully lined it with adhesive cork liner (which has always suggested the height of kitchen drawer luxury to me, as if the housewares therein were of such fine quality that they had to be tenderly cushioned against the stress of *sitting in a drawer*), and arranged my tupperware in the drawer so that it could still close. And took a picture.

Now, ignore for the moment that the bulging Target bag is hanging on the doorknob of the closet in the hallway, where its numerous sharp corners graze my leg daily, and the broken scissors are slowly emerging from an enlarging hole. Disregard the fact that as a single person living alone, I rarely cook, and when I do cook I have no leftovers because I have a dog who has perfected the canine facial expression that means, "I am adorable... and STARVING!"

The important thing about this drawer is that it exists. Clean. Tidy. There is a container for every purpose and a lid for every container. Superfluous, stained, lidless, or hard to clean containers have been banished. And if it should ever happen that I have too much of a good thing (Pennies from heaven? It's raining men?), then I will be prepared to store some of it for later.

So although life itself remains a series of random and scary events over which I have minimal control, I have struck a small blow against the chaos. Or at least distracted myself momentarily from the chaos, which is equally good, I'm sure.

Ho ho h... ewww.

Originally uploaded by elston.

I hated Santa when I was that age, too. Why do people do that to their kids? Just skip that developmental stage when Santa freaks the kids out; resume the annoying holiday snapshot opportunity when they're a year older and better able to visualize the sugarplums.

Kids are supposed to mistrust strangers -- especially strange men in the mall who offer to take your picture and give you candy. And want you to sit on their laps. Ewww.