Friday Crap Roundup XII

For the 12th FCR Mau Djoser gave to me, a clawing and a case of TB!

OK, not really, but I often wake up with scratches on my hands. Sneferu does it too. They’re brutal.

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“I know you’ll do the honorable thing.”

A’ Junketing I Will Go

I’ve made references to it over the past month or so, but now it’s really gonna happen. Next weekend SB goes on the road to visit the teeming metropolis of Thermopolis, Wyoming! Why? Because Daffy Duck told me to, that’s why.

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“You will do my bidding, you despicable persimmon!”

So what will I do there? Who knows? Who cares? Remote blogging might be a challenge though, as my laptop has no WiFi capability and a battery life of approximately 38 seconds. I guess I’ll work on those logistics as I go.

An Important Announcement

Mother of crap! This is absolutely shocking. Switch to hydrogen peroxide before it’s too late!

dangerouswater

Rocket fuel? You fiends!

Track of the Week

Spike Jones merited a comment here this week. Although he and his City Slickers are long gone, they left us plenty of atrocities against the classics.

“Beetle Bomb!”

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Solitude, Owyhee Style

This week marks the third anniversary of the opening of the Command Center here in the City o’ Trees. Before that, I lived in a small town near the Oregon border called Homedale. Although in the Boise metro, Homedale is arguably its most remote settlement.

And that’s why I liked it, at least at first.

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This is actually over the border a few miles away in Adrian, Oregon, but yeah, like this.
Image credit: Gary Halvorson, Oregon State Archives

Immediately after my separation and divorce, I found myself about four months behind on my bills and living with my grandmother. After getting my head above water, I wanted to not only move out, but get away from things as much as I could. Although I love her and we got along well, being well into your 30s and living with your grandmother is just as awful as it sounds.

So, upon perusal of the local classifieds paper I came across a one-bedroom apartment for $400/month in Homedale. At that point I had never been there before. Turns out it was a 45-minute commute to work, but that didn’t bother me. I’ve done worse.

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Like the SEPTA Warminster Line, the whole freakin’ way.
Image credit: jpmueller99

Before I made the commitment, I wanted to visit and see if everything would be to my liking. Specifically, I wanted to be sure the Internet worked, as I had one of those Verizon air cards at the time. So one weekend I went down there and stayed in a hotel, which was one of those old-school stucco and plaster buildings I occasionally saw as a kid. The air card worked, although I could tell I was on the edge of the service area. Meh, close enough. I’ve never been into the MMORPG stuff anyway.

So I moved into my new apartment on Montana Avenue. Although recently remodeled, the building dated to the 1920s and it showed. The carpet was a garish purple pattern which I suspect was ripped out of Cactus Pete’s circa 1965. That was all OK though. I had a place to myself at last, one where I was unlikely to be bothered.

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But with no homicidal intent.

The commute was a fun drive. It went past apple and pear orchards, rivers, farmland, canals and, um … Nampa. I even made a point to travel down Chicken Dinner Road every day. No, really.

Over time I got over it all. I didn’t even make it a year before I wanted to be back in Boise again. Then the Command Center came up for sale and here I am. Still, it would be nice to have a property in Homedale to go back to on occasion.

Winded on the Central Bench

OK, I know all six of you who read this blog religiously have been wondering when I’m finally going to go to the gym. Well … I haven’t done it yet. However, a couple days ago I went out and exercised, dammit.

Back during the dark days of Milli Vanilli and New Kids On the Block I was a distance runner. I was on the cross country team in fall and on the track team in spring. Although I never seriously contended for any sort of championship, I was a fairly decent athlete who usually finished in the middle of the pack in varsity races and in the top 10 in JV races. I was also a hell of a lot thinner back then.

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Note the awesome “Flying T” uniforms of the day.

I was pretty hardcore about running, too. During the season I’d run up to seven miles in a single practice. That’s a little over 11 K for you metric types. During the off-season and in summer I’d occasionally compete in community “fun runs.” I never ran anything real intense like the Rim2Rim in the 2T or Robie Creek here in Boise. I might have had I not lost interest in the whole deal during my senior year.

Nevertheless, the experience earned me the enduring symbol of the musclehead jock: the varsity letter. I lettered twice in cross country, once in track, and once in, um … debate. I still have the jacket, even though I haven’t worn it in years. For one thing, people my age really shouldn’t wear such things in public. For another, it doesn’t fit anymore anyway.

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Voir!

Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh yes, exercise. Some two decades later my fat ass decided to reprise an old cross country workout known as wind sprints. Cross country workouts were usually conducted on the 2T’s country roads. Since these roads are laid out in a grid system with an intersection every mile, it’s easy to judge how far you’ve run. Like most country roads, they’re lined with telephone poles at fairly regular intervals.

As far as the 2T cross country coaches were concerned, wind sprints worked as follows. From a starting point one walked to the next telephone pole, then ran at their 5K pace to the next pole, then sprinted to the next, then repeated the process. This typically went on for three to four miles and possibly preceded and/or followed a traditional practice run.

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Not quite a 2T rural road, but you get the idea.

Being old and fat I adjusted the workout a bit. I replaced the 5K run pace with a power walk, conducted my wind sprints to the suburban Central Bench (where the telephone poles are closer together than out in the sticks), and limited myself to one mile. It felt like a good four-miler back in the day, but I completed the task with minimal embarrassment.

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Maybe next time I’ll wear the right damn shoes too.
Image credit: jacob earl

I’m going to the 2T for the weekend tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll do some more wind sprints there. Not at the old practice venues, however. I don’t need another ambulance ride.

History Wednesday: Kingdoms for Fun and Profit

Back when I wrote about the Deseret alphabet I mentioned in passing a place called Molossia. As it turns out, y’all are somewhat interested in the micronation near Carson City, Nevada. I can tell because the link repeatedly turns up in the “clicks” section of my blog dashboard.

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I can see why. It’s a happening place.
Image credit: Kevin Baugh

That said, today’s History Wednesday isn’t about Molossia or micronations. That story has been covered elsewhere. Although inspired by Molossia, today we’ll take a look at the Kingdom of Sedang, one of the more bizarre chapters in the never-boring history of Southeast Asia.

This story has its roots in the mid-1880s when colonialism was all the rage throughout Europe. After a relatively successful war against China, France established control over the majority of Southeast Asia east of present-day Thailand. They called it “French Indochina.”

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This caused some problems later on, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, shortly after the Sino-French War in 1888 Chulalongkorn the Great, king of the independent Siam, began claiming lands on his border with French Indochina. Unsurprisingly, this prompted the French to take steps to bolster their claims to the areas in question. Enter a certain Marie-Charles David de Mayrena, a rather sketchy character who owned a plantation in the area. Prior to his involvement in French Indochina, Mayrena worked as an arms dealer. He was suspected of embezzlement back in Metropolitan France. He had also been kicked out of the Dutch East Indies, which we know today as Indonesia.

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In other words, a 19th Century Destro.

Ever the opportunist, Mayrena convinced the Governor-General of French Indochina that he was the perfect guy to negotiate treaties with people in the area who weren’t definitively subjects of the French-controlled Emperor of Annam. Upon arrival he magnanimously negotiated fair treaties to everyone’s benefit.

Heh, no. He totally took advantage of the ambiguous political situation in the immediate area. In June 1888 he was somehow elected by several local tribal leaders as their king. He took the title “Marie the First, King of Sedang.”

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Because nothing says “Vietnam” more than a guy calling himself “King Marie.”
Image credit: Andrew Dinh

Mayrena rather incongruously declared Roman Catholicism Sedang’s state religion despite the fact most of his subjects in present-day central Vietnam were Muslims. Eventually recognizing his demographic error, Mayrena converted to Islam himself and promptly took advantage of the religion’s liberty regarding plural marriages. He also set about to create a flag, print postage stamps and establish a national award, named after himself of course.

Now Mayrena wasn’t the first random foreign dude to take over a distant land on charm and bullshit alone. He was, however, somewhat more pragmatic than some of the others. Much like the leaders of the short-lived Republic of Texas and the even more short-lived California Republic, Mayrena’s Sedang almost immediately resolved to negotiate a union with a stronger power. However unlike Texas and California, Sedang was, shall we say, less than successful.

He first tried his native France, offering the country to them in exchange for “monopoly rights” over the area. He also told the French government that if they weren’t interested, the Prussians might be. Predictably, Paris – infuriated this guy created a kingdom in “their” territory in the first place – passed on his offer.

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As for Prussia’s Bismarck, he reportedly asked if the day’s Wienerschnitzel was properly tenderized.

Next Mayrena tried the British up in Hong Kong. They were similarly disinterested. Finally Mayrena went to Belgium, where he convinced another shady character named Somsy to provide him with money and arms in exchange for mineral rights. Finally fed up with his shit, the French refused Mayrena’s entry into Vietnam upon his return and seized his arms shipment in Singapore. The erstwhile king spent his last days in exile in present-day Malaysia, where he died in November 1890 under mysterious circumstances.

And so that was the end of Sedang, even though today a Canadian group wants to inexplicably revive it. As for Molossia, there may be a story there if I went to visit. Indeed, it’s on my shortlist after my planned junket to Thermopolis.

Time to Cut Back?

I’m considering making SB a weekday-only venture, or at least allowing myself to take Sundays off. There was no inspiration in the 2T this morning. There was no inspiration on the long, dull road back to the Command Center, either. That worked before. Not today. Not even old Ministry or relatively new VNV Nation could summon the Muse.

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This is actually one of the more interesting scenes on that drive.

Well, it did give me a few ideas for tracks on the upcoming Taxil and the White Noise EP. I recently came across a cache of public domain newsreels from the early 70s. I could totally sample some of those. Maybe I could play a couple notes on the bass and mix it all together. Hell, I might actually produce something halfway interesting.

Like yesterday thoughts also turned to the weather, especially after I hit the Boise city limits. I beheld a sure sign of spring despite the recent cool weather. There’s running water in the Ridenbaugh Canal, which flows just a little north of the Command Center on its way to Lake Lowell in the dreaded 2C. For the canal-illiterate, they keep them dry around here during the winter months.

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“Dem taters ain’t gonna water themselves, ya know.”

So, um, I’m home. The Pyramid Brothers are well. I’m OK. My audio software isn’t, as it decided to take a 10-minute newsreel track and compress it down to one second. That’s not gonna work. Let’s see if it can bring it back. Perhaps, but it apparently needs all my CPU power, which means I need to shut down Firefox. That means this post is over. See y’all tomorrow.

The SB Travel Guide

When I’m bored, which happens a lot, I like to peruse travel sites such as Lonely Planet and Wikitravel. You see, I’ve lived all over the United States, and I’m not content to park my ass in Idaho for the rest of my life. I want to get out and see stuff.

Does that mean I’m going to sign up for the first package tour to come through my e-mail? Oh, hell no! My travel philosophy is very similar to Mojo Nixon‘s. One of the truly great American prophets, Nixon had this to say back in 1999:

I like the local place. I like Billy Bob Bubba Junior’s burger place on the edge of town with the B sanitary rating. Local promoters will ask me where I want to go eat, and I’ll say, “I wanna go eat at the place where your drunk uncle goes to, that your mother doesn’t like.”

So today I’m sharing a few travel destinations on my bucket list. As of this writing I haven’t been to any of them, but I hope to change that one of these days. Flight prices are based on what I found today at Kayak departing 7 May (a Tuesday) from Boise Airport (BOI) and returning the following week. If you were to actually do this, however, I recommend taking a longer vacation. Many of these destinations take up to two days to get to, if not longer.

Tirana, Albania

The Albanian capital is still a bit off the beaten path, but it’s nowhere near as hard to get to as it was 35 years ago. Back when the Enver Hoxha regime was in power, Tirana was right up there with Pyongyang in terms of mysterious, remote cities. Pyongyang would be interesting too, but the whole point is to get away from guided tours. In North Korea, you don’t have a choice.

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Even the 2T has better nightlife than Pyongyang.

Anyway, in sharp contrast to Kim Jong-un’s stomping grounds Tirana is said to have a very vibrant night life. According to Wikitravel, Albanians “are very hospitable towards foreigners,” and crime rates are quite low. Once I have my druthers, I’m definitely going.

From BOI to Tirana (TIA): Fairly straightforward. $1,458 with layovers at Chicago-O’Hare (ORD) and Munich (MUC).

Other places to consider: Ljubljana, Slovenia; Sofia, Bulgaria; Skopje, Macedonia; Podgorica, Montenegro.

Bangui, Central African Republic

The more astute among you know I’ve already written about the Central African Republic here. From my standpoint sitting here in Idaho Africa seems very remote, and Bangui seems remote even by African standards. I wouldn’t be terribly interested in going on safari there or anything like that (although I understand the region is well-suited for such things). Like most other places, I’d want to hang out with the locals and see what they do to spend the time.

The problem with the CAR is that’s it’s constantly in turmoil. I mean, constantly. The government there was overthrown by rebels less than a month ago. I’d want to go when it’s a bit safer, but when that actually happens is anyone’s guess.

From BOI to Bangui (BGF): “No matching results were found.” Wusses. I know Air France has a flight from Paris Charles de Gaulle (CDG) to Bangui. Looks like that would be 687,500 Central African francs, which is, um, around $1,360. Add another $1,204 from BOI to Paris – with a layover in San Francisco (SFO) – and that’s $2,564.

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Nothing like burning an entire flight going backwards.

Other places to consider: N’Djamena, Chad; Antananarivo, Madagascar; Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso; Timbuktu, Mali.

Rabbit Flat, Northern Territory, Australia

Speaking of remote, few places are as out of the way as the Australian outback. In the outback itself, there are places even the locals consider remote, particularly in the interiors of Western Australia and the Northern Territory. Rabbit Flat is one such place. Hundreds of miles away from any significant settlement, Rabbit Flat is not much more than a roadhouse on a long, seldom-traveled road. I understand the roadhouse closed down, too.

Ah, who cares? There are times when I’m feeling my inner Ted Kaczynski and just want to get away from it all. I very much doubt I’d stay in Rabbit Flat for very long, but the trip there and back would certainly be an adventure.

From BOI to Rabbit Flat: No airport to speak of there, so I’d have to fly to the closest city of any size, which would be Alice Springs (ASP). $1,815, with stops in San Jose (SJC), Los Angeles (LAX), and Sydney (SYD). That, plus a 375-mile one-way trip on roads that make Nevada 318 look like Manhattan. I’m sure they aren’t giving those away.

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Regardless, that’s gonna be a long-ass trip.
Image credit: Nachoman-au

Other places to consider: Coober Pedy, South Australia; Kalgoorlie, Western Australia.

Longyearbyen, Svalbard

Svalbard is the mirror image of Rabbit Flat. While the Australian outback is excessively hot and remote, Svalbard is excessively cold and remote. How remote? How about 78° North latitude, well north of the Arctic Circle?

Although officially part of Norway, Svalbard has also been occupied by the Soviet Union and later Russia for decades, which makes for an interesting cultural mishmash. In Longyearbyen, the capital and largest city, the sun rises in April and sets in November, with only a few weeks a year experiencing a normal day and night cycle. Temperatures rarely go above 45° F.

Who’s up for volleyball?

From BOI to Longyearbyen (LYR): Kayak wusses out again. $922 from Boise to Oslo (OSL) with stops in Denver (DEN) and Newark (EWR). Then on Scandinavian Airlines to LYR, $467. Total: $1,389.

Other places to consider: Iqaluit, Nunavut, Canada; Nuuk, Greenland; Belushya Guba, Novaya Zemlya, Russia.

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Wales

Many people (myself included), find even simple words in the Welsh language difficult to pronounce. How about this one? Apparently it sounds like this.

Located on the island of Isle of Anglesey just northwest of the Welsh mainland, the town has the distinction of being the longest place name in Europe. I suspect no one on the local train misses the station.

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“Yeah, that place.”

From BOI to Llanfairpwllgwyngyll-whatever: Northern Wales is apparently lacking in sizable airports, so I looked eastward into England, specifically Liverpool (LPL). Evidently LPL isn’t big enough either, as Kayak directed me further east to Manchester (MAN). That’s $848 with stops in different locations each way (but not through London, go figure). A rental car or train ticket would probably put me a bit north of $1,000, which would make this my least expensive international trip.

Other places to consider: Venkatanarasimharajuvaripeta, Andhra Pradesh, India; Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein, South Africa; Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu, New Zealand.

Thermopolis, Wyoming

The seat of Hot Springs County, Wyoming, may not strike you as all that special. Indeed, I suspect it’s like any other town of its size in the western United States (around 3,000 if you’re interested). It’s still somewhere I want to go, perhaps because it was once mentioned by Daffy Duck.

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Another great American prophet.

Unlike the other places I mentioned today, I have concrete plans to visit Thermopolis in the near future. It’ll probably be May or June. I want to make sure winter is truly done and over with around here before I make the trip.

Besides, it’s much closer than Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.

From BOI to Thermopolis: I suppose the closest commercial airport is in Cody (COD), but I’ll be driving this one.

Touring the 2T

Being a holiday weekend and all, it was pretty slow around the 2T today. When I lived here, I used to pass the time by driving around town. I figured, why not do that today? It’ll kill some time and perhaps give me some material for the blog. Excellent thought, I must say!

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I’m not the only smartass hailing from here, you know.

So it was settled. I drove around the 2T in search of the weird, wacky and stupid. My camera: the Pantech Jest, tricked out with authentic cat toothmarks. My vehicle: the usual staff car, a 2004 Ford Focus. My music: A Farewell to Kings by Rush. I was ready to find the story out there.

Bask in all its glory, supplicants.

I began with a southbound journey down the main drag, looking for hilarious and/or inane reader board errors. Unfortunately, I was unable to find anything worthy of the FAIL Blog. The closest thing I could find was the recently-opened Chick-fil-A, which is neither worth photographing nor patronizing. A quick jaunt to downtown yielded similar results. I suppose this is a good thing, since it indicates a certain degree of intelligence among the populace.

I found material through other means. Being hours away from any major population center of note, sometimes one finds some unintended mixed messages. The smaller towns around the 2T are good places to look for such things.

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Not an LGBT establishment. At all.

The evening’s unexpected highlight came when I was pulled over by the police. Yeah, I was caught doing 35 in a 25 zone. I couldn’t find my insurance certificate, which is particularly embarrassing since my insurance agent is my father. Fortunately I have all sorts of junk in the staff car, so I was able to find a copy of my current insurance declarations. The kind officer let me off with a warning.

Well, I suppose I achieved what I set out to do. With dusk approaching, I returned to my parents’ house to await the Easter Bunny, or something. Perhaps when I get a chance again I’ll go trolling for people who can’t tell the difference between a plural and a possessive. In the meantime, let’s hope for an uneventful rest of the weekend.

(Note to self: Get a new insurance certificate from Dad ASAP.)

At One With Nature, Sort Of

Today Beachy is with me. Nothing like trying to keep an eight-year-old busy for an entire weekend without going bankrupt. The fact she lives in the 2T and Boise has so much more to do exacerbates the issue.

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She also has a pretty hardcore YouTube habit, thus the late post today.

Fortunately the last few days have been relatively nice outside. That opened up my options a bit. It was a pleasant enough day to go to the zoo, a relatively cheap and time-consuming activity. Frankly I’ve had my fill of child-friendly indoor diversions such as Pojo’s for the time being. Beachy considers herself an expert on those claw crane games, exploiting every opportunity to practice her craft. I still have a big bowl of hard candy she won something like six months ago. The Pyramid Brothers like to play with said candies. Here at the Command Center, finding a pack of Smarties behind the toilet at two in the morning is a rather common occurrence.

Beachy insisted we use sunscreen before going out. This struck me as a bit bizarre as it was 59 and partly cloudy in Boise today, hardly sunburn weather. I went ahead and got some. We’re going to need it when the Command Center’s HOA opens the pool.

More often than not, my experience is a visit to the zoo is little more than a two-hour walk past a series of empty artificial habitats, the alleged animals always sleeping in the back or whatever. Today was more successful than that. The animals were out more than usual, although most were fast asleep. A good thing for second graders, not so much for fans of blog snark. Sorry ’bout that.

There’s a carousel at the zoo, and Dippin’ Dots. Oh yes. No trip to Zoo Boise is complete without those damn Dippin’ Dots.

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Truth be told, a pretty good use for liquid nitrogen.

We proceeded with the obligatory carousel ride. As Beachy is finally over the height requirement, I observed from the sidelines. There are distinct advantages to having a older, taller kid at the zoo. No stroller required, and they don’t ask to be lifted up as much.

While Beachy was on the carousel I got strafed by a Canada Goose. Trust me, you don’t need to pay $11.25 to get up close to these things in Boise. They’re everywhere. My craptacular camera phone wasn’t able to get a decent shot of the perpetrator, so here’s a boring-ass Wikipedia image instead.

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You should see what they do to the Idaho State Capitol.

The highlight of the zoo is undoubtedly the African Plains Exhibit, set in a meticulously and accurately re-created Maasai village. Yup, it’s straight outta Tanzania, baby.

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Totally.

Anyway, the lions are always a hit and there are always plenty of monkeys about. The giraffes appeared to be hidden for some time. How the hell do you hide a giraffe? We finally found them before we got out of there, with the Dippin’ Dots of course.

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Did I mention how authentic this place is?

We were done with the zoo. My ankle was done, period. Headed to the car I was strafed again, this time by a seagull. You don’t need to pay to see those here either, especially this time of year. Thanks to my phone … aw, screw it.

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Here’s the boring-ass Wikipedia image. *sigh*

The Indifference Strikes Back

“A blog entry every day, no matter what.” I swear sometimes I’m such a bitch to myself.

“And make it funny, dammit!” Yeah, yeah, yeah …. This is easier said than done when one is battling bipolar depression, insomnia and cats who want to sit on one’s face at three in the morning.

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Yes, I’m looking at you, Sneferu.

Today I’ve been thinking about the benefits of carbonite as depicted in the Star Wars series. For the benefit of the three of you who have never heard of Star Wars, it’s a series of science fiction films involving good guys, bad guys, terrible laser gun shooting, something called the Force, curious swordplay, and of course explosions and shit. As a four-year-old I declined an invitation to see the first (fourth?) movie when it first came out in 1977. I thought it sounded stupid.

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A good cereal notwithstanding, C-3PO needed to be slapped, repeatedly.

Anyway, carbonite. According to the august, authoritative Star Wars database Wookieepedia, carbonite “was a metal alloy that was made from carbon. It was mixed with tibanna gas, compressed, and flash-frozen into blocks for transport.” In addition to its industrial uses and thanks to several convenient leaps of logic, carbonite was an ideal medium for placing people, and presumably other living things, into a state of indefinite suspended animation. Han Solo was placed in carbonite towards the end of The Empire Strikes Back.

Too bad it’s not real. Given my chronic sleep issues I’d love to place myself into suspended animation from time to time. Today being a perfect example. At least as far as my experience is concerned, depression isn’t a constant state of sadness as much as it is a constant state of “fuck it.” Of course, if it were real I’d probably have to pay royalties to Disney, as they own Star Wars now.

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Behold your corporate overlords.

Personally I’m more of a Star Trek fan. The technology featured in that franchise strikes me as much more practical overall. I’d love to see a real-world transporter in action. Space travel wouldn’t be necessary to appreciate its benefits; you could just as easily use it for those nasty commutes.

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“I’m going to Albania for the afternoon. See you at 5.”
Image credit: tkksummers

Of course, the airline industry lobby would delay transporter technology for years.

All right, so I’m in the 400-word range with this. Good enough for me. I’m going back to bed now.

Uninspired Updates

Imma gonna write only a short entry today. I’m absolutely dead tired. My creativity is also completely tapped out. I’m about as amusing as a wet dishrag.

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Or maybe even a tuna salad sandwich. I freakin’ hate tuna salad.
Image credit: jeffkole

So what I’m doing today is updating my faithful reading public on some of the threads mentioned here at Superfluous Bloviations over the past month. Some of you might even care.

Not much movement over at Cracked. I still have an iron in the fire there but it’s been slow going the last few days. I imagine some of the rejected stuff will eventually make its way here, so look out for that.

I received another e-mail from our spammer friend. This will likely continue for the immediate future. Otherwise, there’s nothing really exciting to report on that front.

Not only is the food continuously expired around these parts, last night I found an expired box of wet wipes. Yes, there are times when a torch and a shovel seem like reasonable cleaning apparatuses.

The fine folks at Ticketmaster mailed me my tickets to the Rush concert out in the Vancouver, Washington, area in July. I put them in a safe place, namely an old H. G. Wells book. Eh, why not?

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Neil had a mustache like that once. Close enough.

No, I still haven’t made it to the gym. Soon. I promise. Maybe. In the meantime I have been walking up the hills around the Command Center. I’m at least getting out some.

I haven’t made fun of any old commercials in some time. I should get on that.

Finally happy birthday to Grammy Lynn, who turns 91 today. She’s still going strong.

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And undoubtedly feeling a hell of a lot better than I am today. Salud.