So, my friend Jared and I were joking around about getting more hits on our blogs.
Jared just had a posting from his blog put on a consumer site (I can't remember which one, sorry), and he saw a huge spike in his blog hits today. It was pretty cool.
Thus to get more hits, we thought that we should add some appropriate labels and or terms to a post, thus attracting attention. It was a funny joke. Funny enough that I looked for the top searched words and phrases on the internet for the past few days. And I know what you're thinking: just start with the word "porn" and go downhill from there. I thought that same thing.
I was stunned.
The top searched thing was "myspace". Which, in case this is somehow the very first website that you have ever visited, is the name of a popular website. Right behind it were "google", "ebay" and "yahoo". Again, websites. And what's more, two of them are search engines. Do people actually search for search engines? Further on down the list also includes "msn" and "ask.com". Total confusion.
The first porn related entry was at #14 on the list, and that was "Jenna Jameson". Not exactly a newcomer to the industry, it's good to see that Jenna has been able to hold the attention of the sexual side of the internet for this long.
I really expected more adult entertainment aspects to the search engine check-up, but both music stars and video games had far more entries, as well as higher ranking entries than the old libido. (Though I was surprised--and disappointed--that my video game of choice, World of Warcraft, didn't make the cut for the top 500 searches.)
What's the meaning and purpose of all this? Well, I guess that there is still some things that surprise us. I would say that there is still "hope for humanity", but I'm not a person that feels that looking at things sexual in nature--so long as those sexual matters are between mature, consenting adult humans--is necessarily a bad thing.
So, when your first thought about the internet is that it's nothing but a conduit for porn: think again. Apparantly it's a conduit for people to use search engines to search for...search engines.
Well, I guess you can worry after all.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
I am going to take this opportunity to rebut something that a friend of mine said.
Recently on his blog, Charles gave a glowing review of Spring in Georgia. He spoke of the beauty and the tranquil nature of the time of year.
I'm here to tell you that is a lie. If there is indeed a Hell, Georgia in Spring is a clear reflection of it.
Oh, the trees and the sky might be beautiful, but that beauty is only surface deep. Beneath it is a terror of immense proportion. For you see, Spring in Georgia means only one thing to me: pollen.
You might think that is an annoyance, and very little else, but it isn't. You see, Georgia has a special agreement with pollen. All the pollen that isn't allowed to show up in any other part of the world at this time is relocated to Georgia so that it can romp around and have fun with all the other pollen.
I mean, that has to be the case, right?
The Atlanta Allergy Clinic has a daily pollen meter, letting you know the pollen count and its relative danger to anyone who has reactions to said pollen. Most places have a high pollen count near 100, making it a high pollen, but not quite in the dangerous range. Anything over 125 is considered dangerous.
The pollen count today is 5,499.
You read correctly. Five-thousand four-hundred and ninety-nine. Aw heck, for simplicity sake let's go ahead and round it up to 5,500. That makes the pollen count 44 TIMES the dangerous level of pollen.
Let me put it another way. My truck and my wife's car are both an odd yellow color. They weren't when we bought our vehicles, but they are today, and probably will be for a while. They are covered in a layer of pollen. This normally happens when the numerous pine trees of the area start to pollenate. They haven't started yet. What we have right now is Oak, Sweet Gum, Sycamore, Birch, Mulberry, and Beech. Of those six trees, I am allergic to...all of them.
So, right now I'm sleeping a lot. Over 12 hours a day, and the times that I'm not sleeping, I'm tired and thinking about sleep. It is absolutely miserable right now. Spring in Georgia is the absolute worst time of year. I dread it's coming, and hate it when it is here.
Therefore, I refute the idea that Spring is pretty. The flowers and other colors that debut around this time are beautiful, but beauty is only surface deep, and the tiny terror that lies beneath the beauty attacks deep.
Recently on his blog, Charles gave a glowing review of Spring in Georgia. He spoke of the beauty and the tranquil nature of the time of year.
I'm here to tell you that is a lie. If there is indeed a Hell, Georgia in Spring is a clear reflection of it.
Oh, the trees and the sky might be beautiful, but that beauty is only surface deep. Beneath it is a terror of immense proportion. For you see, Spring in Georgia means only one thing to me: pollen.
You might think that is an annoyance, and very little else, but it isn't. You see, Georgia has a special agreement with pollen. All the pollen that isn't allowed to show up in any other part of the world at this time is relocated to Georgia so that it can romp around and have fun with all the other pollen.
I mean, that has to be the case, right?
The Atlanta Allergy Clinic has a daily pollen meter, letting you know the pollen count and its relative danger to anyone who has reactions to said pollen. Most places have a high pollen count near 100, making it a high pollen, but not quite in the dangerous range. Anything over 125 is considered dangerous.
The pollen count today is 5,499.
You read correctly. Five-thousand four-hundred and ninety-nine. Aw heck, for simplicity sake let's go ahead and round it up to 5,500. That makes the pollen count 44 TIMES the dangerous level of pollen.
Let me put it another way. My truck and my wife's car are both an odd yellow color. They weren't when we bought our vehicles, but they are today, and probably will be for a while. They are covered in a layer of pollen. This normally happens when the numerous pine trees of the area start to pollenate. They haven't started yet. What we have right now is Oak, Sweet Gum, Sycamore, Birch, Mulberry, and Beech. Of those six trees, I am allergic to...all of them.
So, right now I'm sleeping a lot. Over 12 hours a day, and the times that I'm not sleeping, I'm tired and thinking about sleep. It is absolutely miserable right now. Spring in Georgia is the absolute worst time of year. I dread it's coming, and hate it when it is here.
Therefore, I refute the idea that Spring is pretty. The flowers and other colors that debut around this time are beautiful, but beauty is only surface deep, and the tiny terror that lies beneath the beauty attacks deep.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I am fascinated by certain phenomenon. In this case, it's a social phenomenon.
When I was in Elementary School, back in the early 1970's there was a jingle for McDonald's that started with "McDonald's is your kind of place..." I want to say it was one of the jingles that was written by Barry Manilow, but I haven't checked that thought, mostly because that isn't the important part.
The important part, and to me, the amazing part, is that as a small child I sang not the traditional version, but a version that went:
McDonald's is your kind of place!
Shove hamburgers in your face!
Stuff french fries up your nose!
Put pickles between your toes!
And don't forget our famous shakes,
they're made from polluted lakes!
McDonald's is your kind of place!
Clever words, I know, but that still isn't the important part. The most important thing, and the truly amazing thing, is that my wife, Allyson sang that same song in Elementary School. I grew up in Fort Wayne, Indiana. She grew up in Smyrna, Georgia. And we were singing the same insipid parody of a song at roughly the same time.
Now, this happened long before the internet was a reality. There was no way to communicate this directly. But the other day I stated that someplace was my kind of place, and she went right into the song. We both knew the same song. So I did a very unscientific study and asked a couple of people around my age if they knew that song. They did. One was from Florida and the other from Texas.
How? How did this song get from Indiana to Georgia to Florida to Texas? The concept of synchronicity leaps to mind, but just seeing a realization of it makes me wonder.
And think about the whole "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells" song.
When I was in Elementary School, back in the early 1970's there was a jingle for McDonald's that started with "McDonald's is your kind of place..." I want to say it was one of the jingles that was written by Barry Manilow, but I haven't checked that thought, mostly because that isn't the important part.
The important part, and to me, the amazing part, is that as a small child I sang not the traditional version, but a version that went:
McDonald's is your kind of place!
Shove hamburgers in your face!
Stuff french fries up your nose!
Put pickles between your toes!
And don't forget our famous shakes,
they're made from polluted lakes!
McDonald's is your kind of place!
Clever words, I know, but that still isn't the important part. The most important thing, and the truly amazing thing, is that my wife, Allyson sang that same song in Elementary School. I grew up in Fort Wayne, Indiana. She grew up in Smyrna, Georgia. And we were singing the same insipid parody of a song at roughly the same time.
Now, this happened long before the internet was a reality. There was no way to communicate this directly. But the other day I stated that someplace was my kind of place, and she went right into the song. We both knew the same song. So I did a very unscientific study and asked a couple of people around my age if they knew that song. They did. One was from Florida and the other from Texas.
How? How did this song get from Indiana to Georgia to Florida to Texas? The concept of synchronicity leaps to mind, but just seeing a realization of it makes me wonder.
And think about the whole "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells" song.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
One more thing about the death of Captain America...
He shouldn't be dead.
No, not from the fact that I think they were idiots to kill the character off, but from a couple of simple facts.
First off, he was in costume. If the story was accurate, Cap was a prisoner. Prisoners don't get to keep their own clothes. He should have been in standard prison issue.
Second, as a prisoner being transferred, federal law requires a prisoner being transferred to wear a flak vest. A bullet-proof flak vest. And Cap wasn't shot in the head, he was shot in the stomach, exactly where the vest would have protected him. Oh, and even if he got the special permission to wear his own outfit, that outfit seems to be made of some form of armor, designed I think, to protect him from things like, oh I don't know...bullets?
And finally, when Cap looks up and notices the sniper, why does he keep this information to himself? I guess he wanted to protect the team of elite SHIELD agents around him that are trained to deal with all manner of dangerous threats from a lone gunman. Or maybe he just gave up? After all, he's only survived for decades through war and death of those closest to him and being frozen in a block of ice. So, having a bad experience while three civil workers tackle him for...wait, why did they tackle him? That really was never made clear in Civil War.
No, I feel that the thing that killed Cap (ignoring the previous post) was bad writing. I would go on, but this entry would simply disolve, rather quickly, into a diatribe against the state of writing at Marvel these days.
He shouldn't be dead.
No, not from the fact that I think they were idiots to kill the character off, but from a couple of simple facts.
First off, he was in costume. If the story was accurate, Cap was a prisoner. Prisoners don't get to keep their own clothes. He should have been in standard prison issue.
Second, as a prisoner being transferred, federal law requires a prisoner being transferred to wear a flak vest. A bullet-proof flak vest. And Cap wasn't shot in the head, he was shot in the stomach, exactly where the vest would have protected him. Oh, and even if he got the special permission to wear his own outfit, that outfit seems to be made of some form of armor, designed I think, to protect him from things like, oh I don't know...bullets?
And finally, when Cap looks up and notices the sniper, why does he keep this information to himself? I guess he wanted to protect the team of elite SHIELD agents around him that are trained to deal with all manner of dangerous threats from a lone gunman. Or maybe he just gave up? After all, he's only survived for decades through war and death of those closest to him and being frozen in a block of ice. So, having a bad experience while three civil workers tackle him for...wait, why did they tackle him? That really was never made clear in Civil War.
No, I feel that the thing that killed Cap (ignoring the previous post) was bad writing. I would go on, but this entry would simply disolve, rather quickly, into a diatribe against the state of writing at Marvel these days.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
It has been a week, so I feel that I have a little distance and can talk about the death of Captain America.
When I first read the issue, my initial thought was that I wanted to have fifteen minutes alone with Joe Quesada in a locked room. Now that it's been a week, I still want that, but not because Captain America was killed.
In truth, Captain America isn't dead. He can't be. It's just impossible.
That's because he was never alive. He was nothing more than ink lines on paper. So, no matter how hard someone tries to kill a comic book character, they will never succeed. Someone, somewhere, at some time, will bring that character back. Well, if it matters, they will bring that character back.
And I do think that Steve Rogers matters. And that is why I want to spend time with J.Q. in a locked room.
Quesada has openly stated that he thinks that Steve Rogers was an outdated character. That he, and I am paraphrasing here, was no longer an accurate reflection of America. In fact, in Civil War Frontline, Rogers was confronted and told as much, indicating that because he didn't have a My Space page, or that he couldn't name the finalists from American Idol, he no longer was truly showing what it was to be American. God help us if either of those things become a true indication of what it means to be American. But again, that isn't the point.
The point is that it becomes incredibly obvious with those statements that Joe Quesada has no idea the true identity Captain America. He isn't now, nor really has he ever been, a reflection of America. He is a reflection of the American ideal. What we would all like to be, or what, as a country, we would at least like to represent.
When I was a child comics played a very important role in my life. They helped me to understand the difference between right and wrong. They gave me an idea of morals, and what it was to try to live up to ideals. You might not ever get there, but it was a goal worth having. And at the pinnacle of that goal was Captain America. He always did the right thing, understanding that sometimes the things that you do have a price to pay. And he was always able to overcome those odds to win.
In today's comic attitude, he is outdated. Stated as much by the current Editor-in-Chief, Joe Quesada. But then comics have been having moral issues for about a decade and a half--but that's another post. The sad thing is that Quesada and his cronies don't care about that, which is sad. The happy part is that Joe Quesada's actual title is CURRENT Editor-in-Chief. His time will pass.
And eventually, possibly sooner than later, Steve Rogers will be back. Captain America will once again be representing everything that America strives to be. Everything that is best in a comic character. The American dream. After all, he always overcomes even the worst of odds.
And he really isn't dead. You can't kill ink lines. Or a dream.
When I first read the issue, my initial thought was that I wanted to have fifteen minutes alone with Joe Quesada in a locked room. Now that it's been a week, I still want that, but not because Captain America was killed.
In truth, Captain America isn't dead. He can't be. It's just impossible.
That's because he was never alive. He was nothing more than ink lines on paper. So, no matter how hard someone tries to kill a comic book character, they will never succeed. Someone, somewhere, at some time, will bring that character back. Well, if it matters, they will bring that character back.
And I do think that Steve Rogers matters. And that is why I want to spend time with J.Q. in a locked room.
Quesada has openly stated that he thinks that Steve Rogers was an outdated character. That he, and I am paraphrasing here, was no longer an accurate reflection of America. In fact, in Civil War Frontline, Rogers was confronted and told as much, indicating that because he didn't have a My Space page, or that he couldn't name the finalists from American Idol, he no longer was truly showing what it was to be American. God help us if either of those things become a true indication of what it means to be American. But again, that isn't the point.
The point is that it becomes incredibly obvious with those statements that Joe Quesada has no idea the true identity Captain America. He isn't now, nor really has he ever been, a reflection of America. He is a reflection of the American ideal. What we would all like to be, or what, as a country, we would at least like to represent.
When I was a child comics played a very important role in my life. They helped me to understand the difference between right and wrong. They gave me an idea of morals, and what it was to try to live up to ideals. You might not ever get there, but it was a goal worth having. And at the pinnacle of that goal was Captain America. He always did the right thing, understanding that sometimes the things that you do have a price to pay. And he was always able to overcome those odds to win.
In today's comic attitude, he is outdated. Stated as much by the current Editor-in-Chief, Joe Quesada. But then comics have been having moral issues for about a decade and a half--but that's another post. The sad thing is that Quesada and his cronies don't care about that, which is sad. The happy part is that Joe Quesada's actual title is CURRENT Editor-in-Chief. His time will pass.
And eventually, possibly sooner than later, Steve Rogers will be back. Captain America will once again be representing everything that America strives to be. Everything that is best in a comic character. The American dream. After all, he always overcomes even the worst of odds.
And he really isn't dead. You can't kill ink lines. Or a dream.
Monday, March 12, 2007
March 13th is the birthday of the most important person in my life.
Birthdays are kind of a big deal between us. We met on my birthday. We got married on the same "day" (the 13th, only six months later) as her birthday. The first time that we spent the night together was on my birthday.
But most importantly, it's a day that I get to pay extra attention to her. So, I'm going to spend some of that time right now.
I don't think that it's an overstatement to say that I live my life for her. At some point in your life, you meet someone that becomes more important to you than yourself. For the very lucky, that person is someone who lets you into their life, and lets you share every moment--the good, the bad, the ordinary, the extraordinary. And for the very, very lucky, that person feels the same way about you.
My day begins with Allyson. Normally, she is going to work, and since we work different hours, she wakes me up to say goodbye, I lazily smile and wish her a good day, promising to talk to her later in the day. At the moment, she is between jobs, so I wake to her being in the same room with me. In either case, it brings a smile to my face, knowing that she is there.
And every night my day ends with her. She normally falls asleep before me, with me kissing her gently and promising her a good nights sleep and pleasant dreams. Then I get to see her sleeping beside me for a while, which I consider special bonus time of being able to look at her. (Kinda creepy sounding, maybe, but hey, I'm opening up here.)
But the best part is that I get to be around her during all of my "me" time. And by that, I mean that no matter what time I am around her, I always get to be me. There are some people I have seen in relationships that become someone else when they are around their significant others. But Allyson and I are so similar in so many ways that we are always just...ourselves. She accepts my quirks as a part of me--and trust me, I've got quirks aplenty.
And on top of all that, she's beautiful. Truly beautiful. Inside and out.
And she has chosen to share her remarkable life and love with me. And now she's been with me for another year of her life, and I'm hoping for every year that I'm left on this planet. Which I guess makes me the luckiest man alive.
If this seems a little maudlin and sickly sweet, well, then obviously this wasn't meant for you.
I love you Allyson. Happy birthday.
Birthdays are kind of a big deal between us. We met on my birthday. We got married on the same "day" (the 13th, only six months later) as her birthday. The first time that we spent the night together was on my birthday.
But most importantly, it's a day that I get to pay extra attention to her. So, I'm going to spend some of that time right now.
I don't think that it's an overstatement to say that I live my life for her. At some point in your life, you meet someone that becomes more important to you than yourself. For the very lucky, that person is someone who lets you into their life, and lets you share every moment--the good, the bad, the ordinary, the extraordinary. And for the very, very lucky, that person feels the same way about you.
My day begins with Allyson. Normally, she is going to work, and since we work different hours, she wakes me up to say goodbye, I lazily smile and wish her a good day, promising to talk to her later in the day. At the moment, she is between jobs, so I wake to her being in the same room with me. In either case, it brings a smile to my face, knowing that she is there.
And every night my day ends with her. She normally falls asleep before me, with me kissing her gently and promising her a good nights sleep and pleasant dreams. Then I get to see her sleeping beside me for a while, which I consider special bonus time of being able to look at her. (Kinda creepy sounding, maybe, but hey, I'm opening up here.)
But the best part is that I get to be around her during all of my "me" time. And by that, I mean that no matter what time I am around her, I always get to be me. There are some people I have seen in relationships that become someone else when they are around their significant others. But Allyson and I are so similar in so many ways that we are always just...ourselves. She accepts my quirks as a part of me--and trust me, I've got quirks aplenty.
And on top of all that, she's beautiful. Truly beautiful. Inside and out.
And she has chosen to share her remarkable life and love with me. And now she's been with me for another year of her life, and I'm hoping for every year that I'm left on this planet. Which I guess makes me the luckiest man alive.
If this seems a little maudlin and sickly sweet, well, then obviously this wasn't meant for you.
I love you Allyson. Happy birthday.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
I took my wife to see Spamalot.
It's hard to believe that they made a play out of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, even more unbelieveable that it's a musical. And most amazingly, it's very, very good.
Both Allyson and I were laughing and smiling through the whole production. And we also noticed that there seemed to be two distinct types of people at the show: the fans of the movie and fans of plays. One of them seemed to know what was going to happen next, while the other was just rolling with the blows. And both groups seemed to be enjoying the play equally.
I guess if you have good material, it doesn't matter whether you are watching something because it's an old favorite or if it's something new. In fact, the reason that it is probably one of your favorites is because it's something that does have quality material behind it. And real quality is fairly timeless.
The play isn't just a scene for scene version of the movie, though, in case you didn't already know that, but that doesn't hurt a thing. The story has a different ending, and many new and different parts in the middle, but the humor remains very high. It's updated a little, adds a romance or two--both comedic, still--and a happy ending all for the Broadway crowd, which gives old fans a sense of something new. But keeping things like The Knights Who Say Ni, The Black Knight, The Killer Rabbit, and, probably the most popular, The Taunting French Knights.
In fact, it was amazing the cheers that some characters got when they appeared on stage. That was the easiest way to tell who knew the movie and who didn't: the ones who looked around confused at the cheers were obviously new to the story.
Before I get carried away and wander too much with this post, I'm going to come to a close. As a final statement, I give the play my recommendation. Not just to Python fans, but to anyone who enjoys a good musical comedy.
It's hard to believe that they made a play out of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, even more unbelieveable that it's a musical. And most amazingly, it's very, very good.
Both Allyson and I were laughing and smiling through the whole production. And we also noticed that there seemed to be two distinct types of people at the show: the fans of the movie and fans of plays. One of them seemed to know what was going to happen next, while the other was just rolling with the blows. And both groups seemed to be enjoying the play equally.
I guess if you have good material, it doesn't matter whether you are watching something because it's an old favorite or if it's something new. In fact, the reason that it is probably one of your favorites is because it's something that does have quality material behind it. And real quality is fairly timeless.
The play isn't just a scene for scene version of the movie, though, in case you didn't already know that, but that doesn't hurt a thing. The story has a different ending, and many new and different parts in the middle, but the humor remains very high. It's updated a little, adds a romance or two--both comedic, still--and a happy ending all for the Broadway crowd, which gives old fans a sense of something new. But keeping things like The Knights Who Say Ni, The Black Knight, The Killer Rabbit, and, probably the most popular, The Taunting French Knights.
In fact, it was amazing the cheers that some characters got when they appeared on stage. That was the easiest way to tell who knew the movie and who didn't: the ones who looked around confused at the cheers were obviously new to the story.
Before I get carried away and wander too much with this post, I'm going to come to a close. As a final statement, I give the play my recommendation. Not just to Python fans, but to anyone who enjoys a good musical comedy.
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