Hooray for tolerant workplaces!

|

Austin is back in the Salt Lake valley. But barely. Let's rewind!



The original game plan was as follows: I'd work until 5 PM, and Kira and I would head up to the valley about 5:30. We'd get there about 9:30, and everything would be delightful.

Well.

About 1 PM, I get a call over the office phone from Scott, saying that he's looking forward to seeing me in the corporate office. He also makes a passing reference to heavy snow in central Utah. Meh, snow, I think to myself. I'm a native Utahn. No snow fazes me! No sooner do I hang up from Scott than my cell phone rings. It's my mom, and she has news -- stuff's awful in central Utah. Apparently her boss knew about our travel arrangements, and came in to let us know there had been numerous accidents on the road to Salt Lake. Mom was concerned that if I left at 5:30, I'd be driving through snow in the dark (which is among the worst ways to drive, srsly). I hurry and phone Scott and ask him if it's OK that I leave, like, right now. He say's that's fine, so I pass off my project and load up the car. It's 1:30 PM, and I figure we'll get there at 5:30 or so.

Kira gets home about 1:45. We load up the puppies, and all our bags, and hit the open road. We get on I-15 at The George, and immediately we notice that the wind's awfully strong. Kira has her Blackbury, and looks it up -- apparently it's blowing at 35-40 MPG. Golly, that's strong! Undaunted, we continue forward. Minutes pass and the wind continues to toss our tiny Focus around. The dogs are howling in the back seat, and Kira and I are dreading the rest of the car ride. Oh well, it's a quick four hours, right?

We hit the first batch of snow flurries outside of Cedar City. By the time we've made it into the city proper, it's snowing hard and the wind is pushing our car into the other lane.

Side note, I have PTSD about driving in cars during heavy snow. Ever since Richard and I came within about an inch and a half of death at the top of Donner's Pass, I've been kind of stressful in heavy snow. I sure hope that doesn't come up somehow!

The snow continues through Cedar City and the towns after it. We're averaging less than 65 MPG, and visibility's really low. Kira receives a phone call from Mom, who lets us know that the real trouble is in Beaver, where most the wrecks have occurred. We fret about it briefly, but realize we need to continue on our way. And we make it to Beaver. Beaver isn't a problem. We breeze through it with minimal stress, as the snow's just floating down and the winds have calmed. We're putting along the northern outskirts of the city, when all of a sudden the giant semi-truck in front of us puts on their brakes. We do too, and suddenly, we're at a complete stop. Let me capture the scene for you. We're in a mountain pass, and the snow has suddenly started coming down really hard. The wind's blowing, the puppies are whimpering in the back seat, and we're parked on the freeway. And we stay that way.

Five minutes pass.

Ten.

Twenty. Thirty. We're still parked on the freeway. Peeking out of the driver's side door, we see a trail of lights that goes all the way into the distance. Bumper to bumper. We're stuck. Immediately my bladder begins to panic. Note to future super villains -- the best way to get me to succumb to torture is to tell me I can't use the restroom. It's the Austin kiss of death! Immediately, even though I don't really need to go, I think I need to go to the bathroom. There's no way, though; we're trapped in a mile long line of cars and semis, there is a foot and a half of snow outside... aww, crap. The rest of me starts to panic as well; images of car crashes and death and general stress take over, and I start idly punching at the steering wheel while breathing erratically.

Meanwhile, in the back seat, Kira's dog poops in it's carrier. We briefly weigh the options of poop disposal (throwing it out the window?) before deciding on a solution that will not be discussed on the internet or in mixed company. We slowly begin to inch forward, and the inching continues for an eternity. We pass a rolled over semi. And another. And another. And three that have run into each other on an off-ramp. Another one has rolled down a hill. We're now down to a one lane road on the freeway, going less than five miles an hour, which goes on for six miles.

Finally, we make it out of the Beaver mountains. It's almost 5 PM, and we're not even half-way to Salt Lake.

Neither of us have eaten in about twenty-four hours, but we decide to trudge on in order to make it. We arrive in Salt Lake City at 8:45 PM. I dropped Kira and the dogs off at Grandma's house and headed to my Fortress of Rented Solitude at the Crystal Inn (which is where I'm writing from now). I make it to my room, exhausted, and throw open my window to see the valley:

Or just the sign for the next-door Red Cross.

So I'm making the most of it. I spent five minutes jumping back and forth on the double beds, but I almost hit my head on the ceiling at one point and discretion got the better of me. Tomorrow I'll head in to Nutshell Corporate and promptly fall asleep at my desk.

And, Scott said the weather tomorrow is sunny all the way. Nearly flawless, even.

Somebody shoot me. And give my blood to the Red Cross.

|

The stuff to make my little Lego Master Chief finally arrived today. I had the armor and helmet from Brickforge at the end of last week, but I was waiting for a dark green torso and leg set to arrive from Germany before I could put him all together.

All in all, I think he looks pretty good without any modifications. Should I have time next week (since I'm all busy this week), I'll do some detail painting on the armor to bring it a little bit closer to the actual in-game render. For the time being, though, he looks pretty good. The rifle and grenade are both from Brickarms, and they look pretty darn good too. I got some awesome stuff from Brickarms (swords, guns, a freakin' bazooka), so I'll have to post pictures of that when I can.

Components:
Helmet, Visor, Armor - Brickforge
Battle Rifle, Grenade - Brickarms
Torso Assembly, Leg Assembly - Bricklink

|

It's settled. I'm getting a hotel.

|

Let's talk candy.

I have a bit of a sweet tooth. It's never been much of a problem (Mike says I have pretty good teeth), but it does mean that I'm at a high risk for being abducted outside my elementary school when a guy in a clown mask tells me he has candy in his van.

Of all candy, I would say that Bottle Caps are definitely in the top ten. They might even be top five material if I stopped to think about it, which I won't, because it's not healthy to rank your favorite candy after the age of 12. Bottle Caps, for the uninitiated, are the 'Soda Pop Candy'. Imagine Smarties flavored like soda, and you're on the right track. Bottle Caps, as you can see above, come in five flavors: Cola, Grape, Root Beer, Orange, and Cherry.

Cherry Bottle Caps. Is there anything so insidious as Cherry Bottle Caps? The problem with them is this: they ruin an otherwise perfect candy. Cola, Grape, Root Beer and Orange are all sweet and mellow, maybe with a little bit of a sour after-taste. Each one is delicious in it's own way. It's the awful red cherry ones that are the black sheep. The others taste like their namesake, but cherry doesn't. Cherry Bottle Caps are the Capgras candy; their flavor is like coming home and noticing that your wife has been replaced by a nearly identical duplicate who looks similar but is different in all the wrong ways. Cherry Bottle Caps are oddly sour, and a little bitter (like my ex-wife, hah cha cha). They're not very good.

I guess in this way, Bottle Caps are a pretty good metaphor for life. You start off with this wonderful, colorful box full of good things. When you open it up, it's all so colorful and exciting, and it all looks wonderful. You take a few, and you quickly realize what's up: everything's good except the red ones, and they suck. But, you won't know what's coming until it's in your hand. Sometimes it's good, and you only have one red Bottle Cap and a lot of Root Beer ones. Sometimes you get a whole handful of Cherry, and you have to swallow them and get it over with. Try as you might, there's always going to be Cherry Bottle Caps lurking somewhere in the box, and you need to figure out how to deal with them or else you'll end up with a sad pile of them on your desk as you try to rationalize throwing away 1/5 of your candy. It think Forrest Gump probably said all of this better.

I think if I have a soul mate, she probably likes Cherry Bottle Caps. And, lucky for her, I have a Ziploc bag of red ones hanging out on my desk waiting for her.

Did I mention how awful red Bottle Caps are?

|

It's currently after 10 PM on a Sunday night, and anyone over the age of eight with a pulse knows what that means: the weekend is officially over. Another week is about to begin, and let me tell you what... what a week it's going to be.

Know how there are some days, or weeks, where you just say, 'OK, self, strap on your big boy pants and get it done'? How there are weeks where you just think, if I can get through this week, it'll be smooth sailing for a while? This is going to be one of those weeks.

I seem to be having those weeks lately. Moving down here was one of 'those weeks'. Driving back up to the valley to pack up more of our stuff was also one of 'those weeks'. I've had 'those weeks' in the professional setting. And now, I'm having another one. I am currently dreading this week for a myriad of reasons, the most tangible being that it's a Salt Lake weekend, whereby I travel back up to 'the city' to 'take care of business'. In this case, it's not even a weekend thing; I get to pack up my work stuff mid-week and drive up for a meeting or something on Thursday and Friday of this week.

This in and of itself isn't a problem. But there are issues, which I will list:

First, I'm dreading the drive. It's four hours, and that really shouldn't be that big of a deal. The last time I drove it, however, I had something flu-ish. We made about ten stops on the way, each time because I thought I was going to explode. Now I've got some awful trauma thing about the drive, to where I'm afraid I'll end up puking somewhere outside of Nephi while Kira waits impatiently. Kira? Oh, right...

Second, Kira volunteered to drive up with me Wednesday night. Thanks, Kira, I do appreciate the companionship over the long ride. But since Kira is a dog owner, that means the two dogs will also be traveling with us. They sure as hell aren't riding in my Mustang, which means we'll be taking the Focus, which means that I'll get to be less than four feet from two puppies for four hours. This might not be too bad on my sinuses, except that if they do 'their business' and poop or anything, I'm going to have to make pit stops to take care of that. I'm barely responsible enough to drag myself to a desk every morning, let alone be the arbiter of potty breaks for tiny dogs.

Third, I'll be couch surfing. I was thinking I might get a hotel room, but it seemed wasteful, and money's always a little tight with student loan stuff. Even as I write this, I'm wrestling with the idea of just getting somewhere where I can relax by myself for a while. At any rate, as it currently stands, I get to stay at my Grandma's house, and sleep on the couch in her living room. This is a terrible problem for me, as my Grandma keeps her house at a balmy 82 degrees, which means I won't be able to sleep comfortably. Heck, I won't sleep comfortably on the couch anyway... I'm a bit of a tosser (joke for my chavs, tut tut), and I'll likely fall right off the couch if I turn to roll over. We did this the last time I was in the valley, and it was awful for two nights. This time it's for four, and I get to go to work after two of them.

There are beacons of hope. I've been invited to three separate Halloween parties in different parts of the city, so I'll get to scuttle around making appearances. I bought the stuff to put together a Rorschach costume; I was originally going to do Madrox, but I didn't know if anyone would get it. I also have a sneaking suspicion my grandma is making home-made chili on Halloween night, which would be pretty cool. There are a couple other things I wanted to do while up in the valley that I hope pan out; I really want to pick up some Curry In A Hurry, for instance, and I need to talk to Mimi at Night Flight about changing my hold now that they're shipping my books down here.

I also just realized that being in Salt Lake means that I won't have internet access outside of work hours for a few days. My world might begin to collapse if I'm unable to delete coupon codes from Gamestop from my inbox for a couple days!

Fingers crossed, I can post a blog one week from now saying, 'Well, that wasn't so bad'. Maybe. Hopefully.

|

One of my favorite shows is The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack.


My little brother and I watch it every time it comes on, and it's always amazing. Our conversations are peppered with Flapjack-isms. We bought the 'Part 1' DVD when it came out this week (side note: Cartoon Network, please release seasons rather than parts... collecting 20 parts of one season is obnoxious).

So last night, when it came time to carve pumpkins, there was only one real solution.

(Click for bigger)

Instead of trying to just put his face straight onto a pumpkin, we tried to make it more of a Flapjack-O-Lantern style image, which I think worked out well. We also carved up a pretty basic Captain K'Nuckles, which I don't have a picture of completed.

Hopefully our Flapjack-O-Lantern will be a beacon to the children of our neighborhood, letting them know what's really important:

Getting candy!

|

I love things that are strange. Sometimes I even love things that are kinda terrible. This is both of those things.

Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourself for the cinéma vérité of... 'The Hunger'.



I know what you're thinking.

'I'm having a hard time keeping up with the rapid-fire plot', you say.

Well, luckily the director wrote down the music video, shot for shot, to help you understand it. And you might come to understand it, but there's one thing you'll never understand...

The hunger.

|

I'm honestly not even sure how you start planning to do something like this.

|

My BrickForge order arrived today!

Look, when you work from home and fall asleep watching cartoons sprawled out in your underwear, you have to look on the bright side of things. And packages in the mail are the best things in the universe.

Today's package was, as you figured, from BrickForge, who I first name-dropped here. As you can see from their website, they offer a whole gamut of awesome Lego accessories and weapons and such. Among them is the rubber gunbelt, seen directly to the left, which snaps between the torso and legs of any minifig and gives them a handy holster for their weapons. I purposely made a little sheriff just so I could slap a cool looking gunbelt on him and call it a day. It's made of a pretty flexible rubber, so I'm not especially concerned about it breaking when I pull pieces in and out. This is especially good because I ordered a few pairs of miniature night vision goggles from them, and they seem to be made of the same sturdy but pliable material.

Of course, gunbelts and goggles (what a great name for a dystopian DND campaign) weren't all that I ordered. I also picked up a couple space guns in both white and black, some nightsticks, a red crowbar (for Half-Life reasons) and some swooshy hair. But the real pride and joy, and what makes this a guaranteed repurchase... a miniature minifig Vespa scooter.

You can sorta see it in the picture to the right, but believe me, you have to hold one to realize just how amazing these little things are. They come in a standard range of colors, although I'd kill to get some quirky colors going (pale blue, purple, lime green). The figures fit perfectly on them, and the scooter itself looks so darn perfect that you would think it fell out of a Lego set by itself.

Rest assured, I need to buy another one of these and form a scooter gang. I spent a good thirty minutes just cruising the little scooter Austin around the house, making obnoxious honking noises and pretending that I was going out for baguettes... speaking of, I need to find a way to stick a baguette on the back of this thing! Weekend project!

Another awesome couple of items I ordered was this snazzy minifig Halo armor:

I'm not a huge Halo fan, but the armor looked cool, and Andre about died when I showed it to him. Luckily I ordered two sets, so he can take one and I can add one to the collection. I have a couple dark green torsos and bodies arriving later this week, so it should turn out to be a pretty cool looking figure.

Being the nice folks they are, the BrickForge people also stuck a couple extra pieces I didn't order in my bag. Apparently, if they have some extras lying around of something, they'll toss them in your bag as a 'thank you' for buying from them. I was lucky enough to receive a bronze Thor hammer, a bronze pilum and a green MegaGun. Totally awesome.

I would order from BrickForge again in a heartbeat. Actually, as soon as I can justify buying a bunch of colorful little scooters, I'll buy from them again anyway. Maybe a pink scooter...

|

It's the weekend, which means that it's weekend project time!

This weekend I really wanted to recreate the Lego minifigure of Hush from the Lego Batman game. I love superhero minifigs, and their villains, and Hush was a really cool unlockable character in the game.

Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of stock parts on this figure. The torso is a custom, as is the head, so I decided to sit down and bang out an Illustrator torso for him.

Below is a large image of the torso that I came up with for use on the figure. Below it I've also attached a link to a PDF download of the torso; go into Adobe Reader or Acrobat, print that off at full resolution and 'Best Quality', and you should be able to cut the torso out and glue it directly over the top of an existing black torso. If you have waterslide decal paper, even better! As it is, you should be able to peel this off if you regret it, so the printed paper glued on is a better temporary solution.

Click here to download an appropriately sized PDF to print and use!

|

It's Flapjack Friday! Let's celebrate Friday by watching some Flapjack! Here's 'Gone Wishin'', which is amazing.


Watch Gone Wishin' in Comedy | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

|

Why, I can't even tell you how many times an attractive woman has grabbed my arm and said to me, Austin, tell me about your workspace.

Usually this is reserved for the grand tour of the house but, in a spirit of generousness, I've decided to show you what I spend eight hours a day staring at.

Gird your loins, guys, this is awful exciting!


1. My Macbook. Actually not my MacBook, but a Nutshell standard issue MacBook. It's loaded with like a bajillion pieces of software for any occasion!

2. Glow in the dark stars. These are great because at night, I feel like I'm ten years old. And, they're neat! Photophosphorescence!

3. A framed compliment. This one came from a customer with very high standards! It's good to remember nice things when the going gets tough, especially around crunch time.

4. My egg timer. Just in case I'm cooking something downstairs and I need to know how long it's been going.

5. My office phone. I'm not sure what this does, other than beep and startle me when it is perfectly quiet all throughout the house.

6. My ladybug mouse. Scott said they'd give me a real mouse, but I insisted on keeping the ladybug. Her and I make sweet, sweet designin' together.

7. My other monitor. I need this one so I don't have to squint to match gradients and such on the MacBook's monitor.

8. Miscellaneous doodads. There's a pen, and some Visine, and some Lego figures.

9. Design books. A couple on design, a couple on InDesign, a couple on Illustrator and one on writing effective marketing text.

10. Little blue robot. He's made of tin, and marches around proudly. He's here because robots are awesome.

11. My MacBook. This one actually is my personal MacBook. I listen to music off this bad boy!

12. My desk. It's pale blue, which is a great color, with silver leg braces. It's very stylish, yet big enough that super tall Austin can sit comfortably under it. I do need a new chair, though...

So this has been a riveting journey through my daily workspace! I'm sure you feel enriched and bettered as a result of having wasted a couple minutes looking at it.

|

Now, I know what you came here to see -- autographed pictures of me as a superhero! Unfortunately, that will have to wait.

See, instead, this is some fan art! I know, WTF right?

(Azure's Day Off)

That's Azure, and he's a superhero too! Well, not today, though, because it's his day off. What, you've never heard of Azure? Good thing I have a link to this blog here. Or here's a more direct link! You should click both of those, probably.

Now I know this seems like a crass attempt to get you to click on Spencer's blog some more, because he's my friend and all, but it's not, either! Neither is this link to a page where you get free money and hugs from beautiful women!

|

Hey loyal blog readers! It's me...



And I've got a modest request for you. See, I have this friend. His name is...



We've been friends for, like, ever. Dinosaur forever! That's a long time! Did I mention he also has a blog! I mean, it's not as captivating and riveting and transformational as mine, but it's still a pretty snappy blog! I read it, and you should too!

See, he's having some sort of inexplicable contest. It's inexplicable because I'm not directly involved, which means I didn't really pay attention when they were talking about it. But I digress!

What needs to happen is, you need to click this link below here. You need to read his page, and then close it, and then open it up again and read it some more. You need to do this every time you're feeling down or blue, or if I haven't posted anything lately. That way he can win this page view contest with this guy named Eric who I met once but I'm pretty sure was sort of shady so you should probably be careful going to his blog and actually just to be safe you shouldn't go there at all.

Anyway, here's that link. You should click it and make Spencer happy.

The Second Best Blog You'll Surf Today, After Mine, But His Is Pretty Great Too, Wait, That Felt Forced, Sorry, Let Me Start Over, FREE PICTURES OF PUPPIES AND SLICES OF PIE CLICK HERE!

|

For as long as I've been interested in Lego, my favorite part has been the minifigs. There's something delightful about little tiny plastic representations of your favorite things, and from the very beginning, I spent a lot of time recreating figures that Lego itself hadn't put out in sets.

Back in the day when I was heavy into Star Wars, this took the form of minor characters from the series. Eventually I branched out into making supehero minifigs, but usually stayed within the boundaries of figures I could easily recreate.

Well, last week I ordered some water-slide decals from Jared over at Kaminoan's Fine Clonier so I could make a few more figures. A couple are still being worked on (for instance, I can't find a body I'm happy with for my Silver Surfer figure), but these first two are the fruits of some of that labor.

First is Cyclops. He's easily one of my favorite X-Men, and when I saw the sand orange tussled hair piece, I knew it would look perfect on a Cyclops mini-fig. The chest, face and belt are all decals pasted on a blank torso, head and leg set.

I'm currently working on a way to get him to shoot little eye beams; I can have him turn his head, hold his hand up and hold a red lightsaber beam, which partially accomplishes the effect, but I'm sure there's a way to do better. I'll figure it out, but the primary concern is not to scratch any of the decals.

Next up I did a little Lego Daredevil. Daredevil was one of the first comics I ever read, and so the Scarlet Swashbuckler has a special place in my heart. I'm well aware there will never be a Daredevil Lego set, so I set out to make one.

The chest and leg decals were again from Jared, as was the face. The face is the one component which wasn't made specifically for a Daredevil figure; it's a generic Batman water-slide, but I figured it was the closest I could get using decals. The balaclava-style face has never been really popular with Lego, so I'll have to settle for this. The nose is a little wrong (Daredevil's mask goes up rather than down), but, I think it works.

I also outfitted him with a couple light gray poles which will serve as billy-clubs until I can find something shorter in scale and more appropriate. Still, I think the figure is pretty darn recognizable, even with the Batman-type head.

The final little figure I worked on has no real custom parts to him. Earlier this week I purchased the Spongebob Squarepants Rocket Ride set for two reasons: one, I loved the retro design of the rocket that came with it, and two, it had a plastic bubble helmet.

True connoisseurs of outer space know that the only acceptable space helmet is the retro bubble helmet. Heck, if I could find one in my size, I'd walk around the house with it all day exploring new worlds. Unfortunately, they don't seem to make them, so I'll settle for having one for my little guy. I outfitted him in a white space-ish chest with a white and light gray body. I also gave him an old Little Armory Jango Fett blaster that I stuck a day-glow green round tube on the end of. The effect is pretty awesome.

I'm currently working on a better chest, but I can't decide what to do. Jared has a great Rocketeer decal that I might not be opposed to; I can stick it on a brown jacket and have him going completely retro space. Now if I could just find a way to score one of those Lego rayguns I had mentioned earlier in the week.

All in all, a relatively productive hobbyist weekend. For my next projects, I'm thinking I'm going to continue the superhero streak and see what I can do to polish off my X-Men roster. I know BrickForge makes a pretty great classic Wolverine mask, after all...

Hmm...

|

First, a story.

When Kira first went to the pet store that fateful day, and first saw Milo, there were about a dozen other dogs there as well. One of these dogs was, of course, Milo, and alongside him was his sister. In their litter, it had just been Milo and his sister; they had been raised together and sent to the pet store together where they were each up for purchase.

As you know, we weren't even going to have a dog, but Kira saw Milo, and she knew she had to have him. While all the other puppies, including his sister, bounced around happily, Milo laid in the corner sulking. He was the sad puppy in need of rescuing, and she fell hard. You know how that ends.

Fast forward to yesterday. Kira went to the laundromat to wash some of the dog's blankets and, at the same time, take Milo back to the pet store to get his nails trimmed. She took him in and, well, that's where things went wrong.

The dozen or so happy, bouncing dogs were gone. All that remained were three puppies; two with sale pending signs... and Milo's sister. When Kira first saw them, it was the sister who bounced around and played. Now, without any companions left, the sister sat in a corner, refusing to look up even if someone approached to pet her.

Kira was devastated again.

Now, let me clarify. My family is, if anything, irrational. The very idea that Milo's sister, a flesh and blood relative of someone in the family, had sat unloved for four months was just too much for the Hudson collective. Despite my hearty Googling and reassurance that nothing bad would happen to the dog, their minds were already set; they had to save Milo's sister.

Gentle reader, remember that I didn't want a dog. I'm allergic to them, and despite their cuteness, really don't want a walking crap machine running throughout the house.

Longtime readers know, has that ever stopped anyone in my house?


Meet Lucy (pictured on the left) and Milo. Lucy is a purebred dachshund, like Milo, but has adopted an opposite personality. She's scared, very clingy and has a little cough (which is tragic).

Even worse, she's decided that I'm her favorite.

While Milo likes to be rubbed, and falls asleep on Kira, he's not really interested in me. Lucy, however, has decided that I'm her favorite person, and runs to me the instant she's let out of her cage. If I pick her up and hold her, she licks my face (something that she doesn't do to anyone else). She falls asleep if I hold her. She whimpers if I put her down.

It's down right tragic.

Part of the 'getting a second dog' process was the arguing and bargaining. Several things were decided.

• I'm still not taking care of the dogs.
• The dogs are being relocated from the kitchen to the back patio.
• Kira's covering all the expenses of the dogs.

On the plus side, I did get to name her.

So there you have it. We now have two dogs. We're officially 'dog people' and, even worse, 'those people'. My eyes have been wicked sore. I guess at this point I should just buck it up. Especially now that there's a dog who loves me.

|

Twice before I've mentioned 'Donald's Scary Tales', and the three shorts on it. This is the third short.

While not especially scary, this one does feature a couple menacing characters who make a bomb which ends up in Donald's hands. The rest of the short is dedicated to Donald battling a black cat who is determined to ruin his day.

Enjoy!

|

Earlier this week I wrote about my favorite Donald Duck short, the wonderful 'Duck Pimples'. In the write-up, I mentioned that 'Donald's Scary Tales' was comprised of it and two other shorts: 'Donald Duck And The Gorilla', and 'Donald's Lucky Day'.

Presented for your pleasure is the second of those, 'Donald Duck And The Gorilla'. Arguably the scariest of the three (for a young kid, of course), this one has Donald squaring off against a man-eating gorilla from the zoo. It's just the right mix of suspense and funny, and is another great short.

|

(Click for big)

Flickr | The Alchemist by Don

|

So I woke up this morning to both amazing and hilarious news. Turns out my favorite badass black President just won the Nobel Peace Prize.

The reaction is obviously mixed. Conservatives are seeing it as a sign of the apocalypse, and liberals are saying it's great. One common element across the board, however, is that people are unsure why Obama won the award. At the time of the initial nominations, Obama had only been in office for two weeks. Had he really done anything in that time to warrant a Peace Prize? The prize is especially poignant since Obama is sitting down in upcoming days to discuss Afghanistan and what American plans to do.

Throughout history, the Peace Prize has been given for one of two reasons: either in recognition of an achievement, or in order to lend support to a cause. Obviously Obama hasn't reached any hard and fast achievements quite yet; but when it comes to intent, and momentum, he's done some real good.

Never in recent memory can Americans remember a political campaign so empowering and transformative as the one Obama ran last year. He empowered teenagers and adults across the political spectrum. He made voting seem cool, for heaven's sake. After becoming President, and during the evaluation period for the prize, he made a landmark speech in the Middle East to bring peace. He dove right in to try and give Americans health care. Most importantly, he empowered people across the world with the transformative power of change.

This is a token to lend support to his cause, and to further his own momentum. Hopefully it will do some good.

|

So, there are few things I love as passionately as retro space. I mean, it's definitely near the top of my list of stuff I'm irrationally crazy for. So a few weeks ago, I saw this on Don's Flickr:


Do you see that? That amazing little mini-fig ray gun? It's beeeeautiful. And I knew I wanted one incredibly bad. So I did a little digging, found that they're prototypes from BrickArms, and found their thread here which taunted me with additional pictures:


They currently don't have a release window on these things, and instead are selling limited quantities at conventions.

All I can say is, I want. I want super badly. I want grandma-stabbingly badly. I recently bought the Spongebob Rocket Ride set so I could have the bubble helmet, and now I need one of these rayguns. Anyone out there need a spare kidney in a trade?

|

Growing up, I had a VHS copy of 'Donald's Scary Tales'. In it were three cartoons which permanently broke my fragile little mind and single-handedly set me down the road to loving horror movies. For a six year old, these were scary and funny, which made them perfect.

My favorite of the three shorts was 'Duck Pimples', a Tex Avery-style mystery spoof with some spooky elements. I hadn't seen the short in over a decade, but watching it now, I remember it like it was yesterday.

Enjoy!

|

Sexism? Homophobia? Racism? Dare I say it, did elected leaders in this country hit each of the Big Three of Discrimination today? Sure did!

Did we tell the first female Speaker of the House that she needed to be "put in her place"?

We sure did!

Did we vote down a military provision because it included hate crime provisions to protect gay men and women?

We sure did that too!

But surely we didn't also refer to old black people as "ghetto grandmas", did we?

Oh, you bet we did!

And who says civil discourse is dead!

|

(Click for big)

Flickr | Googiesque by Sir Nadroj

|

(Click for big)

Rolling Stone | David Bowie To "Dance" As "Lego Rock Band" Avatar

|

(Click for big)

Flickr | Sleeps With The Fishes by Rocko

|

What's that? Looks like just a regular street.


Wait, what's that on the sign in the distance?


Yes, it's a real store.

|

(Click for big)

Flickr | Waterfall House by Rocko

|

"Lovers of France's two great symbols of cultural exception – its haute cuisine and fine art – are aghast at plans to open a McDonald's restaurant and McCafé in the Louvre museum next month.

America's fast food temple is celebrating its 30th anniversary in France with a coup -the opening of its 1,142nd Gallic outlet a few yards from the entrance to the country's Mecca of high art and the world's most visited museum."

Telegraph | McDonald's restaurants to open at the Louvre

|

Now, I'd like to recognize one fact. This is essentially the prototypical hipster 'I hate things now that they're popular' rant. I don't want it to be, but I'm aware it shares some of the same framework. Anyway...

This morning, during some down time, I thought I'd take a look online at reviews for some Blu-Ray movies I'd like to pick up and see. One of which was the flawed but enjoyable X-Men movie from a few years ago. Reading reviews lead me to a quote, however, which irritated me on a near primal level:

Xmen is good but I liked Wolverine Origins better. The movie is good but Wolverine is the best part. He and Gene Gray are cute together!

There are so many things wrong with this that I want to nerd-rage all through my monitor. It's just a symptom, though, of a much bigger problem: the co-opping of nerd culture into the mainstream.

Sure, it's been happening for years. If we stick with X-Men as our example, X-Men has been breaching mainstream for decades. The comic book and it's many spin-offs are one of the most successful franchises that Marvel ever came up with. There was the early 90's cartoon series, and the abortive live action X-Men series from 1996 which put X-Men on the radar of a lot of kids. It was the success of comic books in general, however, and the move to mainstream media that dragged comics into the spotlight for better or worse.

Here's my problem, though. This comes too cheaply, and too easily.

Say that right now, you were to go out on the street and say you're an X-Men fan. People will nod in understanding and maybe even say that they are too. You're familiar with the characters, albeit in their bastardized form, and you know what the general idea of the story is. What you don't know is why the story matters, or what made it special enough to get popular in the first place.

Comics used to be, and maybe still are, a very outsider medium. They're traditionally viewed as things for kids, and a waste of time and resources. For kids growing up isolated or feeling different, comic books were a life-saver. Part of the charm of X-Men was that you felt like a member of the team. You had to go to a special place, surrounded by others like you, and get the books in near secrecy. The normals made fun of you for having them, but you knew that they just didn't understand. You were like the people in the books.

With comics hitting mainstream, that's not the case. You can see the movie and instantly proclaim yourself a fan, ignoring the decades of characters, twists and turns that you're completely unaware of. It's too easy and it's too cheap. The value is taken away from the story, as is the cultural element, and you're left with a generic plot. Hollywood Movie #97123.

Maybe this is where some of the righteous Hipster rage stems from. The value of something is compromised, and twisted to mean something it might not have meant at all. Something's lost in the process.

|

(Click for big)

Flickr | Doomsday Rocket by Legohaulic

|

This isn't really a secret, but I'm not the most reliable person on the planet.

Ask me about the finer nuances of class-based economic policies. Ask me to write an essay on the relative worth of modernist poetry. Just don't ask me to take that cake out of the oven in twenty minutes.

My problem is, the short term sometimes eludes me. If I start focusing on something, I'm locked in, and no amount of prodding or questioning will distract me.

Enter the problem: I'm Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom this week.

You see, George's mom died last week. We were all going to fly to Sacramento for the funeral, but A) airfare is expensive and B) I didn't think I could get time off of work on this short of a notice. So it was resolved that Kathy and Kira would attend the funeral while Andre and I held up the fort. Of course, Cameron's still here, but let's be honest, it's essentially a house with three children now that Kathy and Kira are gone. Today through Wednesday, I get to be responsible. I have to wake up early, wake up Andre, make him breakfast, make him a lunch, shower, get him to shower, get him dressed, get him to brush his teeth, brush my own teeth, get him to school and get back to the house in time to start work. Did I mention I'm relatively unreliable?

I mean, it's not like any of this is hard. It's just that when it comes to time, if I'm not looking directly at a clock (like at work, for instance), I'll let time slip away before I realize what's going on. I somehow managed to get Andre off to school today, but will I remember to pick him up? Can I be a responsible role model and make us dinner tonight, or will I cave to ease and just get McDonalds?

Factor in the dog -- that stupid dog -- and we have a problem. See, I told Kira I wasn't taking care of her dog while she goes out of town, mainly because of the treachery involved with the dog, and also because I'm allergic to him. So Cameron is taking care of the dog, which includes a military regiment of letting the dog outside to poop every four hours and holding him nearly constantly when you're home. The dog is totally going to get depressed outside of Kira's Mussolini-esque control, tell you what.

So hopefully this week will go smoothly. I pray work is slow, and that I'm actually on the ball.

Neither of those things will happen.

|

(Click for big)

Flickr | Protectoron by Legohaulic

|

This is a true story, cross my heart and hope to die. Every detail of this story can be confirmed by members of my immediate family. It’s also a gross story, so if you’re of sensitive heart, you should probably stop reading here.

Since we’ve moved, it’s been tough for Andre to make new friends at his school. He’s a pretty shy kid until you get to know him, so it’s hard for him to meet new people. A few days ago, he made a new friend in his class who we’ll call ‘Poopy Pants’, for reasons which will immediately become apparent. Andre gets out of school early on Fridays, so today seemed like the perfect day for Andre and his new friend to play.

Well, the kids arrive after school, and immediately go upstairs to play video games. As Andre and Poopy Pants walked past me, I didn’t notice anything out of the usual. He looked like a nice kid, if not a little bit nerdy, but definitely somebody that it would be OK for Andre to play with.

So.

I went back to work in my room/office, and the kids played video games. From my bedroom I can look down the hall and see part of the couch, and a decent portion of the family room. I’m working, when all of a sudden I see Poopy Pants stand up and start to do what could best be described as a ‘wiggle dance’. I’d describe it as a ‘crazy caterpillar’ dance, but I don’t know what that means exactly, but it feels apt. He stands up and does his little jig, and sits back down. That’s weird, I thought to myself, and made a mental note to mention the kid’s spastic dance to Andre later.

Another couple of minutes pass, and suddenly I see the kid shoot straight up. In a loud voice, he asks, ‘Where’s your bathroom?’, and Andre directs him down the hall towards me. The kid hauls down the small hallway and makes a sharp turn into the bathroom. I make another mental note to joke about how he ‘really couldn’t wait’. In about twenty seconds, the kid comes jogging out of the bathroom again and goes back to the couch. As he does, he fans some smell a couple of feet down the hallway and into my room…

You know how sometimes you’re really, really sick, and you really have to use the restroom? And, by extension, you use the bathroom and it smells so bad that you think to yourself, Wow, that’s even bad by my usual standards? You know, the kind of poop that even you personally can’t stand?

That was this smell.

Immediately an alarm goes off in my head. A sense of territoriality kicks in, and I think, I hope my bathroom is OK. Boys around Andre’s age typically have bathroom issues: in the past he’s had friends that don’t wash their hands, and friends that missed the bowl while standing up peeing. I thought I should probably make sure the bathroom looked OK, since this kid seemed to be in there for too short an amount of time.

First impressions: the sink is dry. I have bright pink soap next to my sink, so I usually check to see if any of it got spilled in there, since it tends to crust on. But no, no crusted soap. No water. Nothing. If the kid used the bathroom, he didn’t wash his hands.

Second impressions: holy crap, did someone die?

I turn to look behind me, where the toilet is situated in a little walk-in nook. And that’s when I see it.

Now, let me restate this. There is no hyperbole in my statement. I’m not joking. Also, this is your last chance to quit before it gets really bad.

The kid pooped on my floor.

Now, I don’t want to overstate my qualifications, but I’m kind of an expert on poop. I’ve worked in hospitals. I’ve changed diapers both in an old folks home, and in a preschool. I know poop when I see it. You give me photos of melted chocolate, poop and fake plastic poop, and I’ll identify real poop every time.

This was poop. It wasn’t dirt, or mud off the bottom of his shoes. It was straight up feces. There was a chunk about the size of a quarter hanging out right by the bottom of the toilet, and flecks all across the floor. The floor itself is made up of white tile, so it was especially noticeable how much poop there actually was on my floor.

I always wanted to be a detective growing up. Using my finely tuned detective instincts, here’s what I can piece together happened:

The kid had to go poop. He asked Andre where the bathroom was, but by the time he was headed down the hallway, it was already too late. In a strange metaphysical conundrum, the boy suddenly became possessed by Satan, and the Dark Lord’s foul fire breath, in a foul unearthly chant, began to rocket propel from the kid’s rectum. Entering the bathroom, he pooped his pants, and continued to poop as he pulled down his pants to sit on the toilet. This flecked crap, Jackson Pollock style, across my bathroom floor. He sat down, evacuated the rest of his infernal bowels, and pulled up his pants and ran back out to continue to play video games. He was in there too quickly to wipe, or to wash his hands. He had to have just pulled up his underwear and called it a day.

I step back, reeling. This is the equivalent of finding a dead body in your bathtub. Blinded as to what to do, I call Kathy and, in a hurried tone, tell her that Andre’s friend crapped on our floor.

“What do you mean,” she says, laughing slightly.

“He crapped. He literally took a dump on our floor.” Kathy pauses.

“Can you clean it up?”

“I’m not sure,” I lie, hoping for an easy escape. “I’m not even sure how to go about cleaning it up.” Kathy directs me to Kira’s industrial strength dog wipes, and tells me she’ll head home to help me deal with the problem. As I inch my way out of the bathroom to find the wipes, I walk past Andre and Poopy Pants.

Poopy Pants has moved from the couch onto the floor. He’s now sitting on the floor, sliding his butt back and forth across the carpet in the same way that a dog does when he has worms. Only a thin layer of fabric separates our floor from a butt covered in poop. I gag, and run downstairs. When I make it back up, I see the kid is again doing his crazy caterpillar dance, and I think to myself, he’s trying to shake loose a turd from his butt.

“Why don’t you guys sit and play video games,” I say, and the boys agree. They turn on the Xbox again and… Poopy Pants picks up my controller. He’s been using my controller with feces hands the whole time. I reenter the bathroom and am staggered again. I call Kathy once more. “He’s playing with my Xbox controller,” I whisper into the phone.

“And he didn’t wash his hands! Get the hand sanitizer out of my room and make them wash their hands!” Kathy sounds aghast. I grab the bottle out of my room (we’re clean people) and walk out to the boys. They’ve stood back up again, and have started walking down the stairs.

“Guys,” I begin, “Let’s use hand sanitizer.”

“Why,” Andre asks, and I stop to think. I can’t tell Andre that his friend crapped his pants.

“Because somebody stepped in poop, and they walked all around the bathroom. I need to make sure it’s not on the carpet, and I need to clean it up, but I want you two to clean your hands.” Andre takes a squirt of sanitizer like it’s no big deal. The kid, who is at the bottom of the stairs now, stares up pie-faced. I can see the wheels turning in his head, realizing that I know it was him.

“No, I’m OK,” Poopy Pants says, but I walk to the bottom of the stairs and squirt three big handfuls into his hands.

“I don’t care,” I said, and watched as they both rubbed it in. The boys turn to walk and go straight to the kitchen.

The kitchen!

Poopy Pants opens the refrigerator and, seeing a box of pizza, takes a slice out. He starts to eat it cold.

My mouth is hanging open in sheer horror. This kid was going to eat pizza, with CRAP on his hands, and he was going to touch stuff all over our kitchen! I tell the boys to sit, and stay, and head back upstairs just in time to see Poopy Pants do his caterpillar dance again.

By this point, I can’t think straight. My head is full of rage, and revulsion, and general bafflement. Who is this kid, who poops and doesn’t wipe? Who thinks it’s OK to go to a friend’s house, TAKE A DUMP ON THEIR FLOOR, and walk off like it’s no big deal?

I go back upstairs and take the wipes. I need to start cleaning the floor.

I lay out a mat of four overlapping wipes in two separate piles. I stand on each of these piles, and like a fat figure skater, start sliding over the poo flecks on the bathroom floor. Unfortunately, after only a second or two, the bottom of the wipe is only smearing the poop, rather than picking it up. I toss the wipes in a garbage bag I had brought up, and get new ones. It takes five or six minutes to get the floor looking even remotely white again. I re-sanitize, and wipe the floor down again. I do this twice more. Later we can mop, but for now, I need to get to the toilet and make sure it’s OK.

I lift the toilet seat.

Imagine, if you will, taking Jello chocolate pudding and mixing it with water. Now imagine slopping that on the bottom of your toilet seat. That’s what greeted me. Like a firecracker had exploded in a Hershey’s factory, brown goop covers the bottom. A wet, brown mess starts immediately running down the bottom of the seat, no longer able to drip contently into the toilet. The entire rim of the toilet is murky brown, and the water is a sandy brown from the liquid poop dripping into it. At least the kid flushed. I begin to wipe this down too, but it’s drippy enough that every time I wipe, it just runs further down the seat and into the bowl. I manage to get the toilet seat clean with twenty more wipes, and I toss them also into the garbage bag. I take this bag out to the outside garbage can and throw it inside.

As I enter again, the boys have gone back upstairs and are playing video games again. The house now smells like an outhouse in a third world country. Kathy arrives moments later. Looking down the hallway, I see her reach the top of the stairs and freeze in a look of pantomime terror. She’s smelled it to. She crosses the stretch to my room in seconds.

“What do I do?” Kathy asks, a look of wild-eyed desperation creeping across her face. “How do I tell that kid that he crapped his pants?” I shrug. There are no easy answers when pant pooping is involved. Kathy, in a moment of brilliance, turns. “I have an idea,” she says. Kathy walks out of the room and straight to the boys.

“I think somebody’s got crap all over them.”

I stay hidden in my room. I’m a coward when it comes to awkward social situations, and this is as awkward as it comes.

“I don’t have poop on me,” Andre proclaims defiantly. A beat passes.

“Well,” Kathy starts, “I’d like each of you to go in the bathroom and check to see if you have poop on you. If you do, Andre, you change. If your friend does, I’ll drive him home so he can change.”

“I’m not looking, I don’t have poop on me,” Andre says, oblivious to the massive hint being dropped.

“I’ll go first,” Poopy Pants says, and runs to the bathroom. Kathy grabs Andre’s arm and pulls him to the side.

“Your friend crapped his pants,” she states. Andre’s eyes go big. A look of recognition crosses his face and he turns to me and mugs a look of disgust. The kid bounds from the bathroom, fully dressed.

“No poop on me,” he says, and he sits back down on the couch.

The kid called our bluff. Kathy and I look at each other; obviously, there’s nothing we can do at this point short of calling him out and ruining Andre’s friendship. Everyone in the room knows that Poopy Pants crapped his pants, but nobody can say anything. Kathy shrugs, and says it’s almost time to take him home, so the boys should play video games for another hour until she takes him. I go back in my room and shut my door; I am, after all, still technically at work.

Kathy heads back to work too, unwilling to send the kid home with poop pants. Ten minutes pass and… PLINK PLINK PLINK.

The kid is downstairs playing our baby grand piano.

I sprint from my room. “Andre,” I say, “get your friend up here NOW.” Andre shakes his head no. He’s tired of the smell too. I gave Andre the most stern look imaginable, and Andre calls down to his friend to tell him to play upstairs. The kid does.

Kathy arrives a few minutes later to walk the kid home.

I don’t think Poopy Pants will be invited back to the house.

|

It's payday, and also almost Friday! Let's celebrate by having a D-D-DANCE EPIDEMIC!

|