What in hell?

UNICORN LOVE FOREVER: A fact-filled yarn for you and me.

2009-10-14T01:27:04Z

My friend Adi was feeling down, so I wrote her this story. I hope you all love it.

--

This is a story that my great-grandnephew used to tell me when I was young. Whenever I was feeling down, he'd come and read me this story from a "pictures-book" and I would feel better right away! I hope you love it.

UNICORN LOVE FOREVER
(based on the Cherokee fable, "The Aztec Patient.")

Once upon a time, there was a frenzied young kickboxer named Adriennosaurus Rulx, but everyone in her village just called her Adi. Adi lived a carefree life in her modest duplex, with tasty snacks every day, a closet full of lustrous gym shorts, and all the flamethrowers she could ever desire. And yet, sometimes, her heart would be filled with a yearning to see more. To see the great wild beyond her village.

Most days, Adriennosaurus Rulx was able to suppress this yearning with a few hours of especially vigorous kickboxing, but today was different. She beat up at least seven different punk grrrrrrrrrrrls, using seven different foot-punch styles, but it just didn't do the trick. And so, using a magic broom and some cheesecloth, she assembled a bindle full of her favorite belongings and set out to the south. Well, mostly south. More like a south-southwest sort of vector, but it's hard to say exactly because the road goes through a lot of hills and gets turned around a lot, and also there was this giant magnetic meteor rock that crashed near there like A MILLION YEARS AGO and it kind of fucks with your compass so it's not easy to tell directions there.

But if I had to guess, I would say she was traveling to the south.

After walking the rocky path for four days and six nights, Adi stopped to rest by a mountain stream. Being wise in the ways of woodsmountaincraft, she was wary of Giardia and other gross water-bourne bacteria, so she punched the water with her feet until she was sure that all of the germs were either dead, or frightened into submission. Then she drank from the stream, long and deep, and fell into a deep, long slumber.

In her dream, a gigantic unicorn was describing a great city. It spoke of vast acreages of surprisingly affordable rental units, as well as condominiums filled with bright-eyed thirty-somethings who were agreeable and neighborly. It spoke of bakeries, and Thai restaurants, and even one Indian place on Highland St. that will deliver curry pretty much any hour of the day. It was a nice dream, thought Adi, but it could be better. Frankly (she continued), the unicorn doesn't really have much to do with the story, and seems kind of forced. It is a decent effort, but it doesn't really make much sense.

Thinking this, Adriennosaurus Rulx woke up with a start. A gawkish gentleman wearing glasses shook her shoulder and said "Um, it's apparently 7:30. I guess it's time to wake up, although I have my doubts." He introduced himself as "The Mighty Erykles," a wandering physicist of some renown, and offered to carry her bindle for a while, seeing as they were both on the road. This seemed like a reasonable offer, and so they walked together for 27 hours, and became fast friends.

What a pair! Adirennosaurus Rulx, the mighty kickboxer, and Mighty Erykles, Slayer of Trees and all-around swell fellow! Many a fortnight did they spend waltzing from village to village, fighting off smelly monsters and restoring wells. By the middle of the back half of the sixth fortnight, they had earned 12 gold pieces and 1577 XP, and were well on their way to becoming 4th level adventurers.

Finally they came to the slug village of Somerville, a town populated primarily by mollusks, with a smaller sub-culture of human mollusk enthusiasts. Of late, Somerville had come under the rule of a despotic, cigar-smoking dinosaur, and the slug (and slug-admiring) residents chafed under his unpleasant reign. The two heroes knew there was only one course of action.

"It's time," said Adi.

"It really is," agreed Eryk.

"It's never been done before," she cautioned.

"It's just crazy enough that it MIGHT EFFING WORK," he droned.

"Then we're agreed," she stalled.

"Yes," he confirmed.

The air trembled in anticipation, and slugs (and people whose outward personae are defined by a belief that slugs are pretty kickass) gathered at a distance to view the upcoming contest. Adriennosaurus Rulx, who is not actually a dinosaur, and the Mighty Erykles, who is not actually from Greece, stood ready, and called out their challenge.

"Smelly Cigar Dinosaur! We are ready to face you! We will combine our two powers of kickboxing and whatever it is that Eryk does, and defeat you!"

The dinosaur approached. He was easily eighty feet tall, with feet over three feet tall and eight feet long. They knew then and there that the conventional measurement nomenclature would not be enough to describe this hyperbolic beast, but fearlessly they strode into battle.

Generations later, in the somewhat slimy annals of Somerville history, the scribes did not say how long the melee lasted. There were no tallies of property damage, no accounts of the fear felt by those who saw the viscous combat. No, the greatest fight in the history of the metro-Boston area was described in only eight words:

"OH MY GOD THAT DINOSAUR GOT KICKBOXED SO BAD!!!"

It was so. The slugs let up a great cheer, and their human fans joined in. Somerville would never be threatened by any tyrannical lizard again.

Then Eryk said something crass about boners, and Adi kicked him in the temple. THE END.

Epilogue:

Adriennosaurus Rulx eventually did meet the unicorn from her dream, and the two of them opened up a very successful bakery/kickboxing dojo.

The Horrible, Unredeemable Dinosaur worked hard to atone for his evil tobacconous ways, and eventually opened a youth center that improved the lives of many wayward slug children.

The Mighty Erykles had a nasty bruise on his forehead that finally cleared up after like a week.

Spiders are nature's alarm clock.

2009-09-22T10:37:23Z

They are hard to program for a specific time but my god, get a big enough one on you and you are staying awake, my friend. I did not get a good look at this one - my "throw this horrible arthropod off of me" reflex is what woke me up, not the spider - but from watching it scurry away without glasses on in a darkened room, I would put it at at least two feet across. Or maybe an inch. Somewhere between those two. I wanted to get a better look at this grotesque parody of God's creation, so I looked for my emergency flashlight, which I keep in a secure, easy-to-reach place that I've entirely forgotten.

Just try putting on pants when you're tired and afraid of a spider. Just try. Go ahead, I will wait for you.

It sucks, doesn't it?

Cats are the natural predator of the spider, but none of the cats living here appear to have eaten my horrible new alarm clock. Some of you might be thinking that this is a sign that I dreamed the whole event, but actually it is a sign that cats are assholes.

The more I write about this, the more offended I am. I grew up in New Hampshire, where you expect crap like this, but I love in goddamn Massachusetts* now, and frankly I demand better from my adopted state's fauna. I don't think there are even supposed to BE spiders in Boston; didn't the pilgrims burn them all away when they blew up Plymouth Rock in 1932?

I'm very tired, but sleep can wait. I'm going to strap some cats to a broom or something and conduct a full sweep of the apartment. Until then, consider the Green Zone breached, and on high Arachnid Alert.

*I spelled this on the first try, at six in the morning. I rule.

Lament for a Long-Departed Empire: A New Poem by Eryk Nielsen

2009-09-18T20:17:01Z

Friendly's kitchen, Ah, God, Friendly's kitchen, I do weep for thee.
Holy City,
Martial Empire,
Mecca of Culinary Grace,
Bastion of Freedom,
You
Are
My
World.

I weep for thee, Friendly's kitchen.
Freely flow the tears for those beautiful days
You nurtured me with kindness
as I nourished my hometown with home fries.
No experience approaches your ecstasy
No location resembles your radiance
No city can best your seraphic inhabitants:

Lord Fridge and Lady Freezer, stocked full with savory meats, cheeses, and veg.
Constable Cold-Tray, keeping bad taste at bay with his deputies: tomato, lettuce, and kale.
Mighty Stovetops, blistering hot, cooking the food of the righteous.
God-King Fryolator, twice-weekly anointed with fresh and holy oil.
Ice Cream Station, a frozen bounty of treasures both cream-based and fruitsome.
Employee Meal, spoken of in whispers, who gave of his hours that others might eat.

And the Attendants of the Court, chattering gaily as they casually turn the Wheels of the Universe
Nymphly coeds mingling happily with bitter lifers
Bringing food to the hungry as gasoline brings cars to the road.

In the midst of such great works walked unworthy I, gangly long-haired virgin,
Sailing from shore to shore in the Great Ship Friendly's Kitchen.
Gladly did I stock your pantries
Humbly did I follow your recipes
Vainly did I think to improve on them while on break
But if any goodness, any benefit, any positive outcome at all did come from my efforts,
It came solely from my contact with your nobility.
Everywhere I go in life I carry your Dream.

At the end of each shift, I walked out your door and died.
At the beginning of the next, I entered again and was reborn.
I weep for thee, Friendly's kitchen, nine years gone
Each day that I live, I live in the shadow of your passing.

(Dedicated to the memory of Matt Sweeney, who is still alive)

An open letter to Ben and Jerry's

2009-09-18T12:27:12Z

Usually, these open letters are something political, or at least socially relevant. Now I'm just writing to ice cream companies asking them to keep making my favorite flavors. This is the beginning of my rapid slide into curmudgeonly irrelevance, and I will soon be writing letters to the editor decrying neighborhood kids with there hoop-hop rap music and their crocs and obesity rates in preschools.

It's been fun, y'all.

--

Dear Ben & Jerry's website comment reader,

Guys. Guys. Key Lime Pie. Oh my god.

It's not just the best flavor you've ever come up with, it's the best ice cream ever invented by man, god or science. Seriously, it's barely even ice cream; it's some sort of weird alchemy combining citrus, angel tears, and crack cocaine.

You can't keep this as a limited batch. Not now. I'm goddamn addicted to the stuff, and if you take away my fix, I don't know what I'll do.

I'm begging you, put this flavor into permanent circulation, at least until health care reform passes and I can get into a decent addiction counseling program.

Your pal,
Eryk Nielsen

Bad Hamlet - a new parlor game

2009-09-17T03:08:05Z

Inspiration struck on the couch this evening, in the form of a game for bored intellectuals. The challenge is to take a great dramatic work - play, movie, radio drama, what-have-you - and, using the most talented actors you can, make the worst fantasy cast possible. Age, race, and possibly gender can be ignored, as long as it's funny. Bad Hamlet, a game of mis-casting.

The original cast is, of course, Hamlet. Here's what we came up with:

Claudius: Morgan Freeman. MF is a charismatic, talented actor, and also completely non-threatening.

Hamlet: Toby McGuire. This is borderline, as I don't think he's that good an actor in the first place. Hamlet is such a broadly interpretable character that it's hard to find someone good who couldn't play him.

Polonius: Harrison Ford. "OK, kid, listen up: never a borrower nor a lender be..."

Laertes: Hugh Jackman. Jackman is actually very good for this role, except that it's too much of a background part for someone with his screen presence. Playing opposite Toby, he'll dominate every scene.

Horatio: Sean Penn. See Laertes, but with more scenery-chewing.

Ophelia: Hillary Swank. Someone much smarter than me could make a case that draws parallels between Hamlet and Boys Don't Cry, but I wouldn't listen.

Gertrude: Nathalie Portman. I really wanted Edie Falco for this, but the more I think about it the better she seems for the role, so that's no good. By the time Nathalie is old enough to play the Queen, she may well have the range to pull it off, but right now I don't see her doing it at all well.

Rosencrantz and Gildenstern: Young Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. Wayne has already been famously mis-cast as MacBeth, and he would certainly be terrible here. Eastwood is debatable; he's not known for his subtlety, but I could see him playing one of these two as a "wait-and-see" kind of character, who talks like an ass but is actually pretty calculated. Maybe he should be replaced with Ronald Reagan?

Anyway, this is the original Bad Hamlet, my lasting gift to the world.

What's Up: Review to the Rescue!

2009-09-11T17:10:55Z

A few days ago, I told you all about "What's UP: Balloon to the Rescue." Today, I watched it. I was a little nervous, loading up the DVD.. could this awful knock-off possibly live up to my crapspectations? The answer is yes. So much yes. Everything and more. Let's talk about it. The whole movie is on YouTube, so feel free to watch along.

I think it would be a little uncharitable to spend too much time mocking the animation - after all, it was made by five people (plus two writers, and according to the credits NO VOICE ACTORS) on what had to be a shoestring budget. So I'll mention that there were occasional clipping issues, terrifying mouths with free-floating tooth rows, and a skybox out of a 1995 Doom clone, and leave it there. After all, we're in this for the human experience, not the technical one.

The first two acts (kind of an arbitrary distinction, given how episodic the plotting is) hew reasonably close to the source material, at least as far as locations go. The first thing we see in both movies is a newsreel: in Up it's a 1920's adventure piece about a famed explorer, and in What's Up it's a modern-day puff piece about a pair of elderly, ambiguously-gay scientists who chase monsters. I may be stretching the definition of "reasonably close" here. After a couple of minutes we zoom out from the TV to see an obnoxious child humping a couch (this is not an exaggeration: he is stretched out on the back of the couch jerking his abdomen), and it's established that he is the live-in nephew of the Elderly Action Science Couple. Completing the team is his undersexed sister, aged somewhere between sixteen and twenty-five. There are a lot of great moments in the news bit that never get explained, like the scientists making contact with extra-galactic aliens, and something about a "Transmission Antenna," which is adorable.

So, the scientists. They have the arguing back-and-forth of an old cartoon couple, and they joke about how their "camping days are long behind [them]." This is actually a pretty subtle gag, I think, about how it's well past time we start portraying gay couples as actual people and not campy cartoon stereotypes, so kudos to you, "What's Up: Balloon to the Rescue." I just wish you were as progressive in your views about scientists.

The scientists have a magic energy rock that can lift their house! Neat, that saves us some time on exposition. It can also hypnotize people if you say the word "lavender," which I guess goes without saying. Shortly after Dr. Crumb (the optimist and nominal leader of the team, but probably also the bottom) accidentally reveals this on TV, they are visited by a charming Frenchman, who looks like the love child of Aquaman and one of the dolls from "Team America: World Police."

Jean-Pierre wants their help fighting monsters in the Amazon (because that's where the house in "Up" went), but he also stage-monologues that he's going to hypnotize the world. Looks like he didn't take after either of his parents. Everyone wants to ignore him, except for the excitable couch-humper (who is named Guto, which I assume is a joke in Portugese) who hijacks the house and takes them to Brazil. All of the travel takes place between scenes, probably because it would be lame to watch a balloon-less house soar flatly through a cloudless sky. Dr. Zoox, the travel-averse whiny scientist, sums up the experience thusly: "I should never have been in the same house as you! The Amazon... what a horrible idea." Here he describes his mixed feelings about both raising his partner's family and in shamelessly ripping off a Pixar movie. There there, Dr. Zoox.

In the amazon, there are no monsters, but the team gets trapped in an untextured cave long enough for the villain to activate the rock and then drop it, summoning some monsters. There are actually a couple of good gags here - J-P's accent is too thick to say the word "lavender," so he stumbles with that for a few takes, and then a little later Dr. Crumb gets to angrily deliver the best line of the movie: "You numbskull! How can you drop a super-energized rock?! It probably opened a portal to another dimension, and that's the LAST thing we need!!" Dr. Crumb has a real gift for speedy exposition. Nobody suspects Frenchy... FOR NOW.

The rock is temporarily broken, but a guy in a hot-air balloon crashed in the jungle next to the house, so while he's unconscious (and again between scenes), they stick the (surprisingly flaccid) balloon to the top of the house and take off after the monsters. It turns out that flying by house-balloon is very stable, to the delight of Dr. Zoox. It's also kind of a fuck-you to Pixar, who clearly didn't do their research and just wanted to show off how well they could animate turbulence. Well, whatever, losers, if Gaiam Films had a multi-million dollar budget I bet they could have made the house shake a little too. I'm very glad they didn't, actually, because whenever something unsteady happens on-screen (explosion, falling house, etc) the characters have a quick grand-mal seizure that makes one nostalgic for old Star Trek special effects.

Niece Amanda, who has spent most of the movie mooning over Paris, and then by extension Jean-Pierre, gets him alone to whisper sweet nothings out a window. I mention this only to bring up the music, which is basically porno music, but not the kind you think. It's the music they play at the beginning of the porno, when they have some budget to spare, where the female leads talk about their dreams and how they want an adventure - that sort of cheesy, training-video synth-elevator pop with lots of flutes and saxophones and tubular bells. This music plays more or less constantly for the back half of the movie. It's also appropriate, because Amanda clearly needs dick, badly.

Meanwhile, the Dr's figure out that one of the monsters is heading, by Googling "monster" and "attack" and getting a page about movie cliches. Hee! They find the monster humping the Eiffel Tower (again, I wish I was making this up), and shrink it with space lasers, trapping it in a minty green bubble. Also, they hurt their backs because they are old.

Later, everyone who is not a scientist lounges around in the living room. JP feeds couch-humper a Roofie (seriously, he tosses the kid a pink candy and he falls asleep) and tells Amanda that they should fight monsters because they are younger. The scene fades out as they start to kiss, but I assure you, they totally bone each other. In front of her comatose brother. Right after she prickishly corrects his English.

The movie kind of peters out at this point, getting less coherent and more affably racist. Crumb and Guto spend an inordinate amount of time making derisive comments about the French (they smell bad) and about a camera-happy chinese dude they randomly pick up (taunt him with a fortune cookie, Guto!). We see a monster playing hopscotch on the Great Wall (hee!), and a horrifying untextured Guto-booger. Eventually we head back to the amazon to send the monsters home, resulting in a very bland confrontation with JP and the most lethargic chase scene in modern cinema, which needs to be seen to be believed (the chase starts at about the nine-minute mark).

The movie ends with JP getting his comeuppance and being banished off-screen to monsterland, but not before he makes one last impassioned plea to the now disgusted Amanda, asking her to remember that one time that they fucked on the couch... in Paris. It doesn't work, and later the team laughs about how precious the expression on his face was when they tossed him into another dimension, off-camera. Remember, tell, don't show. Finally, we see the monsters playing catch in what looks to be the end of the first Half-Life game, and then snubbing the poor French guy. "What a horrible fate for me...!"

So, I have mixed feelings about this. I mean, it's a terrible fucking movie, which is good, but I wanted more shameless ripping-off. There's a house with balloons on it, but that's the only real resemblance. A few of the jokes were actually pretty funny, but mostly you get the impression that nobody cared. This wasn't a soul-crushing experience for the writers; their souls were already crushed by the time they got here.

If anyone can track down the direct-to-DVD feature where they DO get their souls crushed during production, though, I'll be delighted to watch that one.

The joy of the shameless knockoff

2009-09-09T17:46:42Z

So, um, this. It exists. If you don't care to follow the link, it's a DVD called "What's Up: Balloon to the Rescue!" and it is exactly what you think it is. It's a short cartoon feature that exists entirely to make money off of nearsighted people, who think they are buying a copy of Pixar's "UP" instead. And that is awesome.

Every review I've seen of this on Amazon or Netflix is an angry rant about how they were fooled by the DVD, or how awful is it that the DVD tried to fool them, but.. man, I'm in awe of this. I can't wait to see it. Once you get past the awfulness of the packaging (and seriously, click through just to see the box art), you're left with what I can only imagine is an existential symphony of horror and delight. The decision to make the knockoff is the easy part; some sleazy studio boss green-lit it and then went off to smoke cigars off of asian prostitutes or something. But then, someone had to actually write the thing. And a team of animators had to produce it, painstakingly, frame by frame. Some team of artists spent months of their lives making a product that they had to know would be universally reviled. And that's beautiful.

So naturally I ordered it from Netflix. After weeks of sitting at the top of my queue ("Very Long Wait"), it's coming tomorrow. I can't wait. On the surface, it's a shitty movie for six-year-olds whose parents don't know that DVDs usually come out after the movie leaves theaters. But below that, it's a celebration of mediocrity. The movie wasn't made to be good. It was made to barely resemble a different film that is good. I am dizzy with anticipation.

Roundabout

2009-09-02T15:03:17Z

So I'm watching this week's Mad Men, and it's one of those stories where they follow several groups of people over the course of an evening. One group is working late in the office, and another is going to an outdoor soiree.. they cut from the office, where it is clear that they've been working well past normal quitting time, to the party, where it's very bright and sunny out. There's a moment of dissonance, and then I think "ahh, it stays light out late. It's a subtle way of letting us know it's summer."

As opposed to, you know, looking at the green grass and bright flowers, and knowing what a season looks like. Well played, brain, well played.

EDIT: Oh goddamn it it's on a Saturday. And it's probably November or something. Blarg.

Hey, they can't all be clever...

2009-08-27T16:10:10Z

THE INCOMPLETE LIST OF ANIMATED FILMS ON THE TOPIC OF CROSS-DRESSING

(In rough chronological order)

Snow White and the Seven Very Surprised Dwarves
Mantasia
Bambenis
Slung in the South
Alice... I Wonder... Man...?
Cinderfella
"Lady" and the Tramp
The Sword of the Stone-Cold Fox
Asterix the Girl*
The Bro-Wristed Cats
Robin Drag
Raggedy Ann is Andy: A Musical Adventure
The Fox With a Hound
Heavy Metal
The Flight of Drag Queens
The Secret of HIMH
Mickey's Christmas as "Carol"
The Wand in the Willows
An American (Tucked-Back) Tail
Alvin and the Chick-Monks
The Little Mermaid With The Unsightly Bulge
Beauty and the Beast of a Surprise the Next Morning
Aladdinadress
Lolahontas
The Hunchback of Not-A-Dame
Stanastasia
Princess Mononotwhatyouwereexpecting
Stulan
The Queen and I
The Emperor's New Hobby
The Triplets of Ballville
Howl's Moving Bustle
Man in Dress, Car
Beowulfinsheepsclothing
The Fantastic Musical Adventure of the Attractive Young Woman at the Bar Who Secretly Has Male Genitalia

Taking a step back...

2009-08-15T02:51:10Z

..Having written this big cathartic anti-Republican screed, I should clarify a bit. Yes, I'm angry, and yes, I can't help feeling superior to the angry screaming mob. But.. this is not something to be enjoyed. Get it out of your system, sure, but don't laugh at them. Be scared, maybe, or feel pity, but don't be smug, or at least not for long. I don't like feeling this way, and I hold out hope that sanity will return and I won't have to feel it any more.

Republicans want me to feel superior to them, and I oblige.

2009-08-14T16:21:01Z

OK, so, in certain areas I'm kind of full of myself. I can be humble a lot of the time, and I try to give praise where praise is due, but when it comes to some areas - science, public policy, and the like - I've still got some ego going on. I am super brilliant and how can anyone else understand this like I do, etc. It's a dreadful habit, and I try to fight it whenever I can.

Naturally, this is not a mindset that lends itself to happiness or enlightenment in a country as politically polarized as the USA. We don't just disagree, we FUCKING KNOW BETTER, YOU UNAMERICAN ASSHOLES. This is not easy for me! I'm here trying to fight my "I am smarter than you about this" tendency, by looking for balance, assuming that the other side is based on reasonable assumptions, and doing everything I can to find fairness in their viewpoint. With that in mind...

Thanks a million, town-hell protesters. Really. Thank you so goddamn much for making this impossible.

I spend all this effort trying to see that the other side is real people, not just strawmen, and the Right's new plan is to MAKE EVERYONE ON THEIR SIDE A FUCKING STRAWMAN. Thanks guys. Now for the next twenty years, I'm going to try telling myself "no, no, they just disagree with me, but they're still informed and reasonable people," and then I'll remember "Oh wait, tens of thousands of them got all unhinged and chanted complete falsehoods and joked about killing senators and blocked vital reform based on made-up horseshit that one time," and that'll be it. I'll never be able to get around thinking that I'm smarter than you guys, because jesus, you guys are fucking idiots.

Does writing this help the debate? Of course not. But then, there's not really a debate on this, is there? I mean, there is a debate to be had on Obama's health reform plans, but this sure as shit ain't it. This is thuggery, a proud public demonstration of exceptional ignorance. There's no exchange of ideas here, just "Ugly American" syndrome at its worst. So if that's how we're going to do things, well, fine. You guys can keep getting up in arms about fabricated nonsense, and I'll sit here at my desk feeling smarter than you, because there's really no choice. I can't argue with a position that contains no facts, so what's left? If you don't want me thinking I'm better than you, don't be a public asshole.

Maybe reform will still pass, and shockingly, none of the crap you're afraid of will come to pass. I don't expect an apology, but your children will thank us. Or, more likely, reform won't pass, and America will be incrementally weaker and stupider, and the world will shake its head a little more and ask, "This bunch of screaming yahoos is the leader of the free world? Really?" In a country where education and critical thought are not given priority, the loudest guy wins. Until we can get our heads out of our collective asses, and stop celebrating ignorance and mediocrity, facts will never triumph over fear- and hate-mongering. If we want to be a strong country, we have to do more than just shout "America America America." We have to do better than to repeat "greatest country on Earth" and ignore the fact that, in a lot of areas, other countries are doing a hell of a lot better than us.

We're a nation of immigrants. We import people from around the world, and you know what? Those damn Mexicans sneaking over the border, they believe in the American Dream a lot more than you do. So does Europe. We accepted people from their countries, and became stronger for it. Why is it so hard to accept ideas from those countries as well? Why does every wave of immigrants settle, and two generations later become entitled pricks who can't stand outsiders? And let's be honest, that is what this is about. Obama can't be President, because he's secretly a Kenyan. We can't reform health care, because that's the way they do things in scary France. We can't stand anyone who disagrees with us, or doesn't look like us, because we're Real Americans, and what the fuck right does anyone else have to tell us what to do? Hell, it's not just foreign countries.. compare "Red" and "Blue" states, and across the board you'll find that Blue states have lower divorce rates, lower teen pregnancy rates, lower infant mortality, longer lifespan, lower obesity rates.. but of course we're not Real Americans, because Taxes Elitism Heartland.

Look, I don't need people to agree with me. As long as what you're saying makes sense, I'm happy. If your assumptions are different from mine, that's great. All I ask is that you use some goddamn sense. If your argument is based on lies, then I'm not going to listen to it. If your method of debate is to shout loud and say nothing, I'm not going to respect you. You don't need to be a debate team captain. You just need to use your fucking head. If you can't explain from Point A to Point B, then nobody should listen to you. If you don't know what words mean, don't shout them in public. This fucked-up wreck-the-game movement by Republicans, the misinformed led by the disingenuous... well, OK, maybe you're not all complete shitheels. But you are saying and doing exactly what a complete shitheel would say and do.

Reacquaintance/Acquiescence

2009-08-14T02:09:49Z

I saw an old friend and his wife (who by now is also an old friend in her own right) last weekend. It was a good occasion, a concert at Tanglewood: big enough to be noteworthy and not so large that it would drown out the better pleasure of reacquaintance. We sat in a faux frontier lodge and caught up, which was one part exposition, four parts gossip, and two parts staring at our food. There was very little talking about the old times, and it was good.

There is nothing wrong with the old times, of course, or at least nothing that newer, better times cannot remedy. It was there at the table - all the old joys, tears, jubilations and recriminations. We remembered them. We thought about them. Past a certain time we no longer need so badly to speak about them at dinner.

They spoke about milestones, degrees earned, new jobs and houses. I searched for milestones and realized I have not had many: I have not been back to school, my jobs were not to my liking, I did not buy a house. So I spoke instead of contentedness, that I (and I should hope, they) have gradually found myself living the life I want to live, without really knowing how or when this came to pass. There comes a time when we have lived and fought for long enough that we find rest.

I don't have much in common with my old friends anymore. They married, I did not. I moved to the city, they did not. I can't speak for them, but I have certain assumptions - they want to live where they grew up, they crave some measure of stability, they want a family. I don't want those things. While I described my happiness, a part of me felt almost smug, that I should have the things I prize (my city, a safe degree of uncertainty, and above all the ever-present feeling that each year will be better than the last), and how can they not be jealous? But of course they are not.

The friends who swore they would never change, change. They do not often want what we want. Our interests diverge, icebergs calving away as we drift from life to life. And this is as it should be. This is a proper sadness, that should be welcomed. We meet our old friends, echoes of former selves in their new bodies and new identities, and the sadness of nostalgia carries us back and forward like the tide. It is a reminder that we live many lives in each life, that we should hold each one dear even as we let it go. I am not the angry, unstable youth that I was, but I was him, and I love him. I love his friends and his tragedies. I wish he had dressed better, and done something about his hair.

We grow up, we leave our homes, and the friends who we leave behind, we bring with us. Everyone from that first circle of friends, the adolescent crucible that informs our first adult identity, everyone I disappeared from, came with me, frozen in time. They will always be young, and I will always be young when I think of them. Meeting them in the flesh, older and calmer and evolved, does not change the younger thems I keep in my pocket. How could it? How can one afternoon change the indelible past?

They say that the Buddha told us that life is suffering and suffering is to be overcome, but I do not think that this is so. There is great and precious suffering in life, in now and then and later, and this is right. We cannot transcend sorrow, or sadness, or pain, and still be human. Rather, we stand in them, let them pass over us and through us like a wave, and when they are gone we find that we remain. We are all our own selves, passions and points of view encased in flesh, withstanding the erosion of memory and time, and always are we our own selves.

I will be here until I am gone, and then I will be elsewhere. That is the way.

Everyone else is doing it and so will I.

2009-04-22T20:55:27Z

Yes, it's the first-ever ounceofreason Tattoo Post. As I understand it, blogging is a key part of the tattoo process, and it takes at least three posts before a tattoo can be applied. So, this is number one: The Background Post.

I've been wary of tattoos until now, because I have terrible taste in lifestyles. My rule of thumb is to pick a design and then wait a year to see if I still like it, and the last two choices have lasted about six weeks. Giant celtic knotwork dragon? I am very glad I didn't get you. Two lines of a musical score? It's an OK concept, but my favorite score is about as constant as my favorite everything else, so the best I could do is just get the bar lines inked, and then draw in notes with a magic marker depending on what mood I was in.

Actually, that's pretty awesome.

The current candidate is this guy:

The designer is an animal-rights activist, so what the drawing means to me is a lot different from what it means to him. Like most "deeper meanings," I'm afraid that it will lose something in translation if I try to explain it here (so, get me drunk, I guess), but the gist is it fits in with the Taoism. I'm still not sure what I think about the idea of Enlightenment*, but the idea of breaking the cycle of birth and rebirth resonates very strongly with me. I don't quite have it in words yet, but I equate freeing oneself from doubt and uncertainty with freeing oneself from death. Hence the caption "Liberation," which I've considered changing but can't find anything better.

It's here where I realize I don't know anything at all about actually getting a tattoo. How do you pick an artist? Where should it go? Etc, etc. So, in a year or so, I'll probably be needing the advice of more experienced tattooees who can help me find a good place, and then tell me how brave I was for only screaming a little bit each time the needle goes in.

Thanks Internet! I know I could count on you.

*My current take is that focusing on Enlightenment will not bring it any closer; rather, Enlightenment is reached by living life. The better you get at being human, the closer you become to Enlightenment, although being a great person may just be a way station, one step on a larger journey.

I may be on to something

2009-04-14T19:42:08Z

Or I may have done something horrible.

It's a new word: "Weblish", which means to publish online, usually in an official or paid capacity. As in "Hey, McSweeney's finally weblished my SotW profile!", or "Sally writes a lot of slash. Most of it just goes on fetish sites, but her Batman/Jack Shepard story got weblished on the Wall Street Journal site."

So it's kind of useful, as a contraction for online published, which will become more useful as time goes on. It's a portmanteau, which I generally like but I know some people hate them. It's also kind of horrible. I made it up, but I also think I hate it. So I'm putting it to a vote.

View Poll: Moment of Truth

I am slightly internet-famous.

2009-04-14T18:51:37Z

Look! My favorite magazine likes me too! You can see proof of this on the bottom right corner right now, and for posterity (if they ever update the Subscriber of the Week again) here.

This is less random, but much more awesome, than the unexpected CS assignment that someone wrote about me ten years ago.

Dear Gatorade:

2009-04-13T02:04:23Z

Dear Gatorade,

Please, oh please oh please oh please, please make it stop. Stop airing that god-awful cartoon Tiger Woods commercial. It's horrifying. It's somehow worse than the Burger King mask guy rapping about Spongebob. Every time it airs an angel catches fire. Please, I'm begging you, I will buy any Gatorade product you want. Just stop airing it. Forever.

Clinging to sanity,
Eryk Nielsen

Gaaaaaaaaaaaah.

2009-04-12T20:04:05Z

So I made an error on my taxes, and my $430 refund has turned into a $170 deficit. Gaaaaaaaaaaaah. I will be able to eat and pay bills and whatnot, so all of my physical needs are met, but this basically destroys my discretionary spending for May (and possibly June, depending). It's amazing what not having spare cash does for one's sanity/outlook.

Seriously, does anyone want to hire a researcher for.. anything?

Fan mail!

2009-04-07T21:01:56Z

I've been a fan of things since I was a kid, but only in the last few months have I started actually sending fan mail. I don't know what changed, or if awesome people even like reading how awesome I think they are, but it's awfully fun to write.

Reference without a cause

2009-04-06T12:38:54Z

Has anyone written a parody of the old Disney number "Zip-e-dee-doo-da" about wealthy moderate conservatives, that features the line "There's Mr. Bloomburg on my shoulder"? I don't know how the rest of it should go, but I feel like that line writes itself.

Articulate and not me.

2009-04-03T16:06:57Z

Because she is awesome, Amanda has summed up my disappointment in Obama's handling of the banks very, very well.

Mixed media

2009-03-30T03:45:30Z

Something that I gripe about a lot to myself, but not to anyone else, is that my best writing, by far, seems to take place only in my head. Often on the last leg of travel (like today), but not always, I'll process the events of the day into something really nice and insightful - a poem that doesn't get written for a few days, or an essay that never comes out right. Tonight, inspired by conversations with R & E, as well as the first few paragraphs of an interview in last month's Believer, I had a meaty outline for a very convincing essay on video games as an art form, but now that I'm home it's late and I'm tired, so there's nothing for it. If it sticks around, I might try and put it down sometime this week, but if not, there's this paragraph as a reminder that I once compared "Shadow of the Colossus" to Monet's "Water Lillies."

Hey baby..

2009-03-03T21:08:15Z

You lookin' fiiiiine. You be lookin' like you enjoyin' all dem drinks I been buyin' foya, from down here at my end of the bar.. yeah, baby. You lookin' like you want ta chat a bit, nyah?

Naw, naw, girl. Don't be shy, I'm not like those othamen. I'mabout ta relax you with my fine woo-lines, and then we can get it awn.

Yeah, baby. Yeah. I gotta ask, did it hurt? I mean, did it hurt when your daddy stole the stars from the sky and put 'em in your eyes? Those soulful, baby lady eyes? Yeah. Daaaaamn.

No, no, baby, no, what I meant was, your daddy must've been a thief, girl! 'Cause he makes me want to change the damn alphabet, put U and I together. Uh-huh. Real.

See, what I'm tryin' ta say is, do you want to have some pizza? When you fell right outta heaven and left them other angels behind? What? Don't you like 'Za?

Haaaaaa, I just foolin' baby. You know you got nice shoes. No? Would you like some? Yeah! I got you baby, I ain't even Irish! Ladies love it all the damn time! Mmmm.

Comeon now baby, it's time ta get our freak on! Mmmm. And I ain't talkin' 'bout no unfortunate deformed boy, no ma'am. I ain't talkin' 'bout some woman with a hormonal imbalance that gives her a beard, nah, no short little midget-dude and his sassy midget wife. I ain't talkin' 'bout payin' money to view abnormal people fo' a cheap thrill.

Naw, baby, when I say it's time ta get our freak on, I mean it's time fo' tha intacourse. It's time ta stimulate each otha's genitalia, in prep-o-ration for tha co-i-tus. And I don' mean no procreative freakin' neither, naah. I intends ta use me some protection, 'cause even though you say you'se on tha Pill, I still don't wants ta take no chances, Frances. I mean, Charlene.

Aww hell, baby. It don' matter whatcho name is. You know we's gonna copulate. Uh-huh. Mmmm. Daaaaaamn.

Attention 9-year-old me:

2009-02-22T16:07:24Z

These should help you get past the Second Caverns.

BEEF LOG notice

2009-01-26T02:24:02Z

In an effort to reconnect with myself, I have decided to renew my inexplicable childhood obsession with The Swiss Colony. I no longer wish to receive any gift or favor that does not take the form of ridiculous assortments of often-disappointing treats. It's nothing but sausages, cheese spreads, petits fours, and the legendary Original Chocolate Dobosh Torte from here on out, folks. Wish me luck!

Adios, ShaveLabos

2008-12-23T19:47:38Z

I've got a little under an hour of employment left. I've finished all of my desk-cleaning, data-archiving, stuff-only-I-can-do-documenting, and even finished an extra project, so now I'm just waiting for my boss to get back so we can all wait out the clock together.

I hope the engineering job comes through. I think I can find a temp job at MGH or somewhere similar to keep me busy until I find out.. if not, I can survive on unemployment (barely) until something else comes along. I've got my Monster, I've got my craigslist, I've got my skills. It'll be okay.

But no amount of "it'll be okay" can chase away the fear. This is not okay. Money is scary, or maybe terrifying, but it's not just that. I've always felt like I'm the failure of my family, the loser youngest sibling who everyone else props up. Losing my job at Christmas does not mix well with this.

I used to think of myself as someone who is open and able to talk about my troubles, but that's really not true. That feeling of being a burden extends to my friends as well.. I don't know how to ask for or receive help in times like this. I spent most of the day on the verge of a breakdown (I'm feeling better now), but I don't want anyone to know just how close I am to collapse. I spent too much time agonizing too loudly over too little; now that I have legitimate reasons to feel terrible, I feel like I've cried wolf too many times to deserve sympathy or aid. I don't want to be a burden.

M convinced me to meet her and the rest of the MGH crew at the Beer Works this afternoon, which is a good idea. Not that I want to be unemployed at the bar, but an afternoon laughing with friends is a better way to start this than anything I'd do on my own.

I hate feeling weak.