perfidy

This edition of Forgotten Punchline Thursday is brought to you in part by Krill. Krill: Food for Everything Else.

Further support furnished by a grant from the Newport Trust for Social Preservation, maintaining class divisions and historic mansions you can never possibly own -ever- and thereby making you feel like a failure, since 1933.

Today's Forgotten Punchline:

"Because of Goehring, I'm going back to my old profession."

In the continual search for newer, better, and more satisfying employment- more satisfying than, say, removing the sharp stick lodged 3" into your left quadricep with a long, satisfied sigh- I came across this opening:

Vice President of Education and Public Programs
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum is currently considering applicants for the position of Vice President of Education and Public Programs. The Vice President of Education and Public Programs reports to the President and CEO and is responsible for establishing and directing all educational activities and programs at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum

A suit at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame! At first blush it seemed so wrong- but after a few seconds of thought, it makes total sense. Most rock musicians can't manage their own personal affairs; dare we trust them with the cultural heritage that the form has become? Suits run their money and their careers; might as well run their legacy, too. The ad goes on:

Creates educational programs and materials relating to the unique content of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, focusing both on the permanent collection and temporary exhibits. Develops curriculum and learning materials to teach the widest possible audience, from toddlers to adults, about rock and roll culture and its social and historical significance.

Not only just another suit, then- a nerd, too! What an improbably cool position for a museum-trained historian or, failing that, a record-store clerk; often the same thing, I can attest. And is there any other person more insufferably arrogant about music than humanities majors? If we were comparing fingerprints here, we'd be talking about a 9-point match. Designing programs, displays, and other instructional media at the Hall of Fame sure beats the hell out of doing public history work in a musuem no one goes to, designing displays no one gives a shit about like "Whither Butter?"; or "The Evolution of the Overall" (in Kansas, "The Creation of the Overall"); and certainly better than that musty archive your friend who majored in history worked in, the one where he contracted that nasty eye socket infection.

So say you're the new guy, just hired for this position. What would be some programs or exhibits you might pitch?

My first thought? "It Doesn't Mean That Much To Me To Mean That Much To You", a whole series about rock 'n roll suicide. You get everyone who's offed himself, plus the David Bowie and Neil Young tie-ins for the soundtrack. Logo would be a Strat with a noose around it, or a gun to its head(stock), and would appear on all associated merch. Pretty good, huh? And that was just off the top of my head!

What would you do?

This year's winner of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest:

Detective Bart Lasiter was in his office studying the light from his one small window falling on his super burrito when the door swung open to reveal a woman whose body said you've had your last burrito for a while, whose face said angels did exist, and whose eyes said she could make you dig your own grave and lick the shovel clean.

In a related vein- a throbbing, purple vein- is the 2006 Goku-Lytton Award for the Worst First Line in Erotic Fan Fiction.

Next year the Ministry fully expects to be competitive in either contest.

Lock S-foils in attack position, and give Jerry hell!

Courtesy of Photoshop Friday at Something Awful.

If you think that Murdoc skims FBI wound ballistics data for light bedtime reading, or takes his Jane's materials on vacation, you are correct.

But he is also abreast of current events, and particularly skilled at being where the present meets the past. Read his coverage and linkage regarding the recent discovery, by Polish divers, of the Nazi aircraft carrier Graf Zeppelin. Originally designed in the '30s, construction began and halted (and began and halted and...) but never joined the fleet. Strictly speaking, then, I guess it could not rightly be called an "aircraft carrier" since it doesn't seem it ever carried any. Due to the vagaries of war and the inescapable fact that the Nazis were rather losing it, the Graf Zeppelin never put to sea and never saw action. Well, until the Commies sank it.

Born to be the lynchpin of a mighty Teutonic warfleet, the Graf Zeppelin wound up consigned to the briny deep by the very Untermenschen the Nazis made all the fuss about in the first place. In the immortal words of Nelson (from the Simpsons, not Trafalgar), "HA-ha!"

Anyway, read MO. As if you didn't already.

Today's forgotten punchline:

"What the fuck do you mean, 'the wrong hole'?!"

Stars and Stripes online edition has apprently been hacked.

That was thoughtful.

If you don't know who Frank Frazetta is, you're wrong. You most certainly do know his work; it's been in early comics, movie posters, and about a bazillion book covers. He is perhaps most widely recognized for his graphic rendering of Robert Howard's hero from the time "...between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas":

The Barbarian

Frank Frazetta's Conan is Conan. Every artist in the Marvel stable in the last 30-odd years who has worked on Conan titles takes his cue from Frazetta. And that's OK.

But the man's talent is much greater than as an illustrator; he started on a path to fine art as a very young boy, a path he could not finish through no fault of his own. He can work magic with oils, watercolors, pencil, or naked ink. He's a photographer and a sculptor. After a stroke damaged his right side, he learned how to make art with his left. Thrown to his own devices to make a living he wound up in comics, and we are all better people because of it.

If anyone gets the IFC on their cable, keep an eye out for "Frazetta: Painting with Fire", a documentary about his life, his achievements, and his struggles. The interviews with other artists and filmmakers are no less interviews with fans: Brom, John Buscema, Kevin Eastman, Ralph Bakshi, Dino DeLaurentis; the list is long and distinguished. The net effect is not at all a cloying love fest, but simple and heartfelt affection for the man. And the man himself defies stereotype; no scrawny artsy-fartsy, bespectacled fixture of the comic convention, he. Huh-uh. His powerful frame and personal strength he no doubt translated to canvas in his male figures. The guy had a stroke and is just this side of 80, but still could probably thump me. If you don't have IFC, rent "Painting with Fire".

If you can't rent it, buy it via the Frazetta Museum. Matter of fact, I think I'd like to go there in person. Anyone else up for a road trip to PA? My personal fave below the fold:

Snow Giants

Almost a year ago to the day, I wrote a piece discussing the work of Professor Hiroshi Ishiguro. From his lab outside Kyoto, the professor was working on lifelike replicants designed, among other things, to help his research into human behavior. In that piece I included this photo of the good professor and his latest creation; aware that he's not the most, um, charismatic of photographic subjects, I pointed out that "the dude with glasses is NOT the robot":

Ah, but that was then. Our man in Kyoto has cashed in some more nice grants, and recently demonstrated his latest project: himself! In other words, the dude with the glasses now could very well be the robot:

He has named his creation "Geminoid", a label both properly scientific-sounding and chillingly non-human, which will make it just that much easier for robot conquerors to use them to infiltrate society. I would've gone with homo sapiens simulacra, but Geminoid works too I guess.

Professor Ishiguro continues to explore the fundamentals of human interaction with his synthetic double:

But why bother to build robots that look like humans? Ishiguro views machines as good vehicles to learn more about human nature. He combines engineering with cognitive science with the aim of making very humanlike robots, which can be used as test beds for theories about human perception, communication and cognition. He calls his approach "android science."

"A robot is a kind of simulator for expressing human functions, especially the cerebellum or the muscles," says Norihiro Hagita, director of the ATR lab that developed Geminoid. "It's a kind of ultimate human interface."

Ok, super. It's a test bed for exploring the interaction of the blah with the semiotics of which and the effect of huh and the wazzit. But Geminoid research also has more immediate, real-world applications more familiar to the rest of us: he uses it to go to meetings or class in his stead (which may explain why the thing looks irritated) and surely it is just a matter of time before it can make decisions and actually do your job for you. And I'm certain that baser applications will yet prevail, however advanced the design may be or lofty the goal.

Entrepreneurs, banking on the depravity of humankind, might have changed the above quotes thus: "Why bother to build robots that look like humans?" " To fuck 'em, of course!" Oh wait- they already do.

[wik] Minister GeekLethal inexplicably failed to point out the the confluence of these two stories leads to the inevitable conclusion that Professor Ishiguro can, in fact, go fuck himself. [- Minister B.]

[alsø wik] Minister GeekLethal inexplicably included the phrase "Entrepreneurs, banking on the depravity of humankind..." written in a tone indicating that he might have been expecting something else. [- Minister P.]

I've been doing some number crunching and the results are...discouraging.

I've looked at my current debt load and played it against potential earnings. I've used historic earnings data, leavened with broader industry trends, as the core of my prediction models. Then, not feeling quite down enough, I put all that against actuarial data: height and weight, lifestyle, hobbies, career, etc etc.

I have determined that, barring some sort of ridiculous and unforeseeable windfall (and knowing that there's no real-life equivalent of a "Community Chest" card coming my way), I will not live to see the day I'm out of debt. From now until the day I die, I will be servicing debt. Sure everyone has their own financial woe and worry to contend with. I get that. But I never put things in quite this perspective before, that I'll be dead before I'm free.

It's sobering. It's heavy. It's Tuesday.

And it's Tuesday's Heavy Thought.

Frodo

You scored 59% Aggressive, 58% Brains, 64% GoodEvil, and 77% Trivia!

You have little care of the outside world. You think "Adventures make you late for dinner." On the other hand you have spent your time reading, and writing.

Not too far off the mark, although Frodo smokes way, WAY more weed than I do. Judging by the stats, not many people have taken this particular quiz:

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender

• You scored higher than 99% on Aggressive
• You scored higher than 99% on Brains
• You scored higher than 99% on Good/Evil
• You scored higher than 99% on Trivia

Today's forgotten punchline:

"Terrific! But where'd you learn to screw like a Jap?"

NASA's site commemorating the 30th anniversary of the Apollo landing read, "On July 20, 1969, the human race accomplished its single greatest technological achievement of all time when a human first set foot on another celestial body."

But the NASA text, and other sources, typically ignore one important and obvious detail: We CONQUERED it!

The British created a world spanning empire through the simple expedient of planting the Union Jack on soil inhabited by wogs who didn't know that flags meant ownership. Benighted natives woke to British officers telling them that they now lived in the British Empire. When they disputed this, the officers merely pointed at the flag and said, "See, there's the flag. England." And when they continued to disagree, there was always the Maxim gun. In keeping with this grand tradition of symbolic declaration strecthing back millenia (but without getting too into the semiotics of possession) our guy put our flag up there- so it's ours! Happily for the granola crunchy set, there were no Lunar aborigines that needed to be convinced more... strenuously.

Today is the 37th anniversary of that glorious event, when not just homo sap in general, but specifically God-fearing Amurricans left the cradle of Earth to begin the conquest of heaven. We sent men into space on a tower of fire, backed with nothing more than whiz-wheels, slide-rulers, and less computing power than my car's fuel injector. A relatively modest start, some might say - the Moon being low-hanging fruit, solar system wise - but it was a start nonetheless on the long road to interstellar domination. And someday, when Old Glory waves on 10,000 worlds and our mighty fleets cruise the galaxy, our fair descendants will look back at the Moon and Apollo as the start of it all. The only question is how they'll fit all those stars on the flag.

Huzzah! Huzzah! For the bonnie striped flag borne by a single moon!

This may be a bit of troubling news. Seems that an element of Orcan Searangers went after a Dolphinic Force Recon unit. According to Ministry sources, which at this time are sketchy and quite preliminary, they were supposed to be conducting joint training operations within the FinWarrior exercise. Something seems to have gone awry, and the dolphins had to dash into fresh water and up a river to escape being eaten.

As usual, trust a hippy conservationist for comic relief:

Conservation staff unsuccessfully attempted Thursday to herd the dolphins out of Oruaiti River and into Mangonui Harbor...

You think it might be because the dolphins are not interested in being food?

Levity aside, this may be troubling news. We are counting on the Cetacean Alliance in the looming fight with the robots, and without air-breathing allied mammals to take the fight to the briny deep...

Well, let's take it one step at a time. I'm still waiting to hear from Atlantis Command for an update, which should have more details. For the time being, let's just treat this as a rogue action. I've recommended postponing the balance of the FinWarrior '06 exercise until we get a handle on things.

Bah, just read it here. They draw some pretty far-reaching and, by their estimation, conclusive results based on whether I like blue more than brown. At first blush it seems slightly more accurate than, say, a horoscope or a fortune cookie, but upon subsequent readings I'm not so sure. I mean, "able to achieve satisfaction through sexual activity"? Durrr!

GeekLethal's Existing Situation Pursues his objectives and his own-self-interest with stubborn determination; refuses to compromise or make concessions. GeekLethal's Stress Sources Suppresses his innate enthusiasm and imaginative nature, for fear that he might be carried away by it only to find himself pursuing some will-o'-the-wisp. Feels he has been misled and abused and has withdrawn to hold himself cautiously aloof from others. Keeps a careful and critical watch to see whether motives towards him are sincere--a watchfulness which easily develops into suspicion and distrust. GeekLethal's Restrained Characteristics Egocentric and therefore quick to take offense. Distressed by the obstacles with which he is faced and is no mood for any form of activity or for further demands on him. Needs peace and quiet, and the avoidance of anything which might distress him further. Able to achieve satisfaction through sexual activity. GeekLethal's Desired Objective Needs a peaceful environment. Wants release from stress, and freedom from conflicts or disagreement. Takes pains to control the situation and its problems by proceeding cautiously. Has sensitivity of feeling and a fine eye for detail. GeekLethal's Actual Problem Disappointment at the non-fulfillment of his hopes and the fear that to formulate fresh goals will only lead to further setbacks have resulted in considerable anxiety. He is trying to escape from this into a peaceful and harmonious relationship, protecting him from dissatisfaction and lack of appreciation. GeekLethal's Actual Problem #2 Needs to protect himself against his tendency to be too trusting, as he finds it is liable to be misunderstood or exploited by others. Is therefore seeking a relationship providing peaceful and understanding intimacy, and in which each knows exactly where the other stands.

The local incarnation of my regional ultramegasupermarket makes dinner fare for the young stud on the go: pizza; chicken in various cooked states and configurations; pot-pies; uncountable pounds of mashed potatoes and mac-n-cheese.

The other day I chose an exceptional meatloaf, my favorite example of all the loafed foods. This place makes a decent meatloaf- a tad salty, a touch greasy, but otherwise about as pleasant a gustatory experience as any right-thinking person might expect from a meatloaf. Today's lunch is a cold slab of that 2 (3?)-day-old meatloaf. It started as a slab, anyway; I had to cut it down to fit into my container, and subsequent travel broke things up a little further.

Anyway it's lunchtime and I'm about halfway through it, just, you know, eating and diggin' on my meatloaf, when it suddenly occurred to me that in color, shape, and size I might appear to be eating bits of a turd. And not like the tootsie rolls the cat leaves for you. A dense all-American turd that destroys plumbing, fouls the air, and makes communists afraid. Something that only the bowel of a flesh-eating man's man- like, say, Ted Nugent- might produce.

So that's what's on my mind right now.

Um, what are you having...?

There are numerous examples of distorted language I, and I expect you, hear every day. Mangled pronunciation. The dearth of subject-verb agreement, and the new tyranny of the pronoun "they". Weird pluralization too, like the time in Atlanta when an airport announcer implored passengers, at least three times, to retrieve their "luggages"; I about had a hot, frothy fit on the spot.

But nothing in spoken English gets up my ass so thoroughly as vacuous business-speak, and one simple word in particular makes me want to climb up the tower and either ring the bells madly or snuggle into a cozy sniper perch: "solution".

I'm not completely unaware of the use of the word as a noun largely devoid of meaning. Every technology company since 1994 either provides solutions, builds solutions, or can help you find your solution. I often wonder, in fact, what companies were doing before they all devoted themselves to making solutions. What I didn't appreciate though was that the word had filtered down into everyday simple ad copy.

Last Sunday I was going through some prices on laptops by a certain electronics distributor. It was there I read not one, not twice, but several times, text describing a model as a "solution". The ad would read something like, "This is IBM's most rugged solution"; or, "Look no further for a solution under $1200"; or, "ACER's new frammis chip is the solution that drives their portable solution". A what? For what?! I thought I was after a computer...

Solutions answer problems. And wanting a new computer is not neccessarily a fucking puzzle.

Let me put it another way. Say you and I are working on my non-green, hippy-hating SUV. Let's keep the example simple, and we're doing something routine...say we're, I dunno, replacing the razing wire strung around the roof. And let's say that at one point I tell you I need a 3/4" wrench, you hand me a 3/4" wrench, and say, "there's your Craftsman bolt solution." I would take it, rap the top of your mushy head with it, and ask you whether that felt like a solution or a wrench. Because it's a fucking wrench.

Your car is not your "transportation solution". It's a fucking car. Your steak is not your "nutrition solution". It's a fucking steak. My scroty bag is not my "reproductive portability solution". It's my nutsack. Um, and so forth and so on.

So. If you use this word regularly yet you are not a scientist or mathematician, fucking cut it out already.

This concludes this installment of The English Bitch. We now return to The Buckethead Show, already in progress.

Uber-blogger Murdoc, whose scrotal heft is such that the airlines try and make him check his nuts whenever he flies, discusses Army and USMC helmet technologies and fielding programs here.

This is an interesting snippet, from the '03 article he cites:

"...replacing the old “Kevlar” as it’s commonly called, which has been around since the early 1980s."

Which is factual, inasmuch as they existed and were fielded to certain units in time for Grenada (camo BDUs too, for that matter). But I tell you that I went to basic training in 1989 and finished AIT in Jun 1990, and was issued a steel pot at both, as were all trainees. Training cadre and other permanent-party folks all had k-pots though. I didn't get a Kevlar brainbucket til I got to my first unit.

I'm not sharp-shooting here, honest. Just pointing out that there's a difference between a piece of equipment "existing" and having it issued across the force that I think alot of folks might overlook.

Thankfully absent from Murdoc's discussion was his analysis of the Army's Purple-Helmet Warrior Concept.

Among the myriad World Cup tales of soaring victory and crushing defeat; of passions, hatreds, life, love, death; of suffering and pride locked in the orbit of the all-consuming white and black ball, comes another story. A story of practicality, fulfilling urgent needs, and micro-economics.

Leave it to the Germans, arguably the most industrious people in the civilized world, Europe's own tireless ants, to put tailfins and new, uh,
rubber, on the oldest profession.

I give you the drive-through whorehouse.

The Ministry's favoritest Oldsmoblogger, Ken, considers some finer points of constitutional interpretation and originalism. In so doing, he takes the LA Times' Mark Kurlansky apart for being not simply naive, but outright stupid. Ken's far too diplomatic to use that phrasing, but I'm not. So I did.

Ken is alot smarter than me and I'm glad he uses his powers for good.