Mangum con El Tigre

The tiger is pondering if he can turn Mangum into an after-nap snack.

Matt recently got back from Thailand where he made some friends with incisors the size of steak knives.

Here's some pics of his trip.

Mid-30's

So, in case you missed the various info out there, on Sunday, I hit 34.

I can no longer say I'm in my early-30's without fibbing. I am very close to my life expectancy, were I to be living in the mid-19th century.

I'm not much of one about my birthday, but last night we got together with some friends at Serrano's, down off Red River. The past few weeks have been odd as Matt contracted strep, which he passed to Nicole. Lauren wound up with appendicitis, requiring hospitilization, which meant Steven picked something nasty up at the hospital, which was, I think, also strep.

And, sadly, Juan and Letty are now both fighting strep, too.

So we were sort of thinking that last night would wind up as a small affair (which Jamie wrangled. Thanks, Jamie). And it was, just a few folks. But even a good number of our patients showed up, with a special celebrity appearance by Lauren. Still am so happy she's feeling good enough to walk around a bit and spend time with friends.

Also thanks to friends who've chimed in via e-mail, Facebook, etc...

I have decided that the only promise I'm making myself is that I will finish reading "Moby Dick" before I'm 35. I've never read the book except as a Classics Illustrated edition with art by Bill Sienkiwicz (still one of my favorite artists, period, comic or otherwise). But I figure I should probably read the thing as Mellville intended before I'm dead.

I already bought myself my birthday present(s). Every year I buy myself something, and this year it was two novelty t-shirts. One with The Flash, and one with, of course, Superman.

I'm not entirely clear on whether or not being in one's mid-30's is supposed to mean I'm supposed to shelve some of my goofier interests, put on a sweater and slippers and... wait. Do I see approaching middle-age as becoming Mister Rogers? I believe I might. But, for goodness sake, Mister Rogers had a whole crazy land of make believe with sentient trolleys, a lush named "Lady Elaine" and talking owls and kittens. Mister Rogers was awesome.

Happy B-Day to me, I suppose.

On to 35.

Round-Up and Video Clips

Chuck Candy


Firstly, today was a wild day here at League of Melbotis. JimD sent a link from my Chuck E. Cheese post to Whitney Matheson at Pop Candy. (Matheson is the same blogger who recently asked my Devo question...) Matheson posted the link, and my hit count jumped from its usual 45 hits or so a day (that includes a lot of folks accidentally hitting the site) to about 1800 at last count.

That's a lot of people hearing about my tight slacks and aversion to messy children.

Anyhow, I welcome all the new folks who might stop by. We always appreciate new visitors here at The League, and we hope you enjoy your stay. Please feel free to poke around, ask questions, and generally make yourself at home.

It's always fun getting some visitors who aren't usually at the site. I totally recommend going back and reading the comments section as several other Chuck E. Cheese alumni piped up with similar tales. Great stuff.

Bankston on MSNBC

My former roommate, Kevin Bankston, appeared on MSNBC's "Countdown with Keith Olbermann" this evening arguing for the Electronic Frontier Foundation's lawsuit against the government for illegal wiretapping.

You have to understand how weird it is to see the same guy using the same tone with Keith olbermann that he once used to argue that it was MY turn to clean the living room.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I'd rather we not actually debate the topic here, as this isn't that kind of blog, but be a little weirded out that the guy with whom I share a multitude of embarrassing memories is now an important attorney-guy/ pundit.

Old times, old crimes.

Nimoy and New Trek in Austin

It seems the Alamo Drafthouse is a bit bigger deal than I realized. There was a showing of Star Trek II, Wrath of Khan at the Alamo this week with, supposedly, a few minutes of the new Trek sent by the studio. The Alamo surprised the audience with a guest appearance by none other than Leonard Nimoy (that's Spock to you non-nerds), the sort of proto-celeb to us in geek-kind.

In 6th grade, and I wish I were making this up, I had gerbils named "Leonard Nimoy" and "Richard Nixon". Let us speak on this no further.

Well, THEN Paramount pulled the coolest switcheroo in geek history by showing the entirety of the new Trek movie to the assembled.

Read it here in the NYT.

DAMMIT, MAN!!! Sadly, I probably would have missed it had I been in town because I did just watch Star Trek II on cable. Twice.



Spock is my homeboy.

Twitter

I'm probably way late on this, but... it sort of sums up my feelings on a lot of why I can't fully embrace Twitter as a social tool.



Easter Fun

Some times the simple ideas are the best



Minneapolis

I saw very little of Minneapolis while there. I can say the conference was pretty cool, and I learned a lot. Too much stuff going on during any hour, so I missed stuff that I couldn't split in two or three to visit.

There was snow on the ground when I arrived, but it all melted by the time I walked around a very little bit on Sunday. After that, I never really left the office.

Anyhow, I'm back. And I'm going to catch up on some sleep.

I Can Only Apologize for Chuck E. Cheese Post/ SITC

Sorry about the lengthy Chuck E. Cheese post. I'd started writing it a while back, and thought i would release a few bits every other day, but then I thought "No, just get it over with. You don't want to punish people for coming back to the site on a regular basis."

Sometimes posts just form, and you go with them.

Day 1 of the conference is good. I couldn't sleep last night until late, and that was on top of getting 4 hours of sleep Saturday/ Sunday... so I sort of paid for it today. I'm going to bed very early tonight and will try again tomorrow.

Last night my freak bout of insomnia led to me accidentally watching the entirety of the the "Sex and the City" movie. I believed I was tuning in to watch the ending, which was actually the beginning. And the next thing I knew, it was very late and the credits were rolling.

I guess I'm glad that if we're going to co-opt the romantic comedy formula for Seth Rogan, Paul Rudd, et al., and their Bromance movies, that I'm comfortable in the knowledge that the SitC movie and show are squarely not aimed at me. Which makes some of my beefs with the movie irrelevant (such as the fact that men, both straight and otherwise, appear as little but plot points in the series or movie). Like a photonegative of the Apatow-esque dude comedies, the men of SitC are there to reinforce the notion that we all love these characters, even when you want to scream "run away!" at the screen. (Be free, Big! BE FREEEEEEEE!) I suppose this must be how many people feel at the prospect of, say, Seth Rogan writing himself a part where Katherine Heigl falls for anyone approximating Seth Rogan.

Curiously, my feeling during the run of SITC, that the characters are largely completely self-absorbed, awful people, was sort of addressed in the movie. I believe it was largely tackled in part as the closed narrative of the movie forced actual character development to occur instead of the cyclical nature of the TV show. The show hung on the characters' inability to really move on or progress as humans, which would end the show.

I didn't love it, but it was okay, and I couldn't sleep and it was on.

Just want to apologize for Chuck E. Cheese again.

I am tired already and am off to bed.

Me and Chuck E. Cheese

Edit: I am a bit horrified to find that Whitney Matheson of Pop Candy has re-redirected her readership here to The League (big fan of Pop Candy! Hi, Whitney!). Welcome one and all. I also apologize for the many, many grammatical and typographical errors. If I'd time, I'd clean it up, but alas.

Every year on my birthday, people ask where I want to go for dinner to celebrate. And every year, I say the same thing. I say that I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese.


Its partially a test. The truth is, I sort of figured out a long time ago that even if its your birthday, you sort of need to pick neutral territory that everyone will like. You cannot say "I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese", because nobody over the age of 9 really wants to find themselves at Chuck E. Cheese for any length of time. Which is why they sell beer (or they did). So its always a fun litmus test to see how batshit people (especially Jason) will go when you quietly insist that, yes, you DO want to go to Chuck E. Cheese. When pushed, I insist that I like pizza, videogames and a complementary animatronic floorshow. And offer up helpful bits like "I told you where I wanted to go, and if you don't want to go there, that's fine. Just take me wherever."



I have actually had two birthdays at Chuck E. Cheese. When I was in 5th grade, my parents finally caved and agreed to let me have my party at a Chuck E. Cheese somewhere in Austin (probably off Burnet). And I recall pretty distinctly all of my friends just sort of milling around, realizing we were too old for Chuck E. Cheese. Whether we were too big for the "rides", or weren't into the robots anymore, or whatever... I just remember an awful sinking feeling that I'd made a mistake.

They probably still do this, but they would announce the names of kids having birthdays and bring out these cakes with these goofy sparkling candles, and Chuck would come by and give you a present. And as all of this was going on, all I could think was "Oh, Jesus Christ, I'm too old for all of this..." And as I was about to open the present from Chuck, this girl in a visor who worked there sort of apologized to me in advance, letting me know "we only have presents for little kids..." as I opened up what was a dollar-store Fisher-Price knockoff toy car. Pretty clearly intended for a kid, ages 2-6.

You Want Money, You Better Earn It

At age 16, I was informed I was to find a job once school let out. There was a certain window of time when school let out when people would plan to hire kids for the summer. This was kind of understood by me and my high school pals but possibly less understood by my folks. That year we headed out of town shortly after school let out, and remained gone for a couple of weeks. When I returned, I hit the road every day for several hours filling out applications, but to no avail. I was told at every place I applied that I could fill out an application, but they weren't hiring. For reasons unknown to me to this day, my inability to find a job was met with skepticism by my parents, who seemed to believe all you had to do to land a job was walk in the door of whever you wanted to work, and they'd hire you.

I confess I had a couple of rules.

1) I wouldn't sack groceries. Houston summers can be brutal enough, and I wanted to not wear the goofy bow-tie, long pants and smock get-up Randall's employed. Apparently the Randall's corporation believed that such a get-up would fool their patrons into believing that they were shopping in some Mom and Pop corner store during the early days of the 20th Century rather than in a state of the art grocery with automated rainfall on the out-of-season produce and endless aisles of preservative-laced foods.

In short, I didn't want to sweat so badly in my job that I'd not get tips, which is how the sackers made their dough.

2) I was avoiding the food industry. Apparently The KareBear had some amazing experience working at the same restaurant as a waitress for years as she made her way through school. But everyone I talked to made it sound like a lot of late nights and uncomfortable situations with assistant managers. Also, I get grossed out by other people's partially eaten food.

I wasn't going to land some sweet gig that my parents set up for me (which was something to always be jealous of), and I was starting late, after every 16 year old in the greater Spring area was already out and looking.

Landing the Job

But... Chuck E. Cheese was hiring.

When I asked for an application, the manager pumped my hand and asked if I could come back the next day. He was in his 30's, 6'4", wore a tie, and seemed like a great guy. The next day he put me in a booth, we chatted lightly (I had no experience doing anything but reading comics, shooting free-throws and doing homework, so... not much to chat on), and I thought we hit it off great. I was in!

I'd be nowhere near the food. I'd be working the Game Floor, which I imagined would be a bit like playing casino host to a bunch of 5-10 year-olds, handing out tokens, occasionally polishing a game, and getting free food.

Jason begged me not to work at Chuck E. Cheese. Family Pal Larry Lee had worked at a Chuck's in Austin when he and Jason were in high school.

"You don't just play the videogames," Jason told me. "You're going to hate it."

I steamed. Chuck E. Cheese was supposed to be fun, by definition. I had a job, and he didn't, so was clearly jealous of my job-landing skills, which... when the manager saw me, he clearly saw the potential that I thought pretty much darn near everyone SHOULD see in me.

I started a week later to the semi-surprise of the two managers on duty, Angel and Jim. Angel was probably in her early 30's, but looked older. I had a foot on Jim, and a head of hair he lacked, which at age 16, made me estimate him at somewhere between 20 and 95. The manager who had hired me was no longer with the store. No explanation was given.

With a few others, I was led to the back to be given a uniform and some cursory instructions. Stuff like "food isn't free, but it is half-off. Plan to be here for a two or more hours after closing every night. More on Saturdays" It was true I would be on the gamefloor, which thrilled me. No clearing plates of other people's slobbered-upon pizza crusts. No touching cups with lipstick smears. I would sweep up, I would wipe down machines. And, curiously, despite an utter lack of experience with anything more than a crystal radio kit, I would repair machines and games. And, give out tokens to kids who claimed they'd "lost" a token.

But there was literally no training. The tasks we were to perform were mostly so idiot simple (go sweep up pizza crusts), that I guess spending time training wasn't really necessary. And, what I would soon learn about the staffing issues probably led the managers to believe it was a waste of time.


Some vintage Chuck horror

The Uniform

Not clear on the spirit of the law, but intent to maintain the letter, I listened carefully to the uniform instructions. I was to wear what they gave me. No exceptions. A red, collared shirt with my name-tag. A blue visor with the logo. And a pair of khaki pants that was pretty clearly too small for me.

Someone asked if we could substitute our own clothing.

The answer was a definitive "no".

I have no recollection of my first day, other than squeezing into the pants I'd been assigned and worrying a great deal about whether I would burst, Hulk-like, from the pants should I squat down, and exactly how much of my wedding tackle would be on display at each shift, because... golly those pants were tight.

Plus, the visor pushed my hair up into a weird sort of explosion, jutting out the top of the elastic band.

I hopped into my disintegrating '83 Honda and headed off for work.

I was relieved to find we wore these little blue smocks that covered the area of primary concern, but did nothing to disguise the action going on in the aft.

The Way it Works

The most important thing to know is how totally gross a place full of children eating greasy pizza really is. Especially kids full of sugar who believe all bets are off because the ranting, robotic mouse keeps telling them they can "be a kid". Which, apparently, means pushing, shoving, kicking people in mascot costumes in the crotch and ass, and occasionally vomiting for no particular reason.

If I had a triumph in the summer of 1991, it was that I drew a line in the land which stated that I would clean neither the stalls, nor the vomit from the floor. That job, I bargained and bartered my way out of it. And you knew you were in dutch with the managers if you had to clean the bathrooms, but at our store, that usually fell to the "show floor" staff, who were perceived to have it somehow easier than the game floor staff during the usual hours.

But kids sort of leak fluids. Never, ever, ever allow your child to play in the ball crawl. No matter what they tell you, you can't actually clean one of those things. Just vacuuming the thing thoroughly, which was done a few times each week with a shop-vac, took the entire evening cleaning shift from 10 - 12:00 or 12:30. There was a semi-annual schedule for actually cleaning the ball crawl, and reportedly they found all kinds of stuff in there.

Walk into any Chuck E. Cheese, and you'll see some schlub constantly wiping things down. That's because greasy little kids are putting their greasy little hands on everything, always. Leaving handprints. The definition of sisyphian task was trying to keep the glass doors to the place hand-print free on a Saturday. Which the managers would do if they were displeased with you for some slight. Or, if they were really irritated, you could be condemned to rub the rubber floor edgings with lemon oil.

My Fellow Staffers

The turn-over was incredible. The entire crew I started with was gone within three or four weeks. Having a new person wander out to join you on shift occurred with such regularity, I mostly identified people by their physical traits instead of names. Guy Who Talks About Being Drunk All the Time. Girl With Too-Huge Boobs. Old Person. Too Much Make-Up Girl. That Guy Who Wears Shorts Even Though Its Not Regulation, But Nobody Says Anything. We were also not really supposed to talk to each other, anyway. Perhaps they feared Chuck himself would lead a Norma Rae-line uprising.

I didn't work many mornings, which was when you wanted to work. Customers tend not to hit the Chuck until later afternoon on weekdays, so the place is oddly sedate for the first few hours, especially before opening. And there were these two women who were in their late-40's, I'd guess, who had been there in a minimum wage position for over a decade. We were going through staff like people go through grapes, and these two had been there and seen it all. They were entrusted with the amazing "token counting machine", which had to be run every morning so they'd know how many tokens were in the store. I remember asking why they didn't become managers if they were there so long, and the conversation became suddenly very awkward until one of them assured me that they didn't want all the trouble of being a manager.

And from what little I knew of Jim and Angel, I didn't blame them. Angel seemed only like she constantly wished to be anywhere but there, but was at least kind of useful. Jim just dreamed up stuff for you to do, like polishing the baseboards. He just seemed particularly frustrated, and refused to crack a smile, even when I slipped and fell in the kitchen and the first words out of my mouth were "there's a lawsuit in there somewhere!" I spent that next Saturday cleaning windows.

Career Advancement

Sure enough, I learned how to fix the ski-ball machines through a sure-fire method of trial and error that would make any psychology lab proud. (If you perform this action, you will receive an electric shock... if you perform that action, the game will come back alive, and you get to play a few rounds to test the machine).

I cleared out hobos. Once ate a handful of the pink powder they use to make cotton candy, right out of the box (do not recommend). Gave away handfuls of tokens to kids who lied about losing them. But never dressed in the mascot suit, for which my carriage was too large.

I did almost wear it once on a slow day, but a party of several dozen showed up, unaware you were supposed to schedule a birthday party in advance. Thus, my one chance for wearing the suit (and going to Fiesta to drum up business, which is what I told the manager I was going to do), was foiled.

Losing Faith in Humanity

I don't know if any particular incident occurred during my summer at The Chuck, but I do recall coming home every night increasingly despondent over what I saw as some less-than-stellar parenting. Drunk parents. Parents who yelled. Parents who felt that Chuck E. Cheese was some sort of "time out" for them, and that whatever happened on behalf of their destructive little monsters within the confines of our store was our problem. Kids whose parents tried to use the Chuck as a daycare.

And I'll never forget the dad who walked up to the ball-crawl while I was on duty and just heaved his infant into the balls. I didn't actually see the action occur so much as looked over and saw the top of an infant's head disappearing beneath the balls, which were about 6-12 inches higher than the actual balls. Plus: Infant with no motor skills and 10 year olds doing flips off the sides into the pit is just a bad combo.

"Sir," I said, yanking the baby out of the balls. "Is this your child?"
A guy I know didn't look like Jeff Foxworthy, but that's how my brain recalls him, sort of stared at me through the netting.
"Sir, I don't think this is a good idea."
I now know that the look of incomprehension probably came from a pack of Coors Light which had probably been consumed pre-Chuck, but I watched as he tried to sort out what I was saying.
"The ball pit is actually pretty deep. I don't think its good for your child."
"She likes it!" he insisted.
The child was actually somewhat emotionless, which was impressive, given the fate which could have greeted her at the bottom of the ball pit.
"Aren't ya'll supposed to watch these kids?"
"Well, yeah. But this isn't really safe."
"You don't think...?" He said, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to return to the table with his child instead of just heading to the counter for a pitcher of the lousiest beer in Spring.
"She may be a little small for the ball crawl," I explained. "She can't stand up in here."
"I think she'd have fun," he was still looking for an angle.
"I don't think so......"
He reluctantly took the child back. And I flashed forward to a lifetime of similar decisions this child was going to endure at the hands of her idiot father. I imagined sitting on the handlebars of an ATV couldn't be too far off in her future.

The Floor Show @#$%ing Sucks

I'd been working at Chuck E. Cheese all of a week when I was having dinner at my friend Mari's house and her brother asked, "So, are you in the band?"

I didn't have super-fabulous memories of the Rock-a-Fire explosion from Showbiz Pizza, or the mishmash of other characters that had populated Chuck E. Cheese when I was little. But I do remember that they played familiar radio tunes. And by played, I mean awkwardly jerked around in something always approximating the beat, but not actually on beat, with the patented delirious eye-rolls and herky-jerky laughing, lifted straight from the on-cue guffaws one saw on TV variety shows of the era.

At some point between when I'd last stepped into a Chuck E. Cheese, and had been weirded out that Mitzy Mozzarella was receiving a spotlight solo for lip-synching the Bangles' "Eternal Flame", and when I started work, someone in the Chuck E. Cheese corporation figured out they could save money by penning original, family friendly tunes. About stuff like "Summer Fun".

And so, every 55 minutes or so, I was reminded of the summer fun kids were supposed to be having while I was pushing a dust pan around and sweeping up stray pizza crusts, waxing the floorboards and telling little scam artists that I would not give them a handful of either tokens or tickets at no charge. Not even if they volunteered to be my friend (which happened more often than you'd think).

The band was sort of a weird deal, in that they had the different pre-programmed sets, and I don't really remember them every breaking. They just never seemed to be programmed all that well to begin with. And when they were taking a break or whatever was supposed to be happening behind the scenes, they still bombarded the place with music and video of the band. So, really, from the minute you walked in until the minute we closed the door behind Tipsy McStaggerson and Family, you had to hear the same loop of half-assed, crappily penned and performed tunes about important topics like fun, friendship and hygiene.


This is sort of the set up we had.

Our store may have been a former Showbiz, from before the merger, as the layout was a multi-stage affair, and different from a lot of what I see on YouTube. They'd reskinned the Rock-afire explosion during the conversion, or something. I don't know. I never thought to care enough to ask.

The show emulated a bygone era of a band, an MC and a comedy act, which the kids, short on their fandom of "Our Show of Shows" may not have been picking up on the origins of the borscht-belt humor and stylings. But, hey, talking rat and his horrible, Italian stereotype, Pasquale and whatever the hell else made up the band (such as purple horror, Munch), always hit their cues and were far less trouble than the average Chuck E. Cheese employee.

I honestly think the kids kind of hated the band.


One Armed Bandits and Free Videogames

My friend Dave (not his real name) took a job at The Chuck shortly after me, apparently intrigued by the possibility of wearing the mouse suit or something. He somehow ended up behind the counter, which is where veterans usually worked (you know, people with 6 months of experience).

I noted that he would often be on the floor playing games during my shift. Often at multiple times, with the smock removed and his visor off, indicating he was "off duty". His girlfriend was often hanging out next to him, despite the fact she didn't work there.

"How did you swing two breaks today?" I asked him as I passed the Whack-a-Mole machine one day (I'd gotten amazingly good at Whack-a-Mole, which needed constant fixing). He looked at me like the sucker I was, and continued playing.

"Dude," he explained. "They never pay attention. I just take breaks whenever I feel like it."
"But don't they notice all the breaks on your time card?"
This was met with a sigh. "I don't ever actually clock out."
"Oh."
"Yeah, you're the only person who doesn't do it. Haven't you ever noticed that?"
"No," I answered honestly.
"You need to start."
I never did.
Like everyone else, he was also using the stash of tokens to play the games for free. And while he wasn't exactly robbing the place blind (really, there was little to steal in a commerce system that worked on Chuck E Currency), he had figured out how to game the system in about two weeks. I never did.

Dave had been born with one-arm, which hadn't slowed him down at all. He played sports, including lacrosse, which he was much better at than me, what with my two hands.

It was never an issue for anyone until he was assigned to wear the mouse suit and the kids noticed Chuck had an arm that didn't look quite right. The rules were pretty simple for wearing the suit, which I didn't do, as I was too tall. Put on the suit, walk around (but not when Chuck is on stage), shake hands, wave "hello" to babies, and when kids start to attack, which they always will... retreat. And never talk when you're in the suit.

And so it was that some kid spied Chuck's arm just sort of hanging there and called him out.
"Hey, you're not Chuck E. Cheese! You're the guy from behind the counter."
Dave waved a "no" motion with his one hand.
"Yeah, you are!"
"Yeah, you are!" a chorus of suddenly ugly little children chimed in.
"Shut up, kid!" the mouse said in a muffled voice, his plastic mouth never moving.
"Yeah, you are! You're that guy from the counter!"
And, of course, the kicking and hitting began as Chuck uttered some profanities and retreated to the stage door.

Here's a training video someone put together, probably in response to how uninspiring it is to get in the suit and beaten for $4.25 an hour.



Also, you can see the basic uniform I wore at the time. Also, why is there jazzy 80's keyboard music through this whole thing?

All Good Things Must End

In my final weeks, I remember feeling daring and going into work in non-regulation pants. After weeks of seemingly smuggling grapes into Chuck E. Cheese, not one person noticed or said anything about my pair of non-reg khakis that allowed for greater freedom of movement, shall we say.

I wound up scheduled in the ball-crawl a lot. Which I hated, but I kind of hated it less than other jobs, because usually you were scheduled alone in the ball-crawl, which meant it was less likely you'd get stuck with Only talks About How Much he Drinks Guy, and spend six hours hearing about how very much liquor he'd drunk out of his parent's cabinets the night before.

Until one day I crawled into the ballcrawl and someone came in right after me. We chatted for a while, agreed it was weird we were both scheduled in there, and then I went back out to check the schedule. I was nowhere to be found on the chart.

"What the hey?" I asked Angel.

Apparently after I'd checked the schedule on Sunday (when it was supposed to be final), she had changed it, and I was supposed to show up and work Monday instead of Tuesday. When i didn't show Monday, she'd assumed that, like everyone else, I'd quit and rescheduled my shifts to others for the entire week and closed me out as an employee. This was just how most people quit. You just quit showing up, and if you didn't show, they weren't going to pick up a phone and call you or anything crazy like that. My absence was taken the same as every other of the hundred or so similar disappointments they would see breeze through that year.

"We've made the schedule for the next week, already. You aren't on it. Maybe the next week?"

"Honestly," I sighed. "I was quitting then. I start school and have after-school obligations."
"Well," Angel and Jim (who'd shown up) assured me, I would have a place at Chuck E. Cheese any time if I wanted to come back.

I considered it that fall when the play I was in ended, but another play came immediately after, and so on. Alas, I never returned to The Chuck to work.

Return to the Chuck

I went back in high school after quitting to take some students from my mother's class out for a "special day". The food was terrible, I used up my non-free-tokens in about five minutes and so retreated to a booth and watched the show.

A few of my classmates were there working, and I saw nobody who had worked there with me. I felt badly for all of them. Especially when Michael P. was yelling at me through the Munch mascot costume so I'd know it was him in there.

They've changed Chuck's look. He no longer dresses like a ringleader, pimp or showman, all in red sparkles and a fancy hat. Instead, he's now a sort of mid-90's idea of corporatified "cool for kids", with a sort of sporty look, as if he might go roller blading or something else edgy or "in your face". I dunno. Miss the old Chuck. I sort of think of him as this old, outmoded entertainer, and I've always thought of him that way. No need for kneepads and a skateboard.

And then sometime in 2002, just before I moved, my co-workers packed into cars and took me to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch on my birthday. The pizza was better than I remembered, and the show just as creepy and bad.

We hung out way too long, and got back to work an hour late, thanks to playing video games. And I tore a four inch hole in the leg of my jeans jumping onto a jet-ski video game, ninja style.

I confess I don't know if I entirely feel good or healthy in regards to Chuck E. Cheese. Or about trying to drag friends and family into my annual desire for self-immolation by way of animatronic floorshow. But it is what it is.

There have been rumors we may be returning to Chuck E. Cheese pizza in the coming week in celebration of my birthday. I let my annual threat slip, and I think people are taking me up on it.

More reports as events warrant.

Deep Thoughts on Kitties

I was looking at the box of Arm & Hammer cat litter that we keep for Jeff, and it struck me how odd the pictures they put on cat products are when they choose to use photos. Cats just don't photo terribly well. Add in the fact that when cats ARE happy, they don't usually have a facial expression or body language to alert you to the fact that would be photographable. So on all cat products, they kind of depend on just getting photos of cats with piqued attention. Ie: they take pics of cats who are in hunting mode. Or, cats who are thinking of destroying/ killing/ maiming something.

And that's a little weird.

EDIT: here's some cat imagery that hopefully Jason will enjoy.


The only thing on their minds is murder.


Jeff the Cat as imagined by Frank Quitely (from We3)


Red Lantern Kitty (from: Rage of the Red Lanterns)




Li'l Leaguers: Kid wins contest to be in Superman book by Stone Arch

I mentioned a while back that Stone Arch Books is publishing kids reader books featuring Superman (which you should BUY so your kids will grow up as right-minded people). Well, I particularly dig this deal.

They had a contest to write about a hero at their school, and the winner was placed into a story with Superman. Pretty cool stuff. Read more here.

Tip of the hat to Superman Homepage.

Julia's B-Day

Went over to Vivo tonight (off Manor) to have dinner with League-Pal Julia. Julia and I worked together at Enspire, sharing offices upon occasion (it was sort of tradition for producers at Enspire to change offices every few months), and becoming lunch buddies and outside-of-work buddies.

Julia's pretty smart (she went to MIT), but not smart enough to not be my pal, so this evening, we raised a glass or two for JEP. I don't think she actually reads LoM, but if she did, I'd say "Happy Birthday, Julia Goolia".

Also, I always forget about Vivo, but its really pretty good. I'm partial to it.

Jonathan and Billie were there, too, for Leaguers who want to track their movements.

Who Wants to Websling Down the Great, White Way?

Nathan sent this along. It's an announcement about auditions for the upcoming Spider-Man Musical with music by Bono and The Edge. Click on the block about "Casting Calls".

Apparently, they're casting in Austin. Which only makes sense. The producers obviously were looking for me to shave my head and play Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin. Because I look @#$%ing GOOD in a purple ascot.


Countdown to the Land of the Ice and Snow

As a reminder, Sunday I board a plane for Minneapolis. For Leaguers looking to party down with a bunch of Library professionals, have I got a place for YOU.

I'm happy to go. Sadder that its conflicting with what was supposed to be my birthday present (enjoy that ticket to Springsteen, Reed-o). But if my birthday plans weren't completely screwed, it wouldn't be my birthday. Although, on reflection, last year went well. Its just been pretty much every other single birthday since I turned 17 that's been lackluster.

Ah, well. Once every decade and a half is pretty good, I guess.

I would much rather be in Minneapolis hangin' with my bosses than seeing Springsteen rocking "Thunder Road". Yeah. Awesome. Maybe we can go to Mall of America and visit a Sbarro or something.

Anyhow, blogging may be heavy if I'm just sitting in a hotel room. But if I keep getting shanghied by the dudes who sign my paycheck, I might not blog so much. Who can say?

All I know is that it'll probably snow at night. And I'm ready for springtime.

The Show Must Go On

I was, of course, kidding about bailing when I wrote the April Fool's post (see, yesterday). For good or ill, we've no plans to shutter The League.

Today I talked two of my co-workers into attending a "Learning Break" for Library staff on the subject of "blogs and RSS feeds". Our office offers a blogging tool for facult to use to discuss their areas of expertise, so I figured I'd see what the presentation was about, and how they were pitching use of blogs in libraries. It turned out to be a very, very basic course on what a blog is, and how to use an RSS feed reader. And, of course, there were some in the room who had never actually read a blog and needed that kind of help.

Anyway, it was a fine presentation, but I just kept thinking "Six years. Six years. Six years."

A brief thought did occur to me, that if nobody said anything about me declaring The League was done and over with, I was going to feel pretty darn bad. I've heard of this happening with cartoon strips ending, etc... The creator sort of fantasizes about complaints regarding the end of the series, but then not a single letter comes in.

I am glad that I read about that at a young age. It's best to set expectations for yourself.

DC Comics launched a blog, by the way.

My Friends are Broken

Lauren is still recovering at home. Still on liquids. We're wishing her well and hoping she's on the mend. And, of course, Steven is doing a fantastic job making sure she's a-ok. She's not back to break dancing speed yet, but I have faith we'll see her headspinning shortly.

Mangum apparently brought home some sort of Thai Hooker Fever from his vacation. It sounds like he's got strep throat, which is treatable, but fairly awful during the process. So glad I shared fries with him at the movie theater...

Anyhow, Nicole has stepped up and reported in this evening. She's got Matty's back.


Thriller and Comics

There's a coffee shop now in the PCL where I work, and as I do not function without coffee, they see me every day. Which means I'm friendly with the staff.

I had to admit to them today that I was old enough to remember when Thriller was released (they were listening to the album and asked if I knew "the Thriller dance"). I watched their eyes as they mentally did the math and then become sad for me for being so close to the grave. Still, they promised me a lifetime of free coffee if I actually performed the Thriller dance.

I am considering it.

I'm a fan of shopping where people know me, and its a rarity in this day and age. The Austin Books guys know who I am, which is nice, but as I don't hang around the store, they don't exactly know me (well, Brad does). Part of the curse of only showing up once a week for about fifteen minutes, I guess. But I'm also happy that Austin Books is healthy enough that they aren't going to know every dude who walks in the door by default.

New Flash out today, by the way. Seems off to a good start, which The Flash sorely needed. It's been mostly not-good since 2005, but I'm sort of a Flash nut, so I hate to give up on the Scarlet Speedster.

It's tough to explain what happens in serial comics as writers come on and go off the title, and add their own little bits. But its also nice to know that Geoff Johns has made a hell of a career for himself by knowing what works and doesn't, and getting it all sort of straightened out through the actual story-telling.

My favorite line from the new issue? Barry Allen talking about Hal Jordan:

And he laughed under his breath like a maniac whenever The League was outnumbered.

Throw in some Van Sciver art that's above and beyond even what I'd expect (and I was expecting some good stuff), and it's worth the price of admission.

Anyway, yes, if you're playing catch-up and haven't read a comic since the 1980's, Barry Allen will be the Flash in the newest series.

TV

I don't know if I'm going to be as okay with all the explaining Lost is going to have to do as I thought I was. I have a bad feeling the last two episodes will feel like the final five minutes of the movie "Clue".

I'm also still enjoying "Kings" on NBC.

6 Years. Almost 3000 posts.

Well, holy shit.

March 30, 2003 I wrote my first blog post here at LoM. We're dangerously close to 3000 posts (the counter says 2995, but that's misleading), so that should give a good indicator of our rate of posting.

Six years. 3000 posts. Where's my gold watch from Blogger.com?

In blogging lifespans, I'm a frikkin' methuselah. I've not raised and lowered the boom on a number of blogs. Its just been six straight years of the same-old-same-old.

It's been a great run. When I decide to start a new blog, you people will be the first to know.

THE END

Lauren in Hospital

After work, Jamie picked me up and we headed straight over to Seton NW to check in on Leaguer Lauren. I am happy to say that she's handling the situation with her usual gusto, and I would expect she'll be back to swing dancing her way across Austin again fairly soon.

I also realized how much goddamn time I've spent sitting in hospital rooms just like the one she and Steven are sitting in. I've never really wanted to count the total days that I've spent sleeping in those chairs or shuttling between home and the hospital and work, eating on the road or in the greasy spoon that all hospitals seem to have for a cafeteria.

And I don't think Jamie or her mother would want to tally the hours Jamie's spent sitting in a hospital bed.


The truth is, there have been so many trips to the hospital, and so many trips to the ER, and so many procedures and surgeries, I've lost count completely. I can't even ballpark.

That's not to detract from Lauren's stay, which is going swimmingly, save some post-op discomfort, etc... and Steven is doing his part, it seems. You just can't help but walk into a hospital room and not evaluate, assess, etc... and want to give tips on how you can proactively manage the situation, even if nobody wants to hear it.

Lauren was chatty, which is the best sign possible, even if its pretty obvious she isn't hitting on all six cylinders quite yet. We saw pictures of what they saw and what they took out. Its odd to look at the innards of a pal. Its who they are, but it isn't any part of what you think of when you think of them. But modern technology gives us that amazing insight into territory folks didn't see thirty years ago without an operating lab or a cadaver.

I hope Lauren comes home tomorrow, as has been suggested. But mostly I hope she feels better tomorrow and she receives the best in care. Again, Steven is doing his part, as you kind of knew he would.

Juan and Letty came up, and we decamped to The Cheesecake Factory where the old Arbor stood when I was a kid until sometime after college. Letty and Juan are about to move in a week or so, so I'm watching them with great interest as they prepare the next step in preparing for Baby #1.

The Old Models are Busted

Watched with interest as the White House made moves on the auto industry today. The part of me that's been trained to believe that this isn't how things are supposed to work is deeply at war with the part that says "if they want the money, then things must be different". I've not reconciled my opinion on this issue as of now, but don't think it's "wrong", per se. But it also unreconcilable to say that the industry can make it without the money, just as its unrealistic to believe that leaving the powers that be that got us there in the first place are going to know how to do things differently. Or that the car companies weren't going to just go under without assistance.

But that doesn't mean I'm keen to go deeper into debt to resolve the issue. Or that the US should have a department worried about car manufacturing.

As I said... unreconciled.

But I suspect we'll be talking about this for a long, long time.

I generally try to avoid political affiliation, not because I'm deeply private (see: the last 6 years of this blog). Rather, I'm not particularly a fan of buying into a set of ideologies that can't conform to new or unanticipated situations, or unable to change when its clear the old models aren't working. Or trying to apply a single rule to all situations, as if all situations required the same treatment.

It seems it would leave one unprepared for the eventuality of the unanticipated. And its been that kind of political expediency and "common knowledge" application of the rules thats made so much of the bailout efforts so bungled. We aren't supposed to have government involved with dictating business, but if we don't support the business, huge parts of the economy fail. If we became involved, we're nationalizing and becoming something we don't want to be, but if we don't place rules (as has happened with criticism surrounding AIG, etc...), then we're being irresponsible.

It's a no-win. But everyone agrees SOMETHING must be done. Its just that everyone has a different opinion, and everyone is sure that the rules with which they arrived at the party are the right ones.

Its a bit like those scenarios in movies where they have to pause and someone has to declare "gentlemen, we're in uncharted territory...", and then nobody says anything for a beat or two before they cut scene.

I have no idea how any of this works. But I'm willing to see a brand new, previously unthinkable plan at least tried. Because we sort of know the consequences of doing nothing, and/ or doing what we were doing, which wasn't helping. At all.

And, hey, if we never tried new things, we'd all still be going to the barber for a good bleeding every time we got a sniffle.

@#$% Day is OFF

I'm not feeling it.

We apologize if we've been a bit negligent in our duties here at League of Melbotis. Last week was chock full of busy-ness, Jamie was fighting off a cold, and I'm old and I get tired.

Saturday was given over to the astounding brand of capitalism that only Ikea has managed to pull off without enraging the populace. How they've trained us all into herding through their mouse maze with all the tidbits of cheese at every step is beyond me. I think its because we know there's a cafe in the middle of maze. And its not just shopping there that's at least an hour-long endeavor (and that's if you want one item, like we did). There's also the "okay, its home... oh, yeah. Now I lose half-a-day assembling this thing" that we went through. (We got a TV cabinet/ armoire for the bedroom).

Probably the part of me that's emasculated by my utter lack of skill with power tools, carpentry or generally being handy likes the faux-sense of accomplishment of putting together furniture held together with cams and dowels.

I also finally got to read some comics, which I haven't really ahd opportunity to do the past few weeks. I know... poor me.

Sadly, Leaguer Lauren has been laid low by a bout of the appendicitis variety. It seems she and Steven have the situation well in hand, and Lauren is on her way to being her normal, healthy self. Nonetheless, hospitalization is never fun and we at The League of Melbotis offer her our most heartfelt hopes for a speedy recovery. It sounds like they've had a good experience so far with doctors, the hospital, etc... which is so important when you're dealing with the mysteries that come with a sudden illness.

This evening we met up with Mangum and caught the latest in the line of "Bro-Mance" comedies that have become so popular in the wake of the Apatow onslaught, "I Love You, Man". Its a reminder of how much comedy has changed in the past ten years or so that the movie didn't feel the need to have any character reveal themselves to be some sort of psychotic nut, which was pretty much always the path taken during the height of the Jim Carrey or Mike Myers years (think: "The Cable Guy" or "So I Married an Axe Murderer").

Instead, like a lot of recent comedies, the script seems based in familiar territory with people who are just better written than most conversations you'll wind up having with your pals. Also, you don't tend to go through entire arcs of a friendship or relationship in 90 minutes. While it works on a certain level and doesn't stoop to the antics that wore me out on Jim Carrey, the movie wants you to love the characters so much that the movie felt oddly conflict free. Which, while the plot is mostly there upon which to hang gags, it might have done the script a bit of good to feel there was some threat to someone somewhere, to get you hooked in.

And unlike Forgetting Sarah Marshall, there's a tragic lack of puppets.

Its hard not to feel the movie is formulaic, even if you can't put your finger on the bro-mantic comedy formula quite yet. Not to say it isn't a funny movie, but it falls into the "sure, I saw it once... not sure it'll be funny again on a second shot" category that I feel especially Seth Rogan movies tend to fall.

I'm being hard on it. The movie is fine. Just nothing I'd buy on DVD. And it has Rashida Jones, which is always a huge plus.

I'm sorry... somehow I stumbled upon a show called "High School Reunion" and its featuring people from Chandler High School, which was about two miles away when we lived in Arizona. How weird.

I didn't attend my 10 Year Reunion, and I am unsure what force on Earth (aside from Meredith's insistence) would get me to our... what's coming up? I guess the next will be our 20th. WOW. That's... terrifying. But the show seems to be tossing people back into the mix and by making it a "reality show" situation (aka: removing the participants from friends and family and putting them in a resort where they march them through games of some sort) these people are essentially picking up where they left off 20 years prior.

That sounds... not fun.

And... she's crying. I guess its not fun. Oh, wait. Hugs. I thought having a beer and trying to remember who people were sounded like a chore... Plus, the fact that I'm considerably... ahem... larger and in charger than I was in high school is not really something I feel like dealing with. I'll stick with the folks who know me as a Grande-sized Ryan.

Hope your week is looking good. I'm headed for Minneapolis next weekend for work, so if I suddenly go AWOL for a while after Friday, you know why.

Countdown to @#$% Day

Still planning on this 1-day free-for-all of naughty words on April 1. Mom, Dad, Judy... you've all been warned.

Mangum Returns

I left work a spot early to pick up Matt from the airport. Lucky bastard has been in Thailand for about three weeks scuba-ing, running around Bangkok and avoiding sex-tourism, which is apparently a very real thing.

He has pictures of himself petting a tiger. Its kind of surreal.

He hadn't slept in about 24 hours when I found him (we were standing on opposite sides of the Barbara Jordan statue at the airport when I called looking for him), and so he was extremely punchy. I fed him a cheeseburger and drove him home. Hopefully he'll sleep a solid 12 hours or so.

My Prediction Comes True

It looks like this was my blogging this week.

Uhm.

Well, you win some, you lose some.

Where the Wild Things Are

Already Spike Jonze's film adaptation of Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are" has become renowned for a painful production process and clashes with the studio. The movie was started some time ago (years ago), but its just now that the trailer has been released and a launch date of October 16th has been announced.

I desperately hope that the movie is up to the standard set by the children's book. "Where the Wild Things Are" holds a special place for so many of us whose parents found a place for it between Dr. Seuss's whimsy, the pedantic lessons of familial virtue of The Berenstein Bears and other staples of growing up in American (or maybe Canadian and English) households with books.

You can see the trailer here.

I so desperately want to love this movie already. Jonze has spared no effort in creating living versions of Sendak's Wild Things. Now, if he can keep intact the magic of roaring your terrible roars and being sent to bed without any supper.

Also: Arcade Fire's "Wake Up" is one of my favorite songs of the decade, so that's a nice touch. And, of course, Catherine Keener (how does she always wind up in at least potentially good projects?).

A storm blew through Austin today. I work 20 feet below street level, so my first inkling that something was up came from a phone call from Jamie, informing me that I should not leave work and to please keep an eye on the live feed from KXAN. So I worked.

That was fine. I was out of the office yesterday and helped out a training session all day today.

Like most Texans, I'm not afraid of that weather. It just is. Golf ball-sized hail causes massive property damage, but its usually not dangerous and its inevitable. Its happens somewhere in town every year. The wind and sideways rain are part and parcel of springtime weather that I cannot imagine the first settlers dealing with in their sod huts, let alone the largely nomadic people who were in the Central Texas area of the 19th Century.

We joke in our office about how the world will end outside, but we'll only know when we lose our data connection or when we walk out to get a cup of coffee. Sometimes I worry that's more true than a joke, and Jason has referenced that old Twilight Zone episode where the guy breaks his glasses left alone in his library.

While @theworld has been worried about Twitter of late, I've been thinking a lot about our mission and what it means to have social media in an academic or research environment. The tendency is to assume the "one size fits all" approach of popular technologies like facebook and Twitter MUST be applied to academia. Some folks do it and do it well. I believe Garcia has made a career out of doing just that.

I confess to being more skeptical. When asked to "give Dr. X a blog" when I was at ASU, I refused. "Blogger.com is completely free and has dedicated technical support. I am not bringing up a whole blog service because one faculty wants to rant on the internet." I don't think either the faculty or my boss at the time understood that Blogger in 2002 was going to be as useful and reliable as anything I'd spend time or money on. If I recall, Blogger at the time may not have had editable themes or URL re-direct, which I may have made some noise about, but the issue then was really that the instructor and my boss (a) felt I was just being petulant for not just instructing my co-workers to "build a blogging tool", and (b) that it wasn't coming out of nor housed at ASU.

I've changed my tune on that one, in a way. I still would never bring up a whole service to satisfy one faculty when there are free, hosted services available, and I will note that we use open source software in our office, so I feel good about the fact that we're getting the best of both worlds. But I also feel deeply that researchers SHOULD be blogging. Maybe not about BSG or what they ate for dinner, but that it can help punch through the wall between scholars and the public when the scholars publicly describe their work rather than sitting behind the keep walls (most can't get a spot in the actual ivory tower). And as long as they aren't available to the public, or are even perceived as real humans doing work by the public, its going to remain the same closed communication loop of journals and peer-reviewed journals in which the same people talk to one another but do not broadcast outward. And, it might remind researchers of the public and how they absorb the information and value the work going on at research institutions.

But I am unsure if Twittering research results is prudent or wise or lends credibility. And it certainly doesn't maintain the sound fundamentals of peer-review as part of the scholarly process, which I believe are what keeps the machine credible and working (if only we asked for the same peer review of our television media in their stories and articles). But there is a net that researchers and scholars will build naturally, and we're sort of sitting on the forefront of all that right now.

The tough part is changing "the way it was" to "the way it could be", when institutions like universities thrive on "we do what we know because we have neither time nor money to cope with the change".

I think that was a long, long tangent.

What I meant to say was that Thursday is Peabo's Birthday. He is now as old as Jamie and older than me.

May the sun shine upon him on his birthday. I did not buy him a present, but will buy him dinner, should he make the request.

Jamie's Birthday

Wednesday is Jamie's Birthday. Please, please take a moment and drop her a "Happy Birthday" here in the comments section.

Jamie is actually sick, fighting a cold or something. I suspect her birthday is going to be subpar as we make her some soup and try to get her better rather than going out to eat or something.

I think I say this every year, but I'm always much more excited about Jamie's birthday than my own, and so this year we had a few friends over for a party. Jamie looked lovely, and all had a good time, I think.

You can see what Jamie had to say about it here, and what Jason had to say, here.

When people say "what can I get Jamie for her birthday?", the answer is: just say "hi" to her. Even if its being like Doug and flying to Austin to surprise her. The girl is notoriously difficult to shop for as she doesn't have too many material wants, so.. just say "hi, hope you're okay", and she's happy.

Anyhow, she'll get a little more in the way of a material gift from me tomorrow (but not much). And I hope she has the energy to enjoy it.

Happy birthday, Jamie. Love you.

You are better than a 1000 Lynda Carters. Even with muppets.

APRIL FIRST: Be Prepared for Swears

I've decided we've all become too civil and we're beating around the bush in social media. My social media of choice are pretty much Blogger, Facebook and Twitter.

At one point in my life, I had the mouth of a sailor's friend that the sailor looked down on for his poor language. I always managed to clean it up around the folks and whatnot, but left to my own devices, I made Andrew Dice Clay look classy. I admit it. Sometimes I really, really miss feeling okay about just letting whatever pops into my heads come out my mouth and/ or keyboard. You know, when someone comes over to your table at your restaurant to let you know how offended they were by listening to you for the last twenty minutes?

Ahhhh.... good times.

Well, for one day, I'm bringing it back. If, in fact, I've still got it in me.

April 1, 2009, will not be a family-friendly day at League of Melbotis. It will be Freedom of Horrendous Speech Day here at League HQ.

I hereby solemnly pledge that for April 1, 2009
Any blog made the evening of March 31, intended for April 1, 2009 will be rife with horrible, horrible profanity. Seriously, you're going to need to wash your monitor clean after reading it, and maybe keep those Clorox wipes nearby.
Similarly, any Facebook or Twitter updates belonging to me (but not to metacomics or comic Fodder) will also be full of ear-searing naughtiness.

Mom... Judy... Admiral.... I am totally not kidding about this. Steer clear on April 1. You've been warned.

The content will otherwise be the same, but we're going to use swears. Lots and lots of swears.

I plan to go unfiltered for one day, and on the following day, will edit the post to be free of any naughty words. But I have to do it. Just this once.

And I ask you to join me.

if you maintain a twitter account, a Facebook page, etc... join me in returning to that same manner of frank speaking we all employed around age 19 or so (or which my wife carries on to this day...)

I was in Waco today for a demo/ presentation for several schools looking to join our consortium. I have no idea if they will join, partially because it wound up that I ended up delivering most of the morning's presentations and I always feel like that could have gone better when I wrap up.

Saw the digitization lab at Baylor, and I don't mind talking about how awesome it truly is. The technology that's in place these days for archiving print materials to a digital format for preservation and digital distribution is both fore-head slappingly obvious and amazing that anyone has actually manufactured devices such as robot-arm-vacuums for self-page-turning, full book scanners.

Sadly, I arrived home to find Jamie has fallen ill. No idea where it came from, but she's fighting either a bad cold or a light flu. No way to go into your birthday. She's in pretty sorry shape. Wish I could stay home with her tomorrow to try to help out. Maybe I can cut out early.

Robot Show

Came home and caught up on some shows off the DVR, including the two most recent episodes of Terminator, which isn't the nerve-jangling ride it was when it started, but I'm still onboard with its exploration of the concepts inherent to the mix of AI and time travel. I'm also glad that the writers and producers know how to wrap up a plotline that I, honestly, felt was going nowhere fast. I'm not too sure the two episodes redeemed some of the clunkiness of the season, but its nice to see they had a gameplan for the characters.

I'm also still enjoying the B or C-plot of former FBI Agent Ellison and John Henry, the rapidly learning AI.

Sure, its still a program that if ou start to pick at it (oh... that would NEVER happen with a cyborg! and that wouldn't happen with time travel!), then, wow... way to go genius. You've somehow found the flaw in the show with the Very Attractive Robot. based on an Arnie movie. But if you accept the internal logic, its got its good points.

Work + Birthdays and Stuff + Comics - Time - Sleep = end of line

Its been very busy round here the last few weeks. I also got up at 5:20 AM today for my drive to Waco. I haven't had a chance to read many of my comics the past few weeks. I'm going to grab some and then I'm going to crawl into bed.

Buenos Noches.

How the League Gets Inspired

Sure, we all get juiced by watching a good motivational speech in a movie, be it John Belushi in Animal House or that prattling insanity at the the end of Braveheart (how'd that work out for you, William Wallace)?

Anyhow, after a while you become immune to inspirational speeches. But never fear! Overthinkingit.com has ground down the speeches, and like Dr. Mindbender creating Serpentor from the DNA of the world's greatest military strategists... they've concocted the world's greatest inspirational speech.



It's like free-basing inspiration.

hat tip to Dug for the video

Devo and Superman

So, last Friday I saw that Whitney Matheson of Pop Candy was going to interview Devo and opened the gates to her audience to ask questions of the legendary band. Sure that Matheson was going to be flooded with questions, I shot her off a Very League sort of question via e-mail and then, honestly, forgot about it.

Well, lo and behold, Matheson asked my question. It's actually one of the first questions asked from a fan.

How can I repay you for your consistent level of awesome? -- R. Steans

By rejecting stupidity and embracing ideas and information.

You know, when Devo tells you to reject stupidity - you put on your red, art-deco bucket hat and goggles and you say NO to stupidity. And I hope I'm embracing ideas and information the way Devo would have it, but its hard to tell.

If Matheson's column looks familiar to long-time Leaguers, she also once made mention of my celebration of the Super-lifestyle circa May of 2006.

The funny thing is, this isn't really representative of how Super my lifestyle is in 2009. Is it time for a Super update? Is anyone interested in a photo tour of League HQ's Fortress of Solitude and Hall of Justice?

The problem, then, is revealing that I may have given in to stupidity... Must not let Devo down....

My Crystal Ball: Light Blogging Ahead

Tomorrow through Thursday should be fairly busy days. I may not have much time for posting here at The League. I have work and other obligations.

So:

1) Please wish Jamie a happy birthday. Her birthday is Wednesday.
2) If you are lurking and not commenting, please pop up and say "hello" in the comments section, or, better yet, shoot me an e-mail. I can see you on Sitemeter, but I don't know who you are. We've got a big tent here and we're happy to have you. Say "howdy".
3) Let me know if you have any old features you'd like to see me do again. Its always fun to get ideas from you guys.
4) Why not pressure Jamie into additional blogging?
5) I was talking to Doug. We may try to get another domain name or something going here. I dunno. It all seems like a lot of bother.

Party, trek, etc...

Trek

Some of us are cautiously optimistic about the new Star Trek film hitting theaters this summer. While we look at the blow-dried, bottle-blond Kirk and the all-sexy, mail-order catalog crew with no small amount of pessimism, we're still hoping that a reboot of the Trek franchise will breathe some new life into the concept.

Others are seeing something else in the trailer. Got this from Doug.

Zack Snyder directs Wall-E

For Steven and Lauren



Suddenly: Doug!

We had some friends and family over for a pre-Birthday celebration for Jamie last night. The doors opened at 8:00, but Jamie's parents were coming a little early. They arrived at 7:30 while I was still getting cleaned up for the party. Jamie ran downstairs and I just heard all kinds of commotion.

Doug had decided to fly in and surprise Jamie for her birthday. Not a bad surprise, and neither Jamie's folks nor Doug had let on at all that he would be here.

Anyway, heck of a birthday surprise.

For Leaguers who attended: thanks so much for showing up. We sincerely appreciate you guys, and last night was a lot of fun. And we all partook in some delicious Force-infueled "Yoda Soda", thanks to Leaguer Nicole (and thanks to Lauren for the cookies, JAL for the fudge brownies, Susan for the chocolate raspberry treats, Judy for the pigs in a blanket, Juan and Letty for like, 3 different things they brought, Heather for the wine, and all the things I lost track of in the crush of folks coming in the door)

Anyway, we throw these parties mostly so we can eat their food and drink their booze and eat their desserts for weeks after the event.