Early frontrunner Joysticks (1983) is now at position 304 on my queue, thanks mostly to the giggle-inducing naughty title. It had some hurdles to overcome, such as the fullscreen presentation (come on, makers of terrible movies on DVD -- some of us are connaisseurs, you know). But in the end, its 83-minute run time won my heart Congratulations, Robert.
So why is "Paint Your Wagon" at 305 on my queue? Because I'll watch any movie that meets my low, low standard for culturally relevance.
And then there's the Misfits of Science wiki.
(No entry for the Internet's de facto last word on said Misfits? FOR SHAME.)
I was very close to deleting the Gilmore Girls season pass from our TiVo. For a couple of years now I have been exploring all the points on the Viewer Satisfaction Scale between "Moderately Annoyed" and "Eye-rollingly Exasperated," only occasionally watching an episode that brought me up to "Slightly Bemused." There was the stretch in which Rory started out being a homewrecker and ended up somehow stealing a boat, doing all sorts of other idiotic things in the meantime. And then, once we got our sweet Rory back, we had to deal with Lorelei's sudden transformation into a doormat this season. Not to mention the ridiculously accelerated and unrealistic Lane pregnancy. (Why can't anyone on the WB/CW make it out of their teenage years without getting married and/or knocked up?)
But I am quite loyal (or stubborn, if you want to think of it that way), and I kept on watching. And last week, the nightmare that was Lorelei marrying Christopher ended. I think we would all be better off just pretending it never happened. So, Gilmore Girls, let's make a deal. I will officially declare that the last thing I remember is Lorelei breaking up with Luke because she ultimatum'ed him and he blanched, and I will express my utmost confidence that since then she has battled her sadness with her usual wit and maturity, and has done nothing even remotely insane. And I will keep watching. Unless, of course, any of the following occurs:
-- Logan does something stupid (again). Rory freaks out and maybe even breaks up with him (again). Logan somehow convinces Rory that it’s her fault for being so damn sensitive and they get back together (again).
-- Either Lane or Sookie has their babies in any of the following clichéd fashions: 1) trapped in an elevator; 2) stuck in a car in traffic; 3) delivered by Kirk. (OK, that last one’s not a cliché, but it would still be really annoying.)
-- Rory and Logan get engaged and/or married. I know he’s a lot less irritating and evil than he used to be, but still. I won’t stand for it.
Deal?
All parents probably speculate at one time or another what their kids are going to be when they grow up. At this point, based on all the internal percussions I'm experiencing, I am predicting that ours is going to be a xylophone player, champion swimmer, modern dancer, or acrobat. I picture him imitating the dancing silhouette internet ads, only in utero.
Actually, I think maybe he's trying to tell me something, if only I could interpret. He got a sugar rush and had a fantastic time splashing around after I had to quickly down 10 ounces of a concentrated sugary drink for my gestational diabetes test. So maybe what he's saying is, "More sugar, please." In some sort of fetal Morse code, of course.
I'm out sick from work. Usually I'd work through it, but unfortunately the nature of my illness involves me having no voice, which makes directing quite difficult. In fact I'm now only able to communicate via blogging. (Although I've managed to communicate with Julia very effectively by just whistling in the same tonality as how I would've spoken something. It's quite a trick, actually.)
Well, it's that time again: time to let one lucky individual put a movie on my Netflix queue. Our last winner, Susana, chose to make me watch Newsies, a 1992 Disney musical about boys who wear vests. Not cool, Susana.
As I recall, Susana unironically liked this film. However, she was probably twelve when she saw it. It's written, directed, and staged like musical theater, instead of like a musical movie; and, considering Christian Bale is the star, he's shockingly unable to dance or sing. Also apparently someone told the screenwriters late in the game that there needed to be a romantic subplot in there, because they phoned that in big-time. This movie also stars Doogie Howser's friend and Ann-Margaret. The biggest disappointment: apparently Robert Duvall had a stroke that only affected the acting part of his brain. Because, oh man, he sucked.
So, here's how it works: anyone not directly related to me can suggest a movie. It can be completely terrible, or you can go the Susana route and pick a movie that only you could possibly like. It has to be available on Netflix, and it has to be a movie I've never seen. (Sorry, Batman & Robin.) Put it in a "comment" to this here blog entry. I'll pick the winner arbitrarily, and it will go on the very bottom of my Netflix queue. I'll see it in a little over 2 years.
I noticed that this week's episode of The Office, in which a main character turns into a vampire (sort of), was directed by Buffy auteur Joss Whedon. Stunt casting perhaps, but the episode was pretty excellent.
Gay couples in Woodland, California were issued a "Certificate of Inequality" today by a disgruntled clerk.
Up around Stevens Pass way. Cross-country skiing is a ridiculous cardiovascular workout; I'm lucky I can move my shoulders to type this right now.
We took a break at one point and sat down on a bench, and I stuck my skis in the snow. Shortly thereafter a friend came along and visited us, and luckily I had my camera available.
Don't know what kind of bird he is, though. Because that's not the kind of thing I know.
Ahh, Future Spa. Why must you cause nothing but problems? Our primitive world is clearly not ready for your sexy futuristic ideals. You dared to dream of a world where women aren't afraid to show off their space nipples while jogging with some random sex clone. Now that's some women's lib anyone can get behind! (Yes, the world's a very different place, in 2008!)
Anyway, on to address Tanya's problem. If you were going to go the sign route, and are trying to promote what Planned Parenthood is about, I would be tempted to go with something like this:
PINBALL IS A CONTRACEPTIVE! People who play pinball... don't have sex.
However, the sign may not be necessary; history teaches us that there's already a perfect solution to this problem. Furdell.com devotees will recall that during PAPA 2005, I came across several Italian pinball machines whose backglasses tended to be more racy (read: nipply). One game in particular, Farfalla, featured this ethereal babe:
And I discovered there was an Americanized version, in which the ethereal babe thought better of going the low-cut route and double-checked the back of her ethereal closet to find this tasteful red-and-green sweater:
So there you have it! The answer is: put a sweater on those puppies.
To make the transition easier, feel free to use this cutout.
Print it up, slap it on any of the offending lady parts, and poof... the objectification vanishes completely!
Hope that helps, Tanya. Pay it forward!
In the interest of the Furdell brothers becoming the next big thing in advice columns, James and I will now respond to commenter Tanya, who writes...
So, this is unrelated but seeing as you are interested in pinball machines and appear liberal, I'm after your opinion. I am on the board of a local planned parenthood. We have a fundraiser coming up and a friend of planned parenthood said he would refurbish and donate a pinball game for us to raffle off. Great! Right? However, it is Bally's "Future Spa" which features nipples, naked women and women with spread legs. I find it hilarious but I'm in my thirties. I am concerned about the first wave of feminists of the 50s, 60s and 70s who will be there and take offense (objectification of women; bordering on pornography, etc)Any thoughts? My instinct is to have it at the event and still raffle it off but to come up with some kind of funny sign to put on it that ties in with Planned Parenthood. Anything clever come to mind??
Thanks
Tanya chose us for advice because of our past history of excellent internet advice-giving1, and not because we're relevant Google hit #5.
First off, Tanya, let me say that if you do choose to raffle off Future Spa, I will personally pledge to buy as many raffle tickets as I can afford on a local TV news director salary2.
Secondly, as a hip young liberal who thinks that hot leftist chicks should have full rights over their bodies, I think it would be awesome if you raffled off Future Spa.
On the other hand, as I understand from my nonprofit-organization-managing lady love, you're probably not interested in courting broke twentysomethings.
In any case, it seems that your main fear is that you'll offend the older-school feminist in the hizz-ouse. Remind them that by reappropriating the sexist images and words of the past, we point out their inherent silliness and take away their power. (You know...like Womanhouse.3)
So we gotta come up with a funny sign. First rule of thumb: the pinball machine itself is the punchline, so the sign needs to be deadpan. (And that pinball machine is one hell of a punchline.) Tying it into Planned Parenthood adds a difficulty level. Here's my bid:
"Note that this startlingly accurate 1979 vision of today's spa makes liberal use of latex. Even then, pinball designer Jebediah Bally recognized the importance of safe sex in the spas of the future."
Maybe that's too wordy. Coming soon: James's response.
1 Link not available.
2 Expressed in mathematical terms, "five."
3 Judy Chicago? The C-U-N-T Cheerleaders? Anyone?
(Click the "read more" link to see photos James took of the art on Future Spa.)
Here are more details about that thing I'm working on now.
There's been some noise about the lack of purple musings on this blog. I admit it, it's been a long time. So long, in fact, that I am finding the "new" blog editor interface to be strange and confusing. But by neglecting my Furdell.com duties I have left myself without a leg to stand on when trying to mock a certain lawyer friend named Staci for having not one, but two dead blogs. (Or rather one dead one and one that never even came close to going live -- aborted, maybe?) So here's what's up with me, and may the mocking continue.
It's not an alien. As you probably already know, I'm rather pregnant. I know pregnancy is a "true" or "false" thing, and not an "on a scale of 1 to 10, how pregnant are you?" thing. Nonetheless it captures the essence of my experience to say I am increasingly pregnant. By which I mean that I am freaking huge, and getting more so daily. Apparently our baby is also huge -- in the 80th percentile, according to the Good Doctor. As Andrew said, "Good for him, he's already outstripping his peers." Among the many advantages to being pregnant are always getting to sit down on the bus, having a perfectly good excuse to read children's books (market research?), and getting away with saying "the baby made me do it" after eating all of the Valentine's Day Hershey Kisses.
Speaking of growing families. I have a new sister-in-law -- my brother got married last fall. She's pretty awesome, too. So hurray for my brother! He deserves it. (And I'm totally not sucking up, I don't think he even reads this site.)
My student days are numbered. Of course, numbers can go up really high. The story of my dissertation process could be a lot like "The Little Engine That Could," if the engine had vast swings in energy levels, a much more colorful vocabulary, and the need to make a pit stop every 5 minutes because an even littler engine was pushing on its bladder.
How many nicknames does one city need? Seatte/Rain City/the Emerald City/Jet City is still pretty cool, even in the middle of gray, dreary winter. We had lots of snow and freak windstorms in December and January, but now things are back to normal for us while our friends on the other coast are finally freezing their tushies off like they're supposed to in winter. Even in bad weather, it's still a very outdoorsy city. And though we've been here a year now we still love all the tourist attractions, like Pike Place Market and the monorail that goes to the Space Needle.
And finally, WTF is up with "Gilmore Girls"? I hate you, The CW.
I have a running joke with Andrew that absolutely everybody in his adopted Eugene, Oregon, is high all the time, and basically just contastly smoking the weed, to the exclusion of everything else in life.
Anyway, that's why this is hilarious:
I bought a new Toyota Corolla last spring, and it happily got me through football season without any trouble, as I knew it would. I had the oil changed at 3,000 miles like a good car owner (well... more like 4,200 miles), and everything seemed fine. Until that one fateful night when I was driving on the Interstate, when the automotive gods decided to switch on the amber "MAINT REQ'D" light.
Dismayed, but also puzzled, I pressed the odometer button and realized that it had just hit 5,000 miles exactly. Being an engineer (sort of), I knew this could not be a coincidence. Clearly the car was designed to turn on this light when I hit 5,000 miles, even though it was highly unlikely the car needed any maintenance (outside of maybe rotating the tires, if you wanted to be super-careful). This dismayed be even further, because it meant...
My new car has an Idiot Light.
"But I am not an idiot!" I protested. "I don't need this light, fool!" I had changed the oil already; my car clearly did not REQ MAINT. But how to switch off the light without taking the car to the dealer, who would surely try to upsell me on rotating the tires, changing the transmission fluid, checking the brakes, replacing the washer fluid with Goldschlager, etc.? My workmanlike, do-it-yourself ethic (cough) demanded that I find a better solution.
Enter the Internet! I had my answer within five minutes of searching:
Sure enough, that vanquished the idiot light. My car's destiny was once again in my hands. The balance of nature had been restored.
So... take that, Mr. Toyota! Take it and LIKE IT!
I'm still at Microsoft, but I've moved over to the Windows Mobile team. This is the operating system that runs on handheld devices, like Smartphones and Pocket PCs. (Check it out here and here.) Version 6 is coming out soon, and I'll be working on testing the release after that.
It should be fun to work on, and at the very least I'll be getting a cool handheld device out of the deal. Swag!
I don't know why this isn't getting more media coverage -- certainly my station hasn't mentioned it.
Advertisements for the Cartoon Network, involving Mooninites flipping you off, were placed in several major cities. Only in Boston were they assumed to be bombs.
The arrested guys held a press conference in which they refused to answer questions that weren't about hairstyles of the 1960s. (No, really.)
Most insightful quote: 'Assistant Attorney General John Grossman called the light boards "bomb-like" devices and said that if they had been explosive they could have damaged transportation infrastructure in the city.'
These "bomb-like" devices were essentially Lite-Brites with cartoon characters on them. So I guess they were bomb-like in that they, too, were solid matter.
