Tuesday, October 31, 2006
This is Halloween, the day for ghosts, goblins, and Nixon masks. Whether or not people wonder years from now why we wore those ghostly sheets and politician masks, as well as why the heck we found Richard Nixon's nose so fascinating to make into part of a mask, this will still be remembered as All Hallows Eve, the most spiritual day of the year for our people, and thus the most obvious time to start thinking about elections and politics.
Normally, the National Association for the Advancement of Hell-Spawned Americans and the Transylvanian-American Alliance send out mass messages at this time, being their major holiday (for some reason, those only ever reach me). This year though, I hear their members are embroiled due to two of their mainstream members being involved a very bitter and public fight for a certain Illinois governorship. I figured, since there is no message this year from the NAAHSA or TAA, I would try to help my fellow Illinoisans (and people out of state) with this all-important race… Illinois: An Orange-or-Black State?
You hate the Red/Blue-Orange/Black pun, don't you?
Gov. Rod Blagojevich was the first Transylvanian-American to win such a high office as a Democrat, though he was criticized for disguising this fact. He took control of the Illinois governorship four years ago, promising to clean up the corruption former Gov. Ryan left with his administration. When it was revealed Blagojevich was a minor spawn of Satan almost a year into his term, some Illinoisans were horrified. Most Chicagoans just sighed and figured it would be business as usual. Blagojevich has worked somewhat tentatively with the current mayor of Chicago, Richard Mecha Daley.
I had the pleasure of meeting Gov. Blagojevich by running into him in Chicago's Cultural Center. Besides his blood-red eyes, flaring nostrils, and extremely short stature, I didn’t find too much distinctive about him. The liberal, puppy-eating wing of the NAAHSA supports Blagojevich. The entire TAA also seems to have fallen into his camp, due to him actually having moved to America from Transylvania (look at that Eastern European name). Ethnic identity politics at work.
Looking like this, how could the voters of Illinois not know he was a Transylvanian vampire? That's simple: his hair makes him look like a complete ninny.
Judy Baar Topinka is the current Treasurer of Illinois, and would be the first woman of any species/genus to become an Illinois governor. She's become Blagojevich's bitter rival in all matters of government, and most sessions between them devolve into mud-slinging and flesh-eating. The more conservative, virgin-sacrificing elements of the NAAHSA support her, though there are many moderate blood suckers from both the Democrats and Republicans supporting Topinka. And she is a zombie, really. Just look at her.
There was no editing to either photo of the politicians, but especially not Topinka's.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Start getting ready for tomorrow, seriously. You don't have much more time.
You all know me. I love proclaiming the oddness of being from my hometown of Forest Park. But I love the City and its foibles, and I've been learning how to get around in it almost as long as I've been conscious.
You Chicagoans reading this may say "You're a suburbanite! You're not from Chicago! Don't even pretend!" But I now officially have residency in both places, and know the Red Line (from Chinatown to Loyola, at least) better than a lot of people who live in the city. I identify with living in Rogers Park probably as much as I identify with living in Forest Park.
With that said, on the Chicago Bloggers site, should I be from the Red Line at Loyola or the Blue Line at Harlem (Congress)? Currently, I've chosen Harlem to stand out as not just a simple Loyola student. But I will ask opinions... my heart is torn, faithful readers. Glue it back together, or at least tell it you care.
Some Chicago-related things:
The Chicagoist, a news blog for Chicago
Chicago Bloggers, a big listing of Chicago-based bloggers
The two best parts about Santa's Village back in the day were the North Pole, which was kept freezing cold to the touch--this always amazed me--and the fire engine ride at the beginning, where you rode around on a fixed-track firetruck with firehose-like waterguns set up on the broadside of the right side of the truck. Then you'd put out a big fire in a miniature house. So, with that said:
Santa's Village Auctioning...
Quick, I need some able bodies, a flatbed truck, and a really good credit report.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Very cute stuff, Andy. Now, for some much cuter stuff.
Bob hath been slain. Sam tracked him and killed him, as in he decided to check under his bed and noticed the little bugger asleep. Sam then proceeded to kill the mouse in its sleep. It may have been drunk on all the liquor and beer laid out for it.
Sad, but necessary to the survival of our species.
BOB the MOUSE
Oct. 22, 2006 - Oct. 25, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
I walked into my apartment yesterday after one of my visits home and found my roommates walking around, intensely searching the floors, holding brooms, knives, and a katana. "Andy," they said. "There's a mouse somewhere in here."
I've dealt with mice before. My dad became an expert in fighting them off, until the mice in our house evolved. They began advanced planning and even strategy to get our cereal. The FBI questioned us once about a shipment of AK-47's ordered to our address. Since then, it's been total war.
This mouse infestation, however, I am not expecting to be nearing as crafty or as well-armed. We just had my one roommate's 21st birthday, so as one can expect, there is a lot of grain-based liquid dried and sticky on the hardwood. The party lasted most of the weekend, peaking on Friday and Saturday, meaning the mouse could have just decided to crash the last few days. Maybe we'll just find it sleeping on our couch Monday morning, icepack in hand, with the lights dimmed; then we can easily kick it out.
I've told my roommates before that I don't like the unnecessary suffering of most creatures. I asked my roommates that if they needed to kill the mouse, could they please kill it quickly? Pests needed to be dealt with, but if the dealings could be humane, I would prefer it. My dad instilled this in me. He only used the classic mousetraps, the quick-kill, metal traps. He refused to use poison on the mice in our house until the mice started to enrich uranium in the basement.
I walked in today and started cleaning my room (nothing like an infestation to catalyze such an infrequent event). My roommate John then stomped by my room carrying his katana. He looked in, said hi, and then continued into the front room. I heard his voice booming across the house moments later, "BOB! Come on out, you lucky drunk little son of a bitch!" I peered out of my room at John, and he justified himself, "I named him Bob."
There were pans of liquor and beer in several corners of the house. John set these out Sunday night intending to get the mouse tipsy enough to catch, a supposed home remedy. The whole night, John was watching the pans, deciding once that the level of beer had gone down and that Bob had gotten past our watch. I did not have the heart to tell John that, until we mopped up the floors, there wouldn't be any need for a mouse to visit any specific spot in the apartment to get beer.
I knew the mice infestation recently had resurgence at my parents' house, and I called my dad for some advice. Over the sounds of gunfire, my dad told me that the best bait he’d ever used on traps were Tootsie Rolls. They needed to be somewhat soft and not three-year old Halloween Tootsie Rolls, but they could easily be used on quick-kill traps or for poison. Peanut butter can work, but cheese, unlike in cartoons, really doesn’t. If a mouse actually does go for the cheese, it will likely succeed and sneak the cheese away safely. If the mouse gets away like this, you may have to worry about that mousetrap being reset in that next bowl of cereal or next pork chop you eat. At least that's what happened with the mice in our house, my dad said.
My first pet, actually, was a mouse that got caught by the tail on one of my dad's mousetraps. He was very proud that he didn’t kill her, and after her tail came off, she was christened "Stubby." She was kept in a large peanut butter jar with a tissue, sticks, and an assortment of seeds, fresh vegetables, and, you guessed it, beer. Well, not so much the beer, but there was a Tootsie Roll given to Stubby every once in a while.
It's ironic to be fighting a creature so much like my first pet. I loved that little house mouse, and I remember crying when she died. However, we are college students. We need to keep the mouse away from our limited food supply. We need to catch the mouse—brooms, traps, poison, Japanese samurai swords, whatever means necessary. My roommates and I discussed calling our landlord to do something about the infestation, but then we figured we should give it a few more days. It would be nice to clean up all the beer puddles first.
Very sorry that I've become so erratic in posting lately, but as many say, the hell with it.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Can anyone tell me exactly what is wrong with this picture?
That's right: ketchup. On a hot dog! Where d'ya tink dis is? Minnesoda?
Image from Cute Overload. Duh.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
I got myself a mention in a Not Addicted article on roleplaying recently.
Want massive numbers of photoshops?
Look no further: Freaking News.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Hey hey, I made it onto someone's blog sidebar without actually knowing them! I'm a few links above the New York Times!
Monday, October 16, 2006
In other Chicago sports news, I'm enjoying seeing the agony on the Arizona Geriatrics' kicker's face. 24-23 DAH BEARSSS, and to hell with offense!
Little known fact: The Curse of the Billy Goat is also referred to in some hardcore, gun-toting, compound-dwelling Cubs fans' households as the Curse of Hitler, since the last time the Cubs went to the World Series was just after the fall of Hitler. If this were a more common reference, the Cubs may have won the World Series by now. No one wants to fight a goat.
Now I get to be jaded about a new manager three years from now. The Cubs just signed Manager Lou Pinella to replace Dusty Baker.
Doing a quick, very shallow search (is there any other kind of search in Blog Journalism?), Lou Pinella has a slightly better track record than Dusty Baker had. He won a World Series with Cincinnati and won divisions with the Yankees, Reds, Mariners, and not the Devil Rays a few more times. Dusty never won a series, though he brought the Giants far enough to get beaten by the Anaheim Mighty Angels.
Pinella also has a famous incident where he picked up and threw first base. Look at Number 6 for some details. A man who tosses a base is surely a winning gentleman. While you're at it, read Number 2, too. Lou Pinella may do something to rival that after enough years with the Cubs.
Lou Pinella is no longer fighting his base-throwing demons... he's now fighting history (see Far Right).
The Official Rules of Calvinball, as official as can be made out
Probably the best URL ever:
And, why I found this site:
Jon Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, the best libertine I know.
There's nothing in the English language to describe this.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
After Google's purchase of YouTube (Who saw it coming?), people are scrambling to watch and rip YouTube videos before the anticipated Google crackdown on copyrighted music, TV, and movie clips.
In other news, the sky is falling.
Rewatch it because you need to.
The only man to ever live the cycle of the American Dream in full...
Oh, you didn't know the American Dream was cyclical? You obviously haven't taken a high school American Lit. class and counted how many times you had the phrase repeated to you.
"We do these experiments so you don't have to."
Doesn't mean we won't.
Monday, October 09, 2006
The Redskins lost on Columbus Day Weekend, as usual.
The Drinking Bird is a mythological creature featured in Simpsons episodes and museum shops. It now requires its own encyclopedia entry, as it should have had by now in Webster.
A Fun WoW Thread: 0. is training your cat to play WoW against TOS?
Says Gnipgnop, of the guild Behemoth, of Agamaggan:
"My cat scruffles can now effectively grind to level 10 with no assistance. He regularly farms thorium and dreamfoil for me while i am at work. Just curious, is having your pet cat farm for you against the [WoW Terms of Service]? The language seems to be fuzzy."
This was brought to you by another one of Eaglie's scouring of the Web for humor, until I got too lazy and threw something about a cat up there.
Friday, October 06, 2006
So far, this is the most interesting trailer from the Chicago Film Festival.
My sister received two little bundles of joy recently... dwarf hamsters. Personally, I'm a little mystified by the creatures. Their purpose in life is a tough one to understand, unless you consider that they appear to be hacky sacks. I was yelled at for suggesting that. Perhaps my sister doesn't understand such leisurable activity. But ignoring that, how could such a creature survive evolution? How could such a useless creature survive rain, snow, time, and the occasional human foot?
Okay, we'll start off by giving them this: they're ridiculously cute. They motor around, never stopping for breath, and squeak like rubber duckies. They are made up of bug eyes, kitten-soft fur, and an easily collapsible skull (don't worry, there's no brain to worry about squishing... it'll be fine once air refills the cavity). I could say they survived because cats just couldn't eat something so cute, but everyone knows this is silly. Cats are the embodiment of true evil. Evil eats cuteness for breakfast.
When my sister first got these creatures, she put them in their new cage, and they kept throwing themselves into the water dish. It took forever for them to learn not to drown their little hamster selves. So, I enter the first piece of somewhat discouraging facts: predators and standing puddles would be formidable enemies for early hamsters.
I mentioned predators, and I meant predators. When my sister just got the two things, their cage was left on a window sill. The window was closed. Very soon, the people my sister was with in the apartment heard banging. They discovered a hawk attempting to gain access to the cage. It threw itself at the window repeatedly, diving from a nearby rooftop. Apparently, it was pretty cool to watch. Some people in the apartment wanted to open the window and let the hawk in to party (I can only assume).
Where does that leave us, then, on the Evolutionary Survival Question Concerning Hamsters? Our first hypothesis: windows. But this begs the question: how the heck did hamsters last so long before Betsy Ross invented windows during the American Revolution? (LITTLE KNOWN FACT: Mrs. Ross invented windows because she needed window sills to put her freshly baked apple pies!)
In all truth, I have no clue. I'd rather perform useless psychoanalysis on hamsters instead. We'll take the only two examples I know, Gizmo and Maya, and analyze them: Maya is a fierce, nearly Amazonian little rodent. She'll bite anything that wakes her up or disrupts the flow of air in her general area code. Gizmo, on the other hand, feels the need to run everywhere, until sometimes stopping and freezing in time (don't ask). The gears in her head are pretty rusty (the few gears there, you, know, besides the large air pocket). She also likes to escape from her cage a lot. Maya beats up on Gizmo a lot, if you can imagine. Actually, now that I write this, the way the two act—Gizmo being an airhead, Maya biting Gizmo, and Gizmo escaping from her cage—well, it makes a lot more sense.
These girls are perfect examples of the only two personalities that any hamsters have: the Escape Artist and the Bitch. Types A and B, similar to human beings tested by the more reputable tests on Quizilla.com (on the less reputable ones, hamsters may rate anywhere from "You are Boba Fett!" to "U CAN RLY B MY BF!").
As you can imagine, Gizmo is considered Type A, the Escape Artist. She Escape Artist-ed herself quite recently into an oven in a now infamous story that, when told by anyone besides my sister, has way too many Holocaust jokes. Later, she was rescued, after stashing a large amount of treats in a corner of the oven. There is now much more mesh wire covering the hamster cage.
Maya is the Type B, the Nazi Bitch. She's the Great White Hamster, even though she's tan-colored, and is quite difficult to handle. Unlike the innocently beady black eyes of Gizmo, Maya's eyes are colored red. To even up the score, I should tell an embarrassing story about Maya: as a very young hamster, she bit my sister's friend's foot. The friend shook the hamster off and made the fuzzball into a Nerf® ball. She did turn out unscathed, though she may still remember that, subconsciously, despite her five-second memory.
So, I suppose both creatures have survival skills, evolutionary skills almost, allowing for the continuation of their species. Predators would not have a chance against Maya, unless they were a foot, and Gizmo would find a nice warm oven to hide in and shower.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
...but Sparknotes may have gone off the deep end.
The Lindbergh Baby was kidnapped!
HOLY HELL, A TORNADO AT LOYOLA?!?!?!
Oh, right, that was, like, 10 days ago. Disregard my overreaction now and place it at the time that the tornado actually formed.
Remember all the jokes we did about Tickle-Me Elmo ten years ago? No? This blog wasn't around back then? "Blog" wasn't even a commonly accepted word then?
Just watch the video then... jeez...
Sunday, October 01, 2006
It's been a year. A year since they brought it back as a movie that gained plenty of critical acclaim from everyone who saw it, and those who didn't decided it was a piece of shit. Either that, or they were just ignoring it and watching Jodie Foster movies. Anyway, here's to our Leaves, our Boats, and our Browncoats.
Can't Stop the Signal (2002-2005)!