I have never been one for knowing the numbers on weather. I don’t care what the temperature or heat index are, I only need to know that I am hot and need water. But I have found a need for a thermometer finally. I’m going to put it in my alien-looking cubicle and force people to look at it. Particularly people who have the nerve to say it is cold in our office and proceed to turn off/down the climate control.

I am going to shove their heads under my sweating pits as I drag them in headlock into my office space and show them the temperature. Yes, I’m a big hairy guy and I like it cold, but I don’t subject other people to my extremes. I would wager it is approaching eighty degrees in my chair right now, and while that might be a pleasant working temperature for a roofer in the Philippines, that kind of warmth is simply no fun for coding.

Perhaps this has been obvious to everyone except me for the longest time, but after reading a list over at McSweeney’s I had a revelation. Although I’ve never much cared for the original Star Trek series — or any Trek for that matter — I was always aware of its barely clothed subtext regarding racial harmony and peace among the people of Earth.

Something that never clicked in my mind though was the purpose of the Klingons. Now, suddenly, I get it. The Klingons are animalistic and brutal-seeming in their glorification of battle, to the exclusion of most other personality traits. Duh, Chris. They are the id, the bestial nature of humanity’s war-like tendencies personified in a race against whom we constantly struggle. We must fight against our own ferocious natures to progress “where no man has gone before.”

And all this time I thought they were humanoid to save on costuming. I don’t watch enough of any Trek show to see similar man-vs.-himself struggles in the canon, though I do see a sort of opposite struggle going on in the Vulcan attitude toward logic.

I won’t mentally disagree next time I hear someone say that Gene Roddenberry was a genius.

I’ve been known to correct people’s grammar and spelling, particularly in typing. I correct my own when necessary (and sometimes when not) and blush at my mistakes. In the event that someone takes offense at my speaking up and argues that it is irrelevant because I (eventually) understood them, I get quite flustered.

You see, good communication to me is not irrelevant. Not ever. If language was misused in a conversation, but I immediately understood the intent, then the foul is on me when I chide the mistake. With the advent of email, IM, IRC, and in-game channels, however, it is all the more imperative that proper grammar, spelling, and usage prevail. Without inflection and the further context of facial expression, miscommunication is bound to occur. Thus, special care should be taken to express oneself without ambiguity.

Yet, the internet — to use a comprehensive, if generalized, term — is riddled with inaccurate statements and arguments made all the weaker by the issuer’s poor command of the language. Examples are everywhere, yet difficult to cite. It goes beyond the simple misplacement of punctuation or the dangling participle. It has evolved into a language of its own, perhaps for the worse. Try to explain to an anonymous soul on a forum the “cry-wolf” implications of an acronym like LOL and see how long it is before the argument degenerates into nothing resembling civil discourse.

Granted, there are times in friendly internet communication that I intentionally put on the airs of an English major; but, even when I politely point out the correction and a concise reasoning for its significance I am often met with resistance to the point of hostility.

I have chosen as my cause the reclamation of accurate communication. To me, it is no less worthy a cause than any political, personal or philosophical ideal. After all, could any one of us claim that they have never had a minor issue turn into a dilemma simply due to poor communication? I could not.

An independent film-maker responds to those heartfelt ads about movie piracy. And I rejoice.

Undergroundfilm.org – Independent Movie Distribution

My trip to New York State pretty much sucked, but MHG’s got some photos up from the Fort up in the Adirondacks.

SB: Which do you need first?
Management: Both.
SB: Well, Copernicus, you might want to rethink the physics on that one.

Well, I was putting my employment in peril all last week by concentrating on entertaining you, the Steelbuddha reader. But no comments? Poop. I’m going to work if that’s how you’re all gonna be. That, and I sort of want to stay employed. And I do mean sort of.

I’m going to take a brief relief from blogging. I should be back in August sometime. Meanwhile, a short poem left in Post-Its on my computer by a co-worker. Each line break is a new Post-It.

So while I was on the
interstate
I thought to myself
It’s a nice day, I think I’ll
roll down the windows and
open the sunroof
when all of a sudden
a mysterious white paper
flew out the window
and I sit here hoping
it wasn’t too important.

Lunch with Czeltic Girl is always worth fudging on my diet. Today we patronized the round-the-corner called The Wicked Hop. We did this because their food is quite good, but also because it was raining hard enough to turn the fog around our building an eerie, mood-building turquoise.

As we waited for our overly large meals to arrive, conversation turned to the nationally televised…competition…of climbing a pole, apparently. Yep, Speed Climbing. There’s a four-time champion, you know. As happens on these occasions, snarking ensued.

CG: I’m guessing that this ‘sport’ began with the phrase “Guys, check out what I can do.”
SB: And not, “Look what I’ve learned over the past fortnight.”
CG: No. No “fortnight.” And no “Watch what I learned while finishing my Master’s.”

Later we realized that it was ESPN2 reporting from the Lumberjack games; this did not decrease the snarking, as you may imagine.

Next event: Men’s Endurance. “Please let that not be what I think it is,” prayed the Czelt, and I wholly agreed. Fortunately, it was not. Instead, large men stood atop short, thick logs SWINGING AN AXE BETWEEN THEIR LEGS INTO THE STUMP.

SB: I think that’s exactly the way they told us NOT to do it in Boy Scouts.
CG: I see they’re televising MENSA meetings now.

Apparently, the Lumberjack Games idea of Men’s Endurance is three different kinds of wood chopping, which CG and I agreed is decidedly not a sport and therefore should not be covered by ESPN.

CG: They should change this event. These guys should just have to take on a real lumberjack in a fight.
SB: Or maybe the zombie of Oliver Reed*. You thought he was tough when he was alive.

* Initially, I phrased this as Oliver Reed’s zombie, which implies that the competitors would take on a zombie owned by Oliver Reed. I’m not denying the possibility that Oliver Reed was some sort of necromancer and had zombies, only that’s not what I meant.

Audio unedited. Easy money for comedy writers baby. Easy money. [stolen from Screenhead]

WFMU’s Beware of the Blog: Dubya Ringtones: Answer This!

And another.

Last Saturday, I helped MHG set-up and take-down a vending table for a hafla, which is basically just a get-together where belly dancers do a whole lotta wiggling. Because I am a dutiful boyfriend, I did a lot of driving near the venue to get various supplies. Because I am NOT a dutiful blogger, however, I forgot to get her digital camera and take a picture of the venue’s very telling sign.

You see, the Community Center hosting the hafla was to host the Lions Club Festival a few days later. So, as I pulled into the parking lot, the sign (which had been misspelled) proudly proclaimed “LOINSFEST!” Which, I think, should be the name for the next belly dancing event in the area.