Here’s a synopsis of how this works.

1. MHG has best intentions. She wants to send Valentines to vets. Very nice.
2. At the last moment, she gets an idea to give our gaming group the opportunity to help out..
3. She is unavailable to make this happen and asks me politely to make a handoff to Loricious after work.
4. Technically, I’m unavailable, but since I don’t like MHG to be disappointed, I make arrangements to go home at lunch to get the Valentines.
5. It takes my entire lunch hour due to Milwaukee morons and my sudden need for gas to make this happen. MHG is unavailable to ask which Valentines to handout, so I take all of them, hoping to contact her later.
6. I came in too late to take a long lunch and so must now decide whether I risk further sullying my work reputation in order to eat.
7. I get the Valentines to Loricious provided all goes well.
8. Loricious takes the Valentines to game. They are ignored by everyone other than Loricious, in all likelihood.
9. Loricious now has a bunch of Valentines, several of them unsigned, but we need to make arrangements to pick them up so we can get them to the vets by Monday.
10. Loricious is possibly difficult to meet up with, as she is a very busy person. If she can meet up, MHG and I feel guilty for making her life even more hectic over this drop-off.
11. Vets get Valentines signed hastily by MHG and me, toss said Shrek schlock into garbage summarily.

The sentiment of this Valentine’s Day: I am a bitter, jaded man.

Ok. I’ve found him. My hero model for sketching. The person whose art most jumps into my brain and bashes it around like Jean Claude Van Damme in those multi-take split-kicks he does in every movie. Blood continues to gush from my brain as the sound of meat being slapped plays in repeat over inspirational rock licks.

Link ferreted away from Barry at Angst Technology.

Space Tree is pretty good. I like the transitions in particular. Blatantly ripped off from PVP, whose got a link over on da right, dere.

I also nicked a link from MetaFilter when they weren’t looking. It’s about Superman being a dick, kinda, and it reminds me of greater days with Seanbaby. Steelbuddha favorites include: Shades of Satan!, Owned., and the coup de grace Prankster Pennies.

While we’re at it, check out some animations here, that Bill Wilson told me about. The tutorial is the Hot Shot City of them and further lends credence to the Ted Danson/Hellboy theory. Then check out the rest of the site. Warning: geocities.

I was staying in a luxury and remote cabin on a small lake with an incredible view. Apparently, I was staying with my aunt Mary, who is young enough to be my older sister. She had a new baby with her, and as always, was looking like she had never had any kids. My aunt Mary is tall and slender and just about the kindest person I know. She makes a great mom.

Anyway, we were sitting on the edge of the pier in the back of the cabin, dangling our feet in the murky shallows. Mary was explaining to her young son about the water and showing him the view of lush evergreens climbing out of the valley in front of us, clouds greeting them at the very top.

I was relaxed in a way I have not been. Not in some time. And I spied something moving in the scene. A sasquatch-like thing slowly roving round the edge. It wasn’t frightening, just there. I pointed it out to Mary, but she ccouldn’t see it. It rose to its full height and I realized it was actually more of a man made of rock, though at that point he shed his rock skin in a way that resembled a sheep being sheared. Apparently it was fur after all.

Then he flitted like a wingless fairy over the surface of the water and began to speak to me in two word sentences, like verbal pictographs. He was my size or larger, but he seemed to be partially incorporeal, the way he nimbly flew about. He told me he was the Rock-man* and that I could see him because I was not afraid to see him and that Mary might be too timid to do so.

He took the child up in his arms and cooed at him, and asked where the mother was. I explained that he was looking right at her, and he commented on Mary’s figure. I agreed that with a newborn baby her figure was remarkable, feeling a little uncomfortable talking about my aunt that way. I woke up soon after to my beeping alarm.

Now, seemingly incestual thoughts aside, I think I can interpret this dream like this:

It is what I want for the future. I want a secluded sanctuary, a small family, and a kind partner that even fantastic fae creatures think is hot. One down, two to go.

*that sounded significant in my dream, but now I realize it’s not very creative. Nice job with that name, subconscious.

A tale of an Evil Strawberry. Thanks to Bill Wilson for the link.

Thanks to birthday girl, Keiko, who invited MHG and me to a hafla (that’s belly dancer talk for “gig”) benefit. Barika danced to Blondie’s Rapture. That’s pretty sweet.

The highlight of my evening, though, came the next day. Keiko had invited us afterward to eat korean food at Han Kuk Kwan, a nice little place where Izumi’s used to be. Jazzed after good conversations and gyrating hips, I was pretty hyper and I had to apologize to the waitress for acting up. She seemed unphased, as a good waitress will be.

Later, our American round-eyed devil faces were turned to her as she explained some of the dishes and how to turn lettuce into your feeding tool, when unluckily Keiko’s hot miso* sloshed over the bowl’s side and onto her arm and sweater. Her friends all offered napkins and condolences, hoping that she wasn’t scalded. As the commotion dissolved, the five of us noticed that the waitress had never discontinued her monologue.

After dinner, it was determined in each of our heads that her earlier smoke break involved limited amounts of tobacco.

The day after, MHG and I conversed as we drove. She relived the scenario in story form, and when she reached the part about the waitress, her exact words sounded like she might be channelling a David Cross or Denis Leary.

“I was thinking, ‘Can you slow down on the soliloquy for a sec, Hamlet, and get us a few napkins?'”

Is it any wonder that I love her?

* – not an innuendo, though Keiko was looking pretty scorching.

A Series of Unfortunate Events was viewed by me last night (apparently in the passive voice) and I have to say that it was quite charming. I expected it to be interesting visually, and it certainly fulfilled that promise, but as a film it impressed me. Somehow, it created that same sense of (in MHG’s words) child-like adventure that very few films have managed. It had a Goonies quality, a Young Sherlock Holmes quality, and *yes* a Harry Potter quality to it.

Though the screenplay rarely varied from the schlock family movie standbys, the story remained intact in the hands of a competent and loving director and cinematographer. And while the kids in the film played straight man to Jim Carrey’s handful of remarkable characters, they did so with an earnest quality rarely seen in actors so young. Even the subtitled young girl avoided Jar-Jar or monkey territory.

Stick around for the end titles, too, as I would gladly have paid another eight dollars to have them go on for a few more hours. I theorize that they may have pitched those credits for the opening and were turned down based on tone, but could not be turned away, so talented are the animators.

(more…)

MHG says she thinks of me when she hears Weezer. Maybe this is part of why.

“In the Garage” — Weezer, Weezer

I’ve got a Dungeon Master’s Guide
I’ve got a 12-sided die
I’ve got Kitty Pryde
And Nightcrawler too
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

I’ve got posters on the wall
My favorite rock group KISS
I’ve got Ace Frehley
I’ve got Peter Criss
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

I’ve got an electric guitar
I play my stupid songs
I write these stupid words
And I love every one
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

In the garage
I feel safe
No one cares about my ways
In the garage
Where I belong
No one hears me sing this song
In the garage
I feel safe
No one laughs about my ways
In the garage
Where I belong
No one hears me
No one hears me
No one hears me
No one hears me
No one hears me sing this song

So, when a spam arrives in your junk mail folder with the subject “WOW Leather Blowout!” what is your first reaction?

Is it excitement over the prospect that a player of World of Warcraft has created several items with his leatherworking trade skill, might be selling them cheap, and that your level 19 druid might take advantage?

If so, you approach my level of nerdiness. If this post left you confused, then your presence here is likely a mistake. Welcome, there’s nothing for you here.