fun
An excerpt
TROUBLESHOOTING GUIDE FOR TIMECORP'S VH3928-MODEL TIME MACHINE:
Problem: You are stranded in the past without plutonium to provide the 1.21 jiggawatts necessary to power your De Lorean's flux capacitor.
Solution: We at TimeCorp cannot stress enough the differences between real and fictional time travel. Authentic time travel is an infinitely more complicated and intricate process than its whimsical cinematic counterpart. You will need at least 4.3 jiggawatts of power.
What American accent do you have?
| What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio. | |
| The South | |
| Philadelphia | |
| The Inland North | |
| The Northeast | |
| The West | |
| Boston | |
| North Central | |
| What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz | |
Nothing really surprising here. Though I was born in Mississippi, and I grew up in Baton Rouge, I do not have the country-Southern flavor of speech so many of my relatives have, nor is there a hint of Cajun to my tongue. (Note to the oblivious ones out there: Just because people are from Louisiana doesn't mean they all sound like they just stepped off the pirogue in the bayou.) Many people have expressed surprise, upon learning of my heritage and upbringing, that I do not, in fact, retain a discernible accent.
"[A] good voice for TV and radio." Hrmmmm. Tom, remember that podcast idea...?
Life now has meaning
According to the rules laid out in Punk Rock Dad, my punk rock name is:
(Are you ready for this?)
(Are you sure?)
(Really?)
(Okay, you've been warned...)
Larry Leprosy.
"Is the N in NFL for Nancy?"
The Dallas Stars have gone on the offensive, and hockey season hasn't even started yet. As part of a new ticket sales campaign, several billboards have gone up around the Dallas metroplex, poking fun at the other three major sports, all represented in the metro area. The jab at baseball is a little weak, if you ask me, and the obvious NBA poke is time- and scandal-sensitive. My favorite of the billboards, however, is the funniest and the most enduring. Taking a shot at the NFL, it reads:
Take that, Cowboy fans.
Hide-a-Pod
If you have an iPod, or a new iPhone, and you're worried that the mere sight of the device may prompt a ne'er-do-well to attempt a snatch, consider the Hide-a-Pod as a deterrent. Even if you choose not to purchase a Hide-a-Pod, be sure to click on the Order graphic or Buy Now link for a special treat. You won't have to complete the order to enjoy the surprise. [Via David D. on the Ranchero iPhone list.]
For the waffle-loving geek who has everything
Ladies and gentlemen, do you ever find yourself worrying over what to buy the geek in your life for their birthday, or your anniversary, or Christmas? Wonder no more. Just pick up the waffle iron that makes keyboard waffles. Oh, yes, you read that right. Keyboard waffles. [Via Lee via IM.]
Headline you never thought you'd see
"Arctic Monkeys see slower sales for new album" I guess they gave up trying to come up with Shakespeare.
<em>Blades of Glory</em>: The Ninja Interview
For my Blades of Glory homies, the Ninja interviews Jon Heder and Will Ferrell. Boom!
Quote of the day
Stef: In fact, if the weather gets better, Jeff and I were thinking of breaking in our new picnic basket tomorrow.
Jeff: Yeah. We have a secret spot, so if you come with us, we'll have to blindfold you.
Eddie: Yeeeeaaah, well, unless that's followed by a gunshot, I wouldn't count on it. That is why you should be watching 'Til Death.
The duel
Monday evening a promise was kept and shopping commenced for a lightsaber for the little phisch. We charted a course toward the Toys R Us system, arriving there just a few parsecs after dinner time. (It might've been faster if Solo had loaned us the Falcon, but whatever, he's too busy dodging Imperial cruisers or something.) The purchase was made of a blue lightsaber, because we figured this would juxtapose nicely with my own double-bladed, red lightsaber. (And, more importantly, it was the only color in stock.) Alas, by the time we arrived back home at Echo Base, it was bed time for the little phisch, so any dueling with Daddy would have to wait another day. The new lightsaber spent the night on the night stand next to the boy's bed. Last night, the promised duel was held. The missus insisted it take place outside, so on to the back deck we went. Daddy only used one of his saber's blades, to, you know, keep things "fair". Both of us had an awesome time. The little phisch held nothing back. Every swing of his blade was meant for limb severing, for disemboweling, for decapitation (if he could have reached my neck, that is). My knuckles held the proof of his relentless onslaught. I also learned a bit of how Count Dooku and Palpatine must've felt going up against Yoda: it's actually tough countering the attacks of someone half your size. That, and since I was seeking to have fun with my little guy without causing injury, played a part in my own defense and counterattack. (For the record, yes, I injured the boy, but it was a tap on the shoulder that didn't even leave a mark, and he was quickly over it.) The little phisch is also quite the drama king. He has a great fake death scene, acting it out more than once when I stabbed him in the tummy. We should get video of that.
Quote of the day
From Amy Gruber, on Twitter:
What's worse than going to a bachelorette party at a male strip club? Going with your mom.
The newbie's guide to Twitter
It's been difficult trying to explain Twitter to some of my friends and family. (My wife just doesn't get it.) Thanks to Twitter's "unpaid evangelist", Robert Scoble, I came across Rafe Needleman's great intro to the Twitterverse. Read, join, add me as a friend.
It happened
Last night, the missus had a work-related dinner to attend, so it was a guy night in the phisch bowl. The little phisch consumed mixed veggies and fish sticks (the irony of this statement is not lost on me), whereas I consumed mixed veggies with leftover red beans & rice. And we watched Star Wars. The first attempt at the viewing with my son of the movie which made such a tremendous impression upon me when I was six was met with some...boredom. He knew who some of the characters were, after all. I don't think you can know me at all, or swim in this tank we call home, without encountering, in some random, non-deliberate fashion, characters from the Star Wars universe. But we never really made it through that first viewing of the movie. Not together, anyway. While he decided he was bored and went off to play with Thomas on the train table, or roll Lightning McQueen around the floor, I finished watching the movie. Because, c'mon, it's Star Wars. I'm not sure what changed between then and now. Perhaps it was my receiving the entire Star Wars Mr. Potato Head collection for my birthday this past December. Darth Tater, Storm Tater, and R2 Tater have all occupied a place of semi-honor in the formal dining room, and the little phisch has been allowed to play with them. We've read this Luke Skywalker children's book I picked up two years ago at the Friends of the Flower Mound Library fund raiser. But we haven't really talked about the movie all that much. So I was pleased when I was greeted with a enthusiastic response after suggesting Star Wars last night. After dinner, we enjoyed watching about an hour of it. He asked a lot of questions. A lot. I'm not sure I can begin to describe the totality of "a lot of questions" to those of you who do not have three year-old boys. Bed time was approaching, and we agreed to stop the movie after an upcoming scene. The missus arrived home just about that time, the movie was stopped, and the bedtime rituals commenced. The payoff came this morning. I stumbled downstairs, where the missus and little phisch were already eating breakfast, and on the TV I'm greeted by...Star Wars. Han and Luke are firing down the detention bay while Leia's already diving in to the garbage chute, and Chewie's complaining about the smell. I'm informed, "Daddy, those are stormtroopers!" I smiled, gave him a pat on the head, and turned so the missus wouldn't see the tears welling up. It's done. He's converted. Oh, I forgot to mention he wants his own lightsaber now. He told me last night. Where are the tissues?
