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Tom Gordon's Blother

January 30, 2007

Woe Is Me
Well, this is shaping up to be a most unpleasant week. First, my printer decided it wouldn't use the color 'black' anymore. Oh, not right away, of course; only after the needless purchase of a new cartridge by a no-name manufacturer, who apparently didn't fuss over such trivialities as, say, keeping the liquid ink in the package. Then the trusty palmtop Mobilon's RAM bursted like a soap bubble, taking with it all those programs and settings so painstakingly installed in the past. But the absolute worst indignity of all: my body's now trying to painfully twist itself inside out yet AGAIN -- thus consigning yours truly to a now-familiar panicked, suicidal fetal state.

Sigh. Think it was Larry Niven once made the wry observation that "old age ain't for sissies". And though I'm still several decades away from being lumped into that demographic, yet (really, dammit! I'm younger than Johnny Depp!), unless there's some ascendent medical technological changes by then, with my notoriously low physical discomfort threshold, I'll be surely begging for admission into them Soylent plants before too long. Sigh II.

Oh, and pray tell, just what grim visual expression did such misery conjure up?



Yup. Baby effin' Transformers. Beat that, Mr. Giger! Incidentially, this now makes three consecutive Gordonian celebrations of 80's pop culture. There's something profoundly sad and wrong, there. (But in my defense, I'll still claim "We Are The World" as the vilest song ever written.)

January 20, 2007

Lazy Micro Blog #6
Aaaand the comments have returned! Along with all the other pointless Blogger HTML-streamlining guano! Yes, it seems the problem was with my Internet provider, and their changing the entire FTP uploading directory structure, without doing something silly like informing their customers. Odd, that. I'd think handing Mindspring Earthlink monthly thirty-dollar checks for TEN EFFING YEARS NOW might've entitled me to at least a memo.

At any rate, here's ya latest Gordonian crapola. Though it took scant less than five hours, I'm afraid the rather cynical/dated/nihilistic subject matter (namely Alan Moore's "Watchmen") still didn't deserve the overwrought level of loving attention I'd put into this ultimate-plot-spoiler pic.



But alas -- that's what always happens whenever yours truly starts rendering. Immediately everything else fades into the background as irrelevant, inconsequential clutter. Even such questions as "why the HECK am I even doing this?" don't penetrate that Photoshop/Prismacolor-induced trance, until long after those heady fumes of dubious accomplishment have faded (or I start contemplating my social itinerary/bank account/both).

Oh well. Still, there's a Bug Eyed Monster, so I suppose it wasn't a complete waste of time. And if the loathesome Comedian had been replaced with one of those voluptuous nymphs out of the 1st Edition D&D tomes -- then that, me droogs, would've been True Art. Maybe next go-around...

January 10, 2007

Insanely Grating
Still in HTML-land, alas and alack. As per the Perpetual Internet Obsolesence Act of 1999 -- which mandates that any useful free doodad upon the Web be recklessly 'improved' with glossy processor cycle-draining GUIs and unwanted new features requiring the latest version of Internet Explorer Download NOW! all while ignoring issues of said widget's continued operation -- it appears Blogger isn't making any effort to solve my (now month-old) glitch. Nor even acknowledging there's a problem. Which -- after having attempted to publish via five other browsers, four alternate machines and three different ISPs -- is now clearly on their end.

Fortunately, such frustration comes in quite handy when you're badly artistically visualizing something like, say, the world of "Tron". There's scant difference between a implacable, ravenously hungry god-AI, and your average New Economy bulwark, after all:



Yeah, well, if the Master Control Program's capable of cracking high-level military encryption during bathroom breaks, it can also damned well approximate SOME level of emotional expression onto its avatar, too. Nyeah.

Anyway, back to Blogger, I can only assume they're 'shaking out' uneducated swine who rely upon FTP publishing, and so cheating the company out of those vital herbal Viagra advertising dollars. Well, that, or else it's <tinfoil_hat> their new Google overlords, typically Crushing Dissent and silencing Voices Speaking Truth To Power. </tinfoil_hat>

For the time being though, guess I can fake things with Olde School uploading. Heck, it's even easier than Blogger's present method, which involves lots of superfluous login hooforah, illegibly typefaced OCR-foiling authentication graphics, and other needless time-consuming security-minded rot. Of course, this still leaves out the all-important OTHER half of the soi-disant 'blogging' process: namely, you the reader -- and your caps-locked, epithet-laced speculation about my possibly being a closeted member of the Ku Klux Klan. But o'er the past year, I think I've more than adequately demonstrated my zeal for reader commentary; when and however these silly techno-wrinkles are ironed out, that capability Shall Return!™

(...he emptily promised, chafing his hands with censorious relish)

In other news, the new Democratic-controlled Congress was spared a long-overdue creation of a new orifice at Tom Gordon's vitriolic hands, when Apple Computer (now just Apple, Inc.) distracted him with their latest fawkinawesum bit of technology. Namely, the iPhone.

Whoa.

Gaaaah. I hate you, Steve Jobs.

So. The Fruit Cult satisfies pressing consumer demand for a widescreen video iPod, a neo-Newton running full OS X (though not a tablet, damnation), AND a Apple Phone, with a single integrated product. Well, with a head full of recent patent filings, I ridiculously over-expected something like this last February -- better late than never, I guess. But as much as I'm drooling in Soulless Consumerist Excess™ right now, noting how bland, ordinary and monotonous the video iPod I bought eight months ago suddenly appears today, and otherwise mulling over a purchase -- can it be denied that Apple's opened a Pandora's Box, here?

I'm referring, of course, to the cacophonous panorama of customized ring-tones (or, more precisely, ring-soundbites) that'll now sweep the land. Wherever people congregate en masse, soon the air will be ever-droning with long-forgotten media catchphrases, guitar riffs and the infinitely repeating chorus of the Baha Men's "Who Let The Dogs Out?"

(Hmm. Maybe it's time I reconsidered Luddism.)
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