I apologize for the brief Information Technology (IT) interruption.
If anyone personally knows any person or persons behind the JSF framework, please do me a favor and punch them in the stomach.
Not a crippling blow, but something that will make them double over in pain, wheezing out a feeble “why?”
Be sure and tell them Splotchy sent ya!
Thanks a lot!
Will Rogers: “The nice way of talking is through your mouth.”
Language is wonderful, and I’m all very fond of the English language, it being the most familiar to me, but language doesn’t always do justice to our experience.
There have been rare occasions, for example, when I’ll experience an emotion that a single word cannot describe. It will be complex enough that I’ll have to stop and think about what in the hell *am* I feeling at that point in time. These are pretty interesting moments, and I hope to have other people share one or two of their own personal “complex emotions.”
So, here’s one of mine.
I was just out of college, and there was a low-budget independent feature film being shot in my hometown of Springfield. For the most part, the cast and crew were from LA and New York.
I moved back in briefly with my parents, and managed to get on the film, working for free as a lowly Production Assistant. When one of the electrician crew got a little too wasted (wasted enough to get fired), I was given the opportunity to take his place.
I worked very hard for the rest of the film, learned a lot, etc. The director and the cinematographer of the movie had a history — they had done a couple movies before, and though they clashed once or twice during the production, one could see that they were very close.
So, the shooting of the movie finishes, and they’re having a wrap party at a local bar in Springfield. I was in a very good mood — I had feature film experience under my belt just out of college, and the film’s production company actually ended up paying me for my electrician work (which I hadn’t really been expecting).
So, I wanted to go up to the director during the wrap party at some point and express my sincere gratitude. I was getting ready to leave the party, and spotted him. At this moment, however, he and the cinematographer were talking. As I neared the two, I realized they were bonding over finishing yet another movie together. They weren’t crying or anything, but I could tell it was an emotional moment.
So, their moment ends, and then the cinematographer walks off. I walk up to the director, and say, “Michael, I just want to say how much I appreciate you giving me this chance. Thank you so much.” I can’t remember exactly what Michael said, but I do definitely remember he never looked at me while I was talking or while he responded. It felt like he was still in that other moment, and I seriously doubt if on the following day he would have remembered talking to me.
The thing was, I thought it was incredibly funny that he was ignoring me in my attempt to give thanks to him — that I was on the ass-end of someone else’s meaningful moment.
I guess my best attempt at describing what I was feeling would be “gloriously inconsequential.”
So, any of you out there care to share a sample of your own complex emotion?
Or am I just the most fragile, sensitive flower in the blogosphere?
A relatively old clip, I know, but still relevant today.
And how about that headline, too?
WE ARE MAKING SIGNIFICANT PROGRESS.
As inapplicable to Iraq now as it was to New Orleans and the surrounding areas post-Katrina.
Purpose: Determine a band’s leader by analyzing a publicity photo.
Disclaimer: A band’s inclusion on this blog reflects neither an endorsement nor a criticism of its music. This post is merely intended as a spotlight on the inner political workings of a collection of individuals who are in the midst of a cooperative, creative endeavor.
Band: American Hi-Fi
Genre: Power Pop
Website:http://myspace.com/americanhifi
The Verdict:
I’ve been tagged with a laser-pointed, one-blogger-at-a-time meme by SamuraiFrog.
THE RULES
1. At the bottom of your post, include your version of the statement, changed or not.
2. Pass it along to one single blogger.
3. Link your post back to the original here.
4. Link back to the person who tagged you: SamuraiFrog
The frog must have been gargling styrofoam popcorn while speaking with me, because it was a bit difficult to make out his message. I did try my best I to decipher it.
THE MESSAGE
Jesus hip and dice cards, yo’ thighs man, your claws would accept two to win my hand. I won’t wear your warm cereal until I warm you the red fins or be some dumb thing-a-reeny in a monkey, okay?
Bubs, you have been tagged.
As far as the current political scene goes, my opinions probably most likely do not vary greatly from those who occasionally read my blog. Like minds attract like minds, I suppose.
Having said that, I must state, as a matter of conscience, that I am thoroughly undecided regarding the latest brouhaha developing between Dr. Zaius and Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein.
They are both vying for the highest level of office of these grand United States.
I must mention that I have added Dr. Zaius, Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein as well as Dr. Von Monkerstein’s advisor and/or puppet Samuarai Frog to my blogroll, in my attempt to see all sides of the Simian issue.
Now, Dr. Von Monkerstein and Samurai Frog have graciously added *me* to their blogrolls. And as for the blogroll of Dr. Zaius? The tumbleweeds blow there, having not felt the life-giving moisture of Splotchy.
Why, do you ask? I do not know. I *do* know that in a hotly-contested political race, all votes are precious. Perhaps even more important than my vote is my influence. Dr. Zaius, do you want the full force of the Splotchy apparatus upon your simian head? For example, do you want me training my ample resources on investigating the status of your US citizenship? I think not.
There is an easy remedy to the sticky wicket you find yourself in, Zaius.
Add me to your blogroll, and I promise to advocate fairness and reasoned discussion, and will represent the views of both yourself and Von Monkerstein honestly.
If not, you’re in for a big shitstorm.
Best Regards,
Splotchy
From today’s Chicago Tribune:
Sober report on Iraq
Progress review mixed; Bush says ‘surge’ needs time
Wistful president talks of politics, principles
By Michael Tackett
Tribune senior correspondent
Published July 13, 2007
WASHINGTON — He rode into office on plain speech and core conviction. In the years following the Sept. 11 attacks and throughout the Iraq war, that persona of tough resolve had only hardened. But on Thursday, President Bush found himself almost wistful, conjuring a rocking-chair moment at his Texas ranch when he will reconcile his unpopularity with the knowledge that he honored his principles about the war.
In a notable departure from his typical approach, during a White House news conference beamed out to the world, the president acknowledged the personal toll of sticking with his beliefs when they were so profoundly in opposition to those of the American people.
…
Like students complaining about the questions on a test, the Pentagon tried to help the president, arguing that the benchmark tests set by Congress were in effect designed in such a way as to ensure they would not be met.
The full article is here.
The print article actually has an accompanying image that its online version does not. It’s pretty much the same kind of image I’m including on this post.
The inclusion of a picture of a sober, tight-lipped Bush alongside an article about how something he was involved in went horribly wrong is getting a bit old for me.
I think it’s very appropriate that the author of this article makes the analogy of Bush needing help in school.
When I see these kinds of articles + images, Bush reminds me of a lazy-ass summer school student, who you, as his teacher, are admonishing for his poor performance on a test. He is wearing the expression for your benefit, so you’ll feel that he is listening at you, and in the future will be determined to do a good job. However, in reality, he just doesn’t give a shit, and will just muddle through your class without the slightest bit of effort.
I’d say flunk the bastard, but I’d rather just have him out of my school system.
…as you’re walking to work from the train, listening to your MP3 player, The Bee Gees’ “Night Fever” drops into your shuffle.
Do you remember way, way back, when I stated I’d like the freedom to be occasionally offensive?
Well, this is one of the stories I had in mind. My main reason for writing this story isn’t to offend. I just thought it would be a funny, horrible story to tell. Hopefully it turned out okay, but that’s not really my call, I guess.
So, without further ado, Splotchy presents another dreadful reimagining:
The little railroad engine was the tiniest of engines, with the smallest boiler and the smallest furnace.
Little Engine mostly just helped out at the train yard, pulling freight cars off and on the switches. But one early morning a long-line of freight cars came into the yard. They asked a large engine to pull it over some hills. The large engine replied, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” The freight cars asked another large engine, but it too replied, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Finally, the freight cars asked the Little Engine, who replied, “I can! I can! I think I can!”
So the freight cars hitched up to the Little Engine, and off they went into the sunny fall country.
The freight cars were many, but still rather light. At each small town, the Little Engine stopped. With every stop the freight cars grew heavier and heavier.
The Little Engine came to a small hill. He pushed up the slope with a huff and a puff, and came back down on the other side. As he came down the hill he met a red engine.
“Hi, Mr. Engine, how do you do?” asked the Little Engine.
The red engine frowned, “I’m alright, I guess. As good as can be.” The red engine raised his red eyebrows. “Are you sure you should be pulling your long line of cars?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Engine, that is my job! My job is to take the cars where they go!”
The red engine sighed, “You shouldn’t go, you really should not. But I wish you well. Good day.” And off puffed the red engine, and then he was gone.
The Little Engine stopped at several more towns. And with each town the cars grew heavier and heavier. “My, these cars are making me huff!” thought Little Engine. “My, these cars are making me puff!”
Again Little Engine came to a hill, this one twice as big as the one before. With mighty huffing and mighty puffing, Little Engine finally made it over the hill.
As he came down the hill he met a black engine.
“Hi, Mr. Engine, how do you do?” asked Little Engine.
The black engine sighed, “I could be better. But I’m as good as can be.” The black engine looked at Little Engine then whispered very close, “Are you sure you should be pulling your long line of cars?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Engine, that is my job! My job is to take the cars where they go!”
The black engine muttered, “You shouldn’t go, you really should not. But I wish you well. Good afternoon.” And off puffed the black engine, and then he was gone.
The Little Engine stopped at one more town. And then he came to the largest hill. The Little Engine never had seen such a hill. The freight cars were so heavy, and he was so tired. But Little Engine spoke aloud to himself, “I think I can, I think I can.”
And with that Little Engine started up the hill. It took all of his huffing. It took all his puffing. Little Engine’s wheels strained with every bit of his might. And he said again, louder, louder than before, “I think I can, I think I can!” And the Little Engine went faster and faster. “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!”
And with that the Little Engine came over the top of the hill. Little Engine smiled, and said to himself, “I thought I could! I thought I could!”
And Little Engine, tired, more tired than ever before, rolled to a stop. Hundreds of people got out of his cars. Soldiers escorted the people in through a gate. The Little Engine looked up, and read a large sign:
Little Engine saw another little engine, whose eyes were droopy, staring at the ground. “What do the words on the sign mean?” Little Engine asked the other little engine.
The other little engine replied, “Work shall set you free.”
The Little Engine smiled. “Yes!” he said, “Yes. Work shall set us free. I thought I could! I thought I could!”
THE END