Ingredient: Random Internet Amusement

Last night while the boy was napping, I visited my neglected myspace.com page to check messages. In the bulletins panel, I see something which says something like “Chat Live NOW!”

“Oh great” I thought,”I’ve accidentally added a porn spammer.”

So I click on the name with the intentions of removing the person from my increasingly exclusive friends list and instead feel a flash of recognition of the person in the profile. After browsing through a few pictures it dawned on me who it was: soon after the iPhone was released, a customer named Justine posted a video showing her bill from AT&T.

The bulletin was linking to a live blog. Despite being a connoisseur of internet culture, I had never bothered with video blogs and hey, it was worth trying once.

The blogger was sitting in a coffee shop talking to her laptop. Occasionally a random person would come to say hello or she’d get a phone call. Meanwhile she was responding to the constantly-scrolling text in the sidebar which was being moderated by several people. There were just over 100 users present at any given time.

It was obvious that some were trying to get her attention, while others made random commentary on what she said or what she was doing at the time. Then there were the occasional dweebs who hadn’t figured out that “OMFG U SO HOTT” is not the most effective way to address an attractive woman.

It was interesting, to say the least. I don’t think I’ll be back often if at all, but now I think I get what it’s about. “Type something random/funny and see if the person in the video responds.” For the 15 minutes or so I spent watching this thing, I got two responses: one was saying “NOM NOM NOM” after she started chewing some gum, the other was after asking about the moderators. Win? Win.

Ingredient: Heartburn.

Last night I discovered the upper limit of steak seasoning and overcooking (read: burning) expensive red meat.

Ingredient: Drama.

I would call it “needless drama,” but why be redundant? All drama is needless. This particular area of Dra-Mart is far worse than others–it’s in the internet department in a clearance aisle full of shit nobody ever wanted to begin with.  Maybe the trolls are in heat and their mating call consists of angry, bi-polar rants on internet forums. Or, maybe they caught the crazy.

Sometimes that spills over to other sites, as it has on ours or here at BlargenBlog. Preventative measures are being taken.

After using a standard and well-working anti-trolling policy over at the forum for awhile, I’ve applied the same standards here to my blog and am sure to achieve stellar results despite losing three quarters of all my comment activity (you guessed it: generated by a single person). In addition to weeding out run-of-the-mill trolls, this will also limit the amount of drama that splashes on the site the next time some stalker wants to take his misguided little grudge to the source. People are freaks.

Ingredient: Addiction

Specifically: the political one. I’ve done better than I expected in avoiding the topic on the blog, which is to say that I’ve failed horribly and therefore must extend the proposed hiatus. To be fair, I’ve mostly stuck to my intentions in this regard, which is why politics is not being mentioned in this post at all.

Wait… damn!

Dressing: Withdrawment

Tonight, due to weather, I will not be attending the Louie-Fest thing tonight. However, plans for tomorrow are still on.

It was only a matter of time. Remember when the press got all hot and bothered over Hillary Clinton for half an inch of mushy old-lady cleavage? Behold:

Obama’s blue jeans put press in tizzy.

Peoria is a cosmic, gravitational nexus of incompetence on the road.

This morning on my way to work, I was following my usual route making good time. In accordance with Murphy’s law, I ended up behind two semis. The one in front of me was carrying a tractor and two, big-ass tires on a flatbed. For the speed he was going, he definitely should have been in the right-hand lane instead of pacing along blocking traffic. The second was carrying something else, don’t remember what, but was considerably smaller. He was in the right-hand lane.

We’re cruising down I-74 Westbound coming up on the Pinecrest Drive exit. I’m muttering curses under my breath over having to be stuck behind this dumbass when all of a sudden… BOOM! The next thing I know, I’m dodging all kinds of shit flying through the air and bouncing off the road spraying my car with shattered debris. The sonofabitch truck I was just grumbling about apparently mis-measured his load and hit the overpass. *slaps forehead*

So I’m braking and swerving, and about a half a mile up the road we all pull over. I stay in my car to call into work to tell them what happened and let them know I’ll be late. The guy in the smaller truck was in front of me, and in front of him, Mr. Dumbass was inspecting his cargo. To hell with the rest of us, he had to verify his stupidity (or, to be fair, the stupidity of whoever told him his load met regulations.

The guy in the smaller truck went to make sure he had a cell phone to call it in. Instead, he says he’s going to take off. Smaller-Truck relayed this to me (as I had finally emerged from my car at this point) after asking if I was alright. Dumbass leaves. Small leaves.

With an inflamed sense of “fuck that” I get into my car and merge back into traffic once I get an opening. I call the police, give them my work number and a description of the truck and the location of the incident. “Did you get the license plate number?” No. I was too busy dodging pieces of farm equipment. “Did you get the color?” No, I was behind it, dodging pieces of FARM EQUIPMENT. Really though, the dispatchers were helpful and to-the-point, so I’ve got no complaints with them. My chagrin is directed at Mr. D.

After talking with the police, I resume my normal route to work. The light at the next intersection turns yellow. Again, according to Murphy’s Law, I’m nowhere near close enough to make it, so I put on my brakes. Then, according to Peoria’s Law, the bastard riding my ass (I’m no slow driver, by the way) slams on his brakes, damn near rear-ends me, pulls around me to the right–into a turn lane–then proceeds to run the red light I was stopped at. What are the freakin’ odds?

I haven’t had a chance to survey whatever damage the car might have incurred in today’s roadway shitfest, but I’m planning on looking it over once I get a smoke break. Good thing my insurance is paid.

From the Associated Press:

Stingray kills sunbathing woman in Fla.

MARATHON, Fla. (AP) — Officials say a Michigan woman died after a stingray jumped out of the water and struck her in the upper body in the Florida Keys.

Wildlife officials say the spotted eagle ray hit the 55-year-old woman in the face or neck while she was in a boat with her family Thursday. Her name and hometown aren’t being released yet.

Officials say it’s not clear whether the animal’s barb struck her, or if the impact killed her. It’s also not clear how big it was.

Spotted eagle rays can grow up to 17 feet in length, weigh up to 500 pounds and have a wingspan of up to 10 feet.

They are known to occasionally jump out of the water but are not aggressive and use the venomous tip at the end of their tail as a defense mechanism.

Can we file this under religion? Because this is basically a case study in what happens when God or whatever you believe in decides it’s time for you to die.

Update: Apparently the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission agrees with me that the chances are ridiculously slim:

“It’s just as freakish of an accident as I have heard,” said Jorge Pino of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. “The chances of this occurring are so remote that most of us are completely astonished that this happened.”

 Originally Posted on January 21st, 2008:

Whenever I mimic a Jamaican accent for more than a few minutes, it always turns into a semi-Romanian hybrid of “The Count” from Sesame Street.

ONE LOVE! JAH MON! TWO LOVE! AH, AH, AH! THREE LOVE! AH, AH, AH!

Originally Posted on October 9th, 2007:

In Peoria drive-by shootings, you get shot with a semi-automatic weapon.  In Morton, they use blowguns.  That’s just how they roll.