Looks like the big boys are finally figuring out that selling crippleware isn't in their long term best interests.
Fear of filesharing drove them to embrace DRM, and the DRM drove potential customers to filesharing.
IRONY!
1.06.2009
burger tyme
I was going to bookmark this, then thought "why not turn it into CONTENT!"
Hamburger Philosophizing.
Next gathering of Youngfriends(tm) is gonna be a hand-ground burger party!
Hamburger Philosophizing.
Next gathering of Youngfriends(tm) is gonna be a hand-ground burger party!
1.05.2009
crappy titles of the week
Nancy Drew Files: Win...Place...DEAD by some nameless hack posing as Carolyn Keene
Murder, She Meowed by Rita Mae Brown.
Its like they aren't even trying.
Murder, She Meowed by Rita Mae Brown.
Its like they aren't even trying.
book biz
I see Borders is up shit creek.
I'm amazed they're still in business at all.
I worked at Waldenbooks for a few years, and it was the most retarded, ass-backward company on earth. When they started getting their teeth kicked in by Barnes & Nobel (also a bunch of incompetents, but marginally more with-it than the Walden crew) their solution was to buy Borders, at the time a regional in the northeast.
Alas, rather than learning from what Borders did right, they imposed their idiotic management structure on their new acquisition.
It's nice to see one of the perpetrators of the great independent book store die-off sucking on its own exhaust.
I'm amazed they're still in business at all.
I worked at Waldenbooks for a few years, and it was the most retarded, ass-backward company on earth. When they started getting their teeth kicked in by Barnes & Nobel (also a bunch of incompetents, but marginally more with-it than the Walden crew) their solution was to buy Borders, at the time a regional in the northeast.
Alas, rather than learning from what Borders did right, they imposed their idiotic management structure on their new acquisition.
It's nice to see one of the perpetrators of the great independent book store die-off sucking on its own exhaust.
1.04.2009
kitchen nightmares
We hosted the Young Friends(tm) for a post-holiday feast, as everyone had returned from their various dysfunctional family holiday Olympics.
Well, except Simon, who's happy, well adjusted family is a burden to us all.
I swung by the Italian market for the good pasta, picked up some wine and bread and made the wife's favorite red sauce. It's similar to the quick red sauce I've posted here, save simmering it a while to concentrate flavor then pureeing in a blender.
Ah, the blender.
Mine being packed away on an upper shelf, I opted for mom's old Oster. I keep meaning to donate it, and it kept sitting unmolested on the counter, waiting for its chance.
The blending seemingly went well and I left the sauce to rest while put the finishing touches on the rest of the meal.
The guests arrived just as the pasta finished and I switched on the broiler for the bread. The stars were aligning!
The adventure began with the impending union of sauce and pasta.
I grasped the handle of the blender and lifted it six inches before the bottom fell off and several quarts of sauce cascaded, lava-like, over the blender, down the counter and across the floor, applying a Jackson Pollock patina to my new khakis and lapping ever so gently over the toes of the new shoes I was breaking in.
The audience at the dinner table was thankfully restrained in their response, their affects somewhat flattened by flaring pangs of hunger.
Not satisfied with destroying the main course the blender dragged down the bread as well, which burned cheerfully while the emergency response team contained the sauce spill.
And this, dear readers, is why no self respecting kitchen should be without several heads of garlic and a big bottle of olive oil.
Pausing only a moment to regret my personal animus toward garlic presses (this was one situation where speed and convenience would have trumped my love of chopping), I grabbed my knife and went at two heads of garlic like a man possessed, or perhaps a man living in fear of the potential lynch mob of starving souls in the dining room.
Simmer the garlic in olive oil over low heat for 5 minutes or so, until golden brown, toss with pasta, salt to taste, top with grated Parmesan and voila, BACKUP DINNER.
While the garlic cooked I performed field surgery on the charred loaf of bread, ruthlessly amputating blackened crust to reclaim the edible core.
Combine with a providentially immense salad and there you have it- dinner for six, the long way around.
Well, except Simon, who's happy, well adjusted family is a burden to us all.
I swung by the Italian market for the good pasta, picked up some wine and bread and made the wife's favorite red sauce. It's similar to the quick red sauce I've posted here, save simmering it a while to concentrate flavor then pureeing in a blender.
Ah, the blender.
Mine being packed away on an upper shelf, I opted for mom's old Oster. I keep meaning to donate it, and it kept sitting unmolested on the counter, waiting for its chance.
The blending seemingly went well and I left the sauce to rest while put the finishing touches on the rest of the meal.
The guests arrived just as the pasta finished and I switched on the broiler for the bread. The stars were aligning!
The adventure began with the impending union of sauce and pasta.
I grasped the handle of the blender and lifted it six inches before the bottom fell off and several quarts of sauce cascaded, lava-like, over the blender, down the counter and across the floor, applying a Jackson Pollock patina to my new khakis and lapping ever so gently over the toes of the new shoes I was breaking in.
The audience at the dinner table was thankfully restrained in their response, their affects somewhat flattened by flaring pangs of hunger.
Not satisfied with destroying the main course the blender dragged down the bread as well, which burned cheerfully while the emergency response team contained the sauce spill.
And this, dear readers, is why no self respecting kitchen should be without several heads of garlic and a big bottle of olive oil.
Pausing only a moment to regret my personal animus toward garlic presses (this was one situation where speed and convenience would have trumped my love of chopping), I grabbed my knife and went at two heads of garlic like a man possessed, or perhaps a man living in fear of the potential lynch mob of starving souls in the dining room.
Simmer the garlic in olive oil over low heat for 5 minutes or so, until golden brown, toss with pasta, salt to taste, top with grated Parmesan and voila, BACKUP DINNER.
While the garlic cooked I performed field surgery on the charred loaf of bread, ruthlessly amputating blackened crust to reclaim the edible core.
Combine with a providentially immense salad and there you have it- dinner for six, the long way around.
retail hell
what's worse than crazy homeless people?
shitty parents yelling at their kids!
some brilliant child psychology from the white trash boyfriend-
it doesn't matter what you want, it matters what your mom says!
And then, after berating the kid into a screaming fit, they storm out in a huff and blame her for ruining their trip.
Hopefully the little girl will opt for therapy over tattoos and abusive boyfriends when she grows up.
shitty parents yelling at their kids!
some brilliant child psychology from the white trash boyfriend-
it doesn't matter what you want, it matters what your mom says!
And then, after berating the kid into a screaming fit, they storm out in a huff and blame her for ruining their trip.
Hopefully the little girl will opt for therapy over tattoos and abusive boyfriends when she grows up.
1.03.2009
flickr update + some notes
dig it!
Still sick, but improving.
Up at 7am with the fully recovered Fussy Boy, who truly enjoys watching me make coffee.
Bought a new washer and dryer yesterday.
The old dryer was borrowed and repossessed and yesterday the washer started making things smell like they'd been washed in bong water and used to strain rotten bananas.
There are a lot of appliances in the world. We were paralyzed, compressed between sheets of variety like mosquitoes in amber.
I broke the grim stalemate by pretending I was buying computer hardware, where being too far ahead of or behind the curve are equally perilous.
So I marched boldly down the middle!
1.01.2009
the saga of the floor draws to a close
The new floor downstairs is IN.
For latecomers, during the interregnum of the downstairs tenant's exodus we had a root clog a septic line and the lower story filled up with poop.
Which is a workable metaphor for the whole last year- disaster leading to renewal and evolution.
We upgraded from a carpet that looked like a mechanic's hand towel after an oil change to this glorious bamboo warmness:
A symbolic way to ring in the New Year.
I can't wait to see how awesome things will look after we paint the joint.
The old carpet was the worst I've ever seen.
Bare plywood after we tore it out made the place 1000 times more appealing.
Now I'm jealous- the downstairs is a dance party waiting to happen while we're still shuffling around on a rug that was fresh and eager when Michael Bolton still stalked the Billboard charts like a sexual tyrannosaur.
For latecomers, during the interregnum of the downstairs tenant's exodus we had a root clog a septic line and the lower story filled up with poop.
Which is a workable metaphor for the whole last year- disaster leading to renewal and evolution.
We upgraded from a carpet that looked like a mechanic's hand towel after an oil change to this glorious bamboo warmness:
A symbolic way to ring in the New Year.
I can't wait to see how awesome things will look after we paint the joint.
The old carpet was the worst I've ever seen.
Bare plywood after we tore it out made the place 1000 times more appealing.
Now I'm jealous- the downstairs is a dance party waiting to happen while we're still shuffling around on a rug that was fresh and eager when Michael Bolton still stalked the Billboard charts like a sexual tyrannosaur.
flickr update
calling Anner!
Been sick all week, missed the Polish New Year party where I had been promised kielbasa and pirogi, couldn't help with the long-awaited floor installation downstairs, wasn't much fun for James & Courney's long awaited visit, etc etc.
Hopefully that old saw about the way you spend New Year's Eve defining the next 12 months is a load of hooey, or I'm gonna need to upgrade to a majority position in Kleenex stock.
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