Dan's Webpage
Because everyone loves a farce
Sunday, December 31
1:52 AM
New Year's plans
Friday, December 29 2:15 PM
St. Paul Blog debuts
Wednesday, December 27 6:07 PM
O Christmas Post
Friday, December 22 1:17 PM
Public Service Announcement: Seriously
Thursday, December 21 2:33 AM
Perfect Albums
Tuesday, December 19 5:10 PM
Our Bold Hero and the Lawrence All-Stars
2:48 AM
Aftermath: Fritzmas
Saturday, December 16 12:15 PM
Well, until February I guess
Friday, December 15 12:59 AM
To do
Wednesday, December 13 10:21 AM
Our Bold Hero vs. The Unexpected Visitor
Tuesday, December 12 10:17 PM
Golden Age, continued
Saturday, December 9 3:57 PM
Our Bold Hero vs. The Case for Product Placement
Friday, December 8 8:29 PM
A post about ridiculous things
Thursday, December 7 11:01 AM
The editing adventure continues
Tuesday, December 5 12:11 AM
Public Service Announcement: I can see!
Sunday, December 3 11:48 AM
Dan's Big Saturday
Friday, December 1 8:21 PM
I Just Called to Say I Hate You
Alles Wird Gut
New Year's plans
Off to Chicago in... five hours. I'll be hanging out with a bunch of Lawrentians (a warch of Lawrentians?) and good times will doubtless be had. I'll be in Chicago until Tuesday afternoon.
Comments (0)
Friday, December 29 2:15 PM
St. Paul Blog debuts
I finally wrote my first post for the St. Paul Blog at Hotels By City, which is paying me a large percentage of the Adsense clickthrough earnings.
That's nice, because I don't have to shill anything and can write whatever I think would be useful. Posts on Mickey's, Lee's and Dee's, and the MOA are in the works. St. Paul has really, really grown on me over the past few years, and in the past nine months especially.
It does really seem like every month of so, one of my more experienced friends will show me a really cool bar or restaurant, and this gives me even more incentive to explore. And hopefully a bit of spending money to cover those outings.
How much money I'll actually make is up for debate, though thankfully I learned my Adsense abuse lesson vicariously and so I know better than to ask my friends to abuse the system. Poor... Russell? I feel like I totally had a nickname for Russell, something better than "Another One of Those Freakin' Californians," but I guess I never used it.
Speaking of outings, I had a quite excellent low-key evening last night, hanging out with Graham and special guest Dylan. Graham made us a tasty free dinner — unlike Our Bold Hero, who can only follow recipes, the Blowhard has a chef's flair for improvisation — and we did nothing, basically.
Some videogame nights at Ben's notwithstanding — and those are prettymuch done for a long time — I feel like I'm either doing nothing on a given night, or doing something big. I need the little stuff, though: another reason to start going to Totally Scrabble Tuesday again, and to start finishing my work before 7 pm.
(And yes, our Ridiculous TV Night every Wednesday is kinda "big" for me, because I'm hosting and, well, drinking more than all you people who have to drive. Beauty and the Geek next Wednesday: be there. Oh, and I guess Top Chef is still on, but none of us has been paying attention to that at all.)
That's nice, because I don't have to shill anything and can write whatever I think would be useful. Posts on Mickey's, Lee's and Dee's, and the MOA are in the works. St. Paul has really, really grown on me over the past few years, and in the past nine months especially.
It does really seem like every month of so, one of my more experienced friends will show me a really cool bar or restaurant, and this gives me even more incentive to explore. And hopefully a bit of spending money to cover those outings.
How much money I'll actually make is up for debate, though thankfully I learned my Adsense abuse lesson vicariously and so I know better than to ask my friends to abuse the system. Poor... Russell? I feel like I totally had a nickname for Russell, something better than "Another One of Those Freakin' Californians," but I guess I never used it.
Speaking of outings, I had a quite excellent low-key evening last night, hanging out with Graham and special guest Dylan. Graham made us a tasty free dinner — unlike Our Bold Hero, who can only follow recipes, the Blowhard has a chef's flair for improvisation — and we did nothing, basically.
Some videogame nights at Ben's notwithstanding — and those are prettymuch done for a long time — I feel like I'm either doing nothing on a given night, or doing something big. I need the little stuff, though: another reason to start going to Totally Scrabble Tuesday again, and to start finishing my work before 7 pm.
(And yes, our Ridiculous TV Night every Wednesday is kinda "big" for me, because I'm hosting and, well, drinking more than all you people who have to drive. Beauty and the Geek next Wednesday: be there. Oh, and I guess Top Chef is still on, but none of us has been paying attention to that at all.)
Wednesday, December 27 6:07 PM
O Christmas Post
Back from Up North, with Christmas loot. Of special interest to you, dear reader: an Illuminati expansion, the card game Lunch Money, a car emergency kit, and Scarface: The World Is Yours, perhaps the last good Xbox game.
After the annual Christmas Hoe-down with my dad's side of the family on Saturday, my brothers and I spent several hours Sunday playing Halo 2.
Of course, those two turned out to be a rocket lamo and sniping lamo respectively (and for the sake of transparency, I should mention that Our Bold Hero has an unusual and perhaps annoying fondness for the game's vehicles), but the important thing is that none of us was so good at Halo 2 as to make the experience unenjoyable for the other two.
On Sunday night, this atheist had to decide whether or not to attend Christmas Eve Mass.
I see that Graham had much the same dilemma, which he handled with his usual Unitarian tolerance, but I chose a more conciliatory/cowardly approach and went to church, figuring that I could still respect my parents' wishes without going against my atheistic convictions or sacrileging all over the church's nice new carpet.
I've used my computer's finest graphic arts program to create a diagram of my one-and-a-half-hour adventure in awkwardness:
This particular priest had played a large role in my pre-apostate religious life, and he gave me a look when he noticed that I wasn't praying out loud. Also, I found sitting six feet away from him while he gave the (lousy) homily a bit awkward.
My big dilemma was Holy Communion, which I thought it would be both wrong and disrespectful to take. Do they always say the word "Eucharist" so many times during Christmas Eve mass? Because while I was trying to think of the most graceful way to get out of taking communion, I must have heard it at least a dozen times.
Anyways, not to be anticlimactic, but since in that narrow front pew you can't stay seated without causing a major traffic jam, I did what I saw quite a few people do back when I was a Eucharistic Minister (hah! there it is!) and covered my mouth with one hand.
(Catholics are supposed to do something like this too, if they have mortal sin on them, so I think there's actually a special gesture. I'll have to ask a priest, next time I have no choice but to go to church.)
After my internal religious drama, Christmas itself was good, pretty low-key and lazy. We watched some movies and I played a bit of Scarface when everyone who could be offended was in bed.
(I also discovered, and pointed out to my equally-surprised mom, that the delicious "Holiday Nog" we've been drinking for years isn't really egg nog, but rather egg nog flavored milk. I love the stuff, so this goes a long way towards explaining why real egg nog has always disappointed me.)
I drove back late this morning, and I'm not sure when I'll get back up north.
As planned, I'd wrapped and planted a case of one of Jenna's favorite beers in the fridge before I left for B-town on Friday night. I discovered her present to me, my very last Christmas present, in the liquor cabinet when we got back today.
The Christmas season will end when I have my last cup of Bailey's and hot chocolate, or on Three Kings Day, whenever comes first.
After the annual Christmas Hoe-down with my dad's side of the family on Saturday, my brothers and I spent several hours Sunday playing Halo 2.
Of course, those two turned out to be a rocket lamo and sniping lamo respectively (and for the sake of transparency, I should mention that Our Bold Hero has an unusual and perhaps annoying fondness for the game's vehicles), but the important thing is that none of us was so good at Halo 2 as to make the experience unenjoyable for the other two.
On Sunday night, this atheist had to decide whether or not to attend Christmas Eve Mass.
I see that Graham had much the same dilemma, which he handled with his usual Unitarian tolerance, but I chose a more conciliatory/cowardly approach and went to church, figuring that I could still respect my parents' wishes without going against my atheistic convictions or sacrileging all over the church's nice new carpet.
I've used my computer's finest graphic arts program to create a diagram of my one-and-a-half-hour adventure in awkwardness:
This particular priest had played a large role in my pre-apostate religious life, and he gave me a look when he noticed that I wasn't praying out loud. Also, I found sitting six feet away from him while he gave the (lousy) homily a bit awkward.
My big dilemma was Holy Communion, which I thought it would be both wrong and disrespectful to take. Do they always say the word "Eucharist" so many times during Christmas Eve mass? Because while I was trying to think of the most graceful way to get out of taking communion, I must have heard it at least a dozen times.
Anyways, not to be anticlimactic, but since in that narrow front pew you can't stay seated without causing a major traffic jam, I did what I saw quite a few people do back when I was a Eucharistic Minister (hah! there it is!) and covered my mouth with one hand.
(Catholics are supposed to do something like this too, if they have mortal sin on them, so I think there's actually a special gesture. I'll have to ask a priest, next time I have no choice but to go to church.)
After my internal religious drama, Christmas itself was good, pretty low-key and lazy. We watched some movies and I played a bit of Scarface when everyone who could be offended was in bed.
(I also discovered, and pointed out to my equally-surprised mom, that the delicious "Holiday Nog" we've been drinking for years isn't really egg nog, but rather egg nog flavored milk. I love the stuff, so this goes a long way towards explaining why real egg nog has always disappointed me.)
I drove back late this morning, and I'm not sure when I'll get back up north.
As planned, I'd wrapped and planted a case of one of Jenna's favorite beers in the fridge before I left for B-town on Friday night. I discovered her present to me, my very last Christmas present, in the liquor cabinet when we got back today.
The Christmas season will end when I have my last cup of Bailey's and hot chocolate, or on Three Kings Day, whenever comes first.
Wait a sec, you covered your mouth when you went up for Communion? I don't think I've ever seen that before. (Then again, I was never in the position of a Eucharistic Minister.) We were always told that non-Catholics should cross their arms over their chest to receive a "special blessing." Of course, the last time I was bribed into attending Christmas Mass, I was alarmed to find that my mom's church starts the Communion line from the back of the church and works its way forward. My mom took the opportunity to tell me that maybe if I went to church more often, it wouldn't have come as such a surprise. *sigh*
Well, this particular Eucharistic Minister was just as surprised as you are. He was all like, seriously, didn't you hear me? This is the body of Christ! You're not going to find a better deal than this!
I remember our families usually sat in the side wing at least a half-dozen rows back. Do you think sitting front and center was a deliberate attempt to bring you into closer proximity with "the Lord"?
Friday, December 22 1:17 PM
Public Service Announcement: Seriously
OK, seriously. When I call your number, you can't both claim that you've never heard of the person I'm trying to reach and offer to take a message for her. It's one or the other. Isn't that obvious?
This is the kind of advice that is too stupid, too obvious, to make it into Dan's Big Book of Wisdom, that tome of useful, enlightening facts like "Beer before Liquor, Never Sicker," "Wet your Face before You Shave," and "I am Not Your Mom." There's still time to order before the holidays.
This is the kind of advice that is too stupid, too obvious, to make it into Dan's Big Book of Wisdom, that tome of useful, enlightening facts like "Beer before Liquor, Never Sicker," "Wet your Face before You Shave," and "I am Not Your Mom." There's still time to order before the holidays.
Thursday, December 21 2:33 AM
Perfect Albums
This has popped up recently on a few websites I read, but it's an old concept. So many albums contain at least one mediocre song that the perfect album, which you can listen to without wanting to skip over anything, is pretty rare.
For example, I like the Flaming Lips, but most of their albums are far from perfect. One of my favorites, Clouds Taste Metallic is spoiled by only a few songs (e.g. "Lightning Strikes the Postman"), but most people I know only listen to the first half of Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.
Fact: even that most definitely awesome of bands, Modest Mouse, has some songs that I skip over prettymuch every time. There's a good list for later: the five worst songs by your favorite band.
Here are my perfect albums:
Blonde Redhead, Misery Is A Butterfly
The Flaming Lips, The Soft Bulletin
Jets to Brazil, Orange Rhyming Dictionary
Kula Shaker, Peasants, Pigs and Astronauts
Modest Mouse, This Is A Long Drive For Someone With Nothing...
Spoon, Gimme Fiction
Of course, these aren't my favorite albums, nor am I always in the mood to listen to them. Still, I find that being perfect does give them some superpowers. For one thing, they all make great driving music for long car rides. I also find that I can get lost in them pretty easily, whereas with less-than-perfect albums I'm always vaguely aware of what track I'm on and the mediocrity that's on the way.
Feel free to suggest other perfect albums, or point out the flaws in my choices (I am prepared, if a little hesitant, to defend "Buggin'(Mokran Mix)") in the comments below.
For example, I like the Flaming Lips, but most of their albums are far from perfect. One of my favorites, Clouds Taste Metallic is spoiled by only a few songs (e.g. "Lightning Strikes the Postman"), but most people I know only listen to the first half of Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.
Fact: even that most definitely awesome of bands, Modest Mouse, has some songs that I skip over prettymuch every time. There's a good list for later: the five worst songs by your favorite band.
Here are my perfect albums:
Blonde Redhead, Misery Is A Butterfly
The Flaming Lips, The Soft Bulletin
Jets to Brazil, Orange Rhyming Dictionary
Kula Shaker, Peasants, Pigs and Astronauts
Modest Mouse, This Is A Long Drive For Someone With Nothing...
Spoon, Gimme Fiction
Of course, these aren't my favorite albums, nor am I always in the mood to listen to them. Still, I find that being perfect does give them some superpowers. For one thing, they all make great driving music for long car rides. I also find that I can get lost in them pretty easily, whereas with less-than-perfect albums I'm always vaguely aware of what track I'm on and the mediocrity that's on the way.
Feel free to suggest other perfect albums, or point out the flaws in my choices (I am prepared, if a little hesitant, to defend "Buggin'(Mokran Mix)") in the comments below.
Tuesday, December 19 5:10 PM
Our Bold Hero and the Lawrence All-Stars
Finally figured out New Year's Eve: I guess I'm going to Chicago.
This might rock?
Update: Tickets purchased.
This might rock?
Update: Tickets purchased.
you know it will fucking rock! Prepair for the Daninator not seen since round one of the Meghan/Dan drink off...and there will have plenty of trees to pee in....
2:48 AM
Aftermath: Fritzmas
I feel somewhat guilty when I don't spend Christmas gift certificates on something cool, like fancy new clothes or colorful hats, but I have been looking at that garbage can for months.
(I bought other things at Target too, but they're uniformly useful rather than fun.)
Whence the dough? At our cousins' gift exchange, which will be duplicated with the other side of the family this coming weekend, you can either take an item from the pool or steal an item that has already been opened. I was the first to open, and have never before shouted "I'm number one!" with such sorrow, but I rightly figured that no one would steal what was obviously a gift certificate. And that's just what I wanted.
The only problem with the exchange is that every year we get into an argument over whether or not you can steal from someone else after you've been stolen from, and every year the faction that supports continued stealing — despite the risk of an infinite three- or four-person loop — wins out over the faction that believes you should have to open a new present.
However, I think the former faction finally convinced me this year: their rules seem to lead to a better distribution of presents.
From my gramma on that side, I also ended up with How to Cook Everything: Simple Recipes for Great Food. When I was in Chicago, I used Amazon's "Search Inside This Book" function on that cookbook so many times that the site eventually locked me out. Having access to the entire text is strangely thrilling.
(I bought other things at Target too, but they're uniformly useful rather than fun.)
Whence the dough? At our cousins' gift exchange, which will be duplicated with the other side of the family this coming weekend, you can either take an item from the pool or steal an item that has already been opened. I was the first to open, and have never before shouted "I'm number one!" with such sorrow, but I rightly figured that no one would steal what was obviously a gift certificate. And that's just what I wanted.
The only problem with the exchange is that every year we get into an argument over whether or not you can steal from someone else after you've been stolen from, and every year the faction that supports continued stealing — despite the risk of an infinite three- or four-person loop — wins out over the faction that believes you should have to open a new present.
However, I think the former faction finally convinced me this year: their rules seem to lead to a better distribution of presents.
From my gramma on that side, I also ended up with How to Cook Everything: Simple Recipes for Great Food. When I was in Chicago, I used Amazon's "Search Inside This Book" function on that cookbook so many times that the site eventually locked me out. Having access to the entire text is strangely thrilling.
Saturday, December 16 12:15 PM
Well, until February I guess
Sooooo many cans in the living room. I guess I'd call our Josie and the Pussycats drinking game a success.
Though the forensic evidence indicates that at least one Hamlinite made it through the entire drinking game on one beer, either not drinking at all or taking only the tiniest of sips. We had a word for that kind of behavior at Lawrence: unthinkable.
(Alternately: LCF.)
Everyone else, however, was on their best behavior: seven people, one of them a lamo, went through 38 beers, and that's just the sort of ridiculousness I need every few months or so.
Also: I'm a bit hungover.
Though the forensic evidence indicates that at least one Hamlinite made it through the entire drinking game on one beer, either not drinking at all or taking only the tiniest of sips. We had a word for that kind of behavior at Lawrence: unthinkable.
(Alternately: LCF.)
Everyone else, however, was on their best behavior: seven people, one of them a lamo, went through 38 beers, and that's just the sort of ridiculousness I need every few months or so.
Also: I'm a bit hungover.
Friday, December 15 12:59 AM
To do
There's a moment in Shaun of the Dead that I've always found particularly poignant: when, the night before he's first attacked by zombies, Shaun drunkenly stumbles in the kitchen and scrawls on his to-do list: "Sort life out!"
I shaved my head today, and as usual I can never tell if shaving my head is just symptomatic, or if I feel like I'm starting to get things sorted out because I shaved my head. It seems like I am getting a handle on things, in a lot of little ways.
And just as important as getting all that hair off my head: after getting a bunch of work dumped on me last Friday, I'm finally where I want to be on my piecework. Everything is in the can until I get another batch of edits tomorrow. I would have been at this point days ago, but oh, this week, this week.
To the Winchester! Bring long tails, and ears for hats.
I shaved my head today, and as usual I can never tell if shaving my head is just symptomatic, or if I feel like I'm starting to get things sorted out because I shaved my head. It seems like I am getting a handle on things, in a lot of little ways.
And just as important as getting all that hair off my head: after getting a bunch of work dumped on me last Friday, I'm finally where I want to be on my piecework. Everything is in the can until I get another batch of edits tomorrow. I would have been at this point days ago, but oh, this week, this week.
To the Winchester! Bring long tails, and ears for hats.
Wednesday, December 13 10:21 AM
Our Bold Hero vs. The Unexpected Visitor
The doorbell rang, and I opened up the security door to find a sketchy guy (gold tooth!) and two girls. He said they were here to see his uncle, and then got into an argument with me when his uncle didn't show and I wouldn't let him past.
Yeah, yeah, I'm paranoid, but in this case I think my paranoia overlaps with everyday caution. Ideally I would not have to open up the security door to identify a visitor, but it's usually Barry anyways. One time it was girl scouts.
Finally, the guy told me "Get the f*** out of my way, I'm not here to see you," and tried to push past me, going for my apartment. I indicated that I lived there, not his uncle, opened the door, and gestured at the no-doubt different decor.
It felt good to be vindicated, but a large part of me wishes that I'd been a little less gracious about pointing out the guy's mistake. I mean, that I live there should be obvious, since "Dan and Jenna" should still be written above the doorbell and I miraculously answered the door when he rang.
Though considering that I'm still slightly confused at how an argument over a simple misunderstanding got so heated... perhaps it's better this way.
Yeah, yeah, I'm paranoid, but in this case I think my paranoia overlaps with everyday caution. Ideally I would not have to open up the security door to identify a visitor, but it's usually Barry anyways. One time it was girl scouts.
Finally, the guy told me "Get the f*** out of my way, I'm not here to see you," and tried to push past me, going for my apartment. I indicated that I lived there, not his uncle, opened the door, and gestured at the no-doubt different decor.
It felt good to be vindicated, but a large part of me wishes that I'd been a little less gracious about pointing out the guy's mistake. I mean, that I live there should be obvious, since "Dan and Jenna" should still be written above the doorbell and I miraculously answered the door when he rang.
Though considering that I'm still slightly confused at how an argument over a simple misunderstanding got so heated... perhaps it's better this way.
Tuesday, December 12 10:17 PM
Golden Age, continued
So Ben and I just finished watching the second episode of The Lost Room, a three-part miniseries on the Sci-fi network. If you like Lost for the mysteries and not just the love triangle, I highly recommend this show. It's very well done, but you will need a sense of wonder and mystery: no jaded would-be hipsters allowed.
Tune in or download it (Sci-fi very stupidly runs previews of what's coming up at every commercial break, so downloading might be preferable), I don't care. Also, if I've already convinced you to watch it, please do not go looking it up, you'll only spoil some stuff unnecessarily. I am not messing with you.
Also neglected but recommended: Andy Richter Controls the Universe. What the hell is wrong with you?
I know! Three posts in a row about television! I promise that the next post will only partially be about watching t.v. I do other things, really.
Tune in or download it (Sci-fi very stupidly runs previews of what's coming up at every commercial break, so downloading might be preferable), I don't care. Also, if I've already convinced you to watch it, please do not go looking it up, you'll only spoil some stuff unnecessarily. I am not messing with you.
Also neglected but recommended: Andy Richter Controls the Universe. What the hell is wrong with you?
I know! Three posts in a row about television! I promise that the next post will only partially be about watching t.v. I do other things, really.
Also Peter Krause is shall I say... nice? to watch?
Not that these are the types of things influencing my TV-watching choices of course. Oh no.
gah, anna. i am 'anna'. i blame this weird sign in and it taking like 15 tries to work right.
Saturday, December 9 3:57 PM
Our Bold Hero vs. The Case for Product Placement
Speaking of television, I read, and for some reason keep angrily re-reading, an exceptionally wrongheaded editorial in the London Free Press, proposing that given our newfound ability to fast-forward through commercials with ease, we should agree to abolish commercials in favor of tasteful product placement. That would be the compromise, to insist that it be low-key.
Now, I feel like this is the sort of thing Wired pointed out years and years ago, but since I can't find the article: people will willingly stop, rewind, and watch commercials that look interesting. I have been yelled at for not doing this during America's Next Top Model: it's how I found Beauty and the Geek. It's also why I've seen so many Xbox 360, movie, and PS3 commercials — in fact, I've even gone on YouTube and sought out exceptionally good commercials, like the "banned in the U.S." Xbox 360 commercial "Standoff" — and I don't think I'm the only one who does this.
Recorders like TiVo can track what commercials I'm watching and which I skip, and I only watch commercials that interest me... shouldn't that put tremendous pressure on advertisers to make better, more interesting ads? I've argued before that we're in a new Golden Age of Television, both in terms of programming options and coach potato technology, but as commercial-skipping recorders becomes more dominant, I see the potential for a corresponding Golden Age of Advertising.
In fact, I can imagine a world where I don't have to fast-forward. At the commercial break, TiVo just pauses the program and pops up a window with silent, small, labeled, looping video previews of each commercial. I can press a single button to go right back to the program (the television will also go back to the show automatically after a period of time I can specify, default 10 seconds), or I can watch the commercials of my choosing. Sellers get kickass marketing data and I don't see a second of television that doesn't interest me.
Now, I feel like this is the sort of thing Wired pointed out years and years ago, but since I can't find the article: people will willingly stop, rewind, and watch commercials that look interesting. I have been yelled at for not doing this during America's Next Top Model: it's how I found Beauty and the Geek. It's also why I've seen so many Xbox 360, movie, and PS3 commercials — in fact, I've even gone on YouTube and sought out exceptionally good commercials, like the "banned in the U.S." Xbox 360 commercial "Standoff" — and I don't think I'm the only one who does this.
Recorders like TiVo can track what commercials I'm watching and which I skip, and I only watch commercials that interest me... shouldn't that put tremendous pressure on advertisers to make better, more interesting ads? I've argued before that we're in a new Golden Age of Television, both in terms of programming options and coach potato technology, but as commercial-skipping recorders becomes more dominant, I see the potential for a corresponding Golden Age of Advertising.
In fact, I can imagine a world where I don't have to fast-forward. At the commercial break, TiVo just pauses the program and pops up a window with silent, small, labeled, looping video previews of each commercial. I can press a single button to go right back to the program (the television will also go back to the show automatically after a period of time I can specify, default 10 seconds), or I can watch the commercials of my choosing. Sellers get kickass marketing data and I don't see a second of television that doesn't interest me.
It doesn't matter that all the girls hated Melrose. And she was good at modeling, but she--and I sound like Twiggy here, I know--photographs old. Even though her pictures were consistently good-to-great, none of them compare to CariDee's freaky Halloween picture.
I am, however, surprised that they crowned CariDee after her dreadful performance in the "corpse bride" fashion show.
I need a life.
A life! From our super-secret work conversation, it's clear that you already work somewhere where ideas matter. Why, I can't conceive of such a place.
Incidentally, the trick to having a life, and I'm probably the last person who deserves to begin a sentence with that phrase, seems to be adding people and booze to the stuff you're already doing. At least that's my theory as I leave to go play videogames and drink at someone else's house. Whoo! Saturday night!
Is there a drinking game for copy editors?
There are people and pizza involved on ANTM nights. Why no booze, I have no idea. Will be spending the time between ANTM Cycles 7 and 8 devising an appropriate drinking game.
Off topic: you seem to have upped your amount of content. I like reading something new here everyday, even if it's only about something you've edited.
There's no pressure to keep it up, but it seemed like a new (positive) trend.
Friday, December 8 8:29 PM
A post about ridiculous things
Celebrating another Tyra-free day. America's Next Top Model ended on Wednesday, and I was happy that CariDee won, considering some of the other options.
Of course I was rooting for CariDee, but I was also the room's sole defender of runner-up Melrose. (I'd link to her Wikipedia article too, but most of the editors there have no appreciation for the Long Tail.) Why should the fact that no one got along with Melrose be at all important? She was good at modeling.
Our new trashy, wine-enhanced Wednesday show will clearly have to be Beauty and the Geek. I was completely unaware that such a show existed, but I mean — the choice is obvious now.
Jenna claims that the geeks have problems they need to fix too, but in this area my views haven't changed much since high school. Could it be that Our Bold Hero will learn something? Stay tuned.
I wonder: Would joining in on some Totally Scrabble Tuesday action make me a better person, or at least cultured enough that I can spend my Wednesdays watching a reality show without being shamed for it? I love days of the week with their own nicknames! I also love Scrabble, have even tried to invent an ill-advised drinking game version.
See, if I were an alcoholic, I would have figured out a way to make that work.
Of course I was rooting for CariDee, but I was also the room's sole defender of runner-up Melrose. (I'd link to her Wikipedia article too, but most of the editors there have no appreciation for the Long Tail.) Why should the fact that no one got along with Melrose be at all important? She was good at modeling.
Our new trashy, wine-enhanced Wednesday show will clearly have to be Beauty and the Geek. I was completely unaware that such a show existed, but I mean — the choice is obvious now.
Jenna claims that the geeks have problems they need to fix too, but in this area my views haven't changed much since high school. Could it be that Our Bold Hero will learn something? Stay tuned.
I wonder: Would joining in on some Totally Scrabble Tuesday action make me a better person, or at least cultured enough that I can spend my Wednesdays watching a reality show without being shamed for it? I love days of the week with their own nicknames! I also love Scrabble, have even tried to invent an ill-advised drinking game version.
See, if I were an alcoholic, I would have figured out a way to make that work.
Thursday, December 7 11:01 AM
The editing adventure continues
I realized yesterday that I have been working at this suspiciously vague editing job of mine for like five months in resume time. In that time, I've edited around fifty B.E.E.s and probably a thousand or so T.L.E.s.
I've also dealt with my share of writers, probably two a day on average though more lately, and the vast majority of them are chatty, friendly, and apologetic. Sometimes I have to catch myself, because I've started to make smalltalk.
The people who've really, really messed up their assignments — this is the group that I occasionally refer to as the "supergeniuses" — tend to be polite, but a bit self-righteous and confused. Yesterday I finally had one get snippy with me, saying, "Well, I don't envy your job, I'll tell you that."
To which I instinctively responded, "Well, you have to love editing."
And it's true. I mean, long conversations with hostile writers do suck, but I have fun at work every day: when I spot a hard-to-find error, when I discover some new species of mistake, when I show a writer how to avoid a persistent problem, etc. It's hard to start work — even when it's just a matter of leaving warm covers and walking to your computer, the commute still sucks — but once I'm there, yeah.
It's clear to me, has been clear to me for a while, that I'm happy here, with a decent foothold on what is probably one of the lowest rungs on that tall, tall editing ladder. (Though in fact, I'd probably be happy in any English geek job.)
Step three (sigh): profit.
I've also dealt with my share of writers, probably two a day on average though more lately, and the vast majority of them are chatty, friendly, and apologetic. Sometimes I have to catch myself, because I've started to make smalltalk.
The people who've really, really messed up their assignments — this is the group that I occasionally refer to as the "supergeniuses" — tend to be polite, but a bit self-righteous and confused. Yesterday I finally had one get snippy with me, saying, "Well, I don't envy your job, I'll tell you that."
To which I instinctively responded, "Well, you have to love editing."
And it's true. I mean, long conversations with hostile writers do suck, but I have fun at work every day: when I spot a hard-to-find error, when I discover some new species of mistake, when I show a writer how to avoid a persistent problem, etc. It's hard to start work — even when it's just a matter of leaving warm covers and walking to your computer, the commute still sucks — but once I'm there, yeah.
It's clear to me, has been clear to me for a while, that I'm happy here, with a decent foothold on what is probably one of the lowest rungs on that tall, tall editing ladder. (Though in fact, I'd probably be happy in any English geek job.)
Step three (sigh): profit.
Okay, my curiosity can take it no longer. What is this mythical editing job you do from home? The high in Chicago today is 17 degrees, and the heat inside the office is kept at a balmy 25. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but I AM wearing both scarf and hat at my desk. And I still have goosebumps.
In keeping with dooce's infamous "be ye not so stupid" advice, you can email me a response. browning [at] uchicago [dot] edu.
Dan, This has nothing to do with your blog but Im drunk and you should come to Chicago for news years and we should party like that time we both were drunk and saw things we shouldnt have. For those readers not dan, enjoy your life.
Ooooooh god, that time. Good times.
Aren't you supposed to be in Ohio, Jubb? And sober at 2 in the afternoon? What the hell would you be doing in Chicago? Shoot me an email sometime: inquiring bold heroes want to know.
Tuesday, December 5 12:11 AM
Public Service Announcement: I can see!
The difference between:
Federal guidelines are quite explicit: If you can't see better than 20/200, or if your field of vision is less than 20 degrees, you can take the credit. -Slate
And:
You cannot see better than 20/200 with glasses or contact lenses -IRS
Is the difference between my being legally blind and not.
I am not legally blind. In fact, I know someone who was struck blind for a short period, and since I heard about it, the thought of becoming suddenly, actually blind has terrified me.
Rationalization. It was all too easy for me to misread and misread and misread that sentence from the Slate article, because that I was legally blind was one of my longheld (and utterly incorrect) beliefs. The Slate article strengthened it a hundredfold, but I've probably had some version of it since finding out in Driver's Ed that I am "legally blind" without my glasses (but then, I guess anyone with vision worse than 20/40 gets the "corrective lenses" restriction on their license). I cannot read so much as a stop sign without them.
(I also cannot drive very well with a shard of glass in my eye. I remember actually arguing this point with Manney, who did not relish the thought of taking the wheel for me.)
But anyways. Everyone ignore what I said before: none of us qualifies for that tax break.
It's very inconvenient for me that this particular crazy belief has had an effect on the real world. I've already been over my tax returns, and it looks like with my meager earnings, I'd've gotten back all my federal taxes — $10 one year! — without the literally thousands of dollars in fraudulent deductions. So I'm clearly the only one freaking out here: an IRS representative basically told me that they didn't care about this. The IRS has kept its cool. No harm, no foul.
Unfortunately, a MN state employee who I called a few months ago to verify my "legally blind" status in this state did not correct my misconception — that part at least is not my fault — so I still have to correct a whole other set of forms to let Minnesota in on the joke. I can't actually get to those forms right now, but I've been assured that MN also thinks this is no big deal.
Latent foolishness, revealed. This seems to happen about once a year or so; friends with secret-level clearance can petition the central office for access to the list.
Federal guidelines are quite explicit: If you can't see better than 20/200, or if your field of vision is less than 20 degrees, you can take the credit. -Slate
And:
You cannot see better than 20/200 with glasses or contact lenses -IRS
Is the difference between my being legally blind and not.
I am not legally blind. In fact, I know someone who was struck blind for a short period, and since I heard about it, the thought of becoming suddenly, actually blind has terrified me.
Rationalization. It was all too easy for me to misread and misread and misread that sentence from the Slate article, because that I was legally blind was one of my longheld (and utterly incorrect) beliefs. The Slate article strengthened it a hundredfold, but I've probably had some version of it since finding out in Driver's Ed that I am "legally blind" without my glasses (but then, I guess anyone with vision worse than 20/40 gets the "corrective lenses" restriction on their license). I cannot read so much as a stop sign without them.
(I also cannot drive very well with a shard of glass in my eye. I remember actually arguing this point with Manney, who did not relish the thought of taking the wheel for me.)
But anyways. Everyone ignore what I said before: none of us qualifies for that tax break.
It's very inconvenient for me that this particular crazy belief has had an effect on the real world. I've already been over my tax returns, and it looks like with my meager earnings, I'd've gotten back all my federal taxes — $10 one year! — without the literally thousands of dollars in fraudulent deductions. So I'm clearly the only one freaking out here: an IRS representative basically told me that they didn't care about this. The IRS has kept its cool. No harm, no foul.
Unfortunately, a MN state employee who I called a few months ago to verify my "legally blind" status in this state did not correct my misconception — that part at least is not my fault — so I still have to correct a whole other set of forms to let Minnesota in on the joke. I can't actually get to those forms right now, but I've been assured that MN also thinks this is no big deal.
Latent foolishness, revealed. This seems to happen about once a year or so; friends with secret-level clearance can petition the central office for access to the list.
Don't you think your inner moral sense should have told you you were wrong far before Slate did?
You misread. Slate didn't tell me I was wrong, it failed to point out the crucial distinction between corrected and uncorrected vision and thereby encouraged me in my wrongness.
I don't think this has anything to do with my "inner moral sense," which is still both flavorful and robust, but I am ashamed that my inner copy editor didn't pick up on the ambiguity in the Slate article and do a little more research.
Sunday, December 3 11:48 AM
Dan's Big Saturday
Shopping! I wandered the Mall of America with my mom for about six hours yesterday — my Gramma was invited, but simply spat, "I don't do the Mall."
I know quite a few other Twin Cities residents who would react similarly. Myself, I didn't find much I was tempted to buy. (Except maybe at Le Gourmet Chef, a better and more realistic version of Williams-Sonoma.)
I haven't been to the Mall for at least three years, so I was disappointed to see that Bare Bones, once my favorite store, is now gone. Unless you count a proliferation of charm bracelet stores (what's the count noun for charm bracelet stores? A gaggle? A murder? A retail? I can never remember) and a few booths selling "Grandma Pants," there were no new interesting niche stores.
Grandma Pants also deserve their own digression, which includes the following sub-digression:
I kept comparing Grandma Pants to culottes, which I still mentally spell "coolats," — the borrowing "culottes" goes back at least to the sixties, when culottes were sometimes called "hostess pajamas" (scroll down), and is probably much older, but amazingly, it's not in my big dictionary — because of their unusual length, but apparently I don't know what culottes are. Later, Jenna offered her own definition, which as usual I believed because she sounded like she knew what she was talking about — I have to start watching out for this, because much like a former roommate of mine, Jenna rarely makes tentative assertions — but while the word conjures up a certain length (below the knee) for Our Bold Hero, and a different length (above the knee) for people like Jenna, the only stable factor after so many years of assuredly yo-yo-like semantic generalization and narrowing is the hybrid skirt/pants design.
The proper comparison, at least for the Grandma Pants I saw at the Mall, would be knee-length breeches. Made out of some sort of polar fleece? Elsewhere, they look less ridiculous, but when I saw them at the Mall, I wondered who, and why.
Remember those weird commercials with celebrities shopping at the mall? With the old lady from Just Shoot Me? I can't believe they're still taking up mental warehouse space at this point.
A lot of walking and some crappy Panda Express later (I am seriously craving good Chinese), we left the mall and met up with my brother Matt and some of his cohorts at the Bonfire Grill, which is just south of my apartment, actually.
Those kids were coming from the other side of St. Paul, so here, sitting at the bar with my mom and waiting for a table, is where my six or seven hours of drinking begin. Always a good decision indeed. Ugh: memories of a certain weekend at the Politician's cabin.
But the food was pretty good, and there were many Michigan Tech stories. Those kids and their crazy pranks; all of them are probably at least 1/4 Jubb.
Barry's b-day party was a success, if I can say that. It was actually supposed to be a surprise party, but he invited everyone we were going to invite to his place, so everything worked out. We, by which I mean mainly his g/f Jenna, got him a keggerator. There's a logistical nightmare lurking behind the scenes here, but by the time I showed up, everything had finally been mostly figured out.
We couldn't use the keggerator (see "mostly," above), but there was ample if slightly foamy keg beer and a good crowd. I talked to many people who did not suck — in fact I had a conversation about the Church of the Sub-Genius that was only vaguely connected to Illuminati — and continued my Josie and the Pussycats drinking game campaign.
Some vague plans were made, the kind you can only make when a little drunk. I left at 1, relatively early (Graham says he was there until 3:30), because after putting it off yesterday I had to work this morning.
I'm not hungover whatsoever, in fact I feel something of the pleasant after-drinking lightness that Alan of Lawrence claimed to experience after every party, but this particular Big Elaborate Edit is so thoroughly messed up, with both the English language and our company protocols violated on every page, that all I can bring myself to do is blog about Dan's Big Saturday and listen to every Beck song I have. You have to take some time to relax.
I know quite a few other Twin Cities residents who would react similarly. Myself, I didn't find much I was tempted to buy. (Except maybe at Le Gourmet Chef, a better and more realistic version of Williams-Sonoma.)
I haven't been to the Mall for at least three years, so I was disappointed to see that Bare Bones, once my favorite store, is now gone. Unless you count a proliferation of charm bracelet stores (what's the count noun for charm bracelet stores? A gaggle? A murder? A retail? I can never remember) and a few booths selling "Grandma Pants," there were no new interesting niche stores.
Grandma Pants also deserve their own digression, which includes the following sub-digression:
I kept comparing Grandma Pants to culottes, which I still mentally spell "coolats," — the borrowing "culottes" goes back at least to the sixties, when culottes were sometimes called "hostess pajamas" (scroll down), and is probably much older, but amazingly, it's not in my big dictionary — because of their unusual length, but apparently I don't know what culottes are. Later, Jenna offered her own definition, which as usual I believed because she sounded like she knew what she was talking about — I have to start watching out for this, because much like a former roommate of mine, Jenna rarely makes tentative assertions — but while the word conjures up a certain length (below the knee) for Our Bold Hero, and a different length (above the knee) for people like Jenna, the only stable factor after so many years of assuredly yo-yo-like semantic generalization and narrowing is the hybrid skirt/pants design.
The proper comparison, at least for the Grandma Pants I saw at the Mall, would be knee-length breeches. Made out of some sort of polar fleece? Elsewhere, they look less ridiculous, but when I saw them at the Mall, I wondered who, and why.
Remember those weird commercials with celebrities shopping at the mall? With the old lady from Just Shoot Me? I can't believe they're still taking up mental warehouse space at this point.
A lot of walking and some crappy Panda Express later (I am seriously craving good Chinese), we left the mall and met up with my brother Matt and some of his cohorts at the Bonfire Grill, which is just south of my apartment, actually.
Those kids were coming from the other side of St. Paul, so here, sitting at the bar with my mom and waiting for a table, is where my six or seven hours of drinking begin. Always a good decision indeed. Ugh: memories of a certain weekend at the Politician's cabin.
But the food was pretty good, and there were many Michigan Tech stories. Those kids and their crazy pranks; all of them are probably at least 1/4 Jubb.
Barry's b-day party was a success, if I can say that. It was actually supposed to be a surprise party, but he invited everyone we were going to invite to his place, so everything worked out. We, by which I mean mainly his g/f Jenna, got him a keggerator. There's a logistical nightmare lurking behind the scenes here, but by the time I showed up, everything had finally been mostly figured out.
We couldn't use the keggerator (see "mostly," above), but there was ample if slightly foamy keg beer and a good crowd. I talked to many people who did not suck — in fact I had a conversation about the Church of the Sub-Genius that was only vaguely connected to Illuminati — and continued my Josie and the Pussycats drinking game campaign.
Some vague plans were made, the kind you can only make when a little drunk. I left at 1, relatively early (Graham says he was there until 3:30), because after putting it off yesterday I had to work this morning.
I'm not hungover whatsoever, in fact I feel something of the pleasant after-drinking lightness that Alan of Lawrence claimed to experience after every party, but this particular Big Elaborate Edit is so thoroughly messed up, with both the English language and our company protocols violated on every page, that all I can bring myself to do is blog about Dan's Big Saturday and listen to every Beck song I have. You have to take some time to relax.
Friday, December 1 8:21 PM
I Just Called to Say I Hate You
[Act II of Farce, presented more or less verbatim.]
Our Bold Hero: You called?
Ben: Yeah. So guess what we're doing tonight?
Our Bold Hero: Oh god, I knew you were calling to spite me. Mariokart Drinking Game? Illuminati?!
Ben: Guess again. It's your favorite thing.
Our Bold Hero: No, not King's Cup?!?
Ben: No...
Our Bold Hero: A Gears of War LAN party? I don't... I don't know, what else could be... What is it? I give up. I have no idea what else could be so awesome.
Ben: We're going to play the Josie and the Pussycats drinking game!
Our Bold Hero: NOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo! Why do you always call to destroy my soul?
Our Bold Hero: You called?
Ben: Yeah. So guess what we're doing tonight?
Our Bold Hero: Oh god, I knew you were calling to spite me. Mariokart Drinking Game? Illuminati?!
Ben: Guess again. It's your favorite thing.
Our Bold Hero: No, not King's Cup?!?
Ben: No...
Our Bold Hero: A Gears of War LAN party? I don't... I don't know, what else could be... What is it? I give up. I have no idea what else could be so awesome.
Ben: We're going to play the Josie and the Pussycats drinking game!
Our Bold Hero: NOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo! Why do you always call to destroy my soul?
I can't think of a more apt description than that. It was fun, by the way, but not as fun as usual, of course.
Alles Wird Gut
Navigate
Blogosphere blog
Drink blog
Language blog
Back to Main
Taste
View
Review
Quick update
Give me Smarch any day
Catch up
The one with the gigantic computer monitor
In which I don't mention the time I got lost for a...
Books and circuses
In which I triumphantly return
In which I have not yet painted my kitchen
Arrg
As Red Leader would say
Visit
Annie
Ben
Laura
Dooce
Achewood
Basic Instructions
Beartato
Cat and Girl
Dinosaur Comics
Hark! A Vagrant
Penny Arcade
Overcompensating
Pictures for Sad Children
White Ninja Comics
Wonderella
Bartleby
Julian Sanchez
Language Log
Megan McArdle
MnBeer
Netvibes
Who is IOZ?
