Awesome links to pass the time

While I try to finally watch the final two episodes of Cowboy Bebop (Marin and I watched the rest of it before fall term), I will leave you with these three links, gleaned off of the Anime Jump forums.

The 10 Least Successful Holiday Specials of All Time: National Lampoon style.

Solid Sharkey: Worlds of Power: Plot summaries of Scholastic books based off of Nintendo games. (No, I never read any of these.)

The Wizard: This “review” is the next-best thing to actually watching the movie. (Though it does leave out the scene where the old guy sips a beer while watching two adults beat the shit out of their cars.) I still remember this “movie” fondly—probably because I don’t watch it all that often.

Little progress; natives restless

Things haven’t been especially hectic lately—I just seem to be poorly prepared to handle what has come my way. With the end of my dance classes I seem to have reverted to a sedentary, passive lifestyle; what things I do tend to be the result of Brian calling me up. (He’s responsible for my having played snooker on Wednesday, and for my having watched Wave Twisters on Thursday.) I’m glad that Brian will call me—thanks, B!—but I’m a bit worried that I’m not calling him. Or anyone, for that matter.

Maybe part of this is related to my junky, junky sleep habits. Actually, I’m almost certain it is—there’d be darn-near perfect correlation between the amount of sleep I get and how social I want to be. There is also a strong correlation between how social I am and how happy I am, so not getting sleep can really screw me over.

Of course, I type the above at midnight. Hmm.

Work has been a PITA lately, as people have gotten tired of the moat of paper I have surrounding my castlecubicle. I now need to rid myself of that paper posthaste, which mostly involves me hunching over my scanner for a bloody eternity.

If “Quasimodo” is too complicated a name to say on a regular basis, I will also respond to “Quasi” or “Quas.”

In the semi-victory department you may now find my attempt to find a copy of “China in Your Hands” by Fusion. It seems that the Holiday Hit Mix 1999 CD (a copy of which is now mine) has the right song by the right group—in a (more) acoustic version. (At least, I remember the background being a bit more full than the copy I have.) That’s not all that big a deal, though, as this version still sounds nice and you can still dance to it—meaning that my itch for that song is mostly scratched. Mostly.

China in my hands

So there’s this extremely nice night club two step song entitled China in Your Hands that I wanted to purchase. This proved exceedingly difficult, for the following reasons:

1) Its name is quite similar to an ’80s hit by T’Pau, China in Your Hand. From 30-second sound clips I surmise that the T’Pau song sucks—yet is still found on a good number of CDs.

2) The group that sang the song is named Fusion, which is annoyingly generic when you’re staring down the Google search field.

3) Fusion is (as best I can tell) a German band. (Yes, the song itself is sung in English.)

4) Fusion is (as best I can tell) a one-hit-wonder German band.

5) The song was only released as a single, which is long out of print.

I finally succeeded in finding a copy of the song—I hope—on an import compilation CD entitled Holiday Hit Mix 1999. Yes, that CD is itself five years out of print—but that’s what Amazon’s Marketplace is for.

Hung for the holidays

Whoever decided the world needed another blight, in the form of a second William Hung CD, needs to be punished. These acts cannot go without repercussions.

Whoever titled Hung’s second CD, however, should be promoted above the drudge and misery that must be his or her life. From every account I’ve read (and, believe me, I’ve read about three accounts), the title of the album is by far the best thing about it.

The holiday party

Friday’s entertainment was a Soul Calibur II mega-battle with Brian and Nate, built on a foundation of the first disc of Aqua Teen Hunger Force volume 3. For whatever reason, I got on my game later in the evening and began a reign of terror. (Actually, I started using Charade to limit my powers—though I did mourn my inability to taunt at the beginning of matches.) We wrapped things up with a look at Katamari Damacy, a game where you go around rolling ordinary objects (you know: cookies, shrubs, cats, people, buildings, islands) into a giant ball to launch into space as a replacement star, since your dad (the King of All Cosmos, and an ass) got drunk and somehow destroyed all the real stars. Weird, whimsical game—we just played it far too early in the morning.

Saturday was the office holiday party. At the Country Club, the premiere place for these sorts of shin-digs. Eric and I (after I fought with my tie—it’s been a long time since I’ve bothered dressing up) showed up on time, and were darn near the first to arrive. We got to chat with our boss a bit, who made the mistake of asking us what we had done with the rest of our day. Eric’s answer included the phrase played a violent video game, which created an atmosphere not unlike the trip to Portland that my boss, Debi, and I took wherein Debi chatted about downloading MP3s of punk covers. (I, sadly, never got to tell the boss what I did with my day.)

The place itself was set up nicely, with a small wooden floor on one end of a long hall (where they served dinner and, later, would have dancing) and a few bajillion tables. At the other end was the (legendary) open bar, and beyond that was an entirely different party. People started filtering in, and soon the bulk of my coworkers arrived in a few large groups. Those groups congregated on three tables in a corner; Eric decided that he wanted to meet new people, and staked a position at a table in the center of the room. I was never convinced that would work (our table would be avoided by others, or would feature a small group congregating on the other end and chatting among themselves), and so never sat down. As the place started filling in, Eric came to the same conclusion—so we wound up sitting with the younger gals in our office. Both Eric and I were complimented on how well we cleaned up, which I guess is a good thing.

The waitresses were darn responsive, and impressed me with their ability to remember everyone’s drinks. (I wish my memory was half as good—I would have to write every order down, along with where the person who ordered it was sitting, if I wanted half a chance of getting things right.) Food was generally excellent, though people found the roast beef quite tough; some (discreetly) resorted to the so-called caveman technique to finish their meat.

As the drinks kept coming, Billie told a hilarious story about Kristina. Before you get that, however, you get my experience:

The first time I saw Kristina at a ballroom dance practice, after she started working at my office, I went over and said ‘hi’ to her. Then a west coast swing song came on, and someone asked her to dance; I returned to my usual haunt and habits (i.e. holding up the wall). At the last waltz of the evening, I asked Kristy (different gal; friend from a couple dance classes) if she wanted to dance; I was too late, however, as she had already begun packing up her shoes to leave. Right then I felt a tap on my shoulder—Kristina asking me if I’d like to dance. We did. End of evening.

Billie’s story: Kristina and Billie went out for a beer after work sometime after that. According to Billie, Kristina told her about how Brent totally wanted [Kristina], as we had danced and my hands had been shaking something fierce throughout.

Now, as I mentioned here just last week, I have an intention tremor. It is bloody annoying at times—dancing included—though most follows just assume that I’m nervous (until it comes up in conversation, and I set the record straight). Billie was aware of my tremor, courtesy of an ill-fated attempt to cut a birthday cake, and pointed that out to Kristina. Sadly, she never really told us what the response to that revelation was.

I don’t deny I liked Kristina (though I don’t think I’ve ever totally wanted someone)—but the Kristina I liked was the one I saw at work: quiet, friendly, and smart enough to keep her mouth shut around the office. Apparently that’s not necessarily her true nature—a darn shame.

After dinner ended, the dancing started. I could almost see the gears grinding in the heads of the people who built the playlist; among the chosen were such classics as YMCA, Stayin’ Alive, and Old Time Rock and Roll. The people who got up and danced were basically doing the drunk person flail, so I entertained myself (and only myself) by remaining seated at the table and informing Eric what dance one might do to each song. (Hustle and WCS dominated; WCS mostly because you can dance west coast to almost anything.)

As we headed home, Eric and I touched on the amount of money that event must have cost. If it’s anything around what we suspect, it is both amazing and galling.

And now, some entertaining links for you to check out:

The Ad Graveyard—Advertising that wound up dead, usually for good reason.

Adventures in Advertising—Offbeat anecdotes, in the shape of a bookmark.

Scary Go Round —Webcomic featuring hilarious dialogue. (You’ll especially thank me for this last link, as I thanked Brian for introducing it to me.)

Entry #488: In which I blab incessantly on dance-related topics

(sob) That’s it. My ten weeks of dance classes are finished, and I return to the world of ordinary stiffs.

At the end of each class is a “practical exam,” which historically has always translated into a review of the moves we learned throughout the term. (They just use a different name to fulfill some silly bureaucratic requirement.) Not so, in west coast! In WCS competitions there’s a category called Jack & Jill, where partners and the music they dance to are selected randomly. A subset of the entrants take the floor, dance (and are judged), and then yield to the next subset. [If you really care: judges rate individuals in the early rounds—so you aren’t completely out of the running if you draw a poor partner—and then couples in the later.]

Our practical exam, then, was a faux Jack & Jill competition (sans judging). We had three or four pairs out on the floor at a time, which was more than enough to cause a bit of performance anxiety for everyone involved—at least before, everyone else was too involved in their own mistakes to make note of yours. Though it wound up being fun, I don’t think I’m going to voluntarily put myself in that position too often.

In my hustle class our “practical exam” turned out to be watching some taped ballroom competition and trying not to gag at some of the inane commentary given by the female host. (How do you get to host a ballroom competition without knowing one iota about ballroom dancing?) A fellow lead and I made note of the cane that one guy accessorized his suit with, and our conversation soon went out into left field: the cane should conceal a sword; duels (and, inevitably, Zell Miller); the idea that two guys should walk to the center of the MU quad one afternoon with their canes, and then draw their swords and progress into a fierce fencing match. I also suggested an awesome ballroom dance choreographed between me and Kristy: we would separate and spread about ten feet apart, and then Kristy would do an astounding leap (full of twists) high into the air, over my head, and land ten feet on the other side of me. I assured her we would win the competition: “That Brent sure sucked, but damn is Kristy good!”

Sadly, I was not in top form for the last Wednesday night practice. (This was most apparent in my one WCS dance, where I started off perpendicular to all the other dancers and proceeded to fall apart from there. I seem to need a warm-up dance before I can be any good at west coast…. There was a silver lining, though, in that I had a good follow who taught me how to get out of my mess—not that I’ll ever get into it again, mind you.) That particular disaster was mitigated by the fact that I got to see, chat, and (sometimes) dance with a good number of my friends for the rest of the evening.

The music selection was terrible, though! Jay counted some nine or ten lindy hops (in contrast to one cha-cha), and the majority of the other songs were so slow and quiet that it was quite easy to lose their beat. (Only a handful of people know how to lindy hop; the vast majority can cha-cha.) Barry and I finally planned an uprising to find better music; he suggested that he go kick the people around the MP3 player, and I change the track. I agreed to that plan quickly, as it left him holding the bag when it came to the inevitable assault and battery charges that would follow.

Thank you, business law!

In early December there are two traditions that I am aware of. First: my office will hold its annual Christmas Holiday Party the weekend before finals. Second: I will not attend said party.

Historically, my reason has always been the need to study for my exams. This is the first year that I do not have that excuse—and this is the first year that I will attend that party.

The conversation that got me into this went as follows:

Brent: So I guess I won’t be attending the office party this year, either.

Office Manager: Why’s that?

Brent: I forgot to RSVP before the deadline.

Office Manager: Oh, no problem there. I’ll add your name—and you better be there!

Brent: Shit.

Next year I learn to mouth off the day before the party, and no sooner. On the plus side, I will finally determine what constitutes “dancing” at a doctor’s holiday party. (Club-style dance doesn’t fit my image of a semi-formal event that isn’t directly related to high-school, yet I doubt that many people know how any ballroom dances. Such mystery!)

Tarnation

There goes another four-day weekend. As usual, I have very little to show for it.

As I threatened earlier, I did start trying to poke around and figure out a new design for the ol’ blog. I’m pretty much drawing blanks, however, and the few actual ideas I’ve had are just basic things I’d either like or like to avoid. (Though I may sound down on certain sites I link, I actually think all the sites I point at look damn good; their look, however, just may not be my look.)

I Like:

Simplicity. I’m not the type who maintains a three column layout that brims with links. A second column of stuff—be it “briefs” or links or whatever—is probably too much for me.

Image Rotation. I first really noticed this at Anime Blog Muyo! (which sadly seems to have fallen silent), and I think it works wonderfully. Keeps things fresh even when they’re a bit stale, etc. A catch is that spaces that are either too vertical or too horizontal are difficult to fill (I’d say my current sidebar is somewhat approaching the “too vertical” limit), yet the general shape of a web browser window is such that a more-reasonable block takes up a lot of space that might be used for actual content.

I’d prefer to avoid:

Centered layouts. It’s not that I don’t like them (though that may be hard for you to swallow, given the proximity to the title of this section), but they just seem to be all over the place these days. And though they all look different, I can’t help but notice how they all look the same. I’ve never been one of those people who had to be different (those who know me personally should be choking on that understatement), but too much of anything gets old. Even for me.

That said, if I could figure out a way to really differentiate my layout… I might be persuaded into a centered design, despite my reservations.

And that’s pretty much the sum-total of my thoughts. (I wasn’t kidding when I said “few.”) Another option I have would be to work on modifying this design more, rather than scrapping it altogether; I am partial to this setup, but that may well be due to the fact that it’s the first somewhat-modern layout I created.

In other news, I hear that Canon has finally made a camera for me. You may be aware of the fact that I have an essential tremor (and if you were not—you are now) that adds just enough shake to my hands to be annoying. Given that fact, you might surmise (correctly!) that I have difficulty shooting a decent picture. I typically need extremely good lighting, total darkness save for the flash, or an insane amount of luck to take a photo that has any sort of focus.

Image stabilization has long been a feature of video cameras. But I hadn’t heard of such technology in a standard camera—until now. This is the camera for me… or, rather, it will be once it either drops in price or my current camera explodes in a ball of flame.

Black Friday ruminations

So, does anybody actually go out on Black Friday to shop for anyone but themselves? (I wound up that way, this year, but I’ll ignore that for now.)

Per tradition, I slept in and wandered over to Fred Meyer for the last half-hour of their early-bird sale. I came out one CD richer (or one CD poorer, if you’re the type who prefers to focus on money and not the material goods acquired), and with one part of my gift to Brian acquired. Unlike last year, I did not witness anybody keel over in front of the customer service desk. I did put a dollar in the Salvation Army pot on my way out, ’cause it just doesn’t feel like Christmas until I do that. (They have a good racket going, in that sense.)

Given my propensity to purchase goods online (and my aversion to crowds), I don’t actually see all that many Salvation Army pots these years. Consequently, I need to make the most of them when I do run across one.

I still remember fondly, one Christmas in high school, a group of my friends all signed up to man the Salvation Army pot in front of the local Rite-Aid for an hour. We ran out of Christmas carols to sing long before our time was up (sure, we knew various Christmas songs—it just turned out that we didn’t really remember all of them), and so resorted to singing anything else that we could all sing along with.

The first (and last) song we sang, in that spirit, was The Itsy-Bitsy Spider. Some guy passing through donated money on the condition that we never sing that song again… it was the proudest donation our group earned, in my estimation.

Another year I ran into Rose and part of her family guarding a pot in front of Fred Meyer, and was coerced into singing with them while Marin finished her shopping. They complained afterwards (good-naturedly) that they couldn’t really hear me singing—at the time, I figured that was the best possible outcome I could have. (I really was singing, by the way. I wasn’t faking.) I’ll never be known for my stellar voice, though in more-recent years I’ve started caring less about protecting others’ ears.

I mean, not too long ago poor Robin had to put up with me singing along to The Rainbow Connection as we waltzed. I really wasn’t singing well (for me) that night, either.

And that brings me to the only other point that exists in my mind at this hour of the morning: it seems that dance has taken over my life. I might even dare to label myself a “dancer,” despite the disservice I would do to that title. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not (though it certainly passes the “do you enjoy it and does it do no harm” test)….

Much like my other interests, dance leaves me with little to talk about with others. It’s not like people get together and talk about dancing when they’re not dancing (at least, I hope not). Anime isn’t especially useful in daily conversation, either, nor is an interest in Macs. Politics is dangerous territory that I’ve (re-)learned to stay away from, and so that pretty much leaves me with the weather.

Damn cold weather we’ve been having, eh?

Happy Thanksgiving!

Or, if you prefer, Happy Gorge Yourself on Food Day! Even more alternatively: Happy Black-Friday Eve!

Although I’ve been mentioning Black Friday quite a bit to those around me (not so much on the blog; you can thank me anytime), the deals this year seem pretty weak. I’m not even tempted to send Marin out to face the crowds while I sleep in, like I did last year.

Yes, I am that evil. (No, actually, she did it of her own free will.)

I will get my ‘thanks’ in sometime today. The idea of a day to be grateful for what you have (not that you shouldn’t be grateful any other day) appeals to me just as much as a day to celebrate evil (not that you shouldn’t…um…nevermind). The fact that Thanksgiving appears to be the one uncorrupted holiday (and thus the one holiday retailers choose to ignore), however, makes it more special.

Though I do kinda like the Japanese take on Christmas, commercialism and all.

Shocking revelations

Tonight I was informed, by various follows, of the following facts:

That I lead better than a coat

That I am “f-ing awesome” (I’m not censoring that statement)

That I have great hair (?)

And those are just the comments I remember off of the top of my head. I especially take pride in the “lead better than a coat” comment (though it was given in a backhanded sort of way), as those damn coats have been showing me up for the longest time. (And, no, I don’t have great hair; if anything, I have “lazy man did a half-assed job using goop to smooth it down” hair.)

Outside of dance, things just continue to plod on as always. I’ve been bitten by the creative bug once again, but (as usual) my ways of creating are rather limited; right now I have half a mind to redesign my blog layout. I wouldn’t bet on any changes—odds are that I’ll burn out before crafting something worthy (and, besides, my //anime page is still horribly neglected)—but the possibility now exists.

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