Bring your own.
12/29/2005
12/26/2005
Make Your Own Browser Icon
Ever notice how some web sites have their own custom icon in the address bar of your browser. You know, one of these little guys.
Want your own? Here's how.
Want your own? Here's how.
12/23/2005
Stupid Google Tricks
Google offers a language translation engine. While it is a useful tool, it's hardly perfect. For example, I often miss deliveries because the couriers are too timid, so I decided to make a sign for my apartment door reading, "Please Knock Loudly". It seemed like a good idea for it to also be in Spanish. Translating three simple word shouldn't be too hard, right? Well ...
What I got was "Por favor golpes en alta voz." Which means "Please blows in high voice."
Perfect.
For more of this type of fun, try taking a story, run it through the translator and then run the results through again translating it back into English. I did this with some of my own pages and the results were a thing of beauty.
"When I was 20 years old, I came out of the closet," translated into French and back into English became "When I was 20 years old, I emerged from the cabinet." When I translated my blog into Spanish, "Obnoxious and Inappropriate" became "Disagreeable and Inadequate" and into French it became "Unpleasant and Inadequate."
Priceless.
What I got was "Por favor golpes en alta voz." Which means "Please blows in high voice."
Perfect.
For more of this type of fun, try taking a story, run it through the translator and then run the results through again translating it back into English. I did this with some of my own pages and the results were a thing of beauty.
"When I was 20 years old, I came out of the closet," translated into French and back into English became "When I was 20 years old, I emerged from the cabinet." When I translated my blog into Spanish, "Obnoxious and Inappropriate" became "Disagreeable and Inadequate" and into French it became "Unpleasant and Inadequate."
Priceless.
12/17/2005
The Art of Conversation
OK. Enough with the pretty boys. Back to comedy ....
I had two experiences this week that in combination have lead me to some powerful realizations about stand-up ... first, I bombed ... second, I saw Memoirs of a Geisha.
Now, I should start by saying that "bombing" is probably not quite the right word to describe my show Wednesday night. The word implies both failure and embarrassment. And the experience was neither of those things. It was an experiment. I set out with an agenda and goals and I learned from the experience. So in that sense it was a smashing success.
However, what I did not get from the show was laughs. Which is something for which a comic usually strives. So in that sense, I bombed. But I didn't care. (Please no, "there, there, don't cry, it happens to everyone" comments. I'm fine. Really.)
Being an open-mic, it was a room full of comics. I pay a cover charge and get stage time. So that time is mine to do with as I please. There's no obligation to deliver the laughs, as there is with a "real" show. So with no obligations and nothing to prove I went way out on a limb and tried something new and weird.
After writing Ode to the XBox 360 this week I decided that it was funny. I decided it was so funny, in fact, that with visions of David Sedaris dancing in my head I decided to try performing it as a dramatic reading of a humorous essay. I saw it as an experiment and as a question. "Can I infuse this script with enough energy and emotion that others will find it as funny as I do?"
I got what I wanted, a clear answer to my question. The answer was a resounding, "no".
They starred. They coughed. They started their own private conversations out of boredom. But they did not laugh. Someone in the audience asked if my set was a sponsored Microsoft product placement and the comic after me asked if the show had turned into a Bowery poetry reading.
Why?
Hold that thought....
Yesterday I saw Memoirs of a Geisha. It's a stunningly beautiful film. I left the theater feeling like I'd had a dream about a fantastical world. It really captured the visual world of the geisha, where the artist attempts to turn everything into art from dance to conversation, from walking to holding a fan, from eye contact to seduction, and even just pouring a cup of tea. This idea of creating visual and verbal illusions and finding art in the smallest details appeals to me.
So what does all this have to do with stand up?
Stand up is the art of the illusion of conversation. Leaving aside crowd work (which is often more scripted than it appears) it is not actually a conversation. The performer mounts the stage with a script, albeit a sometimes flexible one, and talks about topics of his choosing. But the comic wants you to feel that it is a conversation. The magic comes in the carefully constructed illusion that the comic is speaking with the audience, not at them.
If you look at the structure of stand up, it's not all that different from a State of the Union address. There's a speaker, an audience and a script. It is the presentation of the material that is vastly different in stand up. Comics go to great effort to make the audience feel like they're just hanging out, having a casual evening swapping stories and making jokes with friends. But they're not. It's an illusion. The more convincing the illusion, the better the comedy.
I have occasionally seen Robin Williams criticized as not being as spontaneous as he's represented to be. Of course he's not! Did anyone really think he actually thought up all that stuff on the spot? No. He slaved for hours over every word. The magic is in making it appear spontaneous. And to me, that is the greater achievement ... making something carefully scripted appear spontaneous.
I've seen other comics, notably Marilyn Pittman and Scott Capurro, change gears in the middle of a stand up set and do something that's obviously scripted, bits with a more narrative tone. Marylin's bit is her "Naughty American Savings and Loan" and Scott's is "I want the straight American dream."
I remain convinced that some version of my Ode to the XBox 360 can work as an intentional shift in tone in the middle of a much longer set. But it can't work standing on it's own, as I presented it on Wednesday and here's why.
Now if you'll excuse me, please, I'm off to enroll in geisha school.
I had two experiences this week that in combination have lead me to some powerful realizations about stand-up ... first, I bombed ... second, I saw Memoirs of a Geisha.
Now, I should start by saying that "bombing" is probably not quite the right word to describe my show Wednesday night. The word implies both failure and embarrassment. And the experience was neither of those things. It was an experiment. I set out with an agenda and goals and I learned from the experience. So in that sense it was a smashing success.
However, what I did not get from the show was laughs. Which is something for which a comic usually strives. So in that sense, I bombed. But I didn't care. (Please no, "there, there, don't cry, it happens to everyone" comments. I'm fine. Really.)
Being an open-mic, it was a room full of comics. I pay a cover charge and get stage time. So that time is mine to do with as I please. There's no obligation to deliver the laughs, as there is with a "real" show. So with no obligations and nothing to prove I went way out on a limb and tried something new and weird.
After writing Ode to the XBox 360 this week I decided that it was funny. I decided it was so funny, in fact, that with visions of David Sedaris dancing in my head I decided to try performing it as a dramatic reading of a humorous essay. I saw it as an experiment and as a question. "Can I infuse this script with enough energy and emotion that others will find it as funny as I do?"
I got what I wanted, a clear answer to my question. The answer was a resounding, "no".
They starred. They coughed. They started their own private conversations out of boredom. But they did not laugh. Someone in the audience asked if my set was a sponsored Microsoft product placement and the comic after me asked if the show had turned into a Bowery poetry reading.
Why?
Hold that thought....
Yesterday I saw Memoirs of a Geisha. It's a stunningly beautiful film. I left the theater feeling like I'd had a dream about a fantastical world. It really captured the visual world of the geisha, where the artist attempts to turn everything into art from dance to conversation, from walking to holding a fan, from eye contact to seduction, and even just pouring a cup of tea. This idea of creating visual and verbal illusions and finding art in the smallest details appeals to me.
So what does all this have to do with stand up?
Stand up is the art of the illusion of conversation. Leaving aside crowd work (which is often more scripted than it appears) it is not actually a conversation. The performer mounts the stage with a script, albeit a sometimes flexible one, and talks about topics of his choosing. But the comic wants you to feel that it is a conversation. The magic comes in the carefully constructed illusion that the comic is speaking with the audience, not at them.
If you look at the structure of stand up, it's not all that different from a State of the Union address. There's a speaker, an audience and a script. It is the presentation of the material that is vastly different in stand up. Comics go to great effort to make the audience feel like they're just hanging out, having a casual evening swapping stories and making jokes with friends. But they're not. It's an illusion. The more convincing the illusion, the better the comedy.
I have occasionally seen Robin Williams criticized as not being as spontaneous as he's represented to be. Of course he's not! Did anyone really think he actually thought up all that stuff on the spot? No. He slaved for hours over every word. The magic is in making it appear spontaneous. And to me, that is the greater achievement ... making something carefully scripted appear spontaneous.
I've seen other comics, notably Marilyn Pittman and Scott Capurro, change gears in the middle of a stand up set and do something that's obviously scripted, bits with a more narrative tone. Marylin's bit is her "Naughty American Savings and Loan" and Scott's is "I want the straight American dream."
I remain convinced that some version of my Ode to the XBox 360 can work as an intentional shift in tone in the middle of a much longer set. But it can't work standing on it's own, as I presented it on Wednesday and here's why.
- There was no illusion. The audience immediately knew they were being talked at. Without the connection provided by the illusion, they knew I was not engaging them. So they did not engage me.
- There was no context. Friends of mine who've read the bit thought it was funny ... because they know me. They know what a nerd I am. They know I'm the kind of guy who would have a powerful, emotional experience in response to a new technology. This is a funny premise. (At least I think so.) But it requires context. And with the bit being 5 minutes and my spot being 5 minutes, there was no way to establish this context. No context = no humor.
- It was the wrong medium. Night-club stand up is a very specific medium. My essay is funny. But it's humor lies in its careful twists of language and the clever turn of a phrase. These things do not translate to the loud, boisterous, drunken, distracted environment of a night club. That environment is more suited to ... say ... dick jokes. David Sedaris' essay readings work because he's performed them in mediums where the audience wanted and expect them. I doubt he ever tried to read them in a night club. But I'll bet if he did, it wouldn't work.
- To get laughs, the bit needs more jokes. I've written a couple other bits in a narrative form like my Ode to the XBox 360. But they have little jokes in them to pave the way. If I'm gonna do the bit as stand up, it needs more of that.
Now if you'll excuse me, please, I'm off to enroll in geisha school.
12/15/2005
More Casper
Ron pointed out that Casper was in his 20s in all the photos I posted. OK, fine. Here's a recent photo of him with his thirty-something crow's feet, still looking all hot 'n' stuff.
So there.
I read that when asked about his "idols" he told a fitness magazine, "Sylvester Stallone in Rambo II had -- hands down -- the best body."
Egad.
Don't ever read the "thoughts" of celebrities you think are sexy. Invariably it kills it.
So there.
I read that when asked about his "idols" he told a fitness magazine, "Sylvester Stallone in Rambo II had -- hands down -- the best body."
Egad.
Don't ever read the "thoughts" of celebrities you think are sexy. Invariably it kills it.
12/12/2005
And Now For Something Completely Different
My friends are always bugging me about never giving older men a chance. Well I just noticed that Casper Van Dien is exactly 3 days older than me. So see guys? I think older men can be perfectly attractive. Especially when they look like this.
When is 80s feathered hair coming back? And tight jeans. I miss those too.
Starship Troopers is one of those movies that's so bad it's good.
Who me? Pretty boy bondage fantasies? No. Not at all.
Never even crossed my mind. Why do you ask?
Me, Tarzan! You, Jane!
What sweetheart? You want to be Tarzan tonite? OK, honey. Whatever you want. As long as we leave the monkey out of it this time.
When I started this entry, it was just gonna mention his birthday and have one little photo. Now it seems to be getting out of hand. But I'm fine, man. I don't have a problem. I can quit any time I want to. Really. Just one more and I'll stop.
Show daddy your tattoo....
Good boy! Such a good boy!
Did I say one more? I meant two.
Somebody please help me. I'm out of control.
When is 80s feathered hair coming back? And tight jeans. I miss those too.
Starship Troopers is one of those movies that's so bad it's good.
Who me? Pretty boy bondage fantasies? No. Not at all.
Never even crossed my mind. Why do you ask?
Me, Tarzan! You, Jane!
What sweetheart? You want to be Tarzan tonite? OK, honey. Whatever you want. As long as we leave the monkey out of it this time.
When I started this entry, it was just gonna mention his birthday and have one little photo. Now it seems to be getting out of hand. But I'm fine, man. I don't have a problem. I can quit any time I want to. Really. Just one more and I'll stop.
Show daddy your tattoo....
Good boy! Such a good boy!
Did I say one more? I meant two.
Somebody please help me. I'm out of control.
12/11/2005
Ode To The XBox 360
I recently wandered into a Circuit City. I had no particular expectations. I thought I'd drool over the Phillip PX50 plasma displays again, maybe drop twenty bucks on some blanks DVDs.
But then, as I looked up from the bitchin' 12-megapixel Nikon DX2, I was stopped dead in my tracks. What's this? There, before my very eyes, was a sight so amazing, so arresting, it shook my values to their very foundations.
It was Call of Duty 2, on the XBox 360, in Hi-Def.
It was beautiful beyond description. The scenery, rendered with details which make life itself pale by comparison. The motion, smooth as my first lover's touch. The blood, flowed like water from the fountain of youth.
And pixels, oh the pixels! There millions of them! Millions, I tell you. Millions of glorious hi-def pixels.
This was no mere game. This was an experience ... in Dolby Digital Surround Sound with 5.1 channel matrix encoding.
I watched it. Mesmerized.
I watched it and marveled. I watched it and felt a peace my troubled heart has never known. I watched it and felt ashamed at the hubris of desiring to posses something so exquisite. Truly a filthy wretch like me could never defile something so delicate, so sublime with a heathen's touch.
It brought the disgrace of my countless sins into stark relief. My fragile, feeble human mind was overwhelmed. I could bear its radiance no longer. I had to look away.
I staggered from the temple of the object of my desire, gasping for breath, clutching my pathetic substitute purchase. I looked at my dual-layer 16x DVD+RW media with Lightscribe technology hoping some for comfort. But it brought me no solace. How could it? Cast from the garden of the most holy, I began to realize ...
I would never feel joy again.
As the moment passed, I was filled with a deep sadness of this new and terrible knowledge. The universe grants each of us what seems a gift ... but becomes a curse ... one single moment of perfect beauty in a lifetime. Mine came without warning and passed in an instant.
In the aftermath of this tragedy, my life has been a hollow existence ... a vain search to touch once again that all too brief, wondrous moment which, in my heart of hearts, I know will never come again.
So heed this warning, please I beg you. Satan lives at Circuit City, dressed as an angel!
Seek not to view the face of true beauty and true perfection ... lest ye be left as I am ... a shadow ... broken and empty.
Oh yeah! And dude, the explosions totally rocked.
But then, as I looked up from the bitchin' 12-megapixel Nikon DX2, I was stopped dead in my tracks. What's this? There, before my very eyes, was a sight so amazing, so arresting, it shook my values to their very foundations.
It was Call of Duty 2, on the XBox 360, in Hi-Def.
It was beautiful beyond description. The scenery, rendered with details which make life itself pale by comparison. The motion, smooth as my first lover's touch. The blood, flowed like water from the fountain of youth.
And pixels, oh the pixels! There millions of them! Millions, I tell you. Millions of glorious hi-def pixels.
This was no mere game. This was an experience ... in Dolby Digital Surround Sound with 5.1 channel matrix encoding.
I watched it. Mesmerized.
I watched it and marveled. I watched it and felt a peace my troubled heart has never known. I watched it and felt ashamed at the hubris of desiring to posses something so exquisite. Truly a filthy wretch like me could never defile something so delicate, so sublime with a heathen's touch.
It brought the disgrace of my countless sins into stark relief. My fragile, feeble human mind was overwhelmed. I could bear its radiance no longer. I had to look away.
I staggered from the temple of the object of my desire, gasping for breath, clutching my pathetic substitute purchase. I looked at my dual-layer 16x DVD+RW media with Lightscribe technology hoping some for comfort. But it brought me no solace. How could it? Cast from the garden of the most holy, I began to realize ...
I would never feel joy again.
As the moment passed, I was filled with a deep sadness of this new and terrible knowledge. The universe grants each of us what seems a gift ... but becomes a curse ... one single moment of perfect beauty in a lifetime. Mine came without warning and passed in an instant.
In the aftermath of this tragedy, my life has been a hollow existence ... a vain search to touch once again that all too brief, wondrous moment which, in my heart of hearts, I know will never come again.
So heed this warning, please I beg you. Satan lives at Circuit City, dressed as an angel!
Seek not to view the face of true beauty and true perfection ... lest ye be left as I am ... a shadow ... broken and empty.
Oh yeah! And dude, the explosions totally rocked.
I Need An Intervention
I love bridge. No ... I really, really love it. It is the ultimate card game. I used to play hearts, spades and gin rummy. But bridge trumps them all. I'm ruined. All I want to play anymore is bridge. I play bridge, in one form or another, practically every day.
One man, more than any other, is to blame for this ... my friend, American Contract Bridge League Silver Life Master, Ilan Tadmor.
Ilan is a hard core bridge pusher, as seen here in his booking photo from when he was arrested for peddling copies of Marty Bergen's bridge book, Points Schmoints! to innocent children on the board walk in Atlantic City.
Ilan organized a lovely bridge party yesterday ... where else? But the upper-east side of Manhattan, of course. How "ladies who lunch" is that?
Eight of us played until Ilan had to leave and threw us out. Then four of us went to a Starbucks and played until the place closed and they threw us out. On the bus and subway going home, guess what game I played on my handheld computer for an hour?
So I played bridge for 11 hours straight yesterday. When I got home there was no one left awake on this continent to play bridge with me. It took every ounce of what little self control I possess to keep myself from inviting my friend Ron, who lives in Japan and was therefore awake, to play Bridge Base Online Internet bridge with me.
Does the Betty Ford Clinic treat bridge addicts?
So that was going to be the end of this post ... until I read the message from Betty on the home page of her clinic. "I’m also fortunate to know first hand the power of intervention, the process
that took me to the drug and alcohol rehabilitation center where my personal journey of recovery began. Sadly, there is still very little assistance available for those whose lives have been touched by this disease."
What?!?! Are you fucking kidding me? "Very little assistance"?!?!
According to the Alcoholics Anonymous "Fact File", there are over 100,000 AA chapters with over 2,000,000 members. Any drunk who can fall down a flight of stairs into the basement of any church can find help ... usually three times a day, seven days a week.
Wake up, Betty! Americans are the most self-helped, therapized, head-shrunk, support grouped people in the world.
"Very little assistance."
What a crock.
One man, more than any other, is to blame for this ... my friend, American Contract Bridge League Silver Life Master, Ilan Tadmor.
Ilan is a hard core bridge pusher, as seen here in his booking photo from when he was arrested for peddling copies of Marty Bergen's bridge book, Points Schmoints! to innocent children on the board walk in Atlantic City.Ilan organized a lovely bridge party yesterday ... where else? But the upper-east side of Manhattan, of course. How "ladies who lunch" is that?
Eight of us played until Ilan had to leave and threw us out. Then four of us went to a Starbucks and played until the place closed and they threw us out. On the bus and subway going home, guess what game I played on my handheld computer for an hour?
So I played bridge for 11 hours straight yesterday. When I got home there was no one left awake on this continent to play bridge with me. It took every ounce of what little self control I possess to keep myself from inviting my friend Ron, who lives in Japan and was therefore awake, to play Bridge Base Online Internet bridge with me.
Does the Betty Ford Clinic treat bridge addicts?
So that was going to be the end of this post ... until I read the message from Betty on the home page of her clinic. "I’m also fortunate to know first hand the power of intervention, the process
that took me to the drug and alcohol rehabilitation center where my personal journey of recovery began. Sadly, there is still very little assistance available for those whose lives have been touched by this disease."
What?!?! Are you fucking kidding me? "Very little assistance"?!?!
According to the Alcoholics Anonymous "Fact File", there are over 100,000 AA chapters with over 2,000,000 members. Any drunk who can fall down a flight of stairs into the basement of any church can find help ... usually three times a day, seven days a week.
Wake up, Betty! Americans are the most self-helped, therapized, head-shrunk, support grouped people in the world.
"Very little assistance."
What a crock.
12/06/2005
Death to Spammers
In addition to jamming our email accounts with porn and Viagra ads, spammers are now using automated systems to publish their crap to other peoples' blogs. To stop this, Blogger.com now offers word verification (a very cool feature to consider using if you blog using Blogger.com). I hope you, my dear reader, will not find this too much of an inconvenience.
I'm just sick of "Trixie" and her friends posting comments like, "You're so hot! Check out my Online Casino and Snatch Bonanza."
I'm just sick of "Trixie" and her friends posting comments like, "You're so hot! Check out my Online Casino and Snatch Bonanza."
12/04/2005
Security Links
A formatting glitch caused all the links for free security software to be omitted from my original post.
Doh!
It's fixed now.
Links To Free Security Software
Doh!
It's fixed now.
Links To Free Security Software
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