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This may come as a shock to many of you, but the truth is… I have a strange sense of humour. Some might say it’s warped or twisted, or perhaps even sprained.
Having got that out in the open, it should come as no surprise then that I find the webcomics at Cyanide and Happiness to be quite entertaining.
Yes, it consists primarily of crudely-drawn stick-figure type illustrations. But it’s consistent, and the humour is, shall we say, off-beat. So go check it out. It’s worth a guilty giggle or two.
Yesterday, instead of doing chores or whatever, I ended up sitting around watching episodes of an old TV show on the internet. I might still buy the DVDs if I find them, on account of the ads they kept inserting into the stream.
I say ads but really it was just the same ad, over and over. Four times per episode, thirteen episodes. It wasn’t even an entertaining or funny commercial. Some strange Redbull thing that involved dogs. And they made sure to draw naughty-bits on the dogs which I thought was particularily wierd.
So throughout the afternoon I had fifty-two opportunities to wonder why a Redbull commercial would intentionaly put naughty bits on animated dogs, and does that contribute to Redbull sales?
Maybe it was an experiment.
I certainly don’t feel any urge to buy Redbull. It’s very expensive and I’m not entirely convinced that it doesn’t contain some kind of exotic carcinogen. Though I suppose now it’s also linked in my brain with canine porn and bestiality. Again, not sure if that was the marketing plan or not.
I don’t really understand the whole energy-drink craze.
Or actually more of a scraaaaaape Crash! in the night.
You know how it is when you’re in bed, at long last starting to drift off, when you hear a really big clatter somewhere close? So you have to get up out of bed, turn on the lights, and try and figure out what happened?
Like thinking, was it a lamp falling over? Did the cats knock over the coat-tree? It sounded so close, maybe it was in the bedroom?
No, everything looks where it should. So you check the bathroom, the purple room, the kitchen.
Then you see one of the cats looking around with a WTF? expression, she heard it but doesn’t know what it was. The other cat is hiding or sleeping or something.
Finally you find the source of the noise; it was just a drinking glass. It was left on the desk, and has been pushed to the edge and then fell to the floor. Not broken fortunately, just laying on its side on the floor near the desk.
So you put the glass in the sink and go back to bed to start over with trying to fall asleep.
You know what I mean? I hate when that happens.
Oh and then to top it off, when you’re laying in bed with the laptop blogging about the first noise, then you hear a second one? Like some sort of punchline…
Whenever I think about moving glassware, I think about seances and ouiji boards and that tv show Most Haunted.
I wonder why they use glass. Perhaps because of it’s resistive properties; it is very electrically resistant. Glass is used in modern electronics, and was used back in the early days of electrical experimentation. Not to mention, glass is made out of the same stuff that computer chips are.
There may have been a point in there somewhere. I thought I had more to write on the subject but now it escapes me.
Have you heard about this Lomography stuff? It’s sort of a ‘movement’ thingy. They use these Lomo LC-A cameras, or Holgas, or Dianas… the point is using a cheap / crummy / mediocre camera, expired film, ‘shooting from the hip’, cross-processing with the wrong chemistry, whatever – so the end result is sort of the opposite of carefully composed properly exposed photography.
Perhaps its a little like throwing cans of paint at a canvas, and calling it fine art?
It also reminds me a bit of the Dada movement from about a hundred years ago, sort of an anti-art movement, where the Dadaists were rebelling a bit about what the modern world was calling art, and they went in some wierd directions to sort of call attention to the pretentious silliness of it all. (Yeah, I actually learned stuff in the Art History classes in highschool.)
Anyhow, so the thing with Lomography is that ‘bad’ is ‘good’, or something along those lines. That you find the beauty in the results you get, and you don’t know what you get till you get the film back. They do caution that you can’t expect every shot to be a masterpiece, you might only get one good shot out of a whole roll…(**)
Two wierd things in two days – something’s up! This morning when I was taking out the trash, the storm door locked itself behind me.
It’s an older door and is somewhat wobbly but the locking lever thingy is very tight and I never use it. It can only be locked from the inside, and it couldn’t have been the cats – they avoid the door, and couldn’t reach it anyways. So in the space of maybe 10 or 15 seconds, walk from the front door to the curb and back, I found myself stuck outside with my door locked.
Being wobbly and flimsy, the door wasn’t much of a match – I simply pulled really hard and it opened. But then I checked and sure enough, it wasn’t broken or stuck, the locking lever had definately been engaged.
What’s up with that? First there’s thumpy bangy noises chasing my cats around, then the door gets locked behind me?
I usually like shrimp. Cold with cocktail sauce is fine, or splayed out neatly atop a little bundle of sushi rice is nice, but cooked is even better; stir-fried with teriaki and hot sauce, bundled up in a little har gow dumpling, sauteed with oil and garlic, deepfried with batter, bbq’d on skewers… there’s countless ways to make shrimp yummy.
At home I typically stir-fry them, or in summer I bbq them on skewers with some pineapple and a sweet-and-spicey sauce. Though if I’m feeling particularily lazy, I’ll just eat them cold a la shrimp cocktail. I usually get them in about the 25-count size. (This means, 25 to the pound.) It’s a good size, they’re not so tiny you have to deal with a million of them to make one meal, and not too expensive. The biggest ones, the 15-count, usually cost over a dollar each.
Recently I accidentally grabbed the wrong bag, and picked up the 15-count ones. The usual ones cost me about $10 / pound, these ones were about $17. But I wasn’t paying close attention and didn’t notice till I got home. I’d bought the dreaded…. Jumbo Shrimp.
“Jumbo Shrimp”. It is an oxymoron. Shrimp means tiny, jumbo means big. Big tiny. It doesn’t work.
Worse – jumbo shrimp are too big.. they’re just wrong. Cooked, peeled, deveined and with no heads and tails, they are just sort whitish pinkish things about 5 inches long, an inch across at the big end and just under 1/2 inch across at the small end.
Last time I had Jumbo Shrimp, it actually put me off shrimp for a year or two.
It’s not the taste – they taste like shrimp. It’s everything else. The size. The shape. The appearance.
I just can’t shake the impression that they are skinned, boned, deveined fingers from some big guy with fat fingers. Fat man fingers. Fat man finger cocktail.
So I had my Jumbo Shrimp last night.. and once more I have the fat man finger cocktail in my head and an uneasy feeling about all shrimps.