Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Aardvark is approved. Really! Waves of approval wash over his diminishing bod (having lost ten pounds and maintaining it before the next bout of de-pounding). MARC, the lab that does medical testing, has OK'd me for the "Gotta go in the middle of the night again" trial. My first dose is on Tuesday. Posted, you shall be kept.
The incipient Government shutdown has me extraordinarily filled with ennui, as does the expected arm-flailing. Here is a link to a news site with a breakdown of the earth-shaking effects:
"Entitlements" will be unaffected. The POOR will have no worries, so feel free to allay your friend's fears. I'll sleep better if the bounders aren't in D.C.
So, your Aardvark is in the throes of depression vile. We have just come off the stresses of Hell Week at the shop, just having too many jobs at once, besides prepping for Anime Weekend Atlanta. The release from the stressors has me auguring in emotionally. Bleeeah. I could use a SEE-gar, but they are all at the shop, and I am not willing to make that effort. Chocolate milk didn't touch it. This is serious. Where's my lithium orotate supplement?
Happy week, all.
YouTube search: "Smarter Every Day". Outstanding science videos by a Real Rocket Scientist from here in Huntsville, AL.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Tonight on Svengoolie! "The Leech Woman".
I picked up the Toho Collection, with "Mothra", "The H Man", and "Battle in Outer Space". Greatly fun stuff! It has both Japanese and English releases, and for "Mothra" and "Space" there is a commentary track. Faboo!
OK.I may have to give Roddenberry his due. The retconners have long said that the Great Bird's motivation in creating "Star Trek" was to help mankind with the evolution of the species to an altruistic, non-capitalistic society. My take has been that he wrote a concept to sell, which was bought, and which helped the evolution of his bank account. Ishiro Honda made his sci-fi movies with an eye toward world peace, and nuclear non-proliferation, at least that's the story from the commentators. I do have more faith in that angle, than the burbling about the altruism of Star Trek and its progeny. The Japanese post-War psyche was a tad ticklish as regards The Bomb, and every opportunity to decry it was utilised agin' it. This continues into the anime age today.
The anti-nuke drumbeat is understandable, and provides the rhythm for the three movies. "Mothra's" "Infant Island" is first revealed as a Bomb-blasted atoll, with a jungle surprise farther inland. "The H-Man" involves fallout-induced spooging, with people exposed turning to suspiciously "Blob"-like gel. "Battle in Outer Space"is less obvious about the nuke thing, but is a paean to peace.
The films are visually excellent. I have only seen the dubbed versions, as I watch them while I print shirts, and cannot take the time and attention to read subtitles. "H-Man" is a treat, with Paul Frees providing several different voices. I saw part of "Battle" in the '60s on a Dillon High School band trip featuring none other than Ben Bernanke his own self. I remembered the saucers firing their rays, and had wondered what the movie was. Well, now I know. Great stuff!
Now we have Star Trek "Operation-Annihilate" on, one of my favorite episodes. It is loaded with extended phaser effects. Very nice. The plastic puke puppet master aliens are effectively creepy, and Spock's battle with the pain of the creature trying to subsume his will is an exercise in stolid Vulcanity.
"The Leech Woman". Dreadful. (The link is spoiler-filled.)
Sunday, September 15, 2013
On top of it all, the world's smallest pony was abducted?
I am loading up on (cheap) vintage anime. Watching "Giant Robo" (spoilers galore!), a quite good mech series in which the mechanical giants do not overshadow the human drama. The soundtrack is breathtaking, as is Ginrei, the Experts of Justice operative with legs that won't quit!
The story is engaging, revolving around the Shizuma Drive, an energy source that has effectively replaced coal, oil and atomic power generation. But the Shizuma Drive has a dark secret....
Thank you for bearing with my rant. It is still accurate, but allow me to say that I have not dug a hole and pulled it in after me, nor am I kicking kittens, nor even slapping charitable Whoppers from the clutching hands of the indigent. I will help with the "at hand" stuff, certainly, but the bigger demands for emotional and cognitive caring, well, I'm going dark for awhile, at least until the next Awful Thing surfaces on Facebook.
REALLY looking forward to Svengoolie's new season. Because change.
Discovering things...apparently beer is to me as gluten is to the Dread Dormomoo. Must find non-wheat beer. My digestion is unhappy, so am spending the morning away from Polite Company.
Your Aardvark ceases to be an Aardvark this week, and transmogrifies into a Guinea Pig. There is a medical study going on about getting-up-at-night-to-urinate, and I am involved. The drug in question is apparently a first cousin to stuff like Cialis. What has Science done? Tadalafil is also used as a hypertension drug; Cialis is its trade name for...other uses. Let the giggling begin, kiddies.
Have a lovely Sunday!
Saturday, September 14, 2013
I wish to be carefree. Care-free. There is too much to care about. I have been enjoined to care about ice melting, and polar bears having to swim in it. Now I am told that Arctic ice has grown hugely this year. I suppose they want me to care about that, too. The bears may need ice skates
I am far less hirsute than once I was. There are commercials and billboards telling me about hair growth methods. They want me to care about my hair (most of the guys in the ads look better in the "before" shots. They look fatter "after".) My email spam filter is full of things about parts of my body that need improvement by their lights, and I should care about that. I care that they want to separate me from my money to fix problems I don't have. I regularly get phone calls from "firefighters organisations" or "police organisations" who want me to care enough to give money to them so their telemarketers can get paid. (I give to my local departments directly. Don't fall for obvious telemarketing, when the background sounds like the audience at a boxing match with all the other marketers calling all their other marks for funds.) We are often besieged by people intensely interested with our using their method or product to make more money. I have learned that their intensity is really aimed at our bank account. Sorry, I do not believe in altruism, doubly not from a cold-caller. I don't care about them, or their offers.
I have been called upon in the past decade to care about large financial buildings mysteriously telescoping into their own footprints after being hit by airliners. I have been told to care about bearded men hiding in caves plotting our national demise. I have had "lather, rinse, repeat" about Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, now Syria. I am told to care that Israel...whatever. I am told to care about how dreadful our healthcare system is, and that I should care to have my pockets raided to pay for others' healthcare in our dreadful system. I am supposed to care about Congress, and our political process, and representation, of which I see little; thus, I care little. I am supposed to care, because our President and First Lady care. They appear to care more about golf and travel than about my needs. I am supposed to care that groups are upset at my group over things that my group haven't done in a century and a half.
I don't care about these things.
I am supposed to care that you didn't place your order right, so you need me to not go on a weekend with my wife...away...so you won't look as stupid as you are. I am supposed to care that this might offend.
I don't anymore.
There is a thing called Disclosure. It is the Holy Grail of UFO-dom: getting the Guv-mint to admit that there are extraterrestrials, that UFOs are alien spacecraft, and that MacArthur learned to smoke a corn-cob pipe from the Greys in a downed foo-fighter. Never happen. Not caring anymore. And Georgr Noory, I don't care about "Contact", either. Lousy movie. "Cosmos" was much better science fiction.
My wife and I have a life. It is called Work. We do work for tons of people, and the vast majority are ginger-peachy; the snowflakes, and the public school teachers who cannot follow directions and get an order done correctly, and the people who expect my schedule to bend, and who jump ahead of others through their poor planning, well, I'm supposed to CARE that they don't want to look dumb, if they are even capable of realising it. I'm beyond caring.
Gas bombs in Syria. I don't care. Not my problem, not my country, not Our Country's business. I am supposed to care about wars fomented by those who would profit from both sides. I am supposed to care about loathsome diseases largely spread by choice, and to pity (and fund) those who so choose. I am supposed to care about a group that feels disenfranchised for this or that, when there are no rights extant to support their whining, and when what they want is a privilege, not a right. I am supposed to care when people arm-flail and panic at the mention of a gun. Or a knife. Or a spork.
I. Don't Care.
Not. My. Problem.
If you are reading this and have the idea rabbiting through your head "Well, that's not very CHRIS-chun." go ahead. I DON'T CARE. I do not stand before you for judgment.
I'm supposed to care that womyn fear me, because I am a man, and therefore a rapist by nature. According to my spam, they should have no worries. But I don't care. If they want to live like scared twelve-year-olds perpetually telling ghost stories around the campfire, that's their lookout. Watch out for the guy with a hook for a hand.
Environmentalism-ists invariably have a new Dire Prophecy that makes Nostradamus look like an optimist. They are invariably wrong, and have to change their terms, move their goalpost. Not caring.
There is an endless number of things waving at us, saying "Hey, listen!" in a high squeaky voice. There is a care surplus...every day if it's not GMO, it's the bees, or aspartame, or the latest heresy spouted by a huckstervangelist...or our President. It's Lindsay Graham flouncing about worrying us over nukes in Charleston Harbor.
Every day brings new things to care about. Well, I'm done. I have a care gap. We cannot care anymore. Those synapses have burned out. The Giving Tree has withered.
And I don't care that it has.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
The Aardvark loves and APPRECIATES his customers from all over the Western Spiral Arm of the galaxy. He would be unable to buy toys and oatmeal for the 'varklets without you. One thing puzzles him.
Why the need for all the handholding during online transactions? In his yout', the Aardvark would order Fun Things from the back of cereal boxes, f'rinstance. He would fill out the form, address and stamp the envelope, include the twelve boxtops and the requisite moolah. The post would take it away, and 6-8 weeks later, the wondrous toy would arrive. No-one called me to say "This is Kellogg's, and we got your order to-day! We have opened the envelope.". Or a week later, "This is Kellogg's again, we have processed your order, and will put it in the box in ten days. We shall mail it two Mondays hence.".
There seems to be a neurotic assumption that EVERY business online is just out to GET you, that swindling is in the air, and that a spotless record on eBay, say, means absolutely nothing. Back in the mail-order days of the Fifties and Sixties, we cast our bread on the commercial waters, and our goodies would return Parcel Post. No worries, other than the delicious anticipation. Six weeks? We were ecstatic to get the thing.
What has happened?
Monday, September 09, 2013
I was in the wilds of Lexington, KY this weekend, at a little anime con. In thirty-three years of huckstering at fandom conventions, your Aardvark has seen a lot. Seen a lot. He normally handles it with grace and aplomb, as well as dispatch. Not so this weekend, and I don't know why....
One of the downsides of fannish and cosplay activities in a culture adrift from the moorings like self-control and modesty is the issue of people almost wearing costumes. Or almost wearing regular clothes. The thing du jour this weekend was shorts. Cutoff shorts. Short shorts. One chick wore black shorties with a black studded bikini top. What is normally pretty much just part of the scenery at a con became Noticeable-Very- and difficult to ignore or turn away from. The sort of thing Warm Thoughts can be made of.
Now, I am married, and faithful. I try to stay away from what might compromise that estate, so I was intensely uncomfortable with this situation. I was thinking about this, and other issues congruent, especially the "slut walk" phenomenon whereby young women parade their non-responsibility for any consequences of their actions, period (Rigel Kent wrote eloquently of this over the weekend). Much bloody ink has been spilled over this point. The bottom line is that there is no excuse for rape, yes? If anyone suggests that a woman might have ANY contribution toward having been raped, ALL the umbrage is taken. "YOU'RE SAYING IT'S THE WOMAN'S FAULT!. YOU'RE BLAMING HER!! You're using SHAMING language."
Again, there is no excuse for a man to rape a woman. (Note: changing one's mind the morning after does not constitute rape.) However, it IS possible to provide a convivial environment for Unlawful Carnal Knowledge to take place, providing an environment for Warm Thoughts. (I do NOT buy the feminist line that "Rape is just about power". That is just Marxist cant.)
[Allow the assurance for all my Reader that your Aardvark is NOT in stir for making improper advances, or for being anything other than a Consummate Gentleman.]
The young women at the con, and all the innocent slut walkers are guilty of something, however. They are being unkind. Unkind to thoughtlessly(?) titillate the young men, the older men, around them. The "Do unto others" rubric applies. It is not kind, it is not helpful to subject others to unwanted or unneeded inappropriate display. Clear? Of course, in an increasingly narcissist society, this may not be simple to grasp. Makes me unhappy, makes me uncomfortable, makes me think unpleasant things about you, like "You don't care about others.", "You are none too bright.", "Did you even think before you left the house? Like that.
I want to "keep me only unto" the Dread Dormomoo. I do not appreciate what might skew my vision from that goal, that might cause my eye to wander.
"Oh, that is YOUR problem Mr. Aardvark. You should not oughta look!"
Ahhh, Grasshopper. The marksman does not shoot where there is no target.
It is the stuff of tangos.