Rat City Rollergirls

Ever since my wife saw Whip It (which is a great movie and you should watch it too), she's been obsessed with rollerderby. So for our anniversary this year (19 years together, and 4 years of marriage), I bought tickets to the Rat City Rollergirls derby this past Saturday.

I have to say, it was pretty awesome. It helped more than a little that one of my Seattle Steamrat friends held seats for us, and boy were they great seats. We were close down to the floor and had a great view. Even ignoring that, rollerderby, it turns out, is just a hell of a lot of fun.

There were two "bouts" (matches). We missed most of the first one due to a) our son having soccer practice that ended exactly when rollerderby started, and b) spending half an hour in line at Key Arena to get some drinks and munchies.

This really was OK, as the first bout was a total run away...the winning team had somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 points over the losing team. (To understand the scoring if you've never been to a rollerderby bout, you can click here, or the better option is to watch the aforementioned movie Whip It). The second bout, on the other hand, was incredibly close and came down to one point scored at literally the last minute.

However, I have now created a monster. The missus is already talking "season tickets" for Rat City's next season, and/or practicing her rollerskating and getting into rollerderby herself.

Post-Troll slurpees, a tradition

Chas and the Troll

Chas asks: can I climb on it?

Erik "Tex" Wilson

Erik's going away party

Papa likey

This is the Iconoclast by Ecosse Moto Works, makers of insanely expensive motorcycles. I could never afford this bike, and even if I could I don't think I'd ride one - 0-60 in 2.8 seconds just sounds like a rocketsled to the morgue for me - but it is incredibly beautiful. I do admire it.

March birthday overload

March. For me, a month full of birthdays, and one anniversary.

March 10 is my brother-in-law's birthday, and my niece's (well, niece-in-law, I guess, as she's married to my nephew).

March 11, my son's birthday.

March 13, my wife's birthday, and that of our friend Eric.

March 15, our friend Frank.

March 16, our anniversary.

March 22, my friends' daughter, who I count as a niece, basically. And apparently also my son's new best friend.

March 25, another friend Erik.

And I'm pretty sure there are a few more I've forgotten.

So, in the span of 6 days, I was at 4 birthday parties. 3 in one weekend.

I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.

I took this picture to embarrass my niece (not the one whose birthday was on the 10th):

...and I know that I'm right, cause I hear it in the night...

In the sidebar, under "Blogs - People I haven't actually met", you'll see there's a new one called "Sleep Talkin' Man". This is one I found via Boing Boing today, where a woman records and transcribes the crazy-ass things her husband says in his sleep. Give it a read, it's hilarious. "Badgertastic" is my new favorite word, even though I can't imagine in what context I would use it.

I can relate a little bit to her being woken up by the sleep-talk. When we were much younger, my wife would sometimes talk in her sleep. Back then I was a light sleeper, so it would always wake me up and I would get to tell her in the morning what she said in her sleep.

I haven't heard her talk in her sleep in years, but that could be either because she doesn't do it anymore, or because I sleep like the dead and could probably snooze through a full-scale battle.

My wife's sleep-talking wasn't nearly as funny as this British fellow's, though. She always - always - talked about work in her sleep. This was particularly annoying when we worked together in a bakery. She would wake me up twelve hours after our work day was done, saying something like "I forgot to put salt in the focaccia dough!" (seriously, who says "focaccia" in their sleep?) to which I (thinking she was awake) would say "Well, it's a little late now, isn't it?" which would only be met by snoring. I would then realize that I had been woken out of a dead sleep to attempt a conversation with a completely asleep and half-crazy baker. I would eventually get back to sleep, but usually not before she'd say something like, "The ciabatta's too dense!"

Anyway, give Sleep Talkin' Man a read. You'll like it.

- Mattbear out.

It's a dirty job

...but somebody's got to do it.

It's 3:30am, and I'm awake thanks to another coughing fit, a problem I'll be seeing the doctor about (again) in roughly 12 hours. While I wait for the most recent dose of cough medicine to kick in, I thought I'd knock out this post that's been kicking around my brain.

My son has recently become obsessed with the Discovery Channel show Dirty Jobs. This really started even before he'd ever seen the show, because he thought it was hilarious when the host, Mike Rowe, would say "I can smell it now" on the commercials. Dirty Jobs hasn't transplanted Mythbusters as his favorite show, but he has insisted that I record it on the DVR and that he get to watch it as much as possible. I have to say, it's grown on me too.

I've done my fair share of dirty jobs. I worked fast food (my first job, cooking at KFC, was particularly nasty), worked in the "clean and paint" shop of an airplane repair station, been a janitor at a kid's play gym, and plenty more.

When I watch Dirty Jobs, I inevitably ask myself, "How do they stand to do that?"
Really, I know the answer. They slap on some gloves and tell themselves, "There's work to be done." It's that simple. When you do a job that's physical and dirty, day in and day out, it's just life. You just do it, and you earn a few bucks cleaning up messes that would make more gentrified folks sick.

With my current gig, the dirtiest thing I have to do is maybe clean out my keyboard (although I really ought to have a hazmat team for that, too). When I watch that show, I have to think back to days when I had to clean stagnant chicken blood out of a 15 foot trough, slog through a muddy construction site in the rain toting heavy steel doors, or cram myself into the underfloor of a 727 with a bucket of cancer-causing methyl-ethyl keytone to clean up the grime. (An aside for the ladies: ever go to buy nail polisher remover and grab the "non-acetone" stuff thinking it's healthier? It's not. It just substitutes MEK for the acetone, and MEK will give you liver cancer. You're better off to skip painting your nails. And trust me, modern men really don't care whether you paint your nails or not.)

There are some benefits to doing physical labor, as long as you do it right and don't have a job that will outright break or kill you. Before the Evil Empire gave me a desk job, I was a delivery driver for a meat company. My job involved slinging around 80 pound boxes of meat all day and jumping in and out of the back of my truck. I got myself down to 200 pounds then. While no means svelte, it was the best condition I've been in since high school. Once I turned into a keyboard cowboy, I put on 50 pounds in 6 months. It's gotten worse since.

Sometimes I think I'd like to go back to doing an honest, physical job. I'd like to have something tangible to point to at the end of the day to say "I accomplished something today." I'd like to be able to explain my job in a simple sentence ("I'm a welder") instead of the verbal dance I have to do now ("So, when you call in for tech support, before you talk to the guy who will actually help you, you have to talk to a CSR who gets all your information and charges you money and then transfers you somewhere - I write the stuff that tells that CSR how to do his job"). But then I realize that if I had "real" work to do, I'd have to actually get dressed every day, and wouldn't be able to play Halo or sit in my hottub on my lunch break. And I wouldn't get paid as well as I do for being a Corporate Whore (tm). So for some reason, I just keep doing what I'm doing.

A couple of times while watching Dirty Jobs, I've caught myself telling my son something like, "That's what you end up doing if you don't get an education." I try not to, and I feel guilty when I do. I remember my parents (who didn't go to college) telling me similar things, and I remember what little impact it had on me. And those people don't deserve to be put down for what they do. Their jobs make life easier for everyone else, and there's nothing wrong with a day's honest labor. If you know how to live within your means, how much you earn isn't nearly as critical. I worried less about money when I was a delivery driver for a bakery and earning less than one-third what I do now, than I do now with all my debts and bills and such.

I want to strike a balance between instilling in my son the need for a good education (which I do think is important) and teaching him a good work ethic, which has to include room for physical - even dirty - labor. It's a balance that's hard to strike, and became even more complicated for me recently after seeing this great TED talk given by Mike Rowe, which I suggest you watch now:

Misadventures and Twilight

Today, the morning radio show I listen to was interviewing a couple of the actors from the upcoming movie Twilight: New Moon. This brought me around to the idea that I ought to write down this story of my misadventures with the first movie, Twilight.

A confession: when the real serious craze around the books started, I decided to read them just to see what all the fuss was about. My wife had them sitting around the house, so what the hell.

And what I found was that while the writing is truly horrible, and yes featured shiny disco vampires, there was a certain truth about high school life captured in them - the sense of school as a microcosm, the all-encompassing importance of your first love, etc. I've made it through the first three books, and attempted to tackle the fourth but it was just too awful.

So anyway, the first movie came out, and my wife Jen and our friend Loxie wanted to go see the very first showing, at midnight of opening "day." Sure, what the hell, I thought. I liked the book ok, and Kristen Stewart is hot in a makes-me-feel-like-a-dirty-old-pervert sort of way.

We waited in the long line with our Fandango'd tickets. When we got in, Jen and Loxie said, "Go save us some seats, we'll get snacks and stuff." Yeah, great idea.

I walked into the theater, which was already mostly full. I expected lots of teenage girls to be there, but it was overwhelming. There were maybe - I say, maybe - four other men in the whole theater, all sitting with wives and/or teenage daughters. There were perhaps three or four teenage boys there, and all seemed to be with a girlfriend. The rest? All female, and only about 1 in 8 of those was an adult.

I walked in, a grown man, with no female accompaniment. No daughter, no wife, nothing.

Everyone was watching me. It was like they were waiting for me to attempt to kidnap and/or molest some girl, right there in the theater.

I found three seats together. Slowly and calmly I sat down in the middle of the three and put my hat in the seat on the left and my coat in the seat on my right, trying to make it as obvious as possible that yes, there were other people with me and I was just saving seats for the ladies who would be along shortly.

This accomplished nothing. Girls were still turning around and glaring at me while, I suspect, gripping the pepper spray in their purses that their fathers gave them. Mothers walked their daughters to the only remaining seats, way in the front, and on seeing me sitting there widened their eyes considerably.

I was getting paranoid. I was sure some mother had already dialed 9-1 on her phone and was just waiting for me to ask a little girl if she'd like some candy. I felt like at any moment I was going to be arrested and charged with "Watching Twilight without a teenage daughter," a Class A felony for sure, and have to register as a sex offender for the rest of my life.

I thought maybe I should be looking for Chris Hansen to pop out.

Finally, the women showed up and took their seats. I still got some evil glares.

Sitting through the movie was weird too, as every time "Edward" or "Jacob" would appear, there would just be this collective sigh accompanied by some squealing. However, it was a welcome relief from being stared at like I was Freddy fucking Kruger.

When the ordeal was over I explained to Jen and Loxie about the pre-movie freakiness. They laughed heartily, and promised that we would do it again when New Moon came out. Awesome.

New Moon is about to come out. Loxie is going to be away in New York visiting family, but Jen says she's going to make me go anyway. She's the boss, so I guess I'm doomed to it.

Someone please call up "To Catch a Predator" and let them know I'm harmless. Please?

SteamCon 2009

This past week I took Friday off from work to attend SteamCon, the cleverly-named Steampunk convention here in Seattle. It was the first iteration of this convention, and succeeded well enough that the organizers have already started selling passes for SteamCon 2010. And yes, I already have one for next year.

Friday off meant I had a chance to do something I rarely get to do...have lunch at Salumi, one of my two favorite restaurants in Seattle (the other being Morton's). Salumi is owned and run by Armandino Batali, a retired Boeing engineer and father of my chef-hero, Mario Batali. After retiring from Boeing, Armandino spent a few years touring Italy and learning to cure meats in traditional Italian fashion. Then he opened up this wonderful little restaurant where he makes his own cured meats and serves them up as sandwiches with delicious soups on the side. Sadly, Salumi is only open Tuesday through Friday during the day. Since I work banker's hours, it is rare that I get to go. I had the salumi sandwich, basically just straight up salami, and shared a bowl of the wonderful black bean soup they were serving that day. Lunch:

After that, it was off to SteamCon to get our badges and such. We spent some time (and some money) in the Vendor's Market, where Jen got a very cute hat and some suspenders to help steampunk-ify her look. Didn't get to spend too much time at the Con Friday as we had something to go to at the boy's school, but did hang out with good ol' Travis:

And I also got to meet (albeit very briefly) one of my favorite steampunk "makers," Jake Von Slatt. Poor bastard was pretty jet-lagged and tired from travel, so I tried not to bother him for too long - just a quick handshake and a "love your work." Unfortunately, in my attempt to not be too annoying, I completely ignored the beautiful Libby Bulloff, with whom Von Slatt was sitting down for a drink. I was unintentionally rude to her, and felt bad about it afterward.

Saturday, back to the Con. Hung out with Charley during the day - he couldn't get a pass to the Con, but he hung out anyway. The kids (mine and Charley's) were pretty mental and out of control, but wehad some fun anyway.

Sat in on one panel, the talk by Tim Powers, author of (among other things) The Anubis Gates. He was very smart, engaging, and amusing. I asked him a couple of questions, which he answered intelligently. There was one confession I couldn't make to him, though - I've never actually read any of his books. I have a copy of The Anubis Gates, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. Still, it was awesome to listen to a smart novelist talk about writing.

It was the only panel I actually made it to in the whole Con. Oh well. I was mostly too busy just hanging out with the other Steampunks and checking out costumes. And of course hanging out with SteamRats -

The amazing artist Molly, a.k.a. Porkshanks:

Beth (a.k.a. Befu) and Eliana:

Guy (middle) and more:

I also sat in on the tag end of the performance by Robert Rial's Bakelite 78, an old-timey jazzy kind of band, who were very good. These lovely young ladies were dancing to Robert's tunes:

After that, went to dinner with the missus, the boy, Travis, his girl Terri, and friends Cat and Michael:

We went to a hibachi restaurant recommended by Travis and Terri. It was good stuff.

Then back to the Con for the concert of Unwoman, Vernian Process, and Abney Park. Unwoman was talented but not my kind of thing. Vernian Process was very loud and sounded like a cross between Depeche Mode and the music of Nightmare Before Christmas.

While the first couple of acts were going, I shook hands with and talked to Nathaniel Johnstone, guitarist/violinist for Abney Park, and discussed our shared roots in the Scottish clan Johnstone. When I went up to him, he was with the afore-mentioned Libby Bulloff. I had wanted to apologize to her for being unintentionally rude before, but I hesitated and she walked off before I was done talking to Nathan. Now she probably thinks I'm a jerk, which of course isn't far from the truth, but in this case I actually was trying not to be a jerk.

The truth? I have trouble getting up the nerve to say hello to her in the first place because I find her to be intimidatingly beautiful. I'm such a nerd.

I've seen Abney Park live once before, and they do put on a pretty good show. I enjoyed seeing them again.

Not ready to sleep after the concert, it was up to a hotel room with some of the SteamRats to hang out for awhile, which was one of the more enjoyable parts of the Con for me, actually. Once they started getting sleepy, I headed off to my own hotel room and conked out.

Along the way, I also got to briefly meet a few folks from the Brass Goggles forum that I have frequented for some time. Didn't get nearly as many pictures as I wanted. Oh well.

All in all, I had a great time and am looking forward to next year's Con.

Quick post of amusing things

Things I've found amusing lately:

Shhh Don't Tell Steve: college-age guy tweeting (I hate saying that) about his loser roommate's life without the knowledge of said roommate.

I'm dead and it's all my fault: Doug blogs the last words of his foolhardy friend, daily. Hard to explain, easy to laugh at.

How many people are in space right now?: Pretty self explanatory, and pretty awesome.

Wednesday Wacko - Rogue helicopter pilots!

This guy has to be seen to be believed. Watch to the end, that's where the real payoff is.

And then, there are things you just shouldn't do

Let's say you're doing something that is really fun, but you know would get you in trouble if you were caught. Like fired from your job, or go to jail trouble. What you definitely should not do is take pictures or video of it.

This lesson was recently learned by a cop in Texas (and three of his fellow officers) when he had a hot waitress pose on his patrol car, holding his rifle. That's not a euphemism, but I'm guessing he was hoping it would become one.

Now, I have to admit, I like this photo:



But really, was it worth his job? Possibly his career? Because that's what he stands to lose.

If you're up to no good, enjoy it, but put away the camera.

There are things you just can't do, part 2

I've written before that there are just some things you can't do.

I have another to add to the list. You see, earlier this week I was at the pet store, and I saw this huuuuge tattooed biker-looking guy walking to his huuuuge truck, looking all tough and super-butch, except...he was carrying bags from Trader Joe's next door. You just cannot look tough and manly shopping at Trader Joe's.

"Wooo, tough guy, you going to dip some chips in some tahini? Maybe some organic hummus?"

It just can't be done. And the same can be said for PCC or Whole Foods.

Movie Review: District 9

Two movies in two nights. Crazy.

So last night we went to the midnight showing of District 9.

My thoughts: it was awesome.

This isn't some cheesed-up alien movie. The film is actually quite thoughtful and pretty heavy. It will make you uncomfortable, and that's a good thing. I've read some criticism that the story did not explain the aliens well enough, and that is valid. But I didn't feel it was a cop-out like some reviewers felt. The reasons behind the aliens' unwillingness or inability to rise above their slum conditions and integrate with society are hinted at, but not broadly explained. If you aren't paying attention to the more subtle themes, you might not catch it.

It's easy, though, to miss the more subtle elements, as director Neill Blomkamp (whom I've written about before) fills his first feature-length film with intense visuals and action. Parts of the movie borders on overwhelming, but that worked for me.

The main (human) character in the movie is portrayed very well as a flawed, vulnerable human, which makes the movie both harder and easier to watch.

For the squeamish, I do warn that there are some gross-out scenes (the missus, definitely squeamish, said there were "about five shots that weren't gross-out"). Also there is a fair amount of "shaky-cam" action going on, so sit back a little further from the screen if you get motion sickness and don't want to taste your popcorn twice.

All in all, loved it, and heartily recommend it.

Chick Flick Night movie review

Last night after work, the missus declared her desire to go to the theater to view a film. Upon asking which film, I was told "Julie & Julia".

Now, I had already stated my willingness to go see this blatant chick flick because it looked amusing and endearing.

I know I lost manpoints for merely typing that last sentence, so I shall press on and tell you that it really was an ok movie. It was definitely not bad, and I enjoyed it.

I enjoyed it partly because it was about, on some level, cooking and food, two subjects near and dear to my fat, cholesterol-clogged heart. Mostly, though, the movie was really made by Meryl Streep playing Julia Child, and to a lesser degree Stanley Tucci playing her husband Paul.

The movie bounces back and forth between two stories: on the one hand, it tells the story of Julia Child living in France in the 1950s and learning to cook at the Cordon Bleu academy and writing the book that made her famous, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. This part of the movie is based on Child's book, My Life in France. On the other hand, it tells the story of Julie Powell, a cube-farm-dwelling 30-year-old in 2002, who blogged her experience cooking her way through all of the recipes in the aforementioned Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

While Amy Adams (who plays Julie Powell) is cute and her half of the movie gives modern audiences something to relate to, the film belongs to Streep and her portrayal of Child. This is unavoidable, though, as you have Streep - an experienced and indisputable master of her craft - compared with Adams, a much younger and less experienced Hollywood "cute" actress. And this parallels the roles they play - Child, a brilliant chef who changed the face of American cooking, versus Powell, a blogger who got a book deal during the blog-to-book-deal craze that swept up this guy but inexplicably missed me and the other authors of the awesomest blog ever, Billy Ocean, Student Council Treasurer.

What it boils down to is that I could have watched a whole movie of Streep playing Child; the same could not be said of Adams playing Powell. The "modern" half of the movie doesn't detract from the film, but it doesn't add anything either.

But guys, if your woman wants you to go see this, it won't be unbearable. Go, make her happy. And hopefully you're like me and have a woman who is also a sci-fi buff and really wants to go see District 9 as well.

(Also, if you're looking forward to District 9, but haven't seen the director's short Alive in Joburg that inspired District 9, check it out now - plus his other short Tetra Vaal)

Wednesday Wacko: Philip Schneider

This one was brought to my attention via Metafilter. Philip Schnieder claimed to have worked as an engineer on secret underground bases in New Mexico. He died of a stroke in 1996, but hsi fellow UFO conspiracy nuts claim he was murdered because he was revealing information about the government's secret relationship with aliens. Despite the fact that he also claimed the government was at war with the aliens, apparently underground:

What is "Cognitive Dissonance," Alex?

From today's Politics section on MSNBC.com:



And then from today's Business section on MSNBC.com:

Rant: my pet peeve, poor writing.

I'm a writer. It is what I do for a living, as a hobby, and just as part of my nature. As such, I am constantly aggravated by the lack of regard for the skill of writing that I encounter at every turn. Even so-called professionals in the field of journalism hurt my brain on a regular basis with idiotic phrases and poorly thought out sentences. CNN and MSNBC regularly publish crap so poorly written that I want to take a hammer to someone's typing hand to put an end to their horrible writing.

As if that would do any good. They'd just dictate their crap.

I will give you an example of how someone mistakes writing something that "sounds good" for actual good writing. This one was on a popular Web site, so I don't expect too much, but it just tweaked me:



Let's ignore the "looks like more like" phrase. That's a clearly stupid error. The more insidious problem is: "more like a work of art than an architectural masterpiece."

Merriam-Webster defines "architecture" as "The art or practice of designing a building". So an "architectural masterpiece" damn well better look "like a work of art." If you're going to compare something to another thing that it isn't, you ought to be sure that it isn't actually that thing.

This is what gets my blood pressure up the most when I'm reading. Not grammatical or spelling errors, but things that don't make sense or clearly weren't thought out properly.

I know I shouldn't care and I should just let it go, but if I give up hope that my fellow humans will learn to write properly, then I will have to give up hope in my fellow humans altogether.