raffertyesque

☞ Hipsters and Hand Grenades

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 16:25:09 -0500

It seems like every time I go somewhere new in Brooklyn that I’ve already been there. Which is weird, because I never go to Brooklyn. But when I do, apparently it’s always to the same neighborhood. Which is weird, because it isn’t.

On those rare occasions when there is a Brooklyn trip on the agenda, I’ll look at the destination on the subway map and say to myself: “this should be interesting, I’ve never been there before.” Then I’ll pack a lunch and some overnight gear, make sure my affairs are in order, say goodbye to my loved ones, and get on the subway (you can never be too careful when Brooklyn is involved).

Invariably when I get off the train, I’ll walk out of the subway station and say to myself “I’ve totally been here before, what the fuck, Brooklyn?” This happens every time.

Okay, maybe not every time. Once in a while, I’ll actually wind up some place new and be like “All right, great job Brooklyn, I haven’t seen this part of you before.” But then I will walk two blocks in one direction or another and I’ll recognized where I am and we’ll be back at “WTF, Brooklyn?”

Queens is the largest borough of New York, but since most of Queens is inhabitable due to a termite infestation, Brooklyn is effectively the largest borough, so you’d think it would take the most time to explore. As it turns out, though, apparently that is not the case. I’ve got Brooklyn all figured out. Hipsters, rollercoasters, coffee roasters. Done.

My uncanny sense of direction no doubt plays a role in Brooklyn’s doneness. A while back, I was actually walking around in an unfamiliar part of Brooklyn. At least I thought it was unfamiliar, but then my Spidey-sense kicked in and I immediately knew where I was. “There’s a bar where I saw the oldest Hanson brother perform with James Iha and the drummer from Cheap Trick on the next block,” I said. And sure enough, that bar was on the next block. I hadn’t been there in years, but I immediately knew where I was. Taylor Hanson will do that to you.

I keep talking about Brooklyn, but Brooklyn is really a stand-in for any city. Like Fargo in Fargo, or Metropolis in Metropolis, or, uh, Manhattan in, umm, Manhattan, each city is a unique snowflake, just like you and me. Cities are alive. Sometimes with termites.

I said I’ve got Brooklyn figured out, but nobody has Brooklyn figured out. Even the 114 year-old Jewish dude who’s been living in the same rent-controlled apartment in Crown Heights his whole life. He sees something new every day. Every day that he leaves his apartment, anyway. (That six floor walkup hasn’t been fun for him since the 1970s.)

He sees neighborhoods shift from the wrong side of the tracks to the right. From boring businesses into hip hangouts. From places you wouldn’t be caught dead to places where you’d probably be found dead if you weren’t careful. And again, we’re not just talking about Brooklyn here, any city will suffice.

During my brief tenure as ein Berliner in college, I learned a lot about cities. I had never lived in a city before. There was a cornfield across the street from my house growing up. At first, Berlin seemed impossibly large. I’d have no idea where I was, then I’d hop on the subway, pop back up above ground elsewhere and still have no idea where I was. The fact that everything was in some weird moon man language wasn’t helping.

One day though, I decided to start taking buses instead of the subway, and that’s when everything came together. Previously disparate locations started melding together as I watched them pass by. Oh, that’s where das Kaufhaus is. Oh, that’s where the Brandenburger Tor is. Oh, that’s where my apartment is. I’ve been looking for that. Suddenly, Berlin seemed much smaller, no bigger than the cornfield across the street… which, admittedly, is a gigantic cornfield. Berlin-sized, apparently.

It was a similar experience when I moved to New York City. At first, the City seemed enormous. Rightfully so. But once you take all of those superfluous “boroughs” out of the equation, it’s just Manhattan. And Manhattan is tiny. Throw a rock and you’ll hit a Starbucks. Turn around, throw another rock, and you’ll hit New Jersey.

It all comes back to cities being alive. (With termites.)

Cities are like people, and moving to a city is like getting to know someone new. At first, you know nothing about them. Slowly, you learn more about them, though. First you learn its different neighborhoods. You get to know downtown, you find out what neighborhoods are cool and which ones to stay away from. Then you get to know individual streets within neighborhoods. The lines of demarcation. Then you get to know individual blocks. Eventually you get to know each individual building, you start to notice even when little things change. When a store opens or closes, when scaffolding is put up or taken down, when the homeless guy who hangs out at your subway station gets new sneakers.

I “know” Brooklyn in the same way I “know” my neighbors. As in, I know their names and where they live. That’s it. I “know” Brooklyn in that every time I get off the subway I whine that “I’ve already seeeeeen this beforrrrrrre.” But I’m just recognizing streets. Quiz me on blocks and buildings and I’m lost. Brooklyn could easily sass me back: “You don’ know me, you ain’ from here, son” (apparently Brooklyn is latino in my mind).

Point is, as much as you think you know someone— or somewhere— there’s still more to learn. And the more you find out, the more you’ll appreciate them. Or it.

Unless it is Queens. Watch out for Queens.

Everything Is a Remix

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 13:56:30 -0500

Everything Is a Remix:

Kirby Ferguson’s year-long project ended yesterday. Everything Is a Remix is about, uh, everything being a remix, I guess. Watch the first part. It’s seven minutes, and I guarantee you’ll want to watch the rest. It is as entertaining as it is informative. Seriously, it’ll change the way you look at, like, everything. Like life. Life on the streets. Homicide: Life on the Street. (I just remixed right there.)

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 10:25:53 -0500

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore:

Really quite excellent. Take 15 minutes out of your day and watch it.

☞ Ladies Love Progress Meters.

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 20:22:52 -0500

I lost my wallet a couple weeks ago. The Port Authority bus terminal was involved, which almost goes without saying. It is the original hive of scum and villainy… first mentioned in Revelations, if my years of Bible Schooling taught me anything.

Wallet lost, I spent a few hours singing and dancing on the sidewalk in order to scrape together enough coin for subway fare back to my apartment. Sure, the Port Authority men’s room pays better, but I have my standards.

After canceling all of my credit cards, I did some post-game analysis of my wallet’s last known contents to figure out exactly what I was missing. The heavy hitters were: $204 in cash, my Metrocard, my bank and credit cards, my driver’s license, my library card, my RFID to the Woolworth Building, a $10 Best Buy gift card, my Chop’t Salad Frequent “Chopper” card, and my one-time use Google two-factor authentication codes to launch the nuclear missiles (also known as checking my email).

So a wad of cash and a bunch of cards, basically. Fortunately I had just finished off my Jamba Juice gift card the day before. So that was a small win.

Nothing irreplaceable was lost, though, right? Well, almost.

Of all the things, what do you think I was most upset about? I think most people would say the driver’s license, because that involves a trip to the DMV, and no one wants that. They’d rather visit the men’s room at the Port Authority.

But no, the thing I was most upset losing was my Chop’t Salad Frequent “Chopper” card.

I am not kidding.

Yeah, losing the cash sucks, and the credit cards are a hassle, but all of that is replaceable. My Chop’t card had 10 stamps on it, though. My next salad was going to be free! It was going to be delicious. Because it was going to be free! I was going to get avocado! Because it was going to be free!

Goddammit. Now I have to start over.

In nerd parlance, this sense of loss would be attributed to the “gamification” of society.

“Gamification” is the use of game design principles in the real world. The Chop’t salad card (and any other sort of “rewards” card) is a perfect example of gamification. Buy 10 salads, get one free. The little stamps on the card are points on a progress meter. And everyone loves progress meters.

Deep within the recesses of our reptile brains, we like accruing points. Especially if they’re visually represented on a meter. Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff. Yeah, you move that meter. You like it.

Okay, this just got weird.

This works on everyone, not just nerds. Sure, us gamer types might be a little more aware as its happening, but we are no less impervious. We want to “level up” as much as anyone else. Gathering things scratches some sort of psychological itch. It gives us a sense of accomplishment. We’re working towards something. Buy ten, get a free salad, a free car wash, a free gun (offer valid only south of the Mason-Dixon line).

My American Express gets me airline miles. My Mastercard gets me Amazon gift cards. My driver’s license gets me looks because the photo is from like 15 years ago. My Chop’t card gets whoever has my wallet right now a free salad. Bastard. They’re probably not even going to get avocado.

Sometimes there’s even gamification within other games. Like when you’re at a casino, you’re gambling, but while you’re gambling, you’re also earning points on your frequent gambler’s card to earn you points to redeem for a free room at the hotel, so you can stay longer and gamble more, so you can earn more points so you can… woah. This is intense.

Gamification isn’t just for adults, either. I can trace my love of points back to childhood. As a kid, I collected Kool Aid points like a fiend. Each little packet had a point on the back of it. Bigger packets, bigger points. All redeemable for crap from the Kool Aid “Wacky Warehouse.” The crap was crap, and Kool Aid itself was krap, but it didn’t matter, I was going to redeem the crap out of those points no matter what. And redeem I did. My mom still has the “wacky” Kool Aid Man pitcher. I believe the “wacky” Purplesaurus pool raft has long since sprung a leak, however.

Point is, points. Every company worth a damn is in on this. They’ve run the numbers, they’ve consulted their consultants, they’ve prodded their penny pushers, they’ve determined that these points programs are worth the effort. Let’s game it up! Sure, they’re some extra work involved, and every once in a while someone is going to want something for free, but that’s a pittance in the grand scheme of things. And the scheme is indeed grand.

Gamification is taking over. It’s as diabolical as it is inevitable. Yesterday we were collecting Kool Aid points, today we’re accruing frequent flier miles and Starbucks bucks, tomorrow we’ll be “checking in” to become “mayor” of the men’s room at the Port Authority.

I make this gamification of everything sound like a bad thing. And, well, it mostly is. But as long as we’re aware of it, so long as we realize we’re being gamed, it’s okay. The first step is admitting you have a gaming problem. If we’re aware of that, hopefully we’ll be less apt to be manipulated. We’ll be less likely to buy or do things we don’t need to in the name of the all-mighty game.

Then again, maybe not. It all comes back to my missing Chop’t card. I lost hundreds of dollars worth of stuff when I lost my wallet, but I’m the most upset about the free salad I “worked” so hard for. It’s know it’s ridiculous, but it’s true.

Basically what I’m trying to say is we’re screwed.

Better get as many free salads as you can.

Lenticular Manhattan Map

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 14:06:33 -0500

Lenticular Manhattan Map:

I want one of these. That way, when an EMP takes out all the iPhones, I will be king of directions! Bow before me! I know the closest train stop to Murray’s Cheese Shop! [via]

Take On Me, North Korean Style (with accordions)

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 12:12:30 -0500

Take On Me, North Korean Style (with accordions):

North Koreans, they’re just like us! Mostly! [via]

☞ That's Master Jobsman To You.

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 20:24:29 -0500

Remember a few years back when every TV channel had a home makeover show? It was ridiculous.

Trading Spaces, While You Were Out, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, Trading Spaces: Family, Curb Appeal, Trading Spaces: British Invasion, Clean Sweep, Trading Spaces: European Takeover, Trading Spaces: What The Hell Did You Do To My Bathroom?, Trading Spaces: I Want My Kitchen Back To How It Was Before.

Nickelodeon even got in on it at one point, with “We Rebuilt Your Entire House Out Of Legos.”

Like everything else that’s wrong with the world, we can blame this on PBS.

The whole home makeover genre started on PBS in 1979 with a little show called This Old House. In it, Bob Vila, the perpetually bearded, Craftsman-wielding, non-master carpenter extraordinaire took viewers into fixer-uppers around the country and, uh, fixed them up. Or, well, he told other people to fix them up. You know, actual master carpenters. Some of whom didn’t even have beards.

Eventually This Old House begot “Ask This Old House” which begot other similar shows, which eventually evolved into the “makeover” type show that we have today. Because really, who wants to fix actual problems when you can just cover them up? This is America, dammit.

American sensibilities notwithstanding, house makeovers make for better television than dudes with beards and flannel shirts putting up sheetrock. It’s fun watching strangers root around in other people’s homes, making crucial domestic decisions without consultation, and when it’s all done, see the homeowner’s ( ) surprise, ( ) joy, ( ) anger, ( ) frustration, ( ) shock, ( ) awe, ( ) nausea, ( ) drunken rage (check all that apply).

Contrast this with This Old House, and the most excitement you could hope for was someone shooting Bob with a nailgun. (Which didn’t happen until season six.) (And then three more times in season seven.) (And again in Bob’s farewell episode in season 10.)

(And a few more times during a variety of PBS fund drives over the years.)

(Oh, and that Craftsman commercial blooper reel on YouTube.)

The whole home makeover genre came grinding to a halt in 2008 though, when the housing market took one in the gonads. Most Americans couldn’t afford their homes at that point, let alone making them look nice. But television marches ever forward, and something had to fill the void. The void in the schedule, I mean… the cultural void was always there.

Enter the real estate reality show. Remember all those houses that we made all purdy-like? Let’s sell those sonsofbitches! House Hunters, Million Dollar Listing, Property Virgins, Sell This House, Fix This Kitchen, Flip This House, Flip That House, Flipping Out, Flipping Vegas, Flipping Boston, Selling LA, Selling New York… the list goes on. I didn’t even have to make up any of those shows, they’re all real. Yes, even Property Virgins. That one is about awkward teenage boys buying and selling real estate in suburban Milwaukee and using the profits to buy Magic cards.

All of these shows involve real estate agents preying on the shitty economy, trying to turn a buck. I find this interesting.

I always thought in times of economic turmoil, people look to entertainment for escapism. But apparently we’re masochists. When the economy was good, we wanted escapism. We wanted to see houses made into mansions. Now that the economy sucks though, we want to see the scumbags who profit over everyone else’s loss come out ahead? What is wrong with us?

Point is, I want the good old days back. I want Bob Vila to tell me how to fix up the old house I’ll be buying in North Dakota, because I’ll never be able to afford anything more than that. (Although once HGTV spins off Property Virgins: North Dakota Edition, I won’t even be able to afford that.)

But since Bob “America’s Handyman” Vila is otherwise indisposed, I guess it’s up to me to reignite the do it yourself home improvement flame. To reinvent the genre for a modern era. And by modern, I mean now that most of us are screwgied financially.

Here’s the pitch:

I call it “This Cobjobbed Apartment.” (The inevitable spinoff will be called “That Cobjobbed Apartment” but we’re already getting ahead of ourselves.) The idea is that I try to fix things around my apartment on my own so I don’t have to ask my landlords because the moment they feel like they’re putting more money into the apartment, they’ll want to raise the rent which they haven’t done since I moved in three years ago. Based on actual events. And a novel by Sapphire.

The first episode is about me trying to fix my toilet flusher. The handle broke the other night. Sure, I could ask them to buy a replacement handle and hire a plumber, but that might remind them that this apartment is way undervalued for the neighborhood. “NOT IN THIS ECONOMY!™” (That’s my character’s catchphrase in the show.) (My character is really obnoxious.)

So for the next half hour, we look around my apartment for things to use to repair the toilet flusher. I consult with a variety of experts, ranging from my downstairs neighbor, to the mailman, to the delivery guy. Just kidding, nobody can afford delivery. “NOT IN THIS ECONOMY!™” (God, I hate myself.)

After several failed attempts with twist ties and duct tape, I wind up cobbing together something with a rubber band and a paperclip and the toilet flushes once more. Toilet fixed, and the landlords are none the wiser! “ECONO-MIGHTY!™” (Secondary catchphrases still subject to change.)

At the end of the episode, we tease next week’s project: figuring out what the deal is with that weird lumpy bit that’s on the ceiling in the living room. Richard Dean Anderson guest stars.

So that’s the pitch. This Cobjobbed Apartment. I think it’s what America needs, to balance out the dearth of quality home improvement television programming on the air right now.

Well, what do you think, PBS?

What’s that, This Old House is still on the air? Seriously?

ECONOOOOOOO!™

IGN Daily Fix

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 16:55:00 -0500

IGN Daily Fix:

I’m sure this isn’t nearly as funny to everyone else as it is to me, but I’ve watched in three times now and I’m still laughing, so here it is.

NYPL Labs : Stereogranimator

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 12:43:28 -0500

NYPL Labs : Stereogranimator:

NYPL’s Stereogranimator is amazing for a number of reasons. #1: Stereograms are awesome. #2: Old things are awesome. #3: Animated GIFs are awesome (obviously, old file format). #4: It’s a really well-written web app that can generate Animated GIFs from old stereograms. Done. [via]

☞ Meow Meow oh Meow Meow oh Meow oh Gaga.

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 18:06:59 -0500

This past week the House of Representatives and the US Senate were supposed to vote on two separate but similar bills, both with awesome acronyms. The Senate’s was SOPA, short for the “Stop Online Piracy Act” and the House’s was PIPA, short for the PROTECT IP Act, which is short for PROTECT Intellectual Property Act, which is short for Preventing Real Online Threats (to) Economic Creativity (and) Theft (of) Intellectual Property Act.

Clearly the House has a bit of an acronym inferiority complex.

While these acronyms are not as ridiculous as the USA PATRIOT Act or Michele Obama’s proposed EAGLE Act (the Ensuring (that) American (citizens’) Glucose Levels Erode (in a healthy manner) Act), as far as actual bills go, SOPA and PIPA are just as retartar.

Put simply, both SOPA and PIPA would potentially transform the internet from a place where people can express themselves freely, to one where you have to be careful what you say, lest you be potentially silenced and sued by people (corporations) who don’t like what you’re saying. They would allow websites to be shutdown for potential copyright infringements. Obviously a website can be shutdown for copyright infringements, but right now your website is innocent until proven guilty. If passed, these bills would make your website guilty until proven innocent.

Thinking twice about posting that video of your cat meowing to “Bad Romance” on YouTube now, aren’t you?

Fortunately for everyone except a few people (media corporations), voting on SOPA and PIPA has been postponed indefinitely until more money can be given to pay off our elected officials.

So, yay?

But seriously. The official line is that the bills needed to be re-worked so that they can reach a wider consensus within the Senate and the House. The real reason, though, is that these bills pissed off the internet. And pissing off the internet is a bad idea.

Generally speaking, I’m not a very political guy. I vote, but that’s about it. I believe in democracy. Democracy, as we all know, comes from the Greek word “dēmokratía” meaning “you’re screwed no matter who you vote for.”

The theory behind a parliamentary democracy is that you elect some officials to represent you, and then they represent you. That’s the theory, anyway.

Are you ready to have your mind blown, though? Are you sitting down? No? You’re standing? You’re on the subway? Okay, I’ll wait for a seat to free up. You’re going to want to sit down for this.

Get a seat yet? No? Okay. I’ll wait one more stop.

Dude, check out that guy. He’s not looking good. He’s gonna hurl any minute now. Gross. No, don’t sit next to him. That’s a terrible idea. Wait, that lady just got up. Grab her seat! Gogogogo!

Okay, you’re sitting down. Nice.

Right. So in theory, your elected representatives are supposed to represent you. Here’s the thing, though: sometimes they represent other interests instead!

I know. It’s crazy, but it’s true.

Aren’t you glad you sat down?

Now more often than not, when my representatives fuck me democratically I just suck it up. Shit happens. But when PIPA and SOPA started gaining traction, I started getting worried. I like the internet. I like the internet a lot. Big fan. My preciousssss. Et cetera. And my elected idiots were siding with these poorly-written, ill-conceived bills that were going to screw up the internet. Not cool.

So, for the first time ever: Mr. Rafferty Went to Washington.

Or, well, to 49th Street & 3rd Avenue in midtown. To the Senate offices of New York State. Still, same idea.

Oh, and it wasn’t just me, it was me and about 2,000 other people. Still. I am Jimmy Stewart.

I had never exercised my right to protest before. Nothing ever angered me enough. Things are still pretty decent for us white males, I guess. But hey, first time for everything.

The problem though was I didn’t how to protest. What was I supposed to wear? What was I supposed to bring? A protest sign, right? That’s what angry people seem to do. So the night before the protest, I found an old pizza box and my angriest Sharpie marker, and I forged my first protest sign!

China: Internet Blocked
Iran: Internet Censored
USA: ? ? ? ? ?

Hyperbolic? Perhaps. But these are hyperbolic times. (A statement which itself is probably hyperbolic.)

The next morning, me and my fellow internet lovers converged in midtown to tell our Senators that they were doing their job wrong.

When I got there, it was a little pathetic at first. I was hoping it would be a little more chaotic. A portion of the sidewalk was cordoned off, and a little corral of a couple hundred nerds was forming inside. There were no chants, no bullhorns, no rotten tomatoes being tossed. I came out for this? I could be indoors! On the internet!

But within a 10 minutes or so, the crowd had doubled. And then the police dragged the metal fencing out onto 3rd Avenue to accommodate the growing crowd. And it doubled again. And then the police took over another lane of 3rd Ave. And then the crowd grew some more. And then there was chanting, and there were bullhorns. Still no rotten tomatoes, though.

By the end of the protest I felt like we had made a difference. Flyers were handed out. Awareness was elevated. Senators were still being idiots, but they were better informed idiots. Now they were just being spiteful rather than ignorant.

So, yay?

A few days later, both SOPA and PIPA were put on ice by the Senate and the House. They’ll both be back, I’m sure… probably with different names (hence allowing me to reuse my intentionally vague protest sign), but for now the internet is safe.

Point is, I’m not going to say that I saved the internet… but I’m going to imply it.

Jonathan Coulton on Megaupload and SOPA/PIPA

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 13:39:01 -0500

Jonathan Coulton on Megaupload and SOPA/PIPA:

Essential reading.

“Make good stuff, then make it easy for people to buy it. There’s your anti-piracy plan.”

Wastelander Panda

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 11:55:00 -0500

Wastelander Panda:

There are few things I like more than a post-apocalypse. But I can now tell you with great certainty that one of those things is a post-apocalypse… with a panda. [via]

☞ Fear, Uncertainty, and Make Sure You Ground Yourself.

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 15:48:32 -0500

“I would just like to let the record show that I disassembled and reassembled my television and not only did I not have any pieces left over when I was done, but not once was I electrocuted. It is for that reason that I humbly accept this award, the Noble Prize in Television Repair.”

Right around then, I woke up.

It was all true, though. I really did repair my television. The main circuit board stopped working and needed to be replaced. Weird. Who would have thought that a cheap, used, possibly stolen television that I bought on craigslist would be so unreliable? Anyway, one $40 circuit board and a few dozen screws later, it was good as new. Or, uh, good as used.

It’s also true that I didn’t electrocute myself. This is perhaps the more impressive part of the feat, given my track record of electrocuting myself. (In my defense, it has been a few years since I’ve had to reset the “____ Days Since Last Accidental Electrocution” sign in my apartment.)

Most people think electrocution is an all-or-nothing thing. Probably because at one point it was. “Electrocution” a portmanteau of “electrical” and “execution.” Catchy. Nowadays though, electrocution can be anything from being sentenced to the electric chair to getting zapped when you touch a doorknob after walking on that shag carpeting that you really need to replace in your basement.

You could even say that using an iPhone or other touch-based gizmo involves electrocution. After all, every time you touch that screen, you’re completing a electrical circuit. You’re finger is getting a little bit of juice so the screen knows where you’re touching it. That’s why you can’t just use a stick or pen on the screen. You need to use your finger. Or if you’re Japanese, a hot dog. Or if you’re a serial killer, someone else’s finger. (Those lose conductivity after a while, though, so hurry up.)

Who is the marketing wizard who came up with the word “electrocution” you ask? Our good ol’ boy, Thomas Edison.

Obviously electrocution has existed forever. Guys have been touching eels and standing in open fields during thunderstorms since time immemorial. After figuring out how to harness electricity, it was only a matter of time before we started using it for nefarious purposes, though. You know, like rubbing balloons on our heads to make our hair stick up.

But it wasn’t until Edison got his panties in a bunch in the early 1900s that he came up with electrocution (and yes, dudes wore panties back then) (and man, they rode up something fierce).

You see, in the late 1800s, Edison was involved in a standards war with fellow nerd Nikola Tesla. It was known as “The War Of The Currents!”

Back in 1882, our boy Tommy E had just opened the first power plant in the United States. It was in Manhattan, down on Pearl Street. Across from the Starbucks. His power plant provided DC power— direct current— to a bunch of businesses downtown. This was swell, because all of the businesses were in a concentrated area and they pretty much just needed to light some light bulbs.

Soon, other people wanted light bulbs. Problem was, these people were not downtown. So Edison built other power plants all over the country. The bigger problem was, you pretty much had to be within a mile or two of an Edison power plant to get electricity. And I don’t know about you, but unlike Starbucks, I can’t throw a rock and hit a power plant.

Enter Nikola Tesla. Nicky worked for Edison. They were besties. He came over from Europe in 1884 and started working under Edison, trying to improve Edison’s DC generators. And invent panties which didn’t bunch up as much.

Tesla left the panties to the professionals and focused on the DC generators, and in short time he succeeded.

Generally speaking, Edison made his breakthroughs through trial and error, whereas Tesla was more mathematically inclined. This is reflected in their respective mottos. Edison’s motto being “genius is 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration.” Tesla’s motto— and, incidentally also Scrooge McDuck’s— being “work smarter, not harder.”

Unfortunately for Tesla, Edison also took some tips from Scrooge McDuck, and refused to pay Tesla for his work, so Tesla bailed. Besties no more.

And so began The War Of The Currents. Despite Edison’s improved DC generators, direct current still sucked for transmitting power. So Tesla developed a whole new system, AC power— alternating current. And that’s how the band AC/DC was born, kids.

Tesla’s AC power was better in virtually every way possible. It had longer range, it could better handle different electrical loads, and was cheaper to transmit. Outmatched on all fronts, Edison did what any American capitalist would do: scare people into believing him.

And what better way to scare people than… uh, electrocuting an elephant? Okay, Edison. Weirdo.

So in 1903, Topsy the circus elephant killed some guys over at Luna Park near Coney Island in Brooklyn. (Which I can’t really blame Topsy for doing, Coney Island has been going downhill since the 1850s.) Topsy’s owners wanted to kill her, and Edison wanted to prove that AC power was dangerous. Edison saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, and probably an elephant with 6,600 volts while he was at it. So he did. And it was very sad.

Sadder still, it was all for nothing. All the electrocuted circus elephants in the world weren’t going to change the fact that DC power was only good for short range, high power uses. Edison had been bested by his bestie, Tesla.

But hey, at least now we have a word for that thing that you don’t want to happen when you open up your television and decide to plug it back into the wall before you fully reassemble it just to see if the $40 circuit board you bought from some obscure website will actually fix the crappy TV you bought on craigslist, right?

What’s that, there was already a word for that?

Oh, right, Fernsehensterbennichtwillenstromaufmachen. Sounds German.

The Bark Side

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 12:28:33 -0500

The Bark Side:

Takes a couple seconds to figure out what’s happening, but once you do, it’s solid. [via the internet]

Oops! I ruined your life. :)

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 10:09:14 -0500

Oops! I ruined your life. :):

Gotta love the “like this” button on the Xbox error page. [via]

☞ Powerful Stuff, So Watch That Plug!

Fri, 13 Jan 2012 20:45:43 -0500

Benjamin Franklin always gets all the credit for electricity. For (allegedly) flying a kite in a thunderstorm. Whoopdee doo. Great job, guy. Here’s a sticker.

The real hero though, the real pioneer of electricity though, is Egyptian Fred. We don’t even know his last name. That’s how badly history has screwed Fred.

Fred discovered electricity back in 2750 BC. How, you ask? Dude got electrocuted by an eel. Sucks to be Fred. Again.

Anyway, Fred wrote down what happened, probably in hieroglyphics (stick figure touching a fish, then a frowny emoticon) (little known fact: Fred also invented emoticons), and then Fred proceeded to die.

The next big step in the evolution of electricity took place a couple thousand years later near modern day Bagdad, where some folks (you know, folks) were experimenting with a very rudimentary type of battery. We modern folks have since dubbed this the “Bagdad battery.” (Because even recently-discovered artifacts need marketable names these days.)

To make a Bagdad battery, basically you take a pot, put an iron rod surrounded by a copper sheet inside, and fill it with some type of acidic liquid (kids, ask your parents for help!). Modern recreations of the Bagdad battery have gotten about half of a 9V battery worth of juice out of them. So, uh, yeah. The scientific community is still uncertain as to what these batteries were actually used for. Me? I’m leaning towards WMDs.

Flash forward another couple thousand years when some other, whiter dudes picked up where Fred and Bagdad Bob left off. First up: William Gilbert, who came up with the word “electricity” in 1600. The Greek word for “amber” is “elektron” and back before shag carpeting and balloons, you would build up static electricity to zap your friends by… rubbing amber? Who knew. I, for one, did not.

At this point, most people will jump ahead to Benny boy and his (alleged) kite flight in 1752, but I’d like to take a detour, if you’ll indulge me. Yes? Excellent. To France!

France. 1746. Our good friend Jean-Antoine Nollet, scientist, clergyman, professor, and Scorpio (ladies), is trying to invent the telegraph. Or, well, he probably doesn’t realize he’s trying to invent the telegraph, but he’s definitely helping to put the pieces in place. Those pieces? About two hundred of his fellow monks… all lined up in a circle… a mile in diameter? Holding an iron cable? Uh oh, I don’t like where this is going.

Nollet wants to know how fast electrical current travels. And what better way to find out than to get 200 of your closest friends in a circle holding a metal wire and electrocuting them? I can only assume they were paid in beer and pizza.

As it turns out, electricity moves pretty fast. All the monks yelled “sacrebleu!” simultaneously. Nailed it. Score one for electricity.

Okay, back to the United States. 1752. Benjamin Franklin writes up a paper proposing flying a kite during a rainstorm with the hope that it will be struck by lightning and the electrical charge from the lightning will travel down the string to a key to charge a battery (of the non-Bagdad variety). Sounds just crazy enough to work, right? Well, sorry to rain on your rainstorm, but Mr. $100 bill may have never flown said kite. Bummer, I know. Allegedly he did, but he published the results in the third person, so it’s hard to say one way or another. Allegedly. But some other people definitely followed through with the experiment and those some other people definitely got electrocuted. So, hey, progress.

(If you haven’t already noticed, most “progress” in the history of electricity comes in the form of dudes getting electrocuted.)

Our next stop: 1800. The 1800s are huge, folks. This is the good stuff.

In 1800 in Italy, Alessandro Volta invented the modern battery. Obviously. I mean, with a name like “Volta” clearly he was going to be involved with electricity.

What’s that?

Right. “Volt” is named after him. Got it. Seems obvious now.

Anyway. Alessandro came up with the “voltic pile” battery after experimenting with frog’s legs. Uh, right. Frog’s legs. Basically his buddy Luigi (actual name) noticed that frog’s legs would occasionally twitch when poked with a scalpel after death. It should be noted that the frog in question happened to be hanging on a brass hook. And the scalpel just happened to be made of iron. I smell battery!

Alessandro switched from brass and iron to zinc and copper, but the basic idea was the same. Two metals and a salty wet thing— a frog, or in the case of the voltic pile, some brine-soaked cloth— and you’ve got a battery! Bagdad Bob would be proud.

Next up, Denmark, April 21, 1820. Our good friend and physicist Hans Christian Ørsted (who incidentally was friends with Hans Christian Andersen, no joke) was preparing for a lecture when he noticed that his compass needle went crazy when he switched the battery he had with him on and off. Huh. Turns out, Hans just stumbled upon electromagnetism! Holy crap, folks, this is huge. This is like, up there with gravity. Hold onto your butts.

In the following months, Hans followed up on his discovery (probably went through a lot of salty wet things in the process), and determined that any sort of electrical current produces a magnetic field as it flows through a wire. Also known as: electromagnetism. This had far-reaching consequences. All the way to to England, to Michael Faraday’s house!

Michael Faraday is awesome. Big fan. So Faraday pops Ørsted’s findings into Google Translate and it he’s like “this Danish dude is onto something.” Faraday builds upon Ørsted’s theories, most notably in 1831, when Faraday discovers electromagnetic induction. Which is the basis for all of our electricity generation to this day. Boo to the ya.

By the late 1800s, everything was coming together. Batteries, electromagnetism, induction, frog’s legs, lightning bolts, WMDs. All of it. Power plants started popping up all over. Edison invented the lightbulb. Sure, we hadn’t decided on AC or DC power yet, but we were close. After thousands of years and an international effort from Egypt to Bagdad to France to the United States to Italy to Denmark to England to everywhere human beings had finally tamed electricity.

And it only took a dude getting zapped by an eel to make it all happen.

Thanks, Fred.

2011 and Some Pennies.

Fri, 13 Jan 2012 13:45:36 -0500

2011 was a return to movie-going form. After seeing a mere 15 films in theaters in 2010, I saw 35 in theaters in 2011. I said goddamn.

The films in question (roughly in order of release date):

The Green Hornet, The Adjustment Bureau, Rango, Paul, Sucker Punch, Source Code, Hanna, The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, Fast Five, Thor, Bridesmaids, The Hangover Part II, X-Men: First Class, Super 8, Horrible Bosses, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, Captain America: The First Avenger, Cowboys & Aliens, Attack the Block, The Devil’s Double, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, 30 Minutes or Less, Contagion, Drive, Moneyball, The Ides of March, In Time, Tower Heist, A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas, The Muppets, Young Adult, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Artist.

I have also since seen three other 2011 releases on video: Win Win, Cars 2, and Transformers 3. They were two thirds terrible. I think you can figure out which two thirds.

Speaking of terrible movies, in any other year, the Brett Ratner film would have been the worst movie I saw, but this year had had some stiff competition from otherwise far more competent directors. Cowboys & Aliens from Jon Favreau was a goddamn mess despite an excellent title and a great cast (Sam Rockwell! Clancy Brown!). But far worse than that was Sucker Punch by Zack Snyder. Sweet baby Jesus. Sweet Pea, even. Just terrible. But I’ve already expressed my feelings about Sucker Punch.

Of the movies I didn’t see, I think Hugo and possibly Martha Marcy May Marlene would have made my top ten, but, well, it’s already January 13th. Time to turn the page on 2011.

Anyway, on with the top 10 list.

#10 - X-Men: First Class - Brett Ratner ruined the X-Men franchise. The Wolverine movie did not help matters. So I was skeptical about the “pre-boot” or whatever they were calling this one. No Patrick Stewart, no Ian McKellen and no Halle Barry. Well, no Halle Barry. That’s something. (But the presence of January Jones essentially nullified the absence of Halle Barry.) Round it out with some C-List mutants and I wasn’t expecting much. But, well, I was pleasantly surprised. The 1960s backdrop added a little somethingsomething, and who doesn’t love Kevin Bacon as a villain? Kind of excited for the next one, actually.

#9 - Fast Five - Supposedly this is the Star Trek: Generations of the “Fast” franchise. It’s the bridge that transforms it from a car movie franchise into a heist movie franchise. I say, can’t it be both? This one pulled it off splendidly, I say keep it up. I think this might even be the best one yet, despite playing it a little fast and loose with the continuity (the Asian guy who died two movies ago is alive again?) (because continuity is of the upmost importance in this franchise).

#8 - Source Code - David Bowie’s son basically remakes his own movie from two years ago with a bigger budget, a Gyllenhaal and some of the most in-your-face product placement I’ve ever seen. And you know what? It’s pretty good. The pitch: “It’s Run Lola Run only without a hot redhead and far less running, and it’s on a train… that happens to contain a Dunkin Donuts.” Sold!

#7 - Rise of the Planet of the Apes - I am something of a Planet of the Apes snob. I’ve seen all the originals (I have the box set), and I enjoyed the Tim Burton “Ape Lincoln” version in 2001. What can I say, I loves me some bros in monkey suits. So when I found out they were going all CGI with the apes, I was ready to fling my poop at this one, but then the reviews started coming in and it was apparently good? And then I saw it myself, and goddamn, it was. And it totally respected the franchise continuity, which I was not expecting at all. Even the bus from the terrible terrible fourth sequel made an appearance! Sold!

#6 - The Muppets - Sandwiched between apes and eights. Sorry Kermit.

#5 - Super 8 - Like a really expensive Goonies fan film that happens to be directed by JJ Abrams with special effects by ILM. But hey, I’d see that movie. And I did. And it was pretty good. It’s got heart, kid. And that goes a long way. Mint!

#4 - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Like Facebook, I couldn’t have cared less about The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but then David Fincher and Trent Reznor got involved, so then I had to care. Coming down off The Social Network high is tough, and this was no Social Network, but it still looked good and sounded great. It’s hard to live up to that trailer, though. Man.

#3 - Bridesmaids - I’m a little burnt out on Kristen Wiig, so I went into Bridesmaids cautiously optimistic. And then in the opening scene I was greeted with a hilarious sex scene between her and Jon Hamm. And I was on board. And then Chris O’Dowd from The IT Crowd showed up and there was even more rejoicing.

#2 - Attack the Block - Sort of like a low budget R-rated British version of Super 8 that doesn’t take place in 1979. You’ve got aliens, teenagers, weed, a scooter, a dog, Nick Frost and a kid named Moses who is kind of awesome. It’s all there. And it’s brilliant. Brilliant in both the British sense and the American sense of the word.

#1 - Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol - Brad Bird, everybody! This is some T2-grade action movie goodness right here. It’s practically non-stop. Terminator 2 is basically two hours of being chased by a T1000. M:I:4 is basically two hours of Tom Cruise running. And climbing. And playing with awesome gadgets. But that’s okay. Despite it being Tom Cruise. I know, I am surprised as you are. See it in IMAX if you can, it’s cray cray.

Fotoshop by Adobé

Fri, 13 Jan 2012 13:36:49 -0500

Fotoshop by Adobé:

It’s the ´ that makes the joke, really. Sometimes that’s all it takes. [via]

☞ Juggalos In The Pot Smoke

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 18:34:52 -0500

In my on-going commitment to bring to you the latest news from the land of the juggalo, I risked life, limb, and about $27.95 (plus surcharges) this New Year’s Eve to attended…

The First Annual Ninja New Year’s Party, hosted by the Insane Clown Posse!

Yes, indeed, this past weekend, 1,672 juggalos and juggalettes (and one non-juggalo and one non-juggalette) (me and a friend) rang in 2012 in style. And by “in style,” I mean we were surrounded by 1,672 people who dress in clothes purchased/stolen exclusively from Hot Topic and occasionally the merchandise booth at Insane Clown Posse concerts.

Before I continue, a quick primer on Insane Clown Posse and juggalo culture for those of you who are reading this but for some strange reason don’t know about either (not actually strange at all).

The Insane Clown Posse is a “horrorcore” rap duo from Detroit featuring Joseph Bruce and Joseph Utsler, better known by their stage names “Violent J” and “Shaggy 2 Dope.” They got their start in Detroit in 1990 when they were known as the “Inner City Posse” before later becoming the “Insane Clown Posse” which, let’s be honest, is a much catchier name. Insanity sells records. So do clowns, apparently.

Over the next twenty years, ICP built quite an empire. They’ve sold more than six million albums, founded their own professional wrestling league, released two feature length films— direct-to-DVD, to be clear— and their record label, Psychopathic Records (obviously), has 10 other juggalo-friendly groups under it. Including Vanilla Ice. I am not joking.

Speaking of juggalos, uh, juggalos? Yes, juggalos. Like “Deadheads,” “Ledheads,” “Phish phans,” “Rushaholics” and “Claymates” (Clay Aiken fans), ICP has “Juggalos.”

What is a juggalo, though? Well, if the lyrics to the ICP song “What Is A Juggalo?” are to believed, a juggalo “ain’t like anybody that you’ve ever met before / He’ll eat Monopoly and shit out Connect Four.” And if that doesn’t clear things up for you, maybe the next few paragraphs will.

The First Annual Ninja New Year’s Party took place in the “clowntown” of Worchester Massachusetts, at the historic Palladium Theater. I am only assuming the Palladium is historic, because I can’t imagine it was built dilapidated.

Both The Palladium and Worchester itself seemed like the perfect venue for an ICP show. Worchester is a bit down on its luck, as is the Palladium, as are most juggalos. It was a match made in Heaven. Or “Shangri-La,” in quasi-religious juggalo parlance.

I was a bit nervous upon arriving at the Palladium. I felt like Sigourney Weaver in Gorillas in the Mist. I was an anthropologist about to study another culture by embedding myself amongst them. Would they accept me as one of their own? My fellow juggalette and I were wearing our best juggalo disguises (black clothes and big pants for me, black clothes and goth boots for her), but it quickly became clear we weren’t fooling anyone. Our disguises were no match for all the dyed hair, clown face paint, vacant stares, drug rugs, and general disregard for personal hygiene of the actual juggalos.

Despite our clear poser status, though, we were left alone. In fact, apart from a brief moment while the Michael Jackson impersonator was on stage (I’m serious), the juggalos were pretty friendly, or at the very least non-threatening.

The entertainment probably helped to keep questioning juggalo eyes off of us (that and the drugs). The entertainment was a mix of Psychopathic Records acts rapping and Juggalo Championship Wrestling wrestlers wrestling and the aforementioned Michael Jackson impersonator lip syncing to “Thriller” at the stroke of midnight. Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J emceed the whole event, donning their finest face paint, suit jackets, and cargo shorts. Classy.

Intermixed with the wrestling and rapping (and moonwalking), “Sugar Slam” appeared on stage (wrestling ring, really) with a trio of slutty girls dressed as slutty Santas to throw ICP t-shirts into throngs of juggalos below. (Here I should also note that Sugar Slam is also Violent J’s former girlfriend/baby momma. Oh, what a tangled web the Psychopathic Family weaves.)

Finally, after half a dozen acts and just as many wrestling matches, ICP themselves took to the ~~stage~~ wrestling ring to perform a “surprise” set, wrapping up the First Annual Ninja New Year’s. Whoop whoop!

Going into Ninja New Year’s, I considered myself something of a juggalo connoisseur. But there’s only so much you can learn from watching YouTube clips and reading interviews. For example, I would have never guessed juggalos don’t clap. (Insert STD joke about juggalos having the clap here.) Almost universally, anytime clapping would be called for, instead juggalos just give a hearty “Whoop whoop!” Fascinating.

Other Juggalo Fun Facts:

Juggalos do not cross their legs when they sit down, this goes for juggalos or juggalettes.
Juggalos rarely take pictures. This was actually quite refreshing, most concerts I go to, people are too busy documenting the event to actually enjoy it.
Juggalos don’t have iPhones. Probably because that would require signing a contract… and juggalos don’t sign no contracts.
Juggalos will chant “FA-MI-LY, FA-MI-LY” to diffuse fights and other altercations. I’ve seen videos of this. It’s kind of heartwarming, really. However, now I’ve also seen juggalos chanting “FA-MI-LY FA-MI-LY” when rooting for “Lou Weed” to body slam his opponent during a wrestling match. This has diminished the heartwarmingness of the “FA-MI-LY” chant considerably.

As we exited the Palladium around 2:30am, I remarked at how pleased I was with the way the evening turned out. No one was hurt, I finally saw juggalos in their natural habitat, and lessons were learned. Speaking of…

On the way to the parking lot, we walked past a juggalo repeatedly asking anyone would would listen: “Is anyone going to Ohio?”

Which brings me to one final Fun Fact:

Juggalos do not plan ahead.

smart thief caught on cam

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 15:29:00 -0500

smart thief caught on cam:

Yeah, turns out it’s an ad, but it’s clever, so I’ll give it a pass. [via]