Chaotic Not Random

Monday, August 23, 2004

THE INTERVIEWER: Are you comfortable, Mr. Trout?

KILGORE TROUT: Yes, I'm fine.

INT: Would you like a beverage? Coffee or ice water, perhaps?

KT: No, I'm okay. Let's get this over with.

INT: As you wish. Why don't you tell me about Melissa?

KT: Melissa? She's great. Smart, attractive, funny... she's got these really beautiful hazel eyes. Since I've known her, she's correctly used the words "exacerbate," "cadre," and "languid." I didn't know people really used those words in speech.

INT: How long have you and Melissa been seeing each other?

KT: Since late May.

INT: How did you and Melissa meet?

KT: Online. We exchanged a few emails and then met for coffee and hit it off. She ran her first marathon last winter, so we have some things in common.

INT: Is Melissa older or younger than you?

KT: She's thirty-nine -- that's nine years older than me. She's a business executive. She makes more money for scratching her armpit than I do for a week's work.

INT: Are you and Melissa sexually active?

KT: Yes. Quite satisfactorily so. She's... let's just say that we're compatible in that regard.

INT: Would you describe Melissa as married or single?

KT: Well, she's not single.

[silence]

KT: She's married. Melissa's been married for seventeen years.

INT: Is Melissa separated from her husband?

KT: No. They have a home together, and she has no intention of divorcing him. We've been clear on that from the beginning.

INT: Do Melissa and her husband have children?

KT: Yes. Three children. Young kids.

INT: Does Melissa love her husband?

KT: She says she does, and I believe her. She's never said anything bad about him, but she's said a lot of nice things, that he's a good father and so on. He sounds like a pretty good guy, actually. Once she said that he's 99% of the husband she needs him to be.

INT: What is the 1% he's missing?

KT: He doesn't fuck her. When we first met, Melissa said her husband's sex drive was a 2 on a scale from 1 to 10. She says hers is a 12. I think that might be a conservative estimate. Anyway, they haven't had sex since she got pregnant with the twins three years ago. They don't even sleep in the same room anymore.

INT: So Melissa's sole motivation for having an affair with you is sexual gratification?

KT: Yes. Well, mostly. I mean, there's no romance or affection in their marriage. They never kiss or touch or exchange goofy smiles or say "I love you" or anything. But she gets those things from me. Except for the "I love you," of course.

INT: Do you think that lack of intimacy and sexual gratification justifies breaking marriage vows?

KT: Yes. Our society treats sex as trivial, but it's not. Sexual satisfaction is an important factor in being happy. I know too well what it's like to go without sex for extended periods of time. It fucks with your head. You feel worthless and ugly -- like there's something wrong with you, like you're abnormal. I know you're supposed to feel great about yourself no matter what anyone else says, but that kind of self-confidence is really hard to muster, and most people who have it are either blowhards or sociopaths.

We all crave physical contact and closeness, being told we're attractive, that we're sexy, that we're good in bed, that somebody can't wait to see us again. Should Melissa have to go without these good things just because her husband is a eunuch? To what end? So she can brag about her virtue while living in misery? And don't forget her husband's responsibility in putting her in this impossible situation. Maybe "I promise to fuck my wife" isn't in the wedding vows, but it ought to be. Melissa had every right to expect a normal sex life.

INT: Why hasn't Melissa tried to revive her marriage instead of embarking on a potentially destructive affair?

KT: Well, first of all, there's nothing to "revive." It's always been this way. She married the guy when she was 22 and a virgin, and for the first year they had sex once a week when she initiated it, and it went downhill from there. And secondly, she -- they -- have tried everything. Counseling, doctors, uh... marital aids, you know.

INT: Why doesn't she divorce him instead of cheating?

KT: She doesn't want to get divorced. Apparently she's happier with him than without him, and she's in a better position to know that than I am. They did separate for a couple of years when she was in her late twenties, but for whatever reasons she decided to get back with him. She loves him, you know, and she doesn't want to be without him. Plus now they have the kids, and she wants to keep the family together. Like I said, she loves him. It's just this one thing he can't give her.

INT: Is Melissa's husband gay?

KT: That's what I thought at first, and I still have my suspicions, but Melissa says he just has low testosterone. I guess I don't know much about that kind of thing.

INT: Do you think that it's right and moral to have sex with a married woman?

KT: Um. Well, I don't know if it's really "right," but is it really wrong? I mean, it's not like the guy is my friend or anything. Plus it makes Melissa happy, so it's like I'm helping her out.

INT: So you are having sex with Melissa as an act of chivalry?

KT: Oh, fuck off.

[silence]

KT: No. Okay? I'm fucking her because I like fucking her, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. I didn't take any vows.

INT: If your affair with Melissa caused her marriage to fall apart and broke her family up, would you still think you hadn't done anything wrong?

KT: Uh... well, yeah, I would feel pretty bad to have a hand in something like that.

INT: By "feeling pretty bad," do you mean that you would come to realize that you had done something wrong?

KT: Yes, I suppose. But I think the risk of that happening -- of her getting divorced and her family breaking up -- is pretty low.

INT: Please elaborate.

KT: Well, about 4½ years ago, Melissa's sexual frustration kind of boiled over, and her husband told her to go find a lover. To get her off his back, I guess. So she fucked some guy, and she told him about it. He said he didn't want to know. So this affair she's having with me -- he's sort of willfully ignorant. As long as she's reasonably discreet and doesn't do anything to hurt the family, he turns a blind eye and pretends he doesn't know.

INT: Do you believe she's telling the truth?

KT: Yes. Well, mostly. She's been honest about everything else so far. It's hard to say for sure because I don't know him and I don't know if he's the kind of person who would give his wife tacit permission to fuck other guys. It's kind of important because I don't want to come home from work someday and find some dude waiting for me in the parking lot with a pipe wrench. But yeah, I trust her.

INT: How often do you see Melissa?

KT: Once a week, give or take. Usually we take off work early Friday afternoon and get together at my place for a few hours, or she comes by Sunday morning when she's supposedly at church.

INT: Does it bother you that Melissa lies to her family to have illicit sex with some guy she met on the Internet?

KT: Not really. It bothers her, because she's a fundamentally honest person. But if you accept that he gave her permission to fuck around, and that he doesn't want to know about it, then you have to accept that she has to lie to make that happen.

INT: Do you love Melissa?

KT: No.

INT: Does Melissa love you?

KT: No. We share sex, and affection, and companionship. We talk on the phone a few times a week. We have lunch together occasionally, and we give each other little gifts. But there's no further significance to these actions. We enjoy the time we spend together, and we know this is as far as it's going to go, and that's fine by both of us.

INT: How long do you and Melissa plan to continue seeing each other?

KT: Indefinitely. We don't have any kind of commitment to each other, so either one of us can break it off if it's not fun anymore. That hasn't been a problem, so more likely it'll end when I find a girl that I want to be exclusive with.

INT: Have you been dating other women while you've been seeing Melissa?

KT: Here and there. At first I wasn't, because Melissa was letting me do some things I've never done before, like [sensitive material deleted] and [sensitive material deleted]. I'll probably never get to do those things again, so I wanted to check them off the list without having to worry about other relationships getting in the way. But I've been dating a little bit more lately. It's kind of nice because I can go on dates without gunning for sex. I'm more relaxed because I know I'm going to get laid on Friday. So I can get to know the girl instead of staring at her breasts the whole time.

INT: That is all, Mr. Trout. Please sign here... and initial here. Thank you for your time.

KT: You bet. Have a nice day.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/23/2004 11:17:55 PM

+++++ Saturday, August 21, 2004

Comes now the brilliant and intrepid Ethan Hahn, who sent me the above photo and the following email:
I was visiting friends in Greensboro, North Carolina last winter, and as I'm a devout ChaoticNotRandom lurker, I was happily surprised to drive past West Friendly Avenue. Here's your post about it from last January.

I snapped a few pictures for you, but promptly lost my CompactFlash card reader and was too lazy to do anything about it until I borrowed one from a friend tonight. So here's a picture of West Friendly Avenue for you - a picture which, incidentally, clearly corroborates your hypothesis that the lights on West Friendly Avenue are never red.

Love your writing, thanks for blogging, and all that yap yap...
Well, Ethan, Article IV of the Chaotic Not Random Reader's Bill of Rights specifies that you should be sending me naked pictures of your sister, not pictures of traffic lights, but I guess I'll take what I can get. And I'll admit it's pretty cool to blog about something totally obscure in January and get an email and a photo about in in August. So: thanks much, Ethan! May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/21/2004 11:58:59 PM

+++++ Friday, August 20, 2004

RICK SANTORUM ASKS BARNEY FRANK IF HE'S A HOMO
WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Egged on by a group of giggling legislators, a blushing U.S. Sen. Rick Santorum (R-Pa.) asked openly gay U.S. Rep. Barney Frank (D-Mass.) if he was a "homo," sources reported Thursday.

The incident took place Thursday afternoon during lunch in the Capitol cafeteria. Witnesses reported hearing a group of Republican lawmakers laughing and making lewd references to Frank's sexual orientation.

"I heard he's a huge fag," U.S. Sen. Wayne Allard (R-Colo.) said. "I heard he likes to, like, kiss guys with his tongue, and do weird stuff with them that you're only supposed to do with girls."

U.S. Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) then said that he has caught Frank "staring at my butt when I go up to speak."

"He likes guys' butts," Hyde reportedly elaborated. "He wants to pull your pants down and, like, get a boner and stick it in your butt."

At this point, observers reported that the group dissolved into shrieks and laughter. U.S. Rep. Jim Nussle (R-Ia.) and U.S. Rep. Sam Brownback (R-Kan.) pretended to kiss while saying "Oh, Barney!" in falsetto voices. U.S. Sen. James Inhofe (R-Okla.) got up from his seat and started "humping" the table in a crude simulation of anal sex.

Santorum, according to witnesses, did not participate in the fun, but stared in shock at his tater tots and sloppy joe sandwich. "Can guys really do that with each other?" he asked.

Santorum's esteemed colleagues immediately began to encourage the junior senator from Pennsylvania to approach Frank, who was eating lunch with a group of Democrats across the cafeteria. Santorum refused, even when "dared" and "double dared," but relented under pressure when Nussle called him a "pussy" and U.S. Sen. Trent Lott (R-Miss.) "double-dog dared" him and offered a half-pint of chocolate milk as a reward.

Santorum walked slowly across the room, stopping twice to look back at his fellow Republican legislators, who urged him forward. Santorum finally reached Frank's table, where he stood blushing until Frank noticed him and said, "Hello, Rick. Can I help you with something?"

"Hey, Barney," Santorum said, "um... are you, like, a homo?"

"Well, 'homo' is a derogatory term," said Frank, "but I am a gay man, yes."

"Do you like to make your dick all hard and stick in guys' butts and mouths and stuff?" blurted Santorum.

"That's not any of your business," replied Frank, "but I will say that my partner and I have a normal sex life for gay men our age."

Santorum then turned around and ran back to his table with his hands clapped over his mouth. "He is! He is! He said he's gay! He says he does it in guys' butts! He called some guy his 'partner'!" he said.

The table erupted into giggles, with several of the lawmakers miming fellatio by moving their fists near their open mouths and poking their tongues into their cheeks. A lively debate ensued about the identity of Frank's "partner," with U.S. Sen. Tom Harkin (D-Ia.) a popular suspect.

As of press time, it could not be confirmed that Lott had promised Hyde a nickel if he walked right up to Harkin and said, "Hi, Mrs. Frank."

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/20/2004 12:05:09 AM

+++++ Thursday, August 19, 2004

Imagine my pleasure and surprise this evening when I received this email from a Ronnie Ellis in Austin, Texas:
I just stumbled onto your blog from last month on Marvin Gudat. In case you wanted to know what he looked like (or maybe didn't), I just happened to have a photo of his tombstone with picture. I have no relation, but he is buried in the same cemetery, Saints Peter and Paul Catholic Cemetery in Meyersville, TX, where many of my wife's ancestors are.

While doing genealogical research there, I noticed this interesting tombstone and photographed it. As it says, Gone but not forgotten, as he comes up again 50 years after his death.
Thank you, Ronnie! Click here to see a photo of the entire tombstone. Click here to read an article arguing that Marv Gudat's 1934 team, the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League, was the "best minor league team ever." The article says that Gudat was "a line-drive hitter, fast and had an excellent arm ... was frequently injured because of his aggressive style on the field," and once broke up a no-hitter by singling with two outs in the ninth inning. As I noted in my July post, Marvin Gudat only hit one major league home run, but in 2,103 minor league games he batted .306 with 2,211 hits and 214 stolen bases.

Rest easy, Mr. Gudat. You kicked ass and took some names.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/19/2004 11:32:43 PM

+++++ Wednesday, August 18, 2004

THINGS I WISH I KNEW
When I'm trying to impress women by bragging about how many countries I've visited, am I allowed to include countries where I've only been to the airport? For example, if I were taking a trip to Morocco in September that included stops in Madrid and Amsterdam, could I later brag about having visited Spain and Holland? If so, what about countries where I've flown through their airspace? How about countries whose capitals and principal exports I can identify with only a few hints?

What is the line of demarcation between an apartment and a condominium? Is a condominium just a nice apartment, or is it an apartment that you own? At the age of thirty, should I be outgrowing apartments the way I outgrew breastfeeding and my security blanket? At what point should I consider myself a failure for not owning property?

When I pass somebody walking the opposite direction in the hallway at work, and I nod and smile, how much longer do I have to keep smiling after the other person passes? If I stop smiling right away, is that merely circumstantial evidence that I'm a phony, or does that clinch the case? But if I walk around the office smiling for no apparent reason, will my colleagues think I'm a "space cadet" or a "spazz"? Can a person in my barely-higher-than-yard-waste position genuinely have "colleagues," or does that require a college degree?

Who makes up jokes? By "jokes," I don't mean "wry commentary" -- I mean How do you pick up women in Waco, Texas?* or A priest, a rabbi, and a Hare Krishna walk into a bar... Have you ever created one of these jokes from scratch? Have any of your friends ever called you up and said, "Hey! I just made up this new joke! What's the difference between a woman and mashed potatoes?**" Me neither, so what is the source of this endless supply of jokes?
*With a Dustbuster.
**Mashed potatoes don't make their own gravy.

Why do I claim to enjoy meeting smart, clever, funny people, but when I actually meet such people, I feel threatened and inadequate? On a related note: why do I claim to enjoy reading smart, funny, well-written blogs, but when I actually read such blogs, I'm overwhelmed by feelings of envy and ineptitude?

Why do some people attach battering rams to the grills of their already hulking trucks and SUVs? Do these people plan to use their vehicles as seige weapons in case Al Qaeda commandeers the Denver Public Library? Or do they hope that, in a head-on collision with my Honda Accord with flawless leather interior, I will end up completely decapitated instead of only paralyzed from the neck down?

When I go into my apartment building's laundry room, and some apparently svelte young lady leaves her clothes on top of one of the dryers, and I take an extra moment to visually examine her thong constructed of maybe 2½ square inches of fabric, is that wrong, or merely creepy?

Muslims are supposed to face Mecca when they pray, but in which direction do they pray when they're in Mecca? No matter which direction they face, their line of sight passes through Mecca, so do they get to face any way they please? Do other Muslims envy the Muslims who live in Mecca for the ease with which they pray? Do Muslims who live in Mecca get embarrassed when they travel outside of Mecca because they're unused to locating Mecca, and have to fumble with a compass or GPS locator or whatever? And what happens when Muslims pray in the wrong direction? Do you get the opposite of what you pray for? Or does Allah just shake his head and say, "You know, I can't understand a word this guy is saying"?

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/18/2004 11:33:39 PM

+++++ Tuesday, August 17, 2004

Seen at ESPN.com Monday:
Scott Rolen nudged into the NL MVP lead after yesterday's 2-HR blitz over the Braves, making him first to 100 RBI.
And then on Tuesday:
Was I saying Scott Rolen was the NL MVP leader? I meant teammate Albert Pujols, who hit his MLB-leading 37th HR last night (his 5th in 4 games). With the Cards up 14 games, one of 'em is going to win it.
Let's dispel this madness immediately. Any list of National League MVP candidates including names other than "Barry Bonds" is blasphemous nonsense. Sure, Pujols has hit 6 more home runs and Rolen has driven in 32 more runs. But that's because nobody will pitch to Bonds -- he has taken more walks (171) this year than Rolen and Pujols combined (115). It's hard to hit home runs and accumulate RBI (a mostly meaningless stat anyway) when most of the pitches you see land in the dirt or cruise by two feet outside the plate. And when pitchers dare to put the ball in the strike zone, Bonds punishes them for their vanity. Compare Bonds' on-base percentage, slugging percentage, and OPS (on-base plus slugging percentage) to those of Rolen and Pujols:

OBP SLG OPS
---- ---- -----
Bonds .605 .769 1.374
Rolen .414 .617 1.030
Pujols .407 .653 1.060

If the season ended today, Bonds would have the highest single-season on-base percentage ever, as well as the sixth-highest slugging percentage and the fourth-highest OPS. Only Babe Ruth and Bonds himself have done better in either category.

Some will say that either Rolen or Pujols have earned the MVP because they play for the Cardinals, a team comfortably ensconced in first place, while Bonds' Giants are scrapping for the wild card. This is the same specious argument used in years past to rob Alex Rodriguez of multiple deserved MVP awards, and I'm too tired to point out its flaws tonight. I will only say that we baseball fans have the rare treat of watching Barry Bonds compile one of the great offensive seasons in the history of the game. Much like the Clinton impeachment looks sillier with every passing year, so a decision to deprive Bonds of the 2004 MVP award will be ridiculed by future baseball fans.

Don't take Barry Bonds for granted. With each season he plays, he solidifies his place in the pantheon of baseball greats. In terms of total career Win Shares, Bonds this season has passed Tris Speaker, Cy Young, and Hank Aaron on the all-time list. Barring injury, he will by the end of the season pass Honus Wagner to settle in third place. If he remains healthy and productive through 2006, he could well pass Ty Cobb and Babe Ruth and make a strong claim for the title of Greatest Baseball Player Ever.

Speaking of all-time greats, we have had the privilege over the last two decades -- modestly dubbed the "ESPN Era" by a certain television network -- of enjoying the careers of some of the greatest athletes of all time. Every era has its great athletes, of course, but I'm talking about athletes who transcend era and have claimed a place among the very best their sports have seen.

In addition to Bonds, we baseball fans have gotten to see Roger Clemens and Greg Maddux, two of the greatest pitchers ever. We've gotten to see Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player of all time. We've witnessed the careers of hockey immortals Wayne Gretzky, Mario Lemieux, and Patrick Roy. I don't follow football that closely, but the names "Barry Sanders," "Emmitt Smith," and "Jerry Rice" seem to crop up a lot on short lists of great running backs and wide receivers. We saw Carl Lewis win ten Olympic medals and Jackie Joyner-Kersee win five, establishing themselves among the greatest track and field athletes ever. We got to watch Pete Sampras and Steffi Graf win 14 and 22 Grand Slam singles titles, more than any man or woman, respectively, in tennis history. This year we cheered Lance Armstrong to his mind-boggling record sixth consecutive Tour de France victory. And all of these athletes wrought their amazing feats against far deeper competition from more nations and races than their predecessors.

We've already had a Golden Age of sports, so what to call the current epoch? The Platinum Age? The Age of Immortals? The Most Fucking-A Kickin'est Ass-est Age of Sports Ever and Stuff? Whatever -- it's a lot of fun.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/17/2004 11:36:53 PM

+++++ Sunday, August 15, 2004

To the ignorant observer, the scene in a certain apartment in Denver's Washington Park neighborhood yesterday might have looked like a 30-year-old man eating chicken wings, drinking light beer, and desultorily masturbating to grainy VHS freeze-frames of Catherine Keener's scenes in Being John Malkovich. More savvy folks would have recognized these festivities as the Chaotic Not Random One Year Blogoversary party. Sorry you weren't invited, but chicken wings are expensive.

CNR recorded 22,533 hits in its first year of existence. That's not a lot of hits, but it's about 20,000 more hits than I had any business to expect, and I'm proud and happy to have made this place for myself in the back alleys of the bloghetto. Thanks to all of you who read my scribblings when you could spend that time on more constructive pursuits, like throwing rocks at stray cats or letting the air out of your ex-girlfriend's tires. Many thanks to those of you who leave comments, send emails, or link to CNR from your own sites.

Below I've made a list of some of my favorite posts. If you haven't seen them before, take a look. If you have, I hope you like them the second time around.
Kilgore Trout's First Post (August 14)

I Love America Because (September 24)

Things That Need To Go Away Right Now, Vol. 1 (October 6)

McDonald's Monopoly Game, Part 1 (October 21) & Part 2 (October 30)

Labiaplasty (November 4)

I Wish I Had A Scar (November 13)

The Clock Setter (November 30)

Do Something (December 11)

All I Want For Christmas Is A Handjob From Meredith Baxter-Birney (December 12)

Just Say No To White Merlot! Part 1 (December 29) & Part 2 (January 21)

Steve And Barb Lose Their Souls (January 2)

Reality Show Wednesday: Proud Grandmother (January 7)

LOCAL MAN'S SHIT DOES NOT STINK (January 8)

Terror Alert (January 10)

Should Equilovers Be Allowed To Cobond? (February 15)

US EXCHANGES CONSTITUTION FOR OIL (March 9)

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do (March 11)

LOCAL MAN FORCED TO DOWNGRADE FROM HOT POCKETS
TO LITTLE JUAN BURRITOS (March 18)

John Deere Commercial (May 13)

A Visit With Young Kilgore (May 22)

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/15/2004 10:21:29 PM

+++++ Thursday, August 12, 2004

I wrote this last September:
A few years ago, when I had this night job at UPS, I worked with a cool African guy named Cosmos. One day I remarked that he had an unusual name, and he replied, "Yes. Many people tell me this. Did you know the name Cosmos is also the name of a flower?"

"Really?" I said. "I didn't know that." And I didn't. I had never, not in my entire life, heard of the cosmos flower.

The very next day, when I went to my day job, one of the old ladies who worked in the office was wearing a sweatshirt screen-printed with various flowers: the rose, the sunflower, the columbine... and the cosmos. I soon ran across more references to the cosmos flower -- in a magazine, overheard conversation in a coffee shop, on some nature program while flipping channels. It took me twenty-six years to learn of the cosmos flower's existence, and two weeks later I was ready to give university lectures on the thing.
I've always found this sort of thing fascinating, so a few months ago I started keeping track every time it happened:
On May 24, I read an article on Slate by George Saunders called "Exit Strategy: How To Leave Iraq In Three Simple Steps." Appended to the article was a note that George Saunders had written a collection of short stories called Pastoralia.

I had never before heard of George Saunders or Pastoralia.

Later that day, I was reading a post by Mac at Pesky Apostrophe about her summer reading list. Do you think George Saunders' Pastoralia was on there?

Discussion Question: Why do adults make summer reading lists? Every day is pretty much the same when you're a working adult, whether it's July or January: Wake up, down a shot of whiskey to get rid of the shakes, feign productive work, get home, read for a while, sob uncontrollably in the corner till bedtime. It's not like we're schoolkids who need something to do from June through August besides watching Nickelodeon and getting each other pregnant.

I visited a friend recently at his new house. When he gave me the grand tour, he pointed out the flooring, which would have looked remarkably like hardwood flooring to a person with thumbtacks stuck in his eyes. "It's that Pergo fake wood flooring," my friend explained.

I had never before heard of Pergo fake wood flooring.

The next day, I was talking to my boss about some improvements she was making in her townhouse. "I'm putting in that Pergo stuff," she said.

Discussion Question: Why is it that when people show off their new house/condo/apartment/trailer, they always say, "Let me give you the grand tour"? When did we all agree to call it "the grand tour"? And the tours are never that "grand" anyway -- mostly you just take a regular tour of the bathrooms and the basement and stuff. If you're going to give me a "grand tour," I want to see the bathrooms and the basement plus all-I-can-eat chicken wings or fellatio from your barely legal daughter.

On July 26, I read an article on Slate about the Man vs. Horse Marathon, a man-against-beast race held in the Welsh town of Llanwrtyd Wells.

I had never heard of the Man vs. Horse Marathon.

Two days later, while idly reading the "marathon" entry at Wikipedia, I noticed at the very bottom of the page a link to Wikipedia's Man vs. Horse Marathon article.

Discussion Question: Does anybody want this IndyCar racing PC game I found in the Cheerios box? I'm serious -- the first person to email me an address gets the game, no charge for postage.

On July 28, an "editorial" at The Onion titled "Where The Fuck Is Diane With My Fair Trade Coffee?" included a reference to Working Assets Long Distance.

I had never before heard of Working Assets Long Distance.

Ten minutes later, I clicked on a blog link to a website called WorkingForChange.com that featured a banner ad for Working Assets Long Distance.

Discussion Question: Working Assets offers a competitive long-distance plan, charging $5.95 per month and 5¢ per minute for interstate calls. Working Assets donates 1% of phone charges to progressive organizations such as the Organic Farming Research Foundation, the ACLU, and Planned Parenthood. They reimburse your switch fees, print their bills on 100% recycled paper, and give you 12 free pints of delicious Ben & Jerry's ice cream for signing up! Yet I haven't signed up, and probably won't. Could I be any more of a lazy bitch?

A few weeks ago, my company received a check from a company called Hilti.

I had never before heard of Hilti.

That evening, while driving west on I-70 to get home, I noticed a building along the side of the highway with a large sign reading HILTI.

Discussion Question: When New Jersey governor Jim McGreevey said, "I am a gay American," why did he put it that way? Why didn't he just say, "I'm gay"? If I were gay, I wouldn't go around saying, "I'm a gay accounts receivable clerk" or "I'm a gay baseball fan." And why did he bother putting on a suit and tie for his resignation speech? He was resigning, for chrissake. Why not show up 20 minutes late, wearing faded blue jeans with a stained UCLA sweatshirt, and swilling from a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam?
That last example is particularly strange. I drive both ways on I-70 to get to and from a job I've held for two years, so I've passed that HILTI sign roughly a thousand times. I had to have seen that sign -- I just never noticed it.

I wonder: what else am I not noticing?

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/12/2004 11:40:38 PM

+++++ Wednesday, August 11, 2004

The vending machine guy didn't stock any Hostess Chocolate Frosted Donettes today. He stocked a Mrs. Freshley's Carrot Cake and some Mrs. Freshley's Golden Cakes instead. I think I saw some Hostess Suzy-Q's -- acceptable substitutes for the Chocolate Frosted Donettes -- lurking behind the Golden Cakes, but I'll have to wait until somebody buys the Golden Cakes to be sure.

That was all very important background information, because if I had bought Chocolate Frosted Donettes or Suzy-Q's, I would have spent an entire dollar. Instead, I bought a Snickers bar and came home with some change in my pocket. I put the coins in my change jar and squatted until my eyes were level with the top of the jar. I shook the jar to make the coins even on top and squinted, like a B-movie mad scientist frowning at a bubbling beaker of Monster Serum. I saw no daylight between the coins and the lowest screw thread on the jar's neck -- the minimum level at which I'm allowed to take the change jar to the Coinstar machine at Safeway.

I'm excited. I picture myself pushing the change into the Coinstar machine's whirring maw, listening to the coins clink and rattle and watching the total on the counter climb. People will fidget impatiently behind me.

"Sorry," I'll say. "I have a lot of coins to count here, so it's going to be a couple of minutes."

"Geez," some lawyer-type guy with a cell phone will say, "have you been saving that change for two years, or what?" And everyone will laugh.

"Actually, yes," I'll say, and everyone will stop laughing and marvel at the patience and discipline it took to hold off for such a long time.

After the Coinstar machine takes its cut, I'll probably net at least fifty dollars out of that jar -- a lot of money in the tight world of Kilgore Trout. (It would be more, but I don't put quarters in the jar; I need those for laundry, obviously!) I'll take my receipt to the Customer Service desk and hand it to the cashier. Maybe she'll be cute and have red hair.

"Goodness," she'll say, and smile. "That's a lot of change you brought in. What are you going to do with all this money?"

"Oh, I don't know," I'll say, blushing and shuffling my feet. Then: "I suppose I could spend some of it on coffee for us, if you'd care to join me."

Then it will be her turn to blush. She'll giggle and say, "Well, I'd love to, but I don't get off work for another couple of hours."

"That's okay," I'll say. "I'm going to go over to The Tattered Cover, across the street, and look at some books. Why don't you come by when you're done?"

"You got it!" she'll say. And I'll turn and walk out the door and across the street to The Tattered Cover, where I'll browse and wander with the happy knowledge that I have money to buy something. I'll look at the hardcovers, and although I'll end up buying paperbacks, it will have been nice to pretend for a while that I'm the sort of person who can afford hardcover books.

I'll buy my books and an iced mocha and get lost in both. I'll barely notice when the Safeway girl arrives.

"I see you got started without me!" she'll say, with a smile that registers somewhere between brash and coy. "Do you have any money left?"

"Just enough," I'll say, and I'll get her an iced mocha and a blueberry scone for us to share. We'll talk and laugh for a bit, and just after I crack my funniest joke, I'll glance at my watch and say, "Well, I'd better get going," because Leaving 'Em Wanting More is Kilgore Trout's strongest Power Move. She'll write her number on a Tattered Cover bookmark, and after we part ways on the sidewalk, I'll glance back and notice her glancing back at me. That's a good omen, I'll think, but I saw it coming all along, because good things happen when the change jar fills up.

When I get home, I'll dig two dimes, a nickel, and three pennies out of my pocket. I'll drop them one at a time into the empty jar, enjoying the sound of metal clattering on glass.

I don't usually look forward to Thursday. But it's not every Thursday you get to cash in the change jar.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/11/2004 11:54:03 PM

+++++ Monday, August 09, 2004

NEW KEVIN SMITH FILM JUST A BUNCH OF CAMEOS
LOS ANGELES -- Kevin Smith, the writer and director of Clerks, Chasing Amy, and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, announced Monday his next movie will have no leading actors or central plot, but will consist entirely of a series of cameos by more than 300 celebrities from Kevin Bacon to Snoop Dogg.

"Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back included cameos by Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, George Carlin, Wes Craven, Shannen Doherty, Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Jon Stewart, Gus Van Sant, Jason Biggs, and James Van Der Beek, among others," said Smith. "Everybody loved the cameos so much that I decided my next movie would be two solid hours of cameos by all my favorite pop-culture figures, especially those from the 80s and early 90s."

Smith then laughed hysterically at his own cleverness for nearly five minutes.

Smith released sample dialogue from the film, tentatively titled Kevin Smith's Cameos:
WOMAN (Florence Henderson): [wakes up, rolls over] Well, good morning, sweetie.

MAN (Emmanuel Lewis): [wakes up, stretches, looks at WOMAN] Aaaah! I fucked Mrs. Brady! [jumps out of bed, runs down stairs]

DRUNK (Lou Ferrigno): [sleeping in stairwell, wakes up as MAN rushes past] Can't you see I'm trying to get some sleep here?

CAT (Morris the Cat): Meow.

[MAN opens door to outside, runs down street into distance.]

WOMAN 2 (Dana Plato): Dog with sauerkraut, please.

HOT DOG VENDOR (Jack Palance): You got it.

[HOT DOG VENDOR hands hot dog to WOMAN 2, who walks away. The camera follows her briefly as she passes MAN 2 (Mike Tyson) who is repeatedly punching a brick wall.]

MAN 3 (Mick Jagger): Taxi!

TAXI DRIVER (Jimmy Carter): Where to?

MAN 3: Anywhere but Jersey!

[Taxi lurches forward, knocks down MAN 4 (Burt Reynolds), and drives away.]

MAN 4: What the fuck, man!

WOMAN 3 (Suzanne Somers): I can't believe it!

MAN 4: [brushing off plaid jacket] Me neither! This is a new suit!

WOMAN 3: Can you come help me install a shower rod?

SHOESHINE MAN (Jim Brown): Look at your shoes! Why don't you get some pride in your stride?
When told that Dana Plato died from an overdose in 1999, Smith said, "Well, shit. I guess we better get filming before Don Knotts kicks off."

Other celebrities who have accepted parts in Kevin Smith's Cameos include Sheryl Lee, Bob Costas, Walter Mondale, Susan Lucci, Todd Bridges, the dog from Frasier, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Larry Bird, William Shatner, O.J. Simpson, Ron Jeremy, John Glenn, Chris Berman, Dr. J, Bernhard Goetz, Steven Tyler, John Ratzenberger, Gerald Ford, Too Tall Jones, the Black Stallion, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Nina Hartley, Gary Coleman, Ted Danson, Leonard Nimoy, Dick Butkus, Lee Iacocca, Oprah Winfrey, the Dalai Lama, Alex Gross, the Dahm triplets, Arsenio Hall, Magic Johnson, Meredith Baxter-Birney, Judith Light, Jermaine Jackson, Jim Bakker, Gallagher, Eddie Van Halen, John Madden, Tony Danza, George Takei, Michael Jordan, Big Bird, Barry Williams, Michael Richards, Mary Lou Retton, Alex Winter, John Cleese, Donnie Wahlberg, Nichelle Nichols, George Wendt, Stephen King, Dr. Jack Kevorkian, Mikhail Gorbechev, Beavis and Butt-head, and Shadoe Stevens.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/9/2004 11:52:18 PM

+++++ Sunday, August 08, 2004

From National Review Online:
Witness all those T-shirted "Fire Fighters for Kerry" you saw at the convention. A little soft around the middle some of them were, weren't they? Do you think some of them could haul a hose pack up 50 flights of stairs? I'm not betting on it. ...

Granted, some firefighters, even some who actually fight fires, will no doubt vote for Kerry. So will some cops. But most will vote for President Bush. ... Unlike John Kerry, they don't find "nuance" in every question that confronts them. ...

Second, cops and firefighters are, if the women in the ranks will forgive the expression, Regular Guys. They drink beer, not wine, and certainly not French wine. They played football and baseball in high school, not lacrosse. ... Regular Guys do not blame Secret Service agents (who are Regular Guys) for knocking them down on the ski slopes, especially when those agents are there to take bullets for them. And Regular Guys relate to and prefer the company of other Regular Guys; they do not invite people like Leonardo DiCaprio and Ben Affleck to their conventions.

Even with the piles of dough they're sitting on, both George Bush and Dick Cheney still come across as Regular Guys, the kind of men you might find hanging around the fire station or the detective squad room. And with his recent suggestion to Pat Leahy on how he might spend his idle time, the vice president climbed several notches on the Regular Guy scale. And whatever tenuous grip [Kerry] may have had on Regular Guy status since [Vietnam] was lost when he married his current wife. ...Regular Guys do not under any circumstances marry women like Teresa Heinz Kerry.

(Via We Don't Need No Stinking Capital Letters.)
There's a table below with a bunch of silly stuff in it. I'm too stupid to make all these blank lines go away. You try making a table out of raw HTML code, asshole.

KILGORE TROUT: REGULAR GUY?
Evidence Against Evidence For
Drinks wine, occasionally even French wine. Drinks Budweiser straight from the bottle.
Wants to sleep with French actresses Nathalie Baye and Sophie Marceau, who are automatically evil, being from France. Would make French actresses Nathalie Baye and Sophie Marceau sleep in the wet spot and cook breakfast in the morning. Would tell Mme. Baye "I said I wanted this bacon crisp, beeyotch!"
Ran cross-country in high school instead of playing football. Played Little League baseball. Once hit a pseudo-home-run when opposing fielders overthrew all four bases. Also played youth hockey and served time in the penalty box.
Finds "nuance" in complex questions of foreign policy. Advocates thinking of better answers to these questions than reflexively launching balls-to-the-wall invasions costing hundreds of American lives plus tens of billions of dollars tacked onto the national debt. Dismisses out of hand the possibility that Meet The Fockers will be a watchable movie.
Thought Leonardo DiCaprio and Ben Affleck were pretty good in This Boy's Life and Good Will Hunting, respectively. Would gladly burn every existing copy of The Beach and Armageddon.
Quiet and hesitant in conversation. Says "fuck" a lot, just like Regular Guy Dick Cheney.
Desperately wants to fuck Teresa Heinz Kerry. Desperately wants a messy ménage à trois with the Bush twins while the First Lady watches and reads out loud from the Book of Leviticus.
Lacrosse fan. Wonders if the writer of the above article wants to explain to 6-foot-2, 220-pound Colorado Mammoth defenseman Dave Stilley that this seemingly rough-and-tumble contact sport is actually a game for sissies. Baseball fan. Takes his glove to Colorado Rockies games.
Is a bit skeptical that firefighters carry hose packs up 50 flights of stairs. Don't these guys have ladders? Also wants to see the sophisticated statistical analysis establishing the negative correlation between "number of fires actually fought" and "support for John Kerry." Has run 50 miles.
If ever knocked down on the ski slopes by Secret Service agents, will sue those motherfuckers for everything they've got. Does not actually ski.
Was previously unaware that Regular Guys not employed by the fire department or the police department were allowed to hang around the fire station or detective squad room. Is thinking about stopping by the detective squad room after work tomorrow to check out the action. Will make sure to take a case of beer and some footballs to toss around, seeing as how all those Regular Guys spent time on the gridiron in high school. Hangs around elementary school playgrounds. You know, in case any of the kids need help with their homework.
Thinks that human beings are too complicated to divide into neat groups like "Regular Guys" and "Fuckin' Pussies." Supposes that firefighters and police officers make political decisions based on factors other than preferred alcoholic beverage, and will display a diversity of political opinion on Election Day. Hates everybody.

Is Kilgore Trout a Regular Guy or a Fuckin' Pussy? Cast your votes in the comments!

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/8/2004 11:55:46 PM

+++++ Saturday, August 07, 2004

JUMP TO PART 2
Last week, someone at my job printed out an inspiring story and posted it on the bulletin board. The inspiring story was about a poor Scottish farmer who saved a nobleman's son from drowning. The Scotsman refused the nobleman's offer of a reward, so the nobleman insisted on paying for the education of the farmer's son. The Scotsman's son grew up to be Sir Alexander Fleming, who discovered penicillin, which years later saved the life of the nobleman's son -- Sir Winston Churchill.

I immediately spotted this story for a fake. So I went to Urban Legends Reference Pages, printed out the well-researched and well-written refutation, and posted it on the bulletin board beneath the spurious story. When I walked past the bulletin board an hour later, both the story and the refutation had disappeared.

Last week, I was reading this post at Mirthful Ones, in which Sadie mentioned quadratic equations. I know a thing or two about quadratic equations, so I posted this comment:
...to solve an quadratic equation of the form ax² + bx + c = 0, use this formula: x = [-b ± √(b² - 4ac)] / 2a.
Irish Lad, amorous associate of Sadie, responded with:
ax² + bx + c = 0 is not a "solvable quadratic equation". It is a second degree polynomial equation. The quadratic equation is x = [-b ± √(b² - 4ac)] / 2a. Just technicalities, but surely you were just wanting to see if anyone noticed the transposition. Or maybe you did some Friday sex including 69 and are just ass-backwards as a result.
I lashed back with:
According to Wikipedia and Math World, "quadratic equation" and "second degree polynomial equation" are synonymous. The formula x = [-b ± √(b² - 4ac)] / 2a is the quadratic formula.
I was drinking beer and playing poker on Friday with the young adult group from my church (great church, the Unitarians -- they let you drink and gamble!), when somebody was dealt a natural straight. "What are the odds of that?" the lucky girl wondered as she raked in her chips.

Well, let's figure it out!

There are 10 different straights: A2345, 23456, 34567, et cetera, up to TJQKA. Each straight has 5 cards, each of which can be dealt in 4 suits. That means there are

10 × 4 × 4 × 4 × 4 × 4 = 10,240 ways to deal a straight including straight flushes, which we should subtract out. There is 1 straight flush for each of 4 suits for each of the 10 different straights. That leaves us with

10,240 - 1 × 4 × 10 = 10,200 ways to deal a straight. There are

52 × 51 × 50 × 49 × 48 / 5! = 2,598,960 ways to deal 5 cards from a 52-card deck, so the odds of getting a straight are

10,200 / 2,598,960 = 1 in 254.8 deals.

PART 2
I've always liked being right. When I was a kid, my parents bought me a book titled Encyclopedia Brown's Book of Weird and Wonderful Facts. That was maybe the biggest mistake Mr. and Mrs. Trout ever made. For the next few years, the most common phrase to emerge from my mouth was "But my book says..."
"But my book says Jackie Robinson broke baseball's color barrier, not Satchel Paige."

"But my book says 'A.D.' stands for Anno Domini, not 'After Death.'"

"But my book says the North Star is only near the Big Dipper, not part of it."
I corrected my parents, my sister, my teachers, and the pastor at church. I had the steel-trap memory of a seven-year-old with no weightier concerns in life than the Little League schedule. Resistance was futile. If anyone dared contradict me for a second time, I would march to my room in a huff and return moments later with My Book, pointing to the relevant passage.

No need to call Dr. Freud to decipher my behavior. I was an skinny, awkward kid who didn't play well with others, and proving that I knew more than other people was a cheap and easy way to obtain approval and feel better about myself.

As I grew older and developed the desire to fuck girls, I learned to control my impulse for correcting other people's mistakes. Mostly. My friends who read this will chuckle and say:
"What about the time my girlfriend said Tommy Hilfiger went on Oprah and said he didn't want blacks wearing his clothes, and you took her email address and sent her a refutation the next day?"

"What about the time we went camping, and you wouldn't shut up because the Hershey's bars I bought were the wrong thickness for s'mores?"

"What about that time I brought the new guy to poker night, and he thought his 6-3 beat my 8-4 in Texas Hold 'Em with a board of KK776, and you posted about it at the Recpoker bulletin board to prove I won the hand?"
Yeah, I still like being right, and I still like to show off that I'm right. I'm a skinny, awkward man who feels uneasy around others, and trying to impress people by proving that I know more than they do is a cheap and easy way to feel better about myself. Never mind that years of experience have taught me how pathetic and unsatisfying it is to behave this way.

I flaunt my command of intellectual flotsam and jetsam because I think it makes me better than other people. But I'm wrong.

+posted by Kilgore @ 8/7/2004 11:59:39 PM

+++++ Monday, August 02, 2004

PRESIDENT INGA-FE# REFUSES ACCOLADES
FOR SUCCESSFUL WAR IN H7'&#167AKK
------------------
"Our intelligence agencies deserve all the credit."
------------------
PARALLEL UNIVERSE -- At a press conference yesterday, President Vvt Inga-Fe# deflected praise for the successful invasion and reconstruction of H7'&#167AKK, saying "Our intelligence agencies deserve all the credit."

"Mission accomplished," said Inga-Fe#. "Today, H7'&#167akk, once blighted by the tyranny of the dictator ¥¥ H:arrg, is blooming under democracy. Today, H7'&#167AKK, once a mortal threat to L,jyi¶pku freedom and a friend to terrorists, is a beacon of hope where hope is needed most. And we owe this success to the timely and accurate intelligence that alerted us the time had come to act."

Inga-Fe# was referring to reports produced by the ΦMMMM and the Q® showing that ¥¥ H:arrg, then-president of H7'&#167akk, was purchasing and producing weapons of mass destruction for use in acts of terrorism against L,jyi¶p. Although the reports were widely disputed at the time, and although the B*W rejected a resolution to send international troops, President Inga-Fe# did not hesitate to declare war on H7'&#167akk, a decision bitterly opposed and protested by many at the time.

Ultimately, the president's decision was vindicated, as military forces from an international coalition of countries led by L,jyi¶p found huge stockpiles of chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons. Coalition forces also unearthed documents proving H:arrg had earmarked the weapons for use in terrorist acts in major cities around the world, including cities in L,jyi¶p. Other documents showed that H:arrg had assisted the terrorist organization Xoow±y in executing the Jer-Ükko 17th atrocity, the worst terrorist attack yet on L,jyi¶pku soil.

The president asked for a moment of silence to remember the 43 L,jyi¶pku soldiers who had given their lives to remove H:arrg from power, and stated that "the people of H7'&#167akk will not forget your sacrifice."

"With the yoke of tyranny removed," said Inga-Fe#, "H7'&#167akkuz from all religious and ethnic backgrounds have united to make their country a peaceful, democratic, self-governing nation with the fastest-growing economy in the world. Following their example, other nations in the region have purged radical theocratic elements from their governments and have announced free elections to take place in the coming months. Terrorist networks are falling to pieces for lack of funding and recruits. Truly we stand at the dawn of a new age of prosperity and security not just for L,jyi&#182p, but for all the world." "I would love to take the credit for these successes," chuckled the president, "but if the intelligence provided to me had been faulty, and if it had turned out that we had gone to war and sacrificed L,jyi&#182pku lives when really there were no weapons of mass destruction at all, and if the reconstruction of H7'&#167akk had turned out to be an expensive disaster, I would certainly have blamed everything on the intelligence agencies. So really, I have no choice but to give all the credit to the &#934MMMM and the Q&#174." +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/08/president-inga-fe-refuses-accolades.html">8/2/2004 10:21:18 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109150790039027902');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109150790039027902'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Sunday, August 01, 2004 <blockquote> THINGS THAT NEED TO GO AWAY RIGHT NOW, VOL. 13<ul><li>Phone Pholly I. Unnecessarily long voicemail greetings, such as: <blockquote>Hello, you've reached Jane Doe in the accounts payable department at ABC Company. I am currently either away from my desk or on the phone at this time. If you leave your name, number, your company's name, and the time you called, I will return your call at my earliest convenience. Thank you, and have a blessed day.</blockquote><div align="justify">Thank you, Jane, for telling me you are either away from your desk or on the phone. But are you sure you've covered all the possibilities? Why not specify that you might be picking your nose, or flirting with the printer repairman, or bidding on Precious Moments figurines on eBay? I don't care why you didn't answer the phone. Just let me get to the beep without having to listen to your flimsy excuses. And you don't need to instruct me to leave my name and number and whatever else. What did you think I was going to say -- "Hi, Jane, this is some guy. Call me."? Answering machines have been around for a few decades, so most everybody understands the proper content of a voicemail message by now. I might remind you that "currently" and "at this time" mean the same thing, so you don't need both. In fact, you don't need either -- you are speaking in the present tense, so "currently" is implied. You can also strike "I will return your call at my earliest convenience." This means "I'll call you back whenever the hell I feel like it," which means I might get a return call in five minutes, or two Wednesdays from now, or never. The phrase conveys no useful information and will not be missed. Finally, Jane, I'm not the kind of militant atheist who takes umbrage at being told to have a blessed day. But even if I believed in God, wouldn't the blessedness of my day be out of my control? Need an example, Jane? Here is the marvel of economy that is my voicemail message: </div><blockquote>Hello, you've reached Kilgore Trout in the accounts receivable department at XYZ Company. Please leave a message at the tone. Thank you.</blockquote><li><div align="justify">Phone Pholly II. This happens at least once a month: </div><blockquote>Operator: ABC Company, how can I direct your call? Kilgore Trout: Accounts payable department, please. Jane Doe: Accounts payable, this is Jane. KT: Hello, Jane, this is Kilgore Trout from XYZ Company. <blockquote>[Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah]</blockquote>KT: Thanks for your help, Jane. Oh, and can I get your direct phone number? JD: Well, it's the same number you just dialed.</blockquote><div align="justify">I admit that I'm no Gregory Peck or James Earl Jones, with a deep voice that commands instant respect. But I don't sound like a retard, either, which is what I would have to be to call someone directly and then ask for her phone number. And even if I did do something that stupid, why not take three seconds and give me the number? "303-867-5309" -- was that so hard? Is your direct number some kind of national treasure that you have to protect from the prying eyes of Al Qaeda? </div><li><div align="justify">People who paint their brick houses. Why would anyone do this? Brick looks great by itself, but painted brick looks awful, and besides, isn't one of the advantages of owning a brick house that it doesn't require painting? Think of all the other things you could do with your time that would be fun and good and worth remembering when you're 90 and rotting in a nursing home. Why would you waste any more of your life on house painting than absolutely necessary? </div><li><div align="justify">Apple's insistence on selling music files through its iTunes service in M4P format only. These files play just fine on Apple's own iPod, but I don't own an iPod. I've heard that iPods are quite nice, but I don't need to store 10,000 songs, and I need a very small player that I can wear comfortably on long runs lasting six hours or more. So I use an MPIO player that meets my needs. It weighs about one ounce, holds ten hours of music, and plays MP3, WAV, and WMP files -- but not M4P files. And when I try to use the iTunes music management software to convert the M4P file to MP3, it politely declines. Doubtless Apple wants to push their iPods, but do they really think I'm going to spend extra money on a player that's too heavy and has ten times more capacity than I need? I'll get my tunes for free from Kazaa, thanks. I've been converting the M4P files to MP3 via the backdoor method of burning them to a CD and then extracting them, but that's a pain in the ass. If Apple wants to promote legal music downloading -- an idea I support and would like to use -- wouldn't it make sense to make that process as simple as possible by selling tracks in a variety of formats? Maybe a service exists that does just that. I would do some research and find one if I weren't such a lazy piece of shit. Right now you are preparing to rip me for all the technical errors I've made in this post. But that's my point -- I'm just a regular asshole who wants to buy some music, and I shouldn't have to be a tech-tard to pull it off.</div></li></ul> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/08/things-that-need-to-go-away-right-now.html">8/1/2004 11:41:35 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109143132566329166');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109143132566329166'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Thursday, July 29, 2004 <blockquote> <div align="justify">My last roommate's name was John. For a year I rented a room in his townhouse in the northern suburbs of Denver. John was a gay man from Texas -- a walking culture collision. He liked big red pickup trucks, shotguns, Michelob beer, hunting, fishing, Ricky Martin, beige leather furniture, miniature pinschers, and ferns. He wasn't smart. One day I went into my room and discovered that his little dog Remington had shit all over my floor. I went downstairs. "John," I said, "your dog shit in my room." "Oh no," said John. "He's been down here all day." "John," I said patiently, "I didn't shit on the floor. Did you shit on the floor?" "No!" "Well, then, that leaves Remington, doesn't it?" Another time, John fired up the grill and started cleaning shrimp. "Going to barbecue some shrimp?" I asked. "No, I'm barbecuing chicken," said John. "I've tried grilling shrimp, but they're too small, and they fall through the grill." I stared at him. "Why don't you put them on skewers?" I asked. His face lit up. "That's a great idea!" he said. We didn't get along well. John complained about his "filthy" kitchen when I left clean dishes out on a drying rack, then held noisy dinner parties and left dirty dishes stacked in the sink and crusty pans on the stove. He bitched when I prepared dinner after he had gone to bed, even though I had told him before moving in that I kept late hours. And once he got drunk and groped my testicles. We had a month-to-month lease, and one day he left me written notice to move out by the end of the month. That was fine with me. What wasn't fine was John's determination to drive me mad within those last thirty days. He started criticizing me more often and more loudly and more profanely. He lost his temper if I failed to hang a kitchen towel correctly. A friend of his, Dave, moved in with Braxton, his yellow Lab, apparently meaning to move into my room after I left. One day I arrived home from work and found that my garage door opener no longer worked. I went inside to find John and Dave eating dinner. "My garage door opener doesn't work," I said. "Oh, I locked the door," said John. "Braxton hurt his paw, so we put him out in the garage in your space." I looked in the garage. Sure enough, there was Braxton lying on a dog bed in what had been my half of the garage, wearing one of those comical hoods to keep him from chewing his hurt paw. I fumed, but there was nothing I could do -- the parking space hadn't been written into the lease. The next evening, I was in my room reading when I heard a ruckus in the alley outside. I looked out my window to see John and Dave unloading Dave's furniture from John's truck. Shaking with anger, I stomped into the garage and called John a "motherfucker" and a "piece of shit" and every other name I had wanted to call him for the past year. John responded that he was not my "nigger maid." We yelled at each other for a while. Screaming filthy insults at people is unusual behavior for me, although maybe it shouldn't be -- it feels pretty good. After I ran out of nasty things to say, I went back to my room, drained but relieved. I never threatened John with violence or tried to intimidate him physically. The next day I couldn't find my keys, which I customarily left on the kitchen table. I looked everywhere for an hour before giving up. Luckily, I had spare car keys, so I was able to get to work. That evening, I confessed to John that I had lost my keys to the townhouse and mailbox, and to my surprise he was very understanding and lent me a spare house key. The next morning, I was about to leave for work when I noticed John had left his bedroom door ajar -- usually he locked it. I had suspected that John had stolen my keys, although I couldn't imagine why. So I sneaked into his room and poked around a bit. No luck. On my way out the door, I glanced back and noticed a small jewelry box on the dresser. You know, I thought, if I stole someone's keys, I would keep them in a box just like that one. I went to the dresser, opened the box, and goddammit! -- there were my keys. I fumed and swore and considered calling the police, but decided against it. I couldn't prove he had taken the keys, and for chrissake this was just a simple problem between a couple of guys. I would be moving out in four days. No need to involve the cops. I confronted him that evening. Amazingly, he denied everything. My keys? In his room? He had no idea what I was talking about. "John," I said, "I didn't put the keys in your room, so if you didn't take them, then who did? Dave? Braxton?" "I don't know." "You're a thief," I said. He didn't like that. He stood up and we got in each other's faces. Fingers were pointed. Voices were raised. Then John suddenly stepped back and spoke to Dave. "Serve him," he said. Huh? Serve me? Dave handed me a sheaf of papers -- a restraining order. Most of you have never seen me in person. Let me assure you that few men -- and not many women -- with four functioning limbs between the ages of 15 and 70 consider me a physical threat. I stand six feet tall and weigh 155 pounds. Both John and Dave were bigger than me, and besides, there were two of them. I haven't been in a fight since sixth grade. Yet John had taken a day off work and paid a $50 filing fee to have a Jefferson County judge order me to stay ten feet away from him at all times and to refrain from "using abusive language." I called Morocco Man in Chicago. "Go get a ten-foot pole and walk around poking him with it," he suggested. I called G-Dog. "You need to get out of there," he said, "or they'll find a way to put you in jail. Come stay here tonight and we'll move you tomorrow." So that's what I did. </div> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/my-last-roommates-name-was-john.html">7/29/2004 11:55:01 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109117035626745942');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109117035626745942'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Wednesday, July 28, 2004 <blockquote> I was reading Skeptic magazine recently when a strange ad caught my attention. It read: <div align="center">Triple Nine Society</div><div align="center">Founded 1978</div><div align="center">Extraordinary camaraderie</div><div align="center">in an international society</div><div align="center">of peers. 99.9th percentile:</div><div align="center">old SAT (before 4/95) 1450,</div><div align="center">new SAT 1520,</div><div align="center">ACT 34, MAT 85</div><div align="center">See complete list at:</div><div align="center"><a href="http://www.triplenine.org">www.triplenine.org</a></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left">I felt the twin thrills of acceptance and superiority that come from rejecting an offer to join an exclusive club -- like turning down a date with a supermodel. (Actually, it's probably not at all like turning down a date with a supermodel. Has anyone out there ever spurned both a high-IQ society and a supermodel? If so, please compare and contrast your experiences in the comments.)</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">An examination of the Triple Nine Society website revealed that I won't be missing much by refusing admission. To judge by the thousands of words the Society dedicates to its <a href="http://www.triplenine.org/main/constitution.asp">Constitution</a> and <a href="http://www.triplenine.org/members/votingmethod.asp">Voting Method</a>, the Triple Nine Society was founded by the sort of prigs you knew in high school who did Model UN and used Robert's Rules of Order as a stroke book. The Preamble to their Constitution assures us that the Society "will strive to avoid the insularity of mere exclusiveness," a slushy phrase that I interpret to mean "we will occasionally take field trips to Six Flags and Wal-Mart to interact with people at the 99.8th percentile and below."</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I went to the "<a href="http://www.triplenine.org/main/chat.asp">Chat</a>" area of the website and clicked a link to subscribe to the Society's Q&A Discussion Board.  Yahoo! Groups regretfully informed me that "There is no group called tnsqa." Maybe the 99.9ers should call the Quadruple Nine Society or the Akron Quilting Club and see if they can help them set up a Yahoo! Group. I went to the "<a href="http://www.triplenine.org/main/events.asp">Events</a>" section and found no events scheduled. If any of you have weddings or bar mitzvahs approaching, I bet the Triple Nine Society would be happy to provide entertainment in the form of "extraordinary camaraderie" and "intellectual exploration."</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">I don't understand the purpose of these high-IQ clubs beyond ego massage for the pointy-headed. Genius is in what you do, not in what you are. A club for people with high IQ's is like a club for men with big penises. Who cares? Are you getting laid, or are you and a bunch of other guys just admiring each other's schlongs? All of these clubs have journals, which makes no sense to me. If you write a groundbreaking paper in medical research or a cutting-edge piece of fiction, shouldn't you be able to publish your work in the New England Journal of Medicine or The New Yorker instead of <a href="http://www.triplenine.org/vidya/vidya.asp">Vidya</a>?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">If you're so smart, then go find a cure for cancer, or write the Great American Novel, or prove the Riemann hypothesis. I bet you'll meet scores of other smart, driven people in the process, likely more interesting than you would have met through the Triple Nine Society:</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: Hello. I'm very smart.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Kilgore Trout: Yes, me too. We all are.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: I got all A's in high school. I was listed in Who's Who Among American High School Students.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: That's nice.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: I almost always win at chess when I play against normal people. Also Scrabble and checkers and backgammon. And Uno.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: I'm very impressed.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: I scored 1500 on the old SAT (before 4/95). What did you score?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: Oh, higher than that.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: Really? Like 1510?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: Higher.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: 1520? 1530?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: Higher. Much higher.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: Um... 1560? 1580?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: Keep going.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: 1600? Did you get 1600?</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: No, no, even higher than that.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">99.9er: Well, the SAT only goes to 1600.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">KT: I have to use the restroom now.</div><div align="left"> </div> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/i-was-reading-skeptic-magazine.html">7/28/2004 11:42:18 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109109344511450755');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109109344511450755'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Monday, July 26, 2004 <blockquote> LOCAL LIBERAL WRACKED WITH GUILT OVER ATTRACTION TO BUSH TWINS<div align="justify">IOWA CITY -- Local environmental activist, Green Party campaign volunteer, anti-war protest veteran, independent bookstore clerk, and self-described "loony left-wing political junkie" Dave Wilson, 23, has been suffering from intense guilt caused by his attraction to Jenna and Barbara Bush, the 22-year-old twin daughters of President George W. Bush, sources reported Monday. "I caught one of Kaiser Bush's campaign stops a few weeks ago on TV," said Wilson, "I was watching the Asshole-in-Chief stumbling through another fascist speech about 'saving the institution of marriage' when I noticed this pretty blonde girl standing off to the side. I couldn't take my eyes off her... I figured she must be an intern or an aide or something, but then the First Fucktard introduced her as his daughter Jenna! I couldn't believe such a comprehensively evil man could have fathered that beautiful woman." "A few days later," Wilson continued, "I saw a news clip of Clueless George getting out of a plane, followed by an even prettier dark-haired girl. The reporter said it was his other daughter Barbara, and I practically shit my pants. I haven't been able to stop thinking about either one of them since, no matter how hard I try." "I know it's wrong," added Wilson, staring at the floor and wringing his hands. Despite attempts to hide his crush, Wilson's friends have noticed his fascination with the Bush twins. "I noticed a suspicious number of clips on the TiVo featuring the president's daughters," said Ann Siegel, Wilson's roommate and fellow Greenpeace activist, "and once when I got online I found a site called <a href="http://www.thefirsttwins.com">The First Twins</a> in the browser history. I went to the site and it was all about Jenna and Barbara Bush, with lots of pictures, and it looked like someone had clicked on every link. When I confronted Dave about it, he got really defensive and said he went to the site accidentally while doing research on President Pig Vomit's anti-environment energy policy. Whatever, Dave." Wilson remains hopeful that the First Sisters might be working on their father's campaign out of family loyalty instead of ideological allegiance. "Maybe they're not total Nazis like their father," said Wilson. "Especially Barbara -- she went to Yale, and I read somewhere that she wants to help HIV-positive children overseas. Also, she's a lot cuter than Jenna." "Maybe when Bush comes campaigning in Iowa, Barbara will come with him, and we might happen to be on an elevator at the same time or something," added Wilson. "I wouldn't talk to her about politics, I guess, because I'd have to say that her dad is a reactionary religious nutcase, but we could talk about AIDS volunteerism -- I've been thinking about getting into some AIDS work myself -- or music or whatever. It would be nice to spend some time with her. I bet she's really down to earth." Wilson then gritted his teeth and smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand several times.</div> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/local-liberal-wracked-with-guilt-over.html">7/26/2004 11:55:05 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109089784488330501');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109089784488330501'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Sunday, July 25, 2004 <blockquote> THINGS EAGERLY ANTICIPATED<ul><li>I'm looking forward to opening an envelope. On April 18, 1985, in Mr. Petersen's fifth-grade class at Jefferson Elementary School in Mason City, Iowa, a much younger Kilgore Trout placed some documents in this envelope, sealed it, and scrawled on the front, "TO BE OPENED BY KILGORE TROUT ON APRIL 18, 2005." (See a photo <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/envelope.jpg">here</a>.) I've carried this envelope to about a dozen residences in Iowa, California, and Colorado over the past nineteen years, and it's always a treat to rediscover it each time I move. I found it again a couple of months ago, when I moved to my new apartment, and I keep it now atop a chest of drawers in my living room. I don't know what's in there. It feels like three or four sheets of paper, probably mimeographed in purple ink with blanks for my address, my pets' names, my favorite things to do at recess, and other information I thought would be important to myself across the unimaginable gulf of twenty years. I believe I wrote that I wanted to be a veterinarian when I grew up and that I liked Morocco Man's twin sister. Seeing as how I've grown up to be an accounts receivable clerk and I never did score a date with Morocco Man's sister, maybe I shouldn't be so eager to open the envelope after all. How many other dreams bouncing around in my young skull have been crushed by the last two decades like a bunny rabbit under the wheels of a Peterbilt semi on I-80? Everything seems so possible when you're eleven years old. Whatever. Only 267 days to go. <li>I can't wait to start reading the ridiculous book I bought at my church's garage sale for a quarter. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Texas-Israeli War: 1999, "as reported by" Jake Saunders and Howard Waldrop and published in 1974. You can read a complete synopsis of the plot <a href="http://www.cloggie.org/esseff/millennial-7.html">here</a>, but I'll give you the quick-and-dirty from the front cover: "Rebellious Texans kidnapped the President of the U.S. His future rested with a band of fearless Israelis whose courage had been tested in other wars!" Look at a photo of the front and back covers <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/bookcovers.jpg">here</a>. I'm serious -- go look at it. What, you don't want to see a picture of a tank emblazoned with a Star of David under attack by Indians on horseback wearing feathered headdresses and brandishing spears? Suit yourself. Saunders and Waldrop rack up huge points for plot originality here, but really -- Texas versus Israel? It sounds like something dreamed up by a bunch of political science geeks tripping on meat lover's pizza and Bud Light. "Who would win if Superman fought the Fantastic Four? Or if a bear fought a shark? No, wait... what if Israel invaded Texas?" (Does anybody remember how, at Future Problem Solving competitions, you could get five bonus points for each original problem or solution? No? Okay, moving along then...) <li>Friday. Everyone looks forward to Friday, I guess, but the thing is that I've achieved coitus each of the last two Fridays, and I'm eager to see if I can roll a <a href="http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/kennmelvin/Scorer2.htm">turkey</a>. <li>The death by crucifixion of <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/yahoocouple.jpg">this couple</a>. Note to Yahoo! Personals: Looking at photos of awkwardly posed yuppies horsing around does not make me want to subscribe to your service. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a corkscrew. <li>The day I can attend a meeting of the <a href="http://juscuz.blogspot.com/2004/07/will-uktas-come-to-order.html">Kilgore Trout Appreciation Society</a>, founded in Tulsa by <a href="http://firsttaste.blogs.com/mirthfulones/">Sadie</a>, <a href="http://www.juscuz.blogspot.com/">bruce</a>, and <a href="http://www.jesusmaryandjoseph.blogspot.com/">Sir JMJ</a>. I don't get it either. I think it's just an excuse for heavy drinking. Details regarding KTAS ceremony and protocol have yet to be hashed out, but apparently meetings are to begin and end by reciting choruses from '80s power ballads, such as "High Enough" or "When I See You Smile." I think, per bruce's suggestion, that the Official KTAS Greeting should be "Go fuck yourself," which loosely translates as "Hello," "Goodbye," "Thank you," and "Would you like fries with that?" Also, James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal seem to have gotten mixed up in this somehow. I'll make sure to forward the cease-and-desist letters to you, Sadie.</ul> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/things-eagerly-anticipatedim-looking.html">7/25/2004 10:17:59 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109081729933404004');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109081729933404004'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Saturday, July 24, 2004 <blockquote> LAME SATURDAY POST -- OR -- EVERYTHING I NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT THE DA VINCI CODE I LEARNED FROM THE CLIFFHANGER CHAPTER ENDINGS WARNING! SPOILERS!<div align="justify">Prologue: "Wincing in pain, he summoned all his faculties and strength. The desperate task before him, he knew, would require every remaining second of his life." Chapter 1: "The agent looked grim. 'You don't understand, Mr. Langdon. What you see in this photograph...' He paused. "Monsieur Sauni&#232re did that to himself." Chapter 2: "Finally, he felt the blood begin to flow." Chapter 3: "'Mr. Langdon.' Fache's ebony eyes locked on. 'What you see in the photo is only the beginning of what Saun&#232re did.'" Chapter 4: "As he stood up, Langdon was beginning to suspect it was going to be a very long night." Chapter 5: "Tightening the rope-tie round his waist, he raised the hood over his head and allowed his red eyes to admire his reflection in the mirror. The wheels are in motion." Chapter 6: "Smiling, he closed his eyes and settled in to enjoy the rest of the conversation now being taped inside the Grand Gallery." Chapter 7: "A follower of God, Sister Sandrine had learned to find peace in the calming voices of her own soul. Tonight, however, those voices were as silent as the empty church around her." Chapter 8: "Fache was keeping his prey on a very tight leash tonight. Wisely so. Robert Langdon had proven himself one cool customer." Chapter 9: "'Mr. Langdon,' the message began in a fearful whisper. 'Do not react to this messge. Just listen calmly. You are in danger right now. Follow my directions very closely.'" Chapter 10: "He felt a renewed confidence that the Teacher and Silas would not fail. Money and faith were powerful motivators." Chapter 11: "'Good," Fache said, lighting a cigarette and stalking into the hall. 'I've got a phone call to make. Be damned sure the rest room is the only place Langdon goes.'" Chapter 12: Bewildered, Langdon looked at the image. The close-up photo revealed the glowing message on the parquet floor. The final line hit Langdon like a kick in the gut." Chapter 13: "'Quite well,' she said, her eyes welling now with emotion. 'Jacques Sauni&#232re was my grandfather.'" Chapter 14: "'It's about Sophie Neveu, sir. Something is not quite right.'" Chapter 15: "It was not until this instant that he truly realized what he was about to do, and what awaited him inside. The keystone. It will lead us to our final goal. He raised his ghost-white fist and banged three times on the door. Moments later, the bolts of the enormous wooden portal began to move." Chapter 16: "Robert Langdon was about to escape the Louvre, whether he wanted to or not." Chapter 17: "Langdon had jumped." Chapter 19: "For a fleeting instant, she wondered if this mysterious stranger could be the enemy they had warned her about, and if tonight she would have to carry out the orders she had been holding all these years. She decided to stay there in the darkness and watch his every move." Chapter 20: "Without another word, Langdon pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and rearranged the letters in each line. O, Draconian devil! Oh, lame saint! was a perfect anagram of Leonardo da Vinci! The Mona Lisa!" Chapter 21: "Without hesitation, Langdon broke into a sprint back toward the stairs." Chapter 22: "If all went as planned tonight in Paris, Aringarosa would soon be in possession of something that would make him the most powerful man in Christendom." Chapter 23: "A few miles away, on the riverbank beyond Les Invalides, the bewildered driver of a twin-bed Trailor truck stood at gunpoint and watched as the captain of the Judicial Police let out a guttural roar of rage and heaved a bar of soap out into the turgid waters of the Seine." Chapter 24: "It was a silent call of distress" Chapter 25: "Fache's blood was boiling as he typed the numbers 4... 5... 4." Chapter 26: "On the glass, six words glowed in purple, scrawled directly across the Mona Lisa's face." Chapter 27: "Hedging his bets, he ordered half of his men back to the Louvre perimeter. The other half he sent to guard the only location in Paris where Robert Langdon could find safe harbor." Chapter 28: "Face down on the parquet floor with his arms and legs spread wide, Langdon found little humor in the irony of his position. The Vitruvian Man, he thought. Face down." Chapter 29: "HITHERTO SHALT THOU COME, BUT NO FURTHER." Chapter 30: "'So dark the con of man.' She flashed a triumphant smile. 'I missed the first two anagrams, Robert. I wasn't about to miss the third.'" Chapter 31: "All four are dead. The precious truth is lost forever." Chapter 32: "As she drove away, she heard the sound of squealing tires behind them. Sirens blared to life. Cursing, Sophie slammed down the accelerator." Chapter 33: "Langdon hurred along behind her. What had begun as a one-mile dash to the U.S. Embassy had now become a full-fledged evacuation from Paris. Langdon was liking this idea less and less." Chapter 34: "Trying to ease his nerves, the bishop meditated on the purple amethyst in his ring. Feeling the textures of the mitre-crozier appliqu&#233 and the facets of the diamonds, he reminded himself that this ring was a symbol of power far less than that which he would soon attain." Chapter 35: "Sophie looked back at the key and wondered what they would possibly find at 24 Rue Haxo. A church? Some kind of Priory headquarters?" Chapter 36: "A female cryptologist and a schoolteacher? They wouldn't last till dawn." Chapter 37: "'Sure you have." Langdon smiled. "You're just used to hearing it called by the name Holy Grail.'" Chapter 38: "'I tried to warn you,' he shouted over the sound of gnashing gears. 'I drive an automatic!'" Chapter 39: "Kneeling on the wooden floor, Silas prayed for forgiveness. Then, stripping off his robe, he reached again for the Discipline." Chapter 40: "Sophie and Langdon were holding the key to a Swiss bank deposit box." Chapter 41: "Aringarosa sensed the query was more spiritual than geographical, and yet he had not intention of discussing morality at this hour. 'Paris,' he said, and walked out the door." Chapter 42: "Collet took the hint. 'Twenty-four Rue Haxo. Right away, Captain.' He hung up and radioed his men." Chapter 43: "Langdon produced the printout of the crime scene photo and spread it out on the coffee table. Sophie needed only to read the first line to know Langdon was correct." Chapter 44: "The object inside was unlike anything Langdon had ever seen. One thing was immediately clear to both of them, however. This was definitely not the Cup of Christ." Chapter 45: "Vernet did not breathe again until the truck was a good fifty meters down the street. And now he had another problem. His cargo. Where do I take them?" Chapter 46: "'The secret lives. Jacques Sauni&#232re transferred information before he died. I will call you soon. Our work tonight is not yet done.'" Chapter 47: "Langdon slowly raised his eyes. 'Under the sign of the Rose,' he whispered. 'This cryptex... I think I know what it is.'" Chapter 48: "Vernet stepped into view, a strained look in his eye. In his hand, he held a pistol. "I'm sorry about this," he said. "I really have no choice." Chapter 49: "Vernet turned his eyes back to the ground where the truck had been parked. Even in the faint moonlight he could see there was nothing there. The wooden box was gone." Chapter 50: "The bishop broke a light sweat. Or worse... that I took the money and ran!" Chapter 51: "Langdon gave an awkward smile. 'We're on a Grail quest, Sophie. Who better to help us than a knight?'" Chapter 52: "The gate clicked open. 'Your heart is true, my friend. You may pass.'" Chapter 53: "Thirty seconds later, forty kilometers away, hidden in the undercarriage of the armored truck, a tiny transponder blinked to life." Chapter 54: "Teabing already had Sophie locked in his twinkling gaze. 'You are a Grail virgin, my dear. And trust me, you will never forget your first time.'" Chapter 55: "'Not what it is,' Teabing whispered. 'But rather who it is. The Holy Grail is not a thing. It is, in fact... a person." Chapter 56: "Two rooms away, in the kitchen, manservant R&#233my Legaludec stood in silence before a television. The news station was broadcasting photos of a man and woman... the same two individuals to whom R&#233my had just served tea." Chapter 57: "Ignoring the slash of pain from his cilice, Silas retrieved his gun and began the long trek up the grassy slope." Chapter 58: "Instantly, Sophie recognized the translation. Sang Real literally meant Royal Blood." Chapter 59: "After a long wait, another man came on, his tone gruff and concerned. 'Bishop, I am glad I finally reached you. You and I have much to discuss.'" Chapter 60: "'So you tell me, sir. So you tell me.'" Chapter 61: "'You'd better explain yourself, Robert.' he said coldly. 'You have not been honest with me.'" Chapter 62: "Silas pulled the pistol from his pocket, turned off the safety, and inched down the hallway." Chapter 63: "Everything in Paris has gone terribly wrong. Closing his eyes, Aringarosa said a prayer that Bezu Fache would have the means to fix it." Chapter 64: "As he fell, he thought for a moment he saw a pale ghost hovering over him, clutching a gun. Then everything went black." Chapter 65: "Teabing frowned. 'My friends, it seems we have a decision to make. And we'd better make it fast.'" Chapter 66: "When Collet read the label above the empty peg, he knew he was in trouble." Chapter 67: "Langdon dialed zero, knowing that the next sixty seconds might answer a question that had been puzzling him all night." Chapter 68: "'Richard,' Teabing said, smiling warmly, 'two thousand pounds sterling and that loaded gun say you can take my guests.' He motioned to the Range Rover. 'And the unfortunate fellow in the back." Chapter 69: "Both of them looked startled. 'So then,' she said, motioning to the rosewood box. 'Let's move on.'" Chapter 70: "'Lieutenant Collet,' Fache barked, heading for the door. 'I have no choice but to leave you in charge of the PTS investigation here. Try to do something right for a change.'" Chapter 71: "He looked down at the bound monk at his feet. The man lay perfectly still now, as if in a trance of acceptance, or perhaps, in silent prayer for deliverance." Chapter 72: "Despite Teabing's and Langdon's confidence that the truth lay just within the marble cylinder, Sophie had solved enough of her grandfather's treasure hunts to know that Jacques Sauni&#232re did not give up his secrets easily." Chapter 73: "Tell them I want Teabing's plane to be permitted to land. Then I want it surrounded on the tarmac. Nobody deplanes until I get there." Chapter 74: "Sophie could not breathe. She suddenly realized she was quietly sobbing. She turned and staggered silently up the stairs, out of the house, and drove trembling back to Paris." Chapter 75: "It had all begun as a holy cause. A brilliantly crafted scheme. Now, like a house of cards, it was collapsing in on itself... and the end was nowhere in sight." Chapter 76: "Teabing grinned broadly. 'My dear, this is where the Atbash Cipher comes into play.'" Chapter 77: "Teabing winked. 'In ancient Greek, wisdom is spelled S-O-F-I-A.'" Chapter 78: "At that moment, fifteen miles ahead of them, six Kent police cars streaked down rain-soaked streets toward Biggin Hill Executive Airport." Chapter 79: "He immediately called Interpol and requested every shred of information they could find on the Depository Bank of Zurich and its president, Andr&#233 Vernet." Chapter 80: "'Sales meeting,' Teabing said, wondering how much it would cost him to persuade his pilot to perform one highly irregular maneuver." Chapter 81: "Teabing grinned and closed the bar. 'So then, about this knight's tomb...'" Chapter 82: "He smiled. 'Works every time.'" Chapter 83: "Langdon felt shaky as he inched deeper into the circular room. This had to be the place." Chapter 84: "'As I expressed when we first spoke, Bishop, you would do well to remember that youare not the only man on the verge of losing everything.'" Chapter 85: "'If you call the police..." The tuxedoed man pressed the gun to his skin. "I will find you." The next thing the boy knew, he was sprinting across the outside courtyard with no plans of stopping until his legs gave out." Chapter 86: "Sophie's voice was unwavering. 'Who are you working for?' The question brought a smirk to the departing R&#233my's face. 'You would be surprised, Mademoiselle Neveu.'" Chapter 87: "'Do you have any idea what target is being bugged?' 'Well, Lieutenant,' the agent said, walking to the computer and launching a piece of software. 'It's the strangest thing...'" Chapter 88: "Sophie hung up and dashed with Langdon onto the train." Chapter 89: "'That said, I give you my word as commanding officer of the Police Judiciare that your box, along with your bank's reputation, are in the safest of hands.'" Chapter 90: "The notes were in French and appeared to be ideas outlining how best to insert a listening device into the knight." Chapter 91: "With that, the connection went dead." Chapter 92: "'Tea?' Gettum asked, standing and walking toward the pot she had made earlier. 'Leigh always loves my tea.'" Chapter 93: "'Leave him precisely where he is,' the officer commanded. 'Don't say a word to anyone. I'm sending officers over right away.'" Chapter 94: "Aringarosa recognized the address instantly. The Opus Dei Centre in London. He spun to the driver. "Take me there at once!" Chapter 95: "Jacques Sauni&#232re, the master of double-entendres, had proven once again that he was a frighteningly clever man." Chapter 96: "Silas spun and fired. Their eyes met. Silas was already screaming in horror as Bishop Aringarosa fell." Chapter 97: "The Teacher recalled a small announcement sign he had seen on his way into the abbey. Immediately he knew the perfect place to lure them. The only question now... what to use as bait." Chapter 98: "For a moment Langdon thought he must be dreaming. It was Leigh Teabing." Chapter 99: "He turned and aimed the gun at Langdon. 'And you, Robert? Are you with me, or against me?'" Chapter 100: "Aringarosa closed his eyes. 'Silas, you must pray.'" Chapter 101: "As Teabing passed, Langdon looked him in the eye. 'Only the worthy find the Grail, Leigh. You taught me that.'" Chapter 102: "Silas's pain at last began to fade, and he knew the bishop was right." Chapter 103: "Aringarosa smiled. "A little faith can do wonders, Captain. A little faith." Chapter 104: "And now, somehow, in this foreign place, in the company of three people she barely knw, she felt at last that she was home." Chapter 105: "Their bodies came together, softly at first, and then completely. When she pulled away, her eyes were full of promise. 'Right,' Langdon managed. 'It's a date.'" Epilogue: "For a moment, he thought he heard a woman's voice... the wisdom of the ages... whispering up from the chasms of the earth." </div> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/lame-saturday-post-or-everything-i.html">7/24/2004 10:47:23 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109073149347073391');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109073149347073391'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Thursday, July 22, 2004 <blockquote> Last Friday afternoon, I ate lunch with a friend at the bar across from my apartment building. The bar had several televisions tuned to SportsCenter and the Rockies-Giants game. My eyes wandered often to the ballgame, as a man's eyes will, and finally I asked my friend if she liked baseball. "Oh yes," she said. "My grandfather played professional baseball, so in my family we weren't allowed to dislike baseball." "Did he ever play in the majors?" I asked. "For a little while," she said. "He played in the World Series with the Cubs." "What was his name?" "Marvin Gudat." <a href="http://www.baseball-reference.com/g/gudatma01.shtml">Marvin Gudat</a> made his big league debut with the Cincinnati Reds on May 21, 1929. He only played in nine games that year, primarily as a pitcher. He returned to the majors with the Chicago Cubs in 1932, playing in 60 games as a pinch-hitter, outfielder, and first baseman, as well as pitching one scoreless inning. Chicago won the National League pennant that year, and Marv Gudat went hitless in two at-bats as the Cubs lost the World Series to the despised New York Yankees. For his career, Marv Gudat went 1-1 as a pitcher with a 3.38 ERA. As a batter, he collected 24 hits, including four doubles, a triple, and one home run. One home run. I wonder what Marv Gudat did when he hit his only major league home run. Did he charge around the bases like a dumb rookie, not daring to hope the ball would clear the fence? I prefer to picture him standing at home plate with his mouth hanging open, staring in amazement as the ball disappeared into the stands, and then trotting slowly around the bases -- not so slowly as to earn a fastball in his ear his next time at bat, of course, but slowly enough to savor the experience. Did Marv Gudat spend the rest of his life reliving that home run in his head? I bet everything about that day stood out in sharp relief in his memory -- what he ate for breakfast, the jokes his teammates told in the clubhouse, his practice swings in the on-deck circle, the noise the crowd made when he stepped to the plate, and the opposing pitcher's name and face and the pitches he threw. And I know Marv Gudat never forgot the sensation of sweet contact as he pounced on that pitch and the ball leaped from his bat. Thinking about Marv Gudat reminded me of a <a href="http://www.nakedvillainy.com/2004/06/me-and-ronald-reagan.html">post</a> the Maximum Leader wrote about his 1988 meeting with President Reagan. I don't care if you didn't like Reagan -- read the post and notice how sixteen years have failed to dim the bright details in the Maximum Leader's mind. He remembers what he wore, the gruff comments from the advance man, the masking tape "X" on the floor, the feel of Reagan's hand, and the exact words his hero spoke to him. Too often, our extraordinary existence devolves into drudgery -- one day dissolves into the next until life becomes a homogeneous gray mass, bland as oatmeal without raisins. These glittering moments remind us why we bother to stay alive. What's your one major league home run? What's your meeting with President Reagan? One of mine is finishing my first marathon in St. Louis on October 12, 1997. I remember vividly turning the last corner, spotting the finish line 200 meters away, and flipping the fuck out. All the exhaustion from the previous 26 miles drained away, and I sprinted the final stretch whooping and pumping my fist in the air. The spectators started cheering with renewed vigor, and one fellow shouted "Yeah, man!" and stuck his hand out. I ran to the side and started handing out high-fives. I have tears in my eyes as I type this. That's what life is about. Marvin Gudat died March 1, 1954 in Los Angeles. Rest easy, Mr. Gudat. You hit one big league home run. +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/last-friday-afternoon-i-ate-lunch-with.html">7/22/2004 01:08:03 PM</a></blockquote> <! HALOSCAN> <a href="javascript:HaloScan('109047933346203756');" target="_self"><script type="text/javascript">postCount('109047933346203756'); </script></a> <center><a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com">+++++</a></center> Monday, July 19, 2004 <blockquote> FOLLIES IN MARKETING, VOL. 5<ul><li>I've noticed some taverns use their neon signs to advertise that they serve mixed drinks. Why? Wouldn't one assume mixed drinks to be available in a bar? Or maybe not: KILGORE TROUT: Vodka tonic, please. SURLY BARTENDER: Sorry, we don't do that here. KT: Pardon? SB: I can give you vodka or tonic water, but I can't mix 'em together. KT: But this is a bar. SB: Did the sign outside specify "mixed drinks"? No, I don't think so. If that's how you get off, go to <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/dons.jpg">Don's Club Tavern</a> or the <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/satire.jpg">Satire Lounge</a>. We don't serve your kind here. KT: Okay, get me a shot of vodka and a glass of tonic water. SB: Nice try, wise guy. You'll just mix 'em together while my back is turned. Don't you think we've had smart alecks like you in here before? I think you'd better leave. <li>Hey, Sears in Cherry Creek! You have two options: either <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/sars.jpg">fix the "E" in your "SEARS" sign</a> or start handing out filtration masks at the door. <li>I received a solicitation with my last credit card bill to sign up for some credit report tracking service. As an enticement, the service offered free "Slim Line" digital cameras to all new subscribers. How can they afford to offer a free digital camera for buying a $10 per month subscription? Well, it's not too hard when the camera in question offers a resolution of 350 kilopixels. It reminded me of the old Shredded Wheat commericials: "It takes nine of these "Slim Line" digital cameras to equal the resolution of Kilgore Trout's one Kodak EasyShare camera, which is not exactly making Annie Leibovitz grit her teeth with envy." <li>This isn't a Folly in Marketing, exactly, but I thought everyone should know that Adolf Hitler has an <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0386944/">IMDb profile</a>. Sometimes credited as "Der F&#252hrer," Mr. Hitler exhibited extraordinary range, playing "Himself" in 25 films including 1934's classic screwball comedy Triumph of the Will. Who knows what films he might have made had he not committed suicide in an underground Berlin bunker?</ul> +posted by Kilgore @ <a href="http://www.chaoticnotrandom.com/2004/07/follies-in-marketing-vol.html">7/19/2004 11:40:04 PM</a></blockquote> <! 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