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My memories^{but see} of there are mostly fond ones, idyllic even, but it’s not just this jaded City Mouse predicting its death. And now they go and pull a monorail of a stunt like this. $65 million later, and all that remains of Stargate Worlds is a crap online shooter; maybe Rhode Island will only live on in the brick buildings in my dreams.

老婆 got this pot holder from one of her co-workers (who’s since been sacked) last Christmas or for her birthday, and I’ve been meaning to share my puzzlement with its design, but you know, baby, work, TV. I think I see the Greek letter Φ, which Grant Morrison said in Doom Patrol contains all of existence reproduced digitally, the Stargate symbol, Mensa’s table and things that could either be from Prince’s dictionary or that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa couldn’t figure out the brain teaser. Could the reputed cheapskate have unknowingly passed along an item of immeasurable worth, or been a tragic figure who tried to get a secret message out to the world?

The times they certainly are a-plenty of them, and I thought I might use the opportunity to implement one here, too, transferring everything to X’s beta site, but even that undertaking, involving a WordPress reinstall and possible theme re-tool, proved too much for my diminishing drive.

Oh, I’d been tempted to update, especially with developments like these——not to mention some trademark quips about the Lost finale, but forums sufficed. So let’s fire her up again, and hope that my brain doesn’t go the way of my car battery (which I wrestled with for an hour last night before giving up trying to get past the starter and left crud under my fingernails I couldn’t completely wash out to burp and change the baby; other parents want theirs to be doctors, lawyers, President, and I’d be happy with an auto mechanic).

Here are stories (now with descriptions, in case the links go down) of a dog-owner who also had Homer’s book of Canine Surgery and another—presumably not the same one, although that’d be hilarious—who shot back, on the same day I read this mini-series I somehow missed during my year off. Must’ve dismissed it because I never did finish Watership Down or the Secret of NIMH even earlier in my youth. Critics who nevertheless put it on their best-of-the-decade lists have bemoaned its brevity, lasting about as long as a Chipotle burrito, but I think any more and it would’ve overstayed the premise and diluted its impact. The shrapnel-like scenes of carnage can’t possibly be done justice in other media. Prove me wrong, Ralph Bakshi, prove me wrong!

Prick throws in that the president “still” won’t sit down with Fox News after the story about him being on Letterman. Of course not, you shithead of a corporate shill; your network has less in serious journalistic credibility than The Simpsons has funny anymore, and you proved it. I only stayed tune because they offered to keep the House going with some highlights from a premier party—which I should’ve skipped, as let down as I was by the show itself. They just had to get him outta there and back to the same old formula in a week’s time. Why not the whole season (of “Nut House”), with him having to perform his procedurals through layers of mental illness, and make his transformation a meaningful one?

Have had a hankerin’ for chocolate-sprinkled vanilla ice cream since reminiscing about Newport Creamery, but dessert being excised from my regiment months would pass before I got ’round to satiating it. 老婆’s coupon was inexplicably good only in another town over, so the unsubsidized three scoops of their “lite” (read: tasteless) flavor and extra topping, whose appeal must be in simulating Milhouse’s ants-crawling-in-mouth moment: $7.20. My orange juice at IHoP Saturday, $2.99, and I got free refills; for the same price I might’ve bought a gallon at the supermarket, too, but the premium is better justified by the environment or occasion. And in my lifetime I have not watched the price of restaurant beverages skyrocket like they have here, gas stations or movie theaters.

(A)DSL seems to be back up—either that, or it’s because everyone else is asleep—so I’m making up for being disconnected over much of the weekend. Woke up, anyway, from a dream about an episode of House from presumably an earlier season, where the teaser showed him in spacesuit, chatting via split-screen to a sick young patient friend… I don’t recall him ever being recruited by NASA, and I’ll surely give up on the series if the writers turn him into Homer Simpson like that, but for the sake of argument: she suffered from a seizure or syncope, prompting the titles, then we see House back on Earth, in a glorious mood. To Foreman’s dismay, he leads Chase and Cameron to join him seated in front of the open windows to appreciate the beauty of the day. I suppose it could happen, when he’s out of the nut house.

There’s no remembering all the others I’ve had lately, except for Kim quitting (which is bound to happen eventually, so probably doesn’t qualify as a premonition), one where I was playing George Huang’s role in SVU and trying to explain a perp’s motives to Stabler in as fluent psychobabble as possible, given that stammering was unbecoming of a professional, much less scripted television; and another which left me with the actual impression that a sitcom about the Silver Surfer working at a restaurant would be a good idea.

Sure don’t like its price, but this camera-on-a-headband takes me back to when I went for silly POV shots with my first cameraphone, the Ericsson T610. BoingBoing’s suggestion to wear it as an eyepatch is even better.

The Chaser left 老婆 looking like Jimmy after his trip through the abattoir, and this time it was my turn. Writer/director 곽재용 was subtle (if not imaginatively credited by fans) with his time-travelling in 엽기적인 그녀, but here his violations of canonical paradoxes are anything but: either each builds upon the other and the storytelling’s brilliant, or he’s just saying fuck you, nothing’s getting in its way.

—Kang, Treehouse of Horror VII

So Palin didn’t completely make a fool of herself during the debate—no, just a fucking talking-points parrot—but then there’s Rosa Clemente, her counterpart from the Green Party, on Democracy Now! this morning, whose first response was that neither candidate adequately addressed the needs of the “Hip-Hop generation.” Good luck with that.