This week’s fascinations:
Disagree? Post a comment!
Tonight the whole family sits watching C. S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe as interpreted in 2005 by Disney films.
It turned out to be age inappropriate. Gabe started the movie saying this one will be part of his collection. Afterwards Gabe was A-OK to have it deleted from the TiVo. Gabriel was upset when Aslan was killed (What did he do? - He died. - Why did he die? - um, um … so Edmond doesn’t have to die. - [blank incomprehension] - Don’t worry. Aslan comes back to life. We wouldn’t play a movie that didn’t have a happy ending!) Mikaela was pacing and wiggling her hands, indicating she was agitated too.
Ah well, this movie night was for Deb and me. We do that about once a month, watch a movie of parental selection while the kids are awake. Sometimes it adds a movie into the kid’s library. Sometimes not.
As an adult I find the Christian allegory obvious, but as a child when I had the book read to me, and later when I read the book myself, I thought of Aslan only as a lion. Now, even in a mass-marketed Disney film, when the table cracks I shiver.
Christmas Eve service was pleasant, a candle-light contemporary service with just the right mix of Jesus and accoustic guitar. Mikaela didn’t scream at Deb or me for singing, which was alone worth the price of admission. Gabe held our candle and blew it out only at the correct time.
I managed to read The Night Before Christmas on its proper evening, but it was over Gabe’s objections. He usually picks out the book that I read out loud while he reads his book, and was offended that I dared to demand a book of my choice. Yet I prevailed, and it was magical.
Santa came that night. We had no cookies, so we left out five rice krispy treats. He ate them all, and drank the entire glass milk we left out for him. It must have been tasty enough. The tree was surrounded in the morning by presents in Santa’s red and green cloth as well as our own wrapping paper.
There was a message this year. Santa brought soccer, base- and basket-balls; baseball gloves and rollerblade inline skates. We’re going to be spending more time outdoors this year, methinks, or next year he’ll bring only coal. Chrismas afternoon Gabe and I started out the year with a 20-minute basketball dribbling session, and Mikaela stomped around the house in her skates.
The rest of the gifts were equally well-received. Wardrobes were increased, as well as toy-box holdings. My Irish coffee mug was wrapped up with a new bottle of Jameson’s and some instant coffee. Deb got a pair of nursing shoes, and a white shirt. Other than these mama and papa gift, Santa was VERY frugal this year. She shopped at a thrift store, and spent about $3 per gift.
Worlorn FRPG players may be interested in closure to a story started in 1997 or so: The Song of Laurien.
(Oddly, this piece of fiction, told from the point of view of a male character, was one of my items that the Gender Analyzer thought was written by a woman.)
Here are my favorite web discoveries from this week:
Gender Analyzer
Input an URL and an engine powered by 4000 data sources tries to detect whether it’s written by a woman or a man. Use this alternate link to have the same engine analyze a block of text. I find it fascinating.
IM IN UR WASTELAND BURYING UR DEAD
T. S. Eliot’s Wasteland rendered in LOLcats. The people in the room thought I was having an attack of some sort when I first found this, because I was having so much trouble breathing.
OMG WTF RAT ALLEY (115)
dead manz no bonez!!!?!
…
u can has bukkit, (331)
no can has water,
ha ha no can has bukkit,
just rock and sand.
no stand, no sit,
no shirt, no shoes, no service,
just thunder shaking moutainzes.
no can has water.
no can has water.
actually, no can has rock either.
no can has water or rock,
or for that matter sand.
If you know anything at all about the original poem, check it out.
Mark Gadzikowski is aggressively seeking work as a technical writer, information architect, or documentation manager. I have years and years experience publishing successful documents with the best high-tech companies.
Read my resume (available in MS Word, Adobe Acrobat, and HTML formats) and hire me.
I could always RTFM (”Read the F… Fine Manual”), but no. I, who can program VCRs without reading manuals (gosh dad, that’s so 1980s), can obviously figure out how to post a message on my own website without resorting to administrator privileges.
Just give me 20 minutes. I can do it. (Hint: apparently clicking Site Admin is not just for Site Administrators any more.)
I think maybe that link should say Master Control Panel, or Post Here Dummy, or maybe just Dashboard, which is the actual page heading I see after I click it.
Four children, two mine;
Deb enthralls with complete ease.
I, in bedroom, hide.
My bedside table now holds, in the order they come to hand:
Yes, it’s a big bedside table.
