January 29th, 2011

Good Omens

This has been on my mind. Now it can be on yours.

This morning's moment of Meta: "All-Purpose Folk Song" by Neil Gaiman:
There's a ship a-sort of sinking in the harbor
And my lover is come down from the sea
Or fens, or heather
Fair maid, he sings, oh show me to your chamber door, or arbor
And he means me well, or ill
Or he ignores me altogether.

Ah, my love he is a knight so bold, impressive in his ardour
Or a minstrel or a pirate with his thighs and arms so firm
With a mandolin or an angry grin and a dead wife in the larder
And somewhere around this point in the song somone normally gets transformed into a loathly worm.

Sing dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle dee
I'm singing of the forests or the tavern or the sea
Sing dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle die
You can cross out or forget about the bits that don't apply.

Well, I sent my love a message as they led me to the pyre
But he'd shipped off with Prince Charlie to be a buccaneerio
And the pipes of Faerie skirled and the cows were in the byre
And we drank good English ale until we felt a little queerio.

Oh I care not nothing for your goose feather crotch
And I know you by the feather in your you-know
And we bantered and we badinaged, and then she stole me watch
Then we sang and danced and lost our way all under the autumn moon-oh.

Sing dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle doot
No one's really listening and no one gives a hoot
Sing dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle, dum-a-diddle die
You can cross out or forget about the bits that don't apply.
He wrote that in the early 90s, looks like. He's long been writing stories about stories...
Star Wars - Fly away...

Right on! Write on!

Bobby "Fatboy" Roberts, who's continuing to broadcast via the Internet and host movie screenings each month, is a good writer. One much more fearless, profane, and hilarious than I've been so far. (This is someone who wrote "Politically, FDR kicked so much ass his legs stopped working.")

He's been kind of stealth-blogging on Facebook (along with getting paid for his writing at Cracked Dot Com and, more recently, The Portland Mercury), but at many peoples' urging he's graduated to his own blog, Dammit, Bobby.

This means he could write about how, really, it's easier to be direct and honest on the Internet than a lot of us seem to think it is:
I’m trying to read about Spider-Man photos and shit. I want links to animated gifs of Marge Simpson krumping. I don’t need you...coughing up personal details couched behind a thin veil of pouting.

What you think you’re doing:

“Hey friends! I’m a little teakettle! WHOOOOOOOOOO. Boy, that sure helped relieve my stress. Go on about your day, thanks!”

What you’re more than likely actually doing:

“Hey friends! One of you sucks. But I’m not gonna tell you DIRECTLY which one of you it is. Which means it could be ALL of you. And guess what happens when one of you, who has the sack I DON’T HAVE, tries to find out directly from me whatever it is I’m alluding to? I’m going to get annoyed with you, and tell you I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Well isn’t that therapeutic.
He also can write about the still-evolving aftermath of Loughner's shooting of Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, where geek culture could go from here, imaginary conversations (“Christ you’re pretentious.” “Tell me you know what that word means.” “It means you act like you’re smarter than you are.” “So you, the person trying to defend this pile of shit because ‘It’s robots beating each other up what did you want’ are using words like ‘pretentious’ because *I’M* trying to sound smarter than I am?”), and more!

It also gives him a place to put his older writings, like his Cracked piece "The Top Ten Decades of The Last Century: Because If You’re Gonna Make a Bullshit List, Go Big With It." Or why he tries not to get too wrapped up in the Oscars ("Everyone remembers the slick bit of larceny that opens Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indy leaves a bag of sand on a podium and yoinks a golden. That year at the Academy Awards, Chariots of Fire pulled the same trick, snaking the statue out from under Spielberg, leaving him looking all sad panda with a sack of sand in his hand. This theft is a good example of the genre snobbery that makes phrases like “Oscar Bait” even possible. All anyone really remembers from Chariots of Fire is the scene where a bunch of dudes in John Stockton shorts sprint along the edge of a beach. If that’s all it takes to win an Oscar, where’s the Best Picture for Rocky III?"). Or this, which he wrote in 2005.

And Bobby's blog title and subtitle work in references to King of the Hill and Arrested Development. I like how his mind works.
Flavored Calories.

Filled with fries

Slice slice, sizzle sizzle, season season, sizzle more sizzle more...

All right! Stove-top fries are possible!

Today, that feels like an accomplishment.

Hey, as long as my stomach's happy. Mine must be a simple stomach.

(It's also happy 'cause of the Throwback Mountain Dew in it. Yay sugar!)