Ann Arbor, Hockey, terrible ideas (of others), terrible ideas (of mine) and the occasional practical joke on my dad. I work at Quack!Media.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
Bill Murray on Gilda Radner:
“Gilda got married and went away. None of us saw her anymore. There was one good thing: Laraine had a party one night, a great party at her house. And I ended up being the disk jockey. She just had forty-fives, and not that many, so you really had to work the music end of it. There was a collection of like the funniest people in the world at this party. Somehow Sam Kinison sticks in my brain. The whole Monty Python group was there, most of us from the show, a lot of other funny people, and Gilda. Gilda showed up and she’d already had cancer and gone into remission and then had it again, I guess. Anyway she was slim. We hadn’t seen her in a long time. And she started doing, “I’ve got to go,” and she was just going to leave, and I was like, “Going to leave?” It felt like she was going to really leave forever.
So we started carrying her around, in a way that we could only do with her. We carried her up and down the stairs, around the house, repeatedly, for a long time, until I was exhausted. Then Danny did it for a while. Then I did it again. We just kept carrying her; we did it in teams. We kept carrying her around, but like upside down, every which way—over your shoulder and under your arm, carrying her like luggage. And that went on for more than an hour—maybe an hour and a half—just carrying her around and saying, “She’s leaving! This could be it! Now come on, this could be the last time we see her. Gilda’s leaving, and remember that she was very sick—hello?”
We worked all aspects of it, but it started with just, “She’s leaving, I don’t know if you’ve said good-bye to her.” And we said good-bye to the same people ten, twenty times, you know.
And because these people were really funny, every person we’d drag her up to would just do like five minutes on her, with Gilda upside down in this sort of tortured position, which she absolutely loved. She was laughing so hard we could have lost her right then and there.
It was just one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my life. I’ll always remember it. It was the last time I saw her.”- from Live from New York: an Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live
Next Level CPO
Likely due to construction season, I have observed CPO on the rise in a number of South Eastern Michigan communities.
Sample A: CPO Solving a Problem
This young man doesn’t like terrorists. However his feelings are so much more complex than that. It’s not as simple as distaste. He wants to do something about them but he feels powerless at a times. He has some room on his back window, but how do you get all those complex emotions into such a bumper sticker that’s so spatially restrictive? Solution? CPO.
Sample B: Advancements in CPO Technology
Here we have a gentleman who wants to make a number of points with his rear window. One CPO won’t do; in fact, standard levels of CPO aren’t going to cut it. Thankfully Cabela’s has come out with some cutting edge tech including the Double Decker CPO, (Chevy/Imports) and for the truly ambitious communicator, the Double DeckerCalvin-Poops-On (Chevy/Jap-Crap [sic]).
He leaves us, his readers, with a little mystery however in “Kill ‘em All / Let God Sort ‘em Out.” Who are these folks? Clearly he is not a fan of Chevy drivers, or me in my Japanese-made automobile, but he has expressed that in the form of a childhood favorite doing diddle (etc). So who then? The world may never know.
Finally, we’re left with only dreams. Dreams of where the next big jump in CPO will take us. Word on the street is that Cabela’s already has pastors in the lab praying for the much-whispered-about-but-never-attempted Triple Decker CPO. We can only hope & pray.
Unfriended Friday : Your Racist Friend
A few months ago Facebook quietly increased eavesdropping on the website. Now you see more conversations between two other people incorporated into your newsfeed, and if your posts are public, like mine, friends-of-friends are able to read and comment on your posts.
It all started with a quick comment I made regarding the comment section on the Channel 4 (Detroit) website.
Which included these beauties:
And of course…
It must have popped up in this dude’s feed (name left for public shaming):
I was confused.
There are a lot of things wrong with this comment. First, unless his definition of “overtly” is significantly different than mine, then yes, those comments are “overtly racist.” They could probably even be classified as “really racist,” “holy crap that’s racist,” or “this is the most racist thing I’ve heard anyone say in a public forum.”
Craig didn’t think so though, he felt that I was simply being politically correct and he was sick of it.
Oh, and by the way, if you don’t live in Detroit or Benton Harbor, you can’t recognize racism. Apparently the thing that really affects your ability to recognize racism when you see it … is being a racist, I’m looking at you Craig.
In case you think this might get better, it doesn’t, here’s Craig explaining the difference between Political Correctness and Racism (by getting them exactly backwards).
After that it degrades into an episode of Hannity. Craig refuses to discuss racism with someone who isn’t from Detroit (he’s not either) and accuses anyone who thought those comments were racist of being an Elite-hating, conservative bashing, commie liberal.
Which brings us to Exhibit B:
In this situation I was the eavesdropper. A friend of a friend’s conversation popped up in my feed.
Which brings us back to the post that started the whole thing: if you ever think racism is a thing of the past, guess again. In fact, it’s so still a thing that entire social groups don’t know what it is, or that they’re supposed to not do it.
Facebook’s new elevated eavesdropping functionality has given those of us who live in social bubbles of relatively decent human beings a little more insight into the broader America.
This got me to thinking about the word racism. It’s so specific that it almost makes these folks special. Let’s just call ‘em assholes. These folks are assholes. It’s simple. It’s direct. It’s true, and being an asshole is a bad thing no matter what circle you swim in. So, racists, I no longer give you the recognition of being a special asshole – you’re just an asshole.
Betty is Brave
While a lot of people and companies are showing solidarity this week, some have a little more to lose. That is why I’d like to give it up for Betty Crocker. As a huge company, based in the Midwest, part of a large conglomerate (General Mills), with important customer bases in every Walmart in every tiny corner of the United States - it takes guts for them to stand up, and I’m glad they did.
Betty Crocker has clarified for the mainstream that this is not about religion or politics but simply that a group of our citizens do not have the same rights as the rest of us, and that’s not how we do things here in the United States.
So, now that Betty has stood up for equal rights, it’s time we start taking a hard look at those who don’t.
Speak up, today, it’s never too late.
We had some fun last night on Facebook with a bigot and some basic Photoshop skills.
One Word: Wood
I just received this email. I’ll let it speak for itself.
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You Want A New Hobby? One Word - Wood
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Ted’s Woodworking Kit is going to set you up with all the tools you need to become the Paul Bunyan of Wood.
Each project in the kit is meticulously prepared with love & custom blueprints designed to turn you into a pro.
Master Your Wood Here
URL removed as it may contain hot, nasty, woodcarving
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Apparently the NHLPA didn’t get the much sought after cease and desist of the name-puns on NHL.com. “Puns” is generous, let’s call them “stretch puns.” Extra points to the copywriter for slipping in a Joseph Stalin reference under the guise of “all in,” (just a gambling reference).
Three Stubs: Less Than Jake 1996 @ St. Andrew’s Hall (Detroit); Dance Hall Crashers, 1998 @ Trees (Dallas), and of course Pistons vs. Sacramento Kings 1996.
MOST OF THESE THINGS DON’T EXIST
