Ditigal car in the real world?

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm not up to date with all the video game news anymore. Which made this footage a bit of a surprise to me. A car designed for the video game Gran Turismo 5 has been constructed in the real world.

Hmm. Video game car made into a real machine.

So where are my dream rides?

Government of the people? Like, ALL of them?

One of the things that's supposed to be great about the internet is that it enables anyone to make their voice heard. And, theoretically, this means that the lowliest plebe can cut out the
middlemen of representative democracy and take their case directly to the people in charge.
Unfortunately, there is nothing obliging any government to listen to any petition gathered on-line, no matter how eloquently the voice of "the people" is expressed.

Easier to mock, however, is the presence of paranoid schizophrenics, bleeding-heart dimwits, well-meaning wags, head-in-the-sand retrograde separatists, committed contrarians, and general dumb-ass bigots. For each reasonable proposal, there's a call for something stupid, making it that much easier to dismiss the whole unwashed mass of them.

Surely you're joking.

A website devoted to right-wing and conservative views on science fiction? Yep. Just in case you needed politically motivated commentary on Spider-Man meeting Obama, why the outrage over a Barbie doll dressed as a superhero is misplaced, or the lazy-liberal thinking implicit in a trailer for an animated sci-fi movie.

A video documentary about the branch of Germany's far-right, racially xenophobic political movement that idolizes Adolf Hitler and is also proudly homosexual? Honestly, 8 minutes into the first section, and I can already say I've seen a gay Nazi marketing manager and a traditional Oi-skinhead talking about how someone who had to jerk off when they saw his NPD membership card.

Escapees from the Android's Dungeon listening to Bill O'Reilly and skinheads getting down with man-love before going to a racial-intolerance rally? Mankind's family tree bears some goddamn weird fruit.

And don't call me Shirley.

Hu-mans are not special: exhibit 81.81

Some birds can make and use tools, others can learn to recognize and attack specific humans. Whales can steal, robots can hunt and eat prey, and new research has shown that apes can laugh. And they don't just make ha-ha sounds, but make them in the same contexts and for the same reasons as people.

All of which makes me think, but two idea keep coming back to me:
1. Humans are not as special as they like to think they are,

and

2. The rest of the world is a lot more special than humans give it credit for.

Claymation? Zombies? French maid outfit?

Thank you, POETV.


Ta-DA! (And totally not for kids.)

It's too late for this go-round, but maybe 2011...

As of this writing, there is just over a week left until the 2009 World Beard and Moustache Championships, to be held this year in Anchorage, Alaska.

Yes, seriously. How could you not dig something with categories like Verdi, Dali, Alaskan Whaler (new this year), and two varieties of Imperial (moustache and partial beard)? Just get a load of this excerpt from the "Wild West (moustache) page:

Germany's Günter Rosin appears nearly unstoppable in this category, which he has won three out of the last four times. He also holds countless German and European championships in the same category. Rosin's moustache is perfect. He dresses impeccably. Rumor has it he studies the stage lighting before the competition to find the perfect location to stand and smile at the judges.

But lest you think it's all happy wax and shiny trimmers, the controversy surrounding the 2003 award in the musketeer category shows that there is energetic competition and a healthy evolution taking place.

Screw horse racing. This is truly the sport of kings.

How does one explain it?

A while ago, a few months before I was supposed to leave Japan, maybe, a thought occurred to me. Something about preparing to go, preparing to end the business of the second (third?) life I had tried to put together was not dissimilar to preparing to end that life, or at least that way of life. All the things that were supposed to be important, and the things that truly had become important to me, were not actually important enough to maintain. I would leave and everything around my old life would continue. just without me.

I did leave, and everything did continue without me.

It was kind of like getting dumped twice at once, but I was getting dumped from my own life, by my own life, as a result of my own choices.

Oh goddammit what the hell is wrong with you people?

Is it really so hard to come up with good ideas for comic books? C'mon, military accident, miraculous circumstances of birth, space accident, oath of vengeance, school trip accident, theological inquiry, there's all sorts of things to do.

So why oh why would someone go out of their way to produce what looks like a woodenly staged comic book recreation of Pride and Prejudice?

Besides, there's only one person who should be making Jane Austen comics anyway.

Kate Beaton is awesome, by the way.

This trying to work with humans, what does it feel like?

Things left behind

Since leaving university, each time I've moved into a new house there has been a greater or lesser amount of stuff I've had to leave behind. But there's also been a greater or lesser amount of stuff left in the places I've moved into by the former occupants. Among other things abandoned in my then-new lodgings, I've found cinder blocks, unopened roach traps, stacks of scrap lumber, wicker ornaments, eyeglasses, Canadian pornography, healthy houseplants, frozen breast milk, mildewed futon cushions, dying houseplants, spy novels, dead houseplants and a 5 gallon (22 liter) glass water cooler bottle. Why would people take some things and leave others? What is judged as being valuable?

Did I tell you about the time I was forced to exchange my first driver's license for one from California? As the guy behind the counter took my old license, I asked him if it would be possible to mark it void or clip the corner or punch a hole in it or something so I could keep it as a memento. Without even looking up he jammed it into a shredder and said, "You got to let go of the past, baby."