Language Barrier

MartiniThis parking lot sucks. They could add another row of spaces and actually plow it effectively, but no, the county probably didn't want an 'ugly' parking lot in the middle of nowhere, so they have to put trees all over it. Parking lots are for cars.

WineYes. Because what are trees good for?

MartiniTrees in the woods are great. These are useless. Algae does most of the work converting CO2 to O2 anyway. These aren't even habitats for animals, and if they are, the animals just shit all over the cars.

WineYou have a lot of anger about trees.

MartiniFuck trees.

WineYou want to fuck trees? Are you a druid?


WineDruids have sex with trees.

MartiniNo, that would be dendrophilia. What are you talking about?

WineDruids live in trees.

MartiniNo, that's dryads.

WineThen what are druids?

MartiniWhat? Are you joking? I am going to stab you in the throat.

Wine[blank, innocent look]

MartiniStonehenge. Elder Futhark. Old gods and paganism.

WineOh. So they do want to have sex with trees. Crazy Wiccans. Hot Topic.

Martini[raving froth of rage]

P.S. I need someone to draw me an angry martini and a glass of wine that pretends to not know what words mean because it thinks an angry martini is HILARIOUS.


Site updated.

Cool. Updated MySQL AND Wordpress and nothing looks broken. Now I have updated the infrastructure almost as much as the content.


One-word Movie Quote Quiz

Q) Rosebud.
A) Citizen Kane
  1. Inconceivable!
  2. Whoa.
  3. Sch-wing!
  4. Groovy.
  5. Popcorn!
  6. Excellent!
  7. Nooooooooooooooooooooo!
  8. Toga!
  9. Zuul!
  10. Welcome.
First to answer all ten correctly gets a prize.


Time for Presents

Maybe I can sway you over to my side, the side that hates scheduled gift giving.

Anytime someone expects a gift to the point where not receiving one is an insult is no longer true gift giving. It's a friendship tax. By their very definition, gifts are items given without compensation. This nonsense of trading gifts is just a manufactured economy where the currency is of questionable value and (without receipts) terrible exchange rates.

And while birthdays are generally more spaced out, Christmas involves a very large investment for a large number of people. Add in travel expenses, heating costs, etc. and winter becomes very expensive for the lower-middle class.

Whenever expectations soar (before getting presents), there is also a greater chance of disappointment. It is nearly impossible to surprise someone with a present when they get them every year on the same day.

My system is this: I give gifts. I don't pay friendship/family tithes.

Throughout the year, if I see something I think someone I care about will like, I buy it, wrap it, and give it to them. This can be anything from a stuffed toy to a KitchenAid mixer.

The recipient benefits because they are actually, genuinely surprised and thrilled, no matter how small or insignificant the present would seem otherwise. Stupid comical nightlight on Christmas is tacky; one for no reason other than to get a smile is golden.

The giver benefits by being able to materially express love in a way that actually fits his/her budget.

This is a philosophy I've held for years and am slowly adopting, slowly getting friends and family to accept my way, if not adopt it. It only takes a couple instances of "Holy crap you bought me (awesome gift) for no goddamn reason!" before you can once again get together for holidays and other events and exchange laughter, food and fellowship instead of debt.

(I still call and give cards on holidays; I'm not a communist.)

You don't buy someone a gift because you are required, or because a calendar or tradition dictates. You buy someone a gift to give them something that shows them "I was thinking of you, I love you, I want you to have this thing I think you will like, and I don't want anything in return other than your happiness."


Idea: Metro Medals

Found a scrap idea in my email drafts folder. Looks like I'm a genius.
Sketched out in MSPaint, THE tool for designers.
Would anyone actually buy these?


Jeremiah Original Recipes: Potadog*


1 Idaho Huge Potato
1 Hotdog (cheese suggested)


Big Drill-bit

1 Drill through the potato center, lengthwise.

2 Attempt to stuff hotdog in, fail, try smaller hotdog.

3 Microwave on POTATO setting

4 Serve with a dollop of sour cream. Best paired with Pernod's absinthe.

5 Eat it.

*I came up with this idea independently of anyone else. It may already exist, but those people are jerks.


The Bastard Filter

In the past year three people have made remarkably similar comments about the stupid crap I say. All were concerned/afraid of the stuff that I think but then decide not to share.
Margarita"It's hard to tell what you're thinking."
Martini"Ah. Thanks, I guess."
Margarita"It's probably terrible, isn't it?"
The only person who sees me without this filter is, appropriately, my wife, who greets the uninterrupted flow with alternating giggles and disgust.
Real life example:
Wine"A woman was hit by a bus today; she was 'apparently jogging'. How can you be 'apparently' jogging?"
Martini"I'd imagine they felt it too recklessly presumptuous to assume she was skipping. Or they just assumed based on her jogging shorts and sport top. Probably said it so that people wouldn't jump to the conclusion that it was a suicide. Did she die?"
Wine"No, she's in the hospital in critical condition."
This is where I would normally grunt thoughtfully and walk away. But familiarity has lowered my defenses.
Martini"...I wonder what the treatment is for acute bus-itus."
Martini"Well, obviously it's acute bus-itus. Chronic bus-itus would be if a bus backed over you slowly over a period of 10 years. That's not very common."
Martini"They probably prescribe 'putting all your organs back in' and years of therapeutic 'not getting hit by buses'."
Wine "You're stupid."
Martini"Yes. This is true."
Drink icons taken from here: http://www.pixeljoint.com/pixelart/28897.htm. I'm a martini, wife is a glass of wine, and the margarita is an amalgam of three other people. Bonus for Matthew:


Origins of Tradition #1: Drawing Straws

This is the best model for government: "The 
program that draws the shortest straw gets its 
funding cut. Looks like it's you again, 
Drawing straws is one of those proud traditions practiced by island castaways/potential cannibals and semi-inebriated wingmen the world over. What better way to decide the damned than by having blind chance make the poor bastard solely responsible for his/her own defeat?

This is just one of the methods of sortition out there, and one of the oldest. No matter whether you pick a black-marked piece of paper out of a hat to see if you're responsible for a good harvest, or have your voter registration number "honor" you with a spot on a jury, beating the long odds is the last thing you want to do.

But who do we have to thank for this stressful game of blind pickup sticks? My theory: look no further than 16th-century explorer Jorge de Meneses (his daughter, Paola Meneses Silva, was the founder of PMS), the proud natives of New Guinea, and cold harsh ethnocentrism.
Natives like nothing more than to trick tourists 
into trying on a "visitors gourd", a special 
ornament carefully cured in spiced taro root, 
in order to give the honored guest "vigor of
movement" during dancing, which is said to 
spontaneously occur shortly after adorning 
the gourd. It is held in place with razor wire

Back in the 1500's, New Guineans were known for three things:
  1. Their papua (Malaysian, literally: "beautiful afros").
  2. Fantastic pig roasts.
  3. The impressive Koteka, or penis gourd.
The penile sheath, or horim, comes in many shapes and sizes, is worn up, down and side to side. And, despite where you thought I was going with this, the length of the gourd has nothing to do with status within the group--it's just an unusual evolution of human modesty, the echidna of pants.

This didn't stop proto-anthropologists and pre-colonialists from jumping to the same conclusions as you did, you filthy racist. In the same way that every brown person was accused of people-eatin', early sailors immediately decided that those with the biggest phallocrypt had to be the top native (Note: Sailors are the same group of people that thought Manatee=Mermaid).

Sailors—who have had some of the most infamous (and delicious) outcomes involving "drawing straws"—are also known for drinking, making up stories, and being kind of bastards.

Thus I posit: One night at sea, drunk on the captain's rum, fresh from a shore leave that gifted them with brand-new types of VD, a bunch of Portuguese sailors sat around the concertina and started talking shit about the guys with the phallocarps (the least of which being the disturbing number of official synonyms for "cock squash").

The story that made it out of that night probably went something like this:
Once a year, all the boys who are around the age of 16 undergo the Ritual of Manhood. There's the regular feasting, feats of strength, and dancing, but the unusual bit comes at the end, when the new men are welcomed as adults and are assigned their social class and duties.
A reed mat is brought out, with the tips of penis gourds sticking out the end, lined up to appear to all be of the same length. One by one, those who used to be mere boys go up and choose their koteka. At the end of the ceremony, they are lined up from longest gourd to shortest and given their life's assignment. Those with the longest gourds are sub-chiefs, those with middling-sized are hunters, all the way down to one unlucky individual, whose gourd barely fits over his terrified manhood.
He is the short gourd, the digger of latrine pits and one on whom babies spit. Even the yam-peelers laugh at him. His is a life of shame and despair.
An optimistic rom-com.

I'm sure this story was hilarious and light-hearted until a month later when five of them found themselves adrift on a packing crate, their ship scuttled by a storm. One man, half mad with sunstroke and starvation, had been making dolls out of the straw within the crate, which I'm sure was used to protect a dining set (maximum irony). A couple of the dolls are of the New Guineans, and perhaps for a few hours they took their minds off their crippling hunger pangs by recounting their foolish story.

Maybe they were quiet for some time after that, having been too weak to laugh and so thirsty that their smiles cracked their sun-and-salt-dried cheeks.

Then one of them looks down and the pile of varying-length straw "gourds", licks his lips, and says "I have an idea..."


Commissioned Art #3.

I actually passed Napoleon going the otherway, and he was all like "Aw, shit!"

I know I skipped #2, got it months ago, but it's on black velvet and I can't be bothered to take a picture of it yet.

Like the previous ones, this one was purchased via SA-Mart, and is pretty much exactly how I described it to the artist Paul Guo:
Would you be willing to make a version of Napoleon crossing the Alps, but with me? I don't want to be in period costume, I just want the parallels to be obvious. Maybe crossing a crosswalk, riding a bear and drunk? Maybe the bear is eating a child from the crosswalk? I don't know. You're the artist.

His site can be found here: http://www.pengguo.com/


Best Mug Ever.

This is bullshit.

The best mug will:
  1. Honor Kenny vs. Spenny
  2. Never be stolen
  3. Stop people without any sense of humor from talking to me
  4. Hold coffee (optional)
meow meow meow meow


Commissioned Art #1.

An art student was doing cheap commissions, so I got this for myself for Christmas:

(click for big)

His name is Jonathan Tiu, and he can be found here.

The next commission (hopefully for my birthday) will be in the style of Joseph Ducreux, or possibly "Jeremiah Crossing the Alps", keeping yet another art student in microns and Ramen.