My Addled Brain

The results for the 2008 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest have been posted. For those not in the know (and really, how could you not know? I’m ashamed to admit you read my blog. Probably not as much as you’re ashamed to admit you read it, though), the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest is a yearly event where writers are asked to come up with the worst first line possible to a story that will never be written.

This is in honor of Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who’s 1830 novel Paul Clifford begins with this immortal line:

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents–except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

Yes, that’s where the “It was a dark and stormy night” writer’s gag originated from, for those of you who were aware that at one point, Peanuts was not only funny, but clever and subversive. But I digress.

The BLFC chose their winner for this year, a rather ribald number that goes something like this:

“Theirs was a New York love, a checkered taxi ride burning rubber, and like the city their passion was open 24/7, steam rising from their bodies like slick streets exhaling warm, moist, white breath through manhole covers stamped ‘Forged by DeLaney Bros., Piscataway, N.J.’”

My favorite, however, is the runner up:

“Hmm . . .” thought Abigail as she gazed languidly from the veranda past the bright white patio to the cerulean sea beyond, where dolphins played and seagulls sang, where splashing surf sounded like the tintinnabulation of a thousand tiny bells, where great gray whales bellowed and the sunlight sparkled off the myriad of sequins on the flyfish’s bow ties, “time to get my meds checked.”

In the spirit of this year’s BLFC, I’ve decided to slap one together myself - hope you like it.

The light poured through the slats in the blinds, filtered through the dust and grime of the windows, pouring into the small office like a fine Port wine left out opened for three weeks: moldy, grey, and with a hint of cedar, cinnamon, and applesauce; “Just the way I like my day-care centers,” he thought to himself.

There is no doubt about it - my wife has Olympic Fever. (Symptoms of Olympic Fever include watching sports until 2am and occasional screaming at the television). Apparently she’s always been this way, obsessively watching riveting events like Air Pistol and weightlifting. In a previous life she was a personal trainer, so I can understand her enthusiasm for people performing at the peak of human physical condition. However, until our main television gets fixed, my personal television viewing options are, well…limited.

I’m actually not really complaining here - without her, I would have missed that insane swimming relay Sunday night, and that was sports drama at it’s finest. But I’ve never been huge on the Games myself, which I suppose would have been my loss this year. At least my wife can obsess over something relatively healthy.

Unlike some people.

The scene in question is from Tropic Thunder, which as anyone who has known me for oh, thirty seconds can tell you, looks to be right up my alley. It’s an absurd look at Hollywood. Absurdist comedy, which has been brought back to America via the full power of Will Ferrell’s marketability as a genuinely insane person, roots itself in pushing boundaries, taking risks, and occasionally making audiences uncomfortable. Don’t believe me? Let’s go with an example from the Man of the Hour, Mr. Stiller. For those of you who saw Meet The Parents, how many of you can honestly say you watched that entire movie and didn’t feel uncomfortable at least once? I spent half that movie alternately laughing and wanting to crawl under my chair.

This movie looks to be no different - in addition to Stiller playing an actor who once starred in a movie called Simple Jack (which formerly had a parody movie website before being pulled by Dreamworks a couple days ago), Robert Downey Jr. (no relation to Morton) plays an actor who, in order to properly play a role, dyes his skin black and acts like a black man ALL THE TIME. Anyone who can look at the roles in this movie and think that anyone watching will either take these people seriously, or find them to be in any way, shape, or form sympathetic must be delusional. Or, they don’t have much faith in people being able to separate reality from fantasy.

It’s idiocy at it’s finest. The people raising this fuss, who number among them the director of the Special Olympics and several disabled rights groups, are not only calling for a boycott - they’ve put together a list of demands. Now who’s being retarded?

I’m not denying there’s a very real plight involving those who have developmental challenges. As a soon to be father, I am delving into a great unknown with my as-yet-unborn boy. My only hopes for him are for his health - but if my child should encounter issues such developmental issues, I genuinely hope I will be able to handle it with the strength and the grace of parents around the world who help their children every day.

But God forbid I should lose my sense of humor as a result.

As previously Twittered, we’re having a boy. The name is decided upon: Maxwell Damon, because our child will be kick-ass, and as such, requires a name to equal his supreme awesomeness. In this, I believe we have succeeded.

Little Max was ready for his sonogram close-up yesterday, shakin’ it (but not quite breakin’ it) for his mother, his aunt, his cousin Jack, and myself, which leads us to believe that not only will he lead the simian revolution when he comes of age, he will also succeed Michael Flatley as Lord of the Dance and lead us into a new era of disco-pop dance fever. However, he will not wear polyester while doing so. Sorry, man-made fabrics manufacturers.

We’ve got some pictures (incuding one with a mouse pointer directing attention to his maleness, which I’m sure is something involved in about 75% of my nightmares), but I currently have no way to scan them since my fabulous all-in-one printer/scanner/copier/stapler/geiger counter/defibrillator/coffee maker thought it would be a fantastic idea to clog an ink port, thus completely disabling every other device on it, including ones not related to printing. HP, you truly are one of the world’s great evils.

Thought I’d keep things a bit simpler this time, so instead of creating a design from scratch, I just decided to modify something that already exists. Of course, I can’t just tweak one or two little things - so right now the only things that remain are the font and link styles - and those won’t be around for much longer either.

Still, it’s nice to bring this site somewhat back to it’s roots; for those not around for the first few years of this website’s life, Robby here was our original mascot and occasional guest blogger. If you’re interested, you could read up on Robby’s ridiculous escapades. Or, not. But that’s up to you, my friends.

I figure that if I’m getting back into this blogging thing, I should probably spruce up the place. I’ve had the same theme for several years, dating back to when I used to update regularly.

Yes, that long.

So, for now you will suffer with this drabness until I get the new look complete. yes, I have one in the works. Yes, there will still be a simian of some sort involved. No, I don’t quite know what the rest will be. Yet.

But you have to admit, the new theme involves a certain amount of effort on my part. You’d think I might actually be serious this time…

But since I’ve done away with just about every other form of stress relief in my life, I’m considering this whole “blogging” thing again. I certainly do have a lot to talk about these days - married, child on the way (yes, really), and more. Plus, I’ve been playing with that twitter thing, and while I find the text entry limitations…intriguing, sometimes I gots more to say than a measly 140 characters.

But we’ll see.

So, my employer had decided that moving our corporate office members out of our extremely overcrowded main office (which is shared with our Tampa division), into a new building, was finally necessary. I guess when all four of your company’s main officers are forced to share one office, one is finally forced to realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve managed to finally tap the last shred of space from your property.

And doesn’t THAT sound like a riveting reality show:

This is the story of four strangers who run a successful multi-million dollar business, who find out what happens when people stop following the corporate HR policy, and start being real.

I’m calling my cable operator about that one right now.

Wow, I’ve exhausted my italics quotient for the day, and it’s only the fifth paragraph. I can still impress myself when I try. But I digress.

We moved into the new digs last weekend. The place still smells faintly of paint, the food processing/packing building behind us is a new experience every day (today, it’s roasted bell peppers and vinegar), and the office stereo system is permanently affixed to one of those crappy radio stations that has been calling themselves “new” for over three years and still plays Unwell Every. Fucking. Day.

And every five minutes I get asked horribly obvious computer questions by our HR staff (I feel myself turning a little bit more into Nick Burns every day); but on the other hand I have air conditioning (in my old office, it was more of a concept than a reality, being located next to our warehouse), and I’ll even have my own office once they can get one more desk in the door, which means I can turn off the incessant tide of Shania Twain and Uncle Kracker, and crank out whatever I want from Ye Olde MP3 Player at will (thanks, Creative! Thanks, copyright infringers!)

Now, if I could just figure out why the site-to-site tunnel from the new office to Tampa only works one way…

I’m not sure what’s scarier - posting after a six month absence, or that I got responses from TWO of you on the very same day. Please tell me you have more to do than hit refresh on the Brain. Otherwise, I’m going to feel very guilty.

Once I stop laughing.

Yes, I am alive -and I’m still getting married. I’m just rather busy lately, as it turns out. Not two weeks after I requested more work, I got it. Not from outside, but from my current employer. It’s been very interesting - I don’t think I’ve worked as much as I have over the last several months than in my entire life, meaning I have somehow overcome both my intrinsic laziness and my love of MMOs.

I have finally kicked the Everquest habit - after six years and untold fortunes tossed down the well in the name of intangible assets and nonexistent goals, I’ve finally canceled the account. When I told my brother, he actually hugged me. I didn’t realize it was such an issue with him, but I suppose when you have a friend who gave up his six-figure job with Lockheed-Martin to play online games 16+ hours a day, seven days a week and move back home with his father, you tend to see the online gaming glass as only half empty.

You know you laughed at this. You can’t fool me.

Janice Marcel has accepted my proposal for marriage.

Sorry, ladies.