the blog quebecois

Three videos for your delectation. They are all somewhat connected in that they are all in color and show moving things.

The first, a Japanese commercial for an all-you-can-eat Marriott hotel buffet, makes a quite sensible point.

This one is taken from a police car as a cop narrowly misses being killed when another car smashes into his cruiser.

This one -- well, it might not give you nightmares, but I have a bad habit of fixing on these vertiginous types of dreams, so I expect a few more restless nights in the future.

It's an amazing piece showing an Audi Quattro being driven up the ramp of an enormous ski-jump (in Finland, I believe). There doesn't seem to be any trickery involved, though they do have to try more heavily-spiked tires when it gets stuck at the halfway mark.

well since she put me down
i've been out doin' in my head

beach boys

Which in its own right is weird enough. Dave Barry, in a column some years ago, heard it this way:

well since she put me down
there's been owls puking in my bed

I'll bet Brian Wilson wishes he wrote that instead. How better to describe romantic angst than the old reliable puking owls metaphor?

For reasons I've since forgotten, I wound up on this website recently. It has a section devoted to misheard lyrics in popular songs. Barry's interpretation of "Help Me, Rhonda" is there, and in glancing at a few other Beach Boys tunes, even something as straightforward (or so I thought) as "Fun Fun Fun"

and she'll have fun fun fun
'til her daddy takes the t-bird away

gets some rather strange turns of phrase:

and she'll have fun, fun, fun
'til her daddy takes the teabag away

and she'll have fun, fun, fun
'til her daddy takes the tv away

and she'll have fun, fun, fun
'til her daddy takes the t-shirt away

and she'll have fun fun fun
'til her daddy takes her t-bone away

And she'll have fun fun fun
'Til her daddy takes her tuba away

and she'll have fun, fun, fun
'til her daddy takes her to her wake

The last one must have been overdosing on Tragic Teenage Death songs at the time.

Surprisingly, they don't have a lot of songs from the champion syllable-manglers of all time, the Rolling Stones. It took me all of five minutes to figure out the chords to "Honky Tonk Women," and about five years to figure out just what the hell Jagger was singing about.

"I met a ginnoooakedbawomkeeninn Memphis," indeed.

P.S. The first lyrics site I looked at for HTW had this

strollin' on the boulevards of paris
as naked as the day that i will die
the sailors they're so charming there in paris
but they just don't seem to sail you off my mind

for the second verse, and I thought: I've really got to get my ears checked, because I sure don't remember that being in it. It might have been from a U.K./European release, or some version they did live in concert.

just two good ol' boys
wouldn't change if they could
fightin' the system like
two modern-day robin hoods

waylon jennings

It appears I didn't spend enough of my youth watching TV. Country Music Television is advertising for the position of Vice President, CMT Dukes of Hazzard Institure. (For those completely unaware of it, The Dukes of Hazzard was a hit show on CBS from 1979 to 1985.)

The job responsibilities for the Vice President, CMT Dukes of Hazzard Institute are:

watch The Dukes of Hazzard every weeknight on CMT;

know the words to The Dukes of Hazzard theme song, "Good Ol' Boys," written and performed on the series by the legendary Waylon Jennings;

serve as media expert on The Dukes of Hazzard for the CMT Dukes of Hazzard Institute:

must be available for TV, radio and newspaper interviews to share passion for The Dukes of Hazzard on CMT;

write the CMT Dukes of Hazzard Institute online blog for cmt.com;

be passionate about The Dukes of Hazzard on CMT;

make appearances at special events such as Dukesfest 2005 in Bristol, Tenn., (June 4-5, 2005).

They're perfectly serious about this. Here's the Institute, in Atlanta, Georgia:

The position is for one year and pays $100,000 US. Where do you go to find out more? You go here.

My host was down and I was otherwise indisposed for much of the day, so I've had to dip into gnotalex's Big Box O' Links to provide you with your Minimum Daily Allotment of Amusement. And when I say "minimum," you can take that to the bank.

If you find this more than mildly (and briefly) amusing, you might need help. It's your standard cute airplane shooter fighting off waves of flying saucers or something. (You don't need to install the Japanese font - just use the arrow keys to steer and the spacebar to shoot.)

This is kind of interesting. It's a sort of chain reaction thing, and there's no point to it, besides seeing what best single-turn score you can rack up.

this careless woman
don’t hate her
she’s a poor nurse

bjork

CTV:

TORONTO — Ontario nurses are incensed at Virgin Mobile Canada's new ad campaign, saying its depiction of nurses in short skirts and stiletto heels is demeaning to their profession.

Virgin Mobile launched its Canadian mobile phone service this week with a publicity stunt by billionaire owner Sir Richard Branson.

The Registered Nurses' Association of Ontario is demanding a public apology from Branson, founder of the U.K.-based Virgin Group. The 21,000-member association also wants the company to immediately cease its advertising campaign.

"If he (Branson) wants to aim for controversy, he needs to find a different target,'' said Doris Grinspun, the association's executive director.

No, it sounds like he found the right one.

I agree, it is in shockingly bad taste to present Ontario nurses as sex objects. This is because they are invariably 200+ pounds with all the personality of crabapples. So begone with your filthy stereotypes, Branson!

Doris Grinspun. The name just screams "party girl," doesn't it?

Via NealeNews

You might have heard of the fatuous piece that Lloyd Axworthy, the former Minister of Foreign Affairs, wrote for the Winnipeg Free Press last week. It's supposed to be an open letter to U.S. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. but it's a fair bet that she'll never see it; and if she did, she'd flick it into the nearest wastepaper basket with one of her exquisitely-manicured (one presumes) fingernails midway through the first paragraph, along with the head of the flunky who thought it was worth her time. Here's how it starts, and it's all downhill after that:

Dear Condi,

I'm glad you've decided to get over your fit of pique and venture north to visit your closest neighbour. It's a chance to learn a thing or two. Maybe more.

I know it seems improbable to your divinely guided master in the White House that mere mortals might disagree with participating in a missile-defence system that has failed in its last three tests, even though the tests themselves were carefully rigged to show results.

I was going to fisk the piece, but I've been short on time the last while, and I realized that it was so excruciatingly bad that I'd have to jump on every single line. Anyway, Bob Tarantino had already performed one of his masterly demolition jobs on it at Let It Bleed.

But lo and behold, who pops up last night on CBC's The Hour but the old gasbag himself. As I might have mentioned before, CBC, unlike real journalistic organizations like Talon News, doesn't provide transcripts (rather, they want the taxpayer to fork out $45 here for an hour-long show) so I am unable to reproduce the parts where Axworthy expounds on his bizarre sexual fetishes. Suffice it to say that they're as unpalatable as you'd think.

I did manage to hit the record button on my VCR in time to capture this exchange, though:

Interviewer: Would you have written this kind of letter if you were still the Minister of Foreign Affairs?

Axworthy: No, no, but look, I'm a liberated person, it's almost like being canonized. You can speak a little ex cathedra.

If you had written it while in office, it probably would have been classed as an act of war.

Oh, and I was unaware that the Vatican was contemplating your sainthood. That must have been why the Pope got so ill recently. And in keeping with the Papal theme, you boob, an ex cathedra pronouncement does not, as you seem to think, mean that you are speaking unofficially. When the Pope speaks ex cathedra, he is promulgating official Catholic doctrine, by virtue of his Apostolic authority (the widely misunderstood notion of Papal Infallibility).

I don't know how long the Free Press link will last, so I've taken the liberty of reprinting the piece in full in the Extended Post section. Read it if you must and marvel at its smug, smarmy arrogance. If you need editorial comment, just imagine me making loud retching noises and throwing open windows to try to clear the smell.

come on and hear
come on and hear
it’s the best band in the land!

irving berlin

Well, not really. But they do work for cheap.

The guy blowing on beer bottles is a nice touch. Create your own band here.

You know, Christmas is coming up, and I was thinking . . . I was thinking that if all my loyal readers (and/or spammers) just put away a few pennies a day . . . I was thinking that they'd probably come up a bit short of the $20,000+ that I'd need to get one of these.

But don't you mind. No, don't you mind me. I'll just carry on as I've been doing, playing Colin Mcrae Rally on the Xbox and violently throwing myself out of my chair whenever I hit a tree/wall/ditch.

I seem to hit a lot of trees/walls/ditches playing Colin Mcrae Rally on the Xbox, and the
doctor doesn't think I can take much more of this "realism" -- but I do love it so.

But don't you mind. No, don't you mind me.

There are a couple of other interesting videos here. (Warning: They're all kind of noisy, but in a good way.)

Via grow-a-brain

The Congressional Record:

[Sen. Edward] Kennedy: What we are basically saying is that those people who have worked hard, have health insurance, and had a serious health challenge or need in their family--just enough to tip them over--is that we are not going to show them any mercy. Absolutely, no, put the wood to them. Veterans, put the wood to them. Single moms who are not getting their payments of child support and alimony, put the wood to them.

Somehow, I knew you would.

Update: Stupid Congressional Record link isn't working. The quote also appears in this transcript of CNN's The Capital Gang.

I hate it when this happens:

Alton attorney Emert Wyss thought he could make money in a Madison County class action lawsuit, but he accidentally sued himself instead. Now he has four law firms after his money - and he hired all four.

Ben Kepple has the chilling details here.

well, the devil's in the alley, mule's in the stall
say anything you wanna, i have heard it all
i was thinking about the things that rosie said

bob dylan

michael jackson in his pj's made me cry
why has mario quit american idol?
the shick intuition razor is the best invention
since the tampon multi-pack

No doubt. This was a sample from Rosie O'Donnell's blog, in which she philosophizes in the demanding form of (frequently misspelled -- see "shick" above) free verse.

Unlike most of the other "celebrity" blogs that have come and gone, this one seems to be genuine. O'Donnell's official website links to it, so it's either for real, or she just has abysmal taste in poetry.

Via The Museum of Hoaxes

kids won’t listen
to what you’re sayin
kids ain’t wondering
kids ain’t praying

the replacements

New York Times:

WOBURN, Mass. - What tripped Lisa D'Annolfo Levey's maternal tolerance meter on a recent Tuesday afternoon was not just the toy football her 7-year-old son, Skylar, zinged across the living room, nearly toppling her teacup. Or the karate kick sprung by her 4-year-old, Forrest, which Ms. Levey ducked, barely. The clincher was the full-throttle duel with foam swords, her boys whooping and squealing, flailing their weapons at the blue leather couch, the yellow kidney-shaped rug, and, ultimately, their mother.

"Forrest, how about you come up and hug Skylar instead of whacking him in the head?" Ms. Levey implored. "This is stressing me out, guys. You can sword, but I'm feeling compromised here."

A story on puzzled people who seem to have been the first ever to rear the exotic mammals known as "children." To that end, they're employing "parent coaches" at up to $75 per hour to walk them through the mysteries of why little Jasmine refuses to eat her peas. Or for that matter, why little Forrest insists on "swording" his big brother.

It all reminds me of something back in the 80's. Toronto was at the time booming, and the Globe and Mail regularly ran puff pieces about upwardly-mobile yuppies and their glamorous careers.

One that I distinctly remember was a couple with the requisite Jag and Mercedes in the driveway and a Range Rover in the garage and boasted the fact that they had to employ not one, but two full-time nannies to manage their brood.

I guess we rubes were supposed to genuflect before these displays of wealth and privilege, but all I could think was: "Why do these people even bother having children? They obviously don't have any time for them."

(Note: Link above requires free registration, which isn't too arduous -- just a couple of questions, if I correctly remember. Or you could use something like Bugmenot to get a password combo.)

in the town where I was born
lived a man who sailed to sea
and he told us of his life
in the land of submarines

the beatles

There doesn't seem to be much of a point to this, but it is beautifully done. There's a (somewhat yellowish) submarine and two islands and some sea creatures, and no secret passages or magic buttons that I can find.

So I'm guessing that it's just a one-off project by some flash programmer exercising his chops.

Showoff.

(Note: There's music and regular sonar "pings," which may not be suitable for your office. Unless you work in an office equipped with sonar, like, say, in a submarine, in which case probably nobody will notice.)

if you catch your hair in the ferris wheel on top
in the ferris wheel on top
a silver bicycle you shall ride
to bathe your mind in the quiet tide

donovan

Not so fast there, Mister Sunshine Superman. Behold, the world's noisiest amusement ride.

Via b3ta

My apologies for the infrequent posts. I've been laid low the last few days with the common cold. How dare it? Why can't it just strike commoners?

I think I'm over the worst of it by now, but I've got to get caught up on some other things, so I might not be posting much in the meantime.

Never fear, though -- like MacArthur, I shall return. (I wonder if he was waving a soggy Kleenex when he said that?)

Scroll down. Scroll w-a-a-a-a-a-y down. Past the calendar on the left, past the blogroll. Past the Recent Entries, past the Archives. Go beyond the Search function and speed past my email address. Ignore the XML syndication link (I always do) and zoom past the Movable Type button. Skip past the Sitemeter and skim past the Google ads . . . no, back up to that last one.

In what could be a fatally-reckless move, Google has allowed me to participate in their Adsense program. So far it's going good: I've had these ads up for less than 24 hours and already I've made -- lemme check -- $0.18. Don't quite know what I'm going to do with it, though I'm thinking of using most of it for high-risk penny stock speculation.

ooh my little pretty one, my pretty one
when you gonna give me some time, sharona?
ooh you make my motor run, my motor run
gun it comin' off of the line, sharona

the knack

17-year-old Sharona Alperin was the Muse for The Knack's 1979 hit, "My Sharona." Now she's an upmarket real estate agent in Los Angeles.

No points for guessing what song plays when you load her website.

Bonus fun fax: Doug Fieger, The Knack's lead vocalist/rhythm guitarist, is the brother of Geoffrey Fieger, Dr. Jack Kevorkian's attorney. You'd have to say that Doug definitely got the better of that deal.

I tell you, this same-sex marriage thing is getting out of control. Warning: Music.

After that, I wouldn't be surprised if God Himself punished this blog with a plague of meteors.

Invoke your own Biblical wrath here.

yada yada yada yada yada
yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada
yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada
yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada

This was just a test to see if I could float text around pictures without some black-belt HTML skillz. I guess I can, though there's undoubtably some border-and-padding arcana to learn.

The text above was taken verbatim from a speech by Canada's Minister of Foreign Affairs, Pierre Pettigrew (pictured) who really should get a haircut like, you know, a goddamn adult.
-----

Someone is finding this blog using the search string "photos grills having sex."

What a sicko! Barbeque season is noisy enough without all those grills having their riotous fun.

Clang! Clang! Clang! They're worse than wind-chimes.

I'm still trying to figure this one out:

"16 year old gilr." It might have something to do with fishing.

Hmm. My Google ads seem fixated on a particular method of underwater propulsion which I mentioned a couple of posts below. And judging by the number of clicks they're getting, there don't seem to be many enthusiasts of the Silent Service among my readers.

So, time to shake things up a bit. Having absolutely nothing to write about would pose a problem, though. What's everybody looking for, then?

Google has a neat page called the Zeitgeist, which tracks the most popular queries it gets each week. The most recent (as of Mar. 21) up-and-comers:

1. St. Patricks Day
2. Terri Schiavo
3. NCAA
4. Scott Peterson
5. The Incredibles
6. Easter
7. Li'l Kim
8. Demi Moore
9. Robert Blake
10. Regina Lasko

Now, an unscrupulous blogger would try to somehow work all those names and phrases into a post and cause Google's mighty search engine to rate that page very high in its index, causing many -- including, I would think, a fair number of submersible vehicle collectors -- to rush to his site. But that would be too much work.

I'll just list them and see what happens.

This is a simple but addictive game. If you're, uh, researching games at work, you might want to turn down your speakers, because you can't kill the music until you lose your first game. (There's also a loud buzzer when you do die.)

.

you oughta be in pictures
you’re wonderful to see
you oughta be in pictures
oh what a hit you would be!

little jack little

At the recently opened (March-Sept.) Expo 2005 in Aichi, Japan, visitors to the Mitsui-Toshiba pavilion have their faces digitally mapped and imposed by a supercomputer onto characters in the film Grand Odyssey, which stars two computer-animated Japanese actors.

Mind you, everybody in the film seems to be wearing some kind of space helmet, but, still.

For a bare-bones explanation of how it's done, see here.

Via we make money not art

Apologies to anyone who attempted to leave a comment in the last few days. It wasn't about you.

Thanks to Bruce at Autonomous Source for emailing to let us know that our comments were broken. We have traced the matter to an incompetent intern who neglected to feed the proper amount of coal to the steam-powered boiler that runs this feature.

A stern letter of reprimand has been placed in the rascal's personnel file, and we also plan to shoot him at dawn.

Unless we see a lot of clicking on those Google ads.

Because we are easily distractible that way.

LOS ANGELES, California (CNN) -- Famed attorney Johnnie Cochran, perhaps best known for his defense of O.J. Simpson, died Tuesday afternoon after suffering from an inoperable brain tumor, his family said. He was 67.

This I did not know:

He passed the California bar in 1963, then took a job in Los Angeles as a deputy city attorney in the criminal division.

His career was intertwined with celebrities almost from its beginning: Among his early cases was a 1964 effort to prosecute comedian Lenny Bruce on obscenity charges.

If he does not stir, you must inter.

R.I.P., Johnnie.

I'm in a owly mood, so I have decided to offer you unsolvable puzzles. It's a mean thing to do; but being owly, I don't give a hoot. (This is sort of where the metaphor breaks down.)

Anywhoo, the first two are of the click-on-things-and-hope-something-happens variety. In this one, you try to get the woman home. To get her up the staircase, click on the hanging icicle first. You can also click on the chimney of the cabin in the background and a man will come out to collect wood from the woodpile. That's where the game ends -- or at least it did for me, because I couldn't figure out what the hell to do after that.

This is one of those room-escaping puzzles, in this case a prisoner in a jail. You can smash the light bulb, move the bone around (something to do with the dog, no doubt), and use the dish to gather water to drink and to revive the flower. What you can't do is get out of the cell, or so I concluded after about half-an-hour.

This is a number puzzle that is impossible in the sense that I am generally lousy at these types of games. I'm sure it won't be an insurmountable challenge to those who like the genre. Via A Welsh View.

(All of them have music and/or sfx, but nothing too obtrusive.)