Archive for the ‘Aimless Riffing’ category

Talk Like a Pirate Day, it be!

September 19, 2009

Avast there, me bucko! Wandered into shark-infested waters here, ye have…

That’s because today, it be International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

International Talk Like a Pirate Day be September 19!

Fer those of ye who ain’t up to snuff on yer piratin’ lore, International Talk Like a Pirate Day was plotted out many hurricane seasons ago by a coupl’a salty bilge-rats callin’ themselves Cap’n Slappy and Ol’ Chumbucket. (Their real names be Mark Summers an’ John Baur… but let’s be leavin’ that information in the ol’ treasure chest.) It be a special time to get in touch with yer inner buccaneer, and let the scurvy swashbuckler out!

Yer ol’ pal Cap’n Swan ain’t much fer holidays, but he’s got ‘im a soft place in his furbelows for Talk Like a Pirate Day. So if ye be droppin’ by Casa de Swan today, ye best prepared to get yer pirate on… or ye’ll be walkin’ the plank at the point o’ me cutlass!

All together now, ye lice-infested swabbies and lusty wenches…

AAAARRRRRRRRR!

Feels pretty good, don’t it?

Last year, when Talk Like a Pirate Day fell on Comic Art Friday, Cap’n Swan ran a special feature up the yardarm, considerin’ which o’ his favorite superheroes and superheroines might enjoy theirselves most on this auspicious occasion. Some mighty fine pictures in this one, so ye might be wantin’ to sail yerself over to the SSTOL archives an’ reminisce.

Now, off with ye! Cap’n Swan’s got himself some timbers to shiver. If ye don’t want to run afoul of the Shadowy Legend of the Seven Seas — as Cap’n Swan be known far and wide in the piratin’ community — ye had best be slingin’ the lingo like a privateer from the Caribee all day today!

Don’t say ye ain’t been warned, me hearties. Dead men tell no tales!

(By the way, Ol’ Chumbucket be a Jeopardy! veteran, just like Cap’n Swan here. Let it be known, though, that Cap’n Swan actually pirated a mess o’ doubloons from the S.S. Trebekathon, while Ol’ Chumbucket had to content his scalawaggedness with a steamer trunk full o’ lovely partin’ gifts. )

From the Get Over It Department, Supermodel Division

September 7, 2009

Here’s a little celebrity news item from the Sydney Daily Telegraph:

Supermodel Elle Macpherson has revealed she fears that she looks old compared to her young TV co-stars as she has not had plastic surgery.

The supermodel is anxious about appearing on the new CW show The Beautiful Life because she hasn’t had plastic surgery.

The 46-year-old added that she is shocked at how she looks compared to her younger co-stars, including Mischa Barton and Sara Paxton.

Macpherson said: “Sometimes I really see that I’m the one that hasn’t done anything because I think people must think, ‘Oh my God, she looks old’.”

Let me see if I understand this correctly…

Elle Macpherson is worried that she looks old compared to Mischa Barton and Sara Paxton.

Mischa Barton is 23 years old. Sara Paxton is 21. Elle Macpherson is 46 — twice Ms. Barton’s age.

Here’s a breakthrough thought, Elle: If you’re chronologically qualified to be someone’s mother, it’s okay if you look older than that person. For a 46-year-old woman — which you are — you look just fine. Quit worrying, already.

This illustrates the stupidity of Western culture’s perceptions of beauty. A 46-year-old woman should not think she should look like a 23-year-old. Or a 21-year-old. Or anything other than a 46-year-old. Because it should be okay for each of us to be what we are, and not what someone  half our age is, or what we ourselves used to be two decades ago.

This also illustrates one reason why plastic surgeons and pharmaceutical companies are rich, and half the people in Hollywood look like circus freaks.

Embrace the real, people.

When I’m Elle Macpherson’s age, I hope I look as good as she does.

Hmm? I’m what?

Never mind.

Sick thoughts

September 3, 2009

If you were on Facebook today, you probably had at least a few friends — and I’m using that word in the broad, accommodative way that Facebook does — who posted the following item on their home pages:

No one should die because they cannot afford health care, and no one should go broke because they get sick. If you agree, please post this as your status for the rest of the day.

I didn’t throw this up on my Facebook wall — mostly because, as you already know if you know me, I’m just not much of a follower.

I, however, do agree with the sentiment.

In fact, I’ll go a step further: If you don’t agree with both halves of that first sentence, there’s something seriously kapakahi with your thinking muscle.

We might debate how to accomplish these goals. We might differ on whose responsibility, and whose program, and whose nickel, and all that sort of folderol. But if you think either of these concepts is simply wrong, I don’t have any problem in telling you that there’s something wrong with you.

Because your Uncle Swan is just blunt like that.

Oh, and before you decide to pick an argument with me over this, you should know a couple of things.

One: My wife is permanently disabled with incurable, metastatic breast cancer.

Two: I worked in the healthcare industry for a dozen years, and in the seven years since, I’ve maintained several clients in that field for whom I work on a regular basis.

I know all of the arguments. From all sides. Up close. Personal.

Here’s the good news, though.

Even if you’re wrong…

…you can still be my friend.

At least on Facebook.

Things that make me say, “Huh?”

August 29, 2009

“Huh?” Inducer #1: Andy Lee, the punter for the San Francisco 49ers, hit the scoreboard at the new Cowboy Stadium in Dallas with a punted football in warmups prior to tonight’s game between the Niners and the Cowboys. Apparently, a similar feat was achieved by the punter for the University of Tennessee in a game last week.

Let me get this straight: The Cowboys spent $1.2 billion on a stadium, and nobody thought to check whether the scoreboard was high enough?

“Huh?” Inducer #2: Cinematic schlockmeister Rob Zombie is remaking the 1958 horror classic The Blob. However, says Zombie:

My intention is not to have a big red blobby thing. That’s the first thing I want to change. That gigantic Jello-looking thing might have been scary to audiences in the 1950s, but people would laugh now.

Let me get this straight: Zombie’s going to remake The Blobwithout the Blob? (Memo to RZ: Someone already beat you to thisover a decade ago. How about, you know, an original idea for a change?)

“Huh?” Inducer #3: My cell phone service provider frequently leaves recorded messages on my office voice mail to alert me to special offers on wireless minutes, hardware upgrades, and such like. This week, they left me a recorded message to tell me that after September 1, new FCC regulations will prohibit their leaving me any future recorded messages.

Let me get this straight: WHAT?

What’s Up With That? #81: Dude, the chainsaw seems like overkill

August 24, 2009

If you live outside the greater San Francisco Bay Area, you might not have heard about the 17-year-old yahoo (no relation) who attempted to blow up a local high school this morning.

Armed with 1o pipe bombs strapped to a tactical vest, a two-foot samurai sword, and a chainsaw — just in case he decided to hack up some firewood in the midst of the mayhem, I guess — the former student at San Mateo’s Hillsdale High managed to avoid doing any harm or serious property damage, despite setting off a pair of his homemade firecrackers in a corridor.

Law enforcement descended on the school en masse, swiftly capturing the teenage suspect and hauling his stupid butt off to the hoosegow.

The school was evacuated for the remainder of the day. Classes are expected to resume tomorrow.

I went searching for the stereotypical quote in the afternoon stories on the local news sites. I didn’t have to look any further than the Chronicle:

“He was just a really quiet kid. Not many friends. He kept to himself,” said April De Guzman, who lives nearby and has known the suspect since middle school.

Didn’t you just know that someone was going to say those exact words?

Here’s an idea: We should proactively round up all the quiet, friendless loners in America, and lock them up somewhere. They’re the ones who always seem to be pulling these insane stunts.

I believe Alcatraz is available.

The walking, talking, I-don’t-care man

August 17, 2009

It’s Monday, and here’s a bunch of things that I just can’t bring myself to give a rip about.

  • Jon, Kate, their eight, or their dates.
  • Soccer.
  • KISS selling its new album at Walmart.
  • Whether Walmart is spelled Walmart or Wal-Mart.
  • The BART non-strike.
  • Michael Vick’s future in the NFL.
  • Project Runway.
  • Any opinion expressed on talk radio.
  • Whether Gwyneth Paltrow likes Scarlett Johannson.
  • The Time Traveler’s Wife.
  • Tom DeLay appearing on Dancing with the Stars.
  • Brett Favre.
  • Alyssa Milano’s wedding.
  • Big Brother.
  • Vegetarianism.
  • Veganism.
  • Antidisestablishmentarianism.
  • Isms in general.
  • Any opinion expressed on FOX News.
  • Madonna’s biceps.
  • Lady Gaga.
  • The Chrome OS.
  • Burger King.

I could probably come up with a few more. But I just don’t care.

What’s Up With That? #80: Video killed the RadioShack

August 11, 2009

My long-ago former employer RadioShack (to illustrate how long ago it was that I worked for them, the name was still two discrete words back then) is rebranding itself as “The Shack.”

Aside from the potential conflicts with other businesses (the Joe’s Crab Shack restaurant chain comes immediately to mind) and celebrities (namely, a certain NBA center who recently joined the Cleveland Cavaliers), this seems like a silly idea to me. I get the fact that “radio” is an old-school communications medium that few in the iPod generation listen to anymore, but the whole notion of a company giving itself a pithy, street-sounding nickname is ridiculous.

Knowing, however, the lemming mentality of American corporations, I find myself wondering whether — if RadioShack… I mean… The Shack’s experiment proves successful — we’ll be seeing any of the following:

  • The Soft
  • The Buy
  • The Gamble
  • The Bucks
  • The Mart
  • The Get
  • The Motors
  • The Cola
  • The Cast

I’d come up with a few more, but I need to visit The Room.

Roller coaster Monday

August 10, 2009

As I type, 24 people are trapped on the Invertigo roller coaster at California’s Great America, a theme park in Santa Clara.

Let’s see…

Suspended four stories off the ground…

On a roller coaster…

With no foot supports…

Or protection from the blazing sun…

On a 100-degree day in August.

This sounds like a dreadful way to begin one’s week.

I’m reminded of a similar incident here several years ago, when a bunch of tourists were stalled on a coaster at what was then Marine World (it’s now called Six Flags Discovery Kingdom) in Vallejo. In that circumstance, the coaster was a corkscrew model, and several of the passengers were trapped in upside-down or sideways positions.

Not that this will be any comfort to the guests-slash-victims at Great America.

I drive past Great America every Tuesday night on my way home from chorus rehearsal. If these poor people are still hanging there when I cruise by tomorrow, I’ll report back.

Life isn’t (the county) fair

August 3, 2009

Tonight, our little family — although no group can accurately be described as “little” if I’m in it — made our annual pilgrimage to the Sonoma County Fair.

The event musters less cachet every year. Our daughter is long since old enough to go to the fair on her own, with her friends, and generally doesn’t need the ‘rents tagging along. My wife now needs a wheelchair to cover the expansive fairground distances, and thus doesn’t get to see everything as closely or conveniently as she once did. And every year, the selection of vendors grows more sparse and the exhibits less compelling.

But still, it’s our tradition. So we go. And we always have a nice time.

I mostly go to the fair to watch people, and to eat. The latter grows increasingly challenging. Many of the vendors whose offerings I once enjoyed no longer appear — where have you gone, Richardson’s Ribs? — and those who do seldom rise to the level of true county fair greatness. This year, KJ’s favorite Mexican cuisine stand — the home of the legendary soft tacos that she waited all summer to nosh —  was a no-show. She contented herself with a child’s plate of spaghetti from the Pasta King instead. I settled for a platter of fried seafood, which was decent enough, but nothing like the calamari that another vendor used to serve. That purveyor, too, is gone.

Even the venerable cinnamon roll concession, for decades a staple of the main pavilion, got shunted outside to an unfamiliar location this year. I tell you, there’s just no respect for history any more.

I did savor a pleasant enough quaff of draft cream soda from a vendor I’d not seen at previous fairs. The cowboy-costumed barkeep drew my drink in a colorful keepsake tin cup, which may come in handy someday if I fill it with pencils and stand on a busy street corner.

We trekked what seemed like a half-marathon out to the fairgrounds’ back forty to check out the Budweiser Clydesdales. Why bother to bring in such a crowd-pleasing attraction if you’re going to hide it in an obscure cranny where the crowds may never find it? Even a fair employee whom we stopped for directions was momentarily stumped by the question of where the Clydesdales were. (I’m not entirely certain she even knew what a Clydesdale was.)

The Hall of Flowers held its own. The theme this year was “The Land Before Time,” which mostly involved every floral designer sticking an incongruous plastic dinosaur or two into his or her display. The overall decoration looked good, though, and a few of the designers added exotic touches like colored waterfalls or volcanoes in an effort to make the scene vaguely Cretaceous.

I saw no one hawking anything in the main pavilion that I couldn’t live without. I managed to resist the siren call of kitchen gadgets, gaudy neckties, hot tubs (why do they always sell hot tubs? who goes to the fair looking to score a four-seat Jacuzzi for the back patio?) and the ubiquitous Sham-Wow. I almost succumbed to a sudden jones for cleaning products, but just couldn’t pull the trigger.

My daughter KM paused to let me take her photo with the lifesize cutout of President Obama at the Democratic Party booth. We noted that, as custom dictated, the Dems and the Repubs again occupied spaces on opposite sides of the hall. (Some things never change.) It might actually spark the proceedings a trifle if the organizers stationed the two parties in adjacent stalls. Perhaps mayhem would ensue.

Given the current state of our county fair, a little mayhem might be just what it needs.

The threes of me

July 23, 2009

Those of you who’ve been reading this blog over the five years of its existence know that I’m not a fan of memes. You know, those little questionnaires or lists that are intended to give you something to write about on days when you can’t come up with something to write about (when I have those days, I — duh! — simply don’t write), and with which you’re supposed to “tag” your blogosphere buddies so that they, too, can participate in the merriment. (I’m not big on suggesting to other people what they ought to be writing about, any more than I’m a fan of being told what to write.)

I’m not, however, a total stick in the mud on the meme issue. Once in a blue moon, someone will tag me on a meme, and I’ll do it either because I like the person or the topic or both.

In this case, my friend Nathan tagged me with this list on Facebook. I enjoyed reading Nathan’s list, so I thought I’d return the favor. Ever the iconoclast, I’m doing the meme here rather than on Facebook, because this is where I write. And you can breathe easy — I’m not going to tag anyone, though you’re certainly welcome to pick up the ball and run with it if you’re thus inclined.

So, onward.

Three names by which I’m known.
1. Michael. This should be obvious, given that it’s my first name.
2. The Mic Guy. One of my chorus mates hung this one on me a dozen or so years ago, and it’s stuck so resolutely that I’m now using it as the brand for my voiceover business.
3. Uncle Swan. If you’re here, you know.

Three jobs I have had.
1. Receiving clerk. The year and a half that I was between colleges, I worked in a drug store. For most of the time, I was a sales clerk in the electronics department (we called it the camera department back in those pre-PC, cell phone, and iPod days). But for about six months, I ran the store’s warehouse, because the job was a prerequisite for management and someone above me was foolish enough to think that I might eventually aspire to managing a drug store. That person was sadly mistaken.
2. Radio advertising salesman. In my first job out of college, I worked in outside sales for a country music radio station. This will be hilarious to those of you who know that my affection for country music ranks somewhere between my fondness for serial pedophiles and my love for flesh-eating staphylococcus.* Right as I was arriving, the station was sold to some faceless corporation. One of the new owners’ first actions entailed firing half of the sales staff, yours truly included. In my case, the move was a relief — I sucked at advertising sales, and as for country music… I think we’ve covered that.
3. Radio Shack manager. In need of gainful employment following the redneck radio debacle, I wandered into my local Radio Shack store and filled out an application. (After all, I hold a university degree in broadcast communications.) Within a week, I had a job. Within three weeks, I was an assistant manager. After nearly a year of refusing promotion opportunities, I let them make me a store manager because they were going to fire me if I said “no” again. That tells you pretty much everything you need to know about Radio Shack.

* Nathan, who happens to be an actual card-carrying microbiologist, informs me that the flesh-eating bacteria is actually a strain of streptococcus, not staphylococcus. Here at SSTOL, we never allow scientific accuracy to get in the way of a good joke. As long as it’s not olympiaducoccus, it’s close enough for me.

Three places where I have lived. (Because I grew up in a military family, I could easily make this “Ten places where I have lived.” But in the spirit of the meme, I’ll pick three. And I’ll skip Hawaii, since I’ve written about that fairly recently.)
1. Iraklion (or Heraklion, if that’s how you roll), Crete, Greece. We were there for two years in the early 1970s. Lovely place, warm and friendly people, great food. Those sand fleas are murder, though.
2. Angeles City, Luzon, the Philippines. Another two-year stint for Uncle Sam, somewhat later in the Disco Decade. We arrived shortly after local despot Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law. We left just as the Vietnam War was ending. Strange times indeed.
3. Abilene, Texas. I spent a decade there one year. At least, it felt that way. The most hellacious place I’ve ever lived, and there isn’t even a close runner-up. If you’re from Abilene, I apologize for airing your dirty laundry in public, but… deep in your heart, you know I speak the truth.

Three favorite drinks.
1. Cream soda. The good stuff — Thomas Kemper, Virgil’s, et al. — when I can get it on sale, but even the supermarket brand suffices in a pinch.
2. Vanilla Coke. Are you sensing a theme here?
3. The vanilla milkshakes Jack in the Box used to serve when I was in high school, before Jack botched the recipe and turned them into syrupy swill.

Three TV Shows that I watch.
1. Burn Notice. Hopefully they won’t have to stop production due to star Jeffrey Donovan’s recent DUI arrest. The world needs more Bruce Campbell. More Gabrielle Anwar isn’t a bad thing, either.
2. Chopped. I’ve been a devotee of competitive cooking shows since the original Iron Chef was on the air. Food Network’s latest entry in the genre is more of the same, with a fun twist or two. Plus, how could you not love a show called Chopped?
3. In Plain Sight. Who knew that Albuquerque was so exciting?

Three places I have been. (This, I suppose, as contrasted with places where I’ve lived for any length of time.)
1. Taipei, Taiwan. My family went on vacation there while we were in the Philippines. More people crammed into less space than anywhere else I’ve ever seen, aside from Tokyo. Beware the lunatic taxi drivers.
2. Athens, Greece. We made several jaunts to Athens during our years in Crete. Aside from San Francisco, the most visually compelling city I’ve ever visited.
3. Cities I’ve only seen from their respective airports: Paris, France; Rome, Italy; Frankfurt, Germany; Anchorage, Alaska; Agana, Guam. But at least I can honestly say that I’ve been there.

Three of my favorite foods.
1. Sushi. Among my top choices: unagi, tako, saba, ebi, tobiko, and when I can find the good stuff in season, otoro.
2. Mashed potatoes. Sometimes, the simplest things in life are best.
3. Chili — preferably my own, served with rice and plenty of hot sauce.

Three things to which I’m looking forward.
1. Pat Fraley’s workshop on voice acting for video games two weeks from Saturday. I had a terrific time in a workshop with Pat earlier this year, and am thrilled to have another chance to study with him.
2. The long-anticipated completion of a quartet of commissions that artist Darryl Banks is drawing for my Bombshells! gallery. Each depicts one of the four key female characters in Will Eisner’s legendary comic series, The Spirit. Darryl’s work on the first two pieces in the series has been stunning.
3. A manned landing on Mars, and a cure for cancer. When I dream, I dream big.