Blackmoor Vituperative

Christopher Walken announces his intention to run for President of the United States:

“Our great country is in a terrible downward spiral. We’re outsourcing jobs, bankrupting social security, and losing lives at war. We need to focus on what’s important– paying attention to our children, our citizens, our future. We need to think about improving our failing educational system, making better use of our resources, and helping to promote a stable, safe, and tolerant global society. It’s time to be smart about our politics. It’s time to get America back on track.”

(from The Official Homepage of the Walken 2008 Campaign)

Kiki loves orange. Capri loves strawberry. Lola loves pineapple. Sophia loves grape. Who doesn’t “wanta Fanta” when the Fantanas wiggle and jiggle onto the screen, bringing cool, fruit-flavored refreshment to accident victims and sweaty bell-hops? The Fantanas, singing and dancing and sporting mod, colorful beach gear, are difficult to resist, but is there more to The Fantanas than their cool fruitiness and Fanta-tastical flavors? There are many questions which yet remain unanswered.

Where is Fantana Island?

According to the official Fanta web site, Fantana Island is in the Caribbean: a small, lush island in the Archipelago of Fant. However, neither Fantana Island nor the Archipelago of Fant appear on any map!

What happened to Tonya?

According to the Fanta Help page, The Fantanas are four girls: Tonya, Sofia, Capri, and Lola. However, on the main Fanta page under the heading “Fantanas Uncovered”, you will not find the Fantanas without their tropical-colored beachwear (which is what I was expecting). Instead, you will discover that the current roster of The Fantanas includes Kiki, Capri, Lola, and Sophia. When did Sofia change her name to Sophia? Was the change is spelling meant to make her more appealing to American audiences, by reminding us of the great Italian actress Sophia Loren? More importantly, what happened to Tonya? Did the puppet-masters behind The Fantanas think they could replace Tonya with Kiki, and no one would notice? What terrible secret did Tonya discover which made her “retirement” necessary? Is Kiki, the new leader of the group, aware of the spectre that lingers over her ascension to power? Why was she chosen over the current members? Is Kiki a tool of the puppet-masters, placed in power to keep the rest of The Fantanas in line? We may never know the truth behind Tonya’s disappearance, but we do know that her example has had a chilling effect on the rest of the girls: since Kiki replaced Tonya, none of The Fantanas has dared to even mention their former leader.

Does Fanta cause mutation?

When The Fantanas first appeared, they appeared to be a healthy, ethnically diverse group of girls bringing fun and refreshment. However, photos of Capri have recently begun circulating, in which her right arm is clearly misshapen, stunted and warped in a manner not unlike the birth defects caused by thalidomide. Is this evidence of an unknown toxin in the Fanta formula? Is this degenerative mutation behind the unexplained disappearance of Tonya? If so, will the rest of The Fantanas also succumb to its sinister effects? And if they do, will Capri, Sofia/Sophia, and Lola be replaced in the same mysterious manner? Only time will tell.

Just remember: you heard it here first.

Susan and I just got digital cable recently. As part of our channel package, we get all kinds of new channels, like the Sundance Channel, Encore, and the Independent Film Channel. As part of our explorations, we ran across The Al Franken Show, which is described as a comedy. In fact, during the first few minutes of the show, he describes himself as a comedian.

If he’s a comedian, I’m a brain surgeon. Al Franken simply isn’t funny.

I also have problems with his politics, but that’s not my main complaint. He’s a hardcore neo-socialist, but that’s nothing unusual. Jon Stewart of The Daily Show, for example, isn’t exactly a libertarian. The difference is that Jon is funny. It also helps that The Daily Show, despite being an overt spoof of a news show, gets its facts straight. The Al Franken Show spins the facts so hard they get dizzy. These are the kind of people who’d call an M1 Garand an “assault rifle”. But the main thing is that The Daily Show is funny and interesting. The Al Franken Show is neither. It’s just plain dull.

We spent the last couple of days seeing people we haven’t seen in 20-something years. It was our 20-year reunion of the Menchville High School class of 1984. Initially, I didn’t want to go. Not that I was actually opposed to going, just that it didn’t particularly interest me. Why spend two days socializing with people who are, effectively, strangers? With one or two exceptions, I still keep in touch with anyone I actually cared about in high school. I didn’t really see the point of spending money to go hang out with people just because we happened to attend the same school when we were kids. I don’t feel any emotional attachment to my high school. But Susan talked me into it, so we went.

The first night was casual and social: hors-d’oeuvres, a cash bar, and unstructured socializing. The second night was semi-formal: eight or so to a table, a sit down dinner, a band, and some people danced (although the music was too loud for me). I enjoyed the first night better than the second. I got to talk to people I hadn’t seen in years, hear interesting stories, and tell a few stories. That was more difficult to do on the second night. The stories I heard were much more interesting than the ones I told: my life has been wonderful to live, but it is probably pretty dull to hear about. Other people’s stories were far more entertaining. To my surprise, I did actually run into several people I’d like to see again. A few of those do not live nearby, but perhaps we will run into each other again some day. West Virginia, at least, is fairly close by.

The funniest thing was that I saw my best friend from high school, whom I’ve not seen since 1991, when he attended our wedding. What is funny about that is that he had not been listed on the web page for the reunion, so I had tried to get in touch with him to see if he was coming. I searched Google, and I called people with his name across the USA, leaving no stone unturned (except one), and never found him or anyone who knew of him. It turns out that he works in Virginia Beach and lives in Norfolk, probably no more than twenty minutes’ drive from where I live, and that his parents still live around the corner from Susan’s parents in Newport News. I hadn’t even tried asking them where he might be, because Susan’s mother told us that his parents had moved several years ago. That was the one stone I left unturned, and wouldn’t you know it, that’s where I would have found him, had I looked.

Would it surprise you to know that I was a private investigator for a while around ten years ago? It just goes to show that you lose skills if you do not keep practicing them. Also, always verify your facts, no matter how trustworthy the witness seems. (And, in case you are curious, being a PI is nowhere near as much fun as it looks on TV. It mostly consists of looking up public records, sitting in cars at odd hours, and being underpaid for your time.)

Susan and I took a few pictures each night of the reunion. I’ve uploaded them to Night Gallery. They aren’t labeled: I do not remember everyone’s name, so I’d rather leave them all unlabeled rather than offend anyone by getting their name wrong. If they want to identify themselves, they are welcome to do so. I have to say that I was really surprised at how good everyone looked. The women were gorgeous, and the men, other than having big heads, looked pretty good, too. Not too shabby for people pushing forty.

There was talk about having another reunion in five years (or four years, I guess, since this one was technically a year late). I’m not sure I’ll be up for that. This one was really a lot of fun, and the organizers did a great job, but that seems really soon to me. But I’ll definitely be at the 30 year reunion, assuming that I’m still alive in 2014.

King Kong ain’t got nothin’ on this guy:

Peasant farmer Daniel M’Mburugu was tending to his potato and bean crops in a rural area near Mount Kenya when the leopard charged out of the long grass and leapt on him.

M’Mburugu had a machete in one hand but dropped that to thrust his fist down the leopard’s mouth. He gradually managed to pull out the animal’s tongue, leaving it in its death-throes. (Reuters)

I’m not in the mood for another convertible (yet), but if I was, this is what I would buy: the Pontiac Solstice. Not only is this the first car Pontiac has made in the last decade or two that I don’t consider butt-ugly, but it’s the sleekest, sexiest roadster I know of that’s available in the USA for under $50,000 (the MSRP for the Solstice is around $20,000). It’s a hell of a lot prettier than the Chrysler Crossfire, that’s for sure.

As I said, I’m not in the mood for a convertible again. Not yet, anyway. I’m currently very pleased with my 2003 Tiburon V6 GT (in black, naturally). I’ll probably drive that until it starts needing maintenance more than once every six months. If you’re looking for a Tiburon, I highly recommend Laurel Hyundai, in Laurel, Maryland. I got a great deal (around $3,000 less than I would have paid in Virginia Beach), they were very helpful, and they don’t stick ugly dealer stickers on the back of the car up there like they do here in Virginia.

The top 20 search queries which led Internet visitors to blackgate.net, sorted by the number of requests.

The one that surprises me is “chapter 5 helps appreciate dr frankenstein”. That’s just weird.

Today was my first day on my new project: redesigning the system that the Virginia Marine Resource Commission uses to track and license commercial fishing and fishing equipment. Pretty darn cool, and good money (better than I got with SAIC). What’s more, I’m telecommuting: I only have to go into the office for meetings. The rest of the time, I am in my comfy leather manager’s chair, at my nice desk, using exactly the hardware and software that I need to do my job (and if you’ve been following my recent exploits, you know just how important that is to me). So I’m sitting here and wrapping up for the day, when I hear a tremendous racket from outside. I open the door and look outside, and what do I see? Hail. There are chunks of ice the size of dice raining down out of the sky. Ice. This is May 23 — it’ll be June in a week, and there are chunks of ice falling from the sky. Lots of the them!

Man, that’s just weird.

Okay, it quieted down outside, so I went outside to look again, and the ice is gone. Apparently it all melted in the time it took me to type this. Or was it ever there to begin with?

The blog had gone to a dark, unwholesome place, and it was making me sad, so I’ve rewound back to where it was still fun.

Wednesday was my last day at JFCOM. It’s funny: it did not occur to me that I would miss it, or that I would feel sad when I left.

On Tuesday a bunch of people took me out to lunch at Applebee’s. They said lots of nice things about me, and made a few jokes about the working relationship I had with a few of the less cooperative members of the Consortium. It was funny, and sweet. That’s the first time I felt sad about leaving.

Yesterday was my first day at my new job. I will have tons to learn, and tons of work to do. It will be challenging, and that’s what I need. The people there seem smart and good-natured. I have a desk, but I do not have a desktop computer: they gave me an Apple Powerbook, which is great, I suppose, but I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to do with the thing. I have a feeling it’s going to gather dust, which is a shame because I know they cost a small fortune. Oh, well.

I hope I made the right decision. The last time I left a job where everybody liked me and I had it easy, I fucked up my life for seven months and depleted our savings (not our long-term savings, just our “ready cash” savings). I have to make sure that does not happen again.