The Second St. Baxter

Have you heard of Fortunately, Unfortunately?  It is a game invented in the 1980s by the National Puzzlers’ League, and I thought it might be fun here to follow whatever zany directions the story might take.  Simply leave your creative additions as a comment, and allow at least one other person to respond before you comment again.  Write an entire paragraph or a single sentence, but just remember that each new paragraph must start with either “Fortunately” or “Unfortunately.” I’ll start the first couple to show you how it works, and then feel free to take it wherever you like.

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The Second St. Baxter

Emma was right – she was always right, dammit – which is why she ignored the Garmin GPS rattling in the cup holder of her candy apple red Ford Escape.  (She pronounced it “Excape” just to annoy Winston.)  

Fortunately, even though Winston complained for the last twelve hours that he had to pee, Emma’s spirits glowed with the bright thoughts of her new job as concierge of the St. Baxter hotel and casino.

Unfortunately, in spite of the GPS pleading with her at least sixteen times over the last couple of hours to turn left at the next exit, Emma trusted her sense of direction, which landed them exactly 106 miles south of their intended destination. They arrived, ironically, at another hotel named the St. Baxter.  Neither Emma nor Winston noticed.  Both thought it peculiar that there appeared to be no casino attached to the hotel, but they would find it even weirder later that night when they discovered that the hotel was infested with flesh-eating phantoms.  The first appeared when Emma opened the front door. The phantom appeared to be a human bellhop standing at least 6 feet, nine inches tall and presently leaping at her.

Sucker Punch: Sam's First Official Movie Review

My wife's and my entertainment choices rarely agree.  For example, she refers to my library as "That crap you read."  It's gotten to the point that I can begin a sentence with, "I like..." and she instinctively shouts, "Crap!"

"But it's--"

"Crap!"

"No, I'm talking about--"

"Crap!"

"Will you listen to me?"

"Crap, crap, crap. Crap. Crap-crap-crap-crap!"

"But--"

"Crap!"

"I--"

"Crap!"

"Tonya likes--"

"Good stuff!"  Then she smiles. 

Okay.  Okay.  In How to Use Lubricant Inappropriately I admitted that occasionally I watch movies that ... um ...  Well, if The Shawshank Redemption is an A movie and Godzilla Versus the Bongo Monster is a B movie, then these would land somewhere around W. 

When I first saw the trailer for Sucker Punch, I was extremely underwhelmed.  I strained at least a dozen brain cells wondering whether somebody unintentionally made a live-action Powerpuff Girls movie.  A few days before the home video release, I saw new trailers.  In these, this pigtailed blonde in a half ninja, half school girl outfit was whipping around a Samurai sword, dodging bullets, and jumping in slow motion.  Part of my brain -- the part that later I inevitably refer to as Temporary Stupidity -- took note of the ka-pows! and shings! and booms!  and made me say, "You know, that kind of looks cool."

And so while everybody else in the world was going to opening night of Harry Potter, I rented Sucker Punch. 

The box claimed it was only 110 minutes long.  I'm pretty sure that was in dog years, though.  The story proved a little bit hard to follow, assuming you measure your "little bits" by the parsec.  I will do my best to recap.

It's a dancin' movie, like Footloose.  But nobody really dances and I suspect Kevin Bacon would have filed for a restraining order if the movie ever wandered within six degrees of separation from him.  Oh sure, every once in a while, Sweet Pea wiggles just a little bit (remember "little bits" are relative here) but it never actually reaches the exuberance of, say, sleepwalking.  But that doesn't matter, because as soon as there is even the slightest chance someone might Vogue, we fly into an extreme close-up of Sweet Pea's eyelashes, which are each just about the same size as the average feather duster.  The angle rotates  to an extreme close-up of her temple, her ear, her blonde pigtail, and the back of her head, where we stop and experience two magical realizations:  we have traveled Somewhere Else, and we are about to begin a mind-boggingly implausible fight scene.

Don't get me wrong, I like to watch an itty bitty Powerpuff Girl slice and dice a 30-feet-tall demon samurai just as much as the next guy.  All the fight scenes are cool.  It would have helped however if they all belonged in the same movie.  Because the next time we get a close-up of her eyelashes we end up on a train shattering shiny robots or in the air popping WWII Zeppelins.

There's Nazis.

And there's steampunk.

And there's robots.

And there's steampunk robot Nazis.

Then, when it's all over and we zoom out from her eyelashes, we're back in the theater and everybody is clapping and telling Sweet Pea what a dancin' prodigy she is.

Oh, and the dancers might be hookers (well, actually love slaves), or they might be patients in a big ole Dr. Frankenstein insane asylum.  The bad guy might be a sleazy wealthy thug packing a tommy gun or he might be sleazy nurse with a key around his neck.  And, the songs are really cool, but they may just be part of the lobotomy.

Either way, my brain hurts.

After the 110 minutes in dog years was over, I realized that the only reason I began watching Sucker Punch was because I was younger and more impressionable then.  I brought the movie back into the living room and set it on top of the These Go Back Tomorrow pile.  

"It was crap, wasn't it?" my wife snickered.

"It was a dancin' movie," I said. "Where everybody was kung fu fighting."

Similar Post(s):

Salem Witch Trial Viewing 

Norton 360 at 20 Paces

NOTE:  The following giveaway ended 

August 1, 2011. 

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IMPORTANT NOTICE:   Added 7/12/2011 @ 1:25 PM CST -- I have just discovered that if you become a follower of my blog and select to follow privately, Blogger not only prevents everyone else from seeing those members, but it also prevents me from seeing them.  I would have no way to know that you have joined the site and consequently would have no way to enter you into the drawing for Norton 360.  The only way I see to resolve this is to ask you to follow publicly.  I was unaware of this when I originally posted the rules.  I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.

If you have any other problems, please leave a comment below or email me directly at samrvs2@gmail.com

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When I got home from work, I saw that my copy of Norton 360 Version 5.0 arrived in the mail.  My brain was suddenly flooded with Nerdium Chloride, which scientists have identified as the hormone responsible for compelling people to try to make the word antidisestablishmentarianism longer or to invent high tech double-quilted toilet paper that responds to voice commands.  The effect on me was to focus my brain on a single goal:  "I need a computer!"

I became so excited I stuck the DVD back into the mailbox, hoping it would boot up and begin running a virus scan.  Alas, no.  The only things that happened was the mail courier looked at me the same way the dog does when I ask her to whistle, and he said, "You okay Mr. Current Resident?"  (see Just for the Ell of It) 

"Yep, I just need my computer.  Now."

"Oh...," he said.  "I used to know a guy who kinda felt the same way about a big fuzzy comforter with a stain on it shaped like Utah."  He backed up a couple of steps and moved his mail bag in front of him like a shield.  "So, why don't you just go in the house and maybe lay down for a while?  Take a load off.  And avoid any sharp objects."

I'm pretty sure I haven't actually run since 2003.  Clutching my copy of Norton, I zoomed from my mailbox to my office at about Mach 4.  Immediately, I plopped down in front of my PC and began installing the program.  The splash screen appeared, and I watched the little Norton arrow chase its tail while my brain generated such deep thoughts as "Ohhh, pretty!" and "Yellow!"

Then I realized something terrible.  Something that would endanger this entire digital adventure. 

I had forgotten to uninstall the freebie virus checker and all the anti-malware thingies in my system before installing Norton.  Typically, two competing anti-virus programs get along with each other about like most of the guests on The Jerry Springer Show.  The new application usually notifies the user of compatibility issues with friendly prompts like, "Get that Pokemon-looking, stanky piece of bloatware off my hard drive!"

Norton 360 did not seem to care.

I'm sure that if I had said, "Um, what about the other virus checkers?" Norton would have responded, "Is that what those are?  Are they house broken?  Come here, Freebie! Here boy!  See the spyware?  Sick 'em!  Sick 'em, boy!  Oh, it's so cute."

At this point, I became nervous.  What sort of power had I unleashed into my system?  This was my primary PC, the one hosting my family photos, my stories, my digital paintings, and my complete alphabetized and cross-referenced collection of redundancies, like "armed gunman" and "pink in color (as opposed to pink in height)."  Although, that last one I did back up, because I felt it appropriate to have a copy and a redundant copy.  (When my wife reads that last sentence, she's going to look up at me and say, "You're a dork, Dear.  No, you're a gord -- a Geek, a dORk, and a nerD all rolled into one.")

It was too late, now, though.  Norton reported that the installation was complete.  I quite possibly had just given my innocent computer -- that for years has brought me emails from friends and family and animated GIFs of Hamster Dancing kittens  -- the artificial intelligence to scatter to the four winds every "future plan," "harmful injury," and "hollow tube" that I had ever found.

The Explore button beguiled me, and I did click.

The main interface screen appeared.  I saw that it was divided into four major categories of protection:  World Domination, Download Your Consciousness, Make Google Your Bitch, and Global Thermonuclear War....

Okay, okay, that's not exactly what the screen said.  It was more like:  PC Security, Identity Protection, Backup, and PC Tuneup.  But the idea is that Norton 360 offers powerful tools that are not only easy to use but also go well beyond a simple virus checker.  (Although, I may mention the Download Your Consciousness thing to Symantec, because that would be kind of cool.)

I clicked World Dom...er, I mean PC Security, which opened a menu offering to Run Scans, Manage the Firewall, and launch Norton Insight.  I chose the last one, but I am not sure why.  I really don't like most insights that I receive, like "It's okay to eat one fat-free container of yogurt, but seventeen does not a meal make," or "No, we don't need voice-activated toilet paper."  This was different, though.  Norton Insight gave me a list of all my programs, how much resources each consumed, their threat level to my computer, and how popular they are.  The popularity review I suspect will annoy my programs enough that they will either go into full Jerry Springer mode or maybe stage a West Side Story dance off.  That's okay, though, under PC Tuneup there are enough optimization and cleanup applications to keep the conga lines short and the Cakewalking to a minimum.

There are more scheduled scans and automatic backups and reports and tools and doohickeys than I could possibly cover in one blog entry.  Rest assured, though, that I probably spent hours clicking on every one of them.  In fact, throughout the afternoon, I ignored my wife several times when she stuck her head into my office to say, "I hope by the time company arrives that you have quit repeating, 'That's cool!' and giggling insanely." 

The only negative thing that I can say is that the backup took 3 hours.  I'm pretty sure, however, that Symantec meant for you to backup things like your documents and pictures -- not your entire computer to an external USB drive.  The poor thing did it, though -- all 244 gigabytes of data that it compressed into 94, which I'm pretty sure is roughly equivalent to the human brain section that holds the average person's collective childhood memories.  (I suck at math, though, so I could be a little off on that.)

After it was all over, my computer not only runs faster but identifies whether websites in a browser search are safe before I click on them.  It can even scan my Facebook Wall to make sure the links are safe. 

I am a bit disappointed, though.  I hoped my computer might suddenly become self-aware, and the printer, scanner, and other peripherals split off into Autobots and Decepticons.  Oh well, maybe in Version 6.0.

Oh, and one more thing....

Symantec was nice enough that they did not send me just one copy of Norton 360.  So, because of their generosity I am able to give away Norton 360 Version 5.0 to one of the readers of my blog.  Free!  (And you just thought that coming here was a mostly painless way to kill brain cells.)  It is the full version, works with Windows 7 and XP, comes with a year's subscription, and protects up to 3 computers.  As of this writing, Symantec offers this program for $59.99.

The rules of the giveaway are simple.  You must be a follower of my blog with Google Friend Connect to be eligible.   (Sorry NetworkedBlog followers.)  Just go to the right sidebar on this screen and click the FollowJoin This Site button under the "Follow Sam's Blog" section, and, well, follow the directions.  On August 1, 2011, I will randomly pick a name from my list of followers and announce the winner on this blog.  (My family members are not eligible.)  

NOTE:  The above giveaway ended August 1, 2011. 

Visit the Symantec site and check out Norton 360 All-In-One Security:  www.symantec.com

You will find details and videos about this and all of Symantec's award-winning products.

I encourage you to leave comments.  Let me know whether you like this giveaway, and I might try to make this a recurring feature of this blog. 

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IMPORTANT NOTICE:   Added 7/12/2011 @ 1:25 PM CST -- I have just discovered that if you become a follower of my blog and select to follow privately, Blogger not only prevents everyone else from seeing those members, but it also prevents me from seeing them.  I would have no way to know that you have joined the site and consequently would have no way to enter you into the drawing for Norton 360.  The only way I see to resolve this is to ask you to follow publicly.  I was unaware of this when I originally posted the rules.  I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.


If you have any other problems, please leave a comment below or email me directly at samrvs2@gmail.com



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Leaving Work

I don't know...is it me, or does it feel a little warm in here to you?

Suggestion Box

I spent a lot of years believing altruism does not exist, that no one does anything unselfishly.  But I had not yet lived long enough to realize how wrong I was.

Now, I believe -- to paraphrase Dr. Wayne Dyer -- that the true human equation is peace over ego.  The happiest people in the world are those who habitually serve others.  I think it is because throughout life they accumulate fewer regrets.  It is amazing how much better you feel -- instantly -- by simply becoming aware of your own anger and realizing that it is nothing more than ego fuel.

Okay, maybe that's a little heavy for a suggestion box introduction in a humor blog.  However, it does explain my goal for this project.  Am I doing some great service to the world?  Probably not.  But if one of these ridiculous stories for a few minutes eases your worry about gas prices or work's latest impossible deadline,...then, maybe there are worse things I could do.

But, I can't hear you laugh.  So, I would really enjoy hearing any feedback you would like to offer.  Let me know what you found funny about a particular story. If there is something that you are not seeing that you would like more of, I'll make efforts to make it happen.  Or, if a story was too long or simply sucked in a general sort of way, let me know that too.  I don't bruise easily.  Well thought out criticisms of my writings have always been eureka moments for me, because I suddenly see things from a new angle. 

If you don't feel comfortable leaving comments below, you can email me directly at samrvs2@gmail.com.

In the meantime, I think I will go tell my shower curtain that I am filing a sexual harassment lawsuit against it.  You know, just to see what sort of reaction I get.  Heh-heh.

Does Independence Day Come Only at Night?

"There is something inherently awesome about a country which celebrates both the sacrifices of its bravest citizens and its independence from tyranny with explosives, red meat and booze."

-- Yancy Caruthers
Capt. USAR (retired)
US Embassy, Peru

Because my wife and I are insane party animals, we're spending the 4th with my mother-in-law, two of Tonya's sisters, and their families. There will be no alcohol, but there will be potato salad. Vast vats of the stuff. The mere mention of the word potato makes my wife grin and her eyes grow large in a sort of pre-maniacal-laugh that absolutely scares the bejabbers out of me. I'm not sure it's healthy to like potatoes that much, but it makes her happy, I guess.

Oddly, I don't remember too much about this holiday from when I was a kid. Dad didn't like it. Well, that's not really true. Dad didn't like buying fireworks. He much preferred to hand me a $10 bill and a match.

"But that's not the same thing," I whined.

"Oh, believe me, it is."

We would end up driving to a couple of fireworks stands in West Plains, Missouri. "I want this," I would say and attempt to pick up a box approximately the same size as the turret of an M4 Sherman tank and with a name like Apocalyptic Meteor Storm Home Defense System. Mom would gently say, "No. We would have to sell our home and our car twice to afford that." I usually ended up with one of those little brown paper bags that kids once used for lunch sacks, devoured the contents, and immediately turned into a hand puppet. (Which means that I got fireworks and a puppet.) Dad seemed to like bottle rockets, though. I wasn't allowed to touch them, but Dad always mounted a glass Coke bottle onto the back porch and launched rockets over the field, toward the pond.

The hogs occasionally looked up from their mud wallow at the edge of the water and smacked their jaws a couple of times, as if to say, "You know, the lightning bugs are louder than I remembered."

Mom and Dad moved us to Picher, Oklahoma, when I was fifteen. Picher was an old mining town, where my friend Rusty introduced me to chat piles. He liked to ride his dirt bike over them. My talent seemed to be falling and burying myself knee-deep in loose limestone. For those who have never seen a chat pile, they are waste products from the mines, dumped sporadically throughout the town in huge gray gravel piles. I once cast the reel from an old typing ribbon off one of the cliffs. The ribbon was 500 feet long. It did not reach the bottom. Years later, the EPA explained to us these mountains were composed largely of lead and other elements extremely toxic to humans. In fact, I believe the US military is considering replacing the stealth bomber with a plane that can simply dump a chat pile in the middle of enemy territory.

There is a actually a great YouTube video that shows the first chat pile Rusty took me to at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FooSO_w2_H0.

Obviously, a chat pile seemed like the perfect -- if mildly poisonous -- place to watch fireworks displays. So, each 4th of July, I scaled one to the very peak, which weight and pressure over the last fifty years had solidified into a material that shared both the properties of concrete and that stuff that coats Wolverine's claws. At the top, I doubt the winds ever dropped below 70 mph, but there was always a rusty iron girder sticking up somewhere that I could hold onto.

I didn't have a single firework of my own. Not a bottle rocket nor champagne popper. Not even a brown paper bag buddy to watch with me, but....

As the thin, amber line of sunset slipped below the horizon, I began to see distant bright colored plumes exploding in silence. Light patterns stormed over Baxter Springs, Kansas, which was answered by Miami, Oklahoma, and Joplin, Missouri. Covering hundreds of square miles, the display was a secret network of communications between the towns that no one at ground level knew existed. It was majestic, like seeing the tops of clouds for the first time. Of course, it was also like watching Star Wars with the mute button on, but that was cool, too.

So, to Yancy Caruthers, Leo Davis, Nathan McReynolds, Laura Reyes, and a million or so of their fellow soldiers, thank you. Thank you for when you say, "I'm going to work," you really mean protecting Mom and Dad's farm from when I was a kid and the roughly 4 million square miles surround it. Thank you living in places that most people can't imagine, even in nightmares, just to allow me the freedom to have climbed those chat piles and watch America celebrate (although doing so today, I believe, is felony trespassing). And thank you for that little brown bag that helped ensure that I did not own a single Tonka toy without serious cherry bomb damage.

Happy Independence Day, everyone.

Top 5 Mind-Boggingly Stupid Situations -- July 2, 2011

In the last week…

1) My best friend Yancy has always been very slender, and I have always been very wide. My wife said that when we stand together we look like the number 10.

2) A friend asked me, "I want your honest opinion. Is it normal to whistle through your nose – at will?"

3) My sister-in-law will soon have her fourth child, and she is keeping the name of her baby a secret. She hasn’t decided which name she likes, yet. “It’s hard,” she said. “I’ve gone through all twenty-four letters of the alphabet.”

4) I have to admit this one did not happen in the last week, but I did think of it this week. (The entire writing staff of With Both Hands and a Flashlight has voted and said that this counts. Yes, I know, I am the entire writing staff.) Anyway, a guy I used to know was a monarch of mixed metaphors. The longer I knew him, the more absurd they became. Finally, one day in December, he came into the house and said, “Whew! It’s snowing like a big dog out there.” Honestly, how do big dogs snow?

5) I was the only occupant of a public bathroom. A man sat down in the stall next to me and started whispering very loudly, “I don’t know himmm! I don’t know himmm!” He just kept repeating himself. Since we were the only two in there, I assumed he either must be talking to me or about me. So, out of meanness, I said in a deep, gravelly voice, “I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.” Poor guy never even broke rhythm: “I don’t know himmm!”