I am but a humble man, an Engineer of sorts. I realize that in the rarified world of theoreticals, being a technological doesn't carry much status. At the cocktail parties of science, I will be served the well Scotch, and not the single malts from the top shelf. Nevertheless, I have something to ask of you, and beg just a moment of your attention.
I have become convinced that science, by which I mean you scientists, is intent on destroying the human race. Please stop this. I am not referring to intractable flesh golems when I say this. Nor do I mean trying to prove that Black Holes exist by creating them right in the middle of United States, my goodness what could possibly go wrong with that.
I'm not against the accidental Icarus-style destruction associated with flying too high, delving too deep. This is how races are supposed to be snuffed out of existence. What I am referring to is the systematic intent to destroy humanity.
Meloy's study, published in 2006 in the journal Neuromodulation, reported that 10 out of 11 of the patients felt pleasurable stimulation from the device, including increased vaginal lubrication. Five of the women had previously lost their ability to have orgasms; four regained it with the device. (The fifth never used her device during the nine-day trial because of work stress, she said.)
The authors show how coordinated pushing by robots can change the pose (position and orientation) of objects and then they ask whether planning, global control, and explicit communication are necessary for cooperatively changing the pose of objects.
In 1998, scientists discovered an enzyme, telomerase, that had the astonishing ability to "immortalize" certain kinds of cells that normally died within a short time. When that discovery was announced to the public, the press put an almost inevitable spin on it: aging was about to become an artifact of the past. Never mind that the scientists in question never claimed that telomerase had anything to do with the lifespan of humans: the discovery became a story because it appealed to our ancient interest in cheating death and living forever. A huge, lucrative industry now caters to that interest, offering the public pills, potions, and powders that are meant to reverse and undo the effects of aging.
As if men didn't have enough to worry about, our two main functions have been wiped away with Exhibits A and B. Our tertiary role, that of continuance of the species, is mopped up by Exhibit C. Obviously, science, you don't know the first thing about being a man.
Every now and then, you'll see something and think, man, that would make one badass movie. Things like, Survivor Type , by Stephen King, for example; or this week's National Geographic podcast, Giant Sea Spiders Found. But if there were a List of Things That Would Be a Badass Movie, the #1 slot would belong to a certain Captain William "BJ" Blazkowicz.
Who is this Captain William "BJ" Blazkowicz, you ask? Well, he's just the guy blasted his way into the most heavily-guarded stronghold of insane Nazi medical experimentation, killing everything and everyone in his path, including Hitler in an enormous Assault Mech Powered Armor Suit. Twice. That's who.
In my spare time, I often google around for old games, obsolete software, and other things that feed my cognitive dissonance. The other night, while finishing my beer and planning another evening of tossing-and-turning insomnia, I came across this, and promptly slept like a baby:
On August 3, 2007, GameSpot reported that
Variety confirmed Return to Castle Wolfenstein and that the writer/producer team that was involved with Silent Hill will be involved with the Wolfenstein project.
Sadly, another entry on The List was Doom 3, which was made into a shitty, boring movie two years ago. But how, how, could anyone make a shitty movie about this?
Nazis raising the dead, bloodied-up steampunky cyborg Super-Soldiers, and a gun-wielding leather-clad Dominatrix. What's not to love? Plus, the people making the movie are the guys who made Silent Hill. That film, you might recall, featured Hot Large-Breasted Zombie Nurses:
Machete-ing my way through the jungle of Harry Potter books left behind by my mother, it's number 2 in the series. This one was a notch down from the first one, I find. It was a bit longer, but failed to cover much new ground. Harry hates his foster family, he fears Hogwarts will be closed, everybody in the competing school house, Slytherin, is an idiot or a bad guy, yada yada.
Like the first book, this one is fully covered by the movie. There's nothing here that wasn't in the script, and vice-versa. Rent the movie, if you must, but avoid the book.
Nevertheless, there are five more Harry Potter books on the shelf in the living room that I have to read, lest I be disowned. I need a break, though, so Book Four of the year will be a bit more highbrow.
Spending a quiet Sunday here, doing Weekend Coverage for The Company. It can wear you down, going through your queue, waiting for some lackeys in Oceania to call you a lazy bastard in stuttering Pidgin.
Whenever it gets me down, though, I just think about the Happiest Video in the World, and everything seems to be right again.
If that doesn't make you happy, you must be some kinda Liberal. Go cry about acid rain or something.
