This really shouldn’t surprise me, but even my jaded people-watching soul didn’t see this coming:
Even as rescued teenage sailor Abby Sunderland makes her way back home to California, a battle is shaping up over who will tell the story of her harrowing sea voyage — and what the story line will be.
Who will tell the story? What the story line will be?! What is the wha-what? Can’t believe I forgot there was money to be made off the event.
The possibility of dueling narratives emerged this week as a Los Angeles production team and Abby’s parents squabbled over the back story of her attempted around-the-world journey.
Heh heh. Just that there’s a “production team” involved tells me all I need to know. It sounds like a stupid story — pointless risks for a “world record” that will only race to the bottom, toward younger and younger solo sailors.
It remains unclear whether any type of film or reality TV show will emerge from Abby’s aborted trip. But the possibility has intensified debate over the Sunderland brand image and whether her story should be celebrated or serve as a cautionary tale.
Brand image! Awesome. Yes, do get the story straight, won’t you? I need to know which life lesson your inspiring personal saga should teach me. The article goes on to say the dad went on Larry King Live to defend himself which — I’m sorry, you wouldn’t need to straighten your story with anyone unless you intended to milk it. It’s true, buddy, you really can return to anonymity if you just resist the urge to feed the masses. But I’m betting you wouldn’t be here in this situation if you could do that.
This is one of those deals, like your average Kardashian what-not, where I’m sorry I’m even vaguely aware of who the person is. (Who are these people, where do they come from, and why do they try so hard to get us to care?!)
‘My Sextape Nightmare’
I have this disconnect, part of my love-hate relationship with my species: I like life. I like people. I feel connected to people. But boy they can sort of make me sick. I like stories. I like people telling me their stories. But my, am I turned off by people who live manufactured stories for the sole purpose of packaging them for sale.
I was in the long grocery store line today. (DAMMIT I always make the mistake of going to the curiously short line, which is always the line everyone’s abandoned because of the slow checker!) I was listening to my iPod, scanning strangers, eyes finally wandering to the tripe that passes for reading material in the checkout line. (I really should just bring a book.) My eyes stopped on some celeb-watching magazine’s cover that said: “Kendra: My Sextape Nightmare.”
…which of course cracked my shit up. There was something in the subhead about her worrying about her baby finding out about the tape or something. I don’t know who Kendra is (I notice I’m hearing her name more and more), but if you have a sextape, no one cares unless you’re trying to become famous. Even if you have a child, your child can probably get over the sextape (“sex is natural, hon’, birds and bees”) — unless of course the tape was in some way related to you trying to become famous.
I figure except for the extraordinarily strange and unlucky, if you have a sextape and the media cares about it, you either deliberately leaked the thing to become (more) famous, or you made it at a time when you wouldn’t have minded if it one day helped you become famous.
So I’m sorry about your nightmare and your kid, I guess. But unless you really are a mess (and signs point to … yes), the child will probably get over it.
So this is pretty awesome: They’re making changes to the Catholic liturgy. Last time that happened, the changes were incredibly huge and my father essentially refused to recognize them. (Ain’t no one telling him the mass can be said in anything but Latin. Ain’t no reason we should see the priest’s face. Ain’t no reason you can’t starve yourself fast in order to earn a piece of the nourishing bread that has been transformed into the body of the main man.)
This time the changes are much smaller, almost to the point of absurdity. And they do away with some lines that are burned into my brain, even still. (e.g. Gone is, “And also with you,” replaced by the awkward “And with your spirit.”)
This link at stltoday has a few more changes side-by-side, though it will expire in a few days because the Post doesn’t view its content as having much shelf life.
My favorite change (“favorite” as in “OMG that’s hilariously awkward!”) is the following. Currently, the “Gloria” goes like this, and it’s often sung in an actually tolerable way — I always saw it as the closest the Mass comes to actually rapping, which is cool (there are actually a ton of varieties of how it’s sung, but the one I remember most was pretty rap-like):
Current:
Glory to God in the high-est,
and peace to his people on Earth
Lo-o-ord God, heavenly King,
Almighty God and Faaaaa-ther:
We worship you.
We give you thanks.
We praise you-oo for your glo-o-ry.
*I capitalize “Earth.” In my book, it’s a named planet; it deserves the capital “E.” Many disagree, including the Church. But if God gets big “G”s all around, why not also His creation, eh?
Anyway, the revisions to that Gloria make it look like this:
Revised:
Glory to God in the highest
And on Earth peace to people of good will.
We praise you, we bless you, we adore you
We glorify you, we give you thanks for your great glory,
Lord God, heavenly King, O God, almighty Father.
Holy string of redundant appositives, Batman! The “how many names can we think of?” God/king/god/father string is still there (though moved to the end), but now they’ve busted out the thesaurus to show how many different ways we can tell God* what it is that we’re doing to him. (praise, bless, adore, glorify, give thanks, make war and shame people in his name, etc.).
*the kicker: Supposedly he already knows.
They’re also doing away with the ol’ “Christ has diiied. Christ has ris-en. Christ will come agaaaaaiiin.”
I’m not sure why they’re doing away with that old favorite. Frankly, I’m not sure why the Church does much of what it does. But these changes should create enough congregation confusion to make going to Mass a delightful hoot.
P.S. Thankfully they didn’t do something drastic, like let females be priests or let priests marry. Heavens, that wouldn’t do a lick of good, no not at all.
The bathtub scene from "The Shining" is too creepy for me to look at for long, so this will do.
Thanks to a really, really inconvenient water main break — offices flooded, personal stuff soaked and lost, important departments relocated — we’re working in some makeshift surroundings.
Thankfully, my department isn’t on the ground floor so we were spared damage, but we are hosting other departments’ refugees (who are all taking this pain like a champ, incidentally).
Also, we have no plumbing. Which means using the bathroom, for both the natives and the Water Main Diaspora, involves following a series of “Unisex Bathroom ——->” signs to an unoccupied dorm room in an adjoining building.
I’ve noticed each time I use it: Sometimes the shower curtain is open, sometimes it’s closed. It changes multiple times within the day. I think I’ve figured out why.
…and at that link the Christian Science Monitor (a name I’ve always loved) provides a slideshow of other sinkholes around the world (delightfully titled, “Sinkholes Around the World”), some similarly frightening and some bewilderingly deceptive.
So again I return to the theme of how mind-blowing they are on the spectrum of natural disasters. There is no “nice” natural disaster — though The Weather Channel’s month-long “Great Tornado Chase” orgy might lead one to think otherwise. But somehow I can comprehend floods, tornadoes, hurricanes and even earthquakes more than the earth literally dropping out from underneath me.
It’s like, yeah, I can even imagine my house being shaken to bits by The Big One that the Midwest will see some millennium now or later. But picturing it falling into the earth?
That one’s a little tougher to conceptualize. It’s cognitive overload. Far out, man.
First, quickly: Damn, Facebook is teh awesome: The things people will say when they don’t realize the company’s privacy settings require constant monitoring like the water run-off that’s eating at your foundation. [That link picks a different potentially revealing search term each time you hit it. My god there are some brilliant ones … “cheated” … “skipped work”… and “my vibrator,” naturally. ]
* * *
Not related, but sort of related…
It’s the same every time: Whenever the newest Next Big Social Media Thing comes around, I hear about it first in passing references on a tech blog or through a Twitter-addict who claims to be a social media expert with expertise we just cannot live without. Then it pops up in a random mainstream media or pop culture context. Eventually, I click around to find out more so that I can “know” about it for my job.
Sometimes they fade away, sometimes they stick around. Always, I find them to be of little use to my born-a-52-year-old-man needs.
But I need to know, because the people we try to reach in my job use these things. (It is really weird to understand social media more than the older people in my office, yet be less inclined to personally use the new media than they are. “I heard this from Allysa Milano’s Twitter,” I’ve been told a time or two by a woman who remembers Eisenhower.)
My problem isn’t some anti-technology stance; rather, it’s my contentment: I’m curious, I want to learn stuff and try new things, I want to explore this fine world, but I’m pretty damn content with the existing avenues to doing so. Those existing routes do not require a service fee, a plan upgrade, or 300 more virtual friends.
Witness Foursquare (oh wait, I’m sorry: It’s “foursquare” — it must be lowercased even at the beginning of sentences, ’cause that’s cuter. even n 2010 lol.):
What is foursquare?
foursquare is a cross between a friend-finder, a social city-guide and a game that rewards you for doing interesting things.
You know how it goes: Someone sends you a link to a story, then you follow that link to another story, then before you know it you’ve spiraled down a curve of sites where each one is laid out even more obnoxiously than the previous one — all with the purpose of misleading you into thinking there is something worth reading, so they can coax a cheap click and a pop-up ad “impression” or two out of you.
Before you know it, you’ve peeked into an area of humanity you wish you didn’t know existed. Like England’s Daily Mail (spare yourself, don’t click):
It appears Christine Bleakley didn’t pack enough wardrobe supplies for her latest extended stay at boyfriend Frank Lampard’s home.
The One Show presenter was today seen leaving the Chelsea star’s residence wearing the same grey jeans and blazer she wore out on Saturday night.
She was also carrying the identical 2.55 Chanel handbag that she was totting 48 hours earlier as she celebrated Chelsea’s FA Cup win against Portsmouth at Chinawhites.
The 31-year-old, who left his residence with a small suitcase in tow, had however packed a fresh white T-shirt and a change of shoes.
Seriously.
I mean, fucking seriously?!
This is why I keep mass society at arm’s length.
I know, I know: big whoop, so they stalk celebrities — this is not news (no pun intended). But the amount of meaningless detail in that lead — I mean HER PANTS WERE THE WHOLE POINT OF THE STORY! — is nauseating. Some Lin-tney Agui-spears-kesha-ferg is dating a footballer and we happen to know what she wore the other night on the town, as well as what she wore after shacking up with her boyfriend. And oh, isn’t it grand? She didn’t even have a change of clothes, so I guess we’re implying she didn’t intend to … really now.
In all seriousness, it is appalling she was toting the same handbag as two nights before, isn’t it? Some people have no class…
We have some business in Thailand, so current events there always register on the radar, particularly when they sound like this:
Thai troops fired tear gas and bullets at protesters, who responded with stones, slingshots and homemade rockets, turning parts of downtown Bangkok into a battlefield on Friday as the military moved to seal off a broad area where the protesters, known as red shirts, have camped for weeks.
Most (but not all) of our operations are in the benign middle of the country — not far enough south where there are Islamic-related tensions, not far enough north to risk involvement in the periodic counter-insurgency and coup events that seem a norm in Thai history.
(Thailand is a very long north-to-south country, in case you’ve never taken a good look at the map. If you go to Bangkok, you’re still south of the vast majority of the country, yet you’re still well north of a lot of the beach resorts you might hear about on the peninsula.)
An international relations expert here put something on our discussion list to share some thoughts. He’s not an Asia expert, but he is a comparativist well-versed in Third World patterns. And he always has interesting observations.
One of the variables commonly ascribed to Thailand is that they have a culture that discourages violent upheaval — that a coup there is different from a coup elsewhere; it happens often, but with little bloodshed. Something about those Buddhists and their zen-like demeanor, the thinking goes.
(And Thai Buddhism is indeed its own unique brand, influenced in part by the land’s cultural history and in part by all those oh-so-helpful Christian missionaries who have historically found Thailand’s beaches nice for relaxing people ripe for converting. I know that not because I know stuff, but because I get to interview professors from time to time in my work.)
Good god, of all the unspeakable fatal disasters to keep you awake at night, having your home, yard and family swallowed whole by a sinkhole would never have made my list. Entire family of four gone in a geological instant. Life’s random tragedies.
I hope it happened so fast that they didn’t have time to know, you know?
Note: This is satirical and insiderish — and most certainly not from the real Heloise. I’m reposting this from my old site as an easy spot to direct my hockey/float trip friends in preparation for this year’s Man Excursion. Names may have been changed to protect parolees. If you are an anonymous drifter who takes any offense, well just piss off and go play on your own blog.
Float Trip Hints from Heloise
Hints from Heloise Float Advice (2007): Reprinted and modified from the epic 2006 trip; now with a special question from #91.
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So J. “where’s my” Walker asked [2007 edit: he’s the financier who bailed on this year’s trip in favor of a high school reunion that will feature zero high school hotties] what one should bring on a float trip, and then it occurred to me that I saw Heloise devote a whole column to this once. I dug it up to share with the group:
Q: Heloise, what do I wear on a river in high-80s/low-90s weather?
–Pale Woodcutter, Buffalo, NY
Heloise says: Take sunscreen to protect yourself from the sun’s harmful rays, which can be surprisingly damaging to sensitive skin made soft and supple by exposure to fragrant hockey equipment. Also, a brimmed hat you don’t care for is an often-overlooked but quite helpful accessory that protects ears and forehead. Heloise never floats without one. As for your luggage, wear anything* you’re comfortable sitting on your WET buttocks in all day long.
Note: this may or may not be “traditional” swimming trousers with cheap mesh “lining” for your jewels: Assuming you remember to apply sunscreen at least a few times in your drunken stupor, you’re biggest concern all day will be chafing and other conditions commonly fought with Blue*Star Ointment (ask for it).
[Note: This next Q was added for 2010] Q: If I were to say, for argument’s sake, be interested in filming a horror movie on the river; and say — just thinking out loud here — that the best way to film it with portable equipment and limited power would be to shoot what I call “super-realism” scenes; would I, in your experience, be able to find suitable woodland areas in which to bury bodies without raising the alarm of local law enforcement figures?
–Madrileño in St. Chuck County
Heloise says: I’m not sure what you’re getting at here. But if it’s horror you want, we can bring along a copy of “The Room”:
Q: Heloise, do I need a tent to camp?
–Banker, St. Louis, MO
Heloise says: Nay, there are many options. The homo spenardis, for example, sleeps in its natural habitat, a Coleman double-folding chair purchased at Cummin’s. Due to modern advances, some people “camp” in Residential Vehicles. Though such tactics are considered savage in some circles, it is now apparently acceptable to most of society. Those accustomed to finer things, or sleeping in a trailer (Nessss), will be allowed to sleep in the RV. Otherwise, if you have a tent that you know how to set up, bring it. Extras can be left behind at the abode of Types With A Fist. Heloise generally lets others share his/her tent, too, but only if the visitors bring lipstick.
Q: How is we fixin’ to take the RV down thar when me and the wife already took the wheels off the trailer?
–Tatonka, O’Fallon, MO
Heloise says: Believe it or not, Tatonka, “RV” is not synonymous with “your home.” It is possible to “rent” an RV that still has its wheels and does not serve as anyone’s permanent place of residence. No money down. No mortgage. No “Wheels Off” Party.
Q: But Heloise, what if it rains?
–Italian/French Separatist and Licensed Pyromaniac (L.P.), St. Charles County, MO
Heloise says: Contrary to the urban myth common in your part of Quebec, you will not melt. But Heloise likes to bring a lightweight water-repellent jacket, with a hood, which can keep you warm if it rains for an extended period. Chances are any summer storms that drift in under the current forecast would last maybe 20-40 minutes, tops, but I am not a member of NMS (which — as I now understand it — is a society of global warming doubters who make a living by getting two-day forecasts right 50% of the time).
Q: Heloise, I might get hungry on the river, no?
Billboard Lawyer, Clayton, MO
Heloise says: Mike K. will bring “enough jerky to snack on but not to gorge on.” So bring sandwiches, snacks, granola bars, or the head of Alfredo Garcia–whatever keeps you from bottoming out while on the river all day and drinking. Bread and meats can easily get wet, so Heloise likes to wrap them and put them in a tupperware container (Ask your wife what “tupperware” is; ask the U.S. Patent Office why “Tupperware” is technically supposed to be capitalized — to which I say, “Here makers of tupperware, have a kleenex.”).
You will get hungry and you will feel very, very bad if you drink 14 beers with no food between breakfast and dinner.
Q: How will I relieve myself while on the river without getting my banjo wet?
–Special K-Feld, Fenton, MO (aka Yahoo Roofer)
However you see fit. You might live like swine and float in your own waste, if you wish, but remember not to “peek” at other men (you are, after all, on a river far from help). One thing Heloise warns, from experience: Do not stand up on your canoe and try to relieve yourself off the side of the craft. No matter how advanced your balance while ice skating swimming helplessly in your goal crease, it does NOT translate to drunken standing on a floating canoe. You canNOT stand up straight facing the side of a canoe for longer than the standard drunken urination (SDU) without toppling over into the water, risking the contents of your canoe, and assuring the scorn of your friends for years to come.
Q: Should I bring a flashlight? A knife? Sunglasses? Water shoes or Tevas? Can coolies?
–Concerned Captain, Ladue, MO
A flashlight might help you find your way out should you determine this was all a mistake. A knife…? …that depends on what you plan to use it for. Water shoes or Tevas can be helpful on the river but make running away more of a challenge. Can coolies are marketed to prevent you from spilling your beer as often. Heloise fashions a strap to his/her coolie to wear around his neck, thus drawings scorn but preserving beer, which is what a philosopher would call “a greater good.”
Just relax, it'll be fine.
Q: What about lube? Why does your brother and former Boy Scout keep telling me to bring lube? WTF does this have to do with the price of currency in China?
–East Side Brawler, Washington Park, IL
Some things are best left experienced — words can only spoil them. Just do as your told, and no one gets hurt.
Q: How much beer should I bring for a 3-4 hour ride in a Residential Vehicle, followed by an evening dinner, an all-day float, and an evening dinner of (expletive) Types With A Fist BBQ?
–On the Wagon in Anchorage, AK
Heloise says: If your float coordinator has not assigned a beer procurement officer, and you must fend for yourself, count on 10-16 non-glass beers on the river portion alone. [2010 Edit: Obviously, two days on the river and camping on the river multiplies this figure.] This might seem like a lot or a little, depending on your liver, but remember that it goes down like water and remember that you will spill often when your canoe-mate causes you to crane your neck at an imagined Brazilian in a bikini.
Also remember that you might actually want to augment your consumption with water and/or Gatorade, although Heloise reminds you this is never to be done in polite company. You might want “finer” glass-bottled beers for your RV ride and dinners, though, especially for the dinner following your being on the river all day.
If your friends are nice, they will have brought some mini-kegs and other “ballast” beer as back-up to help you out during the float portion. If your friend wants to screw you, he will ignore your carefully procured ballast Miller beer and shove it aside as he purchases a case of Nat Light swill from a roadside gas station and dumps that swill into your cooler — but there are no assholes like that going on this year’s float, are there? Regardless Heloise’s father always told her/him you can never have too much beer, you can only have too little. And then no one likes you.
Q: But Heloise, how does one carry all this beer?
–Suddenly Engaged in Maplewood, MO
Heloise says: in “regular” large coolers. Not the giant size that span a truck bed, but not the plastic man-purses that are suitable for a short jaunt, either. There will probably be close to one cooler per canoe, plus whatever holds dinner and evening beer back at camp. If your trip coordinator is concerned about fitting them all on to the Residential Vehicle, he will consolidate and leave coolers behind.
Amazing photos of the oil spill explosion and attempted cleanup at this site.
*sigh*
The growing oil slick in the Gulf of Mexico is captured in this image from NASA's (MODIS) instrument aboard the Terra satellite. This natural-color image acquired April 29, 2010 shows a twisting patch of oil nearly 125 km (78 mi) wide. (NASA Earth Observatory/Jesse Allen/University of Wisconsin SSEC)
You’d think 
Most (but not all) of our operations are in the benign middle of the country — not far enough south where there are Islamic-related tensions, not far enough north to risk involvement in the periodic counter-insurgency and coup events that seem a norm in Thai history.
Fall of Because 