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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYMQHY9cCp7ImA9WhRUGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169</id><updated>2012-01-29T11:43:01.868-08:00</updated><category term="South Park" /><category term="Frustration" /><category term="Java" /><category term="Game" /><category term="Programming" /><title>Reckless Disclosure</title><subtitle type="html">A blog by a nerd for nerds.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>29</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/RecklessDisclosure" /><feedburner:info uri="recklessdisclosure" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4GSH0zeyp7ImA9WhRXF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-784831138752463645</id><published>2011-12-23T20:28:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-23T20:28:49.383-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-23T20:28:49.383-08:00</app:edited><title>The Beads</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5pwSpeB_cx1GW_ztqvzq5lC2qx0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5pwSpeB_cx1GW_ztqvzq5lC2qx0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5pwSpeB_cx1GW_ztqvzq5lC2qx0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5pwSpeB_cx1GW_ztqvzq5lC2qx0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;   &lt;p&gt;&lt;u&gt;The following is a very rough draft of a story I have in mind.&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/blockquote&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The man looked down at the large collection of beads filling the top drawer of the cabinet. He had filled it as high as he could with every kind of bead he could find. There were shiny ones and dull ones; red, blue, yellow, green ones; metal ones; small clear plastic ones; ones made from the small seashells and course glass ones.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;He ran his hand over the top, sifting them slightly, listening to the sound they made as they ran against each other. He ran a single finger along the center, disturbing as few as he could but each one he moved disturbed its neighbor and those in turn disturbed the beads next to them. He thought about this for a moment. Surely even the bottom most beads were moved by this action, perhaps infinitesimally, but even so. He smoothed the beads into the drawer again, closed it, said a simple prayer hoping they would be enough and then he left the empty house forever.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha walked into the old empty house alone, cold and afraid. It had been a windy night and the dark clouds now threatened to release their spite on her. “Hello?” she called again into the dark emptiness.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The house sat on the edge of an old, unused road rotting away with the ages. From the outside, it looked more like an old garage, the paint having been stripped long ago by the harsh rain and wind. The windows were so caked with grime they may as well be walls. The door she had come through was still on its hinges, but only barely.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;“If there’s anyone here, tell me now”, she called at the stillness. “I’ve got a bat”, she lied, “and I can knock your head clean off your shoulders if you try anything.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The wind rattled the windows in response but little else called out to her. Somewhere, far out in the fields a dog was barking. Samantha sighed with some relief and finally came fully into the house, laying her large backpack in the middle of the floor. It made a large ‘&lt;i&gt;Kunk’&lt;/i&gt; sound as the old wood took the weight of it. She reached into the bag and pulled out a flashlight.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The light from the flashlight was weak, the batteries dying, but even that much made her feel safer. A quick search of the building confirmed that it was a single floor house; a den, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. The water didn’t run and there were no light switches anywhere. There was no furniture anywhere in the house except for a single dresser in the bedroom. She checked the drawers; only the top drawer contained anything, it was filled with beads. ‘Great’, she thought, ‘I’ve probably stumbled into a horror movie.’ She shrugged off the shiver in her spine and thought ‘But it’s dry.’&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Having given words to the thought, the rain began pouring in sheets. Samantha lay on the floor of the living room, where the roof leaked a bit less. As she had done many nights before, her backpack became her pillow and she sang herself to sleep while stroking the unborn child in her belly.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She would look at the beads again in the morning and find a note at the bottom of the drawer. It would read “If you would repay my kindness, bring flowers to my grave.” It would be more than ten years before she understood what this meant.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha looked at the beads in the drawer. She remembered the beads she had collected as a child and the first necklace she had made of them; a necklace made for him.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha sat in the parking lot swap meet feeling awkward. Her table filled with bead necklaces of every kind. She had selected every bead individually, surrounding herself with the little balls in the living room. She worked from sun up to sun down, stringing each bead according to her mood. This one reminded her of spending the summer with her aunt: greens and blues and occasional gold, that one of her first kiss: lots of red and pink with a bit of blue on one end. She had poured out her memories and given them form as necklaces. Now she was selling them. She wondered if that made her feel sad or proud. She locked away that emotion. Later, she would make a necklace that expressed it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha barely had time to sleep anymore. Between the baby and planting vegetables in the back yard and making whatever repairs she could make to the house, she felt as though awake 26 hours a day. The beads had run out. But she had somehow made enough to buy some paint, an easel and canvas. It had been just enough to paint a few landscapes and start selling those alongside the beads. She missed the beads. The 6 year old girls that came to her spot every week would make squealing sounds and pester their mothers all day with “Oh mommy, please, please, please. Can I have a pink one?” Occasionally parents would say ‘No’, which elicited tantrums and crying. She didn’t want them to cry of course, but it made her smile to think someone wanted her work so badly.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The paintings didn’t sell as well to the 6 year olds. She thought about painting something that would appeal to them, but she didn’t have a television and all the children seemed to talk about was “Princess Bubujubu: Warrior Supermodel” or “Transistor Formers: Collect all 250”. So instead, she poured her heart and soul into her paintings.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha had woken in the middle of the night and listened at the stillness. The baby was asleep in his crib next to her bed. Her head spun for a bit as she cleared the cobwebs from her mind. She had been dreaming of the drawer full of beads. She kept hearing a voice in her dream that told her “If you would repay my kindness, bring flowers to my grave.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;In the morning, she would start a new painting. It would be a painting of the drawer full of beads, as she remembered it from that first morning. Within each individual bead, she would embed a tiny scene of each memory it elicited. The reds reminded her of his lips… The greens were a child’s feet running through grass… the blues were tears… and a single golden heart in the center where her baby slept in peace.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha’s studio debut was a hit. She spent the night spinning around to shake hands with one person or another. Her work, apparently, was much sought after. It spoke of a life filled with heartbreak and triumph expressed in vivid tones with careful, deliberate strokes. The centerpiece of her show was the painting of the beads. She had struggled with the choice of selling it. At last, she decided against it. She had sold away all the beads; she needed something to remind her of the kindness someone had given her.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha stood in front of the grave stone marked only with a name. “How did you know?” she asked. “How could you have known?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Until this moment, she had not realized how much this stranger meant to her. Surely he could never have known what she would do with the beads, or even who she was. She lay the flowers on the grave and wiped the tears away. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Samantha closed the lid on the large box of paints and brushes. The box was filled with every type of color and brush. There were all kinds of reds, blues, yellows and every color in between. Every brush size anyone could ever need was nestled away in the box.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She didn’t know if anyone would ever come across it. She hoped someone would, and make use of it. With that, she stood up, leaving the box in the middle of the bedroom floor and left the empty house forever.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-784831138752463645?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/bc8asC2gU3g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/784831138752463645/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=784831138752463645" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/784831138752463645?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/784831138752463645?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/bc8asC2gU3g/beads.html" title="The Beads" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/12/beads.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cFR3o9eip7ImA9WhRRGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-4636435831773373790</id><published>2011-12-02T12:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-02T12:50:16.462-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-02T12:50:16.462-08:00</app:edited><title>Items of Interest</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/78OyUWQyanGzby0_0E74EpMvkAM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/78OyUWQyanGzby0_0E74EpMvkAM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/78OyUWQyanGzby0_0E74EpMvkAM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/78OyUWQyanGzby0_0E74EpMvkAM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;I just want to give some recommendations to everyone today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, we've got Kevin Smith's and Scott Mosier's SMODCAST. I really enjoy this podcast and I can't recommend it enough. These two guys have such a great chemistry and it's always entertaining. Kevin Smith is always hilarious and Scott Mosier plays a great straight man and has the occasional observation that will leave you laughing your ass off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://smodcast.com/channels/smodcast/"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 149px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FqrytyqmStw/Ttk5L4Ks3lI/AAAAAAAAAFc/qDbp-49h26k/s320/smodcast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681635281123204690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My second recommendation is a game: Farm Frenzy. The gameplay of all the different Farm Frenzy games is pretty much the same. However, if you want to start with the best, start with Farm Frenzy 3. For part 3, the designers finally got all the elements right. The timing, the rewards system, the difficulty. Everything is perfect by the third version.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.amazon.com/Farm-Frenzy-3-Bonus-Edition/dp/B004CJF6C2/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;qid=1322858887&amp;amp;sr=8-3"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 193px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G1GDNTV2UVQ/Ttk52UT8AVI/AAAAAAAAAFo/ato7qy_wORk/s320/FF3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681636010232643922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give these a try, I love them. Listen to SMODCAST while playing Farm Frenzy. They're a great combination. You laugh, you play, you love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-4636435831773373790?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/qeUWunpjU3E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/4636435831773373790/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=4636435831773373790" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4636435831773373790?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4636435831773373790?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/qeUWunpjU3E/items-of-interest.html" title="Items of Interest" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FqrytyqmStw/Ttk5L4Ks3lI/AAAAAAAAAFc/qDbp-49h26k/s72-c/smodcast.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/12/items-of-interest.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEMQXs8eip7ImA9WhRTEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-3427857018492767306</id><published>2011-10-31T14:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T14:48:00.572-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-31T14:48:00.572-07:00</app:edited><title>Oh Yeah, Almost Forgot…</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6sTrmDjQAobVVtGXCJifLb40ErQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6sTrmDjQAobVVtGXCJifLb40ErQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6sTrmDjQAobVVtGXCJifLb40ErQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6sTrmDjQAobVVtGXCJifLb40ErQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;font size="6" face="Papyrus"&gt;Happy Halloween and some junk.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~jdigney/pumpkin.html"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="jackolantern" border="0" alt="Happy Halloween" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-YQDfVKL8Q_4/Tq8Xjx9vYJI/AAAAAAAAAFM/qX0_9zaF02I/jackolantern%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="233"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-3427857018492767306?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/Hdtdg2jtjpA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/3427857018492767306/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=3427857018492767306" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/3427857018492767306?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/3427857018492767306?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/Hdtdg2jtjpA/oh-yeah-almost-forgot.html" title="Oh Yeah, Almost Forgot…" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-YQDfVKL8Q_4/Tq8Xjx9vYJI/AAAAAAAAAFM/qX0_9zaF02I/s72-c/jackolantern%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/10/oh-yeah-almost-forgot.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUMRng7eCp7ImA9WhRTEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-125572027316055511</id><published>2011-10-31T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T14:41:27.600-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-31T14:41:27.600-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="South Park" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Programming" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Game" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Java" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Frustration" /><title>Game Update</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6fK8nFb8truu8UidpNnsBYRmSns/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6fK8nFb8truu8UidpNnsBYRmSns/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6fK8nFb8truu8UidpNnsBYRmSns/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6fK8nFb8truu8UidpNnsBYRmSns/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPCTIli7hi4/Tq8T46iZ16I/AAAAAAAAAEs/5jVse9VlHLI/s1600/SouthParkWOWGuy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 245px; float: left; height: 186px; cursor: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669772324389902242" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPCTIli7hi4/Tq8T46iZ16I/AAAAAAAAAEs/5jVse9VlHLI/s320/SouthParkWOWGuy.JPG" width="255" height="193"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Over the weekend I decided to try my hand at programming the game I'm developing as this year's resolution. The problem is, I'm also trying to learn Java while I create it. It's not that the language is all that difficult, in some ways it's actually a lot simpler than C++ but the weird little conventions are really killing me.&lt;br&gt;The game programming book I bought to help me conceptualize the dynamics of the game had this very long program that I had to input manually. Why? Well, because the book's author is "remodeling" his site and all of the sample programs are nowhere to be found. But I figured, at least entering it myself will give me time to think through the logic of the example and maybe lead me to understand the material better. HA! No.&lt;br&gt;In fact, the whole thing took so long that I would end up forgetting that I had created methods to handle certain tasks only to end up using them much further along in the programming phase. I had to keep looking back between my classes in order to remember what the hell I was asking the program to do.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Eventually, and I'll admit I learned a thing or two, &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WmTZWeO5XTc/Tq8UDxURi7I/AAAAAAAAAE4/Jvg6cVK_s1M/s1600/java%2Bload.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 161px; display: inline; float: right; height: 161px; cursor: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669772510893280178" border="0" alt="" align="right" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WmTZWeO5XTc/Tq8UDxURi7I/AAAAAAAAAE4/Jvg6cVK_s1M/s320/java%2Bload.jpg" width="170" height="171"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;the entire program was entered into the compiler. For about 5 seconds, I could feel the ground beneath me shake with the epicness of the moment (yes I know "epicness" isn't a word, thank you spell-check). And THEN... I tried to run it. Apparently ... in spite of the program being an applet, and not needing a "main" method, it wouldn't work as a jar file, or as an applet running on a browser because it didn't have a main class. I can't set a main class, and the compiler (NetBeans) doesn't show me any way to make a class into a main class. I can't just add a main method in the main class because it's not a application... well, I could... but that doesn't really solve the problem.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e1-y5vV6b00/Tq8UWprBofI/AAAAAAAAAFE/n6lJoRqaeIY/s1600/south-park-logo.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 204px; display: inline; float: left; height: 204px; cursor: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669772835258737138" border="0" alt="" align="left" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e1-y5vV6b00/Tq8UWprBofI/AAAAAAAAAFE/n6lJoRqaeIY/s320/south-park-logo.png"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center"&gt;So 3 hours later after checking through several forums and googling the hell out of it (damn it, spell-checker, that IS a word... or should be), I hadn't found the answer. Needless to say I threw the book through my window and went to watch that episode of South Park that's been waiting on my Tivo. This could take a while...&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-125572027316055511?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/jnrSU4XKulM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/125572027316055511/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=125572027316055511" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/125572027316055511?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/125572027316055511?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/jnrSU4XKulM/game-update.html" title="Game Update" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CPCTIli7hi4/Tq8T46iZ16I/AAAAAAAAAEs/5jVse9VlHLI/s72-c/SouthParkWOWGuy.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/10/game-update.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8DQ3oycSp7ImA9WhdaEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-4181198314291139158</id><published>2011-10-19T15:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-19T15:54:32.499-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-19T15:54:32.499-07:00</app:edited><title>Awesome Band Names 1</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/54oakctUea5QNoApfOtMbuWkdns/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/54oakctUea5QNoApfOtMbuWkdns/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/54oakctUea5QNoApfOtMbuWkdns/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/54oakctUea5QNoApfOtMbuWkdns/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Just a quick, short list of awesome band names. One day, I hope to start a band and quickly switch names to make use of all of these. But until then, you’re all welcome to steal them.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;1) Windmill of Death&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;2) Shine Get&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;3) Bubblegum Haircut&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;4) Adorably Tipsy&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;5)&amp;#160; Very Important Pagan&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-4181198314291139158?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/WVdojqmo_gw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/4181198314291139158/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=4181198314291139158" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4181198314291139158?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4181198314291139158?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/WVdojqmo_gw/awesome-band-names-1.html" title="Awesome Band Names 1" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/10/awesome-band-names-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUDRH87eip7ImA9WhdaEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-5195064115922321959</id><published>2011-10-19T10:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-19T10:44:35.102-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-19T10:44:35.102-07:00</app:edited><title>Impressions: Real Steel</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Krn5N_mH2fPLDBA4Fj4uqHdM3o0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Krn5N_mH2fPLDBA4Fj4uqHdM3o0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Krn5N_mH2fPLDBA4Fj4uqHdM3o0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Krn5N_mH2fPLDBA4Fj4uqHdM3o0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://steelgetsreal.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="RealSteel" border="0" alt="RealSteel" align="left" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5yuhLolgBMI/Tp8MWnJNj6I/AAAAAAAAAEY/Nla2BzB1Nog/RealSteel%25255B7%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="194" height="166" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I came into this movie a bit late even though I’d been wanting to see it for a while. The trailer gives the movie an interesting vibe that really appeals to me: Dark future where complex technology is an everyday thing. Add to that Hugh Jackman, who admittedly is hit or miss with his roles, and you have my attention. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;What I didn’t expect from the movie is the interesting interchange between Jackman’s character, Charlie Kenton, and his on-screen son, played by Dakota Goyo. The first few minutes of the film revolve around Charlie’s “down on his luck”, ex-pro gone amateur persona. Yes I admit that some of it is quite cliché, but as we get further into the film we see how the character is fleshed out without resorting to the usual pound-it-into the audience methods of film making. There is some of that, demonstrated by Charlie’s gambling addiction, but as we see more of him we’re led to realize that the gambling is more of a symptom of his character flaws: Charlie is impulsive and quick to act, traits that may have served him in the past but now become a hindrance. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Interestingly, Charlie’s son, Max, is exactly the opposite at the start of the film and watching the two change throughout the movie, bringing their personalities closer to each other, is charming. Not all the dialogue is gold here, but there are some really nice exchanges pulled off very well by the two actors. One of the better scenes revolves around Max’s decision to retrieve an old, junk robot from the scrap yard. Charlie’s response to his pig-headed son’s adamant behavior is to say “If you want it, you’ll have to bring it in yourself.” Which, of course, he does. As Max pushes the old robot along on a cart towards their tractor his reply doesn’t even need words: he just starts punching away at him weakly while Charlie simply tries to parry.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Evangeline Lilly does a good job of serving as the love interest in the film, she looks good and is charming even when chastising Charlie. But part of me feels that she was directed to be a bit weak rather than the tough woman she should be. When she becomes legitimately angry at Charlie she yells at him with a partial smile on her face. Several times during the film I wish she’d just slugged the guy.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;And speaking of slugging: the final star of the film is, of course, Atom the robot. I haven’t done any real research on this but the robot scenes often look like a mix between CGI, puppetry and live-action robot suits. Some of this is more evident than others during certain scenes but over-all it works quite well. The only thing that didn’t work for me was the attempt to make Atom seem more human or even sentient. We spend a lot of time seeing how these robots are NOT human and have no independent thought. The film then tries to tell us, through Max, that they MUST have feelings after all. No. No they don’t.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Ultimately I think the movie works because it’s about the characters reacting to their world rather than the world acting on the characters. In fact, the world they’re in isn’t really that different from our own. We’re told the story takes place (by inference) after 2016 but we don’t really know how much after. Other than the presence of robots and a few really big screens outside of stadiums, the technology is more of less the same as our own. I think this works in favor of the film because we don’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out how things got to where they are; we already know: time passed.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I’ll say two things about this movie to finish up: First, this movie is an interesting mix of elements but they aren’t necessarily original. Second, I don’t care because it’s charming and entertaining enough even in this incarnation. The movie has a lot in common with the movies “Over the Top” and “Rocky”, two Silvester Stalone movies. I have to wonder if the writer is a fan of Stalone’s. But in spite of noticing the similarities even half-way through the movie, I still enjoyed it. I just wish someone had interviewed Jackman while he says “Yo Adrian, we did it!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-5195064115922321959?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/h5sdY1PQDws" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/5195064115922321959/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=5195064115922321959" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/5195064115922321959?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/5195064115922321959?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/h5sdY1PQDws/impressions-real-steel.html" title="Impressions: Real Steel" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5yuhLolgBMI/Tp8MWnJNj6I/AAAAAAAAAEY/Nla2BzB1Nog/s72-c/RealSteel%25255B7%25255D.png?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/10/impressions-real-steel.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4NQns6fyp7ImA9WhdbE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-5062284758769774406</id><published>2011-10-11T20:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-11T20:43:13.517-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-11T20:43:13.517-07:00</app:edited><title>Is it fun yet?</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NEhOsBHLN6iRt0rsbHKYQ7qZUwY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NEhOsBHLN6iRt0rsbHKYQ7qZUwY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NEhOsBHLN6iRt0rsbHKYQ7qZUwY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NEhOsBHLN6iRt0rsbHKYQ7qZUwY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A little while ago I decided to learn to design games. Then, at the beginning of the year, I made it my resolution to design and program an entire game by December. So far, I’ve learned a lot about design but still don’t feel like I can tackle an entire game. But, having made the resolution, I have no intention of backing out.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The one thing that I’ve realized as I continue learning about design and games in general is that making things fun is actually very difficult. Designing a game itself is easy. That’s just a matter of putting together a series of rules that have to be followed sequentially or conditionally to make events occur that are either declared “in favor” of the player or “against” the player. But really… that’s not fun.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Have you ever been so bored that your start bouncing a ball against the wall. And after a while you say to yourself, “Ok, now my goal is to bounce the ball at THAT specific spot”. If you were to ask yourself “was that fun?” the answer would probably be “no'”. And yet it was a kind of game.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Right now, that’s how I feel my game design is going. I’m putting a bunch of rules together that either get the player closer to their goal or impede them from their goal. I don’t ever feel like I’m actually making anything FUN.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;So at this point, I’ve decided to do a couple of things. First, I’m going to build a game that isn’t really a game. I’m going to build an engine that can be used to put together a point-and-click adventure game. Whether that takes the form of a Myst style game or more of a Monkey Island style game, I have yet to determine. Second, I have to play a lot more games than I have been. I need to get to the root of what makes games fun to play. I have some theories floating around from what I’ve read, but I don’t always agree with those. The only thing I tend to agree with is that games that are most “fun” are those in which the player is always learning something new. Even if the thing they’re learning is only how to be better at the game. So that’s my starting point. Always have the player learn something new about the game, the mechanics, or about the level. The player should always feel like there’s something new happening to them or their avatar.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The only question now is, “How the hell do I do that?!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-5062284758769774406?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/gTAy6EHYwcE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/5062284758769774406/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=5062284758769774406" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/5062284758769774406?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/5062284758769774406?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/gTAy6EHYwcE/is-it-fun-yet.html" title="Is it fun yet?" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/10/is-it-fun-yet.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QERn87eCp7ImA9WhZQFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-2847587842934044800</id><published>2011-04-22T11:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T11:01:47.100-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-22T11:01:47.100-07:00</app:edited><title>Windows Live Writer</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x0TD0zDAsljZaS6B5BmWIfYGVVM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x0TD0zDAsljZaS6B5BmWIfYGVVM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x0TD0zDAsljZaS6B5BmWIfYGVVM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/x0TD0zDAsljZaS6B5BmWIfYGVVM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I decided to update my Windows 7 machine this morning in an attempt to procrastinate from doing any actual work. To my surprise it also downloaded Windows Live Writer which, apparently, also allows me to edit my blog. Or maybe that’s ALL it does… in any case, I’m using it to check out it’s functions. It basically looks like Word but edits your blog. Yay?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-2847587842934044800?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/F32W91-Uf60" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/2847587842934044800/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=2847587842934044800" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/2847587842934044800?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/2847587842934044800?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/F32W91-Uf60/windows-live-writer.html" title="Windows Live Writer" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2011/04/windows-live-writer.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YGRHkzcSp7ImA9WxJUGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-4137560841540417487</id><published>2009-07-16T19:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T20:25:25.789-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-16T20:25:25.789-07:00</app:edited><title>Rough Day</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/024bVnJAlpR_Hx2ZMMEwKxe7eig/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/024bVnJAlpR_Hx2ZMMEwKxe7eig/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/024bVnJAlpR_Hx2ZMMEwKxe7eig/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/024bVnJAlpR_Hx2ZMMEwKxe7eig/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;It's been a pretty rough day today. My computer apparently contracted some kind of malware that's been driving me up the wall. There are other problems that haven't allowed me to fix it, but primarily my day has sucked pretty hard because of that one thing. Right now, I'm looking at an alert screen that's telling me that the the damn thing is still there, but I can't figure out how to kill it. Right now, I'm pretty sure I'm still infected, but I've managed to kill the worst of it. So with that in mind, and with a great desire to stop thinking about this, I'm going to look at some random stuff that I think is funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While researching hot to deal with the malware, I found out that the top Google searches that begin with "Gettin rid of " are Bed Bugs, Stretch Marks, Love Handles, Ants, Mice, Black Heads, Cellulite, Belly Fat, Fleas, and Acne Scars. In that order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/Sl_q1EtQl-I/AAAAAAAAACM/tQUv0GxwzuE/s1600-h/GRO.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/Sl_q1EtQl-I/AAAAAAAAACM/tQUv0GxwzuE/s320/GRO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359260279111718882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Really? Bed Bugs? I looked them up on Wikipedia: &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedbug"&gt;http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedbug&lt;/a&gt; and it turns out they're basically fleas. They just happen to drink human blood and live in your mattress. I wouldn't visit the wikipedia link unless you like looking at insects. They make my skin crawl.&lt;br /&gt;So apparently we're all having our blood sucked out by insects while we sleep. Or so it would seem, since this apparently beats out FOUR concerns regarding fat, and three other kinds of pests. Hmmm... It's kind of odd that all of these either concern pests or beauty. I'm disappointed to see there aren't more people simply searching for "Getting rid of inequity" or "Getting rid of oppressive government" or even "Getting rid of an old couch"... possibly because it has bed bugs in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So while we're on the subject of "Getting rid of love handles", Here's an image for Diet Water. YES, that's right. DIET. WATER. You know, because regular water&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/Sl_s4_bZmFI/AAAAAAAAACU/wJRLX0iUj1c/s1600-h/Diet+Water.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/Sl_s4_bZmFI/AAAAAAAAACU/wJRLX0iUj1c/s320/Diet+Water.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359262545437366354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; has too many calories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, Ok. I'm probably not being fair here. The label is in Japanese and maybe there's something more to ... Hmmm. Nope. Can't do it. I can't be fair to this product. It says DIET WATER on it! DIET!!! WATER!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would be rude not to link to the original story from which I took this image, so here it is: &lt;a href="http://360newsnow.com/viewArticle.php?article_id=36&amp;amp;title=Kill_All_Diets__Weeding_out_the_Bull"&gt;http://360newsnow.com/viewArticle.php?article_id=36&amp;amp;title=Kill_All_Diets__Weeding_out_the_Bull&lt;/a&gt; It's originally a story about those stupid "One Rule to A Flat Stomach: Obey" ads you see around the internet. It's actually kind of interesting and saved me the trouble of finding out what the "one rule" was. SPOILER: Apparently it's to go to the toilet a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that was fun. I'll try to come back a bit more often now and post more stuff. I've been really slacking off and I've really wanted to start posting regularly. Let's hope I can keep up this time. I'm supposed to head to San Diego Comic Con sometime next week and I hope to get a lot of images. I'm hoping for a great deal of scantily clad ladies. But being a Comic Con, I'll probably have to settle with horribly inappropriately dressed, fat, hairy men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bye for now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-4137560841540417487?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/vNmmYgfd84A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/4137560841540417487/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=4137560841540417487" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4137560841540417487?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4137560841540417487?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/vNmmYgfd84A/rough-day.html" title="Rough Day" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/Sl_q1EtQl-I/AAAAAAAAACM/tQUv0GxwzuE/s72-c/GRO.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2009/07/rough-day.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cNSXczeip7ImA9WxVXFk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-6119889028393527952</id><published>2009-02-14T08:58:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T09:04:58.982-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-14T09:04:58.982-08:00</app:edited><title>Tube me? Tube ME?! No, sir. TUBE YOU!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wLN8wJ6oacfVAdrRvlglQx3pHmc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wLN8wJ6oacfVAdrRvlglQx3pHmc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wLN8wJ6oacfVAdrRvlglQx3pHmc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wLN8wJ6oacfVAdrRvlglQx3pHmc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;As it goes with these things, I'm probably one of the last people to find this out. But I think it's important that I mention it. I was just screwing around on YouTube and found that they actually have FULL episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you have to sit through an ad before the episodes begin, and ads at every interval where the tv broadcast would have placed them, but that's still amazing. This is where YouTube needs to go. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch 10 minute videos of people playing with their parakeets or 15+ minute videos of teenagers going "OH MY GOD! I'm the only person in the world who's ever experienced pain and sadness. Booo hoo hoo!". BUT, let's be honest. These were only time killers and temporary place holders while the pro-entertainment industry got their heads out of their back sides and started providing us with real content. And apparently, this has finally happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the link: &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmjVOUW3Szo&amp;amp;feature=dir"&gt;Star Trek: TOS&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shatner &amp;amp; Nemoy FTW!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-6119889028393527952?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/wqwet6dM6Cs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/6119889028393527952/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=6119889028393527952" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/6119889028393527952?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/6119889028393527952?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/wqwet6dM6Cs/tube-me-tube-me-no-sir-tube-you.html" title="Tube me? Tube ME?! No, sir. TUBE YOU!" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2009/02/tube-me-tube-me-no-sir-tube-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UGR3k_cCp7ImA9WxVQE0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-8974180470962300748</id><published>2009-01-30T13:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T13:33:46.748-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-30T13:33:46.748-08:00</app:edited><title>I sincerely hope it's New</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9FeLIjp4qm8d3VrQ4DDZpI2i72I/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9FeLIjp4qm8d3VrQ4DDZpI2i72I/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9FeLIjp4qm8d3VrQ4DDZpI2i72I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9FeLIjp4qm8d3VrQ4DDZpI2i72I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/SYNyGYXeedI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Xm-vBCSW8iE/s1600-h/Doublemint.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 99px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/SYNyGYXeedI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Xm-vBCSW8iE/s320/Doublemint.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297203040663534034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-8974180470962300748?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/TIakngj-rW0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/8974180470962300748/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=8974180470962300748" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/8974180470962300748?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/8974180470962300748?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/TIakngj-rW0/i-sincerely-hope-its-new.html" title="I sincerely hope it's New" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/SYNyGYXeedI/AAAAAAAAAAU/Xm-vBCSW8iE/s72-c/Doublemint.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-sincerely-hope-its-new.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cFQXk8eSp7ImA9WxVREUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-4015858660900098478</id><published>2009-01-16T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T14:30:10.771-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-16T14:30:10.771-08:00</app:edited><title>There's got to be a better way...</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YKTElDezwUqLrYZPsAbKrY6dAp4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YKTElDezwUqLrYZPsAbKrY6dAp4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YKTElDezwUqLrYZPsAbKrY6dAp4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/YKTElDezwUqLrYZPsAbKrY6dAp4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Ever had an itch on your back in a hard to reach place? You stretch and you pull and you TRY to get at it, but it's JUST out of reach? It's infuriating, isn't it? Well now you can beat the crap out of your back for being so inconvenient with this device:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/SXEKWesw1DI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3PgJQJTl-Cg/s1600-h/Back+Massager.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 173px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/SXEKWesw1DI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3PgJQJTl-Cg/s320/Back+Massager.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292022418451256370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-4015858660900098478?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/navos66lq8M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/4015858660900098478/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=4015858660900098478" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4015858660900098478?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/4015858660900098478?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/navos66lq8M/theres-got-to-be-better-way.html" title="There's got to be a better way..." /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6nyXieXe4H0/SXEKWesw1DI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3PgJQJTl-Cg/s72-c/Back+Massager.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2009/01/theres-got-to-be-better-way.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YMQH0-fSp7ImA9WB9UGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-6147351751046477929</id><published>2007-12-17T11:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T11:53:01.355-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-12-17T11:53:01.355-08:00</app:edited><title>Holiday Cheer '07</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IEH8CEv8zJSDtZR7slILT5e8bxo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IEH8CEv8zJSDtZR7slILT5e8bxo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IEH8CEv8zJSDtZR7slILT5e8bxo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IEH8CEv8zJSDtZR7slILT5e8bxo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;I want to extend a happy tidings to everyone out there during the Holidays. And, because I'm nothing if not helpful, I've compiled a list of gifts that anyone out there can get me for Christmas. Now, some of you out there may be saying "But wait... what if I don't know you? Anyway, I have a whole lot of friends already I have to get gifts for." Well, let me tell you that this is the season for giving, damn it. So GIMME!&lt;br /&gt;But ok, I get it. You want ideas for other people on your list. That's fine. Take any of these suggestions and apply them liberally across your entire list of friends. There, don't you feel better? You can thank me by sending me a gift. Or money. Preferably in twenty dollar bills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Christmas List:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Perfumes, body washes, etc. -- If there's one thing we can all agree on it's that people stink. Every single last one of them. So this Holiday season, let us make a commitment to rectifying this horrible oversight of nature. Give a gift to your friends and family that helps them mask that terrible funk. And don't let any of their nay saying dissuade you. After all, they can't smell themselves as clearly as you can smell them. Just be careful with allergies. The last thing you want is to give them something you're going to be allergic to. So try it out before you buy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Property ... in SPACE! -- Listen, there's no greater gift than land. And what's more exciting than space. Therefore, giving the gift of space land must be the greatest gift ever. I'm not going to link to any particular site here because, frankly, there are too many of them and I don't want to look like I'm favoring anyone in particular. But rest assured for a mere 20 to 40 dollars you can own a piece of the moon or name an entire star after someone you know. Now there are some criticisms about this kind of gift as no earthly body will recognize your rights or honor any purchases made in this way and the fact that there's an international treaty that does not allow any private entity to own astronomical bodies... or parts of it... BUT if you think about it, it's a no brainer.&lt;br /&gt;Whoever you're giving the gift to is probably not going to live long enough to see civilians land on the moon or visit distant stars. So you're essentially in the clear. If anyone ever complains just tell them "Look, if you want to go visit it go ahead. It's right there. I'm not stopping you." It's not YOUR fault they can't ACTUALLY do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Any gift that results in a post card with the words "So-and-so has made a contribution to X in your name." -- Now technically, I'm not really interested in getting this gift. In fact, don't bother sending me this gift. I'll just hate you forever.&lt;br /&gt;But I can't help but marvel at the genius that thought this up. I can, in effect, not get you ANYTHING and you still have to act like you appreciate it. This is the greatest scam ever. "Listen," I will say "I got you the greatest gift of all. The gift of seeing a child smile." I will then hand you a postcard featuring a small toothless baby displaying a strange expression that MAY be a smile or MAY be constipation. I can never tell. I will then ask you to disregard the fact that the postcard itself looks like a badly printed card that may or may not have come from a desktop printer. If you push the issue I'll call you an uncaring bastard. GENIUS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Anything handmade -- Some would argue that handmade gifts should really remain the domain of 6 year olds with macaroni. I say, these people are too narrow minded. Not everything handmade has to be crappy. In fact, here's a link to a &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_nr_p_36_8?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;rs=3367581&amp;amp;keywords=handmade&amp;amp;rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Ahandmade%2Ci%3Ajewelry%2Cn%3A3367581%2Cp%5F36%3A500000-999999"&gt;handmade ring on Amazon.com&lt;/a&gt;. Also, there are &lt;a href="http://www.guitargal.com/cgi-bin/display.pl?tp=tp4&amp;amp;order_by=Make&amp;amp;Condition=New"&gt;these people&lt;/a&gt;. Granted, I don't know how to play the guitar. But maybe all I've been waiting for is for someone to give me a handmade model to encourage me to learn. The pricier the more incentive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there you have it. With this as your guide, you will not go wrong this holiday season. And remember: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;twenty dollar bills&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-6147351751046477929?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/am6qt-N6WmE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/6147351751046477929/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=6147351751046477929" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/6147351751046477929?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/6147351751046477929?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/am6qt-N6WmE/holiday-cheer-07.html" title="Holiday Cheer '07" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2007/12/holiday-cheer-07.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUFQns6fip7ImA9WBBVGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-116674954373158505</id><published>2006-12-21T16:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-22T14:23:33.516-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-12-22T14:23:33.516-08:00</app:edited><title>HOLY MOLY!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZRhKQXee8w6OK9sbAKzz9dlxy1M/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZRhKQXee8w6OK9sbAKzz9dlxy1M/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZRhKQXee8w6OK9sbAKzz9dlxy1M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZRhKQXee8w6OK9sbAKzz9dlxy1M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6228/1617/1600/757529/3-283.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6228/1617/320/63001/3-283.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Giant Squid! Wheee! Anyway, here's a link to the Reuters story: &lt;a href="http://today.reuters.com/news/articlenews.aspx?type=scienceNews&amp;amp;storyID=2006-12-22T084024Z_01_T148997_RTRUKOC_0_US-SQUID-GIANT-JAPAN.xml"&gt;SQUID&lt;/a&gt;. You can find a couple more pictures there as well as a video on the story. Pretty cool. Enjoy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-116674954373158505?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/Expp4Uebpdg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/116674954373158505/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=116674954373158505" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116674954373158505?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116674954373158505?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/Expp4Uebpdg/holy-moly.html" title="HOLY MOLY!" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/12/holy-moly.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4DSX48cSp7ImA9WBBaGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-116433735815332791</id><published>2006-11-23T19:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-26T09:02:58.079-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2007-01-26T09:02:58.079-08:00</app:edited><title>Shorts: Episode 1</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dwE3383Pc1-GaE_jqttpkkloJHU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dwE3383Pc1-GaE_jqttpkkloJHU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dwE3383Pc1-GaE_jqttpkkloJHU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dwE3383Pc1-GaE_jqttpkkloJHU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;The people of Twik had been known across the galaxy for their great religious zealotry for over three thousand years. Many different religions had existed before and even to this day there were many small religions, seen mainly as misguided cults, throughout the planet. The most wide spread religion concerned itself not with the salvation of souls or in the upward morality of its citizenry, but rather with ensuring that the large part of it’s native population never discovered that there were inhabitants beyond their planet’s atmosphere.  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The irony, of course, was that for the past seven hundred years the entire planet had been engaged in galactic trade and communication. The entire planet’s population was aware of the aliens beyond the bounds of their home world but refused to speak of the whole thing out of polite deference for their chosen belief system.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The trouble had begun pretty much at the inception of the religion. When the prophet Miktet had prophesied that beyond the world in which he lived there existed a land of beauty and plenty from which no creature would desire to return, his disciples took him a bit too literally. After Miktet’s death his diciples buried his remains and watched the grave for several years awaiting his spiritual rebirth. Of course, this did not happen. His disciples rejoiced and at last carried Miktet’s words to the planet’s inhabitants; knowing he had spoken truth. Miktet, they argued, had gained divinity and had no desire to return to the earthly plane. What further proof was necessary?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;What followed was twenty-five hundred years of scientific stagnation as religious leaders declared any building more than 2 stories tall was an affront to the heavens. Only the church, they argued, could break this rule as its holy countenance was the only structure the gods deemed worthy. Along this same vein aeronautics, radio communication and astrology were deemed heretical.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When the Twik at last made contact with an alien culture they did so only on their own terms. For several days the Lorcati had hovered above their planet attempting to communicate via a series of complex lights and maneuvers. When no opposition, or in fact any acknowledgement either way, the Lorcati dropped their main fleet above several highly populated cities and made several attempts at communication involving several speaker phones, a series of astounding light displays, three psychics, and little used communication technique involving scented plant matter. After careful consideration the Lorcati believed they had found the only species in the galaxy incapable of perceiving the world around them.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;In a final attempt at communication the Lorcati admiral chose to land on the planet itself and witness the extent of the Twik’s sensorial deficiency. What follows is the official Lorcati log concerning Twikian Contact Alpha:&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: Various sounds as Admiral Fuslag prepares to gauge planet inhabitant’s inability to sense planetary stimuli ::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: I am now walking about the planet seeking an inhabitant with which to make contact… or as is believed by most of my scientific crew, to fail miserably at making contact of any kind. So far we have been flying about the planet at about 100 meters above the surface; making a ruckus of all kinds… and the inhabitants have yet to take notice.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: wedging sound ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: I have now activated my neural communication device which should enable me to speak to the native inhabitants… provided they are capable of thought.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: sound of gravel being trod upon ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: So far I have not encountered any living sentients in the city… I presume they have all retreated into their living structures. I am making my way now to what appears to be the largest structure in this town… my hope is to make contact without having to … crawl through a window or break down any doors… as we all recall what happened on planet Swic’k … I still have nightmares about that one… so much butter… &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: recording interrupted at this point and resumed 20 minutes later ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: The recording shall show that 20 minutes have passed since the last recording. I will have to apologize for this lapse… but there are things… a man should never have to relive…&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: recording interrupted at this point and resumed 4 minutes later ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: sounds of retching ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Oh god… that’s… SO MUCH BUTTER!&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: Content edited by High Command under grounds of Intergalactic Security ::&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: recording resumed 20 minutes later ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: At last. I think I see an inhabitant of the planet. He appears to be sitting on a flat white stone. The inhabitant itself is a brown, hairy creature. It is wearing a white pointy hat. I will now attempt to make contact…&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: sound of gravel being trod upon carefully ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Pardon me? Might you have the local temporal measurement?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: What then? The locust tendril excrement? I haven’t a clue of such things. If you want pest control you’ll have to go to brother Mentris. That’s his business. I just water the :: untranslatable word indicating local plant matter ::.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Oh… yes… Uh… I presume he can hear and speak as well?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: What? Of course he can you … What the devil are you!?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Admiral Fuslag, Commander First Class, currently assigned to Fleet Zeta Zeta Alpha. I have come to your planet to extend to you the appendage of friendship as authorized by the Lorcati high command.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Appendage, you say?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Yes well… not all known species in the galaxy have what one would call hands… or in fact recognizable arm structures…&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: silence ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Well good then. You’ve done that and can now take your appendage and go away again, I trust?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: ‘fraid not. Now that we have become allies the High Command will want to sign treaties and establish a trade route through this sector. Possibly your people will be ready to join the galactic assembly within five hundred years… you’ll have to fill out a form for that… and there’s a waiting period. You know how it is; red tape.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: silence ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: So shall we get to it then?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: silence ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Eh… The record will show that the inhabitant has fallen into some kind of… self induced mental coma.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: You’re one the sky visitors?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Sky--- oh! Yes. Yes indeed. We have descended from the sky to bring you SCIENCE and TECHNOLO—&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: You don’t exist then. Oh my, you gave me a scare. For a moment I thought you might be serious.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: What’s that? What do you mean I don’t exist. I’m standing right in front of you aren’t I?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Ah, yes. But the prophet Miktet told us of the world beyond our own and said that none would want to return to the earthly realm after ascending. Thus, you are an affront to the natural way of things or are the mental fabrication of an old man in his waning years.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: I… but… &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: silence ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Be so kind as to leave now. I have much watering of the ::plant-form:: to do.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: All right… look here. I can’t very well go back to my ship and tell my subordinates that I made contact with a single old man who refused to speak to me because he didn’t believe I existed. If you’ll direct me to someone less…&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: senile?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: mentally saddled with responsibility…&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: I would have said senile.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: I’ll get out of your way.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Oh, I can’t do that. There isn’t anyone.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: What? Why not?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Well aside from you being a mental fabrication of my own mind, no one would speak to you if you came from the heavens. It would be heretical.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: But… clearly if I came from the world beyond you should want to know what that world is like, right?!&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Oh gods, no. Whatever happens up there is none of our business. At least, not until we have ascended.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Well who’s to say I’m not one of your … uh… ascended. Yes, that’s it. I’ve come back to guide your planet to a more prosperous time.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Good one. But the prophet Miktet himself did not return from the beyond. Why should I believe you?&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: silence ::&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Because I have a giant bloody fleet at my command and I can incinerate your entire planet if you don’t take me seriously!&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: But in order to believe in your fleet I’d have to believe in you. And as we have already established, you do not exist.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: We have established no such thing! I tell you, I am a Lorcati admiral and I have come to enlighten your planet! Now are you going to be enlightened or do I have to blast you to kingdom come?!&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Now now. There’s no reason to yell at a senile old man.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Mentally saddled with responsibility.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: If you are one of the sky people, you must be a god.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Well no. I’m much like yourself just of a different species. Different world.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: Too bad. If you were a god our people would acknowledge your existence. As it is, you can only be my imagination.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: Aha! You fell for it. I’m Fuslag, God of… intergalactic fleets.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inhabitant: I could have sworn you said you weren’t –&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Fuslag: That’s just the senility speaking. Now let’s get these treaties signed before you anger your god!&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;:: record end ::&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-116433735815332791?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/N9E0aDs-r5g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/116433735815332791/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=116433735815332791" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116433735815332791?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116433735815332791?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/N9E0aDs-r5g/shorts-episode-1.html" title="Shorts: Episode 1" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/11/shorts-episode-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YNRXY5eyp7ImA9WBBQEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-116317519481090324</id><published>2006-11-10T08:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T08:13:14.823-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-11-10T08:13:14.823-08:00</app:edited><title>A Heavy Handed Analogy</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y20ouvV25-Ycg-VhMHJJdO1CChU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y20ouvV25-Ycg-VhMHJJdO1CChU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y20ouvV25-Ycg-VhMHJJdO1CChU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/y20ouvV25-Ycg-VhMHJJdO1CChU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;It was an early November morning in the city of the sun. The synthetic had crawled out of the sewer and beheld the sunrise and was changed. It fell to its knees and stayed there as the traffic around him had swelled until at last he was surrounded by the sound of metal cylinders creating tiny explosions that helped the organics navigate the chaos in their large metal vehicles which made blusterous honking sounds at other organics. The synthetic watched the burning orb as it sailed across the empty sky, wondering how it managed to stay in the sky without falling.&lt;br /&gt;When the sun at last fell behind the horizon the synthetic was left alone in the street with only a handful of street lamps to light his way. Without the sun to light the world, the synthetic felt alone and in an odd way, though this was impossible, he felt the cold of the night penetrate his hard ceramic frame.&lt;br /&gt;When the sun did not rise again 12 hours later, the synthetic anguished. How could anyone live in a world without the light of the sun? At last, in the distance, he could see two pale white lights coming his way swerving back and forth on the street. “Perhaps they are bits of the sun”, he thought, “broken off and wandering their way back to it. I will direct them towards it and they will guide me to its home.” As the lights approached, much too quickly, he felt himself rise and quickly crash into the ground. Though he tried to stand he could no longer conjure the energy and after a short time he ceased trying.&lt;br /&gt;At 7:30 on a November morning in the city of the sun, the city maintenance department made its way through the traffic of the city to a synthetic which had been reported as causing an obstruction on a main street. Sometime in the morning, a few minutes before sunrise, it had been struck by an unknown motorist and been left in the eastbound lane.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-116317519481090324?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/KglA5YEjyIY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/116317519481090324/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=116317519481090324" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116317519481090324?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116317519481090324?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/KglA5YEjyIY/heavy-handed-analogy.html" title="A Heavy Handed Analogy" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/11/heavy-handed-analogy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4MRH44eCp7ImA9WBBTF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-116058344279278590</id><published>2006-10-11T09:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-13T12:49:45.030-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-10-13T12:49:45.030-07:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vFIrvndDQiWpXO4yjNRnrqu55iM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vFIrvndDQiWpXO4yjNRnrqu55iM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vFIrvndDQiWpXO4yjNRnrqu55iM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vFIrvndDQiWpXO4yjNRnrqu55iM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6228/1617/1600/preschool%20murder.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6228/1617/320/preschool%20murder.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why I love Geek-Fu Action Grip. Most parents would be so creeped out by this image there is no chance in hell they would ever take a picture of it and share it with the web community. But Mur Lafferty of Geek-Fu, and all true nerds, love the opportunity to share this. &lt;a href="http://geekfuactiongrip.com/"&gt;LISTEN TO GEEK-FU!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-116058344279278590?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/cSXtQCTOc08" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/116058344279278590/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=116058344279278590" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116058344279278590?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/116058344279278590?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/cSXtQCTOc08/this-is-why-i-love-geek-fu-action-grip.html" title="" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/10/this-is-why-i-love-geek-fu-action-grip.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUFSHw-eCp7ImA9WBNaFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-115966021924062177</id><published>2006-09-30T16:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-30T16:50:19.250-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-09-30T16:50:19.250-07:00</app:edited><title>Respect my Sereni-tay!</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/J63aLLhO562pePRKnjI2sB2Pu6M/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/J63aLLhO562pePRKnjI2sB2Pu6M/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/J63aLLhO562pePRKnjI2sB2Pu6M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/J63aLLhO562pePRKnjI2sB2Pu6M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6228/1617/1600/Serenity-SouthPark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6228/1617/320/Serenity-SouthPark.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was checking out the latest &lt;a href="http://revision3.com/diggnation"&gt;Diggnation video podcast&lt;/a&gt; this morning and they mentioned something called &lt;a href="http://www.sp-studio.de/"&gt;South Park Studio&lt;/a&gt;. It's a pretty cool site that lets you create characters with the same look as the South Park cartoon.&lt;br /&gt;Suffice it to say that I HAD to try my hand at it and you see the fruit of my labor above. The cast of Firefly done up as best as the site will allow. I think it came out pretty good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-115966021924062177?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/ww63p5AgWhk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/115966021924062177/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=115966021924062177" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/115966021924062177?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/115966021924062177?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/ww63p5AgWhk/respect-my-sereni-tay.html" title="Respect my Sereni-tay!" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/09/respect-my-sereni-tay.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMHQXo4eyp7ImA9WBNRFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-115047831479384551</id><published>2006-06-16T09:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-10T20:27:10.433-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-07-10T20:27:10.433-07:00</app:edited><title>Welcome to the suck</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vV7RlG2E7XbYP4ohiHr0-gsZ04/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vV7RlG2E7XbYP4ohiHr0-gsZ04/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vV7RlG2E7XbYP4ohiHr0-gsZ04/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vV7RlG2E7XbYP4ohiHr0-gsZ04/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;It's Friday morning and I'm looking through my movie options for the day... I can't say I'm very pleased. The following are some quick thoughts about my prospects.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Break-up: Been out for a while and I still have no interest for this. In fact, I care less about it now than ever. Even as a chick-flick this movie falls short. I can barely stand to watch the previews. I can't imagine the kind of torture it would be to watch the whole movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift: Let's ignore the fact that the name alone makes me laugh out loud. This movie has nothing to offer me. I don't care about fast cars and the loser pretty boys showing off. I curse everyone involved with this movie. I hope they die a horrible flaming death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Garfield: A Tail of Two Kitties: What the hell?! Is there some kind of law that all movies being released now need to have a subtitle? Damn you, Hollywood. Damn you all! I hope ants eat your eyes as you sleep!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Lake House: Sandra Bullock. Keanu Reeves. Magic Mailbox. Who keeps giving these people work?! Actually, forget that. I know who keeps giving them work and it's not entirely their fault. It's YOURS! And... mine. It's true. I went to watch the Matrix movies... I watched Speed. And so did you, admit it! We share the blame for this movie and have no right to complain. Even so, I didn't write the script or decide to inflict it upon the American public. In some countries, Sandra Bullock is considered a crime against humanity. After it was discovered that Keanu's bad acting is actually a tangible substance which spreads through the air, he has been banned by international treaty from traveling by air. If you don't believe me watch Constantine. Previously thought to be "atmosphere" created by lighting, Keanu's bad acting was filmed by the Constantine cameras. Especially thick and potent in that film, it was observed to wander about the set and make small chit chat with the crew. Scientist have now observed the substance and have named it Keanium, in honor of its creator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cars: What the hell? No subtitles? You mean it's not called "Cars: Shadow Demon Osaka Nitro"? It's NOT just a bad storyline with shiny CGI designed to entertain retarded babies for 5 minutes and making adults vomit in anger?* This... is a movie handed down by the Gods themselves. A breath of fresh air in an endless field surrounded by cows doing their business. Man... I'm in rare form today. Behold my authorial prowess!&lt;br /&gt;But back to the issue at hand. Pixar. I think I love you. I have watched your films and have been impressed with every one. Granted this movie has it's flaws... like never explaining how a world filled with cars and no humans could exist. Just the thought of cars evolving sentience is weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nacho Libre: Yes. I know. I'm bad. I think I'm going to watch this movie. I accept your hate and ridicule. I am indeed what is wrong with this country. But in my defence, ummm... "sometimes a man wears stretchy pants... just for fun".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*"Vomiting in Anger" brought to you by the genius writers of Futurama. I steal because I love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;END COMMUNICATION!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-115047831479384551?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/2LuvcOb4wQw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/115047831479384551/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=115047831479384551" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/115047831479384551?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/115047831479384551?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/2LuvcOb4wQw/welcome-to-suck.html" title="Welcome to the suck" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/06/welcome-to-suck.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMHSXY_eCp7ImA9WBNRFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-114844011841909064</id><published>2006-05-23T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-10T20:27:18.840-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-07-10T20:27:18.840-07:00</app:edited><title>Thanka Yu So Naise</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7rZv2x0eHA69b4bG2GeVDwaFO84/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7rZv2x0eHA69b4bG2GeVDwaFO84/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7rZv2x0eHA69b4bG2GeVDwaFO84/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/7rZv2x0eHA69b4bG2GeVDwaFO84/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6228/1617/1600/NSMB-Cover.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6228/1617/320/NSMB-Cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's really weird that I was sure I'd never play Nintendo DS. I should have known that sooner or later Nintendo was going to release something for the system that I would not be able to resist. In fact, that happened a few months ago when they put out Tetris DS. I love that game in a way... that is possibly unhealthy. And now, the bastards have gone and done it again. Now they've released New Super Mario Brothers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't even know how much I had missed that damn mustachioed plumber and his 2d platforming adventures until I started that first level and all of a sudden I was 10 years old again. I swear that first level HAS to be an homage to the first SMB. The navigation system (where you move mario and decide what level you want to enter) is clearly from SMB 3. They've even included multiple exit points and a hell of a lot of short cuts to other levels as in Super Mario World (my personal favorite).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But of course... things weren't exactly as I remembered them. I'm pretty sure Mario didn't use to eat a large mushroom that could make him the size of the entire screen and allow you to smash through brick walls. Or if you prefer a more subtle approach to your gaming, they've included a mini-mushroom. This does, essentially, the opposite of the giant mushroom. It makes you smaller than regular Mario and your regular jumps become useless against normal sized enemies. As in SMB 3 the designers have included a suit. This time it's that of a turtle. Get a running start and Mario becomes the same kind of destructive turtle shell as any other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh ... how I love New Super Mario Brothers. And yet... there are some things that bug me. &lt;br /&gt;First, what the hell is going on at Nintendo? Did the person that used to name their products quit or die or something? Not only do we have to deal with the worst console name of all time (Nintendo Wii), but now THIS. NEW Super Mario Brothers? Couldn't someone be bothered to come up with a better name than that? "So what's the name of the new super mario brothers game you guys are working on? Oh... New Super Mario Brothers?" At least pretend you care, guys!&lt;br /&gt;Second, where's my damn Yoshi?! I know most people don't like Yoshi because he's the SMB equivalent of Jar-Jar, but c'mon! Enslaving lizard creatures for my transportational uses was one of my favorite things in Mario World. I need that back. Especially in the more annoying levels where I could just grab a blue turtle shell and fly the hell out of there. Whooo!&lt;br /&gt;Third, where's my jaunty yellow cape?! Or at least my Racoon Tail? There is no flying at all in this game. Yeah, there are a few ramps that spin you and cause you to float slowly downward and mini-mario does float gently... but that's not the same! I need to fly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reguardless, New SMB is a damn good game. Feels a bit short, though. If you ignore all the warps and shortcuts you could probably finish the whole game in about 10 hours. If you take all the shortcuts you could probably be done in 1 hour. This is assuming you've not played this specific game before. I bought the game on a Friday evening and was done before the end of the weekend. That was a bit surprising.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh. In case your wondering, the title of this post refers to what Mario says when he gets to the end of every level. I honestly have no idea what he's trying to say but it sounds like "Thank You. So Nice." I don't know why. Crazy Italians.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-114844011841909064?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/TQL37WCuI9c" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/114844011841909064/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=114844011841909064" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/114844011841909064?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/114844011841909064?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/TQL37WCuI9c/thanka-yu-so-naise.html" title="Thanka Yu So Naise" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/05/thanka-yu-so-naise.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4MRn8-eyp7ImA9WBJSF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-114175798712603883</id><published>2006-03-07T10:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T10:59:47.153-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-03-07T10:59:47.153-08:00</app:edited><title>Some stuff I wrote</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IWb8ZG7TnyBbdoGKZyywv83CCm0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IWb8ZG7TnyBbdoGKZyywv83CCm0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IWb8ZG7TnyBbdoGKZyywv83CCm0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IWb8ZG7TnyBbdoGKZyywv83CCm0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Here's something I wrote that I hope I can turn into a longer narrative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Megan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the blackness of her room, Megan clasped her hands desperately around her legs; keeping them tight against her chest. Around her, over the once clean white bed sheets and pillow, the blood congealed.&lt;br /&gt;The terror that filled her now was unlike any she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just the strange emptiness she now felt inside of her, but rather the horror of realizing she didn’t mind it. When she had woken an hour ago to find her bed thick with a damp and sticky substance she had panicked.&lt;br /&gt;She had gone through all the possibilities in her mind: the roof is leaking, I spilled the water jug beside the bed, someone’s playing a trick on me, someone’s in the apartment… The idea that a stranger was invading her privacy caused the little hairs on her body to rise in fear. She had spent the next 5 minutes trying to talk herself into turning on the light beside the bed. In a way she couldn’t verbalize she was more afraid of seeing an invader in the room with her than to have the same danger without the knowledge of it. &lt;br /&gt;When she finally mustered the bravery to flick the light on she was only slightly disturbed by the sight of her bed covered in what appeared to be blood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An hour after finding the source of all the blood, Megan found herself unable to get herself out of a fetal position. Her mind insisted that despite the evidence, what she had discovered could not be true. So long as she remained here, hiding away from the world, she wouldn’t have to face what she had seen.&lt;br /&gt;She had also turned the light off again. An act she had begun to regret now as she desperately sought for something to distract her mind. The shadows created by the light streaming from the window seemed so dark and deep that she felt she was falling into them. At times she could almost see them flickering and straining almost as if alive.&lt;br /&gt;Megan at last allowed herself the sob that had been forming within her for almost an hour. But though she wanted to cry and feel the tears falling down her face, they would not come. All she could muster were the dry heaving of raw emotion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Megan had fallen in and out of sleep all day. The phone had rung 7 times and someone had come and knocked on the door for 15 minutes before finally giving up. She was aware of these things somewhere in the back of her mind but paid no real attention to them. Megan was beginning to think she could see through the walls and into the other apartments.&lt;br /&gt;Sometime in the afternoon she had turned around and been able to see into her neighbor’s living room. She knew it was his living room because she had met him in the halls a few times. She had watched him work at his desk for twenty minutes, fully expecting him to turn and see her just as easily as she saw him. But he never showed any indication of knowing she was there before the wall returned and Megan was left to fight her terror once again.&lt;br /&gt;In the evening, the floor beneath her bed had disappeared and revealed the teenage boy downstairs talking on the phone and watching television. The boy had looked up at the ceiling a couple of times but seemed to do so more out of boredom than realization that Megan was watching him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At midnight the voices began talking to Megan.&lt;br /&gt;“Why do you hide yourself, Megan?”&lt;br /&gt;“Stand up, Megan. Reveal what you have become.”&lt;br /&gt;Megan sobbed at this and asked “What have I become?”&lt;br /&gt;“A God.”&lt;br /&gt;She wasn’t quite sure why, but this terrified her. Her screams lashed out in the night, waking her neighbors. She tried to close her eyes to shut out the world but somehow could still see everything around her. The walls disappeared again, this time revealing every apartment in her building. She could see her next door neighbor walking out of his apartment and desperately knocking at her door. She watched the teenager downstairs get out of bed, bleary-eyed and wondering what the screaming was about. She watched various other couples in the apartment as they woke and cursed at her for waking them.&lt;br /&gt;“Stand up, Megan. Become what you are meant to be.”&lt;br /&gt;Without meaning to, Megan’s hands unclasped from around her legs for the first time in more than 24 hours. As she rose from the bed, the walls became crystalline and reflected her own image back at her.&lt;br /&gt;Megan continued to scream as she watched black shadow tendrils wrap themselves around her legs and begin pulling her down into the darkness. Her terror increased as she watched the tendrils reaching higher and higher until they reached her chest. Megan tried to cover herself with her arms and close her eyes but the shadow tendrils had wrapped themselves around her arms and kept them away and her eyelids no longer kept the world out.&lt;br /&gt;She could no longer deny the truth and this caused her to scream louder and harder than ever. Something had pulled out Megan’s heart. Not merely removed it, but left a large gaping hole in her chest. When the shadows swallowed Megan at last, all that remained were a blood soaked bed and the eerie hush left behind by Megan’s silence.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-114175798712603883?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/EA2sZnXc9GE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/114175798712603883/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=114175798712603883" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/114175798712603883?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/114175798712603883?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/EA2sZnXc9GE/some-stuff-i-wrote.html" title="Some stuff I wrote" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/03/some-stuff-i-wrote.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04MRX87eyp7ImA9WBVbGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-113882335510770242</id><published>2006-02-01T11:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-01T12:33:04.103-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-02-01T12:33:04.103-08:00</app:edited><title>My Thoughts and Other Unusual Phenomenon</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JuV60UYrGNtVJxH36hxUJFV1_tc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JuV60UYrGNtVJxH36hxUJFV1_tc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JuV60UYrGNtVJxH36hxUJFV1_tc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JuV60UYrGNtVJxH36hxUJFV1_tc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;I like to think of myself as a pretty smart guy. But I wonder if I could be using my brain power in more constructive ways. As I am too close to the subject in question, I will post the evidence here and let the Internet community be the judge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thoughts that keep me awake at night:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is something seriously wrong with this country. No, I'm not talking about the way the government is trying to strip us of our civil rights or of the asinine Intelligent Design issue. I'm talking about the way, sometime in the last 5 to 10 years, that the "small" size items have dissapeared as options in theaters and fast food restaurants. Has no one else noticed this? There is no way I can get a small size drink at the theater any more. My options are: medium, large, and xl. What the hell? What happened to small? And before you start getting any ideas that this might be a relevant social comment, I don't care about "fattening of America" or the "nutritionally devoid American diet" B.S. I just think this shows a flaw in logic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See if you can follow this. All items may be categorized as Small, Medium, or Large. However, these things may only be called such IF they are viewed in relation to each other. One cannot say "This grain of sand is LARGE" unless one has a point of reference. In other words, while a grain of sand may infact be large, it may only be large in comparison to other grains of sand or to other items that are not large.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keeping this in mind, THERE CAN BE NO MEDIUM WHERE THERE IS NO SMALL. Medium, by definition, is a middle ground between small and large. If there is no small, there can be no medium. So, in point of fact, the medium IS the small. The large IS the medium. The xl IS the large.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To all you fast food people: I'm not stupid! I understand that sometime in the recent past you guys probably thought "Hey, if we take away the small people will have to buy the medium and we'll make more money". Fine. I get it. You're jerks. But you're not fooling anyone. Just raise the price of the small and let the customers decide if they want one size or another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a related note: Changing the names of the sizes of your cups of coffee to a different language does NOT totally blow my mind. It does NOT confuse me and make me buy a larger cup than I thought I needed. For my part, I do not order a Venti. I always make sure to look the clerk straight in the eye and say "Give me a LARGE!". (Note that the exclamation point is only there to add emphasis. I do not actually yell out my request. These people live shallow, meaningless lives as it is. They don't need some guy yelling at them to add to their problems.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thoughts that keep me from working:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to have pizza for lunch. But, you know, I don't think I want to pay for the whole pizza. And my co-workers aren't in the mood for pizza today. So I think there should be a way to order a half a pizza. Not just a smaller pizza, that's silly. NO. I want to order HALF a pizza. I can't eat a whole medium pizza. It's too much. I want HALF a pizza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I can see the pizza people pondering the potential of partial product procedures. And I'm here to help. Think of it: Pre-ordered, Pre-paid pizza! I should be able to order pizza in what is termed "make and hold". In other words, I want to place an order for a pizza now that shall be delivered at a predetermined point in the future. And, yes. I know PizzaHut.com already does this, but do they give me the option to get half my order now and half later? Perhaps I only want 3 slices today. But I'll be hungry next week, no doubt. Send me the rest then.&lt;br /&gt;Also, I would like to suggest a new topping. Pizza. I would like to have "pizza" be a topping for my pizza. And I don't want any skimping on that topping, either. I don't just mean you take pieces of pizza dough and crumble it over my pizza. I mean go all out: Create mini pizzas with mini pepperoni and mini mushrooms all made as one would a regular pizza but 1/10th the size. Then take those mini pizzas and use them as toppings for my pizza. Why? I don't know... does everything have to have a reason? I just like the idea of some guy making pizzas with a magnifying glass in front of his face the way jewelers do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a related note: Some pizza places now deliver Buffalo-flavored boneless wings". I'm not sure I understand this. How the hell am I supposed to know what Buffalo tastes like? What am I gonna do? Try them at the door and shout "AHA! I have you. These clearly do NOT taste like Buffalo! I had Buffalo last night and it tasted nothing like this!" I'm sure someone out there would know what that tastes like, but all the places I buy my meat don't offer that as an option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do we have an exclamation point (!) and a question mark (?)? Why do we not have an exclamation mark and a question point? And you would think that if anything would be called a "point" it would be a period. So we should also have a period point... and yet we don't. Why is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thoughts that keep me from winning the Nobel Peace Prize:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think we've waited long enough to build Battle Mechs. We have the technology to start building battle armor. Where are all the experiments to bring us full scale Mechwarrior style battle tanks? I want to see some Friggin' MECHA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand that it's not as easy as anime makes it look, but C'mon! Mecha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly our generation are nothing but a bunch of slackers. I can't help feel that we've failed to live up to the expectations of 1950s America. Where are the hover cars? Where are the personal jet packs? We should have colonized mars by now and yet, here we are, wondering if MAYBE the moon has water-ice. And obviously, this is a job for America. After all, we own the moon (yes. Yes. we do.  We put a little flag on it and everything. That means we own it.). So if anyone should be expanding into the rest of the solar system it should be us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are clearly unprepared for interstellar alien invasion. What if we're attacked tomorrow? Who will protect the women and children from the pod people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how many guns is considered TOO many guns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a related note: How many guns would stop being a "personal collection" and start being "The Gun Museum"? I would think more than 365 guns is officially "The Gun Museum". Because then you can no longer claim you actually use them all. You could get away with claiming you use at least one every day of the year. On Independence day you use 3 or 4 of the special ones. And you keep one locked in a safe for leap year. So... ok. You can get away with 370 guns.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-113882335510770242?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/Xdo09Aun-xk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/113882335510770242/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=113882335510770242" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113882335510770242?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113882335510770242?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/Xdo09Aun-xk/my-thoughts-and-other-unusual.html" title="My Thoughts and Other Unusual Phenomenon" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/02/my-thoughts-and-other-unusual.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIBR3s4fip7ImA9WBVUFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-113755733661741732</id><published>2006-01-17T19:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-17T20:12:36.536-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2006-01-17T20:12:36.536-08:00</app:edited><title>The wonders of Science... on my dinner plate.</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lCrqLkbp3MB0AS5KkWe_QsuXCvY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lCrqLkbp3MB0AS5KkWe_QsuXCvY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lCrqLkbp3MB0AS5KkWe_QsuXCvY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lCrqLkbp3MB0AS5KkWe_QsuXCvY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;I have come to the conclusion that we are overdue for genetically altered foods. While peeling the shell off my shrimp tonight, I realized how glorious the world would be if we could alter shrimp for easier consumption. Granted, the shell must have some use in the wild and all that... but I couldn't care less. Breed the little buggers in fish tanks and keep them clean and ready to serve up in an instant. In terms of energy gained in eating them vs energy used to gather, cook and peel these damn things, I can't help but think we're on the losing end.&lt;br /&gt;But enough about shrimp. Though they may be the most enfuriating food item, I think it's about time the rest of the food groups got a good scrutinization. Think about how much time we could regain by genetically altering all forms of foods and animals to make them easier to consume!&lt;br /&gt;Let's begin with everyone's favorite: fruits and vegetables. Let's be honest, bananas have been looking down at us since the beginning of time. "Look at me. I'm a banana. Concealing my deliciousness in this yellow peel. Watch how I taunt you, humans! Waste energy to access my fruity goodness!" it seems to say... if bananas had mouths, I mean... you know... and could talk... But no more! Science has progressed at last to the point where we can replace the banana peel by genetically replacing that gene with the cocoa plant. Thus making the worlds first natural chocolate covered banana! Onward, science. I salute you.&lt;br /&gt;I love the orange... but Oh, how I curse it. As sweet and juicy as it may be, its secrets remain locked within that horrible orange fortress. With the advancements in science, we can do away with this evil creation of nature. At last, the orange and its nutritious contents can be ours with limited effort.&lt;br /&gt;Walnuts rival the shrimp in the enjoyment/nutrition gain vs energy spent category. It just isn't worth it... But now comes science with its genetic might to do away with the walnut shell! At last, a bounty of walnuts can be mine with zero effort!&lt;br /&gt;But the plant kingdom is not the only one that could use some genetically altered goodness. I've already mentioned the shrimp so I wont bring them up again... even though I hate them oh so much...&lt;br /&gt;Spineless fish! Yes, I know you can get de-spined fish and all that... but it's the principle of the thing. I need some genetically altered fish as a part of my diet. Fish engineered to have no bones or support of any kind, while being hillarious to watch swim, would also be delicious. And at last I could enjoy a meal of fish without the fear of swallowing a sharp spine and choking to death.&lt;br /&gt;I personally hate chicken. But if there were one place to make money by altering an animal to make it easier to eat, this would be your best bet. Somewhere out there, someone HAS to be working on a way to make chickens cook from the inside. Seriously... we need to genetically alter the chicken so that serious fright causes them to explode in just the right places (wings, breast, drumstick) and the explosion causes an even, delicious cooking. We can even cross some chickens with a jalapeno for a spicy flavor.&lt;br /&gt;Cows... are the worlds most perfect food. But let's face it, they're as stupid as certain kinds of moss. And so, I propose we go the route of Douglas Adams' "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe". We must genetically alter these pathetically stupid animals to enjoy destroying themselves for our consumption. Not only would you totally freak out the vegetarians, but if the cow helps you to slaughter it... how much effort do you save?! It's genius.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, those are my thoughts tonight. Somebody get on this. I want my chocolate covered bananas in 10 years or less!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-113755733661741732?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/KWoLbbny7YY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/113755733661741732/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=113755733661741732" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113755733661741732?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113755733661741732?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/KWoLbbny7YY/wonders-of-science-on-my-dinner-plate.html" title="The wonders of Science... on my dinner plate." /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2006/01/wonders-of-science-on-my-dinner-plate.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEQFRnc7eyp7ImA9WBVXEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-113419231788771456</id><published>2005-12-09T20:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-09T21:25:17.903-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2005-12-09T21:25:17.903-08:00</app:edited><title>The Chronicles of Mediocrity</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mgc-MBWByTaRbeYWzlLtOQiCd8k/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mgc-MBWByTaRbeYWzlLtOQiCd8k/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mgc-MBWByTaRbeYWzlLtOQiCd8k/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/mgc-MBWByTaRbeYWzlLtOQiCd8k/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;For a while it seemed like there was no way for them to get the movie wrong.  After all, the story has everything that made "Lord of the Rings" so great -- magic, sword battles, mythical creatures... But "Chronicles of Narnia: The lion, the witch, and the wardrobe" proves how far a director's vision goes in bringing a movie to life.&lt;br /&gt;Narnia, overall just lacks the polish and beauty of LotR. And while some might think it unfair to judge this movie on the benchmarks set by an entirely different cast and crew, I must say that the movie itself (or at least the distribution company's marketing department) has set itself up for this comparison. The early hype went on and on about Weta's contribution to the movie's special effects and how their vision, which transformed LotR into the masterpiece that it is, would make Narnia even greater.&lt;br /&gt;Allow me to disillusion you now. Narnia is bland and only mildly entertaining. The costumes often look like bad puppets and the CGI creatures seem to stand out from the rest of the scenery. But of course, effects aren't everything.&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I never felt drawn into the story either. The overall idea of the story is fine, I suppose. Kids get sent to live with a relative and find a magical means by which they can travel to another world where they get caught up in a battle between good and evil. But I never really buy into motivation of these kids for fighting in the battle. All the creatures they meet seem to accept without question that they are the "chosen ones". That they alone may save the land of Narnia from the wicked witch... but why? And why do these kids believe any of it? Are they so impressionable that they accept that they and they alone can change the tide of a war?&lt;br /&gt;Allright, fine. There are prophecies and Aslan the true king of the land (who is apparently God or Jesus, I can't tell... maybe he's both) has proclaimed the two sons of Adam and the two daughters of Eve to be the land's kings and queens. And for the sake of argument I'll even accept that all the creatures are extremely devout and take Aslan's word as pure law. Why would Aslan bother with the kids? He's clearly more powerful than the witch. She clearly fears his power. Why doesn't he just kill her and be done with it.&lt;br /&gt;This movie also suffers from bad child acting. Can't be helped I suppose. It's not always bad enough to be noticed, but it's there.&lt;br /&gt;The color composition in this movie just flat out irritated me. For the most part it felt like I was watching a black and white movie. Granted the land is supposed to look bleak and dreary, but even scenes where there should be more life and color looked drab. Even scenes that should have looked "warm" look sad simply because they exchanged the black and white scheme with black and orange. So irritating!&lt;br /&gt;I will add one last criticism. The one large battle scene in this movie was pretty sad. Maybe it was just that by the end I didn't care who won. But honestly, this was just ho-hum. Even a centaur fighting a minotaur could not console me after watching a mish mash of CGI animals plow into each other half-heartedly.&lt;br /&gt;So that's it. I didn't like this film. Kids might like it but I feel sorry for the parents that get dragged along. I wouldn't call it a total failure but I just can't bring myself to care about any of the characters or their troubles.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-113419231788771456?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/3aGioz_R8UQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/113419231788771456/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=113419231788771456" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113419231788771456?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113419231788771456?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/3aGioz_R8UQ/chronicles-of-mediocrity.html" title="The Chronicles of Mediocrity" /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2005/12/chronicles-of-mediocrity.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IHR3o4eyp7ImA9WBVTEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16910169.post-113009553642388021</id><published>2005-10-23T12:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-23T12:25:36.433-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2005-10-23T12:25:36.433-07:00</app:edited><title>On this edition of "Disclosure": Angels, Teenagers and Nazis.</title><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MHybbkdu9fc1gPblTORV_7wzauk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MHybbkdu9fc1gPblTORV_7wzauk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MHybbkdu9fc1gPblTORV_7wzauk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MHybbkdu9fc1gPblTORV_7wzauk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Movies: Chick Flicks That Don't Suck&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know those “romantic” movies where the woman is always going off and finding some new guy who listens to her and changes her way of thinking so drastically that she begins to see that her entire life up to that point has been a travesty? What’s up with those movies? For the most part I hate those movies. They all seem to start the same and end the same. You’ve got a woman who’s fed up with her boyfriend. She finds another man who fascinates her because he’s different than anything she’s known. Something happens which makes their love impossible. They overcome this obstacle. They hold each other as the screen fades. The part they don’t show you is that ten years down the line the woman now has three kids she resents, the man she ran off with decided to run away with some other, younger woman. And you know that guy she left behind because he was too stuffy and old fashioned? He runs a multi-billion dollar company and divides his time between his home on a tropical island and an exciting life meeting famous and powerful people. But hey, that’s okay. She left him for love. While we’re on the topic, isn’t it possible for a person to be rich AND be a nice guy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But anyway, here are a few movies which fall into this category that I didn’t hate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Angels and Their Fetishes&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I liked the 1998 remake of “City of Angels” for the oh-so-weird combination of Meg Ryan as a doctor who’s beginning to have misgivings about the choices she’s made in life and Nicholas Cage (who seems to be constantly inebriated or maybe that’s just what happens when you go to heaven, I haven’t decided) playing an angel who’s become discontent with just helping people. And you can kind of see his point. Who wants to spend the rest of eternity making people feel better about themselves? Also that whole idea is a little creepy. You’re telling me there are these guys standing around ALL the time? Even when I’m in the shower? Hey God, how about some privacy, huh? The premise is just so freaking weird that I can’t help but like it. Also there are few things better than watching Nicholas Cage trying to get Meg Ryan to tell him what an orange tastes like -- "I want to know what it tastes like... to YOU..." There’s something so deep and philosophical about this while at the same time being so completely creepy and, sometimes, stupid. I LOVE IT!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;SPOILER ALERT: The Boat Sinks&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there’s “Titanic”. I didn’t want to like this movie when I went to watch it. I really didn’t. I mean, it had the makings of a total stink-fest. Leonardo DiCaprio had always been (in my mind) “that pretty boy that really sucked as Romeo in ‘Romeo + Juliet’”. I’d never heard of Kate Winslet or Billy Zane. And frankly, there wasn’t a whole lot of mystery about how the movie was going to end. Anyway, I ended up liking it. But something always bugged me about the relationship Rose had with Jack. The plot revolves primarily around Rose being rebellious against her old way of life and clinging to any hope of escaping it, even to the extent of starting a relationship with a person that, by her own admission, was callous and vulgar yet whose way of life she found appealing.  Jack, on the other hand, was trying to score. Now, being a man, I think I can see the logic behind Jack’s character. However; I think I’d be vaguely insulted (were I a woman) at the message it seems to put out about the female psyche. First, apparently women can’t make their own decisions and need a man to come along to set it all straight. Second, posing naked for some guy with marginal artistic skill whom you’ve just met is a good idea. Third, killing off said guy in the freezing waters of the northern Atlantic Ocean is a good way of creating fond memories of the past.&lt;br /&gt;On a completely different note, I think this film is a testament to teenage hormones and the intrinsic need to make it in the backseat of a car. Even out in the middle of the Ocean teenagers will seek one out. Also, I would like it pointed out that the character of Rose was underage at the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The White House and The Nazi Connection&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other end of the spectrum you have Casa Blanca. I love that ending. You’ve got the same characters present in all the other movies. 1 boyfriend/husband guy who seems completely oblivious, 1 woman torn between two worlds, 1 macho guy that women swoon for but whose situation makes it difficult to get together with the woman, 1 best friend who is level headed and delivers sound advice. It’s true that part of this movie is played as a mystery, so that one can’t gauge the character’s motivations from the start. However, I feel this is part of the beauty of this movie. The human mind is convoluted and sometimes contradictory thing and the audience only learns each character’s motivation as their prospective lover does. That’s why I like that the woman goes off with her husband leaving the main character to discover his homosexuality, suggested by Bogart’s famous lines “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship” shortly before heading off into the mist with a Nazi-sympathizer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16910169-113009553642388021?l=florp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~4/EVTwmk3iKPA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://florp.blogspot.com/feeds/113009553642388021/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16910169&amp;postID=113009553642388021" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113009553642388021?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16910169/posts/default/113009553642388021?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RecklessDisclosure/~3/EVTwmk3iKPA/on-this-edition-of-disclosure-angels.html" title="On this edition of &quot;Disclosure&quot;: Angels, Teenagers and Nazis." /><author><name>Florp</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17904891019518492119</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://florp.blogspot.com/2005/10/on-this-edition-of-disclosure-angels.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

