Yikes. I almost said what I was thinking.

3.24.2007

The next version of Windows Live Messenger should indicate when a convo partner "is deleting a message", as it does when they're writing one.

mail art

3.16.2007

I've always appreciated the weathering beatupedness a package takes through the mail. That's why I thought MAilmeART was an interested call for submission. The only prereq for this exhibition is that your canvas is the shell of whatever your mailing and that is must actually pass through post to be eligible.

http://www.mailmeart.com/

geotagging synergy

3.07.2007

it looks like this idea is already in the works. But here goes: A camera/gps hybrid with a community based website similar to nikeplus.com.

For those of you not familiar, nikeplus is technology that tracks your run data (from your shoes / ipod) and uploads it to the uber-fresh flash-based community website. You can already geo-tag your pictures in flickr, but it's kind of a pain in the ass.

This device somehow turns your camera into a GPS, but I think a community based website would be the glue holding the thing together. John Udell made a pretty good DIY attempt.

State-of-the-Fart

3.06.2007

Recently I have noticed the over-use of the phrase "State-of-the-Art". I think the last time I heard it was in reference to a brand new car dealership. What the hell is sooooo SOTA about a car dealership. What? Does it have internet... couple of computers.... A fucking fax machine... Wooooooo. For crap sake, my 80 year old house is state-of-the-art. I've got a cordless phone! Three actually!

From now on, please be careful when using SOTA. I believe nothing short of having fucking lasers and mechanical tigers that form one gigantic robot in your building will allow you to dole out the phrase "state-of-the-art facility". (And I'll form the leg... to kick you in the nuts, if I hear the misuse of SOTA).

a babies!

3.02.2007

category: movie trailer

Scene is set immediately with rough-and-tumble high school football, Texas style. Hard tackles, gyrating cheerleaders, roaring crowds, painted fans in the back of shiny pick-ups; quick cuts to driving cowboy-rock. Think Varsity Blues. Think Friday Night Lights. Overheard:

"Son, this is TEXAS, where God plays football and church is on Friday night."

tacklecheer

"Your Cougars are looking mighty fine this year, Coach. Looks like they've got a real chance against Lexington High."

"State Championship here we come!"

tacklebeercheerleaderrear

Cut to a preseason, into-the-evening practice. The players, having been on the field for hours, fight off exhaustion at the urging of their no-bullcrap coach ("C'mon boys! You think Lexington High would give up State? Gimme thirty more minutes!"). As darkness settles on their otherwise deserted field, the lights kick on one at a time -- and then some. A blue-green glow glints off the helmet of the QB, who readies for a pass. He stares at the source of the light, bewildered, and slowly removes his helmet, his eyes fixed in a gaze.

"Hey Scott, now what do you make of that?"

We see the source of light, a pinprick ember sizzling across the big Texas sky. In an instant, it hurtles toward the field ... ssssssszzzzzzzzFOOM! ... and washes the screen in an explosive whiteout.

...

...

Shapes begin to form in the cloudy brilliance. It's a person. Indistinguishable bongs become mechanical beeps. It's a woman. A nurse. Slowly, she comes into focus, looking at the camera intently.

"Doctor Gordon," she speaks, at first garbled, then more clearly, as her features likewise come into focus, "Doctor Gordon, he's waking up."

We see our young quarterback in a hospital bed, looking groggy, a bit bruised, and definitely frazzled. The doctor puts his hand on the young man's wrist.

"Son, now just relax ..."

From across the room, another nurse calls for the doctor's attention, who pays little mind: "Doctor, this boy's waking up too!"

The doctor again: "Now, I just want you to take it easy ... you've been through quite an ordeal ... and, well, something remarkable has happened to your whole team ..."

The doctor's conversation then merges with a previous phone call to the team's coach: "something remarkable has happened to your whole team ..."

QB: "Pregnant?"

Another player: "A baby?"

Coach: "A babies!"

Cue music: Eh, let's just say "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna

Montage of footballers adjusting to the reality of their pregnancies: bruisers look terrified while watching The Miracle of Birth, fatty linebacker checks his (just plain fat) gut sideways in the mirror, cowboy-hat wearing badass stands frozen in front of a frilly pink "Yaay Babies!" in-store display. Overheard:

"I can't explain it, Doctor Goldberg ... my whole medical team is working on this ... but I guarantee you, each of these young men somehow conceived a child that night ..."

"We're gonna be dads ..."

"There goes beer ..."

"There goes college ..."

"There goes the State Championship ..."

In the back of his pickup on a quiet, moonlit night, our intrepid quarterback turns slowly to one of his teammates and casts a steely, unwavering glance: "You think Lexington High would give up State?"

As the sun rises the next morning, the quarterback struts with determination from behind the bleachers. As the rising orange sun crests the goalposts, he slowly dons his shiny blue helmet. One by one, his teammates take the field behind him.

Coach, on the far side of the field, notices the parade of players. We see them in the reflection of his sunglasses. "Well I'll ... be ... damned." In an instant he grows and then suppresses a smile of pride, then shouts: "LET'S SEE SOME HUSTLE, LADIES, WE'VE GOT WORK TO DO!"

Another montage of rough-and-tumble football, this time interspersed with ever-growing bellies and the peculiarities of pregnancy. After a fumble, the running back just stands there, sobbing. Practice overlaps Lamaze. A linebacker gorges on chocolate and Dijon mustard. A queasy-looking team unanimously elects to move all practices to the afternoon. Overheard:

"You get a load of this? Those knocked-up Cougars down in Reynold county think they've got a chance at State."

"C'mon, Taylor, turn up the heat! You're running for two now!"

Quick cuts chronicle the continued success of the Cougars throughout the season, tackling as hard -- if not harder -- than ever. As a show of solidarity, most of the cheerleaders are now pregnant. A series of scoreboards signal the Cougar's march toward the State Championships.

Finally, after a momentary blackout (cue Queen's "We Will Rock You"), the roar of the crowd and glow of the lights could mean nothing other than the State Championship itself, where our now incredibly pregnant Cougars take on their arch rivals Lexington High, and we're left to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this team has what it takes to be both dads AND champions.