Back when I was in high school, a friend of mine had a French foreign exchange student staying in her house. He was quite amused by our "ow" and "ouch" (if I remember correctly, the equivalent French pain noise was something like "aiee").

And just as we make fun of Canadians for saying "eh?", they make fun of our "huh?" — it sounds like a goose being rogered, according to my friend Monica.

Last night, there was a fellow from the Netherlands playing on my Armagetron server. He wrote in excellent English, but when he came out of a really tight race against one of the AI lightcycles, exclaimed "fjiew!" It took me a couple of seconds to realize that it was the Dutch spelling of "phew!"

That's what's so neat about the Internet. Not only can you play games against people halfway around the world, you can actually learn trivial things while doing so.

While searching for some good source material for a Fark photoshop, I came across this image which had nothing to do with the search terms I entered.

Not safe for work, small children or muppets.

I think I need a new mouse. Maybe one of those "ergonomic" ones, because my right hand hurts on both sides where I tend to grip my mouse. (This is in addition to my left hand, which hurts because I tripped and caught myself mainly with my left thumb.)

I'd go back to using my GlidePoint, but it's difficult to play first-person shooter games with it, and Nerdvana is coming up in a couple of weeks. I'm not going to spend an all-weekend LAN party getting shot to smithereens because I'm moving around awkwardly!

I've heard good things about trackballs, though. On the surface, they seem ideal for gaming (not to mention requiring a smaller footprint on the desk, which is always beneficial if you tend towards clutter), but because of the funky way I set up my game controls, I'm not sure how well a trackball would actually work. Time to go down to CompUSA and test-drive a few different models, I guess.

I'm always amused by people on SCA mailing lists who exhibit the pathological need to list the "alphabet soup" of titles after their names, as though it'll impress anyone or lend greater import to their words. Especially if they're Peers and feel the need include the lowest-level awards in their "Peerage track", on a mailing list composed only of other Peers.¹

It never fails to make me think of Arnold J. Rimmer (BSc, SSc).

¹ On a related note was the Laurel whom I heard fretting about whether she should wear her Maunche medallion along with her Laurel medallion, as she prepared to go out partying one evening at Pennsic. If the little pretend titles are that important to you, psychiatric care probably wouldn't be a bad idea.

I knew it would rain today. I predict it's going to rain again tonight. Every Nerdvana I've been to, it's rained on Friday night when we all have to transport our computer equipment.

Last time, early on Sunday morning when I was one of the only two people awake, it rained so hard the water started coming in under the door... and everyone's computers were set up on the floor under the tables only a couple of feet away. Good thing Carl had that big industrial floor squeegee!

Brian and I ran some tests last night to be certain I had all the proper ports forwarded so that we could let Albert connect via the Internet, but keep the server hardware-firewalled from the script kiddies. We gave Medal of Honor a four-hour test, just to be thorough.

For the past two hours or so, Moxy Früvous' I Love My Boss has been playing continuously inside my head.

Make it stop.

Last night, I asked Brian to see if he could get in to the Nerdvana server with Battlefield 1942, to make sure I'd gotten the firewall port forwarding correct. I just intended it to be a quick test to see if everything was working, as I had bills to pay and a report to write.

So we hit Omaha Beach, crawled around Stalingrad taking out Russian snipers, parachuted into Arnhem with Operation Market Garden, held Midway against the gaijin... As we were sacking Berlin, I happened to wonder what time it was.

4:02, came the mocking reply from my PDA.

Sigh.

Mark Stephens writes, in this week's "I, Cringely" column, that Diebold Election Systems, largest manufacturer of electronic voting machines, deliberately designed its products so that the results could be manipulated by a third party. He cites as his source an article on a New Zealand Internet news site, and wonders why it hasn't been covered by the mainstream American media.

The allegation is scary (not to mention reprehensible), if true. But there are a number of phrases and other clues which raise suspicions in my mind as to the veracity of the article. Is it possible? Certainly. I wouldn't put it out of the realm of plausibility for ambitious men to design voting machines which could be directed to produce a desired result. Has it been done? I don't know.

The current "Weebl and Bob" (entitled "Hentai") is the funniest one I've seen in a long time. I'm not well-versed in hentai by any means, but I've been on the Internet long enough to get the references...

For my birthday last year, Sid gave me a ticket to this June's Vulkon (she later told me that I was the only person who would go with her). So this weekend, she and I attended. I was in for quite a surprise.

It was like setting foot into the Bizarro universe. I've been to a few cons before, so I was expecting about 90% guys, mostly in their teens and twenties. In actuality, it was about 95% women, of all ages (even white-haired grandmotherly types). Why? It was a Buffy-themed con, with James Marsters as the main attraction.

Sid was a relative con-virgin (although I did see her at one con, years ago, when I was dressed like a Klingon, which really seemed to freak her out), so we stuck together. First we hit the dealers' room, where I bought, among other things, a couple of frames from the animated Star Trek series. (Now to find someone who has a scanner with a transparency adapter...) While there, I saw a really disturbing picture of Anthony Stewart Head as Frank-N-Furter when he was in the Rocky Horror Show (also starring Craig Ferguson, TV's "Nigel Wick", as Brad).

Then we went to the ballroom, where an auction was in progress before the guest speakers came on. The items that were sold were:

• 2 signed photos of David Boreanaz ($150 each)
• A Buffy cast photo, signed by Nicholas Brendan ($120)
• Signed Anthony Stewart Head photo ($85)
• Signed Marc Blucas photo ($70)
• Signed J. August Richards photo ($45)
• A photo of the Legion of Dim, signed by all three actors ($100)
• Cast photo signed by James Marsters, Nicholas Brendan, Emma Caulfield, and Amber Benson ($175)
• Photo signed by Julie Benz and Christine Sutherland ($85)
• Two dinner-for-two tickets with James Marsters ($4000 each)

Yes, that's four thousand dollars each. During the auction, we learned that Anthony Stewart Head had, at a con in New York, recently auctioned off his butt (the winner was given the chance to squeeze it). The auctioneer didn't mention the price it sold for.

We ran in to one of Karen's coworkers, who knew Sid (and who had met me a couple of times, and presumably had seen the picture of me Karen has on her desk). She failed to recognize me. I didn't say anything, because I was curious whether or not she eventually would (she didn't).

The first speaker was Robin Atkin Downes, who apparently had a fairly good rôle on Babylon 5, but whose appearance on Buffy was limited to one episode, with few or no lines, completely obscured by makeup (he was Mikida, the Snake Demon). He showed his demo reel, much of which consisted of his B5 appearances and a guest spot on Arli$$, and didn't do a Q&A session. He did make a point of saying he was straight.

The second guest was the extremely amusing James Leary, who played the demon Clem on Buffy. He started out by showing his independent mockumentary, Stunt Cocks, which was absolutely hilarious. Minors were asked to leave the room before it was shown, which was undoubtedly a good idea. Ron Jeremy, Lou Diamond Philips and Scott Thompson (of Kids in the Hall fame) co-starred (Ron Jeremy was the only actor in the film who they had to pay). He was an incredibly funny guy, but unfortunately I didn't write down a lot of what he said, except that the key substance used in his independent film was a soap called Cetaphil, and that he lives in an apartment with his wife and three-year-old son. He wants to get a rôle in Eliza Dushku's new series. He didn't have any screen time with her on Buffy, but he did get to stand next to her at the wrap party, and for the most part had to stop himself from staring at her breasts.

Iyari Limon (Kennedy) was next; like all the speakers who followed her, the session was entirely Q&A. Answers to some of the fans' questions: She's 5'3" tall, was born in Mexico, and really wants to be bald for a rôle. Alyson Hannigan prepared her for the hatred of fans: they had been upset when Willow started dating Oz, because they felt she was supposed to end up with Xander; they had been upset when Willow started dating Tara, because she was "supposed" to be with Oz. Alyson is a great kisser. Her favorite part of being on Buffy was the fight scenes. The director kept telling her to be more bitchy. As an aside, she mentioned that she had been in a movie with Linda Hamilton ("back when she was hot"), who was James Cameron's wife at the time. I wonder if their divorce had anything to do with Hamilton not appearing in T3?

Next came Mercedes McNab (Harmony). A native of Vancouver, she's been acting half her life (eleven years). Her first rôle came at age ten, as the Girl Scout in The Addams Family, and she also played the part of Amanda in Addams Family Values. She has a dog: half teacup Chihuahua, half teacup Pomeranian. It's named Hercules. Her father was a professional football player (by which she meant soccer).

She's going to be in at least six episodes of Angel this season. She really loved playing Vampire Harmony, which was more fun than just playing a ditzy blonde — "I loved being a badass and getting to fight." (Badass? Her fight scene with Nicholas Brendan was the funniest fight I've ever seen.) The Great Gatsby is her favorite book, and she'd love to work with Al Pacino.

James Marsters was the final speaker. His answers to fans' questions:

• He first auditioned for Spike with a southern accent. He demonstrated it; at first, he was stuck in English Spike mode, but then moved to sounding a bit like Foghorn Leghorn.
• He's been a musician since age 10; he refused to sing at a fan's request because as a musician he wants to ensure that he'll get the right sound, and he wasn't prepared. (Sid's comment: He's one of us!) His philosophy towards playing in a band is that even the smallest mistake is a betrayal of his friends. (Sid's comment: He's not one of us. My response: Speak for yourself.)
• He's produced seventy plays.
• A fan asked him about his interest in "the Scottish play". He responded, "What, you mean Macbeth? Look, I'm up on stage, and I'm saying Macbeth! Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth! The only curse that play has is that it's never been done well. I want to do it, and turn it into a thrill ride. I want people to actually enjoy it, not go "Oh, this is Shakespeare, I guess I'm supposed to be enjoying this." He feels other directors just haven't gotten its message, which is that evil isn't some external force that lures people away from good; it's entirely a human phenomenon deriving from the choices we make ourselves.
• "What every actor really wants to do is kick ass and kiss babes."
• He once looked at some sites about him on the Web, but decided never to do it again because he could get addicted to feeling like he's the center of the universe. "I just wanna get through this fame thing and not become a jerk."
• He is coming to Angel as the character of Spike, which puts to rest one rumor that he's coming back as an entirely different character.
• He's forty years old.
• His favorite Star Wars character is Han Solo. ("Luke? What a whiny crybaby — and he's supposed to be the hero? Gimme a break. Of course, Mark Hamill's probably in the audience, isn't he?")
• He's a sleepaholic, and can sleep twelve or fourteen hours a day with no problem.
• The attempted rape scene almost destroyed the friendship between him and Sarah Michelle Gellar because of the way the producers handled it. If they'd been given time to talk about it beforehand, a lot of miscommunication would have been avoided. He claims to have destroyed TVs out of anger from watching scenes of sexual assault, and wishes the writers could have found some other scenario for Buffy.
• Eliza Dushku is hotter in person than she is on TV. And she doesn't have the attitude that a lot of attractive women have; she's a biker/rocker type chick in real life.

There were two "Get a life!" moments during his speech. One fan asked him, "Did you and Angel ever fight over Buffy?" He paused for a couple of seconds — I suspect he wanted to go William Shatner on her — but he treated her question seriously: "No... but we will." The other moment was when a fan asked if he would read her fanfic. Rather than taking the legalistic way out ("The network's attorneys won't let us read fanfic, because if one of your ideas happens to show up in an episode, you might sue us"), he said he didn't have time to read anything, but thanks anyway.

One interesting thing I noticed was that despite the heat of over a thousand bodies packed into the ballroom, all the women who asked questions seemed to be suffering from a chill. (Sid's comment: You are such a guy. My response: Well, yeah. Guys' peripheral vision is hardwired to notice that sort of thing and call our attention to it. I am what I am.)

After his talk, it was time for the autograph signing. We were called up by row to file into another room to get first Mercedes McNab's autograph, then James Marsters'. It took over an hour and a half for our row (J) to be called. I felt sorry for the people in the numbered rows after Z! Mercedes McNab looked kind of lost and beleaguered (not that I blame her), but James Marsters was chipper and shook everyone's hand. We then went to the auxiliary autograph room, where the other guests were signing their pictures (and, unlike the two main stars, they were permitted to personalize their autographs and have their pictures taken with fans). Sid got James Leary's autograph. I wasn't going to spend any more money, but Iyari Limon looked really lonely and dejected because nobody was coming to her table, so I asked for her autograph. Which cost more money than I had been expecting. Oh well.

After Sid and I got our autographs, we went out to eat at the Indian restaurant in my part of town. I said to hell with my GERD, and got a murgh makhanwala, hot. (Okay, I at least made a concession to GERD; before, I would have ordered it extra-hot.)

We changed into more formal attire and went back for the RHPS-like screening of "Once More, with Feeling", the costume contest, the karaoke contest and the Vampire Goth ball. Or so we thought.

The autograph session had lasted over four and a half hours, and the banquet was just getting started (it was just like being in the SCA!), so we had some time to kill. We went to a panel discussion about the UC Sunnydale Wicca group. Or so it was supposed to be. It was actually one fan sitting in a chair, facing several rows of chairs containing three other fans, talking about what parts of Buffy were their favorites. And the "leader" kept dropping names about actors who had recognized her and called her by name because she's a tour guide at Universal Studios or something. Sid tried to drag the discussion towards Wicca, but it kept veering off again. I know it's not what the term means, but all I could think was "fanwanking".

We bailed out of there and hit the bar. To hell with my GERD, I said again, and tried to get some B&B. They didn't have it. I asked for Benedictine. They didn't have it. Finally, they did have Goldschläger. Another con attendee (whom I realized later was dressed as Evil Witch Willow) told me it was a good choice. Sid later told me that the woman was hitting on me, and as usual I had completely failed to notice. Which probably explains why I was single for so long, back in the day.

Eventually, they got the projector set up for the OMwF viewing. The "tech guy" (who could barely use a mouse) tried WinDVD, then RealPlayer, then finally Windows Media Player before he found the MPEG file containing the episode. Audience members had to shout helpful hints to him along the way. But it started playing, and got partway into "I've Got a Feeling" before WMP barfed and complained of an illegal function. They found the "tech guy" and got him to start it up again, and it gave the same error message. So Sid and I gave up on that and wandered around a little more.

Apparently the costume contest was run during the banquet or cancelled altogether, for when the banquet was over in the ballroom, they started setting up for the karaoke contest (judged by Andy Hallett, James Leary and Robin Atkin Downes). Unfortunately, they'd held preliminary tryouts earlier in the day, with the ten finalists being featured (fooey; I would have entered it had I known). We sat through four... interesting tunes, and we mutually decided it was time to leave.

I had to bring my car in to the dealership for its 5000-mile checkup. When I dropped off the car, I asked them to give me an estimate on getting rid of a 1½" long scratch in the paint of the rear driver's side door.

Their estimate: $587.98. Not including incidental damage to glass or flush-mounted moulding, which for some reason I would have to pay to replace if they broke it while fixing the scratch. Incomprehensibly, the estimate includes the cost of dismantling the entire left side of the car and replacing all of the moulding on the left side (not just the moulding on the door to be fixed), plus refinishing the fuel door and replacing the rear lamps, which as far as I know aren't in any way connected to the door.

And car dealers wonder why they have a reputation for dishonesty.

We hear about constitutional rights, free speech and the free press. Every time I hear those words I say to myself, "That man is a Red, that man is a Communist." You never heard a real American talk in that manner.

Update: The biography of Hague sounds a lot like Daniel Day-Lewis' character from Gangs of New York. As nasty as politicians get these days, at least they aren't as physically savage as their predecessors...

Today's headline in the St. Pete Times proclaims, "9/11 Report Lists Errors, Not Blame". But its rival newspaper here in the Bay, the Tampa Tribune, insists in its lead story that "Sept. 11 Report Faults FBI, CIA".

Did they both read the same report?

Finally saw Pirates of the Caribbean. There be spoilers here, so avast if ye haven't seen it yet.

Pretty entertaining throughout, though the ending sucked. "Oh, you don't want to marry me? Well, good show, take care of her, Blacksmith." "This is the path you've chosen? Married to a blacksmith? Oh well, pip pip, cheerio and Arthur Treacher." Lame.

The CG was quite good (though it bugged me that clothes that should have been whole, such as Jack's or the dresses, turned to tatters in the moonlight). Ray Harryhausen would have approved. Once again, though, Hollywood misinterpreted the phrase "hang by the neck until dead" to mean 1800s American West style trapdoor gallows, and apparently English Navy ships were crewed entirely by officers and Redcoats. And two ships firing broadsides that close to each other would have taken a hell of a lot more damage.

The biggest problem was when they loaded chain-shot into a smoking cannon. This would absolutely never happen! After the cannon's fired, it's searched, then sponged down (which would not only clear out any smoke, but extinguish any burning embers that remained), and then the powder would be loaded in, then wadding, and then the shot goes in last (followed, in some circumstances, by more wadding). Anyone who puts powder into a smoking cannon is just asking to have a hand blown off. Morons.

But still, not bad for a movie based on an amusement park ride.