Congrats Jessamyn May 9, 2008 12:49 PM   Subscribe

Ironically, controlling the growth of those things is the best way to clear up the twitter paste.
posted by bondcliff at 1:02 PM on May 9, 2008

A worthy accomplishment to be proud of.
posted by Dave Faris at 1:06 PM on May 9, 2008

ColorFunction -> (Hue[(# + Pi)/(2 Pi) + 0.2] &)
posted by Wolfdog at 1:08 PM on May 9, 2008

His blog would look a lot less unprofessional if half of the background weren't gray.
posted by dersins at 1:09 PM on May 9, 2008 [4 favorites]

posted by quonsar at 1:14 PM on May 9, 2008 [2 favorites]

*auto-insert joke about white background and professionalism here*
posted by Blazecock Pileon at 1:25 PM on May 9, 2008

Owl pellet dissections are a neat donation.
posted by Tehanu at 1:26 PM on May 9, 2008
posted by chowflap at 1:27 PM on May 9, 2008

I missed it, so here's my CTRL+V: =IF(ISBLANK(A3),"",A3)
posted by desjardins at 1:29 PM on May 9, 2008

posted by burnmp3s at 1:30 PM on May 9, 2008
posted by Slarty Bartfast at 1:31 PM on May 9, 2008

(That was my Ctrl-V, not a commentary on how Jessamyn rocks at dance contests, though I am certain she does.)
posted by chowflap at 1:31 PM on May 9, 2008

His blog would look a lot less unprofessional if half of the background weren't gray.

Always refreshing to hear a new joke.
posted by jmd82 at 1:33 PM on May 9, 2008 [1 favorite]

그렇습니다, 제 생각을합니다.
posted by blue_beetle at 1:36 PM on May 9, 2008

Hey, thanks jmd82! I'm more than happy to have obliged you!
posted by dersins at 1:36 PM on May 9, 2008

(it was timely)
posted by padraigin at 1:39 PM on May 9, 2008

nickname unprintable in a family publication
posted by yeti at 1:41 PM on May 9, 2008
posted by brundlefly at 1:45 PM on May 9, 2008
posted by [@I][:+:][@I] at 1:46 PM on May 9, 2008

posted by brownpau at 1:48 PM on May 9, 2008 [1 favorite]

, population 854
posted by dirtdirt at 1:49 PM on May 9, 2008

it's nice that there's ancillary benefit to ignoring you, 31d1
posted by Ambrosia Voyeur at 1:50 PM on May 9, 2008

i have aids
posted by cellphone at 1:52 PM on May 9, 2008

Read the sentence from “A Glory Over Everything.”
posted by mattbucher at 1:54 PM on May 9, 2008

if this person took a picture much like there was no first-floor indoor space under us); subzero temps; whattaya know, sandals are fun. i need to think about donating some of them. But dual-purpose.
posted by mrzarquon at 2:04 PM on May 9, 2008

she never promised you a rose garden.
posted by boo_radley at 2:06 PM on May 9, 2008

I got a really nice note from the school project I funded through Donors Choose with my winnings.

Dear Jessamyn,

I cannot even begin to express the thanks that I have, as well as my students, in hearing that our project was funded. Although we are surrounded by some of the most beautiful woodlands, it is not so easy to find food chains and food webs in action at this time of the year. Your funding will keep the love of science alive in both the girls and the boys and hopefully will continue to grow the awareness that is needed to keep our Green Mountains healthy, as well as our many other biomes on this Earth. Thank you for your donations!

So yeah I do feel sort of proud of that. Suck it haters.
posted by jessamyn (staff) at 2:06 PM on May 9, 2008 [6 favorites]

Hee, hee - it's funny to go through and track "Viomeda"'s usage of the site. One comment on April 3. A few on April 18. At least five every day since then.

A comment I started to write about koeselitz' alter ego, cut out to think about it a little more, and then decided not to do at all. Obviously, my subconscious (or, internal editor) could not be denied this time!
posted by yhbc at 2:07 PM on May 9, 2008

Aw, that's nice. Will you be telling the kids and their teacher about the subject matter of the comment as well?
posted by yhbc at 2:08 PM on May 9, 2008

So yeah I do feel sort of proud of that. Suck it haters.

As you should. Who was hating on you?
posted by dersins at 2:08 PM on May 9, 2008

The owl pellet thing is awesome. Owl pellets are cool, and getting money to schools so they can provide kids with owl pellets is makes me wish my school had done that. We lacked owl pellets, and I wish we hadn't.
posted by rtha at 2:09 PM on May 9, 2008

Never mind; I see anil decided not to either.
posted by yhbc at 2:09 PM on May 9, 2008

Unit tests/accessibility
posted by drjimmy11 at 2:09 PM on May 9, 2008

We really don't need metatalk post to confirm that a poorly received FPP was, in fact, poorly received.
posted by cortex (staff) at 2:22 PM on May 9, 2008

(Basically, I've been in meetings since I closed that thread.)
posted by cortex (staff) at 2:23 PM on May 9, 2008

"to create a vision for positive neighborhood change"
(Gag me, I hate city planner-speak. And yet I write it.)
posted by salvia at 2:40 PM on May 9, 2008

Apr 03 17:50:57.413: vmx| Log for VMware Server pid=1852 version=e.x.p build=build-63231 option=BETA
Apr 03 17:50:57.414: vmx| Hostname=bender2
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=(Unknown)
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=(Unknown)
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=(Unknown)
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=(Unknown)
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=(Unknown)
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=(Unknown)
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=
Apr 03 17:50:57.477: vmx| IP=
Apr 03 17:50:57.478: vmx| IP=
posted by SteveTheRed at 2:43 PM on May 9, 2008

You should be glad i'm writing this on my mobile because prior to this i'd been browsing 4-chan and hoo-wee! some things don't need a-pasting
posted by Jofus at 3:05 PM on May 9, 2008

/d/ is for "or it /d/idn't happen"
posted by cortex (staff) at 3:07 PM on May 9, 2008

posted by Divine_Wino at 3:22 PM on May 9, 2008

I tried to paste my clipboard into this box, but it turned out there was nothing there. :(
posted by !Jim at 3:30 PM on May 9, 2008

strAttchEid = rowsattch[kk, 4].ToString();
UInt32.TryParse(strAttchEid, out intAttchEID);
posted by trip and a half at 3:58 PM on May 9, 2008

I would have to paste an image of the poster for Speed Racer, but I can't paste an image, now, can I?
posted by cgc373 at 3:59 PM on May 9, 2008

I don't have anything in my clipboard either. But if I did, it would probably be something about porn.
posted by puke & cry at 4:04 PM on May 9, 2008

I can paste my useragent ID though.

Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-US; rv: Gecko/20080404 Firefox/ - Build ID: 2008040413

posted by puke & cry at 4:10 PM on May 9, 2008

On first read, I thought it said "Metawater,"

(God, the last think I copy pasted on this box was part of a metafilter comment in order to make a stupid joke about it. HOMERIC FAIL.)
posted by Lentrohamsanin at 4:44 PM on May 9, 2008

Sleeping Beauty: Memorial Photography in America
posted by ColdChef at 4:46 PM on May 9, 2008


Hipsters are getting younger and younger.
posted by dersins at 4:53 PM on May 9, 2008

Wincy Willis
posted by flashboy at 4:55 PM on May 9, 2008

my clipboard:
Slavoj Zizek
posted by delmoi at 5:55 PM on May 9, 2008

The P/Virse is Where I’m a Phi King

By It’s Raining Florence Henderson


Pristkalena glanced back. There had to be another P/Virt back there. Maybe someone she knew, or else somebody had caught sight of her glamer. Not close enough to make out any details, the voice was too far away. But close enough to spot the flicker of twin realities rubbing elbows. She was representing low-key at the moment, anyway. She would hardly look any different to a P/Virt than to good old-fashioned P/On eyes, though it was early enough in the morning that she pretty much had Pioneer Square to herself. So there were no prying P/On eyes to burst her bubble. At 4:30 in the AM, even the street-people were between shifts.
Pristkalena turned on her heel, walked backwards for a few steps. She was alone.
Hold on: There. A shadow detached itself from a darkened doorway and walked- no, loped along the sidewalk for a few yards. Yes- “loped” was definitely the word for it. It was a large dog, or a- Well, it looked like a goddamned coyote, is what it looked like. Silver back, snow-white belly. Poised. It stopped short about a hundred feet from where Pristkalena now stood mesmerized and sat back on its haunches. Tilted its slab-of-a-head to one side and unfurled a comically long tongue. Regarding her with what seemed to be detached amusement.
Pristkalena suddenly realized that she’d been holding her breath. Waiting, she supposed with astonishment, for the coyote to address her.
Ridiculous! WTF, Pris?! This was the heart of Seattle, not a P/Virse playground. No way that was really a coyote, and even if it had been, conversation was not on the agenda. Pristkalena had obviously been spending way too much time in alternate realities lately, and the sense that anything was possible was creeping into her downtime. Remember this. A lesson, here.
Turning to dismiss her would-be canine inquisitor, Pristkalena heard voices rounding the corner in front of her. She felt her glamer wink out under the glare of a bleary-eyed young couple firmly grounded in the mundane realities of an early Northwest January morning. The low hum of the sleeping city. The icy glitter of condensed fog dripping down the streetlamps. The pervasive smell, like wet dog.
She glanced back.
The street was empty.
Of course it was.


Later: Detective Sean Stone waited in the hallway outside the conference room feigning patient indifference. Pretending to read a printout of the interview schedule. When the door opened and Officer Lee exited, Stone tried to read his expression. Officer Lee, a bike cop four years on the force, answered the unasked question unambiguously by rolling his eyes and hammering out the international gesture for “wank-fest.”
“She’s all yours, Detective,” the young officer offered, adding conspiratorially in passing, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds!”
Stone grunted noncommittally. Some idiots weren’t worth the effort of actual human speech.
The Skagit conference room was a small twelve-by-twelve huddle room, with a single round table and three, threadbare, heavily stained office chairs. Amenities consisted of a phone on the desk for conference calls, a whiteboard on one wall, and a cheap broken clock on another. Yet, as small as the room was, the bickering fluorescent tubes above the ceiling tiles somehow couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to banish the gloom.
Stone had long held that these conference rooms would be far more effective at breaking a suspect’s spirit than the rooms specifically set aside for interrogation. But of course there was no way that Amnesty International would allow citizens to be subjected to such indignities as were reserved for the staff, vendors, and consultants of the Seattle Police Department.
Well- the consultants, Stone allowed, might actually have it coming.
“Detective Stone?”
This consultant was diminutive, to say the least. Stone briefly, almost against his will, considered and discarded the notion that she might be a bona fide Little Person. But her body parts, to the extent that Stone allowed himself to consciously notice them, were quite obviously proportional. So- petite, then. The way the word used to be used before it became code for “throws up after lunch.”
He glanced quickly at her visitor’s badge then back to her face. Pristkalena. Last name, or first? He should have actually read that memo. He couldn’t place the ethnicity of either the name or her face, so he couldn’t put the name in context and in the two seconds all these thoughts filtered through his head he decided to punt.
He extended his hand.
She allowed herself a faint but genuine smile.
She had a firm grip, one pump, looked him however briefly straight in the eye, and then disengaged.
“Come in, sit down. This shouldn’t take long. I know your time is valuable.”
He could sense her slipping into routine before they even took their seats.


What a day! Screening potential sensitives was a thankless job at best, but this group seemed particularly resentful of both the intrusion on their time and the implications that they might be lacking in some way. Not since her last family reunion had Pristkalena suffered through such a pointed display of insincere manners.
“Do you know what this is about, Detective Stone? Why you’re here?”
“You’re putting together a task force on this new virtual reality game, uh... P/Virse, is it? Battling hackers, I suppose. Stamping out copyright infringement in our lifetime! Taxing the evil porn distributors to save the children!
“Only most people can’t even play P/Virse, so everybody on the force has to get tested. Like when the desk sergeant went to Cabo and came back with meningitis. Hey - wasn’t that a song?”
“The P/Virse isn’t a game, Detective, and it’s probably better not to think of it as virtual, either. Autocausal reality is every bit as real as the room we’re sitting in now.”
Stone seemed unimpressed at the comparison.
“I thought what happens in P/Virse stays in P/Virse. Isn’t that what they say? Nothing can come back across? You die there, you still wake up here? Right? I’m sure it seems real enough...”
The questions were the usual ones, but Stone seemed genuinely curious.
“The whole point of the task force is that there are real consequences, Detective. Data, specifically, is at risk. When a new autocausality field is turned on, anywhere in the world, that sister location in the P/Virse is an exact duplicate of its analogue here- minus most of the people and security measures. And that poses a very real threat.”
“You’re talking about bank records?”
“Bank records, yes. And government secrets... Think technology. Think missile codes. And not just computer files, either – any information that can be observed directly or that has been written down anywhere here, is vulnerable there.”
“That sounds... bad.”
“Social security numbers. Passwords. Your mother’s maiden name. Identity theft is the fastest growing P/Crime, actually. It’s almost impossible for the average person to guard against P/Virse snooping.”
“How is this possible?”
Pristkalena hesitated. She didn’t want to discourage the detective’s interest, but it was late, and she didn’t have the energy for lost causes, either.
“Why don’t we go ahead and get the test started, if you don’t mind, Detective? If it turns out that you do have some autocausal sensitivity, a little demonstration will go a long way. Plus, if you make the task force, we’ll be going over all of this in orientation. If not, I do have a couple of pamphlets to send with you.”
“No problem. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”
“Not a waste, I promise. Anyone we can get to take this seriously is a win, in my book. But let’s just see what happens next.”
“Fair enough. What does happen next?”
“Sit back. Try to relax. We’ll start small.”


In another universe on the other side of town, Ben Funklin was looking to score some serious juju when he stumbled upon the body. At least he thought it was a body. Hard to be sure of such things in the P/Virse. Might be a simple artifact, too. If he’d been a Phi Master, Ben could have checked for himself; but then again, if he’d been a Phi Master, Ben wouldn’t be here in the first place, begging for spare miracles like some kind of 17th century supplicant pimping himself out to the local Gods for a bit of luck and a sweet crib.
The two reasons Ben wasn’t sure if what he’d found was a real body are as follows:
1) Nobody had ever died in the P/Virse before. Well, not for real, anyway. In fact, it was widely considered to be theoretically impossible to actually die in a place where your mind controls the physics.
2) The object sprawled on the ground in front of him was a giant tooth. A six-foot molar, to be exact. Complete with exposed roots and a gold crown.
There were three primary factors leading Ben to conclude that this might just be a dead body after all, despite points one and two, above:
1) The tooth had a face, hands and feet, and wore an over-sized T-shirt sporting the phrase, “The P/Virse is where I’m a Phi King.”
2) The face belonged to Sidhe Arthur, old-school Phi Master, P/Virse celebrity, and the “man” Ben had come to see.
3) The face had a bloody bullet hole right through the center of it.
After a brief interval to compose himself, Ben settled on a suitable course of action. He screamed. Repeatedly. Like a tom cat stuck in a steam whistle. Then, with absolutely no conscious effort whatsoever, Ben swelled up like a grotesque mutant puffer fish, complete with armor plating and hundreds of wicked stainless-steel spikes, and then promptly turned invisible.
He continued to scream.


As Pristkalena pulled a thick, leather-bound book from a day-pack on the floor, Stone took another pass at profiling the consultant. Late twenties, or early thirties? Late twenties was his initial guess. Her business casual was just a tad more business than casual, as if she were still trying a bit too hard to pass as an adult. On the other hand, she wore her dark hair long and straight, forgoing the short, highlighted sculptures so popular with young professionals. So maybe she wasn’t trying too hard, after all. Maybe business casual simply wasn’t her style and she just didn’t give a damn how old people thought she looked.
Thirty-one, Stone decided, finally. An academic background, not professional. A little taller than he’d thought at first, too. Maybe five-two. Her delicate features slightly too sharp to be popularly pretty, and too severe to be cute. The set of her chin fairly screamed take-me-seriously with just a soupçon of back-the-fuck-off. Maybe it was the weariness in her eyes, or the hint of frown lines starting at the corners of her mouth. Maybe it was her fifty-dollar vocabulary and emphatic, humorless delivery.
Maybe it was ten hours in this cold fucking room with the likes of Officer Lee busting her virtual balls and frustrated old men giving her the once over. Or the twice over. Or the stink eye.
Pristkalena slid the book onto the table and flipped the cover. It wasn’t a book, after all.
“This, Detective Stone, is what’s referred to in P/Virse circles as a toaster. A personal, portable P/Virt machine. It’s not actually powerful enough to transport anyone into the P/Virse, but it has its uses.
“Toasters superimpose a weak field, called a glamer, around a sensitive’s body. A glamer is like a 3-D projection of an image in a sensitive’s mind. Not functionally real here or there, but visible to nearby sensitives and perceptives.
“As close together as we’re sitting here, if you have any sensitivity at all, you’ll be able to detect a difference in my appearance the instant that I flip this switch.
“But, most likely, nothing will happen at all.”
“See, that’s what I don’t get. You just got your Zen in my feng shui. All this ‘if you can see it, you will see it, if you can’t see it, you won’t see it’ crap sounds like a classic con, to me. You’re just talking in circles, aren’t you?”
“No- What I’m saying is if you can see it, you will see it, but if you can’t see it, it won’t actually exist. Not even for me. Autocausality fields collapse under direct observation from non-sensitives.”
“How convenient.”
“Not hardly!
“Here: think of reality – this reality–”
Pristkalena slapped the table for extra emphasis.
“-as a radio program. It’s got a very strong signal, and everybody’s transmitting this signal on the exact same frequency all of the time.
“Only some people – and just a very small percentage of the population, really – can also transmit on a second frequency. But it’s a relatively weak signal, and the weak frequency is right next to the strong frequency on the dial. So the only way to tune into the weak program is to stay the Hell away from anyone projecting the strong signal.”
Stone considered the implications.
“Okay. I guess that makes sense. Sort of. Assuming God’s plan was the result of an all-night, junior college, navel-gazing bong-fest. I mean- you aren’t claiming that’s how it really works, are you? Reality is just a shared delusion?”
Pristkalena sighed.
“No– Probably not. Who knows, really? It’s just an analogy.
“But there is a practical application. It means if I flip this switch and nothing happens, we both get to go home.”
She flipped the switch.


The first P/Virt to respond to Ben Funklin’s caterwauling was Jen Sings, a Rainier Valley Dragon Lord preparing nearby for an unsanctioned exhibition match scheduled as part of the evening’s festivities. The Dragon Lords were an elite clan of the Greater P/Virse Mixed Martial Arts and Gaming Association, specializing in unassisted European style dragon fighting. Dragon Lord matches were strictly regulated and notoriously fierce contests, and the combatants were renowned for never breaking character. The unofficial Dragon Lord motto was, “Live as a dragon, or die as a poseur.”
With a 10 win, 1 draw, 0 loss lifetime record in regulation play, Jen could hardly be considered a poseur.
Weighing in at a sleek 7 tons, Jen barely shook the ground as she lit on the cobblestones with deceptive grace, the iridescent gold membranes of her mighty reptilian wings furiously beating a minor dust storm around the courtyard.
Jen craned her elegant, serpentine neck in the general direction the incessant, ungodly racket was emanating from.
“Alright, already!” the lithe dragon growled menacingly, “the cavalry’s here. Give it a rest, whydoncha?”
The screamer paused to respond, politely:
“I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. Whatever this... thing that I’ve become is, shrieking like a banshee appears to be one of its defense mechanisms.”
The shrieking resumed.
“Oh, Phi!” Jen sighed with a sulfurous belch and a single, acrobatic wisp of smoke. “You’re an intuitive, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid so,” Ben replied, despondently. “I have absolutely no control over anything here at all.”
The wailing continued, a bit sorry for itself this time.
“Well, would it deeply offend you if I dropped a cone of silence around you until your subconscious catches up with the action?”
“I’d be grateful, actually,” Ben began, but whatever else he may have had to say was suddenly cut off in a deep and blessed hush.


Stone’s smile erupted even as Pristkalena felt the first familiar chill of her glamer spreading like a shadow in the back of her mind.
It was a nice smile. A sincere smile. A delighted smile. Stone had very white teeth.
“Red hair? That’s all you’ve got? Red hair? I was expecting something a little more dramatic!”
He didn’t sound disappointed, though. Not at all.
Stone’s smile was infectious, and Pristkalena found herself returning it. It was a relief to finally get some positive results, of course. But it was Stone’s unrestrained joy that moved her to respond.
She morphed into a fire plug.
“Fuck, yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Stone leaned in across the table to study the mirage from every angle, grinning like a madman, then suddenly poked at her with one finger. Luckily, he only connected with her shoulder.
“Hey! Watch the hands, Detective. Don’t make me break out the fire hose.”
Stone fell back into his chair, laughing.


While Stone composed himself, Pristkalena morphed her glamer back to normal and switched it off.
He couldn’t stop grinning. She was still smiling, too. It was a beautiful smile, but Stone had the uneasy feeling that Pristkalena was somewhat estranged from that expression as of late. A small section of his brain was immediately dedicated to wondering why.
“Okay- That was awesome. So, what’s next? What does this mean?”
“Well, one thing it means for sure is welcome to the P/Virse task force, Detective Stone.”
“Wait- Did I just volunteer, or was I drafted?”
“Out of the entire combined Seattle/King County police force, with roughly eighty percent of the staff already tested, we have exactly six positive hits for autocausal sensitivity. Including you. Six. Of those other five, two were perceptives, and three were sensitives-”
“Perceptives? Sensitives? A little help, here?”
“Everybody’s relationship with the P/Virse is unique, Detective, but there are two major categories that all P/Virts fall into: perceptive or sensitive.
“Perceptives can differ quite a bit, but they do have at least two things in common: They don’t cause autocausality fields to collapse; but, also, they can’t interact directly with the P/Virse, either. Some perceptives can barely sense the P/Virse, while others can make it out in exacting detail without ever leaving this virse. Most fall somewhere in between.
“Sensitives, on the other hand, actually transfer their consciousness into the P/Virse when they get tangled up in an autocausality field. Once there, to varying degrees, they can alter the very fabric of the P/Virse itself with their thoughts, their wills, and their dreams.
“Intuitives are sensitives with little self-control. Some are quite powerful. Some aren’t. Some intuitives eventually learn to consciously direct their abilities. Many don’t.
“The rest of us fall into a wildly diverse range of talent from bystander to artisan to godlike. Power and skill are two completely different things in the P/Virse, though. They sometimes go hand-in-hand, but often enough they don’t. Several of the most powerful P/Virts are total hacks.”
posted by It's Raining Florence Henderson at 6:11 PM on May 9, 2008 [4 favorites]

I'm not complaining, I'm just curious: has anyone ever figured out what the character limit is for comments? If so, was that person Ethereal Bligh?
posted by SteveTheRed at 6:23 PM on May 9, 2008 [1 favorite]
posted by blacklite at 7:06 PM on May 9, 2008

55 MPH, City; 75 MPH, Country
posted by It's Raining Florence Henderson at 7:07 PM on May 9, 2008

"Congrats on winning Anil Dash's twitter-paste contest."

I don't understand half the words in that sentence.
posted by Eideteker at 7:18 PM on May 9, 2008 [3 favorites]

The Stand
posted by agenais at 7:20 PM on May 9, 2008
posted by cortex (staff) at 7:21 PM on May 9, 2008

you pasted that to me!
posted by jessamyn (staff) at 7:25 PM on May 9, 2008

My clipboard:

(I can do this.)
posted by The corpse in the library at 8:04 PM on May 9, 2008

"3) Discuss the various kinds of myths of the beginnings of the world and give examples from our readings. "

(It's finals time.)
posted by lilac girl at 8:31 PM on May 9, 2008

08 walk like a motherfucker - silver ginger 5
posted by Sailormom at 8:38 PM on May 9, 2008

Owl pellets are good for finding the bones of 4 headed, 9 legged, 80 ribbed baby dragons which happened to be eaten by owls.
posted by unknowncommand at 8:40 PM on May 9, 2008 [1 favorite]

Owl pellets are awesome! Nice job.
posted by Miko at 8:42 PM on May 9, 2008

My clipboard is empty! Poor lonely clipboard.
posted by that girl at 8:57 PM on May 9, 2008

As far as the stereo is concerned, we set the volume control at "8" with the sunroof tilted and the kids sing along with the music just fine, so they obviously can hear it. Even at freeway speed.
posted by davejay at 9:17 PM on May 9, 2008

posted by CitrusFreak12 at 9:41 PM on May 9, 2008

RELEASE: weeping analysis of research reinforces media influence ...

I copied this because it's a funny headline from a press release. It's supposed to say "Sweeping" analysis.
posted by taz at 11:37 PM on May 9, 2008
posted by Malor at 1:38 AM on May 10, 2008

posted by jack_mo at 3:55 AM on May 10, 2008

Because you can bet your sweet bippy if (presuming he's straight or mostly so) that if it were some older woman, he'd have been round to his mates five minutes later saying "You will never believe who I just had it off with."
posted by PeterMcDermott at 8:22 AM on May 10, 2008


Uh, yeah, so I'm catching up on things I should have seen a long time ago. Sue me? Or, considering what I'm doing, please don't....
posted by splice at 1:48 PM on May 10, 2008

This thread is confusing my tiny brain. But: Go Owl Pellets!
posted by donovan at 6:08 PM on May 10, 2008

Congrats to Jessamyn for a well-deserved win!

(And: Free owl pellets for everyone if folks can go a year without repeating the white background "joke". I suspect I won't get to make that donation, though.)
posted by anildash at 9:31 PM on May 10, 2008

if folks can go a year without repeating the white background "joke".

You know, the number of people who are allowed to put the word joke in quotes in that context is almost limitless. Since it's not much of a joke. Not really very funny.

Almost limitless.


It's actually pretty much infinity-minus-one.

Guess who's the one.

Yeah, it's you.

Sorry, man. Sometimes when you say something stupid, people won't let you forget it. That's just the way the world works sometimes.


Or admit it was stupid. That works, too. Admission of error is the ultimate secret weapon. Try it.
posted by dersins at 9:47 PM on May 10, 2008

I totally should have brought up the white background thing when Anil was moderating Matt's panel at ROFLCon.
posted by danb at 10:05 PM on May 10, 2008 [1 favorite]

Sometimes when you say something stupid, people won't let you forget it.

I guess Brand New Day only goes so far among the metafilter plebes, anil.
posted by Dave Faris at 5:18 AM on May 11, 2008

I guess Brand New Day only goes so far among the metafilter plebes, anil.

Oh, look! Captain Crankypants is here! Hi Captain Crankypants! How are things in Crankypants-land?
posted by dersins at 9:48 AM on May 11, 2008

It's Commander Crankypants, idiot.
posted by Dave Faris at 11:26 AM on May 11, 2008

Oh, man, did you get passed over for promotion again? I'm sorry. That sucks. Explains why the pants are so cranky, though.
posted by dersins at 12:01 PM on May 11, 2008

You know, the more you write, the more you just prove my point. There's no such thing as a brand new day. People who don't even have a right to hold petty grudges around here.

Or are you just insulted to be referred to as a plebe?
posted by Dave Faris at 2:47 PM on May 11, 2008

Dude. What the fuck? I was playing. For a second there ("It's Commander Crankypants") it seemed like you were playing too. And now with the genuine anger and hate? Seek help, Mr. Faris.
posted by dersins at 8:23 PM on May 11, 2008

Okay, this is really embarassing, like when you accidentally see your parents fighting in the living room, except your dad is wearing women's clothes kind of embarassing.
posted by yhbc at 8:31 PM on May 11, 2008

Hey, men can wear those too, you know. It's perfectly normal.
posted by dersins at 9:20 PM on May 11, 2008

Sorry to hop in in a tense moment, but I just wanted to commend dersins on being the most reliable mefi user for calling things stupid. He really is a workhorse. I prefer klangklangston for style and selectivity, but dersins is like the rising and the setting of the sun. I bet the average is, oh, 9 comments in. Perfect attendance award!
posted by Ambrosia Voyeur at 10:00 PM on May 11, 2008

That comment is stupid, Ambrosia Voyeur.
posted by dersins at 11:52 PM on May 11, 2008

p.s. for the humor impaired:


posted by dersins at 11:57 PM on May 11, 2008

Oh. Ok. I get it. Dersins was making a "joke."
posted by Dave Faris at 4:39 AM on May 12, 2008

Well, this is certainly a balls-random thread to have started a fight.
posted by danb at 5:22 AM on May 12, 2008

*uses remaining hand to douse self in gasoline*
posted by Ryvar at 8:21 AM on May 12, 2008

posted by cortex (staff) at 8:32 AM on May 12, 2008

posted by dersins at 9:42 AM on May 12, 2008 [1 favorite]

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