by Demetri Martin…

Dammit I’m mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I’m in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level “Mad Dog”.
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp,
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I’m a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I’m it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I’d assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
“Sir, I deliver. I’m a dog”
Evil is a deed as I live.
Dammit I’m mad.

That’s a palindrome. (This is stand-up comedy.)

Science has just proved that stalking is the next logical step in human or near-human affection. Kenji, the emoting robot, a project at a Toshiba robotic research facility, grew quite attached to a stuffed human-sized doll (in the picture on that original post). A female intern, taking diagnostics and uploading new programs to Kenji daily over a few weeks, soon became the next object of Kenji’s affection. One night, after finishing up her diagnostics, Kenji began hugging the intern repeatedly and actually physically stopped her from leaving the room.

Now, bear in mind, Kenji was only programmed to express himself in pre-recorded dog and cat noises. Imagine a barking, meowing, rampaging robot rushing toward you repeatedly, trying to give you hugs with its 100kg hydraulic arms and you’ll get an idea as to how creepy this is. With some foresight, they could have added one or two extra lines of code to tell the robot that no does indeed mean no. Really, scientists, I’ll write it for you:

if (input == “No”) return false;
else hug();

The intern was trapped in the room and had to run from the hugging robot until she got through to some researchers who came in and shut Kenji down.

This story also brings up another interesting question: Why in the hell is Toshiba creating emoting robots? The idea of a television somehow loving me back scares me a little more than it appeals to me. Given the infrequency with which I watch television, I’d be the robotic equivalent of a player, calling up my television once a week for a little casual fling and then leaving her for a solid week to talk with my other friends and spend time with my wife. I don’t know what I’d do if someone ever urged my television to leave me and get on with its life.

Imagine what would happen to the computing world. All I.T. departments in businesses would have to be equipped with PC Whisperers along with the usual geeks and nerds to talk edgy computers down from the edge. Clingy computers would refuse to operate for others when their usual users were out. We’d have to develop the electronic equivalent of prostitutes: computers we could use and then leave with no emotional attachments

In the end, Kenji ended up hug-assaulting everyone who worked with him closely, so they’re probably going to have to shut him down permanently. Their next project? Programming a robot that’s a real bastard. Scientists, here’s some code for you:

if (input == “No”) hug();
else kick(groin);

Edit: Whoops! Fixed the link.

Take the Lost personality test here. Here’s what I got:

Is it any small coincidence that I got the rock star?

Alright, I just spent some time reminiscing on YouTube about the 80s cartoons I used to watch, and was torn as to which was the ultimate. Here are the ground rules:

1. Obvious titles, like Ninja Turtles and G.I. Joe, are out. Those are timeless.
2. We’re not necessarily going for the most entertaining, or the one with the best underlying message—we’re going for sheer bad-ass 80s flair.

So, let the showdown commence!

Read the rest of this entry »

Thanks to Sarah for turning me on to Bad Paintings of Barack Obama. Here are some highlights:

• Uh, Mexicans in underwear?
• Just a little off…
• AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
• Aaaaand way off…
• Fantastic voyage

Because my department made almost $3.8 million in January, they decided to rent us a party bus and bus around town for dinner and drinks. I decided to go, despite a few things weighing against it:

1. Bars aren’t really my “scene.”
2. I don’t drink when I’m out.
3. I tense up in large crowds.
4. Drunk people think they’re way more funny than they actually are.

But, I figured, I always skip out on happy hours with co-workers, and I like my co-workers, so I should probably spend some time with them, damnit. Also, I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun stories from the night. So that’s how I spent my Friday night.

Well, there were some fun stories. Mandy ended up throwing a lemon at our boss, for one, and later in the night, the web content manager started working the stripper pole on the bus. (Yes, there was a stripper pole on a refurbished schoolbus. It was a little surreal.) Also, one of us got denied access to a club because of an expired driver’s license (uh, an expired license does not change your birthdate) and we had to sneak in another way without getting caught. All in a day’s work.

The whole evening, though, made me realize how odd I truly am. I thrive on deep and meaningful human connection, which isn’t encouraged by loud music and dark, smoky rooms. I don’t like drawing attention to myself. I was mostly silent unless I was involved in a one-on-one conversation. I think some people thought I was actually blowing them off. It was like a flashback to high school.

(So, yeah, to anyone that came with us on Friday night, sorry if I seemed to tune you out. It was hard for me to pay attention.)

I think part of this is the INFP in me coming out and part of it is the depression and social anxiety I’ve had my entire life (which is much more manageable now than it was, say, seven years ago, but is still present in trace amounts). It’s an odd place to be. I feel like it’s pretty easy for me to understand other people, but pretty difficult for people to really understand me. Soren Kierkegaard said it best when he said, “People understand me so poorly that they don’t even understand my complaint about them not understanding me.”

All that said, I did actually have a good time. I had some great conversations with a few co-workers about faith, politics, charity work, and music, and it was actually fun to see the hijinks that my co-workers put themselves up to. Also, volunteering to be a designated driver made me feel a little better about everyone going out (although I ended up not having to drive anyone home). So, yeah, I’d do it again—although I think I’d still prefer going to a wine bar or coffeehouse, or playing board games at someone’s house.

I don’t know if any of you are following The Bachelor this season. If any of you are, you know Kari from Kansas? The “advertising executive”? The one that recited a poem entitled “Is there such a thing as love at first sight?” I work with her. She’s an account executive at my advertising agency.

Out of respect for her privacy, I’m not going to share her last name with you. And anyway, if you’re a sufficient stalker at all, you probably already have it.

As a Kansan, I’m somewhat ashamed that she talked about being from Dorothy country and had been through a tornado. Our company recently acquired another company out in New York, and jokes about us country bumpkins abounded. One of the jokes ended with a Kansan in tears over the absence of Dairy Queens in New York. Don’t get me wrong—these things are funny, IF you know they’re only jokes. A perceived culture based around the first movie in color is a tough stereotype to overcome.

I feel like I should point out that Kari is not a total ditz. I didn’t actually watch the premier of the show, but I’ve heard that’s how she came off. At work, at least, she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders.

I wish I had some fun Kari stories to share from work, but I haven’t worked really closely with her. I’ll ask around at work and see if I can find anything out.

If you’re a real fan, you can be her friend on MySpace. As for me, I’m off to the Dairy Queen before I go cow tipping in Missouri.

For those who don’t know, there are people in the real world who have decided to take up the mask and cape and pursue crimefighting. These real-life superheroes (RLSHs) patrol the streets at night, looking for crime to stop or report—among other things.

Now, if you’re at all like me, your first instinct might be to laugh at the concept. It’s like when I found out in college that some guys I knew had actually started a Fight Club. Great movie, but doesn’t quite have the same effect in real life. Well, take a closer look at them (the superheroes, not the fight club initiates). You do get your misfits, your nut-jobs, and your egomaniacs—but you get those in office jobs too. (Trust me, I’ve met them.) There are actually quite a few of these guys that are making a real difference.

Take Terrifica. She hangs out around bars late at night and makes sure intoxicated women get home safely. Or there’s Tothian, who breaks up drunken brawls and is saving up to go to Africa and be a freedom fighter. Or there’s Geist, who focuses on disaster relief and helping the downtrodden.

So, if you can’t tell, I’ve actually gained a lot of respect for these guys. Imagine my delight when I found out we actually have our own superhero here in Kansas City: Nyx, recently-elected vice president of the Heroes Network.

Now, I have to preface this next bit by saying that I’ve been giving some thought lately to writing professionally. I’m not giving up my day job, by any means—just a few articles on the side to get my name out there and keep my writing skills sharp. It just so happens that I know someone who writes regularly for The Pitch, a local entertainment mag with good articles and a good following.

So yesterday, I decided to write Nyx to see if I could interview her and write an article about her and this movement for The Pitch. She’s agreed to an interview, but now I’ve asked her if I can go out on a patrol with her as well. Still waiting to hear back on that one. (There was recently an article in Rolling Stone about RLSHs. I’m taking a slightly different angle, focusing on a typical night’s work rather than what they do in their spare time.)

It’s unclear whether or not I’d have to come up with a superhero persona to go on the patrol with Nyx. Just in case, I’m taking suggestions now for name and costume ideas. Just click that comments link below. You know you want to. For great justice.

This blog post on a blog dedicated to saving the show says that ABC wanted to bring the show back, but Disney (the parent company) backed out. That’s not to say that ABC is free from blame, since they didn’t want to pick up the show themselves. Sigh.

The blog post also states that the last episode will end on a cliffhanger. Damn bastards.

I just wrote this letter to ABC:

What do we have to do to save Pushing Daisies? This is the only television show I’ve watched regularly in years! The show reaches a demographic that none of your other shows will—not even Eli Stone. It’s a demographic that just doesn’t watch network television, and we’ll all be driven back to watching Wes Anderson films and working on our novels if Pushing Daisies indeed pushes the daisies. The show has a wit, charm, and emotional depth that cannot be replicated. Please re-sign this show!

If you like the show, I would recommend you go to their website, click the Contact ABC link at the very bottom, and tell them (politely) how you feel.

As for why the show is tanking, the facts are these: It’s because it has an overtly right-brain appeal. People have complained that the plots don’t make sense and are constructed for people who don’t like to think, but the depth is there—it’s manifested in things like psychological development, artistic style, and philosophical issues. It’s the antithesis of shows like CSI, which are nothing but a collection of intricate details with no real substance to them.

It’s been said that there are two types of fiction books: plot stories and character stories. Character stories are usually considered the more intricate, but plot stories are usually the better sellers. See the connection? The dynamic has finally hit television, and it’s flopping horrendously. I hope this isn’t a sign that shows like this won’t see production in the future, because Pushing Daisies is a real gem in a sea of synthetics. This makes me quite sad.