l33t

My mom was asking about l33t this weekend, and it got me thinking about it about abbreviation-based l33t (is that LT?) - everybody's favorite ascii activity.

I think there are two layers of generational immersion. The first is probably my generation, who found it a little faster, and the cultural geekiness around - we also helped pioneer other aspects of l33t, like ascii art in user tags, etc. The second generational immersion layer is generation chipmunk - the kids whittling away at their cell phones, rubbing the numbers off the keys with their thumbs.

Much like touch typing, true multi-tap mastery is something you have to pick up young, or you won't catch up. Now whether the current multi-tap alpha-numeric layout has the same staying power as a qwerty keyboard remains to be seen - which could adversely affect skills (kids can get good at multi-tap, but if it changes, are they screwed)?

The difference is that the first generation helped create and enjoyed l33t (with some backlash - see Mike Patton's "LOL: Loser OnLine"), but the second generation really needs it to communicate at normal speeds on the multitap.

Personally, I find l33t pretty passe. Typing "LOL" is the verbal equivalent of responding to humor with the word "funny", uttered without any inflection - I probably wasn't paying attention. Or course, WTF (what the fuck) and RTFM (read the fucking manual) are a permanent part of my lexicon - the former creating a fascinating hybrid of a curse that loses little of it's punch, while being sanitized for greater broadcasting range. And RTFM also leads to one of the greatest ironic snarkbites ever slapped on a t-shirt: "WWJD? JWRTFM."

I guess we'll see an end to l33t's development at some point - rolling on the floor laughing my ass of (rotflmao) is the exception that proves the rule - how many 8 letter l33t statements can you parse reasonably?

But what if that wasn't a limitation - and what if you could speak and hear l33t as quickly as you could type and read it? You could say all sorts of kick ass things at the fraction of the time...

YWISMT? (You want I should move this?)

AIHRJTS (American Idol has really jumped the shark)

I8CBLN&MAI@D4 (I ate a caliente burrito last night, and my ass is at defcon 4)

WYLTSBMP2E:C? (Would you like to stop by my place to engage in coitus?)

DHHADP (David Hasselhoff has a drinking problem)
FUILDH (Fuck you; I love David Hasselhoff)
LHN2DWIHNH (Love has nothing to do with it; he needs help)

V4Rn:8 (Vote for Ralph Nader in 08)

WYLARAWYDBCW? (Would you like a reach around with your double bacon cheese whopper?)

TWOPTAAGOR (The works of P.T. Anderson are grossly overrated)
WFST2S (What a film snob thing to say)

IAFFGC (I am flavor flav's giant clock)

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If you pwn the competition at l33t, r u asciiking?

The Last to Know: Hulu

It took about a month to get my beta registration processed, but hulu is looking pretty good. It's a FOX/NBC joint venture to post high quality versions of tv episodes online. My biggest gripe is that, in what must be some attempt to stave off total dependency on free media, they've chosen only to offer a handful of episodes per season for each respective show. At least for the newer shows - if you felt inclined to watch season one of the A-Team, they are all there.

It's hard to hold that against what is ostensibly still a beta (of course isn't gmail technically still a beta?)

I finally get it

I finally get Frosty the Snowman. One of the perks of rhapsody is you can find a standard by just about any artist (there's about 50 arrangements of Radiohead's Everything in its Right Place). Listening to the Willy Nelson arrangement of Frosty, I realized the song is just about some dude tripping his nuts off on really good mushrooms, running around town having dialogs with various inanimate snowmen, toking on corncob pipes and policemen hollering "stop!"

What the song charitably omits is that when Frosty "melts away" it's because you're peaking and the melting is a horrifying sight involving serpents, incantations recited backwards and pools of steaming quicksilver, that leaves you a shivering sobbing mess, huddled in a snow bank, rocking back and forth, telling yourself that you aren't going to stay crazy forever, and this trip will end. If there are no flashbacks for me to trigger: it's like when Tot's face melts away at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Thanks for clearing that up, Willy. Ahhhhh... snowmen.

The Last To Know: Pitchfork

Pitchfork makes me want to blow my brains out while slitting my throat and chugging gasoline, but I keep coming back to it.

Pitchfork has to be the most smug, hipster music review site on the internets - they are the review site equivalent of diesel sweeties' Indie Rock Pete. At the same time, I always go back. In fact, I think it's their schtick. The reviewers consistently project a tone of: "because you think this album is awesome, I dislike it that much more".

Case in point - a reviewer criticizes the Avett Brother's new album as being "the most contrived record I've heard this year". Really? More contrived than the new Brittany Spears album that was genetically engineered by producer-cum-psychologists who were masterminding her comeback? But there's the extra sting - they are so cool that they only review music so good that even the good music is contrived - and the stuff that really is contrived - well they've never even heard it. It's like the roam an alternate universe, where reviewers retain personal handlers who employ hapkido to keep non-grounding breaking music at bay. Or try this: when the album is "good, it's intrusively good". How's that again? Is there some quota on sincere praise? Imagine trying that on your woman: "Yeah, the sex was good; but it was intrusively good."

This isn't about the Avett Brothers at all - Emotionalism is a solid album, but I'm not going under blanket on youtube to defend their honor. This is just (another) bitch session about Pitchfork, and the elitism of reviewers on the web (see the AV Club). In fact, this review starts with an insult, but continues to state that they keep coming back. Which is where I come in. Pitchfork seems to love music, but hates all the musicians they review. Like pitchfork, I hate the site, but am addicted to reading their reviews, in a blind hope that they will deem an album I like cool. I keep coming back, and refuse to offer any pure acceptance of admiration. Here I am, 32, and dying to find approval and affirmation from strangers. Giuseppe's come a long way.

I guess I come form the Roger Ebert school of reviewing, where the goal is to present your own honest opinions, and not try to elevate yourself above the art, or more importantly, your audience. Maybe these reviewers really are musical geniuses who ghostwrite reviews under pseudonyms when they aren't releasing 5-star LPs. Maybe they think they are elevating the common man to their elevated state. More likely, they are a group of hipster cornholes who want to be "the camera behind the camera behind the camera". Even when the music is good, it could be better (or its intrusively good). Even though its readership is smarter than the general populace for being aware of pitchfork - its audience is nothing more than a one-eyed man walking through the land of the blind.

Long ago in a talent show far far below my standards for quality...

This may be one of the mightiest moments of WTF seen on the internet...



Can trumpets be tuned?

The last to know: volume two

This is from way back in 2002, but since halloween is almost here, I thought I'd bust this puppy out

NSFW - Spiderman body painting

The detail around the balls inspires as much awe as it does concern...

The last to know: volume one

I'm going to start labeling bits like this "the last to know". These are youtube and video clips that have been seen just about everywhere, but I'm posting here in case you are "the last to know."

Here's a delightful little lunatic who is moved to great lengths based on his strong support of Britney Spears. Apparently, our media outlets have their heads so far up their arses that "YouTube Sensation™" Chris Crocker now has a reality show deal in the works. If all you need for a show is to cry under a blanket - I should be a network CEO by now. Or at least getting cameos on Entourage. Come on, we all want to meet the guy from whom Turtles buys his weed; you know I'd be perfect.