Rebus competition! Win shit!

Take a look at the video rebus below. The first person to post the correct resulting sentence will win the exclusive commercial rights to the next short video work I do. Good luck!

[flv:https://monocultured.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/MJ_osv.flv https://monocultured.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/MJ_osv.png 640 360]

Update, tofu, Michael Jackson

This summer has been odd. I’m enjoying sunshine for a change! Just over the weekend, an underwater photo session was followed by a Michael Jackson tribute evening, and I got up in the morning to make my own tofu (piece of cake!) and then went to a barbeque to meet nice peoples. I have what can be described as “a tan,” ruining my usual summer pasttime as a white-balance card for RAW photography. I don’t know what is happening, but I like it.

Having spent the whole day looking for parts to my beater bike – “throwing good money after bad” comes to mind – I’m caffeinating myself before a much needed WordPress update. If anything disappears or looks like poop on your system, please let me know; It’s very possible that the theme I designed for the blog will break into thousand little pieces, but Marlene Dietrich is holding me company, so all should be well.

Licenses: Responsibility and prerogatives.

Earlier today I got a PADI open water diver licence and hugs from my instructors. I can now rent scuba equipment and make an ass out of myself as far down as 18 meters. The diving course has been a blast so far, and with only one dive left I’m thinking about how I could apply myself to use these new skills I’ve aquired. If life was an RPG this would be the point where I tame a seahorse and find treasures, but I guess I’ll have to settle with something more pedestrian.

I usually don’t do things because they’re “fun,” so it’s an odd feeling spending a whole day wrestling wetsuits for no better reason than that you’ll get fifty minutes playtime with a school of jellyfish. But jellyfish are awesome and even the bewildered fish were adorable. How often are you hovering above your lawn thinking about the texture of grass? Without drugs? Having fun is proving to be entertaining; I’ll try harder to find some more.

The fact that I haven’t become fanatic about this might be a something good; Perhaps one can enjoy diving recreationally instead of smothering a baby hobby with nerd obsession?

Even though I’ve had my drivers licence for eight months, I still tell people that I’ve just gotten it. It’s true enough relative to my age, and it certainly feels like just the other day that I fooled the instructor long enough for him to approve me as a driver. By now I have more hours behind me and feel more confident on the road, but there’s still a sensation of newness that makes me volounteer to drive drunk friends around town.

The first time anything drive related is something to remember; First tank filling, changing a broken bulb, switching tires, running a red light, overtaking another car. I cherish these experiences because they are attributes of modern man that I’ve had no part of except as a spectator; It’s what YLNT are discussing in their Man School episode (well, they’re “poking fun at” more than “discussing”) and each such thing that I do is yet another childish testicle dropping.

The reason I bring this up is because I got a parking ticket earlier today. I had borrowed Petters car to drive myself to the diving school, and misread the roadsigns. A parking attendent was up at 3 am just to ticket me. Yesterday I would never have thought that I’d actually get a parking ticket, and thought that parking attendents were doing a good job in providing incentive for alternative means of transportation. At seven in the morning I was less appreciative and swore over the peglegged fucktard who was robbing me.

Barely audible over my swearing was the squishy sound of another testicle settling into its’ adult position.

Closure. Sea-fairing life. Birthday. Bike!

The other day, while helping a friend move out from the apartment he shared with his girlfriend, I was wondering how I would have reasoned about dividing up stuff. It’s never occured to me that stuff like this would come up (which is telling of how experienced I am with relationships) outside of movies where a couple that are breaking up bicker over record collections. Your material possessions don’t so much possess you as they socially glue you to your surroundings; Stuff as interaction manifested relationships in itself, or somesuch.

–I bought this jar of pesto and by God I’m taking it! Oh, and this water heater that you bought only after breaking mine? I’m trashing it by accident, fuck you!

The only thing we trashed was an oven form that I dropped a bed frame on. Ah yes, the spoils of war and love.

Midsummer was spent in the lovely company of friends, and my birthday was spent on a boat with Anna & Jan and an engine that only fired on one cylinder and gave up the ghost next to the industrial dry docks on the shitty side of the river. Improvised team building, as it were. After poking and swearing at the engine for half an hour, we called Janne who was all manly and stuff, actually managing to fix the engine well enough to get us to an emergency port. My contribution to our efforts was limited to sunbathing and being a human fender.

(Before you ask: Yes, I do keep tabs on who forgot my birthday. You are on a passive agressive shit list.)

I’ve spent the past weeks learning how to scuba, working on my Polish tan, doing some freelance web stuff and buying a bike. And even though diving is great fun, I love my bike silly. There are many like it, but this one is mine! I’ve never had a bike this fast and I love me the commuting and silent cruising down dark streets.

True, the first thing that happened was that the front brake gave up on me – unsettling since it’s the only brake – but it’s given me reason to learn about fixing stuff, something I’m usually only good at in theory, or rather “theoretical theory,” meaning I know how to use Google. (which I call “knowledge aquisition” in my CV)

The bike is a frankenstein of different parts put together by Martin, and I posted a description + pictures on Happymtb in order try to identify it. I haven’t received much help in regard to identification, but plenty suggestions on which wheels I could get and how much a paintjob would cost. People I’ve asked seem to lean towards that it’s a French 70’s cheapo bike; Looking at old Peugeot models they have some similar details. If you have any hints, I’d appreciate your input.

Bloggers that read together, stay together.

What makes you feel less bored soon makes you into an addict. What makes you feel less vulnerable can easily turn you into a dick. And the things that are meant to make you feel more connected today often turn out to be insubstantial time sinks — empty, programmatic encouragements to groom and refine your personality while sitting alone at a screen.

→ KungFuGrippe.com, Merlin Mann: Better.

There are a shit-ton of grenades still rolling around on the floor right now, and I’m one of those crazy fringe types who publicly, ardently hopes that at least one of them blows out a few load-bearing walls inside industries that are in overdue need of a bottom-up redesign. No matter what.

→ 43folders.com, Merlin Mann: Free Me.

Somebody somewhere got the raw end of the deal: they gave their work for my “work”. They supported me by toiling for hours in the creation of resources, and I copied their actions faithfully in pretense of doing the sense. It has an almost cargo-cult quality to it, with thousands of people everyday going through the motions of “work” in the belief that resources will rain from the sky. And they do, which is perhaps the most interesting thing about how western society ir organized.

→ Metafilter: Why work?

Surround yourself with people who are jealous of your time, disrespect your writing and undermine you at every turn. If possible, marry one and have kids.

→ Zed Lopez: How to Fail at Writing.

I’ll bet you’re the kind of guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the goddam common courtesy to give him a reach-around. I’ll be watching you.

→ IMDB, memorable quotes: Full Metal Jacket.

Another word for euphemism.

Spritz cologne immediately above where the grilled cheese is made. This gives the cook a more aromatic and pleasant cooking experience.

→ From the Love Letters section of the Boston Globe: Allergic to “grilled cheese”

If you’re dead-set on deep-throating this guy, and he’s dead-set on being deep-throated, then the first step is for him to be a gentleman and cut it out with the facefucking.

→ Ask.Metafilter is as usual less prudish: His cock barely fits in my mouth; how can I give better head?

The tangy metallic is iron from the blood. Then there is the almond nutty context probably based on mucus. And the lightly salted melon. And the durian flavor from dead cells. Any of which can come to the fore based on diet and hormone progression.

→ Ask.Metafilter: Connoisseurs of Cunnilingus: What does it taste like to you?

Charlie crept into Terry and Penny’s first-floor bedroom and fired at them until his gun jammed. He handed the gun to Waid, who fixed the .22 and fired two more shots. They left the room, and then Charlie came back and cut Penny’s throat to make sure she was dead.

→ Pamela Colloff, Texas Monthly: Why did a small-town girl have her family brutally murdered?

Sengamalam, one of the boys, told me that more than 2,000 soldiers had been involved in the round-up of our 22-strong unit, and had dumped the bodies of those who died in the open air. My mind swum with images of Ajanthi and Muralie, their bodies being scavenged by dogs.

→ The Telegraph: Life as a female Tamil Tiger guerilla relived by one of first female soldiers.

Today, my mom’s will was read to the rest of the family. I helped my mom write it a couple years ago, and I was to get funds to pay off school loans. She revised it and put in a note saying I was to get nothing because I was gay. The executor read it out loud. My mom was the only one who knew.

→ Fuck my life: user 2796619

The half-and-half clone of Tobias & Jenny

Congratulations are in order for Jenny and Tobias on the successful production of a child! May they all live long and prosper like hell! I’m certain their half-clone will be awesome and dressed in stuff with printed skulls on it.

Tobias, previously known for his Photoshop prowess, failed to deliver a time lapse video of the event so I’m substituting the miracle of birth with the miracle of men mounting a football fence outside my window. If you whistle Circle of Life while watching it you might tear up. I know I do!

[flv:https://monocultured.com/blog/blog_video/football_net.flv https://monocultured.com/blog/blog_video/football_net.png 640 360]

How to succeed in evil: Pirate lawyers

A couple of years ago I found How to Succeed in Evil by Patrick E. McLean, and now it’s available in a more polished version. It would be difficult to improve on the original story, but the calm and balmy voice of Patrick makes a listen worthwhile. I recommend a listen: How to Succeed in Evil.

Below is an unrelated short story he published a couple of years ago, Vampire in the Attic.

[audio:https://monocultured.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/the-vampire-in-the-attic.mp3]

Not long ago I posted a short audio segment that Planet Money had produced on the Somali pirates. They followed up the story and talked to the negotiator for the pirates, Mr. Ali.

Link to full episode: And three baby camels.

[audio:https://monocultured.com/misc/NPR_pirates2.mp3]

Speak like a pirate day, every day!

Congratulations to us, there’s now at least one pirate in the EU parliament!

I don’t hold representative democracy in high regard, but it’s going to be interesting to see if Christian will get anything good done; Here’s hoping the green or left block buys him off by adopting the pirate platform in exchange for his support!

The panorama above is from the voting place at the central station in Stockholm Sunday evening, and the image below is the same panorama I always do whenever I’m on Skeppsholmen and am waiting for the bloody bus.