This is pure awesome: Evolution of NBA Team Logos. Denver’s 1981-1993 logo is a standout; did they play some form of Tetris-based offense? What kind of crack-addled committee authorized the Washington Wizards’ mark? And why would the Hawks go from something with so much personality to something that looks like a mustache trying to fuck the Death Star?
I’m writing this in bed with a cold beer on the nightstand next to me. Jen is downstairs working and the girl is next door, fast asleep after a long day.
We’ve had two very busy days, each ending in late bedtime. Friday Jen and I picked the girl up from daycare and drove to our friends’ house for a lovely backyard barbecue, with excellent food and conversation among the music of crickets and cicada. Finn fearlessly climbed the treehouse ladder and called to me quietly for help when it was time to come down; I must have climbed that ladder for her five times, happy to see she’d made it up there on her own with no complaint (I’d say it was a full story high). Late in the evening, as dusk gave way to shadow, after accompanying her to the bathroom, I followed her back out of the house, smiling wide as she bound fearlessly into the dark ahead of me looking for adventure.
Saturday morning I brought her shopping with me, and in the car we had a long talk about throwing fits when she didn’t get her way. She knew there was a pool party planned and I made it clear that she needed to behave if she wanted to go. She did really well sticking with me in the Target, Old Navy, and finally the Kohl’s, where she got close to a meltdown after running off on her own. I took her to a quiet corner and reviewed the rules, and we came to an agreement after some deep breaths and discussion. From there, we picked up groceries and headed home.
After naptime, I packed her up with a fresh bowl of guacamole and a bag of beach gear and we drove out into a light drizzle to a pool party thrown by my boss; a little downpour didn’t spoil the fun, so we all just stayed inside. Finn’s already met almost everyone there, but it wasn’t until she’d had some food that she finally warmed up to the crowd. And then, there was no stopping her. Four hours later, at the time she’s usually putting head to pillow, she was blowing kisses and making the rounds, charming everyone she touched. There was no drama, no screaming; the worst point was when I had to wave off the third cupcake, and then have a quick chat to remind her of our agreement (a clean plate of real food first and then dessert). All afternoon I kept a close eye on her from afar, and everything I saw looked good—let’s just say I didn’t have to go running to correct anything the entire visit.
We talked about our day and sang to each other on the way home (Eyes Without a Face, She Drives Me Crazy, and I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll were standouts), and when she went down for sleep, she stayed down. I’ll take another fifteen years of days like that, thank you very much.
According to the Republicans’ Great White Hope, Corporations Are People.
“Corporations are people, my friend,” he said. “Of course they are.” After receiving jeers from the audience over the quote, he elaborated: “Everything corporations earn goes to people. Where do you think it goes? Whose pockets? People’s pockets. Human beings, my friend.”
Fuck You, My Friend. Corporations don’t give a fuck about people; that’s why they outsource jobs, open factories in China, destroy collective bargaining agreements, defund pensions and health benefits, chase government tax breaks, and reward CEOs with record salaries.
Middle-class America pays taxes because we can’t afford to outsource living in our own country. Fuck you, Romney.
I’d forgotten about how smart this article is: Power Laws, Weblogs, and Inequality, by Clay Shirky. Essentially, there are predictable patterns in things like distribution of wealth, popularity of weblogs, and word frequency. It makes me feel a little better about my traffic when I read my server logs.
Among several asinine things Apple did with the purchase and install process for Lion, there’s this:
Clicking on the Install button brought up another modal dialog that said an installer couldn’t be found; I did a Google search and found one here. They don’t usually make things this redundant. That’s why I’ve been a diehard user for all these years. This is just… inexplicable. It’s what I would have expected to find in Vista.
Color me… Not surprised? Quark sold to merger and acquisition company. I stopped giving a shit about Quark ten years ago, but once upon a time, it paid my mortgage.
Wow. This sums up just about everything I find disappointing about the Obama presidency.
A somewhat less charitable explanation is that we are a nation that is being held hostage not just by an extremist Republican Party but also by a president who either does not know what he believes or is willing to take whatever position he thinks will lead to his re-election. Perhaps those of us who were so enthralled with the magnificent story he told in “Dreams From My Father” appended a chapter at the end that wasn’t there — the chapter in which he resolves his identity and comes to know who he is and what he believes in.
As I’ve said before, I’m tired of my candidate making nice. I want him to take off the skirt and start using some fucking knives.