Can I Haz Ur Internetz?

A friend asked me to appraise all the hoopla surrounding Web 2.0 for an article for the BITS alumni magazine. Here is my contribution:


Web 2.0. The very mention of these words make my skin crawl, like when you see that creepy older relative from your childhood, who was a little too fond of having you sit on his lap. Its funny how very few people actually define Web 2.0, but every two-bit scumbag company in Silicon Valley is ready to jump on the bandwagon.

So, what exactly is Web 2.0? Whence did it come to haunt the "Internets"? Around 2004, a company called Google introduced two web-based applications: GMail and Google Maps. These applications felt "richer" and more responsive than most web applications before. Google resurrected a long-forgotten browser/HTTP feature (the infamous "xmlHttpdRequest") that allowed websites to fetch data asynchronously from a Web Server. GMail and Google Maps were truly novel, useful web applications. But we can't say the same for the efforts of the inevitable shit-stream of me-too companies that followed.

Today, the Internet is littered with retarded-sounding Web 2.0 efforts like Wishlistr, twittr, tumblr, etc., which have no real revenue source, serve no real purpose, and make no underlying engineering advancements, but simply rely on what uncov.com appropriately calls "loser-generated content" (you create the content, we will make the money), tagging, and "social networks" (more on these later). It reminds one of the three-phase business plan of the Underpants Gnomes in that South Park episode:

1. Build AJAX-y/Flash-y website,
2. ???,
3. Profit!!!
   

Web 2.0 applications are supposed to share a few common properties: making the browser richer in functionality and more responsive ("pages load faster!"), using tags to add a semantic layer, and encouraging user-collaboration, etc. Never mind that the HTTP hack used to provide these "features" breaks the most basic rule of web-browsing (unless carefully worked around): the Back button on your browser. The HTTP protocol is fundamentally unsuited for the kind of flashy jugglery these Web 2.0 ass-clowns are trying to pull off. The whole effort is akin to putting lipstick on a pig. But it hasn't stopped these Webtards from trying anyway. A search for AJAX libraries on Google yields way more results than it should.

The biggest me-too Web 2.0 offenders have to be the dime-a-dozen attempts to create websites for managing TO DO lists. I mean, come on, the ultimate solution for managing todo lists has already been created: its called a Sticky note. I don't need to login to a fricking computer to remember to get milk from the grocery store.

A discussion on Web 2.0 can't be complete without mention of the 800-pound gorilla of Web 2.0 efforts, the one site to rule them all: Facebook. Admit it, you have an account, and you have wasted at least an hour a day Poking friends and stalking that girl from that party. There is now an ecosystem of parasitic companies whose raison d'etre is to build "Applications" for Facebook. Lets look at one of the more popular Applications: "Superpoke". What, pray, does this application allow you to do? You can "throw a virtual sheep at", "grope", "spoon", or even "dry hump" that special someone. If that doesn't woo her, nothing will. Then, there is the Facebook Gifts application. Let me break this one down for you. You pay Facebook a dollar to send someone a fricking image file of such things as cakes, monkeys, and champagne glasses. To be honest, I am miffed that I didn't think of this one first. I would be rolling in so much cash I wouldn't be writing this shitty blog. Apparently, this Application is very popular with my friends. 48 out of my 50 friends have sent Facebook Gifts to each other. I feel like an outcast.

And then there are blogs. Blogs, per se, need not be Web 2.0, but the inevitable march of Web 2.0 progress is slowly taking over the "blogosphere" (great word, by the way). I went to a database conference recently. There were real companies like eBay, Powerset, etc., which were talking about ways they were solving real problems with their huge data sets, when someone from a company called Bloglines (I vomited a little in my mouth when I heard that name) took to the podium and said, without a hint of sarcasm, "Our mission is to index every blog post ever written". Oh great. They want to index every badly written, narcissistic and ultimately meaningless outpouring of thought on the internet. Someone didn't get the memo: It takes an infinite number of monkeys typing on an infinite number of typewriters to produce anything worth reading. Of course, the irony of it hasn't escaped me — I am one of them.

A Literal Appeal to English Speakers

From the Desk of the Language Nazi:

I don't claim mastery over the English language, either in its written form, or in diction. But it irritates me when I have to repeatedly encounter misuse of the language by native English speakers. My pet grouse is with the misuse of the word "literally". Virtually every use of this word that I have come across has been incorrect. It kills me a little every time. A like-minded soul even ranted about the abuse of the word "literally" on craigslist.

My fellow English speakers, I urge you to be sparing with your use of the word "literally". For example, you might say:

"News of John's resignation was literally a bolt from the blue to me."

Unless you were actually struck by lightning and burned to a crisp when you heard news of John's resignation, that is incorrect usage. Instead, say:

"News of John's resignation was virtually a bolt from the blue to me."

When in doubt, use the word "virtually" in place of the word "literally". Both words have the same number of syllables; and "virtually" is probably what you should have used in the first place. Other acceptable substitutes: "practically" (more forceful, but to be used with caution), and "really" (much less forceful, but widely applicable).

So, the next time you speak to me, do not misuse the term. Or I will break open your head. Literally.

Gazzag can suck my balls

Why is everyone and his grandmother clogging my inbox with invites to join the latest social network -- "Gazzag"¹? Now, I know social networks are the latest fad -- hell, I am on Facebook and Orkut -- but seriously, a network named Gazzag? Who would name anything² that? "Gazzag" sounds like the gurgling noise a serial killer's choking victim might make as he is strangled to death. The name is as appealing as catfood.

I don't care if Gazzag is giving away a bullion of gold to each member everyday -- its horrendous, unimaginative name is enough to keep me from ever trying it out. So, friends, with all due respect, please stop sending me invites to join Gazzag. I want to be in a social network named Gazzag as much as I need another asshole on my forehead.


¹ Usually, I link to websites I talk about. Gazzag doesn't deserve one. A link to the Wikipedia article on Gazzag is enough.
² Apparently, Gazzag originated in Brazil, so it might mean something in Portugese. Well, Brazilians, sorry, but better luck next time with names.

Mencken on America

H. L. Mencken is one of my favorite American intellectuals. I, like many others, was shocked by his ability to put into searing words some of our darkest suspicions, and our most cynical opinions. I lived and studied in northern Italy for a period of six months before I came to America. Naturally, I compared, and still compare, the two experiences. I found America somewhat crass, and sometimes downright vulgar in sensibility, in comparison to Trento. I used to find it difficult to articulate the difference until I read this passage in Mencken's essay, "On Being an American":

And [in America], more than anywhere else I know of or have heard of, the daily panorama of human existence, of private and communal folly—the unending procession of governmental extortions and chicaneries, of commercial brigandages and throat-slittings, of theological buffooneries, of aesthetic ribaldries, of legal swindles and harlotries, of miscellaneous rogueries, villainies, imbecilities, grotesqueries and extravagances—is so inordinately gross and preposterous, so perfectly brought up to the highest conceivable amperage, so steadily enriched with an almost fabulous daring and originality, that only the man who was born with a petrified diaphragm can fail to laugh himself to sleep every night, and to awake every morning with all the eager, unflagging expectation of a Sunday-school superintendent touring the Paris peep-shows.

What is slightly unsettling about this passage is the fact that America's penchant for crass is not recent. This essay was written in 1922.

Another passage from an article written in 1920 in the Baltimore Sun is almost seer-like in its foresight, and certainly topical. Mencken speaks thus about candidates campaigning for national office:

The larger the mob, the harder the test. In small areas, before small electorates, a first-rate man occasionally fights his way through, carrying even the mob with him by force of his personality. But when the field is nationwide, and the fight must be waged chiefly at second and third hand, and the force of personality cannot so readily make itself felt, then all the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most easily adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum.

The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.

That great and glorious day, obviously, is upon us. It has been, since 2000. (Some would say it first dawned in 1980, when Reagan took office.) Note also, in the passage, the damning assessment of the "plain folk". To their credit, the "plain folk" of the time suffered Mencken's aspersions with a fair degree of tolerance, even wreathed him in laurels. It is doubtful they would, today. And that is a tragedy.

If You're Thinking of Flying (Economy), Think Again

Judging from the last few posts, it seems like my blogging instincts are best triggered when I travel. I am starting to write this on my flight to India. Just a few hours back, I stepped onto the plane in Boston and took one of the cramped seats in economy with no legroom, with armrests that wouldn't move. As I strapped my seat belt on, I had ominous visions of being strapped on to an electric chair. Why, it soon became clear.

I had developed a cold yesterday. Now, this cold was the kind that gives you a running nose: a nose that runs more copiously than the Nile. I purchased three Kleenex packs, and sure enough, by half the flight, I had run through two of them. This cold was also the kind that gives you headaches and body-aches. Add that type of thing when you are trapped in a seat and can barely move, and the results are lethal: in fact, Guantanamo would be a breeze after this. If you want your terrorist to talk, expose him to common cold, strap him onto one of the economy seats on an international flight, and let him fly for, may be, two days. See if he doesn't spill his guts out.

I started feeling feverish after a while. I feared I might have contracted the bird-flu. As I fitfully slept, I had nightmares of waking up and coughing and spraying blood and viruses all over the other passengers, and then being quarantined in Amsterdam. I also realized I had to take a crap. Blame it on my stern upbringing, or call me stuck-up (as it were), but I am one of those squeamish folks who simply can't go in an airplane. So, in addition to my already nightmarish situation, I was now constipated. Just peachy.

Flying to India is like the journey of Moses and his people to the land of Canaan. Its long, arduous, and a great test of resilience. The Jews at least had their manna from heaven. All I got was undercooked schezuan chicken. My flight schedule looked like this: 8-hr flight to Amsterdam from Boston, 3-hr stopover; an 8-hr flight from Amsterdam to Mumbai, and then a stopover for 6.5-hrs; finally, a 2-hr flight to Bangalore. That's over 26 hours in transit.

Having reached Amsterdam without actually dying, or killing other people with my bird-flu virus, I was feeling a tiny bit better. Optimistic even, that with the worst behind me, I would make it. But my heart sank to the floor as I entered the KLM flight to Mumbai. The legions of seats were even more cramped than those on my earlier flight, if that were possible. It's like KLM decided to treat people flying to India (which translates to: Indians, mostly) a bit differently on their flights. The earlier flight at least had individual TV screens. The "in-flight entertainment" on this plane, however, consisted of images beamed onto the wall in front of the first rows of seats from a projector. What are we, in the 70's? Why this disparity, I ask the airlines.

I was feeling slighted (by the conditions on the plane), and debilitated (by the cold). Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, my ear, which was acting up because of the cold, started hurting as the plane changed altitudes. This was not the dull, throbbing pain I very rarely get when I have problems with air pressure at higher altitudes. This was like someone took a screwdriver and inserted it into my right ear to see how far it would go. Within minutes, involuntary tears were running down my face. I felt this urge to unbuckle myself, and storm out of the plane. Just as I reached the limits of my tolerance to pain, the hurting stopped. I collapsed, as much as that was possible, back into my seat, and almost passed out. I then slept -- long and hard. I woke up and was deaf in the right ear. As I write this, hearing has still not returned to my right ear.

As we approached Mumbai, I suddenly started feeling a sense of camaraderie with my fellow travelers: we had made it together! Then, I realized: it was not all over yet. I had the return journey in a couple of weeks. Best not to think of it until I had to experience yet. If I have my way, I will never again fly. At least, not economy.

Naomi, oh Naomi!

Disclaimer: I haven't seen King Kong, nor do I want to. Will I actually see it, though? The answer is: yes, probably.

A friend from graduate school--let's call him Chris--had some of the strongest opinions of anyone I have known, about movies. And one of those opinions was his low regard for the big-studio Hollywood movie. Yet, paradoxically, he was the first guy to see the latest cliched blockbuster at the only cineplex in seedy Providence, RI. He would, admittedly, come back and diss the movie in discussions with me. However, after hearing that Naomi Watts was slated to star in King Kong, I'm sure he contemplated suicide at the betrayal. Naomi, the light of his life, sold out to the man!

Chris introduced Naomi Watts to me in graduate school; it was David Lynch's excellent 2001 cult noir thriller Mulholland Dr. I was so taken by her performance, that I still think of the real Naomi to be like her character from the movie: Betty/Diane, a delicate flower that needed to be sheltered from this cruel world, lest it break its own neck in a strong gale. Since then, I had enjoyed her performances in suitably 'weighty' dramas: We Don't Live Here Anymore, 21 Grams, and... yes, even I Heart Huckabees. I felt proud of my Naomi when the critics appreciated her in these roles.

When I first heard of the new King Kong movie, my reaction, while a little less drastic than my friend's, was an unhappy one as well. It is heartbreaking to see Naomi involved in a movie with the unlikely premise of doomed love between a gorilla and a woman. A 10-story tall gorilla, at that, for C(h)ris-sake! Sure, former horror movie-maker Peter Jackson intended it a "loving" homage to the 1933 "classic". But to call it "exalted" movie making, as the usually dependable A.O. Scott of the New York Times does, is mistaken. One should recognize it for what it is: an oversized, overpriced remake of an old movie, which will turn into a money-making franchise just in time for the holidays, aided by big marketing blitzkreig (Take cover! Here come the Kong cereal boxes (those again!), Kong the video game, Kong the candy bar (already out: Crunch'N Win Kong), Kong you-name-it). Oh, wait--I also forgot the other convenience of releasing the movie now: its Oscar-season! Wonderful.

Its "milk the cow for all its worth" all over again. What is disappointing is to see Naomi being involved in such un-inventive enterprise, which, I feel, is beneath her abilities. Here's wishing that Naomi returns to making intelligent cinema again. Now, excuse me, for I have to look for tickets to the next showing of King Kong at my local cineplex.

Eulogy for Dave Chappelle

Tuesday was a sad, sad day. I read somewhere that Dave Chappelle might never again work his show on Comedy Central again. Charlie Murphy, co-star on that phenomenally brilliant show said so in an interview. Well, fuck you, Charlie - for bringing me that piece of news. I was devastated. Since then, I have fallen into a kind of gentle, private depression. I guess its going to be just reruns for me, then. Well, there's always another viewing of the Popcopy episode, or the Black Bush episode.

Have you watched that Mind of Mencia show on CC? Some people I know seem to think its great, but to me it seemed just crude, mediocre and lackluster. The Chappelle show was crude as well (e.g., the mudbutt episode, or that one, where Dave, as R Kelly, splashed doo doo around from a can), but it was almost always clever, and always funny. Inspired and incisive satire. No such thing with Mencia.

In other news, after three months of trying out Netflix, I unsubscribed -- a little unsatisfied with them. Not that you really care why, but read on anyway, motherfuckers:

• The Netflix choke-hold: Initially, they were all over themselves to ship their DVD's -- movies at my door next day. For a whole month. After that, it was like someone choked their distribution. One movie actually took a week to ship.
  
• Having a completely inflexible missing DVD system: When a DVD they shipped didn't arrive at my place, I reported this to them. What happens next? They place it on a 'missing list'; two more such missing items, and my account is toast! That is bullshit, because I was penalized for something I had no control over.
  

Something else is bothering me. News articles about completely obvious findings from studies. Like:

• Youth who repeatedly watch filmstars smoke are three times more likely to pick up smoking than youth who don't. Oh shit! Really? Thanks for clearing that up. Couldn't have figured that one out.
  
• Hurricanes Have Gotten Stronger and Faster In the Last Decade. This completely startling discovery was reported in the respected journal Science. Scientists attribute it to increasing global warming. But they are not completely sure. I, for one, will keep my ears tuned for more news on this front.
  

Looking at these reports, I am tempted to add a few of my own scientific-sounding 'findings':

• 'Insert-your-favorite-endangered-species-here' Closer to Extinction, New Study Finds. Scientists Suspect Deforestation.
  
• World Population Set to Increase in 2006, Scientists Find.
  

Fuck you all. And, peace.

Katrina! Show me your titties!

So, Katrina happened. After that title (did you get it? I know its not in good taste, but heck, its funny!), I guess it is a bit pointless for me to say how horrified I am at the surrealness of the whole situation. Five days ago, it was just another hurricane with a pretty-girl name blowing in from the forever-choppy Atlantic. Now, it is the biggest natural disaster to hit the South in a long time.

I couldn't help but notice that the majority of the people affected were poor. And black. I also couldn't help but notice that for the first three or four days, the news networks on cable (CNN, Fox, MSNBC) carefully avoided mentioning that fact and acted color-blind. In today's PC world, news anchors are probably afraid of slipping up and doing a Campanis¹ that could end their career. But ignoring that fact completely is akin to not acknowledging the proverbial elephant in the room. And the longer you stay in said room, the harder it becomes to miss said elephant.

Apparently, Wolf Blitzer, over at CNN, found it impossible to miss the elephant. Quoting him,

... as Jack Cafferty just pointed out, so tragically, so many of these people, almost all of them that we see, are so poor and they are so black, and this is going to raise lots of questions for people who are watching this story unfold.

What do you mean, Wolf..? Like, not Prince black, but Charlie Murphy black? Its like Blitzer not only decided to acknowledge the elephant, but proceeded to beat it with sticks.

¹ Al Campanis, who was at one time, the GM of the LA Dodgers, went on Nightline in 1987, and educated Ted Koppel on the absence of blacks at the higher echelons of executive-dom. According to him, blacks might not have "some of the necessities" it takes to manage a major league team or a similar high-powered position, for the same reason that they aren't "good swimmers". The reason: they "lack buoyancy". His tenure as the GM of the Dodgers ended immediately afterwards.

In my ideal world...

In general, I believe choice is a good thing. But over time, I have come to think that there are some things which ought to come without it. In my ideal world:

• There would be only one ring-tone for cell phones. And that would be a no-nonsense old-school ringtone, just like that on a landline phone. Not Vivaldi's Four Seasons, or Sir Mix-a-Lot's I like Big Butts, or any other tune.
  
• No one would use HTML to compose email messages. At least not to me. It makes me go jumping mad when I see multi-colored text in my email. It is irritating, distracting and makes the email less readable, defeating any purpose of using fancy fonts. I believe that if you can not put your point across in plain-text, you simply haven't given it enough thought.
  
• Cell phones would be made only by Nokia/Ericsson. At least there wouldn't be no flip-phones -- the clam shell design.
  
• Fruit juice would not come in mixed flavors. Nothing enrages me more than being disappointed in the supermarket every time I search for a carton of pineapple flavored juice. I see pine-orange-banana, pine-orange, pine-banana and many other exotic combinations, but I'll be damned if I find just pineapple. No, sir, no pinepple. I end up going nuts.
  

In other news, I just installed and started Apache on my home machine. Check out my brand new homepage. Its a sorry situation that Verizon blocks port 80 on residential connections. So, I had to resort to the horrendous 8080 figure. My photo gallery is also up. At the moment, it is empty. It should fill up in the coming days. Yet another way for you to waste some more time from your daily routines, meaningless as they are.

Intelligent design and `hot' yoga

This is sort of old news, but y'all probably heard our beloved Dubya speaking out in support of intelligent design being taught to kids in school. This at a (quoting from the Washington Post), freewheelin', spirited news conference with Texas paper reporters. Sounds like Dubya felt right at home. In the midst of the uproar that ensued, his science adviser (what? he had one? yeah, only I suspect he hasn't had much to do since assuming that position) tried to smooth it out by clarifying that it was in a "social context" that the president meant intelligent design to be introduced in schools. That is swell, but why not also introduce kids to alternative sexual preferences (like, homosexuality) in the very same "social context"?

After that profound reflection, its time for more pop culture whoring. And what better to gripe about than that fad of all fads... yoga! I was reading an article where some hipster mentioned that he was into the latest manifestation in this genre - hot yoga. I didn't get it at first, but then I realized that it was a mangling of the term hata yoga (the hata rhymes with butter, if you will). Now, hata is a Sanskrit term used to describe a kind of obstinate, dogged persistence, which, combined with yoga, indicates the kind of physical activity that I usually associate with some yogi up in the Himalayas. I find it hard to believe that some jetsetting, capuccino/moolatte-sipping, Wall Street Journal-reading, yuppie could practice real hata yoga. Heck, I find it mighty unlikely that any consumerist American could. But then, isn't that what fads are all about...

Oops, in my zealousness to disparage fads, I forgot to Google hot yoga, just in case I missed something. Sure enough, when I Googled the term just after I wrote the previous paragraph, I found out that it was not mistaken for hata yoga (, although that sneaking suspicion lingers...). But wait, this hot yoga is apparently a sequence of some 26 asanas (positions) supposed to be performed at a balmy 106 F. Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case.

I should have signed off on that triumphant note, but I couldn't resist adding this bit of information. I was born in this sleepy little town called Mysore in Karnataka, India. Now, after 24 years, I learn that there is also a very popular style called Mysore yoga. Wonders never cease.

50 cent - trickster or lyrical genius?

Disclaimers:

1. This is yet another article written by a bewildered desi on the subject of urban/hip-hop culture in America.
   
2. The article itself was thawed from cold storage, after I noticed the blog was dying. So, don't expect the usual high quality you have come to expect from this blog. Okay, now you know which way the rest of this post is going...
   

If you think 50 Cent is a certain amount of currency, or if you think that "In Da Club" is bad spelling for In The Club, then you are possibly a hermit crab living under an impossibly large rock.

50 Cent was my rather brisk initiation into the world of hip-hop and gangsta rap. The no-nonsense, in-your-face lyrics (e.g., Sir Mix-A-Lot happily proclaiming "I like big butts", and 50 Cent crooning "I'm just a squirrel lookin' for a slut with a nice butt, to get a nut") are a refreshing change from the sappy, unlikely ballads of other genres. That is, if you can make out the lyrics. These guys keep it real. And 50 Cent is, in my opinion, the most artful exponent of this genre. Okay, may be Snoop "Doggy" Dogg is up there too, but this sort of thing is exactly what feeds the East Coast vs. West Coast rivalry. Gangsta rappers are also the cowboys of our times, who shoot each other not with guns (well, okay... not only with guns), but with stinging lyrics. Recording studios like Aftermath (Dr Dre's creation), Death Row etc. play the part of dusty alleyways. At the end of the day, a handsome paycheck awaits, too.

So, there I was, quietly enjoying my 50 Cent records, when I came across this Slate article. According to the article, 50 Cent is just a wily, scheming thug from Queens, NY, who is not especially good at rapping. Well then, how come 50 Cent is the biggest name in the manically cut-throat hip-hop world today? The article's argument: clever marketing, staged feuds (most prominently with the artist currently known as The Game), and the mystique of the "I got shot 9 times and I survived. Bitch!" routine. I beg to differ. Anyone with half a brain can make out that 50 (pronounced fi-tee) is a gifted rapper, by doing as I did: listening to Get Rich or Die Tryin', 50's platinum album, all day, for a couple weeks.

You gotta try it. 50 Cent has an inimitable style of delivering his lines with a combination of restraint and ease. It's as if he hardly opens his mouth, yet the lyrics keep coming smooth. This style is nowhere as effective as on my personal favorite, 21 Questions. If the haunting synth doesn't plant itself in your brain after a while, then the absolutely addictive beats of In Da Club will. Now, I can't wait to drop my shit, and go ghetto. 50 has given me a whole new outlook about life, where basically three things matter: guns, bitches and drugs. Wait, how could I forget: bling. If you wanna roll like a gangsta, you gotta have them spinning, flashy rims on your wheels, yo.

While the genre is still young, and is a little rough at the edges, there is no doubt in my mind that gangsta rap is the way to go. It should be played on PA systems in schools. Students will learn invaluable lessons in keepin' it real, fo' sho'. If you can't see that, you a wanksta. If you can, you in da hood, homie.

Triumph, Star Wars and Hotlines

I should make it clear first off that I have never watched any of the Star Wars movies (gasps! from the audience). May be parts of it, somewhere, some time. And in a perfect world, I wouldn't. But one of my new roommates is a fanboy. A big one. And he has the collector's edition of all the movies. And we have a projection system home theater in the apartment. So, I am probably going to watch it soon. But its pervasion into popular culture is so complete that indirectly, I know roughly what happens in the movie, and half the characters already. At the time it was released, it was probably truly the shit. But as is the fate of almost every good idea that works, its creators juiced it for all its worth, and then some more, so by the time so-called Episode I hit the screens... it was stale.

Anyway, the new Star Wars movie - Episode III - is out soon, and being the pop-culture whore that I am (or, turning into), I felt I should comment. For one thing, it is nauseating to see the associated commercialization. I was browsing through the cereals section in the grocery store, and I saw a Whole-Grain crispies box with a picture of that pussy, Hayden Christensen, standing with a lightsaber in hand. What the fuck has a Jedi Knight to do with a bowl of cold cereal anyway? Everything from poop paper to cars comes in a Star Wars edition now. Disgusting.

George Lucas stands to make millions from the mindless devotion of countless fanboys who will jump, like hungry dogs at meat, at any merchandise that smells even remotely of Star Wars. Conveniently enough, Episode III is getting `positive' reviews from everywhere.

Then we have them geeks. I don't think I can express in any novel way the sorry state of the legions of losers that call themselves Star Wars fanboys, than has already been done. But I think there is one particular downsizing that was inflicted on them, that I should share with you. Have you ever watched Triumph the insult dog in action? If you haven't, stop whatever you are doing in your meaningless life, and go watch some videos of Triumph in action. Okay, now that you are enlightened in the ways of Triumph, let's come back to the issue at hand. Some geeks were standing just outside some theater, waiting for Episode II to begin (2002, I think?). Who should appear at the scene, but Triumph! What followed was hilarity itself. I have linked some video goodness for your benefit. But if you are too lazy to watch that video, here's a sample from the transcript:

[Triumph approaches a geek standing in line. A female geek. And a pregnant one at that.]
Triumph (T): So, that is a future geek waiting to be born... eh?
Pregnant Female Geek (PFG): Yeah, yeah! That is a future jedi knight in there!
T: Oh, great. So, when is he due?
PFG: Umm... I think - June 27th.
T (barely containing his laughter): Oh, really? So, that is the last day that boy will see female genitalia.

Truly, the video is a keeper.

Wait, I have more to say. And not all of it is good news (at least, not for me).

1-800-441-4000. Looks like just another 1-800 number, right? No. Try it. I opened a bank account at Bank of America recently. I ran into the bank one evening just after it closed, as I wanted to know my account balance. The guy at the counter told me it was closed, but helpfully enough, he offered me the hot-line number for customer service at Bank of America. Yes, it was 1-800-441-4000. Cryptically, he added, "Satisfaction guaranteed", and closed the bank. I did not have my mobile phone on me at the time. When I did call the number later, I did reach a hot-line. Only, it wasn't no hot-line to any bank. You know what I'm saying? Boy, did I get suckered by that bank guy! I haven't seen him at work in that bank since.

My new toy, BlogPoster, isn't going nowhere. I am busy learning the ropes at work, and I am spending weekends hauling shit between Providence and Boston, so I haven't had the time to sit down. Hopefully, I'll get back to it soon.

Coming soon: how Arthur C Clarke and Isaac Asimov wrote some stinking bullshit disguised as science-fiction.

Yahoo! vs Google

A friend and I were comparing Google and Yahoo! He loves Yahoo! and hates Google. He loves Yahoo! because it has a comprehensive suite of web-services, and comes up with pioneering revenue-generating ideas. He hates Google because the guys there act like they are "the saviors of technology", and because they front crap like "We are in it because we love technology", while "they are actually in it for money" (which, by the way, they are making tons of).

As for me, I hate Yahoo! and love Google. For pretty much the same reasons he hates them. Let me clarify: Sure, Y! has a suite of websites, but have you used them? They are stinking piles of shit. Y! Maps has been around for ages, and its probably the clunkiest web software around. Have you seen their homepage? Even after a (much-hyped) redesign, their homepage is cluttered with ads, and with no clear focus. And let's not even get into My Yahoo!

I believe that it is important to get things working. I concede that Yahoo! does that. But then, they sit on their asses doing nothing to improve things that are working. Especially when there is trememdous potential to do so. This is the very reason Google could enter and dominate the web search market that was once Yahoo!'s domain. There is no point in being a pioneer if you don't continually strive towards improvement.

As a Mac user, another thing that greatly ticks me off about Y!'s development culture is their absolute contempt, and lack of support, for non-Windows environments. It may be true that setting teams of people to work on developing software for the Mac might not reflect in financial returns, but then, why even bother? Their website features a half-assed Y! messenger client for the Mac that doesn't even anti-alias fonts, leave alone supporting audio/video. I would actually be willing to pay them for a decent OS X client.

I don't need to sing praises about Google here, since Slashdot already does that for me. But I do believe most of that praise is warranted. Have you looked at how prolific they are? My point is that it is not beyond most tech companies to do good stuff (Yes, even Microsoft). They just need to have the right mindset.

Any way, this whole rant was finally written because of my frustration using Yahoo! messenger for the Mac. So, I am thinking of writing a third party client for Yahoo! messenger that addresses all my frustrations. Yes, I want to go all the way, and provide audio/video support. I am not brave enough to write code from scratch. But it is going to be a challenge to even reuse components. Any way, in the meanwhile, I will start migrating away from everything Yahoo!, so that if I don't get around to developing my client, I can still survive.

Apple iChat, here I come.

Bill O'Reilly's in deep shit

Mr. No-Spin-Zone has been accused by FOX producer Andrea Mackris of sexual harassment. Among other things, O'Reilly called her up, and talked about sliding a falafel up her pussy, while they showered together! What a kinky motherfucker. Hilarious! Get the complete transcript of the suit filed against O'Reilly at the Smoking Gun. Actually, the allegations are sensational in many ways. O'Reilly claims that liberal radio show host Al Franken is set for some big comeuppance for taking on FOX (courtesy head honcho Roger Ailes). O'Reilly also ridicules Tom Brokaw, talks about his sexual prowess, and even does it with a vibrator, while on the phone with Mackris.

Surprisingly, none of the major media outlets covered this potentially explosive story. Not even the New York Times, which is regularly bashed by O'Reilly on his Factor and other shows. The Washington Post did cover it, although in a half-assed way. I would love to see if Bill still has the balls to dish morality lessons to everyone aound him. I sense him going down, and I love it!

MS to Offer AV Software: How twisted is THAT?

Microsoft on Track to Offer Anti-Virus Software (TechNews.com)

Microsoft is planning to offer its own AV solution, which will compete against the likes of Symantec, McAfee etc. Knowing Microsoft, this latest offering will probably be so bug-ridden itself, that third party software might spring up to patch the holes. But I have a larger, more fundamental grouse with Microsoft.

Why, in the first place, does Microsoft charge exorbitant sums of money when its software is riddled with defects? Even allowing for defects, doesn't it become Microsoft's ethical, moral and maybe even legal responsibility to at least try and offer fixes without additionally charging users already burdened with its low-quality software?

Anti-virus software is a case in point. As everyone knows, today's proliferation of viruses and other worms that seriously affect the integrity of computer systems big and small, can be directly attributed to loopholes in Microsoft's operating system design in large part. Although Microsoft might have caused this `security issue' unintentionally, it resulted in the growth of a multi-million dollar anti-virus industry. Now, incredibly, Microsoft is aiming at earning revenue off its earlier incompetence! Those poor parasitic outgrowths face competition from the greedy host. Microsoft can probably buy out all these antivirus companies, and simply issue a small belch afterwards, being the huge cash cow it is.

A sorry state of affairs indeed. Is there any way out? Of course there is. Migrate to other operating systems. Although easier said than done, organizations should seriously consider moving out of the clutches of the Redmond gaint, at least gradually, if not at one go. Linux offers proven productivity, and at much more reasonable rates. And for those with the money to spend, there are always those Macintoshes.