…to the person who ran the red light right in front of me at the Hennepin and Central Avenues intersection at 6:08 p.m. last night. I regret if the prolonged honking of my horn made it hard to hear whoever it was you were talking to on your cell phone or otherwise distracted you from the task at hand.
According to today’s Writer’s Almanac,
On this day, in 1858 the state of Minnesota was admitted into the Union. It was from Minnesota that we got the stapler, water skis and roller blades, Scotch tape, Bisquick, Bob Dylan, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Spam
I’ve been doing a bit of father-daughter bonding lately with Tiger Lilly via one of the Xbox games I received for my birthday: Justice League Heroes. In it mixed duos of superheroes fly and fight their way through a less-bloody version of the Baldur’s Gate II universe (the games were designed by the same people). Though you can play individually, the game works best with a real partner and Tiger Lilly’s just the person you want to take with you into a dark Gotham or Metropolis alley – fast thumbs, sharp eyes and a diabolical “heh, heh” when she unleashes a devastating A-B-A combo on a pitiable robot or para-demon, or — if she’s playing as Zatanna, Mistress of Magic — when she turns them into white rabbits. 
You start out with your basic A-list of superheroes: Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Zatanna, the Martian Manhunter, the Flash and the guy I’m kind of partial to — Green Lantern (who’s secret identity is John Stewart). As you go along you can earn shields (points) that allow you to unlock more characters such as Aquaman, Hawkgirl, and the Huntress. On some levels you get to pick your character from the entire roster, but most of the time the duo is predetermined (to fit the cut-scene segues) and you only get to pick between the two — which means I sometimes get the opportunity to explore my inner Wonder Woman (laugh and I’ll bounce a tiara-boomerang off your head so fast you’ll feel like Jimmy Olson).
Each character has a different set of super powers and it’s fun learning how to best apply them. Superman, for example, has a super-assortment that includes heat vision, freezing breath, a high-speed flying strike and the Super-Punch, which takes a moment to load up but does tremendous damage. Still, he can be a bit of an oaf. On one level where I’m playing as Superman and Tiger Lilly is Wonder Woman, TL takes great delight in letting me fly out to punch a laser-shooting creature…and then using her lasso to snatch the villain right from under my nose (or fist) so she can deliver a knock-out kick. The best part though, in my opinion, is the job the artists and writers did in getting the personalities of the characters into the game. Superman and Batman, for instance, don’t really like each other (well, to tell the truth, Batman doesn’t really like anyone) and trash-talk each other throughout the game and there’s girl-talk between Zatanna and Wonder Woman (Z: “Just between us girls, don’t you ever get cold in that outfit?”).
As in Baldur’s Gate, if you let your characters stand still too long they get antsy and let you know about it in ways generally true to their character. Zatanna, for instance, will say, “Hey! Pay attention to me!” or “Want to see a real magic trick? Pull my finger!” Her friend Wonder Woman will say, “You can tell that a man designed this costume,” or, “If only I could remember where I parked the invisible plane.” Superman, always the Boy Scout, will finally say, “I don’t mean to be pushy, but ‘places to go, people to save,’ you know?” or “Have you ever noticed there always seems to be a lot of kryptonite lying around? Really, what’s up with that?” My favorite, though, is the Batman: “Robin used to make me wait; ever wonder what happened to him?” — or the all-time winner, “What’s the matter, Precious? Your mother kick you out of the basement?”
Besides having fun, I’ve even developed some super-powers of my own. For instance, Tiger Lilly can have her nose buried in a book, or be heading for a cuddle with Mom and all I have to do is interlock my fingers, raise my thumbs and twiddle them and she jumps up and runs at super-speed to the television. Now if I can only get that to work when it comes to mowing the lawn…SHAZAM!
“Luke, I am your father.” But what if you are Luke Warm and not Luke Skywalker? For clues, go to Solid Rocks Ministry.
You all should be ashamed of yourselves. The Mall Diva comes out of blogging semi-seclusion to respond to a meme and then sits back in expectation of getting her customary 20+ comments…and gets just two. Now she’s refusing to come out of the bathroom. Thanks a lot!
At least two of the people she tagged in the meme have responded: her sister, Tiger Lilly, and her best friend, Princess FlickerFeather. Their responses to the “All About Me, A to Z” meme are below under their names; click to open the results for each.
Details over at Solid Rocks Ministry.
The New Zealand director behind the movie “Whale Rider” is at work on a new movie:
Hollywood to re-tell Lockerbie bombing
The story of the Lockerbie bombing is to be made into a Hollywood film.
Kiwi director Niki Caro – whose previous films include the critically-acclaimed Whale Rider – is behind the project.All 259 people on board Pan Am flight 103 died when it exploded over a Scottish town in 1988.
Libyan Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed Al Megrahi was convicted of their murders and that of 11 Lockerbie residents in 2001.
Caro has started work on the script, an adaptation of the memoir The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky, according to the Hollywood Reporter.
The book, published last year, tells the story of author Ken Dornstein’s brother David, who died in the tragedy.
The film will be set in the present with the use of flashbacks.
The director told the Hollywood Reporter: “It looks at the emotional consequences of terrorism, but not in a political way.”
“It appears we have appointed our worst generals to command forces, and our most gifted and brilliant to edit newspapers! In fact, I discovered by reading newspapers that these journalists/geniuses plainly saw all my strategic defects from the start, yet failed to inform me until it was too late. Accordingly, I’m readily willing to yield my command to these obviously superior intellects, and I’ll, in turn, do my best for the cause by writing editorials–after the fact.”
– Robert E. Lee, 1863
HT: Jroosh at Roosh Five
…is going on over at Solid Rocks.
I know that the title for this post doesn’t sound appealing, but I’m swamped with work, travel (travel for work) and with getting through this thing we call Life. Rather than let this significant excuse for public drunkeness holiday pass by unremarked I’d thought I’d re-run a previous post that described some of the college St. Pat’s hi-jinks I enjoyed back in the day. If you read this last year at this time, well, I hope the re-run isn’t as noxious to you as that morning-after taste in the mouth. If you didn’t see this last year, then just forget this entire paragraph and sit back and enjoy some refreshing adult entertainment.
I don’t think there will ever be a St. Patrick’s Day when I don’t think about my first semester of college when I enrolled in the Spring term at the University of Missouri-Rolla campus. UMR is mainly an engineering college but it was close to where I lived at the time and a convenient way for me to knock out some general liberal arts credits before transferring to the main Mizzou campus in Columbia.
St. Patrick’s “Day” was actually a 10-day party at UMR. The campus was about 90% male then, almost all in grueling engineering classes that seemed to require binge drinking in order to cope. The reason St. Pat is such a big deal at UMR is because he is deemed to be the patron saint of engineers for having driven the snakes from Ireland and thereby creating the first worm drive (engineering humor). The rites and festivities of the season were under the auspices of the St. Pat’s Board: upper classmen (some I think were in their 30s) elected by their fraternities, eating clubs and campus organizations. For most of the year their duties seemed to be based around regular “meetings” marked by drinking and carousing. Come March, however, they were especially prominent in their filthy green coats (part of their semi-secret initiation rites) as they enforced the rules and protocols of the holiday (for those familiar with the St. Paul Winter Carnival – especially in the older days – think green Vulcans).
Part of the tradition was that all freshmen males were to have beards in the week or so leading up to St. Pat’s, and were to carry shillelaghs (an Irish cudgel). Most people think of shillelaghs as being a bit like walking sticks, but at UMR there were specific requirements: the shillelagh had to be at least two-thirds the height of the student and at least one-third his weight, and it had to be cut from a whole tree with at least some of the roots showing. The punishment for being caught beardless by a Board Member (and they usually traveled in packs of two or more) was to have your face painted green. The penalty for being without your shillelagh was to be thrown into Frisco Pond. Frisco Pond was actually the town’s sewage lagoon, but was called Frisco Pond because the St. Pat’s Board of 1927 rerouted the Frisco railroad into the pond after one of their meetings. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea to them at the time.
Fortunately I was able to cultivate my first beard, red and wispy as it was, and I cut myself a suitable cudgel. Carrying books and a shillelagh of the stated dimensions was a challenge, and even more so when certain professors wouldn’t allow them into class, meaning they had to be stacked in the hallways and guarded because Board members liked nothing better than to snatch unattended shillelaghs and then wait for their rightful owners to appear — followed by a honking procession to Frisco Pond. (I did mention the campus was 90% male and fueled by alcohol, right? During St. Pat’s week the campus looked like No Name City from “Paint Your Wagon.”)
The reason we carried cudgels was in case a Board member approached you with a rubber snake and demanded that you “kill” it. This generally meant pounding on the snake with your cudgel until the Board member (not you) got tired. I weighed about 170 then; you do the math as to what my shillelagh weighed, minimum. I was fortunate to go largely unnoticed (as unnoticed as a guy carrying a tree can be) through most of this period. This was especially remarkable given that one of my friends from my hometown was on the Board. Toward the end of the week, however, he came up to me in the dining hall. “Red,” (for my beard) he said, “I think I see a snake.” With chants of “snake! snake! snake!” I was led outside and my “friend” tossed said snake on the ground. It landed, however, in a flower bed. “Freshman! Kill!” was the command. Hoisting my club over my head (and somehow not tipping over backwards) I brought it crashing down onto the hapless rubber creature — and even more hapless plants in the soft earth.
“Hit it again, it’s not dead,” was the order. I looked down once, then again. “Oh, it’s dead, alright,” I said. Actually, it would be more accurate to say, “Missing, presumed dead” because the rubber snake was nowhere to be found in the newly-created crater. Rather than wait around for CSI, or the gardener, the small group repaired to the dining hall to toast the success of the mission and I survived the week, the highlight of which was the St. Pat’s Parade.
In those days the St. Pat’s Board would be out early in the morning with mops and barrels of green paint, painting Pine Street in advance of the parade. High school bands from around the area would march, car dealers would drive demo models with pretty girls in them and various and sundry other parade standards would be present. In particular, however, I remember the Precision Pony Team: a group of students scooting along on empty pony kegs strapped to skateboards with rudimentary heads and yarn tails attached to the kegs. They wove patterns and formations down the street, stopping periodically to lift the tails of their “mounts” and drop handfuls of malted milk balls.
Much like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, the event culminated in St. Pat (not St. Nick) appearing on the route, riding a manure spreader and attended by his Guard. The duties of the Guard were largely to keep St. Pat vertical (he’d probably been drinking for four days straight) and to bring any fetching lasses from the crowd to St. Pat for a good luck kiss. (I did say the campus was 90% male and fueled by alcohol, didn’t I?).
After this particular St. Patrick’s Day all the other ones I’ve experienced have just kind of faded from my memory.
Note: the annual UMR St. Pat’s parade and related festivities still go on, but in a much more muted manner. A couple of alchohol-poisoning deaths were a factor (sad and true) to be sure, but I also think it was because some of those Board members finally graduated.