Like Jon Stewart, I've been an Apple user since they first started back in 1984 or so. And like The Daily Show host exhibits in this clip, I have all three of those Apple items, too...an iPhone, a MacBook Pro laptop, and the iPad. And once again, like Jon, I was horrified that Apple sent the technology police after the Gizmodo blogger who posted the info about the new iPhone. Here's Stewart's entire bit from last night's show.
|The Daily Show With Jon Stewart||Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c|
I am, like a lot of people, a creature of habit. I like what I like and I am extremely finicky.
For most of my life, I drank soda. Or pop. Or soda pop. Call it what you will, but I grew up on the fizzy crap, probably drinking it more than milk as a kid. Over a year ago, after cutting back to diet soda a while back, I quit cold turkey. No more carbonated beverages. No more caffeine-laced time bombs. No more soda, canned, bottled, litered, or otherwise.
Since then, other than the very occasional beer, I drink either water or Vitamin Water. Here's where the finicky part comes in: After much experimentation (yes, I admit it...I succumbed to peer pressure and tried what all the other kids were trying), I found I liked only two flavors of Vitamin Water: Essential (which was citrus/orange) and Lemonade (which had some other fancy name, too). And only in the Vitamin Water 10 kind. I can't stand regular Vitamin Water.
The good news was that that "10" thing meant 10 calories per serving, while the regular VW is 50 calories per serving. So I stocked up on Essential 10 every chance I got.
And then suddenly, much to my horror, it disappeared from store shelves.
I could occasionally find a batch of it in Target or Ralphs and I'd buy all I could, as if I was preparing for the coming apocalypse (which, in California, has a more urgent meaning). But eventually that supply train ran out, too.
I started to see a new product, Vitamin Water Zero, appear on shelves, but only in very limited flavors. Lemonade was there, but no Essential. No orange. I loved my orange. I thought I might have to resort to a new drink like bourbon or something.
So imagine my relief the other day when I found a big stock of Vitamin Water Zero "Rise" on Target's shelves. It's my beloved Essential in an even smaller calorie category...like none. (I'm confident Zero will not be replaced by something such as Minus One. I don't think anyone can invent a drink that helps you lose weight.) It tastes pretty much the same to me, so I'm happy. Or at least my form of happy.
The moral of the story is good things come to those that wait. Unfortunately, that's not true in this blog post. If you've read this far and haven't yet fallen asleep, it might be because you're still drinking caffeinated beverages. Shame on you.
We don't get a lot of comments here at Innocent Bystander, but lately we've been getting lots of spam comments. I'm not sure why. They're kind of funny and charming in their own right. Let's read some now, okay?
"Generic propecia" writes to tell us:
Is it possible to have king kong jumping around and surviving his
various crash landings? Why not? Please explain this in terms of
atomic physics using natural units (planck units). An answer might
discuss the force of the impact of King Kong (use approximate
equations) and the chemical bonds in his bones. Ignore factors of 2,
pi, and such pesty constants.
I'm sorry, Generic, but that's just too much work and I don't think your theory works without PI being factored in.
"Free movies" had this to say about our Seven Days in May review:
Yeah it is very good movie. It is the one of favorite movie of my grand ma. She is used to talk about this movie. She always said me ..my dear son you must go for this movie. It is very good movie.
Perhaps, Free, your grand ma's name is May and what she's really telling you is she likes to have sex. A lot. Like for seven straight days. And really...are you her grandson or her son? Get your facts straight, man!
"Green zone" wrote about Green Zone, quoting himself quite eloquently:
According to me, It is average type movie. It is semi-fictional (but in many ways consistent with what facts are known), but it is a ripping good story, well filmed, well paced, and well acted.
Hmmm...your review of my review strikes me as being somewhat schizophrenic and I think you should look into some serious psychiatric help, Zoney. Or Greeny. Whichever you prefer.
I don't think "Al" is a spammer...he's in love with Chrissy Russo, but he's a horrible speller, so I doubt he'll get Chrissy's attention. She's a stickler for details like that.
Crissy your. Hot I just whatch the news to see you. From al
Sigh...such a romantic note to end on.
There was a moment in tonight's episode of 24 when my mind wandered to whether or not I should go to Target tomorrow and if so, what should I buy. Like any other activity--even sex--when you start making shopping lists while doing it, it's time to do something else.
I had hoped the final hours of 24 would produce some kind of Hail Mary movement, saving the season from being almost as bad as season 6, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards right now. The writers and producers are not only going out with a thud, they're gutting some of the characters as they go, most notably President Allison Taylor, played with Emmy Award-winning gusto (at least last year) by actress Cherry Jones. They've taken a strong, determined character and made her--in one felt swoop in this episode--a wimpy shadow of the president we saw last season, one who is more concerned with her place in history than the truth. That this president--who sacrificed her daughter for the truth--would cave to someone as shifty and base as disgraced President Logan goes totally against what the writers established last year. It's not only incomprehensible, it's just plain bad writing. And 24, especially in its final season, deserves better than that.
Season 8 is turning out to be almost a carbon-copy of the horrible season 6, with bad casting and an implausible storyline, that careens badly along, like Jack Bauer must drive to make it from place to place in real time. Add to that the death of Renee Walker--the most interesting new character on the show in YEARS--and I find myself wishing season 7 was Jack's final day.
The remaining 5 hours still present a chance for the writers and producers to redeem themselves on a very small level. Let's hope they can pull something off and turn it around enough to still have an audience interested in seeing a big-screen version of 24.
Okay...lest (keeping with the Biblical language thing we have going here) one thinks that Netflix has done something wrong, let me state up front that my rental choices lately have left a LOT to be desired. That's not really Netflix's fault. That's mine. This post's recap contains a quartet of movies I really didn't like very much.
The Informant! has a great cast--Matt Damon, Scott Bakula, Tony Hale, Patton Oswalt (yes, no one fired him from this movie), and the always enjoyable Melanie Lynsky (best known as wacky Rose on Two and A Half Men)--in a compelling true story. A whistle-blower goes to the FBI with a twisted tale of corruption in his mid-west food additive company. It's directed by Steven Soderbergh, to boot. And you know what? It's one of the most boring movies I've ever watched. Pegged as a black comedy, it's mildly amusing at best, but it seems to drag on forever and a day until the truth is revealed, too late to save the movie.
Armored is the action/adventure film which answers the musical question why don't the guards rip off the money more often? It stars that other Matt, Dillon, Laurence Fishburne, Jean Reno, Skeet Ulrich, and Columbus Short as the guards looking to make one big score. The movie takes forever to get going, and once it does it gets tied down in an old warehouse, thus ruining any hope of seeing hot-rodding armored trucks doing battle with chasing police officers. (Seriously? How cool would that be?) It's surprisingly tame and pretty much boring.
Speaking of boring, The Private Lives of Pippa Lee plays like a Lifetime special movie event, except with bigger stars. Robin Wright Penn (this name may change shortly) co-stars as the trophy wife of a much older publishing type (Alan Arkin) whose world changes--mainly in a good way--when she finds out her old hubby is diddling her best friend (Winona Ryder). The hunky son (Keanu Reeves) of her neighbor helps her adjust while she tries to mend fences with her estranged daughter. I almost gave up on this, but Wright Penn is very good in it, playing a free-spirited hippie type with a tough mom (Maria Bello) who becomes a Stepford Wife under her husband's thumb and then experiences rebirth as the person she is meant to be (I guess). Of the four films reviewed here, it's probably the best...unfortunately, that's not saying much.
Finally, there's The Hangover. I heard so much about this movie from my younger friends that I was afraid to watch it lest (oops...Bible word alert) I'd have either a heart attack from too much laughing or puke my guts out from its over-the-top grossness. My reaction? WTF? This innocuous little comedy made all that money? Is Hollywood that bereft of creativity that something that's even mildly different can score so big? Yes, it's funny. Yes, it's enjoyable. But the comedy event of the summer? I don't think so. And do we really need a sequel? I heard they still can't get Mike Tyson's tiger to sign a contract.
It has always been my lot in life to be frustrated by inanimate objects. They jump out at my feet when I shuffle off to the bathroom at 2am. They cascade from my hand, they bump off my hip, they get caught in my too-long t-shirt. (Despite what Liz Lemon thinks, there's a reason why we guys tuck them in sometimes.)
Along with this fumbling and bumbling, I have been constantly stymied by anything that purports to help you open a package, can, or bottle. If it says "easy-open" on it, it's apparently beyond my mental pay-grade, because it never is for me. If it has some kind of tab or "tear here" instruction, it'll never work for me. And those packages that have zip-lock re-sealers, and always have a portion you have to tear off first? They need to come with built-in scissors.
Today I wrestled with a tab on a can of almonds and the top of a salad dressing bottle. When I made waffles, the pop-top on the light syrup bottle refused to pop. The "open here" tab on the waffle box became "tear and shred here," the dampness of the box outside of the freezer not helping much.
I would chalk this all up to getting old (it's a convenient excuse these days for me), but I've always been this way. I'm the guy who spills the bag of candy all over the floor with his one final futile effort to tear it open. It makes for great slapstick comedy, so thankfully there are no video cameras recording my life (remember when all that was the rage of that new Internet thing?). I'd say I'd just switch to all fresh-foods, but even the plastic bags in supermarkets that are for fresh produce confound me. I can't rip them off the rolls and once I do, I can never get that flimsy material to open. And don't even get me started on "child-proof" over-the-counter drug packaging. It might as well just be called "Gary-proof."
I awoke this morning to a small earthquake, enough to throw off my internal equilibrium and have me rolling a little long after it passed. Just another friendly reminder that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Not even Pittsburg, Kansas. The problem with these quakes, even teeny ones (a mere 4.0 or so), is that I still feel them in me long after they're gone, let me tell you!
The weather here--he wrote, sounding like some kind of long-ago postcard--has been wonky to say the least. One moment sunshine, the next pouring-down rain. But it's been windy, too. Aunt Martha had another of her "spells," but all was right once the "cooking" sherry appeared. That Aunt Martha, let me tell you!
If it seems like I'm flogging along here, looking for a thread to desperately grab onto for something to write about, well...you know me all to well. Other than finding a $100 error in my checkbook today, not much has happened lately. Oh, and that $100 was in MY favor. That doesn't happen very often, let me tell you!
I have to admit to being slightly disappointed in Glee since it's returned. The last two episodes have been so music heavy that it almost feels like I'm watching VH-1, when, you know, VH-1 ran music videos. One of the things I liked most about Glee was the story--stories, really--it was telling about all the kids. Now it seems that actual dialogue has been replaced with song. Has it become just one big CD and iTunes promoting juggernaut? No...let's not forget the imminent summer concert tour, too.
And to be honest, I've never been a fan of Madonna, who I--mean-spirited old grumpy fart that I am--regularly refer to as "Madoona" around these here parts. Last night's episode of Glee was such a giant big red smooch on the firm, toned buttocks of Ms. Madge that it actually made me squirm at times--and not in a good way. If part of the deal with getting Madoona's songs for this episode included bowing, scraping, and ass-kissing, Ryan Murphy and the Glee producers fulfilled that part of the bargain swimmingly. In fact, like that gold medal winning Olympic swimmer guy who got busted for pot and pulled off the Wheaties box and whose name I've already forgotten. That kind of swimming.
You see, my outlook on Madonna has always been that her only real talent is for attracting publicity. She has marginal vocal talent, slightly better dance skills, a knack for picking a catchy tune, and a penchant for doing something shocking. But her real skill is adopting black babies, attracting men who she decimates and blows up, and getting the press to follow her 50-year-old ass around as she leads them by the nose.
I can only hope that if Glee ever does a Beatles episode they kiss an equal amount of butt, times four. And oh, yeah..."kudos" to FOX for letting American Idol run long (again) and the subsequent clipping of Glee on the nation's DVRs. Way to go, Rupert. "Seacrest out!" should have a definite drop-dead out-time.