Archive for August, 2008


Help me with photoshop

Your mission, and yt, ou will be forced, at gunpoint, to accept it is as follows:

Help me with Photoshop. Or if you’re a communist Gimp. Or if you’re ironic, MS-Paint. Whatever, I need to do a couple of things, and I’m much to busy playing the market to learn them myself. Time is money.

First, I want to get a better rendering of the header ascii/jpg I’m using on this blog. You know, the wicked ASCii one. Not only will a nicer looking render serve to make this, the most widely syndicated blog related to file_id.diz and .nfo file art, look cleaner, it’ll also help me pull underage hoes. Allow me to elaborate.

When (not if) one of you decides to help me, and makes a totally kick ass, anti-aliased, high resolution conversion of this ascii, I’m going to make it into a custom license plate for my new automobile (which may or may not be a 1982 windowless conversion van with an aftermarket ice cream truck sound system). Your art will undoubtedly be featured in rap videos as I anticipate my pimped ride being highly sought after as a representation of The Real.

The license plate will be Illmatic, So So Def, Fresh, Clean and Charged 2 The Game.

Second, I need to know how to convert white text on black background ascii (as seen in this post) into black text on white background. The infamous “Notepad Mode” so revered in the ascii community. I’m sure this is a fairly simple matter of reversing the pixel’s polarity without splitting their nuclei. However, I’m going to need assistance, for which I’ll be really grateful.

As a reward, here’s some Jeep Beat Music to enjoy while you rush to contact me.


frogs eat things part 2

And so the beasts had grown from tadpoles hatched in the back woods cistern to rubbery mounds of devouring instinct. The dragonfly didn’t know that the window sill was their territory; he wasn’t fluent in gang graffiti. His wings beat like paper lanterns in a storm, although he refused to fly. I smoked a cigarette and watched the frog perched a foot away as he cocked his head sideways. Part of him was terrified by me, his frogmouthed overlord. Part of him craved the liquid silicon insides of the hammering dragonfly. I gave him my blessing and turned away. In this moment of privacy, he made his decision. Thudding off the glass, dragonfly dangling as sacrificial dinner from his mouth, bounding away. Now hidden in the shadow, I could hear him chewing and smell the rust of blood. I had gotten a nose bleed in my excitement.

Jeweler’s rendering of this horrific scene


Hidden Gemz: Ascii From Tha Vault #003

Well, I guess this post is sort of late. There was a renegade demo party that just ended. If I had posted this two days ago, it could have been an advertisement. As it stands, I guess it’s a footnote. That’s fitting.

Anyway, this party was called RVScene. It was held outside of NViDiA’s major US demo party, NVScene. I’m sure it was fun, but I couldn’t attend. But I was there in spirit, with this pretty crappy, pretty rushed File_id.diz art I did for the organizers.

I’m sure I’ll have more news about it soon, when everyone “recovers”.

Truckin on down the line!

Truckin on down the line!

Note, it’s only about a 1/3 of the usable area of the screen because traditionally, file_id.diz files had a standard width of like 39 characters. So, I wanted to make sure it would fit in case, you know, someone decided to upload this to a Oblivion/2 BBS or something. Everyone needs download credits!

Hidden Gemz: Ascii From Tha Vault #002

So another Anonymous friend of mine requested an ascii signature for some bulletin board. He showed me another user’s signature, and yeah, there’s limitations whenever making an ascii signature these days. Formating, font type, etc, all tend to make an oldschool thing turn into a hunking pile of doo. This is what I drew for him:

And this is the result of the webification:

Just another in a long line of ascii art related examples of why progress sucks. 😦


cod and chuck klosterman: both baked [2/2]

In an earlier post, which can now be found in WordPress’s “classic posts hall of fame”, I discussed Cod – capital C. The fish, not the Cape. For Capes, I refer the reader to “Capes, Superman”, an excellent Wikipedia article on the subject. No, no, the cod, the fish, the bland yet aromatic hunk of flakes and breading that recently seduced my wife and me, and entered us into a Menage A Trois. Menage A Trout? I can barely manage my own mental stability! HAHAHA.

The title of that, and this post, referred to Chuck Klosterman. He of many hats. Stoner sportsman. Expositive non-fiction/fiction mashup writer. A Burroughs who writes about Britney Spears’s vagina, and her place on Gene Simmon’s “To-do list” of cunniliguist conquests. Compelling stuff.

Was titling these posts merely a grab for more pageviews. A spamming of the tag system? A disgusting attempt to trick and draw in ignorant readers to my web of jarbarfing? Partially. But it was admittedly not as flagrant as tagging my post “naked girls”. I have, and will continue, to do this. Houston rap forever!

You see kids, when I’m eating baked cod, I like to read the works of a baked cad. Klosterman fits the bill. And as such, I just finished reading his book “Killing Yourself To Live”, which is by his own admission 85 percent true, and 85 percent padding. I’m worn out and not motivated enough to give a scene by scene rundown of the book. In fact, I enjoyed his first book “Fargo Rock City” much more. I found it in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble. The bargain bin continues to be one of the greatest sources of inspiration in my life. My furniture is exclusively from the “dumpster collection”.

“Fargo Rock City”, a collection of essays about heavy metal, its legitimacy as bastard heir to the 1980’s Kingdom of Rock, and the Knights in Simple Service of loving that Kingdom is a fun read. It was my introduction to Chuckie K and his apparently world-famous take on pop culture. I immediately ordered his other three books and cherished the thought of flying through them. Unfortunately, “Killing Yourself To Live” kind of… hangs itself. It’s not a bad book, and it may very well be better written than his first. But the subject matter is more personal, less “tongue in cheek”, more “hand on chin”. I put the book down after thoroughly not really enjoying the first half. Recently I finished it. Between those two periods of time, I’ve moved, bought a new car, and done a whole lot of growing. I wouldn’t say I’ve done any incredible emotional maturity in the interim. I haven’t tripped on mushrooms or discovered a whole new worldview. But for some reason, the second time around this book was more palpable. I may re-read it just because I do sincerely enjoy and admire Klosterman’s writing, even if sometimes he throws in a few too many asides. Asides always punctuated by “ANYWAY”.

So that’s out of the way. The book is off the porch, and in its stead is Philip Lapote’s “Totally, Tenderly, Tragically”, a book that appears to be a pretty damn serious collection of film criticism. I’m only a few essays in, but thus far Lapote’s juvenalia (Is the book arranged chronologically? Shouldn’t have skipped the introduction!) alone makes me realize just how out of my league. Not only in knowledge of cinema, which is heart-breakingly apparent, but essaying in general. Composition. Clarity of thought. Coherence.

It’s going to be a long night…


Cod and Chuck Klosterman: Both Baked [1/2]

It had been close to ten years since my wife or I had eaten any meat. And that had meant absolute nothing. No rennet, no steak, no burgers, no tacos. As much as my some people were amazed that meant no shrimp, no lobster, no steak tartare, no caviar, no sushi and no corned beef. For some reason people would think the more exotic an animal dish, the more likely it didn’t conform to our “Rules of Vegetarianism”. At times it meant no dairy, but honestly, that was brief and laughably failed experiment.

Our vegetarianism wasn’t an ethical decision. We didn’t choose to give up beef because of the ridiculous inefficiencies of the cattle industry (though later that would offer us warm solace over bowls of bland rice and broccoli). It had nothing to do chickens going beakless, seals being clubbed or pandas getting sprayed with prototype chemical weapons. I even think hunting’s probably pretty fun, and bunny rabbits wearing mascara have always held a certain appeal to me. Long story, but it involves a tawdry Easter holiday in my adolescence. No homo.

Nor was it a health decision. In fact, I originally probably gained 60 pounds in the year after I stopped eating meat. Cheese and bean burritos and personal pan cheese pizzas aren’t what fuels Olympians. They fuel drunken college dropouts, the poor, and the alcoholic. I would never be pregnant, but in this sense I was “eating for three”. I’m not sure how all this works, but I’m sure I suffered some negative effects of my poor eating habits during my early vegetarian years. Dementia, schizophrenia, logorrhea. Delusions of grandeur. Partying in warehouses, etc. It may have even contributed to my development of diabetes. What’s done is done.

Vegetarianism was a fad that went on too long. A lifestyle like that has it’s own twisted inertia. People start to expect certain vegetarian behaviour out of you. You don’t eat at certain restaurants. Cooking takes on a new strategic aspect. And it’s just generally a pain in the ass. It’s a pain in the ass I think people like though. For instance, it’s better than being the loutish, drunken uncle who comes over at Christmas and breaks the coffee table. It’s less inconvenient than the wayward brother-in-law who always needs a couch to sleep on, or bail money. Still, it was a tic that was hard to shake. Basically, it boils down to accepting the eating of living, bleeding things. There’s a psychological barrier to doing that after you haven’t in so long. But with diet becoming more of an issue in my diabetes control my wife and I have been steeling ourselves for the inevitable return to omnivorism.

This is a big deal. It’s been a long time coming, but we finally bought about a pound of sea bass, and some breaded cutlets of cod. The sea bass, because well, we assumed at nearly twenty dollars a pound, that had to be a hell of a fucking fish. The cod cutlets because, honestly, breading makes almost everything taste better. We were realistic in this regard. And it’s almost a week later, the sea bass in still sitting in the refrigerator (is that healthy?) but that cod cutlets have been baked (see title) and consumed. Mostly.

Even as a meat eater, way back when… in the glory days, I never really ate much fish. I just wasn’t raised in a family of sophisticated diners. Peanut butter sandwiches were the norm. Sans jelly usually, as it was too messy to justify it’s wonderful and undoubtedly sinful, taste. As a result, I’ve a modest palate. At times this is a blessing because I can shovel mounds of even the blandest food into my gullet. It’s helpful for powering through steamed vegetables, wheat germ, or unsweetened yogurt. For the most part, the cod seems to be a pretty bland fish. I think I can get down with that in the long run, but for now it’s taken me three days to eat what is, essentially, the size of a McFishen Sandwich. Baby steps, baby.

The good news here is that we made the first step. But it’s not nearly a full victory. The cod is too plain to really count as “meat”. I still consider myself a recovering meat-virgin, and fear the day my tastebuds get ravaged by a gamier source of protein. No homo.


Free subscription to Spin?

Time to renew my expired free subscription to Spin. As much as I should dislike this magazine, I usually enjoy it. Surprisingly, I like Blender too. I’m not much on the majority of the music either reviews, but it’s always a good barometer for possible “downloads”. Say what?