thoughtcrumbs : january 2000

White guy afro

Karren, Michelle, and I played hipster bingo at the Laurelthirst a few weekends ago. And needless to say, we found everything on the page. On the bartenders. And now, everywhere I go, I can't stop mentally playing the game. At Powell's. At Dante's. Even on Sauvie Island, where, thankfully, it's at least challenging. The game is not recommended if you ever want to consider your city a haven of individuality again.

Appropriateness princess

The Interaction Architect Job Title Generator: When typical IA labels are just too, well, typical. My favorites:

• Interrelation deity
• Software ho
• Ubiquitous head
• Interaction scout
• Relationship therapist

Yeah, you know me

From megut: "I like to think [the emerging standard] OPML stands for Other People's Markup Language, and I try to be down with that."

Music for adults

Steve Burns, of Blue's Clues fame, has a rock album that beats up all other albums by children's tv show hosts. And you can hear the whole thing online.

Addendum: He gave an excellent show last night (8/27) at Dante's, a Portland club that lives up to its name. Says Steve, "Thanks for coming to hell to see me. That shows extraordinary motivation."

Dooce photographs children

From Dooce's day at the zoo:

This is Kyle, and he is the most precocious three-year-old I have ever met. Let's just say that Kyle is so good at using certain four letter words in context that I think he may be a regular reader of this site.

Illuminating

Book review of Everything is Illuminated over in reading.

Not sure if I'd want to eat that

Yay for NBC for bringing Queer Eye for the Straight Guy to the cableless masses. Last night the fab five Vin-Dieseled-up a stoic NYC cop and taught him to make an Italian torta, sort of a "quiche with balls."

Woe to the guy who wasn't home

One of the more annoying aspects of the digital revolution is the prevalence of cell phones at concerts. And not cell phones stuck in pockets, but cell phones held high, recording music and taking photos. Either of those activities is fine with me, but at least get some decent equipment and don't be such a stereotypical prat. Dozens of blue LEDed fireflies boasting the disposable income of their teenage owners. (Or am I just old and cranky?) So, last night, during a luscious medley of Let's Get it On and Sexual Healing, Ben Harper pulled someone's phone onstage and cooed to the person on the other end of the line. Turns out it was voicemail.

What day is it?

I have a major wiggins this morning, and am having trouble pinpointing its source. Though all the acronymed resources on which I rely (NPR, PDA, PC) insist it's Friday, I can't shake the feeling I've accidentally come to work on a Saturday. Perhaps the stories of the east coast blackout seeped into my dreams, reminding me of the carefree powerless days on Guam post-typhoon, and the newscasters encouraging New Yorkers not to go to work today aren't helping. Plus my mom's visiting and I have to take my car to the shop this afternoon (which, though I'm confident in most arenas, my fear of being gouged has been unnerving me all week). Or maybe it's that I've been watching too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer lately. I think I might have dreamed of being stressed about having to rid the world of demons, and my dream-stess merged with my work-stress, causing my synapses to go all haywire.

Granny's got the hooch

This weekend I learned that my great-grandmother used to smuggle liquor up from Mexico in her girdle.