Le Morte d’Arthur

" I didn’t want parents to think we were trying to exploit their children.’’Arthur Clokey

It was barely noticed, as was the news of the loss of his voice just last year, but there it was on the AP wire:

LOS OSOS, Calif. Animator Art Clokey, whose bendable creation Gumby became a pop culture phenomenon through decades of toys, revivals, and satires, died Friday. He was 88.

I never really liked Gumby – plain and simple. I definitely come to bury Gumby, not to praise him.

Still, Gumby had some integrity. He started as a guest on the Howdy Doody Show. Maybe he just didn’t want to upstage his host (Mr. Simpson, a Ms Ullman on the line for you). And Clokey didn’t market the man of clay as a toy for seven years or so, fearing that the little rubber toy would be seen as exploitive.

Arthur - you want exploitive?

‘Sex robot’ offers conversation, firm says

By Associated Press | January 11, 2010

LAS VEGAS - A New Jersey company says it has developed “the world’s first sex robot,’’ a life-size rubber doll that’s designed to engage the owner with conversation rather than lifelike movement.

At a demonstration at the Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas on Saturday, the dark-haired, negligee-clad robot said “I love holding hands with you’’ when it sensed that its creator touched its hand.

Conversation? Rather than lifelike movement? Is that what AP really thinks the damn thing is for? If you’re in the market for a sex robot is conversation really your priority? Do you really care to find out if the two of you have any shared interests?

The AP tells us that the contraption costs about $9,000. So there you are in your Las Vegas hotel room with a cross between Barbie, Tickle-Me Elmo and a mechanical bull

“Sure, we can talk all you want Mister – all night if you want – it’s still gonna cost you nine grand.”

So it goes in the world of "bendable creations".


Jaime

If That Don't Beat All. I Never Saw Such A Dog.

Burn Sanderson [to Travis]: You can't hardly tell at first, not till they get to the point of slobbering and staggering around. When you see a critter in that fix, you know for sure. But you want to watch for others that ain't that far along. Now, you take a bobcat or a fox. You know they'll run if you give 'em the chance. But when one don't run, or maybe makes fight at you, why, you shoot him and shoot him quick. After he's bitten you, it's too late.

Here is what you need to know.

First, I enlarged all the font sizes on my Windows desktop. Leaning toward the screen to read the icon labels and stuff was causing me neck pain. And I don’t need reading glasses dammit!

Second, I am convinced that the three frogs that have been living in our pool know me by sight. My wife thinks it’s only one frog, but I think the three of them are just taking turns in the pool, whereas before they were all frolicking all at the same time. At my age I can certainly tell one frog from another. Not only that, but now that I have installed a safety ladder so they can escape the skimmer basket without my help, why the hell would they leave? Can you tell me that? No, I bet you can’t.

Finally, I agreed to attend a birthday party for a cat. There are extenuating circumstances having to do with the actual date of the cat’s birth and some other things that are none of your business. And the cat in question, sadly, is no longer with us, so technically it is moot. But it was to have been a birthday party and it was planned for a cat. And I agreed to attend. (Further disclosure: I had not purchased, but had not honestly ruled out purchasing a gift for dear Bandit.)



I have fully expressed my wishes in certain circumstances, (My Medical Proxy). I don’t think I am there yet. But I am concerned. If I start to slobber and stagger, well. You know what to do.

After I've bitten you it will be too late.

My Medical Proxy

Instructions to my loved ones:


Was it Old Yeller where they had to shoot the dog because he was acting tetched and foaming at the mouth? Even though it was the good old dog and they loved him very much, they realized that he was miserable and doomed and needed them to do what must be done?

Anyway, I may have left you instructions about the fanny pack (or belly-band, depending on its orientation). It may be fine for other people or for specific purposes, but if you see me wearing one, aim and fire. I am not a photographer or an avid hiker, so I have no honest business wearing one. Think of them the way you would think of those miner's headlamps. If I look like I am spelunking or working under the kitchen sink (the suburbanite's equivalent) hold your fire and look for signs of a climbing harness, ropes or a plumber's wrench. In their absence; proceed.

So it is for fanny packs.

Well same goes for jargon. I have been looking at job descriptions for PR positions and whoever writes them should be ashamed. After an hour or so, the devil in me spoke up and said:

"Seeking a position where my demonstrated capabilities at utilizing state-of-the art communications technologies and strong interpersonal and writing skills to strategically dialogue with key influencers on time-sensitive mission-critical challenges in a highly-competitive environment enable me to efficiently and effectively produce profitable outcomes across departments that are consistent with the company brand and its mission and that promote/reinforce its active involvement as a good corporate citizen.”

That is hydrophobia. Do not hesitate: Do what must be done. Just as exposure to underground bats can occasion the infection of the careful spelunker, so, even casual contact with the language of recruitment can doom the careful job-seeker.

As Old Yeller might have said, Just shoot me.

I will know that you love me.

Jaime®
Now with Intel Centrino Duo Mobile Technology.

You Can't Be Twenty

No dear brethren, you can't be twenty on Sugar Mountain.



Ask my good friend Neil, here. Despite what has been said, he does not look like my burnout uncle who always used to offer to take the children fishing, "just like your grampa use to take me and your dad, back when your dad had a pair - course that was before he married your mom!" (Why you need "a pair" to go fishing we could never figure out. And we were too scared to ask him. The one time we asked him about his chest hair, he ended up starting a small fire in the dining room showing us a trick he learned back in the day.)


But the point is, Iam sure there are reasons aplenty to be wary of anybody addressing his brethren. Collegues, I can handle. Even fellows. I am pretty sure that my friend Neil says folks, and that's OK with me too. He's green and Canadian and likes dogs and sings about old men and pretty girls and dead junkies and stuff, so he's cool. But who exactly thinks they have brethren? Children, maybe, but brethren?

Not me, buddy!