Sunday, September 27, 2009

Proper Use of Auto-Pilot In The Game Wipeout

When operating at such high speeds as possible in the Phantom Elite mode, common pilot opinion such as 'auto-pilot is for babies' turns unsubstantiated. As you will see in the accompanying video, auto-pilot can even be used by very expert pilots to gain leverage that previously was not available.

Basically, adding the auto-pilot capability to your arsenal gives you the advantage of having a choice to accomplish a particularly difficult sector of the track in perfection. Deriders may leer, saying that keeping a Missile or a Quake at hand is far more logical, but these are simply pilots who have become 'slightly good' at the game and don't realize sub-atomic precision. Some of them even claim that auto-pilot can really mess up how the ship moves along the tracks, and that it often even misses speed pads along the way. To this issue, the correct response is that, yes, auto-pilot is done by the computer, which is not always perfect, but since an expert would only use it in particularly tough areas, do you think he would have done any better anyway?

Don't be mistaken. This is nothing like the argument behind automatic v.s. manual transmissions when racing in a car. This is a whole different kind of fish.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

the Ridiculous and the Handyman (Part 2)

(Part 2)

the Ridiculous is everywhere.

Let me tell you something about Bosnia. In Bosnia, some guy who felt bad that his name rhymes with 'bitch' started slaughtering the peepulls. Too bad he didn't think hard about his first name. This is why when a dude says to you "I got a Bosnian gf", it's kind of hot, cos there's only a few left. Now, as I had been trying to explain, there was a need to get a handyman from the building to come and unclog the sink. The reasons for this are irrelevant. Maybe my mother was coming over to visit. Maybe my employer was conducting some kind of illegal search to verify its employees. Maybe I woke up and had a whim about starting to date again. The reason to unclog it is not of import. What is important is that when you try to get it unclogged, they send you a guy from Bosnia. I had a relationship with this guy; one time when the summers were getting too humid in Manhattan, I decided I would buy an air-conditioning machine. I was told to go and speak to this Bosnian guy who is the handyman of the building. After going through a bunch of crap about how he had a family back there, and how used to be a nuclear scientist or something, the down-low was that I have to buy a 5000 BTU machine. I wondered, at the time, how that particular number was reached. Who was this guy, this Bosnian? What, did he have the whole electricity consumption of the entire building mapped into his head, or something? I bought an 8000 BTU machine instead. Just to spite him.

the Ridiculous and the Handyman (Part 1)

(Part 1)

the Ridiculous is everywhere.

And now, it has been acknowledged. I had been writing my series of poems and prose for some time, and while the pieces brought some cheer and, perhaps, humorous enjoyment to some, the Ridiculous had never been fully acknowledged in real life, in person.

All this changed on the day I called the building handyman to come over and unclog my bathroom sink. The sink had been left uncleaned for about six months, as I had been immersed in other endeavours, and so a patina about two or three inches high -- of mold, fungus, etc. -- had built up around the sinkhole. The variety of colors and textures was really quite remarkable in this progress. After an amount of build up, I had taken to purchasing cheap little plastic figures of spacemen and such, sticking them into the sink. They were brave explorers in this strange 'alienesque' world, boldly going where no man has gone before upon the fractal terrain. I had begun taking pictures of them and posting them on flickr and such.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Sonofabitch Legend!

A true poet of mist & ether,
none would him master, nor him tame.
Like, once an anus spoke of poetic form, etc.
he just clapped his hands and said "Oh goodie, you want to play little word games!"

Leather jackets come hurricane, galoshes in the desert,
teaching !Kung a language of clicks & clacks by the nose.
Made more money as a statue than the most pitiful peasants,
plus he got to come out of it smelling like a rose.

He rescinded an unanimous vote to make him President,
spending all his time failing to woo pretty little girls.
Soured by his rejection they labeled him an infidel,
printing their little posters at Kinkos and collating them as well.

A true forage of risk and lather,
bubble bath, baby, bubble bath time.
Like, once a spiral unto your nethers,
aftershock in the form of an ovarian sperm crime.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Baig's Top Five Phrases for Corporate Domination!!!

Mastering the use of these five simple time-tested phrases will ensure smooth ascension through the dog-eat-dog ranks of corporate employment.

#05: "Right right right"

Said quickly in repetition, just as written above. For example:

Allen: Well, you see my mother died this weekend -

Jake: (Cutting in) Right right right - so when is the Christmas party again?

#04: "Imminently"

Use to indicate how soon everything will be alright, and that there is really nothing to fuss about. Serves to both diminish noise from opponent and to imply the opponent's lower standing. For example:

Q: When the hell will that damn bug get fixed, you goddamn sonofabitch? Everything is falling apart here!

A: Imminently.

#03: "Clearly"

Can be used as a prefix to almost any statement. For example:

a) Clearly you have not followed my instructions, Mr. Jones.

b) Clearly profit margins this quarter will not please investors - how do you aim to recuperate losses?.

c) Clearly she will be saddened by her termination.

d) Clearly it is raining outside.

#02: "Nice try"

Use to demean another's effort. Best used when you have an actual follow up that reveals your opponent's weakness, but can also simply be used ambigously, to create FUD (fear, uncertainty and doubt) in the opponent. For example:

Bob: "Dude! I finally arrived at my thesis!"

Sam: "Nice try Bob..."

#01: "Silence"

Use to neutralize any offense. For example:

Jim: It appears you have lost this round, colleague...

Alex: Silence.


#00: "Take care"

Used ubiquitiously as a moderate, impersonal goodbye. Doesn't really mean anything in most contexts besides warzones. 'Take care' of what exactly? Can also be used to underwhelm any prior grievance. For example:

Nathan: Man, you've totally screwed me! My whole life's savings are all gone down the shithole!

Cosmo: Take care... (waves and steps out of the office)

Baig's Top Five Ways People Should Not Start Their Damn Sentences When They Speak

5) "Well, ..."
Example: "Well, there is no way I can find an out for you."
Verdict: Well, well, well, well bloody well.

4) "Originally, ..."
Example: "Originally, we had planned for this to function like this. But we ended up making it function like that because it's simply more original."
Verdict: There is nothing original about you, or the things you do. You will never be original.

3) "Actually, ..."
Example: "Actually, it's this way."
Verdict: What, you didn't get enough with the 'Originally' part? What makes you think you know what is actual?

2) "The problem with ..."
Example: "The problem with democracy is that all of the people get to choose."
Verdict: The only problem with democracy is that you come included like batteries.

1) "Hello!"
Example: "Hello!"
Verdict: Fuck off.

Friday, September 4, 2009

One, and Another (Parts 1 - 3)

This is a series I began writing around the middle of 2007, and didn't quite finish. Plan is to go ahead and finish it now.

===hush ... be onlypositive. hush.===

"i got raisinnettes and kitkats, what do you want?"
"ssh" whispered the other. "it is stirring in its sleep."
"ooh nice. what has it been dreaming of?"
"dunno, that pointless woman again, i think".
"sad" said one.
"check it out, it's waking" whispered the other.

"look at the way it immediately cleans its nose and ears as it wakes" said one.
"mucophagy" said the other.
"no, you idiot, mucophagy is where the subject eats the derivatives".
"ah yes. nasolingus then".
"no" said one.

"look, it's writing now."
"is it writing about onlypositive?" said the other.
"look at how it is struggling" said one.
"yeah, heh."
"like it really 'means something important'."
"it has posted the item to an internet site."
"yeah. heh."

"these raisinettes remind me of rabbit droppings" said one.
"why do you think it came up and subscribes to this 'only positive' theory?" said the other.
"i know. wtf does it mean? maybe it is naive and idealistic."
"no" said the other.

"i don't like those sandals it is wearing" whispered one.
"i know, so uncomfortable."
"they looked good when it saw them at the store. did it try them out first?"
"hmm. i don't remember," replied the other, "it is such a jackass sometimes with those kinds of things, you know?"

"i like those Reef sandals, you know those?"
"ok shuttup, it is queueing up for the bus."
"those Reef sandals are pretty popular-"
"shuttup, you'll ruin the Experiment."

"why do you think it is taking the bus to go, like, 2 avenue blocks?" asked one.
"i'm not complaining. those avenue blocks are long. who came up with that scheme anyway? idiot, that man."
"yeah, heh."
"i think it has a free multipass. so it can just go around on buses and trains and all that" said the other.
"walking is good too, sometimes." said one.
"sometimes" replied the other.

===keep it down!===
"anyway, wearing sandals in the city is just gross" whispered the other.
"look how it is politely waiting for this hare-brained man to find his multipass, but in reality is forming harsh opinions about his position in the world" said one.
"heh. look at the stupid placeholder grin on its face."
"heh." said one.
"what is the point of this Experiment anyway? can't we just call quits and go play outside?" asked the other.
"shuttup," said one, "we must find the Solution."
"hey, did that woman pay? Solution? what Solution?"
"yea, we must find the Solution before we can go play."
"gawds, it could take years!" whispered the other.
"it already has" smiled one, sneakily.

"these buses should have more electronic displays".
"you mean like showing your position in the route, kind of thing?" asked one.
"yeah. or the world, maybe. GeoPositioning." whispered the other.
"yeah. why doesn't it sit down already?"
"i think it feels that letting other people sit makes it appear more rugged and manly."
"heh. lame. hey, what is it looking at?"
"hey, i think it is watching a Display of agression!"
"quick, make notes. what is happening?" whispered one, frantically.
"that woman with the baby, she didn't pay! i told you!" said the other.
"the bus driver is having a go at her. LOL. what is she saying?" asked one.
"she's saying she had to settle down with her baby first."
"that sounds reasonable".
"yeah, but why doesn't she just pay now and be done with it? she's arguing with him."
"heh. i don't think she has any intention to pay. what is it thinking?" asked one.
"it is watching the Display with mixed emotions," whispered the other, "on one hand the debate is entertaining, on the other hand, she's fucking holding up the whole bus."
"don't curse! anyway, why does it care? is it in a hurry?"
"i'm not cursing. that's just how it feels. no hurry, but because of its fucking sandals. its feet hurt."

"fucking knocked up ho held the whole bus up".
"i'm telling you, stop cursing!" whispered one.
"that's just how it feels, ok?" replied the other. "what is it thinking?"
"it is ruminating on the absurdity that the Display took so long that another bus has arrived behind this one."
"ruminating eh. i think it does that a little much, don't you?"
"it is what it is. look, it is following other passengers who've decided they've had enough. they're moving to the next bus."

"what is it doing now?" asked one.
"wondering if its multipass will work, since it was already swiped at the last bus." replied the other.
"others seem to be getting on just fine."
"yeah, i don't understand the source of its anxiety."
"paranoia" said one. "it thinks it could always be singled out from the herd. heh."
"check it out, it looks surprised. what happened?" asked one.
"holy fucking shit! the baby woman tried to get on the new bus!"
"don't curse! so what's the problem?"
"the bus driver won't let her. he's had a talk with the new bus driver and explained the situation."
"'situation'. heh."
"heh. whoa. check it out, she just took a swing at him!"
"holy shit, he swings back!"
"omfg, she's playing the injured female. how can you strike at a woman with a baby, she says!"
"lol. what is it doing?" asked one.
"laughing" whispered the other.

Lost Theory #what

I think that Jacob is a guy who has pretty much finished all of the other tasks in life, and is ready to finally settle down by himself. He's done everything. He knows how to use a sewing machine. He knows how to catch his own fish by himself. He knows how to draw stick figures pointing to another stick figure. He can even make statues as tall as you could imagine. You can’t take this guy to a titty joint, brothel, straight out frat-party, or art festival, because he has already finished dealing with that particular scene. You cannot take him to a church, mosque or synagogue because he’s already done that particular scene too. He did that stuff years ago.

Titus (since they don't tell us the real name, I'm just calling him Titus -- fools make up all sorts of names for this guy) is Death. Titus/Death comes to Jacob, telling him that he cannot exist for long in such a perfect state. "There will always be some entropy," says Titus to Jacob. "A loophole."

This is why Jacob tells Titus that it only has to end once. He's trying to explain that despite everything about him being perfect* (a man who IS an island), he's still making even more progress. In a sense, Jacob is trying to 'buy more time' from Death. He believes that his comment will confuse Death, at least a little, during which period he may be able to achieve a level where he cannot be killed.

You may ask "Why does Titus only manifest unto Jacob? What about all the other people on the island? Why do they only see animals, or 'visions'? Or wisps of smoke? Or a scary looking eye of some man pleading for help?"

The answer is that Jacob is the only one who has perfected himself to this extent. The guy has done everything so right that even Death feels the need to manifest in person. Why did Death choose to do this in the form of Titus Welliver? Well -- look at how well he plays the part. He's a neutral figure, basically. Death is not 'Evil'. Death is just ... 'there'. He's trying to to tell Jacob that, eventually, there will be a loophole.

Jacob just smirks back at him, looking a little bit like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. He pays disrespect to Death (and Titus). He feels he is now in a position to totally flip Death off, without consequence. As we see later in the show, Jacob cannot just flip Death off again. Death comes back, in the form of Locke (a long already dead character in the show), and gets this confused-yet-conscientious fellow named Ben to stab Jacob in the chest. Now, this is where Jacob's theory that he has attained perfection (see asterisk below) is exposed to any of the viewers.

Also, this is where you realize what they mean when they talk about the 'rules'. They are talking about boundaries. Boundaries are scary things to transcend, for a lot of people. So those 'in the know', so to speak, use the 'rules' argument to ward off evil. Neither Ben nor Widmore really dared to cross the boundaries. That's why they're still able to scare each other with those rules. But Jacob just went through the boundaries.

He tells Locke that he is 'beyond the loophole'. That this stupid game Locke (Death) has been parsing through was basically a means for him to evolve to a state where it doesn't even matter if he (Jacob) dies.

Disgusted, Locke kicks Jacob into the fire, left with the useless, empty satisfaction of watching him burn.

*Perfection usually comes in rare form. It's not about how good you look, how well you sing, how prettily you paint, how well you write -- it's not even about how well you live your life.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Ghost Story VIII

This is part 8 of a Ghost Story. Part 1 is here, and Part 2 here. Part 3 is about lesbians. Part 4 is here. Part 5. 666 Part 7. Part 9.

Sure enough, it was the Google Map of Madison, Wisconsin.

The center was just some sort of forest, or arboretum. Everyone peered into it, trying to translate geometry to some kind of meaning. Finally Emma broke the silence. "What the hell is it? It's just a bunch of trees and stuff."

Beatrice looked at Ehud, who nodded wisely. "First of all you will notice the distance between the school that Emma goes to, and this 'bunch of trees and stuff'". Everybody nodded, noticing the distance. Ehud smiled proudly. This -- this was real progress. He was getting somewhere, with this. "Now you will notice the distance between the field where Harry met Bobby, and this 'arboretum'". A chill settled into the room as this new knowledge sunk in. Ehud turned around to check if Peter was playing around with his miniature fan again, but the man was just standing there like the rest of them, transfixed. This further convinced Ehud. It would be just like Peter to try and cheapen his wisdom with stupid tricks like that, but this time -- this time the dope was real. Both the field, and the school were 'equidistant'.

"This is where Emma first met the child," said Ehud, pointing at the school. He then took his compass and, lightly (he didn't want to tear the Google Map apart), drew it down to the Center. "And this," said Ehud, now drawing the compass in an entirely different direction, "is where Harry saw the ghost child. While he was, ahem, trying to be a concerned parent. Ahem." His compass ended up on the field.

"The lesbian make-out zone," said Peter.

Emma slapped him hard in the rib. "No, you fool! The soccer field!"

"The soccer field," said Peter, correcting himself.

Beatrice was uneasy about this theory. "But that doesn't explain everything," she said, coming closer to Ehud. "How does that explain all the furniture flying around the house? And the milk turning sour everytime Harry tries to drink it? And, and, and all my pussies dying away? I've been through almost five-hundred," she said. The poor woman was literally shaking with anger.

Ehud patted her gently upon the back, and smiled wisely. "Ah, well I haven't shown you the last part yet."

It got even colder in the room. Harry began to look like he had some nervous ticks or something. "Show us the part," said Harry, growling. Emma, in a rare moment, walked sideways to her father, and hugged him.

"Yes," said Emma. "Show us the last part."

Ehud, positively maniacal with pride at this point, drew his compass back to the Center of Madison, Wisconsin. "Le coeur," he said softly.

"What?" said everyone, in unison.

Ehud got out of his funk. "Ok, so this is the last relationship." He began drawing a straight line from the Arboretum, down to a bunch of streets.

"Hey, I know that street," said Emma, as Ehud's compass glided across the map slowly.

"Of course you do," said Ehud, continuing his path across the Map. Then he stopped, and everyone in the room became frigid.

Finally, Harry managed to break the ice. "Th-that's my house!"

Beatrice also moved away from Ehud, and came closer to her husband. "He's right! Th-that's our house!"

Ehud nodded somberly at them, then looked at Peter, who looked like he did not know where he was supposed to stand. "Peter, you can come and stand next to me."

When Peter made it, Ehud looked at everybody and said, "Now I'm going to show you what is really there." His tongue sneaked out a little, and then he clicked his mouse button. This caused the whole Google Map to zoom in.

Emma rolled her eyes. "So what? I still don't see anything. Where's Bobby?" Her parents agreed with her. Peter asked whether he could go and be with the family. Ehud began sweating. He clicked the button again. The map zoomed in to a greater extent. Still no good. Ehud clicked the button again. "It was here, somewhere," he said. They were now totally inside the Center. He clicked the button again, holding his compass to keep track of the actual pinpoint that the locations were equidistant from. "No?" said Ehud, getting even more frustrated. They all watched him, wondering when he would stop. "No? No? NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo?"

Peter had to finally take the mouse away from him. He took his friend by the side, patting him on the shoulder. "Ok, man. Ok. I think we're at the last level from which satellites can decipher and match cartography."

"The zoom lens is not powerful enough," cried Ehud.


It took Ehud several minutes to cool down. When he came out of the restroom, he was smiling again. "I'm, uh. I'm sorry about that outburst," he said. He smiled yet again. Emma decided to get things moving along, again. "Ehud," she said. "Just tell us what is so important about these depressions?"

Ripe with regained vigour, Ehud jumped into it. "I see you have noticed these depressions in the land. But you have not figured out what they are."

"It's just ... land," said Peter.

"No Peter. This is where they used to have pagan rituals, in Madison, Wisconsin."

"Pagan rituals in Madison, Wisconsin?" said everybody.

"Notice the topography," said Ehud, turning the satellite imagery into a bunch of monochrome blobs.

"I can't see anything," said Beatrice.

"Look a little harder."

It was then that all of them, one by one, staring, saw what Ehud had been talking about all this time.

"Oh my God!" said Emma.

"Oh my God!" screamed Beatrice.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Harry.

"Nadine!" screamed Peter, and he rushed to the monitor where Nadine's eyes used to live.

"That's right," said Ehud. He looked like one of those school teachers whose whole class has failed the pop quiz. "This is where they killed little children. As part of their ... pagan ... rituals." He said this with a coat of disgust. "This is where they killed Bobby.

While you guys were fighting like idiots, I checked up on a whole load of things. I called the police, and asked them about the spot. They said that they had never heard of anything over there. Not a peep. Okay, I said to myself, so then I went on the Internet. I tried to look up the longitude and latitude of the place, but still, there were no results. So I ran down to the Public Library, and I sifted through the records. The history of Madison, Wisconsin."

"What did you find?" asked Emma, impatient. "Who killed little Bobby?"

"Strangely there is only one record remaining in the annals of this particular area."

"How can there be annals if there is just one record?" said Peter.

Beatrice moved decisively to Ehud. "Whatever does it say? Who killed the poor child? Was it a group? A whole group of people ... sacrificed the poor little baby?"

"The record was written by one Helena Berkeley. She was not only a prescient, and an old parapsychologist, and a medium, but also a psychic. And a pagan, in her own right. In her piece, she describes how she and her 'group' took Bobby to the jungle and 'sacrificed him to the gods'."

Harry became even more nervous. "But I SAW that kid. That kid was just ... he was lost. He didn't know where he was going. You don't have to go and 'sacrifice him to the gods' just because he doesn't know where the hell he is."

Emma stepped closer to her father. "We have to set him free!" she said, aloud.

Ehud took Beatrice's hand. "Do you really want to do this?" he asked.

Beatrice looked back at her poor little daughter, and then squeezed Ehud's palm. "I am sick and tired of my child being tormented by a ghost," she said. "And what they did in that jungle isn't up to par, either. We have to do this, Ehud," said Beatrice.

"We'd have to go into the forest, Beatrice," said Ehud. "We'd have to actually go to the spot where Helena and her group killed Bobby."

"Look, this is my child we're talking about," shouted Beatrice.

Ehud nodded. Then he nodded five more times. Then his eyes rose, somewhat fearful of the next answer. "Peter?" he said.

Peter blinked. Then he said, "Hey man, I hate child sacrifices as much as the next guy. I'm in."

The Personal Court Jester

I first had inklings about this kind of occupation when I heard about the people who make a living folding the clothes of others, and choosing their wardrobes. When I heard how much money they were making, I was like "Omg wtf? These people are making more money than I do at my own job!"

I would become a personal folder/wardrobe chooser, but the problem is that I don't really give a shit about either of those activities. Someone suggested that perhaps I may become a personal egg purchaser. A person who buys you only the eggs that he or she knows you will like. When the employee at the grocery slants over to ask why you are shaking each and every egg, you get to pull out your license and shove it in his or her face. "Personal Egg Purchaser, man."

Sadly, I managed to get into a perfect relationship with a vegan just before she was killed in a freak rollercoaster accident (no -- she was actually with some other freak -- they were both killed simultaneously) so I can't deal with eggs.

I tried to think about what it is that I enjoy doing best. I know how to draw things, and I also know how to make computer codes. But that is what I already do, so that wouldn't work. I tried to think harder. "I could be a personal cigarette smoker," I thought. "I'd smoke the cigarettes of people quitting." Then it hit me. I jumped for joy and did a glee dance. Don't ask what a glee dance is, interpreted by me. You really, really don't want to know.

The thing was, I enjoyed being funny. I would always walk into the strangest situations, and say the most bizarre things. I craved the laughter of the audience (and even the actors around me). This seed slowly built up inside my brain. There would be difficulties, of course: 1) Nobody has ever laughed at any of my jokes, except in jest. 2) What kind of business card would I possibly have? 3) Will they really pay me $1600/hour for this shit?

Yet, the benefits seemed so ripe. I'd be very personal -- this means that I would just magically appear whenever or wherever needed. Like, a guy is on a date with a girl, she says something witty, and he doesn't know how to respond. This is where I appear (I'm only ever seen by my clients) and whisper a response into his ear that he can use as a comeback. I'm basically like some kind of fucking genie.

This will take me places. I'll be there when surfers try to mock the oncoming wave. I can be there during their first-ever blood transfusions. I can even be there at your fucking birth, when you first come into the world with nary a joke up your sleeve.