The Idiot Population

I am just about totally sick of morons. They seem to pop up everywhere -- especially the places where morons should not be residing.

I recently sent an email to an adviser (someone students greatly rely on to graduate). In this email I gave my name (full) and I signed off with my name (what I prefer to be addressed as). This email also contained TWO questions that were (and still are) very important.

Now, when I saw how quickly she replied to said email I was ecstatic. The school I am attending has a less than stellar track record with their shoddy advising teams. When I opened the email and realized that she not only addressed me as "Kat", but did not answer either of my questions... I was slightly put out.

I mean, is it too much to expect that supposedly competent people are... competent? Is it too much to think that my simple questions will be answered? That people will turn in assignments on time? That people I pay will do what I am paying them to do?

If I pay someone 500$ to lick my damn Jeep tire -- and they accept the money -- they had damned better lick my Jeep tire.

I honestly think there are about 10 trustworthy, reliable, NON morons left on the planet.

So... which one are you?

I have to pee

So, I kinda have a thing with piercings. I like them and I have issues with not getting them. I have too many holes in my ears as it is (I am trying to keep it a bit classy instead of looking like an earring tree).

I got my tummy pierced with I was 18 (omg, 7 years ago ;_;) and then have taken my angst out on my ears since then. I can't pierce my face lest my family disown me, so I get my ears pierced and then let the holes grow up... how insane is that!?

I had actually kind of curbed my addiction for a while... until I saw the COOLEST cartilage earring EVER! I mean, seriously... I must have! But, I have all my piercings lined up in a row of three on the left and two in the lower right... basically... I'd have to get another piercing to wear this.

Someone talk me out of putting another hole in my body >_<

I guess I could always go with my nipples, but it makes me nervous :p

Should be doing HW

I was watching the news today (shocking, I know) and something very unexpected reared it's ugly head and gave me indigestion. Political Correctness.

PUKE.

The announcer started prattling blithely about how the adverts for the Super Bowl were thought to be sexist against women. Seriously?

I am a woman... and it never even occurred to me to be insulted by the hilarious commercials that were played during the bowl. Now, some nutters might say this is due to my socialization by the male sexist pig into thinking that I belong barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.

HAH.

I am the least girly, girl on the planet (save for my makeup obsession). I refuse to watch movies unless they blow up, I will claw your eyes out if you say you can beat me at anything, and I am a wreck in the kitchen. So, if I am not offended by something... then it isn't offensive. It is is a bloody stretch.

People need to get the hell over it. There is always going to be a bit of gender definition in our culture... we are slowly growing out of it, but pointing it our and nagging people over it at every impass isn't helping anyone's cause.

WHO DAT

I have to say... to all of my friends that told me my team (SAINTS) was going to lose:


WHO EFFING DAT, BITCHES!


That was an amazing game. I am pleased.

Underrated Actors

This is totally random, but Heartbreakers is on and it made me ponder.

I have always thought Jennifer Love Hewitt was seriously gorgeous... and damn it, a very good actress! She was good in I Know What You Did, and her series Ghost Whisperer isn't half bad either. I think she just gets cast in CRAP movies. Maybe this says something to her choice in what a good movie is, but not necessarily to her ability to act.

Anyone that can act with Sigourney Weaver has to be pretty decent, right?

Speaking of, Sigourney... she is amazing as well! She was chased by aliens (in 79 and 2009), Ghosts, and pissed men who wanted their money back.

List of underrated actors from you guys?

No RegretZ

I found a notebook that I had started writing in in 2001. The notebook itself is COVERED in stickers of all sizes, types, and colors. Basically, it looks like a Kindergartner's. It is wicked.

It is composed of notes I was writing to a friend... and if I had a dollar for every time I said "OMG" in the thing I would be VERY wealthy.

It also made me realize that I have done NOTHING in the last decade that I had planned to do in 2001. This.... is a little more than depressing.

I don't have my pilot's license... I never went abroad for school... I never made my black belt in Shotokan.

So, my goal this summer is to finish up my Private Pilot's License before I am 28. This doesn't account for ten lost years of accomplishing nothing, however, it is a baby step.

What have you guys NOT done in the last decade that you've always wanted to do?

I miss you

I had this friend back in 2000 that was quite possibly the coolest person on the planet. He was tall, had an accent, gorgeous, and was seriously rather hilarious. He might have even been smart. How in love was I?

As it turns out, I am a HORRIBLE person, and I end up giving Mr. Gorgeous the cold shoulder for another guy (let's call him Mr. D - as in dick head).

Again... this makes me a douche.

Mr. D ends up being the jealous psycho type and logs into my IM clients one day to tell everyone on my friends list some truly cruel things. Apparently, Mr. Gorgeous was one of those people, however I still do not know what was said.

A few of my wiser friends noticed this was a tad out of character for me... and gave me a buzz.

So, here I am 10 years later with no Mr. Gorgeous... and no idea what Mr. Gorgeous is doing -- or if he is even still alive for that matter. He stopped taking my calls years ago, and that was basically the only way for me to reach him.

For some reason I thought about him last night.

You really don't have a damn clue what you have until you do something moronic that makes it all go away.

Dragon*Con

Well, Stephen and I have been talking about going to a Con since the inception of Horseshoes and Hand Grenades... and we have finally sucked it up, dropped our 70$ and decided to go to Dragon*Con! :D

Commander Riker and Diana Troi from Star Trek TNG, Spike from Buffy, and even stars from those horrible Twilight movies will be there. Also, one of my favorite authors will be there: Laurel K. Hamilton.

I am STOKED. Our HnH crewman Matt might be coming along as well (we need a camera boy!). We didn't get one of the four main hotels (can you believe they were already booked?), however, we did get a nicer hotel (more expensive, though).

I must admit to a bit of trepidation when I think of humping about in the big ATL, but I don't see a cause to leave the Con site save to go home and shower :p

So, the question is... are you guys going to come and party with HnH? :D

UoP = University of SUCK

Ok, so call me an IDIOT (don't, I will eat your eyes out), but I decided that online university would be excellent for me. I was all "Like, omg, it will be easy and I can do my classes from anywhere! Yay! So when I move to FL and marry a rich Australian doctor, I can plan my wedding to Japan and take classes for my Masters!"

Yeah. I am a douche.

Not only are online classes FIVE times harder than a normal class (I have NEVER had so much in depth homework ever), but we have to split into teams.

Yes, teams. A group of adults all being forced to do papers together. I liken this to learning to share in K-4.

Let me tell you something... let me TELL you SOMETHING... If you did not learn to work with others in Kindergarten: YOU WILL NOT BLOODY LEARN TO DO IT IN YOUR 50'S!!!!

These people all have families, full time jobs, yadda yadda. They do NOT want to listen to a 20 something year old correct their grammar. WHAT A CROCK OF SHYTE.

This is simply so the "teachers" do not have to grade 20 papers every week.

Currently, my team is being a collective pile of douche.

So.... thoughts on working together on the online world for the ease of the teachers and the stress of the students?

X(

p90x, concussions, and ZombieZ

I am not sure why I stopped writing on this, but I feel as if I should write again! Mostly because I am bored out of my SKULL. Speaking of skulls; I had a concussion a couple of weeks ago. Did you know that? Yeah, apparently skiing is dangerous for your health. My poor brain.

I started the p90x program last Monday... and it has made me very hyper and restless. I cannot just sit around and be content anymore. Let me tell you how much this sucks.

The work outs are TOUGH, but so much fun. Tony Horton owns my soul... well him and Blizzard.

I am sore all the time, hungry all the time, and sitting still makes me insane. Did Tony ever think that I may WANT to enjoy sitting still? I am a gamer, a net addict, and an avid reader... sitting still is my drug of choice.

Now, while I read Plague of the Dead (part of the morningstar saga) I want to get up and run in circles. I mean, I've always wished ZombieZ would attack, but now I wish the book was real so I could MOVE.

I want to play Resident Evil 5, but I am a chicken and no one I know will play with me... I wanna ski, but I have no one to go with (and my parents are leary of another concussion), I want to swim but... you know... snowing and all.

Gah. Someone cause an outbreak so I can DO something already!

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades!

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades the podcast started with a question: "Would you like to do some sort of podcast? It would be cool."

Stephen Adams' immortal words have been holding true since April 10, 2007. Indeed, H&H is cool.

H&H is dedicated to scouring the net for random, horrifying, gross, and hilarious news to entertain our wicked awesome listeners. From a group of five people (mostly our friends that we tired to chairs), H&H fans have grown to over one hundred in less than a year! Stephen and Ashley are fiercely proud of their loyal band of H&H fans and they strive to bring them only the best in listening goodness!

So, join the group of hearty men and women (and a few penguins) and tune in every Friday @ our site.

Explicative Deleted

Ok, so what is the point in teaching a class -- nay, in being a teacher at all -- if you don't listen to your students?

If you ask a question and then go on to answer your own question for the sheer joy of hearing your melodious voice that no doubt leaves your students with a pleasant and sated feeling… why are you even asking the question?

And if one such student attempts to answer said question and you proceed to bowl them over with your own verbal splatterings while staring the poor creature down… should you not wrap up your diatribe and then inquire as to what the curious student was asking about?

I hate my thruZday eve class -__-

Glocks and Cops

Omg. Omg. Omg. My heart just exploded from my chest.

Its 3am and I'm sitting on my futon writing an email to someone when some jackass comes and BANGS on the apartment door. No doubt one of the pismire meat head jocks that always get too drunk to find their way back to their women around here.

I set my laptop down and walk over to the peephole expecting to see a swaying moron holding his penis and a can of beer. Instead I see a lot of pink.

Okaaayyy? So some dipshyte holding up a pamphlet for a party that I should be at?

Meh, I figured I would let the drunken moron realize he had the wrong house and he would go on his merry way.

No such luck. The idiot BANGS on the door again. This pisses me off greatly. Not only is it 3am, but my sister is asleep and I'm having my writing zone interrupted by some pothead who doesn’t know how to count apartment numbers.

That and the banging sounded very aggressive. And since aggressive behavior tends to make me even more aggressive than I already am... I went for my Glock.

I grabbed my baby, marched to the front door and checked the peep again. Still covered. Whatever, Id show this asshole that I wasn’t some little sorostitute and I didn’t appreciate being disturbed this early in the morning.

I flipped both the locks on the door with my left hand (My right still clasped around my Glock) and stood back enough that I could get a view of the upper landing and whatever cheap beer drinking dorkus might inhabit it. In order not to be violating my Right to carry arms I kept my gun out of site behind the door lest Beer Boy think I was brandishing it and piss himself all over my doorstep.

Well, the meat head turned out to be three guys.

All dressed in uniforms.

POLICE OFFICERS.

I stood there for the proverbial second that seemed like hours and assessed the situation. I was standing half naked in an open door way facing three cops. One of them had a Maglite the size of my thy held up over his head (my apartment was pitch black). I had a loaded (but not chambered) Glock hidden behind the door. I was frakked.

One officer acted like he was going to push the door farther open and step inside so my self preservation kicked in and I spout: “I have a gun!” Not in a menacing way, but in a tone that indicated complete and total disbelief.

The three officers glance at each other and then back at the girl in glasses and the United Way Staff shirt and the tall one says: “Well, just put it down on the floor and step back.”

No shyte, I thought. The Glock felt like it weighed 100LBS and was on fire. I bent down and set it on the orange entry carpet and stepped back into my kitchen. I wrapped my arms around myself to stop from shaking.

The three Officers came in and started looking around. The black one with his massive Maglite. The short, heavier one finds the lights and flicks them on. I stupidly thought that I should have done the dishes.

“May I ask what this is about?” I asked. Mom would be proud. Even during chaos I was polite.

“We got a call for a Domestic [Disturbance] for this address.”

I look around my apartment and see the game cube strewn across the floor from where I was playing Mario Sunshine and my laptop sitting beside it playing MC Chris’s “Geek” softly. I glance back up at the black cop. It registered in the back of my head somewhere that he looked really kind. He smiled.

“This is apt 34*?”

I nodded and looked around again. The heavier cop had picked my Glock up off the floor and popped the magazine out and cocked and locked the slide back and set it all on the kitchen table and was looking it over.

I took the time to be proud that I had hollow points in the mag and had cleaned my gun since the last time I shot it.

Tall Cop realizes that they might have the wrong address and radios in to confirm while Heavy Cop walks back further into the apartment.

Black Cop: “Anyone here with you.”

“Just my Baby Sister. You can go back and check on her, but you’ll scare the crap out of her.”

He chuckles.

Tall Cop comes back. I could hear the call he made over the radio through Heavy Cop’s radio at his waist. It was defiantly apartment 34.”* But they realize something isn’t right.

Tall Cop: “Well, she doesn’t look beat up.” They all laugh.

I spurt out that I took karate. Pointless. Hadn’t I just answered the door with a loaded weapon?

“Is there any other apartment 34’s* around here?” one of them asks.

I pondered for a min. I kind of felt like I was brainstorming with them and I liked it. “Across the way, maybe. I think they are all labeled the same save for the actual building number.”

They take one last sweep. Black Cop bends over and checks out my Glock.

“40?” he inquired. (Referring to the caliber.)

“Nah, 9 mill. Daddy got it for me for Christmas. We go shooting a lot.”

They all laugh and I want to bust out doughnuts and bad coffee and sit around shooting cop shyte. So, that Vic from last night was suspicious. What about the Perp? Total scumbag! Too bad we never fingered that UNSUB in the White Case.

Before I was done daydreaming they had nodded and smiled and closed the front door. I stood there for a beat and ran to see if Steph was ok.

Whores with Parking Issues

Ok, everyone knows I have anger issues. I’ll be the first to admit it. But, damn it… yesterday I was down right homicidal. Hack someone open and plant daisies in their chest homicidal.

I live in college apartments (and will until hell freezes over unless I get a worthwhile degree soon) that come with their fair amount of idiots. But I dwell above two of the biggest crack whoring fucktards on the planet. And no, this isn’t my jealous opinion because I think they are prettier than I am… they are honestly fucktards. No social skills outside of blowing their abusive (and apparently shared) boyfriend and bugging their dealer for cocaine. No common courtesy at all. This includes playing their music loud enough to shake the frame of my bed at 4am in the morning, and parking on TOP of my Jeep.

I love my Jeep. I've named my Jeep… I frakking talk to my Jeep on a regular basis. Outside of my sister, my Jeep is about the only thing I give a damn about in this town. So one can imagine my concern when I noticed tiny dings on his passenger door and missing paint flecks.

To further explain my anger I must get across a simple point. One of property. The foundation our country was built on. The right to own property… and not have it shyte upon by the brainless piles of genetic abortions that I live above.

It’s not that they are angry with me in some manner. It is simply that the concept of maneuvering a two ton piece of metal in BETWEEN two blinding yellow lines eludes them. They apparently were held back in kindergarten for not being able to color within the lines and it is catching up with them in their “adult” life.

Now, not everyone is going to be able to park perfectly between the lines the first time every time. However, if one is pulling in between two other vehicles on either side, then there is the expectation of the Adjustment. This is where one backs up and pulls in straighter. I've timed it… it takes exactly 15 seconds to do.

I'm assuming the crack whores are really jonesing by the time they get home so the 15 seconds is precious time they cannot afford to waste. Because they don’t. They simply leave their tore up silver POS car parked over the yellow lines and hit my passenger side door every time they open their driver’s side door to get out. I have to back OUT of my space to let Steph into my passenger side to avoid hitting their car….

Anyway, as it happens they did this for the 10943th time yesterday… and I was grumpy yesterday. Steph pointed it out to me from our upstairs window that the silver car was again parked too close, so I decided I would just simply move my Jeep. No big deal.

As I walked down the steps and came closer to my Jeep and the silver monstrosity parked to its left I slowed my steps and finally came to a stop… and stared. It couldn’t be. There was no possible way. Was there? Did this genetically inferior, coke addicted, back woods, trailer trash moron really park like THAT and not Adjust?

I walked up to my passenger side and glanced at my side mirror… I couldn’t fit my pinky between her’s and mine. I snapped. My heart rate shot up and I ceased to be able to hear anything save for the blood rushing through my veins.

I went and pounded on their door and stood to the side lest they see a raging psycho and not open. When the tiny mouse did answer the door I grinned and pointed to her car:

“Is that silver car with the NY plates yours?”

She piped up and smiled (no missing teeth, I noticed… I guess she hasn’t been addicted as long as I had thought), “Yeah! It is!”

“Ahh,” I nodded and tried to breathe and stop my hands from shaking. “Well, would you mind not parking so damn close to my jeep every time? You are dinging my door and it’s starting to irritate me.”

Mouse girls face fell a little and she stepped in behind her door. “Oh well, I made sure not to hit your door when I got out.”

Mhmm, I thought. Bullshyte. I called her bluff. “Well, I've seen you hit my door on several occasions.” At this time the heavier roommate came peeking above her friends head. She glanced at me nervously and stepped back into the apartment and out of my vision.

Mousie decides she is no longer happy, or afraid… but righteously enraged! “Well, why don’t you tell whoever owns that yellow piece of crap to park straight and I wont have to park like that!”

As she pointed to Jerika’s nice yellow car (she lives across from me on the top floor) my mouth fell a little in disbelief. Not only is Jerika parked halfway decently, but there are approximately 700,000 other parking spaces in the lot that are empty…

“Well, sweetheart,” I cooed, “What is your excuse when the parking lot is empty? It’s two yellow lines… you park BETWEEN them. Not on top. It really isn’t that hard of a concept to grasp, ya know?”

It all gets a little fuzzy after this point. I think she mumbled something about going now and retreated back into her little whore house.

Now, am I wrong to expect a certain level of competence in my fellow man? It is too much to expect someone not to repeatedly hit my Jeep? I mean, if this is a ridiculously high level of expectation I think someone should tell me. Because the next time someone hits my Jeep out of pure stupidity I am going to burry them alive under my bedroom window and let their screams lull me off into dream land.

SoybeanZ Own You

Kids build the darndest cars

The buzz at the the recent Philadelphia Auto Show focused on a car that can go from zero to 60 in four seconds and get more than 50 miles to the gallon, running on soybean biodiesel fuel.

The innovative design didn't come from any car company--it came from five students at West Philadelphia High School, who built it as an after-school project.

According to a report on CBSNews.com, the project not only produced a car, it helped turn struggling kids earning C's and D's into straight-A students.

"If you give kids that have been stereotyped as not being able to do anything an opportunity to do something great, they'll step up," teacher Simon Hauger told CBS.

http://news.com.com/2061-11199_3-6044541.html

-It's amaZing what ppl can come up with if inspired in the least bit. Space Station here I come!

Life SuX

So, barring religion, what are people here for anyway? Seriously, think about it. Is life really worth it in the long run? No one really remembers their first five years and it wouldn’t be worthwhile if we did. Who wants to recall running around in diapers and shytting yourself?

Ok, so the first bit of your childhood is a waste. Too much to learn and adapt to call it a life.

Let’s say 5-10 isn’t much better. You start school. Your first taste of being socialized by a morally bankrupt system. You learn to count and some of us learn to read. This is also the stage where you find out that the opposite sex sucks ass and you shouldn’t ever touch them for any reason. Later in this time period you start developing (or the lack of developing) social skills. This determines whether or not you will be a weird ass loser in high school. That’s right… THIS stage of your life will set you up for failure. Therefore it sucks too.

So, 11-15. Geez. This age span might be a tad better for some of us. We make some new friends that don’t just love us for our play dough and crayons. However, if you aren’t super mega cool from day to day in this stage then you get ditched (we haven’t learned loyalty yet) and it screws us up for life. Your best friend of a year suddenly meets more popular people and you are swept away with the garbage. Wow, how exciting. Also, we suddenly start to find the opposite sex really fracking appealing during this period. Which adds a whole new layer of suckdom to life. Who the fck wants to spend hours pining away over whether or not Johnny is going to call? Or if Stacy really winked at you? Your brain begins to shut down right around here too… school starts to get harder and the common sense that you never developed begins to fail you. This is probably the shyttiest stage for anyone around us that is in an older stage.

Next we enter the 16-21 stage… the ultimate fck up stage. The drugs, sex, and alcohol (or again, lack thereof) stage. You either totally ruin this whole span of your life with drugs, pining over the opposite sex, and booze… or you cannot get the opposite sex, drugs, and booze. Either way, you are a loser. You’ve either totally shunted your brain and wasted your time on thinking of sex, or you were mistreated because you didn’t dedicate yourself to high school entertainments and you studied. Again, either way… you are fucked. You’ve now become a druggie loser with less than 4 brain cells or an antisocial nerd that actually learned to think for yourself (you guys will have better end results… but getting their slightly ruined your life).

So now enter the real world. The world of jobs and politics (mostly ignored by the United States and its education system). Money starts to mean something and your social life (considering you had one) begins to flounder. Here the nerds have an advantage because the never developed a social circle… this is why they succeed. There is no transition period. They never had a social life; therefore they don’t waste precious time adapting. They go on to become Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. If you have a family this is the point where you start ignoring them to work overtime… to provide for them--even though you are beginning to ruin another generation of children by ignoring them.

The next years of your life fly by with nary a reward in site. You got promoted (or fired if you never gave up the pot), big deal? What’s it matter in the grand scheme of things? Did you ever see the pyramids? The Grand Canyon? The Great Wall?

Did you ever do anything that had any meaning? Did you invent something, save someone, help a stranger, dedicate your life to something bigger than yourself? Did it ever occur to you that you could? Or were you too wrapped up in yourself and your struggles to branch out?

If you suddenly found yourself in a doomed situation and began to look back on your life would it make proud? Or would you have nothing worthwhile to remember?

Doctor Suicide

Ok, so I went to the dermatologist to have a “biopsy” about… meh, six or so months ago. One of my nifty little vampyre bite moles on my chest was disappearing and (considering genetics) it caused me no small amount of worry.

When they were ready for me (apparently after seeing how long I could wait without breaking down into tears of boredom) they ushered me into this yellow looking room and told me to undress my top half and put on a paper towel-esque garment.

So I lay down on the table that I know they took straight out of the Silent Hill hospital and the nurse started to numb me… on the wrong mole. Why I didn’t run screaming out of the offices and hide under my bed for a week is beyond me.

After clearing up what part of my body to numb, in comes

Dr. ImTooRushedToSpendVeryLongWithYou... ButYouShouldBeThankfulForEveryMomentYouHaveWithMe...
ForIAmWOnderfull.

I was reclining during the procedure so I couldn’t see what was going on, but from my sister’s account Dr. TooRushed took out a cookie cutter like object and started wheedling it down into my chest. I could feel the pressure from the tunneling as she did this. Obviously she took out WAY too much tissue.

After totally REMOVING my mole (Hey, I thought I was in here for a small biopsy?!) and half of my underlying muscle layer, she began stitching me up. Good thing I was numbed, right?

They didn’t even do that correctly. Out of five stitches total, I felt all the outside stitches (just three, but that still is not pleasant). She even bungled one of them, went “oops” and ripped it out to start again.

But, whatever. That isn’t my problem. My issue with Dr. DoNothing is that she made a circle in my chest… and tried to stitch that up. You can NOT make a neat closure out of a circle… simple geometry.

After brutally closing me she handed me a brown paper bag and mumbled something about ointment and ran from the room like I hadn’t brushed my teeth in a month.

Needless to say I have an icky pink scar on my chest where my pair of cute vamppy bite moles used to reside. It even had eyelashes where she allowed the stitches to grow into the skin (she waited 13 days to check up on me again).

I get to go see her wed morning (with my enraged father -- he happens to be a medical doctor -- and very fiery mother). I almost feel sorry for Dr. Wench.

Almost.

HitlerZ MinionZ

Ok, here is the question that has been nagging me for the last year:
If writers are meant to be such awesome creative beings then why is the publishing process/industry such a Nazi institution?

For those of you who really have no clue what I am babbling about, here are a few examples:

1. http://www.speculations.com/format.htm The writer’s manuscript (MS) must -- and I seriously mean MUST -- be formatted exactly as this link shows. It must have the same font, same spacing, same underlining and dividing techniques.
2. http://www.speculations.com/slush.htm If said writer’s MS is not, indeed, picture perfect then this link shows how your Magnus Opus, your hearts pouring, your piece of art that you have spent months if not years working on, will end up… in the recycle bin.

Everything I've read says these miserly guidelines are to make the editor’s job an easier one. The font and the double spacing are there to protect the editor’s eyesight, adding the universal # to signal the end of chapter is there because… well I've no clue. To top it off, the writer must have the word “end” at the finish line of his MS… or if they are feeling particularly inspired they can even get away with “####” but defiantly no more than the four #’s.

I can understand that text that will be italicized must be underlined in the MS because italics are easy to overlook, however, when an editor busts out a ruler to check that my margins aren’t an mm off? What is that exactly? Ill tell you what that is… it is a kickback from Hitler’s rule.

In an industry that requires the writer to be more imaginative, artistic, and original than those that came before him, how are these rigid rules helping to maintain that creativity? How can they expect such resourceful beings to accept such stifling rules so easily? (I'm not going to answer that, I'm just posing another question that has been scratching away at me.)

-end-

Sony's Suicide

Ok, more from the Sony front.

Let me first say this: If Sony is wanting to commit suicide they are def on the right path. In fact, Id say they already have the wakizashi plunged into their collective stomach's.

1st rootkits, then the ridiculous EULA, and now they want to stop the trade on used games?

http://techdirt.com/articles/20051109/1453248_F.shtml

http://www.theinquirer.net/?article=27568

So now, not only have they made it passing easy for malware and hackers to remain HIDDEN on your computer while doing hell knows what they are beginning to screw with the gamming world.

"A PATENT may allow Sony to ensure that no game would be playable from any console other than the one in which it was first read."

So what does this do if you dont want to spend 50$/60$ on a new game, or to ppl who wanna pop by a friends house to have some good multiplayer fun?

"However, Sony would apparently prefer that all of you out there who have gone through any form of bankruptcy didn't listen to their music."

This... I really cant even comment on.

And finally:

"...Sony BMG's content protection, which only requires that the hacker add the prefix "$sys$" to file names."

What hacker isnt going to take advantage of that?

And they call pirates a drain on society....

Pirates say what?

For all of us that would like to retain the rights to things we have PAID for: http://www.theinquirer.net/?article=27426

Too laZy to read?

Quick summary:

Next time you go out to buy a CD, think twice about installing it onto your computer... you are most likely (and definatly if you are buying a Sony CD) putting malware onto your computer that will cause it to BREAK if you try to remove it. That is, if you even realiZe youve put it onto your computer.

"If you look at the Sony rootkit, it does several things. It strips you of your rights, it potentially causes your computer harm, it breaks your computer if you remove it, and eats your CPU time. All of these things are bad, no question there. It also does the end user no good in any way, shape or form, not even by the most demented stretch of the imagination. It only hurts those who spent money to buy it. "

"Say you want to remove the Sony stuff. According to no less a source than The Washington Post, the bare minimum you have to do to remove the rootkitted DRM infection is give up your privacy. If you go to the Sony page, here, you have to give Sony your email at the very least, and according to the WP story, Sony then grills you about your reasons for not liking being rootkitted. "

"If you try to remove it yourself, you risk breaking your optical discs, or it kills them for you. Mark from Sysinternals is more than smart enough to figure out how to fix this, but are you? Off the top of your head, how do you do that again, no looking it up? To make matters worse, it installs itself so it runs in safe mode, and if it conflicts with something, you are really hosed. Sony's response? "This component is not malicious and does not compromise security. There are already exploits out there that take advantage of this."

If you are further interested you might wanna check this article out as well:
http://www.sysinternals.com/blog/2005/10/sony-rootkits-and-digital-rights.html

and also:

http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/11/03/sony_rootkit_drm/