Author: Mark Alexander

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It’s been called The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits for our age, and after watching the incredibly short first and second seasons on Netflix, I have to agree.

Black Mirror creeps the adult me out the way TZ and OL did when I was a kid. It hooks into our subconscious fears about the reach of technology in our lives in the same way the threat of nuclear annihilation and space exploration did in the 1960s.

Probably the most disturbing episode for me has been Fifteen Million Merits.

From Wikipedia:

A satire on entertainment shows and our insatiable thirst for distraction set in a sarcastic version of a future reality. In this world, everyone must cycle on exercise bikes in order to power their surroundings and generate currency called Merits. Everyday activities are constantly interrupted by advertisements that cannot be skipped or ignored without financial penalty. Obese people are considered to be second-class citizens, and either work as cleaners around the machines (where they receive verbal abuse) or are humiliated on game shows.

Bingham “Bing” Madsen (Daniel Kaluuya) has inherited 12,000,000 merits from his dead brother and has the luxury of skipping advertisements. In the toilet he overhears Abi (Jessica Brown Findlay) singing; he encourages her to enter into the X-Factor style game show Hot Shots, which offers a chance for people to get out of the slave-like world around them. Bing persuades her and, feeling there is nothing “real” worth buying, purchases the ticket for her. The judges (Rupert Everett, Julia Davis, Ashley Thomas) and the crowd enjoy her singing, but they state there is no room for an ‘Above Average Singer’ and instead give her the chance to become an adult actress on a pornographic TV station. After goading from the judges and the crowd, and drugged on a substance called “Cuppliance” (compliance in a cup), Abi reluctantly agrees.

Bing returns to his cell without Abi and any merits. When an advert showing Abi performing a sexual act appears on the screen, he can’t skip it (as he doesn’t have enough merits) and desperately tries to escape his cell, ramming the door until the glass breaks. He hides a shard of glass under his bed and earns another 15,000,000 merits to enter the competition. He stops buying food and pedals for months until he has enough to buy another ticket. He stands in the Hot Shots waiting room every day without expression until called to compete.

On stage he interrupts his performance, draws the shard of glass and threatens to kill himself live on the show. He tearfully rants about how unfair the system is and expresses his anger for how the judges took away the only thing he found that felt real. The judges, instead of taking his words into consideration, are impressed by his ‘performance’ and offer him his own show, where he can rant about the system all he likes.

Bing accepts and is shown finishing one of his streams in his penthouse. He stands staring out over a view of a vast green forest stretching to the horizon. It is unclear whether this is real or just another screen, and it is up to the viewer to decide if all Bing did is find himself in a larger cell.

It disturbs me because I can easily see this happening…

Anyhow, if you have Netflix, check it out.

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“We don’t need major OS releases every year. We don’t need each OS release to have a huge list of new features. We need our computers, phones, and tablets to work well first so we can enjoy new features released at a healthy, gradual, sustainable pace.

“I fear that Apple’s leadership doesn’t realize quite how badly and deeply their software flaws have damaged their reputation, because if they realized it, they’d make serious changes that don’t appear to be happening. Instead, the opposite appears to be happening: the pace of rapid updates on multiple product lines seems to be expanding and accelerating.” ~ Marco Arment

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Any of them…

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“I’m old enough to recall when Patriot meant ‘a guy who loves America’, not ‘an angry guy with a bald eagle fetish who hates other Americans.'” ~ John Fugelsang

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Sol 3

“An unremarkable pre-FTL scarcity world in the Orion Sector. The dominant species, which calls itself Homo sapiens (a word meaning “wise” in one of its largely defunct regional languages*) has triggered a major extinction event, and the visitor (and many of their own species) may not be able to eat without access to some form of exchange. Those interested in pre-industrial ecosystems will be disappointed or deeply shocked. This is a great place to see poverty in its natural setting, but prepare to be disturbed.

Despite repeated warnings from their own scientists (many doing impressive work despite primitive technology) several delusional belief systems (see >religion< and in particular the subheading >economics<) prevent the urgent action required to prevent imminent ecosystem collapse and their own possible extinction. This species is unlikely to leave its own stellar system, and this might be your last chance to encounter them.

Travel Advisory: The scarcity economy is having its usual effects on war, and the visitor is advised to be cautious. In many areas energy, food, even water are rationed for those low on the scarcity pyramid.

*A prima facie example of just how narcissistic and delusional most of this species is.”

_____________________

“Planet broke after the introduction of industrialized society. Manufacturer didn’t respond to repeated attempts at communication. Parts for repair unavailable at this time. Adaptor for connecting to other planets is not compatible with this planet. The majority of the inhabitants do not look like the pictures on the box. Produces a distinctly unpleasant odor in the early hours of Saturday mornings. Appears to have a broken thermostat. Contains more Kardashian than advertised. Is afflicted with excessive tides.

Would not buy again.”

_____________________

“Make: Universal Industries. Model: Earth Mk I
Registration: P (4.5 billion BC). Mileage: 2.62 x 10¹⁸ miles (approx.)
Colour: Kingfisher Blue. No. Owners: 2
Description: Great little runner, fair economy, decent amount of storage, partial service history.
Bodywork needs some minor attention. Can run a bit hot at times—air filter may need changing. Small leak in sun roof—nothing major. Does eat some oil.”

Source

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I’ve never been one to make resolutions for the New Year, but his year I will make an exception as there are concrete steps I can take to bring these resolutions to fruition.

TAKE MORE PHOTOS.

2014 was the first year since I started doing it that I couldn’t rustle up enough shots I felt worthy enough to be included in a yearly photo book that I’ve been sending to a good friend in Phoenix as a holiday gift. Even if you add in my iPhone and Instagram photos I couldn’t find enough that I truly liked to make the endeavor worthwhile.

This year will be different.

As I was catching up on all the people I follow in Instagram this morning, I realized I need to get my ass off the couch and get out there and do what I truly love doing.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF DISH.

To that end, I’ve finally scheduled the test to get my Mac OS X Support Credentials. I’m sensing that—unlike what my boss is undoubtedly counting on; that once I have that cert I’m one more warm body to drop to my knees and service executives and their enormous egos—it will be my Golden Ticket out of that hell hole.

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My snark meter is off the charts. This is great!

From RAWSTORY:

2014 was a banner year for the Prince of Darkness. When he wasn’t personally bedeviling Christians, his minions were erecting statues in his honor or forcing themselves upon innocent city council meetings. Lord of Lies — this was your year!

January witnessed the unveiling of a 7-foot tall likeness of his lieutenant Baphomet that will be placed in front of the Oklahoma Statehouse. Decent Christians responded by drafting an “unlettered little bill” that would have allowed cities to erect similar monuments to Mein Kampf.

In February, Satan’s plans to destroy the economy went awry, but that didn’t stop the Dark Lord from having some big gay fun, both here and abroad. He was, however, disappointed that his scenes in The Bible ended up on the cutting room floor.

But his disappointment was short-lived, as March saw Lucifer reach new heights in the entertainment world as his film, Frozen, successfully created the next generation of lesbians. He was also able to stymie the Kickstarter campaign for Bible Chronicles: The Call of Abraham, not because he “perceived it to be a threat to his kingdom,” as the Christian extremists claimed, but just because it looked God-awful.

April was another big month for Satan — not only did he gay up some graham cracker commercials, his minions started a campaign to ban corporal punishment in schools.

May wasn’t looking so good after the Supreme Court ruled that Christians could open town hall and city council meetings with prayers — but Satanists exploited the equal-is-as-equal-does loophole in Court’s logic and flipped it to the Father of Lies’ favor. He did, however, suffer one minor legal setback, but it involved ice cream and that fellow wasn’t a true unbeliever anyway.

All things considered, though, May slots in the win column, what with getting those wily Benham boys fired from HGTV and helping his buddy Chuck Darwin grab a “toehold” on young minds.

Satan mostly took June off, only stopping by to welcome some shunned homosexuals into his flock after their Christian parents abandoned them.

But July was business as usual, as the Great Deceiver was officially recognized by everybody’s favorite Pope. He and ol’ Chuck stormed some more classrooms, then he and some secularists crashed a few weddings. More importantly, the whole ice cream fiasco was forgotten after those in his thrall twisted the Hobby Lobby decision against its original intent — after which Satan reportedly said, “Suck on that, Scalia!”

After that, August was bound to be a little bit of a letdown — and it outside of a some minor chicanery about a “black mass,” it was.

Everything was gangbusters again in September, though, starting with an old-fashioned witch hunt at the Naughty Girls Donut Shop. “Naughty girls burn in Hell!” the townsfolk shouted to no avail, for the power of Satan sustained the future Culinary Institute of America graduate against the doughnut-hating hordes.

After cornering the small-town doughnut market, the Dark Lord scored perhaps his greatest victory — a legal avenue to despoil the minds of Florida’s children with his Satanic activity book. Next to that, yet another city council invocation barely merits mention.

October opened with battle plans being drawn for this year’s War on Christmas, but Satan spent most of the month toying with tiny Christian brains. He convinced Kirk Cameron that Halloween was really a Christian holiday, then convinced another one of those Benham boys that it’d be a good idea to bust in and break up some lawful wedding ceremonies.

Contrary to popular reports, however, he had nothing at all to do with knocking down the monument to the Other Guy’s laws.

In November, the Son of Perdition hawked his new energy drink, and he would need it — what with all those activity books to deliver and the War on Christmas around the corner.

Because what a war it would be! Hobby Lobby continued blowing up in Christianist faces, Satanic holiday displays were being erected both hither and thither — even Santa defected!

Which is not to say there were no casualties — one self-styled “Catholic Warrior” got a lick in, but who would even notice after the year Satan had?

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1. If you get stuck in riptide, remain calm and swim parallel to shore. Swimming to the shore will just tire you out faster.

2. When crying for help, call out specific people (e.g. “You with the green shirt!”). It makes people more likely to act and not be affected by the bystander effect.

3. In survival situations, while it will change depending on your body, remember the rule of threes:

◆ 3 minutes without air (maybe you’re buried in snow following an avalanche)

◆ 3 hours without shelter against the elements

◆ 3 days without water

◆ 3 weeks without food

4. Most phones are able to dial 9-1-1 even without service or a SIM card.

5. Additionally, 1-1-2 is the international 9-1-1 in most places.

6. If you see a photo of yourself (or anyone else – particularly children) where they only have one ‘red eye’ from the flash, this could be a sign of retinoblastoma (a type of eye cancer).

7. If caught in a burning building, get low. The breathable air will be near the floor.

8. Learn the Self-Heimlich.

9. Do you have a desk job? Be sure you get up at least once every two hours and walk around for 5-10 minutes. Doing this reduces the chance of developing blood clots in your calves.

10. If you’re a man and you pee on one of those pregnancy tests and it comes up positive you may have testicular cancer.

11. Just because the light turns green doesn’t mean its safe to go.

Source.

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Tales from the E.R.

Source.

“Sir, let me get this straight…you slipped, tripped, and fell?

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I work with several anti-vaxxers and I just want to punch them in the mouth when they start spouting their nonsense…

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No wonder Republicans want to gut it.

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I realized the other day that it has been nearly thirteen years since I left San Francisco. Thirteen. Years.

And yet, The City still appears in my dreams—always accompanied by feelings of frustration, abandonment, and a profound feeling of sadness at no longer having a home there. (Ironic, because at least consciously I have no desire to return; San Francisco is very much a city of the young and wealthy and I no longer fall into either demographic.)

In my most recent San Francisco dream, I found myself South of Market with my friend Rick (who still lives in the City). There were new highrise glass and concrete buildings everywhere I looked and I was feeling very irritated because everywhere I turned I was being presented with wonderful photographic opportunities and I’d come to San Francisco without my DSLR, only having my iPhone with me.

(In this dream, like many others I’ve had surrounding the City, my visits have been impossible day trips, driving up and returning home in a single day.)

I tried several times to get one particular shot of the late afternoon sun glinting off one of these new buildings, but people either walked in front of me and wouldn’t move, or when I moved the angles of the building in the shot were unacceptable.

I finally gave up and joined Rick for dinner in a restaurant, hoping to salvage at least a couple of the photos I’d taken. The iPhone camera app was very funky with none of the usual controls and it was confusing the hell out of me. Night fell, but the camera seemed to taking very good pictures in the restaurant even though there was no way of actually confirming it.

Rick left restaurant and I followed a few minutes later. It was once again light outside (which should’ve clued me in that I was dreaming, but sadly didn’t). I lingered to finally take that one impressive photograph up the street heading to the financial district that I was trying to capture the before; the sun was again low in the west and the sky was dappled with clouds. Everything lined up in the photo, but again, I had no way of checking if it was actually any good or if the camera had even recorded it.

After that I lost track of Rick. I walked back up to Market Street and found myself in a very confusing Civic Center station. It was a morass of vendor stalls, intersecting stairways and undulating escalators. I took one escalator down but found myself in BART. “That won’t get me to Grand View Avenue,” I thought, and headed back upstairs. I knew I needed a clipper card to ride MUNI, but didn’t have one and didn’t know where to get one.

I was carrying two bags, one from the Apple Store and one that was full of clothing. No one could provide any help in getting a clipper card and there was no place in the station to buy one. Finally one guy told me I needed to go to somewhere far north of the station to pick one up. It would’ve been too long a walk, so I finally decided to just go back up to the surface and catch a cab.

I took my phone out and saw it was completely banged up and scratched; then realized it was only the case. “That can be replaced,” I thought as it started pouring rain. I had no umbrella and resolved to getting drenched. I started walking up Market but ended up a bit north on one of the side streets. I called Rick, but had a horrible connection. I told him I was on my way back to his apartment and that I’d be there shortly. I couldn’t find a cab anywhere, so I started walking up Market Street toward the Castro.

I woke shortly thereafter.

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Time to spread the wealth. At this point I have no recollection of where or when I found the majority of these, so if you are the original artist and want attribution, let me know. I have years worth.

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Click to embiggen.

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“Too many cooks spoil the story.”

I don’t even know where to begin with this one.

Maybe I was a sucker for believing the buzz that this was going to be the next Battlestar Galactica, but after suffering through three nights of Ascension all I have to say is, WHAT. THE. FUCK.

The premise of the show that SyFy was throwing out was that this was going to be a story of the passengers and crew aboard a Generational Ship secretly launched in the 1960s en route to Proxima Centauri. Instead, at the end of the first night we found out that wasn’t it at all; it was some kind of secret, elaborate, possibly psychological experiment run by some shadowy organization that may or may not be affiliated with the government.

The fact it was cast with a group of B-, C-, and D-List actors should’ve thrown up red flags. But then, prior to the BSG reboot, how many people had really heard of Jamie Bamber, Mary McDonnell, or Trisha Helfer? And speaking of Ms. Helfer, her presence in this production initially led me to believe this might not be a complete waste of my time.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Mess doesn’t even begin to describe Ascention. Too many storylines. Too much unnecessary soap opera drama that didn’t make any sense in context to begin with. The “ship” has been in “space” for fifty plus years, and sexual dalliances and interpersonal tensions are just now coming to a head?

Obviously trying to piggyback on the popularity of the Mad Men aesthetic, we have retro 60s fashions and vacuum-tube television technology, but it’s interspersed with LCD displays and advanced MRI imaging. WHAT?

Paging continuity! Please pick up the white courtesy paging phone!

Okay, to its credit SyFy did come through with enough eye candy to at least keep me coming back, even after I felt like I’d been bent over at the end of night one and thoroughly penetrated (and not in a good way). I mean there really wasn’t anything else on…

And just to make sure the story is current and culturally hip, there’s the requisite lesbian character—but not part of the ship’s complement—because—it was explained that on board the “ship” there are no homosexuals. (It was “launched” in the 60s, after all.) No homosexuals? Have they figured a way to breed it out of the genome in only two generations? Even with the current, very conservative 3% metric, with 600 souls on that “ship” there should be at least 18 boys and girls who aren’t interested in pushing their genitals up against those of the opposite sex.

By the time we got around to night three and had learned of the onboard prostitution ring, the simmering class warfare, and the fact that the guy whose father engineered this whole psychological mindfuck (the experiment itself, not the miniseries) apparently isn’t producing results—whatever they might be—fast enough for the shadowy organization overseeing and apparently financing this endeavor. Much drama ensues as it appears he is to be removed and put six feet deep into a cornfield somewhere.

But then BOOM! The “star child” (yes, she was really called that) who somehow knows this is all an elaborate ruse, manifests her power and we learn that this is the whole reason for the 50-plus year charade being perpetrated on the passengers and crew of Ascension.

Really?

How many tired tropes can you stuff in one show, SyFy?

Anyhow, as things start falling apart and apparently the 50 years of peace our “travelers” have enjoyed draws to a close, the lawyer from Ally McBeal (yeah, that guy) regains control of the project just as the shadow organization orders the extraction of the star child from the ship and sends in a standard thug from central casting to bring the girl out.

More drama ensues as thug-from-central-casting reaches star-child and another semi-important character who was having an affair with the press-on-beard guy’s wife arrives just in time to engage in a bit of rolling around in the muck. Star Child is having none of this and fully manifests her power, making both of them disappear.

Cut to her rescuer finding himself on an alien planet (with a double sun—of course—but apparently not Proxima Centauri), and everything fades to black.

So in short…

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I love Neil DeGrasse Tyson.

The whole thing is worth watching, but the the really good stuff starts at 7:44 and may explain why we’ve had no one knocking at our celestial door…

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“Look at Marcus Bachmann, Michele Bachmann’s husband. Anybody who has gaydar—anybody who has eyes—looks at him and sees a tormented closet case who has externalized his internal conflict and is abusing other people, doing his reparative-therapy bullshit. It’s so sad and pathetic. A lot of the self-destructive behaviors gay people are prone to drifting into are directed inward, and then you have these shitbags like Marcus Bachmann for whom it’s all directed outward. Marcus Bachmann is the photo negative of the guy on the last bar stool in the gay bar, drinking and smoking himself to death, except instead of destroying himself, he’s destroying other vulnerable queer people in an effort to destroy the queer inside himself.” – Dan Savage, speaking to Playboy.

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