sturtledotcom

Debating Climate-Change Deniers Is So Easy, Even A Bot Can Do It

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[Nigel Leck] got tired of arguing on Twitter with people who believe climate change is not occurring, so he built a bot that scrapes Twitter for certain strings of words then responds to the author of the offending tweet with a pre-packaged link containing a science-based counter-argument.

The dialog (or should we say rhetoric?) between climate change skeptics and those in the opposite camp is apparently so formulaic that Leck’s bot can carry on an exchange with a real human for dozens of tweets. He hopes to make the auto-debate even more realistic and accurate in the future by parsing data from other climate change debaters on Twitter.

[Mashable]

Notes On Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’

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So Katy Perry’s video for “Firework” is out. I have some problems with this.

  • For starters: “Firework”? Unless we’re talking about a gutter punk working a set of flaming hula-hoops at Burning Man, I have no idea what “firework” is. Like “pants” or “grits”, “firework” is always plural. Why didn’t she just call the song “Scissor”? It would’ve made about as much sense, and as an added bonus, it would’ve fueled some of her admirers’ sexual fantasies.
  • Obviously, the “firework” thing sets Perry up for some lyric FAILs. In particular, the chorus of “you’re a firework” sounds weird and grammatically incorrect and more than a little depressing. Like, “You’re a bottle rocket! A measly bottle rocket!” The sad trombone goes wah-wah.
  • As if the grammar weren’t bad enough, the video’s director decided to go totes literal by setting people on fire. I know it’s done with CGI, but I can’t stop thinking about Katy Perry in a courtroom, getting sued by a pregnant lady covered in second-degree burns. That said, the image of Katy Perry shooting orgasmic fireworks from her tits like a pop-tart St. Theresa is kind of funny.
  • Despite those complaints, I have to admit: girlfriend looks amazing. Her hair and makeup team maybe deserve a Nobel prize, because she looks far less “Hello Kitty Hooker” than usual. Why, she’s practically MILFy.
  • I don’t know when this clip was filmed,  but coincidence or not, it sends out a nice message in the wake of all these LGBT teen suicides. Big props for that.
  • Too bad the song is terrible: mix two parts gay anthem, one part Coldplay knockoff, and top with a generous serving of lilting sex-yodel. (Britney has the “baby, do me” sex growl, Perry lilts like a milkmaid calling across the valley for her lumberjack hubby to come home NOW. It’s her thing.) Seriously, click play and shut your eyes. See? Um, hear?

David Mixner: Right Idea, Wrong Message

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I like David Mixner.

He’s smart, he’s driven, and he seems passionate about doing the right thing (whatever that thing may be). But his blog post from yesterday left me cold. Here’s an excerpt:

If the House and Senate fall into Republican Tea Party hands on November 2nd, the LGBT community will be facing the most hostile United States Congress in our history. The election of these bonafide Teabagging wing-nuts could cause chaos, fear and intimidation in our political process. Their ascendancy to power would validate some truly dark and despicable forces operating in American politics. If we think it is hard to achieve equal rights now just try and do it in a Tea Party dominated Congress….

Don’t get me wrong. My faith in the Democrats has not been reborn – however there are many, many allies of the LGBT community who support full equality, including marriage equality, who are in tight races on the ballot. For us to punish them by staying home is inconceivable to me. Why in the world would we abandon our real friends in a time of need?

…This year voting is about protecting sanity in American politics. The last thing you should do is play games with this election by stay home. Unacceptable. Untenable. And unbelievably scary.

[DavidMixner.com]

Hmmm.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. That’s not solely because of the Dems’ stance on LGBT issues, which has traditionally been more progressive than that of Republicans (though the differences are flattening out). It’s also because I believe in using government money to help others by funding public schools, healthcare, Social Security and other programs.

But Mixner’s argument pisses me off.  It uses the same offensive scare-tactics I see from most GOP and Tea Party candidates. As a longtime political strategist, he should know better.

I mean, sure, I understand that the Tea Party is essentially a big, political euphemism for the Christian Right. They do not please me. I understand the importance of voting, too. And I understand that a GOP-controlled congress would cause many, many problems — not just because their party platform rejects LGBT rights, but because they’ll butt heads with the Obama administration and slow the political process even further.

But Mixner’s fear-mongering is no better than David Vitter’s current TV commercial — which I am watching THIS VERY MOMENT — which says “Barack Obama’s radical agenda is DESTROYING AMERICA.” Hearing a hooker-hiring diaper fetishist get all righteous and indignant is bad enough without Mixner cranking up the volume in the echo chamber.

Bottom line: I don’t do drama very well. When people get shrill, I tune them out. Mixner’s got the right idea, but his message is way off. That’s a damn shame.

Just get out there and VOTE, goddammit.

Seven Things That Gross Me Out

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1. Using a knife to stir my coffee, as I did this morning, because all the clean spoons were still in the dishwasher, and I was lazy and weak and backsliding. Using anything other than a spoon to stir coffee makes me feel like a construction worker, but not in a good way. More like, “I’m covered in drywall and sawdust and I will use anything to stir up this cup of minestrone.” (NB: as much as stirring with a knife grosses me out, a fork is completely unthinkable.)

2. People who misspell “restaurateur”. There’s no “n”. There’s never an “n”.

3. People who misspell “definate”. It’s “definite”, as in precise, limited, not infinite. Does that help?

4. People who use “dominate” instead of “dominant”. One’s a verb, one’s an adjective. You dominate others, but you look for dominant personalities on Manhunt.

5. Giving a sake set as a gift. I’ve been reduced to this on occasion, but it’s terrible. It’s like the slightly hipper equivalent of giving someone a scented candle. It says, “Oh, I don’t know you very well, but I wanted you to think I was kind of worldly. I’m sure you don’t drink sake at home because, really, no one fucking does, but you can probably regift it at the holiday office party.”

6. Feeling my teeth on a paper towel. Worse than nails on a chalkboard.

7. Going barefoot in my house. Because with four dogs around, you’re always going to step on something.

The Most Hilarity You Can Have On A Friday Evening

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So I’m sitting here transcribing Show Girls, because that’s the basis of our next show, and for reasons that I have yet to fully understand, there’s no copy of the script online. Annoying.

Anyway, I’m typing along, making slow progress, when I remember that YouTube began transcribing videos a while back, and I’ve never made use of the service. Turns out, it’s really more like closed-captioning, so it doesn’t help me directly, BUT OH MY GOD IS IT HILARIOUS.

See for yourself: click here to jump to the clip of Nomi’s first rehearsal. Then click the “CC” button at the bottom of the window and select “transcribe audio”. AMAZING.

Underwear: Evil Or Necessary Evil? Discuss.

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I wore underwear as a child, and I assumed everyone else did, too. Like kids who grow up speaking three languages or practicing cannibalism, it seemed normal, the thing to do.

Thanks to our maid, Marsha (née Marshalene Ducksworth), my Hanes briefs were kept as white as Sean Hannity’s teeth and as tight as Olivia Newton John’s pants in that last scene from Grease (which I never really bought, because, okay, I get that’s she’s a changed woman, but that just seems a little psycho, and if I were John Travolta, I don’t think I’d get into any car with that crazylady, much less a flying car). I assumed that was my lot in life: to squeeze my fat ass into bleached-out, too-snug tighty-whiteys for the rest of my days. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered that there were other kinds of underwear to choose from.

I was probably in third or fourth grade the first time I saw my father in boxers. We were (and are) a very modest family, so we tend to roam the house in work clothes or weekend clothes or pajamas or, when we’re on vacation, swimsuits and yards of terrycloth. But then one morning, dad needed mom to iron his pants, and I glimpsed him in plain, white boxers. I remember looking closely, trying to figure out what the hell he was wearing. They weren’t shorts, that much was certain. They weren’t PJs. They were something altogether different.

Eventually, I asked my mother about them. She told me they were for grown-ups. Dad concurred and said he’d buy me a pair when I got older — which was too bad, because he used to tell me that I shouldn’t sleep in briefs (“They’ll give you a rash”), and since I hated pajamas and the thought of sleeping nude was far too weird/foreign/erotic for our house, boxers would’ve been a perfect workaround.

Dad never got around to fulfilling his promise, so when I got to college, I bought a pair myself. I still have them, somewhere: red and white stripes, somewhat fitted. (Considerably more fitted now.) I thought they were hot. In fact, the sensation of hanging loose, paired with memories of my father — and by then, other men I’d seen on TV — sometimes made it hard for me to walk out the door right away. It was exciting.

That excitement lasted all of two months. Girls, let me tell you: boxers may look perfectly comfy — and they are, to sleep in — but under pants, forget it. It’s like wearing a slip that’s two sizes too big underneath a tailored black dress. You can never get everything adjusted just right, and you’re squirming all day long.

Boxer briefs became popular after that, and I gave them a whirl. They were better than the other two varieties, but by then, I was out of college and living on my own, which meant I was doing my own laundry, and since I HATE doing laundry (almost as much as I hate  glazing windows, which is an accursed job, don’t let anybody tell you differently), I decided to cut back — not on doing laundry, but on what I wore. Underwear was one more thing to wash and keep track of, so I got rid of it altogether. Socks, too, mostly. Adieu, adieu.

At first, I ran into some of the same, um, stimulational problems caused by boxers (which in certain crowds, worked to my benefit). But as with all things, eventually I got jaded and forgot about it. I’ve never looked back.

One guy I dated thought that freeballing was gross. I failed to understand that. Cheesy, maybe. Tacky at times.* But gross and unsanitary? I mean something’s going to get dirty either way, right? Between pants and underwear, I’d rather have pants take the abuse. They seem sturdier.

My commando conversion happened long ago, so I don’t think much about underwear anymore. But then I stumbled across Gawker’s expose on Jon Hamm’s box, and I thought, “I still have issues with Mad Men, but damn, I feel vindicated. I AM NOT ALONE.”

*I should point out that I DO wear underwear with linen and with sweatpants, because hey, I’m not completely tasteless. Most days.