…and don’t forget your booties ’cause it’s cooooold out there today.
It’s coooold out there every day. What is this, Miami Beach?
Not hardly. And you know, you can expect hazardous travel later today with that, you know, that, uh, that blizzard thing.
That blizzard – thing. That blizzard – thing. Oh, well, here’s the report! The National Weather Service is calling for a “big blizzard thing!”
Yessss, they are. But you know, there’s another reason why today is especially exciting.
Especially cold!
Especially cold, okay, but the big question on everybody’s lips…
On their chapped lips…
On their chapped lips, right: Do ya think Phil is gonna come out and see his shadow?
Punxsutawney Phil!
That’s right, woodchuck-chuckers – it’s…
GROUNDHOG DAY!

…and don’t forget your booties ’cause it’s cooooold out there today.
It’s coooold out there every day. What is this, Miami Beach?
Not hardly. And you know, you can expect hazardous travel later today with that, you know, that, uh, that blizzard thing.
That blizzard – thing. That blizzard – thing. Oh, well, here’s the report! The National Weather Service is calling for a “big blizzard thing!”
Yessss, they are. But you know, there’s another reason why today is especially exciting.
Especially cold!
Especially cold, okay, but the big question on everybody’s lips…
On their chapped lips…
On their chapped lips, right: Do ya think Phil is gonna come out and see his shadow?
Punxsutawney Phil!
That’s right, woodchuck-chuckers – it’s…
GROUNDHOG DAY!

Dana Milbank at the Washington Post had a brilliant, beautiful idea the other day, that I thought I ought to share here.

Starting today, February 1, 2010, Milbank has vowed to, for at least one month, not mention a certain public figure, and encouraging everyone else to do so, in the hope that by the vast power inherent in collectively ignoring someone, they’ll maybe go away, or at least become less influential.

Call it the anti-“I believe in fairies” maneuver, or perhaps a variation on “I’m Not Afraid of You” trope.

Anyway, to quote Milbank:

<-redacted-> is a huge source of cheap Web clicks, television ratings and media buzz. If any of us refused to partake of her Facebook candy or declined to use her as blog bait, we would be sending millions of Web surfers, readers, viewers and listeners to our less scrupulous competitors.

The media obsession with <-redacted-> began naturally and innocently enough, when the <-redacted-> emerged as an electrifying presence on the Republican presidential ticket more than two years ago. But then something unhealthy happened: Though <-redacted-> was no longer a candidate, or even a public official, we in the press discovered that the mere mention of her name could vault our stories onto the most-viewed list. <-redacted->, feeding this co-dependency and indulging the news business’s endless desire for conflict, tweeted provocative nuggets that would help us keep her in the public eye — so much so that this former vice presidential candidate gets far more coverage than the actual vice president.

We need help.

So, yeah, for the next month, just don’t mention this person, pretend this person doesn’t exist. It won’t matter, really, as this person has no particular influence or power over any of us in any way whatsoever. Maybe if we all just turn around and ignore this person, this person will just go away.

_____________________

Also, since it keeps coming up this week from all different corners, this post is mostly an excuse to post the relevant scene from Labyrinth, the excellent Henson film that managed to unintentionally drag an entire generation of nerds, male and female (as you know, you have both a teenage Jennifer Connelly and Bowie’s “area”), kicking and screaming into puberty:

Dance, Magic Dance.

Folks a little older than me have Lennon’s murder (I was six, living with a family that wasn’t necessarily plugged into that area of pop culture, so I don’t remember that at all), but for me, the definitive “where were you when” question happened 25 years ago today.

On January 28, 1986, The space shuttle Challenger blew up a minute or so after liftoff, killing the entire crew of mission STS-51-L, including Christa McAuliffe, the first selectee for NASA’s “Teacher In Space” project.

At that point in time, shuttle missions had already sort of become routine and not worthy of eating up valuable class time, though for this one, the “teacher in space” mission, was a big deal; schools rolled out those big clunky TV carts all over the country so we kids could see a regular civilian teacher go up into space, take part in experiments and such, and teach a few lessons over whatever communication protocol they used from orbit in those days.

I didn’t actually see it as it happened; the launch was scheduled during my lunch hour. However, by the time I got to Mr. Snyder’s sixth grade science class, word had already gotten out via the hallway grapevine. The teacher confirmed the rumor with a bit of sad resignation, if I remember correctly, and filled us in briefly before letting the tv cart take over. Lessons for the rest of the day were tossed aside, and we were pretty much glued to the television solemnly watching the coverage and speculating as to what happened and whether anybody was likely to have survived (our speculation turned out to be correct, although we weren’t happy about it). The tasteless jokes came soon later, but are part of the mourning process. If I ever find myself dying in some horribly public tragedy, I can only hope to inspire a few tasteless punch lines.

This event has stuck with me ever since; I always thought the space program was pretty cool, and had kind of latched on to this project – I liked the idea that a non-astronaut was going into space; it meant that someday I might get a chance. Sadly, this disaster ended up being the first step toward NASA mostly backing off from manned space exploration. We really should have been back to the moon and on our way to Mars by now.

I remember later on writing a middle school research paper on it at one point, and I remember somehow getting what looked like official mission emblem stickers to use for it; not sure if I bought them somewhere or sent off a S.A.S.E. (remember those?) to get them. It was probably the first topic I remember really diving into and learning everything I could about.

Now, 25 years later, we’re a couple of months away from the final shuttle mission before the fleet is retired, and there’s nothing on deck to replace it.

To me, who’s still a bit of a space program geek ( a couple of months ago when I met some of the folks who do the logistics on rocket propellants for NASA and the Air Force, since the project that I’m on right now will end up supporting them, it thrilled me to no end that I am, in some indirect, tangential way, an integral part of the US space program), that’s what’s really sad.

According to the OPM, federal employees in the DC metro got a two hour early release today due to inclement weather.

Of course, when the pronouncement was made, there was nothing more inclement than a light rain. Still, we weren’t going to say no to two fewer hours stuck in that dump of a hotel’s conference center, running through process flows. Oh, how we laughed at Chicken Little going on about the sky falling.

I left the “office” at 3pm, thankful that the late evening meetings were cancelled, and I’d get away with something resembling a normal sized workday for once. Once again, little more than a light rain falling as I got into my car to drive across the way to my hotel.

It’s probably a good thing that they cut us loose when they did. The following photo was taken from my hotel room window at 4pm:

It looks worse now. Occasionally, these sorts of panic responses on the part of authority make a little sense.

In what’s become a tradition in this space, I shall now provide links to several, shall we say, viewing guides for tonight’s State of the Union Address. Said guides are provided as a service to the public (but not necessarily a service to the public’s livers).

I’ll be honest, for me, the State of the Union is just as much, if not more, fun for me as a mid-winter viewing ritual as the NFL play-offs or the various Awards shows* are for most of the rest of the American public. For the most part, it’s empty rhetoric and showmanship these days, regardless of who’s giving it, but it is constitutionally mandated, so we go through with it (though as Jefferson proved, it’s perfectly sound constitutionally to just send a letter across town once in a while), and those of us with our eyes on Washington get to laugh when we see our congressman futzing with his Blackberry instead of paying attention to what’s being said, and count the number of times only half the room stands up and applauds.

And hey, it’s an excuse to get together socially and imbibe a little bit; nothing wrong with that in moderation.

Anyway, here’s this year’s list:

• the original at drinking game dot us
• HuffPo’s always worthy entry
• this ruleset from comedian Will Durst
• Foreign Policy offers a “score sheet,” but also handily provides drinking game rules.

__________________

* –Of course, The Razzies came out this week as well, which ought to be everybody’s favorite award.

As Marvel’s 2011 summer film slate of Thor and Captain America start gathering more attention, pre-production is ramping up on Avengers, directed by Joss Whedon. The result of this, of course, is lots of promotional interviews with cast and crew, such as the interview with Chris “Thor” Hemsworth mentioned in this aicn piece, where we’re treated to the least obvious spoiler tease ever, that Thor and the Hulk might end up having a fight.

I’m sure that’ll be the case, and it’ll all be a great misunderstanding before everyone assembles to fight whatever larger big bad the script presents. And it’ll most certainly be really cool.

However, what I really want is this scene, a panel ripped directly from Avengers #1 back in September 1963, included in the film:

Yes, the Hulk, forced into hiding by General “Thunderbolt” Ross and the rest of the US military, figured the best way to stay under the radar was by joining the circus, posing as Mechano the robot clown, and juggling multiple animal species in front of a live audience.

Makes perfect sense to me. And it’s comics canon. Shouldn’t it end up in any film that respects its source material, Mr. Whedon?

While I love the deep sarcastic mediations on relationships in xkcd, I think my all-time favorite comics are, like today’s, the pop song flow charts.

Since it’s cookie time, this piece about overbearing cookie moms and the potential harm they might do is particularly apropos, and entertainingly written.

Oh, and thanks to Doug for pointing out this piece about an interesting policy decision from the toddler years of the American experiment (1798), which puts a big hole in a lot of those arguments about “Founding Fathers’ intent.”

Spent a little time playing Red Dead Redemption, aka “Grand Theft Equine” this weekend. Given my relatively short experience with it thus far, I’d say that all the “Best of 2010” accolades are mostly worth it. For me, though, the fun level ramps up significantly once you get the lasso; breaking wild horses is great fun, and the ability to hogtie bad guys instead of gunning them down fits better with the whole ‘outlaw seeking redemption’ arc the plot’s setting up. As always, your mileage may vary.

Thanks to a couple of redbox promo codes, I watched a few movies this weekend. Besides the annoyance of dealing with “rental market” discs for the first time in forever, I offer a few more specific thoughts:

–Inception: Good flick (probably better than good, actually), though not as totally mind-blowing as so many people said it would be. And that bit of what I guess you’d call abiguity at the end felt a little cheap. Definitely a Nolan film – I kept expecting Bale to come in and start growling in his Batman voice.

–Jonah Hex: Not high art by any means, but better than I expected. Editing was, as reviewers said, agressive, but didn’t, as those same reviewers suggested, make the film unintelligible. Feeling generous, I’d say the jarring scene changes felt not unlike those of a silver age comic book, when the writers had to wedge an entire “epic” storyline within 22 pages, not counting ads for X-Ray Specs and the great stuff you could earn by selling the Grit.

–Nanny McPhee Returns: This was the kid’s idea. I haven’t seen Nanny McPhee, but I didn’t really need to. Wish it would have edged closer to the demonic Mary Poppins film in there waiting to break out; that would have been more fun that what they ended up with. Mostly, though, it made me feel old, what with Emma Thomspon being portrayed as sexless and grandmotherly, and Maggie Gyllenhaal having transitioned into the doting mom role.

Scalzi on Facebook, pretty much echoing my feelings on the service, which I have, previously, mentioned a bit here, where, incidentally, you can also find a link to my facebook account.

Professional writers and typesetters agree, two spaces after a period is wrong, and has been wrong at least since the mid 1970s when typewriter technology finally overcame the scourge of monospaced fonts.

Still, however, the “two spaces after the end of a sentence” rule has become ingrained in my head thanks to the incorrect proclamation of a teacher in either middle or high school (in the late 1980s and early 1990s) whose name is now lost to me. (there, after that last sentence, I just habitually typed two spaces after the period, and had to go back and fix it) It doesn’t matter that the lesson was wrong (or at least a decade out of date), it was relayed to me from a position of authority, and stuck with me for the last twenty years.

Twenty years of doing something completely and totally wrong, just because somebody taught me the incorrect way of doing things, and I never thought to question it. Imagine that.

Remember this, everyone: ANYTHING you say to ANYONE at ANY TIME can have far-reaching effects on shaping that person’s behavior. This is apparently humanity’s most common superpower. Do not use this power lightly.