I fought the law, and the law won. The new Pepsi commercial, featuring illegal downloaders. The kid with the speaking role can’t act, but I like it anyhow.

“I can’t refuse to read things because the author is an asshole. I hate people; I wouldn’t get to read anything.”

Every time things calm down for the Celtics this season, I get ready to write down my thoughts on the team and then something huge happens. Screw it. Here’s my snapshot of the moment; next month, when Pierce is traded to Indiana for O’Neal, I’ll revise it. This is why Jim O’Brien was fired, except the personal issues were more important than the writer thinks. As were the trades. That’s all I’m gonna say about that. ...

If the base political form of mockery known as fisking was generally of this quality, I’d be all for it. James Fallows, a former presidential speechwriter, goes over the State of the Union line by line. He’s partisan, but it’s not a partisan set of annotations. He’s coming at it from the point of view of a craftsman. (Via ceej (original).)

It’s a brand-new server! ( See here (original) for details.)

Monday Mashup number 25 is late; I just noticed that I hadn’t posted it from last night. Ooops. Well, here you go anyhow. Today’s ingredient is the musical Chicago. I’m assuming the Catherine-Zeta Jones version, but any version is good. It’s glitz, it’s glamour, it’s crime, it’s the desirability of fame. In particular that last. The musical aspect is certainly optional, and when I say “optional” I mean “I’ll be really impressed if anyone manages to work it in.” Kitchen Stadium is open. Start your mashups.

I’m a total slut for typefaces, so I really couldn’t resist Behind the Typeface Presents: Cooper Black. It’s a big Flash file, around 3 megs, but IMHO well worth it. And actually kind of informative as well as being funny, since I find it interesting to think about how a hot design concept such as a typeface goes from fresh to overused.

There’s kind of a trend in the weblog world: people turn off comments on older entries to avoid comment spam. It’s probably the right thing to do. Still, I’d hate to miss comments like this: I met Douglas Chandler at Lewisburg Federal Penitentiary in 1952 and later, unfortunately, married his daughter. I’d be interested in further information about the man—who was a thoroughly unsymathetic character. Not to mention the response: To the person who posted a msg on August 23, 2003: I, too, met Douglas Chandler. In my case, it was while riding a train in Germany in the 1970’s. I got to listen to this 80-ish man talk about his (still) extreme right wing political views (ad nauseum), his experiences as the National Geographic’s “representative” in Europe prior to WWII, his experiences as a radio broadcaster in Germany during the war, his being captured, detained, tried as a war criminal (I think) and then imprisoned until being released (he said) by RFK during JFK’s presidency, etc. He was an unrepentant Nazi, to the end. Unfortunately, as a fellow in my 20’s, I was somewhat astonished by this “meeting with history”, and listened to him thoroughly, not fully appreciating the gravity of his crimes. Still, it was an interesting exposure to an obscure part of WWII history. ...

I have been woefully behind on WISHes lately. I blame travel, and apologize. However, I’m home now, and WISH 82 (original) rocks: Sum up one or more games that you GM or play in 10 words or less. (Three is best, but not everybody is that pithy.) Don’t restrict yourself to current games if you have great ones in the past. DoSS: Dreams of heroism. (Chris is scratching his head right about now.) ...

That was a long week. Productive, but lengthy. Instead of talking about business, which I can’t talk about, I’ll talk about the one non-business thing I did this week: Dixie’s BBQ. Dixie’s is pretty decent BBQ with a great gimmick. You get your food, you go sit down at your table, and the owner of the place wanders over with a pot of his hot sauce: “The Man.” He makes a big production about giving you some, especially if it’s your first time. I was there with a couple of co-workers, and since they were native Bostonians I figured my experience with hot sauces went a little beyond theirs. I believed them when they said The Man was hotter than hot, but I was pretty sure I could handle it anyhow. So I let Gene (the aforementioned owner) plop a big spoonful onto my brisket. ...