Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
American Digest: And I like this from "The Blog That Nobody Reads", because it is -- mostly -- about me. What can I say? I'm on an ego trip today. It won't last.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Dr. Melissa Clouthier: Morgan Freeberg at House of Eratosthenes (pftthats a mouthful) honors big boned women in skimpy clothing. The picture there is priceless--keep scrolling down.
Exile in Portales: Via Gerard: Morgan Freeberg, a guy with a lot to say. And he speaks The Truth...and it's fascinating stuff. Worth a read, or three. Or six.
Just Muttering: Two nice pieces at House of Eratosthenes, one about a perhaps unintended effect of the Enron mess, and one on the Gore-y environ-movie.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
The Virginian: I know this post will offend some people, but the author makes some good points.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
Net∙Whoops (n.)
1. The chill that hangs in the air of the living room after the Lady of the Manor opens all of those little red envelopes, which were sent according to the movie queue that was last rearranged by the Lord. Without the level of coordination within the couple that would be advisable.
2. The dimple that forms alongside one corner of her mouth as she smirks on this occasion.
3. The stammering excuse or list of excuses offered by the Lord of the Manor right after this takes place.
It’s gotta be a universal thing, folks. It’s just gotta be. I’ve only been sufficiently close to two women, since the service came out, to couple-up my movie queue with theirs, and it happens that those two women are as different as night-and-day. Generally, if there’s any one thing both of them habitually do — and there are very few of those, let’s be clear on that — it’s fair to say most-to-all women do it. I see them as bookends of the female species. Having consorted with the two of them, has been just as educational as some hypothetical otherwordly immortal serial coupling-up with everything with a verginer that ever walked the earth on two feet.
There’s a gender thing going on. I know this. I’ve seen That Smirk on both those faces.
But I don’t think this time we can blame it on the man-bashing feminist movement, or the industrial revolution. It’s in our wiring. It’s inter-species. The caveman drags in a carcass…the cavewoman pronounces yea or nay on whether it is suitable for cooking. The daddy bird brings back a worm, the momma bird chews it up for the chickies. Dudes bring things to babes. Babes accept-or-reject. That’s the way it is.
We tried going the other way…with some apple or something. Didn’t work out too hot.
I’m now up to nearly a decade of envisioning this fun family ritual of, right after the last batch of red envelopes is sent off, “sitting down in front of the queue together.” I have not yet seen it happen. Not once. I’ll bet there aren’t too many other guys who have seen it happen either.
Gals don’t hunt. I think back on women I’ve seen looking for things…and they can certainly produce some bounty that takes us guys somewhat longer…but you know what pops up? The whole ask-for-directions thing. They do it. We don’t. And so the comparison is flawed. Flawed by a contaminant that is, in all likelihood, related to what we’re trying to find out. Whether the females outperform looking for this-or-that thing, correlates strongly — and is probably on average determined by — whether this-or-that thing can be located through a process of inquiring directions. Women ask for directions and men do not, because both sexes are laboring under the time-honored proverb of “when you have a shiny new golden hammer everything looks like a nail,” and there are two distinctly different shiny golden hammers.
And so we manufacture, and the ladies apply quality control. Use the profiles or don’t use the profiles, share the password, do whatever you want — it will not be, very often, a truly collaborative effort. Netflix is here to stay, I’m convinced of that. But it is fated to fall short of its slogan, “The Perfect Movie Every Time.”
Yes, there are exceptions. Once again: Comments about groups, comments about individuals. Know the difference. Netflixers do not treat the queue the same way as the Netflixettes.
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I think “Netflixer” and especially “Netflixette” are definitely candidates for new words 🙂
- philmon | 03/14/2008 @ 09:23Eh, all in good time.
The whole phenomenon could benefit from closer inspection and more energetic note-comparing. It’s a wonderful service that can benefit or injure the domestic tranquility, but regardless, it always shapes it somewhat.
- mkfreeberg | 03/14/2008 @ 10:10Am I being inobservant or did you fail to mention what movie failed to pass muster? Boy that was a lot of negatives in one sentence.
- Tom The Impaler | 03/14/2008 @ 13:14We have the 4-disc plan, poorly staggered as usual (unstaggered) so all four envelopes show up in one night. I think that’s the beginning of the problem right there.
Let’s see…Avengers disc 1 from 1967, which she said she wouldn’t like but actually seemed to be catching her fancy. Borat…forget that. Murder on the Orient Express — mine, she doesn’t want to see it. And Corpse Bride, which was originally her request. I remember patting myself on the back as I ordered it “I’m such a wonderful guy, I’m including this movie she wanted to see.” Well, she doesn’t remember it and hasn’t the slightest bit of interest in it.
there is a bad position in which to put yourself. That one line says it all: “But honey, you were the one who wanted Corpse Bride.” The words were halfway out of my mouth and I realized I was like the coyote about ten yards after walking off the edge of the cliff.
- mkfreeberg | 03/14/2008 @ 14:01