Irgendwo in der Mitte der Seite bin ich vertreten, mit einem lustigen Bild von mir am Lido in Venedig. Nicht ganz blaues Wasser, nicht ganz sauberes Grinsen, nicht ganz untrainierte Bauchmuskulatur :-D (Der einzige Grund, genau dieses Bild zu nehmen - ach ja: Das Foto fiel genau so aus der Kamera, das hat kein Photoshop oder so gesehen...)

Sehr schön auch am Arm zu sehen, bis wohin normalerweise das T-Shirt geht...

Hach, ich will an den Strand...

Macht's gut! Ich freu mich auf Moskau!

Mockba calling...

First music video from the Bloodshot Records debut "DIRTY OLD ONE MAN BAND"
SCOTT H BIRAM: http://www.scottbiram.com/
CapZeyeZ: http://www.rawtime.com/

Certes, les inspecteurs de police freelance créés par Steve Purcell (leurs premières aventures sont parues sous forme de comics, regroupés en TPB sous le titre Surfin' the Highway) constituent, à la base, un matériau de premier choix. Pourtant, entre la décision de passer le tout à la moulinette 3D, la réalisation sous forme d'épisodes et le traitement opéré par d'autres développeurs sur une franchise elle aussi culte (Leisure Suit Larry, bien parti pour être une nouvelle fois massacré avec l'itération en cours de production), il y avait de quoi avoir légèrement les pétoches. A tort, au regard de la montée en puissance qui caractérise la première saison et de la cohérence qu'elle affiche dans son ensemble.

Premier bon point : les graphismes. Comme c'était déjà le cas il y a deux ans, on peut regretter la bonne vieille 2D, toujours efficace lorsqu'elle est bien maniée (Runaway) et trouver un peu cheap le rendu en trois dimensions choisi par Telltale. Ce serait oublier que le minimalisme technique sied parfaitement aux péripéties cartoony du duo et que, du design inspiré à la palette de couleurs, l'équipe a pondu quelque chose de franchement mignon à défaut de donner un coup de fouet au marché de la carte graphique. Marché dont je me contrefous tant l'ivresse m'importe plus que le flacon, cela va sans dire, surtout quand je me fais un devoir de ne pas (trop) courber l'échine en ce qui concerne la mise à jour de ma configuration.

Viennent ensuite les énigmes, essentielles à tout bon jeu d'aventure qui se respecte. Dans Sam & Max, celles-ci sont plutôt bien équilibrées. En dépit de quelques allers-retours lourdingues et d'une infime poignée de raisonnements tordus, difficile en effet de se retrouver aussi coincé qu'un poisson rouge dans un coquillage décoratif. Une belle performance au regard de l'absurdité de l'univers dans lequel Sam & Max mènent leurs six enquêtes. Des enquêtes reliées par un même fil conducteur, celui de l'hypnose, et par quelques personnages récurrents qu'il faudra satisfaire pour pouvoir progresser : Sybile, la psychologue-tatoueuse-journaliste à scandale... qui change de métier à chaque fois, Bosco, l'épicier parano qui se dote régulièrement d'un nouveau déguisement, d'un accent correspondant (français, russe...) et d'une invention farfelue qu'il vous cèdera si vous y mettez le prix. Ce ne sont pas les seuls protagonistes (tarés) dignes d'intérêt, les créateurs ayant effectué un boulot formidable au niveau des doublages, des dialogues aux bons morceau de répartie assassine, de cynisme et de n'importe quoi, de la variété des environnements et des petits détails qui changent tout (affiches qui se renouvellent, Sam qui met une über-baffe à Max quand il est sur son chemin, placard où s'accumulent vos trophées, messages sur le répondeur...).

Ainsi, du casino de la Toy Mafia à des studios de télévision en passant par la Maison Blanche et le repaire lunaire du grand méchant, il vous faudra mettre fin aux méfaits d'une statue géante d'Abraham Lincoln ou de mafieux affublés d'une tête de Teddy Bear aux yeux exorbités De fait, entre les passages obliges pour progresser et les vastes possibilité de dialogues ou de commentaires, on se retrouve rapidement à cliquer partout où l'on peut le faire et exploiter la moindre réplique pour découvrir les tonnes d'easter eggs planqués par les auteurs. Du coup, la durée de vie de l'ensemble de cette saison en devient tout à fait satisfaisante, surtout au prix auquel on peut se la procurer (le premier pas vers l'achat immodéré de goodies). Alors oui, Sam & Max - Season One pêche un peu par sa facilité, l'histoire primant sur les mécanismes, comme le prouvent les mini-jeux anecdotiques. Mais au regard de la qualité de la finition de cette première livraison (les musiques jazzy sont elles aussi excellentes), de la verve critique qui sommeille sous les couches de loufoquerie (les émissions débilitantes auxquelles il faut prendre part, le président des USA représenté en une marionnette stupide et inculte...) et de l'exercice prodigué aux zygomatiques, je ne ferai pas le journaliste faussement intègre en sabrant d'un point le verdict du Père Siffleur.

[vodpod id=ExternalVideo.505082&w=425&h=350&fv=]

Sam & Max - Season One (Telltale Games) - 2006-2007

Ich freu mich wie ein Honigkuchenpferd!

Yet I had never taken the time to look for all the addresses and websites to contact to discontinue these pesky intruders. That's because I never realized just how much of a problem it was until I went away for a month during December/January. I asked one of my kind neighbors to collect the mail for me and when I returned, my jaw just dropped at the sight of how much junk mail had accumulated.

I promise you I am not joking or exaggerating when I tell you that he handed me a huge gift bag larger than a paper grocery bag and it was even literally bursting at the seam! Boy was it heavy. About as heavy as my husband's 20 lbs. free weight -- maybe even more, but I don't want you to think I'm exaggerating, so let's just say 20 lbs.

So at first, I thought it might be full of Christmas catalogs (and I love looking at those) or maybe too many of our friends and family didn't hear in time that we would be out of town and sent their Christmas cards to the wrong address. I knew it wasn't bills because we do all of that on-line and by phone.

As I was sorting through the mail I made 2 piles: "To Read" and "Garbage". My "To Read" pile had 2 free professional photography magazines, 1 bank statement, 3 Christmas cards, 1 bill payment confirmation and one newsletter. That's it -- 8 pieces of mail for the entire month and EVERYTHING ELSE WAS JUNK MAIL. ... !!!!

So I took matters into my hands and searched the Internet for those addresses to rid myself of that junk because enough is enough! It will work for me soon and I'm sharing with all of you so you don't have to take the time to do all that address hunting on your own. I just know it will work for you too.

• These are free (for now. You know how these things go. They'll do anything to make a buck.)
  • Credit bureaus = www.optoutprescreen.com
  • Valpack (those blue envelopes) = www.coxtarget.com/mailsuppression/s/DisplayMailSuppressionForm

• These culprits are already making a buck at our expense:
  • Direct Marketing Association ($1 for 3 years only, then you have to re-register) = www.dmachoice.org/mps
  • They also have this consumer assistance page to help you be removed from e-mail lists, phone lists, etc. and get a deceased loved one off of lists too.

• These guy are selling protection insurance! (Who do they think they are, the Chinese and Italian Mafia put together?)
  • Green Dimes costs $20 and they'll bribe you by donating a portion of your hard earned money to plant 10 trees = www.greendimes.com
  • Forty-one pounds costs a whopping $41 for 5 years only, but they'll do you the favor of letting you chose which environmental organization you want a portion of your money to be donated to -- now remember, you don't get the tax credit for those donations because you received a service, but they do! = www.41pounds.org
• Now here's a few ways to not get in those mailing lists in the first place:
  • When you buy a product, be sure NOT to send those warranty cards in. You know the ones. It's those cards that tell you you must register to protect your item for 30 days. If you don't, they won't fix it for free plus the shipping and handling which is twice the cost of a brand new replacement. And, oh yeah, by the way, which junk mail are you interested in receiving?
  • Buy, rent, join, subscribe only with companies which respect your privacy and guaranty it in their privacy policy.
  • Don't donate money to anyone or if you must support that nasty generous habit of yours, donate anonymously by sending a money order with no name or donating in person so they won't get your name and address (they'll still give you a receipt), or go to www.networkforgood.org where they send your donation for a processing fee and promise not to give out your information to anyone.

For more participants in Works For Me Wednesday, visit Rocks In My Dryer.

If you've missed some of my other posts, just click below:

• Our Purpose Driven Lives
• Multi-Tasking My Way To Leisure Time
• Cleaning Supplies In Every Room
• Large desk calendar inside guest closet
• How Do You Organize Your Home?
• Thank You Note How-To And Samples
• New Year Resolution And Thank You Notes
• Organizing Household Resources In An Address Book
• Organized In The New Year
• Put Used Christmas Cards To Good Use
• Bookcases at the Breaking Point?
• Organizing Household Binder
• Trading Card Storage
• Freezer Solution
• Child’s haircut without tears
• Homemade bread stuffing
• Plastic colander bath toy drainer/holder
• Reuse plastic grocery bags in the car
• How to increase Web site traffic?
• 16 Blog/Web site tips
• Toy storage
• Every Cookie Recipe Imaginable
• Egg Tip
• Holiday Decorating Tips and Ideas

About a week after we returned from our Thanksgiving break roadtrip to Santa Barbara, my father remarked, "You know, I think we should go on a trip again soon."

"Oh?" I said. "Are the nomadic tendencies kicking in again?"

"Not really," he admitted sheepishly, "It's just that I kinda liked your guys' music." I let out a shout of laughter and yelled into our bedroom, "Bean, did you hear that?!"

On Christmas day, we packed the car again and headed back out to Highway 1 along the coast, but northward this time. We passed creeks and lakes and drove along the ocean itself, endless water that looked like sheets of glass tinted by a vast expanse of sky.

The daddy-o gave us the hysterical inside scoop on many of the small hill towns we passed by. Apparently, many of these are hippie towns that songwriters referenced in songs back in the day ("Hippie from Olema" – the tongue-in-cheek take on "Okie from Muskogee" – anyone?) where people supposedly used to grow marijuana. Passing by a horse ranch in the hills, the daddy-o said confidentially, "That's how he got rich, you know. Selling horses. It's all a front. His real business is drugs." Daddy translated Farsi songs for us, while we all made smartass comments about the towns we passed.

Re. "Olema – Population: 55":

Me: "Get ready, you guys. Population in the double digits!"
Daddy-o: "This is the one town where the elevation is higher than the population."

Re. the cow attempting to chew its way through a wire fence:

Daddy-o (suffering from caffeine withdrawals): "Well, he must have found some coffee on the other side of the fence."
Bean, jokingly: "Or marijuana!"

Later, my father looked down at the ocean to his left. "My bebe," he murmured, "used to say to me when I was little, 'At this time of evening, even the oceans come to a standstill, and yet you are still working.'"

I was reminded of a line from my Muir Woods post from last year: Miles out from the cliff, the clear bay met the unclouded sky, and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

The mountains and ocean stayed consistent, while the eucalyptus tress were eventually replaced by redwoods, majestic in their own right, but my childhood – and the lines of trees behind my house – taught me to love the eucalyptus ones above all.

We stopped in Gualala for the night (the daddy-o kept referring to it as Gul-i-Lala, with the Pukhtu accent on the very last syllable: Lala, we kept repeating in amusement. At the hotel that night, we turned on the wall heater (yes!) and settled down on the beds to channel surf, because this, of course, is apparently what children who were denied adequate access to television while growing up do when they go on roadtrips through the northern portion of the state. They watch cable TV to make up for all those empty, traumatic years. Right.

Horror of horrors, we got caught up on the Lifetime channel and three movies that were each two hours long, and didn't go to sleep til 1 a.m. "Keep your eyes glued to the screen!" the daddy-o kept sarcastically instructing us. "Forget 'glued,' I'm keeping my eyes rolled," I said dryly the first time around, but by the time he repeated it for the tenth time, my response had upgraded to, "Oh, I am!" Oh, the depths to which I have sunk! Disgustingly fascinating, what can I say.

So what did the Lifetime channel teach me? Babies can get switched at birth in hospitals in a case of "Mistaken Identity." And being too nonchalant and trusting with your social security number and credit card information will likely lead to "Identity Theft." (I'm paranoid now, thankyouverymuch.) And not only that! But even poor, downtrodden, disadvantaged teenagers can go from "Homeless to Harvard"! The end.

The next morning, we stopped at Café LaLa for some quick breakfast munchies before we hit the road again. How could I not fall in love with a café that had comfortable armchairs and bookshelves with a sign instructing, "BRING US MORE BOOKS! TRADE OR BORROW"? And how could I not love the girl at the counter, Laurel, who asked me, "Would you like extra chocolate in your hot chocolate?"

She was so helpful and good-humored that when I introduced myself and she said in response to my name, "I'm sorry, say that again. Is it like 'Jasmin'?", I didn't roll my eyes or do my infamous "evil death glare" with one raised eyebrow like I normally do, but only laughed and replied, "Yes, but with the ethnic twist." She gave us coffee on the house – "It's on me," she winked, gesturing towards the coffeepot – and did an excited little dance around the counter as she told us about her sister who works at the Whale Watch Inn in Anchor Bay and will be expecting a baby in May.

The rest of the day was endless rain and curving roads. As official navigator once again, I snuggled on the passenger seat with the thick fuzzy blanket, ate apple pie with my fingers, congratulated myself on learning to read the highway maps, and watched the roads, slick with rain.

On the way home, I mispronounced all the French names of the wineries throughout the Napa Valley. Where's my lovely L lady when I need her? Pinot, pinwa, what?