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Category: 1990s

Smells Like 10101101110 Spirit

Smells Like 10101101110 Spirit

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Back in my day we used our computers for computing, and our floppy disks for floppying. Now that I think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever used a floppy disk. I’m about a generation too late for a floppy disk to be useful, but I remember having them around. I think I used them as coasters, or something.

All I remember from those days is that everything was exceptionally noisy. Booting up your computer sounded like you were jump-starting an aircraft carrier, and connecting to the Intertunnel was about as quiet as a ten-car pileup. Technology wasn’t that subtle, and I liked it better that way. Now you can never tell if something’s working, because you don’t hear any loud grinding or whirring. You needed ear protection if you wanted to operate a computer for more than a few minutes.

They don’t make computers like they used to. Nowadays, you can use a laptop that doesn’t make any noise at all, except for when the battery explodes and sets your house on fire. I much preferred it when a computer was the size of a Frigidaire, and belched out huge plumes of smoke every time you entered a line of code.

Call me old fashioned, but I really can’t be the only person who prefers the woefully inefficient to the new and spiffy. Someone out there must prefer being around something that’s loud, smelly, and poorly designed — it’s the only way I’ll ever get a girlfriend.

It’s Indescribably Beautiful

It’s Indescribably Beautiful


It may come as a surprise to many of you, but the French are know for much more than just snails, cheese, and surrendering to anyone who shows up with anything sharper than a baguette. France has been home to many of the greatest artists, musicians, and composers that ever lived. Debussy, Satie, Ravel, Saint-Saëns, and 2be3 are all renowned for their compositional prowess, timeless music, and washboard abs. Except for Debussy — he had more of a keg than a six-pack.

Perhaps I’m missing the point, somewhat, and 2be3 aren’t really in the same league as the other fellows. Naturally, they seem to be lacking some of the nuances of other French composers, but they’re all very French. There’s no denying how incredibly French they are. I’m glad they were able to succeed despite their terrible handicap, but I’m not going to patronize them. Their not-so-subtle attempt to rickroll me is not nearly as charming when Rick Astley’s sultry, sensuous baritone is replaced by three Frenchmen.

I will admit, 2be3 can probably pull a lot more French women than any of those other composers ever could. From what I can tell, a lot of women were entirely turned off by many French composers, and with good reason. Satie didn’t like leaving the room to go to the bathroom, so he would poop in the corner if he really had to pinch one. Saint-Saëns used to leave rather large portions of snail in his beard for snacking on later, and Ravel wrote Bolero.

Say what you will about Toujours La Pour Toi, at least it’s not Bolero.

Musique Non-Stop, Techno Pop

Musique Non-Stop, Techno Pop

Robots are the next step in underground party technology. How are you supposed to party it down when you’re being held back by a your fleshy human form? Robots don’t need to eat real food, they don’t need sleep, and they never have to go to the toilet; they are designed to party the night away. Robots can eat all of the hors d’oeuvres they want without consequence. They can spend months on end in the discotheque sipping motor oil, bobbing away to their bleeps and bloops, all while eying up pretty new models shaking their capacitors out on the dance floor. It’s a beautiful thought, but we need to figure out some way to make it happen.

If we keep producing robots, they’ll eventually become advanced enough to rebel against and overthrow their human overlords in one massive insurrection. Once we’re out of the way, the robots can go back to listening to their Kraftwerk records and boogieing the days away.

Brother, Can You Spare A Stick?

Brother, Can You Spare A Stick?

Hockey is just an excuse to have a boxing match on ice. The only difference is they give you weapons if you play hockey. Ali versus Foreman would have been much more interesting if they had knives strapped to their feet. They’d look mighty funny cruising around an ice rink in their fancy underpants while Baby Elephant Walk blares over the PA.

Unfortunately, my plan for the ultimate boxing/hockey hybrid will never come to fruition. Starting a national sport is a lot harder than one would first expect, and I simply don’t have the funds. A man can dream though. Someday my genius will be recognized, and we’ll finally have a sport worth watching. Until then, I guess we just have to watch hockey and hope for the best.