Octopodial Chrome

Just finished watching Spies Like Us, which was a very funny film from the 1980s—funny, anyway, until it invented a ridiculous plot by a couple of high-ranking military officers to start a nuclear war between Russia & the US. It’s quite amazing that in the midst of the Cold War (the end-game, even) that such dross would be tossed about. And yet it was. The film industry was obviously well in the pocket of the Communists, as General Ion Pacepa (formerly chief of the Romanian espionage service), who has documented how thoroughly the Warsaw Pact took advantage of Western dupes and fellow-travellers to spread its lies. It came close to ruining the film, but fortunately the presence of Vanessa Angel & Donna Dixon managed to get me by:-)

Some years back the Music Genome Project was started in an attempt to classify as many songs as possible; Pandora is the culmination of that effort. One simply tells it a few musicians or songs one likes, and it uses fairly significant human analysis of the songs in its database (over 300,000, I believe) to predict some more in the same style which you might like. Pretty cool—cool enough to get me to spring $36 for a year’s membership.

Today I went to the mall to find some new clothes, it being a few years since I’ve bought any winter wear. I’m reminded why it’s been so long: there is absolutely nothing good about shopping for clothes. There’s no rhyme or reason to what looks good and what doesn’t; indeed, the only discernible rule is that if one’s a fashion model then one can wear anything, and if one’s not the one might as well give up.

I envy married fellows: a married man can simply say, Darling, when I return I’d like to have some nice-looking new clothes, and when he gets back home the Clothes Gnomes have left him a nice new wardrobe. A man with a girlfriend can go shopping with her; even a guy with a sister has an advantage. But I am completely forlorn, since my parents failed to provide me a sister and I have thus far been and utter failure with the fair sex.

You know, I really loved it back in college when I was wearing coat & tie—yeah, I stuck out like a sore thumb, but I was a happy sore thumb. I understand coat & tie; I can buy shirts and suits and blazers and ties without worry. Maybe I should just write off this experiment in dressing like a normal chap my age, give in and return to my element.