I got both Katy Perry's albums. I wasn't sure what to expect, I guess something like Britney Spears. And it sort of is. It's similar to Britney or Christina (the songs flip flop between resembling each). It's not high art but I'm enjoying most of it. Sometimes I'm surprised by myself. (The Peacock song is the only one I instantly skip so far. Hummingbird is coming close. How the heck did Peacock get green-lighted for the cd? No rhymes, no melody, no steady beat. It's like a worse version of Over the Moon from Rent.)
I also picked up a bunch of The Cotton Jones Basket Ride, and it's very decent. I think I'd almost like it more if I didn't feel let down that it isn't nearly as compelling as the excellent Page France or The Broadway Hush (all of which share a bunch of the same members).
For Veterans Day yesterday I watched a bunch of Band of Brothers episodes. I'm not sure if I've written about it here before. It's generally a good show, and at some points is very excellent. It suffers from having to stick closely to a true story. There are too many characters and a bunch of the characters are only significant for their contribution in a single episode. Most of them are like the red shirts in star trek, except in trek the red shirts only ever got killed off, they never had extended scenes or were essential in saving the day.
My grandfather flew bomber planes in WWII. He never talked about it and it wasn't apparent if you'd met him because he was neither injured nor traumatized (as far as I know). But he decided to risk his life in a way that I never have, and I'm not sure that I could. I could see myself going through a patriotic phase and instinctively volunteering for something, but as soon as "getting shot at" became a factor, I'd probably talk myself out of it.
(from xkcd sucks redux)
I feel bad for the poor tech support fellows, innocent men trying to get through their day like everybody else, who will now be hounded by endless calls from fat cheesy-fingered xkcd fans, giggling incessantly as they emit a heavy-breathed “Shibboleet” and facetiously demand to speak to an engineer.