The Great Migration

As some of you know, I've had this blog for a while. A long while. And a few months ago, I started migrating over to Tumblr.

Tumblr is far from perfect, but I dig it. And I have faith that it will get better.

I've been posting here and re-posting the same stuff to my Tumblr for some time now, but the import tool I was using to do it has been deactivated, thus rendering the double-dipping a royal pain in the ass. So, friends, the time has come for me to commit and make the move to Tumblr. I hope you join me, since that's where I'm going to be posting everything from here on in.

Perhaps I'll come back to Blogger one day, who knows. But for the time being, I don't have the time to do both.

The full URL is http://marseniuk.tumblr.com but marseniuk.com redirects to it.

Cheers,
M

Goodnight, Internet

I swear to god, I do this every night. Except I don't have porn on my computer, and I usually put my laptop in sleep mode instead of shutting it down. Brutal, I know. But stressing my MacBook out is a small price to pay to avoid quitting the 14 programs I have open (including the six I'm actually using), and closing the 72 various tabs I have open. (Yeah, yeah, I know Firefox will automatically "save session" and remember my tabs for me ... but then I'll have to wait, like, 20 seconds for it to re-load all of them when I reboot! And who has time for that?!)

goodnight internet

Hardly Working Start-Up Guys

The medium is the message, sure — but sometimes the message is a mixed one. I am forever amused by people who drop buzzwords — "SEO!" "UGC!" "Viral!" "... But I know Larry Page!" — and they (a) think they're fooling everyone, and/or (b) actually do fool some people, who in turn agree to hire them. (In the world of Web, "consultant" can be a very dirty word.)

Enter this video, which pokes fun at morons who don't know anything about what they're talking about, but think that if they drop the right balance of acronyms and social media verbiage, people won't notice they're full of it.

It's sad and ironic because, all too often, it's true: "The best web strategy is one you don't understand."

Somewhere, Marshall McLuhan is turning in his grave.

Fancy Footwear

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring — and this girl needs a pair of rain boots.

I've spent the last three years in Las Vegas, where the average yearly rainfall is 4.1-inches. (seriously! I'm not making that stat up!) I think it has rained more in the week and a half that I've been in NYC than it did during my entire time in Vegas.

"I think I'm going to have to break down and buy rain boots!" I texted a friend who also lives in New York and has been weathering this, um, weather.

"You def do," she replied, then suggested I pick up a pair of Hunters ASAP.

"Hunter boots are the best," she assured me. "You can consider yourself a real NYer as soon as you get them."

Now, if it was a commercial that told me buying Hunter brand rain boots were the true sign of a modern Manhattan woman, I would've boycotted the boots immediately. But since it was my friend, I believed her. I made a mental note to buy the first pair I saw.

I haven't purchased rain boots since I was in sixth grade — and even then, I'm pretty sure it was my mom who did the purchasing. Long story short, I had no idea how much a pair of Hunter boots was going to cost. I figured a regular pair of no-name boots was probably $25, so I did the math (multiplied what a normal pair should cost by three) and figured they'd be $75.

$75. For rain boots. AKA rubber boots... boots made of rubber, not leather. Ridiculous! I thought. What have we come to, spending that much on rubber boots? There are people who don't make that much in a month!

...But the rain kept coming, and my altruistic ideals went down the storm drain. And I needed to get some boots before I destroyed every pair of regular shoes I own, so I logged onto Zappos.com and found a pair of Hunters that I liked. They were beautiful: sleek, black, knee-high boots with a slight heel and a cute little strap around the ankle. They even had a name: Andora. I liked the sound of that.

What I didn't like was the price: $175.

$175?!? My eyes widened, half in disbelief, half in horror. Hunters, as it turns out, are the Manolo Bhlaniks of rain boots.

Who pays $175 for rubber boots?

Well, I do, apparently.

My frugal great grandmother (and, hell, most people I know!) would be so disappointed in me. I should know better! I shouldn't buy into it! Dumb, dumb, materialistic girl! Rubber boots aren't a status symbol! They're boots! Made of rubber, remember?!

[dramatic sigh]

OK, back to work. After all, momma needs [to pay for] a new pair of shoes...

P2P... C?

A new financial institution — financial system, really — is hoping to give traditional banks a run for their money. Bitcoin is a new, decentralized online currency that just might change the way we do business.

Basically, it's virtual Monopoly money, and runs around an online marketplace where people trade goods and services for credits — Bitcoins — that can be used, in turn, to buy other products and services. (see video below)

That's all fine and well, but things get particularly interesting when you trade your funny-money Bitcoins for real world dollars (or Euros). Apparently, there are organizations that will do just that. No, I haven't looked into it myself, and no, I don't think anyone is going to be offering competitive (read: worthwhile) exchange rates, but it's a neat concept — and might be worth keeping your eye on.

For more info, visit WeUseCoins.com.*

* WeUseCoins has nothing to do with Insert Coin(s) Videolounge and Gamebar, but the latter is awesome, so I use any excuse I can get to talk about it. Like this disclaimer, for example... ;)

Early Artists, Embellished

Kids' drawings never live up to what they're supposed to be. While those little hangs grasp Crayola markers and crayons, their attempts to recreate their modern family, favorite pet, or dream car usually look like little more than stick figures and a scribble-filled mess.

Or are they?

Maybe young minds are incredibly visual, and their hands are simply unable to keep up.

Artist Dave DeVries explores this possibility through a collection of images that are fantastic and fantastical. He took pre-schoolers' pictures, and used them as a foundation for full-fledged paintings. Personally, I think the extrapolated and embellished former stick figures are quite striking.

Like many of the off-the-wall-and-very-cool art-related things I blog about, this collection can be found on Flavorwire.


Here's what Flavorpill's Tom Hawking had to say:

"If you actually stop and look at them, children's drawings are really fascinating. You can spend hours thinking about the way kids' brains transfer the world they see onto paper, emphasizing certain characteristics of their subjects in a way that's more conceptual than literal, or the fact that children everywhere — no mater what their socioeconomic or cultural context — seem to draw in broadly the same way. Jersey artist Dave DeVries takes the idea of analyzing children's work one step further, by rendering their creations as fully-fledged, realistic (if somewhat cartoon-esque) paintings. His project The Monster Engine has been exploring this idea for a decade, and the results are both beautiful and fascinating."

I included two of my favorites in this post, but there are more to see, enjoy, and ponder. Check out the others by reading the original post on Flavorwire, and/or DeVries' website.

The Mississippi's Wrath... in Manitoba

When the Mississippi floods, Louisiana isn't the only place that takes a hit. The southern part of my home province of Manitoba, Canada, floods almost every spring. The Red River runs right through the province (right through my mother's back yard in Winnipeg, in fact -- yes, she has to sandbag every year), and feeds off the Mississippi, so when one overflows, so does the other. (The flood gates in North Dakota and the kind folks down in Grand Forks complicate matters, too, but we won't get into that right now...)

When I say flood, I mean flood. The near biblical proportions that we witnessed in '97 were worst by far (they called it "the Flood of the Century," and brought both the army and high school students in by the bus load to build dikes and sandbag), but the water rises up and washes out miles of farmland every spring.

Here are some pictures of this year's relatively small flood. They were taken near Morris, St. Jean Batiste, and between St. Agathe and St. Adolphe, MB.

Indeed, Louisiana is not alone.

Amazing

There is an animated gif, too, but I'm not going to post that here (Go here to see it for yourself).

You can thank my esteemed colleagues at Flavorpill for that one, as well as this royal comparison, which is interesting but not nearly as entertaining (or crude):

Note: I know, I know, you're sick of hearing about the Royal Wedding. But this is only the second time I've mentioned it (the first when I blogged about special RW barf bags), and I promise this will probably be the last time. Probably.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Oh, the joys of moving.

I recently relocated the New York City, and, let me tell you, moving sucks. I’ve done it so much, you’d think I could pack and unpack in my sleep. Alas, that is not the case. I despise packing, and resent having to unpack just a day or two later. And don’t even get me started on the joy that can only be experienced while searching for people to live with. It’s like survival of the fittest, where the fastest to respond to a Craigslist ad wins, and all they can do is hope that the people their newfound roommates aren’t nuts.

I have to charming and completely random roomies, one of which took it upon himself to serenade me (and the other roomie) this morning the crack of 8:30 or so a.m. Yes, that’s right. He was playing guitar and singing. And, suffice to say, I’m pretty confident he was treating us to some original material that will never see the light of day, radio airplay, or even a sad open mic session at a neighborhood cafe. He’s lucky I have a sense of humor, and was already up.

Oh, the joys of moving, indeed.

One of the things I find most interesting about moving into a new place is discovering who your new neighbors are. I always hope they’re Mr. Quiet and Mrs. Minds-Her-Own-Business, not Mr. Noisy-Sex-All-Night, Dr. Drug-Dealer/Junkie, or Miss Musician-Who-Practices-Her-African-Drum-Routine-Before-Work-Every-Day.

I have no idea who my new neighbors are. I have yet to meet (or, thankfully, hear) a single one of them. However, I have seen their Wi-fi connections… and what Wi-fi connections they are!

When I opened my computer for the first time, I was greeted by a few dozen signals, and a few of them stood out:

• Why, hello, 5th Street Whorehouse! Sure glad I live on 6th!
• Bananapancakes?! Are you Jack Johnson fans? If so, you know it’s 2011, right?
• What’s that? You have Bieber Fever? Are you proud of your condition? You know, there’s a cure for that: It’s called “stop hanging out with seventh graders.” C’mon, guy. You might as well name your network “pizza face.”
• Ummmm... Assflag? Can someone please tell me what an assflag is? Because I’m confused, and I don’t feel like looking it up on UrbanDictionary.com.
• Look out! It’s Lil Monsta/Lil Monsta Guest! I’m fine with both, as long as they’re lil monstas, and not big monstas. Lil monstas I can deal with; big monstas are scary. (Same goes for obsessive Lady Gaga fans.)

… Now guess which one is my new roomies’ Wi-fi network. (They insist it was a former roomie who named it, but I’m not convinced.)

I [heart] the New Yorker

It’s no secret that I love the New Yorker. Heck, I’m lucky to call a handful of their cartoonists friends. Still, two things happened this week that solidified the publication’s strangle-hold of my heart:

#1: The finally — and, some might say, rather reluctantly — gave print subscribers full access to the web content AND the iPad app (which, up until this point, was only available if purchased on a week-to-week basis, for a whopping $5/week) at no extra charge. FINALLY. Welcome to the future of media, duh. Give people what they want how they want it! Don’t alienate (and lose) your audience! Don’t expect people to pay for the same thing twice! … the folks at the NY’er (and Condé Nast) are a smart bunch. I can’t understand why it took them this long to figure all of it out.

#2: This hilarious letter was sent to all NY’er subscribers, effectively reinstating my faith in the publication, and its leadership:

Dear Laughter Lovers, When Roger Ebert won Caption Contest #281, I mentioned that he had entered one hundred and seven contests, but that others had entered even more often. So here’s a shout-out to the ten most devoted entrants:

John Shields: 279; Dominic Ciafardini: 278; Preston Macdougal: 275; Sy Gaffin: 272; Rick Kaufman: 270; George Gopper: 269; Alice Gochman: 266; Jim Bertram: 264; Julian Wheeler: 263; William Keller: 262

Unfortunately, none of them have won. But I applaud their persistence. As I’ve pointed out, persistence in the face of failure is often the key to eventual success, except in skydiving. Persistence certainly paid off for Mr. Don Symons, who entered two hundred and thirty-one contests before winning. But Don and Roger might resent John Pignata, who won our most recent contest, #282, on his first try. To see what else could be gleaned from the data, I paid a visit the Bureau of Caption-Contest Statistics, in their climate-controlled aerie atop the Condé Nast Building. We looked at the winners of Caption Contests #250 through #282. Of the thirty-two winners, twenty-two are men and ten are women. Does this confirm that men are funnier than women? Not really. Many more men enter the contest than women, and many more men enter regularly. Of our top ten überenterers, only one is a woman. And when you look at the last thirty-two contests and factor in productivity, women come out on top. The twenty-two winning men entered an average of 70.22 contests, but the ten women averaged 6.4 entries—and four of them won on their first attempt. The only man to do so was the aforementioned John Pignata. Cheers, Bob Mankoff

… I had no idea so many people entered the caption contest so many times. Remember, there are just 52 weeks in a year, and 47 New Yorkers a year (there are a few double issues), so John Shields has entered every caption contest for nearly five years… without a single win. And still, he doesn’t show any signs of giving up. Talk about persistence! (Meanwhile, he is probably talking about conspiracy theories.) Same goes for Mr. Ciafardini, Mr. Macdougal, Mr. Gaffin, and the rest of the incredibly not-funny, yet persistent entrants.