In three more days, I will go on travel for two days to attend a post-graduation peer convention. Attendance is strictly invite-only and the current attendee list includes members from various academic fields. Items on the agenda will include several experiments measuring the trajectory of various foam dart rapid relocation devices and extended psychological research using electronic hand-eye coordination evaluation tools. Time permitting, there may also be showings of research films relevant to attendee's interests. The convention is slotted to extend into the night, and experiments will be ongoing until the subjects reach exhaustion. Calorie and nutrient delivery vectors will likely be made available to attendees for the length of the convention.

This morning was an interesting morning for me, emotionally. It all occurred during my daily commute to work, so you can probably see where this is going. While sluggishly advancing along in morning highway traffic, I was cut off… twice. The second time was especially infuriating because the black SUV driver cut me off after he drove on the shoulder for several metres to pass the traffic jam. I was one car-length away from freedom! That guy must have either testicles the size of grapefruits or a conscience the size of a pea (maybe both). You see, things like this are why I don't believe in God. If God was just and gave half a toss about me, He would've lifted this prick bodily into Heaven then dropped him unceremoniously through the Space Needle.

Needless to say, I was in a frothing rage after I got off of the highway and wound my way down the smaller roads. This was not helped by three wide-load trucks hogging the left lane, presumably hauling the SUV driver's mom (oh snap!). Now, a white pickup in front of me must've had a similar morning since we both dove for the right lane at the exact same time. We began accelerating and squeezing between the truck's cargo and the curb. This was easy enough for me and my tiny Japanese sedan that can comfortably fit approximately one-third of a person, but the pickup wasn't much skinnier than the wide-load trucks it was passing. We were just about the pass the third and final truck when the pickup's side mirror slammed into a person's mailbox. I don't know what the pickup driver was thinking immediately afterwards (he kept driving, so it's entirely possible he didn't give a poop), but, for me, the world seemed to move in slow motion. All of the rage and hate melted away as the mailbox spun through the air and bounced on the ground as if I was in a real-life version of Garry's mod. It was beautiful and put just the biggest smile on my face.

It was in the year of Our Lord 2001, when Smash Mouth reigned supreme and Aqua was a thankfully forgotten speck on the road behind, that a quaint CG-film known as Shrek deigned appear across the land. It had a star-studded cast and featured an entertaining, nostalgic story. Its shotgun-like approach to audience pandering ensured that it was enjoyable to all viewers. I consider it one of the best movies to come out in the double-0 decade.

While the graphics look positively 8-bit in this day and age of blu-ray and goofy 3-D glasses, they were rather hoity-toity about nine years ago. However, they do not detract one bit from the enjoyment. I still hold it as the pinnacle of CG facial expressions. The writing was top notch, too. The story was essentially a satire of every fairy tale cliché ever made, but managed to weave a fairy tale of its own in the process. The characters were all given distinct personalities, and, most importantly, they all bounced off of each other in the funniest ways possible.

Shrek is great. If you haven't seen it yet, you should be ashamed. It may not be very entertaining to read a review for something that's good, but this movie is perfect in just about every way.

… And then they made a sequel.

What the hell happened? Gone was the nostalgic satire of days gone by, replaced by a cut-and-paste plot that was done a million times before. The main characters from the first movie were already fleshed out and not capable of supporting a movie on their own, while the new characters were all as bland as dirty dishwater and half as likeable. All I can think is that they had a plot for a completely different movie written up, then decided to just import the characters from the first Shrek in the hope of making that lightning strike again.

… And then they made a third one!

I didn't actually so this one. Pessimist that I am, I know it will be rubbish.

… And just recently they made a fourth one.

You can tell a series is stagnating when the best selling point they can offer is that it will be the last one.

I'm sure if I close my eyes and try very hard, I can make myself believe that the first Shrek is the only one.

"Please stop making these movies..."

At work, I was given two squirt bottles of antibacterial handrub for my desk. At the grocery store, they have free sheets of antibacterial hand wipes. In public restrooms, they have antibacterial hand soap. You do realize what's going on, right? This is genocide!

You see, regular soap, by itself, does not kill bacteria. It simply and humanely removes them from your hands and body. They are washed down the drain where they can do no further harm to anybody. These antibacterial items go much further and coldly slaughter all of these living creatures. It is absolutely barbaric. It's not enough that you want to forcefully evict the bacteria from their home (your hand), but you have the sheer audacity to kill them in order to do so. Most all of the bacteria are harmless civilians, and they are getting murdered in the most torturous way. All of these alcohol-based antibacterial things strip the bacteria of their skin and have their entrails roll out. It's disgusting. All of you clean freaks should be ashamed! You are the Hitler of our age.

(This message brought to you by the Jimbo Bacteria Consortium)

Hand bacterium magnified 1000x

I'm not sure I get H ("ecchi") anime. I can understand the need for panty-shots and tissue paper clothing to make up for the lack of story and likeable characters, but I'm just not sure why they even need to exist. Whenever I see one of these series, I'm reminded of a George Carlin joke from When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops involving fruit-flavored tea. He reasoned that if it's fruit flavor one is after, then one should play it safe and get some fruit. If it was tea flavor you desired, then go ahead and get some tea. Tea has a tea flavor and should not be sought out when fruit flavor is what you desire.

Here is the way I see it: If I wanted some saucer-eyed anime cuties to help me make my tissue box lighter, I would go for some anime pornography. Anime pornography is fairly reliable for this kind of thing. If I wanted a good story with some entertaining characters, I would watch a clean series. H anime is a bit like the fruit-flavored tea. It's an artificially porn-flavored series. You can sort of taste the flavor, but it ultimately isn't the best source of material for a single-handed waltz around the ballroom.

As the great George Carlin put it, "there are no tea-flavored fruits[.] Take a clue from nature."

Happy holiday everyone! I hope you all had as much fun drawing Mohammed today as I did!

I wish to share with all of you an idea that has been bouncing around my head for a while about work-time management. I suppose it can be considered an extension to the tried-and-true Parkinson's Law: the idea that work expands to fill the time available for completion. I call it the Buttered Bread Addendum…

I don't think there is any question about the validity of Parkinson's Law. I feel, however, the law requires some slight refinement. While work does expand to fill the time, I do not think the work fills the time evenly. Instead of a consistent layer of effort laid across a plane of time, the work spreads more like butter on a piece of bread. When spreading the butter with a knife, there tends to be a large concentration at the end you started on and an even larger glob at the end when you lift the knife; the butter in the middle is adequate, but might be spread a little too thin to be tasty. My proposed addendum uses this as a metaphor. The work, when spread over time, has a flutter of activity at the beginning. In the middle, it thins out. It may even become nearly nonexistent if the piece of bread (amount of time) is particularly large. By the end, as the figurative knife is being lifted, there is a large glob of work being performed. Sometimes, even this glob is not enough, and there is a little bit of butter left on the knife. This would require a second swipe across the bread, or, in other words, a request for an extension.

I wonder if there is any paperwork to fill out in order to change an unwritten rule. I wouldn't be surprised.

Dear Maryland Traffic Commission (or whatever you're called),

On my way in to work this morning, I was delayed because of a traffic accident that closed off the right lane of the beltway. While I can understand your desire to close a lane because of an accident, let me try to explain the type of accident that would warrant a closure. If you are going to make me late to work, at least one car has to be actively on fire. Another has to be flipped over. There should be a paramedic tent assembled on the shoulder for triage of the casualties. If I am going to sit behind the same Buick for half-an-hour, I need to be rewarded with some amazing destruction.

All I saw in exchange for my impatience patience was a single cop car and some fender damage. You all should be ashamed. Get your act together!

Sincerely,
Mr. Jimbo

Before I begin, let me present the Golden Jimbo award for Most Difficult Title to Type to none other than The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. There were a lot of strong contenders over the years, including the grossly misspelled Coraline and the burdensome all caps and interpunct of WALL•E, but this movie's one-two punch of "imaginarium" and "Parnassus" nets it the award. Congratulations! I just wanted you to win something after sitting through the rubbish-fest that was the film itself.

This movie, which I have no intention of typing the title for ever again, is similar to What Dreams May Come and Freddy Got Fingered in that it can only be fully appreciated when completely whacked out on illegal, recreational drugs. Since I don't use drugs, I did not fully appreciate it. In fact, I thought it was a dollop of glass-filled, month-old mashed potatoes that cost me five dollars since I foolishly opted to rent the blu-ray copy... Sorry, I suppose that metaphor wasn't thought through all the way.

The story revolves around a guy who makes a deal with a devilishly handsome… well, The Devil. He is granted eternal life, but quickly (in an immortal sense) discovers that the world is turning completely to shit and comes to hate his immortality. In exchange for his long life, he must give his butter face daughter to The Devil once she turns sixteen. Then Heath Ledger appears on the scene hanging himself (foreshadow?) and completely cocks things up. I'm not going to bother describing the story much further since it seems the writers didn't either.

Once the movie came to its conclusion, I was left scratching my head. Most movies make an effort to either be entertaining or to have some sort of point, but I found neither. Was it saying that The Devil is bad? Ehh, I kinda assumed that going in. Was it some sort of tale of redemption? None of the characters really grew or developed in any way. Was it trying to show off Lily Cole's sultry figure? Okay, I suppose it did succeed in doing that.

Some movies make up for the lack of story by offering up interesting characters. Dances with Wolves is a fine example. I would like to point out, however, that the characters in that movie were likeable and entertaining. The characters in this movie were all, to put it lightly, pricks. All through the movie I said to myself, "what in the heavens is wrong with you people?" I'm disappointed that this had to be Ledger's last movie. He should've just left it at his phenomenal portrayal of The Joker.

I don't know what else to say. This movie left me drained, empty, and, worst of all, bored. I give it a paltry 2.564002 / 10.23. I do not recommend it.

Is it just me, or are rock band singers completely unlikeable? Just look at the way they act at live concerts. First of all, they are incredibly lazy. The audience comes to listen to the singer do his thing, but then he doesn't sing all of the lyrics. Instead, he turns to the audience to sing the parts he's too lazy to sing. It's shameful. Singers don't even ask. They either order the audience to sing his parts ("Sing along with me!") or, in a major display of hubris, he holds out the mike and expects the audience to just start singing. It's nothing but a power play, and the audience should be ashamed for feeding the singer's ego.

Ugh, completely unlikeable. I'll just continue giving them my money by purchasing their CDs, but only because they're so awesome. Haa~ I wish I could be a rockstar.