Top 10 April 1st Headlines to Skip for Your Own Good

Grumpy Cat Hates Being Your Punchline

The unwilling special guest from our April Fools 2013 entry is still not amused.

Yes, Americans, it’s that time of year again. April Fools Day is back and still not abolished. That special day you’ll spend trusting no one, suspecting every good deed, indulging every paranoia, checking every inanimate object twice for spring-loaded traps, fasting to avoid surprise hot sauce or rat poison, narrowing your eyes at every internet headline and wondering which spawn of The Onion will be the one to catch you off-guard, damage your calm, and embarrass you in front of cute people. We here at MCC tried to warn you last year, and yet here you are again, trying to live through April Fools like a stubborn mule. I just don’t get you.

But would you at least take some precautions? You’ll feel much better about your day if you quash someone else’s pranks, dodge a few attempted pratfalls, and skip over your favorite news site’s fake headlines. With your sanity in check and your anxieties unprovoked, you’ll be cackling and preening while those annoying little rascals starve without the site traffic. Someone ought to teach them a lesson, so I’m dumping all the burden on you.

This way for your not-reading scorecard!

Please Crowdfund My Awesome New Project So I Can Pretend to Make Cool Stuff

Napkins Begone, Ultracausal Hygiene Science

Every good campaign has a catchy slogan. Pretend this is one.

Finally, after minutes of brainstorming ways to make a difference in this broken world, leave a lasting legacy, and accept money from strangers in exchange for pleasant-sounding promises, something has popped into my head that’s hopefully the magic bullet everyone needs, and by “everyone” I mean my bill collectors and I. I hope you’ll hear me out and then shower me with gifts so I can make my brand new dream come true if I work hard enough, the stars align, miracles happen, and no one stops to think anything through.

The Premise:

We can be certain of few things in life, but three of those things are these:

1. People want to kill fewer trees.
2. People will always be sloppy eaters.
3. People want phone apps to do everything for them.

The man who figures out how to combine those three arbitrarily chosen certainties will be the next man to rule the world. I agree with the puzzled look on your face that my path to world domination and self-esteem is littered with several obstacles, including but not limited to the laws of physics.

Intrigued so far? What do you mean no? Click here and learn more about it anyway!

Dear Event Promoters: Please Don’t Make Us Pick Your Twitter Hashtag for You

#ICC2014 #failtag

Ugh. Just…UGH. No, this won’t do at all. #ICC2014 #failtag

Midlife Crisis Crossover is coming to you live this evening from my living room while I’m in the middle of planning for our big day at the inaugural Indiana Comic Con on Saturday. (I’ve written about it here and here, so loyal MCC followers are well aware and waiting for it to be over with already.)

As part of my prepping, I thought I’d check in on the Twitter scene and gather impressions from the three-day attendees who edged ahead of us in joining the fray. I saw a fair amount of evidence that my sincere hopes for everyone to enjoy themselves are largely being realized. I’m looking forward to joining the discussion tomorrow myself.

That’s assuming I can figure out where the discussion is. Continue reading

21st Century Digital Fogey

Google Chromecast

Welcome to the newest addition to our family.

Every few years there comes another time in a man’s life when it’s time to upgrade to the next level of entertainment technology. While the old gizmos might work fine and haven’t broken yet, sometimes it’s time to escalate our media consumption anyway. It’s never easy for me. The older I get, the tougher it can be to shift my paradigms to keep up with the Kids These Days.

Another one of those shifts was implemented this past weekend. I’m never excited when they come to pass, but circumstances warranted it, the money was available, the price was unbeatable, and so far the performance is competent.

This way to keep up with the Joneses…

Treatment Suggestions for Sufferers of Repressed Spoilers Syndrome

Daryl Dixon, Norman Reedus, Walking Dead

If Daryl Dixon ever dies, your dreams of a spoiler-free Sunday evening will be beyond laughable.

Every Sunday evening during the active TV seasons, my online experience takes the same shape: a few friends share their vague reactions to the new episode of The Walking Dead that signify something game-changing happened yet again, right on schedule; one or two other friends dispense with discretion and blurt out what the game-changing thing was to anyone who’ll listen; and another friend or two explode with spoiler rage because they weren’t watching the show as it aired, but totally planned to watch it as soon as they could, or as soon as they felt like it, apparently having learned nothing from the last forty times this happened with the last forty episodes.

Of those three fan divisions, it’s my belief that the most stressed-out and in need of help is Group 1.

This way for theories and treatment…

Your Handy Spam Comment Inspection Checklist

MasterSpam Theatre

Random spammer, welcome to This is Your Life! And might I say, you have much to rethink.

Each day the ol’ Midlife Crisis Crossover spam filter catches a few would-be advertisers and funnels them into a gravity well for handy reevaluation and inevitable permanent disintegration. For my first depressing month on WordPress it was simple to discern spam comments from real, live comments: if it was a comment, it was a spammer. My undying gratitude remains perpetually owed to those longtime followers who wrote real, live comments in subsequent months so that I could eventually form a basis for comparison between sincerity and superficial salesmanship.

Nowadays my daily spam dosage tends to be the same few varieties over and over again. It’s quick to flush but boring to glance at. It’s rare to see one of their lowly kind be creative enough to merit more than four seconds of my time.

When one of them fails at their quote-unquote “job” in spectacular fashion, then they have my undivided attention for all of a minute, the equivalent of an eternity in their world.

Continue reading

Read. Think. Post.

Those three sharp words comprised one of the first, smartest lessons shared with me when I first hopped aboard the runaway internet express in a previous decade. Simple words bandied about by my earliest peers became a brilliant watchword trifecta to remind each other not to post in anger, to cool down before venting any immediate hostile impulses, to refrain from etching anything hasty and regrettable for eternal archiving. Self-control is key. You’re not required by law to reply immediately to anyone who stabs you the wrong way. Stepping back, breathing deeply, and taking a few hours away from your input device can do a world of good.

This snapshot, captured tonight through the magic of a few simple keystrokes and MS Paint, is how not to handle such potential fiascos. The amateurish content-editing is my doing, because of the lines I draw.

Twitter rage

The Twitter account in question was deleted less than half an hour later. A few earlier tweets were part of the same tirade, but I opted for moderate sampling over voyeuristic completism. I’m also not interested in linking to the tacky news story that sparked this reaction because I don’t believe they deserve any click-through traffic. At all.

I’m not normally one for ten-minute posts comprised of a single set of Words to Live By. Consider this an exception to the rule. From a Scriptural standpoint, I’ll point you to James 1:19-20 (NIV):

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.

Much more eloquent and pleasingly faith-based from my perspective, but not as easy to fit onto a T-shirt or scribble on a Post-It to stick to your monitor or the back of your phone.

Make these three words Today’s Secret Words, today and every day, and you’ll be astounded at how your internet experience will improve by leaps and bounds.

Read. Think. Post.

#BadTwitterRecs

One of the more amusing one-joke Twitter handles I follow is Bad Netflix Recs, which pokes fun at automated recommendation services with poor logical parameters. Behold examples of the joke:

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An Old Man’s Excuses for Not Hoarding Digital Music

Mp3 icons

Why browse through someone’s full-sized collection of vinyl cover art when you can peruse a strictly formatted collection of charmless Windows icons instead?

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover, I waxed verbose about my long-standing like/loathe relationship with commercial radio, the medium that lured me into Top-40 fandom in my pre-teen years and spurned me from high school to the present.

One digression was left unexplored due to issues of relevance and length:

My reluctance to embrace MP3s would require an entry in itself. Short answer: not at this time, but thank you for the option.

Far be it from me to let a promise of digression remain unrequited.

I recognize that digital music has numerous advantages over CDs and its precursors, but I have yet to embrace iTunes or to fill multiple external hard drives with jams for a variety of reasons. Some of them may sound tired and overused; most are conclusions I reached over the years after repeated bouts of personal deliberation. Continue reading

Welcome, New Bloggers! Your Default “About” Page is Showing.

Far be it from me to convince myself that 350+ consecutive daily MCC entries and fourteen years of Internet participation experience (dating to the era when Usenet was ebbing but not dying, and “social media” wasn’t a labeled thing) are sufficient credentials to hoist myself upon an ornate pedestal and begin dispensing wisdom from above to fellow WordPress users about The Correct Way to Do Blogging. For reasons that would require a separate entry altogether, I don’t even like dispensing constructive criticism to other online writers, let alone have the ego to declare myself in the sensei business. One glance at MCC’s minimal visual design should provide evidence enough that I have a multitude of lessons yet to learn for myself.

Regardless, longtime bloggers can agree on a few of the most basic of basics. Today’s message is about one of those super-basic basics.

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Grumpy Cat Signs Three-Year $5 Million Deal to Join “The View”

Grumpy Cat, morningsIn the wake of recent conflicting headlines regarding the revolving-door employment status of its longtime participants, ABC’s The View announced a new initiative to move forward into a bold new era by hiring Internet sensation Tardar Sauce, star of the massively popular “Grumpy Cat” meme, as new co-host to represent for furry, nonhuman, and hatemonger minorities. The arguably photogenic Ms. Sauce will replace outgoing co-host Joy Behar and has sinister plans to drive out the three survivors until none remain. ABC executives are on board with this dramatic plan in hopes of boosting viewership in the precious young-adult-male demographic from its current double-digit negative ratings share.

Viewers who were Grumpy Cat fans before Grumpy Cat was cool are cordially invited to share her official site or her official Facebook page with bandwagon jumpers to show how superior you are to them, even though she hates you and newcomers equally.

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My Valentine’s Day is What I Make of It.

Lugash, Valentine's Day, The SimpsonsWhen you’re sitting at a ballpark or other sports stadium, the crowd is doing the Wave, and you see the crest heading straight for your section, do you rise and raise your arms in rhythm with your neighbors? Or do you scowl, remain in your seat, and lecture your friends about how the Wave is conformist tomfoolery?

When your coworkers decide they’re not in the mood for cafeteria food or the tiny Weight Watchers meals they brought in their lunch bags and decide to order pizza or Chinese takeout together, do you go with the flow and chip in a few bucks for a little something different for yourself? Or do you denounce their impulsive extravagance and consign yourself to the turkey sandwich you brought because it was slapped together with only the purest of motives?

When you need to buy drinks at the grocery, do you base your decision on advertising? Do you buy drinks regardless of their advertising? Or do you specifically boycott any drinks that have ever been advertised in any way because advertising is shallow and irritating and unholy, and instead limit yourself to buying only products that have never been advertised in any medium?

If you’re at the theater watching a movie that the other patrons seem to be enjoying a lot more than you are, do you leave them to their difference of opinion and count down the minutes till the travesty is over? Or do you castigate them for their life choices and demonstrate the superiority of your disdain by chasing them around the theater with a stun-gun?

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Morgan Freeman Photos Convey Authority, Win Debates, Certify Anything as Gold

Morgan FreemanDuring the solemn, lamentable weekend following last Friday’s senseless tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut, Facebook users who were already struggling with their own reactions, the reactions of their friends, and the fights breaking out between friends of conflicting reactions all found themselves interrupted dozens of times over the course of the weekend by the reassuring face of Academy Award Winner Morgan Freeman, perceived as one of the kindliest, most grandfatherly figures in all of Hollywood. His face was attached to a short essay decrying the culpability of mass media in encouraging too many broken young men to become power-tripping mass murderers because of the seedy allure of posthumous headlines and ten minutes of front-page infamy. Few would argue with the content of the well-meaning essay, but this wasn’t just any old essay written by an ostensibly intelligent typist. This was an essay attached to a photo of Academy Award Winner Morgan Freeman.

Somehow the photo imbued those words with a godlike acumen that transcended all racial, economic, and spiritual barriers. Within seconds one out of every one-and-a-half Facebook users was forwarding the words and picture to everyone in striking distance under the assumption that they naturally had something to do with each other. No need for fact-checking, no verifying sources, no asking why Freeman would release a public statement as if he’s an official White House spokesman — someone they knew forwarded it to them, so it had to be true.

What you saw probably resembled this, except more professionally cobbled together and without my modified attribution:

Morgan Freeman Fraud Sample

Continue reading

Internet Commenters Demand Legislation Against Complex Sentences

Hello, readers. How are you? I am hunky-dory.

Today was a good day. I got to rest. I ate good food. I watched some DVD extras. One was a documentary. It was about A Night to Remember. That movie was about the Titanic. The documentary was not fun. The photos were okay. The narrators were all very old men. They talked a lot. Sometimes they talked for many minutes. They talked very slowly. Sometimes there were very long pauses. Then they talked some more. They were nice men. I felt like a great-grandchild. I did not see the last fifteen minutes. I stopped the DVD early. I was sleepy.

Then I got on the Internet. It has interesting pages. I wanted to read a movie review. It was about The Master. I have mentioned that movie before. Joaquin Phoenix is angry and confused. Phillip Seymour Hoffman is charming and maybe evil. Amy Adams is happy and unhappy. I may go see it. I have not decided. My city is not showing it yet. Maybe they will show it in October.

The review was written by a movie critic. Her name is Lisa Schwarzbaum. Her boss is named Entertainment Weekly. She has worked there for decades. She likes itty-bitty foreign films. She also likes movies about sexiness. Sometimes I do not agree with her. Sometimes I do. She uses big words and long sentences. I can usually understand her. Sometimes I also use big words and long sentences. Sometimes she mentions really weird movies. That does not bother me. Sometimes I also talk about weird things.

Ms. Schwarzbaum liked The Master very much. She gave it an A. Her review had big words and long sentences. This was the last sentence of her review:

The cubism of the concluding third of the picture allows a disoriented viewer to consider this singular movie not only as a character portrait, but also as a photographic travel diary, from the days before Instagram, by an important artist following the itinerary of Americans seeking salvation and prosperity when an exterior world war was over but interior psychological battles raged.

The word “cubism” threw me for a moment. I looked it up on the Internet. It has dictionaries and WikiPedia in it. I found Cubism in there. Now I understand the whole sentence. “Cubism” is a good word for a Paul Thomas Anderson film.

Some readers did not like her review. They really did not like her last sentence. A few readers said mean things about her. One reader said this direct quote:

…it is exhausting – why does she have to create super complex sentences with thesaurus worthy big words – it doesn’t impress me, it belittles me. and that last sentence, WTF? I’d hate to be stuck next to a cooler with her, attempting to carry on a conversation about the latest small town drama. Know your audience.

Her audience does not like long sentences or big words. “Entertainment” is a big word. Lisa’s words are mostly shorter than “entertainment”. They should rename the magazine Things Weekly. The audience would like them better.

Another unhappy reader said this direct quote:

“the cubism of the final third……….” this sentence is not only THE most pretentious piece of critical crap I’ve ever read, it also convinced me not see the probable load of “important” blarney that inspired it.

The Internet has many pretentious pieces of critical crap. I have read some of them. I usually do not rank them. Some reviews can be pretentious and not crap. Sometimes I like pretentiousness. That word is even bigger than “entertainment”. It does not scare me. I used to be an English major. Other English majors scared me. One time our class talked about “Murders in the Rue Morgue”. That is an old story about gross murders. One victim was stuffed inside a chimney. One classmate had a theory about the scene’s meaning. He used the phrase “return-to-the-womb motif”. I was very scared. I wanted to leave class immediately. Now I am older. I have conquered that fear.

Ms. Schwarzbaum probably writes how she wants. Maybe she even thinks that way. Her writing made other people sad. She should rewrite her last sentence. It should be many sentences. The sad people might like the new sentences. They could look like this:

The movie shows you things about each character. Some of those things are very different from each other. It takes place in the past. The old places tell one long story. It is better than random photos. The story comes after a war. People were not happy yet. They had a lot to think about. They tried to make money and be saved. The movie is very good. The director is neat.

Shorter sentences can be happier sentences. The biggest word in those sentences is “different”. That word should not be scary. I think Liza Schwarzbaum is a different writer. Maybe I am a very different reader.

Well, got to go. Have a nice day. I will see you all tomorrow. My next entry may have commas and more clauses in it because of pretentiousness. I hope you will not hate my important blarney. I promise I will not read it aloud to you with extra long pauses. That might make it worse.

Waiting Patiently for My Annual Day of Stillness to End

My mom’s generation had “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” My generation has “Where were you on 9/11?” Since this blog wasn’t around last year at this time, restating my own anecdote for the record — probably just this once — might be prudent.

That day, I was at work sorting daily reports when someone cranked the volume on our quiet morning up to 12. Three hours into my shift, we were all panic and no work. This, plus the fact that I work in one of the tallest buildings in the city, was reason enough for our superiors to let us take the rest of the day off, just in case every American building over ten stories tall had been targeted for destruction. Fortunately nothing happened during the next hour that I spent gridlocked in the employee parking lot, waiting my turn to head for the hills.

Once I escaped and finally arrived home, I turned on the TV news, of which I normally watch an average of thirty minutes per year. With the TV feed kept on in the background to provide a steady stream of information, misinformation, endless speculation, live interviews with the shell-shocked, and endless repeats of all of the above, I served in the best way I possibly could at that particular moment: I spent the entire rest of the day and all of the evening online, talking to anyone who needed someone to talk to, sifting for incoming details faster than TV reporters could communicate them, and monitoring the myriad reactions at the geek message board for which I was a volunteer moderator at the time. As crowd-control jobs go, Internet moderating is less about physical stress, far more about emotional stress during times of unprecedented national trauma. Whether the members needed comfort, sought to make sense of anything, wanted to share updates as they occurred, felt like practicing their rhetorical bluster, or thought this was the perfect time for inappropriate jokes (way, way too soon — thank you so much, insensitive cool-kids), I stuck around to do my part as needed, however minuscule it was in the Grand Scheme.

While others suffered, while still others rose above to do their part in response, I was at home joining and sorting the chorus of those whose first response was to register their horror on the Internet for all to see. Hours passed while I kept waiting for a few moments of calm that might allow me to excuse myself from the fray, long after fatigue set in. The existing records confirm I was online till well after midnight. I broke a personal record for simultaneous IM chats, having carried on six such conversations at one time while still tending to the board. That was my day. Poor, put-upon, still-breathing me, having to type and type and type for the sake of others while buildings crumbled and societal paradigms quaked.

Every 9/11 since then, I’ve spent doing the opposite of that.

Every 9/11, I keep my online communications to a bare minimum. No grand pronouncements, no attempts at punditry, no prolonged conversations, no PhotoShop tributes, and very few laughs. A combination of throwing myself into my work, spending time with loved ones, consoling my coworker whose birthday is 9/11, and offline prayer is usually activity enough to hold me until the clock rolls over to 9/12, the anniversary of not much in particular.

It’s my way of deferring to those who treat the day with utmost, outspoken reverence. It’s my way of avoiding those who tire of the reverence and insist on bleating about their impatience. It’s my way of observing the truth to be had in Psalm 37:7.

It’s also my way of commemorating the Way Things Used to Be, noting The Way Things Have Been Ever Since, and dearly wishing they were the opposite of that.