Monday, May 23, 2005
Saturn
What's ugly and made of plastic? Lots of things, from Michael Jackson to the new iMac, but the one I'm talking about has four wheels, is easily out-accelerated by its own rate of depreciation, and is a matter of deepest shame to be seen in or near if you're not dead. I'm talking about the Saturn, which is possibly the worst car in a miserable General Motors lineup that includes Chevy, Pontiac, Isuzu, Buick, Suzuki, and Daewoo.
Why anyone would buy a car that is not only pathetically underpowered but also contains more plastic than Lindsay Lohan's breasts is utterly beyond my capacity for reason. Even the limited sex appeal of a pair of plastic-filled breasts is completely missing from a Saturn, and now that I've written it I'm shocked and appalled that "Saturn" and "sex appeal" somehow ended up in the same sentence.
But— inexplicably— people do buy Saturns. Then they take them out on the road and drive, but... very... slowly. For some reason, the sexless freaks who buy Saturns can never even get them within hailing distance of the speed limit. I don't know if this is because the cars themselves can't go that fast or because the people driving them are sexless freaks. But it certainly seems to be true that every time you're in a hurry, one of these abysmal failures of automaking materializes right in front of you.
The worst feature of a Saturn (apart from the person in the driver's seat) is quite definitely the plastic body, which evidently one of the brilliant geniuses in GM's marketing division thought was a good idea. Probably words like "sexy," "space-age," "dent-resistant," and "revolutionary" were tossed around, though it's sad to think that anyone could have applied these words to a plastic car without being laughed out of the conference room.
This is because a plastic car is about as sexy as plastic genitalia, and unlike angry curses and one-finger salutes, sex is not something commonly bestowed upon Saturn drivers. Space-age? The eighty-year-old Spirit of St. Louis is more space-age than a Saturn, as well as being far more durable. In 100 years, when every last Saturn has crumbled into dust, that Ryan NYP will still be hanging right there in the National Air & Space Museum. And although it's true that the plastic body of a Saturn will resist denting, it won't resist cracking, puncturing, or other breakage, which is usually undesirable in a motor vehicle. As for revolutionary, anyone who remembers the godforsaken Pontiac Fiero will know that Saturn was by no means the first manufacturer stupid enough to try a plastic car.
The names of Saturn's cars say it all. Ion, Vue, Sky... three letters are sufficient to describe all of a Saturn's good points. It's true that ShitMobile or WhyCan'tThisFuckingCarGoAnyFaster? would be more appropriate model names, but one thing GM seems to understand is that you can't sell cars with names like that. This seems to be just about the only thing GM knows about selling cars, though, because any intelligent corporation would have discontinued the Saturn long ago, not to mention hunting down and smashing all the remaining examples.
In short, Saturns are terrible cars. This is not unusual, since most cars are terrible, especially the ones cobbled together by GM. But combine the miserable build quality, subpar performance, and lack of any redeeming qualities with a goddamn plastic body, and what you get is quite possibly the worst new car on the road.
Why anyone would buy a car that is not only pathetically underpowered but also contains more plastic than Lindsay Lohan's breasts is utterly beyond my capacity for reason. Even the limited sex appeal of a pair of plastic-filled breasts is completely missing from a Saturn, and now that I've written it I'm shocked and appalled that "Saturn" and "sex appeal" somehow ended up in the same sentence.
But— inexplicably— people do buy Saturns. Then they take them out on the road and drive, but... very... slowly. For some reason, the sexless freaks who buy Saturns can never even get them within hailing distance of the speed limit. I don't know if this is because the cars themselves can't go that fast or because the people driving them are sexless freaks. But it certainly seems to be true that every time you're in a hurry, one of these abysmal failures of automaking materializes right in front of you.
The worst feature of a Saturn (apart from the person in the driver's seat) is quite definitely the plastic body, which evidently one of the brilliant geniuses in GM's marketing division thought was a good idea. Probably words like "sexy," "space-age," "dent-resistant," and "revolutionary" were tossed around, though it's sad to think that anyone could have applied these words to a plastic car without being laughed out of the conference room.
This is because a plastic car is about as sexy as plastic genitalia, and unlike angry curses and one-finger salutes, sex is not something commonly bestowed upon Saturn drivers. Space-age? The eighty-year-old Spirit of St. Louis is more space-age than a Saturn, as well as being far more durable. In 100 years, when every last Saturn has crumbled into dust, that Ryan NYP will still be hanging right there in the National Air & Space Museum. And although it's true that the plastic body of a Saturn will resist denting, it won't resist cracking, puncturing, or other breakage, which is usually undesirable in a motor vehicle. As for revolutionary, anyone who remembers the godforsaken Pontiac Fiero will know that Saturn was by no means the first manufacturer stupid enough to try a plastic car.
The names of Saturn's cars say it all. Ion, Vue, Sky... three letters are sufficient to describe all of a Saturn's good points. It's true that ShitMobile or WhyCan'tThisFuckingCarGoAnyFaster? would be more appropriate model names, but one thing GM seems to understand is that you can't sell cars with names like that. This seems to be just about the only thing GM knows about selling cars, though, because any intelligent corporation would have discontinued the Saturn long ago, not to mention hunting down and smashing all the remaining examples.
In short, Saturns are terrible cars. This is not unusual, since most cars are terrible, especially the ones cobbled together by GM. But combine the miserable build quality, subpar performance, and lack of any redeeming qualities with a goddamn plastic body, and what you get is quite possibly the worst new car on the road.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Star Wars Episode III
I'm sure my loyal readership has been waiting with bated breath to see what I find to criticize about the most anticipated movie so far this year, so here it is.
Before I start angrily berating this final instalment in a god-awful trilogy, I would like to— uncharacteristically— say something positive about it. Episode III was the best film I have seen so far this year. However, that's not actually much of a compliment at all, since the only other one was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and that was about as good as having teeth pulled without anesthesia. That was the only good thing I could find to say. So now, on with the ranting!
What the bleeding fuck is George Lucas doing pretending to be a director? No one else has quite the gift that he has for making talented actors look like morons. Unbelievably bad dialogue, of course, is his favorite way of accomplishing this, and Lucas is responsible for giving the world such memorable lines as "Are you an angel?" and "I sense Count Dooku." The idiocy of the lines themselves is matched only by the incredible woodenness of their delivery. No one but George Lucas could have done such a masterful job, and Episode III is his greatest triumph of abysmal directing yet.
However, no one goes to a Star Wars film expecting witty dialogue or decent acting. There's only one reason: the action. Of course, Revenge of the Sith has plenty, unlike Episodes I and II which were mainly comprised of mind-numbingly tedious scenes of the galactic senate. However, the problem with all this action is obvious: we already know the outcome. In his infinite wisdom, George Lucas made three prequels to the original Star Wars trilogy and in doing so destroyed all vestiges of suspense. The viewer knows automatically that anyone who wasn't in the original films must die, and anyone who was can't possibly die.
In the so-called climax of Episode III, Yoda and Darth Sidious and Obi-Wan and Darth Vader face off in simultaneous lightsaber duels. This would be interesting if we didn't already know that all four survive their respective confrontations. By the same token, Padme never appeared in the first trilogy, so she is doomed from the get-go. Obviously Anakin turns evil, because otherwise who the hell was that guy in the Darth Vader suit? What's the point of watching a movie when you already know exactly what happens? No matter how blistering the special effects, you just can't get into a movie where the outcome is a foregone conclusion.
Apart from the poor acting, lousy dialogue, miserable directing, lack of suspense, and preponderance of gratuitous computer effects, the real reason Episode III (as well as I and II) sucks is that George Lucas has completely departed from the character of the original trilogy. The old films had cheesy special effects, bad (but endearingly so) dialogue, and an unmistakeable feeling of goofiness. They were not great movies, but they were fun. Now, of course, all of that has been left behind except the bad dialogue, which is no longer endearing.
With the newer films, George Lucas has succeeded in transforming what was once a lighthearted story that didn't take itself too seriously into a grandiose and self-important epic without a shred of what made the original Star Wars movies unique. The new films are anything but unique; with nothing to offer but special effects, they are no different from any other of the dozens of sci-fi and action movies made every year.
I know that this rant won't convince anyone not to do their part in augmenting George Lucas' personal fortune and bloated ego, but I still had to write it.
Before I start angrily berating this final instalment in a god-awful trilogy, I would like to— uncharacteristically— say something positive about it. Episode III was the best film I have seen so far this year. However, that's not actually much of a compliment at all, since the only other one was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and that was about as good as having teeth pulled without anesthesia. That was the only good thing I could find to say. So now, on with the ranting!
What the bleeding fuck is George Lucas doing pretending to be a director? No one else has quite the gift that he has for making talented actors look like morons. Unbelievably bad dialogue, of course, is his favorite way of accomplishing this, and Lucas is responsible for giving the world such memorable lines as "Are you an angel?" and "I sense Count Dooku." The idiocy of the lines themselves is matched only by the incredible woodenness of their delivery. No one but George Lucas could have done such a masterful job, and Episode III is his greatest triumph of abysmal directing yet.
However, no one goes to a Star Wars film expecting witty dialogue or decent acting. There's only one reason: the action. Of course, Revenge of the Sith has plenty, unlike Episodes I and II which were mainly comprised of mind-numbingly tedious scenes of the galactic senate. However, the problem with all this action is obvious: we already know the outcome. In his infinite wisdom, George Lucas made three prequels to the original Star Wars trilogy and in doing so destroyed all vestiges of suspense. The viewer knows automatically that anyone who wasn't in the original films must die, and anyone who was can't possibly die.
In the so-called climax of Episode III, Yoda and Darth Sidious and Obi-Wan and Darth Vader face off in simultaneous lightsaber duels. This would be interesting if we didn't already know that all four survive their respective confrontations. By the same token, Padme never appeared in the first trilogy, so she is doomed from the get-go. Obviously Anakin turns evil, because otherwise who the hell was that guy in the Darth Vader suit? What's the point of watching a movie when you already know exactly what happens? No matter how blistering the special effects, you just can't get into a movie where the outcome is a foregone conclusion.
Apart from the poor acting, lousy dialogue, miserable directing, lack of suspense, and preponderance of gratuitous computer effects, the real reason Episode III (as well as I and II) sucks is that George Lucas has completely departed from the character of the original trilogy. The old films had cheesy special effects, bad (but endearingly so) dialogue, and an unmistakeable feeling of goofiness. They were not great movies, but they were fun. Now, of course, all of that has been left behind except the bad dialogue, which is no longer endearing.
With the newer films, George Lucas has succeeded in transforming what was once a lighthearted story that didn't take itself too seriously into a grandiose and self-important epic without a shred of what made the original Star Wars movies unique. The new films are anything but unique; with nothing to offer but special effects, they are no different from any other of the dozens of sci-fi and action movies made every year.
I know that this rant won't convince anyone not to do their part in augmenting George Lucas' personal fortune and bloated ego, but I still had to write it.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Mathematics
Mathematicians are ruining the world. This may seem like a preposterous claim to some of you morons, but it's absolutely true, and those of you who doubt this probably have no idea just what it is that mathematicians actually do.
What mathematicians do is this: they spend large amounts of time and larger amounts of money, first to slowly and painfully come up with pointless theorems, and then to prove them even more slowly and painfully. These results are then used by the next generation of mathematicians to do exactly the same thing. The field of mathematics is a vacuum than traps many of the world's great minds in useless endeavors that will never do anyone any good. Every brilliant mathematician is one less brilliant person available to work on something that matters, like curing cancer or solving the problem of world hunger.
For instance, Andrew Wiles spent seven years trying to prove Fermat's last theorem. When he finally accomplished this, he became instantly famous among mathematicians for proving an utterly useless and inconsequential triviality. For you non-mathematicians out there, the theorem states that the equation
What mathematicians do is this: they spend large amounts of time and larger amounts of money, first to slowly and painfully come up with pointless theorems, and then to prove them even more slowly and painfully. These results are then used by the next generation of mathematicians to do exactly the same thing. The field of mathematics is a vacuum than traps many of the world's great minds in useless endeavors that will never do anyone any good. Every brilliant mathematician is one less brilliant person available to work on something that matters, like curing cancer or solving the problem of world hunger.
For instance, Andrew Wiles spent seven years trying to prove Fermat's last theorem. When he finally accomplished this, he became instantly famous among mathematicians for proving an utterly useless and inconsequential triviality. For you non-mathematicians out there, the theorem states that the equation
xn + yn = zn
has no real solutions for n>2. Mathematicians were overjoyed that this pointless statement had finally been proved, but what did Andrew Wiles actually accomplish? Next time you see a homeless person or someone with AIDS, ask them how they benefited from the proof of Fermat's last theorem.
Another example of the sheer pointlessness of pure mathematics is the infamous four-color map problem. The point of this problem is to prove that you can color in any map with only four colors, without any two countries of the same color touching. Countless time and resources have been spent to try and prove this, but for what? The only possible benefit that could come from proving this statement is that it would allow cartographers to order only four colors of ink with absolute confidence (which they do anyway). Ask someone dying of cancer how they feel about that.
The thing is, mathematics should be a tool, not a field. The only real math is applied mathematics— math used to solve real world problems. Math as a tool for practical applications was almost completely developed by the 1700s, so why are there still mathematicians? Math for its own sake is idiotic. There have been no mathematical developments in the last century that helped anyone other than other mathematicians.
In the long run, devoting your life to solving an unsolved problem like the Riemann Hypothesis is just about as productive as devoting it to getting the high score in Area 51. At the end of it, all you end up with is a sore index finger, your initials immortalized on the high score list, and the empty satisfaction of a meaningless accomplishment. No matter how brilliant the mathematician, that brilliance is completely wasted in the intelligence sinkhole that is pure mathematics.
If any mathematicians should happen to read this, now is your chance to do something useful with your life. You may gain everlasting fame for proving the Riemann Hypothesis, but only among other mathematicians. All you'll really accomplish is laying the groundwork for another generation of mathematicians to throw away their lives. In the real world no one gives a shit whether the Riemann Hypothesis is proved or not. The real world has problems of its own. Why don't you try rejoining it?
Another example of the sheer pointlessness of pure mathematics is the infamous four-color map problem. The point of this problem is to prove that you can color in any map with only four colors, without any two countries of the same color touching. Countless time and resources have been spent to try and prove this, but for what? The only possible benefit that could come from proving this statement is that it would allow cartographers to order only four colors of ink with absolute confidence (which they do anyway). Ask someone dying of cancer how they feel about that.
The thing is, mathematics should be a tool, not a field. The only real math is applied mathematics— math used to solve real world problems. Math as a tool for practical applications was almost completely developed by the 1700s, so why are there still mathematicians? Math for its own sake is idiotic. There have been no mathematical developments in the last century that helped anyone other than other mathematicians.
In the long run, devoting your life to solving an unsolved problem like the Riemann Hypothesis is just about as productive as devoting it to getting the high score in Area 51. At the end of it, all you end up with is a sore index finger, your initials immortalized on the high score list, and the empty satisfaction of a meaningless accomplishment. No matter how brilliant the mathematician, that brilliance is completely wasted in the intelligence sinkhole that is pure mathematics.
If any mathematicians should happen to read this, now is your chance to do something useful with your life. You may gain everlasting fame for proving the Riemann Hypothesis, but only among other mathematicians. All you'll really accomplish is laying the groundwork for another generation of mathematicians to throw away their lives. In the real world no one gives a shit whether the Riemann Hypothesis is proved or not. The real world has problems of its own. Why don't you try rejoining it?
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Diamonds
Well, the time has come for yet another fabricated holiday, this time intended to "honor" mothers by showering them with flowers, cards, breakfast, or diamond jewelry. The real point of the so-called "holiday," however, has nothing to do with mothers. Mother's Day is about selling crap- diamonds, flowers, greeting cards. But especially diamonds, which brings me to today's rant topic.
The most puzzling thing about the diamond industry is why anyone would shell out big bucks for a fucking rock. Not only that, but an undeniably tacky rock most often found attached to undeniably tacky pieces of jewelry. Not only that, but an essentially worthless rock whose price was jacked up several decimal places before it found its way to you, the hapless buyer.
For you see, Mr. Stupid-Ass Diamond Buyer Guy, diamonds have little intrinsic value. The diamonds you see at the jewelry store are so damn expensive for one reason and one reason only: the De Beers Group decreed it should be so. And the only reason they decreed it to be so was to maximize their profits. De Beers belongs near the top of any list of the most evil corporations, and it is probably true that no other company has ever made so much money from selling an essentially worthless product. The only intrinsic value diamonds possess is their usefulness in drillbits and other sharp things, and it's stupid to waste money pulling them out of the ground for this when there are much cheaper synthetic diamonds that work just as well.
Why would you buy something as worthless as a diamond for the kind of sum that diamonds command? Simple. It's because you're the kind of spineless numbfuck who's impressed by high prices rather than actual value. If the De Beers Group decided that you were going to spend your money on rusty paperclips instead of diamonds for Mother's Day, you would. Try thinking for yourself, dumbass, if you can do it without straining your feeble quota of gray matter.
It might be understandable for people to pay a lot for worthless rocks if they were at least extraordinarily beautiful or something like that, but diamonds don't even come close to being beautiful. At best, they're tacky, and at worst, they reach a level of tackiness high enough to make the beholder sick with disgust (or envy, depending on whether the beholder has a brain).
So basically, all of you morons who went out today (or in the preceding days) to buy diamond jewelry for mom were part of a vast conspiracy that resulted, as these holiday conspiracies always do, in you being exploited. You're nothing but a pawn of the De Beers Group and your friendly neighborhood jeweler, both of whom were only too happy to hand over your share of worthless diamonds in exchange for all the money they can squeeze out of you.
Then again, your participation shows that you've been able to see past the superficialities of Mother's Day to the real spirit of the holiday. After all, Mother's Day isn't about celebrating motherhood, it's about selling diamonds. So you should feel proud of yourself for buying some worthless shit for your mother instead of actually caring about her or something. That's what Mother's Day is all about, and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is selling something.
The most puzzling thing about the diamond industry is why anyone would shell out big bucks for a fucking rock. Not only that, but an undeniably tacky rock most often found attached to undeniably tacky pieces of jewelry. Not only that, but an essentially worthless rock whose price was jacked up several decimal places before it found its way to you, the hapless buyer.
For you see, Mr. Stupid-Ass Diamond Buyer Guy, diamonds have little intrinsic value. The diamonds you see at the jewelry store are so damn expensive for one reason and one reason only: the De Beers Group decreed it should be so. And the only reason they decreed it to be so was to maximize their profits. De Beers belongs near the top of any list of the most evil corporations, and it is probably true that no other company has ever made so much money from selling an essentially worthless product. The only intrinsic value diamonds possess is their usefulness in drillbits and other sharp things, and it's stupid to waste money pulling them out of the ground for this when there are much cheaper synthetic diamonds that work just as well.
Why would you buy something as worthless as a diamond for the kind of sum that diamonds command? Simple. It's because you're the kind of spineless numbfuck who's impressed by high prices rather than actual value. If the De Beers Group decided that you were going to spend your money on rusty paperclips instead of diamonds for Mother's Day, you would. Try thinking for yourself, dumbass, if you can do it without straining your feeble quota of gray matter.
It might be understandable for people to pay a lot for worthless rocks if they were at least extraordinarily beautiful or something like that, but diamonds don't even come close to being beautiful. At best, they're tacky, and at worst, they reach a level of tackiness high enough to make the beholder sick with disgust (or envy, depending on whether the beholder has a brain).
So basically, all of you morons who went out today (or in the preceding days) to buy diamond jewelry for mom were part of a vast conspiracy that resulted, as these holiday conspiracies always do, in you being exploited. You're nothing but a pawn of the De Beers Group and your friendly neighborhood jeweler, both of whom were only too happy to hand over your share of worthless diamonds in exchange for all the money they can squeeze out of you.
Then again, your participation shows that you've been able to see past the superficialities of Mother's Day to the real spirit of the holiday. After all, Mother's Day isn't about celebrating motherhood, it's about selling diamonds. So you should feel proud of yourself for buying some worthless shit for your mother instead of actually caring about her or something. That's what Mother's Day is all about, and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is selling something.
