The Streisand Effect

Good day, gang!  We are going to have an absolute BLAST today.  Some of you may know that I follow a great legal blog, www.popehat.com.  If you didn’t, you do now.  And really, you should read up over there. Ken is a champion of the little guy when, in his words, “censorious douchebags” threaten, or even file, lawsuits to chill free speech. 

Some of you may also know that I enjoy LARP, that is, Live Action Role Play.  It’s the geekiest of geek, more fun than grownups should be allowed to have playing dress up, and also, when done right, a kind of awesome interactive theatre/gaming experience. 

Today, these two interests of mine have a Venn diagram overlap, and that makes for a happy Dangerboy.

There is a man who owns a large LARP franchise, the McDonald’s of LARP if you will.  Although there are many, many things we could call him, we’ll call him Joseph Valenti, because that’s his name.  This giant among businessmen has a habit of doubling down on bad ideas.  Look, if you run/own/participate in a game in which you dress like elves, barbarians, dwarves and orcs and smack each other with foam weapons while casting pretend magic at each other (and I do), you need to grow a thick skin for criticism from other human beings. 

When people call you an idiot, a nerd, a dork, or a dumbass, you have to let it roll off.   (Fortunately most of our events, when seen by the public, get the “this is kind of cool!!” reaction instead.) 

Poor Joe, well, he hasn’t learned this lesson as I have.  When somebody slights his name or NERO (the game he owns) he goes a bit off the deep end sometimes.  I present here, in its entirety, the latest and best example of said jumping.  This was posted on a group on Facebook. 

From the Desk of Joseph Valenti - NERO Live Adventure Games, LLC.

Date: June 25, 2013

To All the Internet Bullies Who are Harassing and Bullying Joseph Valenti.

You must Cease and Desist.

You all must stop your internet bullying and harassment of me and the Nero organization.

You must stop stating lies about how Joseph Valenti interacts with NERO Chapter Owners, and how decisions are made – they are not correct and you are harming the NERO Organization by making incorrect statements.

You are depicting the NERO organization and its leadership – not just me but the 35 chapter owners too – using lies, and those lies are harming not only my reputation but the reputation of every NERO chapter owner and the NERO chapter staff.

I am willing to meet with any individual, or group of individuals, to review any statements or topics that anyone would like to review, to insure that you and I both get our say on any given topic, but it must be with the understanding that you will not return to the internet and continue to make derogatory statements, and that you will stop your internet based bullying of me, my staff, my friends and of NERO Chapter Owners.

We all know that nothing good will come from your constant and repeated bullying of me on the internet.

Nothing good has ever come from internet bullying, and in fact, internet bullying has been found to be responsible for multiple suicides.

You must stop your internet based bullying, you must stop stating lies to the public LARP marketplace, and you must no longer make false statements depicting myself or anyone associated with NERO, or you will force me to make a complaint with the courts.

Thank You
Joseph Valenti

I think we can all agree that this is a fucking CANNONBALL into the deep end, splashing butthurt on everyone at the pool.  For a guy who keeps trying to bring our hobby into the mainstream, he sure manages to make himself a caricature of silliness.  I picture Joe in this instance as Ken Jeong’s character in Role Models, desperately holding on to his crown.  

 How darest thou insult mine sacred honor?  I shall sue thee!

Look, it is fine n’ dandy to feel a bit of outrage when somebody says you’re an asshole, but you can’t file a lawsuit over it.  If someone says “It’s an indisputable fact that you’re an asshole”, you’re still in the world of opinion, and that, my friends, is protected speech.  You're on shaky ground if you threaten legal action against one person's opinion.  Trying to serve the entire Internet with a Cease And Desist?  Well, that’s just dumbfuckery on the scale of plucking a troll's nosehair.  

I’ll be honest.  As a fellow owner of a LARP myself and Big Damn Geek, I’ve refrained from commenting about Joe, his business, his methods, or anydamnthing else about him.  Hell, once upon a time I made some of the same mistakes, trying too hard to “control the message”, as they say it in corporatespeak. But once he tried to use legal threats to quiet his detractors, he crossed the line with me, and I feel it’s time to spread his words far and wide to receive the ridicule they so richly deserve.  

You see, the answer to speech you don’t like isn’t lawsuit (unless in those cases where true, actual libel/slander occur), it’s more speech.  That’s the whole point of our First Amendment rights and the “marketplace of ideas.”   

Besides, there’s no way to quiet the whole internet…wait, wait a minute…  

OK, there’s no easy way to quiet the whole internet.  Joe, I introduce you to the Streisand Effect.  Enjoy it. 

Five Things I Think, July 23

1) I think it can be hilarious having a toddler.  What’d he do this time, you ask?  Well, it’s that whole being a copy-monkey thing.  He will occasionally parrot the last thing he hears, a phenomenon that has caused me to curtail the use of my very favorite word.

Recently, at his second 3^rd birthday party (the one with our friends), Wifefish tossed an epithet at one of the attendees who, as he was leaving, made an off-hand joke about going home for a ménage a mois.  “Masturbator!” she called him.  Fortunately, Little Danger wasn’t paying much attention.  “See you later!” he yelled.  We all lost it.   My boy is a comedian. 

2) I think it was an absolute blast watching my boy’s first T-ball practice.  He hit the ball with authority, then ran after it to throw it to first base.  Not quite getting the structure of the game just yet, that one.  It was also somewhat adorable how he would get to each base and stop, jumping on it with both feet.  I’m looking forward to seeing how he likes the game as the rules are processed and understood.  

Little Danger the adventurer!

3) I think I’m a bit tired of the whole Zimmerman trial thing.  Look, here’s my quick take on it.  Yes, it sucks balls that a kid died.  No, it wasn’t “murder”, because that’s kind of specific, and the prosecutor really should have damn well known it.  No, it wasn’t a “proper response by a gun owner”, because a responsible gun owner should have, knowing the police were on the way, surveilled the “suspect” from a safe distance, and not been in a position for anyone to be beating their head against pavement in the first damn place. 

My strongest condemnation, though, goes to the fucking media for turning this thing into a racist circus, calling Zimmerman a “white Hispanic”, editing tapes to make it sound as damning as possible, and creating a hue and cry where truly it shouldn’t have existed.  Responsible reporting is dead, people.  As a fucking doornail.  It’s become hard work to read any story, because you have to dig through all the fluff and bullshit to find any facts, and then go look for the rest of the facts across 18 news sources.  This condemnation may in fact lead to a Things I Hate sometime soon, because it really grinds my gears.

4)  I think that occasionally, one must make a silly decision, that is, a decision to be silly.  Today I made such a choice.  Wifefish has an alarm on her cellphone that is a string quartet, beginning with a nice cello line that is supposed to gently entice you to the land of wakefulness from out your blissful slumber.  Whereas it fails to do so quite as gently as one might wish, I have decided to pretend that it is not a cellphone at all, but the girls of Bond playing for us.  Wearing bowties.  That’s all.  (Yes, I’m going to the lecher’s hell, but I’m comfortable with my labels.) 

5) I think I may end up in the special Hell.  I had some lamb shoulder chops last night for dinner, broiled with a roasted peach whiskey sauce.  They were absofuckinglutely delicious.  This is not, however, the reason that I’m going to hell. 

Little Danger watches a show on Netflix sometimes called “Timmy Time”, a claymation show about a group of barnyard animals in preschool…Timmy is “A little lamb with a lot to learn”, according to the theme song.

That is, according to the theme song which I was gleefully humming while eating my dinner.  According to Wifefish, “You’re just not right.”  I agree with her.  

So what do you think, gang?  Let me know right there with the comment button...

Beer, Beer, Beer, vol 3

Greetings!  It’s time to tantalize our taste buds once again, beer fans!  Today, I’ll be taking a look at the remaining brews available from Finch’s: the Golden Wing blonde ale and the Secret Stache Stout. 

These two beers were, just as the other Finch’s offerings, enjoyed while floating upon the Lake.  There’s just something about the fresh air and sunlight that makes beertasting a better experience.  Granted, this time my first tastes were had while corralling Little Danger in the Relaxation Station, but fortunately I am nothing if not a faithful reporter. 

Let’s start with the Golden Wing.  First, a little pro tip…if you’re saving a can for display, and you decide to drill a hole in the bottom to avoid wrinkling the can with the churchkey, be prepared for a bit of a beer bath.   Just…just trust me on this one, gang.  (On the plus side, oh, that can looks so nice and unwrinkled.) 

I found the taste pleasant, like many blondes I’ve known.  Wait, that sentence is guaranteed to get me in trouble with Wifefish.  Let me say “like many blonde ALES I’ve known”.  It’s a very refreshing beer, not in love with the hops but using them to say “hello”, and bringing in an almost lemony fruitiness on the backside that works well.  Note the word “almost;” this is not a shandy by any means. 

It’s not aggressive at all, but still light years better than mass marketed muck.  It is, perhaps, a perfect floating-in-the-lake-in-a-lifejacket-with-your-beer-in-a-coozie beer.  While I recommend pairing it with any pork or poultry, I do not recommend swimming 65 yards to that really neat waterfall with the full pint can in hand.  It will be the slowest swim you’ve done in a while.  (No safety lectures, folks…this blog isn’t called Safe Leanings, or Smart Leanings, or This Guy Never Did Anything Stupid Leanings.)

Now, on to the Secret Stache Stout.  First, I just love the name.  It’s mindful of the monocle and moustache crowd, and thus inspires a certain manliness before ever popping the top, a desire to sound one’s barbaric yawp.

Upon opening, a bit of this brew splashed on my hands (I believe a jet ski had zoomed by just then).  I immediately observed that I had opened a very stout Stout indeed, something a bit thinner than motor oil, but infinitely more appetizing.  There was about zero head on this beer, and not a lot of carbonation at all, but a whole lot of bold flavor.  

The typical chocolatey coffee stout flavor is bolstered in this beer by a definite vanilla taste.  I wouldn’t really pair this with any entrees; I would prefer this as a dessert beer, best for after-dinner or as a mid-afternoon snack in itself. 

Well, as that exhausts the current Finch’s list, it’ll be time to move on to new brews next time.  But for now remember Golden Wing and Secret Stache from Finch’s…give ‘em a try and Bottoms Up!

Five Things I Think, July 8

1) I think the garden is faring far better this year.  I know the Southwest is hurting, but the Midwest has been enjoying enough rain to really support the crops.  Last year’s drought made our garden an anemic exercise in futility, whereas this season we’ve been dragging zucchini the size of your head out of this bad boy. 

It’s kind of awesome to dice up Squashzilla, throw it in the grill basket with some Roasted Peach Whiskey Sauce and some onion, and enjoy the fruits…well, the veggies of our labor.

2) I think it’s a good day.  For many reasons do I think this, not least of which is that today, Little Danger turns 3.  It’s amazing to think that 3 years have gone by so quickly, and that we will now have known him for longer than we looked for him.  

It was a long road, but it was more than worth it.  I do not get tired of people telling me I have a cool kid.  I do not get tired of his ability to charm, to make friends, to share, and to care.  I hope he doesn’t, either.

3) I think one of my favorite things to watch Little Danger do is dance.  He abandons all pretense at civilization, and jumps, runs, wiggles, and even rolls around on the ground in his appreciation of both music and attention.  

We went to a local club to watch a friend throw down some good oldies tunes with his band, and Little Danger ate it up.  He owned the dance floor like a lobbyist owns a Senator. 

At one point, he just lay down and logrolled across the floor, and repeated the action when the onlookers giggled.  His wild gyrations inspired the sound guy to come join him, both of them logrolling in a toddler-inspired joie de vivre that left a wide smile on my face for the night. 

4) I think I’m tired of working too hard for my fun.  I’ve been running a project for almost 10 years now that is like a second full time job at times.  Whereas it’s been fun and rewarding, I’m ready to pass the torch to someone who has the fire to keep it going.  I have a new career to focus on, licensures to gain, and a book of business to build, and this requires a tighter beam of attention than I’ve had for quite some time. 

As an example, I opened my email to more than a dozen requests that add up to an aggregate 6 or so hours of work, all preparing for a weekend long event.  Sadly, the simple math is that those who need the most are getting the least, as I triage the hours of effort into more important endeavours.  I’m letting people down, but in the thing that only pays me in fun.  It’s a strange dichotomy of “right choice” versus “feels like failure” that never sits right with me.  

I’m really not sure how this one gets fixed, and it’s giving me some stress.  But on the bright side, it’s totally a fucking first world problem. 

5)  I think it’s getting close to the time when public opinion crosses the tipping point on government overreach.  The liberties we’re losing are looking more and more like the days of McCarthy, a time when people went through the Red Scare and tiptoed everywhere in fear of the fucking commies.  

Now our boogeyman is the terrorist, and to this boogeyman we have sacrificed a great many things.  From the recent FISA court issues, to the NSA metadata overreach, to my favorite jackbooted thugs the TSA, we keep giving and giving more liberty for an illusion of safety.  When, I wonder, do we finally look up and say “Enough?”  Soon, I hope.  

Given that we have just celebrated Independence Day, a day that saw us throwing off the chains of unreasonable searches and overreaching government, this has been on my mind of late.   

So, gang...what do YOU think today?

An Open Letter to the Person Texting Behind the Wheel Yesterday

An Open Letter to the Person Texting Behind the Wheel.

I noticed you.  I realized you slowed down suddenly, and weaved ever so slightly.  We all know now what that means.  Sure enough, as I pulled next to you, you were texting.  I watched you, and stayed next to you.  For 10 seconds.  The entire way down that hill, you had your face lowered, eyes off the road, counting on your peripheral vision and youthful confidence that you would be OK.

I honked my horn, and you looked up, startled.  I shook my head at you in reproach, and you looked at me like I was an absolute asshole. 

No, young man, I just wanted to remind you of something.  The road is more important than whatever is happening on that phone, unless your significant other just gave birth…and then I still want you to cheer but lay your fucking phone down and wait to text her back until you can pull over.  Safely.

I wanted you to stop at the gas station, or at the supermarket, so I could tell you something.  You didn’t, so here is what I wanted to say.

You don’t know me, but I’m going to tell you something important, something lifechanging, because if you were my son, I’d want someone to do this for me.  Look, I know I’m a stranger, but I’m going to start with this sentence:  “I love you.”

Now don't go all weird, there’s more than one reason for me to say that.  First, you’re a person, like me, and I honor your place in this world and the potential you bear for awesomeness.  Second, I’m saying it for your parents, siblings, significant other, and future children.  They love you, or did, or will.  I’m old enough to be your father, so please, let me give you a wee bit of fatherly advice.

It takes just one moment of inattention to die. 

All it takes is someone running a light, swerving to avoid a deer, slamming the brakes because a wine bottle exploded, having a blowout, crossing the median toward you, or any of a million other crazy things that require us to keep our eyes on the road at 50mph.  At 50, if you hit a stationary object, you could fucking die.  Like that semi truck 3 cars ahead?  In 10 seconds, if he’d come to a dead stop…you would have too.

I don’t care if you’re Mario Andretti…what do you mean "who is that"?  Never mind, I get that I’m old to you.  OK, I don’t care if you’re Danica Patrick, a race car driver is good because they pay attention.  They're engaged in the act of driving.    

But whatever was on that phone was more important to you than your safety, and the safety of everyone around you.  Look, son, driving is a privilege, and a contract among all of us that we will watch out for each other.  A lot of people break that contract, and we call them assholes.  Please, son, don’t be an asshole.   

You might accept the responsibility for your own life and death, and even for the hole your loss would leave in the rest of us.  That’s brave of you.  But let me ask you this:  if a pedestrian had started across the road in front of you, perhaps paying more attention to their phone, would you have seen them?  Or would you have just become an accidental killer?  That’s a pain you don’t want, and one that takes only an instant to arrive.  You are young, and likely have great reflexes…but those reflexes require you to look out the windshield, not at your smartphone screen. 

And did I mention that it’s illegal here?  If I’d been a cop, you’d have been saving up the dollar bills for your court costs, my boy. 

Please, son, put the goddamn thing down.  Leave it there.  If you absolutely must look at it, please…wait for the red light.  You were 26 or so seconds away from a minute wait at that light.  Kid, I hate that light.  Were those 10 seconds of distraction so important that they couldn’t wait that long?  No, son, of course they weren’t. 

                                                                            Source

I’ve gotten angry plenty of times at people texting on the road.  Today, my boy, you didn’t piss me off.  You scared the everloving shit out of me.  We could have lost you today.  I can’t tell you how happy I am we didn’t.  Now please, please, don’t text behind the wheel.  It’s truly every bit as dangerous as Russian Roulette. 

Remember, young man, that we love you.  Oh, and clean your room, OK?  It builds character. 

Love,

Dangerboy

Five Things I Think, June 27

Let’s put on our thinking caps again, shall we?  It’s been a good week…

1) I think I regret accidentally shooting my wife in the back of the head.  And now that the FBI is reading the blog, allow me to explain.

            We were on the road, heading to The Lake.  The Vibe had been packed with clothes and Little Danger’s life jacket and tasty treats aplenty, including a wine bag.  In that bag was a bottle of Moscato, a lovely, but somewhat fizzy, wine that Wifefish adores.

            The road got a bit rough, and the bottles slid from vertical to slightly horizontal.  Pro tip:  one should not store fizzy wines horizontally.

            Suddenly, a scream issued from the rear seat and wine splattered throughout the car.  Now, when I say throughout, I mean that it was like the blood spatters in a Quentin Tarantino flick.  There was Moscato on the windshield.  Think Pulp Fiction.

            The pressure in the bottle had built to the point where it had fired the cork at point-blank range into the back of Wifefish’s cranium, further ricocheting somewhere in the car to some nook or cranny that will render it an archeological artifact. 

            I added insult to injury when we pulled off the interstate, as I brought us to a stop somewhat quickly…and the still-sideways bottle sloshed from o’er Wifefish’s shoulder and all over her dress.  This led to a massive cleanup effort and parking lot wardrobe change for her, as we tried to keep her modesty intact.  It also led to a single, solitary tear rolling down my cheek as I dropped the near-empty bottle into the trash can.  Like the Indian in the litter commercial, I was moved by the loss of something beautiful…a bottle of Moscato.

We spent the rest of the road trip making absolutely sure we didn’t get pulled over, lest an officer think we were a rolling wino tour de force.   

2)  I think whoever created the “Relaxation Station” knew exactly what they were doing. We tied up the houseboat in a cove, and then most of us jumped in the raft to chill out.  Granted, for Little Danger, the thing serves as a giant trampoline jumping pool thing, as he launches himself from the seats into the netting in the middle like a crazed lemming in a temporal moebius loop. 

Note to designers:  design flaw exists.  Cupholders will not hold a wine bottle. 

Note to self:  you could have had the Moscato in this thing, you moron.

Note to Wifefish:  I’m really sorry about the Moscato.

3)  I think Little Danger has become obsessed.  Wifefish has revealed unto him that his upcoming 3^rd birthday will be celebrated with a Star Wars bedroom, complete with custom built AT-AT bed and wall murals, and a handmade R2-D2 trash can.

            Not a day goes by that he doesn’t ask “Where my Shtarwarsbed?”  Obsession, thy name is toddler.

             Needless to say, this very blog will feature a pic-heavy post with a preponderance of images when the project is perfected.  I may be every bit as excited as he is. 

4)  I think I’m glad I got to run a game this calendar year.  I’m trying to get another one in quickly, though.  A 4 hour Deathwatch session just wasn’t enough to do more than whet my appetite for some good RPG sittin’ around the table with junk food and beer and good friends fun.  I feel the need for a breakfast-lunch-dinner gameathon comin’ on. 

5) I think it was an exciting 48 hours on the political front.  Between an amazing filibuster in Texas (google that shit) and a sweet SCOTUS decision, it seems there’s still some life left in liberty after all.  And forgive me if I seem overly victory dance on this, but of late our dear government machine had started looking less like the Great American Melting Pot and more like Mordor meets eleventy billion levels of bureaucracy.

           

I’m happy that DOMA was struck down.  It was, at its core, a law designed to deny rights to a group of Americans.  In that sense, it had to go, as it was in fact unconstitutional.  That’s going to be logically true no matter which side of the “gay issues” you stand on, dear reader, so if you wish to rebut, make certain you have some ironclad logic or I will gleefully make a fool of you in my comments section.

 I’m also happy because I think it’s OK to be Takei, and if somewhere down the line Little Danger decided (or discovered) he was into boys instead of girls, I want him to be able to live that life with as much normalcy as it deserves, instead of all the hoopla that currently surrounds it.  I have gay friends that are married already, just not in the eyes of the state.  It’s time for that to change.  (The eyes, not the married.) 

As for the Texas filibuster, I just couldn’t help but get involved.  I may have called a Texas Senator “nimblenuts” directly.  Look, I’m sick to death of wild hyperbole in politics.  Here’s his incredibly stupid, irresponsible, and completely false tweet, and my reply.  

@Bill_Zedler Hey nimblenuts, in what way did they create terror?  Signed, an out-of-stater laughing at your wild hyperbole.
— Dangerboy (@DangerLeanings) June 26, 2013

Really?  TERRORIST?  So what you’re saying is that in addition to standing and talking, Wendy Davis threatened to poison the water supply unless you dropped it?  No?

Then surely she said she would detonate a bomb if the bill passed.  No?

Then perhaps she intimated that an Emu Death Squad would systematically raid the family homesteads of each Senator in opposition?  What, NO?  

All she did was speak?  Then that doesn’t equal a terrorist, you dimwitted shitsack.  Handy rule of thumb:  if Batman wouldn’t punch the person out, they’re not engaged in terrorist activity.  With the noted exception of Robin, of course.  Sometimes you just have to knock a ward around.  

So, gang…what do you think?  Tell me right here in the comments!

Beer, Beer, Beer, vol 2

Greetings, gang!  It’s time for me once again to amuse my taste buds and share the experience with you.  Since the inaugural beer review was Fascist Pig, I thought I’d continue with two offerings from the same brewer, Finch’s Beer Co, hailing from Chicago. 

Chicago and booze have a rich history, a special relationship from the Prohibition days.  Al Capone is immortalized in our collective conscious, the most visible symbol of days gone wrong which brought us the mega-brewers and squashed many a great beer.  Chicago, quite rightly, now boasts more than one beer producer laying down some tasty treats.

Enough with the history lesson, let’s talk beer.  I found myself on the way to the lake, as I often do, and stopped at a great liquor store on the way that has a wall of coolers as wide as a politician’s lying streak.  Having enjoyed the Pig, I decided to give Finch’s another try, and picked up their CutThroat American Pale Ale. 

One of the store employees noticed my choice, and recommended, nearly demanded, that I also grab their Threadless if ever I liked an IPA.  Given that I do, in fact, enjoy a hop assault on my tastebuds, I complied with minimal resistance.  Given also that I had already filled my cart, my wallet may have whimpered for a moment, but otherwise there was no objection.  I drove on to the lake and boarded the houseboat, ready to take the pontoon boat out the next day for pleasant relaxation at what some lovingly call the Redneck Day Spa. 

And lo! it came to pass that I loaded several cans into the cooler, and set forth to tie up in a favorite cove to swim, skip rocks with Little Danger, and taste beers with his Pop Pop. 

After kicking the day off with a Pig, I pulled out the red can of the Threadless IPA.

Upon the first sip, I felt immediately grateful for the arm-twisting beernut in the boozehaus.  He’d not led me astray.  The aroma is quite nice, fruity and hoppy, and the flavor is right there as well, with a fruity sweetness to start and a bitter hoppiness on the backside.  As the sun came from behind the clouds to warm us, this beer cooled my tongue with delight.  You’ll find over at Beer Advocate that they score this one at an 81, a good solid percentage, and one I agree with. 

The next beer on deck was the Cut Throat (named for the finch, not the piratical activity) American Pale Ale.  This one is similar to its brother, but more mellow.  It’s a middle-of-the-road Pale, something that refreshes but still has flavors to savor.  It’s more pine and citrus in the palate, and less bitter in the finish.  The current Advocate score is 79, bringing it in just about in line with the Threadless. 

Finch’s has two more offerings I haven’t tasted yet, but I assure you I will before the summer is through.  There are more lake trips in my future, which means more opportunity to relax and indulge in taste bud hedonism. 

Threadless and Cut Throat, from Finch’s…give ‘em a try, and Bottoms Up!