Sawyer Paul's Blog, page 184
July 13, 2011
I was reading some of your writings about wrestling (you guys at Fair to Flair are great by the way, I'm a big fan) and remembered something you wrote about TNA Reaction, especifically about the ending credits and how that is not common in wrestling shows.
I can't imagine the credits roll would be short, but it wouldn't be so long as to take time away from the broadcast. I honestly don't understand why they don't have one today. There are so many people that make a wrestling show run, the least any company can do to acknowledge their work is through credits.
July 12, 2011
Own your identity – Marco.org
Tumblr respects this. From day one, David and I gave it free custom-domain support, full HTML control, and no forced branding or advertising. But Tumblr is a hybrid of a blog-publishing platform and a social network that seems truly unique — the "pure" social networks aren't nearly as willing to allow you to own your identity there.
That's why I'm here.
Fiction: Go to Chicago
There was a pair of women's jeans on my apartment floor. I didn't know where they came from, and I didn't know what to do with them. I had not fallen asleep hungover, forgotten a wild night with a stranger, a halcyon woman unencumbered by a morning without introduction or pants. My sheets smelled like they normally smelled. A woman would have improved that. When I thought about the number of things in my life that could be improved by a woman, I would have never listed clothes left on the floor.
I sat up, wiped my eyes, and sifted my hands through my hair. I looked down at the pants. My floor was otherwise bereft of slacks, socks, or any clothing. Next to the jeans was key, and a folded piece of paper. I prodded the clues with my foot. The key was heavy, like one owned by successful bankers with expensive, small apartments. I'd only ever seen them in movies. The note was something I needed to pick up. I felt the paper in between my fingers. It was mine, one slice out of a pad I bought for the printer I never used that took up way too much space on my desk.
Writing left by, presumably, a lady, was cryptic and alarming. There were no words (I would have loved to have seen words) and no idea of who had been here. Instead, only a symbol looked back at me; three stars, one after another, stenciled in pencil. I had no idea what that meant.
I picked up the jeans. I don't think I'd ever held a woman's pair of jeans before. They were lighter than mine by almost half. The jeans were black, too skinny for any girl I knew. The owner of these jeans was shorter than any girl I'd dated. They appeared to be the jeans of a chic child.
Three stars. I googled. I received a million possibilities. Three stars could have meant anything.
I wasn't the least bit hungover. I returned from the washroom with a glass of water, eyes focused on the pants and the note. They were in a pile on my bed. I'd felt the need to fold both, to keep them together. They key held the note down. I drank. I felt no more hydrated. My body was fine. I hadn't been drugged. I remembered ten events before sleep: seven of them involved an internet connection.
My phone was dead. It was in the bottom of my messenger bag next to my wallet and my own set of keys. I'd forgotten about it and let it die overnight. There might be something in there, once it regains life, but I had to have patience.
The annoying red badge above my inbox glowed, as if to tempt me in it's direction. Two messages were facebook birthday notifications. The third was from Jesi, who wanted to know where I was the night before. The message had been sent at one in the morning, around the time I fell asleep. I crossed her name off the list of people who might have had something to do with this.
Finally, I dressed and left the dorm. The hallway was empty. I locked the door, leaving the new contents behind as I made my way to Linguistics.
July 9, 2011
Aggressive Reading #5
Once a week, I'm going to list a few good reads that fit within the realm of what I'm trying to do here. If you've got Instapaper, follow me (ksawyerpaul) and you'll get a lot of these early, along with a bunch of others, because Instapaper is the thing I use most on the internet (shocking).
When the Mob Ruled Hollywood by Neal Gabler (journalism):
He lied. He lied about his name even before he became William Nelson. He was variously Morris Bloffsky, Morris Bioff, William Berg, Harry or Henry Martin and Mr. Bronson. He lied about his age. He was variously born in 1886 or 1899—or one of several years in between. He lied about his place of birth, saying he came to the States with his Russian Jewish parents when he was five or that he had been born in Chicago, where he grew up. As he later told it, lying or not, his mother died when he was eight, he left school after the third grade and six years later his father threw him out on the streets to fend for himself.
Tons of things you didn't know about Ocarina of Time (interview):
Miyamoto: Yes. You know that guy Ingo who's at the ranch?
Iwata: Yes. He doesn't have a very nice personality and looks a bit like Luigi. (laughs)
Why Apple built Final Cut Pro X by Sachin (technology):
But things changed in 2006 and 2007. Serious competitors to Final Cut Pro came from Adobe, Pinnacle, Sony, and others. People were choosing their hardware and software based on format support, or specific features they needed.
That's boring. Apple doesn't play that game.
Last Words by Frank Kovarik (literature):
When do we, as writers, accept that a piece is as good as it will ever be, even if it's not that great? When do we decide that a piece will never be good enough to be published?
"There is always a sheet of paper. There is always a pen. There is always a way out."
- H.L. Mencken (via nevver)
July 8, 2011
Rachel Davies and K Sawyer Paul talk about Stephanie McMahon,...
Rachel Davies and K Sawyer Paul talk about Stephanie McMahon, wrestling injuries, and soap opera hooks.
Click here to subscribe to the podcast in iTunes | RSS
July 7, 2011
July 6, 2011
I look at you with feelings
I look at you with feelings
