Today's "fun with referrals:" from a look at the ol' list I found 16 hits from different searches on Karyn Bosnak; looks like it pays to mention current topics. Still, no one can be bothered dropping a note of thanks.

One disturbing search: "WTC jumping snuff." I don't want to know.

And one that I'm tired of: "fuck the monkey." Awright people, that's enough. There's not a single day that goes by without getting one of those. Will someone please explain to me... Is this some bit of slang I haven't heard yet, like "fuck a duck?" Is this the hottest new trend in porn (can you help Susannah)? Is there a new America's Funniest Videos I missed? What? Why this?

First of all, an acknowledgment to Xian for plugging my "Blog" watch: A (selective) reader on his log. This is a personal project born out of curiosity regarding when sites like the NY Times, Wired, Salon, etc. began using the word "blog" on their reporting. It is by no means a thorough collection (I've only searched the usual suspects, like the aforementioned) and, its curator being a lazy guy, not quite up to date. But every bit of encouragement is greedily accepted.

The only way to avoid entropy taking over the collection is by constant updating. Therefore, allow me to do the usual announcement:

Updated "Blog" watch: A (selective) reader. Today, Wired Magazine. Also, added the dialogue between Andrew Sullivan and Kurt Andersen on weblogs (or as I prefer to think of it, The blogger sideshow) to the Slate section.

The Real Me: The Online Version
By Harry Shearer
September 8, 2002

I decided to find out what I could learn about myself just by consulting Internet-based resources.

Indulging on the indecorous practice of vanity searches, Mr. Shearer is quite happy with the way he is represented on the electronic medium, TIPSters be damned.

Physically, I'm a remarkable specimen. According to Net-based informants in my e-mail, I have the capacity to develop a stupendously large penis. Even more impressive, my breasts could be almost as mammoth. The good news is that these generous endowments are unnecessary, since I'm known to many databases as a voracious connoisseur of quality photos of Asian girls having insane teen sex.

Litter Box

A little sing-song thing that assaulted me at some point during the day:

Mírame
desaparecer

Mírame
desaparecer

En una casa vacía
Ahí tengo mi habitación

In a quick-n-dirty translation, it'd map to:

See me
disappear

See me
disappear

In an empty house
There I have my room

Fortunately for us, it didn't go beyond that. I don't dare fathom what kind of composition I'd might have ended with.

One $30 Million Happy Meal, to Go
By Frank Ahrens
September 9, 2002

Under a deal to be announced today, McDonald's Corp. will heavily promote ABC's 8-to-9 p.m. slot, which the network has called the "Happy Hour."

TV executives are really desperate these days. Cable has created multiple niches allowing marketers to target the exact kind of audience they want to sell to, and even network TV is increasingly fragmented. (Your average CBS viewer is nothing like your average Fox viewer.) ABC, ranking third on the ratings, has decided to buck the trend and oppose said fragmentation by offering the prime-time equivalent of chicken McNuggets: a bland, colorless, "mystery-meat" line-up for this fall. It makes sense they promote it by plastering their logo and their showtimes all over the house that Kroc built. Let's face it: fries might go well with such pre-processed shows.

As I promised earlier, I have updated The blogger sideshow with my comments on the last entry of the Sullivan/Andersen freak show on weblogs.

OK, so I said I'd post them by last Friday. Sue me.