If you don’t live in Central Florida, consider yourself lucky (for more than one reason), in that you haven’t been subjected to the non-stop media coverage of the Casey Anthony Trial. That is, unless you watch nothing but HLN – then you’re screwed (for more than one reason).

From 9-5 (and then some), Monday thru Saturday, network TV is held hostage by court proceedings. It’s the OJ trial all over again. Everything is preempted. No soaps, no gameshows, no talksho… hmm, what was the problem again?

Ok, so the trial is on par with anything produced in a studio geared for those home sick from work and school. But Saturday?! I thought the courts adjourned for the weekend. Do we really need this cutting into Saturday Morning TV too? Not that there is anything good on Saturday morning anymore.

Ok, look, so I blew my argument out of the water. The trial isn’t cutting into anything important. That doesn’t change the fact that all this coverage is grossly unnecessary. HLN has the same coverage, with the same inane analysis as all the rest. Isn’t that enough?

Networks, are you really trying to boost your ratings with this drivel? It’s not a ratings war if you’re all broadcasting the same program. And your ratings mean nothing if you’re not showing ads. And HLN, you’re taking commercial breaks?! Who the heck gets sponsors for a horrific murder trial?

I mean, this isn’t some world unifying moment that deserves simulcast – like a new Pope or Hands Across America. This is grizzly imagery and long boring interviews that caters to a select few morbid individuals… like pay-per-view wrestling. Which brings me to my point (finally!).

There is, alas, an audience for this. Why else would the nightly “world” news programs re-cap the day for those who didn’t DVR it. Why not make it pay-per-view? It’s already a highly billed spectacle, why not make some money off of it? You know, recoup some of the $500,000 already blown on this ordeal so far.

Don’t think it would fly? Tell that to the black-friday-style masses (link to CNN) waiting in line at the courthouse for front row seats. Everyone wins! The state makes money, all the jilted crime groupies get a good view (sans the proximity to other crime groupies), and children on summer break without the refuge of Cartoon Network won’t get scarred for life from the gritty pictures of a three-year-old’s rotting corpse.

Now on to coverage of other grizzly details… Mama Grizzly details (har har har ).

Over the past week now, “journalists” have been dispatched to Alaska where 25,000 pages of Sarah Palin’s emails were released to the public. This C.F. is result of a mess of Freedom of Information Act requests filed back when it may have been relevant in 2008, and deals with her time as governor of Alaska.

And, like most fishing expeditions, everyone came back empty handed. They come home, only to sit around the anchor table and spin self-indulgent yarns about the harrowing experience about how the big one got away. Needing validation, they turned this non-event into a self-referential meta-story (aka fish sticks), featuring video clips of dozens of paper boxes on dollies and all sorts of folks leafing through mounds of paper.

Mounds of paper? Of E-mails? Mounds of paper… 24,000 pages worth of E-mail… ELECTRONIC MAIL!

Why the dryad would you print out 24,000 pages of E-mail? And then fly TO said E-mail? This is the blankety-blank digital age folks. Come on!

Maybe I’m looking at this from a copy-jockey’s perspective. Someone comes to my counter and wants 24,000 pages printed, it’s a big deal. A champagne-corks-flying-burn-the-mortgage-the-farm-is-saved deal, especially in this economy. Assuming state and/or media outlet contract pricing, its like .04 a page (roughly average amongst the big 4)… That’s $960 bucks right there. And, since there was at least 17 separate FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) requests (link to ABC News), I can only assume by the sight of all those boxes more than one set was made.

Let’s assume just the major players got them: ABC, FOX, NBC, CBS, the AP, Reuters, The NY Times and CNN. That’s nearly 200,000 pages – over $7000 in pulp and toner, nevermind the plane fares, lodging and pooper-scooper fees after the journalists crapped themselves over the possibilities!

And then scanning it? Some news agencies have scans of printed emails up on their website. Digitally scanned images of printed documents that were digital to begin with? Words cannot fashion a decent simile for this, it’s so stupid. Print to PDF anyone? Anyone? Adobe Acrobat X Pro’ll run you less than a set. CutePDF is flippin’ free!

Again, walk into the average copyshop, that’d run you .25 a page… 6 grand.

So, for one set printed out and scanned back in you could distribute 50 preloaded Kindles, or around 2000 custom gold-plated laser-engraved 4gb flash drives.

Maybe next we can put the scans into a text-to-speech reader, and press a 300 vinyl record collectors set. Better yet! Platinum records! Send it off into space ala Voyager. It’ll give aliens something to listen to after watching the myriad of TV transmissions from the that stirring daytime serial, The Case Against Casey Anthony.

And yet, it’s been that long since I’ve been to that rhinestone oasis that is Las Vegas. ‘Twas the summer of ’93, and was the launching point of an unforgettable months long road trip with my dad. A road trip that spawned my love of jackalopes and disdain for the Wisconsin Dells. They know what they did.

Being 13 at the time, I obviously didn’t have an appreciation for the neon around me. I also didn’t have a blog and smart phone to send in constant updates and posts, committing my experiences to the electronic ether. Neither did anyone else at the time, come to think of it. Something else to not fathom in this day and age.

Oddly enough, the Vegas of the present, from what I can see of the cable travel logs, would appeal more to my 13 year old self. Luckily, I never much matured past fifteen.

Accompanying me on this trip is my long time attorney-comma-spiritual-adviser-slash-good-luck-charm – Dr. Toad. Many summers ago I liberated him from a Jersey shore skill crane, and since then he’s become a mascot on such gaming junkets – helping to win skee ball points and release captive brethren from vending machines.

How much aid he brings to this venture is up in the air. Lately the good doctor’s been saying he’s not been feeling like himself. He says he feels like a little stuffed mushroom man. I tell him of course he does, he IS a little stuffed mushroom man.

For some reason he never believes me when I remind him of his metaphysical state.

C’est la vie…

But the gaming will be only a small part of this trip. The main focus will be upon Photoshop World – the three to four day pixel manipulating madness. I chickened out last year, and the fall edition was in Orlando… which meant a lot of commuting : /

I have no idea what to expect. I mean, I’ve been using Photoshop for years. That’s no big deal It has only been in recent months that I’ve actually entered the fringes of the Photoshop community… forums, blogs and the like. But now I hurl myself into the heart of it. Should be interesting.

It’s really the first vacation I’ve gone solo on, so my stomach is full of butterflies who’re celebrating new years eve a bit early. But it’s more than a vacation. It’s more than learning a crap ton of Photoshop and connecting with people (theoretically) on my wavelength.

This is practice.

Journaling from a distance. Moblogging some call it. For the whole week I’ll be attempting to get my Tweet legs blog daily about this event. Get a feel for it, ’cause in a few years I hope to cover the the 2012 London Olympics for the New World Otter here. And, if I can’t do it here in my homeland… how can I expect to do it in a place that doesn’t speak American?

More to follow, now to try to get some zzz..ZZZ…zzz And when I get back, I really need to fix this place up… its in no shape for regular postings : p

Here’s just a small smattering of what’s out there:

Pentel’s RSVP pens and holder:

Probably the most obvious attempt to get your mind into the three R’s (say it with me, “reduce, reuse and recycle”) they got pens in an industrial trash bin. Branded with the trademarked term Recyclology, the science of the aforementioned green mantra, the bin comes with 7 pens, most in colors you can actually use… and actually write decently! They’ve pledged their Recyclology products are made from 50% recycled material, save the ink and the inner workings.

It’s a good effort on the pens, but the bin itself, where good intended, leaves a bit to be desired. It is only 35% recycled material and painted take-me-to-your-landfill-green rather than the universally recognized BLUE recycle bins and bags. So, just buy the one and REUSE it.

Still, the bin is a good accessory for your generic hero action figure when he needs to take out brand name villains!

Now if Papermate made those bins I’d scoff less. They’ve got biodegradable writing utensils.

Papermate’s Biodegradables line.

Both pens and mechanical pencils are offered in this line – and they have become my ballpoint of choice… not necessarily for the green aspect, but because they feel good writing with (not a ballpoint fan am I). But enough of the pen bit, the plastics bit is the focus for this post.

The body is constructed of Mirel plastic, which is made from corn. Yes, corn. No, it doesn’t mean they taste the part when you chew on them; it means they’re compostable. Again though, the innards and rubber grip are not… so close! Soy ink maybe?

And I would totally back Mirel’s horse if their website wasn’t suffering from Apache and socket errors. Maybe it’s just offline for Earth Day?

Finally in this world-saving trifecta is the Terracycle company.

On last year’s Earth Day, the National Geograhic channel profiled this company in a show called “Garbage Moguls” and what they do is they come up with products that are produced with reused stuff.

For example, a teacher in my town has partnered with them (the TerraCycle Brigade) to collect Capri-Sun pouches and Doritos bags from her school’s lunch period. At least twice a week she comes in to my copy center with a couple of 10-20lb boxes full of these discards, all with prepaid UPS shipping. TWENTY pounds of flattened Capri-Sun pouches!

Terracyle takes these pouches, makes things with them like bookbags, sells said things, then gives the school a kickback for it.

Some of the green office products (you know, to keep with the original concept of this post) include the used circuit board clipboard, pencils made from old newspapers, and cork boards made from, get this, corks!

Saving the environment, saving our schools and living the capitalist dream all in one fell swoop – Terracyle gets this years NWOt Earth Day Leader Award that we just created this very sentence!

One such case still baffles me. It was the morning of the launch and an older gentleman (in his 80′s) was eagerly waiting at the door. First in line; a queue of one. That was a bit disappointing since 5 guys had worked 11hrs overnight, getting the place looking like the Microsoft equivalent of a Mac store.

Anyway, the store opens and he begins his questions about the new Windows, finally asking how difficult was the upgrade process because he’d heard horror the stories just as we had. Horror is is relative term based on what you were upgrading from – vista should be easy, XP being a full wipe – so we asked what he was upgrading from. Redhat, says he.

…

…

Begging the question we all internalized – HOW THE FUCK DO YOU END UP RUNNING LINUX IF YOU DONT EVEN KNOW LINUX ISN’T A MS PRODUCT?!

I don’t know how his upgrade went. I don’t really care either. Mine however went rather swimmingly, thank you.

The process was simple. It was an upgrade provided by HP, so they had a prep disk which told you at the offset what to uninstall – if you’re yet to upgrade, get rid of iTunes and Nero; they conflict with the process. You can reinstall them afterwards. This took a bit since Nero’s gets its hands into a lot of things when installed. Also had to track down some phantom HP drivers for a really old printer that miraculously still is compatible.

Once that was over the rest was easy. Pop in the disk and away you go.

There was only one point that made me second guess the whole thing when it froze for 20 minutes. I’d heard of installations just freezing, quitting and reverting; or freezing and go into an infinite boot loop. Luckily I had a Benedictine Chant CD loaded in my stereo and after few cantatas things got moving again. Thank you Adeptus Mechanicus.

2-something hours later and it was over. Rather anti-climactic. Programs were compatible; no data corruption. The only hiccup came about when I hooked up my external HD. Apparently there was an issue with Windows 7 (out of the box or upgrade), that only affected computers with my exact specifications, and would cause the blue screen of death (something I had not seen in the 4 years working with XP) when transferring files to a USB device. My heart sank a bit, but after a few days Googling I found the patch.

So, if you’ve got more than 4 gigs Ram, with a Nvidia GeForce integrated videocard which also is the USB controller (and you bought it on a Friday between the hrs of… not really), and you get the BSOD saying its video driver issue – forget messing with the drivers. It’s likely a MS hotfix issue.

Forum posts about this critical fault can be found here and here. The actual hotfix is here.

Thankfully it did the trick, otherwise I may have had to revert to vista to process the video of me installing Windows 7. That would have been sad. Much like the video itself…

I never really shot video of a monitor, as obviously evidenced by the fuzz you’re about to watch. But here it is, time lapse video of the installation of W7.

Being now a month and half old, it is now outdated. W7 came out October 22 (a day many say will rival all the previous days of infamy – me I’m not sure yet). Luckily I was granted a golden ticket (read: thermal receipt) to get this miracle for free. SO, I sent away for it. The picture to your right is what I received.

Seriously?!

With all the hoopla Microsoft expended in this launch – the ad campaigns, the beta testing, the countless hours millions of retailers spent on the overnight setting their displays to not only put W7 forefront but make it seem Vista and XP never existed in the first place – and all I get is something that looks like it was packed by a half-assed ebayer? The contents of which were only protected by a piece of cardboard, the instructions and a CD sleeve which was shared by two discs!

Now granted, the instructions could have stopped a bullet, or at the very least been used as a full body death shroud if it didn’t – but couldn’t we get some sort of nifty product box? Or glossy paper?

But, they say good things come from lame packages. I’ve read both good and bad reviews about W7. The good reviews mainly from MS, touting the new chotchkies like snapping window frames and free internet TV – a boon and detriment to productivity respectively. The bad mainly from folk who tried to install it and failed thus causing an infinite boot loop; and one from a MS worker who said one upgrade took him 20hrs in testing. Cripes.

Why am I doing this again? The more I think about it the more I’m not sure why. But, after spending the better half of last night and this morning backing up: I’m into it now!

If anything I’ll get a review out of it, and hits based off the phrases Microsoft Windows 7 and victim porn.

I shall let you all know how the upgrade goes. Providing I can turn on my computer after the fact.

But not just any plumber… I am a vigilante plumber. The Phantom Plunger. I didn’t choose this life of clearing errant drains, it was thrust upon me out of desperation – for, no matter where I go there seems to be a jammed potty. A jammed potty that needs JUSTICE… or a good snaking.

It all began at work the other day. There was, of course, a clog, else why start here? Being the copy jockey it was determined that I would go do it, because apparently a stopped up john is exactly like a jammed copier. That is, if wads of paper covered in dark stuff was the only qualifier. People tend to forget things like the water, the bacteria or the corn when they send you off to plunge. Incidentally, should you find corn in your copier’s output tray, call Xerox ’cause that’s in their repair contract.

Alas, this was nothing new to me. I did, after all, work as maintenance staff in an outdoor summer day camp. As you can imagine, 2000 kids spread amongst 30 toilets led to some interesting war stories. Especially when it involve this subject on the urinals. One of two things could have happened – they picked it up and put it there, or (and this is my theory) the younger generation has genetically developed a poo spew defense mechanism. Bad news for naughty school janitors; worse news for the non-pedophile janitors. In either case, just eww.

That is neither here nor there so lets move on to dinner of the day in question. The Chinese Buffet. I hit the restroom to wash my hands as I usually do since working in a copy shop in the era of pandemic should be on a suicide watch checklist. Upon my return after a few plates of lo mein I come across yet another jammed throne!

I could see the office supply place. Customers are so hopped up on coffee and in a hurry, they make a mess and dash. But come on, here? Was it pride? Was someone so proud of their fiber intake to leave a perfect log in the stall of a purveyor of grease and MSG? So I took the plunger. I began to feel the power. Of course it could have just been the suction. Or the fumes.

Dinner finished it was on to the supermarket so we’d have something to cook rather than going to the buffet again anytime soon. Something told me I should have waited till I got home. That was my common sense talking. But now I had a case of flush lust! And like all avengers you get to a point where you don’t wait for trouble, you go looking for it! And someone apparently had one too many “free” grapes. To action!

It’s a bit disconcerting to know that people just don’t flush anymore. I could understand it if those toilets with the auto sensor where the dominant form of thunder bucket; and, from time to time you’d slip up and forget when you come across an antiquated piece of porcelain. But they’re not. Most homes have got the old faithful valve tank variety.

I used to think that it may have been a New York/ New Jersey thing, having come across such displays in college. 3Am working on the newspaper, on the third floor, on the weekend in a primarily commuter college and often finding poo lead me to believe it had to have been a localized ritual at best.

Maybe a survival instinct even. We did have blizzards after all. Should the power go out some clod could be like “hey everyone follow me, I left some dung in a stall in the library basement. We can burn it for fuel!”

But this is the rather hot and humid south, some 1000 miles away. No longer do I think it a regional tradition.

For god sake’s people flush! Flush early and flush often. It’s every citizen’s doody!

Goodness knows its not for lack of warm bodies beating down our door. We average about seven applicants a day, and print out about 50 applications a week. So far, however, the warm body bit has been the only qualification these dregs have met (and some I doubt have that much going for them).

And it’s not that the standards are too high… I mean they hired me for god’s sake. Which leads me to wonder: Is all this unemployment really due to a sagging economy and lack of open positions? I’m starting to have my doubts. From my small slice of the empirical data I can only see a potential workforce made of dingleberries – both with impressive and non-existent resumes.

Those who had jobs and were laid off exhibit arrogance in their abilities; as if they are automatically qualified for any job just because they were able to duck their bosses for 10 years. Those who are just beginning exhibit as sense of entitlement; as if just because they need to start somewhere/anywhere we are mandated by the cosmos to give them a job.

Either case it’s jut not gonna happen. If you don’t have any common sense, the the answer is simple – NO! GTFO!

So, in the interest in helping the some five million unemployed souls catch a break, here is a sampling of automatic disqualifications you should try to avoid:

• The spelling of your name changes four or more times within the application.

• Walking straight past the crumbling-yet-rather-obvious “We’re Hiring” sign and asking the nearest employee if we’re hiring.

• Requesting two or more applications (in case they mess up) while holding a pencil.

• Asking to see the hiring manager, sans shirt (not as much an issue if female).

• Asking to see the hiring manager, sans pants (again see previous).

• Asking to see the hiring manager, fully clothed, but in pajamas.

• Walking straight past the crumbling-yet-rather-obvious “We’re Hiring” sign and asking the nearest customer if we’re hiring.

• Listing preferred position as missionary

• Listing minimum salary requirement: 17.00/hr and Green M&M’s in the breakroom.

• Asking if we disqualify based on number of murders committed (that really should be listed in the skill set box of the application)

Good luck.

In 1998, my first year in college, I was the proverbial noob when it came to the Internet(s). Thought it only being about two years old in mainstream years, I really hadn’t missed all that much. It would take me an additional three months to realize there were computers in my dorm’s basement that were available for student use. Not too swift on the uptake me.

When I began making friends they began asking me what was my email? Screen name? Aim? Concepts I had no clue about. The closest to these was my Mechwarrior call sign on an un-networked computer in another state. It wasn’t till a nerdly-wise pal came to my aid… mainly because she was tired of tracking me down the old fashioned analog way (read: foot). Thanks Laura!

Screen name…. identity for the internets… but what?

In high school, in bowling intramurals, I went by the moniker “Lord Chaos” – a prototype character for my yet to be penned sci-fantasy epic (seen left)– for despite hitting the pins exactly in the same spot every shot I’d end up 1st game in the 90′s, 2nd in the 120′s and 3rd in the low 60′s… Doing a thesis on entropy? Hit the lanes.

Anyway, I now had a hotmail (blech) account as Lordchaos_2… and on the net I was!

At the same time I met our dearly departed Ray and found out about forums and message boards. Seemed, as it did with the hotmail, that the generic “Lord Chaos” was a popular handle. And seeing the potential for proselytizing (spamming) our brand of crazy, mayhaps something more unique was in order. There was a brief stint as Zealot_X (hackneyed) and various forms of Brigand (meh); none had a the ring of memorable. The New World Otter would not be coined for another two years.

I came back to the Lord Chaos bit. As I fleshed out the prototype a name came forth – Rokuzen. It was a half assed effort to come close to Oroku Saki, the Shredder’s real name in the TMNT series. Somewhat ominous sounding… it had to be since he’s the Machiavellian hero type. I say half assed because at the time I was floundering to remember Oroku Saki and just ended up Rokuzen.

Having a nice ring to it, I decided to expand on it further. With my 8am Japanese classses (craziness?! You’re soaking in it…) I (very) loosely translated it to Six (roku) (the)Path (zen). So I ran with it; coming up with a clan motto / philosophy revolving around six paths (5 to progress forward and glory, one leading back and cowardice).

Sweet – unique and profound.

Till I found out that “zen” when paired with a number is an archaic Japanese counter. So Rokuzen is literally translated as… “Six Bowls of Rice.” At this point the NWOt had been founded by Rokuzen and so it was a little too late to back down.

But still, I am a portly fellow and six bowls of rice is an apt description in both calories and skin pallor. Sure, why not?

That would have been the end of the story had I not Googled myself and my alter ego. I, apparently, scammed a bunch of balding Canandians out of their life savings with fake hair care products; and also died in a tragic car wreck in Idaho on my way back from softball.

Rokuzen on the other hand seemed busy posting in various Thai forums. Apparently my random misnomer wasn’t as unique as I had previous thought.

Doubting that someone would make the same mistake in naming The Shredder and doubting more so that someone would willingly refer to themselves as a glutinous/glutinous side dish, I dug deeper. As far as I can figure, Rokuzen means the antivirtues of Thai Buddhism. Yeeeaaaahh…

I could and probably should have been calling myself The New World Otter. It would promote this here place and would be an apt description for Ich bin der site. I founded it and I *cough* maintain it. But, after KaiserBlitzkrieg (Ray) joined it was re purposed from just my webcomic to a collective of nuts. There’s also the nagging issue of open invitations still out there to Ethena, Kittenlady, TheJake and Bagman (or Rakeman.. I forget which one you were but you know who you are), as well as the pending invites of some work people to hop on board this sinking ship. Yes its a one man show, but it really ought not to be.

I could, in theory, knock off this Rokuzen racket. It’s only a name. However, I’m into it. He’s a main character of my epic and thus will be linked to me no matter what earthly meanings the word may have.

More and more however, I have been and will be using my real name – Ryan Livingston, (or the initials RML, as in RML studios as in Ryan Matthew Livingston). I’m a latent egomaniac, I might as well get my due. Though I have to say Lawrence Salberg’s thoughts on anonymity in his review of The Cult of the Amateur kind of pushed me towards this route. Once I get that book it’ll probably cement the idea.

But in short, that, dear readers, is where my handle Rokuzen came from. It’s a silly word randomly derived from a fictional name which turns out to have varied meaning, none of which really relate to me.

During the meeting the conditions of the growing bureaucracy were compared to a black hole. That’s when the breeze blew clear through the ears of Commissioner John Wiley Price and out his mouth who exclaimed it was more like a “white hole” and demanded an immediate apology for the metaphor. Some judge decided to chime in too. Both Price and the judge are black. (news source)

Now, as we – black, white, male, female, enchanted pastry humanoids and unicorns – all know, a “black hole” is a scientific term that came about in 1967 to define an anomaly with a gravity so strong, nothing can leave its grip, not even light… an apt description of any mound of paperwork produced by local governments for sure. The color black was chosen as a describer for the phenomena because black is the absence of color – color being created by light waves, which aren’t being let go by the black hole’s gravity – and not for any racial means.

And even though it’s obvious that the “offended” failed 7th grade astrophysics, the term “black hole” is also ingrained in popular culture (for convenience). We have “”The Black Hole,” a Disney epic about… well… a black hole. We have a song called “Black Hole Sun” about… well… the sun going nova (not really). We have the black hole of Calcutta, a dungeon where people, light light and pending ordnances, disappear forever.

For more info on this subject, just ask PBS’ Nova host Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, an African American and author of Death by Black Hole: And Other Cosmic Quandaries.

But this wasn’t about being offended, was it? This was about being on TV and the opportunity to make waves. I agree whole heartedly that racism is a bad thing and that it’s still prevalent in this new millennium. However, with Price’s track record and the quickness to leap at the mere sound of “black” (at the speed of light) and the ensuing attacks against the terms like “devil’s food cake” and “black sheep” I question Price’s seriousness on the subject. I also question his introductory statement on his website: “John Wiley Price addresses real issues, advances real change and achieves real results.”

Really? The fact that “Devil’s Food Cake” is black is a serious issue? It’s chocolate. Chocolate is decadence. Decadence is sin. Sin is the devil’s domain. Alternatively, the Devil was cast from heaven and therefore the light of God… the absence of light = black. Sigh.

So, for achieving high office with little common sense or knowledge; for governing people with a clear reactionist mentality; for making accusations of racism just to extend your own 15 minutes of infamy… I hereby award John Wiley Price and anyone who jumped on that bandwagon that medal of freakdom – The Kick in the Shins award..

We need address REAL racism; not pull issues out of thin Aether (that’s another astrophysics nod btw… look it up!).

But we’re not done here, oh no. England’s got it’s head up its ass when it comes to this stuff too, even though they have sort of the right idea by attacking racism young.

According to the BBC, the National Children’s Bureau issued a 366 page guide for nursery staff to look for racist overtones in “yucky food.”

It said: “A child may react negatively to a culinary tradition other than their own by saying, ‘Yuck!”‘.

That may indicate a lack of familiarity with that particular food, or “more seriously a reaction to a food associated with people from a particular ethnic or cultural community”.

Yes, if a child turns up his or her nose at an unfamiliar meal it must now be determined if this is due to that fact it is a foreign delicacy or just too freakin’ spicy. I didn’t and still don’t eat brussels sprouts… does that mean I have a latent hatred for the Flemish? Doubt it. If a kid spits out a taco, does it mean he hates Mexicans? It’s England, how many Mexicans can there be to form an opinion about them?

Besides, a nation that produced blood pudding and eel pie shouldn’t dig too deep into culinary tastes else you’ll uncover a serious case of self-loathing.

So let’s give half a KITS award to the NCB. Right time of life to deal with intolerance, but just get it out of the bloody kitchen (or else my soufflé’ll fall).

Viacom is complaining that the site is using material from such hits as the Daily Show, South Park, Spongebob, David Letteman, etc etc, without permission.

They are complaining now… This instant… Only recently…

Youtube has been in existence since 2005 and since its startup has done nothing but show clips like the ones Viacom is railing against (along with the standard user created insanity).

So why now, eh? It’s probably got something to do with (and I’m just speculating here) that six months ago Youtube was bought by Google for… wait for it… ONE BILLION DOLLARS.

Before, when Youtube was rampant with copyright violators but didn’t have two nickels to rub together, Viacom was quietly enjoying the free publicity that comes with the “pirated” videos. They’re clips. Grainy, pixelated, not-even-betamax-quality video clips of at max 10 minutes long. They’re gags, segments, brief previews of things that someone may stumble upon and say “hey I should start watching that regularly and subject myself to the inane commercials that break it up!”

A lot of the stuff being “violated” would never be profitable again or see the light of DVD. David Letterman’s episodes get maybe three airings and are lost to the ether (12 years from now Alpha Centauri will get them new). You think Viacom would ever release the Daily Show in season box sets? At about 200 episodes per season… yeah right! And you could forget about the Craig Killborn years as they are just old. Viacom likes to bury old things. (Look at anything Nickelodeon has aired that isn’t Spongebob. See any You Can’t do that on Television DVDs? Doug?)

So now that Youtube has a corporate backer and has instituted mechanisms to battle copyright infringement, Viacom decides to let loose the lawyers. Get real. Viacom and indeed all other corporate legions of doom had their chance to kybosh Youtube when it was a piddly little basement operation. It would have been easy. So easy.

But it’s really all about the ONE BILLION DOLLARS. And although Viacom may have some legal footing in the law courts, I’m sure in the court of public opinion they’ll not have a leg to stand on! And that, more than an unauthorized 30 second clip of Cartman farting, will be Viacom’s undoing.