In honour of Penguin Awareness Day, which may or may not be an actual thing, I’ve decided to share my book “Raised by Penguins”. A friend calls it “a good toilet book,” by which I assume — and hope — she meant that it’s in brief entries that are just the right length for doing one’s business.
So here it is. Feel free to download it, share it, print it, then burn it in disgust. Raised by Penguins.
To save it for offline reading, right-click that link and choose Save Link As or whatever variant of that your browser offers.
For fans of Second Life and virtual worlds in general, today there’s both good news and bad. Good news: Oculus Rift, the VR headset compatible with Second Life, after years of anticipation, is available for pre-order by consumers. Bad news: It’s really effing expensive.
The Oculus Rift VR headset (photo provided by oculus.com)
In the lead-up to the pre-order today, Oculus kept the introductory price of their consumer-model VR kit a closely-guarded secret. Speculation was rampant. Would it be an affordable $299 investment, or would it be priced out of casual reach? It turns out it’s the latter. And then some.
At $599 USD, the Rift will cost Canadians around $850 CAD before taxes and shipping. They’ve priced it up with high-end tablets and phones, or mid-level computers. In short, only the wealthy get to have one.
As an avid fan of virtual worlds myself, I was hoping to be among the first to upgrade to a fully immersive consumer-grade VR setup. I can’t justify the expense even though I produce content for Second Life and would probably use it almost daily. $850 CAD is too much.
So my dream of immersing myself in Second Life — seeing Bay City or 1920s Berlin, gawking at the buildings, airships, and landscapes — all that will have to wait until the price comes down by at least half. VR isn’t a reality yet.
A blender, often used once right after Christmas, and thereafter used to fill space in the back of the bottom cupboard
This recipe is not only an excellent way to finish up the endless Christmas leftovers, but also great for trying out the blender you unwrapped two days ago.
Add some leftovers to the blender jar: cold, slimy turkey meat, dried-up mashed potatoes, and veggies with the good ones picked out (leaving mainly Brussels sprouts).
If you have any gravy left, add that, but realistically all you’ll have is a gallon of cranberry sauce. Add that with a deep sigh of resignation.
Carefully measure 1 cup of rum-and-eggnog, gulp it down, then put the rest into the blender.
If you have any fruit cake or short bread you can optionally add them or you could keep them until next year. They’ll be completely inedible by then, but nobody will notice, since they’re never actually eaten.
Purée until smooth. If you need more liquid, add the tears of young children who didn’t get exactly what they wanted for Christmas.
Decant the mixture into a large, disposable cup, and throw it vigorously at your neighbour’s garish lights-and-sounds Christmas lawn display — it’s best served at Santa’s head, but Rudolf or Frosty are reasonable substitutes.
After the overwhelming merriment of the holiday season, a large mug of this mélange of Christmas cheer can bring relaxation and smug satisfaction as you peer between the curtains at your confused neighbours.
Children everywhere in this time zone are at this moment practically quaking and excitement of jumping out of bed to see what Santa brought them. That was me, an undisclosed number of years ago. More than a few. Okay, a lot of years.
What do I look forward to in Christmas Day these days?
Annoying people by sleeping late.
Eating a proper breakfast.
Looking back on a full day and knowing that it won’t be back for 364 days.
I think of Christmas in the same way that the writers say, “I loathe writing, but I love having written.”
I love having Christmassed.
Merry Christmas, all. Don’t worry. It’s over soon. 🎄
In honour of Penguin Awareness Day, which may or may not be an actual thing, I’ve decided to share my book “Raised by Penguins”. A friend calls it “a good toilet book,” by which I assume — and hope — she meant that it’s in brief entries that are just the right length for doing one’s business.
