Photoshop Bombing!

Following celebrities can be a lot of fun. @adriangrenier (Entourage) tweeted this one while golfing...

I sent a Photoshop bomb back. Haven't got a response yet, but I'm hoping he'll consider adding me to his posse.

Today, Adrian tweeted a photo of a trip through the Arizona desert... I dropped in to say "Hi" and to enjoy the honky tonk music. Happy Thanksgiving!

Michael Riley and his daughter took in the Gemini's last week. They didn't invite me. So, I invited myself.

More photoshop bombs are available on my Facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=302617&id=630100844&l=0719c52597

College Humour takes it all a step further with a ficticious Photoshop photo bomb feature: http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1940686

Write or Die!

I've given myself just 15 minutes to write a note about Write or Die, using the Write or Die Online app at http://writeordie.drwicked.com/. One part of me is thrilled to think that I might get an electric shock if I stop writing, the other part of me is mortified that my procrastination has led me to this course of action.

Write or Die is predicated on the notion that writing on a deadline is a good thing. With distractions like Facebook and Twitter and email and Solitaire at my disposal I sometimes wander off course. Those "I should check that website" or "I need a recipe for dinner" or "I wonder what's happening on I-Need-A-Life.com" thoughts are crushed when you're on a Write or Die deadline.

Once you've set your Word and Time Goal and chosen your Consequences (Gentle, Normal, Kamikaze or Electric Shock mode) and Grace Period (Forgiving, Strict, Evil) options, you just click Write! and you're transported to a blank screen with a timer and word count bar to keep track of your progress.

Stop writing and the screen begins to flash darkening shades of red. Continue to procrastinate and reap the consequences of the evil sound. Keep putting it off and words begin to disappear off the screen.
You can pause the application at any time -  if the house is on fire, or the phone beckons (and it's not just a friend looking to kill some of your time) - but ALT-TABBING to check email/FB/Twitter will not stop Write or Die from sounding the alarm.

It's taken me less than the allotted time to write this note. I'm one minute early - even after chatting with my partner and our child for a minute or two to show them how cool this is. Now, I'm just waiting to see what happens when the countdown timer runs down. Will my computer explode?

15 minutes and 300 words.

Copy the text and save to the word processor.

Post to Facebook/Blog/Twitter.

Thanks, Write or Die.

Time to shut this down and surf the interweb for the rest of the day.

Airport security playing with junk and crank.

Airport Security in the good ol' US of A has been stepped up a notch to include a wide array of invasive security options for the traveller. You'll still have to take off shoes, remove belt, etc., but now airport security may decide you're worth ogling or worth touching.

Photo: Getty Images

Ogling. Security can select you to be body scanned by a cool x-ray type machine that sees through clothes. This machine confirms whether you're male or female and if you're packin' heat below your clothes, this thing will spot it. It won't let them see if you're packing some explosive goodies internally: http://www.dontscan.us/

Touching. Of course, you can choose to not be body-scanned by the x-ray machine. But if you do, prepare for the full body pat-down. And, we're talking "full" body. http://pncminnesota.wordpress.com/2010/11/08/rape-survivor-devasted-by-tsa-enhanced-pat-down/

Penn Gillette (the taller talkier half of Penn & Teller) got groped  and posted his run-in with the TSA at Las Vegas: http://www.pennandteller.com/03/coolstuff/penniphile/roadpennfederalvip.html

And, from San Diego, some junk went down: http://www.examiner.com/libertarian-in-national/touch-my-junk-and-i-m-going-to-have-you-arrested-a-firsthand-account?sms_ss=mailto&at_xt=4ce54e436dc2c808,0

Larry was Jumper. I was Myron.

Jumper and Myron lived in Montreal and ran a wholesale pickle business. They were Jewish. They had accents from New York. They thought they were tough "On the Waterfront" types. They ruled an imaginary empire that had East, West, North and South docks. They employed a Russian guy - I think his name was Ivan - who drove the truck. But, their prized employee - the star of the pickle business - was Cynthia.

Cynthia provided secretarial services, sexual services, and helped put their pickle business on the map. Cynthia had the unique ability of making pickles "in utero". Yes, she made "vagina pickles". Jumper and Myron referred to them in an earthier way. They were bottled and sold as Cynthia's Pickles. How we came up with this preposterous premise is beyond me. Larry and I shared a perverse sense of humour that observed no boundaries. The mere mention of pickles sent us careening through sexual innuendoes and - lo - in no time at all, Cynthia was gestating pickles for the business.

What can I say? We were 20.

Jumper Harris and Myron Mytweechuck. Indomitable, thick-skinned, world weary, lovable losers who dreamed that someday they would be rich and powerful. Myron had a horrible stutter that could only be cured with a brisk hit from Jumper. Jumper was a ladies man who had been married so many times he couldn't recall any of his ex's names.

They survived the cutthroat world of the pickle trade.

How Larry and I even dreamed this stuff up is beyond me. We could pretend to be Jumper and Myron for hours on end. Amusing ourselves. Topping each other with tall tales and outrageous inventions of the story of Cynthia's pickles. The amazing thing is: the characters were real to us. They had lives beyond our own. They existed.

Jumper was the alpha, Myron was the beta. Imagine Joe Buck and Enrico "Ratso" Rizzo (Midnight Cowboy), morphed with Spike the Bulldog and Chester the Terrier (Looney Tunes).

Larry & Jumper are gone now. Daryl and Myron, Ivan and the beautiful Cynthia mourn his passing.

Larry passed away on August 1, 2010, surrounded by his loving family in Barrie Ontario.

http://v1.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20100812.OBLARRYYACHIMECATL/TPStory/Obituaries