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robpongi
(electric tomato)
05/26/08 01:23 AM
Phoenix Mars Mission Gallery Images new [re: robpongi]  

Phoenix Mars Mission Gallery Images



Surface Stereo Imager Right - Mosiac
Photo credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/University of Arizona
Date: 2008-05-25
Instrument: Surface Stereo Imager Right
Resolution: 2036

In reply to:

The Surface Stereo Imager Right on NASA's Phoenix Mars Lander acquired the individual images that are combined into this view. The view is presented as a CYLINDRICAL projection. The Phoenix Mission is led by the University of Arizona, Tucson, on behalf of NASA. Project management of the mission is by NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory, Pasadena, Calif. Spacecraft development is by Lockheed Martin Space Systems, Denver.


Continued.....



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robpongi
(electric tomato)
05/30/08 11:19 AM
The Smoking Gun Backstage: Iggy Pop new [re: robpongi]  

The Smoking Gun Backstage: Iggy Pop


TSG Backstage: Iggy Pop



In reply to:

As if you need another reason to love Iggy Pop, the veteran rocker (and his band The Stooges) have the single most entertaining concert rider TSG has ever obtained. The document--all 18 pages of which you'll find below--describes Iggy's requirements in terms of amplifiers, security, lighting, stage set up, and dressing rooms. But unlike most similar documents, Iggy's rider is written in a rollicking, stream-of-consciousness fashion that delivers multiple laughs per page. Apparently written by roadie Jos Grain, the Iggy rider is peppered with witty gems, tasteless asides, and typos. For example, in describing how Iggy's dressing room should be made to "look less like a typical rock & roll dressing room," the rider suggests that promoters "just let someone loose with a little bit of artistic flair...Er, do you know any homosexuals?" Explaining the need for two heavy duty fans, Grain notes, "So that I can wear a scarf and pretend to be in a Bon Jovi video." Also, don't miss the backstage requirements of a Bob Hope impersonator and "a copy of USA Today that's got a story about morbidly obese people in it. Most amusing!" (18 pages)


Continued....






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infidel
(crash course raver)
06/05/08 11:53 AM
Re: Phoenix Mars Mission Gallery Images new [re: robpongi]  



Life on Mars ?
.
.
.

Robpongi your post on Mars is fascinating,
but the planet looks so glum and depressing.
That landscape needs a splash of color,
and not to mention a touch of glamour.
Thanks to 'Liberace' … Mars is now a rockin' !
.
.
.





robpongi
(electric tomato)
06/06/08 11:53 AM
ROTFLMAO!!!! new [re: infidel]  

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

OH.........MY.............BUDDHA!!!!!

That is just CLASSIC! Thank you Infidel! Also, thank you very much for the link to a truly amazing Liberace video! WOW!!!

YASSASSIN!!!

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robpongi
(electric tomato)
07/06/08 10:32 AM
25 Clever Bar Pick Up Lines new [re: robpongi]  

25 Clever Bar Pick Up Lines

contributed by rtcrooks July 2, 2008

Via Sloshspot: The Online Home of Offline Nightlife!

In reply to:


Pick up lines, chat up lines, whatever you call them, we've all heard at least a few. There are some that will invariably send women running for the hills, and others for which you can only hope the lucky girl is very, very drunk when you let them fly. The bottom line is there is a very negative stigma surrounding these sleazy attempts at starting a conversation that will end in fornication. However, there are some lines that deserve mention and merit a list in such a fashion as we've created. These are lines that are good enough to fool a women into thinking you are clever and creative enough to continue talking to you beyond a "yes" or "no" response. While we do not claim to be Mystery AKA the Pickup Artist, we do know that a solid intro is the first step in impressing your potential mate. Here are some of the finest one, two or ten-liners that you are sure to bring success at the bar.

1. How much does a polar bear weigh? Enough to break the ice. My name is _________.

2. Hi, can I buy you several drinks?

3. Inheriting 80 million bucks doesn't mean much when you have a weak heart!

4. You might as well come home with me because I'm going to tell everyone you did anyway.

5. You look like my second wife, and I've only been married once.

Continued.....





((
___: )
(@

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Wraith2
(killer in chic)
07/10/08 04:17 PM
Can't you stop? new [re: robpongi]  

I fucking love that robpongi basically keeps a blog on TW. I don't know why he does this since this site probably gets three unique visitors a day, but it's still awesome.

You know who else makes creatures? Satan.

infidel
(crash course raver)
07/11/08 12:41 PM
Re: Don't stop! new [re: Wraith2]  

. Robpongi ... doing his bit to keep TW alive.

As of 11 July 2008 ... views 7542 / 116 Replies = approx. 65 views per every post/reply !!!



robpongi
(electric tomato)
07/23/08 05:26 AM
New York Joke new [re: infidel]  

HAHAHAHA!!! DOUMO ARIGATOU WRAITH-SAN AND INFIDEL-SAN!!!

Thanks alot for your funny messages! Here's a good New York joke:


"A woman from Texas and a woman from New York meet at a party. The woman from Texas says to the woman from New York:

"Hi, where y'all from?"

The woman from New York replies: "Where I come from we don't end our sentences with prepositions."

So the woman from Texas says: "Fine, where y'all from BITCH!!!"


BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!



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robpongi
(electric tomato)
07/23/08 05:29 AM
"REAL WORLD" by Natsuo Kirino - NYTimes new [re: infidel]  

"REAL WORLD" by Natsuo Kirino - NYTimes Review

By Natsuo Kirino

Translated by Phillip Gabriel. 208 pp.

First Chapter: ‘Real World’



Killer Children

By KATHRYN HARRISON
Published: July 20, 2008

The New York Times


In reply to:

“Sprinkle in some Dostoyevsky or Nietzsche or whatever. ... Then sort of wrap it up like ‘Evangelion,’” the popular animated television series that pits paramilitary teenagers against enemy angels bent on destroying humankind. Worm, the cipher at the center of Natsuo Kirino’s disquieting and suspenseful novel “Real World” and a juvenile killer on the run, is directing Terauchi, one of the four girls who become his accessories, to write a manifesto to fit the crime he has committed. He’d like it to be “something creative” rather than “introspective,” a “cool” and “incomprehensible” poem or story. Otherwise, his readers might conclude he isn’t the disaffected nihilist he imagines himself to be. “It doesn’t have to be long,” Worm tells Terauchi, but it does have to be “better than what that killer Sakakibara wrote.”

“Real World” begins with a matricide. No longer willing to cooperate with the expectations of the “total idiot” who forced him to attend a prestigious high school even though he lacked the aptitude to succeed in such an environment, Worm bludgeoned his mother to death in what Terauchi, whose worldview allows no possibility of forgiveness or salvation, dismisses as a mindless, infantile response to frustration. Once Worm is on the run from the police, however, his photograph multiplying across the front pages of newspapers and broadcast on television — once he has time to contemplate his crime and the growing curiosity about his motive — his lazy anomie is dismantled by an intensifying self-consciousness. To answer his audience, he models himself on the infamous real-life killer whose literary efforts he wants Terauchi to surpass.

In 1997, a 14-year-old student from Kobe known by the pseudonym Sakakibara Seito beheaded an 11-year-old retarded boy with a handsaw and left the head at the entrance to his special school. After his capture, Sakakibara confessed to another murder, that of a 10-year-old girl whose head he had crushed with a pipe. Although he had exhibited the typical psychopathic precursors to murder, including the torture and killing of animals, Sakakibara sent a letter to the police claiming to be the product of Japan’s system of compulsory education. In the 1990s the crimes of Sakakibara amplified Japan’s growing anxiety about what it called a youth crisis, a fear that the increasing stresses imposed on adolescents could precipitate their becoming criminally insane.

Welcome to present-day Tokyo, where “air pollution advisories” announce the arrival of summer vacation and where vacation isn’t a holiday from the 11-month academic year, but a break to be spent in cram schools taught by brainwashed college students who advocate studying hard enough to “spit up blood” as the avenue to a “tremendous confidence ... you can build on for the rest of your life.” For the contestants in this dystopic steeplechase, a cultural reference more potent than “Crime and Punishment” or “The Will to Power” is the homegrown “Evangelion.” And to “wrap it up like ‘Evangelion’” would be to drive a violent plot to apocalypse.

“Real World” is peopled by children. Adults are peripheral — alcoholic fathers, adulterous mothers, prying detectives, predatory marketing drones, pedophiles on the prowl for schoolgirls, none of whom merit the trust of adolescents who must submit to the wishes of parents they consider hypocrites and despise. Styling themselves as peroxided “Barbie Girls,” hard-studying loners or promiscuous “Good Time girls,” replacing their given names with ones of their own devising, like “Dahmer,” after the American serial killer, they worship the rare iconoclast who takes a stand against an educational system so oppressive that it sacrifices the development of character to scholastic achievement. In a society that values conformity — as the saying goes, “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down” — what matters isn’t that Worm arrives at fame through conscienceless violence, but that he manages to rebel. As Terauchi’s little brother observes, being “an elite kid who fell” is all that’s required to become “a hero.”

Continued.....




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robpongi
(electric tomato)
07/23/08 05:30 AM
"Real World" First Chapter new [re: robpongi]  

"Real World" First Chapter

By NATSUO KIRINO
Published: July 20, 2008
The New York Times

In reply to:

I'm penciling in my eyebrows when the smog alert siren starts blaring. It's happened every day since summer vacation started, so it's no surprise. "May I have your attention," this woman's voice drawls over a loudspeaker. "An air pollution advisory has just been issued," and the siren continues to drone on, like some kindly old dinosaur groaning away.

Most of these advisories happen in the morning, usually just as I'm about to leave for cram school. Nobody does anything because of them. Everyone kind of goes, Oh, that again. What I'd like to know is where they hide those speakers. To me, that's creepier and weirder than anything about smog.

I live in a crowded residential area on the outskirts of Suginami-ku in Tokyo. It used to be a nice, laid-back neighborhood, but all the old, larger houses got torn down, replaced by smaller single-family homes and apartments. When I was little, several neat but tiny buildings went up where there used to be plum orchards and farm fields. They slapped fancy names on these — Estates or whatever — to help sell units. Nice-looking families moved in, and on weekends you'd see them out walking their dogs or driving around in expensive foreign cars. But the paved roads that run through the neighborhood, which must have been just dirt farm paths at one time, are so narrow that I heard the family two houses down from us had so much trouble parking their Mercedes-Benz in their garage that they ended up getting rid of it.

The siren keeps on droning. Right in between one of its groans, I hear a loud sound, something breaking next door. Our houses are so close that if you open the window, you can hear the parents yelling at each other, or the phone ringing. I'm thinking maybe a window broke. Seven years ago the boy who lives in the house diagonally across from us kicked a soccer ball that shattered a window in our house in the room where we keep our Buddhist altar. The kid completely ignored what happened, and later on he was transferred to a school in Kansai. I remember the abandoned soccer ball sitting there under the eaves of my house forever.

Anyway, the sound I'd heard was just like that time. There aren't any little kids living next door, so it's weird to hear something shatter so loudly, and the whole thing was kind of alarming. Maybe a burglar broke in. My heart beating like mad, I listened carefully but didn't hear anything else. Total silence.

The neighbors moved in two years ago. We've had hardly anything to do with them. Sometimes, when I take the neighborhood association bulletin to them, I'll press the intercom bell and the mother will come out, this phony smile pasted on her face. All I know for sure is that there's a mom and a dad, and a boy the same age as me who lives there. Sometimes the mother is out front, sweeping with a bamboo broom. She has on silver-framed glasses and this bright red lipstick you know is going to leave marks on any teacup she uses. Get rid of the glasses and the lipstick, though, and I don't think I'd recognize her.

Once when the woman next door saw me in my school uniform she asked, "Are you a high school student?" When I said yes, she said, "So is our son," and named the prestigious high school he attended, smiling happily. When I told my mom this, she clicked her tongue and looked disgusted. The woman was obviously bragging about her son and Mom must have thought she was insulting us, since I was going to a less-than-stellar private girls' school. But I just thought the woman next door was simple and naive, and I felt sorry for the boy for having such an embarrassing mother.

This son of hers was a lanky, stoop-shouldered boy with small, gloomy eyes. Reminded me of a worm. He had a sluggish way of walking with his head tilted to one side, and zero in the way of spirit. Even when our paths happened to cross at the station he'd avoid looking at me and edge off into the shadows of the building. Like if he stepped into the shadows he could hide from the world. In that sense he was just like his father, who looked like a typical office worker. The father ignored me as if I didn't even exist. Once I went out to get the evening paper when he was just coming home. I nodded to him but he gazed off into the distance like I was invisible.

"I wonder what that guy does for a living, anyway," my mother once said. "Kind of stuck-up with that ascot of his." Who cares about ascot ties? was my reaction. To me people are divided into two groups: the nice and the un-nice. And the family next door was definitely in the second category. If my grandmother were still alive she would have sniffed out all kinds of gossip about them, but my mother couldn't be bothered, so the only details we knew about them were that their son looked like a worm, the mother wore red lipstick, and the father, an ascot.

Still, I couldn't figure out what that sound was. A burglar could break into their house for all I cared, but I didn't want him coming into ours. I started to panic. My parents were both at work, I had slept in late and was about to have some cup ramen before heading out to summer cram school — I was a senior in high school — and the last thing I wanted was for some burglar to flee into our place. Dad always said that the scariest thing was a thief who gets cornered and turns violent.

I heard another crash, this one louder than the first. It rang in my ears, and I flinched and messed up my left eyebrow. Maybe I should redo it, I was thinking, staring into the mirror, when my cell phone on the table buzzed.

"Yo!" It could only be Terauchi. "Dude, it's me."

"I just heard this weird sound from next door — maybe a robber or something. What should I do?"

But Terauchi wasn't paying any attention.

"That essay on Mori Ogai we're supposed to write? I've done over a hundred pages, right? Just kidding ... But I think it's going to turn out okay, know what I mean?" She rambled on like this for a minute or so.

"Terauchi. Listen to me. A burglar might have broken into the house next door."

"Du-de!" Terauchi was finally surprised and her usual greeting now turned into an interjection. Terauchi was a cute-looking girl, but her voice was really low and cool. Among my friends, she was the smartest and the most interesting.

"I just heard glass shattering," I said. "Someone breaking in, maybe."

"Probably just the husband and wife having a fight."

"At this time of the morning?" I said. "The guy next door should be at work."

"Well, maybe the wife lost it and smashed a teacup or something. It's gotta be that," she declared. "You know, one time when my mom got into a fight with my dad's mother she went nuts and tossed both of their teacups and plates out the second-story window."

"Your mom's kind of extreme."

"You got that right," Terauchi said. "She just casually tossed the plates and cups out, aiming at the stepping-stones in the garden. See, Dad was using the plates Yukinari used as a baby. Anyway, Toshi-chan, I wanted to see how you're doing with your essay."

Toshi-chan. My name's Toshiko Yamanaka, the characters for Toshi meaning "ten and four," because I was born on the fourth day of the tenth month, October. Obviously not a lot of thought went into naming me, but since I've hardly ever met anyone with the same characters, I don't mind the name that much. Terauchi's first name is Kazuko, which she can't stand. Her grandfather in Akita gave her the name, apparently. My friends all call one another by their first names or by nicknames, except for Terauchi, who insists that we call her by her last name.

"The thing is, I haven't done it yet," I admitted.

When we got to be seniors our Japanese teacher assigned us to write an essay on Ogai's story "The Dancing Girl." Terauchi was always good at exams and assignments. Whenever we had to write a book report, she copied parts of some published essay on the book without the teachers ever catching on. I was a little too honest — honest to a fault, you could say — to try to get away with something like that. So unfortunately it took me a lot of time to finish up assignments and my grades were never as good as hers. I never thought of what she did as dishonest; I was kind of vaguely worried that someday her cleverness might really her get in trouble. I worried about her because I liked her so much.

She went on, rumbling in her low voice: "I was thinking of, like, doing a psychological analysis of the main character."

"Including Elise?"

"Nah — not her. Her name's in katakana. What's his name — Oda?"

I didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

"That's not it," a different voice replied. Now it was Yuzan on the phone. "She's gonna do a psychological profile based on the Chinese characters used to write the name. Can you imagine getting away with that?"

"Yuzan, I didn't know you were there," I said.

I must have sounded a little disappointed. I wasn't exactly happy to find out that she and Terauchi were hanging out without me. It made me feel left out. I really liked Terauchi, but Yuzan was harder to deal with. She had such extreme likes and dislikes. She hated smokers violently, for instance. Human garbage, she said. Which was kind of unfair from the smoker's viewpoint. On the other hand, if she liked somebody she'd stand up for them, no matter what. Extreme and hard to read — that was Yuzan.

"Terauchi wanted to do homework together. I told her we're not in grade school anymore. Duh!"

"I bet that it was your idea," I countered.

Continued.....



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