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This is the first episode of a series of videos I hope to continue while I’m over here. If you’re an American who’s never been to Japan, you cannot understand how many vending machines there are over here. It’s ridiculous. Not only do I pass 13 beverage vending machines (along with three tobacco and two newspaper) on the way to the train station every morning, I can see countless others when I look out the windows on the train, both in front of shops and near train stations, but also tucked away in residential neighborhoods. They’re freaking everywhere. And they have a huge variety of offerings, both hot and cold. It’s convenience in a way that you’ve never experienced it before.

It fascinates me, and also makes me want to sample pretty much everything they have. So, inspired by my friend Ed, who’s been trying for a while now to eat or drink something every day that he’s never eaten or drunk before, I thought I’d make a video project somewhat similar. I don’t have the time to do one every day, but I’ll try to fit it in when I get the chance. If there’s anything this first one has shown me, it’s that they’re a lot of fun to produce, if a little time consuming. Plus, it gives me an opportunity to try a ton of unfamiliar beverages! How cool is that?

So, here’s the first episode. More will come later.

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A silver Parker Jotter ballpoint pen

Parker Jotter pen

Dear Parker Jotter #4:

We both know you weren’t my first Jotter. That was in middle school, when I shared the joys of writing in a journal with another. By the time we had met, you and I had nothing new to show each other. We were both seasoned pros.

And yet, my memories with you are unparalleled. For years, you fit in my shirt pockets and pants pockets, ready to leap out and, with a satisfying click of your spring-loaded plunger, smoothly glide across my paper, leaving a crisp black trail of ink. You were my totem, my personal prop–I knew you better than anything else I owned, and as the years went on, a part of my soul nestled itself in your barrel, wrapped snugly around your stainless steel cartridge. You were a part of me, and I was a part of you. Continue reading →

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Comic bemoaning how the word "astrology" is taken to describe pseudoscience

[Editor’s note (06/04/2012): I changed the title of this post from “Astronomers got gypped,” to “Astronomers got screwed.” “Gyp” is a racist term that plays off of notions of the Romany people as sneaky and conniving. That’s not something I want my blog to perpetuate. -Spencer]

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Archives

Most certainly influenced by the Decemberists’ “The Island”. And Lemony Snicket’s The End. And my recent surge in fascination with pirates. I blame this on all of them.

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Somewhere, in the middle of a black ocean under a black sky, an island slept, the sands of its shallow shores gently caressed by the unceasing tides. Above, in shadowy heavens, the stark face of the moon cast a pale luminescence upon the beach. The waves swept the sands with soft hushes. The breath of the light tropical breeze quietly rustled the leaves of the palms. An air of serenity laid over the island, as if it had never known disturbance and never would.

There were no people on the island. There had been before, however; castaways were no strangers to its shores. Some of them had managed to survive, leaving nothing but footprints on the isle. Others left much more, never seeing their families or homes again. Many had gone mad and killed themselves, either by the noose, by diving off the cliff, or, if they had been lucky, with a pistol. In the end, their remembrances quickly vanished, consumed by natural forces– footprints blew away and corpses were claimed by the earth.

The empty island slumbered. The many exotic birds that lived in the jungle dozed on their perches, their heads tucked into their wings. Sleep caught the few mammals that lived on the island, quietly pulling them into its grasp. Another breeze stirred the palm trees, shaded black with night’s brush. The waves rolled in, splashing the shore. The waves receded, leaving pinpoints of seawater glistening in the moonlight. The waves rolled in, and placed upon the beach a large wooden chest, along with the unconscious man clinging desperately to it.