All Your Base Are Belong To Us — The Kip Lange Homepage

Let us review The Da Vinci Code saga. The book is a piece of thrillerish crap. Yes, I read it.

The movie, as the reviews continue to roll in, appears to be a solid HUNK of crap. No, I’m not going to see it.

And Tom Hanks’ head literally looks as if a piece of crap masquerading as hair has crawled up on it.

Ahhh…crap. How we love it.

With E3 on and the Playstation 3 specs officially announced, the gaming world has erupted into an impenetrable uproar of stupidity. I myself was bothered in the middle of writing a lengthy and rather important email by an IM from somebody who was worked up into a masturbatory froth over their XBox 360 because apparently it will be the first platform that Grand Theft Auto 4 will be released for. Yet a year ago he didn’t care which console the GTA games got released to first because they were “better on the XBox, anyway”.

The PS3 boards are smoking, charred rubbles of discussions that have been decimated by trolls and long flame wars and…speaking as a PS3 fan, everybody shut it. If you really want an amazing gaming platform, buy yourself a computer with a high-end video card and a USB controller. Me, I’m waiting for the PS3. Why? Because I like the Playstation. Just deal with it. Some of you people like the XBox. Fine. Get a 360. Just stop bitching at me that the PS3 is dead, cuz it just ain’t.

Of course, I have much more to say about this, but a full fanboy rant would ruin my chances of sleeping, so I’m hopping off. 🙂

New from Germany: Mr. R. has gotten married and…has taken his WIFE’S last name, making him Mr. S?

What?

I’m still waiting for an answer on that, Mr. S.

Does this have anything to do with Hasselhoff?

Anyway, Mr. S. is soon to be a proud parent (I’ve yet to learn whether it’s girl or boy, but I have a picture of the ultrasound), and I wish him well.

And I’m sure Hasselhoff wishes him well, too.

Well, Spin State by Chris Moriarty is all finished. A passably good book but a little forced at times. I’m happy to say that I’m 3/4s of the way through Richard Morgan’s Market Forces (winner of a Philip K. Dick award) and he seems to be losing a little of the forcedness in his writing.

I’m hoping Spin Control, Spin State’s sequel, evolves a little and flows a tad better.

Then again, like I’m really in a place to critique, what with all my novels overflowing the book racks at your local bookseller.

Maybe they still WILL, someday, if I get off my ass.

Hah! As I’ve recently mentioned, I believe the entire geek world has a crush on Kari Byron from Mythbusters. That being said, it’s good news that she’s got a four-page spread in the June issue of FHM. There’s an online video of her doing the shoot over at FHMUS, here.

Now if only I had the energy to actually buy a copy of FHM. Bah, who wants to buy FHM when you can get perfectly good hardcore smut for free? Then again, this is a special situation.

Okay, I was contacted in another post by the notorious Eurotrash punk, Mr. R., who demands my email address. Now, if I had time, I’d just type it up in Photoshop and make it an image. For those wondering why I’d do that, it’s because — let this be a lesson to you — spammers send out spiders on the internet searching for mailto links or email addresses in any form. So I’ll just post my email address in a longer line that requires logical thinking to put it together, for Mr. R. and anybody else. This isn’t one of my Super Secret Squirrel addresses, by the way, so if you mail me at it and I don’t respond, try again, because you may have been deleted accidentally along with the 300 spam emails a day I get on it. Anyway:

My email address is: my first name (or rather nickname, hint, it begins with “k”, tough, huh?), the “at” symbol, and the name of this website, without the http://www part in front of it.

Now everybody ask Mr. R. why Hasselhoff is so important!

I dug up a page with ST on it and commenced mailing her (for those of you who hate the fact that I use initials, thppthh, sorry, I hate giving out full names). There has been a great degree of catching up and it has been absolutely wonderful. I mean, ain’t it great when you find an old friend and they’re actually still interested in chatting with you and they are actually pretty much the way you remember them?

Anyway, it’s been fun. Much obliged, Ms. T.

Alright. Wikipedia has this one slightly wrong, I believe. The backstory, quickly: a man once assaulted Dan Rather shouting, “What’s the frequency, Kenneth?” or, according to Rather, “Kenneth, what is the frequency?”

Now, the wiki just says that the assailant, William Tager, thought news stations were beaming things into his head and he wanted to know what the hell the frequency was so he could stop it. This is not quite what I heard, a long time ago, from a very good source.

The longer story goes like this, and is more interesting: Tager believed he was from an alternate universe, sent to our universe by the Vice President in his — and in his universe, Dan Rather, who is actually named Kenneth (they all have doubles with different names) and who is the Vice President, authorized the action to send him over into our universe. Why Tager thinks he was sent is unclear. What was clear was that he didn’t know how the hell to get back. Kenneth, or Dan Rather, was supposed to provide him with the proper “frequency” to reach his home universe/dimension and get himself out of this mess. But he never got the frequency. So, logically, he went after Dan Rather, believing him to be Kenneth from his universe, and demanded the frequency to get back home.

I know. Why do I bother remembering stuff like this, right?

Cuz it’s fun!

And that, my friends, is what I’ve heard of the story of “What’s the frequency, Kenneth” (or “Kenneth, what is the frequency?”) and I’m too damn lazy and not sure enough of myself to edit the Wikipedia, but if someone gets the urge to look up the facts on my version, please, go ahead and edit the Wikipedia.

I’ve got to do something to rein in my email-writing. I am positive that people don’t want to read all the crap I send them. Absolutely positive.

Last night I was in rare form. I spent TWO HOURS composing an email to an old friend. Now, I was writing almost the whole time, and I type at like 160 wpm so…do the math. It’s a long email. Moby Dick had shorter chapters.

I’ll, uh, work on it.

Now, there are very few people that I’ve shuffled off my mortal coil over the years that I want to get back in touch with. The ones I want to be in touch with, I’m in touch with (even if one of them can’t comprehend email and the other simply isn’t emailing me — dammit, you know who you are).

But there are a COUPLE. And one of them is Michelle Burroughs — I believe that’s how you spell her last name, although her mother’s name was Jansen, so I’m not sure about anything — and I can’t find a trace of her anywhere. Vanished off the map. First serious girlfriend. Not to be sappy or anything. They say smell is the strongest scent tied to memory, and I will say this — she smelled like really good grapes. Right. I have no idea what that means, but I always get this grape smell floating around when I think of her.

Now considering how eerily good I am at tracking people down on the Internet (spooooooky, could I be stalking YOU next…?), it’s extremely odd that in like 10 years I have never run across a trace of her anywhere online. Even with myspace and all. In fact, I just found someone else I was looking for. Hahahaha!

No, seriously, Michelle, if you ARE out there, drop in and post a comment. Anybody else I’m stalking, too.