A Thousand Times No

Caught the rescheduled sneak preview of “The Great Wall of Mummy” tonight, and it has a drop-dead gorgeous animated closing credit sequence by Karin Fong that might well be the best reason to endure the full length of this very uneven film.

The dueling accents were akin to being repeatedly smacked in the ears by a ball-peen hammer.  A handy guide:

• Brendan Fraser (American) — American accent
• Maria Bello (American) — British accent, about 85% of the time
• John Hannah (Scottish) — British accent, but totally unlike his sister (Bello)
• Luke Ford (Australian) — American accent with oddly stretched vowels (spot-on for a character who grew up in England!), and Mandarin that sounds like someone who is suffering a cerebral hemorrhage after having novocaine injected directly into his tongue
• Russell Wong (American) — Mandarin that is almost entirely unintelligible, alchemically transforming Ford’s Chinese pronunciation into a silk purse
• Michelle Yeoh (Malaysian) — Kicking some serious 屁股 with her I-Can’t-Believe-She’s-Not-Fluent, phonetically memorized Mandarin, and her melodious English
• Jet Li (Chinese) — Wisely, as the legendary First Emperor of China, doesn’t bother to speak any English in this film
• Isabella Leong (Hong Kong Chinese) — steady, workmanlike handling of both English and Mandarin in turn

Even when I could get past the wayward phonemes, the age gaps still freaked me out:

• Jet Li (45 in real life) — a dead emperor risen from over 2,000 years of being buried, who is cast against…
• Michelle Yeoh (45) — a witch who rebuffed the Emperor’s lustful advances because she had fallen in love with…
• Russell Wong (45) — who doesn’t look any older than…
• Brendan Frasier (39) or Maria Bello (41) — who both look too youthful to have spawned…
• Luke Ford (27) — who, despite looking young for his age, is out-collagened by his ingenuous love interest…
• Isabella Leong (30) — who proves that singing Canto-pop in real life must truly be the fountain of youth

The box office numbers will tell whether this third installment makes it a wrap for the Mummy franchise.  Given the Asian superstars and the extensive use of Mandarin, this movie’s take will probably be huge outside the States — so I’d still file the series under “Undead.”

I love this small detail from a story in the Sunday Times of London by sports journalist and former professional road cyclist Paul Kimmage, who more or less embedded himself with the Garmin-Chipotle squad during the Tour de France:

At 2.30pm on a wet Friday before the opening stage, [team director Jonathan] Vaughters gathered the riders and staff for the first race briefing. Garmin, which makes satnav [satellite navigation/GPS] equipment, had just been unveiled as the team’s title sponsor. “They’re a conservative, mid-west American company and the only thing we can never say is, ‘We’re lost’,” Vaughters cautioned with a smile. “So no matter how lost you are, never say, ‘I’m lost’, say, ‘I’m naked’ - that’s the codeword.”

As if you have to train persons with Y chromosomes to actually refrain from uttering the words “I’m lost”?  That’s rich.

C’mon people, given the choice between metaphorically versus literally not wearing the pants around here, we all know which one most guys prefer.  I mean really, ask the gentlemen of your acquaintance which act they are more likely to perform after rolling down their car windows:

• Asking for directions?
• Mooning?

I’ll be off in the corner whistling “Clair de lune” while you track down the answer.

After work today, a friend and I headed across town to catch a sneak preview of “The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor,” the latest entry in the budding new Jet-Li-Gets-Stoned subgenre.  Having given ourselves plenty of time to spare, we arrived well before the film started.  In fact, the film reel itself had failed to roll into town today, so would-be audience members were sent home.

I made my way back across town on foot.  From the time we left the movie theater to the time I walked into my front door, here are some of the people I bumped into:

• The ice cream parlour belle who rides a beautiful red vintage folding bike around town
• A friend’s Italian husband who confessed to having a Kindle on order
• A writing instructor who was reading about Zen Buddhism
• A German ex-boyfriend and his wife, out on the town for his birthday

I still live in the same place as I did way back when I first met some of these people over a decade ago.  I’m still trying pondering whether that means I’m well-preserved — or mummified.

Some friends of mine an I had agreed to get together on Sunday evening to close out the weekend by participating in a pub quiz together.  “Quizzo,” as its known in Philly, has become a staple of the local bar scene after being popularized over a decade ago by an Irish bartender.

I’m fond of heading to the Sunday evening version hosted by another Irish quizmaster who is light on sports trivia and heavy on pronouncements like “It’s a written quiz, people, so don’t feckin’ shout out yer damn answers!”  Despite always managing to miss the final question in the final round, which is devoted to a piece of “Simpsons” trivia, I’ve managed to win some free eats and drinks from time to time, and it’s a nice way to wind down before the work week descends.

I told my friends I might try to round up a few more people to join us.  Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have their Sunday evenings leeched away by various loose ends: working on a resume, finishing weekend chores.  Worse still, I got in touch with a married pair of friends, only to learn that they had suddenly been forced put their beloved cat to sleep on Saturday.

That put such a damper on things that nobody in our original cohort was in the mood to continue.  Cat lovers all, we stayed home and spoiled a bunch of felines slightly more rotten than usual.  We hope the late, great Ted would approve.

The last time I stopped by a Costco, I saw that they were carrying an item I had been thinking about buying for a long time:  The Belkin CushTop, a specialized portable laptop cushion.  It’s like an oversized, super-puffed, space-age piece of al dente ziti zipped up in a removable, washable cloth cover.  Lured by the excellent price, I broke down and brought one home.

Boy, am I ever glad that I did.

Nobody officially calls portable computers “laptops” any longer, because they get hot enough to double as population control devices when left to rest on the tender nether regions of unsuspecting male users.  If you hail from the Mac side of things, the heat issues have historically proven to be even more, er, pressing.  Temperature issues aside, the ergonomics of typing directly off my lap while sitting have never worked well for me over long stretches of time.

The CushTop fixes both problems.  I can even type while sitting cross-legged without having to completely contort my spine, or type while lying comfortably in bed.  The CushTop also provide a handy hiding spot in its empty interior to cradle my power adaptor.

If you’re ready to drop some cash on an angled pillow that is supposed to dramatically improve the quality of what’s happening between your bellybutton and your knees, the CushTop is really the ticket.

I made an appointment to visit the Genius Bar at a nearby Apple store to try to determine why my laptop’s battery was showing a whopping 13 minutes of estimated use time once it had been fully charged.  (Though it makes me giggle, I have to admit that coining a memorable moniker for the Apple technical support counter was, in fact, a stroke of marketing genius.)

I was welcomed by a scene that has become all too familiar during the last few weeks:  A line of people stretching past the front and down along the side of the Apple store.  Fortunately for me, they were iPhone-ees, and I wasn’t — I was free to walk straight into the store as long as I didn’t expect to walk out with a Brick of Wonder.

Since I had arrived several minutes before my appointment time, it seemed like a good time to redeem a coupon that was good for a free drink at any Starbucks this weekend.  They have introduced a new line of protein smoothies that are truly breakfast in a cup, and my rumbly tummy was excited about the prospect of a little orange-mango-banana mashup.

But it was not to be.

“We can make you one, but we’re out of protein powder,” the barista informed me.  So much for nutritionally balanced slurpage.

I wandered back to the Apple store, and the genius behind the counter told me that my laptop battery was on its last legs.  He checked to see whether I was eligible to receive a free replacement under warranty, but the little workhorse that has ferried hundreds of blog posts to the Intertubes was a bit too long in the tooth for anyone to comp it some free juice.

I bit the bullet, bought a new battery, and sent the old one off to be properly recycled, taking great consolation in the fact that I managed to score a pair of extra rubber foot-nubbins for the mysteriously phantom-limbed corners of my laptop.

Those tiny accessories made the entire trip worthwhile — because every mac daddy covets a complete, matching set of rims.

I was saddened to hear this morning that Randy Pausch passed away yesterday.  Some months ago, I tuned in to his “Last Lecture” shortly after 1:00am on a weeknight, expecting to take a brief peek at his talk before rolling off to bed.

I watched the whole thing from start to finish, and then started watching it again.

Goodnight, and good luck, Dr. Pausch.

I was startled when I picked up the New York Times today and read the following in an editorial piece entitled “A Lesson Not Learned,”

Ballot design has traditionally been left up to states and localities, which have had a spotty record. Local officials responsible for ballot design often lack the technical expertise to make the right decisions…There is also remarkably little usability testing before elections, which would allow officials to learn in advance when ballots have problems.

Say what?  Did the magic words “usability testing” actually emanate from the august lips of the Times editorial board?

Wow, since when did they get hip to best practices in interaction design? Probably after they were forced to shore up their online presence and they were exposed to numerous iterations in their own website design, that’s when.

The phrase “usability testing” has appeared in the print edition of the Times on only a handful of occasions during the past decade:

• In a November 15, 2006 piece entitled “How to Make Your Web Site Sing for You“
• In an October 31, 2002 piece entitled “For the Internet, The Ultimate Test“
• In a June 12, 2002 piece about “a new breed of advisers” in the advertising industry
• In a September 17, 2000 piece entitled “A High-Tech Vision Lifts Fidelity“

It has, however, cropped up in nytimes.com digital content with ever-increasing frequency, turning up during an interesting Q&A with Times design director Khoi Vinh and garnering multiple mentions in technology columnist David Pogue’s blog.

The prescriptive portion of the Times editorial, presented in clunky Powerpoint-to-paper prose, provides several clear recommendations:

Congress should require that ballots used in federal elections meet minimum design standards. It should also mandate pre-election usability testing and make funds available for it. States and localities need to draw up better guidelines for how ballots are designed and clearer instructions to voters. They should also publicly report after each election how many votes are lost because of miscast ballots.

To be perfectly honest, my initial reaction to seeing the words “Congress,” “mandate,” “design standards,” and “usability testing” in such close proximity was disorientation, with a chaser of faint dread.

But I quickly snapped to my senses when I remember my own personal experience with a Federal agency that clearly invests resources in usability testing, proving that institutions will pursue usable design when there’s big money on the line: the Internal Revenue Service.  As federal tax code has grown increasingly arcane, the IRS has stepped up to the plate — in many cases, outpacing private firms in the banking and financial services sector in the introduction of accurate, secure transaction methods.

For something as complex as the crazy ant farm of personal income taxes, the IRS has proven to be remarkably good at paring its interfaces down to clean, clear, reliable basic elements.   Simply compare a federal 1040 form with the higgeldy-piggeldy hodgepodge of state and local tax forms in use around the country.  You’ll quickly see the advantages of holding interaction design on federal ballots to a high — yet demonstrably attainable — standard.

So if the IRS provides a checkbox next year that says, “Do you wish to donate $3 to having our usability crew get to work on mending your voting booth?” by all means, say yes.

I bolted from work a bit early today in order to catch an express train out of the city.  I’ve been sitting in on the live recording sessions for composer Kile Smith’s Vespers, a new work for Renaissance instruments and chamber choir, attempting to capture documentary audio footage.  With any luck, this will result in some short audio features that shed light on how the Vespers recording came together, much like the bonus materials that enhance the DVD releases of major motion pictures.

Obtaining transportation to the bucolic locale of St. Peter’s Church in the Great Valley (without resorting to driving in heavy rush-hour traffic) proved to be a challenge.  I opted to ride a commuter train for 20-some miles out of the city, and then take a cab from the train station to the church.

Yesterday, I tried to catch a trolley from my office to 30th Street, where Philadelphia’s main train station is located.  When I reached the platform, a large blue light was blinking overhead — the blue light that indicates a station is out of service.  I quickly walked to the next nearest station: blue light again.  I learned several hours later that a three-car pileup of the trolley variety had frozen the entire system at the height of evening rush hour.  I sped to the station on foot, barely easing into the commuter train that was closely coupled with my cab ride.

So today’s trip held prospects of being an easier to manage.  I hopped on the trolley and rode to the main train station, arriving with plenty of time to spare.  After stopping to grab a very quick bite to eat, I walked towards the train platform…only to discover that my train was cancelled.  In fact, all service on that train line was suspended for an indefinite period of time, a casualty of local thunderstorms and power failures.

Once again, it was PhillyCarShare to the rescue.  I located a Prius and hauled myself out to the recording site, repeatedly impeded by my colossally poor sense of direction.  But I eventually managed to arrive in one piece, and was grateful to have the chance to capture some truly wonderful, revelatory moments on tape (or, more accurately, in beefy digital files) — no thanks to our friends at SEPTA.

“We’re getting there,” the transit authority’s slogan once proclaimed.  Just not always that day, apparently.

What is the deal with Ian Urbina’s pieces in the New York Times?  He seems to have cornered the Second-Prize-Is-Two-Weeks-In-Philadelphia beat for the Gray Lady, with his byline attached to a series of glass-half-empty dispatches, including:

• “New Philadelphia Mayor’s Top Task: Fight Crime“
• “Boy Scouts Lose Philadelphia Lease in Gay Rights Fight“
• “Hopes for Wireless Cities Fade As Internet Providers Pull Out“

His latest offering in this vein, “Philadelphia Streets Unsafe for Manhole Covers,” even presents a multimedia smorgasbord, detailing how manhole covers are apparating off Philadelphia streets at twenty-five times the previous annual rate.

Yes, we have do seem to have a problem with stuff being lifted off our byways.  Bob Driehaus and Ken Belson are credited with reporting the story for the Times, but nowhere is Sandy Bauers of the Philadelphia Inquirer given a hit tip for breaking the original story several weeks ago.  It’s all there: Fred Feoli and Francis McConnell of this city’s Water Department, the pockmarked streets of Kensington (laughably captioned in the Times photos as “the Kensington area [sic] of Philadelphia”).

Curmudgeondom is part of the lifeblood of Philly, so far be it from us to deny anyone else its acerbic pleasures.  But let’s not pretend New York is completely unacquainted with the concept of a street that can suddenly drop innocent bystanders into a deep, filthy slimepit simply because someone stripped away protective devices in order to make a quick buck.

The key difference: the New York version receives federal bailouts.