A visit from the Irony Fairy

My wife said she wanted to see “Contagion” when we first saw the preview a few months ago. She nudged me at the trailer’s conclusion, gave me that typical moviegoer nod and thumbs-up that’s supposed to mean “That looks good.”

It’s a movie about a full-blown epidemic disease that strikes without mercy at an all-star cast and everyone around them. My wife’s a nurse. If a movie has anything to do with psychology or itty-bitty disease inducers, she’s in.

I shrugged and gave her a “meh” look back. I hoped that would be enough to sway her, that I thought it looked like a Dullsville insomnia cure we should avoid, dare I say it, like the plague.

Which was all a bunch of crap when you get down to brass tacks. The trailer frightened me, and damned if I was going to see it in full, germy splendor.

Don’t misunderstand. I’m not a germ-a-phobe by any stretch. I don’t have a sanitation fanny pack emergency kit complete with Lysol, Clorox wipes and Purell.

I’m worse than that. I’m a hypochondriac. If I have a cold, I’m dying. If I have the flu, I’m patient zero in a yet-to-kickstart zombie apocalypse. I whine and complain. I say “Why me?” and curse whatever jungle, standing pool or public shower floor spawned this microscopic killer into existence.

Thankfully, we avoided seeing it in the theater, which is super duper. I’m pretty sure any coughs or sneezes in the audience would have caused a mass panic I started.

Then last week rolled around. I made a mistake. I did something selfless for my medical care professional of a wife and rented “Contagion” as a surprise to go along with this nifty Cajun chicken banquet I threw together.

Stupid.

Forty minutes in, it became apparent “Contagion” was the most unsettling movie I’d ever seen. Not just because of the disease, but the environment where it’s allowed to thrive. Director Steven Soderbergh does an incredible job of making almost every scene feel cold, thanks to the blue-gray hue he seems to favor. Every line of dialogue, even the calm ones, contained an undercurrent of ready-to-burst panic. Cliff Martinez’s electronic score conjures images of viruses slithering through blood vessels undetected, wreaking silent havoc. If mutation had a sound, Martinez’s music would be it.

It was a well-made film – not sure why it received zero Oscar nods – but it left me with an iced spine. We didn’t finish it because it was late and we both had to work in a few hours, opting to conclude it the next day.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, I woke up sick hours later and spent the day thinking I was dying. I felt too awful to do anything, even watch TV. I just stared at the ceiling and wondered if today was the day I’d end up in a lab where Center for Disease Control officials did experiments on my soon-to-be lifeless body and tried to find a vaccine for this new superbug.

Either “Contagion” was divine intervention warning me about what was coming, or irony just has a nasty sense of humor.

My wife got home that night and asked if I wanted to watch the rest of “Contagion” with her downstairs.

I told her no thanks.

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Caught in the crossfire of an epic battle with pirates

Hey. You.

The person who treats Wikipedia’s content as Gospel.

This is for you.

I’m assuming you’ve heard about the encyclopedic service going dark today to protest the Stop Online Piracy Act, a bill making its way through Congress intended to wholly remove websites that are viewed as circumventing copyright law in one way or another.

I blogged about a similar bill, SB 978, a few months back. That bill sought to make it a felony to have copyrighted content in YouTube and other streaming videos.

If passed, SOPA and its ugly sister PIPA (the Protect IP Act), would make it so owners of creative content, or “intellectual property” if you fancy legal-ese, can demand Internet service providers like Google pull sites that have pirated their content from search results.

That comes with its own set of issues. It’s legislation meant to target off-shore piracy websites. But it’s pretty broad, and ISPs can pretty much block content based on “good faith belief.”

In addition, if you link to this content that’s questionable based on “good faith belief”, via Twitter, WordPress, Blogspot, Facebook, etc., those sites get pulled into the maelstrom, too.

This would affect and severely limit the information we all have access to. And it can, at its base level, all be traced back to avarice.The loopholes to shut down non-offenders would multiply like Jackson County stray cats, believe you me.

Very limited judicial oversight. Site blacklists. Digital McCarthyism.

Freedom of speech only as long as the fat cats at Comcast and Warner Brothers deem it appropriate.

George Orwell and Aldous Huxley are high-fiving somewhere.

P.S. – Agencies like the MPAA and RIAA already police the heck out of shared content sites like YouTube already. If a record company doesn’t want its song broadcast via YouTube video, it eventually gets taken down. See for yourself right here.

Idiocy and Redundancy really are the best of friends most days.

Here’s the thing: piracy is wrong. Wrong in all capitals, 72-font Wide Latin. But there are other ways to make it go away. Why not, you know, go after the individual sites? Why not figure out a way to cut off their advertising lifeblood?

This is comparable to attacking the circulatory system when we should be attacking the clots.

Oh, by the way, if you need to use Wikipedia today, hit the Escape key right after you type in your search query before the site completely loads.  Then soak up all the information you can, just be wary of the accuracy. Wink.

Hopefully we escape this legislation.

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‘Reporter’: now on PS3, XBOX 360 and Wii

I never wanted to be any of the following:

-A Greek god
-A vigilante cowboy
-A Crusades knight damned to Hell
-A space miner who can’t catch a break from space zombies
-A gun-crazed widower with a chip on his shoulder
-Batman

OK, so I lied on that last one.

The above list is simply vague descriptions of Kratos, John Marsden, Isaac Clarke, Max Payne, Dante and, well, Batman; characters from some of my favorite interactive digital adventures.

And while I’d never want to actually be most of the individuals on that list, they’re pretty fun to control via video game console.

Fun to play as; not be. When the going gets tough, you can save, try again or flip the switch to “off.”

Not so in real life. Not so in my career.

That got me thinking. Where are the journalist video games?

Stay with me on this.

I blame the website Mashable for putting the idea in my head. Mashable reporters are in the final stretch of covering the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas, an annual event showcasing thousands of new products from thousands of electronics companies.

In this Mashable story, reporters showcased five technology items journalists would find useful, a Journalist’s Utility Belt if you will. It included items like an iPhone tracking system, remote control flying vehicles with onboard video cameras and a Bluetooth camera remote.

These gadgets got me thinking about games like Grand Theft Auto and Red Dead Redemption, games with open world format where you’re tasked with a variety of missions, where skill sets, equipment and abilities are developed along the way; where the adversity toward your very existence is, most days, considerable.

Of course it sounds just like journalism. Duh.

I’m kind of serious about this; serious enough to have run the idea by a few co-workers. The two I ran it by even gave me feedback and started pitching their own ideas.

Here are some of the missions to make it on the list:

-You have to interview a top political official and try to keep them from getting up and leaving because of too many hard questions. But you also can’t toss them too many softballs and risk ruining your watchdog credibility.

-You have to cut through all the red tape necessary to access public documents before deadline.

-You need to deal with numerous computer freezes and crashes if only to get video of a warehouse fire uploaded to your newspaper’s website before midnight.

And along the way, you get cooler toys. Instead of the pistols traded in for automatics or developed magical abilities, you start out with a notepad and pen. Then you work your way up. Tape recorder. Digital recorder. Impeccable photographic memory boosts. Video equipment.

A word processing program that actually works.

Coffee out of styrofoam cups and Five Hour Energies would boost your health.

Beast Mode would be activated during pessimistic rants.

And how do you die? Not when you get fired. GAME OVER only flashes when you decide to take a public relations job.

On second thought, I’d never play this. Too close to home.

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Killswitch Divorce

I started today off a little bit heartbroken.

Just a smidgen. Not the waking-up-hours-after-a-break-up type.

The band-you-love-most-in-the-world-said-farewell-to-its-lead-singer type.

Killswitch Engage, a Boston, Mass., based metalcore band has parted ways with its lead singer, Howard Jones, after seven years, according to an article on the Roadrunner Records website.

A statement from the band read thusly: “We love Howard and are thankful for the nine years that we’ve had him in the band. Out of respect for everyone involved we will not be discussing the specific reasons behind this decision. Howard is a part of our family and always will be, and we wish him well.”

I guess I should have been prepared for such a sad announcement. In early 2010 the band announced Jones would be sitting out the rest of their tour.

They released this statement at the time: “It became overwhelmingly obvious to all of us around Howard that he is in no condition to be on tour right now and that he needed to get off the road and get himself better. It’s a personal matter and while we understand everyone’s curiosity and concern for Howard and the band, we appreciate everyone respecting Howard’s privacy at this time.”

Then, two years later, he’s left completely. Fans like me are only left to speculate why and spend the day quite sad.

Now don’t misunderstand, my love for this group is not on par with the Justin Bieber superfans of the world. None of my cellphone’s ringtones are Killswitch songs. I don’t have a montage of posters and magazine cutouts in my home. There isn’t a Killswitch mural lyrical selections pasted in diorama-style splendor in my home office.

Mostly cuz my wife wouldn’t let me.

But I am a fan. I have a few shirts, all their albums. I have a documentary on their founding called “Set This World Ablaze,” which, incidentally, would make a great tattoo phrase for the Joker. For the last six years or so, my response to the favorite band question has been “Killswitch Engage.”

We were acquainted during my short stint in a hardcore band back in 2005. They stuck out from the slew of others I started listening to. Yes, like all other hardcore/metal/screamo acts, they were loud. Many might have thought of their sound as obnoxious. There’s screaming, guitar screeches that sound like they’re emanating from a horde of digital wild boars and savage drumming. They belong on a Ultimate Fighting Championship soundtrack.

A high school friend once labeled their stylings as “I-wanna-die music.”

Still, they stood out for me. It’s a band that’s had its fair share of obstacles to overcome on its way up. Before Howard, the band’s original lead singer Jesse Leach also left the band. Recently, lead guitarist Adam Dutkiewicz had to get surgery on his back.

Then there was their lyrical content. It’s some pretty incredible stuff, filled with positivity and encouragement, though those messages may not be entirely evident because of their delivery methodology.

My wife and I saw them in Medford a number of years ago at the building that now houses Kids Unlimited. We probably lost 12 pounds between us because of how much we sweat that night, but it was a blast. Howard waved at us, too. We still get close to swooning when we talk about it.

I hope in a few years this incident will be something Killswitch-ites can look back on and sigh with relief, either because of a new lead singer that was able to fill Jones’ shoes, or because he himself returned.

Until then, be well, Howard. You’ll be missed.

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“You’ve got a bogey on your six.” “Just Santa, sir.” “Copy.”

Each year at Christmas, the North American Aerospace Defense Command tracks an unusual airborne target around the world.

And now you can, too.

Using Google Earth, the Colorado Springs-based military operation posts Santa Claus’s activity here. There are also highlights from the Jolly Old Elf’s 2010 run, games, videos and historical information about NORAD’s yearly special operation.

You can also watch those 2010 highlights in the video below.

Have fun, and Merry Christmas.

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Comics: now impressing even Justin Bieber fans

MTV, the network responsible for bringing pop singer Justin Bieber to the masses, may have actually redeemed themselves with their decision for the number-one geek moment of 2011.

In the midst of the 2011 nerd maelstrom comprised of several well-made Marvel Entertainment films, ‘Super 8′, the final Harry Potter movie, the iPhone 4S, tablet wars, Modern Warfare 3, Arkham City, a Facebook redesign, Google+ and a host of others, the network decided DC Comics’ New 52 launch that rebooted all their titles deserved top honors.

Slow clap everybody. On three.

Seriously though.

I’m not involved with this reboot by any means. I obviously don’t work for DC Comics. Oh, and this isn’t like winning the Nobel Peace Prize or an Academy Award, for sure.

Still, it’s nice to know the universe and characters I care so much for are getting such high props in pop culture circles. It shows, to me at least, that on some level, Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, et al matter.

And comics in general continue to make a splash as a distinct entertainment medium. In a world of geek that, at times, seems to be overrun by teenage vampires who write poetry and whine a lot instead of being monsters like they’re supposed to, it’s nice to know geekery that’s not exclusively for 13-year-old females is still making waves.

I think the thing that set this reboot apart is that, in addition to size, it was a chance for new comics readers to get involved. I started a few new titles myself. The monster super soldier story arc “Frankenstein: Agent of SHADE”, new takes on Batman’s protege “Nightwing” and sword-wielding vigilante “Deathstroke”, and the “Swamp Thing” reboot have been the highlights.

To be fair, this late trend of quality in art and storytelling extends beyond the DC publishers, even if the J. Bieber Network didn’t give them similar nods.

Marvel Comics has cranked out an extremely impressive origin story on Miles Morales, the new Ultimate Spider Man who picked up the webslinger’s mantle following Peter Parker’s demise. Miles is a mixed-race teenager of black and Latino descent who is bitten by a super spider that stowed away in his thieving uncle’s bag while he robbed the high-tech research offices of Oscorp. He comes from a life of borderline poverty, charter school lotteries and prejudice. Enter great power, great responsibility and a big pair of tights to fill. The title has been so much fun thus far.

In the independent, creator-owned universe, the 7-part psychological horror tale “Severed” has been one of the most disturbing pieces of fiction I’ve ever picked up. It’s subtle terror that plants a seed and grows. It’s essentially a story about how easy it was to disappear and never be found in the pre-Amber Alert/9-1-1/smartphone/social networking age.

Overall, it’s been a great time for this artistic medium to shine, and shine it has.

Give one or two titles a shot; Justin Bieber fans did.

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“Insanity” and other code words for passion

"There were times when I just thought, 'Are you kidding me?'" - John Pfeil

The race I remember running with my dad, John, more than any other is one where he beat me.

I had to be 13 or 14. It was a 10K race in Colorado Springs. Might have been my first one. About two miles out from the finish line along a cement trail, Dad, then in his early 40s, blew by me. He uttered something like, “Good, Ry. Push” in between haggard breaths.

I still remember hating that he passed me. I’d start beating him in a couple years, never look back. But in that moment, he’d chased me with a predator’s savagery and blown past like a gust of wind.

It was key anecdotal evidence that when he had something in front of him, something to pursue, something he wanted, he wasn’t going to let it go quietly.

He’d hunt it down and kill it.

_____

Flash forward to 2002, the year I graduated high school. A controversial book about climbing, heroism and cowardice found its way into my dad’s hands.  It was Jon Krakauer’s “Into Thin Air”, a book where he, Krakauer, tagged along with a group of 1996 Mount Everest climbers and the tragedy that befell some of them. Krakauer was criticized heavily for being inaccurate in his recollections of the journey, which my dad understood.

But the book’s nitty gritty wasn’t what got to him. It was that big, death-dealing rock in the background.

“It amazed me that people wanted to climb up a mountain so badly that they would risk their lives,” Dad said. “They would risk their fingers. I do some things that are a little off, but my God.”

Still, somewhere inside him, a seed got planted. It took nine years to germinate and grow. Then, in 2011, it bloomed in full.

 _____

Blake, my younger brother, was responsible.

He’d been in South Korea for a few months as part of a theater program he worked at. Not a bad gig when you’re fresh out of college. I rented cars to people. He went to South Korea to write plays and act in them to teach Korean children English. He wins.

Sibling rivalry defeat aside, he called my dad and said his friend had done the Gokyo Lake and Everest Base Camp Trek in Nepal. Travelers can see Everest the whole time. Dad checked into it and said he’d do it if they could also add Island Peak to their route. He wanted to climb over 20,000 feet. It was a JV-caliber hike when compared to Everest standards, but still extremely demanding. Blake agreed. They started planning for an early October trip.

My wedding sort of threw things off. I asked Blake to be my best man, and following that, he wanted to travel to New York to set up shop and start establishing himself as a performer, which he’s doing brilliantly, I might add. You can check out his website here.

Anyway, that was a bit of bad news for Dad. He’d already invested a quarter of his payment for the trip. He’d already started buying gear. Mentally, it was a done deal. Let’s do this.

He decided to go solo.

_____

His leg almost didn’t let him make the trip.

A countless number of marathons – Boston, Air Force, Eugene – finally took their toll. Plantar fasciitis took aim at his left foot, but went away after he backed off. Then his knee started to hurt. Like crazy. He limped everywhere for four months. Pride melted. He went to the doctor, got X-rays and MRIs. He had a tear in his meniscus. Surgery could fix it. He agreed and walked out of the ER that day, feeling fine.

A week later, he went running. No problems.

The trip was still a go.

_____

He arrived in Hong Kong before his final stop at Kathmandu. He shot an e-mail back to the dozens of worried people in the U.S. It rambles a bit, showing how little sleep he’d gotten.

“I’m reading a Nepal Trekking book and Steinbeck’s ‘Cannery Row’,” he wrote. “I feel somewhat related to Steinbeck, because I found he used to sign his name with an added logo/totem. He called his logo Pigasus; a contraction of the mythical Pegasus (flying horse) and a pig. I suspect this Steinbeck oddity might have had something to do with the American ‘when pigs fly’ phrase that came along later, but I don’t know.”

He touched down in Kathmandu Oct. 6 and spent the next day sightseeing.

“Kathmandu” is derived from the Sanskrit phrase “Kastha-Mandap”, which means “Temple Made of Wood.”

Cows roamed the streets, untouched. The traffic flowed with slow, impossible consistency.

“Cars miss colliding by inches, motorcycles weave among them and pedestrians are almost always mixed in with the traffic.  I only saw one broken down vehicle, but I suspect that its horn worked perfectly.  I do believe that drivers use their horns more often than they use their brakes,” he wrote.

He drank “Everest,” a premium lager beer.

His arrival time coincided with the beginning of Festival, essentially Nepal’s Thanksgiving. A priest approached him in the streets and blessed him by smearing a red powder across his head. Then he asked him to pay. Dad obliged. The same priest tried it again later, which he declined politely for nearly a quarter mile as they followed, trying to get him to reconsider. He saw the Kama Sutra Temple and the Temple of the Monkeys.

A cow took a seat next to Dad during a brief rest period. Maybe he looked like he needed company.

But his real journey, his real purpose for being across the world, began the next day. Kathmandu was a welcome calm before the storm, but the storm came just the same.

_____

Dad took off the next day and landed on a quarter-mile stretch of runway at Lukla Airport. Less than an hour after landing, the trek began.

He joined two other Americans, an Aussie, an Italian and a Filipino. Wobbly bridges lashed together with rope and ancient wood were a common occurrence.

“The first few were a bit scary, but we got used to them quickly,” he wrote.

His leg hurt a bit from surgery, but he pushed on. With each day that passed, the pain faded. He started losing weight despite the recommended 6,000 calories a day. In a few days, 10 pounds of  weight disappeared. The treads on his cheap boots wore out in five days. He spent nights cutting new treads in.

They were bound for Island Peak on the Everest Highway. Everest finally came into view. For the first time, he saw a sight very few men had conquered.

“It was cool. I could see the summit, the balcony, the whole thing,” he said.

Villages were scattered down in valleys along the way. Water collects there. There’s also limited protection from wind storms that stab at the surrounding peaks. Villagers cook with dried yak dung they mash into pies and dry in the sun.

The real climbing began. Dad conquered two smaller mountains, Gokyo and Kalla Pattar, as part of the route to Island Peak.

Guides knew the terrain, could walk it with their eyes closed. They edged along cliff faces like billy goats and trotted over tightrope-thin bridges with ballet precision. Second-nature.

The Hollywood slow motion-worthy moments began.

During their trek, the group had to descend into a glacier. Dad heard cracking sounds as it shifted and dug deeper into the earth. A one-meter boulder fell from the slopes above. The group all jumped to one side in unison. Dad would have been one of the casualties had they not moved, him and the guy behind him.

“It would have cut down the middle of our group,” Dad said. “Two guys ended up pretty much on top of me.”

The long stretch of ice fields just past Cho-La Pass may have been one of the scariest parts, Dad said.

It was the only part of the journey the head Sherpa yelled. The surface of the ice started to warm. Cracks scissored through it. They sounded like explosions. One of Dad’s traveling companions was exhausted to the point of resting every few steps. The Sherpa kept screaming at the party to move, move, move.

“They thought we’d have an avalanche,” Dad said.

They made it. A breathtaking view of Everest awaited them at the other end.

Only Island Peak remained.The peak is a small mountain when compared to others in the regions, but still big, 20,000-feet big. The most difficult part is a 150-meter stretch of climbing wall with an 85-degree incline toward the top. Climbers have to use an ascender, crampons, an ice ax, rope and plastic boots.

Dad climbed it with two other party members. The rest opted not to. The last 15 meters juts out at a murderous angle. It took him maybe half an hour to navigate it. At some points, he was just hanging by a rope slung tightly through his waist gear.

“With the possible exception of the Dublin Marathon (where I got hypothermia, and ran by far the worst marathon of my life), climbing up that wall to reach summit ridge was probably the most difficult physical thing I’ve ever done,” he wrote.

He made it to the top and opted not to go the last 35 meters. The route was essentially a rock tightrope, requiring balance and poise. Dad’s legs were shaking. He stayed put. This was as far as he would go. He hadn’t come this far to slip and fall.

The group descended. Dad returned to Kathmandu and checked into a hotel.

“My room has a shower, heat, electricity, a flushing toilet, and about the same oxygen content as Colorado Springs,” he wrote.  “All of these things were lacking for the last 20 days.”

_____

Dad got stateside Oct. 29, the same day as the Monster Dash race in Ashland. I’d just finished. It was my third race in four months. He called me from Los Angeles International Airport less than an hour after I crossed the finish line.

Best call I ever got.

Big Mac ordered, he soaked up the southern California warmth and waited for the final leg of his flight home. He was glad to be back in a place where he could order Big Macs.

“It’s fun to see the rest of the world, but I don’t want to live there,” Dad said.

There’s this flashback sequence in the “Green Lantern” movie where a young Hal Jordan asks his father, a stunt pilot, if he ever gets scared.

The dad’s response: “It’s my job not to be.”

Having a 57-year-old dad trot over the mountains of Nepal with a bum leg made that moment a little more personal for me. He’d respected the power that region has over man, but he faced it just the same.

Just like the race from my teen years where he rocketed past, he did what he went to do with focus, with courage. Maybe a dash of insanity.

All the other code words for passion.

Proud of you, Dad. Welcome back.

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Siri: newsroom bachelorette

I finally had an encounter with the new iPhone 4S. You know, the one that’s possessed.

With the new “Siri” feature the phone has, you’re supposed to be able to ask it virtually anything verbally, and it comes up with an answer. The intrepid Sanne Specht just picked one up. I asked if I could play with it. My first question was fairly obvious:

“How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

The answer was unexpected:

“It depends on whether you’re talking about African or European woodchucks.”

Clever girl. I tried seeing if she spoke nerd fluently.

“Who would win in a fight? Captain America or the Hulk?”

Her answer: “I do not understand.”

Suuuuuure. Well, I guess I can’t really hold it against her. There were others present when I asked, and you never want to talk to the girl you like about superheroes. It just doesn’t convey that mysterious/smart/sensitive/Chuck Norris vibe.

My work buddy Nick came to the rescue. He treated Siri with respect and honor, and she answered every one of his commands/questions; he paid great attention to every word she said. He uttered commands like “Tell me a joke” and “Tell me a story” softly. He really listened. He held her with equal parts strength and tenderness.

If Siri read trashy romance novels, Nick would be the shirtless, muscle-clad guy on all the covers.

This might be the beginning of something beautiful between the two of them.

Either way, I’m still left with fond memories of my first few encounters with this nifty little device.

Oh, and as to her sage advice as to the age-old question on the meaning of life: “I don’t know, but I think there’s an app for that.”

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Are you creative? You could be going to prison

After my grandma died last year, I made a video called “Epitaph.”

It’s a testament to her life. I filmed it in the Jacksonville Cemetery with my then-girlfriend, now-wife and put a song in the background by an Icelandic post-rock band called Sigur Ros. It fits perfectly.

After uploading it to YouTube, I got a notification informing me that my video had third-party – copyrighted – content in it. The message said not to be alarmed. Basically, the song title and the artist would appear below the video, informing any viewers that the song they heard in the video background was not my own.

Oh, and you can buy it here, here and here.

Fair enough. More than fair. Actually, that seemed like the only suitable course. It’s just like attributing information from a news story so as not to be accused of plagiarism later. Hey, man, I dig your song and want to use it, and I respect you enough to tell people it’s your genius song, not mine.

A bill in the U.S. Senate could change all this in an extreme way.

Senate Bill 978, if passed, will make it illegal for videos with any sort of copyrighted content to be uploaded or shared by others. This includes video game reviews, videos with tiny little intros where the makers only use a few seconds of a song, cell phone footage of concerts, lonely individuals who’ve had a little too much wine and started playing Simon and Garfunkel songs in front of their web cam, etc. The list is all-encompassing.

How illegal? Try the up-to-five-years-in-prison-and/or-up-to-a-$5,000-fine kind.

You can read the full text of the bill here. There’s a lot of vague Senate speak blah blah stuff in it, but it essentially modifies the copyright infringement definition. Anything you use strictly without the owner’s permission would be a no-go, even if you weren’t using it with profitable motives.

For me, that would mean probably one-quarter of the videos I have made would have to go. And I’d do it, too. I’m just not prison material. I’m scrawny. My last fight was in eighth grade, and there were no switchblades involved.

But until that day comes, I am 100 percent against this legislative absurdity. This bill does not belong in real society. It belongs in an episode of “South Park” or some satirical play.

Yes, you can earn a profit on YouTube, but those that see significant ones use the online video platform as their career. Their videos get millions of views in just days, and they write their own material and music. They have a staff to do these things for them. If someone is earning a significant profit margin off an avalanche of copyrighted material, I have a sneaking suspicion it would be easy to catch them. Record companies, YouTube itself, the FCC and federal law enforcement agencies track this kind of stuff, and rightly so. Those who make a profit off content that is not theirs should be held accountable. That’s stealing.

But if someone like me is going to get thrown behind bars with other felons because I put a copyrighted song in a personal video meant to be shared with family and close friends, there’s something wrong with that.

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When all else fails, zombies

We asked, you delivered.

We’re so excited.

The submission process for the Mail Tribune/Daily Tidings Spook-tacular Halloween video contest has concluded. We got 17 entries, 13 of which came in hours before the deadline. We got some doozies. There were some real scares, real humor, and just some all-around quality video-making efforts.

Bruce Campbell of “Evil Dead” fame will watch them all as a judge, along with Rogue Valley filmmaker Alex Williams, web-team guru Mandy Valencia, and me. In a few days, we’ll have the results and winners.

You can watch all the videos and vote for your favorites by clicking here.

In the midst of excitement, a question arose in my mind. Why is horror such a popular genre when it comes to amateur videography and filmmaking?

Some of you may be saying, “It is?”

Yeah, it is. I minored in video production at SOU. I know what it is to sit in a room amongst a billion World of Warcraft nerds who borderline-worship David Cronenberg and keep trying to come up with ways to put twists on the outlandishly popular horror genre.

The sample exchange below is exaggerated, but it’s not far off.

FILM MORON 1: “Dude…we could have a zombie who’s a………vegetarian.” (Drinks more beer, eats more Cheetos, pets “Scarface” poster on wall)

FILM MORON 2: “Nah, nah. What about a serial killer who uses a….cheese grater.” (un-pauses God of War III, keeps playing)

FILM MORON 1: “Dude…that’s…….that’s beautiful.”

FILM MORON 2: “Right?!”

FILM MORON 1: “I mean…that’s never been done before. TELL ME WHERE THAT’S BEEN DONE.” (way too excited, drinks more beer to temper onset of laughable hyperness, but just makes him more hyper)

FILM MORON 2: (bounces in seat, drools)

(Spoiler: They write a page of script, never film anything, get day drunk and fall asleep talking about iPhone apps and how much “Transformers” director Michael Bay sucks.)

But even if these entirely-realistic caricatures had gotten around to filming, why is it they found themselves brainstorming ideas that were horror-related at all? Why, when all else fails during the pre-production process, are zombies and monsters and serial killers the easiest fail-safe?

I posed this question to a few people at work. The most common response I got was along the lines of, “In horror, it’s very easy to bring out viewers’ emotions in a short amount of time.”

Fair enough. I watched every submitted video for our contest – all around three minutes – and I smiled and/or found myself nodding at least once during most of them. I called co-workers over to watch some of the entries, citing certain points or ideas or segments I thought were clever.

We’ve done three video contests to date, and this is the first time I’ve done that. These videos did the job well, so go check them out. Have a blast. Nothing beats a horror movie during Halloween.

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