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Speaking of naming issues and Microsoft, how creepy is it that within a day of the announcement of Microsoft Natal — a hands-free controller for the Xbox 360 — that an airliner goes down in the Atlantic after passing over…Natal?

Map: New York Times

Apparently, a commenter (not me) who noticed the same coincidence at Engadget hasn’t been well-received by someone.

I’ve admired actor Jonathan Banks ever since I first saw him playing the controller of a team of organized crime investigators in Wiseguy back in the late 1980s. Don’t see much of him these days. Then tonight I got him in double doses: first on Breaking Bad as the right-hand man of a sleazy attorney, then in a brief scene as a much younger man in a brief party scene in Coming Home. Still unmistakable with thirty years separating the two appearances.

I’ve never understood the whole “High school was some of the best years of my life” thing that seems to be a part of a lot of people’s lives. It might be surprising for those who know me now, but my high school years were much the continuation of the unpleasantness of my grade school years, which had been bad enough that my parents scrimped and saved to send me to the local Catholic high school, which had a — largely undeserved — reputation for academics. Even though I did fine taking some college level chemistry coursework the summer after my freshman year in high school, my parents were reluctant to allow me to go on to college full-time because of a certain lack of maturity on my part. There’s no disputing that was the case, but then again, thirty-odd years later maturity seems still not to have kicked in.

Yearbook photo from my sophomore year, taken in the room that served as the yearbook office at Marist High School.

Anyway, despite having worked on the yearbook for three years — including a stint as editor my junior year, when I aroused the ire of my fellow students by making the tradeoff of color photography inside for a black cover — my school loyalty has been pretty negligible (I didn’t work on the yearbook my senior year and I don’t even have one, after spending most of my year as editor having a staff of myself). Years ago, the alumni association tracked me down (I’m not that hard to find) and started sending me the newsletter, which I desultorily read and recycle, but I’ve never been to a reunion or been invited to one. Maybe there’s a reason for that. This was in the latest edition of the newsletter:

I got some bills this morning,

They tumbled through the door

I counted every penny but

The bills still came to more

And printed in the paper

For Pisces it did say,

“If you would just be bolder,

Then this might be your day”

It said, “Lady Luck apologises

For the way she’s been behavin’

And she promises she’ll change.

If you don’t want to know her, she’ll understand,

But if you’d like to take her hand,

She could be back at your command.”

So I ran round the corner,

The bookie’s there I entered

Put ten quid on a mare

From a stud in Kildare

But though the jockey beat her,

In Belgium they will eat her.

The tannoy began to rip as I tore up the slip

It said, “Lady Luck apologises

For the way she’s been behavin’

And she promises she’ll change.

If you don’t want to know her, she’ll understand,

But if you’d like to take her hand,

She could be back at your command.”

I met a girl this evening

And I began to think

That I might get her drunk

But she matched me drink for drink.

So when she drew the curtains,

I felt success was certain

But as she kicked me out,

She spoke in the third person:

She said, “Lady Luck apologises

For the way she’s been behavin’

And she promises she’ll change.

If you don’t want to know her, she’ll understand,

But if you’d like to take her hand,

She could be back at your command.”

—The Proclaimers, “Lady Luck”

Years ago it was just a simple little slogan/word play: “Every Litter Bit Hurts.” A cajoling reminder that when you tossed your garbage on the ground, you adversely affected the earth and the environment.

But sometime in recent history the caution to pick up your crap turned from inveiglement to ultimatum, at least in the hands of the Washington State Department of Transportation, which has the inelegantly-worded signs above posted along ther scenic highways and byways.

I was wincing so much at the poor word choice that I didn’t even make the connection to the original slogan, which Barbara mentioned as I was complaining about the signs. That just enraged me, because you have to know that in some ad or PR agency, someone decided at some point to punch up the old slogan by adding some “zazz” to it and give it a hip, “edgy” feel for the new millennium, and maybe, you know, make some commercials with guys who could torture litterers.