stanistan

the buddha as lion.

stan — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 16:51:42 +0000

Come on, Simba, feed those cubs, feed them to yourself and infanticide be damned, you’ll remain king of the jungle for long enough that at some point you will be wishing for death, but it won’t come at the hands of another, or at the hands of age, it’ll come at the hands of creation, you will fertilize the land with your corpse. There will be a rainforest in many a generation.

shiver me spindles.

stan — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 23:38:33 +0000

My spindle shivers unnecessarily with the weight of just one sun collapsing into itself. I imagine this would make the sun nervous. Think it lives in anticipation of its demise, and as with ourselves, has no idea what will happen to it when it dies? Does it fade to destruction wishing it had done more with its life? Or is its bliss self sustaining, self creating, and oh so masturbatory like a platypus looking nature in the face and asking, “you didn’t see this coming, did you?”

ninja video grease script.

stan — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 19:07:10 +0000

So I decided to mess around with NinjaVideo.net a bit and change the theme of it. I’d never wrote a Greasemonkey userscript before, but I’ve definitely wanted to try it. The object of this was specifically to change the way that the site looks, just the CSS, to remove the things that I don’t want and make have, over all, a cleaner interface.

set up.

So then, of course, we want to know how to set up this user script.
I called the file, ninjavideo.user.js, particularly after I realized that user scripts need that at the end of the file name. It sadly took about 10 minutes for that to actually become obvious.


// ==UserScript==
// @name              NinjaVideo Skin
// @namespace         http://stanistan.com/plus/
// @description       Skin for ninjavideo.net
// @include           http://ninjavideo.net/*
// @include	      http://beta.ninjavideo.net/*
// @include	      http://*.ninjavideo.net/*

// ==/UserScript==

what i want.

A clean, ad-less, video centered design that I can accomplish with CSS.

I needed to include a CSS file to override ninjavideo’s own. Luckily, javascript is fantastic and one can append a css file to the using this function:


function append_css(p_file) {
	var v_css  = document.createElement('link');
	v_css.rel = 'stylesheet'
	v_css.type = 'text/css';
	v_css.href = p_file;
	document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0].appendChild(v_css);
}

Followed by:

append_css('http://stanistan.com/projects/ninjavideo/ninjavideo.css');

My knowledge of javascript isn’t that amazing, so this in particular is fun for me especially to realize how completely someone can manipulate a document–post rendering using the language. I generally just use jQuery because of how awesome and simple it is. I realized that I would need some javascript for this because the elements were styled inline, impossible to edit via an external stylesheet, really.

I knew that if I used jQuery, I could easily, with one line of code, change the color of these elements: $('span').css('color', '#333'); and voila all of these were done and the page was now much more readable. Then I had an idea that would actually be useful for the site, having the sidebar, on the TV SHOWS section, searchable. Now this would be tricky, even my limited knowledge of jQuery would need sprucing up. This would be my code for that:


$(document).ready(function() {
	$('span').css('color', '#333');

	var form_html = 'Search: 
';

	$('#left h3').after(form_html);

	$("#list_form").keyup(function() {
	    $("#left ul li").hide();
	    $("#left ul li:contains(" + this.value + ")").show();
	    if (this.value === '') {
	    	$("#left ul li").show();
	    }
	});
});

So the problem with this, or one of the problems with this, is that it is case sensitive. Another problem, perhaps a bigger one, is that I would have to end up including the jQuery library in this user script. And.. really? That’s just stupid. Makes the file a lot larger, and for what? I probably wouldn’t need that much raw javascript code anyway.

right.

So I set out to do this. Which was a lot of fun, and made me really appreciate jQuery for it’s simplicity and englishness, it was also just interesting to see how particular the language of javascript actually is. So here’s the complete rewrite, and it’s quite small, too. Maybe could be done better, but I’m pretty happy with it.


function append_css(p_file) {
	var v_css  = document.createElement('link');
	v_css.rel = 'stylesheet'
	v_css.type = 'text/css';
	v_css.href = p_file;
	document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0].appendChild(v_css);
}

append_css('http://stanistan.com/projects/ninjavideo/ninjavideo.css');

var new_p = document.createElement('p');

var new_p_text = document.createTextNode('Search: ');
new_p.appendChild(new_p_text);

var inputField = document.createElement('input');
inputField.id = 'list_form';
inputField.name = 'list_form';
new_p.appendChild(inputField);

var beforeList = document.getElementById('left').getElementsByTagName('ul')[0];
document.getElementById('left').insertBefore(new_p, beforeList);

inputField.onkeyup = function(e) {
	var fieldValue = inputField.value.toLowerCase();
	var list = beforeList.getElementsByTagName('li');
	for (var i in list) {
		var link = list[i].getElementsByTagName('a')[0];
		var linkText = link.innerHTML.toLowerCase();
		list[i].style.display = "none";
		if (linkText.match(fieldValue)) {
			list[i].style.display = "block";
		}
	}
}

var spans = document.getElementsByTagName('span');
for (var i in spans) {
	spans[i].style.color = '#333';
}

Note: This hasn’t been tested in anything other than Google Chrome. So it probably works fine in the latest of Firefox, Safari, and not at all IE, you know, the whole box-shadow and border-radius things.

Also, AdBlock speeds up load time.

download ninjavideo.user.js

juan.

stan — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 22:32:38 +0000

Light them twice as there are two of them sitting there just begging for it. Nicotine bazookas bumping for anti-health priority, but don’t worry, they’ll both be smoked, launched and smiled at while writhing hard on asphalt thereafter. How electric, I’ll stare twice at this point on the wall. Meaning: I’ll leave the second time that eye contact is broken, pivoting eyeballs singing setting interactive and sonorous it sings black. Stop staring. What be you looking at? I’ll close in faster than light allows, so just turn it off. In black, fetal fears flurry like fire but don’t forget that you can’t see it, be it and burn twice as bright, twice as fast and be the longest gap in between god’s brick wall of teeth, the largest statement screaming cream hard like life depends on it and it does as doves stop signifying peace, become crows, and skedaddle to harass spelunkers. Let’s make this fun so you can drop your jaw, but don’t forget that the sound of it falling is slower than the wall closing in.

Try shutting your eyes faster than possible, but generally, horrible doesn’t wait for anyone probable, even god’s cavity. But look here, there’s transmission incoming that sounds like someone’s coming to help and they’re near bearing weapons for self defense and density’s longest, largest defiance mirror. This way, the wall can only approach itself and be left shattered instead of causing some arbitrary hell. Seriously, this is the man of anyone’s dreams, even if you, as I do, generally dream of women, it’s a supposition meant to be broken twice like these two now dead cigarettes stomped out outside still sprouting the ephemera of smoke. It still hisses, but the volume is being decreased ever after.

They say it’s the oral fixation that keeps people on this addiction, mine is also the aural and there’s nothing like that sound, like listening to sex is sometimes better than watching. There must be some firm believer in this somewhere, but meet him and he’ll tell you he’ll give his hearing to be able to see it. Still bitter and bitten off more than he can chew because he had never felt it. But smoldering senses are no match for logical malfunction, really, they’re the flame discarding sanity and making sure to blame the action containers, stealing perspective and discarding the mistaken eyes of woe nowhere to be found. Sleep in fatigues because hiding from grief reading is the new world’s way of saying you’re in to the club formed by jagged destruction and script raptures that glitter like toasters that just sprung up toast. Mostly to be devoured slowly, and tirelessly invoking clandestine symptoms that spell out mystery. So add this to itself and repeat, world length connives now to stupor engagement and its nap time comes in the form of a flagrant vagrant leaning against a wall out of fear of the pavement beneath him. Maybe it’s hovering time, maybe it’s time to overturn unnatural fears, but he probably thinks he should be a bird perched indefinitely. A gargoyle in his past life saw misery. Speaking of symmetry, life comes to those with leather backs coupling with soviet backpackers immune to current events. Now who’s afraid of coming down? Maybe suicidals is a misnomer, too, jumpers finally facing their fear of the ground in the most powerful way possible. If they survive, there’s nothing stopping them from walking except for, probably, the self evident cripple-ness inherent in the breaking of the legs upon landing.

Wheel ahead ahoy!

Stagger steps expelling some majesty rhythms to deploy followers trying to flower misanthropic cathartic towers shelling out ivory in double, triple, quadruple doses grinning back at lists ever increasing in length just to occupy space. Wasp aces littering the sidewalk like the spelling bee had just got out, last day of school style, meanwhile messengers vigilant scrambled like clean-up-this litterbugs looking for muggers and their invertible residues of sadness maddening the ridiculous to insanity. Monitor the powerless, they know only word enough to ask for help and follow orders of leaders seeking remedies to not having enough influence and not yet having created paradise.

My slice of heaven involves breaking walls with hope and collecting their pieces while crashing cymbals together lovingly. Honestly, I just have no idea how to personify myself, and at great length, focus escapes the trap I set for it. Hence this. Spit my image to become your tongue prosthesis and then lay low, larder loves leaving lions lame, lethargic and turned into velcro like life, sticky, but not overwhelming. And when it’s the latter, it peels like skin overdue for some rind experience, flesh still succulent, and bleeding an orange into cigarette vitamin substitution, this is my illusion and it knows how to starve me. Rip softness from the fingers, engage them with difficulty, spread the misery, and what’s left is sunrise summing up what point of view really is: Fiction calling the world flat. Splitting the mental system to perspectives still all powerful enough to spiral out, then back in, a top enacting the potential of creation but accomplishing nothing. Supple tongues lie this way, rippling minds die this way, nipple clasps love this fucking way.

Strap on a helmet and start. Jungle gyms settle the mind to something resembling thickness, and the omelette outcome is fluffy, too, like serendipity scrambling eggs to induce bonding. How emotional. Waddle here and bring your mirror, watch yourself because your reflection is free and there’s a lesson in jeopardy of being lost. Blossom. Squeeze the mind into tapestry, because only then will the woven tales of lore emanate with the beauty that evokes recognition, niches wishing missions observed them in style.

The moral is sunglasses.

pretend pretend dialogue.

stan — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 06:42:40 +0000

“Check it out. That fly. It’s just sitting there like we can’t see it. That awkwardly camouflaging things makes me want to believe in god. Shit. If this isn’t an example of intelligent design, I don’t know what is.”

“Can I say something?”

“Sure, but you didn’t really have to raise your hand, it’s not like this is some formal education kind of thing where you need to be recognized or given permission to speak. Do you cook, too? ‘Cause that’ll make you perfect, knowing your place and all. Weird thing is, is that my mom wasn’t like that and I really appreciated that about her. But that’s what I want in a wife. Weird, right? Oh yeah, digressing. That damned fly. Like it knows. Look at it over there, watching us talk, listening maybe, fucking plotting against us. It’s god way of keeping us honest like: watch out or the flies will take over. But isn’t that the roaches destiny? Man, you know it won’t be planet of the apes but planet of the roaches. Imagine Charleston Heston in that scenario, I’d love to see them still speak English and try to pull that off. Holy shit. Oh… you’re rolling two? Thanks.”

“No, they’re both for me, just keep talking and I’ll enjoy myself smoking them.”

“That’s kinda rude of you. You should try to be more considerate. There’s two people here after all.”

“Did you really just say that?”

“What?”

“Here, just be quiet for a second. I don’t even remember what I wanted to say.”

“When?”

“Fucking–When I was raising my hand!”

“I still can’t believe you did that in casual conversation. If you’re like that here what were you like when you were in school? Would you (ha!) pass a note to the person next to you asking them to raise their hand and then tell the teacher that you had a question or just stare the teacher down in hope that he would notice your gaze? Or… were you one of those rude, outspoken kids and then it all went horribly wrong one day and you ended up changing your ways?”

“Yeah. My teacher. He, he beat me after class one day.”

“Wait, really?”

“No, you dumb ass.”

“You can’t just say shit like that!”

“You keep saying shit so why can’t I?”

“You’re the respectable one and are supposed to say meaningful things!”

“Smile.”

re-chronological.

stan — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 22:14:04 +0000

If I were a legitimate translation from right to left, skies would breathe sighs of relief to smoke signal that the latest trend needs to end, needs to become: The new latest trend, so this too should end and then, my reading would make sense, as the fat lady’s grand finale does in the way that it is understandable; it is the end. And after this, one can begin a bravo applause, one can begin again. Restart, because resetting is just a bit too much on the fictional side, like omitting what happened yesterday.

What happened yesterday? It fit the data, it rained snot out of rusty noses trying to contain themselves in tissue cloth masks by consequence also hiding smiles. Also, hiding happiness, and this bides time like weather making clouds shroud the sun ‘til high noon. Where is it? Where is it? Oh yeah, finally, it finished rising on some other time’s schedule. And this, it rips through the already rotten fabric like termites through wood, but they’ve been watching the sun set all this time, like backwards little bugger critters igniting themselves with phoenix envy. And I’m allowed to reference this overused trite phrase of life as my current version of a smile seeps into its seventh incarnation, loosely basing itself on the mouth contortion that usually comes coupled with tears. Oh dear, I swear I’ve sworn off laughing at my peers because I no longer use the baseline to gauge my mental Reimann sum. It’s more midpoint areas trying to twine protein knots out of nothing, not anything, and definitely not this something that I loathe to see. But I’ll be the bereft one grammatically incorrect and requiring maintenance and proof maintainers and their disciples still able to confine me in a bleeding tub of ivory just to remind me of the tower where I was born. Atop it, of course, like just sweet desserts surrounded by moss surrounded by mole hills surrounded by ⎯ fuck it. I wear orange in my ear attached to the rinds on the floor so I would never have to finish this.

The emphasis on this.

This has the potential to be homo-carnivorous, a cannibal jogging through the woods making due with beetles for breakfast. Breakstarve more like it though, a kind of dirty nostalgia that I find myself inhabiting breeds collarless dress shirts on puppy dogs as they only walk on their hind legs and eat with utensils. Eating utensils, forks ‘n shit. I twirl hair with them, too, that’s why specificity is coming in an imperative. It’s like taking a bite out of a disgruntled apple: interesting, but so obvious. And I’ve eaten close to sixty-three, because I’ve discarded cores. It’s like when our planet dies, God will find our center mangled on the floor of the universe surrounded by remainders of our solar system and all he’ll say is, “litterbugs,” and like day, night, earth, and heaven, it was Good.

And yet it is as is, and I’ll rewrite it still on my seldom birthdays. Tomorrow, He just frowns as one does at a cigarette butt in the grass, but that’s just because we’re missing the head. I’ve never seen one, nor legs, though, and an ass by my definition is the yum fat on top of ‘em. So let’s just say, “supposedly… What the fuck,” without any kind of interrogatory inflection.

parse growth in three ways.

stan — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 22:46:14 +0000

Here, we forage for age and step up to the wisdom altar before it vanishes over the horizon, thus proving that the earth is round. We forage in the fall to recount the summer as it’s the season that has just passed when things bloomed and withered repeatedly, recursively. This lasts until the wind blows the maximum finger count times from each possible direction, obviously decreeing some directions impossible. The non slopes refracting vectors to prove their own verity by being. And still, we forage, we look for jungle gyms to recount days of old and for floor mats to buffer any and all fears, especially of heights. With brooms we sweep squeaky clean the sidewalks and manifest lucidity like the instrumental being unbiased when arias argue. We sift passively and grow impatient, but at least we grow, so impatience can halt itself at the door, unwelcome. This is all so gratuitously selfish. This all so gratuitously selfish. This is all so beautiful, bring forth dreams on shattered platters and arrange the eating utensils properly, fork adjacent to probe, across from tear catchers and smile magnifiers. Our hair blooms like spring time, we forage the fall, and when we’re done, we burn it down, ignite us this way, fertilize our futures with similes of the sun showering us to glorious and the moon marinating us to delicious. We sit parallel, intersecting fingers and unifying pulses, spray paint in fish bowls never felt this good, neither did the goldfish. Two more and I can stand with you to make us all up and forage galloping, whistling away blisters, and carving stilts to stand in the tall characteristic of pretend.

softness.

stan — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 22:42:30 +0000

It’s like the softness that runs down your fingers after you’ve devoured ice cream and joked about it being your last meal yet to realize that it was the penultimate. Perhaps now, as streaming tears give your face texture, you’ll re-swallow the flavor residue and mmm think yourself into a moment of that first bite. The outpouring of juice and love emotions from your gaping mouth tastes like strawberry to those of us with taste buds. To the rest, you look broken and rotten, your face a mess, and your nostrils flared like there was just an accident in from of them. Bright lights ahoy, you can only gasp the number of bites it took you to get to the center, the number of licks it took you to find yours. Now begrudgingly you scream, “happy birthday,” and jump. Remember love lost? It splashes against your belly as you make contact. Remember happiness? It shatters your spine so you can die in its entirety. Now look up to see a familiar face, yours ⎯ thoughtlessly sucking on a chocolate ice cream cone with sprinkles sprinkled and an expression that betrays the softness of your fingers. Everlasting taste test can only mean one thing now, infinite loop, computational error. Don’t you wish you got some fruit instead? Soft would be replaced with sticky and moths would flock to you as if you were illuminated beyond recognition. But the stone was dropped, and you followed it down, crashing seven fold and leaving ooohs and aaahs like this was a trick you’ve practiced over and over again. But you were prolific in the way you sucked it down, soft hands and hard, calloused finger tips and curled lips in an expression pure. Gluttony. The usurping pricelessly red in color.

Well, maybe not red, but more specific color nomenclature is not in this skill set. So… it was red, priceless, and colorful. Colorful in that unanimous red hue. Yeah, that’s it. Feed yourself and all of your surroundings, and get full, do a peck, blow up, kindly by 8:30AM. Work starts directly after that.

introducing.

stan — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 00:52:46 +0000

So there’s nothing here yet, but there’ll be a plethora of and about me and my whiles involved and missing sustenance and sustaining substance at the same time.