January 31, 2007
YOU'RE SO CUTE I'M GOING TO KILL YOU
...run little guy! run!...
Well now it’s wintertime again here in beautiful New York City and you know what that means: the old ladies are out again in their fur coats. I mention this because I seem to have developed a sensitivity—scratch that—it’s animosity: I get completely annoyed when I see these overstuffed matrons adorned in pelts. And now they’re everywhere.
Except not amongst the young (strippers excluded of course)…naturally the obvious rejoinder is that the young don’t have the money to go about dropping thousands of dollars on a single garment, but I think perhaps it’s more than that. I’d like to believe that the younger generation, once they’ve socked away a few spondulicks, won’t reflexively squander it on the old lady coat because the sensibility will have changed—whether it’s because of the extreme cruelty associated with its construction, or (I’d like to think) simply the fact that there is nothing aesthetically pleasing about adorning one’s self with small corpses sewn together. That, and the fact that the fashion statement one is making relies on two basic premises: that despite remarkable advances in technology such as gore-tex, fleece, or the cutting-edge material called wool, these women prefer to adorn themselves in cold weather as the cavemen did. The second premise is that fur says something about one’s affluence. Like a woman who shows off a poor-quality diamond that happens to be large. Or fox hunting. Or a man who drives a hummer: “my penis is small and I live my life governed by my most simplistic bodily impulses…I have no friends but can afford to entertain myself with endless quantities of cocaine and whores…OR…I am so fabulously well off that I can clad myself with an entire family of animal corpses…jealous much?”
And of course the appeal of this value proposition is limited. Most of us don’t want to look like old ladies. Old, spoiled, shallow old ladies. The sort that carry tiny dogs and under-tip the grocery boy.
You might say: sure, that’s all well and good, but aren’t you wearing leather? Aren’t you eating meat? Isn’t this a bit hypocritical? To this I say: I don’t eat mink. I don’t even eat rabbit, for that matter. Or raccoon. The Indians ate, and wore, the buffalo, but the Indian respected the buffalo. They used the entire animal, for food, clothing and shelter. He didn’t lock the buffalo in a cage, starve it and kill it. They used to farm elephants, kill them, harvest the tusks for ivory and discard the rest. An entire elephant, in the garbage. This is essentially the same approach as the furrier.
Fur coats should be the province of the Eskimo, not Mrs. Schlictman of Central Park West. The fur coat fancier is telling all of us that she has given up on her looks, given up on her youth, and that she is so one-dimensional and primitive that she believes her fur coat—the same, brown, cookie-cutter garment that every other clueless richbitch is wearing—is fashionable. It is not. It’s an old lady coat. For a selfish, clueless old lady, who lives in a part of the world where the climate does not call for such an accessory. Like mounting a gun on your hummer, but instead of driving through Baghdad, you’re driving through Old Greenwich. Still, don’t toss paint on ‘em. Just spec ‘em for what they are. A carnal flag of the idle rich. A genocidal subjugation of the natural world. By old, ugly women.
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January 30, 2007
KILL! KILL! KILL!
...I am death incarnate...
I don't think I've ever written in this space about my love of video games. Not sure why--perhaps because my video gaming is sporadic...I go through periods of heavy play, then set it aside for long periods.
Also: I cheat.
Perhaps it's my age, but I've never felt the need to prove myself competitively with these games. I don't play them online and I'm not part of the global geek squad, growing moist as my high score ratchets up toward the top of the list...
No, I just like to explore the amazing worlds that these programs provide. And I'd much prefer to proceed through each one without the constant prospect of imminent death. I like to have all the weapons right away without having to earn them somehow. Why not? I put up with enough in real life. Why not be a virtual god, if given a chance, in this virtual world? Therefore, I am an aficianado of the cheat codes...
One of the most visually amazing games you'll see anywhere is called "Far Cry"...this intoxicating concoction was first introduced to me by Mr. Thudstaff, who also, now that I think of it, was the first one to show me DOOM, and others...I like Far Cry even better, because it includes the aspect of stealth. Were I in a different frame of mind, I might go negative and talk about how disappointed I was/am with "Hitman: Blood Money"--another stealth game, but why go negative? I'm just having too much fun exploring the amazing world of Far Cry. If you're already into gaming, you know about this already...but if you're a novice who'd like just one game to play occasionally, you could do far worse than to give it a shot...and at about $20 now, it's great bang for the buck...
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January 29, 2007
WE ARE ALL LOSERS
...memorable...
when was the last time you saw a movie that had you thinking about it the next day, the memory of which caused you to grin anew as you relived its key moments in your mind? for me, it has been years since I had this experience. now, I'm certainly a far cry from the manhattan moviegoer I used to be, but I do have cable--good movies, reallygood movies, have been increasingly rare, if non-existent. even those films which receive critical plaudits--and even small shiny statues--are usually disappointing, if not downright bad. "Crash" comes to mind. "Titanic" would be the poster child for this phenomenon, but why wallow in the revisitation of disappointments?
I loved "Little Miss Sunshine." We rented it yesterday. I will wait until the film makes its way through the usual rotation on HBO, and then I'll probably buy the DVD, if only to see the four alternative endings there available. Great acting, a smart and funny screenplay, and a cohesion of unlikely scenarios (no one smelled the corpse? not even the cop? just go with it...) produced one of the better family and/or road movies I've ever seen.
and because of this excellence, I predict that it will win a grand total of zero oscar awards. maybe one, for original screenplay. but looking back at the past few years' winners and losers, it is abundantly clear that the best film of the year NEVER wins. I don't know if Little Miss Sunshine is the best or not, and I'm not inclined to sit through "Babel" or "The Queen" (or the awards show itself, for that matter) to find out, but I do know that it was the funniest thing I've seen in quite a while. And whoever wrote the thing must be in touch with a little girl, because the balance one strikes between the sometimes-silly, fanciful dreams of little girls, and the absurdity of their fulfillment (in this case, one of those awful jonbenet-type pageants), which often require parental protection and non-judgmental assistance, is extremely true-to-life. also, it manages to make a Proustian metaphor accessible to the masses. everyone loses. and it's wonderful.
highly recommended.
...
First, the bad news...a couple of weeks ago I made an astonishing discovery...quite possibly the worst band I've ever seen since the advent of spandex/hair metal...they are called AFI and they are one of the most dreadful excuses for pop music I have ever seen or heard. which is why they were booked to showcase on SNL, which has slowly morphed into the premier place for bands to go and die. think 80s flock of seagulls hairdo's with even less good reason to dance...or listen...or do anything else short of run screaming for the exits...yecch...
and one possible beam of hope. last night I caught a pitchfork media-sponsored video show on pbs and it included a band called forward russia! ...definitely worth another look....or listen...I only hesitate because I fear the "it's the only good track on the record" syndrome (the one I heard is called "nine")...need more info...but so far I dig what I'm hearing...exclamation points notwithstanding...
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January 26, 2007
SEE YOU MONDAY
...small penis?...
winter, it would seem, has arrived. very cold today. need blanky.
have a nice weekend...
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January 25, 2007
UP SCOTLAND
... and have a wee drop for me ...
...details after the jump...
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I'M A GRUMPY OLD TROLL LIVING UNDER A BRIDGE
...hey! where'd everybody go? I'm still playing! waaaaahhhhh....
...I disagree with the premise of your question...
R.I.P. Bush II presidency....welcome to the 2-year interim Cheney presidency...
After watching the Cheney-Blitzer interview yesterday, here is my list of things to watch for during the next 2 years:
pigs flying
chickens with lips
monkeys flying out of my butt
discovery of elvis' whereabouts
discovery of jim morrison's whereabouts
elton john marries britney spears
the liberation of Iraq
...all with an equal likelihood of happening (well, maybe the iraq thing is a bit optimistic). I've got to say--I've known a lot of crazies, druggies, fantasists and downright bullshitters in my day, but none of them could hold a candle to our utterly hubristic and tragically delusional vice president.
I've got a great "out of line" question for him, since he bristled so much at the lesbian/grandchild question: "Mr. Vice President, much has been written about your various draft exemptions during the 1960s, and now that the evidence in the Lewis "Scooter" Libby trial is beginning to point to your office as a central location for manipulating the federal bureaucracy in the Plame affair, not to mention your numerous public efforts at disinformation ("insurgency in last throes" "weapons of mass distruction" "welcoming our troops as liberating heroes" "go fuck yourself" etc.), it would seem, Mr. Vice President, that you are a liar. and a coward. A liar and a coward. This seems to be an obvious conclusion, based on the history of the last six years. A coward. And a liar. not to mention, a complete failure, whose legacy will soon enter the world of metaphor, as an historic figure whose name will be synonymous with failure, as the only one who is actually more blind to existing conditions than the president is. And on top of all that: a big fat coward. One might simply surmise that in the future, the pigeon shit on your statue will be seen as a visual improvement to an otherwise unworthy use of granite. Would you like to respond to that, or would you prefer to go back to discussing the ethics of lesbian motherhood?"
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January 23, 2007
THE SPEECH I'D LIKE TO HEAR TONIGHT
THE 2007 PRESIDENTIAL STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS
Good evening senators, members of congress, members of the supreme court, cabinet members, esteemed guests, and Joe Lieberman. Tonight, as our nation’s military are overseas doing the hard work of liberty, when the dark forces of evil threaten us from every corner of the globe, I come to you tonight to proclaim that the state of our union is STRONG….
[thunderous applause]
Just kidding. We’ve got some great kids writing my speeches, and that intro was so good that I had to use it. But now I’m going to tell you the truth.
The state of our union is actually not so strong. During my tenure as president, the global network of terrorists, and those who would aid and abet them, has grown rapidly. More worrying, the conflict in Iraq has provided them with a cause to rally around, amplifying their recruiting efforts as they seek to establish a holy war against us for generations to come. Meanwhile, recruiting efforts for our own military continue to stagnate, despite millions of dollars being spent on television advertising, with messages like an “army of one” … My own background as an evangelical Christian has helped raise the profile of religious fundamentalists in our own country to a level of power never before seen, and let’s face it—religious fanaticism married to political power almost always leads to war. It has already served to create angry divisions within our own country, pitting citizen vs. citizen. It isn't exactly Shia vs. Sunni, but you get the idea. Also, the Vice President prefers the hardline to negotiating, and since I don’t know much about diplomacy—I’d never even been to Europe before you all elected me president—I’ve been deferring to him on this stuff. Also, it does seem abundantly clear now that Condoleeza Rice is in WAY over her head as secretary of state. Despite a chorus of voices spouting suggestions and bullet-pointed lists of possible initiatives, from the Iraq Study Group to former administration members to some of you all out there, she continues to fly around the globe making empty statements about “progress,” despite the obvious lack of any evidence to support her case. But I’ve got to say that she’s been very loyal, and I like her personally. I’ve only got a couple of years left, so I think I’ll keep her on. I might have fired Rumsfeld too late in the game, but at this point there are no more elections left to lose…
It’s unfortunate that things have turned out this way. Even the execution of Saddam Hussein was a problem for me, doubly ironic since I’ve made a career out of benefiting from the putting to death of criminals and other convicts. So sloppy. And videotaped. Darn those internets…
Meanwhile, the economy is actually doing pretty well. I could probably be standing here talking to you all about the great benefits of my tax cuts, but we have now spent so much money and created so much debt, that any sensible, informed person might rightfully argue that the apparent willingness of the government to spend so liberally has literally pumped so much money into the military-industrial complex that economic stats aren’t reflective of the true state of things. And since consumer confidence is way, way down, I think I’ll just skip this topic altogether.
And before anyone else brings it up, I’ll admit that we’ve still got a bad situation in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. I’ll just come right out and say it: I have no idea what to do down there. It’s really a mess. We’re totally out of our depth on that one. No pun intended. Sorry.
What else? Immigration. Sure, I’d love to build a wall and issue national ID cards, but I can’t piss those people off. There are just too many of them. As a future electoral bloc, it would be political suicide. The USA has about 280 million people. Mexico has over 100 million. Guess which country has the higher birth rate? The math is obvious. I’m punting this one to my successor.
Which leads us to healthcare. Now, I’ve been throwing around ideas like private health savings accounts, and I even tossed around the idea of "killing" Social Security, and in these two areas I thought that we might be able to get something done which didn’t really change anything, yet give folks the impression that we HAD done something. That things look like they are getting better, while staying exactly the same. Then it occurred to me—just who actually likes going to the doctor? Seniors—that’s who. That’s why I’m happy to introduce my plan for nationalized health insurance. You heard me. We’re taking it federal. For voters over the age of 65. The rest of you are working, and don’t vote, so this plan seems best for now.
And last but not least, I’d like to thank my last two supporters, Laura and Barney. To be honest, Laura had expressed some concerns about the latest troop surge, but Barney is completely on board with the plan. God, I love that dog.
To sum up: after careful consideration and consultations with my family and Harriet Miers, I’ve decided to fire Vice President Cheney and resign from office, effective immediately. It’s just too much. Can’t get my head around it. What a mess! Am I right? So, please join me in congratulating and offering our full support to President Pelosi.
God Bless America.
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January 21, 2007
THE "LESSQUIRE"
...a first look at a future classic...
...one pickup, one knob, tuned to one chord...
...paint the headstock too? why not...my penchant for perfectionism well in evidence here--blotches? what blotches?...
I've had this old tokai tele since college...it was very much a homemade instrument (but not by me)--the original black paint--my guess is it was testor's model paint--sanded right off. the new color is burgundy mist metallic lacquer (using reranch's excellent aerosol product), then clear coated...I did the best I could. given the uneven surface...grain fill, s&s...it ain't perfect but it'll serve. I got the bridge from stew-mac (the only thing, aside from a few cans of lacquer, that I actually bought for this project) and routed out the pickup cavity myself. I shot the pickguard in leftover lake placid blue metallic, then a few coats of tinted clear to add some yellow and green it up...I found an old pickup cover from a discarded pickup (never thrown anything out!) and shot that the same color to try and simulate, at a glance anyway, the look of a one-piece pickguard...the tokai specs are not standard, so it made more sense to customize the existing plastic guard rather than order one that was custom-cut..no budget for that...the single humbucker will run to one 250k volume pot, then straight to the jack. simple. the pickup is a leftover I got from a guy who sold me a gig bag on craigslist...basically I got it for free...I have no idea what make or model it is, but I like the cream colored top against the rest of it, so I hope it still works. I'll probably check it with the multi-meter before I start melting solder and all... obviously this is at the very early stages of construction...I still need to re-install the tuners and file down the nut. the guitar will be set up primarily for slide...probably tune it to open E, maybe C6...
...
regular readers will be happy to learn that I enjoyed not one, not two, but three tasty and delightful cigars this past weekend. yep: friday/saturday/sunday. when the crazy anger starts, I am a mean unrelenting bastard...the term "psychic pain" has real meaning, and consequences. so to hell with cold turkey--I picked up a small box of minty nicorette today. yum. we'll see how a weekends-only approach works. also, an only-when-it-isn't-arctic-cold-with-evil-face-ripping-wind-weather approach too...
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January 19, 2007
I JUST DIED
...thanks for the laughs...
my grandfather LOVED art buchwald. and thus he instilled in me a great fondness for the 'humorists' of the mid-20th century--buchwald, thurber, adams, cerf, etc. but I think my favorite was always art buchwald--he was the most accessible, and to my way of thinking the most consistently funny. and smart.
the NYT has a video of him doing his own obituary. and some biography of him that I was not aware of. this funny man had a terribly under-privileged upbringing, spending time in an orphanage, losing his mother to mental illness, and also suffered from depression most of his adult life. who knew? not me. I'd never have guessed. he was always smiling.
when asked (by his buddy mike wallace) what his legacy would be, he yelled out, "JOY!" may we all be so fortunate as to claim such an achievement...
...
last night I went on a futile search, in a train station bookstore, for a book of poetry, any slim volume that would give me a string of word/images to while away the nearly hour-long train ride ahead. none to be found...I did have a momentary chuckle when I saw three rows of religious titles (purpose-driven life, those bogus rapture/endtimes books by lahaye etc.) listed under a placard stating "non fiction" (I thought of lodging a tongue-in-cheek protest, but it had been a long day)...anyways, following are a few brief excerpts from kipling that certainly seem appropriate to the current state of things...kipling's not my usual cup of tea, but I think these snippets certainly demonstrate the power and lucidity that a few well-crafted lines can convey...
"Common Form"
If any question why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.
"A Dead Statesman"
I could not dig: I dared not rob:
Therefore I lied to please the mob.
Now all my lies are proved untrue
And I must face the men I slew.
What tale shall serve me here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?
[and he ain't dead yet...]
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January 18, 2007
I'M GRUMPY
...gotta love ya and leave ya...
confession time: about two years ago, I quit smoking cigarettes. successfully. I haven't been back. I also quit drinking previous to that (which helped). So, in the bonnie days that followed, with the improved physical senses, endurance, smell, taste, etc., I felt empowered to go out there and, what, join a health club? no. take up jogging? no. none of that...the impetus I followed was to find myself a new vice that complemented my regular intake of coffee and chiba...hey! why not tobacco? but not cigarettes--they're like crack. but cigars! flavor! and 'cuz you don't inhale them, and they're casual, festive, like a glass of champagne that stays bubbly for half and hour but doesn't get me drunk and belligerent. great! so, for the past year or two, I've become a regular cigar smoker. not weekends, or barbecues, or some other occasional thing. every. single. day.
so yesterday I didn't have one. and today I'm not having one. nor any other smokable treat. my goal is to be lean and fit by the spring. sleeping better. and not ingesting the toxins. why? well, I found the birth of my daughter to be an excellent motivator to quit the cigarettes, and all their obvious life-shortening qualities. this time, it's just simple survival--recent cancerous diagnoses of a few loved ones have me thinking hard on my own mortality, and I would still like to make it to my daughter's big upcoming life moments (she's 3)...
so I quit. and I'm not terribly happy about it. but I already feel better. so shut up...grrrrr.....
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January 17, 2007
HOPE FOR MANKIND (AND HOW TO GET IT)
...read a book!...
...take your guy/girl out to the movies!...
...go online and buy a few cd's!...
...go upstairs and have sex!...
...watch a great film!...
...take a nap!...
...call up your mom!...
...go outside and take a walk!...
...play with the dog!...
...have a conversation!...
last night I received a gift. mrs. stratcat refrained from turning on the great brain shrinker & music killer, american idol. it was great. none of that noisy theme music, no rancor from simon cowell (note to simon: they ALL suck), no fake-guy puffery from randy jackson (note to randy: the correct musical terminology is "out of key" not "pitchy"...also: journey sucked balls), no drunken new age sorority slut blather from paula abdul (note to paula: call me), no pointless commentary from ryan seacrest (note to ryan: howzabout a live remote from anbar province?). I slept better, and today I don't have that dirty feeling I get from bad music & bad tv & bad people. I highly recommend this to one and all. listed above are a few alternative activities for the american idol season. come up with some of your own!
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January 16, 2007
THE EMPTY SUIT
...in an era of empty suits, no one rang more hollow...
doing a little catch-up after a long leisurely holiday weekend (happy birthday dad!)...state inaugurations aren't nearly the sort of media-ruined event that the presidential one is, so I didn't pay no nevermind to the Spitzer coronation last week....but I thought I'd take one more backward glance at the tenure of our most recent chief executive, himself the newly-unemployed George Pataki.
Coming from a fairly modest background--mayor of Peekskill I think, followed by a few years in the state house--he came out of nowhere and beat mario cuomo, much to my surprise at the time...later on I learned of the extreme dislike many of my fellow new yorkers (especially those upstate) had toward eloquence, fairness and intelligence.
Enter George Pataki. For ten years. And his legacy will be...
c'mon. you can say it. say it. it's ok. just say it out loud. he was...ta-da!
the one who happened to be governor on september 11. and...
there is no "and." that's all. previous to this, he was a clumsy wonk who could barely get a budget approved in albany, was up to his adam's apple in debt to the power bosses aligned with the MTA and its minions, and was a fairly frequent presence on tv, encouraging folks to come visit New York, an experience that his charisma-challenged delivery made seem the most banal experience imaginable...come experience the adequate! Libby Pataki is here too, and she's happy to also endorse your prospective trip as being slightly above-average! We love New York! We have to!
OK. So Hugh Carey didn't exactly light the schoolgirls' panties on fire either. But those were heavy times and days when we needed a leader, and George made the void in leadership seem like an endless chasm. I still consider Giuliani an arrogant prick and a cruel man, but he did at least come to the podium as one of us during those dark fearful times. with the governor standing behind him every step of the way. there was no leadership there. he made some phone calls to send more trucks, more national guard. in other words, he fulfilled the basic requirements of his job. but when the time came to elevate the moment, to put his imprimatur on this dramatic point in history, what did George do? he punted. He read, without any sense of irony, the Gettysburgh Address. In other words, teacher, I did not prepare a term paper, but I have carefully perfect-bound the paper that got an A+ last year...
I guess I might as well stop beating 'round the, um, the....you know, the, uh, how can I say it? yuk yuk. the thing is, I guess what's really most illustrative of Pataki's lack of any meaningful legacy is the fact that there is still a gigantic gaping hole at ground zero. nothing has happened. we have read about various bidding scenarios, several contests over design and implementation, but thus far--surprise surprise--no overriding leadership has been brought to bear in getting something accomplished. not surprising--when one does nothing but send form letters, read from a teleprompter, acquiesce to a President who has obviously shit the bed, give other people's speeches, and generally walk around in the guise of someone you don't know but plays something-or-other on TV, then nothing gets done. He's leaving it for someone else to get done. Oh, there was one thing he did do--he (and mayor "nanny" bloomberg) invited the Republican Party to come use New York City as their public toilet for a week back in 2004. Thanks George. If there's one thing that Madison Square Garden needs more of, it's middle-aged white folks in cowboy hats...
meanwhile, folks are dying of the diseases contracted while volunteering to solve the problem of ground zero and the rescue efforts there. oh, they may not live long, but as long as they live, they'll be enveloped in the Pataki bureacracy, a giant money machine that has swelled the coffers of the NY republicans at the expense of all of us. And there are thousands, I'm sure, who wouldn't even have minded, had the elected leader of their state made it a priority to erect even a single modest memorial to the losses incurred on the day that he seems to think has defined his tenure as governor of the greatest state in the land.
And now, there will be comedy--watch for his swift and permanent journey to obscurity via the Iowa caucus and New Hampshire primary. I wish him a complete humiliation, and a swift return to Peekskill, a township from whence we wish he had never strayed...
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January 15, 2007
DON'T TRUST THE DATABASE
...the once over twice?...
weirdest amazon marketing database cross-match EVER:
"We've noticed that customers who have expressed interest in Wild Gift by X have also ordered Some Enchanted Evening by Art Garfunkel. For this reason, you might like to know that Some Enchanted Evening will be released on January 30, 2007. "
...bridge over troubled water?...
X? Art Garfunkel? am I missing something here?
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January 14, 2007
ALICE
...she believed that love could save the world...
when I went to see Alice Coltrane last year, I was merely happy to see a jazz legend in a rare performance, with some excellent musicians. in the middle of the concert, they took a break from playing jazz, brought out a small chorus and an orchestral section, and performed a strange, new age-y composition, with video accompaniment. the theme was fairly obvious--this very act, of singing (prayers?) together, was capable of authoring the sort of energy that would prevent such things as the atrocities on the screen. for me , musically, it was the intermission I didn't need--when they performed "a love supreme" later in the set, the same point was made implicitly, but now that Alice has passed away, I'm glad that I saw her ambitious little multimedia experiment, because I do believe that it was there that alice's own input was strongest (rather than, say, performing her late husband's greatest hits)...
it's a good message, a peaceful message, speaking to a sense of hope, and beauty. corny? perhaps. I came away with another adjective instead: classy. her music was beautiful, and so was she...
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January 13, 2007
THE COSMIC TRIGGER
“I don’t see how to take death seriously. I look forward without dogmatic optimism, but without dread. I love you all and I deeply implore you to keep the lasagna flying."
--Robert Anton Wilson (January 18, 1932 - January 11, 2007)
...
...she is drunk. OR, she has a friendly hollywood doctor supplying the endless Rx prescriptions. OR, she has cerebral palsy. this is an 800-pound gorilla that everyone seems perfectly capable of ignoring...the most popular show on all of television, and one of the principals of the show is quite publicly intoxicated nearly every time she makes an appearance. and the tacit acceptance isn't helping her, as you can see from this clip. be reminded that this was taken from a morning program...
please join me in ignoring American Idol this season. just like the previous big deal in music from the generation previous (MTV), the A.I. product has little to do with good music, and everything to do with sucking the heart and soul out of our musical heritage. ignore duke ellington, ignore robert johnson, ignore bob dylan neil young tom waits chuck berry louis armstrong ella fitzgerald billy eckstein lambert hendricks & ross howlin' wolf muddy waters bobby blue bland jeff buckley lou reed dr. john nat cole ma rainey woody guthrie ... and definitely ignore the babbling bimbo in the middle of the row ... unless, of course, you're one of those frat boy types who likes your women date rape-ready, drunk and stupid, begging for your approval, as you gesture into the abyss to the soundtrack of barry manilow, lionel ritchie and whitney houston...take her, she's yours...
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January 12, 2007
THERE IS NO CRYING IN BASEBALL
...or in war...
We are in a time of war, with our men and women dying overseas, with the future of the middle east hanging in the balance, and this man is crying. The president is crying.
I'm sorry Mr. Bush, but you don't get to have that luxury. Presidents at war have got to pull their shit together and show a strong face to the world. Do you really think the mullahs and ayatollahs don't take strength away from this display? They are probably calling you a woman, you weak pointless man.
I've held off commenting at all on the obvious folly of his new plan, but this is too much. He cried after 9/11 and now he's crying as he hands out medals of honor. This soft, coddled, rich man's boy isn't worthy to sweep the church after the funerals' over. At this point I think we'd all be satisfied if he could simply keep a lid on the under-developed emotional child living inside him and try to coast, unnoticed, through these last two years. Go clear some brush. Drive a pickup truck. But the crying is embarrassing to the country, and it is pathetic. When one of the president's own family gets shredded by an IED, then he can go ahead and cry. Like thousands of his fellow citizens do every day. But until then, Bush doesn't get to cry. Not with us.
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SOUTHPAW LOGIC
...welcome back Andy...
...
God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented
cages. -Jacques Deval
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January 11, 2007
ANOTHER KIND OF SURGE
...Je t'aime... moi non plus...
pictured above, more evidence to the fact that a surge need not be deadly...in fact, it might just be French. and adorned with a carefully-neglected 3-day stubble, chain-smoking, and muttering under its breath. peaceful enough, but probably a bad idea to leave vulnerable womenfolk alone in its presence...you know how seductive they can be with their accents, their wine, and of course their toast...
serge gainsbourg. dead sexy.
or so they say. at any rate, dead. going on appearances, probably could've done with a few more fresh veggies in his diet...
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Man is the religious animal. He is the only religious animal that has the
true religion -- several of them. He is the only animal that loves his
neighbor as himself and cuts his throat if his theology isn't straight.
-Mark Twain
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DO YOU HAVE A FEELING WE'RE BEING STARED AT?
...R.I.P. Yvonne DeCarlo...
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January 10, 2007
MY THOUGHTS ON THE SURGE
...select appropriate color to the sunlight level...
pictured above...whenever I've undertaken to do some killing with a surge, I've had terrific success wriggling one of these suckers between the reeds, bumping it randomly on the bottom...drives bass crazy...
as such, verifiable results...
but throw 20,000 surge lures into a pond full of bass? no way man.
their pond. not mine.
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ALL GLORY IS FLEETING
the words of one magnificent bastard, juxtaposed against the iconography of a thoroughly unmagnificent one...
Enjoy the big speech tonight...D.O.A. or not (it is), it should make for some fine political theater, and even if it's the worst of his career, probably one of the ones that Bush is remembered for (neatly bookending "axis of evil")...
[ta to andrew sullivan, from whence I found the link...]
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January 09, 2007
I FEEL SO GOOD
...half empty?...
I ponder this question fairly regularly--what causes my good moods? Because mine seem to arrive out of nowhere, and the bad moods seem to descend with a swiftness and gloomthick weight that I can rarely fathom...sure, a cross word from my boss, or an argument with mrs. stratcat will probably put me in the dumps, but other times the dark days seem to emerge from the mists of morning with nary a history, merely their own self-evident presence as a ponderous angry tooth-grinding miasma of pre-death. And the adverse would be a day like today, which I hesitate to comment on overmuch, lest I open myself up to a perceived vulnerability to go grumpy at the drop of a hat.
Today: pretty good sleep, better than the night before; decided to go with a necktie--that combined with good hair day has me feeling ok about my profile; the sun is out; making good progress with my early '07 woodshedding--after a year of all things solidbody, I'm working more on acoustic guitar repertoire and techniques; my child is happy & healthy; things to do at work, busy but not crazed...but just what is the crucial driver?
Does one require cause to be happy? Am I not made this way from the start? Or am I consigned to a reality of good moods only when certain conditions are met? Unmet, I return to my natural state of grumpiness....or is it the other way around, and I am a happy-go-lucky soul, trapped in a world of unrelenting negativity and hardship?
My friends in AA would probably say that I'm doing a good job with my recovery, that days like this become more plentiful as I work the program, but I haven't been to a room in two years...they'd probably say I'm shortchanging myself on days like this as a result.
In my mind, I turn away from logic such as this, try to rid myself of the probing need to know, and just let it happen.
Have a nice day. Fuck yeah.
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January 07, 2007
WHEN YOU'RE A JET
I'd like to thank the NY Jets & NY Giants organizations for losing today, putting a prompt end to my NFL distractions and ending my season for the year...since Ron Artest managed to destroy any glancing enthusiasm I may have had for the NBA (or the annual gambling orgy known as 'march madness,' for that matter...), I look forward to a relatively sports-free schedule until spring training starts...
if I happen to lift my beak for a sniff, I'll be rooting for the Saints...
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January 05, 2007
TWELFTH NIGHT
...if we were pagans, tonight would be something of a big deal...
" Twelfth Night is a holiday in some branches of Christianity marking the coming of the Epiphany, concluding the Twelve Days of Christmas, and is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as "the evening of the fifth of January, preceding Twelfth Day, the eve of the Epiphany, formerly the last day of the Christmas festivities and observed as a time of merrymaking".[1]
In some traditions it is taken to mean the evening of the Twelfth Day itself, the sixth of January. This apparent difference has arisen probably due to the old custom of treating sunset as the beginning of the following day. Therefore Twelfth Night would have been considered as occurring on the twelfth day, though in present day custom it is the previous day.
The celebration of Epiphany, the adoration of the Magi, is marked in some cultures by the exchange of gifts, and Twelfth Night, as the eve of Epiphany, takes on a similar significance to Christmas Eve.
In Tudor England, the Twelfth Night marked the end of a winter festival that started on All Hallows Eve — which some now celebrate as Halloween. A King or Lord of Misrule would be appointed to run the Christmas festivities, and the Twelfth Night was the end of his period of rule. The common theme was that the normal order of things was reversed. This Lord of Misrule tradition can be traced back to pre-Christian European festivals such as the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Ancient Roman festival of Saturnalia. The Winter Solstice (December 21st) marks the 1st day of many Pagan Winter Festivals. The 12 nights following and including the solstice represent the 12 zodiac signs of the year - and the 12th Night (New Years Day) is a culmination and celebration of the Winter Festivals.
The foods and drink are the center of the celebrations in modern times, and all of the most traditional ones go back many centuries. The punch called wassail is consumed especially on Twelfth Night, but throughout Christmas time, especially in the U.K. Around the world, special pastries, such as the tortell and king cake are baked on Twelfth Night, and eaten the following day for the Feast of the Epiphany celebrations.
Some believe Twelfth Night (or the following day Epiphany) is when all Christmas decorations should be removed so as not to bring bad luck upon the home. In colonial America, a Christmas wreath was always left up on the front door of each home, and when taken down at the end of the Twelve Days of Christmas, any edible portions would be consumed with the other foods of the feast. The same held true in the 1800's - 1900's with fruits adorning Christmas trees. Fresh fruits were hard to come by, and were therefore considered fine and proper gifts and decorations for the tree, wreaths, and home. Again, the tree would be taken down on Twelfth night, and such fruits, along with nuts and other local produce used, would then be consumed.
In some countries, and in the Catholic religion worldwide, the Twelfth Night and Epiphany marks the start of the Carnival season, which lasts through Mardi Gras Day.
Shakespeare's play Twelfth Night, or What You Will was written to be performed as a Twelfth Night entertainment and first performed at Middle Temple Hall, London during the Twelfth Night celebrations of 1602 at the culmination of the celebrations, which was then at Candlemas, February 2. The play has many elements that are reversed in the tradition of Twelfth Night, such as a woman Viola dressing as a man, and a servant Malvolio imagining that he can become a nobleman. "
source: wikipedia
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He who dares not offend cannot be honest. -- Thomas Paine
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January 04, 2007
HARRIETT THE HARLOT
...if only I were not a lesbian, I would love that man...
this is a crusher: news that white house counsel and one-time supreme court nominee Harriett Miers is stepping down. (some fair weather friend, eh?)
I'm particularly interested to learn of the alleged reason, as the old reliable saw "to spend more time with my family" is a bit slippery for a longtime spinster...
I'll always remember Harriett Miers for her non-eloquence, her non-rhetoric, indeed her lack of any appearance of participation, short of her long, adoring glances at her dreamy cowboy president...
in fact, now that she's gone, perhaps I'll post the recording of my own harriett-inspired musical composition, destined for the trivia bins now that she's notnever going to be wearing the black robes (except on halloween of course. and tuesdays. masturbating ferociously. but that's another story for another day...)...
good luck harriett. we'll treasure the memories--the laughter, the gaiety, the cruel racist jokes...we'll miss the heady stench of polo ("it's unisex!") as you barge into the conference room. and of course, we'll miss your leadership as fashion visionary...the way you so skillfully concealed your penis beneath a swath of lane bryant...
but that's OK. whenever we feel the need to reach out and bask once again in the glow of your genius, we'll know where to find you: clearing brush!
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January 03, 2007
GO DOG GO!
...go around again!...
my new avocation has nothing to do with rollercoasters, nor is it new, to me or anybody else...but there is an obvious clue in the picture above...listen to "the hard way easy"--it's in there too...
ironic how a typical "guitar solo" is always played with other people, eh? we'll just see about that...
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January 02, 2007
OUR LONG NATIONAL FUNERAL IS OVER
...he did NOT get on the good foot...
After finally seeing his way clear to return to Washington DC and put in an appearance at the month-long Ford funeral proceedings, with an urgency of purpose far outstripped by last year's evangelical bugle call to rush to the aid of Terri Schiavo, President Bush is back for the low-key/dignfied/midwestern aw shucks/really huge anyway finale of the Gerald Ford funeral today. It's been decades since this many awkward Kissinger silences were observed, just one of the many unplanned delays that were threatening to lengthen the duration of the Ford Mourning Period to the point that it threatened to outlast the number of days of the actual Ford Presidency.
By comparison, it fell to one man--great gosh-a-mighty! Reverend Al Sharpton, to escort James Brown from Augusta to the Apollo Theater and back again, culminating in primetime/Saturday afternoon CNN (and the others) coverage of the funeral. When I heard some attendees shouting to Brown's wife to "get off the stage" I was reminded of the Shiite hecklers at Saddam's hanging. Classy. Still, the achievements of Mr. Brown traversed several decades, impacting modern pop music in a huge way, giving birth to the genres of funk and hip hop, making more perfect the art of onstage performance, selling truckloads of great records, and along the way managing to insert a level of cultural and political awareness while managing (most of the time) to avoid sounding pedantic or preachy. It is not an exaggeration to call the man a giant of his field.
Meanwhile, memorials to the 2-year pageant of mediocrity that was the Ford presidency continue to drone on. and on. and on. One wonders at the (internal?) dialogue during a Michael Beschloss day when there isn't a president dead or dying, murmuring to himself, or no one in particular, about Ladybird Johnson's particular preferences regarding china patterns, or the Trumans love of croquet, as if any of this matters...the entertainment factor: a fully erectile and gory conflagration of both left-wing and right-wing (and centrist and any other kinds of [including mine, the so-called chicken] wing) bias in action, check out the media's tournament of roses-style coverage of the Ford funeral today. Words like "healing" and "closure" will be bandied about. Bandied, I say! Maybe I'm just a lonely voice out here who truly felt, as a crestfallen 10-year old and ever since, that the best sort of "closure" we could have had as a nation, involved clapping Richard Nixon in irons and locking him in the dungeon of Chateau d'If--not to mention the historical value of the information that a prosecution might have yielded--telling us perhaps exactly why the break-in was ordered in the first place. Because of Gerald Ford's pardon of the trickster, we will never know.
I imagine that in fifty years or so, another media will be reporting on another funeral of a former president who followed after the Bush II presidency. And like Ford, this president will have the decided advantage of having followed an abject failure and national disgrace. By comparison, even an average weekday turd like niceguy Gerry will likely be praised to the high heavens for the monumentally laudatory accomplishment of getting out of bed in the morning...
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FORD FUNERAL UPDATE, 9:35 am: with the tv on for noise, I slowly realize that I happen to be watching an amazingly novel new sort of reality show. my god, it's a loving family! who's ever heard of such a thing?
The Nixons were sallow, humorless and alcoholic. If nothing else, the Fords were certainly a living antithesis of that...
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