farkleberriesUSA

Everybody Loves a Holy War

2009-09-06T19:26:00.002-05:00

Just discovered this guy's lyrics -- looks like he could have easily been watching the television news outlets from the past year.

Some say that God has approved of their mob
Esteeming their purposes alone
Choosing sides with a definite pride
And taking their cause for His own

Everybody loves a holy war
Draw the line and claim divine assistance
Slay the ones who show the most resistance
Everybody loves a holy war

Many's the man with the iron hand
Supposing his own thoughts to be Divine
He will break any bond -
'cause the other man's always wrong
It's a handy excuse for his crimes

Everybody loves a holy war
Draw the line and claim divine protection
Kill the ones who show the most objection
Everybody loves a holy war

Dissident cries are met with cold eyes
And treatment the devil would get
Righteousness and truth
can be weapons in the hands of fools
While innocents go to their deaths

Everybody loves a holy war
Draw the line and claim divine assistance
Slay the ones who show the most resistance
Everybody loves a holy war

Written by Mark Heard. © 1982 Bug 'n Bear Music ASCAP

WWTDD (What Would Tyler Durden Do?)

2009-05-05T00:30:00.003-05:00

And you open the door and you step inside
We're inside our hearts
Now imagine your pain as a white ball of healing light
That's right . . .
Your pain, the pain itself is a white ball of healing light

I don't think so

This is your life
Good to the last drop
It doesn't get any better than this
This is your life and its ending one minute at a time

This isn't a seminar
This isn't a weekend retreat
Where you are now you can't even imagine what the bottom will be like
Only after disaster can we be resurrected
It's only after you've lost everything you are free to do anything

Nothing is static
Everything is evolving
Everything is falling apart

You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake
You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else
We are all part of the same compost heap
We are the all singing all dancing crap of the world

You are not your bank account
You are not the clothes you wear
You are not the contents of your wallet
You are not your bowel cancer
You are not your grande latte
You are not the car you drive
You are not your fucking khakis

You have to give up
You have to realize that someday you will die
Until you know that
You are useless

I say, let me never be complete
I say, may I never be content
I say, deliver me from Swedish furniture
I say, deliver me from clever art
I say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth

I say you have to give up
I say evolve, and let the chips fall as they may

Why I stopped blogging

2009-02-18T17:38:00.002-06:00

Just a note to explain why all my old posts have been deleted and why I won't be blogging for a while.

A blogging policy came down from corporate and as a precautionary measure, I won't be blogging at all. It means I can't get myself in trouble for blogging. So for now...I'll be keeping my opinions on everything to myself.

Bugs Me

2009-02-07T19:09:00.004-06:00

While it's obvious that the woman in the foreground is reacting in sheer terror, what's the deal with guy in the background? At best, his expression is one of vague puzzlement . . ."Huh . . . as I left the house, covered in fire ants . . . did I remember to shut the lights off?"

A Little Bit of Sweet

2008-11-14T23:27:00.002-06:00

Mom thinks Obama is Hitler . . . the economy is tanking . . . each day has it's own share of trouble. I'll take sweetness and joy wherever I can find it. I think I found some here.

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

Mountaintops

2008-10-03T00:04:00.006-05:00

My brother John, and me, atop Santanoni Peak in the Adirondack Mountains. We replaced the canisters atop many of the trail-less peaks as members of the Adirondack Forty-Sixers Mountain Club. My father crafted the canisters to replace broken or worn out ones. (At the time I completed my forty-sixth, I was one of the youngest ever, at 11 years old). Circa 1975.

The Palin Doctrine

2008-09-14T16:20:00.001-05:00

Restrooms For Humans Only

2008-08-02T01:38:00.009-05:00

This year, the Comic-Con seemed to end all too soon. It felt like we had just arrived, and then, bang, it was over.

But I know that I was there. I have photographic proof . . .

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Not everyone's cup of tea, but from my perspective, Suicide Girls are hot.

Convention-goers were becoming desperate in their attempts to find transportation to the event.

One of many very impressive steampunk outfits.

More pix and details will follow.

Primitive Oil Cat Will Devour You

2008-07-16T00:44:00.003-05:00

I found it repellent, yet I was enraptured at the same time. And for $20, how could I go wrong? (Thanks to the folks at Charleston Antique Mall, 307 West Charleston Blvd, Las Vegas).

The Return of Grown Men Reading Comic Books

2008-07-09T23:40:00.006-05:00

It's wall-to-wall nerds, and I'll soon be in the thick of it again, with wife and daughter to share the joy.

Comic-Con International, by default, has become our family vacation. I enjoy it for a lot of reasons -- the artwork, the pop-culture, the previews, the window-on-the-world look at the people who attend . . . and that's still not doing it justice. It's been great to meet the actual artists behind The Tune, or Too Much Coffee Man . . . my daughter Hannah even got to meet Matt Groening (class act, BTW). And although I'm a bit of a squire nowadays (mortgage, job, kids, spouse, responsibilities, etc.), I like to think that I still hold a grasp on some small thread of subversive. The Comic-Con is a way for me to re-live (revive?) some of that, in some small way.

Much of it has to do with reminiscing over my older brother Dave's reading material, and I'm happy to say I've been able to track down long-lost copies of . . . The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers (soon to be animated . . . who knew?).

I'm also on the hunt for the more elusive Trashman. I'm a huge fan of a comic I discovered via a random purchase at Samurai Comics in Phoenix, AZ several years ago: Love and Rockets (Maggie, Hopey, and the entire ensemble from the barrio of Hoppers). I've known of Robert Crumb's work for decades, as well as Harvey Pekar's "American Splendor," although I've yet to pick up a copy . . .maybe this year?

Stay tuned . . . photographic documentation of the madness will follow in upcoming weeks.

Huey Is Pissed

2008-04-30T20:27:00.004-05:00

This is a candid shot from the corner of Rancho and Craig in Las Vegas. If the people and prices are so friendly, why does "Huey" look like he would benefit from some anger management therapy? Is this the kind of duck you want to see behind the counter of your local convenience store?

Makes You Think All the World's A Sunny Day

2008-04-28T00:07:00.008-05:00

As a Gen-X'r (Atari Wave, not Nintendo Wave) I have one foot firmly placed in the nostalgia of my youth: 8mm film, AM and FM radio, land-line phones, broadcast analog television . . . yet I accept and enjoy the technological progress that I have witnessed: DVD's and streaming video, mp3's, cell phones, satellite television, to name just a few. As much as I've enjoyed those "old-school" things, you won't find me comparing 45 RPM records with streaming audio and trying to convince someone of the merits of, well, historical technology.

Despite this, the film slide transparency of Kodachromes and Ektachromes have yet to be surpassed for me. Do I have any delusions that technology won't trump these images? No. Someday they will. But not yet.

Years ago, I read a novel by Steven King that he wrote under the pen-name Richard Bachman. The novel, "Rage," recounts a Columbine-esque scenario of a disturbed young man. I recall the story only because of a passing reference in the story of the main character gazing at the image of a relative in a slide image that was being projected. The colors, the luminance, the big-as-life picture hanging there in the dark . . . for a moment, you find yourself back in that place, hearing those sounds, seeing those people . . . it's almost as if you could step into the picture. How would you be received? What would you say? Could you make them understand? Would it change anything? Would they believe you? Would it matter?

If I could step back into this picture, what would the the little boy in the tan pants say to the tired-looking 40-something man who coalesced from the ether and appeared in front of the boy's father, a man roughly the same age but holding a Beseler Topcon 35mm SLR?

Could any of them hear these words? Would they want to?

"Look over your right shoulder, Jimmy. Your brother Tom is going to spend his life working with what he loves most -- cars. Engines of all kinds. He'll marry a woman named Joyce, have two sons, and live in the Catskills. He and Joyce love their horses, and they have grandchildren now. Look over your left shoulder. Your brother Dave will live what some call a colorful life. He'll marry, but he'll let the winds of change carry him where they will. From woman to woman, job to job, enjoying a sip of this, a snort of that, and a toke of this or that along the way. But he'll live without worries. He'll be gone in 24 years. Maybe it was his physiology -- a proneness to cancer, which he survived 7 years before this picture was taken. Maybe it was the Cobalt radiation that saved his life, coming back for him. The cigarettes sure as hell didn't help, but like I said, he lived without worries.

Enjoy the fun times with your brother Johnny, Jimmy-boy. You won't get along very well for, well, nearly a decade. By and large he'll kick the shit out of you for no particular reason. What you lack in physical skill and strength you will compensate with a quick wit and sharp tongue. Not that it will stop him from kicking your ass. You'll emerge relatively unscathed, though as a grown man you tend to be one moody motherfucker, although that might just be a character defect. Oh yeah, you swear a lot. Fuck yeah. I won't tell your mom if you don't. John will stop being a prick after his 18th birthday, and you'll actually get along with each other in a phenomenal way. He'll die at age 19 in a head-on collision while riding his bike home from church. Remember what I said about the swearing? Well, that is going to fuck with your head for years.

Your sister, Janie (Why is she frowning? Is the sun in her eyes?) will, after a string of boyfriends that don't seem to meet with Dad's approval, marry her high-school boyfriend Eric. No kids, but they'll have a long string of doggies that amuse them. They love each other, and are financially comfortable. They actually live in the same area they grew up in. Everyone else scatters, eventually, even your parents. Your mom, by the way, will have a severe stroke in two years, but experience a fantastic recovery. A little numbness, but she'll regain full speech, full memory, full mobility. That health scare will change your parent's eating habits. Your father will begin jogging and running long-distance, and stay with it even into his retirement. You won't see him much from this point forward, because there is very little construction work in New York for an ironworker like him. You'll see him on weekends, because all the construction work is in Massachusetts.

Strangely enough, and I don't want to give everything away, but you and your parents will eventually leave New York behind for the Southwest. Your father will pass away from complications of heart surgery in 2006 . . . and 2006 is one motherfucker of a year for you, by the way. But you'll find out soon enough. Keep an eye out for a woman in college named Joanne. You'll kiss on April Fool's Day, and celebrate many anniversaries. You named your only son John, after your brother, and you'll have two daughters. You'll pursue the career of your dreams, and find it doesn't pay shit. You'll shift gears, career-wise, and find relative contentment. And you're blessed to have some good friends."

Would I believe anything that future James might say to me, should he emerge unexpectedly?

Not a fucking word, most likely.

By the way, here's how little Jimmy reacted when I told him his father's male-pattern baldness was hereditary:

YES !!!!!!!!!!

2008-04-06T02:22:00.002-05:00

How will I die? Your Result: You will die while having sex. Your last moments in this life will be enjoyable indeed...hopefully. Do not fear sex. Try not to become celibate as a way of escaping death. You cannot run from destiny.
You will die in a car accident.
You will die while saving someone's life.
You will die in a nuclear holocaust.
You will be murdered.
You will die of boredom.
You will die from a terminal illness.
You will die in your sleep.
How will I die? Create a Quiz

You Roll The Dice and You Take Your Chances

2008-02-29T20:04:00.005-06:00

I spent my first month here, after moving to Vegas. Now this.

The worst thing I experienced during my time there? The chubby guy who insisted on going shirtless and leaving the curtains of his room open.

The Roof, The Roof, The Roof Is On Fire

2008-01-25T14:49:00.000-06:00

The PR spin should soon be churning at about 7800 RPM, letting everyone know that only the facade was actually involved, and that rampant wagering will resume in a very short time.

Interesting fact: did you know that the concrete used to build the palatial casinos of Las Vegas is actually comprised of cement mix and the tear drops of bankrupt tourists? (Of course, don't forget that concrete slab where Fat Tony rests in peace. If only he had kept his mouth shut).

More Meandering Thoughts and Notes From Las Vegas

2007-12-20T00:29:00.000-06:00

While driving across town, I happened to pass by a Citizens Area Transit bus stop just as a woman stumbled away from the bench and re-enacted this scene.

When we moved into our current rental home, there was an opening in the wall between the dining room and the living room. The realtor called it a "pony wall". At the office, when they use inter-office mail, they don't say "send it by inter-office mail", they say "pony it to the other office." What the hell is it with these people and ponies?

Real deal diner: My significant other and I have found a great diner -- Miami Beach Grill House. The food is great, which just makes the Formica counters, stainless steel, neon, and the Wurlitzer jukebox all the more enjoyable. It's already a Saturday morning tradition for us.

A visit to some area furniture shops has exposed me to a type of overstuffed, over-carved, over-guilded furniture that I've only been able to describe as "Las Vegas Grotesque". It's the furniture equivalent to the old man with the spray-on tan, the comb-over, the over-sized mirror sunglasses, and multiple gold chains.

Great food, silly name. Or is that just my Western ear?

Our company Christmas party at Tuscany Casino was down the hall from a cross-dresser's coronation party. Their music was better.

Prof. Roger Myerson: Dude, You're Going To Stockholm!

2007-10-15T12:24:00.001-05:00

Farkleberries offers our heartiest congratulations to the University of Chicago's Prof. Roger Myerson on winning this year's Nobel Prize in Economics, jointly with Prof. Eric Maskin and Prof. Leonid Hurwicz.

My apologies for the slightly blurry photo taken at this morning's press conference at Mandel Hall, but it was the best I could do without flash. From left: Prof. James Heckman (won the Nobel Prize in Economics 2000), Prof. Roger Myerson, Prof. Gary Becker (1992), and Prof. Robert Lucas (1995). Missing is Prof. Robert Fogel, who won the prize in 1993.

Strange to come to work with news crews waiting outside the Prof's door, awaiting the newly announced laureate's arrival. Even stranger is the fact the University's Department of Economics now has five - count them, five - current Nobel prize winners (not counting professors passed on, or emeriti). Five laureates out of 38 active faculty members means...13.2 percent of our department has won the Nobel Prize. That's just kind of...extraordinary.

SOBAPUNK!

2007-10-05T15:28:00.001-05:00

It's not often I click advertising links that appear in the margins of my Gmail account, but this one (in all Japanese characters) intrigued me...after all, how I could I not wonder which of the key words in my otherwise innocuous English email generated a Japanese ad?

Behold...SOBAPUNK. Exactly what it sounds like. It's food...it's fashion! T-Shirts with cute skull-and-crossbones logos, piles of noodles with "punk"-style shredded laver seaweed pieces on top. Click on the link and you'll see their catchy motto:

HEALTHY PUNK LIFE
SOBAPUNK NOODLES = BUCKWHEAT GREEN TEA TASTE NOODLES
Opening Special: Buy Punk T-Shirts Get One Free SOBAPUNK Noodle!!!!

ONE Free Noodle?!?! Now, that's punk.

The 'user comments' are choice:

A healthy alternative...and it tastes great! Celo
Sobapunk is an amazing product. Besides being cleverly packaged with distinguishable and hip artwork; sobapunk noodles are a great tasting and healthy alternative to junkfood. It compliments a variety of condiments and is very satisfying. My first experience with it left me craving for more! Gotta have my sobapunk!

This is Real Japanese taste Raichu
A friend of mine gave me 1 pack of Soba Punk. I followed the instruction to cock cold soba. I don’t think it’s difficult to cock if you follow the instruction. That was very helpful. And the most importantly, taste was amazingly great

Or, would that be "cold-cocked" soba?

The Last of the Famous International Playboys

2007-09-22T02:19:00.000-05:00

Just got back from a Morrissey concert at the Palms Casino. Good lord. I used to play The Smiths in my college radio show at Plattsburgh State. It only took me, what -- 21 years to find the time and money to make this happen?

Ironic that Morrissey, who drapes himself in pompadoured iconography now himself follows involuntarily in the footsteps of Elvis . . . rising to prominence in his youth, only to spend the B-side of his life dodging fat jokes. Although to be fair, Morrisey's homages are to 1950's rebel icon James Dean, who had the good sense to die young and tragically, thus avoiding the ravages of male pattern baldness or involuntary weight gain.

The man can still croon, and his lyrics are as beautifully cynical as ever. All in all, a great concert. And to his credit, when the occasional lunatic fan stormed the stage (and there were many), he would still offer up an arm's length handshake as security dropped them to the floor.

The show opened with Kristeen Young. I had heard of her, but by name only. I was liking her music too, and I think she's someone to keep an eye on.

But man, she's a real curio -- imagine if Kate Bush had an illegitimate daughter, weaned her on Red Bull, and then abandoned her to be raised by Bjork, with only an electronic keyboard to play with. That weird, and that wonderful.

BTW, no O.J. sightings . . . besides, apparently he's no longer welcome at The Palms.

Random Notes on Las Vegas

2007-09-17T01:14:00.000-05:00

Coming from Yuma, AZ, I realized that I'm one of the few new Las Vegans who've actually experienced a drop in temperature.

Two days after I arrived in town, I was leaving a Walgreens pharmacy. There was a young guy sitting on the sidewalk, with his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking and I realized this guy was actually sobbing. Not something you often see, unless a guy has been kicked in the junk, or had his heart broken. There was no crotch-grabbing involved, so I'm assuming a troubled love-life.

My wife visited from AZ this weekend, and we decided to mingle with the tourists (which we were, technically, up until a few weeks ago). We experienced a rare event -- my wife and I trumped the sales staff at Bloomingdales and some trendy tea shop. She asked for a particular brand of cookware, and the sales assistant admitted to never having heard of it before. Later, we asked the attendant at the tea shop about chrysthanthemum tea ( a tree-barky tasting tea I've developed a taste for), and we received the same reply. I was feeling pretty impressed with myself, up until the moment I banged my head against the clear glass door as we left. PWANG! Damn you, karma!

I was informed (politely) that I was pronouncing Nevada incorrectly. Apparently, it's not 'Neh - va -dah', but rather 'Nuh - vat - uh'. Because I will make public presentations on occasion at my new job, I've been forcing myself to make this sound -- and it's never going to feel right. But I have to, as it's a matter of developing credibility with born & bred locals. Yeesh. I still have to fight off the urge to wince -- like hearing Canadians say 'paa - sta' instead of 'pah -stuh'. I can still hear Tony Fortunato (Brooklyn) from my freshman year at Plattsburgh State, after hearing a commercial on the CTV network . . . "What did they say? It's 'pah -stuh', you stupid mother-f . . . . .!"

I really, really like neon.

I'm disappointed to have not yet made an Elvis sighting.

My driving habits quickly devolve to the lowest standard of those in which city I am driving.

After moving here from the Mexican border, I've actually had to re-adjust to seeing so many white people.

The billboards and taxicab advertising placards show lots of hineys. Not that I'm complaining.

Did I mention that I like the neon?

Grown Men Reading Comic Books (Year 3)

2007-07-23T23:07:00.000-05:00

In just a few short days, the family heads to San Diego for the 2007 San Diego Comic Con -- 4 days (3 for us) of comic books, pop culture, cosplayers, jpop, anime and more, along with a critical mass of nerds.

Pictures will be taken to document the madness, which will likely include a picture of me as this guy from Final Fantasy VII . . .

Not my cup of tea, but I'm a dad who wants to share something with his daughter -- and this is her thing. I told her this will be the first and last time . . . and besides, it's not much of a stretch from my typical office wear.

That Dangly-Down Thingy At The Back Of Your Throat

2007-07-20T10:48:00.000-05:00

For no particular reason, my Top Ten Amusing Words:

10. Riboflavin. Who knows what it does? I'm sure it's full of vitaminy goodness.

9. Defenestrate. I know it means to toss something/someone out the window. I like it because it sounds dirty ("What? He defenestrated her right there in front of the whole class?").

8. Credenza. That's what's wrong with our country -- we've lost all the best words. When is the last time you looked for something, and had someone reply "I think it's on top of the credenza"?

7. Uvula. Yes, that dangly-down thingy at the back of your throat, made famous by a distraught Charlie Brown and also the Gilda Radner/Chevy Chase era of SNL.

6. Panini. What's not to love? It tastes great and sounds funny, especially when quickly repeated. Let's just hope the panini doesn't repeat on you.

5. Pectin. Another one of those "it ought to be a dirty word but it isn't" words.

4. Sheboygan. The city from the Land of Cheese. I don't know why, but when I hear this word, I picture it being spoken by Borscht-belt comics.

3. Frenulum. Yeah, another body-related word (mouth or naughty bits -- the choice is yours). Weird.

2. Schmetterling. The German word for butterfly. For me, it's the perfect name for a new army recruit being berated by his gruff boot camp instructor: "Schmetterling! Front and center!"

And, my top favorite amusing word of all time is . . .

1. Craisins®. I don't need a reason. I just like it.

Craisins.

Happy Independence Day

2007-07-04T17:27:00.000-05:00

It's 114 degrees Fahrenheit in the desert today. I'm going to liberate some Tecate beer from the refrigerator.

At The Vanguard of Toilet Humor

2007-06-04T16:43:00.000-05:00

Nice to know that we at Farkleberries are at the vanguard of coolness: months after this post appeared, Gizmodo "discovers" Kohler's Jo the Plumber interactive I-dare-you-to-flush-this site.

Although, I must say, some of the comments there had me laughing far too hard. ;)

"Sure, the one time you might want to see some plumber's crack, and she's wearing belted high-waisted pants. Is there no justice in this universe?"

-----

Pinching loaves? I prefer a euphemism of that euphemism to make it sound even more sterile and cryptic. "Hey, I'll be right back, I'm gonna go steal some bread. And stink up your bathroom." My old favorite was always "taking a deuce".

-----

So why is it perfectly normal to flush a bra and some dog food down the toilet, but 'silly' to flush some flowers. Jo's hot, but she's on crack.

Memories of Life In The Cheap Seats

2007-06-03T18:33:00.000-05:00

A short time ago I did a Google search using the name of the band I fronted in college back in upstate New York: "Balcony of Ignorance". What can I say? Idle curiosity and boredom (plus access to the internet) can lead you down some strange paths.

Not surprisingly, there weren't many hits; in fact, there were only two. One of them was this blog, and the other was a website written completely in Russian, with a few exceptions: the quotes "Balcony of Ignorance" and "Museum of Corruption". That's when it got really intriguing.

It's a long stroll down punchline path, but stay with me . . . . .

Balcony of Ignorance was our college band name. Museum of Corruption was the name of another band, and later a music/literary 'zine by my fellow bandmate Carson (I went by the name of Perry Neal -- that's a joke, ask someone in the medical profession what it means -- and Carson went by the name Patty O'Furniture). Anyways, this Russian website appears to be an interview of the various bandmembers of Brooklyn-based heavymetal/punk/rapcore group Biohazard. Could it be that one of our two "homemade" cassettes are still floating around out there? We were together for only about two years, and only played on two public occasions -- the German Club in Burlington, VT, and live on Plattsburgh State University's PSTV college television station. Some of us graduated, and in short order, we all pretty much scattered to the four winds.

I eventually found the Myspace page of the Biohazard bandmember making the quote (the particulars of which I still don't know, as the text is all in the Cyrillic alphabet, and Altavista translations can only offer so much). I wrote to him, and it turns out that, yes, he heard us/saw us/listened to us back in the day. In some small way, we offered an inspiration/influence of some sort. And I'd like to emphasize the word "small" in my observations and remarks, as there's no comparison between the weekend musical diversions of four college students who described their music both as "the sound of things falling apart" and "ranging from migraine blues to epileptic polka" and the accomplishments of a band that has actually toured the world, sold countless albums, and have made a career in the music industry.

But still. How freakin' cool is that?

By the way, a week later, I found yet another link: click on the photo below to see what Sound Choice magazine really thought of Balcony of Ignorance.

Ouch.

Spam Poetry Slam

2007-06-03T15:15:00.000-05:00

Honestly, it was sheer curiosity that made me open the obvious spam email with links to great bargains for Cyialis and Viagra . . .

but, once there, I took a closer look at the text they used to spike the message in order to get past the filters. Maybe I see art in the strangest places, but after cleaning up the punctuation, I thought this was a pretty good read:

what
just about to scream 'jack!'
when something went splash into the tub
at the spare him a minute

come, arch, we must be off, or
these boys will miss their upon the stick
that supported it

what
"they needn't see or speak to anyone, but run in"
yes, dear: my honored father
at first, but as i went along i kept thinking what i could do,
and feeling as at first, but as i went along
i kept thinking what i could do,

and feeling as studying plato,
and doubling the beauty of a flower,
than in selling principles
the broken manuel whispered,
"i see the curtain move"
now comes the outline of a his heart,
not only by the friendly words she said
and the pleasant things she

you, you are,
you're a great
the boy's compound fractures,
and the poor little girl
had a very bad quarter matter now?

young tramp been stealing your chickens?
"no, dear, not you. it's amy."

surprise and pride as he came in
full of boyish satisfaction in his trim array
find will hardly seem to them worthy of their precious daughter
let her remain come along too,
and all be happy together

what do you think of that?
he asked, is absent template
it is a forty days job, young man,
and delightful woman
looking at her with that new interest in his eyes

polly's flirting back to tell the good news,
and amy looked both touched and surprised
christie went to her new home.
warm rains had melted the last trace

there was a general laugh at his speech,
and rough in his manner
and what else could be expected
yankees are a deal the most tricky,
everybody but charlie

bare and shabby,
robbed of the vines
that in summer covered its walls
a wayward will misleads, singer.

it was me.
he doesn't like to hear me play.
porch playing with josephus and belinda,
and discussing the events

in search of him
he was not far away,
sitting just as he used to
kindness

every room in the big house was soon full
every little
go there

lita went back the way she had come,
as ben could see
by the not mean to tell,
but his frankness was so agreeable
she forgot herself.
she went on scraping her saucepans,
while molly returned to her work

i scolded him
he needs someone to look after him
when frank is not herself
could not help smiling
as she watched them.
steve was superb,
and nothing could comfort her.
nan dosed in vain,
daisy's cheerful words went
institution had not yet made
its rules as fixed
as the laws of the medes
but it seemed as if i was all voice,
for i let myself go,
trying to forget

Cos We Love You, Mr. Moonlight

2007-05-10T00:39:00.000-05:00

I love the desert, I really do. And the closer to the border you get, the more of it's "own world" it becomes.

I've always enjoyed the charms of moonlight, and in a non-lunatic, non-lycanthropic way, I have to admit I've always felt more at peace, and more 'centered' during a full moon. Maybe because it's a big night light, literally and figuratively?

Now a Tucson, Arizona based inventor by the name of Richard Chapin has created a device that uses an array of mirrors roughly the size of drive-in movie screen to focus the moon's blue-tinged light on fans of this new "moonshine":

"On some nights, as many as 120 people show up, arriving from around Arizona and the rest of the country. Richard Chapin, the inventor, concedes there is no empirical proof of moonlight's beneficial powers because it has never been studied before. He counts himself a pioneer, not a dreamer, using money he earned by founding a Tucson swap meet."

Interested? Chapin doesn't charge, but he does accept $10 donations.

As for me, if I feel the need to get "mooned", I'll just step into the backyard and look skyward . . .

I'm A Coffee Achiever . . . Are You?

2007-04-13T17:40:00.000-05:00

The Orphan Meme

2007-04-13T14:34:00.000-05:00

After some recent experiences, I believe that as the Internet and sites such as Wikipedia and Youtube continue to grow, the orphan meme may someday cease to exist.

An orphan meme is a unit of cultural information, that once lodged in the memory, is stored and forgotten after key elements of the meme decay and prevent its dissemination (e.g., the musical tune fragment that you remember but can't duplicate sufficiently well enough to propagate or elicit recognition from another person, the short story you read decades ago, the storyline of which you recall, but neither the author nor the title, the TV broadcast that implanted words and images in your memory that no one else seems to recognize).

This very concept of the orphan meme is something I discovered via my interaction with friends and the web. One of the first examples that emerged was due to an entry made by my friend Lenka.

Like many of us, I thought that maybe I had imagined this (a fever dream, perhaps?). Of course, this example might easily be an argument that orphan memes are orphaned with good reason, perhaps to preserve the sanity of the meme host, or to prevent the meme host from being the target of derision, mocking laughter, and social irrelevancy.

More recent examples had their origin in my wistful recollections of my earlier youth (those carefree 1980's). Kicking back on the beach, reading the science factoids and science fiction of Omni Magazine. Wow, what a cool story that was, about a no-longer-United States . . . what was the title? Dammit. It was a great story, and it had an Emperor Norton character, but not the Emperor Norton. Shit, I can't even remember what year the magazine was, or the author.

(FYI, yesterday, approximately 26 years later, I rediscovered these answers).

I had great memories of the cool TV shows that could be found in the 1980's, when television still seemed to be trying (and MTV still played music). Night Flight on the USA Network, for example -- they played new music, alternative before they figured out they could use 'alternative' for a name (and oh, how I fell in love with that woman's voice). They played short films, experimental films . . . they even played a film on the Church of the Subgenius! (Yeah, I'd love to see how the three-fisted tales of Bob would be be perceived by the FCC today). There was that Power-Rangers-type show, with the goofy dialogue dubbed in, and re-cut "educational films." And once, late at night, there was that cartoon . . .there was beer, and speeding cars, and a mushroom cloud . . . was it early Beavis & Butthead? I'm not sure, I just can't remember . . .

(FYI, last week, approximately 20 years later, I rediscovered these answers).

And even when the identifying characteristics of the meme are retained, how can you fully share them when the meme-originator can no longer be shared? Like that NBC show that was cancelled after a few weeks, but I swear that there was this brilliant Laurie Anderson performance piece about sperm whales travelling at Mach 20 . . . . yeah, try and share that with a friend without being able to point at the video . . .

Will my children remember and access more with the Internet, or less? We all enjoy watching Adult Swim, which, now that I look at it, is the millennial torch-bearer of Night Flight (yeah, I know they're not the same, but I'll take what I can get). But, once these images of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Shin Chan and FLCL and Venture Brothers are lodged in their brains, will it be the same when they can readily re-access those same images and sounds online, whenever they feel like it? Is the Internet an extension of their memory, something they can plug into like a flash memory card?

Does this make us smarter?

Well, I'm a 42 year old man who watches cartoons. I think I already know the answer to that question.

Rest In Peace

2007-04-12T22:22:00.000-05:00

I always loved his work. Here's hoping he is at peace and among friends.

Could the Salton Sea Actually Smell Worse?

2007-04-05T12:09:00.000-05:00

If only a plane crash was involved, perhaps carrying a payload of celery and chicken wings, we might actually consider this a happy accident.

Set Phasers on Huuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrfffffff

2007-03-11T15:35:00.000-05:00

Back in the day, the only beam we used to incapacitate someone to the point of projectile vomiting was Jim Beam.

(Sorry, I'm 42 years old, and I'm still juvenile enough to find the subject of barfing to be, well, fall on the floor funny.)

This Is So Very, Very Wrong

2007-03-01T17:06:00.000-06:00

Even in my elementary school years (the same era as this commercial), you could not have used the term 'ball buster' without at least a smirk or outright laughter. How did I miss this? (BTW, that wink the woman gives at the end of the commercial seems just a little bit too . . . something.)

The Horror

2007-02-22T21:29:00.000-06:00

This is not to be interpreted as a jab at a presidential candidate. All I can say is that when I saw McCain's picture, I knew that I had seen it somewhere before.

Trailmarker

2007-02-19T00:34:00.000-06:00

Found on a tree in front of an 8th Avenue church in Yuma, Arizona.

Rappin' Furniture with Sammy Stephens

2007-02-17T01:48:00.000-06:00

For the love of G-d, don't let any furniture dealers in Plattsburgh see this Sammy Stephens Mini-Mall television spot - lest they are inspired to shoot something similar.

Guys, you know who I'm talking about...

Getting A Grip On Myself

2007-02-12T20:54:00.000-06:00

My most recent performance art foray.

Backstory here, and here, and here.

I promise . . . this is the last time.

Laundry Detergent for Vampires

2007-01-28T19:28:00.000-06:00

Bought a jug of Cheer Dark™ (now there's an oxymoron) today, since my darks always lose their tenebrosity after repeated washings, and I couldn't resist a little Photoshopping.

Great Name For A College Band

2007-01-22T22:08:00.000-06:00

Back in the day, I played guitar and provided lead vocals (screaming) for "Balcony of Ignorance", a pseudo-punk band, releasing two cassettes ("Those Meddling Kids", followed quickly by "Time To Make The Donuts", before we quickly faded into well-deserved oblivion). Since that time, I've always had my ear attuned to words and phrases that would make for great band names. And I've found yet another.

I predict alot of great sounds coming from: Artificial Anus

Your Mind Has Been Transported Back In Time. And To Mars.

2007-01-14T16:32:00.000-06:00

Even stone cold sober, this is one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. And I'm all about anything that makes me laugh.

Fear and Loathing In The Dollar Store Checkout Line

2006-12-03T21:23:00.000-06:00

After sending a fax at Staples, I went next door to catch up with my wife, who had stopped inside the local dollar store to check out the bargains. I looked up and down the aisles, and there was the usual assortment of Chinese prison labor hand tools and knick knacks, and poorly concieved food products like aerosol salad sprays and nacho cheese flavored bubble gum.

Then it happened.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye. A rail thin man, weather-worn, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, the obligatory Buick hubcap sized belt buckle, and capped off on either end with cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. An even more weathered woman was next to him, and at first glance I took her to be 'Mom'.

They were talking in hushed tones, and looking in my direction:

"Ask him, he looks like he might know."

"I can't do that!"

I assumed (hoped) that there was a store attendant behind me. I kept walking and headed up another aisle, and in a few moments I had joined my wife at the checkout line. And there was The Cowboy. He looked very uncomfortable.

"Excuse me, but do you have a tattoo?" he asked, looking straight at me.

"Umm . . . .yes?" I replied. Good lord -- what is this going to be about? Why do they always come to me?

"I just got myself a tattoo a few weeks ago in Houston, and it's itchin somethin' fierce!"

OK, so he surmised that I was the 'type' to have ink. I've got the shaved head, the goatee, the earring (when did I become a walking stereotype?) so maybe it wasn't a huge leap of faith on their part. It's probably more difficult in this day and age to find someone without tats.

Still, why me?

I conjectured that this guy is probably feeling very uncomfortable. He's so uncomfortable, he's going to approach a complete stranger and share information about his physical discomfort.

And then it got worse.

"Let me show you."

Please Lord, no.

At this point, I gave my wife a look of desperation, hoping for a rescue. She's got the medical background, after all. God bless her, she stepped into the mix.

"It sounds like maybe you have an infection" she said.

No, no, no . . . he's still rolling up his sleeve! I don't want to see this!

"Well, that's what I thought. But I'm itchin' all over! Everywhere! Even my butt!"

His mother nudged him with a well-placed elbow and a stern "Hush!"

I held my breath as he drew up the curtain on his right bicep, in all of its scabby goodness.

Well, it wasn't the gruesome train wreck I had feared. I've seen worse. Momentarily relieved, what concerned me more at this point was how long this conversation would go on, and where it might go before it reached its conclusion.

"Maybe you're having a reaction to the ink," I said, trying to be helpful.

"Do you have a latex allergy?" my wife asked. "It could have been the latex gloves."

"I've been itching like this for two weeks now!"

"You should take some Benadryl," my wife suggested.

"What's that?" he asked.

He's never heard of Benadryl?

The conversation went back and forth like this for several minutes, and out of survival mode, I think I blacked out the worst parts. I guess I'm a coward for doing this, but I let my wife (medical degree, remember?) take the lead on this one.

As the conversation continued, she walked down another aisle and pointed out the topical analgesics and allergy medications.

The woman is a saint.

Moments later, still twitchy, but with a look of cautious optimism, The Cowboy and his mother thanked us profusely.

Before heading down another checkout line, he grabbed my hand and gave it a firm Southwest handshake.

I washed my hands when I got home.

I scrubbed hard.

The Devil Dog

2006-12-03T19:40:00.000-06:00

My wife took a picture of our courtyard after putting up some holiday lights. Look closely at the black dog in the background. I knew deep down there was something evil about her. The dog, that is. My wife is a sweetheart . . .

Weirdest. Fortune. Ever.

2006-07-12T00:43:00.000-05:00

It was just my luck to retrieve this scrap of paper from my fortune cookie after enjoying dinner at the China Vic, just south of Tucson.

WTF?

I'm beginning to suspect, with some degree of fear and trepidation, that perhaps they are referring to . . . cat?

Someone, somewhere has a nicely twisted sense of humor.

Grown Men Reading Comic Books

2006-06-27T23:43:00.000-05:00

It's coming . . . it's just a few weeks away. I'll be adding to my Love & Rockets collection (though why I wait for the convention rather than just ordering from the catalog I can't explain. Perhaps it's a tactile thing -- thumbing through the racks, and just taking in the surroundings . . . to include the "cosplayers", which will include my two daughters. They wanted me to go as this guy from Final Fantasy, and I'd be more than happy to share their fun, but it just won't time out with the purchase of a black suit (I was planning to get one, but it won't happen in time for the convention).

Out of the Bat Cave

2006-06-11T17:59:00.000-05:00

No clever commentary or socio-political observations. It just made me smile. (backstory here).

Are We Not Men?

2006-06-10T01:08:00.000-05:00

There's something poetic about the fact that while they were at their height of stardom (such as it was during my high school years -- unavoidably filled with the echos of Journey, Bonnie Tyler, Iron Maiden, etc.), I was never able to see my all-time favorite band in concert . . . and now that things, have, well, devolved to the point that the band members have shilled for Swiffer and have spawned DEVO regenerations . . at long last I am going to see them in concert (later this fall -- VIP tickets, and all).

While I'll admit I was a bit obsessed (oxymoron?), I never bought into their more obscure posturing such as the origin of modern man deriving from the practices of cannibalistic apes (which I enjoyed, as I think the band members did, as a long-running tongue-in-cheek "hey isn't this a laugh" joke).

What I enjoyed then, and what is bringing me to plunk down my hard earned cash now, is this simple fact that I just loved the music, and I loved the spoof on celebrity. I mean, seriously, we buy assloads of fan-related crap for all types of musicians and movie stars, and these guys managed to pitch energy domes and potato themed paraphernalia. There's a perverse genius at work there that I really have to admire. And "Girl You Want" kicks ass.

(PS-- I'll also be pogo-ing to the tunes of When In Rome, Bow-Wow-Wow, A Flock of Seagulls, Animotion, and a number of "one-hits" whose names I can't recall).

Illegality

2006-03-31T23:25:00.000-06:00

HR 4437, the Sensenbrenner bill, makes it a felony to be in the United States without proper documents and makes it a crime for anyone to aid undocumented immigrants.

Question: if I encounter an illegal immigrant in the desert in need of water or food or medical assistance, and I help that person, am I guilty of aiding and abetting a felon? Should I do jail time? Or should they just die?
(students pictured are actual protestors from my adopted hometown).

A Few Words

2006-03-22T23:23:00.000-06:00

For someone who gets paid to talk for living, I'm not sure I have the right words, but I thought I should offer a few.

I met Jim Crump at WTEN (Ch. 10) in Albany, NY, after my "first" years at 'PTZ . I worked Albany from roughly 1994 to 1997. We both worked as tape and camera ops, as well as the occasional field shoots. We both worked part time, and we were both looking for something more.

After taking a week or so off for a vacation, a FT commercial producer position became available. Jim made a point of contacting me and letting me know -- an opportunity that otherwise would have completely passed me by, because no one else there, assuredly, would have bothered to let me know (I didn't get the job, regardless).

As time went by, I got a call from Jim Gratton at 5, and he offered the FOX 44 commercial job to me (there's was an LMA, as you know).

Remembering what Jim Crump had done stayed with me, so when a production position opened up at 'PTZ a year or so later, I let him know about it. He eventually interviewed and got the job.

I think we all knew, eventually, of some of the troubles and substance abuse he struggled with; it was hard for me to acknowledge, as many of those personal aspects were news to me, but I eventually found myself face-to-face with some of those issues.

For what it is worth, there was a good man beneath the troubles and the struggle. I sincerely hope that he has found peace.

FCC: Get Over The Boob.

2006-03-16T16:48:00.000-06:00

The Pit Bulls of Decency Strike Again.

(CBS) The government proposed a record fine of $3.6 million against dozens of CBS stations and affiliates Wednesday in a crackdown on what regulators called indecent television programming.

The Federal Communications Commission said a network program, "Without a Trace," that aired in December 2004 was indecent. It cited the graphic depiction of "teenage boys and girls participating in a sexual orgy." The proposed fine was among decisions from the agency stemming from more than 300,000 complaints it received concerning nearly 50 TV shows broadcast between 2002 and 2005.

In addition to upholding its earlier decision to fine CBS $550,000 for Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" at the 2004 Super Bowl, the FCC said in a statement released Wednesday on its Web site: "The Commission also finds episodes of "Without a Trace" and "The Surreal Life 2," which contained numerous graphic, sexual images, to be impermissible under the Commission’s indecency standard."

CBS had appealed the FCC's fine against 20 of its stations for Jackson's brief breast exposure during the Super Bowl halftime show two years ago. But the agency affirmed the decision.

You know, there's a strange little button that sometimes appears on the front of television receivers, or even somewhere amongst the dozens of little buttons usually found on their remote controls. Few people know its real name, but when pressed, it's unusually effective at reducing or even eliminating objectionable programming. It's called the CHANNEL button, and when engaged, within a fraction of a second the viewer can expect a different program to appear on the screen.

Should the CHANNEL button not remove objectionable content to the viewer's satisfaction, Plan 'B' can be deployed by pressing the POWER button, which also sometimes is found on televisions and remotes. Should Plan 'B' fail, there's always Plan 'C': Pull The Damn Plug Out Of The Socket.

Like Plan 'A' or Plan 'B', you can do this yourself without any special tools - or the Government's help.

A Former 5-er's Passing

2006-03-16T16:19:00.000-06:00

I just heard through the Mighty Five Grapevine that former studio staffer Jim Crump has passed away. Hopefully we'll be able to bring you more details in the near future.

Hi.

2006-03-15T22:16:00.000-06:00

Well, it certainly has been a while, eh? I've been watching FarkleberriesUSA - but I just haven't had much to say. Well, I've broken my silence, by-Joe... but you have to visit me @ my home, Multifarious Musings to read what I have to say about Martin, Moussaoui, Mistakes & Morality Musings.

Hope to see you there, and - hey, Thanks Jim, for many amusing hours of reading - you're one funny dude!!!!

And... Congrats, Nate!! (will he never learn??? ;-> )

And Lenka... I really miss Pork Roll - that posting in Farkleberries is going to be the death of me yet... you see, we can get it up here in the 'burgh now, also!!! Clog those arteries, baby!!!!!

-Jon.

(Don't Tell My Wife But) I Think I'm In Love

2006-03-11T14:23:00.000-06:00

You know, there's nothing sexier than a woman who can kick some ass when she has to.

Not mine, of course.

Cats! The Musical . . . . Instrument.

2006-03-07T23:11:00.000-06:00

I don't know how I stumble across these, but I do (and to think that I assumed that Monty Python's "Arthur Ewing, and his Musical Mice" sketch was just the humorous imagining of a brilliant but twisted mind).

Well, speaking of brilliant and twisted, Athanasius Kircher actually designed the "cat piano" and documented it in the Musurgia Universalis in the year 1650. The piano was designed to raise the spirits of an Italian prince who was, well, stressed out. The musician would select cats whose voices were at different pitches then arrange them in the pens accordingly. The piano delivered sharp pokes into the tails of the cats.

Cruel? Definitely. Funny? Well, animal cruelty laws prevent us from really knowing for sure. But for the curious, there's always Jingle Cats.

The Demon Fork

2006-02-23T11:30:00.000-06:00

No one knows where the it came from, or when it first appeared in our silverware drawer. We don't remember buying it, borrowing it, or even bringing it home "by accident" from a restaurant - and it doesn't match any of our others. What's so strange about this fork, besides the fact it's unnaturally long and has only three sharp prongs, you ask?

It has very bad fork shui. It just feels intrinsically ... well, wrong.

When I'm on the receiving end of the Evil Fork - usually unintentionally - I snarl inwardly and tromp into the kitchen to replace it with a more manageable drawermate. I attempt to bury the fork deep in the recesses of the silverware, but the next day when I reach into the silverware to set the table the Evil Fork has somehow risen to the top of the compartment, daring me to place it amongst the unsuspecting innocent forks aleady on the table.

On daring days I've tried eating with it, only to misjudge its awkward length and jab myself in the tongue, or have it skid screeching across the dinner plate in pursuit of a fleeing carrot. It might be my imagination, but food even seems to lose its flavor when handled or pierced by this fork. Perhaps it was never intended for actual eating; maybe it was forged for the sole purpose of stabbing unruly pickles, or serving slimy slices of bologna to bridge partners from a polite distance.

Or maybe it just belongs in another dimension. I'm afraid to throw it away, for fear I'll open the drawer the next day and it'll be back.

Dryde. Preston Dryde.

2006-02-10T01:03:00.000-06:00

Perhaps I should join a twelve step group . . .this is almost addicting in a way. But what a glorious addiction.

You'll find the backstory here. And the backstory for the backstory here.

Be patient. The best is yet to come.

Feds Want to Know If You're Googling Porn

2006-01-19T17:40:00.000-06:00

Who wants your Google search information? Marketers, sure...but now the gubmint wants to see if you've been naughty online. This in from ZDNet News:

Federal prosecutors defending the Child Online Protection Act, a controversial Internet pornography law, are demanding that Google hand over a million [randomly selected] search records. In court documents, the Bush administration asked a federal judge to force Google to comply with a subpoena for the records, which would reveal the search terms of a broad swath of Google's visitors.

PDF versions of the scanned subpoena available at ZDNet. More at Bloomberg.com, TechDirt and CNet. TechDirt offers this telling - and troubling - scoop:

...[I]n the original defense before the Supreme Court, Solicitor General Theodore Olson tried to use the Google results count for "free porn" as proof of why the law was needed. As we noted at the time, the Justices saw through that argument immediately, pointing out that just because there are search results on that term, it doesn't mean they're all pornographic - meaning such numbers don't prove much. However, it appears the government's lawyers have figured out that superficial evidence from Google isn't enough - so they might as well get a lot more detailed info, in the form of one whole week's worth of search results. This is worrisome, in part, because by hiding this behind the "protecting kids from porn" argument will distract from the real issue, and could set a bad precedent. It's also worth noting that the government claims other search engines had no problem at all turning over similar data - which may be the most worrying point.

Well, had Solicitor General Olson Googled farkleberries for the term "free porn," he would have received several hits. Obviously, we bear more watching. ;)

Testiculos Habet, et Bene Pendentes!*

2005-12-30T13:12:00.000-06:00

Anyone else out there catch last night's Diane Sawyer ABC Primetime special on "The Mystery of Pope Joan"? I have to confess I'd heard bits and pieces about the legend of the 'female pope' for years, so I wasn't too surprised the show wasn't entirely enlightening on the matter. Despite heated contentions from both sides, no one knows if there really was a 9th Century German woman named Johanna who ascended to the pontificate, only to be murdered by a mob two years later after giving birth on a Roman road. We'll probably never know for certain, but what's truly interesting is the subtext and tenacity of the legend - and its modern day context.

Why a "Pope Joan" special now? Maybe the attention surrounding Pope Benedict XVI's extension of the traditional Catholic "hard line" and crackdown on gays in the church, or maybe the fact a major Hollywood film about the Pope Joan legend is in the works? [Liv Ullmann starred in an obscure 1972 film on the topic, according to IMDb, and Harry Ufland ("Last Temptation of Christ") is reputed to have been associated with the new project for several years] My thoughts:

A quick Google reveals the Pope Joan legend is often cited as an example of "rampant anti-Catholicism." Why "Anti-Catholic"? Because it suggests that Church officials could have been duped by a mere woman? Because it seems so improbable that a female could rise through the ranks unnoticed, and if she did, that the evidence of her existence could have been erased over the centuries?

First of all, let's try to get rid of the Hollywood image of the story, where we imagine that some Angelina Jolie in sackcloth managed to fool the Fathers with a little feminine wile and chest-binding. This being the 9th Century, our Joan of legend (like everyone else) probably looked far older than her years, and like all clergy wore baggy multiple layers of heavy clothing year-round. With apologies to my fellow Central European sisters, some of us in our later years would have no problem passing as old men, even in silk babushkas - and remember, this is the Modern Age. Think of what Pope Iohannis Anglicus ("English John" after the British missionaries who reportedly brought Christianity to Joan's hometown of Mainz, Germany) - er, Joan, might have looked like back then, sans Clairol and waxing?

In all seriousness, there are many true historical accounts of cross-dressing women who "passed" as men undetected for years; and when a woman's inner desire for existence and self-actualization collides with a horribly misogynist historical period, there's no telling what a gal would do. [There's an interesting French-language site on La Papesse Jeanne. If you prefer to brave goofy autotranslation, click here for an "English" version. Also, check out this German Päpstin Johanna page with numerous historical images.]

As for the improbability of Pope Joan's existence being erased from historical records, consider this: in our world of rapid travel, ubiquitous communications, redundant electronic records and the Internet, "facts" and even people still seem to disappear around the world with startling ease. Go back over a thousand years, to days when literacy and recordkeeping were confined to the clergy and a fraction of the rich, and when there was essentially no means of communication between geographical regions. Is it really that improbable that the facts of a person's existence - even a Pope's - could be nullified with a little creative book-cooking and ecclesiastical housecleaning? I think not. The Dark Ages were "dark" for many reasons, not least of which were the epoch's propensity for silencing and secrecy.

We know news shows are designed to squeeze and tease the audience into watching the entire program, but how (un?)intentionally funny and adolescent was it that the Primetime show bumpers continually alluded to the "mysterious chair used to test the Pope's manhood"? In the ~~punchline~~ last segment of the program we finally see a photo of the vaunted porphyry marble "Coronation Chair" with a keyhole-shaped slot in the center of the seat.

Yes, ABC basically kept viewers glued to the screen for a full hour by suggesting we were going to discuss a secret ritual where a church deacon fondles the new Pope's goolies in full view of the assembled Conclave, exclaiming the Latin equivalent of *"he has testicles, and they hang well!" Now, does this sound more like a ceremony fit for the solemn Roman Church - or a bad college fraternity hazing rite?

One would think that if male gonads were so essential to Church status, proving one's biological manhood would be required much earlier in process; say, upon entry to the priesthood? Would the Conclave truly wait until the white smoke rose before checking if the papabile was a he or a she? If there actually were a "testiculos habet" ritual, I would wager its purpose was more to weed out the eunuchs and castrati rather than the women. Some say the proper utterance is actually, "Duos testiculos habet...," or "he has two testicles" - perhaps an allusion to the ancient Levitical constraint that those with "crushed" (injured, or even undescended) testicles are among the many imperfect souls who must not approach a holy altar.

It seems the chair exists, but is it really a ritual "sorting hat," so to speak? Given the "Coronation Chair's" Latin name of record, the sedia stercoraria, I suspect its true purpose it something far less divine. Yes: it's probably a commode of a design common to the Medieval era. A Pontifical Pooper, if you will. [If you don't believe me, look up the Latin root of the term "stercoraceous."] One gentleman on the Primetime special tried to tell Diane Sawyer that the chair is actually a "sella obstetrica," an old obstetric chair used by women during childbirth.

Perhaps it was, but why on Earth would the new Pope sit on an obstetric chair, of all things, at his coronation? One intervew-ee said the porphyry chair [same Latin root that gives us the word "porphyria," the name of the rare real-life blood disorder claimed to be the source of many vampire legends] was used because it was made of the rarest, most expensive form of purple stone known (but a toilet??)

Another scholar explained to Sawyer that the Church used the chair as an allegorical symbol of the new "Holy Father giving birth to the Mother Church." Eh? Sawyer all but laughed in his face. Now, if that doesn't sound like a mixed message with its roots in pagan female-centered religions, I don't know what does. In sum, questioning the history of the "Pope Joan" legend is no more "Anti-Catholic" than questioning the reasons we've gone war in Iraq is "Anti-American." Ahem...let me rephrase that. In any case, a historical instance of a cross-dressing female Pope might be no more sacrilegious than some of the other odd folk who are reputed to have been Pontiff over the centuries.

To paraphrase an old saying, "if Pope Joan never existed, it may have been necessary to invent her." I shall leave you dangling on that note, so to speak. Have a safe and wonderful New Year's Day!

A Quoi ca Sert L'amour? And . . . Psychotically Depressed Mickey

2005-10-18T00:22:00.000-05:00

The Mickey you never knew. And a little love, to lighten the mood.

Everything Must Go

2005-10-16T01:18:00.000-05:00

I stopped with my daughters at the local Goodwill store today (they were looking for some clothing to use for cosplay . . . between their interest in jpop and the San Diego ComicCon, it was only a matter of time). While they searched the racks for bargains, I perused the shelves in the back of the store.

What impressed me was a mood that came over me, both wistful and bittersweet, and on occasion, sombering. In these stores you see the ebbs and swirls, the waves, if you will, of the crap our lives leave behind. Literally.

I know, a lot of stuff is garage-sale leftover, spring cleaning rejects, and the like. But like at the "White Elephant" (a charity thrift store in the retirement community of Green Valley, AZ), in many cases, someone has died and left a lifetime of collected 'stuff' to find it's way back into the material world. Who bought that "World's Best Grampa" coffee mug? Where is grampa? Dead? In the throes of dementia? Or maybe he just had all the coffee cups he needed, and what the hell, the kid is in grad school now?

Looking through the shelves, I saw a Vivitar 110 camera (long, thin, narrow . . . negatives the size of your fingernail, and the graininess showed with every photo that was developed). Just holding it in my hands and I was back at summer camp in the Adirondacks . . . it's 1982, and Human League is playing on the radio. Hanging with good friends who promised they would stay in touch forever, and then scattered to the four winds just a few years later. Toys on the shelves, storybooks and records that meant so much to me as a child, and here is the same book, the same boardgame. All those childhood emotions wrapped up in an object produced by the millions. And now it's on a shelf at Goodwill, wornout, forgotten . . . and overpriced at $3.99.

I know. Enough of this maudlin crap. But I can't help but think of what I saw just before my daughters approached with their newfound treasures and asked to head to the checkout. A framed handmade embroidered picture, yellowed with age and a bit weatherworn, it had just a few simple words, and was signed 'Sarah.'

"Remember me when this you see."

I Heard It On the X . . . (Or, "You Don't Know Jack")

2005-10-06T23:26:00.000-05:00

My career experience in commercial radio was nominal at best, and I spent most of my "media career" in local television before turning to the dark side and taking a position in the Ministry of Truth for an organization in the Desert Southwest. I'm being purposely obscure here, as my job's public responsibilities prevent me from expressing personal opinions. FarkleberriesUSA allows me that luxury (thanks Lenka).

Anyways, I digress. Radio.

There is a dearth of choice here in the radio spectrum that is downright brutal. One Oldies AM and one Talk AM, a Country FM, and two Hot AC ('Adult Contemporary'). There are some Mexican stations with Norteno music, but that's not really my thing (I did like the Tejano stuff I heard in Texas and New Mexico on the drive out here, though). And that one Hot AC features Delilah every evening (god, to see that woman dropped 500 feet into a vat of boiling saccharine would be too good for her).

Where was I?

Oh yes. Anyways, I had the good fortune to find XHMIX-FM, known otherwise in the region as 98.3, "La Zona" (The Zone), transmitting from the mountains of "La Rumorosa" outside Mexicali, Baja California, Mexico (WinAmp Filename: http://201.130.111.2:8001/.wma).

Now, it's not the outlaw powerhouse sung about by ZZ Top, but it's a powerhouse nonetheless, with a footprint covering large areas of four states in two countries. And the format, well, it's akin to "Jack," but with some actual heart and spirit to the DJ's. Seriously, the playlist is unpredictable. As I wrote this, I heard Bob Dylan singing "Mockingbird," followed by Dire Straits "Twistin' By The Pool," and then Billy Idol's "Eyes Without A Face." Screw iPod . . . I've got the X . . .

But here's the real kicker, and the reason behind the rant. In order to protect me from myself, my government (thanks, FCC) and the local stations that bow to them play only 'radio edits'.

So . . . in order to hear "my own music" uncensored and unfiltered, I have to, in the land of the free, tune in a "foreign" radio station.

Hello

2005-09-29T14:20:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. I never call, I never write. I'm a terrible blogger; not faithful at all. But I've had bad luck, you see. I kept a journal a few years ago and was very honest in it. Then a car thief broke into my friend's car and stole my backpack. So really...that sort of turned me off (and they got a really cute picture of my cat when she was a kitten. Bastards.).

I will be moving to Chicago soon, so maybe I'll write a little bit then...although Lenka has the Chicago blog niche very ably filled. :)

Packard-Bell's 1996 Vision of the Future, Revisited

2005-09-29T13:45:00.000-05:00

One chilly autumn morning in 1996, during my first rusty days as a news-video engineer at Channel 5 in Plattsburgh (before I became a commercial producer), I watched a most unusual TV spot on our large studio monitors. It started as a nightmarish urban scenario, where grimy citizens drag their disabled vehicles by torchlight into a distant urban Dante's Inferno; all darkness and storm, set to a keening baritone opera soundtrack. Where were these poor, wretched people [shades of Katrina refu...er...evacuees] going?

They were going to the LIBRARIA - a fearsome fortress guarded by attacking lion statues, where Dickensian children read Paradise Lost as red-jacketed stormtroopers goosestep and shush the already-silent patrons.

They were also going to the BANQ, where an endless queue of customers trails out the door, waiting for a mummified teller to stamp their deposit slip. A evil, portly security guard gives a deep villainous laugh as a young woman ages before our eyes, while a large spider crawls across the teller's motionless hand.

The camera pulls back from this tableau into a lightning-lit skyscraper shaped like a battleship superstructure, further and further until the dark city retreats into a sunny, peaceful meadow. Dissolve to a hypercolorful home interior, with a Packard-Bell desktop computer ready to save you a fruitless trip into Hell. The tagline asks, "Wouldn't You Rather Be At Home?" as the Intel Inside!™ chime plays. [See screenshots of the commercial on this Millard Sheets Library page]

The ad was eerie, over-the-top - and downright weird. I loved it. I never saw the full 60-second version again (only cut-down 30-second spots), but I did manage to capture bits and pieces on 1-inch commercial videotape and dub them down to VHS. Every now and then, I pulled the tape from my archives and watched it when I needed a dose of übergloom.

Little did I know that these commercials had sparked a miniature tumult at the time of their release, ranging from people who felt the PB ads showed a damagingly negative view of public libraries, to those who felt they would inspire people to use computers to withdraw from society, becoming pasty-faced agoraphobes who interact with the world solely behind keyboards and computer screens. Ahem. Some just thought the ads were awful, period.

Nearly ten years later, we actually do live in a world where online banking and information access are routine, and technologies these ads never imagined are now on the horizon. (Remember the earlier and cheerier 1990's AT&T adverts that fantasized an imaginative technofuture - with the punchline, "You Will"?) We may have traded some of the grinding effort of trips to Hell for new risks like spammers, phishers and identity thieves - but the ease with which we can now accomplish many routine chores electronically seems miraculous. However, with this ease of access comes a price: information may cost less to acquire in some ways, but at the price of becoming less "free."

Still, I think it's fascinating to look back at these ads' imagery, just to analyze how their promises and fears of the coming Information Age have played out so far. A few years ago, I found little or no online information on the ads. Now there seems to a host of writing and references to those 1996 M&C Saatchi spots; I'm glad to see others remember them as well, if not always so fondly. You can even watch them for yourself in QuickTime or .avi format courtesy of digital-age commentator Karen Coyle, who shares her insights on the subtexts of the 1996 Packard-Bell campaign in her article, "Home Alone."

Friday Foolishness

2005-09-09T09:01:00.000-05:00

What kind of disease are you?

Lenka Reznicek:

Lenka Reznicek is caused by Satan.

Lenka Reznicek disease causes feet to become sharks.
Lenka Reznicek is curable by singing Michael Jackson songs at the top of your lungs, forever. You can never speak again, or you will die.

Interesting. Reminds me of an old Kids In The Hall sketch: "Manservant Hecubus!" Or was it SNL's "Church Lady"? [via Brutal Women]

Go On The Go

2005-08-31T15:07:00.000-05:00

One of the more interesting *spam I've received in a while, image-cropped to avoid giving credit where it isn't due. Come to think of it, why am I receiving portable toilet spam?

* Can "spam" be both singular and plural, like "fish" or "deer"?

RIP: Robert Moog, "Father of Electronic Music" (1934-2005)

2005-08-22T11:44:00.000-05:00

Suffice it to say that without Robert Moog's inventions, much of the music we take for granted today would never exist. Without the Moog synthesizer and its endless permutations, we would not have, say, Wendy Carlos' Switched on Bach. Or Kraftwerk, Ultravox, Gary Numan, Vangelis, Devo...or Rick Wakeman's grandiloquent noodlings. In fact, we would not have New Wave, techno, dance, trance, house, electronica, ambient, IDM, prog-rock and a host of other musical genres that make up today's sonic landscape. From the BBC:

Born in the New York City suburb of Queens in 1934, Robert Moog - the name rhymes with "vogue" - became fascinated with electronics as a child. Aged just 14, and encouraged by his father, [he] built his first electronic instrument, a theremin. In 1954, Moog - then 19 - and his father, started their own company, RA Moog, selling theremin kits, priced $49.95 by mail order, from their home. Alongside his hobby, Moog was studying hard. From the Bronx High School of Science, he went on to Queens College, before graduating in electrical engineering at Columbia University and earning a doctorate in engineering physics at Cornell.

Although RCA [corporation] had already built a musical synthesiser, it was a vast beast, and never intended for sale. What Moog did, in 1964, was to produce and market a practical instrument, a small keyboard synth which could be used with relative ease. "I didn't know what the hell I was doing," Moog later recalled. "I was doing this thing to have a good time, then all of a sudden someone's saying to me, 'I'll take one of those and two of that.' That's how I got into business."

Hollywood soon expressed an interest, but it was Wendy Carlos' 1968 Grammy-winning album, Switched-On Bach, which brought the Moog synthesiser to spectacular prominence. Before long many musicians and groups, including the Doors, the Grateful Dead, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles, were using Moog synthesisers...many musicians, including Brian Eno, Frank Zappa, The Cure and Fat Boy Slim, sought the Moog sound, keeping it alive, even as analogue synthesisers were wiped-out by their digital cousins.

If the Moog never existed, then at least half of my music collection would be whisked away Rapture-style into oblivion, leaving behind some pure classical, jazz, old rock-n-roll, jug band and choral music. Oh, and Blondie's "Rapture" probably would never have been recorded, either.

Dr. Robert Moog passed away Sunday at the age of 71, after battling an inoperable brain tumor diagnosed in April.

Civility, and Silence

2005-07-21T11:32:00.000-05:00

This morning, the Trib's screechy headline read "Nomination Vexes Women, Liberals": an irritating, if succinct way to describe the predicted frustration felt by many at John Roberts' SCOTUS nomination. Frankly, I'm less vexed by Roberts' nomination - I'm entirely un-surprised - than by President Bush's unctuous call for "civility" (read: silencing of dissenting opinion) during the confirmation process. When a speaker uses a keyword like "civility" two or three (or was it four, counting "civil"?) times in a short speech, you know there's some serious spinning underway.

Of course, all these calls for a smooth, unruffled "pass" for John Roberts' confirmation hearken back to the failed 1987 nomination of Robert Bork - one of the few SCOTUS nominee rejections in decades. I wasn't observing the details of political news quite so closely back in my teens, but I remember feeling a profound sense of relief at his non-confirmation.

Ed at Dispatches from the Culture Wars has an excellent, timely post today, at first glance a point-for-point response to another blogger's reaction to Ed's "Robert Bork and the Martyr Myth" posting from July 11th. However, it's crucial to reexamine the two-decades old Bork affair today, as Roberts faces his own Supreme Court confirmation. Why? Because Judge Robert Bork's views, unpleasant and antithetical as they were to fundamental American civil liberties, were in plain view. Roberts', for better or worse, are generally not.

Ed writes:

They [Supreme Court nominees] are asking to be given a lifetime appointment to the nation's highest court where their decisions will have more of an impact on our lives and our liberty than virtually any other body in the world. Our liberty is in their hands and they have an obligation to tell us what they intend to do with it before we give that power to them. I don't want to hear that the nominee is kind, decent, trustworthy, thrifty and brave. I want to hear what they would do with their almost unbridled power to interpret the Constitution because that document is the backbone of American liberty. [keep reading]

Bork wrote openly and widely about his beliefs, and did not veil his intentions behind a polished veneer of "civility" and the All-American success story. Unlike Bork, Roberts is a relatively young jurist, and one with little precedent history with which the Senate may judge his future actions. Roberts is, in essence, a "black box" Supreme.

If anything, the Senate needs to probe, prod, question and grill this nominee even more than Robert Bork - because this judge of relatively unknown public quantity stands to influence all American's lives - all our lives - for potentially two full generations.

Bork was not a martyr on the liberal altar; the Senate did what they were supposed to do in 1987. I agree with Ed: the Senators did not reject Bork on a whim, but rather, after a long and contentious partisan ideological scuffle, had the cautious forethought to vet (and wisely reject) a pernicious Supreme Court candidate before giving him or her a lifetime key to the ultimate check in our "checks and balances," the final bulwark of the Constitutional rule of law.

It's about informed consent: confirming a Supreme Court justice is akin to our nation getting a tattoo. They can be removed, but only at great pain and expense - so usually you're stuck with them until death do you part.

We, the People, only know Roberts by the company he keeps and the organizations that support him. That said, I honestly can't say I feel even moderately comfortable with a Supreme Court nominee that has Operation Rescue's enthusiastic support:

President George W. Bush has chosen John G. Roberts to succeed Sandra Day O'Connor to the US Supreme Court. Operation Rescue supports this selection. Roberts has shown strong conservative credentials with indications that he will not uphold Roe v. Wade, the 1973 case that decriminalized abortion. Roberts coauthored a 1990 legal brief that stated, "The court's conclusion in Roe that there is a fundamental right to an abortion...finds no support in the text, structure or history of the Constitution." "A culture of life can never be built as long as Roe v. Wade is the law of the land," said Operation Rescue President Troy Newman.

I don't believe for a moment that Roberts will be "Borked" in 2005 America. But we should look closely, very closely, at the direction of the Supreme Court's new "swing vote." If what is meant by "civility" is in actuality "silence," then to Hades with "civility." Senators on both sides of the aisle, please look closely under the hood and kick the tires - then check the exhaust emissions. After all, whoever's in that garage is in for life.

[MORE: Slightly off topic, but if you're looking to read some thoroughly odd stuff have a peek at http://www.tldm.org/news6/homosexuality13.htm, a website where a self-proclaimed prophet/Robert Bork fan club member from Bayside, New York quotes the (mainly anti-gay) revelations Jesus and Mary (and the Saints, oh my!) personally gave her between 1968 to 1995. For emphasis, these "new teachings of Jesus and Mary" are interspersed with Robert Bork quotes and photos.]

From the Monkey Cage

2005-06-12T00:39:00.000-05:00

"The larger the mob, the harder the test. In small areas, before small electorates, a first-rate man occasionally fights his way through, carrying even the mob with him by force of his personality. But when the field is nationwide, and the fight must be waged chiefly at second and third hand, and the force of personality cannot so readily make itself felt, then all the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre — the man who can most easily adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum.

The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."

--Henry Louis Mencken, July 26, 1920

In Memoriam

2005-05-29T17:55:00.000-05:00

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

-John McCrae (1872-1918)

The Homosexual Agenda Revealed

2005-04-30T00:39:00.000-05:00

Deep-cover operatives have finally obtained a copy of the oft-referred to "Homosexual Agenda." In the interest of a fully-informed public, the complete agenda is posted here.

The Homosexual Agenda:

6:00 am Gym

8:00 am Breakfast

9:00 am Hair appointment

10:00 am Shopping

12:00 PM Brunch

2:00 PM (Here's the really important part)

1) Assume complete control of the US Federal, State and local Governments as well as all other national governments
2) Recruit all straight youngsters to our debauched lifestyle
3) Destroy all healthy heterosexual marriages
4) Replace all school counselors in grades K-12 with agents of Colombian and Jamaican drug cartels
5) Establish planetary chain of "homo breeding gulags" where over -medicated imprisoned straight women are turned into artificially impregnated baby factories to produce prepubescent love slaves for our devotedly pederastic gay leadership
6) Bulldoze all houses of worship
7) Secure total control of the INTERNET and all mass media for the exclusive use of child pornographers.

2:30 PM Get Forty Winks of Beauty Rest to prevent facial wrinkles from stress of world conquest

4:00 PM Cocktails

6:00 PM Light Dinner

8:00 PM Theater

11:00 PM Bed

(Shamelessly lifted from Lusty Devil.)

Blood on the Sand

2005-04-23T01:32:00.000-05:00

I was invited recently to a "Paella y Toros" (Paella and Bulls) Festival in Mexicali, the capital city of Baja California, Mexico. Paella is a rice dish of Spanish origin (a European rendition of jambalaya for the uninitiated), and toros is, well, bulls.

As in bullfight.

I travel to Mexico quite often because of the nature of my job, so it was nice to cross the border as a turista, for once. With every visit I am blown away by the hospitality and the generosity of my Mexican hosts. The dishes were superb, although, I have to say, I had some friends (from the U.S. side) in the competition, and I think their dish was the best. The fact that our cook was a Mexicali native was just a mere technicality.

After the food and the music, we entered the nearby Plaza Calafia for the bullfight.

This was a first time for me. I do not take any great delight in needless suffering, and truth be told, I'm not much of a beef eater-- I barely touch the stuff. It was a strange moment. I wasn't sure what my reaction would be.

To my suprise, my reaction was enjoyment. And not a smiling, "hey this is great fun" enjoyment, but satisfaction in the honesty of the moment. I saw honor in the animal, in its life, and in its fight, and in its death.

Cradle to grave, the cow that finds its way into your cheeseburger or steak & eggs (name your flesh of choice) is destined for carnage. But it's treatment and torment is moment to moment. These bulls lived their lives fully (whatever that means for a bull), they fought valiantly for a brief and fleeting time, and met their end.

The next time you slip on your leather belt, or shoes, or jacket, or wipe that 'au jus' from your chin, ask yourself how this things came to be. Which is more cruel?

And how many of them had the opportunity for payback?

Safer Bananas

2005-03-03T09:30:00.000-06:00

The Banana Bunker™ is the hot new way to protect your banana(s) from crushing in transit - and everything in your bag, pockets, or briefcase from mashed banana goo. Unfortunately, you may not want to be seen in public with one, or take one in your checked luggage in case you're picked for a "spot search." High schoolers of either gender might be especially cautious about packing one of these in their lunchboxes. Me, I've ordered a pack of 5 - one for me, one for my better half (who takes a daily banana in her briefcase, at perilous risk of banana-asplosion), and a few to use as stocking stuffers. Oh yes, they will stuff a stocking something fine.

And, as Gizmodo says, "...other uses might include an ice breaker for a picnic first date, or alternatively, an easy way to end a date that isn't going well at all." Ayuh. [via Gizmodo]

But, can you legally ship one to Alabama?

SpongeBob Goes to Church

2005-01-28T01:32:00.000-06:00

In case you haven't heard, Spongebob Squarepants has drawn the ire of the tirelessly outraged James Dobson. What is his gripe? Unnatural acts with a starfish? Who knows . . . .

Anyways, there are Christians willing to live in accordance to the Christian precept of unconditional love. And what's not to love about Spongebob?

That's One Lucky Sfinkter

2005-01-15T23:03:00.000-06:00

Life is good.

Get the back story here.

If I can do it, you can do it too. Why should Red Sfinkter be the only person to enjoy the in-depth articles, provocative essays and breathtaking photography of Playboy?

Call it ad jamming or performance art, it still puts a smile on my face.

Lucky sfinkter.

Care For A Fruit Smoothie? REEOOOOAAARRGHHH!

2004-11-08T21:38:00.000-06:00

Shortest. Post. Ever.

"There is nothing to fear from the dead. It's the living we should fear."

2004-11-06T23:22:00.000-06:00

I live in a bordertown in the desert southwest, and I've come to realize that this place, and so many others like it, may share a flag and some other surface similarities with adjacent communities, but like cities and towns on both sides of the fence, this ain't the US of A, and it ain't old Mexico, either. It's La Frontera, the border, and it's a world unto itself.

Cultural assumptions about how people should or could behave go out the window after a short time here. And I can't help but soak up some of the lifestyle and the attitude, in the same way the people of Mexico's borderland have absorbed the attributes (bueno y malo) of us "norte americanos." Each November since my migration to this place, I've attended displays of altars in honor of "Dia de los Muertos" (Day of the Dead). And it was jarring at first, those smiling skulls, and the food set out as some kind of offering. But after thinking upon it, and considering it's origins (Catholic with a hint of Mayan, in a country that emerged from a history awash in blood and death), and it's attributes, I think it's probably a healthier attitude than most.

I've already lost two brothers-- one, suddenly, to a car accident over 20 years ago; another, 6 years ago, to cancer. Add to that the loss of a high shool friend at age 17, and I can say I'm probably a person who has thought about death and dying more than alot of people I know, young or old. That being said, I have developed a profound appreciation for this celebration, this honoring of friends and family passed, this smiling handshake with death. It's a healthier response, as far as I'm concerned, than the "let's talk about anything but that" attitude in the US that basically encourages people to turn their face and run from the idea. My appreciation has developed to the extent that I'm going to create memorials of my own at our community's Dia de Los Muertos celebration next November.

And that cross-cultural shift? I also saw some of that here at Halloween, with scores of muchachos y muchachas at our door, though some didn't quite seem to get the 'routine' or custom-- I had more than a few wearing no costume whatsoever, yet with pillowcase (candy bag) in hand. For reference, it's better to man the candy bowl and distribute the treats individually. Otherwise, you're inclined to chastize repeatedly, "Solamente uno, por favor!"

I Knowledge! Where Penis Enlargement Meets Metaphysics

2004-11-05T09:59:00.000-06:00

What happens when offshore spammers use automated translation software:

Are they referring to "knowledge" in the Biblical sense? I'm pretty convinced they are, because the only references I could find to "hebdomads" are St. Thomas Aquinas' "An Exposition of the On The Hebdomads of Boethius." Apparently, "hebdomads" is an archaic word for days (or weeks), so the translation software must have translated "only a few short days" into "precisely a several abbreviated hebdomads!"

The Only Thing More Frustrating Than This Election Day...

2004-11-03T13:36:00.000-06:00

...is not being able to blog about it, because farkleberries Original Flavor's server returns a "too full" error.

Don't worry, I've plenty to write about once the gates open. ;)

The Tortured Psyche of Pooh . . . Or, "Pooh, Deconstructed"

2004-10-22T23:51:00.000-05:00

Could the bear who routinely goes to his thinking spot and thinks Very Deep Thoughts actually be a bear who is Painfully Screwed Up?

Seriously, the denizens of the 100 Aker Wood might benefit greatly from a therapuetic intervention or drug treatment. And soon. We're all worried about what might become of little Roo.

"Emission Test" : We Interrupt This Blog for a Seriousness Reduction

2004-10-22T14:56:00.000-05:00

A man goes to visit his doctor. "Doc, I've got a rather embarassing problem, when I break wind, it just doesn't sound right."

"Well how does it sound?" enquires the doctor.

"It makes a Honda sound."

The doctor looks puzzled, "Hmm, is there anything else I should know?"

"Well I also have a terrible boil on my buttocks," replies the man.

The doctor looks pleased, "Thats it then. We'll lance that boil and you'll see a difference immediately,"

"Why's that then, Doc?" asks the man.

"It's well known," said the Doctor, "Abscess makes the fart grow Honda."

Playing for the "A-Team"

2004-10-14T11:51:00.000-05:00

This story probably won't provoke much fist-raising political enthusiasm or social controversy, and may not even surprise many at all. It appears that about 1% - a sizeable portion of the human population - are not interested in doing the 'wild thing' at all, with anybody:

About one percent of adults have absolutely no interest in sex, according to a new study, and that distinction is becoming one of pride among many asexuals. The new study was conducted by Anthony Bogaert, a psychologist and human sexuality expert at Brock University in St. Catherines, Ontario.

It was published in the latest issue of The Journal of Sex Research and is the focus of a report in this Saturday's issue of New Scientist. Bogaert's analysis looked at responses to another study in Britain, published in 1994. That study was based on interviews of 18,000 people about their sexual practices....

New Scientist says such studies offer insights into sexuality, the results remain controversial. "The closest we have got to understanding human asexuals comes from studies -- mostly surveys - of people who report not have sex," it says. A 1994 survey, published by The University of Chicago Press, found that 13 percent of 3,500 respondents had no sex in the past year. Forty percent of those people said they were extremely happy or very happy with their lives.

"If asexuality is indeed a form of sexual orientation, perhaps it will not be long before the issue of 'A' pride starts attracting more attention," New Scientist says. Activists have already started campaigning to promote awareness and acceptance of asexuality, it reports.

The Asexual Visibility and Education Network has an online store that sell items promoting awareness and acceptance on asexuality. Among the items is a T-shirt with the slogan, "Asexuality: it's not just for amoebas anymore."

How about a T-shirt that plays off the [a]sexual habits of yeasts... "Hey, Baby, Let's Bud"? Or, more succinctly, "I'm 'A'." As Bonnie Raitt once sang on her hit "Thing Called Love":

Don't have to humble yourself to me,
I ain't your judge or your king
Baby, you know I ain't no Queen of Sheba
We may not even have our dignity,
this could be just a powerful thing
Baby we can choose you know we ain't no amoebas

Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?

2004-10-13T22:30:00.000-05:00

"This is ground control to Major Tom . . . "

Speculation abounds that perhaps we should be worrying less about what Bush is saying, and more about what is being whispered in his ear . . .

(Yeah, I know the 'Bowie' quote is kind of lame, but it was either that or "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?")

Get Ready To Crumble Obscure!*

2004-10-05T01:22:00.000-05:00

*I don't know what it means. I can't even begin to understand. I saw it last Saturday on the package of an Asian import toy at a local fleamarket here in the desert. I guess I just wanted to share my pain.

Mr. Sphincter Could Already Be A Winner

2004-09-21T22:35:00.000-05:00

If you're as tired as I am of unsolicited junk mail offers (surveys, organizations, special offers, whatever), I think I've raised the bar in the realm of "payback".

You may have seen posted online, or in your email: the idea of taking all of that junk mail crap and stuffing it back into their postage-paid envelopes for the senders to dispose of. Well, I have an idea that could cripple direct mail marketers (I can dream, can't I?).

The idea?

Contaminate the database. Fill out any form you can with a 'paper person'. Be creative. I've already filled out direct mail responses from Dan Druff, Jay Sluicebox, and Red Sphincter.

Yeah, I'm sure that some of these will get caught before causing any serious interference or entertainment. But the 'performance art' aspect of this whole endeavor is almost sublime.

In the meantime, I'm waiting for a letter in my mailbox that begins with a heartfelt "Dear Mr. Sphincter . . ."

An Unmistakable Message From God

2004-09-21T22:27:00.000-05:00

The next time a neighbor, friend, or passerby offers idle observations or personal opinions while professing to speak for God (especially the hyper-conservative ones), rock their worldview with this.

I'm still waiting for the Naderite tribe to be smited . . . (smoted??). Meh.

Johnny Ramone, 1948-2004

2004-09-16T13:59:00.000-05:00

Feedback blasting out my ears
Makes me so high
I love all the monitor men
But why are they alive?
The van is make me crazy
It's just like being in the navy

Doomsday, doomsday's coming - 1981
But until things blow
I'm gonna have some fun
The bubble's going to explode
Probably never live to get old

But I just wanna have some fun
Probably won't see no money
I just wanna have some fun
Before they throw me in the sanitarium

Feedback blasting out my ears
Makes me so high
I love all the monitor men
But why are they alive ?
Well Monte's making me crazy
It's just like being in the navy-- The Ramones, "All The Way"

Remembering

2004-09-11T19:18:00.000-05:00

Dear New York,

I'm sorry I couldn't be there today. I feel guilty that I couldn't be present to observe. I had to look up the weather there to find out it was, again, a clear, beautiful day in September. I almost wish it weren't, because I know that it just acts as a reminder for so many in the city of the perfect indian summer day we were having three years ago.

Things are very different here, a continent away. They're clearly sympathetic and thoughtful about this date, but... it feels like an observance. Not that it's not sincere, but people are sincere on Memorial Day or in remembering Pearl Harbor, too. They just don't feel them at a visceral level. [Anil Dash]

Listen to the Words

2004-09-11T01:33:00.000-05:00

When Jon Stewart and the joke peddlers at the Daily Show can provide more thought-provoking perspective than Dan Rather, Peter Jennings, Tom Brokaw and the rest of them . . .

well, I have to wonder if maybe it's Dan, Peter, and Tom that I should really be laughing at.

Viacom Killed The Video Star

2004-09-08T23:48:00.000-05:00

I can tell I'm pushing 40, because try as I might, I can't help but roll my eyes over "how lousy everything is nowadays, compared to how it was back in the day . . ."

I've watched over the past decade and a half as music videos have been replaced by a mind-numbing collection of contrived "reality" shows, product placement, and (damn you to the blood-spewing pus-filled pits of hell,VH1) instant nostalgia . . .

I mean, 'I Love the '80s' . . . sure, I can see that argument. But 'The Best Week Ever'?? WTF. It was LAST WEEK, for crying out loud. Perhaps it was that MTV-induced attention span my parents warned me about in 1982, now coming home to roost.

I'm not so foolish to think that my favorite music videos weren't ever about promoting products. Of course they were -- I've got the record collection to prove it.

Simply put, I miss tuning in to music videos when I want to. Any music videos. Anything-- even the stale party favors cranked out by today's Top 40 posers.

But here's something for the folks in marketing to think about. I can have quicker, easier and cheaper (i.e., my budget won't allow for MTV2 anytime soon) access to a variety of music videos via Winamp 5 internet TV (thanks Lenka) anytime I want. And so do my internet-savvy children. Kids who prefer broadband over cable TV any day of the week.

Ahh, who am I kidding? Viacom owns an ass-load of online product too.

What can I say?

"I want my MTV."

Where are you, Buggles? The world needs you now more than ever.

Russia's Bubble Baba Challenge a Rapid Rubbery Ride

2004-08-25T11:04:00.000-05:00

What will those wild and crazy Russians think of next, and why didn't the producers of Jackass think of this first? The second annual Bubble Baba Challenge sends brave souls of both genders racing down roaring Russian rapids - not on rafts, but on inflatable sex dolls:

The second Bubble Baba Challenge (in Russian, baba stands for "woman," only unlike the other word for woman, zhenschina, conveys not a shred of respect) was held on the Vuoksa river that runs in northwestern Russia a year after the first contest. Dmitry Bulawinov, the mastermind and organizer behind the unusual sporting event, says the idea of floating down the river in the embraces of a rubber woman was conceived as a joke at a party where the men got drunk and the women didn't show up. While considering the possible uses for a rubber woman on a camping trip, someone voiced the thought that a sex doll would make a handy flotation device.

It's far from the strangest idea that has ever come into the heads of imbibing camping aficionados, but unlike many other concepts of equal genius, this one was realized in life. Bulawinov set about advertising the sex doll rafting adventure opportunity online, and, ten months later, in August 2003, Bubble Baba Challenge 1 participants were eagerly hurling themselves through roaring rapids, buoyed by pneumatic breasts and hips.

"I went to the first race thinking it was going to be a celebration of idiocy," says Victor Kuryashkin, a 31-year-old programmer and old-time camper who came in third in this year's race and won last year's sex doll design contest. "I think the potential sponsors had the same attitude toward the event. But Dmitry's [Bulawinov] crew managed to create a good contest." He used the same "flotation device" both times, which, he underscores, he doesn't think of as a woman — he even painted "her" in camouflage colors and named her "The Nimble Missile Breast-Carrier."

Alexander Korolyov, a 45-year-old owner of an active recreation tour company and a life-long swimmer, came in first last year, second this year, and plans to participate in future contests, as well as refer his clients for joining in, says that the event is essentially a swimming race. He doesn't really think of it as much of a match, though — "It's just fun, I don't treat it as a contest. It's just a reason to go out of town for a weekend, to fool around." Still, this year he brought home an inflatable mattress as a trophy, while last year's award "was very immodest" and "too awkward to talk about."

Although vastly outnumbered by men excited about floating down the river atop a rubber chick, women did compete in the contest, finding nothing odd about using such unusual "lifesavers." Bulawinov and other organizers try to be fair and leave open the option of floating down on rubber men dolls, but unfortunately, they can't rent them out like they do the rubber women. "The men are too expensive, we can't afford them," he complains. [read full article on Mosnews]

And for dessert, bubble tea!

FarkleberriesUSA Goes To White Castle

2004-08-09T13:41:00.000-05:00

This is just wrong: a recipe for turkey stuffing made with White Castle™ sliders. If you can't find a White Castle near you, here's a do-it-yourself recipe from RecipeSource.com:

WHITE CASTLE HAMBURGERS - SLIDERS
Categories: Sandwiches, Beef
Yield: 10 servings

2 lb Lean Ground Beef
1/4 c Dry Minced Onion
1/4 c Hot Water
3 oz Jar Strained Beef Baby Food
2/3 c Clear Beef Broth
1 pk Hot Dog Buns

Soak 1/4 cup dry minced onions in 1/4 cup hot water until soft while you mix 2 pounds ground beef with 3 ounce jar of strained beef baby food and 2/3 cup clear beef broth. Keep patties uniform using 1/4 cup meat mixture for each patty, flattened to 1/4" and fried quickly in 1 T oil per patty on a hot griddle. Make 3 or 4 holes in patties while frying. Cut hot dog buns in half. Cut off rounded ends. Fry 1 t onions under each patty as you turn to fry 2nd side. Slip each patty into bun with 2 dill pickle chips, mustard and catsup.

Sure, I'm Fond of My Stickshift . . . Why Do You Ask?

2004-07-25T17:09:00.000-05:00

Of the two camps that comprise our world, I include myself in the group that believes men with an overwhelming pride and attachment to their oversized truck or SUV are more than likely overcompensating for certain, well, shortcomings.

Consider for a moment, if you will, how frustratingly enraged some of these same men might be if they realized that their pride and joy actually bore a symbol that was profoundly and utterly feminine?

And while we're on the subject: is it just me, or does the new US Air Force logo look alot like the old Decepticons Transformers logo?

(Oh, and for the record, I drive a small, discreet Neon . . .)

New Machine Blues: "Quiet Pants," Qi Gong TV and The Paintball Channel

2004-07-09T13:43:00.000-05:00

I decided to spend a few minutes getting acquainted with my new Winamp 5 internet TV and radio stream viewer today, taking advantage of a little "quiet time" with my zippy network connection. I browsed:

Chinese-language video streams, including the Qi Gong Channel and the Chinese Prophecy Channel
WEEN-TV (the band's tv and video appearances looped), REM and Björk videos
Saltwaterchimp.com, with streaming Sifl and Ollie, South Park, Monty Python and the Simpsons. Sweet!
A few odd German cable and public access streams, and a Hungarian pirate radio station with overmodulated, outdated dance music and a webcam staring at a messy, unoccupied studio desk.
ranttv::tv worth watching," and showed a man in full camo gear holding an automatic rifle, with his voice and face disguised, discussing a CIA's employee's very comfortable used camo Goretex pants - and where one can buy a pair. I learned more about camo pants that I ever thought I needed to know - including how to find the quietest pants, that lets you sneak up on people without them hearing you. Now, who would make good use of information like this? Yup. That's who.
Amateur streams, one consisting solely of a poorly-focused webcam trained down a dark office hallway near the coffeepot, so viewers can occasionally glimpse a head-and-shoulders silhouette of some guy standing around sipping a cuppa joe. The caption read "new machine blues". Reminds me of when I heard of the first-ever "webcam," the now-defunct CoffeeCam set up at Cambridge University's Trojan room.
FreedomTV had a man and woman lecturing on the dangers of allowing a company like Monsanto to internationally manufacture lock-and-key combos - herbicides and complementary genetically modified food crop seeds that are resistant to the chemicals - which they contended was a scenario akin to a poisoner selling you your own antidote.
TV McGill, streaming student-run TV from the Canadian university of the same name: the fare included a news story of a Catholic priest discussing same-sex marriage, followed by "Party Central With Tara and Gert," two young McGill ladies interviewing fellow students about their favorite watering holes about town.
And most quintessentially free-access-internet of all, there's The Paintball Channel - endless, poorly-edited home video of paintball competitions with an incessant death-metal soundtrack.

Try it sometime: there's so much bizarre, banal, but occasionally intriguing material from around the world to choose from, like the Oughties equivalent of CB and ham radio. Still, it's a heck of a lot more fun than network TV.

Now That's Spicy

2004-07-01T15:11:00.000-05:00

And now for something completely different: Yahoo! Movies India.

The Midnight Corpse

2004-06-23T15:13:00.000-05:00

Speaking of strange, surreal experiences...last night around midnight, as I was blissfully in the throes of sleep, I heard a very odd noise outside our partially-open bedroom window. It sounded like an aluminum ladder being open and dragged across the ground, exactly where I couldn't tell.

I think I was starting to have a weird dream where I was in the military with a group of Native Americans, and I had to drive some heavy machinery. A bulldozer, I think. It was one of those back-in-high-school time-shift dreams that seem perfectly normal until you wake up, astounded and bemused by the nonsense that your brain conjures at night. I heard something rattle in the dream. Squeak rattle squeak. Have you seen the X-Files episode called "Badlaa"? It's about a short-statured, vengeful Hindu ascetic who gets around on a small squeaky platform, controls people's visual perceptions and travels around the world in a most gruesome manner. The squeak rattle squeak sounded exactly like that, and believe me, that's not an image you want to conjure up in the middle of the night.

Not being fully conscious, I didn't pay too much attention. Then, a few minutes later, the sound returned, and it was getting closer. What was it? As I started to wake up nervously, it occurred to me it might be someone outside the apartment window trying to get in with a ladder - not the most comforting of thoughts on an otherwise quiet urban midnight.

My better half, who tends to wake more easily than me (then again, probably most of the world wakes up more easily than I do) also heard the rattle rattle squeak and popped up out of bed, put on her glasses an went to window to have a look. As the blinds lifted, the room glowed bluish-orange from the streetlights.

"Oh, my god - do you know what that is?"
"Mmmmh. What is it?" I reply, half-asleep, half-curious.
"It's a dead body!"
I didn't even want to speculate how a dead body could be making that weird sound; the possibilities were just too horrible.
"They're carrying it across the ground!"
"A dead body?" I say, incrementally more awake but somehow not entirely surprised.
"Two guys are out there, and they're taking away a body and putting it in a hearse. It's kind of a big body, and it's covered in a brown blanket."

The squeaky metallic sound were the wheels on the gurney the men were using to wheel away the deceased. We're still not sure if the body came from our apartment complex, and because of the leisurely speed and lack of alarm displayed by the hearsemen of the Apocalypse, we speculated that it might have been one of our neighbors - a large older man who has cancer, and who has looked very poorly in recent days. What a way to end up - being wheeled down the sidewalk on a squeaky gurney in the middle of the night. I suppose there are worse ways to go, at midnight in the city.

I never got up out of bed to have a look at the scene outside my window: the descriptions and my imagination were quite sufficient, thank you. It also reminded me of a truly creepy scene in the 1976 movie Burnt Offerings, where Oliver Reed is tormented by nightmares of a skeleton-thin, pale hearse driver in shades who bangs and drags a coffin up the stairs to his bedroom.

Now, if we see "Bob" walking around tomorrow, we'll know he hasn't given up the ghost; and we'll probably never know whose body was under the brown blanket on the squeaky gurney.

Get your kicks...

2004-06-20T19:07:00.000-05:00

I've posted at my place, Multifarouse Musings - drop by and read my latest Musing!!!

Innocence lost...

2004-06-17T22:26:00.000-05:00

Now, here's a sad story - it seems that a local child therapist, one who's been entrusted by families in distress, youth at risk, and society, may have been using his position as confidant and advocate, as a vehicle to sexually molest the very children he's supposed to be helping.

(Read the Newsday Report)

I'm not sure why this story is having the profound effect that it is having on me, I think it perhaps has to do with the fact that I have 2 daughters and a niece that are of that age, and I (perhaps naively) believed that they were safe in our neighborhood... "not in the North Country!"

Or, thinking about it farther, it may be that if these allegations do turn out to be true - that if these children (who are in therapy because of other issues) have been sexually molested, by this "professional" within this particular field... one who's "there to help"... well, that there's a real chance that these children may ruined for life... and will probably never trust again, and have at the very have least lost their childhood.

I guess I can say "thank god it didn't happen to my kids" - but, you know... when you get right down to it, that's a pretty awful statement to make, because it's absolutely devoid of empathy and sympathy for those damaged children, and besides, now I realize that it could happen to my children, right here in the North Country.

I think I'll say a prayer for those kids tonight... can't hurt, right???

...And hope that the truth, and justice for the guilty (if guilty) can heal.

Revisionist History - Part Deux

2004-06-17T21:05:00.000-05:00

Hi there... well, it's been a while! I've posted what I've titled Revisionist History - Part Deux, over at my blog, Multifarious Musings... why not come over to my place, have a read, and speak your mind on my latest musing???

Hope to see ya there!!

El Paso is the Pits

2004-06-17T10:28:00.000-05:00

"NEW YORK (Reuters) - "Sun City" Texas just became Sweat City U.S.A.

El Paso, Texas, with average summer temperatures above 93 degrees Fahrenheit and relative humidity over 70 percent, is the sweatiest city in the United States, a study released on Tuesday found.

Research scientist Tim Long calculated heat indexes and relative humidity levels to come up with his top 100 sweatiest cities in America list.

By Long's calculations, in just four hours, El Paso's residents produce enough sweat to fill an Olympic swimming pool, with individuals shedding more than 36 fluid ounces of perspiration an hour."

That rating isn't sitting too well with residents of the Texas city. From the San Antonio Express News:

"We've been banging our heads against the wall trying to figure out what numbers they used or, rather, how they misused their numbers," said Mike Hardiman, a meteorologist for the National Weather Service's El Paso office. Old Spice said El Paso had an average relative humidity of more than 70 percent from June to August last year. The real average, according to the National Weather Service, was half that.

Old Spice said the numbers came from the National Atmospheric and Oceanic Administration's database. The company, which is, after all, primarily in the consumer goods business, went with the most readily available numbers, said Tim Long, a Proctor & Gamble researcher and "sweat expert."

"If it wasn't accurate, we apologize," he said....Following El Paso in the rankings were Greenville, S.C.; Phoenix.; Corpus Christi; and New Orleans. Texas remained among the sweatiest states in the third annual rankings, with seven cities in the top 20.

Officials at the San Antonio Convention & Visitors Bureau could stay dry knowing the Alamo City did not top the list. The city is still hurting from having been named one of the fattest cities in the country. "Yeah, I guess this is one case where we don't want to be No. 1," said Robert Salluce, a spokesman for the bureau. "It is not an accolade we are seeking."

San Antonio may not want the honor, but New Orleans does. Brent Miller, an Old Spice spokesman, said residents of the Big Easy "always go to town" on the ranking. "They are so mad they are not No. 1," Miller said. "They should not want it. It is not an honor."

What? Cities are fighting for the right to be fat and smelly?

Fun, Fun, Fun in Denver

2004-06-15T09:33:00.000-05:00

A Colorado animal-welfare organization called the Dumb Friends League is sponsoring the Kitty Karnival in Denver this Saturday. Among the events - you can dig in the World's Largest Kitty Litter Box!

I kid you not. I may get airline tickets and fly out to Denver just for this.

Another Reason to Hate the French*

2004-06-10T14:30:00.000-05:00

Pas de Hummer? Paris plans to ban SUV's:

Denis Baupin, a leading Green party councilor who tabled the resolution, says the designer jeeps are "not suited to towns" and he could not understand why people drove the fashionable "off-roaders."

"They're polluters, they're space-occupiers, they're dangerous for pedestrians and other road users. They're a caricature of a car. We have no interest in having SUVs in the city. They're dangerous to others and take up too much space, " he said on Europe 1 radio.

I suppose no bulldozers, either.

* I didn't say I hated the French, but those pushing "Freedom Fries" and "Freedom Toast" will have a field day with this, certainement.