A Tale of Two Settees

You Can't Spell Christmas without William S. Burroughs, especially if you have trouble spelling

2009-12-24T00:47:27Z

Part 1

Part 2

Silly Me

2009-12-23T18:33:47Z

I found myself drawn into a rather lengthy online discussion with some anthropogenic global warming skeptics last night, much to Greg's chagrin, since it's become my habit as of late to get deeply involved in something right before dinner is about to be served. Actually, that's always been my habit, and it's probably why I'm thin; I forget or put off eating.

Anyway, we got around to discussing the acidification of the oceans and the abundance of hydrogen ions (A lot of this stuff, truth be told, I'm learning all over again--I'm a liberal arts major, after all). "And, where do you get hydrogen ions? Carbon dioxide is made up of carbon and oxygen. You can't get hydrogen from that without a cyclotron," he noted.

So, I presented the following explanation:

Pretty reasonable, I think. Makes sense.

Nevertheless, I got two thumbs down. Two thumbs down. Granted, I had expected to receive a lot of general disapproval for what I had to say, since I was debating among a rather conservative crowd. Nevertheless, how do you disapprove carbon dioxide plus water equals carbonic acid? What were they booing? The memory of blank expressions before an unkind chalkboard in chemistry class?

I'm not sure, really.

Well, it's taught me to debate against skeptics and expect to come out ahead.

Or has it?

Our Government Is Just Like a Few Well-Meaning Relatives I Know

2009-12-18T00:20:02Z

Aunts and uncles always have a way of giving their children gifts that seem like the right thing, but clearly aren't. Every once in a while, one runs across an older relative who embraces technology and the changing cultural trends, but these are generally few and far between.

Back when DVD players were just starting to phase out VCRs, it would be common to receive a decently-priced video collection of the entire Lord of the Rings series. A brilliant gift...twenty years ago.

Still, you can't really blame your elders for these lapses. A homebound existence and a fixed income limits one's knowledge of what is available and how much one can spend. So, if it is a choice between a Chinese knockoff of an iPhone and the real thing, one can easily appreciate the thought process that causes them to choose the former. One merely hopes that the receipts are provided in the box for a quick discrete refund.

Yet, in all honesty, we are all guilty of this. But can any of us really be faulted? After all, what is the appropriate gift to give a person you rarely see?

Thankfully, however, this problem has been averted as a result of gift certificates. They tell the recipient: "I clearly don't know you very well, don't understand or appreciate your tastes, but I appreciate you at some intrinsic level, or at least recognize an obligation that requires me to provide you with some token of appreciation, so please take this Applebee's gift certificate with my compliments."

This more or less solves the problem, though it is still one step removed from the impersonal act of handing someone a wad of cash. Still, if the person is too dim to realize that the recipient doesn't like Applebee's, perhaps cash might be the safer option.

Likewise, our federal government operates on the same level.

Last year, Americans went to the polls in record numbers, motivated largely by the following problems:

* The economy, in general
* Education reform
* The environment
* The economy, in general
* The housing crisis
* Unemployment
* LGBT, women's, African American, and other minority issues
* Immigration reform
* Health insurance
* The economy, in general
* The ongoing and seemingly endless wars

... and--oh yes--the economy in general.

In response, our government has given us:

* a troop surge in Afghanistan
* a poorly-written health care plan that not only doesn't include a public option, but would also appear to limit women's rights, and which fails to create a competitive environment to guide the health care insurance industry
* a Federal Reserve board governed by members responsible for the financial collapse
* a rain-check on LGBT and women's rights
* a crackdown on immigrants and a general negation of the few rights they already have.
* an unconvincing claim that the economy is improving, despite the fact that banks continue to fold and the unemployed still remain unemployable.

The difference between our well-meaning relatives and the Federal Government, however, is that as far as Christmas presents go, we can generally get some form of store credit to purchase the gift we wished we had received. As for our national leaders, I've yet to figure out what I could possibly exchange them for that would be any better than what we already have.

Let's Trim Our Hair In Accordance to the Socialist Lifestyle!!!

2009-12-17T18:58:41Z

Come to think of it, I could do with a trim.

Happy Birthday, Beethoven

2009-12-17T01:00:50Z

May I present you with a scene from A Clockwork Orange in his honor? Because Youtube does not allow embedding for this clip, here is a link. However, seeing as how it is a link to A Clockwork Orange film clip, your place of work may censor it. In that case, please enjoy a link to the film clip from the Pastoral Symphony, as featured in Disney's Fantasia.

Oh dear... I just remembered. There are cartoon nymphs in that animation, and some of the nudity is either overt or implied! OH NO! Scratch out that idea. Instead, please enjoy this lovely rendition of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, which is guaranteed to sex you up. Here's the link.

Oh, dear. What if you're not allowed to get sexed up at work? No, don't click that last link. Instead, click this one. It's a brilliant rendition of the Fifth Symphony by Herbert von Kajaran, and is guaranteed to be the absolute antithesis to sexiness.

Wait! What if antisex isn't allowed either? We got to be strategic about this. Here, watch a lovely version of the "Six Variations" by a brilliant little girl. Here you go: Link.

Wait. STOP!!! I thought that this would be safe, considering that children are referred to in the neuter tense by Germans. However, it just occurred to me that little girls become young women. Filthy, disgusting, wretched. No, you mustn't watch her. What will your boss think of you watching little girls? You filthy pervert!

Here. I've got just the thing. Here's Beethoven's 5th Piano Concerto performed by the legendary Chilean impresario Claudio Arrau. In this performance, he is quite old, and sex will be the furthest thing from your mind, believe you me. On the other hand, the music is sheer ecstasy. Oh dear... will that be a problem?

Here, click here, but only if you dare. Work is scarce these days, you know. Can't afford to lose a job over a little Beethoven, now can you?

RIP, Oral Roberts 1919-2009

2009-12-16T13:44:53Z

This may not be safe for work if "penis" and "vagina" are not welcomed words.

In his own words...

Oh... I just about forgot.

2009-12-06T03:30:37Z

Here's a little poster me and my imagination came up with.

moar funny pictures

A bit late, but for all we know, it may become handy soon enough.

La, dee, da

2009-11-15T21:09:47Z

One thing I never bothered to ask my theory professor until now (because until now I didn't understand what he was talking about), is about whether post-structuralism can reconcile itself with mathematics.

If language is only composed of signifiers, whose meanings are supported by traces of meanings, then how can I say "Two plus two equals four"? Mathematically, I can formulate a proof to establish why two plus two is four, but semantically, I cannot express what any of those words mean. Two is, among an infinite number of other things, one plus one, but two is also not three, nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a dolphin, nor God, nor the end of the world, nor an endless series of things, which are also not an endless series of things...

And yet... two plus two is four.

I don't understand this. Why is two plus two four?

Bloody stupid literary theory.

Stand-Up Comedy idea

2009-11-10T04:33:04Z

I hope that I'll reincarnate years from now and become a stand-up-comedian. I've always wanted to try my luck at it, but I think it'll only work if I live far into the future. Most of my jokes are ahead of their time, you see.

"Yeah, there's this one spaceline--I'm not gonna name names, but let's just say that it rhymes with "Blunited..." (pause for laughter)

"And let me just say service was awful. I mean, first of all, you know you're on a long space flight to Alpha Centauri and they tell you that by the time you return everyone you knew and loved will be dead... and that's just because the spaceship's still on the launchpad." (pause for laughter and rim-shot) "Hey-yo. Am I right, or am i right?"

Yes... I'll knock 'em dead, all right.

...in the future.

(In other news, the Food Maker is suffering from jetlag and now I have to go and make my own dinner. I'm beginning to appreciate what my cat goes through.)

Brass Balls

2009-11-10T02:49:30Z

We made a quick stop at Chase today so that Greg could make a loan payment. I found a seat in the lobby and waited for him.

A young man with a pale-colored mustache and a dark suit sat near me and said, "So, where do you do your banking?"

"Somewhere else," I said.

"Somewhere else? May I ask you what you think of Chase?"

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"I don't like any banks."

"Would you consider Chase?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Spite."

"In spite of what?"

I was somewhat hoping that he'd get the idea from my curt responses that all I was interested in doing was sitting down and waiting, and had no desire to be solicited by bankers. But no.

A veritable Albert Einstein of salesmen he was, ready to demonstrate the Theory of Sellativity on me. There he was, sitting across from me, like old friends, swapping truisms about how banks will always be banks, but ya gotta love 'em--every Glass-Steagall-repealling bit of them. And God only knows, where JP Morgan Chase is concerned, there's a whole lot to love.

*****

What is this culture of aggressiveness, and how exactly did we inherit it? I would love to enter a bank, a shop, a restaurant, or any other adopted place of business and not have to be sold something, or asked ingenuously how I am doing, or whether I require any help when all I clearly want is to be left alone. At Black Angus, where I worked as a server, if we wanted to keep our jobs, we had to constantly upsell customers things they had no business even ordering. "Howdy! I'll be your server. Let me tell you about the triple berry smoothie. Delicious. Goes well with your steak. Which, I might add, for a dollar extra, you can upgrade to a full kiloton. Desert time!! Care for a heaping mound of fudge?" I was terrible at it. I was just in it for the tips; I didn't want to be a frontman for the insulin dealers.

Ah, and this same aggressive sales philosophy extends itself to our own homegrown religions. In fact, I think an argument can be made that Evangelicalism and American sales strategy are inextricably linked.

"Tell me, sir, are you satisfied with your religion?"

"Well, now that you mentioned it, no."

"I hear you, brother. But, God. Gotta worship him, right? His will be done. Heh, heh. What if I could tell you that you could be guaranteed a worship service where you could babble meaningless gibberish and writhe rhythmically in front of a congregation?"

"Wow! I'd like that. I'd like it a lot."

"Great. Well, I'm going to transfer you to one of our closers. His name is Bailey, and he'll introduce you to some of our other introductory services."

"Will I get to handle serpents? 'Cause I really want to join a religion that places me in contact with poisonous reptiles."

"Ya know...I'm...I'ma let you ask Bailey about that."

Bing, bang, boom. Always be closing.

It takes brass fuckin' balls to sell a theology.

Rather witty take on gay marriage.

2009-11-09T21:21:59Z

This is more or less preaching to the choir. I'm really only posting the link here so that I can go back and look at it whenever I want to, and because I lose track of bookmarked sites. Maybe you'll like it, though, citizens of Internetland.

Top Ten Reasons to Make Gay Marriage Illegal

Congress is batty!

2009-11-08T06:19:02Z

The House has finally gone ahead and passed its own version of the Health Care bill, although not without resistance from the Right.

Check out the following scene:

Absolutely murderous our Congress has become. It's the sort of unruly Wild West behavior, which I thought had more or less come to an end following the cudgeling that South Carolina Representative Preston Brooks famously gave to Senator Charles Sumner with his gutta-percha walking stick in 1856.

Have we lost all sense of civility? I mean, I don't mind the occasional insulting remark, provided that it's witty, but "object, object, object" is a bit childish. One would have thought someone had replaced the Republican party with androids.

Ah... but more importantly for now, I suppose, is the question: In what shape will our fair Health Care bill be in by the time it comes to the Oval Office? Will she be the triumphant regina of egalitarianism, or will she be a battered, toothless old hag in need of life support?

Something's better than nothing, I suppose.Then again, a general strike wouldn't be out of order, either. Anyway, I could always do with a day off to catch up on my reading. A picket sign in one hand, and a book in the other.

Bully for Me: Halloween 2009

2009-11-08T05:07:54Z

I almost forgot. Halloween has come and gone, and I failed to post a photo, so here it is, your intrepid adventurer on a safari through the wild streets of West Hollywood in search of Big Game.

Bully of a time we had. The streets were crowded, and it was dark, so most of the pictures didn't come out well. I had a mild cold, and so after about an hour having to continually remove my mustache to blow my nose, it remained off permanently. Here is a photo of me, sans mustache and spectacles, standing next to my quarry. Not even Joseph Conrad could ever imagine a scenario where one of his adventurers made contact with Jabba the Hut.

I'm not really sure who they are, but I like Jabba's eyes.

Being West Hollywood, there were a number of older men in leather chaps, although it would seem that this particular fashion is thankfully (for me, at least) a dying fad. The big thing seemed to be to construct gigantic winged costumes that could be spread open for admiring photographers. There were also a number of "balloon boy" costumes. At first, I thought they were all original outfits that the wearers had constructed, and a few did look that way, but then it simply turns out that costume designers were quick to capitalize on the briefly-lived celebrities.

Such crowds! West Hollywood on Halloween would have been a perfect Ground Zero for a zombie invasion. Naught but masses and masses of people from end to end, barely moving. And, as far as traffic was concerned, though I had managed to avoid most of the congestion by using the GPS, by the time I was two miles from the final destination, the streets had become veritable parking lots.

The whole reason I had gone was because my friends had said they'd drop by, and Greg and I had never been to the West Hollywood Halloween spectacle, so we figured what could be the harm? I'm not sure if my friends ever arrived there. We were there, but they were nowhere to be found, having started out late. Contact was lost, and since this particular friend is terrible at returning messages, for all I know, she and her mate could still be lost and stranded, rotting away in an obscure side street.

Would I do it again? Perhaps, but only if I had enough foresight to reserve a hotel room near enough to the madness, but high enough to be far from the fray.

Oh, and I need to get an SLR camera with a decent flash bulb attachment.

Oh, and for future reference, we'll have to keep a sharper eye on our surroundings. Unbeknownst to us, the Pacific Design Center, where we parked, was the site of a Dalek infestation.

A Great Walloping Kneeslap of a film that one was...

2009-11-07T09:22:01Z

If the Kafkaesque and the unanswered questions of the universe are things you'll consider as comedy. And if you don't, or if you disagree with me, I'll battle you.

A Serious Man was a good Coen Brothers film, but then again, I'm prejudiced towards the Coen Brothers, and am likely to say any Coen Brothers film was a good one.

Ah, but too much science and metaphysics and unheimlich for me for one night.

And speaking of unheimlich...

Stopped by the Press for a pint, and who should I run into, but an old acquaintance who I could never clearly understand, except he seemed to always pop up wherever I went. If I stopped at a restaurant for a sandwich, he was working behind in the kitchen. If I was inspecting a new hangout, he was there. If I was taking a walk, he'd be crossing the street. A veritable Chershire Cat of a man. And always the same greeting: "Hi Jaym. How are you Jaym? You're doing ok Jaym?"

"Oh, yes. Doing quite well. And how about yourself?"

"Good bye, Jaym."

He was never one to tolerate having the question turned around. And he could never say my name properly, either. "James" is not a difficult name to pronounce.

At any rate, it seemed to be that I, of all the people around him, was the one he'd single out to speak to.

Nevertheless, why should it surprise me, then, that when I turn around to face a wooden pillar in the Press that he should be sitting near it, as if he were part of the wood itself?

"Hello, Jaym. Haven't seen you in a while. You been on vacation?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. Just haven't been around, that's all. How are you?"

"You should find a seat. Maybe over there Well, good-bye Jaym."

He was not looking well. Too long has he spent at that same place, finishing the same bottomless pitcher of beer, week after week. Well it was good, then, that I had gone on that so-called vacation lest I look like him.

On my way home, having just finished off Stephen Hawking, and meditating on how literature, and the world of language has led us to a dead end whereas mathematics still shows promise, I started up Joyce's Ulysses, and now Joyce's voice is left indelibly in my head, and its A way a lone a last a loved along the for me, though that's Finnegans Wake, but that matters little, since its all the same when you have a melody or a voice stuck inside your head.

I'm going to adopt a dog and take it for walks along the embankment of the Melbourne now...

2009-11-07T01:54:02Z

This article and the accompanying photos seem to suggest it's a good idea.

I'm hoping that in my case it results in slightly older (or at least legal aged) young men to go diving for pets.

For Posterity's Sake

2009-11-06T17:32:19Z

I was rather proud of my response to bunglevolante's entry in randompictures (posted below for context), so I've pasted that entry here for posterity.

Bungle's Entry:

The 'before' (left) and 'after' images of a poster promoting curvy actress Kelly Brook's appearance in Calendar Girls. The poster had to be changed because the iced buns covering her breasts were deemed too small and left too little to the imagination

My Response:
Oh, good. There needs to be an equation that will allow us to determine how much we're allowed to titillate ourselves before going to hell.

We have a working equation for men (the famed "Angle of the Dangle" equation, first proposed by Cambridge University's esteemed Lucasian Professor of Mathematics, Robert Woodhouse, as you might recall), yet we have yet to develop a Grand Unified Equation of Nudity.

One of the major problems that has been plaguing sensors for years, of course, is the rather elusive behavior of the nipple. In layman's terms, this may be paraphrased as: "How is the nipple, which appears on men, considered suitable for presentation, yet the same nipple that appears on women is capable of casting its witnesses to hell?"

You'll recall the famed "Garment Malfunction" of Janet Jackson, in which the eyes of ten thousand viewers at the Super Bowl stadium were immediately set aflame, not to mention the countless millions of television viewers hospitalized with severe glaucoma.

The problem is, that whenever one arrives at the nipple's event horizon, all calculations are suddenly rendered useless, as the mass of inane criticism suddenly becomes infinite, making standard calculations, for all intents and purposes, impossible. The "Pasty Paradox" in which a woman appeared on television wearing a pair of pasties on her nipples, which were not censored, illustrates this complication.

To deal with this problem of unquantifiable equations at the noted Singularity, some researchers have suggested experimenting with "imaginary nipples," which unlike imaginary numbers (the square root of negative one and so forth), are just that: imaginary nipples.

It has been observed that when a nipple is illustrated, something interesting happens: it becomes art. How does this happen and why does this distinction suddenly take place? We're not quite sure yet. However, thousands of hentai artists at great cost to the government, have been employed round the clock to better understand this problem.

Will we ever understand why nipples are so filthy? Will such an explanation necessitate the "will of God?" At present, we do not know, although recent research points to a potential breakthrough in the near future.

Pretty much sums it up

2009-11-06T05:37:52Z

"Putting Civil Rights to the Vote", or "Stay Classy, USA"

2009-11-04T04:09:05Z

Maine Gay Marriage too Close to Call

Come on, Maine! Don't be dummies like California. If you dare to vote against marriage equality, I swear I will rise, gather armies, and declare myself despot of the United States. All who oppose me shall be trampled, and the wailing of my enemies shall resonate in the minds of generations not yet born.

U2

2009-10-26T22:33:16Z

They performed out in Pasadena in the Rose Bowl yesterday. I was not there, of course, since I hadn't heard they'd even be in town. As a matter of fact, I didn't even know they had a new album. I used to be a big fan, and suppose I should still consider myself one, but U2 simply doesn't hold my interest as much as it used to. Joshua Tree will probably always be my favorite album, both for sentimental reasons (it was the first rock album I ever bought) and for the sheer quality and uniqueness of the music. At the time of its release, there was simply nothing else comparable to Joshua Tree. And, it's simply lovely to listen to...over and over again...for just about any occasion, really.

After my visit to Dublin and a pint at Clarence Hotel, which the band owns, my love of the band waned a bit. Simply put, eight punts for a pint is a bit much to ask. I suppose being charged so much for something I could just as easily have gotten somewhere else resonated with me. Suddenly, the band who had refurbished a hotel that was really nothing very special, also became a little less special in my eyes. It was similar to that scene in Christmas Story where the boy realizes that the Little Orphan Annie decoder ring was nothing more than an advertising scheme. What was I there for? What did I expect to get? What was I looking for? Whatever it was, it wasn't to be had at the Clarence, where for the financially limited, the doors were shut.

Ah, the fans, though...it's serious fuckin' religion with them, and Bono is the high priest.

(Which makes it all the more fun to get a rise out of them. Presently, I'm trying to instigate a war on a Facebook news feed. So far, only two have taken the bait, but its still too early to tell.)

I remember, back as an undergrad, working in the University computer lab, and discovering another lab assistant's diary on the one of the main administrator computers we used. Of course I read it. The kid--a rabid U2 fan--was such a sad, lonely eco-wear Jesus freak who was stupid enough to fall in love with some girl he couldn't communicate his love for. He'd a heart of gold and an earnest desire to rid the world of its woes, and it was that latter quality that made him all the more pathetic in my mind. Never mind the desire to save the world--it was the earnestness alone that I resented, in all likelihood because he had reminded me of myself. Still, I maintained that I wasn't like him because I chain smoked cigarettes and swore at the world and mocked all that was beautiful as false.

There still is that contradictory character in me that says "Fuck them for saving the world; we should save the world", that resents anyone who doesn't realize that we aren't already damned, but likewise damns those who give up trying.

Still, messianic zeal and all, I suppose I wouldn't have minded going...even if all the songs now seem to sound the same.

Pomegranate

2009-10-23T01:32:47Z

First they promise you a phone that can do everything for you, and then they play the old switcheroo and suggest Nova Scotia instead. That's like promising a little kid candy and giving him a raw onion instead.

Here's the link.

Halifax is going to be soooo inundated by angry stranded customers.

Oh, well... at least its clean.

A Lovely Internet Find

2009-10-22T04:38:42Z

Out on the plains just me and my mind
Took me a break to read some Wittgenstein
Born in Vienna in ’89
He obessessed with theories of language and time
Like “Tractactus” where Ludwig would claim
“The logic of our language is misunderstood”
Philosophy is based on a false pretense
So philosophy itself is nonsense! Nonsense!
Philosophy itself is nonsense!

Oh, I love it. The worst song ever!!

Click here to give it a listen

Source

Composer Dave Soldier had this idea of doing music based on the conceptual artists Komar and Melamid’s “People’s Choice” paintings. For the paintings, Komar and Melamid would go to different countries and interview people about what they liked and disliked in art; then they would paint that country’s most and least favorite painting. It was an exercise in “democracy” from two Soviet-era conceptual artists (with really good senses of humor.) So, for example, the U.S.’s most favorite painting is large and representational. It’s a kitsch landscape with George Washington and deer and pretty children in white dresses and the sun shines all the time. While America’s least favorite is small and complicated and abstract. And Kenya’s favorite painting is almost the same as America’s except that the mountains are different and there’s a hippo instead of deer. (The funniest thing about this endeavor, I thought, was that the Netherlands, birthplace of kitsch landscapes, was the only country where those interviewed preferred abstract paintings to representational ones!)

So, in 1997, Dave and Komar and Melamid put a survey online to find out what “Americans” liked and disliked their in songs. The survey asked questions about favorite and least favorite types of music/instruments/mood/voices/topics and a lot more. They gave me the answers to the surveys and asked me to write lyrics for America’s “Most Wanted” song and America’s “Least Wanted” song. Then Dave wrote the music.

Predictably, the Most Wanted Song, a reasonably short love song between, ideally, Whitney Houston (emoting simple rhymed sentimentality) and Bruce Springstein (telling a complicated unrhymed story), was eclipsed in notoriety by the 25+ minute “Most Unwanted” song which veers wildly between tempos and textures and features an opera singer rapping about cowboys, a chorus of children singing holiday advertising, political ranting, “intellectual content,” and political folk music, among other elements. FYI, the opera singer is Dina Emerson and I’m speaking the vocal at the end through a megaphone. Dave is playing the banjo and Komar and Melamid had a great time hitting the big bass drum. And Norman Yamada directed the whole wacky 18 piece ensemble. I’m not posting the actual song here as I think it’s up in a number of places.

America’s Most Unwanted Song
(Lyrics by Nina Mankin)

Well I’m ropin’ up my saddle for the long long ride
Every time I see the desert there’s something inside says
Yo! Yo! This is the life! Give me open land and a big ol’ knife
To get some bear, deer, even a snake
I light me a fire do the shake and bake I say
Yo! Yo! I’m a cowboy now
The sun is hot and dry gonna rope me a cow I say
Yo! Yo! I’m loose and free
Whoa there Nelly you’re the horse for me!

Rope em up boys the desert is a callin’
Yahoo, yahoo, yahoo
Saddle up fellas, the dessert is a callin’
Yahoo, yahoo, yahoo

Christmas time! Christmas time!
Jesus, Mary and the manger
Christmas time, family time
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Easter Time! Easter Time!
Love, forgiveness, and the bunnies!
Easter Time! Chocolate time!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Out on the plains just me and my mind
Took me a break to read some Wittgenstein
Born in Vienna in ’89
He obessessed with theories of language and time
Like “Tractactus” where Ludwig would claim
“The logic of our language is misunderstood”
Philosophy is based on a false pretense
So philosophy itself is nonsense! Nonsense!
Philosophy itself is nonsense!

Bedutung ist tun
Es ist ein Sprachspiel
Nonsense! Nonsense!
Wörter sind inhalt
Yahoo! Yahoo!

Yom Kippur! Yom Kippur!
Self-reflection and atonement
Yom Kippur, that’s what for!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Oh say can you – Feel the embers glowing and the turkey in the oven!
America! Hear the children singing – there’s a turkey in the oven!
Rockets red glare! Candles are so pretty -- and a turkey in the oven!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!
Buy spurs that jingle at Wal-Mart!

Ramadan! Ramadan!
Lots of praying with no breakfast!
Ramadan, so much fun!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

It’s home, home on the big ol’ range
Yippe tai oh get along there stranger
Rope ‘em, ride ‘em, shoot ‘em up good
We’re big and bad in the cowboy hood
I say Yo! Yo! Got a river to ford
With a life like this I never be bored
I say Yo! Yo! I’m wild and free
Whoa Miss Kitty you’re the gal for me!

Whoa Miss Kitty
I say whoa there
Whoa Miss Kitty
Yahoo! Yahoo!

Labor Day! Labor Day!
Schools are closed and pools are open!
Labor Day! All the way!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Oh say can you – Grandma’s on the phone go and tell her that you love her!
America! -- Daddy’s on the phone go and tell him that you love him!
The Golden land! Sister’s on the phone go and tell her that you love her!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Veteran’s Day! Veteran’s Day!
Big parades with guns and soldiers
Veteran’s Day! What’s there to say?
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Holloween! Holloween!
Candy corn for lunch and dinner!
Holloween, what a scream!
Do all your shopping at Wal-Mart!

Look out there! It’s an injun band!
Coming this way, gonna fight for my land
And build a hometown grocery store
American cheese worth fighting for
Call it “dry gulch” “O.K. Corral”
Holiday spot for you and your gal
To get some cool shit and desert rays
Cowboy living the American way
It’s cowboy living
Go! Go!
It’s cowboy living
Go! Go!
It’s cowboy living
All the way!

Rope ‘em up boys!
The desert is a callin’!
Yahoo! Yahoo! Yahoo!
Saddle up fellas!
The desert is a callin’!
Yahoo! Yahoo! Yahoo!

Vice Presidential Candidate! Twenty-seven electoral votes!
Central policy issues! Two party system! Struggle! People!
Coming together out ofa desire to obtain political power!
Gain control of the government! Executive branch! Military branch!
Foreign affairs! Influence policy! Promote ideology – fascism!
Promote individual interests – George Stephanopoulous! Imelda Marcos!
Promote special interests – sugar! Beef! Bananas! Pork Bellies!
Pork barrels! Lumber! Coca-cola! The information superhighway!
Three thousand years of oppression!
Who enslaved humans of color? Who invaded the Carribbean?
Who murdered all the innocent children?! You did! You! You!

It may be you
It could be me
It’s not enough
To wait and see
And when we all
Lock arms and sing
Then bells of freedom
Ring ding ding!

The Thirteenth Monkey

2009-10-20T15:47:48Z

A friend on Facebook posted the following quote, so I thought I'd respond to it

First, the quote: "Visualize your eventual demise. It can have an amazing effect on how you live for the moment."

Now, my response: Apparently, there's going to be a rift in the time-space continuum, and when I go back in time, my three-year-old self is going to shoot and murder my 35 year-old self. I've had reoccurring nightmares about this, in addition to flashbacks (Why did I have that gun? Who thought it would be a good idea to give a 3 year-old kid a handgun?), but until now I haven't talked about this very much.

I've begun thinking about my PhD dissertation quite a bit. Nonstop, actually. I'm big on the great thinkers of the Weimar era. Walter Benjamin, the Frankfurt Group, the Bauhaus movement. Franz Kafka. Well, actually, Kafka was from a different country, but he more or less lived during the same era. I'm really excited about Kafka.

Still, it's been done. So, I'll do it again. No big deal. But, other things come to mind, too. This era also marked the demise of the flâneur, the person who walked the city to experience it. Oh, certainly it's still done, but not professionally. Walter Benjamin, for instance, was a flâneur, yet because of his inheritance, he managed to scrape by, until the rise of the Third Reich. Today, flâneurs are more commonly known as bums, and are typically seen stationed bivouac around coffee shops, smelling up the place, preparing to pounce on anyone who happens by. "Hey, know what I'm workin' on? I'm rewriting the history of the world, man." The writing, it turns out, is a series of indecipherable scribbles on a Mead notebook.

But, those were the old flâneurs. The new generation of flâneurs make their mark online.

So, I've been thinking a lot about the Internet these days. There really isn't an Online Studies department in English yet, is there? It's used, but that's about it. Still, a lot of talk gets circulated about the Internet both by technophobe and technophile alike. But, for now, it's just talk.

I don't know. I have to continue thinking about it. But Weimar is the link

Did you hear the one about the horse who walked into a bar?

2009-10-19T05:58:56Z

The bartender says, "Hey, why the long face?"

And then, the horse suddenly realizes that he's a horse and doesn't belong in bars, and furthermore, he doesn't even have a license that says he's 21 or older. So, he walks out and heads to a meadow where he rests and eats some grass.

So, the lesson is that even though horses don't have the speech and comprehension skills of an advanced hominid, they still know where they do and don't belong.

That's called horse sense.

Get it?

Oh... I forgot. The horse's name is Bill. That makes the joke funnier, I think.

So pretty...

2009-10-19T00:41:01Z

This is absolutely brilliant

2009-10-17T15:39:04Z