Do You Feel Lucky?

(and feel free to comment! My older posts are certainly no less relevant to the burning concerns of the day.)

Monday, December 31, 2007

I'm Setting The Alarm

I'm setting the alarm for 11:59 and 50 seconds, and when it goes off, I'll be like "9! 8! 7! 6!"

And so forth. You know.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Getting Out Of Trouble By Pretending There Is No Trouble

This is sure to be a gripping and compelling post at some point, but I haven't done the research yet on all the best techniques. Still, it's a gripping and compelling post title.

I guess I should go get in some trouble or something. Do the legwork. But is it really worth the trouble to go get into trouble just to get out of said trouble by pretending there is no trouble, in an attempt to live up to a gripping post title?

In an unrelated note, I have a ton of self-help books I could write. I've got all the titles ready to go.

Friday, December 28, 2007

This Post Is Porn.

This post is porn. It is utterly lacking in any redeeming social or artistic value.

Feel free to masturbate.*

The Riddle of Ye Magickal Faerie Porne

I was walking downtown in Solvang and there was a shop (or probably, shoppe) that, among its assortment of wifty gifty wares, had displayed RIGHT IN THE WINDOW a number of...I don't know what to call these..."erotic faeries" does not quite cover it.

And I was like, if that isn't the apotheosis of some particular spur of geekery, I don't want to see what is.

I was like. "Whoa." "Right in the window." "REALLY?"

And then, right around round the corner there was a CAMERA shop (that also had two long racks of camouflage fatigues and the like), but they had in their showcase window some pretty large statues, lovingly recreating scenes from fantasy paperback novel covers. You know the ones. Ripplingly-thewed barbarians frozen in mid-shout, hoisting swords high whilst half-prone nude wenches clasp themselves tightly around the warrior's right thigh. I was kind of thunderstruck to see it. I'm no prude, mind you! And there is nothing in the human form...not even the highly-idealized human form...that should ashame. But COME ON! What kind of camera shop is this? There's a bakery next door, and a florist on the other side. I think the proprietor was trying to prove some point, maybe.

But that doesn't explain those faeries, either.

Anyway. Solvang, CA. On the surface, a glittering slice of faux-Danish to delight the kids with and appeal to the droll side of the adults. But there's also some kind of unseemly, worked in between the seams of this picturesque gingerbread tourist town.

And as I said, I'm not a prude or an anti-porn crusader. But you just don't put something like that out there in your shop, do you? Is there not some bead-curtained back room you could usher people into, with a wink and a leer? I mean, you just don't see other reputable shops and businesses, with people of the general public walking through looking to buy something, and right in the middle of the rest of your merchandise you have a nice table all decked out with a selection of epic and majestic pornuary. Is it just the Ye Olde Magickal angle that renders all this OK? Or are Gift Shoppes automatic "anything goes" zones?

Look, I'm not knocking anything that anyone does with oneself, as long as it's consensual. But I have to level with you: if you're goofing on a statue of rainbow-scaled hornèd dragon that has a nekkid lady with bug wings riding it like a horse, the fact that I'm not knocking you for that is pretty much irrelevant to your main problem.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Monday, December 24, 2007

Santa, This Year Sucked

Oh, Santa, I know you're not in charge of New Years
but all I really want this year / is for this year to end
if you could put a call in to the office next door over
I surely would appreciate it, friend

I'm feeling pretty hopeful
about the coming year
it might not be the best, but can't be worse
So maybe in my stocking
could you slip me something strong
to knock me out 'til January 1st

Yes, if you could cut it short, I'd sure be grateful
I've had it up to here this year's been hateful
Now I know you can't fit New Years
in your sleigh up on the roof
but Santa, this year sucked and that's the truth

Dear Santa Claus, I'm not a praying man
so I'm taking this to you instead of God
but what I understand is, you two are pretty close
so could you ask him, next year spare the rod?

I'm feeling pretty hopeful
about the coming year
it might not be the best, but can't be worse
So maybe in my stocking
could you slip me something strong
to knock me out 'til January 1st

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Leftover Food Review Part Deux

For dinner tonight, I had...leftovers. I had reheated World-Famous BBQ Beans from Cole's BBQ, which I think bills itself as "World-Famous." If not, I don't know why not.

I also had a thin slice of hearty lasagna. I don't think there was meat in it, but it was sure hearty.

The star of the plate was a fat wedge of quiche. This quiche had paprika on it (or rather, baked right into the top), it had mushrooms, it had sun-dried tomato, and the crust of this quiche was just so flaky and perfect it was almost poignant. There was a little spinach in there, adding just an accent of spinachness - not like, tons of it! Such as is to be had in your Quiche Lorraine, for instance. Or is that Quiche Lorraine...? Maybe not, maybe that's some other quiche. One with more spinach in it.

Some of you may have heard of the so-called saying that "real men don't eat quiche." Well, that saying needs to shut the fuck up. Need I point out the simple fact that quiche was invented in France? That's right. And anybody who wants to claim that the French don't eat quiche is quite free to make an ass out of themselves in the process! Because je am very sorry, but ils ne sont pas play that. They eat quiche WHENEVER and HOWEVER they want to over there. Check out Amelie if you're doubting the veracity of that claim. There's a kind of diner/coffee shop/bar in there, and at one point...I'm pretty sure somebody orders the quiche.

So anyway, that was my dinner, it was great, and I had some beers with it that just put the top on the whole caper.


Friday, December 21, 2007

Out-Of-Context Comments On Other People's Blogs #2

Do the Germans have a The Marines?

I like a flock of birds. A flock of birds in flight has one mind. The configuration of individual birds acting in concert forms a collective intelligence. The pulsing and surging of feathered forms, contracting and expanding and changing direction - they think as one, they fly as one, the constant spaces between them act as firing neurons, the birds on the perimeter of the flock form a skin that feeds sensory input back in towards the center where it is processed and decisions are made.

This has been proved a number of times, to my complete satisfaction, while gazing out the passenger window at passing, pitching, surging, pulsing, convulsing flocks of birds.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Further Notes On Repeating Myself

I've just introduced a new regular feature, "Out-Of-Context Comments On Other People's Blogs" (heretoforeinafter to be referred to as "OOCCOOPB"). Sometimes I may leave a comment on someone else's blog, and sometimes, it might strike me as something I should really be putting on my own blog instead.

So instead of that, now I do both.

This feature serves two purposes. First, it gives me a chance to be very up-front about it when I re-use a bit from elsewhere (which was a bit of an ethical squirm for certain readers who thought my primary obligation was to generate endless reams of all-new material for THEM, even thought they rarely ever even STOP BY anymore!!!!). Secondly, by explicitly labelling such posts as out-of-context, taken from elsewhere, I am liberated myself from any need to even slightly edit or shape the material into a self-contained, standalone post.

In fact, one might argue that from an ethical standpoint, based on the way I am presenting it, I have a certain responsibility to post it in exactly the same form as it was originally posted (elsewhere). Which is pretty sweet. The ethical obligations just dovetail so nicely into the laziness of the whole concept.

Observant readers (Hi there!) will note that the previous post does repeat an even more-previous post's sentiments to a virtual "t". However, it does so so much more succinctly that I said "fuck it."

And so, so should you:

"Fuck it."

Never be ashamed of saying something shorter and better than you said it before. Or longer and worse, for that matter. Some things bear being expounded upon, and how can you really tell whether they do or they don't until you try?

EDIT (3/30/08): I've decided to expand the OOCCOOPB aegis to include Out Of Context Replies On Some Random Message Board as well. Because to run a separate series called OOCROSRMB serves no real extra purpose.

EDIT (6/29/09): I think Out-Of-Context-Comments-On-Other-People's-Sites or OOCCOOPS is a good catch-all carry-all.

Out-Of-Context Comments On Other People's Blogs #1

Out of context comment on someone's blog:
I believe that the best way to honor a joke is by responding as if it were serious, and by so doing, continue the joke.

As a bonus, if the person was being serious, you're covered.

Tina Fey Is Hot

She is hot. There are no two ways about it. There's only one way about it, and that way is that she is hot. She's hot because she's smart, she's hot because she's funny, she's hot because she's Tina Fey, she's hot because she's pretty damn cute besides, and she's hot because she is in fact hot. Hot on merit.

Anyone who says otherwise disagrees with me. That's all there is to it. There's no two ways about it. It's just a natural fact.

But can I say this?: "What a woman!" Yes, I can. I admire Tina Fey tremendously.

I mean, I'm not in love with her or anything, but the only way I could be any more in love with that woman would be if I was in love with her.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Wonder Woman's Invisible Jet: Superstition? or Science-Fiction?

The other thing is: who built that damn jet? Clearly it's beyond the reach of the U.S. Military. Yet the tech level on Paradise Island is approximately that of Ancient Greece! Oh, sure, they have magic, to magic up belts and bracelets and lassos and tiaras and probably spears and bows and swords and such. But a complex feat of engineering such as a jet airplane? How could they do it? The turbines alone...!

Perhaps this is the converse of old Arthur C. Clarke's 3rd law of prediction: Any sufficiently advanced magic will appear to be technology.

I'm An Idealist, That's My Problem.

This is not an ideal world.

Open Dream Journal #8: Will Our Lives Never Measure Up to Our Dream Accomplishments?

I had a dream that I had created an extremely detailed, scholarly, and erudite website detailing the entire course of the Kool Moe Dee vs. L.L. Cool Jay "beef" of the 1980s and 90s. Complete with backstory, excerpts from interviews, and a fully cross-referenced and annotated song lyrics section.

Man. This site had it all.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Today's Thought of the Day Has Been Canceled

I have no thought of the day today. Therefore today's post serves no purpose.

No different from the other posts.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Blade Runner: Prelude to Blade Runner Pt. 2

The previous post is not what it should have been. I admit it. It's unfocused, reeling discursively from point to point and occasionally doubling back over covered ground. I am now at work on a revised, final cut of that post that will clear up some of the narrative inconsistencies as well as shed some light on the ultimate, controversial question of whether I myself am in fact a replicant.

Stay tuned for that.

Blade Runner, Once Again Available

First of all. Ridley Scott: you are a pussy and an ignoramus. Also a fine director. These aren't mutually exclusive categories.

Second of all: thank you for whatever part you played in allowing Blade Runner (the version that needs no additional title) to be finally made available once more. Albeit as part of a 5-disc set. Thank you anyway. It's a great film. The film that you were able to achieve, the cut for which you let your name be slapped across posters for the original wide release, is a masterpiece. Your part in that achievement is larger than that of all the other people involved. But if what you've said in interviews since then is true*, then those responsible for putting the final stamp on the theatrical version deserve great credit as well. They saved you from yourself.

Which brings us to the nitty gritty. You've gone on record as saying that "Deckard is a replicant," "he just is," and "anyone who doesn't 'get it' is a moron." You protest too much, Mr. Scott. All of us get it. Your many explanations for why you think he's a replicant are kindergarten-simple, backed up with plentiful visual aids that you've painted into versions of the film itself, over the years. The funniest thing is that I've read dozens of your explanations "why" Deckard "just is" a replicant, and they all have to do with the proper interpretions of these supposed clues. You never seem to think it germane to include a reason why you think the "Deckard = replicant" approach can possibly help the story.

I'm sorry. Weren't you making a film? Was this not a consideration?

But yes, please rest easy, I assure you it is quite perfectly butt-obvious in your various "MY cut!" versions that you think Deckard is a replicant. You might just as well have CGI'd a big square panel in his back with clockwork behind it. If you did, would that make it so? No, of course not. None of your strident revisionism makes Deckard a replicant - any more than spray-painting graffiti on a gravestone constitutes a sort of "special edition" epitaph.**

Do you ever look at what George Lucas has become and blame yourself? You could. The endless tinkering and justifications, the slow degradation of the very concept of a film, of an opus, of a finished work - you were the high-profile pioneer in that game. And now you have given us back the real deal, just as Lucas finally gave us back Star Wars and its two sequels again - ostensibly as the 'bonus discs' of yet another whacked-out goofy edition, but he knows the real reason why people shelled out for the umpteenth time, and it wasn't to see more digital tongue from the Sarlacc pit. You and Lucas are fooling only yourselves with these endless editions and versions. If you are capable of more great art, then please, go make more great art. Don't keep meddling and tinkering with what is classic. At least M. Night Shyamalan gets his twist endings into the film in time for the general release. If he starts taking cues from you, he'll leave out the twist entirely, and then call a press conference years later to try to pin one on retroactively.

Everyone talks about Citizen Kane, authorial control and the magic of final cut. If Mr. Welles had put out a "New Final Cut" of Kane in the seventies, with Paul Masson product placement matted in, would anyone have cared to endorse the venture? This final cut business, I call it crying over spilled milk. You get the cut you are able to get. As a director, that's your job - to force your vision through. A weak director doesn't deserve final cut, any more than he deserves second crack.

That's how the system works. It's beneficial. Sometimes the producers have to rein the director in, just a little bit. You fight for the vision you want to put on-screen, and they fight for the result they feel they're paying for, and when everything's said and done you can either stand by the resulting film or you can disown it. That collaborative process is part of what makes a finished film a finished film, rather than a sprawling and inconsequential ongoing vanity project.

Despite the never-ending one-film franchise you've turned it into, there is only one Blade Runner. I don't fault you for the other versions, or dispute your right to make them. It's cool that you've had the opportunity to crank out a bunch of (essentially) straight-to-video revisionist remixes, and the clout to get a succession of them booked into art-house theaters for a vanity release. I suppose you're free to say that any or all of those is "your" film. But none of them was ours. None of them is Blade Runner. And it's cool that you've finally let Blade Runner see the light of day again.

So, thank you again for that. But hear me, Mr. Scott: it isn't we who aren't deep enough to get it, it is you who aren't deep enough to see the implications for the story. Your neato, gee-whiz, mind-bending twist would take a soaringly dystopian parable on the fragile, elusive nature of humanity and sink it to the level of a hackneyed "hey, we're all robots!" sci-fi flick with retarded film-school pretentions grafted on. And a hollywood budget, leave us not forget! And a top-notch cast. But thank you very much, Mr. Scott. You can take all of that, and make as many of your own cuts as you like. Make Gaff a replicant, if you like. Perhaps you will find that adds new levels to the story.

You can keep them. I will take Blade Runner. It's a great film. A masterpiece. Your masterpiece, whether you own or disown it.

Now for the last time: thank you.

Open Dream Journal #9: Way to Go, Bob Dylan. Real Mature.

I went to a concert, a live recording session with an audience that was also being broadcast live on national TV. A pretty big deal. It was Bob Dylan conducting "The Band" - only the musicians were way more than just "The Band," there were a bunch of other musicians there with all sorts of instruments, plus some people just singing. Bob Dylan was up there in front of them, at a conductor's podium with a baton, but he also had a microphone attached to the podium so he could sing into it.

The weird thing was, Bob seemed to be looking at the whole thing as a big test, to see how well The Band could perform under adversity. They kicked off with a couple of Bob's songs just to get things really going, but then once they started doing The Band's songs, Bob didn't really maintain a respectful tone at all. It was like he didn't know what to do with that microphone if he wasn't singing into it. He kept saying things very loudly into the mic. At first it was directions or encourangement to various musicians ("pick it up a little, pick it up boys!", "good job, Bobby!" - right during the SONG!). Then he started saying - and again, this is right in the middle of one of the Band guys singing a verse - things like: "hey remember guys! This is being recorded so, no matter what I do you gotta keep right on going!" And then he did this gross kind of coughing and laughing at the same time thing.

It just kept degenerating from there. Pretty soon in the middle of a big chorus awash with warm harmonies he goes, "shut up! SHUT UP! I only wanna hear Sam Posun singing this part right here! Sam Posun nobody else!" And you could see poor Sam Posun (whoever he was, he was this guy in a cowboy hat, t-shirt and woven/braided leather vest with an embarrassed look on his face)...I give Sam a lot of credit, he kept right on singing and tried his best to carry the chorus by himself. But he just couldn't pull it off. His part was this kind of weird diminished sevenths harmony that sounded really awkward without the other sung parts.

The whole thing was just incredibly unfortunate to watch. Bob Dylan - I tell you, I've lost all respect for that guy. What a dick!



Okay, I don't know what happened here and I can't explain it. I captured this off a You-Tube comment queue so as to take immediate action - since I had already read it - and then I pasted it in my 'drafts' for safe-keeping, because I couldn't get to it just then, but I must have forgotten it within 143 minutes. That was November 8th. A Thursday. I don't recall who kissed me that Friday, but if that was the best day of my life, it sure slid through my senses without much disturbance. I can't recall a single thing about it.

In retrospect, the fact that I'm still drawing breath might put the accuracy of the whole thing in a bad light, prediction-wise. But you know what? It's still pretty damn scary.

But the real question in my mind is: which species of moron needs to hit F6 to know the name of their own crush? Wouldn't you know already?

When I hit F6, it just kind of toggles from the window to the URL bar and back.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Alienated Pt.2

Turns out it might have been just a bit of a cold.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

I'm Alienated.

I lack the words to describe it just now. I'm not sure how to describe it.

The Female Form Pt.2

I admit it. I enjoy seeing hot babes lasciviously arrayed for my viewing pleasure, posed indecorously in their exiguous costumes. But as a feminist, I have to say: "Whoa there!" to those nethersome urges, wheneversoever they arise. "Whoa there!" say I, "These excitingly feminine forms you see about you, swaying and traipsing, prancing and turning so as best to display their eye-catching wares barely concealed by whatever short tight-fit outfits pass for a nod towards modesty in this modern age - these are not mere sexual objects, to be objectified sexually! No! Each of these nubile ladies has a unique MIND!! And a beating HEART!! And a pretty sweet you-know-what to go with it. But therein lies the problem."

And after I finish saying all of that to my nethersome urges, they generally get real bored and wander off thinking about something else. That's my trick, and I've got it down to a science. When you're out in the world, and as you know, there's a lot out there to look at! So you've gotta find a way to keep your thoughts on the up-and-up, keep them somewhat pure. Because a woman is not a plaything for your roving eye, you pig! You can't just go around undressing women with your mind.

I mean, you know. Unless she does it first. Ladies first, that's my rule.

Friday, December 07, 2007

Godzilla Should Be Forced To Wear Pants

It's disgusting! Walking around like that, swinging that big thing around. King Kong would never be allowed to get away with that!

I mean, if he had anything to swing.

Friends Are Like

Friends understand and appreciate a comfortably lived-in pad. You don't have to get everything "spic and span" for a friend. A real friend is less "company" and more "family" - right?

But some don't see it that way. I have a friend who's like, her place has to be clean. She'll change the plan on you if she thinks her place is too messy: "Ah, let's meet at the Crow's Nest instead, I didn't get a chance to clean." Which is fine by me. The Crow's Nest has a better selection of beer!

And it's a LOT cleaner.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Open Dream Journal #5: Bunny High

I had a dream that I was a bunny in a high school for bunnies. I was kind of a mean bunny, though! In the hall between classes, as we bunnies thronged to and fro to the next class, one of the little white freshman bunnies bit me on the leg deliberately - so I picked him up and crushed him against the wall! But then I saw that I had hurt him. He was just lying there with his mouth open, breathing fast and shallow. So I picked him up again (upperclassmen were bipedal) and we escaped out a window.

I set him down in a ditch outside the school and we just laid low for a little while so he could recuperate. After a short time a young woman walked up, everyone's favorite teacher (the teachers were humans). She looked at us and at me and said some kind but condescending things. At the end she said, "I always knew it was no use trying to teach bunnies." I was like, "fuck you, you hypocritical bitch! You work in a high school for bunnies! Nice attitude!"

But I didn't actually say that. Perhaps because I was a bunny.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Hazy Shade of Winter

Listen. Everybody says "Hazy Shade of Winter" is the best Bangles song, and everybody knows it's a damn sight better than the original, but why does nobody make the leap to the next logical link in the chain?

The Bangles should re-do the entire catalog of Simon and Garfunkel hits. I mean, what kind of name is Garfunkel, anyway? Hold it, that's got nothing to do with what I'm saying. Here's what I'm saying: Simon and Garfunkel, their stuff is due for a reevaluation. And it's not going to get the hearing it deserves if we have to listen to their versions. If you listen to their versions, you're not going to remember what you were listening to by the time you wake up again, well-rested.

Let's face it, those old Simon/Garfunkel tracks have a deserved reputation of being shall we say BO-RINNNNNG!!! We never would have thought otherwise, if the Bangles hadn't come along. So why not roll the dice, why not see if they can work that same spangley Bangles magic on the rest of the S&G 500? Or however many songs those dudes wrote. Lord knows, it was tons. Just two dudes and a couple guitars, cranking it out 'til you can't stand it in the nineteen-seventies.

The Bangles are due for a reevaluation, too. They proved what they were capable of, on "Hazy Shade." But they're not going to get their next chance based on whatever crap they & Elvis Costello can come up with - as their last comeback amply showed. They need to dip back into that deep well over troubled waters. The Bangles need Simon & Garfunkel. And Simon & Garfunkel need the Bangles - because while their prolific gifts are indisputable as songwriters, it took the Bangles to make us see that, to open our eyes. Look around.

Look around.

There's a patch of snow on the ground.

Tan Lines

I kind of like tan lines. I'm kind of into tan lines. I don't think they're anything to be avoided, or to be ashamed of.

I'm not like - I don't even know if there is such a thing! - but I don't raise it to the level of FETISH, or anything. I'm just saying. The last post made me think on it, and while I wouldn't go so far as to want my CAR having tan lines...apart from the automotive realm, ain't no shame there atall! It's a nice visual contrast, and plus, when you think about it a bit, about what tan lines represent...I guess it's kind of a statement. It's kind of a statement of demure exhibitionism.

Which, that's an intriguing combination.

The Car Bra.

Ok, I think I'm not being facetious there. I believe that's what they actually call those things. A bra. That's that...thing, that you put on the front of your car. To protect it from dings from flying rocks, or flying whatever other debris.

So. Here's a tip for you, jackass: if you want one of those car bras, go ahead, get one. But don't put it on. There's no reason to disfigure your fucking Camaro prematurely, by stretching a gigantic trash bag across the front of it. Right? Here's what you do instead: wait for one of those hypothetical pebbles to actually fly up, ricochet off your paint job and make an undetectable scratch.

THEN you put it on. You could go for YEARS, maybe the ENTIRE LIFE OF THE CAR, without having to resort to that ugly-ass thing. And as soon as you put it on, BOO YAH! You're no worse off than you would have been, if you'd been driving around like an idiot that whole time! People will be just as impressed: "Wow, look at that guy. He's protecting his car by making the front of it look like a fake leather sofa."

I mean, am I missing something on this one? Maybe these are just for if you're really into tan lines, so much so that you want your car to have one.

Repeating Myself At Increasingly Needless Length

EDIT: OK, so I was pleased with my rambling musings on the below topic from a message board post I made someplace else, and I thought I would post it here - why not? And then so I did, but then something made me check the archives and sure enough! I said the same thing in about 5 sentences, far more effectively, months ago. In a far more snide manner at that.

So I'm repeating myself. TOO BAD. Read it and sleep!

3. "Why does God let bad things happen." Ah, yes. The old saw. People who find this an objection to belief in God have never honestly tried on the other side's argument. I'll stick with the stereotypical Christian God, who seems to be the main one being addressed in these plaints. If someone really believes in God, then what follows? Heaven. An eternity of perfect bliss and contentment, better than anything you could ever imagine, and it goes on forever. Well OK. If anyone really believed that they were getting THAT next, how could the pitiful sufferings of this world possibly matter?

Alright. Gotta get back to the jihad.

No, but seriously - of COURSE I realize that the idea of taking heaven seriously is not going to sway a good Atheist. Nor should it. And of course I recognize the point of those who say that Christianity's traditional deferral of perfect bliss until the afterlife has been used right down the ages to reconcile people to their benighted lot here on earth. To say nothing of the lure of paradise to would-be modern martyrs. But none of that even touches the main objection, that God would have to be mean to allow pain or death!

To someone who DOES believe, it's not difficult to see what our hypothetical God's perspective on all this might be. To someone who really believes that there is an infinite and perfect happiness after this brief blip of mortality, to someone who believes that free will implies a certain hands-off attitude on God's part where people are allowed to choose and things are allowed to happen, to someone who accepts that pain on earth is a necessary damage-avoidance mechanism that in general prolongs life, to someone who believes that death is ultimately inevitable because this world is not our final home...

The point is, anybody whose mind is large enough to really wrap around the concept - even if only for the sake of argument - should be willing to admit that the objection doesn't make a lot of sense once you really accept the premise. It's a lot of boo-hoo'ing from people whose hearts are too much in this world.*

From the standpoint of the Christian mystic, at least! I'm playing a bit of devil's advocate here. I personally see no reason why the world couldn't have popped into place by itself.

(tee hee!)

*My heart is too much in this world. I admit it.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Now That's Some Good Advice

"If feelings of stress or depression persist past the holiday season, contact a mental health professional."

- from the informational holiday wall poster in Human Resources

Monday, December 03, 2007

The Four Best Ideas I Ever Had

Okay, this post will put down indelibly and indubitably, as well as inimitably and indisputably, the four best ideas I ever had (so far). I'm not talking about, you know, screenplay ideas or song ideas or any similar such dreck as I'm perfectly well capable of executing myself! No, I mean things like inventions, or video games, or products, goods and services, such as I may well be capable of having an outstanding idea about, but such that I'd require some help or investor or executioner to come on board and sort of help fulfill the concept.

So anyway. I'm putting them down here, to serve notice that these sweet, four ideas are hereby copyright in whatever form I so designate, LEGALLY!! - and that heretoforeafter, everyone is directly unauthorized to make use of my sweet ideas or otherwise rip me off. Your even reading this far into the blog post constitutes a BINDING CONTRACT on your part, agreeing explicitly thereto, vis-a-vis the aforementioned foregoing provisos.

Ah, never mind. I can't fucking trust you people.

Hey, Viruses! Pt. 2

Got a couple more to add to the original post:

* a virus that converts all your outgoing e-mails to "Hulk grammar."

* a virus that opens your spell-check software and adds the 500 most common misspellings into your custom dictionary.

Brand Loyalty Betrayed #2: Doctor Marten's Boots

My pair of Doctor Marten's Boots has worn out. Now, get it straight - I'm not some kind of trendy neo-arriviste! Someone who jumps on the boots-wagon just because other people are, or more accurately, do. Or even more accurately, used to. That's not me. That's not why I wear 'em. I wear these boots because I was - or rather, they were - given to me, by my dear sister, for Christmas, more than ten years ago.

Not this same exact pair of boots, of course! Their honorable predecessors. They just wore so well and felt so comfy that I kept on replacing them with new Docs. Every 12 to 18 months. That's pretty durable, considering I wear the same pair of shoes just about every single day. I only have two other pair - my colorful chucks and my snazzy dressers.

Anyway, this pair has worn out VERY EARLY. I could see when I bought the boots, the tread was totally different - instead of the bold chunky diamonds/squares tread pattern, it was a more intricate, narrow-parallel-lines design. I had my reservations right then, but I said: "It's Doctor Marten's!"

Well, sorry. Apparently it's not. I guess they sold the company. Really I have no idea, and I don't care. My old Docs NEVER wore holes in the sole! I turned 'em in for new ones when they looked totally crappy and the tread was worn smooth. But THESE so-called Docs wore through the tread - there are holes, breaks in the rubber sole! I can't wear them in the rain, my sock gets soaked! And this sole deterioration kicked in way early - before the leather really even needed a good polish (by my admittedly lax standards). I mean, I'm sure they lasted at least 8 months, day in day out. But that's a huge fall off in quality - and it sucks!

Now I don't know what my next pair of shoes is going to be.

I sure hope it doesn't rain.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

A Christmas Letdown

When the mountain town opened for business
its annual walk-through Christmas display
for the holiday bustlers to come bustling through -
you and I,
resplendent in sweaters
nog in hand
- were first in line.

At the start of the long, long park,
we stood; behind the green garland rope.
Ready to ooh and ahh,
not in the slightest bit ironically.
When they took the rope away,
we rushed forward in an ecstatic scramble:
oohing and aahing.

Well, the needles and leaves of the evergreen trees
were bedecked in arrays of electric eyes
and we ran hand-in-hand, gaily
so far ahead, so far, away far
ahead of the crowd.
Away out of sight, we ran ahead -
looking all around ourselves, like
children explorers, with mouths open.
We were the first to reach the Giant Tree.

Among its boughs, certainly dead, hung motionless
a worker
in a puffy quilted navy-blue coat,
a white-and-green snowman scarf.
He was smiling.
Tangled, suspended in the cords of
electric lights, among the decorations, his job
well done, now

You looked at me,
And I stooped down,
to lift a shiny red christmas ball
from where it had fallen in the snow.
You hooked it
onto the exposed elastic edge
of his white athletic sock
and we giggled, but
the mood had already been ruined