Paintings at Work
I wouldn't call these prints art. I wouldn't even refer to them
as interesting. They just are. They are pastel street scenes
of a neighborhood that could exist in Charleston but, more
than likely, they are fictional. They remind me of the "paintings"
by that horrid artist that paints all those cabins that sit
next to rivers nestled at the foot of snow peaked
mountains. These paintings that I see everyday
are less inspiring.
One of our favorite activities at work is take take one
of the paintings off the wall and put them back up
upside down. It amuses us like grade school kids
are amused by pissing in their teachers coffee. The
only problem with our hijinks is that no one ever
notices and we end up putting the picture back onto
the wall correctly out of frustration.
What's the point of being bad if no one is going
to notice?
Thursday, July 31, 2003
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
More on editorial cartoons
Michael showed me a link last night while we
was chatting and John reminded me today of it. If'n you
want go ahead and click here and check out all the
recent cartoons honoring Bob Hope. While you are at it go
ahead and notice how similar many of them are. That reminds
me, I have a book on underground comics and there is an
interview with a fella who comments on the sorry state of
editorial cartooning which is nicely illustrated by the gallery
I hope you just viewed.
Michael showed me a link last night while we
was chatting and John reminded me today of it. If'n you
want go ahead and click here and check out all the
recent cartoons honoring Bob Hope. While you are at it go
ahead and notice how similar many of them are. That reminds
me, I have a book on underground comics and there is an
interview with a fella who comments on the sorry state of
editorial cartooning which is nicely illustrated by the gallery
I hope you just viewed.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Not much is really sacred
Jesus, I hate these things.
If you really wanted to go for the heart strings you should have
had the mangled ghosts of dead Marines giving him a standing
ovation as Bob gets off a landing craft and hits the beach in
heaven. Or, maybe, he could be greeted by Bing Crosby and
Bing could say to Bob, "hurry up, Chester, we're on in ten
minutes." Oh man, that would get me all teared up fast,
Bob meeting his old friend in heaven and he's not even
unpacked and he's already got a gig booked. How cool
is that? That would really show how important Bob was
on earth by having a gig scheduled in heaven on the day
he arrived. What a talent! What a...man.
Don't get me wrong, I love Bob Hope. I just hate those
disingenuous cartoons that seem to be required now
in the opinion section of the papers.
Jesus, I hate these things.
If you really wanted to go for the heart strings you should have
had the mangled ghosts of dead Marines giving him a standing
ovation as Bob gets off a landing craft and hits the beach in
heaven. Or, maybe, he could be greeted by Bing Crosby and
Bing could say to Bob, "hurry up, Chester, we're on in ten
minutes." Oh man, that would get me all teared up fast,
Bob meeting his old friend in heaven and he's not even
unpacked and he's already got a gig booked. How cool
is that? That would really show how important Bob was
on earth by having a gig scheduled in heaven on the day
he arrived. What a talent! What a...man.
Don't get me wrong, I love Bob Hope. I just hate those
disingenuous cartoons that seem to be required now
in the opinion section of the papers.
Monday, July 28, 2003
You play with my world like it's your little toy
As Frank Zappa would say, is this guy kidding or what?
"I think the lesson of 9/11 is that if you're not prepared to
act on the basis of murky intelligence, then you're going to
have to act after the fact, and after the fact now means
after horrendous things have happened to this country," he said.
As Frank Zappa would say, is this guy kidding or what?
"I think the lesson of 9/11 is that if you're not prepared to
act on the basis of murky intelligence, then you're going to
have to act after the fact, and after the fact now means
after horrendous things have happened to this country," he said.
They say ev'ry man must fall
Ah, Rhodo. It's always fun. Driving out of the smoggy urban sprawl
into the the smoky mountains. Lately I have been unsure as to
whether the air up there has been getting worse or all that
haze was there a few years ago. I can't be sure. I do know
that the air quality sky rocketed about halfway up the road
into Boone, NC. Or was that psychological? Who knows but
Wendell noticed it also.
The first thing we did in Boone was stop by the Wal-Mart to
purchase plastic army guys to burn later in the campfire.
No dice, they don't have any. Well, they do have a package
for sale that included some stupid looking plastic cone-shaped
mountain and less than fifty men for five bucks. Fuck that,
I ain't some tourist. Next we stopped by a dollar store and
all they had were plastic firemen. I didn't buy the firemen
that just didn't seem right. Soldiers are born to fight and
die and burn in a campfire but I couldn't immolate firemen.
That's why I will forever live in obscurity, I can't make the
tough decisions.
Next we stopped for provisions at a grocery a couple of miles
outside the camground. We bought hot dogs and buns
and Wendell added to his already impressive collection
of Miller Lite. I bought water which became dear to me
later in the evening.
After getting to the campground and saying hello to
all the usual nice folks, we set up our tents and
mingled. I skipped rocks down in the creek that
borders the campground. We threw a frisbee
and a nerf-style football around. We ate, had
some beers and moved on to the apple barn
around 9 p.m. and listened to the band.
About halfway through the show I went for
a little stroll so I could look up at the stars.
I found a bridge and a gravel road and walked
about halfway up a steep hill to get away from
the streetlights around the barn's parking lot.
After about 15 minutes some truck pulled up
the road. The road was narrow so I had to
leap up on a bank. As the truck rounded the
corner its lights hit me full on and I must have
looked like an idiot on that bank in the full
glare of that pickup's headlights.
I didn't realize it but I was standing in
someone's driveway and I was supposed
to stay near the apple barn. Reveler's were
not allowed to wander on, what turned out to
be, private property. So the pickup stops so
the driver's window is facing me. A rather
petulant voice comes out of the window,
"You're supposed to stay down by the apple
barn!"
"Sorry!" I say, "I was just looking at the stars."
He tears off without saying another word.
Initially I felt stupid getting caught. Then bad
because I was someplace I wasn't. Then I
got a little indignant because of his rudeness.
I wasn't throwing fucking rocks at his windows
I was looking at the fucking stars, for christ's
sake. I was muttering as I walked back to
the barn and who do I see coming back up
to me? Three security guards. The sumbitch
had called security on me. Of course the head
security guard repeats what the whiner in
the truck said, albeit much more politely.
I tell him also that I was sorry and that
I was just looking at the sky. He doesn't
care and he just follows me down until
I am close enough to the barn that he is
satisfied that I won't return to the hill.
The whole experience soured me for almost
half and hour. But going back in to hear my
friends play music and the arrival of their
younger brother helped revive my spirits.
After the band ended Wendell, young
Bobby and I hitched a ride back to the
campground.
It's funny, being drunk at night. In a
dark campground everything is gray
with sharp patches of fire, alcohol makes
the fires brighter and the gray even
more indistinct. Alcohol by itself makes
the world less stable and at night that
instability can be like walking in a small
boat. That explains why I fell down the
bank of the creek. I went behind this
small tent to piss and just flat ran out
of real estate. I was walking then I
was falling. I landed face first in
dirt, gravel and weeds. First I was
shocked, embarrassed and then
I did an internal diagnostic and realized
that I wasn't hurt. Heck, my cigarette
was unbroken and still burning. The
next morning we inspected the area
and I tore them weeds up. It looked
like an elephant had come up the stream
bank during the night.
The musician Wendell and I know the best,
Lenny, doesn't like to mingle in crowds all
that much. The folks we were with were
getting especially likkered up and l out.
Lenny's brother Mark was there and
the four of us wandered out behind a tent where
we could use the diffused glow of the fire to
see well enough to stand and chat. We did that
for over and hour and it's those quiet intiment
conversations with people you love and can make
you laugh that make exursions like this weekend
worthwhile. You know what I mean?
Line of the evening: We are standing around, just
Lenny, Mark, Wendell and me. Wendell is out of
cigarettes and asks me for one of mine. As I'm giving
him one I say, "Man, you're becoming a liability." Hey,
Mark and Lenny laughed.
Ah, Rhodo. It's always fun. Driving out of the smoggy urban sprawl
into the the smoky mountains. Lately I have been unsure as to
whether the air up there has been getting worse or all that
haze was there a few years ago. I can't be sure. I do know
that the air quality sky rocketed about halfway up the road
into Boone, NC. Or was that psychological? Who knows but
Wendell noticed it also.
The first thing we did in Boone was stop by the Wal-Mart to
purchase plastic army guys to burn later in the campfire.
No dice, they don't have any. Well, they do have a package
for sale that included some stupid looking plastic cone-shaped
mountain and less than fifty men for five bucks. Fuck that,
I ain't some tourist. Next we stopped by a dollar store and
all they had were plastic firemen. I didn't buy the firemen
that just didn't seem right. Soldiers are born to fight and
die and burn in a campfire but I couldn't immolate firemen.
That's why I will forever live in obscurity, I can't make the
tough decisions.
Next we stopped for provisions at a grocery a couple of miles
outside the camground. We bought hot dogs and buns
and Wendell added to his already impressive collection
of Miller Lite. I bought water which became dear to me
later in the evening.
After getting to the campground and saying hello to
all the usual nice folks, we set up our tents and
mingled. I skipped rocks down in the creek that
borders the campground. We threw a frisbee
and a nerf-style football around. We ate, had
some beers and moved on to the apple barn
around 9 p.m. and listened to the band.
About halfway through the show I went for
a little stroll so I could look up at the stars.
I found a bridge and a gravel road and walked
about halfway up a steep hill to get away from
the streetlights around the barn's parking lot.
After about 15 minutes some truck pulled up
the road. The road was narrow so I had to
leap up on a bank. As the truck rounded the
corner its lights hit me full on and I must have
looked like an idiot on that bank in the full
glare of that pickup's headlights.
I didn't realize it but I was standing in
someone's driveway and I was supposed
to stay near the apple barn. Reveler's were
not allowed to wander on, what turned out to
be, private property. So the pickup stops so
the driver's window is facing me. A rather
petulant voice comes out of the window,
"You're supposed to stay down by the apple
barn!"
"Sorry!" I say, "I was just looking at the stars."
He tears off without saying another word.
Initially I felt stupid getting caught. Then bad
because I was someplace I wasn't. Then I
got a little indignant because of his rudeness.
I wasn't throwing fucking rocks at his windows
I was looking at the fucking stars, for christ's
sake. I was muttering as I walked back to
the barn and who do I see coming back up
to me? Three security guards. The sumbitch
had called security on me. Of course the head
security guard repeats what the whiner in
the truck said, albeit much more politely.
I tell him also that I was sorry and that
I was just looking at the sky. He doesn't
care and he just follows me down until
I am close enough to the barn that he is
satisfied that I won't return to the hill.
The whole experience soured me for almost
half and hour. But going back in to hear my
friends play music and the arrival of their
younger brother helped revive my spirits.
After the band ended Wendell, young
Bobby and I hitched a ride back to the
campground.
It's funny, being drunk at night. In a
dark campground everything is gray
with sharp patches of fire, alcohol makes
the fires brighter and the gray even
more indistinct. Alcohol by itself makes
the world less stable and at night that
instability can be like walking in a small
boat. That explains why I fell down the
bank of the creek. I went behind this
small tent to piss and just flat ran out
of real estate. I was walking then I
was falling. I landed face first in
dirt, gravel and weeds. First I was
shocked, embarrassed and then
I did an internal diagnostic and realized
that I wasn't hurt. Heck, my cigarette
was unbroken and still burning. The
next morning we inspected the area
and I tore them weeds up. It looked
like an elephant had come up the stream
bank during the night.
The musician Wendell and I know the best,
Lenny, doesn't like to mingle in crowds all
that much. The folks we were with were
getting especially likkered up and l out.
Lenny's brother Mark was there and
the four of us wandered out behind a tent where
we could use the diffused glow of the fire to
see well enough to stand and chat. We did that
for over and hour and it's those quiet intiment
conversations with people you love and can make
you laugh that make exursions like this weekend
worthwhile. You know what I mean?
Line of the evening: We are standing around, just
Lenny, Mark, Wendell and me. Wendell is out of
cigarettes and asks me for one of mine. As I'm giving
him one I say, "Man, you're becoming a liability." Hey,
Mark and Lenny laughed.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
You're a man of the mountains, you can walk on the clouds
It's Saturday morning and within the hour Wendell and
I are going to climb into his souped up Honda Civic and
head to Valle Crucis. Valle Crucis is up near Boone and
there is a softball tournament being held. A few guys
we know are in a band that plays at the Saturday night
party that takes place at this annual softball event.
We get to camp, play frisbee with kids, burn army guys
in a campfire, drink beer, listen to music and just plain
hang out with cool people.
Yeee doggy!
It's Saturday morning and within the hour Wendell and
I are going to climb into his souped up Honda Civic and
head to Valle Crucis. Valle Crucis is up near Boone and
there is a softball tournament being held. A few guys
we know are in a band that plays at the Saturday night
party that takes place at this annual softball event.
We get to camp, play frisbee with kids, burn army guys
in a campfire, drink beer, listen to music and just plain
hang out with cool people.
Yeee doggy!
Friday, July 25, 2003
How was I to know you'd be the one
What the fuck?
Dennis Miller was never a Bill Hicks but what the fuck?
What the fuck?
Dennis Miller was never a Bill Hicks but what the fuck?
My favorite caller
I just got one of my pet peeve callers a minute ago. It drives
me batty when I get a caller that asks a question and won't
give me half a second to ponder the question without going
"Hello? Hello?" or "Sir? Sir?"
Hey lady, I know your question is important to you but I have
to shift gears with every new topic. Give me a second, OK?
I just got one of my pet peeve callers a minute ago. It drives
me batty when I get a caller that asks a question and won't
give me half a second to ponder the question without going
"Hello? Hello?" or "Sir? Sir?"
Hey lady, I know your question is important to you but I have
to shift gears with every new topic. Give me a second, OK?
Well, I needed it this morning
After spending a few months working with my dad
at the car dealership I found my perfect post-marines
job, cashier at a convenience store. It required
no thinking whatsoever and very little effort. I worked
from 2 pm until 10 pm 14 out of 15 working days
and the only time I worked in the morning was that
occasional hellish Sunday. Imagine being 22 and
used to going out all the time and once every three
weeks having to work at 7 a.m. on a Sunday. Fucking
hell on earth. The job also allowed me to go to
school at CPCC in the mornings.
On the occasional shift of mine that required me to
work in the morning on a weekday I noticed
that a large portion of the construction workers that
came in to buy junk food and Sun Drop were stoned
off their asses. They were higher than god. I do
know people who have 'waked and baked' at times
during their life but these guys were red-eyed,
wobbly and reeked of pot. I couldn't imagine going
to work that high (or high at all for that matter) but
my job did require counting.
I thought about those guys later and finally realized
that these guys were doing manual labor in the
middle of a Carolina summer. Is there any other
way to get through that other than staying stoned?
After spending a few months working with my dad
at the car dealership I found my perfect post-marines
job, cashier at a convenience store. It required
no thinking whatsoever and very little effort. I worked
from 2 pm until 10 pm 14 out of 15 working days
and the only time I worked in the morning was that
occasional hellish Sunday. Imagine being 22 and
used to going out all the time and once every three
weeks having to work at 7 a.m. on a Sunday. Fucking
hell on earth. The job also allowed me to go to
school at CPCC in the mornings.
On the occasional shift of mine that required me to
work in the morning on a weekday I noticed
that a large portion of the construction workers that
came in to buy junk food and Sun Drop were stoned
off their asses. They were higher than god. I do
know people who have 'waked and baked' at times
during their life but these guys were red-eyed,
wobbly and reeked of pot. I couldn't imagine going
to work that high (or high at all for that matter) but
my job did require counting.
I thought about those guys later and finally realized
that these guys were doing manual labor in the
middle of a Carolina summer. Is there any other
way to get through that other than staying stoned?
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
I checked out Shifting through the madness... by Charles Bukowski.
It's been a while since I've picked up a book by Bukowski and
each time I do it's an inspiration. Sometimes you get caught up
in writing that is impressive but not especially uplifting and lacks
that spark of genius and madness that comes from original thought.
I tend to forget that great poetry does not have anything to
do with traditional vocabulary, rhyme and meter. It is all
about being able to express the world as you see it in an
orginal way that hits the reader right between the balls or
makes the taint quiver with joy.
I checked out Shifting through the madness... by Charles Bukowski.
It's been a while since I've picked up a book by Bukowski and
each time I do it's an inspiration. Sometimes you get caught up
in writing that is impressive but not especially uplifting and lacks
that spark of genius and madness that comes from original thought.
I tend to forget that great poetry does not have anything to
do with traditional vocabulary, rhyme and meter. It is all
about being able to express the world as you see it in an
orginal way that hits the reader right between the balls or
makes the taint quiver with joy.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Three guys chatting
Big Guy: Can you believe she has a blog?
Long Haired Guy: Not really, but I have read some of it. It's surprisingly funny.
Old Guy: She has a blog?
Big Guy: You're three steps behind, man.
Old Guy: Is it good?
Long Haired Guy: It's funny. You know those whack-ass dreams you
have that you take 15 minutes to describe.
Old Guy: Yeah.
Long Haired Guy: That's what happens to her everyday.
Big Guy: What most people dream, she lives through.
Old Guy: Bad dreams, right?
Long Haired Guy: No, just weird and often unfortunate.
Read on duh bus: The Locusts have no King by Dawn Powell
Listened to on duh bus My aim is true by Elvis Costello
Big Guy: Can you believe she has a blog?
Long Haired Guy: Not really, but I have read some of it. It's surprisingly funny.
Old Guy: She has a blog?
Big Guy: You're three steps behind, man.
Old Guy: Is it good?
Long Haired Guy: It's funny. You know those whack-ass dreams you
have that you take 15 minutes to describe.
Old Guy: Yeah.
Long Haired Guy: That's what happens to her everyday.
Big Guy: What most people dream, she lives through.
Old Guy: Bad dreams, right?
Long Haired Guy: No, just weird and often unfortunate.
Read on duh bus: The Locusts have no King by Dawn Powell
Listened to on duh bus My aim is true by Elvis Costello
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Dawn Powell Quote
I love it when you come across an author and you are
about 20 pages into the first novel you are reading by
that person and you realize you are eventually going read
every book they have written.
I was reading a book of essays by Gore Vidal last
year and he mentioned a hero of his that he felt
was going undeservedly unnoticed. Since he's
not one that dispenses praise indiscriminately,
I was intrigued. I picked up her last novel called
"The Golden Spur" which was a satire of the
beat generation's art scene. It was quite funny
and full of amazing characters. It was chock
full of the kind of writing that makes you close
a book, smile, shake your head and then go
back and read that last line while its context
is still fresh in your mind.
Now a quote from the current novel by her
I am reading called "The Locusts have no
King."
A man is leaving a bar with a woman he
has never been with before and they are
heading back to his place to consumate
their new relationship: "As they went
out the door he felt a rush of mingled
elation and fright as if his ship had just
lost sight of land."
I love it when you come across an author and you are
about 20 pages into the first novel you are reading by
that person and you realize you are eventually going read
every book they have written.
I was reading a book of essays by Gore Vidal last
year and he mentioned a hero of his that he felt
was going undeservedly unnoticed. Since he's
not one that dispenses praise indiscriminately,
I was intrigued. I picked up her last novel called
"The Golden Spur" which was a satire of the
beat generation's art scene. It was quite funny
and full of amazing characters. It was chock
full of the kind of writing that makes you close
a book, smile, shake your head and then go
back and read that last line while its context
is still fresh in your mind.
Now a quote from the current novel by her
I am reading called "The Locusts have no
King."
A man is leaving a bar with a woman he
has never been with before and they are
heading back to his place to consumate
their new relationship: "As they went
out the door he felt a rush of mingled
elation and fright as if his ship had just
lost sight of land."
Was she a child or a woman, I can't say which
Here's a good site about Lewis Carroll via the University of Texas at Austin.
Here's a good site about Lewis Carroll via the University of Texas at Austin.
You can feel the tender touch of the beast
"We're fighting a war of ideas as much as a war on terror," said Tucker Eskew, director of the White House's Office of Global Communications.
"They say it will not be propaganda, but will offer stories, such as one on American college life as seen by Middle Eastern students."
I wonder how our government would respond to a foreign country setting
up a television network in order to show the American citizenry how
nice that country really is.
"We're fighting a war of ideas as much as a war on terror," said Tucker Eskew, director of the White House's Office of Global Communications.
"They say it will not be propaganda, but will offer stories, such as one on American college life as seen by Middle Eastern students."
I wonder how our government would respond to a foreign country setting
up a television network in order to show the American citizenry how
nice that country really is.
Exile
I was either a sophomore or a Junior in high school and I
babysat for a single mother that lived a couple miles away.
I must have been a sophomore because she used to
pick me up and drop me off after she got back in. The
child I sat for was a mere baby and I guess she trusted
me because I had an infant sister and knew how to
pick a baby up without breaking its neck and wasn't
squeamish around a soiled diaper.
It was a pretty cush job. I think the woman was
going on dates and I would get there around
seven or so and give the baby some frozen
mama's milk and then put the little bugger
to bed. I would check in on her now and
then just to make sure she was still breathing.
I started the sitting for some extra dough but
I came back for her ex-husband's record collection.
The one album that I played the most and really
caught me by surprise was the Rolling Stones
album Exile on Main Street.
The living room was a perfect listening room.
It was long and narrow with a nice old silver
stereo system with a record player and cassette
player and the speakers were nicer than any
I had ever had the chance to operate.
It was a double album and folded out and had
all these strange black and white photographs
covering it. I remember the picture of the guy
with three balls in his mouth specifically.
Interspersed with all these strange and confusing
photographs were pictures of the band looking
younger than I was used to.
I played the records over and over again. It's
dreamy and buried vocals forcing me to
concentrate and try and draw meanings from
the songs much like you have to do with music
by Sonic Youth. The whole album is epitomized
to me by the track "Just wanna see his face."
I would play that song first and then play the
rest of the album from start to finish.
Every time I play that album now I always think
of sitting in that small cozy living room and
listening in wonder to a magnificent album that
twenty years later is still one of my favorites
and I still don't know all the words.
Read on duh bus: The Locusts have no King by Dawn Powell
Listened to on duh bus: Blank Generation by Richard Hell
I was either a sophomore or a Junior in high school and I
babysat for a single mother that lived a couple miles away.
I must have been a sophomore because she used to
pick me up and drop me off after she got back in. The
child I sat for was a mere baby and I guess she trusted
me because I had an infant sister and knew how to
pick a baby up without breaking its neck and wasn't
squeamish around a soiled diaper.
It was a pretty cush job. I think the woman was
going on dates and I would get there around
seven or so and give the baby some frozen
mama's milk and then put the little bugger
to bed. I would check in on her now and
then just to make sure she was still breathing.
I started the sitting for some extra dough but
I came back for her ex-husband's record collection.
The one album that I played the most and really
caught me by surprise was the Rolling Stones
album Exile on Main Street.
The living room was a perfect listening room.
It was long and narrow with a nice old silver
stereo system with a record player and cassette
player and the speakers were nicer than any
I had ever had the chance to operate.
It was a double album and folded out and had
all these strange black and white photographs
covering it. I remember the picture of the guy
with three balls in his mouth specifically.
Interspersed with all these strange and confusing
photographs were pictures of the band looking
younger than I was used to.
I played the records over and over again. It's
dreamy and buried vocals forcing me to
concentrate and try and draw meanings from
the songs much like you have to do with music
by Sonic Youth. The whole album is epitomized
to me by the track "Just wanna see his face."
I would play that song first and then play the
rest of the album from start to finish.
Every time I play that album now I always think
of sitting in that small cozy living room and
listening in wonder to a magnificent album that
twenty years later is still one of my favorites
and I still don't know all the words.
Read on duh bus: The Locusts have no King by Dawn Powell
Listened to on duh bus: Blank Generation by Richard Hell
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Winter and Summer
It's funny to me how summer in North Carolina is similar to winter in Michigan.
It's the time of the year when your power bill is at it's highest. Outdoor
activities are curtailed except by the nutsos. That's the only comparisons
I can make. Just two. I think they're relevent.
Boy, I got nothing today. I'm distracted, I don't know why. Each
call it takes me a few seconds to figure out the words
coming from the person's mouth, let alone what they
are needing me to do. I just hope to get through
today without someone asking to talk to my
boss. That would be a victory.
It's funny to me how summer in North Carolina is similar to winter in Michigan.
It's the time of the year when your power bill is at it's highest. Outdoor
activities are curtailed except by the nutsos. That's the only comparisons
I can make. Just two. I think they're relevent.
Boy, I got nothing today. I'm distracted, I don't know why. Each
call it takes me a few seconds to figure out the words
coming from the person's mouth, let alone what they
are needing me to do. I just hope to get through
today without someone asking to talk to my
boss. That would be a victory.
Monday, July 21, 2003
Terminator 3
I saw this movie Sunday and I was just reading the review
of it by Anthony Lane in the New Yorker and he touched
on a point I noticed which is that this movie was not
able to portray a sense of dread as the first two
were able to do so well.
Even with a fairly catastrophic ending it did not have
the emotional impact it needed.
I saw this movie Sunday and I was just reading the review
of it by Anthony Lane in the New Yorker and he touched
on a point I noticed which is that this movie was not
able to portray a sense of dread as the first two
were able to do so well.
Even with a fairly catastrophic ending it did not have
the emotional impact it needed.
Who is this woman?
Once again at the dirt track in Lancaster Chris and I sat in turn 4.
We initially sat down near the end of the front stretch but we
decided that turn 4 seats were superior. After the Pledge of
Allegiance, invocation and Star Spangled Banner we picked
up our coolers and headed down to turn 4 bleachers
and the very partisan fans that can be found there.
She was there again. She had tight jean shorts, shoulder
length curly blonde hair, petite but with big thighs,
she was pumped full of Mountain Dew and,
when the superstock division came out, she
double barrelled the bird to Timbo Mangum again.
Each time this driver came around turn four she would
extend both her arms forward and signal to Timbo her
displeasure with his participationin this event. Whether
they preparing to race, racing or if they were
under the yellow flag when Timbo came by she had
all guns blazing. As Chris pointed out to me, once
his car passed and she pulled her weapons of discontent
back, she would appear very satisfied.
If you every do head out to Lancaster Speedway
I recommend depositing your ass in the turn 4 grandstand.
One thing you will be guaranteed is that you will not be
the drunkest person in your section unless you start
drinking at lunch.
Once again at the dirt track in Lancaster Chris and I sat in turn 4.
We initially sat down near the end of the front stretch but we
decided that turn 4 seats were superior. After the Pledge of
Allegiance, invocation and Star Spangled Banner we picked
up our coolers and headed down to turn 4 bleachers
and the very partisan fans that can be found there.
She was there again. She had tight jean shorts, shoulder
length curly blonde hair, petite but with big thighs,
she was pumped full of Mountain Dew and,
when the superstock division came out, she
double barrelled the bird to Timbo Mangum again.
Each time this driver came around turn four she would
extend both her arms forward and signal to Timbo her
displeasure with his participationin this event. Whether
they preparing to race, racing or if they were
under the yellow flag when Timbo came by she had
all guns blazing. As Chris pointed out to me, once
his car passed and she pulled her weapons of discontent
back, she would appear very satisfied.
If you every do head out to Lancaster Speedway
I recommend depositing your ass in the turn 4 grandstand.
One thing you will be guaranteed is that you will not be
the drunkest person in your section unless you start
drinking at lunch.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Personality Testamentation
Cake or Pie: Cake
Manual or Automatic: Manual
Beatles or Stones: John Lennon
Veggie Pizza or Meat Pizza: Meat
DVD or VHS: Holodeck
Glass bottles or Plastic: Glass
Elvis Costello or Elvis Presley: The big E singing Little E's songs
Late Night Comedy: Daily Show
Batman or Superman: Bats
Avengers or Fantastic Four or the X-Men: Avengers
Young or Mature Donald Hall: Mature
Domestic or Import: What's your special tonight?
Paper or Plastic: Hurry up!
Boxers or Briefs: Boxer briefs
Primus or Frog Brigade: Primus
Butthole Surfers or Kinks: Brown eye
Sex or Friends: Both?
Cigarettes or a Long Life: Medical science
Voyeurism or Happy Coincidence: Voyeurism
Ignorance or Stupidity: Asshole
Chicago or Missippi blues: Mississippi
Favorite Monkee: Mickey
Favorite KISS member: Ace
Potsi or Ralph Mouth: Ralph
Laverne or Shirley: Laverne
Fast or Slow: What's best for you?
Cake or Pie: Cake
Manual or Automatic: Manual
Beatles or Stones: John Lennon
Veggie Pizza or Meat Pizza: Meat
DVD or VHS: Holodeck
Glass bottles or Plastic: Glass
Elvis Costello or Elvis Presley: The big E singing Little E's songs
Late Night Comedy: Daily Show
Batman or Superman: Bats
Avengers or Fantastic Four or the X-Men: Avengers
Young or Mature Donald Hall: Mature
Domestic or Import: What's your special tonight?
Paper or Plastic: Hurry up!
Boxers or Briefs: Boxer briefs
Primus or Frog Brigade: Primus
Butthole Surfers or Kinks: Brown eye
Sex or Friends: Both?
Cigarettes or a Long Life: Medical science
Voyeurism or Happy Coincidence: Voyeurism
Ignorance or Stupidity: Asshole
Chicago or Missippi blues: Mississippi
Favorite Monkee: Mickey
Favorite KISS member: Ace
Potsi or Ralph Mouth: Ralph
Laverne or Shirley: Laverne
Fast or Slow: What's best for you?
Saturday, July 19, 2003
A short word about troop morale
Ever since those idiots went on camera and bitched about wanting to come home I have been thinking about what's it's like over in Iraq for those guys.
Two things:
1) Even if you are in a fucked up situation and your commanders have their heads up their asses going on TV and voicing these complaints, even going so far as to speak out against the secretary of defense, is just dumb. Hey! You're in the army! It sucks!
2) I spent two years in Okinawa. The usual tour was one year, I requested an extension and got it. I saw more than one person that couldn't hack being overseas and go a little nutso and we were basically working a 40-hour week. I can't imagine what it must be like to be stuck in an Iraq summer and having to be on alert 24/7. Morale must be suffering and enough wasn't done in preparation beforehand and the handling of rotations right now is being botched.
Ever since those idiots went on camera and bitched about wanting to come home I have been thinking about what's it's like over in Iraq for those guys.
Two things:
1) Even if you are in a fucked up situation and your commanders have their heads up their asses going on TV and voicing these complaints, even going so far as to speak out against the secretary of defense, is just dumb. Hey! You're in the army! It sucks!
2) I spent two years in Okinawa. The usual tour was one year, I requested an extension and got it. I saw more than one person that couldn't hack being overseas and go a little nutso and we were basically working a 40-hour week. I can't imagine what it must be like to be stuck in an Iraq summer and having to be on alert 24/7. Morale must be suffering and enough wasn't done in preparation beforehand and the handling of rotations right now is being botched.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Whackos
Walking from the bus stop today I saw at the intersection of Trade
and Tryon that Operation Save America
was having a big anti-baby killing rally. I decided to join them because
I am also against baby killing. After a few seconds I realized that
they were referring to unborn fetuses. I'm all for getting unwanted
dividing cells out of your uterus. Although I do think that if it can
survive on its own it's a person and shouldn't be aborted. At that
point I think it's best to deliver the unwanted child and leave it in
dumpster so it can die from exposure. I also believe in retrocative
abortion up to two years old. I mean, if the kids a fucking monster
or a total 'tard there's no reason not to trade it in for a new one.
Once I realized that it was an anti-abortion, pro-life, turn-a-blind-
eye to doctor killing fascist Christian, we're right and your going
to hell rally, I had to leave because I was smiling at the crying
preacher and almost starting to laugh. I can picture it now if
the head whacko preacher had asked my why I was laughing.
The only response I could have made would be, "I don't know.
You tell me, you're the one doing a comedy show."
It's been a long time since I had been standing among
so many pinch faced, gingham wearing, right wing
Christians. It was disturbing. Their kind seem to be
multiplying. For people who seem to be against fucking
they sure seem to be pushing out units.
It's just amazing to me to watch these people. That's
the real reason I went and stood among them. They
fascinate me. I can't understand such devotion to
a translated text of figurative language. Maybe that's
why they're so fanatical. At the core of their being
they know they are blowing smoke up their own
butts and maybe by working themselves into a
frenzy they can feel something.
Walking from the bus stop today I saw at the intersection of Trade
and Tryon that Operation Save America
was having a big anti-baby killing rally. I decided to join them because
I am also against baby killing. After a few seconds I realized that
they were referring to unborn fetuses. I'm all for getting unwanted
dividing cells out of your uterus. Although I do think that if it can
survive on its own it's a person and shouldn't be aborted. At that
point I think it's best to deliver the unwanted child and leave it in
dumpster so it can die from exposure. I also believe in retrocative
abortion up to two years old. I mean, if the kids a fucking monster
or a total 'tard there's no reason not to trade it in for a new one.
Once I realized that it was an anti-abortion, pro-life, turn-a-blind-
eye to doctor killing fascist Christian, we're right and your going
to hell rally, I had to leave because I was smiling at the crying
preacher and almost starting to laugh. I can picture it now if
the head whacko preacher had asked my why I was laughing.
The only response I could have made would be, "I don't know.
You tell me, you're the one doing a comedy show."
It's been a long time since I had been standing among
so many pinch faced, gingham wearing, right wing
Christians. It was disturbing. Their kind seem to be
multiplying. For people who seem to be against fucking
they sure seem to be pushing out units.
It's just amazing to me to watch these people. That's
the real reason I went and stood among them. They
fascinate me. I can't understand such devotion to
a translated text of figurative language. Maybe that's
why they're so fanatical. At the core of their being
they know they are blowing smoke up their own
butts and maybe by working themselves into a
frenzy they can feel something.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Hmmmm...
Since I would like to keep this blog as close to PG-13 as is fucking possible
I will not continue yesterday's disgusting, yet titillating, tale of the banana
show. I will save that little nugget for my novel.
Read on duh bus: My Home is Far Away by Dawn Powell.
Listened to on dub bus: This Year's Model by Elvis Costello
Since I would like to keep this blog as close to PG-13 as is fucking possible
I will not continue yesterday's disgusting, yet titillating, tale of the banana
show. I will save that little nugget for my novel.
Read on duh bus: My Home is Far Away by Dawn Powell.
Listened to on dub bus: This Year's Model by Elvis Costello
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
More BC Street
I can't believe all the hits I have been getting recently concerning BC Street
on Okinawa. For those of you not paying attention it was a street outside
an Air Force base that catered to lonely and horny GI's by playing host
to a bunch of clubs that featured Phillipina dancers and "hotels" where
you could pay $20 to get laid by a Japanese prostitute. I never did
understand why the dancers were almost all Phillipinas and the prostitutes
were Okinawan. I mean, I was told by my friends who patronized them
that the prostitutes were Okinawan.
But I am not writing today to talk about prostitutes. I am going to tell
you about Club Florida and the banana show. Yes, if you are thinking
what I think you are thinking then the banana show is exactly
what you think it is.
I only witnessed the banana show twice in my two years on Okinawa.
The first time was in my first week there and the second time was over
a year later when I took someone there who was dying to see it and
asked me to take him since I knew my way around the island.
BC Street was always fascinating to me. The names of the clubs were
great. They all tried for double entendre's or attempted to sound like exotic
or, like Club Florida, exotic and familiar. One of hotels was even called
Hotel Peace.
Walking up to Club Florida we could first hear the barker outside before
we even saw the garish vertical neon sign. He was an Okinawan gentleman
who was probably about 35 and he would chant "Banana! Banana! Banana!"
at the passing drunks. We entered.
Club Florida was like all the other clubs that featured dancers. It had cheap red
couches, Christmas lights, cheap paper reflective material hanging in strips from
the front of the stage, smudged mirrors on the back of the stage but it didn't have
one of those titty bar poles.
The banana show lady was an Okinawan women who was on the far side of
forty looked like she may have been beautiful once. Her show started with
pretty basic erotic dancing and a striptease. She eventually stripped down and
motioned to the crowd to throw quarters on stage. GI's would reach into their
pockets and toss a few dolars worth of change onto the stage. She would gather
these quarters up and place a stack about three inches high on the top of
a tall bottle of Japanese beer. She would then
stand over the bottle and its awaiting pile of coins.
Awaiting what? you may ask. Tune in tomorrow, dear friends.
I can't believe all the hits I have been getting recently concerning BC Street
on Okinawa. For those of you not paying attention it was a street outside
an Air Force base that catered to lonely and horny GI's by playing host
to a bunch of clubs that featured Phillipina dancers and "hotels" where
you could pay $20 to get laid by a Japanese prostitute. I never did
understand why the dancers were almost all Phillipinas and the prostitutes
were Okinawan. I mean, I was told by my friends who patronized them
that the prostitutes were Okinawan.
But I am not writing today to talk about prostitutes. I am going to tell
you about Club Florida and the banana show. Yes, if you are thinking
what I think you are thinking then the banana show is exactly
what you think it is.
I only witnessed the banana show twice in my two years on Okinawa.
The first time was in my first week there and the second time was over
a year later when I took someone there who was dying to see it and
asked me to take him since I knew my way around the island.
BC Street was always fascinating to me. The names of the clubs were
great. They all tried for double entendre's or attempted to sound like exotic
or, like Club Florida, exotic and familiar. One of hotels was even called
Hotel Peace.
Walking up to Club Florida we could first hear the barker outside before
we even saw the garish vertical neon sign. He was an Okinawan gentleman
who was probably about 35 and he would chant "Banana! Banana! Banana!"
at the passing drunks. We entered.
Club Florida was like all the other clubs that featured dancers. It had cheap red
couches, Christmas lights, cheap paper reflective material hanging in strips from
the front of the stage, smudged mirrors on the back of the stage but it didn't have
one of those titty bar poles.
The banana show lady was an Okinawan women who was on the far side of
forty looked like she may have been beautiful once. Her show started with
pretty basic erotic dancing and a striptease. She eventually stripped down and
motioned to the crowd to throw quarters on stage. GI's would reach into their
pockets and toss a few dolars worth of change onto the stage. She would gather
these quarters up and place a stack about three inches high on the top of
a tall bottle of Japanese beer. She would then
stand over the bottle and its awaiting pile of coins.
Awaiting what? you may ask. Tune in tomorrow, dear friends.
Steinbeck Quote on being the Prez
"The President must be greater than anyone else, but not better than anyone else. We subject him and his family to close and constant scrutiny and denounce them for things that we ourselves do every day. A Presidential slip of the tongue, a slight error in judgment-social, political, or ethical-can raise a storm of protest. We give the President more work than a man can do, more responsibility than a man should take, more pressure than a man can bear. We abuse him often and rarely praise him. We wear him out, use him up, eat him up. And with all this, Americans have a love for the President that goes beyond loyalty or party nationality; he is ours, and we exercise the right to destroy him."
John, Steinbeck, America and Americans, p. 46 (1966).
"The President must be greater than anyone else, but not better than anyone else. We subject him and his family to close and constant scrutiny and denounce them for things that we ourselves do every day. A Presidential slip of the tongue, a slight error in judgment-social, political, or ethical-can raise a storm of protest. We give the President more work than a man can do, more responsibility than a man should take, more pressure than a man can bear. We abuse him often and rarely praise him. We wear him out, use him up, eat him up. And with all this, Americans have a love for the President that goes beyond loyalty or party nationality; he is ours, and we exercise the right to destroy him."
John, Steinbeck, America and Americans, p. 46 (1966).
Monday, July 14, 2003
Working for a living
When I first got to Charlotte I spent a few weeks
working for my Step Father at a car dealership he
worked at in Charlotte, NC. The dealership was
owned by a prominent NASCAR team owner and my
dad was proud to be associated with such a successful
organization.
I spent about a month detailing and washing cars
on the lot. It was nice mindless work which is what
I was looking for after getting out of the service.
I spent enough time on that lot to know that it was
a place I did not want to be a year later. Most of
the salesmen were cool but the managers were red-faced
dickheads.
This was around the time that "Days of Thunder" had
been filmed at the Charlotte Motor Speedway. Somehow
the dealership got its hands on a couple of cars used in
the movie. I don't remember what all cars they had
from the movie but the showpiece was the Jeep by the
character played by Tom Cruise. They also got ahold
of some cars used in the Paul Newman movie, Havana.
Havana was set in 1958 so these cars were from the 40's and 50's.
They decide to take these cars and have an auction.
Since this auction was considered to be a big deal the
district manager was on the lot to oversea the procedings.
Mainly he just walked around stressing everyone out. He spent
most of the afternoon explaining how much had been paid
for these cars and how importantit was that the auction
went well. More than likely, it was probably important for his
standing within the company that the auction be a success.
Since the auction featured mostly the cars from the Havana
film most of the people at thisauction were serious car
collectors and restorers. I could tell by looking at this collection
of men in their 40's and 50's that they spent an awful lot of
time around cars, either atauctions or under them or inside
them or simply gazing upon them. Management was
hoping for movie buffs that would pay more than the cars
were worth. What they mostly got were collectors looking
for a good buy.
Admittedly the cars from the movie Havana were buckets
that barely ran. They were not restored and would require
work to even be street legal. The collectors bidded
accordingly. Mr. Regional Manager was apoplectic.
At one point I remember himwalking around in the summer sun
with his alligator shirt and expensive trousers
muttering and almost shouting, "these are movie cars,
gentleman!! Movie cars!!" After his outburst these collectors
exchanged looks with each other that said, "these are POS's that
are tank of gas from the junkyard."
The only sucker of the day was a young lady there with her rich
boyfriend that reallywanted that jeep driven by the character
played by Tom Cruise. I mean, she really wanted that thing.
He bought it, too. I think he paid around ten thousand dollars
for it which was almost three thousand more than it was worth.
Man, she wanted that jeep. After they were announced the winners
of the Jeep she sqealed and practically rubbed herself on him
like a hungry cat. I am willing to wager the shifter did not
make it through the day unmolested.
What was my job durng the auction? I got to drive cars
up in front of the collectors and when the bidding was over
I would drive it back to the garage. That's right,I drove movie
cars. I didn't get to drive the jeep driven by the character played
by Tom Cruise. No one drove that fucking holy grail. It sat apart
from all the other worthless cars. Its novelty displayed by its
separateness.
When I first got to Charlotte I spent a few weeks
working for my Step Father at a car dealership he
worked at in Charlotte, NC. The dealership was
owned by a prominent NASCAR team owner and my
dad was proud to be associated with such a successful
organization.
I spent about a month detailing and washing cars
on the lot. It was nice mindless work which is what
I was looking for after getting out of the service.
I spent enough time on that lot to know that it was
a place I did not want to be a year later. Most of
the salesmen were cool but the managers were red-faced
dickheads.
This was around the time that "Days of Thunder" had
been filmed at the Charlotte Motor Speedway. Somehow
the dealership got its hands on a couple of cars used in
the movie. I don't remember what all cars they had
from the movie but the showpiece was the Jeep by the
character played by Tom Cruise. They also got ahold
of some cars used in the Paul Newman movie, Havana.
Havana was set in 1958 so these cars were from the 40's and 50's.
They decide to take these cars and have an auction.
Since this auction was considered to be a big deal the
district manager was on the lot to oversea the procedings.
Mainly he just walked around stressing everyone out. He spent
most of the afternoon explaining how much had been paid
for these cars and how importantit was that the auction
went well. More than likely, it was probably important for his
standing within the company that the auction be a success.
Since the auction featured mostly the cars from the Havana
film most of the people at thisauction were serious car
collectors and restorers. I could tell by looking at this collection
of men in their 40's and 50's that they spent an awful lot of
time around cars, either atauctions or under them or inside
them or simply gazing upon them. Management was
hoping for movie buffs that would pay more than the cars
were worth. What they mostly got were collectors looking
for a good buy.
Admittedly the cars from the movie Havana were buckets
that barely ran. They were not restored and would require
work to even be street legal. The collectors bidded
accordingly. Mr. Regional Manager was apoplectic.
At one point I remember himwalking around in the summer sun
with his alligator shirt and expensive trousers
muttering and almost shouting, "these are movie cars,
gentleman!! Movie cars!!" After his outburst these collectors
exchanged looks with each other that said, "these are POS's that
are tank of gas from the junkyard."
The only sucker of the day was a young lady there with her rich
boyfriend that reallywanted that jeep driven by the character
played by Tom Cruise. I mean, she really wanted that thing.
He bought it, too. I think he paid around ten thousand dollars
for it which was almost three thousand more than it was worth.
Man, she wanted that jeep. After they were announced the winners
of the Jeep she sqealed and practically rubbed herself on him
like a hungry cat. I am willing to wager the shifter did not
make it through the day unmolested.
What was my job durng the auction? I got to drive cars
up in front of the collectors and when the bidding was over
I would drive it back to the garage. That's right,I drove movie
cars. I didn't get to drive the jeep driven by the character played
by Tom Cruise. No one drove that fucking holy grail. It sat apart
from all the other worthless cars. Its novelty displayed by its
separateness.
Big trouble at the GW ranch
"The moral of the story appears to be that rotten war evidence is not fit for international consumption, but is perfectly suitable for delivery to the American people."
Got this link via Hammerdown.
"The moral of the story appears to be that rotten war evidence is not fit for international consumption, but is perfectly suitable for delivery to the American people."
Got this link via Hammerdown.
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Why, oh why?
I still don't get it. Why are people so rude on the phone?
A guy calls me up and axes for directions to the library from his hotel. He relates to me
the street the hotel is on. I, in return, mention what intersection we're located at
and before I can continue he cuts me off and says, "That doesn't help me!" I really
don't get it. Maybe when we get TV phones and you can see the person you are
speaking to these people might start getting nicer.
I still don't get it. Why are people so rude on the phone?
A guy calls me up and axes for directions to the library from his hotel. He relates to me
the street the hotel is on. I, in return, mention what intersection we're located at
and before I can continue he cuts me off and says, "That doesn't help me!" I really
don't get it. Maybe when we get TV phones and you can see the person you are
speaking to these people might start getting nicer.
Saturday, July 12, 2003
Places I have been drunk
Cedar, MI
Tiajuana, Mexico
Benson, AZ
Monterey, CA
Okinawa, Japan
Tokyo, Japan
New Orleans, LA
Savannah, GA
Memphis, TN
Chapel Hill, NC
Valle Crucis, NC
Las Vegas, NV
Cleveland, OH
Church
Places I have visited but didn't get drunk
San Francisco, CA
Columbia, SC
Chicago, IL
Detroit, MI
Dayton, OH
West Virginia
Gainesville, FL
Disneyland
I-95
Cedar, MI
Tiajuana, Mexico
Benson, AZ
Monterey, CA
Okinawa, Japan
Tokyo, Japan
New Orleans, LA
Savannah, GA
Memphis, TN
Chapel Hill, NC
Valle Crucis, NC
Las Vegas, NV
Cleveland, OH
Church
Places I have visited but didn't get drunk
San Francisco, CA
Columbia, SC
Chicago, IL
Detroit, MI
Dayton, OH
West Virginia
Gainesville, FL
Disneyland
I-95
Friday, July 11, 2003
Today's daily spoonful of horseshit
“There was no effort or attempt on the part of the president or anyone
else in the administration to mislead or to deceive the American people,”
said Powell.
Asked to comment on this the president was heard to mumble: "Uh, well, uh. Yes, you see. But he's not
there anyday, not now, of course. Nor will he ever again not be able to not attempt to falsify his
desires...er...wishes to purchase uranium from a country that may, or not may, be in Africa."
Today's embarrassing picture of the prez:
“There was no effort or attempt on the part of the president or anyone
else in the administration to mislead or to deceive the American people,”
said Powell.
Asked to comment on this the president was heard to mumble: "Uh, well, uh. Yes, you see. But he's not
there anyday, not now, of course. Nor will he ever again not be able to not attempt to falsify his
desires...er...wishes to purchase uranium from a country that may, or not may, be in Africa."
Today's embarrassing picture of the prez:
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Homeless
I always thought this was funny so I figured I'd share it: One of our security guys refers to the homeless/bums that hang at the library as "urban outdoorsmen." I don't know if he made it up or not but it killed me the first time I heard him use the term.
Upon further review I found this entry at Wikipedia. I guess our security guy didn't originate the term.
I always thought this was funny so I figured I'd share it: One of our security guys refers to the homeless/bums that hang at the library as "urban outdoorsmen." I don't know if he made it up or not but it killed me the first time I heard him use the term.
Upon further review I found this entry at Wikipedia. I guess our security guy didn't originate the term.
Snap, crackle, lights!
My dad had a house in the middle of this long shallow valley that may have been
formed by glacial runoff. His house sat next to a narrow steep valley that had a
moist spongy surface at the bottom that did carry spring melt runoff. Across the
narrow valley from his house was a foundation of an old farm house. Scattered
across the bottom of the valley was a former apple orchard that had gone wild.
Most of the land had been cleared. Across the street he had 35 acres of cleared
pasture land with three lone maples, each dominating a third of the field. The
property on the side of the street with the house and valley was 30 acres in size.
There were groves of trees on this land that he left alone that now have spread
and increased the tree cover on that portion of the property dramatically.
His house had a family room where you could watch television, tend the wood stove
and gaze out across the valley and enjoy the view of groves of trees and open field.
At night, when there would be a thunderstorm, we would shut off all the lights
and wait for the lightning to light up the surrounding area for a split second,
giving the world a white monochromtic view. I loved the thunderstorms and
the way for an immeasurable time the world went from complete darkness
to an eerily colored clarity that was followed immediately by the ripping sound
of the violence of a lightning bolt murdering violating the air.
I can see nothing. I can see everything. The walls shake.
Listened to on the bus: Ziggy Stardust by Bowie
Read on the bus: Here at Eagle Pond by Donald Hall
My dad had a house in the middle of this long shallow valley that may have been
formed by glacial runoff. His house sat next to a narrow steep valley that had a
moist spongy surface at the bottom that did carry spring melt runoff. Across the
narrow valley from his house was a foundation of an old farm house. Scattered
across the bottom of the valley was a former apple orchard that had gone wild.
Most of the land had been cleared. Across the street he had 35 acres of cleared
pasture land with three lone maples, each dominating a third of the field. The
property on the side of the street with the house and valley was 30 acres in size.
There were groves of trees on this land that he left alone that now have spread
and increased the tree cover on that portion of the property dramatically.
His house had a family room where you could watch television, tend the wood stove
and gaze out across the valley and enjoy the view of groves of trees and open field.
At night, when there would be a thunderstorm, we would shut off all the lights
and wait for the lightning to light up the surrounding area for a split second,
giving the world a white monochromtic view. I loved the thunderstorms and
the way for an immeasurable time the world went from complete darkness
to an eerily colored clarity that was followed immediately by the ripping sound
of the violence of a lightning bolt murdering violating the air.
I can see nothing. I can see everything. The walls shake.
Listened to on the bus: Ziggy Stardust by Bowie
Read on the bus: Here at Eagle Pond by Donald Hall
Brian and Tim
There was a guy, actually two guys, I met when stationed
on Okinawa that were different from all the other Marines I
had met in 1 1/2 in the Corps. They were 2 1/2 years older
in life and in their service time. My relation to them was similar
to a sophomore to a couple of seniors in high school. That's
all the Marine Corps was to me: high school with more yelling.
Brian was handsome guy from California who looked like he had
a tan whether he had gotten any sun recently or not. Even with
his required Marine hair cut he still had a little curl in his hair.
Tim was a skinny guy who, if he had been a character in Fargo,
would be referred to as "you know, funny lookin" and he had
straight blonde hair. Brian and Tim had been stationed together
at Camp Lejeune. I never knew if they were close beforehand or
just knew each other and hung together out of familiarity.
Tim was a witty bag of sarcasm that always kept me laughing. Like
me, he liked the idea of the Marine Corps and enjoyed tasks that
were challenging and despised the pettiness of most of those
that were directly in charge of us. His greatess talent was parodying
the culture of the Marines while functioning well inside it. He taught
me that being in an impossible situation can be endured if you avoid
voicing too much direct displeasure.
Brian was my hero. He's the senior ace pitcher on the baseball team
that treated the sophomore on the bench like a true teammate. Around
the time he and Tim showed up on Okinawa I was close to losing it.
I really didn't like being in the Marines but I loved Okinawa. Boring days
in the communications shop cleaning and testing radio equipment over
and over were starting to be torturous. A lot of friends I had made the
previous year were gone and I found myself without very many close friends.
Brian was very professional at work and Tim made him laugh and they
both, I think, noticed my lethargy and apathy and took time to show
me that I was stationed in a very cool place and I should start having fun again.
I reckon I'll add to this tomorrow.
There was a guy, actually two guys, I met when stationed
on Okinawa that were different from all the other Marines I
had met in 1 1/2 in the Corps. They were 2 1/2 years older
in life and in their service time. My relation to them was similar
to a sophomore to a couple of seniors in high school. That's
all the Marine Corps was to me: high school with more yelling.
Brian was handsome guy from California who looked like he had
a tan whether he had gotten any sun recently or not. Even with
his required Marine hair cut he still had a little curl in his hair.
Tim was a skinny guy who, if he had been a character in Fargo,
would be referred to as "you know, funny lookin" and he had
straight blonde hair. Brian and Tim had been stationed together
at Camp Lejeune. I never knew if they were close beforehand or
just knew each other and hung together out of familiarity.
Tim was a witty bag of sarcasm that always kept me laughing. Like
me, he liked the idea of the Marine Corps and enjoyed tasks that
were challenging and despised the pettiness of most of those
that were directly in charge of us. His greatess talent was parodying
the culture of the Marines while functioning well inside it. He taught
me that being in an impossible situation can be endured if you avoid
voicing too much direct displeasure.
Brian was my hero. He's the senior ace pitcher on the baseball team
that treated the sophomore on the bench like a true teammate. Around
the time he and Tim showed up on Okinawa I was close to losing it.
I really didn't like being in the Marines but I loved Okinawa. Boring days
in the communications shop cleaning and testing radio equipment over
and over were starting to be torturous. A lot of friends I had made the
previous year were gone and I found myself without very many close friends.
Brian was very professional at work and Tim made him laugh and they
both, I think, noticed my lethargy and apathy and took time to show
me that I was stationed in a very cool place and I should start having fun again.
I reckon I'll add to this tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Don't want to be too negative
I look at yesterday's post and I think that maybe it makes my job look out to be full of more conflict than it is. The horrible converstation I described is definately the exception and not the rule. In fact there was a nice two hour period after that horrific caller where I was thanked profusely several times and two callers even praised what we do by calling it a "great service." Callers like them make it worthwhile even if I am required to get up and move around in order to assist them fully.
I look at yesterday's post and I think that maybe it makes my job look out to be full of more conflict than it is. The horrible converstation I described is definately the exception and not the rule. In fact there was a nice two hour period after that horrific caller where I was thanked profusely several times and two callers even praised what we do by calling it a "great service." Callers like them make it worthwhile even if I am required to get up and move around in order to assist them fully.
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
Ah, the general pubic
One of the great things about being an employee of a government institution
is that the smaller-minded people that you deal with think you work directly for
them so they decide that it is OK to treat you like a servant.
I could cite as an example the lady we call "Evil Antique Lady" and her tendency
to hang up on us and the various people who ask for your manager the second
you recommend they enter a library and do research.
But, now I recall the most rudest person of...allllll. Yesterday some guy called up
and I could tell by the quaver in his voice that he was already angry. He wanted
a telephone number and he phrased his question as a challenge. He said
something like "I need a phone number for Jane Doe. Do you think you
can find that for me?" I gave him the number I could find and he hung up.
Fine call over.
He calls back in a few minutes and David gives him another number. He was a
little more angry because the first, that he got from me, was "incorrect." It was
probably disconnected but that doesn't make in necessarily incorrect, does it?
I get the next call from chuckles. He starts off by telling me that all the numbers
we have given him have been incorrect and that we are incompetent and do I
think I can give him the correct goddamn number this time. Quite a mouthful.
During his tirade I try to start a dialogue where I can determine if he copied the
numbers down wrong or if they were correct and just disconnected. But he's
just mad and wants to insult me. After he said 'goddamn' I do tell him that I am
not reqired to continue a conversation is he continues to swear at me.
He winds down a bit and mentions that he is going to inform some friend of his
that works for the city government about our "gross imcompetence." Not willing
to let a douche bag wind bag wind down too far I inform him that he shouldn't
really talk to his friend in the city government because we get our budget from the
county. He then orders me to give him the number that David just gave him.
I tell him I'll speak slowly and clearly so he'll get it correct. He cuts me off halfway
through and tells me to stop patronizing him and that "Ill have your fucking job"
because "I am one of the biggest tax payers in this county." I finish reading the
number and then he hangs up without another word.
That's an approximation of what happened because I got made abot halfway through
it and I don't remember exactly how it all went. I do have a message for this guy though:
Fuck you, buddy, you're a douche.
One of the great things about being an employee of a government institution
is that the smaller-minded people that you deal with think you work directly for
them so they decide that it is OK to treat you like a servant.
I could cite as an example the lady we call "Evil Antique Lady" and her tendency
to hang up on us and the various people who ask for your manager the second
you recommend they enter a library and do research.
But, now I recall the most rudest person of...allllll. Yesterday some guy called up
and I could tell by the quaver in his voice that he was already angry. He wanted
a telephone number and he phrased his question as a challenge. He said
something like "I need a phone number for Jane Doe. Do you think you
can find that for me?" I gave him the number I could find and he hung up.
Fine call over.
He calls back in a few minutes and David gives him another number. He was a
little more angry because the first, that he got from me, was "incorrect." It was
probably disconnected but that doesn't make in necessarily incorrect, does it?
I get the next call from chuckles. He starts off by telling me that all the numbers
we have given him have been incorrect and that we are incompetent and do I
think I can give him the correct goddamn number this time. Quite a mouthful.
During his tirade I try to start a dialogue where I can determine if he copied the
numbers down wrong or if they were correct and just disconnected. But he's
just mad and wants to insult me. After he said 'goddamn' I do tell him that I am
not reqired to continue a conversation is he continues to swear at me.
He winds down a bit and mentions that he is going to inform some friend of his
that works for the city government about our "gross imcompetence." Not willing
to let a douche bag wind bag wind down too far I inform him that he shouldn't
really talk to his friend in the city government because we get our budget from the
county. He then orders me to give him the number that David just gave him.
I tell him I'll speak slowly and clearly so he'll get it correct. He cuts me off halfway
through and tells me to stop patronizing him and that "Ill have your fucking job"
because "I am one of the biggest tax payers in this county." I finish reading the
number and then he hangs up without another word.
That's an approximation of what happened because I got made abot halfway through
it and I don't remember exactly how it all went. I do have a message for this guy though:
Fuck you, buddy, you're a douche.
Monday, July 07, 2003
Idiots
Not an actual quote by our president but I believe this is a potential
quote: "I can only say, I believe I can once say, but not before did
someone, or I, say, that the only way we can make the world safe for
freedom, and we will make the world safe, I believe that, we can, and
will, make it safe. The only way we can make the world safer is by making
it more dangerous."
Not an actual quote by our president but I believe this is a potential
quote: "I can only say, I believe I can once say, but not before did
someone, or I, say, that the only way we can make the world safe for
freedom, and we will make the world safe, I believe that, we can, and
will, make it safe. The only way we can make the world safer is by making
it more dangerous."
Ever wonder what a thunderstorm moving across a great lake looks like?
Wonder no more!
Courtesy of Pasty cam.
Wonder no more!
Courtesy of Pasty cam.
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Bring on the holodeck!
"The more real you try to make these online worlds, the more the problems are real-world problems."
"The more real you try to make these online worlds, the more the problems are real-world problems."
Things I saw at the Lancaster Speedway last night
Cute but strangely angy girl who gave superstock driver Timbo Mangum the double-barrelled bird during his division's race.
An extremely fat girl in overalls with a model's face.
Hispanics.
A 17 year old po-headed female driver go nose first in the inside wall of turn 4. After she climbed out she waited for the car that put her in the wall to come around again raised both her arms in the air and delivered, in the universal code of race drivers, the message of, "What the fuck? Can't you drive? You sumbitch!"
Cute but strangely angy girl who gave superstock driver Timbo Mangum the double-barrelled bird during his division's race.
An extremely fat girl in overalls with a model's face.
Hispanics.
A 17 year old po-headed female driver go nose first in the inside wall of turn 4. After she climbed out she waited for the car that put her in the wall to come around again raised both her arms in the air and delivered, in the universal code of race drivers, the message of, "What the fuck? Can't you drive? You sumbitch!"
Saturday, July 05, 2003
Friday, July 04, 2003
Pulling things from the attic
This is not exactly a revelation but sometimes you pull a CD out of your frighteningly large collection of mostly-paid-for CD's and you remember, once again, why you bought an album on cassette, recorded it again from a friend's collection when yours wore out, bought it on CD for the first time and then bought it again on CD when it got remastered.
I am listening right now to Led Zeppelin's fourth album. That's the one that has no title and known as "Led Zeppelin 4" or "The Runes album."
This album does for me what all my favorite albums do: it can be listened to intently while reading along with the lyrics and concentrate on every word. You can sit and just jam on it with your eyes closed and just groove. You can play it and half listen to it as you type, like right now. You can play it as you fall asleep. You can play it at a party. You can play it in your car. You can play it at the beach. You can throw it in the street and dance on it. You can cry when a song off it sells Cadillacs...
Why CD's are good
I had a very good friend in high school that had this album on cassette. We were discussing it one day and I mentioned the songs on side two that I liked. He told me that he hadn't ever listened to side two. I believe my reacation was apoplectic and that I insisted that side two was as good as the side one. I don't remember if Joe ever listened to side two. I am sure, though, that he doesn't remember this conversation as clearly as I do.
This is not exactly a revelation but sometimes you pull a CD out of your frighteningly large collection of mostly-paid-for CD's and you remember, once again, why you bought an album on cassette, recorded it again from a friend's collection when yours wore out, bought it on CD for the first time and then bought it again on CD when it got remastered.
I am listening right now to Led Zeppelin's fourth album. That's the one that has no title and known as "Led Zeppelin 4" or "The Runes album."
This album does for me what all my favorite albums do: it can be listened to intently while reading along with the lyrics and concentrate on every word. You can sit and just jam on it with your eyes closed and just groove. You can play it and half listen to it as you type, like right now. You can play it as you fall asleep. You can play it at a party. You can play it in your car. You can play it at the beach. You can throw it in the street and dance on it. You can cry when a song off it sells Cadillacs...
Why CD's are good
I had a very good friend in high school that had this album on cassette. We were discussing it one day and I mentioned the songs on side two that I liked. He told me that he hadn't ever listened to side two. I believe my reacation was apoplectic and that I insisted that side two was as good as the side one. I don't remember if Joe ever listened to side two. I am sure, though, that he doesn't remember this conversation as clearly as I do.
Thursday, July 03, 2003
This is very funny
Go to google and type "weapons of mass destruction" and click on the "I feel lucky" button. I promise it'll be funny.
If you get something not funny then you can follow this link.
I got this info via David who got it via Tom Tomorrow.
Go to google and type "weapons of mass destruction" and click on the "I feel lucky" button. I promise it'll be funny.
If you get something not funny then you can follow this link.
I got this info via David who got it via Tom Tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
B.C. Street
I've noticed a few google searches concerning Okinawa have directed people to my blog. When I was in Okinawa there was a particularly notorious street known as B.C. Street. It was just a few blocks away from Gate Two Stree which is connects to Gate Two of Kadena Air Base.
B.C. Street was full of topless bars that featured Fillipina women. They lived under horrible conditions such as putting in shifts over 12 hours long and having to sit on the laps of pawing GI's and be nice to them. You would buy them a small drink and they would nurse it for a song and tickle your ear and coo. Pretty exotic for a 19 year old that was less than a year out of northern Michigan. I got B.C. Street out of my system pretty quick when I realized I was spending a fortune and getting nothing in return.
I couldn't resist going every now and then, though. There's a line from a Tom Waits song called 'Shore Leave' where he says:
"I had a cold one at the Dragon
with some Filipino floor show
and talked baseball with a lieutenant
over a Singapore sling."
Being a pathetic romantic I couldn't resist being inside a Tom Waits song now and then.
I mention this because I once wrote a poem about B.C. Street and I wrote it with Tom Waits in mind. I know any former Marine that finds this website is definately looking for a poem about B.C. Street, so here goes:
B.C. Street
Lewd gestures
immature faces
too much make up
on Phillipine faces.
Red ripped couches
this place stinks,
two-fifty for
small rum drinks.
Dancing girl
baring her chest
is just as bored
as all the rest.
I've noticed a few google searches concerning Okinawa have directed people to my blog. When I was in Okinawa there was a particularly notorious street known as B.C. Street. It was just a few blocks away from Gate Two Stree which is connects to Gate Two of Kadena Air Base.
B.C. Street was full of topless bars that featured Fillipina women. They lived under horrible conditions such as putting in shifts over 12 hours long and having to sit on the laps of pawing GI's and be nice to them. You would buy them a small drink and they would nurse it for a song and tickle your ear and coo. Pretty exotic for a 19 year old that was less than a year out of northern Michigan. I got B.C. Street out of my system pretty quick when I realized I was spending a fortune and getting nothing in return.
I couldn't resist going every now and then, though. There's a line from a Tom Waits song called 'Shore Leave' where he says:
"I had a cold one at the Dragon
with some Filipino floor show
and talked baseball with a lieutenant
over a Singapore sling."
Being a pathetic romantic I couldn't resist being inside a Tom Waits song now and then.
I mention this because I once wrote a poem about B.C. Street and I wrote it with Tom Waits in mind. I know any former Marine that finds this website is definately looking for a poem about B.C. Street, so here goes:
B.C. Street
Lewd gestures
immature faces
too much make up
on Phillipine faces.
Red ripped couches
this place stinks,
two-fifty for
small rum drinks.
Dancing girl
baring her chest
is just as bored
as all the rest.
Just in case
Just in case you are the last person alive that has not read the comic "Get your war on." Please go here and read the most recent update. I am not responsible for wetted pants.
Just in case you are the last person alive that has not read the comic "Get your war on." Please go here and read the most recent update. I am not responsible for wetted pants.
I tell you what, bruthuh, we're ready for whatever the Axis of Evil has on the table. They can 'bring it on!'
Lovely. Our fearless leader is now stooping to the rhetoric of professional wrestlers. Can you imagine President Lincoln telling the Confederacy to 'bring it on?' How about Kennedy offering the same challenge to the Russians? Or even Roosevelt doing the same with the Japanese? Well, he kinda did when he cut off their oil but he didn't broadcast that sentiment over the radio.
Awful strong talk from someone who couldn't even finish his own National Guard requirements. I am sure there are servicemen in Iraq looking at each other and saying "did this asshole just dare these guys to attack us? So far they've been doing pretty good without encouragement from Howdy Doody." Jesus, he's a dick.
Thanks to Atrios for the link.
Lovely. Our fearless leader is now stooping to the rhetoric of professional wrestlers. Can you imagine President Lincoln telling the Confederacy to 'bring it on?' How about Kennedy offering the same challenge to the Russians? Or even Roosevelt doing the same with the Japanese? Well, he kinda did when he cut off their oil but he didn't broadcast that sentiment over the radio.
Awful strong talk from someone who couldn't even finish his own National Guard requirements. I am sure there are servicemen in Iraq looking at each other and saying "did this asshole just dare these guys to attack us? So far they've been doing pretty good without encouragement from Howdy Doody." Jesus, he's a dick.
Thanks to Atrios for the link.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Ug Oomgowa
Being sick sucks ass! I might go in to work tomorrow just to keep from clawing my own face off while sitting around in this apartment for another day.
I did get to listen to a lot of music, though. So I guess it wasn't a total wash.
RIAA with its head in the sand
I figgered this would happen: Wendell sent me an article today about P2P programs that allow you to trade anonymously. Once again the RIAA is on the cutting edge of technology. You can't help but be impressed by how the recording industry has adapted its business practices to the changing technological environment. Their visionary leadership has helped usher in a whole new era of music distribution.
I think they'll only truly be happy once they drive file sharing so far underground that it will be impossible to track and then they will be able to claim victory. It will be very similar to the drug war.
Being sick sucks ass! I might go in to work tomorrow just to keep from clawing my own face off while sitting around in this apartment for another day.
I did get to listen to a lot of music, though. So I guess it wasn't a total wash.
RIAA with its head in the sand
I figgered this would happen: Wendell sent me an article today about P2P programs that allow you to trade anonymously. Once again the RIAA is on the cutting edge of technology. You can't help but be impressed by how the recording industry has adapted its business practices to the changing technological environment. Their visionary leadership has helped usher in a whole new era of music distribution.
I think they'll only truly be happy once they drive file sharing so far underground that it will be impossible to track and then they will be able to claim victory. It will be very similar to the drug war.
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