Ramblings of an Idle Insomniac
Letting the weirdness out since 2004; one long night at a time
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Thursday, March 30, 2006
Mitch Hedburg Day
As I mentioned before, today is Mitch Hedburg Day; a 'net holiday dedicated to quoting Mitch. However, I quote Mitch a lot on a day to day basis. So instead I decided to do an audio post in my Mitch Hedburg impersonation. Didn't quite turn out how I hoped but maybe you'll like it.
I may just add quotes to this as the night goes on.
I have long hair, and see, people associate long hair with drug use. I wish long hair was associated with something other than drug use, like 'an extreme longing for cake'. People would see a guy with long hair and say "damn, that fucker eats cake, he's on bundt cake". Mothers telling their daughters "don't bring the cake-eater over here anymore, he smells like flour. Did you notice how his eyes widened when he found out your birthday was fast approaching?
I opened up a container of yogurt, and under the lid it said "Please Try Again," because apparently they were having a contest I was unaware of. But I thought I might have opened the yogurt wrong. Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me — "C'mon, Mitchell, don't give up. Please try again. A message of inspiration from your friends at Yoplait — Fruit on the bottom, hope on top."
I wanna hang a map of the world in my house. Then I'm gonna put pins into all the locations that I've traveled to. But first, I'm gonna have to travel to the top two corners of the map so it won't fall down.
I asked this guy for directions to the store. He said "Oh, that's just a hop, skip and a jump away." Well... that ain't how I'm getting there. You got any directions for those who are walking?
I may just add quotes to this as the night goes on.
I have long hair, and see, people associate long hair with drug use. I wish long hair was associated with something other than drug use, like 'an extreme longing for cake'. People would see a guy with long hair and say "damn, that fucker eats cake, he's on bundt cake". Mothers telling their daughters "don't bring the cake-eater over here anymore, he smells like flour. Did you notice how his eyes widened when he found out your birthday was fast approaching?
I opened up a container of yogurt, and under the lid it said "Please Try Again," because apparently they were having a contest I was unaware of. But I thought I might have opened the yogurt wrong. Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me — "C'mon, Mitchell, don't give up. Please try again. A message of inspiration from your friends at Yoplait — Fruit on the bottom, hope on top."
I wanna hang a map of the world in my house. Then I'm gonna put pins into all the locations that I've traveled to. But first, I'm gonna have to travel to the top two corners of the map so it won't fall down.
I asked this guy for directions to the store. He said "Oh, that's just a hop, skip and a jump away." Well... that ain't how I'm getting there. You got any directions for those who are walking?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
A sort of meme
Jason made note of a growing number of food-related posts at various blogs in what for the lack of a better phrase I'll call my extended circle. He made mention of a particularly disgusting foodstuff. I'll supply you neither a description nor the list he gave of blogs mentioning food. You can find both here.
The most disgusting intentionally prepared food I have ever consumed occured in college, prepared by my roommate. The first day after we moved in, we went on a grocery run. We decided that I'd cook the first night, and he the second, and aside from that we'd get some general-purpose noncomittal foodstuffs. The first night I made a fucking mouthwatering chicken stir fry. A sidenote: I prepared that very dish on the eve of game 3 of the 2004 ALDS, Game 7 of the ALCS, and Game 4 of the World Series. Each night I made it Derek Lowe pitched for a Sox win of what was in each case the series clincher. There is precisely one thing that I harbor any superstition for, and that is baseball. (Don't mock me... There is more in the heavens and on earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy dogg)
Anyways, I digress. The point is I prepared a feast of champions. Literally. He, on the other hand...
I was coming back from a late class, bushed as all hell. Saw a note on the fridge: "Hey man, went out to a party at U Chicago. Hippie scop in fridge." I was wary. I opened the fridge. There was a brownish mass in a pan. Upon closer examination, it proved to be a heterogeneous mixture of white rice, brand x baked beans in puree--You do not feed a Bostonian shitty baked beans. He may smile at you afterwards, but you'll never be able to trust it to be genuine. The real bitch of it was, this dude was from Boston, too-- pinto beans, and canned corn. the smell was fucking heinous. But I was tired and hungry, and any other dinner options would involve that pan. I was not about to wash that shit out. I took a little taste. Terrible. But it had a tolerable texture. I decided that if I could put that in my stomach without it being an ordeal, and make it stay there, I could just deal with my pallate by a visit to Café Gourmand and a couple bucks for an Americano.
Aside from my laziness, my reasoning involved two sometimes conflicting bits of food ethic. Avoid wasting food whenever possible, and avoid consuming shitty food whenever possible. For the record, after this experience I amended the first point to "good food." So I opened the cabinets. I found some various spices whose labels I hadn't bothered to read; all of them things that my roommate had liberated from the grocery store when he saw their pricetags. I also found ketchup and maple syrup. All of them got added to the concoction, in homage to the aincient culinary technique of adding strong--not necessarily good-- flavorings to bad meat. I stirred vigorously. Took a taste. Didn't really have a thumbs up or down to give it. The taste was distracting. It fit the requirements I had set for the night. Proceeded to consume the contents of the pan, which I was able to do with limited discomfort. Put the pan in the sink, next to the pan that I'd cooked stir fry in and he'd said he'd cleaned. Considered writing a note that said, "Fuck you" and leaving it by the sink, but instead elected merely not to clean. (That action led to a standoff that didn't end when he left the apartment. Though in truth he may not have been a knowing participant as its entirely possible that the concept of cleaning the fucking kitchen was foriegn to him.)
Anyways, long story short, I went down to the coffee shop, cleared my pallate, listened to some guy who thought he was James Blunt do an emasculated version of House of the Rising Sun, and afterwards went to the nearest CVS for Tums, Peptol Bismol, and the like.
The moral of the story is that if you ever hear the words, "hippie scop" raised as a meal option, your obliged response is to dig to the bottom of your hamper, remove a sock, place a spheroid of some sort into it, and blackjack the fucker.
On a different note, I would like to raise your awareness that the thirtieth day of March is now known as Mitch Hedburg Day. Essentially an internet holiday, it's basically celebrated by quoting Mitch Hedburg whenever it's germane. And since this post is about food, I'll start things off:
I went to a diner and asked the waitress for a chicken sandwich, but I dont think she heard me right cuz she asked me how i would like my eggs. I tried to answer her anyway.
Incubated!
And then raised
And then beheaded
And then plucked
And then cut up
And then put onto a grill
And then put into some bread
... Shit, this is gonna take a while. I dont got that kinda time...
Scrambled!
And now for some more:
It would be cool if you could eat a good food with a bad food, and then the good food would cover for the bad food when it got to your stomach. Like you could eat a carrot with an onion ring, and they would travel down to your stomach, then they would get there and the carrot would say, "It's cool, he's with me."
I like baked potatoes, but they take too long to make. Sometimes I throw one in the oven, even if I don't want one. By the time it's done, who knows? I throw one in and go on vacation.
More in that vein to come (perhaps much) later.
The most disgusting intentionally prepared food I have ever consumed occured in college, prepared by my roommate. The first day after we moved in, we went on a grocery run. We decided that I'd cook the first night, and he the second, and aside from that we'd get some general-purpose noncomittal foodstuffs. The first night I made a fucking mouthwatering chicken stir fry. A sidenote: I prepared that very dish on the eve of game 3 of the 2004 ALDS, Game 7 of the ALCS, and Game 4 of the World Series. Each night I made it Derek Lowe pitched for a Sox win of what was in each case the series clincher. There is precisely one thing that I harbor any superstition for, and that is baseball. (Don't mock me... There is more in the heavens and on earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy dogg)
Anyways, I digress. The point is I prepared a feast of champions. Literally. He, on the other hand...
I was coming back from a late class, bushed as all hell. Saw a note on the fridge: "Hey man, went out to a party at U Chicago. Hippie scop in fridge." I was wary. I opened the fridge. There was a brownish mass in a pan. Upon closer examination, it proved to be a heterogeneous mixture of white rice, brand x baked beans in puree--You do not feed a Bostonian shitty baked beans. He may smile at you afterwards, but you'll never be able to trust it to be genuine. The real bitch of it was, this dude was from Boston, too-- pinto beans, and canned corn. the smell was fucking heinous. But I was tired and hungry, and any other dinner options would involve that pan. I was not about to wash that shit out. I took a little taste. Terrible. But it had a tolerable texture. I decided that if I could put that in my stomach without it being an ordeal, and make it stay there, I could just deal with my pallate by a visit to Café Gourmand and a couple bucks for an Americano.
Aside from my laziness, my reasoning involved two sometimes conflicting bits of food ethic. Avoid wasting food whenever possible, and avoid consuming shitty food whenever possible. For the record, after this experience I amended the first point to "good food." So I opened the cabinets. I found some various spices whose labels I hadn't bothered to read; all of them things that my roommate had liberated from the grocery store when he saw their pricetags. I also found ketchup and maple syrup. All of them got added to the concoction, in homage to the aincient culinary technique of adding strong--not necessarily good-- flavorings to bad meat. I stirred vigorously. Took a taste. Didn't really have a thumbs up or down to give it. The taste was distracting. It fit the requirements I had set for the night. Proceeded to consume the contents of the pan, which I was able to do with limited discomfort. Put the pan in the sink, next to the pan that I'd cooked stir fry in and he'd said he'd cleaned. Considered writing a note that said, "Fuck you" and leaving it by the sink, but instead elected merely not to clean. (That action led to a standoff that didn't end when he left the apartment. Though in truth he may not have been a knowing participant as its entirely possible that the concept of cleaning the fucking kitchen was foriegn to him.)
Anyways, long story short, I went down to the coffee shop, cleared my pallate, listened to some guy who thought he was James Blunt do an emasculated version of House of the Rising Sun, and afterwards went to the nearest CVS for Tums, Peptol Bismol, and the like.
The moral of the story is that if you ever hear the words, "hippie scop" raised as a meal option, your obliged response is to dig to the bottom of your hamper, remove a sock, place a spheroid of some sort into it, and blackjack the fucker.
On a different note, I would like to raise your awareness that the thirtieth day of March is now known as Mitch Hedburg Day. Essentially an internet holiday, it's basically celebrated by quoting Mitch Hedburg whenever it's germane. And since this post is about food, I'll start things off:
I went to a diner and asked the waitress for a chicken sandwich, but I dont think she heard me right cuz she asked me how i would like my eggs. I tried to answer her anyway.
Incubated!
And then raised
And then beheaded
And then plucked
And then cut up
And then put onto a grill
And then put into some bread
... Shit, this is gonna take a while. I dont got that kinda time...
Scrambled!
And now for some more:
It would be cool if you could eat a good food with a bad food, and then the good food would cover for the bad food when it got to your stomach. Like you could eat a carrot with an onion ring, and they would travel down to your stomach, then they would get there and the carrot would say, "It's cool, he's with me."
I like baked potatoes, but they take too long to make. Sometimes I throw one in the oven, even if I don't want one. By the time it's done, who knows? I throw one in and go on vacation.
More in that vein to come (perhaps much) later.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Ok, so it took longer than I'd led you to believe
Ok, so a number of things delayed me in retyping my post on the competition. Not least of all that I hate typing shit for the second time.
My crown over at Sar's place is officially gone. It was a good run. And the only caption I can think of for the current photo would probably get me put on some kind of watchlist. So I'm letting this one just float in the aether.
Performed a scene in my acting class. Was a drug-addled, lecherous radio personality for a couple of minutes. Good times.
Missed Boston Legal tonight. Was watching King Kong because the dvd had to be back at the video store by 12. Solid flick.
So it turned out that there was really nothing for me to do for the first 22 hours of the competition that had anything to do with judging. I'm wondering if it was a clever ruse to rope me into doing gruntwork for the mere reason that there was nothing else to do. It's conditioning that occurs when you've worked for amatuer theater. When there is shit to be moved, set up, or otherwise prepared, you do it. Even in this case at someone else's school, for someone else's show.
Had written an extended thingus on each play. too tired now. The evening included:
One play that would have been better if the surprise at the end hadn't been given away in the first scene. A college dude is cheating on his girlfriend, and everyone assumes its with this one girl but in actuallity it was her brother. It was given away at the begginning when her mother notices a pair of underwear on his couch and says, "since when do you wear briefs?"
A play that involves a renegade student holding his class hostage with a bomb, only no wait it's not a real bomb it was just a case study in mortal fear. Despite the negative view one might have of the play based on that summary, it Brought the Funny.
A one-man show performed by a dude whose team had dropped out at the last minute. He didn't memorize it all, but the dude gets major points for not just folding. Furthermore, it was heartfelt and engaging at some times and at other times hilarious. the flaw was that all he was doing was sitting at a table and saying his lines.
Intelligent Bathroom humor. I swear, I'm not making this up. Three dudes enter the men's room in succession with love problems, and each is advised to use the same cheezy line. The first one uses it as a prelude to popping the question to his girlfriend. The second uses it to proposition the first one's girlfriend. The third uses it to proposition the first. Unfortunately the ending was a mess.
Some cruddily arranged but yet hilariously executed play involving a tuba, chap stick, a Latin lover and his affinity for the "sexy love-sex," an awkward dude with no such affinity who asks for help and is led to believe that the tuba is his answer, a flasback to some 16th century inventors convention that didn't belong, and the realization that all along the secret was "luba" which is Spanish for Chapstick? I don't know. Like I said, the plot didn't make a lot of sense but these people knew how to be funny together.
I pretty much held my own in the deliberations, but that was only half a victory as I forgot to make contacts with the other judges. In the end, it was decided that the play involving the bomb, called "Any Questions," and the play involving the tuba, called, "Shuba Tuba" would tie. Personally I wanted the former.
So anyways, afterwards I recieved a scarf for my troubles, and spent yet another evening on my friend's dorm room floor, the effects of which are still being felt in my back. Worst surface I've ever slept on, and I've gone camping and slept on rocks. Just something about those floorboards didn't sit right with my back.
So between the weekend and last night I've not had an abundance of sleep and now looks like no exception as I'll likely not get much more than a brief snooze in before I have to go in to rehearsal. Ah well. I could sleep through my writing class and not miss much.
In any case, I'll catch you all later
My crown over at Sar's place is officially gone. It was a good run. And the only caption I can think of for the current photo would probably get me put on some kind of watchlist. So I'm letting this one just float in the aether.
Performed a scene in my acting class. Was a drug-addled, lecherous radio personality for a couple of minutes. Good times.
Missed Boston Legal tonight. Was watching King Kong because the dvd had to be back at the video store by 12. Solid flick.
So it turned out that there was really nothing for me to do for the first 22 hours of the competition that had anything to do with judging. I'm wondering if it was a clever ruse to rope me into doing gruntwork for the mere reason that there was nothing else to do. It's conditioning that occurs when you've worked for amatuer theater. When there is shit to be moved, set up, or otherwise prepared, you do it. Even in this case at someone else's school, for someone else's show.
Had written an extended thingus on each play. too tired now. The evening included:
One play that would have been better if the surprise at the end hadn't been given away in the first scene. A college dude is cheating on his girlfriend, and everyone assumes its with this one girl but in actuallity it was her brother. It was given away at the begginning when her mother notices a pair of underwear on his couch and says, "since when do you wear briefs?"
A play that involves a renegade student holding his class hostage with a bomb, only no wait it's not a real bomb it was just a case study in mortal fear. Despite the negative view one might have of the play based on that summary, it Brought the Funny.
A one-man show performed by a dude whose team had dropped out at the last minute. He didn't memorize it all, but the dude gets major points for not just folding. Furthermore, it was heartfelt and engaging at some times and at other times hilarious. the flaw was that all he was doing was sitting at a table and saying his lines.
Intelligent Bathroom humor. I swear, I'm not making this up. Three dudes enter the men's room in succession with love problems, and each is advised to use the same cheezy line. The first one uses it as a prelude to popping the question to his girlfriend. The second uses it to proposition the first one's girlfriend. The third uses it to proposition the first. Unfortunately the ending was a mess.
Some cruddily arranged but yet hilariously executed play involving a tuba, chap stick, a Latin lover and his affinity for the "sexy love-sex," an awkward dude with no such affinity who asks for help and is led to believe that the tuba is his answer, a flasback to some 16th century inventors convention that didn't belong, and the realization that all along the secret was "luba" which is Spanish for Chapstick? I don't know. Like I said, the plot didn't make a lot of sense but these people knew how to be funny together.
I pretty much held my own in the deliberations, but that was only half a victory as I forgot to make contacts with the other judges. In the end, it was decided that the play involving the bomb, called "Any Questions," and the play involving the tuba, called, "Shuba Tuba" would tie. Personally I wanted the former.
So anyways, afterwards I recieved a scarf for my troubles, and spent yet another evening on my friend's dorm room floor, the effects of which are still being felt in my back. Worst surface I've ever slept on, and I've gone camping and slept on rocks. Just something about those floorboards didn't sit right with my back.
So between the weekend and last night I've not had an abundance of sleep and now looks like no exception as I'll likely not get much more than a brief snooze in before I have to go in to rehearsal. Ah well. I could sleep through my writing class and not miss much.
In any case, I'll catch you all later
Monday, March 27, 2006
The post that should occupy this space has suffered a critical existance failure
Allright, so here's the deal. I had a complete write-up about the theater competition done, only to lose it. I found out when I woke up this morning that it was lost.
I have a class this morning.
When I get back, I'll share.
Suffice to say, it was a good time... eventually.
Anyways, until then, be sure to push my ranking over at Sar's caption contest over the top. Need at least 5 votes. Know you've got it in ya
Until then...
I have a class this morning.
When I get back, I'll share.
Suffice to say, it was a good time... eventually.
Anyways, until then, be sure to push my ranking over at Sar's caption contest over the top. Need at least 5 votes. Know you've got it in ya
Until then...
Friday, March 24, 2006
hey what do you know. another gap in between posts
Ugh. You know, sometimes I don't even notice when I haven't been posting.
Not a good sign.
I mentioned earlier that I would be judging a 24-hour theater competition. It starts tommorrow. One thing I didn't mention was the fact that my late-night tendancies and overall propensity for marathon sleeplessness is what pretty much got me the slot. I'm going to be the only judge to preside over all 24 hours. I'm beginning to regret this detail as my friend Matt, who got me into this affair, does not share my lifestyle, and I'm going to be staying with him. It's looking like the only way of preventing a night of lying awake in his dorm trying to urge my sleep cycle to re-align is lechery, and as just about everyone I'll be meeting there tommorrow will be involved in the contest that would constitute a clear conflict of interest.
If there was any profit in being honorable, more people would be doing it.
I also found out that my mentor from high school (who I've made mention of before in this space) is going to be on the panel. Which means that the one person who knows better than perhaps anyone else on the planet what my shortcomings are is going to be there with me, with all of the high-powered theater people, who I'll be spending the evening agressively sucking up to.
So in all probability, I won't be blogging in the afternoon. Or the evening, or until late Saturday night, and as Alice points out, hardly anyone reads blogs on weekends.
I think I'm going to turn in for the night. If I think of something topical in the morning I'll post it
See youse all later
Not a good sign.
I mentioned earlier that I would be judging a 24-hour theater competition. It starts tommorrow. One thing I didn't mention was the fact that my late-night tendancies and overall propensity for marathon sleeplessness is what pretty much got me the slot. I'm going to be the only judge to preside over all 24 hours. I'm beginning to regret this detail as my friend Matt, who got me into this affair, does not share my lifestyle, and I'm going to be staying with him. It's looking like the only way of preventing a night of lying awake in his dorm trying to urge my sleep cycle to re-align is lechery, and as just about everyone I'll be meeting there tommorrow will be involved in the contest that would constitute a clear conflict of interest.
If there was any profit in being honorable, more people would be doing it.
I also found out that my mentor from high school (who I've made mention of before in this space) is going to be on the panel. Which means that the one person who knows better than perhaps anyone else on the planet what my shortcomings are is going to be there with me, with all of the high-powered theater people, who I'll be spending the evening agressively sucking up to.
So in all probability, I won't be blogging in the afternoon. Or the evening, or until late Saturday night, and as Alice points out, hardly anyone reads blogs on weekends.
I think I'm going to turn in for the night. If I think of something topical in the morning I'll post it
See youse all later
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
I hate Internet Explorer
Shayna told me that my site was acting all fucked up on internet explorer. Not the first time this has happened.
Spent the last hour poring over the source code to my template to see what was causing a syntax error. Not fun times.
Am going to re-iterate my support for Mozilla Firefox. It makes the web a much better place through unparalleled support for web standards and new developments therein.
Internet Explorer is a piece of hackwork deemed a security risk by the federal government.
I wholeheartedly suggest that you use Firefox. And not just because I'm chasing my tail trying to fix this. You'll love it; I swear.
I am ordering you all, from dear Alice's throne to which I have been declared the steward, to vote for Pia Savage and Bring it On in the finals of the Koufax awards. You're on notice.
UPDATE:
Ok, so I finally figured out what the matter was. somehow the entire text of an email I wrote found its way into the code for the post below. Am changing both my passwords for Blogger and Gmail. And will threaten physical harm upon the head of the person I believe to be responsible. You do not fuck with a person's written work. I cannot stress this enough. To fuck with one's written work is to invite severe beatings. Do it enough and someone's going to RSVP.
Anyways, this blog looks shit-ass ugly on IE. I think you'll thank me if you switch to Firefox
Drove to Daddy's Junky Music tonight to turn in my amp and have it fixed. Was allowed a free rental; a 15 watt amp with all sorts of nifty special effects. If I can find a cord and adapter so I can run a line from my amp to my computer I will try and take advantage of this recording-wise. I know that Shayna has been asking after Ophelia.
Turns out that I'm caption winner over at Sar's for the second week in a row. Pretty sure that my reign ends here though.
I urge you all to get out the word, about Koufax. Pia Savage deserves a gorram award!
Spent the last hour poring over the source code to my template to see what was causing a syntax error. Not fun times.
Am going to re-iterate my support for Mozilla Firefox. It makes the web a much better place through unparalleled support for web standards and new developments therein.
Internet Explorer is a piece of hackwork deemed a security risk by the federal government.
I wholeheartedly suggest that you use Firefox. And not just because I'm chasing my tail trying to fix this. You'll love it; I swear.
I am ordering you all, from dear Alice's throne to which I have been declared the steward, to vote for Pia Savage and Bring it On in the finals of the Koufax awards. You're on notice.
UPDATE:
Ok, so I finally figured out what the matter was. somehow the entire text of an email I wrote found its way into the code for the post below. Am changing both my passwords for Blogger and Gmail. And will threaten physical harm upon the head of the person I believe to be responsible. You do not fuck with a person's written work. I cannot stress this enough. To fuck with one's written work is to invite severe beatings. Do it enough and someone's going to RSVP.
Anyways, this blog looks shit-ass ugly on IE. I think you'll thank me if you switch to Firefox
Drove to Daddy's Junky Music tonight to turn in my amp and have it fixed. Was allowed a free rental; a 15 watt amp with all sorts of nifty special effects. If I can find a cord and adapter so I can run a line from my amp to my computer I will try and take advantage of this recording-wise. I know that Shayna has been asking after Ophelia.
Turns out that I'm caption winner over at Sar's for the second week in a row. Pretty sure that my reign ends here though.
I urge you all to get out the word, about Koufax. Pia Savage deserves a gorram award!
Monday, March 20, 2006
An interlude
Cross-posted at Bring It On
Here is an anecdote that I related to two fellow bloggers this weekend in emails. Once to Miz Bohemia, who was expressing her frustration at circumcision as an entrenched default, and again to Pia, in regards to the perpetuity of backlash between generations. If there's any truth to the accusation that I tend to reuse bits of conversation it is due to the fact that I tend to see nearly all problems as being analogous.
Three monkeys were placed in a cage, by scientists. As soon as they were done not seeing, hearing, or speaking evil respectively, they were made the subject of experiment. A banana was put in the cage with them. Naturally, the monkeys went for the banana. They were subsequently doused in cold water. They shivered for a bit, dried themselves, thought, "what the bloody fuck was that?" and then went for the banana again, only to once again be left wet, shivering, and unfed. The process was repeated until none of the monkeys even had it in them to make for the banana. They had come to the conclusion that they'd rather be dry and warm and hungry than wet and cold as hungry. Having been observed to have come to that conclusion, Monkey one was removed, and monkey 4, who hadn't seen the goings on, was brought in. He naturally went for the banana. The other two monkeys stopped him. One can only imagine what was going through that poor little bugger's head. All of a sudden, there are two douchebags saying he couldn't have a banana. There was a bit of a scrap, and eventually, monkey 4 gave up, and decided, in a similar manner as the others, that it was better to be hungry and not beaten up and exhausted. At this point, monkey 2 was removed, and monkey 5, under a same condition of ignorance, was introduced. He too went for the banana, and was subdued by monkeys 3 and 4. When he stopped struggling, monkey 3 was swapped out for monkey 6. Like all the others did at first glance, he made for the banana. And monkeys 4 and 5, who had no idea why they weren't allowed to have the banana, restrained monkey 6. The reason? "That's how we do things around here."
We've evolved signifigantly from monkeys, but there are still some striking similarities in portions of our species, and it's a refrain of mine, but my guess is that if Intelligent Design held any merit and the reason the "missing link" hasn't been found in the fossil record is because some "intelligent designer" had crafted early hominids out of a great ape's blueprint, this flaw would have been removed somewhere along the way.
It is also, I believe, that very tendancy that causes a word that means "open minded" to be used as a slur by many, and prevents many people from refuting that use.
Speaking of unevolved automotons, it looks like Tom Cruise got his way... or did he?
There was a rumor circulating that Cruise wouldn't promote Mission: Impossible 3 if Paramount, the parent company of Comedy Central, reran the Scientology episode of South Park this past Wednesday. It didn't re-run. When asked why this happened a Comedy Central exec didn't give an answer, save to say that there was a new episode due this week and "we'll see what happens."
Which makes me expect the next episode to be a Parthian Shot.
I love the phrase, "Parthian Shot." I especially love defining it. It refers to the cavalry archers of Parthia, who would, when faced against overwhelming odds, turn their horses and flee. After a short pursuit, they would shoot their bows over their shoulders. Those foolish enough to pursue died in a hail of arrows.
Evolution in action. Gotta love it
Here is an anecdote that I related to two fellow bloggers this weekend in emails. Once to Miz Bohemia, who was expressing her frustration at circumcision as an entrenched default, and again to Pia, in regards to the perpetuity of backlash between generations. If there's any truth to the accusation that I tend to reuse bits of conversation it is due to the fact that I tend to see nearly all problems as being analogous.
Three monkeys were placed in a cage, by scientists. As soon as they were done not seeing, hearing, or speaking evil respectively, they were made the subject of experiment. A banana was put in the cage with them. Naturally, the monkeys went for the banana. They were subsequently doused in cold water. They shivered for a bit, dried themselves, thought, "what the bloody fuck was that?" and then went for the banana again, only to once again be left wet, shivering, and unfed. The process was repeated until none of the monkeys even had it in them to make for the banana. They had come to the conclusion that they'd rather be dry and warm and hungry than wet and cold as hungry. Having been observed to have come to that conclusion, Monkey one was removed, and monkey 4, who hadn't seen the goings on, was brought in. He naturally went for the banana. The other two monkeys stopped him. One can only imagine what was going through that poor little bugger's head. All of a sudden, there are two douchebags saying he couldn't have a banana. There was a bit of a scrap, and eventually, monkey 4 gave up, and decided, in a similar manner as the others, that it was better to be hungry and not beaten up and exhausted. At this point, monkey 2 was removed, and monkey 5, under a same condition of ignorance, was introduced. He too went for the banana, and was subdued by monkeys 3 and 4. When he stopped struggling, monkey 3 was swapped out for monkey 6. Like all the others did at first glance, he made for the banana. And monkeys 4 and 5, who had no idea why they weren't allowed to have the banana, restrained monkey 6. The reason? "That's how we do things around here."
We've evolved signifigantly from monkeys, but there are still some striking similarities in portions of our species, and it's a refrain of mine, but my guess is that if Intelligent Design held any merit and the reason the "missing link" hasn't been found in the fossil record is because some "intelligent designer" had crafted early hominids out of a great ape's blueprint, this flaw would have been removed somewhere along the way.
It is also, I believe, that very tendancy that causes a word that means "open minded" to be used as a slur by many, and prevents many people from refuting that use.
Speaking of unevolved automotons, it looks like Tom Cruise got his way... or did he?
There was a rumor circulating that Cruise wouldn't promote Mission: Impossible 3 if Paramount, the parent company of Comedy Central, reran the Scientology episode of South Park this past Wednesday. It didn't re-run. When asked why this happened a Comedy Central exec didn't give an answer, save to say that there was a new episode due this week and "we'll see what happens."
Which makes me expect the next episode to be a Parthian Shot.
I love the phrase, "Parthian Shot." I especially love defining it. It refers to the cavalry archers of Parthia, who would, when faced against overwhelming odds, turn their horses and flee. After a short pursuit, they would shoot their bows over their shoulders. Those foolish enough to pursue died in a hail of arrows.
Evolution in action. Gotta love it
Friday, March 17, 2006
ARGHHHHH
I want you to read the post below this one. Get a sense of the mood and energy and buildup, then report back here. Allright?
Back?
So last night I heard of the engagement I spoke of in the below post. I was beyond psyched. I am an Irishman. I am a rocker. I rock out. So when the Murphys come back home, I wait in the fucking freezing cold if it means I can get in. But lets stick to last night. I called up the Black Rose. The dude on the other end of the line told me that until 11, you just needed to be 18 to be in there. I relayed this information to my friend Josh a couple of hours later. He didn't believe me, so he called. A different person told him the same thing. So we forwent sleept during the night, and set out at 4 so that we could be assured to be among the first 100 to enter. We got there in time. And yet, upon reaching the front of the line?
"It's 21 plus"
So here I am. It's 7:20. I'm not eating an Irish breakfast, and I'm sure as shit not watching the fucking Murphys.
The Black Rose turned me away after I waited two hours in the cold. Those fuckers will never see a dime of my money. I don't care if its the Murphys, Flogging Molly, and fucking Kurt Cobain come back from the dead, with only a five dollar cover. They get nothing from me, except perhaps a brickshot once my hands thaw out.
Fucking swine.
Back?
So last night I heard of the engagement I spoke of in the below post. I was beyond psyched. I am an Irishman. I am a rocker. I rock out. So when the Murphys come back home, I wait in the fucking freezing cold if it means I can get in. But lets stick to last night. I called up the Black Rose. The dude on the other end of the line told me that until 11, you just needed to be 18 to be in there. I relayed this information to my friend Josh a couple of hours later. He didn't believe me, so he called. A different person told him the same thing. So we forwent sleept during the night, and set out at 4 so that we could be assured to be among the first 100 to enter. We got there in time. And yet, upon reaching the front of the line?
"It's 21 plus"
So here I am. It's 7:20. I'm not eating an Irish breakfast, and I'm sure as shit not watching the fucking Murphys.
The Black Rose turned me away after I waited two hours in the cold. Those fuckers will never see a dime of my money. I don't care if its the Murphys, Flogging Molly, and fucking Kurt Cobain come back from the dead, with only a five dollar cover. They get nothing from me, except perhaps a brickshot once my hands thaw out.
Fucking swine.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Explanations and dick jokes
Apparently not everyone quite got what the deal with that last post was.
The Ides of March, or March 15th, was the day that Julius Caesar was killed by thirty-three Roman senators, including Marcus Brutus and Gaius Cassius.
In the play Julius Caesar, Caesar is confronted on the feast of the Lupricau (known today as Valentine's Day) by a soothsayer who shouted, "Beware the Ides of March." In his arrogance he ignored the warning. And the rest is history.
I'd like to point all of you in the direction of Miz Bohemia's guest post on circumcision over at Sar's, where incedentally I've been nominated for the caption contest for the second week in a row. Throughout the debate I've had the urge to crack jokes, but didn't want to make them there. So if you'll give me leave:
Circumcision is an issue that a lot of people get snippy about. It can be a real pain in the dong.
I was circumcised and I'm not all that pleased about it, but I'm not about to bring up old wounds.
Miz B's arguement against circumcision cuts to the point.
Ahem.
Ok, I think that's it for the jokes.
More shall be added to this post. But first, dinner.
Ok, so more accurate would have been to say, "More shall be added after dinner, coffee, and a lot of guitaring." It's about 2 at the moment. Hope no one missed me. Well actually that's not true. I hope that people missed me if they came here expecting something, but I hope that no one was terribly put off that I haven't continued my post.
In any case.
With Transcience still in hiatus, Alice on vacation, and Pia soon to leave on a trip of her own, I may have to step things up here. I'll give it a shot.
There is a holiday in Boston known as Evacuation Day. Quite simply, the day that we drove the Redcoats the fuck out of Boston. Cannons taken from Fort Ticonderoga were placed on Dorchester Heights, stocked with gunpowder stolen from a stockpile in Bermuda, were trained on General Howe's Garrison. The battle ended with naught a salvo fired, save a few warning shots. Boston was never attacked again.
Such a day of triumph for our country, and more specifically for the city of Boston, and even more specifically over the British, quite fittingly coincides with Saint Patrick's Day. And here in Boston, we do that shit right. Fuck green beer; it's what people use as compensation for not really wearing green on the inside. Guinness on tap, Harp, Killian's Irish Red. Jamerson's whiskey. All flow liberally in Boston on this day. Also, fuck corned beef and cabbage; that shit ain't authentic. This is the day of Irish breakfasts. Potatos done any way; and apart from that just eat whatever the fuck and chase it with a pint.
This is also the day to get wicked. To rock out so hard it sets off car alarms at a distance of 300 meters. And there is one mainstay of the Saint Patrick's Day experience that one can only partake of here in Boston. A Dropkick Murphys concert. Good God I hope you know who the Murphys are. Punk rockers born and raised in the city of Boston whose every song is laced with their Irish heritage. It's been said that the Irish invented the bagpipe and gave it to the Scottish as a joke. This is true. And the Scots mastered the technical skill of the bagpipe. Some time later on, the Murphys said, "well that's all well and good, but how about we show you how to make music with this thing that people will actually enjoy."
The Dropkick Murphys play at least one show every Saint Patrick's Day. To be an Irishman, a Bostonian, and a rocker and not see them at least once on this day would be to deny my heritage. That and it would be to miss out on the best way that one under the age of 21 can legally enjoy the holiday. Which is why in about 2 hours I'm going to step outside my door, and into a car. That car will be headed into town. Specifically, it will be headed towards the Black Rose Restaurant, where the Dropkick Murphys are playing at 8 in the morning. The doors open at 6 and the first 100 people in the door get free Irish breakfasts.
I'll take "We doin' this!" for five billion fucking dollars, Alex.
So expect the next post to be a possibly incoherent rambling about a kickass show. The thought had briefly occured to me to take a nap first but I'm way too pumped right now.
So a warm and boisterous Happy Saint Patrick's Day to all, even those of you without a drop of Celtic blood in your veins. This is a day where all Americans have something to celebrate, so who's to say you're not entitled to shout just as loud as the pale dude next to you wearing a scally cap and a Celtics shirt? No one with a drop of sense in them. So rock on. I hear Sar is having a party, so by all means show up. Rock out with such intensity as to make the web itself tremble in its stress.
I leave you with these words of the late, great James Joyce:
Irresponsibility is part of the pleasure of all art; it is the part the schools cannot recognize.
Wombat out.
The Ides of March, or March 15th, was the day that Julius Caesar was killed by thirty-three Roman senators, including Marcus Brutus and Gaius Cassius.
In the play Julius Caesar, Caesar is confronted on the feast of the Lupricau (known today as Valentine's Day) by a soothsayer who shouted, "Beware the Ides of March." In his arrogance he ignored the warning. And the rest is history.
I'd like to point all of you in the direction of Miz Bohemia's guest post on circumcision over at Sar's, where incedentally I've been nominated for the caption contest for the second week in a row. Throughout the debate I've had the urge to crack jokes, but didn't want to make them there. So if you'll give me leave:
Circumcision is an issue that a lot of people get snippy about. It can be a real pain in the dong.
I was circumcised and I'm not all that pleased about it, but I'm not about to bring up old wounds.
Miz B's arguement against circumcision cuts to the point.
Ahem.
Ok, I think that's it for the jokes.
More shall be added to this post. But first, dinner.
Ok, so more accurate would have been to say, "More shall be added after dinner, coffee, and a lot of guitaring." It's about 2 at the moment. Hope no one missed me. Well actually that's not true. I hope that people missed me if they came here expecting something, but I hope that no one was terribly put off that I haven't continued my post.
In any case.
With Transcience still in hiatus, Alice on vacation, and Pia soon to leave on a trip of her own, I may have to step things up here. I'll give it a shot.
There is a holiday in Boston known as Evacuation Day. Quite simply, the day that we drove the Redcoats the fuck out of Boston. Cannons taken from Fort Ticonderoga were placed on Dorchester Heights, stocked with gunpowder stolen from a stockpile in Bermuda, were trained on General Howe's Garrison. The battle ended with naught a salvo fired, save a few warning shots. Boston was never attacked again.
Such a day of triumph for our country, and more specifically for the city of Boston, and even more specifically over the British, quite fittingly coincides with Saint Patrick's Day. And here in Boston, we do that shit right. Fuck green beer; it's what people use as compensation for not really wearing green on the inside. Guinness on tap, Harp, Killian's Irish Red. Jamerson's whiskey. All flow liberally in Boston on this day. Also, fuck corned beef and cabbage; that shit ain't authentic. This is the day of Irish breakfasts. Potatos done any way; and apart from that just eat whatever the fuck and chase it with a pint.
This is also the day to get wicked. To rock out so hard it sets off car alarms at a distance of 300 meters. And there is one mainstay of the Saint Patrick's Day experience that one can only partake of here in Boston. A Dropkick Murphys concert. Good God I hope you know who the Murphys are. Punk rockers born and raised in the city of Boston whose every song is laced with their Irish heritage. It's been said that the Irish invented the bagpipe and gave it to the Scottish as a joke. This is true. And the Scots mastered the technical skill of the bagpipe. Some time later on, the Murphys said, "well that's all well and good, but how about we show you how to make music with this thing that people will actually enjoy."
The Dropkick Murphys play at least one show every Saint Patrick's Day. To be an Irishman, a Bostonian, and a rocker and not see them at least once on this day would be to deny my heritage. That and it would be to miss out on the best way that one under the age of 21 can legally enjoy the holiday. Which is why in about 2 hours I'm going to step outside my door, and into a car. That car will be headed into town. Specifically, it will be headed towards the Black Rose Restaurant, where the Dropkick Murphys are playing at 8 in the morning. The doors open at 6 and the first 100 people in the door get free Irish breakfasts.
I'll take "We doin' this!" for five billion fucking dollars, Alex.
So expect the next post to be a possibly incoherent rambling about a kickass show. The thought had briefly occured to me to take a nap first but I'm way too pumped right now.
So a warm and boisterous Happy Saint Patrick's Day to all, even those of you without a drop of Celtic blood in your veins. This is a day where all Americans have something to celebrate, so who's to say you're not entitled to shout just as loud as the pale dude next to you wearing a scally cap and a Celtics shirt? No one with a drop of sense in them. So rock on. I hear Sar is having a party, so by all means show up. Rock out with such intensity as to make the web itself tremble in its stress.
I leave you with these words of the late, great James Joyce:
Irresponsibility is part of the pleasure of all art; it is the part the schools cannot recognize.
Wombat out.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Issac Hayes to South Park: "It's not satire when you're talking about my religion."
Found myself scrolling through some websites regarding Scientology today after seeing this.
Think it speaks for itself.
also found this and this
That last one is horrifying.
I think I mentioned it before that someone I used to go to school with is a scientologist now. There's certainly a lot more exposure now. The fucking swine are getting bolder. And I'm getting uneasy.
And the bitch of it is, it's nigh-impossible to know who's in on the scam. There is no telling who are the victims and who are the perpatrators; who needs help and who needs to be beaten within an inch of their pathetic lives.
The people at the center of this organization have no respect for humanity. One day soon the shit is going to hit the fan with these fuckers and I have doubts that our government is going to step in given just how much rectal spelunking religious interests have done therein.
Maybe later I'll have something else to talk about, but this is what's on my mind now.
Think it speaks for itself.
also found this and this
That last one is horrifying.
I think I mentioned it before that someone I used to go to school with is a scientologist now. There's certainly a lot more exposure now. The fucking swine are getting bolder. And I'm getting uneasy.
And the bitch of it is, it's nigh-impossible to know who's in on the scam. There is no telling who are the victims and who are the perpatrators; who needs help and who needs to be beaten within an inch of their pathetic lives.
The people at the center of this organization have no respect for humanity. One day soon the shit is going to hit the fan with these fuckers and I have doubts that our government is going to step in given just how much rectal spelunking religious interests have done therein.
Maybe later I'll have something else to talk about, but this is what's on my mind now.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
And after a brief delay...
Had something that I was all set to post here, but realized it was better suited to BIO. If you're interested, it can be found here.
My failure to follow through with tenative plans set for today (well, yesterday if you must) does not bode well for my break. Don't get me wrong, I like playing Tribes and listening to the Mars Volta (I wonder what Cedric Bixler-Zavala would say if I told him that the music he makes is awesome for going around on jetpacks and blowing people up in an effort to capture their flag... probably he'd ask me what I was on so he could have some for when he's writing the next album... but seriously its great) I could just use some of that human contact is all.
Speaking of the Mars Volta, I can't get the phrase "Multiple Spouse Wounds" out of my head. It's the name of one of the tracks on Frances the Mute. Anyways.
Got the idea in my head that I wanted an ice cream soda. But as soon as I actually applied the scoop of vanilla ice cream to the cola I realized that what I really wanted was the Guinness it bore resemblance to. No dice there. The discovery that I've made every single time I've made an ice cream soda is that they just aren't all that tasty. Sherbert floats are another thing, but there was none of that in the house.
Oh, and I almost forgot.
At long last.
It's time to make history.
My failure to follow through with tenative plans set for today (well, yesterday if you must) does not bode well for my break. Don't get me wrong, I like playing Tribes and listening to the Mars Volta (I wonder what Cedric Bixler-Zavala would say if I told him that the music he makes is awesome for going around on jetpacks and blowing people up in an effort to capture their flag... probably he'd ask me what I was on so he could have some for when he's writing the next album... but seriously its great) I could just use some of that human contact is all.
Speaking of the Mars Volta, I can't get the phrase "Multiple Spouse Wounds" out of my head. It's the name of one of the tracks on Frances the Mute. Anyways.
Got the idea in my head that I wanted an ice cream soda. But as soon as I actually applied the scoop of vanilla ice cream to the cola I realized that what I really wanted was the Guinness it bore resemblance to. No dice there. The discovery that I've made every single time I've made an ice cream soda is that they just aren't all that tasty. Sherbert floats are another thing, but there was none of that in the house.
Oh, and I almost forgot.
At long last.
It's time to make history.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Another late night.
It's damn near five o' clock in the morning.
I've got two cups of coffee and a shot of espresso in my system.
I'm sweaty and physically exhausted.
Time to write.
Found this article and had a bit of a laugh. Communities of people who take cybersex seriously. Not possible for me. My one experience with the matter was completely absurd. She had a boyfriend who didn't believe in sex before marriage and a shit-ton of sexual frustration, and I wasn't aware that she was getting off to the things I was saying. I wasn't even aware that I'd said anything sexual. A couple of days later she told me that she felt guilty and that it couldn't happen agian. "What?" I asked...
If there is one lesson in life that I've learned in life between then and now is that sometimes it's best to just go with it. "What?" "Why?" and "How?" are quite often questions to which one does not need an answer. The trick, as always, lies in discerning when to ask.
Operating on a shifting timescale means that the thought of playing frisbee at three o' clock in the morning under the dim light in a "park" across the street from your house (that's basically a grassy feild divided by a few paved paths with enough benches to seat over 200 people but are almost never occupied in summation by over four comes naturally to you). That sneaking into said house to retrieve said frisbee, which just so happens to lie in the same room as a sleeping person, is an entirely natural act. Not much a departure from an all-night session of Unreal Tournament though, now that I think of it. It's still coordination fueled by caffeine, doing battle with the inevitable results of a full day on your feet and hoping that your opponent isn't from a different time zone. Ok, so that last bit doesn't apply to frisbee unless you've got a hell of an arm, but I think you get the idea. Diminished sanity or the simple result of following through with the idea that time is relative. It's yours to judge. Dangerous ground, though. It's always five o' clock somewhere...
But this is all out of context. There is, of course, a series of events that leads to late night frisbee.
Lately the word "coffee" will sometimes pop up on my screen at about midnight. It's a cue. Five to ten minutes later I'm outside, at the side of the street. A Toyota pulls up, driven by the fellow responsible for the message, a and I open the door and get in. The best way to describe the guy is that if you hung out with him you'd realize that he's the sort of friend you'd expect me to have, insamuch as you were aware there existed a dude like this. Another ten minutes or so and it's a cup of coffee and a chat that inevitably leads to some oneliners that I wish I had pen and paper to make note of. Of course, the night I do bring them I only wind up with three entries. To wit:
Hardline: Means you're the life of no one's party
Hey, he's trying to get away! Let's beat him up 'cause he's different from us!
They held up their arms because they were scared that they'd be drop-kicked or hit in the face with a bible.
Submitted without context, as life so often is.
Whenever I bring my writing notebook (well technically it's a sketchbook that I write in) along when I'm out with friends it gets cracked open and read, something I rarely bother to do, no matter how much I should. So I'm reminded of things I wrote maybe a year ago that I'd utterly forgotten. Josh (the wheelman) made note of one particular idle thought I jotted down.
Sometimes putting away pen and paper is the thing that makes your brain start working. Perhaps one day I'll find a way to trick myself, to sneak the pen into my unsuspecting hand during a fleeting moment of wisdom. Until then, my best thoughts are lost.
In looking for that bit in the book I came across something I do remember the context for. I was sitting at a coffee shop in Chicago with my friend Dave. A comely barrista came by with the drinks we'd ordered. Our eyes followed. He tapped me on the shoulder, and leaned towards me.
Everything bad that women say about men is absolutely true.
I nodded.
Coffee at midnight is hardly taking things to the extreme, except that it generally means that you're caffinated at two. Factor in a second cup and you're starting to deal with an inability to sleep and little to do in an area where the one 24-hour Dunkin Donuts is the only thing open that isn't a gas station or a 7-11. Which until today meant driving around aimlessly listening to Mindless Self-Indulgence. But for those of you who didn't notice or weren't in the proper region to experience it, today was fucking beautiful. Outdoor activity is all of a sudden on the table, and to hell with the time of day. So, frisbee. At three o' clock.
Not too crazy.
My spring break began today. Fitting, as today was if fact quite springish No plans. Hope to stumble upon some. But that will come later. As for now, It's 6:12 and I should probably start to think about either sleeping. To go to bed past midnight is to go to bed betimes, and all that.
I've got two cups of coffee and a shot of espresso in my system.
I'm sweaty and physically exhausted.
Time to write.
Found this article and had a bit of a laugh. Communities of people who take cybersex seriously. Not possible for me. My one experience with the matter was completely absurd. She had a boyfriend who didn't believe in sex before marriage and a shit-ton of sexual frustration, and I wasn't aware that she was getting off to the things I was saying. I wasn't even aware that I'd said anything sexual. A couple of days later she told me that she felt guilty and that it couldn't happen agian. "What?" I asked...
If there is one lesson in life that I've learned in life between then and now is that sometimes it's best to just go with it. "What?" "Why?" and "How?" are quite often questions to which one does not need an answer. The trick, as always, lies in discerning when to ask.
Operating on a shifting timescale means that the thought of playing frisbee at three o' clock in the morning under the dim light in a "park" across the street from your house (that's basically a grassy feild divided by a few paved paths with enough benches to seat over 200 people but are almost never occupied in summation by over four comes naturally to you). That sneaking into said house to retrieve said frisbee, which just so happens to lie in the same room as a sleeping person, is an entirely natural act. Not much a departure from an all-night session of Unreal Tournament though, now that I think of it. It's still coordination fueled by caffeine, doing battle with the inevitable results of a full day on your feet and hoping that your opponent isn't from a different time zone. Ok, so that last bit doesn't apply to frisbee unless you've got a hell of an arm, but I think you get the idea. Diminished sanity or the simple result of following through with the idea that time is relative. It's yours to judge. Dangerous ground, though. It's always five o' clock somewhere...
But this is all out of context. There is, of course, a series of events that leads to late night frisbee.
Lately the word "coffee" will sometimes pop up on my screen at about midnight. It's a cue. Five to ten minutes later I'm outside, at the side of the street. A Toyota pulls up, driven by the fellow responsible for the message, a and I open the door and get in. The best way to describe the guy is that if you hung out with him you'd realize that he's the sort of friend you'd expect me to have, insamuch as you were aware there existed a dude like this. Another ten minutes or so and it's a cup of coffee and a chat that inevitably leads to some oneliners that I wish I had pen and paper to make note of. Of course, the night I do bring them I only wind up with three entries. To wit:
Hardline: Means you're the life of no one's party
Hey, he's trying to get away! Let's beat him up 'cause he's different from us!
They held up their arms because they were scared that they'd be drop-kicked or hit in the face with a bible.
Submitted without context, as life so often is.
Whenever I bring my writing notebook (well technically it's a sketchbook that I write in) along when I'm out with friends it gets cracked open and read, something I rarely bother to do, no matter how much I should. So I'm reminded of things I wrote maybe a year ago that I'd utterly forgotten. Josh (the wheelman) made note of one particular idle thought I jotted down.
Sometimes putting away pen and paper is the thing that makes your brain start working. Perhaps one day I'll find a way to trick myself, to sneak the pen into my unsuspecting hand during a fleeting moment of wisdom. Until then, my best thoughts are lost.
In looking for that bit in the book I came across something I do remember the context for. I was sitting at a coffee shop in Chicago with my friend Dave. A comely barrista came by with the drinks we'd ordered. Our eyes followed. He tapped me on the shoulder, and leaned towards me.
Everything bad that women say about men is absolutely true.
I nodded.
Coffee at midnight is hardly taking things to the extreme, except that it generally means that you're caffinated at two. Factor in a second cup and you're starting to deal with an inability to sleep and little to do in an area where the one 24-hour Dunkin Donuts is the only thing open that isn't a gas station or a 7-11. Which until today meant driving around aimlessly listening to Mindless Self-Indulgence. But for those of you who didn't notice or weren't in the proper region to experience it, today was fucking beautiful. Outdoor activity is all of a sudden on the table, and to hell with the time of day. So, frisbee. At three o' clock.
Not too crazy.
My spring break began today. Fitting, as today was if fact quite springish No plans. Hope to stumble upon some. But that will come later. As for now, It's 6:12 and I should probably start to think about either sleeping. To go to bed past midnight is to go to bed betimes, and all that.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Blog Against Sexism: words, words, words
So today is blog against sexism day. It's also International Women's Day. Miz Bohemia has posted to that particular effect better than is whithin my prowess.
This post, to be clear, is hardly exhaustive. I've picked a theme and run with it, though I can't claim to have exhausted the theme either as I'm sure that there is a book in it. For more on the subject... well, Alice has posted a noble offering
I think that a lot in regards to sexism when it comes to its underlying prevalence can be discovered through examination of words. And I don't mean words like "woman" and "history," both of which have at times been modified to "womyn" and "herstory" by a wing of the feminist movement that never bothered to look up the etymologies of said words. And the words that have to do with professions are more or less innocuous, innacurate as they are now. As is often, the real deal is a lot more unsavory. Take, for example, the word hysteria is derived from the root word hyster, which means womb. It was so named because it was originally believed to be caused by the uterus. No lie. (note: thanks to Vesper for setting me straight on this one)
Speaking of medical terms. Very recently, the term hypersexuality came into prevalence in the field of medicine, to replace two other terms. The terms were nymphomainia (in the case of its existance in women) and satyriasis (in men). Nothing inherently sexist in the words themselves.
However.
How often do you hear the word satyriasis uttered? Generally, you don't. Personally, I didn't know the word existed since I saw the Big Lebowski, and I've yet to hear it said anywhere else. There's a clear message there, not that it should come as much of a shock to anyone. As far as the public consciousness goes, hypersexuality is only a disorder when it's present in women.
Not cool.
There is, as is well known, another word pertinent when it comes to that particular double-standard, and the word is slut. I don't need to rehash the particular issue with that word save to say that there really isn't a male counterpart to it. Personally I apply it regardless of gender (mostly in reference to men actually but that's more because I personally know more male sluts than female ones), and hardly ever in the pejoritave. Of course, that raises certain communication issues at times, but I digress.
Two more words: misogyny and misandrony. They refer, respectively, to contempt for (or indeed hatred of) women and men. Both are alive and kicking in modern culture. And yet the first time I've ever heard of the word misandrony was when Alice made a note of Blog Against Sexism Day. And I tend to make a point of knowing words. I love words. My guess is? Misandrony is, quite simply, seen as more acceptable. And I'm not even talking about misandrony as a direct response to misogyny, which is totally understandable. Look at the modern sitcom. How many guys in them aren't total dumbasses? Of course, there is no question as to which force is more of a problem (hell, there are even two categories of it in pop music: the "bitch/'ho" form present in hip-hop, and the "all women ever do is cause me pain" version in emo) . But as a rule I try to make mention of the elephant in the room.
Ok, I lied. There's another word I'm going to analyze, though not in the same way. The word is Feminism. The rub here is in how people react to it. Let's start with Pat Robertson:
The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians.
The scary thing is he said this speaking at the 1992 Republican National Convention. While Robertson's reaction is hardly typical, backlash against feminism is decidedly mainstream, and it exists in two forms: oppressive and ridicule, The former which Pat Robertson embraces I don't think requires any further explaination. It's rotten, pure and simple. The latter is typified by this joke:
How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb
Only one and there's nothing funny about it
The ridicule backlash is the perception of all feminists as being (among other things) humorless, anti-sex, and in the most extreme cases, sexist in their own right. To be fair? It's true of an entrenched minority within the feminist movement. But, sadly, it also in many circles exists as the very thing that the word "feminist" evokes. I can't pretend to have a solution here.
Incedently, here's another word I'm just now (like I literally just saw it) discovering. Masculism. Not an opposition to Feminism, as one might expect, but rather a parallel progressive movement aiming to redefine masculinity in an age of changing and blurring gender roles. I could read into its lack of coverage, but I believe I'll let it speak for itself. I encourage you to follow the link. Did I ever mention I love wikipedia?
So yeah. Sexim is everywhere. Many forms, many layers, many directions. Just say no.
To sexism that is.
This post, to be clear, is hardly exhaustive. I've picked a theme and run with it, though I can't claim to have exhausted the theme either as I'm sure that there is a book in it. For more on the subject... well, Alice has posted a noble offering
I think that a lot in regards to sexism when it comes to its underlying prevalence can be discovered through examination of words. And I don't mean words like "woman" and "history," both of which have at times been modified to "womyn" and "herstory" by a wing of the feminist movement that never bothered to look up the etymologies of said words. And the words that have to do with professions are more or less innocuous, innacurate as they are now. As is often, the real deal is a lot more unsavory. Take, for example, the word hysteria is derived from the root word hyster, which means womb. It was so named because it was originally believed to be caused by the uterus. No lie. (note: thanks to Vesper for setting me straight on this one)
Speaking of medical terms. Very recently, the term hypersexuality came into prevalence in the field of medicine, to replace two other terms. The terms were nymphomainia (in the case of its existance in women) and satyriasis (in men). Nothing inherently sexist in the words themselves.
However.
How often do you hear the word satyriasis uttered? Generally, you don't. Personally, I didn't know the word existed since I saw the Big Lebowski, and I've yet to hear it said anywhere else. There's a clear message there, not that it should come as much of a shock to anyone. As far as the public consciousness goes, hypersexuality is only a disorder when it's present in women.
Not cool.
There is, as is well known, another word pertinent when it comes to that particular double-standard, and the word is slut. I don't need to rehash the particular issue with that word save to say that there really isn't a male counterpart to it. Personally I apply it regardless of gender (mostly in reference to men actually but that's more because I personally know more male sluts than female ones), and hardly ever in the pejoritave. Of course, that raises certain communication issues at times, but I digress.
Two more words: misogyny and misandrony. They refer, respectively, to contempt for (or indeed hatred of) women and men. Both are alive and kicking in modern culture. And yet the first time I've ever heard of the word misandrony was when Alice made a note of Blog Against Sexism Day. And I tend to make a point of knowing words. I love words. My guess is? Misandrony is, quite simply, seen as more acceptable. And I'm not even talking about misandrony as a direct response to misogyny, which is totally understandable. Look at the modern sitcom. How many guys in them aren't total dumbasses? Of course, there is no question as to which force is more of a problem (hell, there are even two categories of it in pop music: the "bitch/'ho" form present in hip-hop, and the "all women ever do is cause me pain" version in emo) . But as a rule I try to make mention of the elephant in the room.
Ok, I lied. There's another word I'm going to analyze, though not in the same way. The word is Feminism. The rub here is in how people react to it. Let's start with Pat Robertson:
The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians.
The scary thing is he said this speaking at the 1992 Republican National Convention. While Robertson's reaction is hardly typical, backlash against feminism is decidedly mainstream, and it exists in two forms: oppressive and ridicule, The former which Pat Robertson embraces I don't think requires any further explaination. It's rotten, pure and simple. The latter is typified by this joke:
How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb
Only one and there's nothing funny about it
The ridicule backlash is the perception of all feminists as being (among other things) humorless, anti-sex, and in the most extreme cases, sexist in their own right. To be fair? It's true of an entrenched minority within the feminist movement. But, sadly, it also in many circles exists as the very thing that the word "feminist" evokes. I can't pretend to have a solution here.
Incedently, here's another word I'm just now (like I literally just saw it) discovering. Masculism. Not an opposition to Feminism, as one might expect, but rather a parallel progressive movement aiming to redefine masculinity in an age of changing and blurring gender roles. I could read into its lack of coverage, but I believe I'll let it speak for itself. I encourage you to follow the link. Did I ever mention I love wikipedia?
So yeah. Sexim is everywhere. Many forms, many layers, many directions. Just say no.
To sexism that is.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
If you lose your money, please don't lose your mind
Spoke with the man who taught me most of what I know about theater. He told me that Creon would be a good role for me. I trust him. Apparently, it wasn't my height this time. Its still something that hangs over me though. Perhaps too much.
Anyways.
A Scottish palaeontologist is now claiming that the Loch Ness monster was actually a circus elephant. Rumors that the Loch Ness Board of Tourism have put a price on his head were dismissed as unfounded.
Secretary of Treasury John Snow has asked Congress to raise the debt cap to 8.3 trillion dollars. Damn do I wish that shit could work for me. On the other side of financial responsibility... Did you hear that? That was the sound of the executive branch sucking.
The rest is silence. For now at least.
UPDATE 6:33 AM: An unexpected trip to a 24-hour coffee place with a friend at around 3 and my subsequent arrival home at around 4 with a signifigant amount of caffeine in me caused me to end my silence at BIO. My enthralling topic? Bush asks Congress for a power that was deemed unconstitutional in 1998, before the Supreme Court became his bitch. When reached for comment, the American voting public had this to say: "What the fuck? How did Crash beat Brokeback Mountain?!"
Anyways.
A Scottish palaeontologist is now claiming that the Loch Ness monster was actually a circus elephant. Rumors that the Loch Ness Board of Tourism have put a price on his head were dismissed as unfounded.
Secretary of Treasury John Snow has asked Congress to raise the debt cap to 8.3 trillion dollars. Damn do I wish that shit could work for me. On the other side of financial responsibility... Did you hear that? That was the sound of the executive branch sucking.
The rest is silence. For now at least.
UPDATE 6:33 AM: An unexpected trip to a 24-hour coffee place with a friend at around 3 and my subsequent arrival home at around 4 with a signifigant amount of caffeine in me caused me to end my silence at BIO. My enthralling topic? Bush asks Congress for a power that was deemed unconstitutional in 1998, before the Supreme Court became his bitch. When reached for comment, the American voting public had this to say: "What the fuck? How did Crash beat Brokeback Mountain?!"
Friday, March 03, 2006
Posted later than I intended...
Those last two posts are hanging heavy on me. Of course, the topic is hanging rather heavier in South Dakota and thus in this country, and it can't be forgotten. With that in mind, Shayna has weighed in on it, and done so admirably.
I haven't been able to bring myself to post at BIO lately. I believe it is necessary, and I am glad of its presence, but I have a problem with the way things tend to go in political debate. There is an utter lack of willingness to concede a point. I have on several occasions refuted arguements with solid facts, well cited and linked. Almost invariably the party thus disproven merely persisted in silence for the rest of the thread and at times even reiterated their previous positions in later posts. For a while I've been "just about" to post in my BIO diary about that, but stopped because it sounded preachy, and I had yet to actually practice it. I still don't think I'm going to.
The reason I retracted to the point of sounding like I was beating myself up is because I believe that the ability to gracefully recant is central to informed discourse. And it's reassuring to know that others see as I do. The comment thread for Miz Bohemia's post on abortion rights shows that she conducts herself in a similar way. That "flip-flop" became a buzzword for the 2004 election is telling. I'll admit to having found vast entertainment value in political stubbornness in right-wingers. But no progress is borne of it.
And now for something completely different.
I was cast in the upcoming BHCC production of Medea, in the role of Creon. I thought I'd done well enough to land the male lead, but at least I'm cutting my teeth on something.
There is of course a problem with being a tall actor. It means oftentimes being passed up for romantic leads (though not quite a proper nomenclature for a play wherein man takes another wife, and his first wife kills her own children) regardless of talent or ability. There are, of course, practical issues at hand. However, if theater is supposed to hold a mirror up to nature, what does this imply about us giants?
Of course, I have no reason to believe that in this particular instance I was passed up because of my height. But every time I nail an audition and I get passed up, it gnaws at me. And this isn't an ego issue or a vanity issue either (well, not entirely). I intend to make a living doing this. It's nigh impossible to grow as an actor if I'm confined to stereotypical "big guy" roles.
This is what was so great about performing with the Fourth Wall theater company this summer. Apparently nobody told them that there was a rule against giving the tall guy a lead part and as a result I put in my best performance to date.
Naturally, this is something I just need to find a way around. It's just a pain in the ass is all.
Every day I've had the urge to post about Boston Legal, only to remember that it wasn't technically on today. See, I've been aquiring episodes from the first season that I missed, and they have been, as expected, fantastic. I plan to at some point write a criticism of the series, should anyone be interested. In fact, when discussing it there are two other shows that come to mind: House, and Firefly. As to how the three shows are related... well, you'll just have to keep reading.
I'm almost certain that there was something else I had to say, but constant blinks in my net access have flushed it from my consciousness. Should it return to me I'll fill you in.
I haven't been able to bring myself to post at BIO lately. I believe it is necessary, and I am glad of its presence, but I have a problem with the way things tend to go in political debate. There is an utter lack of willingness to concede a point. I have on several occasions refuted arguements with solid facts, well cited and linked. Almost invariably the party thus disproven merely persisted in silence for the rest of the thread and at times even reiterated their previous positions in later posts. For a while I've been "just about" to post in my BIO diary about that, but stopped because it sounded preachy, and I had yet to actually practice it. I still don't think I'm going to.
The reason I retracted to the point of sounding like I was beating myself up is because I believe that the ability to gracefully recant is central to informed discourse. And it's reassuring to know that others see as I do. The comment thread for Miz Bohemia's post on abortion rights shows that she conducts herself in a similar way. That "flip-flop" became a buzzword for the 2004 election is telling. I'll admit to having found vast entertainment value in political stubbornness in right-wingers. But no progress is borne of it.
And now for something completely different.
I was cast in the upcoming BHCC production of Medea, in the role of Creon. I thought I'd done well enough to land the male lead, but at least I'm cutting my teeth on something.
There is of course a problem with being a tall actor. It means oftentimes being passed up for romantic leads (though not quite a proper nomenclature for a play wherein man takes another wife, and his first wife kills her own children) regardless of talent or ability. There are, of course, practical issues at hand. However, if theater is supposed to hold a mirror up to nature, what does this imply about us giants?
Of course, I have no reason to believe that in this particular instance I was passed up because of my height. But every time I nail an audition and I get passed up, it gnaws at me. And this isn't an ego issue or a vanity issue either (well, not entirely). I intend to make a living doing this. It's nigh impossible to grow as an actor if I'm confined to stereotypical "big guy" roles.
This is what was so great about performing with the Fourth Wall theater company this summer. Apparently nobody told them that there was a rule against giving the tall guy a lead part and as a result I put in my best performance to date.
Naturally, this is something I just need to find a way around. It's just a pain in the ass is all.
Every day I've had the urge to post about Boston Legal, only to remember that it wasn't technically on today. See, I've been aquiring episodes from the first season that I missed, and they have been, as expected, fantastic. I plan to at some point write a criticism of the series, should anyone be interested. In fact, when discussing it there are two other shows that come to mind: House, and Firefly. As to how the three shows are related... well, you'll just have to keep reading.
I'm almost certain that there was something else I had to say, but constant blinks in my net access have flushed it from my consciousness. Should it return to me I'll fill you in.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
A retraction
As a general rule, I try not to be an idiot. I like to think that for the most part, I'm not. However, as are all, I'm sometimes susceptable to moments of idiocy. As a general rule, I try acknowledge them when I become aware of them.
First, I fully support the legal protection of a woman's right to choose. I want there to be no question about that.
I posited below that the laws governing abortion were at their very foundation poorly constructed. I believe that to be true.
I suggested that the definition of life as dictated by Roe V Wade is ill-founded. I still hold to that as well.
Then I made another suggestion, without research, based on an understanding that I now know to be false. I was laboring under the delusion that the heartbeat began much later than it actually does. Fact-checking was a mere click away, and I didn't carry it out.
That was an idiotic thing to do. I apologize for it.
What I intended to do with the post below was to raise some concerns I had with abortions as they are currently practiced. Given the nature of the issue, I should have put more thought behind this.
I'm greatly troubled by the idea of an abortion carried out on a fetus that can feel it happening. I believe there can and should be a way to prevent this from happening whenever feasible without undermining a woman's right to choose. I don't know how. I shouldn't have gone beyond my knowledge base, as by so doing I ran the risk of causing offense, and furthermore thoroughly weakened my arguement and my credibility.
I'm not going to edit the post below, or delete it. I want the record to reflect the truth, and to cover up a stumble like that would be dishonest. I'm going to respond to the comments, then close the thread. any comments you would have left there I would ask you to leave here.
I fucked up.
I'm sorry
First, I fully support the legal protection of a woman's right to choose. I want there to be no question about that.
I posited below that the laws governing abortion were at their very foundation poorly constructed. I believe that to be true.
I suggested that the definition of life as dictated by Roe V Wade is ill-founded. I still hold to that as well.
Then I made another suggestion, without research, based on an understanding that I now know to be false. I was laboring under the delusion that the heartbeat began much later than it actually does. Fact-checking was a mere click away, and I didn't carry it out.
That was an idiotic thing to do. I apologize for it.
What I intended to do with the post below was to raise some concerns I had with abortions as they are currently practiced. Given the nature of the issue, I should have put more thought behind this.
I'm greatly troubled by the idea of an abortion carried out on a fetus that can feel it happening. I believe there can and should be a way to prevent this from happening whenever feasible without undermining a woman's right to choose. I don't know how. I shouldn't have gone beyond my knowledge base, as by so doing I ran the risk of causing offense, and furthermore thoroughly weakened my arguement and my credibility.
I'm not going to edit the post below, or delete it. I want the record to reflect the truth, and to cover up a stumble like that would be dishonest. I'm going to respond to the comments, then close the thread. any comments you would have left there I would ask you to leave here.
I fucked up.
I'm sorry
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Re: South Dakota
I must direct you all to the work of two bloggers. Both speaking out about the travesty in South Dakota, with personal accounts of the issue as it relates to them. In addition to on their respective personal blogs, both can be found in the top two BIO posts.
They are none other than Pia Savage and Miz Bohemia. Read what they wrote. Link to them. If you have story to tell, please share it if you are able. It is time to be heard.
I doubt I have anything to say about the issue that hasn't been said more effectively by the two of them.
However I feel I must put one caveat on my support.
The result of the ruling in Roe V Wade was the right one, but the ruling itself was a mess. Its assertion that life begins at conception is directly responsible for the federal ban on funding for stem cell research. The decision that the right to abortion despite that finding has allowed for abortions to take place when the fetus has reached a stage in development at which it is able to feel pain as it is terminated. I believe that there needs to be a line drawn (of course, taking the health of the mother into account) . My gut says that the obvious place is when the fetus has its own heartbeat, but I can't claim to be knowledgeable enough to say so definitavely.
I believe that the very real danger of the nullification of abortion rights is causing some to react over-zealously to such limits (for the record, I believe that it was right to overturn the ban on partial birth abortions for the given reason). I may, as always, be wrong. But I feel I'd be remiss not to speak up.
They are none other than Pia Savage and Miz Bohemia. Read what they wrote. Link to them. If you have story to tell, please share it if you are able. It is time to be heard.
I doubt I have anything to say about the issue that hasn't been said more effectively by the two of them.
However I feel I must put one caveat on my support.
The result of the ruling in Roe V Wade was the right one, but the ruling itself was a mess. Its assertion that life begins at conception is directly responsible for the federal ban on funding for stem cell research. The decision that the right to abortion despite that finding has allowed for abortions to take place when the fetus has reached a stage in development at which it is able to feel pain as it is terminated. I believe that there needs to be a line drawn (of course, taking the health of the mother into account) . My gut says that the obvious place is when the fetus has its own heartbeat, but I can't claim to be knowledgeable enough to say so definitavely.
I believe that the very real danger of the nullification of abortion rights is causing some to react over-zealously to such limits (for the record, I believe that it was right to overturn the ban on partial birth abortions for the given reason). I may, as always, be wrong. But I feel I'd be remiss not to speak up.
Recent Ramblings
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Only in the United States Senate
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