For Miz B

Few people know the true story of the Energizer bunny. Actually this is a good thing for all concerned, I think. Were it common knowledge I think it the poor creature would be far worse off for it. Luckily, nothing I introduce here has any danger of becoming common knowledge, so I can safely share the tale.

It all started with a mutation. That much is clear given easily identifiable facts about the bunny. A naturally born rabbit is not pink. It is not that big. It doesn't play the drums. It can't get around on only two legs. And it doesn't wear sunglasses. What isn't widely known is just how much of the abnormality can be attributed to mutation. The truth is, the size and the color are all that he was born with, as a result of his mother's being a part of a failed medical experiment towards a possible cure for cancer that fortunately (in the minds of the financial backers) instead resulted in a new form of hair dye, revolutionary in that it could be taken in pill form, a godsend for those desperate to match the carpet to the drapes without all that unpleasant bleaching downstairs. Sadly, the celebrations for this advancement were destined to be short lived after the laboratory was firebombed by the Animal Liberation Front, killing the scientists involved and destroying the datasets as well as most of the animals, save for the mother of the one who would become known as the Energizer Bunny. Curiously enough, among the other destroyed resarch was a cure for Restless Leg Syndrome that didn't carry the risk of causing heart valves to leak, and a potential cure for genital herpes, which was the reason that the rabbits had been chosen for the tests in the first place.

The rest is a far stranger story.

One day, the enormous cottontail encountered a bass drum. He was intrigued by the instrument, and after studying it for several minutes, leaped headfirst into it, bouncing back, hurt, but pleased by the resulting sound, and determined to find a way to produce it that did less damage. It was then that he noticed the mallet laying beside it. Determined, he furiously struggled to grip it, but as is well known, the front legs of a rabbit, nevermind his color or scale, are ill-equipped for the task. But along with his color and size this rabbit was born with a sort of masochism that found meaning in a task simply because it was impossible.

He was at it for days before he was noticed. First by his unmutated bretheren, who didn't know what to make of the spectacle but madness, but they were unsure of whose. Attempts to stop the pink giant were fruitless for reasons that should be all too fucking obvious. Eventually they just let him be, presumably because it was simply easier to pretend that he didn't exist. Not too long afterwards he was seen by a man with a suit and a briefcase. It just so happened that the man was the VP of advertising for Energizer, in grave danger of being fired for a lack of new ideas. He was convinced that he'd saved his job even before he realized that it wasn't the acid that a colleague had slipped in his coffee that was responsible for the sight. He instantly knew what to do.

A simple offer was made to the strange creature. Make a mark on the piece of paper and learn how to play the drum. The fine print, as is often the case, was glossed over. Normally surgery isn't involved in musical instruction, but this was an extraordinary case. The spine had to be reinforced to carry the weight of the drum. The front legs had to be enhanced both to grip the mallet and to swing it. And because the back legs were designed for hopping and not walking, a new means of getting around was required. It was for that reason that wheels and a motor were installed, and that required a power source and a general rewiring of the host body. For convenience, the entire digestive system was removed and the rabbit's body was converted to be run entirely on battery power (which incidentally led to him no longer eating carrots, and thus going blind and needing the sunglasses).

Which is how they got him. Contrary to the commercials, the bunny isn't powered by any battery that one can purchase at a store, or anywhere in fact. It's a special model produced only by the Energizer company specifically for that purpose. Once a year, the bunny needs to return to headquarters to receive a new battery or die. Which removes any need for the company to pay him. Only they can keep him alive; no one has tried to reproduce the battery, because with a market of one pink drum-playing rabbit there's no profit in it, even if a 100% turnover rate is attained. And aside from that, very few people are aware that the creature is real, so those who would be willing to take action don't know that action need be taken. So the Energizer Bunny lives on, traveling the world and beating the drum, for that's all he knows to do now; his dream twisted into a nightmare by a marketing department. He's not been seen for a while, so for all we know he may have finally refused to keep pounding.

Let us all learn well the lesson of the Energizer Bunny. That being... don't let men in business suits rewire you to create a state of dependency? Maybe?

Whatever

This truncated edition courtesy of the Windows on-screen keyboard

because someone spilled Coke on the real one. And mousetyping is a pain in the fucking ass.

grr.

that and some heavy cleaning of late has severely inhibited my output. I might try and find a good audioblogging tool until I get around to replacing or fixing the fucking thing.

I hate this. I hate it a thousand times.




Current Tune: Ain't Superstitious; Howlin' Wolf.

this is my 365th post, which means I've averaged a post once every three days for my run here. I must have had a real streak going at some point...

So it may just be that one of the most adorable things that can be done if you're a lady and have had drink is to try and recite The Walrus and the Carpenter. I can't speak for its effect if you are a dude. I will have to ask the lady involved how my half of the attempt came off.

Oh, and I'm reminded of this because of Cooper's latest use of her technique that I've so often stolen from her of fitting song lyrics into the context of a post. "I am the Walrus" was a result of Lennon tripping on acid after having read Through the Looking Glass. He hadn't realized until later that the Walrus was the villain.

Let me rewind.

I happened to stumble upon a number of old friends using Facebook. One of whom I hadn't seen since the sixth grade. As it happens, she turned twenty-one not too long after I did.

I think you can see where this is going. She invited me to join her and "some other people" at a blues lounge in a bordering town. What I didn't know is that they were all people I'd gone to school with years ago and (save for one who I bumped into a few times) hadn't seen since. The bartender there happens to be a jazz singer, who I guess is friends with the rest of the crew and sang for us after hours.

All in all, a good time, and it may in fact become a thing.

Oddly enough she was picking my brain about blues, because other people have said (and I agree) that that's what her voice is begging to be heard singing. Now I can see someone my age, younger, or maybe a bit older asking me about the blues, but she's twice my age and I can't imagine that. Then again I couldn't believe that a friend of mine hadn't been introduced to The Beatles by his parents. THIS SHIT IS IMPORTANT, PEOPLE!

But all in all, a good time was had. Which leaves me in the back seat with the friend who invited me, trying to recite The Walrus and the Carpenter with the weight of the evening on us. Sorry Lewis.


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Also, FUCK YEAH. The dickwads trying to nix gay marriage in Massachusetts won't be able to do a damn thing for five years, and I really can't see that happening then.

While we're on the topic of dickwads, if there's anyone who really believes that Mitt Romney said he'd protect abortion rights in Massachusetts for any reason other than that he had to to get elected here, and that he's really had some kind of an epiphany about it that's caused him to change his position to one he'll need to stand a chance at winning the nomination, please raise your hand. Anyone? Anyone? You! Give me your name. You're too fucking stupid to be deciding the course of history

Barry Bonds went 0-2 today against the Sox and we came out on top 10-2. I hope one of our guys drills him in the knees before he leaves.

remember Pluto? cue Bob Dylan singing Knockin' on Heaven's Door

That's all I have for now. Later

Fuck you, Game On. I'm taking your exclamation point away

I was walking to the Registry of Motor vehicles the other day. There are a couple of obvious things about that statement, but that's not where I'm going with this.

I stepped out in front of a pickup truck driven by a man dressed in red. He shouted obscenities. If you live in Massachusetts and a driver is shouting obscenities, you come to assume that you are the object of their aggression. He recognized that in me instantly and pulled up alongside.

"Schilling blew a no-hitter with two outs in the ninth!"

I love that you can shout that to a bystander and have a good chance that they're going to care. Common culture is a dying concept, and baseball in Boston is one of its last great bastions. Suddenly my destination lost its importance. At this moment I needed to be somewhere; edge my fingers closer to the pulse.

Which is the great thing about sports bars.

Beers are too damned expensive at the ballpark to have the same camaraderie that takes place in a sports bar. You may not be at the park, but the game is on and the fans are rowdy and the person sitting next with you is far more likely to sleep with you. I looked to my right. The man in the truck hadn't followed. Perhaps for the best. But instead I saw my doppelganger. It was as if I was looking into a funhouse mirror, which rather than stretching my body converting my features into those of a blond, hip, gay man from California. It's time like these that you hope that your friends were just busting your balls when they accused you of narcissism. I braced myself for the ninth most awkward moment in recorded history.

Luckily I was saved by a call and didn't have to deal with him.

It was an old friend, who soon joined me along with his former roommate -- a film major who bears a striking resemblance to about seven other film majors I've met -- and his former roommate's current roommate. The night took a turn, shifted gears, and then decided to screw with me and leave me in the dust. Somehow I found myself walking by that same establishment on the way to the AMC Fenway. On the screen, David Ortiz hit one of his shots that comes off the bat looking like a pop fly but nonetheless damn near leaves the park. Two hours and change of Kevin Costner, William Hurt, Dane Cook, and Demi Moore later it was the only place on the block still open.

For some reason there's been a trend where sports bars are concerned to give them the same aesthetic as the newsroom of a 24-hour sports network. Fox Sports, which is to sports what Fox News is to news, took it a step further and added their logo as well to an airport bar chain. Just what SportsCenter has to do with drinking the booze is beyond me. Behind the bar were a man with a nice haircut, a woman with a nice rack, and a man who, I don't know. I guess he was a nice guy.

This is the extent to which I will complement them. They treated the tap like it was the soda fountain at McDonald's. My Irish blood boiled at their desecration of Guinness. Behind them were various bottles shelved on a backlit wall. The obligatory seven flavors of Absolut to qualify it as a "classy" joint, sitting and waiting to not be worth the money. Various rums, whiskeys, tequilas... was that a half empty Corona?

The tall glasses of summer ale arrived at the pace that one would have expected if the full gametime crowd was in. Luckily ruining Sam Adams is a task that's beyond their considerable skill.

There are some people who play a game where if someone catches them holding their drink in their dominant hand, they have to finish it on the spot. I have a game where if I see my double coming through the front door of the bar again, I drain my beer and head off to the restroom. Irritatingly, none of the people who laughed at me for even planning for such a scenario were there to see it put into action. It wasn't until after I closed the door that I realized that I'd run the risk of sending mixed signals, but either he hadn't noticed me or hadn't felt the need to follow.

When I emerged, my compatriots were finished. We took the time to notice that Beckett had extended his perfect record to 9-0, and toss a few high-fives around the bar that the others seemed to think came a bit late, before we left for greener pastures. Which is to say, we left and went to a place that wasn't there.

yeah yeah yeah I know. (he says in case anyone's listening). I've been neglecting

But actually a part of it has to do with a potential project. Nothing to declare right now as it's very much in the idea phase and also in that it's a collaboration and may require some convincing to get going.

The FCC gets taken down a peg. Oh fuck yes. A small victory, but anytime the bullshit is cleaned away we're better for it.

Journalists vying to convince another billionaire to save the Wall Street Journal from Rupert Murdoch. Funny. I can't seem to find any coverage of this from Fox News

Kevorkian's getting released. I'm not convinced on the issue (so far as physician assisted suicides go) one way or another, but if the motivation for protecting the right to die is compassion, is it really a good idea to have a guy who looks like the Grim Reaper as spokesman?

Libby gets 2 1/2 years. Bush spokespeople are dodging questions as to whether or not he'll be pardoned. I somehow doubt that Libby will be in jail after Bush's presidency lapses. If he's not pardoned now, I'm guessing he'll be pardoned then. I think it's an important executive power but I'm wondering if there'd be any balanced way to limit it.

Oh also the ending of Season 6 of The Sheild was far more satisfying than that of 24.

Not that I presume anyone here follows either.

Speaking of things that no one else follows, this amused me

Yeah, I'm sort of running dry on things to write about. The words I have scrawled down of late aren't ready yet. Hopefully this will change.

Later

Inspiring my hatred is no mean feat. I met an accomplished motherfucker last night.

Random sight of the day: Court notice held up to a fridge by a magnet that says, "I do whatever the voices tell me."

last night was a FUCKING bad night. The morning was no better.

I propose a general public document that states that if you are driving a car and tell someone to get in and that they'll make sure they get you back to public transit before the lines shut down at 11:30 and then utterly ignore their constant reminders that they NEED TO GET BACK, you're honor-bound to drive them to where they need to be no matter where it is no matter long it takes because YOU FUCKED UP AND THAT MEANS YOU DON'T GET TO BITCH AND MOAN ABOUT HAVING TO SET IT RIGHT. I'll grant that given the number of times this has happened to me I'm an idiot for putting myself in situations where this can happen, but there's no fucking way it would happen on my watch and in my hypothetical car. If I ran a gas station I would give a discount to anyone who signed it.

And that was not the worst of it. I'm not going to talk about the worst of it.

So yeah. I met at least two people last night who I never friggin want to meet again. And also I completely forgot all of the other things I was planning on talking about. Naturally this is the time to get an email from BlogCritics telling me that my first article is due at 5:30 tomorrow. Make no mistake, the motherfucker shall be cranked out. But I hate deadlines.

Anyways I'm tired as hell and there will be more to see later