U.N.believable
Hyperlink. I know that Executive Order 12333 prohibits any agent of the U.S. Government from conducting assassinations or participating in assassination conspiracies, but the first Bush Administration reinterpretted the rule to give the green light to assassinating terrorists and their benefactors. Is there any way we can view Mark Malloch Brown as a terrorist benefactor? Here's how it works: Khartoum used to provide aid and shelter to al Qaeda. Now that same government supports to janjaweed death squads in Darfur. The death squads, with active involvement from the Sudanese air force, are perpetrating genocide against the non-Muslim Sudanese of Darfur. Therefore the Sudanese government is actively engaged in a terrorist action. There is a UN Resolution that would allow the formation of a UN peacekeeping force for Darfur (even though the peacekeepers' mandate wouldn't have the teeth to stop the bloodshed). The only things stopping the peacekeeping force from entering Sudan is the intransigence of Khartoum. Mr. Malloch Brown, Kofi Annan's chief henchman, has said that Khartoum is right to block the UN force since it is afraid of being "the victims of the next crusade after Iraq and Afghanistan." Ergo, Malloch Brown is actively shielding the Sudanese government which is actively conducting a terrorist enterprise; A=B, B=C, A=C, Mark Malloch Brown supports the terrorist campaign in Darfur. So, can we assassinate him now?
The British Empire
September 29 was a good day for the building of the British Empire: on this day in 1725, Clive of India was born; he would do more than any other single individual to found and expand the British Raj, often in explicit contradiction of the orders of his superiors. On this day in 1758, Lord Horatio Nelson was born; Britain is an island nation and in all her history Nelson is Britannia's greatest naval hero. Upstaging Sir Francis Drake is no small feat.
Dieu et mon droit.
Est. 2002 | "This was a Golden Age, a time of high adventure, rich living, and hard dying… but nobody thought so." —Alfred Bester
Friday, September 29, 2006
Hat Day!
The Mountain is in Austin with the Fwopera road show. Hat Day's just not the same when you're flying solo. Still, I wore my awesome/awful AC Spark Plug baseball cap modified with, you guessed it, Viking horns. What, you don't have a ballcap outfitted with Viking horns? Then, my friend, you haven't lived.
Back in the days before Real Can of Yams was "seven hundred and one ounces of terrible," Murky Transport Disaster was "the best band for all the wrong reasons." MTD had a Viking song called "The Viking Song." For the live performance of "The Viking Song" we decided that each member of Murky Transport Disaster had to sport a Viking hat. And because the BTWay is to go that extra mile in the name of showmanship, each member of MTD didn't need to wear a mere Viking hat, we each had to wear a distinct Viking hat (and please forgive me if I screw up who was wearing which hat):
The Mountain of Love - a Viking helmet with faux fur around the base of the horns
K. Steeze - a Viking helmet with really big horns
Mr. Coliadis - a Viking helmet, almost identical to the Mountain's, but without the fur
The Professor - a Viking helmet with only one horn, worn unicorn-style
Ms. Ele - a Minnesota Vikings baseball cap
The Last Angry Man - an AC Spark Plugs baseball cap with Viking horns
BTW South Song of the Day
Work and poverty and missing The Buckeye have been taking their toll on the Mountain, putting him in an ill humor for much of the last week. We'll get the Song of the Day back on track as soon as we can, because nobody enjoys it more than us. Nobody, you hear me? Nobody!
Meanwhile, I just bought five songs "about" Mars from iTunes and they're all winners! Prior to inputting "Mars" into the Power Search (inspired by plotting my hypothetical Martian Manhunter series, which is now getting the full The Magic of Shazam! treatment), I'd never even heard of any of these songs, much less heard them, and they're all even better than the thirty second snipets that convinced me to buy them in the first place. Woot!
Aqua, "Back from Mars"
Hannah Russell, "Mars"
The Misfits, "Mars Attacks"
Monsters From Mars!, "Avanti"
The Skatalites, "Trip to Mars"
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Recently, via the Netflix subscription service, I saw a brilliant film, Scotland, Pa., a hilarious interpretation of The Tragedy of Macbeth. The writing credits: "Written and directed by Billy Morrissette. Story by William Shakespeare." In mentally composing this post I resolved that henceforth I shall call motion pictures that retain the Shakespearean dialogue "versions" of a given play, while films adapted into the vernacular will be called "interpretations."
Versions
Macbeth (1979, Ian McKellan as Macbeth!) from The Tragedy of Macbeth (1606)
Titus (1999) from The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus (1594)
Romeo + Juliet (1996) from The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (1594)
Interpretations
The Adventures of Bob & Doug McKenzie: Strange Brew (1983) from The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600)
10 Things I Hate About You (1999) from The Taming of the Shrew (1593)
Scotland, Pa. (2001) from The Tragedy of Macbeth (1606)
Getting back to Scotland, Pa., the film is both uproariously funny and pleasingly faithful to Macbeth. If you need more enticement: Maura Tierney as Pat McBeth (Lady Macbeth) and Christopher Walken as Lieutenant McDuff (Macduff). And it's set in the 1970s. See the movie, you'll thank me later.
The Mountain is in Austin with the Fwopera road show. Hat Day's just not the same when you're flying solo. Still, I wore my awesome/awful AC Spark Plug baseball cap modified with, you guessed it, Viking horns. What, you don't have a ballcap outfitted with Viking horns? Then, my friend, you haven't lived.
Back in the days before Real Can of Yams was "seven hundred and one ounces of terrible," Murky Transport Disaster was "the best band for all the wrong reasons." MTD had a Viking song called "The Viking Song." For the live performance of "The Viking Song" we decided that each member of Murky Transport Disaster had to sport a Viking hat. And because the BTWay is to go that extra mile in the name of showmanship, each member of MTD didn't need to wear a mere Viking hat, we each had to wear a distinct Viking hat (and please forgive me if I screw up who was wearing which hat):
The Mountain of Love - a Viking helmet with faux fur around the base of the horns
K. Steeze - a Viking helmet with really big horns
Mr. Coliadis - a Viking helmet, almost identical to the Mountain's, but without the fur
The Professor - a Viking helmet with only one horn, worn unicorn-style
Ms. Ele - a Minnesota Vikings baseball cap
The Last Angry Man - an AC Spark Plugs baseball cap with Viking horns
BTW South Song of the Day
Work and poverty and missing The Buckeye have been taking their toll on the Mountain, putting him in an ill humor for much of the last week. We'll get the Song of the Day back on track as soon as we can, because nobody enjoys it more than us. Nobody, you hear me? Nobody!
Meanwhile, I just bought five songs "about" Mars from iTunes and they're all winners! Prior to inputting "Mars" into the Power Search (inspired by plotting my hypothetical Martian Manhunter series, which is now getting the full The Magic of Shazam! treatment), I'd never even heard of any of these songs, much less heard them, and they're all even better than the thirty second snipets that convinced me to buy them in the first place. Woot!
Aqua, "Back from Mars"
Hannah Russell, "Mars"
The Misfits, "Mars Attacks"
Monsters From Mars!, "Avanti"
The Skatalites, "Trip to Mars"
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Recently, via the Netflix subscription service, I saw a brilliant film, Scotland, Pa., a hilarious interpretation of The Tragedy of Macbeth. The writing credits: "Written and directed by Billy Morrissette. Story by William Shakespeare." In mentally composing this post I resolved that henceforth I shall call motion pictures that retain the Shakespearean dialogue "versions" of a given play, while films adapted into the vernacular will be called "interpretations."
Versions
Macbeth (1979, Ian McKellan as Macbeth!) from The Tragedy of Macbeth (1606)
Titus (1999) from The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus (1594)
Romeo + Juliet (1996) from The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (1594)
Interpretations
The Adventures of Bob & Doug McKenzie: Strange Brew (1983) from The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600)
10 Things I Hate About You (1999) from The Taming of the Shrew (1593)
Scotland, Pa. (2001) from The Tragedy of Macbeth (1606)
Getting back to Scotland, Pa., the film is both uproariously funny and pleasingly faithful to Macbeth. If you need more enticement: Maura Tierney as Pat McBeth (Lady Macbeth) and Christopher Walken as Lieutenant McDuff (Macduff). And it's set in the 1970s. See the movie, you'll thank me later.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The New Gods
Ideas for tales of Jack Kirby's Fourth World, the realm of idyllic New Genesis and hellish Apokolips.
"The Inheritance"
Orion and Mr. Miracle are given a gift by Highfather Takion, the opportunity to commune directly with the Source and speak to their deceased father, Izaya the Inheritor, the first Highfather of New Genesis. Orion will confront the young Izaya of the Techno-Cosmic War between New Genesis and Apokolips, before he found the peace of the Source and became Highfather. Adoptive father and son in fierce combat intended to help Orion make peace with the fury and bloodlust in his conflicted heart.
Scott Free (Mr. Miracle), Highfather's biological son, grew up on Apokolips as part of the Pact that ended the active phase of the endless war. The heroic part of his soul recognizes that his own suffering helped end a devastating war, but there is another part of his that rages against the father who traded his own son into terrible slavery for the greater good. Time for a little father and son screaming, cursing, raging, and maybe understanding. I mean the "maybe" part, since I believe most of Scott's anger toward Highfather has little to do with being exchanged for Orion as part of the Pact, is has to do with the one terrible day the young Scott Free, on the run from Granny Goodness's ghoulish orphanage, turned the terrible power of the Anti-Life Equation against the hapless denizens of the Armagetto.
Fathers and sons, fathers and sons.
"The Never People"
The young Forever People just want to live lives of carefree exploration: a truly endless summer. Alas, the schemes of Darkseid's evil minions are legion. The Never People, darkling reflections of the Forever People created in Virmin Vundabar's laboratories, have reached through time to capture an ally of our heroes and twist him into a weapon of dreadful power, The Anti-Lifeguard. Only those who know the complete Anti-Life Equation can resist it's power; so, how will the Forever People ever stop the Never People? And that's without even bothering to ask how they will resuce their friend without killing him. Heck, maybe I'll even throw in the Newsboy Legion for good measure. The Forever People getting their butts kicked, the Super-Cycle, the Infinity-Man, Anti-Life, the Newboys' Whiz Wagon! (Or do I go with the latest name, the Zipp Drive?) "The Never People"'s got is all!
The Forever People - Mark Moonrider, Beautiful Dreamer, Big Bear, Serifan, Vyken.
The Never People - Sunripper, Dreadful Nightmare, Big Boar, Oneshot, Sazin.
"The Forever War"
On a remote planet, a patrol of Monitors (the military of New Genesis) are ambushed by Apokoliptian Aero-Troopers. The sole survivor, Solon, is pursued by the Aero-Troopers, especially by their zealous young captain, Zaladin. Solon's Mother Box is mortally damaged and so cannot open a boom tube back to New Genesis; without enough energy to both cloak Solon from Zaladin's sensors and call for help, Mother Box devotes her dying moments to screening her young charge from detection.
Back in Supertown, the flying capital city of New Genesis, Solon's boyfriend Oceon refuses to believe that the girl of his dreams is dead, even after hearing that no signal can be detected from her Mother Box. The Monitor communications monitors (hee hee) in Supertown heard the death screams of the Mother Boxes of the rest of Solon's patrol, but none from Solon's Mother Box. Everyone to whom Oceon turns to for help tells him that he must accept that Solon has gone back to the Source, and that he must move on with his life to honor her memory. Eventually, Oceon convinces the second fastest of all the New Gods, Fastbak, to aid him and the two secretly boom tube to the as-yet-unnamed remote planet.
Meanwhile, the war between Solon and the Aero-Troopers has turned into a grim exercise in hours of patient stalking and seconds of furious, desperate hand-to-hand struggles, New Gods fighting and killing each other in the mud, a long, long way from the topless towers of Supertown and the unspoiled natural glory of New Genesis. Recalled by his superiors to Apokolips, Zaladin goes renegade, vowing to remain and finish off Solon in single combat. War is Hell, even for gods.
"The Inheritance" is about the intersection of love and hatred, mentorship and apprenticeship between fathers and sons. "The Never People" is a straight adventure story. I want "The Forever War" to be the We Were Soldiers Once... And Young or In Pharaoh's Army of the Fourth World.
Ideas for tales of Jack Kirby's Fourth World, the realm of idyllic New Genesis and hellish Apokolips.
"The Inheritance"
Orion and Mr. Miracle are given a gift by Highfather Takion, the opportunity to commune directly with the Source and speak to their deceased father, Izaya the Inheritor, the first Highfather of New Genesis. Orion will confront the young Izaya of the Techno-Cosmic War between New Genesis and Apokolips, before he found the peace of the Source and became Highfather. Adoptive father and son in fierce combat intended to help Orion make peace with the fury and bloodlust in his conflicted heart.
Scott Free (Mr. Miracle), Highfather's biological son, grew up on Apokolips as part of the Pact that ended the active phase of the endless war. The heroic part of his soul recognizes that his own suffering helped end a devastating war, but there is another part of his that rages against the father who traded his own son into terrible slavery for the greater good. Time for a little father and son screaming, cursing, raging, and maybe understanding. I mean the "maybe" part, since I believe most of Scott's anger toward Highfather has little to do with being exchanged for Orion as part of the Pact, is has to do with the one terrible day the young Scott Free, on the run from Granny Goodness's ghoulish orphanage, turned the terrible power of the Anti-Life Equation against the hapless denizens of the Armagetto.
Fathers and sons, fathers and sons.
"The Never People"
The young Forever People just want to live lives of carefree exploration: a truly endless summer. Alas, the schemes of Darkseid's evil minions are legion. The Never People, darkling reflections of the Forever People created in Virmin Vundabar's laboratories, have reached through time to capture an ally of our heroes and twist him into a weapon of dreadful power, The Anti-Lifeguard. Only those who know the complete Anti-Life Equation can resist it's power; so, how will the Forever People ever stop the Never People? And that's without even bothering to ask how they will resuce their friend without killing him. Heck, maybe I'll even throw in the Newsboy Legion for good measure. The Forever People getting their butts kicked, the Super-Cycle, the Infinity-Man, Anti-Life, the Newboys' Whiz Wagon! (Or do I go with the latest name, the Zipp Drive?) "The Never People"'s got is all!
The Forever People - Mark Moonrider, Beautiful Dreamer, Big Bear, Serifan, Vyken.
The Never People - Sunripper, Dreadful Nightmare, Big Boar, Oneshot, Sazin.
"The Forever War"
On a remote planet, a patrol of Monitors (the military of New Genesis) are ambushed by Apokoliptian Aero-Troopers. The sole survivor, Solon, is pursued by the Aero-Troopers, especially by their zealous young captain, Zaladin. Solon's Mother Box is mortally damaged and so cannot open a boom tube back to New Genesis; without enough energy to both cloak Solon from Zaladin's sensors and call for help, Mother Box devotes her dying moments to screening her young charge from detection.
Back in Supertown, the flying capital city of New Genesis, Solon's boyfriend Oceon refuses to believe that the girl of his dreams is dead, even after hearing that no signal can be detected from her Mother Box. The Monitor communications monitors (hee hee) in Supertown heard the death screams of the Mother Boxes of the rest of Solon's patrol, but none from Solon's Mother Box. Everyone to whom Oceon turns to for help tells him that he must accept that Solon has gone back to the Source, and that he must move on with his life to honor her memory. Eventually, Oceon convinces the second fastest of all the New Gods, Fastbak, to aid him and the two secretly boom tube to the as-yet-unnamed remote planet.
Meanwhile, the war between Solon and the Aero-Troopers has turned into a grim exercise in hours of patient stalking and seconds of furious, desperate hand-to-hand struggles, New Gods fighting and killing each other in the mud, a long, long way from the topless towers of Supertown and the unspoiled natural glory of New Genesis. Recalled by his superiors to Apokolips, Zaladin goes renegade, vowing to remain and finish off Solon in single combat. War is Hell, even for gods.
"The Inheritance" is about the intersection of love and hatred, mentorship and apprenticeship between fathers and sons. "The Never People" is a straight adventure story. I want "The Forever War" to be the We Were Soldiers Once... And Young or In Pharaoh's Army of the Fourth World.
Monday, September 25, 2006
"The weed of crime bears bitter fruit."
Hat Day!
I think Hat Day is going to catch on in a big way. Be the first one on your block to join in on the fun! All you have to do is wear a hat while eating dinner on Thursday. Yes, it's just that easy! Act now, operators are standing by!
The Victors
In the first half, the Wolverines looked like the team I'd dreaded all through the summer. They were much improved in the second half; I believe this latter display to have been an accurate exemplar of their true abilities. Well done, gentlemen. Also, I have a visceral dislike of the Wisconsin Badgers in general and Barry Alvarez (who is still the AD) in particular; I find the lot of them distasteful. So, hooray for the triumph of the forces of good! Go Blue!
Honolulu Blue Forever
21-62, Mr. Millen, 0-3 on the year. A man with any honor would have admitted his failure and resigned his office years ago.
BTW South Song of the Day
Crash Test Dummies, "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" via iTunes (Mt. Love)
Sunday, September 24
Elvis Presley, "Viva Las Vegas" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)
Saturday, September 23
Gnarls Barclay, "Crazy" via iTunes (Mt. Love)
Should the Song of the Day be offered sans commentary or should I pipe up when I find a song objectionable and/or laughable? Something I must ponder.
Hat Day!
I think Hat Day is going to catch on in a big way. Be the first one on your block to join in on the fun! All you have to do is wear a hat while eating dinner on Thursday. Yes, it's just that easy! Act now, operators are standing by!
The Victors
In the first half, the Wolverines looked like the team I'd dreaded all through the summer. They were much improved in the second half; I believe this latter display to have been an accurate exemplar of their true abilities. Well done, gentlemen. Also, I have a visceral dislike of the Wisconsin Badgers in general and Barry Alvarez (who is still the AD) in particular; I find the lot of them distasteful. So, hooray for the triumph of the forces of good! Go Blue!
Honolulu Blue Forever
21-62, Mr. Millen, 0-3 on the year. A man with any honor would have admitted his failure and resigned his office years ago.
BTW South Song of the Day
Crash Test Dummies, "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" via iTunes (Mt. Love)
Sunday, September 24
Elvis Presley, "Viva Las Vegas" via iTunes (T.L.A.M.)
Saturday, September 23
Gnarls Barclay, "Crazy" via iTunes (Mt. Love)
Should the Song of the Day be offered sans commentary or should I pipe up when I find a song objectionable and/or laughable? Something I must ponder.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
The Lesser of Two Evils
Did you see the way the University of Notre Dame's players and coaches ATTACKED Michigan State's Matt Trannon on the Notre Dame sideline? Holy moley! First, a Fighting Irish player delivered a late hit on a Spartan. Then, Trannon waded in to assist his quarterback; out of the blue, an ND player grabbed Trannon's facemask while an ND coach (or at least someone not in a player's uniform) yanked Trannon from behind. At this point, Trannon lost his head and acted like a blasted fool, nullifying the late hit penalty for which the Irish had been rightly flagged. Did Trannon commit a penalty? Yes, quitely blatantly, and the officials made the right decision in throwing that flag. Why didn't they flag Notre Dame for attacking him in the first place?
Go back and examine every vile, hateful thing I have ever said about Notre Dame's coaches, players, and alumni and you will find I have never accused themn of displaying thuggish behavior. Butt that's what they are: thugs. Only a pack of thugs would simultaneously attack a lone Spartan from the front and the back. Bog knows I hate the Spartans. They are both thugs and braggarts. But they didn't attack a lone Irish player on their sideline the way the Irish attacked Matt Trannon. Charlie Weiss may not be a thug, but his players and assistant coaches are. If Star Trek has taught me anything, it is that a captain is responsible for the conduct of those under his command.
ND should change their nickname from the Fighting Irish to the Thuggish Irish... though if you listen to the 19th century Nativists, called the Irish thuggish is redundant. I am a quarter Irish by blood; so, thanks Notre Dame, for confirming the worst things people say about my heritage. You know I could never, ever bring myself to mean the words "Go Spartans!" However, for the second half of the Michigan State-Notre Dame game I will go out on a limb and cheer, "Don't lose, Spartans... you losers!"
Did you see the way the University of Notre Dame's players and coaches ATTACKED Michigan State's Matt Trannon on the Notre Dame sideline? Holy moley! First, a Fighting Irish player delivered a late hit on a Spartan. Then, Trannon waded in to assist his quarterback; out of the blue, an ND player grabbed Trannon's facemask while an ND coach (or at least someone not in a player's uniform) yanked Trannon from behind. At this point, Trannon lost his head and acted like a blasted fool, nullifying the late hit penalty for which the Irish had been rightly flagged. Did Trannon commit a penalty? Yes, quitely blatantly, and the officials made the right decision in throwing that flag. Why didn't they flag Notre Dame for attacking him in the first place?
Go back and examine every vile, hateful thing I have ever said about Notre Dame's coaches, players, and alumni and you will find I have never accused themn of displaying thuggish behavior. Butt that's what they are: thugs. Only a pack of thugs would simultaneously attack a lone Spartan from the front and the back. Bog knows I hate the Spartans. They are both thugs and braggarts. But they didn't attack a lone Irish player on their sideline the way the Irish attacked Matt Trannon. Charlie Weiss may not be a thug, but his players and assistant coaches are. If Star Trek has taught me anything, it is that a captain is responsible for the conduct of those under his command.
ND should change their nickname from the Fighting Irish to the Thuggish Irish... though if you listen to the 19th century Nativists, called the Irish thuggish is redundant. I am a quarter Irish by blood; so, thanks Notre Dame, for confirming the worst things people say about my heritage. You know I could never, ever bring myself to mean the words "Go Spartans!" However, for the second half of the Michigan State-Notre Dame game I will go out on a limb and cheer, "Don't lose, Spartans... you losers!"
Friday, September 22, 2006
The Magic of Shazam!
It may very well be decades before I have the chance to write The Magic of Shazam! for DC, but the way I see it it is never too early to start planning the demise of Judd Winick's rape (though DC calls it a "reimagining") of the Marvel Family mythos. I really want The Magic of Shazam! to start with the story "Giant Atomic Robots;" so, I'll have to restore the Wizard Shazam to the Rock of Eternity, Billy Batson as Captain Marvel, and Freddy Freeman as Captain Marvel Junior (to be quickly rechristened Kid Marvel) before MoS! No. 1.
The idea is that Billy, Mary, Freddy, and Mr. Tawny will go on a quest modelled after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. One problem: I've never read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, nor any of L. Frank Baum's other Oz books, I've only seen the famous film The Wizard of Oz (and a few terrifying minutes of The Wiz). The solution is both simply and obvious and I am confident I will find the time to read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz sooner rather than later.
Mary will act as a proxy for Dorothy Gale, the smartest and most level-headed member fo the expedition. Billy will be the proxy for the Scarecrow; by no means is he brainless, but let's face it, there's no doubt that Mary has the lion's share of the brains amongst the Batson children. Billy was chosen to be Captain Marvel because of the purity of his heart, not his GPA; the Scarecrow has a good heart. Plus, Freddy will call the role of the Tin Woodman and then tease Billy about being without a brain. Again, it is an imprecise fit as Freddy is the exact opposite of heartless, but compared to the bleeding hearts of Billy and Mary he is relatively (and again I stress that relatively is the operative word) callous. And Mr. Tawny will stand-in for the Cowardly Lion since, well, he's an anthropomorphic tiger which is darned close to being an anthropomorphic lion.
So, Billy = the Scarecrow, Mary = Dorothy, Freddy = the Tin Woodman, and Mr. Tawny = the Cowardly Lion. The Wizard Shazam will stand-in not so much for the Wizard of Oz, but for Kansas. Who's going to be Oz? I don't know. The Phantom Stranger, maybe? Who's going to be the Wicked Witch of the West? Don't know. Hmmm, maybe an update of a classic Marvel Family foe like Oggar the Immortal* or the Aztec priestess Nyola, or maybe a sorceror/sorceress borrowed from another province of the DCU. Anyway, this story will have it all, munchkins, Emerald City, the Good Witch of the North, the yellow-brick road (called, interestingly enough, "the road of yellow bricks" in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, not "the yellow-brick road"), and, most importantly, flying monkeys.
The title of this magnificent miniseries? I don't know if I want to use Oz in the title, like Shazam!: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz or Shazam!: The Marvelous Land of Oz (slick way to work in "marvel" if I do say so myself); if I want to simply reference the Oz books, like Shazam!: The Yellow-Brick Road, Shazam!: The Emerald City, or Shazam!: Off to See the Wizard; or if I want to follow the "_____ of" theme of The Power of Shazam!, The Trials of Shazam! (*wretch*), and my own beloved The Magic of Shazam! with something like The Throne of Shazam! or The Search for Shazam!
Huh, I quite like The Throne of Shazam!, actually. (And it's apropos since my intention is to restore the Wizard, or at least his ghost, to his rightful throne in the Rock of Eternity.) But the Oz titles are mighty tempting, especially since all the Baum novels are public domain. Shazam! in the Marvelous Land of Oz? And once The Magic of Shazam! is up and running, we could always return to the Oz theme, perhaps with Timmy Tinkle (a.k.a. Robot Marvel) as the proxy for Tik-Tok and Billy's best gal Veronica standing in for, I don't know, Princess Ozma or somebody.
Ooo, perhaps this Oz thing would be a way to work in the Land of Faerie I intend to use in "Faerie Tale," "The Faerie Queene," and other, later stories in The Magic of Shazam! The Faerie Queene as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North? The Erlkonig as the Nome King? Sergeant Perriwinkle as... hmmm. I definitely need to read the Oz books sooner rather than later.
*World's Bestest
Captain Marvel - The World's Mightiest Mortal
Mary Marvel - The World's Mightiest Girl
Captain Marvel Jr. - The World's Mightiest Boy
Dr. Sivana - The World's Wickedest Scientist
Georgia Sivana - The World's Wickedest Girl
Sivana Jr. - The World's Wickedest Boy
Mr. Mind - The World's Wickedest Worm
Oggar - The World's Wickedest Immortal
Back in the Golden Age, the Marvel Family were of course the World's Mightiest Family and the Sivana's were the World's Wickedest Family. Dr. Sivana's two good children, Magnificus and Beautia are part of the modern-day DC Universe and I intend to use them in The Magic of Shazam! Thaddeus Bodog Sivana, Jr. and Georgia Sivana (Get it? Savannah, Georgia? Yeah, that's just terrible; thank Bog is isn't mine.) were created after Magnificus and Beautia and unlike their older siblings are nearly phisically identical to their father, Dr. Sivana. I've been tinkering with the idea of reintroducing Georgia and Junior as clones of Dr. Sivana, not so much as replacements for his beloved but estranged natural children, but as instruments to use against the Marvels, extensions of his own twisted genius.
It may very well be decades before I have the chance to write The Magic of Shazam! for DC, but the way I see it it is never too early to start planning the demise of Judd Winick's rape (though DC calls it a "reimagining") of the Marvel Family mythos. I really want The Magic of Shazam! to start with the story "Giant Atomic Robots;" so, I'll have to restore the Wizard Shazam to the Rock of Eternity, Billy Batson as Captain Marvel, and Freddy Freeman as Captain Marvel Junior (to be quickly rechristened Kid Marvel) before MoS! No. 1.
The idea is that Billy, Mary, Freddy, and Mr. Tawny will go on a quest modelled after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. One problem: I've never read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, nor any of L. Frank Baum's other Oz books, I've only seen the famous film The Wizard of Oz (and a few terrifying minutes of The Wiz). The solution is both simply and obvious and I am confident I will find the time to read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz sooner rather than later.
Mary will act as a proxy for Dorothy Gale, the smartest and most level-headed member fo the expedition. Billy will be the proxy for the Scarecrow; by no means is he brainless, but let's face it, there's no doubt that Mary has the lion's share of the brains amongst the Batson children. Billy was chosen to be Captain Marvel because of the purity of his heart, not his GPA; the Scarecrow has a good heart. Plus, Freddy will call the role of the Tin Woodman and then tease Billy about being without a brain. Again, it is an imprecise fit as Freddy is the exact opposite of heartless, but compared to the bleeding hearts of Billy and Mary he is relatively (and again I stress that relatively is the operative word) callous. And Mr. Tawny will stand-in for the Cowardly Lion since, well, he's an anthropomorphic tiger which is darned close to being an anthropomorphic lion.
So, Billy = the Scarecrow, Mary = Dorothy, Freddy = the Tin Woodman, and Mr. Tawny = the Cowardly Lion. The Wizard Shazam will stand-in not so much for the Wizard of Oz, but for Kansas. Who's going to be Oz? I don't know. The Phantom Stranger, maybe? Who's going to be the Wicked Witch of the West? Don't know. Hmmm, maybe an update of a classic Marvel Family foe like Oggar the Immortal* or the Aztec priestess Nyola, or maybe a sorceror/sorceress borrowed from another province of the DCU. Anyway, this story will have it all, munchkins, Emerald City, the Good Witch of the North, the yellow-brick road (called, interestingly enough, "the road of yellow bricks" in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, not "the yellow-brick road"), and, most importantly, flying monkeys.
The title of this magnificent miniseries? I don't know if I want to use Oz in the title, like Shazam!: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz or Shazam!: The Marvelous Land of Oz (slick way to work in "marvel" if I do say so myself); if I want to simply reference the Oz books, like Shazam!: The Yellow-Brick Road, Shazam!: The Emerald City, or Shazam!: Off to See the Wizard; or if I want to follow the "_____ of" theme of The Power of Shazam!, The Trials of Shazam! (*wretch*), and my own beloved The Magic of Shazam! with something like The Throne of Shazam! or The Search for Shazam!
Huh, I quite like The Throne of Shazam!, actually. (And it's apropos since my intention is to restore the Wizard, or at least his ghost, to his rightful throne in the Rock of Eternity.) But the Oz titles are mighty tempting, especially since all the Baum novels are public domain. Shazam! in the Marvelous Land of Oz? And once The Magic of Shazam! is up and running, we could always return to the Oz theme, perhaps with Timmy Tinkle (a.k.a. Robot Marvel) as the proxy for Tik-Tok and Billy's best gal Veronica standing in for, I don't know, Princess Ozma or somebody.
Ooo, perhaps this Oz thing would be a way to work in the Land of Faerie I intend to use in "Faerie Tale," "The Faerie Queene," and other, later stories in The Magic of Shazam! The Faerie Queene as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North? The Erlkonig as the Nome King? Sergeant Perriwinkle as... hmmm. I definitely need to read the Oz books sooner rather than later.
*World's Bestest
Captain Marvel - The World's Mightiest Mortal
Mary Marvel - The World's Mightiest Girl
Captain Marvel Jr. - The World's Mightiest Boy
Dr. Sivana - The World's Wickedest Scientist
Georgia Sivana - The World's Wickedest Girl
Sivana Jr. - The World's Wickedest Boy
Mr. Mind - The World's Wickedest Worm
Oggar - The World's Wickedest Immortal
Back in the Golden Age, the Marvel Family were of course the World's Mightiest Family and the Sivana's were the World's Wickedest Family. Dr. Sivana's two good children, Magnificus and Beautia are part of the modern-day DC Universe and I intend to use them in The Magic of Shazam! Thaddeus Bodog Sivana, Jr. and Georgia Sivana (Get it? Savannah, Georgia? Yeah, that's just terrible; thank Bog is isn't mine.) were created after Magnificus and Beautia and unlike their older siblings are nearly phisically identical to their father, Dr. Sivana. I've been tinkering with the idea of reintroducing Georgia and Junior as clones of Dr. Sivana, not so much as replacements for his beloved but estranged natural children, but as instruments to use against the Marvels, extensions of his own twisted genius.
iScream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream iTunes
With my brother's able assistance, I have "taken [my] first step into a larger world." I have purchased two songs from iTunes, or rather, two different renditions of one song: "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" by Joe Jackson, performed by Joe Jackson and by Goldfinger. It is a great song; so, to this point my iTunes experience has been overwhelmingly positive*. Huzzah! At the risk of bringing diaster down upon my head, I think I'm going to enjoy this larger world.
*Once again, why oh why are the antimatter counterparts of protons called antiprotons while electrons' antiparticle doppelgangers have the much cooler name positrons?
With my brother's able assistance, I have "taken [my] first step into a larger world." I have purchased two songs from iTunes, or rather, two different renditions of one song: "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" by Joe Jackson, performed by Joe Jackson and by Goldfinger. It is a great song; so, to this point my iTunes experience has been overwhelmingly positive*. Huzzah! At the risk of bringing diaster down upon my head, I think I'm going to enjoy this larger world.
*Once again, why oh why are the antimatter counterparts of protons called antiprotons while electrons' antiparticle doppelgangers have the much cooler name positrons?
Hat Day!
On his way home from work this evening, the Mountain of Love stopped by The Stockyards and bought an authentic cowboy hat. He's wanted to do this since first he decided to accept the year-long appointment from the Fwopera. In honor of this momentous occasion, this evening we ate dinner while wearing hats, he his brand-spankin'-new ten gallon hat and I my Pith helmet. Henceforth, Thursday shall be Hat Day at BTW South, to be celebrated by the wearing of hats during the consumption of the evening meal. Huzzah, I say, for as a man who does not often wear a hat in his workaday life, I have long regarded hats as inherently festive. Hat Day is going to be great. Woot!
One of my favorite aspects of the visual cacophony is its eclecticity... which I'm reasonably sure isn't a real word, but we continue undaunted. Just today, I hung a poster of the Three Stooges as "Dewey, Cheatem & Howe - Attorneys at Law" below a poster of Starlight Over Rhone by Van Gogh. High culture, baby!
Hey, which would be a better nom de guerre/supervillain codename for a radical Marxist terrorist enemy of The Question, Propaganda or Vox Populi?
BTW South Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Hung Up On You" from Welcome Interstate Managers (Mt. Love)
On his way home from work this evening, the Mountain of Love stopped by The Stockyards and bought an authentic cowboy hat. He's wanted to do this since first he decided to accept the year-long appointment from the Fwopera. In honor of this momentous occasion, this evening we ate dinner while wearing hats, he his brand-spankin'-new ten gallon hat and I my Pith helmet. Henceforth, Thursday shall be Hat Day at BTW South, to be celebrated by the wearing of hats during the consumption of the evening meal. Huzzah, I say, for as a man who does not often wear a hat in his workaday life, I have long regarded hats as inherently festive. Hat Day is going to be great. Woot!
One of my favorite aspects of the visual cacophony is its eclecticity... which I'm reasonably sure isn't a real word, but we continue undaunted. Just today, I hung a poster of the Three Stooges as "Dewey, Cheatem & Howe - Attorneys at Law" below a poster of Starlight Over Rhone by Van Gogh. High culture, baby!
Hey, which would be a better nom de guerre/supervillain codename for a radical Marxist terrorist enemy of The Question, Propaganda or Vox Populi?
BTW South Song of the Day
Fountains of Wayne, "Hung Up On You" from Welcome Interstate Managers (Mt. Love)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
BTW South Song of the Day
Jerry Bock & Sheldon Harnick, "To Life" from Fiddler on the Roof - London Cast (T.L.A.M.)
And now the Mountain and I are going to watch the last four episodes of the second season of the American The Office in preparation for tomorrow's season three premiere. Thinking about Jim and Pam... I'm probably going to want to kill myself by the end of the night. Tim and Dawn, Jim and Pam, bless you and damn you, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant.
Jerry Bock & Sheldon Harnick, "To Life" from Fiddler on the Roof - London Cast (T.L.A.M.)
And now the Mountain and I are going to watch the last four episodes of the second season of the American The Office in preparation for tomorrow's season three premiere. Thinking about Jim and Pam... I'm probably going to want to kill myself by the end of the night. Tim and Dawn, Jim and Pam, bless you and damn you, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant.
Perchance to Dream
I remember having a really cool dream this morning, but I'm able to recall precious few details. I think it was set during the Second World War, which makes sense since when I couldn't sleep last night I used ye olde internet to read up on Nazi Wunderwaffe and Vergeltungswaffe. And there was a stupefyingly beautiful girl, but that's hardly surprising. Every dream worth having revolves around a stupefyingly beautiful girl. I know this was a seriously cool dream full of excitement and adventure. I don't remember it, but at least I remember how it made me feel. And that's no small thing. What a great way to start off the day.
To borrow (steal) another line from the Bard, "To be or not to be, that is the question." What remotely rational argument could be put forward in support of bloggy blogging? Mexico, a friend, neighbor, and ally of my beloved America, is fighting for her political soul. No one cares. The spectre of the world-conquering madness that periodically possesses the Germans has been raised once again, or at least a shade of the spectre (A shade of a spectre is, like, what? One-tenth of a ghost? One-seventh?), and just as before the two greatest bloodlettings of the 20th Century, no one wants to listen. Street clashes in Hungary, a coup d'etat in Thailand, Iran's quest for the bomb. *snore* But dare to impugn the mystique of invincibility of Notre Dame and even U of M alumni turn traitor and fall all over each other to offer fellatio to Charlie Weiss. The world? Bollocks. Sports? Boring. An assault on Notre Dame's honor? To arms! To arms! The barbarians are at the gates! I have often said that I have the greatest friends in all the world, but when even their tastes and interests take a turn toward vapidity, why continue?
I should contain such thinking to my personal journal.
I remember having a really cool dream this morning, but I'm able to recall precious few details. I think it was set during the Second World War, which makes sense since when I couldn't sleep last night I used ye olde internet to read up on Nazi Wunderwaffe and Vergeltungswaffe. And there was a stupefyingly beautiful girl, but that's hardly surprising. Every dream worth having revolves around a stupefyingly beautiful girl. I know this was a seriously cool dream full of excitement and adventure. I don't remember it, but at least I remember how it made me feel. And that's no small thing. What a great way to start off the day.
To borrow (steal) another line from the Bard, "To be or not to be, that is the question." What remotely rational argument could be put forward in support of bloggy blogging? Mexico, a friend, neighbor, and ally of my beloved America, is fighting for her political soul. No one cares. The spectre of the world-conquering madness that periodically possesses the Germans has been raised once again, or at least a shade of the spectre (A shade of a spectre is, like, what? One-tenth of a ghost? One-seventh?), and just as before the two greatest bloodlettings of the 20th Century, no one wants to listen. Street clashes in Hungary, a coup d'etat in Thailand, Iran's quest for the bomb. *snore* But dare to impugn the mystique of invincibility of Notre Dame and even U of M alumni turn traitor and fall all over each other to offer fellatio to Charlie Weiss. The world? Bollocks. Sports? Boring. An assault on Notre Dame's honor? To arms! To arms! The barbarians are at the gates! I have often said that I have the greatest friends in all the world, but when even their tastes and interests take a turn toward vapidity, why continue?
I should contain such thinking to my personal journal.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Science!
Set your phasers to fun, space cadets, it's an honest to Bog mystery in space!
BTW South Song of the Day
Spring Heeled Jack, U.S.A., "Jolene" from Songs From Suburbia (Mt. Love)
Set your phasers to fun, space cadets, it's an honest to Bog mystery in space!
BTW South Song of the Day
Spring Heeled Jack, U.S.A., "Jolene" from Songs From Suburbia (Mt. Love)
Monday, September 18, 2006
The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Katie, a.k.a. The Watergirl a.k.a. The Girl in Camouflage.
Hungarian Link. What in the Sam Hill is going on in Hungary?
BTW South Song of the Day
The Suicide Machines, "Islands" from Destruction by Definition (T.L.A.M.)
Sunday, September 17
Goldfinger/Mest/Good Charlotte, "The Innocent" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)
Happy birthday to Katie, a.k.a. The Watergirl a.k.a. The Girl in Camouflage.
Hungarian Link. What in the Sam Hill is going on in Hungary?
BTW South Song of the Day
The Suicide Machines, "Islands" from Destruction by Definition (T.L.A.M.)
Sunday, September 17
Goldfinger/Mest/Good Charlotte, "The Innocent" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)
Honolulu Blue Forever
Great day in the morning, do I even need to say anything about Roy "Not the Good Roy Williams" Williams? That Matt Millen still has a job goes a long way to explaining why the Ford Motor Company is in such desperate straits. Henry Ford was a monstrous anti-Semite whom I'm sure is burning in Perdition's flames as I type these lines, but he was a hell of a businessman. His decendents, who seem to be far better human beings, are nepotistic idiots. 21-59 in five seasons, 0-2 so far in the sixth. Millen's record speaks for itself.
As for the rest of the Lions, who in the hell gives up four aerial touchdowns to Rex Grossman? Rex Grossman! Mr. Injury-prone himself! Rex "I Can't Believe We Lost to This Frickin' Idiot" Grossman! Gah! I am so very, very torn. On the one hand, I love the Lions so much and I want them to win. On the other hand, the Lions are doomed so long as Millen captains the ship; so, there is a certain ruthless logic in rooting for the Lions to lose every single game to hasten Millen's firing. (Even W.C. Ford's blind, stupid faith has to have a breaking point, doesn't it? Doesn't it?) On the gripping hand, the Lions have been so bad for so long that the "glory" days of Wayne Fontes and losing in the first round of the playoffs like clockwork seem like another lifetime. The idea that the Lions will ever be anything but terrible seems laughable; so, why even hope that they'll get better? They'll never get better. They'll always be on par with the Houston Texans and the Arizona Cardinals. And as long as there's no hope of getting better, why rant and rage against the damnable nimrods who are the architects of this sorry state of affairs?
On the one hand, cheer in vain for victories. On the other hand, cheer in vain for changes in the front office. On the gripping hand, cheer for the Lions with no thought toward victory or defeat. Oh, the gripping hand is stupendously tempting, but I just can't make the leap from outrage to apathy. That feels too much like letting Millen win. Nevermind that Millen has already won by fleecing the franchise for millions, paid ever-increasing amounts of money while reducing the team to the laughingstock of the NFL. I was here before he came and I am determined to be here when he's finally, finally run out of town, far, far too late to make any difference. I will continue to be of two minds, cheering for "the Lions" in the abstract while perversely enjoying each bumbling misstep of Millen's chosen players and coaches.
I'm sad because the Lions lost to the Bears, but I'm happy that Chicago made Roy Williams eat his asinine words. I hate losing a divisional game, but I'm glad that Millen's lapdogs Marinelli and Martz are being exposed as chumps. I am of two minds and will be for the indefinite future. The Lions will always be my team; so, tomorrow I'll be wearing my Honolulu blue T-shirt as a token of my solidarity, even though I smile whenever I see that 34-7 score. Fuck you, Roy Williams. Fuck you, Matt Millen. Fuck you, William Clay Ford.
Great day in the morning, do I even need to say anything about Roy "Not the Good Roy Williams" Williams? That Matt Millen still has a job goes a long way to explaining why the Ford Motor Company is in such desperate straits. Henry Ford was a monstrous anti-Semite whom I'm sure is burning in Perdition's flames as I type these lines, but he was a hell of a businessman. His decendents, who seem to be far better human beings, are nepotistic idiots. 21-59 in five seasons, 0-2 so far in the sixth. Millen's record speaks for itself.
As for the rest of the Lions, who in the hell gives up four aerial touchdowns to Rex Grossman? Rex Grossman! Mr. Injury-prone himself! Rex "I Can't Believe We Lost to This Frickin' Idiot" Grossman! Gah! I am so very, very torn. On the one hand, I love the Lions so much and I want them to win. On the other hand, the Lions are doomed so long as Millen captains the ship; so, there is a certain ruthless logic in rooting for the Lions to lose every single game to hasten Millen's firing. (Even W.C. Ford's blind, stupid faith has to have a breaking point, doesn't it? Doesn't it?) On the gripping hand, the Lions have been so bad for so long that the "glory" days of Wayne Fontes and losing in the first round of the playoffs like clockwork seem like another lifetime. The idea that the Lions will ever be anything but terrible seems laughable; so, why even hope that they'll get better? They'll never get better. They'll always be on par with the Houston Texans and the Arizona Cardinals. And as long as there's no hope of getting better, why rant and rage against the damnable nimrods who are the architects of this sorry state of affairs?
On the one hand, cheer in vain for victories. On the other hand, cheer in vain for changes in the front office. On the gripping hand, cheer for the Lions with no thought toward victory or defeat. Oh, the gripping hand is stupendously tempting, but I just can't make the leap from outrage to apathy. That feels too much like letting Millen win. Nevermind that Millen has already won by fleecing the franchise for millions, paid ever-increasing amounts of money while reducing the team to the laughingstock of the NFL. I was here before he came and I am determined to be here when he's finally, finally run out of town, far, far too late to make any difference. I will continue to be of two minds, cheering for "the Lions" in the abstract while perversely enjoying each bumbling misstep of Millen's chosen players and coaches.
I'm sad because the Lions lost to the Bears, but I'm happy that Chicago made Roy Williams eat his asinine words. I hate losing a divisional game, but I'm glad that Millen's lapdogs Marinelli and Martz are being exposed as chumps. I am of two minds and will be for the indefinite future. The Lions will always be my team; so, tomorrow I'll be wearing my Honolulu blue T-shirt as a token of my solidarity, even though I smile whenever I see that 34-7 score. Fuck you, Roy Williams. Fuck you, Matt Millen. Fuck you, William Clay Ford.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Mexican Standoff
I hate to say it, but how typical of a leftist party: Uno. Mexico is supposed to be a state governed by the rule of law. According to Mexico's laws, the same laws that Mr. Lopez Obrador would have been obligated to uphold had he been elected presient of the United Mexican States and the same laws under which Mr. Lopez Obrador ran for the presidency, President-elect Calderon won July's election. Mexico's electoral laws may not be perfect, but that is a mater to be settled by the drafting of new laws in the congress, not by disrupting the traditional celebrations of the nation's independence day. By Lucifer's beard, the President of Mexico couldn't even mark his country's valiant struggle for freedom in the national capital. Imagine if President Bush was run out of Washington, D.C., on the Fourth of July. If there is one day that should bring all Mexicans together, it is September 16. Yet at precisely that moment the leftists declared their own will more important the then rule of law. Bog knows the law is an oft-flawed instrument of justice and good governance, but in the final analysis the law is all we have. Any system of raises one man's judgments and whims above the law, no matter how well-intentioned, leads inevitably to tyranny.
Example: the Union during the Civil War. President Lincoln is our national martyr and rightly honored as the greatest of all Americans, but his administration was also our most tyrannical. The military occupation of Maryland and the restrictions placed on free speech throughout the North would have been intolerable had we not been facing the gravest crisis in the Republic's history. Fortunately, when the crisis was past and the Union was secure again, the veil of righteous tyranny lifted and the rule of law reigned supreme again. (Though it must be said that the military occupation of the South, a.k.a. Reconstruction, should have continued for many decades, probably into the early twentieth century. The sufferance of Jim Crow was a complete betrayal of both our national ideal and the sacrifices made during the Civil War.)
It does not matter how good the Mexican left's intentions may be. Mr. Calderon was elected by a majority of the electorate, a razor-thin majority but a majority nonetheless. Mr. Calderon was elected in accordance with the law. The law must reign supreme if the future of the Mexican people is to be as bright as they deserve. I do not know how to resolve this crisis, how to make Mr. Lopez Obrador and his followers recongnize the necessity of the rule of law; so, to our friends south of the border I say "Bueno suerte" and "Vaya con Dios."
Deutschland Uber Alles
I fully support cracking down on far-right neo-Nazis. Lord knows the German people have proven themselves easily seduced by evil; so, the world cannot afford to allow them the same freedom of speech, no matter how ignorant and vile, we enjoy here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Zwei und Drei. But why is it that while Berlin is warily eyeing neo-Nazis and skinheads, German Muslims are allowed to openly call for the annihilation of Israel and violence against Jews all around the world and no one bats an eye? It is the worst kind of "soft" racism to hold white, native-born Europeans to one standard of behavior and immigrant and/or minority populations to another, lower standard. The essense of democracy is that all men are equal before the law. Radical anti-Semitism from a neo-Nazi white lunatic is just as monstrous as radical anti-Semitism from a Hezbollah-adoring Arab lunatic. The Federal Republic of Germany should not crack down on only the former, it must crack down on both.
I hate to say it, but how typical of a leftist party: Uno. Mexico is supposed to be a state governed by the rule of law. According to Mexico's laws, the same laws that Mr. Lopez Obrador would have been obligated to uphold had he been elected presient of the United Mexican States and the same laws under which Mr. Lopez Obrador ran for the presidency, President-elect Calderon won July's election. Mexico's electoral laws may not be perfect, but that is a mater to be settled by the drafting of new laws in the congress, not by disrupting the traditional celebrations of the nation's independence day. By Lucifer's beard, the President of Mexico couldn't even mark his country's valiant struggle for freedom in the national capital. Imagine if President Bush was run out of Washington, D.C., on the Fourth of July. If there is one day that should bring all Mexicans together, it is September 16. Yet at precisely that moment the leftists declared their own will more important the then rule of law. Bog knows the law is an oft-flawed instrument of justice and good governance, but in the final analysis the law is all we have. Any system of raises one man's judgments and whims above the law, no matter how well-intentioned, leads inevitably to tyranny.
Example: the Union during the Civil War. President Lincoln is our national martyr and rightly honored as the greatest of all Americans, but his administration was also our most tyrannical. The military occupation of Maryland and the restrictions placed on free speech throughout the North would have been intolerable had we not been facing the gravest crisis in the Republic's history. Fortunately, when the crisis was past and the Union was secure again, the veil of righteous tyranny lifted and the rule of law reigned supreme again. (Though it must be said that the military occupation of the South, a.k.a. Reconstruction, should have continued for many decades, probably into the early twentieth century. The sufferance of Jim Crow was a complete betrayal of both our national ideal and the sacrifices made during the Civil War.)
It does not matter how good the Mexican left's intentions may be. Mr. Calderon was elected by a majority of the electorate, a razor-thin majority but a majority nonetheless. Mr. Calderon was elected in accordance with the law. The law must reign supreme if the future of the Mexican people is to be as bright as they deserve. I do not know how to resolve this crisis, how to make Mr. Lopez Obrador and his followers recongnize the necessity of the rule of law; so, to our friends south of the border I say "Bueno suerte" and "Vaya con Dios."
Deutschland Uber Alles
I fully support cracking down on far-right neo-Nazis. Lord knows the German people have proven themselves easily seduced by evil; so, the world cannot afford to allow them the same freedom of speech, no matter how ignorant and vile, we enjoy here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Zwei und Drei. But why is it that while Berlin is warily eyeing neo-Nazis and skinheads, German Muslims are allowed to openly call for the annihilation of Israel and violence against Jews all around the world and no one bats an eye? It is the worst kind of "soft" racism to hold white, native-born Europeans to one standard of behavior and immigrant and/or minority populations to another, lower standard. The essense of democracy is that all men are equal before the law. Radical anti-Semitism from a neo-Nazi white lunatic is just as monstrous as radical anti-Semitism from a Hezbollah-adoring Arab lunatic. The Federal Republic of Germany should not crack down on only the former, it must crack down on both.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
BTW South Song of the Day
The University of Michigan Marching Band, "The Victors" from A Saturday Tradition (T.L.A.M.)
The Victors
I love Saturday Night Latham and Boof on their own merits, but it definitely enhanced my U of M experience to live with two members of the magnificent Michigan Marching Band. Woot!
Though I must confess some confusion. Charlie Weiss is far and away the greatest, most brilliant man to have ever coached college football, the television told me so. I've even been lead to believe that Charlie Weiss invented the offensive phase of football. Charlie Weiss is more perfect than Jesus Christ, so the "Catholic" fans of the Fighting Irish have implied. So, how exactly is it that the football team of the godless University of Michigan held St. Charlie Weiss's perfectly schemed, expertly conceived, cunningly devised, and indescribably innovative offfense in check? Charlie Weiss must have wanted Michigan to win! Of course, it is the only explanation that makes any sense. Yes! This must be come clever ploy to teach his team about humility, about the dangers of having false confidence in themselves when they should only have confidence in their one, true god, Charlie Weiss. It's all so clear to me now. Wow, we could all learn a thing or two from Charlie Weiss, the most admirable human being to have ever walked the earth. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!
And for the record, I never claimed to be gracious in victory, especially not when Notre Dame is involved.
"Hail to the victors valiant!
Hail to the conqu'ring heroes!
Hail! Hail! To Michigan
The leaders and best!"
Go Blue!
The University of Michigan Marching Band, "The Victors" from A Saturday Tradition (T.L.A.M.)
The Victors
I love Saturday Night Latham and Boof on their own merits, but it definitely enhanced my U of M experience to live with two members of the magnificent Michigan Marching Band. Woot!
Though I must confess some confusion. Charlie Weiss is far and away the greatest, most brilliant man to have ever coached college football, the television told me so. I've even been lead to believe that Charlie Weiss invented the offensive phase of football. Charlie Weiss is more perfect than Jesus Christ, so the "Catholic" fans of the Fighting Irish have implied. So, how exactly is it that the football team of the godless University of Michigan held St. Charlie Weiss's perfectly schemed, expertly conceived, cunningly devised, and indescribably innovative offfense in check? Charlie Weiss must have wanted Michigan to win! Of course, it is the only explanation that makes any sense. Yes! This must be come clever ploy to teach his team about humility, about the dangers of having false confidence in themselves when they should only have confidence in their one, true god, Charlie Weiss. It's all so clear to me now. Wow, we could all learn a thing or two from Charlie Weiss, the most admirable human being to have ever walked the earth. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!
And for the record, I never claimed to be gracious in victory, especially not when Notre Dame is involved.
"Hail to the victors valiant!
Hail to the conqu'ring heroes!
Hail! Hail! To Michigan
The leaders and best!"
Go Blue!
The Victors
It's halftime. What the hey was up with allowing Notre Dame that easy touchdown at the end of the second quarter? All in all, though, the Mountain and I are gleeful at this stage of the contest. Hooray for Super Mario! Now, we just need to keep up the pressure in the second half and we may yet overcome the "Charlie Weiss mystique." Go Blue!
It's halftime. What the hey was up with allowing Notre Dame that easy touchdown at the end of the second quarter? All in all, though, the Mountain and I are gleeful at this stage of the contest. Hooray for Super Mario! Now, we just need to keep up the pressure in the second half and we may yet overcome the "Charlie Weiss mystique." Go Blue!
Friday, September 15, 2006
The Wealth of Nations
In a comment to one of Tuesday's posts, The Guy made the following very interesting statement: "That makes my capitalist soul sing." Wich raises the question, Do you subscribe to capitalism as an economic philosophy or do you simply reside in a nation-state with a predominantly capitalist economy? Do you believe in the capitalist-socialist hybrid practiced in the United States? Do you prefer the socialist-capitalist hybrid that holds sway in the European Union? Absolutist laissez-faire capitalism? Marxism? Marxism-Leninism? Anarcho-communism? State corporatism? Another system altogether or do you simly believe that barter is better?
Without going into any meaningful detail, as a statist and a pragmatist, I believe in the American capitalist-socialist hybrid, though I do with me emphasized the capitalist side of the model more to the detriment of the socialist. In what do you believe, dear readers? My curiosity in genuine and any and all who assist me in sating it will have my gratitude.
In a comment to one of Tuesday's posts, The Guy made the following very interesting statement: "That makes my capitalist soul sing." Wich raises the question, Do you subscribe to capitalism as an economic philosophy or do you simply reside in a nation-state with a predominantly capitalist economy? Do you believe in the capitalist-socialist hybrid practiced in the United States? Do you prefer the socialist-capitalist hybrid that holds sway in the European Union? Absolutist laissez-faire capitalism? Marxism? Marxism-Leninism? Anarcho-communism? State corporatism? Another system altogether or do you simly believe that barter is better?
Without going into any meaningful detail, as a statist and a pragmatist, I believe in the American capitalist-socialist hybrid, though I do with me emphasized the capitalist side of the model more to the detriment of the socialist. In what do you believe, dear readers? My curiosity in genuine and any and all who assist me in sating it will have my gratitude.
The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Julie, a.k.a. Skeeter.
Reading The Watergirl's blog a few moments ago, suffering in sympathy with what she must have endured during the awful aural assault of "The Case of the Worcester Girls on the Bus," I was struck by a recurring thought: what's wrong with this country is not that we have too much brick violence, but that we don't have enough brick violence directed at the right people. I am convinced that a relatively few, well-placed bricks to the face, perhaps as few as a score for every thousand people, would produce in our society a level of harmony and joy unrivaled in all the ages. Remember, bricks don't hit people in the face, people hit people in the face... with bricks.
Happy birthday to Julie, a.k.a. Skeeter.
Reading The Watergirl's blog a few moments ago, suffering in sympathy with what she must have endured during the awful aural assault of "The Case of the Worcester Girls on the Bus," I was struck by a recurring thought: what's wrong with this country is not that we have too much brick violence, but that we don't have enough brick violence directed at the right people. I am convinced that a relatively few, well-placed bricks to the face, perhaps as few as a score for every thousand people, would produce in our society a level of harmony and joy unrivaled in all the ages. Remember, bricks don't hit people in the face, people hit people in the face... with bricks.
The two best names I've ever heard for intramural sports teams are the Genesee County All-Stars, of which I was a founding member, and the Hurt 'Em Bad All-Stars, a basketball team against which my uncle Jim played while an undergraduate at the University of Cincinnati in the early '80s. Plus, the greatest shoes known to Man are Chuck Taylor All-Stars. There's no guarantee with all-stars, but it's a good place to start.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Train Wreck
For the last two weeks, the Mountain and I have been visiting our apartment complex's claustrophobically small exercise room on a daily basis (though I skipped last Saturday's session). We've been lifting and jogging on the treadmill. Bog, how I despise that treadmill. And yet, each day I mount it anew and willingly subject myself to a warm-up, thirty minutes of jogging, and a cool down. I jog at an incredibly slow speed, but a) I am a bloated fatass and b) I've never "run" before in my life. Before Tuesday, September 5, I'd never taken a constitutional jog in my life. I shall always think of myself as a swimmer, damn it, I don't run. Unfortunately, history has shown that I have a poor track record of dragging myself to a pool and pounding out enough yards to do my overtaxed heart any good; whereas under the stern gaze of the Mountain of Love's intracable discipline (which is a healthy adult adaptation of his unbelievable childhood stubbornness), I have run on nine of the past ten days. And that's even when I have regular acccess to a pool. Here in Fort Wothless, I'd have to find a suitable facility and then purchase some kind of membership. And while BTW South is proximal to UT Arlington, and while I would be surprised if their recreational facilities did not offer some kind of club membership for non-members of the university community, I might end up paying quite a bit of money for a pool I'd rarely visit. Whereas the price of admission to the minute exercise room and it's hated treadmill is built into the rent I'm paying anyway. Crap, not only am I rambling, but I'm rambling about a banal topic and, most unforgiveable of all, I am rambling in excruciatingly dull language. And yet, I'm going to post this rubbish. Man alive, why does anyone bother patronize this egomaniacal debacle of a bloggy blog?
I shall mightly endeavor to be more eloquent and more interesting when next I sit down to compose new material for the pompously christened Secret Base.
Addendum: If there is any point to the above, it's that thanks to the Mountain of Love I am eating better and getting much more exercise. Thanks, David!
For the last two weeks, the Mountain and I have been visiting our apartment complex's claustrophobically small exercise room on a daily basis (though I skipped last Saturday's session). We've been lifting and jogging on the treadmill. Bog, how I despise that treadmill. And yet, each day I mount it anew and willingly subject myself to a warm-up, thirty minutes of jogging, and a cool down. I jog at an incredibly slow speed, but a) I am a bloated fatass and b) I've never "run" before in my life. Before Tuesday, September 5, I'd never taken a constitutional jog in my life. I shall always think of myself as a swimmer, damn it, I don't run. Unfortunately, history has shown that I have a poor track record of dragging myself to a pool and pounding out enough yards to do my overtaxed heart any good; whereas under the stern gaze of the Mountain of Love's intracable discipline (which is a healthy adult adaptation of his unbelievable childhood stubbornness), I have run on nine of the past ten days. And that's even when I have regular acccess to a pool. Here in Fort Wothless, I'd have to find a suitable facility and then purchase some kind of membership. And while BTW South is proximal to UT Arlington, and while I would be surprised if their recreational facilities did not offer some kind of club membership for non-members of the university community, I might end up paying quite a bit of money for a pool I'd rarely visit. Whereas the price of admission to the minute exercise room and it's hated treadmill is built into the rent I'm paying anyway. Crap, not only am I rambling, but I'm rambling about a banal topic and, most unforgiveable of all, I am rambling in excruciatingly dull language. And yet, I'm going to post this rubbish. Man alive, why does anyone bother patronize this egomaniacal debacle of a bloggy blog?
I shall mightly endeavor to be more eloquent and more interesting when next I sit down to compose new material for the pompously christened Secret Base.
Addendum: If there is any point to the above, it's that thanks to the Mountain of Love I am eating better and getting much more exercise. Thanks, David!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
A couple pieces of terminology I've decided upon. First, I have been signing my emails to the fine folks at Comic Relief "Mike in Exile" instead of the usual "Mike" or "M!ke." However, since this "exile" is in the Lone Star State, I think I shall start referring to my time here not as the Exile, but as the Texile. Secondly, though my family has owned the Lumina since 1995, it has only become my property within the last month; everything old is new again and I've been trying to find a fitting name. She's a rather unremarkable vehicle, but she's mine and I'm trying to do right be her. To this point, the most fitting name I've come up with is the Blumina, since, after all, she's a blue Lumina.
BTW South Song of the Day
Biz Markie, "Just a Friend" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)
BTW South Song of the Day
Biz Markie, "Just a Friend" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Science!
A pair of hyperlinks: Spacewalk Cakewalk and When Humans Attack. Regarding the death of the Crocodile Hunter, I found everything about Steve Irwin amusing, from his ridiculous acccent to his unbridled enthusiasm to his too-short shorts to that fact that he was called "the Crocodile Hunter" but worked to protect, not kill, wild animals. I am sory for his family's loss, but at least he died the way he lived, and that's more than can be said about most people. If there is a such a thing as a good death, this was a good death. Rest in peace, Mr. Irwin, and thank you.
The Struggle for Civilization
In the Second World War, the United States, the last, best hope for Mankind, and the United Kingdom, the incubator of liberal democracy, joined forces with the absolute evil of Josef Stalin's Soviet Union to oppose the absolute evil of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. In a similar vein, it is a testament to the dread threat posed by Islamist terrorism that the United States and Syria, otherwise implacable ideological foes, can find common ground enough to cooperate in opposition: it never ends. Thank goodness for the Syrian security forces.
A pair of hyperlinks: Spacewalk Cakewalk and When Humans Attack. Regarding the death of the Crocodile Hunter, I found everything about Steve Irwin amusing, from his ridiculous acccent to his unbridled enthusiasm to his too-short shorts to that fact that he was called "the Crocodile Hunter" but worked to protect, not kill, wild animals. I am sory for his family's loss, but at least he died the way he lived, and that's more than can be said about most people. If there is a such a thing as a good death, this was a good death. Rest in peace, Mr. Irwin, and thank you.
The Struggle for Civilization
In the Second World War, the United States, the last, best hope for Mankind, and the United Kingdom, the incubator of liberal democracy, joined forces with the absolute evil of Josef Stalin's Soviet Union to oppose the absolute evil of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. In a similar vein, it is a testament to the dread threat posed by Islamist terrorism that the United States and Syria, otherwise implacable ideological foes, can find common ground enough to cooperate in opposition: it never ends. Thank goodness for the Syrian security forces.
Monday, September 11, 2006
"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
--Edmund Burke
First and foremost, I am an American. I love America and, Bog help me, I love my fellow Americans. Let us never forget, not for an instant, not even in the heat of the bitterest partisan disagreement, that we are not the enemy. We can, nay, we must disagree, we must argue and yell and struggle to find the best way forward, but we will move forward. We will face the enemy together, as Americans, united. E pluribus unum. We move forward as one. God bless you all, and God bless the United States of America.
"This I Believe" by Frank Miller.
BTW South Song of the Day
Aaron Tippen, "Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly" from Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly (Mt. Love)
--Edmund Burke
First and foremost, I am an American. I love America and, Bog help me, I love my fellow Americans. Let us never forget, not for an instant, not even in the heat of the bitterest partisan disagreement, that we are not the enemy. We can, nay, we must disagree, we must argue and yell and struggle to find the best way forward, but we will move forward. We will face the enemy together, as Americans, united. E pluribus unum. We move forward as one. God bless you all, and God bless the United States of America.
"This I Believe" by Frank Miller.
BTW South Song of the Day
Aaron Tippen, "Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly" from Where the Stars and Stripes and the Eagle Fly (Mt. Love)
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
I have begun to apply the visual cacophony to The Last Angry Lair. The Mountain and I have already given the treatment to the living room and the kitchen, producing a truly exceptional hybrid of our two poster collections, paying homage to Blue Tree Whacking; Star Wars; Star Trek; Indiana Jones; such comic book icons as the Batman, Captain Marvel, and Spider-Man; the University of Michigan; and such musical greats as The Aquabats!, Reel Big Fish, Less Than Jake, The (late, lamented) Hippos, and Mu330; The Simpsons; Bob & Doug McKenzie; et al. It's magnificent to behold.
The process of postering my bedroom is always long and laborious, but worthwhile. This go around, I am dealing with the added frustration of BTW South's walls, which are comvered in a bumpy, uneven kind of drywall. Taping is more difficult than normal; so, on some of the posters we have resorted to using tacks. All in all, I am satisfied with our progress, though as always my elation is tinged with anxiety for when we have to tear it all down again in eleven months.
The X-700 is out of commission and the Mountain's digital comera is dead; but, as soon as we have photographic means at our disposal, I shall attempt to share with you some of BTW South's decorative brilliance.
Doom
Yesterday, while we were exploring the mall in which is located the movie theater at which we saw Little Miss Sunshine, I bought an Invader ZIM T-shirt. As I type this, I have an image of GIR saying "Make me a sammich!" on my chest. Ain't life grand?
I have begun to apply the visual cacophony to The Last Angry Lair. The Mountain and I have already given the treatment to the living room and the kitchen, producing a truly exceptional hybrid of our two poster collections, paying homage to Blue Tree Whacking; Star Wars; Star Trek; Indiana Jones; such comic book icons as the Batman, Captain Marvel, and Spider-Man; the University of Michigan; and such musical greats as The Aquabats!, Reel Big Fish, Less Than Jake, The (late, lamented) Hippos, and Mu330; The Simpsons; Bob & Doug McKenzie; et al. It's magnificent to behold.
The process of postering my bedroom is always long and laborious, but worthwhile. This go around, I am dealing with the added frustration of BTW South's walls, which are comvered in a bumpy, uneven kind of drywall. Taping is more difficult than normal; so, on some of the posters we have resorted to using tacks. All in all, I am satisfied with our progress, though as always my elation is tinged with anxiety for when we have to tear it all down again in eleven months.
The X-700 is out of commission and the Mountain's digital comera is dead; but, as soon as we have photographic means at our disposal, I shall attempt to share with you some of BTW South's decorative brilliance.
Doom
Yesterday, while we were exploring the mall in which is located the movie theater at which we saw Little Miss Sunshine, I bought an Invader ZIM T-shirt. As I type this, I have an image of GIR saying "Make me a sammich!" on my chest. Ain't life grand?
The Girls of September '79
Happy birthday to Lindsay, a.k.a. Mrs. Sacramento (formerly Never Girl).
BTW South Song of the Day
The Bruce Lee Band, "Go Feet Go" from Beautiful World (T.L.A.M.)
Sunday, August 27
King Apparatus, "Michael & Anne" from Marbles (T.L.A.M.)
Saturday, August 26
Better Than Ezra, "Good" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)
Friday, August 25
The Blue Meanies, "Acceleration 5000" from Mailorder is STILL Fun! (T.L.A.M.)
Thursday, August 24 - Move-In Day!
Less Than Jake, "Al's War" from Hello Rockview (Mt. Love)
And that's it, we're all caught up. From now on, you guys are going to have to suffice with just one Song of the Day per day. Stiff upper lip and all that, we'll get through this together.
Happy birthday to Lindsay, a.k.a. Mrs. Sacramento (formerly Never Girl).
BTW South Song of the Day
The Bruce Lee Band, "Go Feet Go" from Beautiful World (T.L.A.M.)
Sunday, August 27
King Apparatus, "Michael & Anne" from Marbles (T.L.A.M.)
Saturday, August 26
Better Than Ezra, "Good" via ye olde internet (Mt. Love)
Friday, August 25
The Blue Meanies, "Acceleration 5000" from Mailorder is STILL Fun! (T.L.A.M.)
Thursday, August 24 - Move-In Day!
Less Than Jake, "Al's War" from Hello Rockview (Mt. Love)
And that's it, we're all caught up. From now on, you guys are going to have to suffice with just one Song of the Day per day. Stiff upper lip and all that, we'll get through this together.
Saturday, September 9, 2006
Live Long and Prosper
Forty years ago tonight, on September 8, 1966, Star Trek debuted on American television. To mark the occasion, the TV Land network aired a four-episode Star Trek "marathon" of "The Man Trap," "The City on the Edge of Forever," "The Trouble with Tribbles," and "Plato's Stepchildren." "The Man Trap" was the episode aired on September 8, 1966; so, it's inclusion was perfectly logical. "The City on the Edge of Forever" is widely considered the single best episode of Star Trek's 1966-1969 run. "The Trouble with Tribbles" is beyond doubt the single most fun episode of the original series. If you were putting together a four-episode tribute marathon, those three episodes are virtually required.
But "Plato's Stepchildren"? This is not one of Star Trek's most shining moments. (Though it is one of two TOS episodes to guest-star the beautiful barbara Babcock; so, on that score it's a winner. The other is "A Taste of Armageddon." Mea 3, I love you!) On the theme of godlike beings abusing their power, superior choices exist in both "The Squire of Gothos" and, keeping to the Hellenic motiff, "Who Mourns for Adonais?"; for better explorations of the theme of mind-control, look no further than "The Day of the Dove" or "The Gamesters of Triskelion." So, why "Plato's Stepchilden"? The Mountain and I reckon the issue was decided by The Kiss, the first interracial kiss on American television, acted by none other than William Shatner (Captain James T. Kirk) and Nichelle Nichols (Lieutenant Uhura). Jim Kirk's man-whoring knows no racial bounds! Hooray for progress!
"The Man Trap"
"The City on the Edge of Forever"
"The Trouble with Tribbles"
"Plato's Stepchildren"
Happy birthday, Star Trek! Thank you for everything, Mr. Roddenberry, and may you rest in peace. Live long and prosper, my friends.
Forty years ago tonight, on September 8, 1966, Star Trek debuted on American television. To mark the occasion, the TV Land network aired a four-episode Star Trek "marathon" of "The Man Trap," "The City on the Edge of Forever," "The Trouble with Tribbles," and "Plato's Stepchildren." "The Man Trap" was the episode aired on September 8, 1966; so, it's inclusion was perfectly logical. "The City on the Edge of Forever" is widely considered the single best episode of Star Trek's 1966-1969 run. "The Trouble with Tribbles" is beyond doubt the single most fun episode of the original series. If you were putting together a four-episode tribute marathon, those three episodes are virtually required.
But "Plato's Stepchildren"? This is not one of Star Trek's most shining moments. (Though it is one of two TOS episodes to guest-star the beautiful barbara Babcock; so, on that score it's a winner. The other is "A Taste of Armageddon." Mea 3, I love you!) On the theme of godlike beings abusing their power, superior choices exist in both "The Squire of Gothos" and, keeping to the Hellenic motiff, "Who Mourns for Adonais?"; for better explorations of the theme of mind-control, look no further than "The Day of the Dove" or "The Gamesters of Triskelion." So, why "Plato's Stepchilden"? The Mountain and I reckon the issue was decided by The Kiss, the first interracial kiss on American television, acted by none other than William Shatner (Captain James T. Kirk) and Nichelle Nichols (Lieutenant Uhura). Jim Kirk's man-whoring knows no racial bounds! Hooray for progress!
"The Man Trap"
"The City on the Edge of Forever"
"The Trouble with Tribbles"
"Plato's Stepchildren"
Happy birthday, Star Trek! Thank you for everything, Mr. Roddenberry, and may you rest in peace. Live long and prosper, my friends.
Friday, September 8, 2006
Welcome to the Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society, now broadcasting (though not really) from The Last Angry Lair at BTW South. I am fully aware that my new HAL is called a Mac Mini, but I still cannot wrap my mind around just how miniature it really is. Holy smokes, it's tiny! This latest incarnation of The Last Angry HAL (No. IV) is ridiculously small. Woot!
BTW South Song of the Day
Mustard Plug, "Mendoza" from Evildoers Beware! (T.L.A.M.)
BTW South Song of the Day
Mustard Plug, "Mendoza" from Evildoers Beware! (T.L.A.M.)
Thursday, September 7, 2006
The Queue
Sarah Vowell, Radio On
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa ***In Progress***
et al. as before
BTW South Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Todd-1 in Space Mountain Land!" via iTunes (Mt. Love)
And now, while the Mountain is at a party with his Fort Worth Opera (or "Fwopera") colleagues, I shall watch the perfect superhero motion picture, Batman Begins. (And coming soon to the Secret Base: the return of "Mexican Standoff.")
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa ***In Progress***
et al. as before
BTW South Song of the Day
The Aquabats!, "Todd-1 in Space Mountain Land!" via iTunes (Mt. Love)
And now, while the Mountain is at a party with his Fort Worth Opera (or "Fwopera") colleagues, I shall watch the perfect superhero motion picture, Batman Begins. (And coming soon to the Secret Base: the return of "Mexican Standoff.")
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
We've started hanging wall decorations. I'm giddy as a school girl just thinking about the glory that is to come. We've got the RCY banner from our last show hanging up over the useless fireplace and my Star Wars Imperial Stormtrooper helmet-and-crossbones pirate flag hanging over the television set and sundry media devices. Most importantly, we have the posters from all six Star Wars movies lined up side by side by side over the living room couch (the Special Edition posters in the cases of Episodes IV, V, and VI). It's... beautiful. Tomorrow, I hope to hang Mr. Turtle in my bedroom. Posters will follow as soon as they are flattened out. To quote Pete Conrad, the commander of Apollo 12, when he became the third man to set foot on the Moon, "Yippee!"
BTW South Song of the Day
Catch 22, "Wreck of the Sloop John B" from Alone in a Crowd (T.L.A.M.)
Sunday, September 3
Ben Folds Five, "Cigarette" from Whatever and Ever Amen (Mt. Love)
Saturday, September 2
They Might Be Giants, "Another First Kiss" from Mink Car (T.L.A.M.)
Friday, September 1
Wally Dogger, "Rock 'n' Roll is Back" from Monster Toast (Mt. Love)
Thursday, August 31
composer unknown since I can't read Japanese, "Tenchi in Tokyo (a.k.a. New Tenchi Muyo) Ending Theme" from imported Japanese Tenchi in Tokyo soundtrack (T.L.A.M.)
Wednesday, August 30
Guster, The New Underground from the forthcoming Guster album, via iTunes (Mt. Love)
Tuesday, August 29
They Might Be Giants, "Doctor Worm (live)" from Almanac (T.L.A.M.)
Monday, August 28
SR-71, "Right Now" from Now You See Inside (Mt. Love)
We're going back and retroactively filing in songs for all the days we've lived here, even thought we didn't start selecting the Song of the Day until yesterday. Hooray for revisionist history?
We've started hanging wall decorations. I'm giddy as a school girl just thinking about the glory that is to come. We've got the RCY banner from our last show hanging up over the useless fireplace and my Star Wars Imperial Stormtrooper helmet-and-crossbones pirate flag hanging over the television set and sundry media devices. Most importantly, we have the posters from all six Star Wars movies lined up side by side by side over the living room couch (the Special Edition posters in the cases of Episodes IV, V, and VI). It's... beautiful. Tomorrow, I hope to hang Mr. Turtle in my bedroom. Posters will follow as soon as they are flattened out. To quote Pete Conrad, the commander of Apollo 12, when he became the third man to set foot on the Moon, "Yippee!"
BTW South Song of the Day
Catch 22, "Wreck of the Sloop John B" from Alone in a Crowd (T.L.A.M.)
Sunday, September 3
Ben Folds Five, "Cigarette" from Whatever and Ever Amen (Mt. Love)
Saturday, September 2
They Might Be Giants, "Another First Kiss" from Mink Car (T.L.A.M.)
Friday, September 1
Wally Dogger, "Rock 'n' Roll is Back" from Monster Toast (Mt. Love)
Thursday, August 31
composer unknown since I can't read Japanese, "Tenchi in Tokyo (a.k.a. New Tenchi Muyo) Ending Theme" from imported Japanese Tenchi in Tokyo soundtrack (T.L.A.M.)
Wednesday, August 30
Guster, The New Underground from the forthcoming Guster album, via iTunes (Mt. Love)
Tuesday, August 29
They Might Be Giants, "Doctor Worm (live)" from Almanac (T.L.A.M.)
Monday, August 28
SR-71, "Right Now" from Now You See Inside (Mt. Love)
We're going back and retroactively filing in songs for all the days we've lived here, even thought we didn't start selecting the Song of the Day until yesterday. Hooray for revisionist history?
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Monday, September 4, 2006
The F.R.A.T. Party
I'm not sure what brought it to mind, perhaps the beginning of the college football season, but all day I've been thinking about the grand old time that was the F.R.A.T. Party, the Friends Rebelling Against Tyranny Party, a publicity stunt for the Gargoyle humor magazine that took on a life all its own. Spending all day in the center of the Diag armed with a keg of root beer and a fishbowl full of condoms, a kid named Ryan insisting that he be called Galaxor Nebulon as he ran for student body president, the electioneering (sadly, we weren't the one who thought of it, just the unlikely beneficiaries) that resulting in me actually winning a seat on the student council, those were the days.
One evening, while I was chalking in the Diag, writing "Vote F.R.A.T Party" with the anarchy symbol replacing the A in F.R.A.T., a fellow student came up to me and said, without preamble, "Would you call your country a cunt?" What? "Would you call your country a cunt?"
"No," I said, still mightily confused, "I guess I wouldn't."
"Then why would you call my fraternity a frat?" He then walked away and I resumed defacing the campus with graffiti promoting the F.R.A.T Party and the Gargoyle.
Here's the thing, the frathole's example was a non sequitor, though this was only to be brought to my attention later. If you take "-ernity" off of "fraternity," you get "frat," a term used both by fratholes and frat-haters. If you take "-ry" off of "country," you get "count" not "cunt." Stupid fratboy.
Earlier that evening, a cleaned-up hippie stopped me, "Fraternal order, anarchy symbol. I don't get it." Once I explained to him that I was not in a frat and what F.R.A.T. stood for, he expressed his support for our important work and wished my comrades and me well in our electoral endeavour. He was truly a friend to our rebellion against the tyranny of pomposity.
F.R.A.T. Party forever!
I'm not sure what brought it to mind, perhaps the beginning of the college football season, but all day I've been thinking about the grand old time that was the F.R.A.T. Party, the Friends Rebelling Against Tyranny Party, a publicity stunt for the Gargoyle humor magazine that took on a life all its own. Spending all day in the center of the Diag armed with a keg of root beer and a fishbowl full of condoms, a kid named Ryan insisting that he be called Galaxor Nebulon as he ran for student body president, the electioneering (sadly, we weren't the one who thought of it, just the unlikely beneficiaries) that resulting in me actually winning a seat on the student council, those were the days.
One evening, while I was chalking in the Diag, writing "Vote F.R.A.T Party" with the anarchy symbol replacing the A in F.R.A.T., a fellow student came up to me and said, without preamble, "Would you call your country a cunt?" What? "Would you call your country a cunt?"
"No," I said, still mightily confused, "I guess I wouldn't."
"Then why would you call my fraternity a frat?" He then walked away and I resumed defacing the campus with graffiti promoting the F.R.A.T Party and the Gargoyle.
Here's the thing, the frathole's example was a non sequitor, though this was only to be brought to my attention later. If you take "-ernity" off of "fraternity," you get "frat," a term used both by fratholes and frat-haters. If you take "-ry" off of "country," you get "count" not "cunt." Stupid fratboy.
Earlier that evening, a cleaned-up hippie stopped me, "Fraternal order, anarchy symbol. I don't get it." Once I explained to him that I was not in a frat and what F.R.A.T. stood for, he expressed his support for our important work and wished my comrades and me well in our electoral endeavour. He was truly a friend to our rebellion against the tyranny of pomposity.
F.R.A.T. Party forever!
Sunday, September 3, 2006
The Queue
Sarah Vowell, Radio On: A Listener's Diary
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa
Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp
Natan Sharansky, The Case for Democracy
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
I stayed up half the night yesterday finishing The Last Angry Man. It was, as the quote from The New York Times on the cover promised, "... boiling with human drama...." I also felt that I had wronged both you, my loyal readers, by ignoring the long established traditions of "The Queue" and neglecting to list recently finished books, such as Sarah Vowell's Radio On.
Before resuming Radio On and The Last Angry Man, both had lain fallow since January or February, and I had not read any other books in the interim. I read a lot of comics in that time, and by no means do I desire to disparage the medium of comics, but it feels great to be back into books again.
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa
Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp
Natan Sharansky, The Case for Democracy
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
I stayed up half the night yesterday finishing The Last Angry Man. It was, as the quote from The New York Times on the cover promised, "... boiling with human drama...." I also felt that I had wronged both you, my loyal readers, by ignoring the long established traditions of "The Queue" and neglecting to list recently finished books, such as Sarah Vowell's Radio On.
Before resuming Radio On and The Last Angry Man, both had lain fallow since January or February, and I had not read any other books in the interim. I read a lot of comics in that time, and by no means do I desire to disparage the medium of comics, but it feels great to be back into books again.
Saturday, September 2, 2006
Snapshot Revised
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc One
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc Two
Phantom Planet, The Guest
The Killers, Hot Fuss
The Hippos, heads Are Gonna Roll
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
The Buckeye, a.k.a. the future Mrs. Mountain of Love, is visiting. There's no nice way to say this; so, I'll just say it: it's horrible watching college football with her. She's an Ohio State alumna. She roots for Ohio State. That is both the basis for and the entirety of my objection to watching college football with her. Curse you, Brutus the Buckeye!
Huzzah for the victory of the mighty Wolverines over the fearsome Vanderbilt Commodores!
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc One
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc Two
Phantom Planet, The Guest
The Killers, Hot Fuss
The Hippos, heads Are Gonna Roll
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
The Buckeye, a.k.a. the future Mrs. Mountain of Love, is visiting. There's no nice way to say this; so, I'll just say it: it's horrible watching college football with her. She's an Ohio State alumna. She roots for Ohio State. That is both the basis for and the entirety of my objection to watching college football with her. Curse you, Brutus the Buckeye!
Huzzah for the victory of the mighty Wolverines over the fearsome Vanderbilt Commodores!
Snapshot
The compact discs currently in my compact disc player:
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc One
Phantom Planet, The Guest
Phantom Planet, The Guest Bonus Disc
The Killers, Hot Fuss
and
The Hippos, Heads Are Gonna Roll
The Queue
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man ***In Progress***
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa: How Peron Brought the Nazi War Criminals to Argentina
William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp, 1587-1968
Natan Sharansky with Ron Dermer, The Case for Democracy: The Power of Freedom to Overcome Tyranny & Terror ***in progress, interrupted***
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
Also, I very much want to read Alan Dershowitz's The Case for Peace, the follow-on to The Case for Israel, but I shan't add it to the queue until the paperback edition is in my possession.
The compact discs currently in my compact disc player:
Fountains of Wayne, Out-of-State Plates Disc One
Phantom Planet, The Guest
Phantom Planet, The Guest Bonus Disc
The Killers, Hot Fuss
and
The Hippos, Heads Are Gonna Roll
The Queue
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man ***In Progress***
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Nick Hornby, A Long Way Down
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Uki Goni, The Real Odessa: How Peron Brought the Nazi War Criminals to Argentina
William Manchester, The Arms of Krupp, 1587-1968
Natan Sharansky with Ron Dermer, The Case for Democracy: The Power of Freedom to Overcome Tyranny & Terror ***in progress, interrupted***
Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
Also, I very much want to read Alan Dershowitz's The Case for Peace, the follow-on to The Case for Israel, but I shan't add it to the queue until the paperback edition is in my possession.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
International Business Machines Vs. Macintosh
I have to say, I'm having persistent second thoughts about buying a Macintosh. I fucking hate the Mountain of Love's Power Book. I just sent an email from my Yahoo! account and I could neither italicize nor underline text within the email. The procedure for doing both things from a PC is ridiculously simple, yet for the life of me I could not devise how to accomplish them on this machine. I shall have to see if the now sleeping Mountain can show me how to do those things with a Mac. If not, if these infernal devices won't allow for the simplest aesthetic flourishes, I will have no choice but to buy a PC. I hate all HALs, but I've never had trouble using italics on a PC. Is the vaunted user-friendliness of Macs complete horsepucky, a pack of lies like the Golden Gate Bridge? Things aren't looking good for Steve Jobs at the moment, at least not insofar as earning my business.
I have to say, I'm having persistent second thoughts about buying a Macintosh. I fucking hate the Mountain of Love's Power Book. I just sent an email from my Yahoo! account and I could neither italicize nor underline text within the email. The procedure for doing both things from a PC is ridiculously simple, yet for the life of me I could not devise how to accomplish them on this machine. I shall have to see if the now sleeping Mountain can show me how to do those things with a Mac. If not, if these infernal devices won't allow for the simplest aesthetic flourishes, I will have no choice but to buy a PC. I hate all HALs, but I've never had trouble using italics on a PC. Is the vaunted user-friendliness of Macs complete horsepucky, a pack of lies like the Golden Gate Bridge? Things aren't looking good for Steve Jobs at the moment, at least not insofar as earning my business.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society is back on the air... metaphorically. I don't have the head of steam necessary to write the requisite big moving posts at the nonce, but suffice it to say that I am very pleased to be living with my brother, though simultaneously terrified to be living so far from home. Mine was a very isolated life in Grand Blanc, far removed my my dear friends, but that life boasted the comfort of the hearth and literal familiarity. Here in Fort Worthless, I am confronted by the great unknown. But at least I have my beloved brother by my side; so, I have someone with whom to commiserate in the face of the relentless 100 F heat. Fucking Texas.
One item of interest: both my aged, second-hand laptop and my aged,second-hand PC seem to have given up the ghost. Damnation. Still, such are the perils of collecting used HALs instead of forking out the greenbacks to purchase one of your very own; I knew this day would come sooner or later and, really, looking back, I had no right to expect that it would come this late. Both HALs should have been junked years ago. (And given the brief lifespan of HALs, it is a minor marvel when any HAL has years of life in it, even if most of those years are after it should have been put out to pasture.) So, I shall soon be biting the bullet and investing in a suitable, thought hardly state-of-the-art HAL, probably of the Macintosh persuasion. For now, I am bloggy blogging on the Mountain of Love's Power Book, which he has been kind enough to place at my disposal.
More later, gang. Have a lovely day.
The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society is back on the air... metaphorically. I don't have the head of steam necessary to write the requisite big moving posts at the nonce, but suffice it to say that I am very pleased to be living with my brother, though simultaneously terrified to be living so far from home. Mine was a very isolated life in Grand Blanc, far removed my my dear friends, but that life boasted the comfort of the hearth and literal familiarity. Here in Fort Worthless, I am confronted by the great unknown. But at least I have my beloved brother by my side; so, I have someone with whom to commiserate in the face of the relentless 100 F heat. Fucking Texas.
One item of interest: both my aged, second-hand laptop and my aged,second-hand PC seem to have given up the ghost. Damnation. Still, such are the perils of collecting used HALs instead of forking out the greenbacks to purchase one of your very own; I knew this day would come sooner or later and, really, looking back, I had no right to expect that it would come this late. Both HALs should have been junked years ago. (And given the brief lifespan of HALs, it is a minor marvel when any HAL has years of life in it, even if most of those years are after it should have been put out to pasture.) So, I shall soon be biting the bullet and investing in a suitable, thought hardly state-of-the-art HAL, probably of the Macintosh persuasion. For now, I am bloggy blogging on the Mountain of Love's Power Book, which he has been kind enough to place at my disposal.
More later, gang. Have a lovely day.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Running various errands this afternoon, I spied two of the best vanity license plates I have ever seen, the king of all vanity plates being the Senator's Daughter's signature plate: 701. The lesser of today's finds was DATA; I do not know if the plate was intended as a reference to Star Trek: The Next Generation's Lieutenant Commander Data, but that is how I choose to view it. The greater of the two was, brace yourself, HHHHHHH. Seven H's looked pretty sweet on the back of that minivan, and I salute the creativity that had to have gone into selected HHHHHHH.
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
This will probably be my last bloggy blog post until the Mountain of Love and I are situated in Fort Worthless. Stay strong over the course of the next week. The Secret Base isn't giving up the ghost like the blogs of Skeeter, Daddy Dylweed, The Squirrel King, Neutral Man, and so many others. According to a recent issue of Discover, there were 500,000 blogs in 2003; here in 2006 there are around 30,000,000. The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society has been in operation since February of 2002; so, it's not going anywhere. The Secret Base is as bankable as the outrageousness of Jack Pratt's pants. And as we all know, you can't beat pants. I have a feeling I've lost the thread, but I've never let that stop me. BTW South's cable installation, providing the vital dual lifelines of television ("...teacher, mother... secret lover") and ye olde internet, is scheduled for next Freitag. Cowboy up and you'll make it until then in fine style. And if you really need your daily fix of Last Angry Anger, there are four and half years of archives to cull. Bon chance, mes amis.
(Of course, knowing how I love to procrastinate, I wouldn't bet against there being one or two more posts as I grope desperately for anything to do to avoid finishing packing.)
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
This will probably be my last bloggy blog post until the Mountain of Love and I are situated in Fort Worthless. Stay strong over the course of the next week. The Secret Base isn't giving up the ghost like the blogs of Skeeter, Daddy Dylweed, The Squirrel King, Neutral Man, and so many others. According to a recent issue of Discover, there were 500,000 blogs in 2003; here in 2006 there are around 30,000,000. The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society has been in operation since February of 2002; so, it's not going anywhere. The Secret Base is as bankable as the outrageousness of Jack Pratt's pants. And as we all know, you can't beat pants. I have a feeling I've lost the thread, but I've never let that stop me. BTW South's cable installation, providing the vital dual lifelines of television ("...teacher, mother... secret lover") and ye olde internet, is scheduled for next Freitag. Cowboy up and you'll make it until then in fine style. And if you really need your daily fix of Last Angry Anger, there are four and half years of archives to cull. Bon chance, mes amis.
(Of course, knowing how I love to procrastinate, I wouldn't bet against there being one or two more posts as I grope desperately for anything to do to avoid finishing packing.)
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Driving home at 11:00 o'clock, I didn't feel like listening to the BBC. I tuned in WKAR, the classical music NPR station, but didn't like the piece being played. Next up, I tried WHNN, the oldies station. And what did I hear? Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock and Roll"! Now, that kind of music just soothes my soul. Next up was "December 1963 (Oh, What a Night)" by The Four Seasons. It was the absolutely perfect song for that moment in time. I feared disappointment following back-to-back triumphs, but wihout cause: Roy Orbison's "You Got It." Jumpin' Jack Pratt, I know that one thing is undeniably true: it is ALWAYS the right moment for Roy Orbison. What a fantabulous hat trick.
Bog, I love music.
Bog, I love music.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Hello, my name is Michael Patrick Wilson. In my head, I call myself Mike. I am an American, a Catholic, a democract, a Republican, a capitalist, a Zionist, a prude, a liberal, a Star Wars fanatic, a Trekkie, a fanboy, an otaku, a Michigander, a fat guy, an old ska kid, and a virgin. I am The Last Angry Man, Michael P., the SKP Machine, and the sole member of the Rebel Black Dot Society. I owned and named Michael Patrick Donut Shark. I am the master and commander of the legendary Mousemobile.
I say this not as I usually would, as a challenge, but as an invitation: who are you?
I say this not as I usually would, as a challenge, but as an invitation: who are you?
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
On Saturday, the Mountain of Love proposed marriage to the Buckeye and she accepted, becoming the future Mrs. Mountain. I hope they make each other very happy, because if she ever hurts him there shall come a frightful reckoning. (My purpose is not to offend; as anyone who knows me is well aware, I am very protective of my beloved brother.)
My Favorite Martian
Prompted by my interest in the new Martian Manhunter miniseries, I've begun collecting the Martian Manhunter ongoing series from the late 90s and generally researching the life and times of J'onn J'onzz. As is my habit, I've also begun formulating a few story ideas. Preliminary ideas include "Little Green Men," which will utilize The Alienist, a villain I invented for the hypothetical Superman story "Superego," and "Flight of the V.U.L.T.U.R.E." about the Manhunter's evil twin brother (honest to American God) Malefic and his worldwide criminal/terrorist organization V.U.L.T.U.R.E., the Vicious Union of Lethal Torturers, Underminers, Ravagers, and Executioners. As a fan of the miniseries Son of Vulcan, which featured a pair of the villainous White Martians as the chief black hats, I want to add Vulcan (Miguel "Mikey" Devante) to J'onn's supporting cast in a quasi-sidekick role. I can even borrow a title from The Man From U.N.C.L.E., "The Vulcan Affair," to introduce him into my Martian Manhunter. I believe the Martian Manhunter is rising quickly on the list of my favorite DC heroes.
My Favorite Martian
Prompted by my interest in the new Martian Manhunter miniseries, I've begun collecting the Martian Manhunter ongoing series from the late 90s and generally researching the life and times of J'onn J'onzz. As is my habit, I've also begun formulating a few story ideas. Preliminary ideas include "Little Green Men," which will utilize The Alienist, a villain I invented for the hypothetical Superman story "Superego," and "Flight of the V.U.L.T.U.R.E." about the Manhunter's evil twin brother (honest to American God) Malefic and his worldwide criminal/terrorist organization V.U.L.T.U.R.E., the Vicious Union of Lethal Torturers, Underminers, Ravagers, and Executioners. As a fan of the miniseries Son of Vulcan, which featured a pair of the villainous White Martians as the chief black hats, I want to add Vulcan (Miguel "Mikey" Devante) to J'onn's supporting cast in a quasi-sidekick role. I can even borrow a title from The Man From U.N.C.L.E., "The Vulcan Affair," to introduce him into my Martian Manhunter. I believe the Martian Manhunter is rising quickly on the list of my favorite DC heroes.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
Mom and I drove up to Frankenmuth this morning and as a result of our trek I am now the proud owner of an amusingly hideous white wicker "entertainment center" and two matching end tables. All three items were gifts from Roz and Marty. Still, my new possessions will be quite useful in the new apartment in Forth Worthless. In a similar vein, I've decided to take my dresser after all; previously, I had thought that all my T-shirts and boxer shorts would reside on a series of plastic shelves to be placed in the closet, but now I am of the opinion that the dresser is the way to go.
Also this afternoon, I sold out. I am now the ashamed owner of a mobile telephone. As a Catholic I am drawn to the notion of penance through suffering; so, please be merciless in your mockery. The harsher you are the cleaner I will feel. While reading through the instruction manual, I became aware that I am not at all certain I have current telephone numbers for a great many of my dearest friends. So, if you would like to be entered into my mobile's contact list, email your digits to rebelblackdot@gmail.com. Jeers and taunts may be left in the commenting section of the Secret Base. Today, for the second time this summer, I hold cheap my manhood.
Mom and I drove up to Frankenmuth this morning and as a result of our trek I am now the proud owner of an amusingly hideous white wicker "entertainment center" and two matching end tables. All three items were gifts from Roz and Marty. Still, my new possessions will be quite useful in the new apartment in Forth Worthless. In a similar vein, I've decided to take my dresser after all; previously, I had thought that all my T-shirts and boxer shorts would reside on a series of plastic shelves to be placed in the closet, but now I am of the opinion that the dresser is the way to go.
Also this afternoon, I sold out. I am now the ashamed owner of a mobile telephone. As a Catholic I am drawn to the notion of penance through suffering; so, please be merciless in your mockery. The harsher you are the cleaner I will feel. While reading through the instruction manual, I became aware that I am not at all certain I have current telephone numbers for a great many of my dearest friends. So, if you would like to be entered into my mobile's contact list, email your digits to rebelblackdot@gmail.com. Jeers and taunts may be left in the commenting section of the Secret Base. Today, for the second time this summer, I hold cheap my manhood.
Friday, August 11, 2006
No Oracles at Delphi
Today, Diane, a lady at work whom I would guess is approximately the same age as my parents (mid-50s), gave me a Superman Returns calendar. Like almost everyone else at Delphi she has seen me reading comics on my breaks and once we even had a pleasant conversation about the joys and perils of being a pack rat. We're friendly acquaintances. She said she saw the calendars at a discounted price at a drug store and bought two, one for each of us. Bog, I hated Superman Returns, but in the giving and receiving of gifts it is of course the thought that matters. What a kind gesture. Hoorah for random acts of kindness.
Speaking of things that make life more splendid, I can't get the Fountains of Wayne song "Lost in Space" out of my head. You cannot think about "Lost in Space" without smiling, it's impossible. Sweet fancy Moses, Utopia Parkway is an amazing feat of musical brilliance. It's splendiferous!
"And she walks the earth,
But she's not from the human race.
She's a pretty little thing, but she's lost,
Yeah she's lost in space,
Yeah she's lost in space."
Today, Diane, a lady at work whom I would guess is approximately the same age as my parents (mid-50s), gave me a Superman Returns calendar. Like almost everyone else at Delphi she has seen me reading comics on my breaks and once we even had a pleasant conversation about the joys and perils of being a pack rat. We're friendly acquaintances. She said she saw the calendars at a discounted price at a drug store and bought two, one for each of us. Bog, I hated Superman Returns, but in the giving and receiving of gifts it is of course the thought that matters. What a kind gesture. Hoorah for random acts of kindness.
Speaking of things that make life more splendid, I can't get the Fountains of Wayne song "Lost in Space" out of my head. You cannot think about "Lost in Space" without smiling, it's impossible. Sweet fancy Moses, Utopia Parkway is an amazing feat of musical brilliance. It's splendiferous!
"And she walks the earth,
But she's not from the human race.
She's a pretty little thing, but she's lost,
Yeah she's lost in space,
Yeah she's lost in space."
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The War for Civilization
Dear God. Hyperlink. Do you remember the world of August 2001, just five scant years ago? Jihadist terrorism was a deadly threat in August of 2001, but it was a deadly threat of which we were all blissfully ignorant. We were living in a fool's paradise, but as I've said before, the thing about living in a fool's paradise is until it falls apart you're living in paradise. And who doesn't enjoy living in paradise?
Still, that world is dead and gone. The war for civilization, the war for peace and the rule of law, continues. The triumph of liberal democracy over despotism and terrorism is inevitable, but lamentably that doesn't mean there won't be many terrible days of blood and fire between now and glorious victory. Thank the Almighty today wasn't one of those days.
Dear God. Hyperlink. Do you remember the world of August 2001, just five scant years ago? Jihadist terrorism was a deadly threat in August of 2001, but it was a deadly threat of which we were all blissfully ignorant. We were living in a fool's paradise, but as I've said before, the thing about living in a fool's paradise is until it falls apart you're living in paradise. And who doesn't enjoy living in paradise?
Still, that world is dead and gone. The war for civilization, the war for peace and the rule of law, continues. The triumph of liberal democracy over despotism and terrorism is inevitable, but lamentably that doesn't mean there won't be many terrible days of blood and fire between now and glorious victory. Thank the Almighty today wasn't one of those days.
Wednesday, August 9, 2006
No Oracles at Delphi
I didn't pack a sack lunch today; so, I left the plant at "lunch" (7:00-7:30pm) and took advantage of one of the numerous readily accessable restaurants with drive-thru capabilities. Not in the mood for NPR, I hit the SEEK button on the Mousemobile's radio and soon found myself listening to a country music station. Bog, what I would have given for the DJ to have said, "We've got both kinds, country and Western." As I left work at the end of the shift (no overtime tonight; so, I left at 10:42pm), I decided to repeat the experiment. This time, I found myself listening to a Christian-themed inspirational/motivational monologue from a man with a voice both soft and intense. I love the Lord, but as I listened to this very earnest and clearly well-meaning man all I could think of was:
"In his favorite club,
In his favorite seat,
I saw the Devil,
Wingtip shoes on his feet,
Porkpie hat on his head,
He was diggin' the beat,
And the band ripped like demons
When he screamed, 'Turn on the heat!'"
--The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Devil's Night Out" from Devil's Night Out
Also, whenever possible I think I'll start referring to the Mousemobile as "the legendary Mousemobile." Legendary, you ask? You know as well as I that the Mousemobile is a rolling legend in her own time.
And soon the legend of the legendary Mousemobile will be huge. Huge like Brinkman.
I didn't pack a sack lunch today; so, I left the plant at "lunch" (7:00-7:30pm) and took advantage of one of the numerous readily accessable restaurants with drive-thru capabilities. Not in the mood for NPR, I hit the SEEK button on the Mousemobile's radio and soon found myself listening to a country music station. Bog, what I would have given for the DJ to have said, "We've got both kinds, country and Western." As I left work at the end of the shift (no overtime tonight; so, I left at 10:42pm), I decided to repeat the experiment. This time, I found myself listening to a Christian-themed inspirational/motivational monologue from a man with a voice both soft and intense. I love the Lord, but as I listened to this very earnest and clearly well-meaning man all I could think of was:
"In his favorite club,
In his favorite seat,
I saw the Devil,
Wingtip shoes on his feet,
Porkpie hat on his head,
He was diggin' the beat,
And the band ripped like demons
When he screamed, 'Turn on the heat!'"
--The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Devil's Night Out" from Devil's Night Out
Also, whenever possible I think I'll start referring to the Mousemobile as "the legendary Mousemobile." Legendary, you ask? You know as well as I that the Mousemobile is a rolling legend in her own time.
And soon the legend of the legendary Mousemobile will be huge. Huge like Brinkman.
Sunday, August 6, 2006
"I couldn't see, what I once saw,
In your lovely face
Once your lovely face
Became commonplace."
--The Proclaimers, "What I Saw in You" from Restless Soul
Clockwork Confusion
At the corner of Robert T. Longway Boulevard and Dort Highway there is a defunct business called the Klock Korner. Why in Bog's name would anyone name something like that? Okay, yes, it was a clock store located perilously close to a corner, but both "clock" and "corner" already start with the letter C. Why change their spellings to start with the letter K? Clock Corner, what's wrong with that? I could understand changing the first letter of one word - if clock was actually spelled "klock," I could see changing corner to "korner" since people find visual "alliteration" nearly as pleasing as actual alliteration - but both words already started with the same letter!
Now, since both "crispy" and "creme" already begin with the letter C, I've always assumed that the Krispy Kreme chain was thusly named as an allusion to the Ku Klux Klan. Krispy Kreme is a Southern company, after all, so what other reason would there be to favor the Klan-esque Krispy Kreme over the proper Crispy Creme?
Krusty the Klown is excused from my ire since spelling Krusty with a K instead of the proper C allowed for "comedy" and "classic" to be modified to be brought into line with Krusty, giving us the hilarious gag of Krusty's Komedy Klassic at the Apollo Theater. Is there anything funnier than an animated clown being pelted with produce?
Anyway, I'm glad the Klock Korner went out of business. I'd be chagrined had the business been named the Clock Corner, since the idea of a dedicated clock store is pretty neat.
Mexican Standoff
Supporters of left-wing Mexican presidential candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador have been fouling up traffic in Mexico City with an enduring campaign of civil disobedience for the better part of a month (hyperlink), waiting for electoral officials to overturn the election of right-wing candidate and now President-Elect Felipe Calderon. Mexican law is clear, Calderon carried the day by the skin of his teeth, but Lopez Obrador's partisans refuse to concede. There's no good way out of this mess and Mexico's politics are going to be paralyzed by years of bitterness no matter the result.
This is a golden opportunity, yet I have not seen a single American newspaper boasting the headline "MEXICAN STANDOFF!" Come on, people! It's a standoff, it's in Mexico, and it can only end badly! It's the perfect Mexican standoff! There are no leaps of logic here. There's no need for semantic gymnastics. This is an honest to Our Lady of Guadalupe Mexican standoff! Oh, man, this is so much fun.
I can't be the only one who's thrilled by this. Don't wait, jump on the Mexican standoff bandwagon! Get exicted, people, it's a Mexican standoff, the best thing in the world after a knife fight in Caracas!
In your lovely face
Once your lovely face
Became commonplace."
--The Proclaimers, "What I Saw in You" from Restless Soul
Clockwork Confusion
At the corner of Robert T. Longway Boulevard and Dort Highway there is a defunct business called the Klock Korner. Why in Bog's name would anyone name something like that? Okay, yes, it was a clock store located perilously close to a corner, but both "clock" and "corner" already start with the letter C. Why change their spellings to start with the letter K? Clock Corner, what's wrong with that? I could understand changing the first letter of one word - if clock was actually spelled "klock," I could see changing corner to "korner" since people find visual "alliteration" nearly as pleasing as actual alliteration - but both words already started with the same letter!
Now, since both "crispy" and "creme" already begin with the letter C, I've always assumed that the Krispy Kreme chain was thusly named as an allusion to the Ku Klux Klan. Krispy Kreme is a Southern company, after all, so what other reason would there be to favor the Klan-esque Krispy Kreme over the proper Crispy Creme?
Krusty the Klown is excused from my ire since spelling Krusty with a K instead of the proper C allowed for "comedy" and "classic" to be modified to be brought into line with Krusty, giving us the hilarious gag of Krusty's Komedy Klassic at the Apollo Theater. Is there anything funnier than an animated clown being pelted with produce?
Anyway, I'm glad the Klock Korner went out of business. I'd be chagrined had the business been named the Clock Corner, since the idea of a dedicated clock store is pretty neat.
Mexican Standoff
Supporters of left-wing Mexican presidential candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador have been fouling up traffic in Mexico City with an enduring campaign of civil disobedience for the better part of a month (hyperlink), waiting for electoral officials to overturn the election of right-wing candidate and now President-Elect Felipe Calderon. Mexican law is clear, Calderon carried the day by the skin of his teeth, but Lopez Obrador's partisans refuse to concede. There's no good way out of this mess and Mexico's politics are going to be paralyzed by years of bitterness no matter the result.
This is a golden opportunity, yet I have not seen a single American newspaper boasting the headline "MEXICAN STANDOFF!" Come on, people! It's a standoff, it's in Mexico, and it can only end badly! It's the perfect Mexican standoff! There are no leaps of logic here. There's no need for semantic gymnastics. This is an honest to Our Lady of Guadalupe Mexican standoff! Oh, man, this is so much fun.
I can't be the only one who's thrilled by this. Don't wait, jump on the Mexican standoff bandwagon! Get exicted, people, it's a Mexican standoff, the best thing in the world after a knife fight in Caracas!
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
Though my bellyaching at the time was both frequent and persistent, I now realize that the failure of our air conditioner a few weeks hence was in fact a blessing. The new AC unit is more efficient and more effective than the old unit; given that the heat index today is supposed to be over 100 F, with actual temperatures in the high 90s, I'm not sure the old unit could have coped. Not that I'm faulting the old Lennox, it fought the good fight for thirty-odd years and gave the last full measure of devotion, but the present heat wave would have simply overwhelmed its capabilities. Hooray for blessings in disguise.
What does this have to do with moving to Forth Worthless? I'm moving to Texas in the middle of August, the same Texas where you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a 90 F afternoon high. Am I fucking retarded? I blame the Mountain of Love for this. It's all his fault.
Though my bellyaching at the time was both frequent and persistent, I now realize that the failure of our air conditioner a few weeks hence was in fact a blessing. The new AC unit is more efficient and more effective than the old unit; given that the heat index today is supposed to be over 100 F, with actual temperatures in the high 90s, I'm not sure the old unit could have coped. Not that I'm faulting the old Lennox, it fought the good fight for thirty-odd years and gave the last full measure of devotion, but the present heat wave would have simply overwhelmed its capabilities. Hooray for blessings in disguise.
What does this have to do with moving to Forth Worthless? I'm moving to Texas in the middle of August, the same Texas where you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a 90 F afternoon high. Am I fucking retarded? I blame the Mountain of Love for this. It's all his fault.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Trivial Pursuit
Last night, my parents' friends Roz and Marty came over and after we played a game of Trivial Pursuit. The teams pitted the boys against the girls, Marty, my dad, and me against Roz and my mom. The girls jumped out to an early lead, claiming the first wedgie, but in the end we prevailed 6-3. The contest was of course lopsided before it even began, not because the gents outnumbered the ladies three to two, but because I was on the male team; had I been with Roz and Mom, they would have secured a similarly lopsided victory over Marty and Dad. My partisanship essentially determines the victor. Yes, folks, I'm that good.
I am the best Trivial Pursuit player I've ever seen. Arrogance? Not at all. You see, I've defeated The Professor in single combat. The Prof is so good at Trivial Pursuit that he once gave the correct answer before he was even given the question. And I beat him fair and square. I'm not the best Trivial Pursuit player in the world, but I am better than you. I'm better at Dance Dance Revolution than any of my friends, but I'm convinced this is due to their general crumminess (no offense, gang), not any extraordinary ability on my part. I'm pretty good at Risk, but I lose more often than I win. Trivial Pursuit, however, is another beast entirely.
Other people are good at Trivial Pursuit, but me? I'm great.
Last night, my parents' friends Roz and Marty came over and after we played a game of Trivial Pursuit. The teams pitted the boys against the girls, Marty, my dad, and me against Roz and my mom. The girls jumped out to an early lead, claiming the first wedgie, but in the end we prevailed 6-3. The contest was of course lopsided before it even began, not because the gents outnumbered the ladies three to two, but because I was on the male team; had I been with Roz and Mom, they would have secured a similarly lopsided victory over Marty and Dad. My partisanship essentially determines the victor. Yes, folks, I'm that good.
I am the best Trivial Pursuit player I've ever seen. Arrogance? Not at all. You see, I've defeated The Professor in single combat. The Prof is so good at Trivial Pursuit that he once gave the correct answer before he was even given the question. And I beat him fair and square. I'm not the best Trivial Pursuit player in the world, but I am better than you. I'm better at Dance Dance Revolution than any of my friends, but I'm convinced this is due to their general crumminess (no offense, gang), not any extraordinary ability on my part. I'm pretty good at Risk, but I lose more often than I win. Trivial Pursuit, however, is another beast entirely.
Other people are good at Trivial Pursuit, but me? I'm great.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Hitler's Victory
Hezbollah are terrorists. They deliberately target civilians and non-combatants. Why does the American press have such a problem with calling Hezbollah a terrorist organization? Admittedly, "militant" doesn't have exactly positive connotations, but it still gives Hezbollah's activities some sheen of legitimacy. Hezbollah is a criminal organization; everything it does is illegitimate.
As for the BBC's outright cheerleading for the Hezbollah cause, well, that's no surprise. It's sad, but not surprising. If there is one thing Europeans love doing, it's hating the Jews. I'm sure it would bring a smile to Hitler's lips to know that in what he would consider the most important way - encouraging the slaughter of every last Jewish man, woman, and child on Earth - his "Thousand-Year Reich" still holds absolute dominion over Europe.
Am I wrong? Do you disagree? Please, if I'm misreading the situation I would liek to be told. Is there more than good old-fashioned anti-Semitism behind the BBC's agenda?
Hezbollah are terrorists. They deliberately target civilians and non-combatants. Why does the American press have such a problem with calling Hezbollah a terrorist organization? Admittedly, "militant" doesn't have exactly positive connotations, but it still gives Hezbollah's activities some sheen of legitimacy. Hezbollah is a criminal organization; everything it does is illegitimate.
As for the BBC's outright cheerleading for the Hezbollah cause, well, that's no surprise. It's sad, but not surprising. If there is one thing Europeans love doing, it's hating the Jews. I'm sure it would bring a smile to Hitler's lips to know that in what he would consider the most important way - encouraging the slaughter of every last Jewish man, woman, and child on Earth - his "Thousand-Year Reich" still holds absolute dominion over Europe.
Am I wrong? Do you disagree? Please, if I'm misreading the situation I would liek to be told. Is there more than good old-fashioned anti-Semitism behind the BBC's agenda?
Thursday, July 27, 2006
No Oracles at Delphi
My normal second shift shift is from 2:12pm to 10:42pm. We stop work at around 10:15, but for some odd (almost certainly meticulously negotiated by the UAW) reason, we can't actually clock out until precisely 10:42. Seriously, people stand by the timeclock waiting for it to flip from 22:41 to 22:42.
Anyway, I worked overtime yesterday, Monday, Friday, and Thursday, which means we work until 2:15am but don't clock out until 2:42am. Last night, some time after 1 o'clock, my fellows and I were getting a little punch drunk and we decided, "Wouldn't work be better with... ninjas?" The answer is yes. Everything is better with ninjas.
* * * * *
I would love to be descibed as "a gentle and genteel Gentile," but as you all know, only one out of those three is applicable to yours truly.
My normal second shift shift is from 2:12pm to 10:42pm. We stop work at around 10:15, but for some odd (almost certainly meticulously negotiated by the UAW) reason, we can't actually clock out until precisely 10:42. Seriously, people stand by the timeclock waiting for it to flip from 22:41 to 22:42.
Anyway, I worked overtime yesterday, Monday, Friday, and Thursday, which means we work until 2:15am but don't clock out until 2:42am. Last night, some time after 1 o'clock, my fellows and I were getting a little punch drunk and we decided, "Wouldn't work be better with... ninjas?" The answer is yes. Everything is better with ninjas.
* * * * *
I would love to be descibed as "a gentle and genteel Gentile," but as you all know, only one out of those three is applicable to yours truly.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Happy Birthday to Me
Well, now that I'm twenty-seven I'm officially in my late 20s. The Red Baron, Manfred von Richthofen, was already dead and immortalized by the time he was my age. And we all know the late 20s are just a gateway to thirty. And once you're thirty, you're what will seem like two weeks away from being forty, at which point you are well on the path to becoming a soul-sucking abomination, a.k.a. a senior citizen. (I only hate old people because they are terrible.) Before the Mountain overreacts, I know my life isn't over at twenty-seven (this isn't Logan's Run, thank Bog [on many different levels]), but now that I'm on the doorstep of being thirty there is a certain urgency to getting my arse in gear. If I am to strike down my enemies, if they are to rue the day they aroused my ire, I need to get to work. No more mucking about in the fool's paradise of youth.
Though the thing about a fool's paradise is that until the very last moment that it all comes crashing down about your ears, my friend, you've been living in paradise. And who doesn't like paradise?
I am not particularly fond of Wolverine, but now that he has two ongoing monthly books - Wolverine and Wolverine: Origins - it would be such a shame if Marvel never published a story titled "Logan's Run."
Well, now that I'm twenty-seven I'm officially in my late 20s. The Red Baron, Manfred von Richthofen, was already dead and immortalized by the time he was my age. And we all know the late 20s are just a gateway to thirty. And once you're thirty, you're what will seem like two weeks away from being forty, at which point you are well on the path to becoming a soul-sucking abomination, a.k.a. a senior citizen. (I only hate old people because they are terrible.) Before the Mountain overreacts, I know my life isn't over at twenty-seven (this isn't Logan's Run, thank Bog [on many different levels]), but now that I'm on the doorstep of being thirty there is a certain urgency to getting my arse in gear. If I am to strike down my enemies, if they are to rue the day they aroused my ire, I need to get to work. No more mucking about in the fool's paradise of youth.
Though the thing about a fool's paradise is that until the very last moment that it all comes crashing down about your ears, my friend, you've been living in paradise. And who doesn't like paradise?
I am not particularly fond of Wolverine, but now that he has two ongoing monthly books - Wolverine and Wolverine: Origins - it would be such a shame if Marvel never published a story titled "Logan's Run."
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Good luck tomorrow, Skeeter, I know you'll perform magnificently.
Creeping
Having now read four issues of Steve Ditko's amazing Beware the Creeper, I've got an idea for a story called "Yellow Journalism." Jack Ryder is a journalist and the Creeper has yellow skin and I really think superheroics provide an incredibly rich stage for commentary about the sorry state of American journalism (see: Spider-Man and the Daily Bugle). My thinking is of course influenced by Sam Kieth's recent miniseries Batman: Secrets. I may also work The Question into "Yellow Journalism," because Vic Sage is both Jack Ryder's politcal antithesis and an accomplished journalist in his own right.
And I have vague notions of a junior Creeper sidekick-cum-villain named the Yellow Kid.
Creeping
Having now read four issues of Steve Ditko's amazing Beware the Creeper, I've got an idea for a story called "Yellow Journalism." Jack Ryder is a journalist and the Creeper has yellow skin and I really think superheroics provide an incredibly rich stage for commentary about the sorry state of American journalism (see: Spider-Man and the Daily Bugle). My thinking is of course influenced by Sam Kieth's recent miniseries Batman: Secrets. I may also work The Question into "Yellow Journalism," because Vic Sage is both Jack Ryder's politcal antithesis and an accomplished journalist in his own right.
And I have vague notions of a junior Creeper sidekick-cum-villain named the Yellow Kid.
I've nothing of consequence to say, or rather I have many things of consequence to say - and you all know that no one's thoughts and opinions are more interesting or more right than mine - but having just finished mowing the lawn I haven't the will to commit my oh so interesting thoughts to ye olde internet. I will commit a few uninteresting thoughts, though:
Good Vibrations
I have been thinking about ways to make Armando Ramone (known, though not widely, by the superheroic codenames Reverb and Hardline), the younger brother of the late, unlamented "Detroit League"-era JLA member Vibe (Paco Ramone), a viable character. Step 1: Change his codename to Vibe, in honor of his fallen hermano. (Zach Nie!, insert your own Arrested Development joke here.) Step 2: Have him lead his brother's old street gang, Los Lobos, now reformed as a kind of Guardian Angels-style community watch organization. Step 3: "reunite" the Detroit League of Vibe (now Armando instead of Paco), Vixen, Gypsy, and Steel (John Henry Irons, a character in no way related to Hank Heywood, the late, unlamented Steel of the Detroit League) in a story that could only be called "The Motor City Madman"!
Also, I need to figure out how to work in as many references as possible to the vastly underrated Dan Aykroyd movie Dr. Detroit.
Good Vibrations
I have been thinking about ways to make Armando Ramone (known, though not widely, by the superheroic codenames Reverb and Hardline), the younger brother of the late, unlamented "Detroit League"-era JLA member Vibe (Paco Ramone), a viable character. Step 1: Change his codename to Vibe, in honor of his fallen hermano. (Zach Nie!, insert your own Arrested Development joke here.) Step 2: Have him lead his brother's old street gang, Los Lobos, now reformed as a kind of Guardian Angels-style community watch organization. Step 3: "reunite" the Detroit League of Vibe (now Armando instead of Paco), Vixen, Gypsy, and Steel (John Henry Irons, a character in no way related to Hank Heywood, the late, unlamented Steel of the Detroit League) in a story that could only be called "The Motor City Madman"!
Also, I need to figure out how to work in as many references as possible to the vastly underrated Dan Aykroyd movie Dr. Detroit.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Land of Milk and Honey
It is unfortunate that the people of Lebanon have to suffer the brunt of Israel's fury, but by the same token a shockingly large percentage of the Lebanese population supports Hezbollah's murderous campaign of terrorism; so, what other choice is available to the Israelis? If you believe in democracy, if you believe that terrorism is immoral, then you must stand with Israel. I stand with Israel.
No Oracles at Delphi
Yesterday, I was given my 30-Day Evaluation which, due to having a two week furlough for the annual summer shutdown, occured on only the second day of work after my 15-Day Evaluation. With common sense policies like that, it's hard to believe Delphi is going out of business.
It is unfortunate that the people of Lebanon have to suffer the brunt of Israel's fury, but by the same token a shockingly large percentage of the Lebanese population supports Hezbollah's murderous campaign of terrorism; so, what other choice is available to the Israelis? If you believe in democracy, if you believe that terrorism is immoral, then you must stand with Israel. I stand with Israel.
No Oracles at Delphi
Yesterday, I was given my 30-Day Evaluation which, due to having a two week furlough for the annual summer shutdown, occured on only the second day of work after my 15-Day Evaluation. With common sense policies like that, it's hard to believe Delphi is going out of business.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
No Oracles at Delphi
Great googly moogly, I can't believe they pay me $14.70 an hour to sit on my arse and read. We had significant downtime this evening, repeatedly waiting on parts from another line, giving me the chance to give second reads to Eternals No. 1, Captain America No. 18, X-Men Nos. 186 and 187, Ultimate Extinction No. 5, and The Avengers and Power Pack Assemble! No. 2. I really enjoyed having two weeks off, but if you have to have a job (and everyone has to have a job), one could do a lot worse than being a "temporary employee"/"new hire" at good ol' Delphi (or AC Rochester, a flashback to the early '90s, according to a surprisingly large percentage of the signage throughout the plant).
Great googly moogly, I can't believe they pay me $14.70 an hour to sit on my arse and read. We had significant downtime this evening, repeatedly waiting on parts from another line, giving me the chance to give second reads to Eternals No. 1, Captain America No. 18, X-Men Nos. 186 and 187, Ultimate Extinction No. 5, and The Avengers and Power Pack Assemble! No. 2. I really enjoyed having two weeks off, but if you have to have a job (and everyone has to have a job), one could do a lot worse than being a "temporary employee"/"new hire" at good ol' Delphi (or AC Rochester, a flashback to the early '90s, according to a surprisingly large percentage of the signage throughout the plant).
Sunday, July 16, 2006
I, Fanboy
I am in the midst of reorganizing my comic book boxes, a task that must periodically be performed, but I am finding this go-around particularly satisfying as it has enabled me to put together a Jack Kirby/Steve Ditko DC box. Kirby was the father of damned near the whole Marvel Comics universe, co-creating with Stan Lee the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, and the Avengers, et alii, in the 1960s and way back in Dubya-Dubya-Two co-creating Captain America with Joe Simon. Ditko was the co-creator (along with Stan Lee) of Spider-Man. Lots and lots of other writers and artists helped make Marvel what it is, but Kirby's, Ditko's and Lee's creations are the foundation upon which the rest is built.
Kirby and Ditko also did a lot of work for DC Comics, Kirby's most famous creations being the entire "Fourth World" of Darkseid, Orion, New Genesis, Apokolips, et alii, and The Demon (Jason Blood/Etrigan). Ditko's most notable DC characters are the second Blue Beetle (the late, lamented Ted Kord) and The Question (Vic Sage), both created for Charton Comics but later bought lock, stock, and barrel by DC and integrated into the DC Universe, and The Creeper (Jack Ryder), a DC original. In my new Kirby/Ditko box I've got the black and white trades of Kirby's The New Gods, Mister Miracle, and The Forever People; the two color trades of Kirby's time on Superman's Pal Jimmy Olson; the various New Gods revivals; Walt Simonson's brilliant Orion; John Byrne's Blood of the Demon; Denny O'Neil and Denys Cowan's The Question*; and Len Wein and Paris Cullen's Blue Beetle, among sundry others. Soon to be added to the Kirby/Ditko box, courtesy of my fat Delphi bank, are three vintage Silver Age issues of The Demon, written and drawn by Jack "King" Kirby himself, and four vintage Silver Age issues of Steve Ditko's Beware the Creeper. Woot!
And fear not, I'm not blowing all of my money on comic books when I should be saving up for the move to Texas, The Demon and Beware the Creeper were available at a crazy discount. I couldn't afford to not buy! So, hoo-rah for me.
*The Question by O'Neil and Cowan is an excellent series, the only problem being the complete abandonment of the Objectivist principles on which Ditko constructed The Question. You don't have to like or follow Objectivism to recognize that The Question was created as a character with a very clear and distinct moral point of view. Since Messrs. O'Neil and Cowan were unwilling to honor Ditko's, and thus The Question's, moral stance, I really wish they'd written and drawn a series just like The Question, but starring someone other than The Question. I'm no Objectivist, but I long to return The Question to his Randian roots.
I am in the midst of reorganizing my comic book boxes, a task that must periodically be performed, but I am finding this go-around particularly satisfying as it has enabled me to put together a Jack Kirby/Steve Ditko DC box. Kirby was the father of damned near the whole Marvel Comics universe, co-creating with Stan Lee the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, and the Avengers, et alii, in the 1960s and way back in Dubya-Dubya-Two co-creating Captain America with Joe Simon. Ditko was the co-creator (along with Stan Lee) of Spider-Man. Lots and lots of other writers and artists helped make Marvel what it is, but Kirby's, Ditko's and Lee's creations are the foundation upon which the rest is built.
Kirby and Ditko also did a lot of work for DC Comics, Kirby's most famous creations being the entire "Fourth World" of Darkseid, Orion, New Genesis, Apokolips, et alii, and The Demon (Jason Blood/Etrigan). Ditko's most notable DC characters are the second Blue Beetle (the late, lamented Ted Kord) and The Question (Vic Sage), both created for Charton Comics but later bought lock, stock, and barrel by DC and integrated into the DC Universe, and The Creeper (Jack Ryder), a DC original. In my new Kirby/Ditko box I've got the black and white trades of Kirby's The New Gods, Mister Miracle, and The Forever People; the two color trades of Kirby's time on Superman's Pal Jimmy Olson; the various New Gods revivals; Walt Simonson's brilliant Orion; John Byrne's Blood of the Demon; Denny O'Neil and Denys Cowan's The Question*; and Len Wein and Paris Cullen's Blue Beetle, among sundry others. Soon to be added to the Kirby/Ditko box, courtesy of my fat Delphi bank, are three vintage Silver Age issues of The Demon, written and drawn by Jack "King" Kirby himself, and four vintage Silver Age issues of Steve Ditko's Beware the Creeper. Woot!
And fear not, I'm not blowing all of my money on comic books when I should be saving up for the move to Texas, The Demon and Beware the Creeper were available at a crazy discount. I couldn't afford to not buy! So, hoo-rah for me.
*The Question by O'Neil and Cowan is an excellent series, the only problem being the complete abandonment of the Objectivist principles on which Ditko constructed The Question. You don't have to like or follow Objectivism to recognize that The Question was created as a character with a very clear and distinct moral point of view. Since Messrs. O'Neil and Cowan were unwilling to honor Ditko's, and thus The Question's, moral stance, I really wish they'd written and drawn a series just like The Question, but starring someone other than The Question. I'm no Objectivist, but I long to return The Question to his Randian roots.
Below is an excerpt from an article about Ben Roethlisberger than appeared in today's Flint Journal courtesy of the Associated Press:
On the other hand, people are mistake-prone creatures and often the most mature and proper response to suffering the consequences of your own judgments is to say, "I was wrong and I've completely changed my mind." Because people are often wrong and should completely change their minds. Ben Roethlisberger was wrong, is wrong, and is apparently committed to remaining wrong. Putz.
On the gripping hand... actually, there is no gripping hand position on this issue. Not wearing a helmet on a motorcyle is suicidally, intolerably dumb. Love liberty though I do, from time to time the people do need to be protected from themselves; thus, I am an enthusiastic supporter of both mandatory motorcyle helmet laws and automobile seatbelt laws.
If you hate the Art Modells and Mark Cubans of the sports world, you have to love the Pittsburgh Steelers. Bill Cowher is the longest serving coach in the NFL and only the fifth Steelers head coach in the forty-nine years, only the second head coach since 1969. Loyalty is the Rooney family's watchword, loyalty that has helped them win five Super Bowls (that's one-eighth of all Super Bowls, pretty impressive considering the League has thirty-two teams). I know it's trendy right now, but the fact remains that you have to love (or at least admire) the Pittsburgh Steelers.
That said, I wish Pittsburgh nothing but debacle, fiasco, and disgrace as long as that shiteater Roethlisberger is on their payroll. I sincerely wish he had died in that motorcycle accident. Christian duty be damned, if Ben Roethlisberger was on fire before me I would run to fetch not a fire extinguisher, but a can of gasoline and the ingredients necessary to the making of s'mores. If I did have a fire extiguisher, I'd use it to pound in his flaming skull. I want to desecrate his corpse, I want to vandalize his grave. I want to mock his grieving parents.
Roethlisberger is free to possess and articulate his asinine opinion on motorcycle helmets. Just as I am free to wish him ill. Die, you horror, suffer and die.
Though Roethlisberger has parked his bike for the season, he said the accident hasn't changed his belief that people should make their own decision on whether to wear a helmet on a motorcycle. To that end, Roethlisberger said he doesn't plan on doing public safety announcements for motorcycle or helmet safety.On the one hand, their is some temptation to admire Roethlisberger's dedication to his convictions. The easiest thing in the world is to suffer the consequences of your own judgments and then say, "I was wrong and I've completely changed my mind." Roethlisberger was "nearly killed" while riding a motorcyle without a helmet, but apparently he had thoroughly thought through his position even before the accident and elected to make peace with the risk of grave injury.
"I'm not going to be on billboards with words about helmets and stuff like that," he said.
On the other hand, people are mistake-prone creatures and often the most mature and proper response to suffering the consequences of your own judgments is to say, "I was wrong and I've completely changed my mind." Because people are often wrong and should completely change their minds. Ben Roethlisberger was wrong, is wrong, and is apparently committed to remaining wrong. Putz.
On the gripping hand... actually, there is no gripping hand position on this issue. Not wearing a helmet on a motorcyle is suicidally, intolerably dumb. Love liberty though I do, from time to time the people do need to be protected from themselves; thus, I am an enthusiastic supporter of both mandatory motorcyle helmet laws and automobile seatbelt laws.
If you hate the Art Modells and Mark Cubans of the sports world, you have to love the Pittsburgh Steelers. Bill Cowher is the longest serving coach in the NFL and only the fifth Steelers head coach in the forty-nine years, only the second head coach since 1969. Loyalty is the Rooney family's watchword, loyalty that has helped them win five Super Bowls (that's one-eighth of all Super Bowls, pretty impressive considering the League has thirty-two teams). I know it's trendy right now, but the fact remains that you have to love (or at least admire) the Pittsburgh Steelers.
That said, I wish Pittsburgh nothing but debacle, fiasco, and disgrace as long as that shiteater Roethlisberger is on their payroll. I sincerely wish he had died in that motorcycle accident. Christian duty be damned, if Ben Roethlisberger was on fire before me I would run to fetch not a fire extinguisher, but a can of gasoline and the ingredients necessary to the making of s'mores. If I did have a fire extiguisher, I'd use it to pound in his flaming skull. I want to desecrate his corpse, I want to vandalize his grave. I want to mock his grieving parents.
Roethlisberger is free to possess and articulate his asinine opinion on motorcycle helmets. Just as I am free to wish him ill. Die, you horror, suffer and die.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
"No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater than central air." It took from just after noon until damned near six o'clock, but the technicians from Terry Allen finally got our new air conditioner installed and operating. The house is very nearly back to the lovely temperature at which it is generally maintained, or at least the air inside the house is at just about the proper temp. One more victory, my friends, in the war of Man versus Nature. Screw you, prevailing atmospheric conditions, you're not the boss of me! My house will be as warm or as cool as I see fit. Bwa ha ha ha ha!
And of what is air conditioning a product? That's right: science. Science!
And of what is air conditioning a product? That's right: science. Science!
Friday, July 14, 2006
The War for Civilization
Say a prayer for our brethren in Bombay (a name I much prefer to Mumbai), for death to swiftly find the animals who planned this atrocity and for the souls of the murdered innocents to find eternal peace. We live in a savage age, when traitors to their own faith murder in the name of the God on Whom they have turned their backs. No one ever said building a just world would be easy, but there are days when the senseless violence grows so very tiresome.
But take heart, the Republic of India is strong. The Republic of India will endure. The Republic of India will prevail.
Say a prayer for our brethren in Bombay (a name I much prefer to Mumbai), for death to swiftly find the animals who planned this atrocity and for the souls of the murdered innocents to find eternal peace. We live in a savage age, when traitors to their own faith murder in the name of the God on Whom they have turned their backs. No one ever said building a just world would be easy, but there are days when the senseless violence grows so very tiresome.
But take heart, the Republic of India is strong. The Republic of India will endure. The Republic of India will prevail.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Deep in the Heart of Darkness... er, Texas
I am moving to Fort Worth, Texas in August.
Boy howdy, it would have been hi-fucking-larious to have simply left it at that, but, as I discovered in an early convo with Skeeter, leaving it at "I'm moving to Texas" is much funnier to me than to the person on the other side of the discussion. Hee hee.
The Mountain of Love has accepted a Young Artist apprenticeship with the Forth Worth Opera, an apprenticeship lasting from August to June 2007. Now that I am (once again) done with school, I couldn't think of a good reason to not move to Texas once the Mountain asked me. For years, I've said that I live my life by the code "I'll do anything unless I can think of a good reason not to." This seemed an ideal opportunity to discover if I am the cowardly blowhard the Dark Bastard insistently whispers that I am or if I'm truly willing to put my money where my mouth is. Has my ego been writing checks my body can't cash?
There will be much more commentary on the move in the remaining five/six weeks until it happens.
Blind, Stinking, Run Around with Your Pants Around Your Ankles Panic
The air conditioner, like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, is dead. The new one will not be delivered/installed until tomorrow afternoon. Gee, there's nothing I love quite as much as sleeping in a pool of my own sweat; so, tonight should be a gay old time.
Have I mentioned how much I hate being doomed?
I am moving to Fort Worth, Texas in August.
Boy howdy, it would have been hi-fucking-larious to have simply left it at that, but, as I discovered in an early convo with Skeeter, leaving it at "I'm moving to Texas" is much funnier to me than to the person on the other side of the discussion. Hee hee.
The Mountain of Love has accepted a Young Artist apprenticeship with the Forth Worth Opera, an apprenticeship lasting from August to June 2007. Now that I am (once again) done with school, I couldn't think of a good reason to not move to Texas once the Mountain asked me. For years, I've said that I live my life by the code "I'll do anything unless I can think of a good reason not to." This seemed an ideal opportunity to discover if I am the cowardly blowhard the Dark Bastard insistently whispers that I am or if I'm truly willing to put my money where my mouth is. Has my ego been writing checks my body can't cash?
There will be much more commentary on the move in the remaining five/six weeks until it happens.
Blind, Stinking, Run Around with Your Pants Around Your Ankles Panic
The air conditioner, like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, is dead. The new one will not be delivered/installed until tomorrow afternoon. Gee, there's nothing I love quite as much as sleeping in a pool of my own sweat; so, tonight should be a gay old time.
Have I mentioned how much I hate being doomed?
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Science!
I was right the first time, I am doomed, though not for the reason I thought. Hyperlink! "Demon duck of doom"? Don't mind if I do. If only I could harness the power of this creature and unleash it upon my unwitting enemies.... It would spell their doom. DOOOOOOOOOOM!
Still, being devoured by a demon duck of doom is better than meeting a moosey fate.
I was right the first time, I am doomed, though not for the reason I thought. Hyperlink! "Demon duck of doom"? Don't mind if I do. If only I could harness the power of this creature and unleash it upon my unwitting enemies.... It would spell their doom. DOOOOOOOOOOM!
Still, being devoured by a demon duck of doom is better than meeting a moosey fate.
If even there was a time for panic, this is it: I believe our air conditioner is failing. It's supposed to be hot as balls tomorrow and muggy enough for fish to survive far from their native ponds and streams. And the thought of facing this hot and muggy (cue "Hi-Five City!") nightmare without proper AC... Heaven help us. Why do I think the AC is broken? Because the temperature inside the house is a persistant 74 F, even though it's supposed to be 71 F. If the unit cannot cope with the relatively cooler nighttime temperatures, we'll be broiled alive inside the house in the full fury of tomorrow's afternoon high. We're doomed, I tell you, doomed! Doooooooooomed!
I hate being doomed.
I hate being doomed.
Monday, July 10, 2006
The Queue
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man ***in progress***
Sarah Vowell, Radio On: A Listener's Diary ***in progress***
Natan Sharansky with Ron Dermer, The Case for Democracy: The Power of Freedom to Overcome Tyranny and Terror
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Daniel Dafoe, Robinson Crusoe
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Jung Chang and Jon Halliday, Mao: The Unknown Story
In addition, my birthday is in two weeks and I expect to receive several books as gifts. I will buy A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby is no one gives it to me.
The Netflix Queue
The Dead Zone
A Bronx Tale
The Devil's Brigade
To Hell and Back
The Red Badge of Courage
E.T.: The Extraterrestrial
Dummy
Papillon
Birdman of Alcatraz
Orlando
I am particularly looking forward to Orlando; I find Tilda Swinton's bizareness absolutely fascinating.
Gerald Green, The Last Angry Man ***in progress***
Sarah Vowell, Radio On: A Listener's Diary ***in progress***
Natan Sharansky with Ron Dermer, The Case for Democracy: The Power of Freedom to Overcome Tyranny and Terror
Sarah Vowell, Assassination Vacation
Daniel Dafoe, Robinson Crusoe
Baroness Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Jung Chang and Jon Halliday, Mao: The Unknown Story
In addition, my birthday is in two weeks and I expect to receive several books as gifts. I will buy A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby is no one gives it to me.
The Netflix Queue
The Dead Zone
A Bronx Tale
The Devil's Brigade
To Hell and Back
The Red Badge of Courage
E.T.: The Extraterrestrial
Dummy
Papillon
Birdman of Alcatraz
Orlando
I am particularly looking forward to Orlando; I find Tilda Swinton's bizareness absolutely fascinating.
Lies, Injustice, and the Anti-American Way
In the film Superman Returns (which is really awful, by the way, just total drek), Perry White, editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet, says that Superman stands for "truth, justice, and all that stuff." Traditionally, Superman is said to stand for truth, justice, and the American Way. Michael Dougherty, co-writer of Superman Returns sez:
You heard it here first, folks, in the opinion of Michael Dougherty "White Only" drinking fountains, movie theaters, bus seating, and other forms of legal public discrimination against minorities, common sights throughout America in the 1940s and 1950s, were both noble and ideal.
In the film Superman Returns (which is really awful, by the way, just total drek), Perry White, editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet, says that Superman stands for "truth, justice, and all that stuff." Traditionally, Superman is said to stand for truth, justice, and the American Way. Michael Dougherty, co-writer of Superman Returns sez:
"We were always hesitant to include the term 'American Way.' I think when people say 'American Way' they're actually talking about what the 'American Way' meant back in the '40s and '50s, which was something more noble and idealistic."
You heard it here first, folks, in the opinion of Michael Dougherty "White Only" drinking fountains, movie theaters, bus seating, and other forms of legal public discrimination against minorities, common sights throughout America in the 1940s and 1950s, were both noble and ideal.
Novocaine
My dentist, the venerable Dr. Bowles, has retired. He left his practice and his patients to his slovenly son, who wore black jeans and a scrub shirt as opposed to the elder Dr. Bowles's slacks and tie. Now, in a bit of shadiness with which I am not at all comfortable, the son has seemingly passed the practice on to someone completely new, who has given the practice a name beyond his own, "Parkside Dental." No, sir, I don't like it.
I had an appointment scheduled for this afternoon (scheduled six months ago) which I will be unable to keep. Moments ago, I called to impart this information... and had to leave a message! What? High and mighty Parkside Bullshit doesn't open until 9:00am. No fan of early rising am I, but dental office are supposed to be open before the rooster crows. Back in middle school, on many a morning did I fall asleep in the dental chair while Dr. Bowles adjusted my braces, as often as not while he was actually working on my mouth. Oh, the halcyon days of youth.... Dentist offices are supposed to be open early so that people may get their teeth cleaned without having to take time off of work; such is the natural order of things. Like almost everything mentioned or alluded to in Leviticus, Parkside Dental is an abomination.
My dentist, the venerable Dr. Bowles, has retired. He left his practice and his patients to his slovenly son, who wore black jeans and a scrub shirt as opposed to the elder Dr. Bowles's slacks and tie. Now, in a bit of shadiness with which I am not at all comfortable, the son has seemingly passed the practice on to someone completely new, who has given the practice a name beyond his own, "Parkside Dental." No, sir, I don't like it.
I had an appointment scheduled for this afternoon (scheduled six months ago) which I will be unable to keep. Moments ago, I called to impart this information... and had to leave a message! What? High and mighty Parkside Bullshit doesn't open until 9:00am. No fan of early rising am I, but dental office are supposed to be open before the rooster crows. Back in middle school, on many a morning did I fall asleep in the dental chair while Dr. Bowles adjusted my braces, as often as not while he was actually working on my mouth. Oh, the halcyon days of youth.... Dentist offices are supposed to be open early so that people may get their teeth cleaned without having to take time off of work; such is the natural order of things. Like almost everything mentioned or alluded to in Leviticus, Parkside Dental is an abomination.
Friday, July 7, 2006
London Can Take It
One year ago today, the war against civilization came to Great Britain, the birthplace of liberal democracy. Al Qaeda miscalculated the psychological impact of the 9/11 attacks, rousing the fury of the United States rather than cowing the American people as intended; similarly, while the 7/7 suicide bombings were horrific, in the nearly thousand years to have passed since the Battle of Hastings the British people have never retreated from horror. America's terrible wrath, the monstrous and remorseless violence were are willing to unleash in reprisal, is, I believe, part of the cultural legacy left to us by the mother country, Great Britain. Prime Minister Blair was correct, the purpose of terrorism is to terrorize, but Britain has overcome terror before and revisited that terror upon her enemies a thousandfold; Hell hath no fury like the bastard English. London was bloodied, but not nearly conquered. As during the Blitz, London can take it. Dieu et mon droit.
One year ago today, the war against civilization came to Great Britain, the birthplace of liberal democracy. Al Qaeda miscalculated the psychological impact of the 9/11 attacks, rousing the fury of the United States rather than cowing the American people as intended; similarly, while the 7/7 suicide bombings were horrific, in the nearly thousand years to have passed since the Battle of Hastings the British people have never retreated from horror. America's terrible wrath, the monstrous and remorseless violence were are willing to unleash in reprisal, is, I believe, part of the cultural legacy left to us by the mother country, Great Britain. Prime Minister Blair was correct, the purpose of terrorism is to terrorize, but Britain has overcome terror before and revisited that terror upon her enemies a thousandfold; Hell hath no fury like the bastard English. London was bloodied, but not nearly conquered. As during the Blitz, London can take it. Dieu et mon droit.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
Raise high the jolly roger, ye scurvy sea dogs, there's piracy afoot.
Correction
Also, I owe you, my dear readers, an apology. I've been misspelling my late Great Granny Gray's, may she rest in peace, maiden name as "Pudaphott." In actuality, her maiden name is properly spelled Puddephatt (pud-uh-foot). If we bring to fruition the BTW plan of pillaging up and down the Los Angeles seaboard in an honest-to-Bog pirate ship, I want to be known as the Dread Pirate Puddephatt.
Correction
Also, I owe you, my dear readers, an apology. I've been misspelling my late Great Granny Gray's, may she rest in peace, maiden name as "Pudaphott." In actuality, her maiden name is properly spelled Puddephatt (pud-uh-foot). If we bring to fruition the BTW plan of pillaging up and down the Los Angeles seaboard in an honest-to-Bog pirate ship, I want to be known as the Dread Pirate Puddephatt.
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Independence Day!
"Today is our Independence Day!" Happy birthday, America! On this date two hundred thiry years ago, the Continental Congress spoke for all Mankind in rejecting the absolute despotism of Parliament just as Parliament had itself rejected the absolute despotism of the Crown during the English Civil War. The essense of the American Revolution, a revolution that continues to this day, is that all men must be free; the bondage of any man mars the freedom of every man. America has not always lived up to her own ideals, but as a nation we have done more to advance the cause of human freedom than every other force in history combined. Take a moment today, my friends, to appreciate just how extraordinarily fortunate we are to have been born Americans. In all the millennia that the earth has spun through the nigh-endless void, we were blessed enough to have been born here, now, in a world increasingly under the liberatign sway of the American ideals of freedom and free enterprise. In the immortal words of Jasper, "What a time to be alive!" Happy birthday to the United States of America, and many happy returns.
I am also fond of the dancing Uncle Sams from Futurama's Freedom Day, "Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! Oy!" Perhaps now I'll go watch Independence Day....
"Today is our Independence Day!" Happy birthday, America! On this date two hundred thiry years ago, the Continental Congress spoke for all Mankind in rejecting the absolute despotism of Parliament just as Parliament had itself rejected the absolute despotism of the Crown during the English Civil War. The essense of the American Revolution, a revolution that continues to this day, is that all men must be free; the bondage of any man mars the freedom of every man. America has not always lived up to her own ideals, but as a nation we have done more to advance the cause of human freedom than every other force in history combined. Take a moment today, my friends, to appreciate just how extraordinarily fortunate we are to have been born Americans. In all the millennia that the earth has spun through the nigh-endless void, we were blessed enough to have been born here, now, in a world increasingly under the liberatign sway of the American ideals of freedom and free enterprise. In the immortal words of Jasper, "What a time to be alive!" Happy birthday to the United States of America, and many happy returns.
I am also fond of the dancing Uncle Sams from Futurama's Freedom Day, "Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! Oy!" Perhaps now I'll go watch Independence Day....
Monday, July 3, 2006
If you were a guest in someone's house and you knew there were other people in the house with you and you encountered a bathroom with a closed door and you could clearly hear the fan turning, would you casually open the door or, pausing to consider the factors in play and deducing that there might be someone within, would you at least knock before utilizing the doorknob? Uncle Fred chose the former option this morning, opening the bathroom door to find me sitting on the porcelain throne. *sigh* At least that brain donor isn't a blood relative. I cannot wait until these people are out of my house.
Sunday, July 2, 2006
Memory is a tricky thing. For years, I could never remember the name of Clytemnestra's lover, yet each time I'd look it up I'd smack myself on the forehead and exclaim, "Aegisthus! Of course!" I knew that, I really did, I just could never recall the name Aegisthus on command. (How often did this come up? More often than you'd think. I find my thoughts dwelling on the House of Atreus and its affiliates with some regularity.) Then one day, I IMed my habitual question to Skeeter, "Who was Clytemnestra's lover?," and she wrote back immediately, "Aegisthus." Since then, the name is stuck and I am now able to readily recall Aegisthus. I knew Aegisthus before, I simply had difficulty accessing that nugget of information. How was Skeeter's response able to break down that barrier? I have no idea. Like I said, memory is a trickerous thing.
No Oracles at Delphi
I had my 15 Day Evaluation at Delphi on Friday. I wasn't evaluated after fifteen days on the job (that would make too much sense), but fifteen calender days, including weekends, from the date I was hired. Anywho, my supervisor, Denny (a salaried), checked all the "Satisfactory" boxes and utilized only two of the remarks sections, both times writing, "Quick learner! Good mechanical attitude!" In most instances, people are said to possess good mechanical aptitude, but I guess at Delphi attitude is everything.
What does that mean, though, good mechanical attitude? Do I have a robotic demeaner? Am I a machine? You guys would tell me if I was a clockwork man, robot, droid, cyborg, Replicant, android, Terminator, or any other kind of mechanical contrivance, right? Right?
I should have business cards made: "Michael P. Wilson - Freelance Antikythera Mechanism."
No Oracles at Delphi
I had my 15 Day Evaluation at Delphi on Friday. I wasn't evaluated after fifteen days on the job (that would make too much sense), but fifteen calender days, including weekends, from the date I was hired. Anywho, my supervisor, Denny (a salaried), checked all the "Satisfactory" boxes and utilized only two of the remarks sections, both times writing, "Quick learner! Good mechanical attitude!" In most instances, people are said to possess good mechanical aptitude, but I guess at Delphi attitude is everything.
What does that mean, though, good mechanical attitude? Do I have a robotic demeaner? Am I a machine? You guys would tell me if I was a clockwork man, robot, droid, cyborg, Replicant, android, Terminator, or any other kind of mechanical contrivance, right? Right?
I should have business cards made: "Michael P. Wilson - Freelance Antikythera Mechanism."
Saturday, July 1, 2006
These People Do Not Speak For Me Or My Beliefs
The vast right-wing conspiracy has arrived at my house in the persons of my Aunt Meg, the Goldbricker's little sister, and Uncle Fred. Meg is an oddity, a neo-conservative hippie and an old-school feminist; so, after decades of marriage her name and title are still Ms. Wilson. I have no patience for Meg, Fred, and Dad's certainty about the inevitable defeat of Western civilization at the hands of radical Islam. For Bog's sake people, did liberal democracy not defeat monarchist despotism? Fascism? Communism? Just as Hitler and his ilk believed that the "weak" Western democracies could never defeat Marxism-Leninism, my aunt, uncle, father, and their peculiar strain of conservatism believe that America and the West have been fatally undermined by "liberalism," leaving us defenseless in the face of the Wahhabi perversion of Islam. They are spineless cowards, appeasers even as they denounce "modern-day Chamberlains," defeatists even as they insist that we are fighting for nothing less than the fate of human civilzation.
I'll be spending most of the next several days in my room as this seems the best way to avoid the whole lot of them. I pity my mother, who as a dutiful hostess will feel compelled to spend time with her guests no matter how much she might despise their conversational topics. Be strong, Mom.
O Canada
Happy Dominion Day to our friends in the Great White North! Sure, sure, the Canucks like to pretend that they're an independent country, even calling July 1 "Canada Day," but last time I checked Elizabeth II was still featured on the Monopoly money used as legal tender north of the border, she was still Queen of Canada, and of paramount importance to our purpose Elizabeth II was still British. How sovereign can a nation claim to be when it still owes fealty to the British monarch? We fought the Revolutionary War specifically so we could tell the British Crown where to shove it. No matter what legal mumbo jumbo is enshrined in the Statute of Westminster, our Maple Leaf-ed friends are still reigned over by the hoity-toity Queen. But I like them all the same. 'Tis true, I tease as a sign of affection.
Thank you, Canada, for William Shatner, Bob and Doug McKenzie, Barenaked Ladies, Steve Yzerman, and so much more! Happy Canada Day, you hosers!
The vast right-wing conspiracy has arrived at my house in the persons of my Aunt Meg, the Goldbricker's little sister, and Uncle Fred. Meg is an oddity, a neo-conservative hippie and an old-school feminist; so, after decades of marriage her name and title are still Ms. Wilson. I have no patience for Meg, Fred, and Dad's certainty about the inevitable defeat of Western civilization at the hands of radical Islam. For Bog's sake people, did liberal democracy not defeat monarchist despotism? Fascism? Communism? Just as Hitler and his ilk believed that the "weak" Western democracies could never defeat Marxism-Leninism, my aunt, uncle, father, and their peculiar strain of conservatism believe that America and the West have been fatally undermined by "liberalism," leaving us defenseless in the face of the Wahhabi perversion of Islam. They are spineless cowards, appeasers even as they denounce "modern-day Chamberlains," defeatists even as they insist that we are fighting for nothing less than the fate of human civilzation.
I'll be spending most of the next several days in my room as this seems the best way to avoid the whole lot of them. I pity my mother, who as a dutiful hostess will feel compelled to spend time with her guests no matter how much she might despise their conversational topics. Be strong, Mom.
O Canada
Happy Dominion Day to our friends in the Great White North! Sure, sure, the Canucks like to pretend that they're an independent country, even calling July 1 "Canada Day," but last time I checked Elizabeth II was still featured on the Monopoly money used as legal tender north of the border, she was still Queen of Canada, and of paramount importance to our purpose Elizabeth II was still British. How sovereign can a nation claim to be when it still owes fealty to the British monarch? We fought the Revolutionary War specifically so we could tell the British Crown where to shove it. No matter what legal mumbo jumbo is enshrined in the Statute of Westminster, our Maple Leaf-ed friends are still reigned over by the hoity-toity Queen. But I like them all the same. 'Tis true, I tease as a sign of affection.
Thank you, Canada, for William Shatner, Bob and Doug McKenzie, Barenaked Ladies, Steve Yzerman, and so much more! Happy Canada Day, you hosers!
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