Goodbye, Kitty
Five months ago today, on March 31, we pumped Sammy full of poison, putting my precious kitty out of his aged misery. This month, August, he would have turned nineteen years old, though we don't know the exact date of his birth. He was only six weeks old when we got him in October of 1986; he was so tiny as his little claws dug into my mom's old puffy gray parka, the first time I ever saw him. He was communal property of the whole family, but I named him Sam on the ride back to our house in our now long-gone 1979 Oldsmobile stationwagon. Later, his full name would be determined as Samuel Bubbles Sink Cat Wilson. In my youth, I named most of my possessions after myself, the most notable and hilarious example being a large hard plastic shark I named Michael Patrick Donut Shark.
Until I left for college, feeding Sam as one of my chores, but we weren't especially close. He was a bastard. I loved him, but he wasn't a cuddly kind of cat. My brother and sister and I always said that the blackness of Sammy's heart was revealed by the fact that he only liked to snuggle on our father's lap. Sam, whose fur was white with gray patches, was the great white hunter. When he first started going outside, we had rabbits living under our deck. Shortly thereafter, we didn't have rabbits. We had mice behind the garage. Then we didn't have mice. He killed shrews and birds and brought them to the back door as offerings. He always liked to eat grass, though he would inevitably throw up later, leaving the undigested blades in a puddle of liquid on the kitchen floor or the family room carpet. He was so aggressive that as soon as he was old enough he had him declawed, even his rear paws. Even so he picked fights with every cat in the neighborhood, almost all of whom were bigger than him (he was incredibly slender, no matter how much we fed him), and almost always won. They'd limp away and he'd return to the house with a fully intact coat of fur. The Mountain was the youngest and for a very long time the smallest of us kids; so, Sam bit him the most. Visitors always tried to pet the cute kitty and many got bit for their trouble; we tried to warn people, but they wouldn't believe us until after Sam struck.
He was neutered as soon as he was old enough, but that didn't stop him from having a long-time romance with the Mountain's fuzzy slippers. I learned about sex by asking why he was always mounting the slippers and ramming his pelvis into them.
By the time I returned home, Sammy was an old, old kitty. He still wanted to go outside all the time, but eventually we realized that though his spirit was willing, his flesh was too weak to cut it out there in the rough-and-tumble world of the backyard. He and I spent a lot of time together and it soon became the most natural feeling I the world for him to jump up on my lap and try to steal my cheese. Aftyer I'd quickly devour it, he's settle down on my legs and fall asleep. It was a good relationship. I didn't want to disturb him and he didn't want me to leave the plush green chair in front of the living room TV. Slowly but surely his advanced years started to wear on him; first he developed a heart murmur and then his kidneys started to shut down. His muscle mass disappeared, making his slender frame seem gaunt, despite a diet of veterinarian-recommended diet of high-calorie kitten food and medicinal food for his kidneys. One day he just laid down and didn't get back up again, not really. He could stand, but he was unable to raise his head. His neck muscles were too weak. He'd always hated his carrier; so, I gently laid him in an open-topped cardboard box lined with towels and Mom and I drove him to the vet's. He died as soon as the poison hit his veins, a sign of how close to death he'd already been, the doctor told us. Three of my four grandparents are dead, but I haven't cried like that any other time in my life. Water flowed from my eyes as if from a hose and my whole body shuddered. Thank Bog Mom drove, because I never would have gotten home alive; I couldn't see through the tears. April 2005 was the worst month of my entire life.
I loved Sammy more than I've loved all but a handful of people in my whole life, my family included. Goodbye, Sammy, I love you.
Est. 2002 | "This was a Golden Age, a time of high adventure, rich living, and hard dying… but nobody thought so." —Alfred Bester
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
The Great White Hype
A moment ago I was attempting to access my Yahoo! email account and an advertisement caught my eye. It was an American Express ad featuring the text "Have you seen Andy's mojo?" next to Andy Roddick's mug. You mean the Andy Roddick whose ass I watched get kicked on television tonight? The very same. Roddick lost to a chump no one has even heard of (no offense, Gilles Muller, and congratulations on your well-earned victory), and he's American Express's poster boy. Roger Federer is the undisputed master of men's tennis and yet he's nowhere to be seen. Yes, he's Swiss and Lord knows I hate the Swiss, but let's give the man his due. Thinking about Andy "All Show and No Go" Roddick and Roger "I Have a Stupid Haircut" Federer, I'm reminded of the moment in the pilot episode of Sports Night in which Natalie explains the inspirational story of fictional African marathon runner Intizaki Nelson to a suit from the network who responds, "Isn't there a twenty-two year-old American we can talk about?" (Paraphrased.)
I hate Roger Federer for the simple fact that he's Swiss and I hate Switzerland, but he is the best player in the world in his sport. Isn't that what sports is supposed to be about, who's the bext player, not who's the best looking American who used to date teenie-bopper singer/actresses?
A moment ago I was attempting to access my Yahoo! email account and an advertisement caught my eye. It was an American Express ad featuring the text "Have you seen Andy's mojo?" next to Andy Roddick's mug. You mean the Andy Roddick whose ass I watched get kicked on television tonight? The very same. Roddick lost to a chump no one has even heard of (no offense, Gilles Muller, and congratulations on your well-earned victory), and he's American Express's poster boy. Roger Federer is the undisputed master of men's tennis and yet he's nowhere to be seen. Yes, he's Swiss and Lord knows I hate the Swiss, but let's give the man his due. Thinking about Andy "All Show and No Go" Roddick and Roger "I Have a Stupid Haircut" Federer, I'm reminded of the moment in the pilot episode of Sports Night in which Natalie explains the inspirational story of fictional African marathon runner Intizaki Nelson to a suit from the network who responds, "Isn't there a twenty-two year-old American we can talk about?" (Paraphrased.)
I hate Roger Federer for the simple fact that he's Swiss and I hate Switzerland, but he is the best player in the world in his sport. Isn't that what sports is supposed to be about, who's the bext player, not who's the best looking American who used to date teenie-bopper singer/actresses?
Mmmmm, Hommus
I drove down to Ann Arbor this morning and had lunch with the Sardine at Jerusalem Garden. Our waitress had a mustache, or at least she had more hair between her upper lip and nose than do most women and non-mustachioed men. After she had taken our order, Sardine remarked that she was cute; I replied, "Nah, she has a mustache." The Sardine then chastised me for being mean. How does that work? The waitress had a mustache! Sardine didn't deny that the waitress had a mustache; so, what exactly did I do that was mean? I didn't call her Mustache Girl to her face, I merely remarked, in response to the Sardine's appraisal of the waitress's physical appearance, that she had a mustache. I called a spade a spade. If someone called me fat I wouldn't accuss them of being mean, I'd say that they have a masterful command of the obvious. I am fat. Our waitress at Jerusalem Garden had a mustache. When did speaking the truth about someone become mean?
Also, I really have to commend the Michigan Department of Transportation for their fine efforts at rendering US-23 completely impassable between Flint and Ann Arbor. Well done!
I drove down to Ann Arbor this morning and had lunch with the Sardine at Jerusalem Garden. Our waitress had a mustache, or at least she had more hair between her upper lip and nose than do most women and non-mustachioed men. After she had taken our order, Sardine remarked that she was cute; I replied, "Nah, she has a mustache." The Sardine then chastised me for being mean. How does that work? The waitress had a mustache! Sardine didn't deny that the waitress had a mustache; so, what exactly did I do that was mean? I didn't call her Mustache Girl to her face, I merely remarked, in response to the Sardine's appraisal of the waitress's physical appearance, that she had a mustache. I called a spade a spade. If someone called me fat I wouldn't accuss them of being mean, I'd say that they have a masterful command of the obvious. I am fat. Our waitress at Jerusalem Garden had a mustache. When did speaking the truth about someone become mean?
Also, I really have to commend the Michigan Department of Transportation for their fine efforts at rendering US-23 completely impassable between Flint and Ann Arbor. Well done!
Monday, August 29, 2005
Vote For Kodos - Back Into the Fray
There are many reasonable people of good conscience would vehemently oppose the war in Iraq. Bereaved mother Cindy Sheehan is not among them. A pair of choice quotes from "Mother Sheehan": "We have no constitution. We're the only country with no checks and balances. We want our country back if we have to impeach George Bush down to the person who picks up the dog shit in Washington. Let George Bush send his two little party animals to die in Iraq." Sheehan is so distressed by the death of her son that the only way for her to find a little peace is for Barbara and Jenna Buch to die, too? Something about that sentiment seems quite odd and more than a little bloodthirsty to me.
And: "America has been killing people on this continent since is was started. This country is not worth dying for." I would humbly submit that her late son, may he rest in peace, who volunteered for the Army, disagreed with the last part.
Nixon in China
Hyperlink. In Israeli politics, most of the prime ministers are former generals, from the late Yitzhak Rabin (Labour), may he rest in peace, to Ehud Barak (Labour) to the current PM Ariel Sharon (Likud). But even so, just as only Nixon, the consumate Red-baiter, could go to China, only Sharon, architect of the settler movement, could dismantle the Gaza and West Bank settlements.
The Peacemakers
Anwar Sadat was assassinated by Egyptian Islamic Jihad (today, EIJ has been folded into al Qaeda; Dr. Zawahiri, al Qaeda's no. 2 man, was the leader of EIJ). Was he killed because of internal repression within Egypt or because he'd signed the Camp David Accoreds with Israel? Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a right-wing Israeli terrorist because of the farcical Olso Accords with the Palestine Liberation Organization (subsuquently reorganized as the astoundingly corrupt and inept Palestinan Authority). One begins to wonder is Arafat was unwilling to make peace with the Israelis, the thus keep his own people poor and benighted, because or a fanatical hatred of all Jews or simply because he didn't want Hamas and/or Hizbollah to kill him. Hmmm. In either case, let us hope that Abu Mazan is made of sterner stuff.
There are many reasonable people of good conscience would vehemently oppose the war in Iraq. Bereaved mother Cindy Sheehan is not among them. A pair of choice quotes from "Mother Sheehan": "We have no constitution. We're the only country with no checks and balances. We want our country back if we have to impeach George Bush down to the person who picks up the dog shit in Washington. Let George Bush send his two little party animals to die in Iraq." Sheehan is so distressed by the death of her son that the only way for her to find a little peace is for Barbara and Jenna Buch to die, too? Something about that sentiment seems quite odd and more than a little bloodthirsty to me.
And: "America has been killing people on this continent since is was started. This country is not worth dying for." I would humbly submit that her late son, may he rest in peace, who volunteered for the Army, disagreed with the last part.
Nixon in China
Hyperlink. In Israeli politics, most of the prime ministers are former generals, from the late Yitzhak Rabin (Labour), may he rest in peace, to Ehud Barak (Labour) to the current PM Ariel Sharon (Likud). But even so, just as only Nixon, the consumate Red-baiter, could go to China, only Sharon, architect of the settler movement, could dismantle the Gaza and West Bank settlements.
The Peacemakers
Anwar Sadat was assassinated by Egyptian Islamic Jihad (today, EIJ has been folded into al Qaeda; Dr. Zawahiri, al Qaeda's no. 2 man, was the leader of EIJ). Was he killed because of internal repression within Egypt or because he'd signed the Camp David Accoreds with Israel? Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by a right-wing Israeli terrorist because of the farcical Olso Accords with the Palestine Liberation Organization (subsuquently reorganized as the astoundingly corrupt and inept Palestinan Authority). One begins to wonder is Arafat was unwilling to make peace with the Israelis, the thus keep his own people poor and benighted, because or a fanatical hatred of all Jews or simply because he didn't want Hamas and/or Hizbollah to kill him. Hmmm. In either case, let us hope that Abu Mazan is made of sterner stuff.
Advice for Living
If you are a twenty-six year-old virgin, avoid reading Paul Feig's brutal and brilliant Superstud: Or How I Became a 24-Year-Old Virgin. If you're a normal, well-adjusted person, by all means read Superstud as Paul Feig is a splendid and discerning writer. Hi, my name is Mike and I'm a eunuch.
If you are a twenty-six year-old virgin, avoid reading Paul Feig's brutal and brilliant Superstud: Or How I Became a 24-Year-Old Virgin. If you're a normal, well-adjusted person, by all means read Superstud as Paul Feig is a splendid and discerning writer. Hi, my name is Mike and I'm a eunuch.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Death of a Thousand Cuts
The message from the staff has been received loud and clear: they hate "Summer Reading" issues of The Newsletter and are entirely unwilling to participate them. Not one of them came out and told me that, no one objected when I informed them of the suymmer schedule, including two "Summer Reading" issues, they just failed to submit any material for "SR." Okedoke, there will NEVER be another "Summer Reading" issue of The Newsletter, not as long as I live and breath. I don't care if Zooey Deschanel asked me to bring it back*, that ship has sailed. The reasonable thing to do would be to accept the failure of "Summer Reading," allow myself to feel both disappointment and regret, and move on to the next issue.
Instead, I decided to kill The Newsletter. I put more time and energy (and yes, as long as we're talking about it, money) into The Newsletter than the rest of the staff combined. They don't have the right to be disinterested in "Summer Reading." "SR" has been a part of The Newsletter since Volume III, the summer of 2002, our first summer; "SR" isn't just another occasional feature, to my mind it is an integral part of The Newsletter. I do 90% of the work for The Newsletter: I send out the submission schedule, I gather the submissions, I mock up the issues, I produce the Xeroxes, I address the envelopes, I seal and stamp the envelopes, I do all of the grunt work... and I write at least as much if not more than anyone else. If I'm going to do all that work, is it really too much to ask to set the parameters for the blasted thing? Apparently so, because those ungrateful bastards hate "Summer Reading." Who are they to decide what will and won't constitute The Newsletter?
But I know myself well enough to know I don't have the chuzpah to kill The Newsletter, not in one fell swoop. My dedication to spite is not that strong, and I hate myself for it. My only redemption lies in that my heart is black enough to kill The Newsletter by inches. I will end it through a concerted policy of malign neglect. It is not my intention to boast (too late?), but The Newsletter cannot long survive without me, without my enthusiasm. Now someone else can be the cheerleader. Someone else can be the idea man. I'm done trying to improve The Newsletter. I'm on autopilot, just like everyone else. I care exactly as little as they do.
I wonder how long The Newsletter will last without a heart. I'm going to be devastated when it finally ends, but no one ever said being spiteful would be easy.
*This is clearly a lie, since we all know that if I ever actually met Zooey Deschanel I'd be putty in her hands.
The message from the staff has been received loud and clear: they hate "Summer Reading" issues of The Newsletter and are entirely unwilling to participate them. Not one of them came out and told me that, no one objected when I informed them of the suymmer schedule, including two "Summer Reading" issues, they just failed to submit any material for "SR." Okedoke, there will NEVER be another "Summer Reading" issue of The Newsletter, not as long as I live and breath. I don't care if Zooey Deschanel asked me to bring it back*, that ship has sailed. The reasonable thing to do would be to accept the failure of "Summer Reading," allow myself to feel both disappointment and regret, and move on to the next issue.
Instead, I decided to kill The Newsletter. I put more time and energy (and yes, as long as we're talking about it, money) into The Newsletter than the rest of the staff combined. They don't have the right to be disinterested in "Summer Reading." "SR" has been a part of The Newsletter since Volume III, the summer of 2002, our first summer; "SR" isn't just another occasional feature, to my mind it is an integral part of The Newsletter. I do 90% of the work for The Newsletter: I send out the submission schedule, I gather the submissions, I mock up the issues, I produce the Xeroxes, I address the envelopes, I seal and stamp the envelopes, I do all of the grunt work... and I write at least as much if not more than anyone else. If I'm going to do all that work, is it really too much to ask to set the parameters for the blasted thing? Apparently so, because those ungrateful bastards hate "Summer Reading." Who are they to decide what will and won't constitute The Newsletter?
But I know myself well enough to know I don't have the chuzpah to kill The Newsletter, not in one fell swoop. My dedication to spite is not that strong, and I hate myself for it. My only redemption lies in that my heart is black enough to kill The Newsletter by inches. I will end it through a concerted policy of malign neglect. It is not my intention to boast (too late?), but The Newsletter cannot long survive without me, without my enthusiasm. Now someone else can be the cheerleader. Someone else can be the idea man. I'm done trying to improve The Newsletter. I'm on autopilot, just like everyone else. I care exactly as little as they do.
I wonder how long The Newsletter will last without a heart. I'm going to be devastated when it finally ends, but no one ever said being spiteful would be easy.
*This is clearly a lie, since we all know that if I ever actually met Zooey Deschanel I'd be putty in her hands.
Hi, gang. This has not been the best summer for the Secret Base, mostly my fault as I attribute the lack of a burning desire to write to my own laziness, but in my defense I believe I have traveled more this summer than in any other similar period. My third trip to upstate New York was put together on the fly, but we must remember that it was preceeded by two distinct trips to upstate New York and only my second ever journey to the Left Coast. On Sunday, I spend a unexpected three horus in Virginia (at Dulles); so, if effect it's almost as if I went to visit The L.A.W., too. The summer will close as it began, with me on the road, helping Cap'n Malice move from one apartment to another in the same complex. (How do I get myself into these things?) On Memorial Day I remembered the previous year's nearly identical trip and on Labor Day I will work as a pack mule. The Last Summer of Star Wars has not been what I expected, but that is not all bad. Now that I'm going to be home on a consistent basis for the first time in a month and a half, I'll finally bloggy blog like I used to. First up, the last two and a half days of "L.A. Story," followed by "Team Bachelor: Reed's Wedding" and "Team Bachelor: Booth's Wedding."
The Mountain of Love left for Ann Arbor about an hour ago, going back "home" after his third and probably last summer at the Seagle Music Colony. Next summer: Glimmerglass? My thoughts are jumping all over the place, I should wrap this up. Today was a good day. I didn't see Skeeter before she left for New York, but I spent the whole day with the Mountain, some time this afternoon with The Guy, and my brother and I saw Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith for my thirteenth time and his third. A good day indeed.
The Mountain of Love left for Ann Arbor about an hour ago, going back "home" after his third and probably last summer at the Seagle Music Colony. Next summer: Glimmerglass? My thoughts are jumping all over the place, I should wrap this up. Today was a good day. I didn't see Skeeter before she left for New York, but I spent the whole day with the Mountain, some time this afternoon with The Guy, and my brother and I saw Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith for my thirteenth time and his third. A good day indeed.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Soon, I shall be departing for this summer's third trip to the wilds of upstate New York. I really, really don't feel like going back, but the Mountain needs my help. What choice do I have? At least I'll get to drive all the way from fucking Cooperstown, New York to good ol' Ann Arbor, Michigan by myself, and you know I've been itching for a long solo drive. It won't be strictly solo since I (piloting The Last Angry Van) will be caravaning with the Mountain of Love in his new car (tentative name: the Senator's Daughter), but still, I'll be alone in the car for hours and hours and hours.
Wish me luck as I contemplate whether or not to kill The Newsletter through the death of a thousand cuts.
Wish me luck as I contemplate whether or not to kill The Newsletter through the death of a thousand cuts.
Friday, August 19, 2005
"Will you please hold my hand?
I can't, I'm independent!
I want to be your man
You can't, I'm independent!
I'll call you the phone
You can't, I'm independent!
Let me know when you're home
I can't, I'm independent!"
--The Forces of Evil, "Independent" from Friend or Foe?
My Time Among the Vampires
This afternoon, proving that television advertisements really are quite effective, I donated blood at the American Red Cross downtown. It's been far too long since I last donated; Wednesday evening, I saw an ARC ad warning of a grave blood shortage and, damn it, I did my duty as a semi-concerned citizen and dialed 1-800-GIVE-LIFE.
The health questionaire asked about the possibility of having contracted Creuzfeldt-Jakob Disease, the human form of mad cow, from spending time in Europe between 1980 and 1996. I just really like looking at the word Creuzfeldt.
Above my head were ceiling tiles painted by local high school students. One bore a large peace sign and the words "Peace Ya'll." I had never before encountered a misspelling of the word y'all. Fascinating. Another bore a lovely American flag (with fifty-five stars) and the words "God Bless America" in letters of alternating red, white, and blue. From little kids, okay, I'll accept any old number of stars; I suppose I should just be happy there were the proper thirteen stripes. I found myself wondering what those five states of a future United States might be. Cuba? Manitoba? England?
Mid-donation, the lady who had inserted the needle into my arm swapped jobs with a ham-handed guy sporting a mustache. Ham-handed, you ask? When he was withdrawing the needle from my arm, I heard him say "Whoops," which is among the last things you desire to hear when a needle is being extracted from one of your veins. And the needle hole seemed to bleed more profusely than usual. Thus, ham-handed. But, my arm has yet to turn black; so, I think I'll be okay.
Holy Mother Church and the Twelve Tribes
I've very glad that His Holiness Pope Benedict has visited the synagogue in Cologne. Hyperlink. The Catholic Church has centuries of official anti-Semitism for which to atone, and I'm not sure God will ever be able to forgive us for our collective inaction during the Holocaust. But, since while most Poles hated the Nazi occupation they were more than willing to aid in the extermination of their Jewish countrymen, it is fitting that a Polish pope was the first to even visit a synagogue. And it is most appropriate for a German pope, in his youth a reluctant inductee into the Hitler Youth, to be the second.
A Pole and a German: symbolic dynamite. May God forgive us both for what we did and, perhaps more importantly, for what we failed to do.
I can't, I'm independent!
I want to be your man
You can't, I'm independent!
I'll call you the phone
You can't, I'm independent!
Let me know when you're home
I can't, I'm independent!"
--The Forces of Evil, "Independent" from Friend or Foe?
My Time Among the Vampires
This afternoon, proving that television advertisements really are quite effective, I donated blood at the American Red Cross downtown. It's been far too long since I last donated; Wednesday evening, I saw an ARC ad warning of a grave blood shortage and, damn it, I did my duty as a semi-concerned citizen and dialed 1-800-GIVE-LIFE.
The health questionaire asked about the possibility of having contracted Creuzfeldt-Jakob Disease, the human form of mad cow, from spending time in Europe between 1980 and 1996. I just really like looking at the word Creuzfeldt.
Above my head were ceiling tiles painted by local high school students. One bore a large peace sign and the words "Peace Ya'll." I had never before encountered a misspelling of the word y'all. Fascinating. Another bore a lovely American flag (with fifty-five stars) and the words "God Bless America" in letters of alternating red, white, and blue. From little kids, okay, I'll accept any old number of stars; I suppose I should just be happy there were the proper thirteen stripes. I found myself wondering what those five states of a future United States might be. Cuba? Manitoba? England?
Mid-donation, the lady who had inserted the needle into my arm swapped jobs with a ham-handed guy sporting a mustache. Ham-handed, you ask? When he was withdrawing the needle from my arm, I heard him say "Whoops," which is among the last things you desire to hear when a needle is being extracted from one of your veins. And the needle hole seemed to bleed more profusely than usual. Thus, ham-handed. But, my arm has yet to turn black; so, I think I'll be okay.
Holy Mother Church and the Twelve Tribes
I've very glad that His Holiness Pope Benedict has visited the synagogue in Cologne. Hyperlink. The Catholic Church has centuries of official anti-Semitism for which to atone, and I'm not sure God will ever be able to forgive us for our collective inaction during the Holocaust. But, since while most Poles hated the Nazi occupation they were more than willing to aid in the extermination of their Jewish countrymen, it is fitting that a Polish pope was the first to even visit a synagogue. And it is most appropriate for a German pope, in his youth a reluctant inductee into the Hitler Youth, to be the second.
A Pole and a German: symbolic dynamite. May God forgive us both for what we did and, perhaps more importantly, for what we failed to do.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Feel free to light my pants on fire, becuase there isn't going to be an "L.A. Story" post today. I know, I know, I'm a big fat fucking liar mere days after complaining about being labeled a big fat fucking liar. But, as I said in that very post, I have told my fair share of tall tales. "Come on, liar man, weave your web."
I shan't bore you with the details, but it is a damn shame that today is the only time in the history of the universe that it will ever be August 18, A.D. 2005. Something so precious and unique shouldn't have been marred by so much crumminess.
But, at least I did see Revenge of the Sith as planned. The Guy is absolutely right, it does get better each time, amazingly enough. Wow. Again, from the very depths of my soul, thank you so much, Mr. Lucas.
I shan't bore you with the details, but it is a damn shame that today is the only time in the history of the universe that it will ever be August 18, A.D. 2005. Something so precious and unique shouldn't have been marred by so much crumminess.
But, at least I did see Revenge of the Sith as planned. The Guy is absolutely right, it does get better each time, amazingly enough. Wow. Again, from the very depths of my soul, thank you so much, Mr. Lucas.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
So, I've decided to finally get the BTW logo tattooed on my left forearm in October. I decided to get the tattoo years ago, and have now completed the mandatory "six months of certainty" waiting period several times over, I've just never committed to a date. I still haven't pinned down a specific date, but it will happen sometime between October 1st and All Saints Day. In theory, you should try to expose a tattoo to as little light as possible; solar radiation breaks down the inks, leading to fading. This isn't really an issue with the skull-and-crossbones on my right forearm since it is a pretty simple design and only one color, black. Even if it fades, it won't be a big deal to have someone go over it with more black. The BTW monkey logo isn't terribly complicated, but it's still more intricate and more colorful than the skull-and-crossbones. My hope is that by having it done in October it won't be exposed to nearly as much sun in its first few months as was the skull, which I got on May 10, 2002. Now, do I want to have it done at the same parlour as the skull-and-crossbones or find a new place? As I've said, I'm very happy with my first tattoo; so, in all probability I'll return to S & C Tattooing in Ann Arbor for the second.
Deception and Deceivers
On the last day of July, I drove to Jackson to see the Michigan Shakespeare Festival's production of Twelfth Night, a play revolving around a woman disguised as a man and her unrequited love for her master, a nobleman. The woman acts as an intermediary between her master and a local lady, to whom the master is a suitor. It's both funny and quite touching. I was accompanied by an online acquaintance, the Friendster Girl; knowing she is a theatrical actor, I invited her on a whim. It was the first time we had actually met, but we'd been exchanging emails for several months and we able to maintain a lively conversation about a number of topics. And then the oddest thing happen: she called me a liar.
Now, make no mistake, I have told my fair share of tall tales; so, in certain contexts I might rightly be called a liar. And I have, in a phrase of which I am perhaps overly fond, an adversarial relationship with the truth. But for all that, it's not like I walk around with my pants perpetually on fire. I had given the Friendster Girl no reason to call me a liar, yet that's what she did. Not in so many words, but I told her of my nigh-legendary resistance to inebriation, and she said flat out that she did not believe me. If she does not believe to be true that which I insist to be true, she is calling me a liar, yes? Now, just wait one cotton-pickin' second, lady, where do you get off calling me a liar? Were you there on any of the nights when I gave inebriation the old college try? Have you seen the lists of what I imbibed? Have you even seen me take a single drink, let alone down eight Guinnesses in three hours? In answer to the last three questions, no, no, and no.
So, I'm done with her. My time is too precious to squander it trying to convince virtual strangers of the veracity of the facts of my life. I've deleted all the emails we exchanged and removed her from my list of friends at both Friendster and MySpace. This was not a romantic angle I was working, this was just someone who had initiated contact with me out of the blue. If nothing else, I suppose this incident has reaffirmed my suspicions about the sort of people who contact strangers online. Call me a liar, will you?
Deception and Deceivers
On the last day of July, I drove to Jackson to see the Michigan Shakespeare Festival's production of Twelfth Night, a play revolving around a woman disguised as a man and her unrequited love for her master, a nobleman. The woman acts as an intermediary between her master and a local lady, to whom the master is a suitor. It's both funny and quite touching. I was accompanied by an online acquaintance, the Friendster Girl; knowing she is a theatrical actor, I invited her on a whim. It was the first time we had actually met, but we'd been exchanging emails for several months and we able to maintain a lively conversation about a number of topics. And then the oddest thing happen: she called me a liar.
Now, make no mistake, I have told my fair share of tall tales; so, in certain contexts I might rightly be called a liar. And I have, in a phrase of which I am perhaps overly fond, an adversarial relationship with the truth. But for all that, it's not like I walk around with my pants perpetually on fire. I had given the Friendster Girl no reason to call me a liar, yet that's what she did. Not in so many words, but I told her of my nigh-legendary resistance to inebriation, and she said flat out that she did not believe me. If she does not believe to be true that which I insist to be true, she is calling me a liar, yes? Now, just wait one cotton-pickin' second, lady, where do you get off calling me a liar? Were you there on any of the nights when I gave inebriation the old college try? Have you seen the lists of what I imbibed? Have you even seen me take a single drink, let alone down eight Guinnesses in three hours? In answer to the last three questions, no, no, and no.
So, I'm done with her. My time is too precious to squander it trying to convince virtual strangers of the veracity of the facts of my life. I've deleted all the emails we exchanged and removed her from my list of friends at both Friendster and MySpace. This was not a romantic angle I was working, this was just someone who had initiated contact with me out of the blue. If nothing else, I suppose this incident has reaffirmed my suspicions about the sort of people who contact strangers online. Call me a liar, will you?
Sunday, August 14, 2005
VJ Day
Sixty years ago today (because Japan is on the far side of the International Date Line and therefore half a day ahead of us here in the Eastern Time Zone; so, there it is already August 15), the air, sea, and land forces of the Empire of Japan unconditionally surrendered to the Allies. The surrender ended a war that had been going on in one form or another since 1931, had engulfed large swaths of Asia and the entire Pacific Ocean, and had cost untold millions of lives. The swastika had been torn down months earlier, but only in August was the war finally, finally over.
The Second World War claimed more lives than any other conflict in history. That truly global slaughter ended sixty years ago today. The very least we owe our honored dead is to remember.
Sixty years ago today (because Japan is on the far side of the International Date Line and therefore half a day ahead of us here in the Eastern Time Zone; so, there it is already August 15), the air, sea, and land forces of the Empire of Japan unconditionally surrendered to the Allies. The surrender ended a war that had been going on in one form or another since 1931, had engulfed large swaths of Asia and the entire Pacific Ocean, and had cost untold millions of lives. The swastika had been torn down months earlier, but only in August was the war finally, finally over.
The Second World War claimed more lives than any other conflict in history. That truly global slaughter ended sixty years ago today. The very least we owe our honored dead is to remember.
Condi Rice sez, "You're a loser!"
So, for the second consecutive year my score on the Foreign Service Written Examination was insuffcient to allow me to advance to the Foreign Service Oral Assessment. The principle frustration is that the results are only presented in pass/fail format. I have no idea how I did relative to last year, nor if I am on the cusp of advancing or just embarrassing myself.
Worse, though, has been my mother's reaction. She is acting like my life is over, as if my worth in this world is determined solely by my inability to pass the FSWE. Judging by her demeanor, I might as well taking up drinking as a serious hobby and register for food stamps. Thanks a lot, Mom, and fuck you. She sez she has confidence in me, but the lie of this is betrayed whenever there is the slightest set-back. If you think I'm a loser, just say it to my face. Don't pretend that you're proud of me and then act as if the world is ending every time any little thing goes wrong. Thanks for having such faith in me, Mother.
So, for the second consecutive year my score on the Foreign Service Written Examination was insuffcient to allow me to advance to the Foreign Service Oral Assessment. The principle frustration is that the results are only presented in pass/fail format. I have no idea how I did relative to last year, nor if I am on the cusp of advancing or just embarrassing myself.
Worse, though, has been my mother's reaction. She is acting like my life is over, as if my worth in this world is determined solely by my inability to pass the FSWE. Judging by her demeanor, I might as well taking up drinking as a serious hobby and register for food stamps. Thanks a lot, Mom, and fuck you. She sez she has confidence in me, but the lie of this is betrayed whenever there is the slightest set-back. If you think I'm a loser, just say it to my face. Don't pretend that you're proud of me and then act as if the world is ending every time any little thing goes wrong. Thanks for having such faith in me, Mother.
Friday, August 12, 2005
L.A. Story
Thursday, July 21
On Thursday morning, I awoke to find the Professor preparing to leave for his lab. The important thing here is, the Professor has a lab! (And I got to see it on Saturday!) Around noon, Steeze, the Belle, and I drove to Santa Monica. We dropped her off at the aquarium where she has an internship and got the nickel tour. it's a tiny littel aqaurium right on the beach that pimarily caters to school groups. Man, kids have to love that place. Science! Because she only had to work for a few hours, Steeze and I decided to tool around instead of returning to BTWest.
We stopped of lunch at El Cholo and our waitress freaked out over my T-shirt (it reads: "The Aquabats! The Last Great American Band"). Apparently, she was herself a fan of The Aquabats!, though oddly enough she didn't know that they are still together. Truly a shame, since they do more touring in SoCal than anywhere else and had she applied herself she probably could have seen a quite a few times over the past few years. We continued driving around Santa Monica and Steeze pointed out all the post-production and editing service companies located there. Yeah, based on the exteriors they all could have housed accounts and loan adjusters. We drove around Hollywood, and as we passed Paramount, the only movie studio still in Hollywood proper, I mourned the recent death of Star Trek.
Fun fact about Hollywood: if you want to use the w.c. in any of the fast food restaurants, you first have to buy something. The doors all sport elaborate locks and only paying customers receive the magic token to gain entrance. Despite these precaustions, the walls are still covered in grafitti. The only difference from Michigan? The grafitti is in Spanish!
We picked up the Belle and drove to the house where she is officially staying this summer, though in practice she lives at BTWest. She picked up a few items and told her sponsors she'd be back after the weekend and then we returned to BTWest. The only thing I truly hated about LA was the traffic on the freeways. And not even really the traffic, but the resignation with which everyone faces it. I am well aware of the blood pressure-raising futility of getting angry at traffic congestion, but fucking come on, people! Going 35 miles per hour on an expressway is unacceptable, yet my compaions all seemed grateful that we weren't at a complete standstill. Yes, traveling at 35 mph is much better than not moving at all, but what the fuck ever happened to standards?
Steeze and I did some brainstorming about Serma 6, a comic book idea he's been working on for a year or so, and the Belle did an admirable job concealing her boredom and bemusement at two grown men trying to figure out the motivations of fictional teenagers on an alien planet. After the Professor returing home (from the lab!), he and I discovered Kofi Annan's blog. The secretary-general's quite a weird guy.
We ordered pizza for dinner (I keep mentioning where we ate not because I'm obsessed with food, but because we really didn't do many touristy things; so, restaurants are the prinicple places I went outside of BTWest) and spent most of the night playing Risk. I rolled very poorly; so, I don't want to talk about it.
Friday, July 22
The day of The Island! I journeyed to California so that I could see the Professor and K. Steeze, but the timing of the trip was determined by the premiere of the movie The Island, on which Steeze worked as a post-production assistant. Still, we had plenty of day to utilitze before the evening's festivities.
Again, I woke up when the Professor was going off to work, but this morning that did not mean I was up before Steeze and the Belle of Texas. The left to drop Steeze's car, the Pirate Boat 2000, off at the shop to have it's air conditioning system repaired. As I was still groggy, I decided to stay home. It was kind of weird beign on a completely foreign apratment all by myself, but I took the opportunity to take a shower, shoot some pictures, and write in my journal.
Shortly after they returned (all the driving we had done to this point had been in the Belle's as yet unnamed car), we headed off to Home Despot to commence a new art project, Three Doors Down: Circle, Stripe, Sock. Originally, it was titled Three Doors Down. When Steeze showed me the design, three separate illustrations to be hung side by side by side, I instictively labeled them "Circle", "Stripe", and "Sock" just so I would know about which one we were speaking at a given time. Steeze found this hilarious, so Circle, Stripe, Sock was added to the title.
BTWest is a sadly stereotypical adult apartment; I won't lie, I'm disappointed in Kevin and Jon. Neither one has a single decoration in his bedroom, and precious little light. It's a loft and so there are only four rooms: foyer/kitchen/main room; two bedrooms, one of which they built themselves (quite impressive, that); and a water closet. They've painted the main room quite a fetching shade of maroonish red and it has adequate light (though more would be better), but their bedrooms? I go back and forth between creepy and just plain sad. The one decoration in the main room is a series of twelve small canvases arranged four across and three high, painted in the pattern of a gray rectangle surrounded by a white border. In typically glorious BTW fashion, it is titled The Deconstruction of Western Civilization as We Don't Know It and I am rather fond of it.
But now I am off to eat dinner, and after that it's Sci Fi Friday; so, Friday shall be concluded another time. Next time on "L.A. Story": the Triumph of the Narwhal!
Thursday, July 21
On Thursday morning, I awoke to find the Professor preparing to leave for his lab. The important thing here is, the Professor has a lab! (And I got to see it on Saturday!) Around noon, Steeze, the Belle, and I drove to Santa Monica. We dropped her off at the aquarium where she has an internship and got the nickel tour. it's a tiny littel aqaurium right on the beach that pimarily caters to school groups. Man, kids have to love that place. Science! Because she only had to work for a few hours, Steeze and I decided to tool around instead of returning to BTWest.
We stopped of lunch at El Cholo and our waitress freaked out over my T-shirt (it reads: "The Aquabats! The Last Great American Band"). Apparently, she was herself a fan of The Aquabats!, though oddly enough she didn't know that they are still together. Truly a shame, since they do more touring in SoCal than anywhere else and had she applied herself she probably could have seen a quite a few times over the past few years. We continued driving around Santa Monica and Steeze pointed out all the post-production and editing service companies located there. Yeah, based on the exteriors they all could have housed accounts and loan adjusters. We drove around Hollywood, and as we passed Paramount, the only movie studio still in Hollywood proper, I mourned the recent death of Star Trek.
Fun fact about Hollywood: if you want to use the w.c. in any of the fast food restaurants, you first have to buy something. The doors all sport elaborate locks and only paying customers receive the magic token to gain entrance. Despite these precaustions, the walls are still covered in grafitti. The only difference from Michigan? The grafitti is in Spanish!
We picked up the Belle and drove to the house where she is officially staying this summer, though in practice she lives at BTWest. She picked up a few items and told her sponsors she'd be back after the weekend and then we returned to BTWest. The only thing I truly hated about LA was the traffic on the freeways. And not even really the traffic, but the resignation with which everyone faces it. I am well aware of the blood pressure-raising futility of getting angry at traffic congestion, but fucking come on, people! Going 35 miles per hour on an expressway is unacceptable, yet my compaions all seemed grateful that we weren't at a complete standstill. Yes, traveling at 35 mph is much better than not moving at all, but what the fuck ever happened to standards?
Steeze and I did some brainstorming about Serma 6, a comic book idea he's been working on for a year or so, and the Belle did an admirable job concealing her boredom and bemusement at two grown men trying to figure out the motivations of fictional teenagers on an alien planet. After the Professor returing home (from the lab!), he and I discovered Kofi Annan's blog. The secretary-general's quite a weird guy.
We ordered pizza for dinner (I keep mentioning where we ate not because I'm obsessed with food, but because we really didn't do many touristy things; so, restaurants are the prinicple places I went outside of BTWest) and spent most of the night playing Risk. I rolled very poorly; so, I don't want to talk about it.
Friday, July 22
The day of The Island! I journeyed to California so that I could see the Professor and K. Steeze, but the timing of the trip was determined by the premiere of the movie The Island, on which Steeze worked as a post-production assistant. Still, we had plenty of day to utilitze before the evening's festivities.
Again, I woke up when the Professor was going off to work, but this morning that did not mean I was up before Steeze and the Belle of Texas. The left to drop Steeze's car, the Pirate Boat 2000, off at the shop to have it's air conditioning system repaired. As I was still groggy, I decided to stay home. It was kind of weird beign on a completely foreign apratment all by myself, but I took the opportunity to take a shower, shoot some pictures, and write in my journal.
Shortly after they returned (all the driving we had done to this point had been in the Belle's as yet unnamed car), we headed off to Home Despot to commence a new art project, Three Doors Down: Circle, Stripe, Sock. Originally, it was titled Three Doors Down. When Steeze showed me the design, three separate illustrations to be hung side by side by side, I instictively labeled them "Circle", "Stripe", and "Sock" just so I would know about which one we were speaking at a given time. Steeze found this hilarious, so Circle, Stripe, Sock was added to the title.
BTWest is a sadly stereotypical adult apartment; I won't lie, I'm disappointed in Kevin and Jon. Neither one has a single decoration in his bedroom, and precious little light. It's a loft and so there are only four rooms: foyer/kitchen/main room; two bedrooms, one of which they built themselves (quite impressive, that); and a water closet. They've painted the main room quite a fetching shade of maroonish red and it has adequate light (though more would be better), but their bedrooms? I go back and forth between creepy and just plain sad. The one decoration in the main room is a series of twelve small canvases arranged four across and three high, painted in the pattern of a gray rectangle surrounded by a white border. In typically glorious BTW fashion, it is titled The Deconstruction of Western Civilization as We Don't Know It and I am rather fond of it.
But now I am off to eat dinner, and after that it's Sci Fi Friday; so, Friday shall be concluded another time. Next time on "L.A. Story": the Triumph of the Narwhal!
Rest in Peace, Mr. Jennings
I am a frequent if monotonous critic of American journalism; so, my sentimental reaction to Peter Jennings's death may catch a few of you off guard. But I loved the man. Yes, in recent years I've rolled my eyes at many of his turns of phrase, but I never, ever stopped watching. I grew up watching Peter Jennings, and ABC World News Tonight with Peter Jennings has been a nightly ritual in my house as far back as I can remember. Even when he made his, as it turned out, goodbye speech a few months ago and told the world he had the cancer, I always believed he'd be back. I can't believe I'll never watch Peter Jennings anchor another newscast. Jim Lehrer and his creepy eyes may appeal to my intellectual thirst for news, but it was Peter Jennings with whom I felt truly comfortable, and though I am loath to repeat such an inarticulate phrase, I just can't believe he's gone.
Thank you for a lovely half hour every night, sir, you will be greatly and genuinely missed.
Perchance to Dream
All the Holocaust movies I've been watching are starting to get to me. This morning, I had a dream in which I was a Jewish European during the Second World War. I think I was in one of the wartime ghettos, not one of the death camps, but you know how dreams are, details are always sketchy. Nothing really happened, but I felt a profound desire to be anywhere but where I was. Not a dream I wish to repeat.
The Power of $hazam!
I did something very odd on Wednesday. I bought Shazam! no. 1, a comic book from 1973. I own a few other random comics from the '70s, but they are all torn and tattered and were bought on a whim for $1 each. This book was in reasonably good shape and I paid significantly more than $1, approximately $19 in fact. I'm very disturbed with what this might mean. I am not now nor do I ever wish to be "a collector." (No offense, Neutral Man, but your obsessions frighten me.) I don't want to pay outrageous sums for rare comics or other flotsam. I don't want to painstakingly preserve my books for posterity. I buy comics to read the stories! I have been reading comics for five years and to this point, and Bog help me, forever more, I still do not bag and board my books. They just sit naked in their boxes, smushed together, each already being corroded by the oils from my hands when I, Heaven forbid, read the damn things. And I don't want that to change!
For all the inherent danger of becoming that lowest of creatures, the collector, I think Wednesday's purchase was okay. a) I really like Captain Marvel, the star of Shazam! b) Perhaps more importantly, I bought the book on a whim. I was staring at "Flint's #1 Wall of #1's" in Comic Relief waiting for the proprietor to hand me this week's pulls, when I saw it. Wow, Shazam! no. 1, Captain Marvel's first appearance in the DC Universe and first official publication since 1953. Neat. Then, like Homer Simpson when he realized he could afford Tom Landry's hat, I realized that if it wasn't too unreasonably priced, I might be able to afford it. So, I asked the friendly proprietor how much for that puppy in the window, found the deal to my liking, and engaged in a little of the old capitalism. And c) I think the fact that I even bothered to enumberate reasons a and b is a good sign that I'm still quite a ways from acquiring a climate-controlled safe and referring to its contents as my Precious.
Keep an eye on my, though, okay? Wilsons go crazy as they age; so, be vigilant.
I am a frequent if monotonous critic of American journalism; so, my sentimental reaction to Peter Jennings's death may catch a few of you off guard. But I loved the man. Yes, in recent years I've rolled my eyes at many of his turns of phrase, but I never, ever stopped watching. I grew up watching Peter Jennings, and ABC World News Tonight with Peter Jennings has been a nightly ritual in my house as far back as I can remember. Even when he made his, as it turned out, goodbye speech a few months ago and told the world he had the cancer, I always believed he'd be back. I can't believe I'll never watch Peter Jennings anchor another newscast. Jim Lehrer and his creepy eyes may appeal to my intellectual thirst for news, but it was Peter Jennings with whom I felt truly comfortable, and though I am loath to repeat such an inarticulate phrase, I just can't believe he's gone.
Thank you for a lovely half hour every night, sir, you will be greatly and genuinely missed.
Perchance to Dream
All the Holocaust movies I've been watching are starting to get to me. This morning, I had a dream in which I was a Jewish European during the Second World War. I think I was in one of the wartime ghettos, not one of the death camps, but you know how dreams are, details are always sketchy. Nothing really happened, but I felt a profound desire to be anywhere but where I was. Not a dream I wish to repeat.
The Power of $hazam!
I did something very odd on Wednesday. I bought Shazam! no. 1, a comic book from 1973. I own a few other random comics from the '70s, but they are all torn and tattered and were bought on a whim for $1 each. This book was in reasonably good shape and I paid significantly more than $1, approximately $19 in fact. I'm very disturbed with what this might mean. I am not now nor do I ever wish to be "a collector." (No offense, Neutral Man, but your obsessions frighten me.) I don't want to pay outrageous sums for rare comics or other flotsam. I don't want to painstakingly preserve my books for posterity. I buy comics to read the stories! I have been reading comics for five years and to this point, and Bog help me, forever more, I still do not bag and board my books. They just sit naked in their boxes, smushed together, each already being corroded by the oils from my hands when I, Heaven forbid, read the damn things. And I don't want that to change!
For all the inherent danger of becoming that lowest of creatures, the collector, I think Wednesday's purchase was okay. a) I really like Captain Marvel, the star of Shazam! b) Perhaps more importantly, I bought the book on a whim. I was staring at "Flint's #1 Wall of #1's" in Comic Relief waiting for the proprietor to hand me this week's pulls, when I saw it. Wow, Shazam! no. 1, Captain Marvel's first appearance in the DC Universe and first official publication since 1953. Neat. Then, like Homer Simpson when he realized he could afford Tom Landry's hat, I realized that if it wasn't too unreasonably priced, I might be able to afford it. So, I asked the friendly proprietor how much for that puppy in the window, found the deal to my liking, and engaged in a little of the old capitalism. And c) I think the fact that I even bothered to enumberate reasons a and b is a good sign that I'm still quite a ways from acquiring a climate-controlled safe and referring to its contents as my Precious.
Keep an eye on my, though, okay? Wilsons go crazy as they age; so, be vigilant.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
On the Road
Traverse City, Michigan - camping, Memorial Day weekend
Schroon Lake, New York - the Mountain of Love at the Seagle Music Colony
Los Angeles, California - BTWest
Syracuse, New York - Reed's wedding
Bay City, Michigan - Booth's wedding
Plus, to Ann Arbor for Neutral Man's farewell and to Jackson for Twelfth Night. No wonder I've fallen behind in giving my comics a second read before filing them away.
Also, while I still like Sarah Vowell, the next time she mentions Indians in one of her essays, I'm going to scream.
Schroon Lake, New York - the Mountain of Love at the Seagle Music Colony
Los Angeles, California - BTWest
Syracuse, New York - Reed's wedding
Bay City, Michigan - Booth's wedding
Plus, to Ann Arbor for Neutral Man's farewell and to Jackson for Twelfth Night. No wonder I've fallen behind in giving my comics a second read before filing them away.
Also, while I still like Sarah Vowell, the next time she mentions Indians in one of her essays, I'm going to scream.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
L.A. Story
Wednesday, July 20
Man, I really really really hope Northwest Airlines goes out of business. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. If anyone wanted to kill me, it would be extraordinarily easy as I am extreme creature of habit. After a pleasant drive to Metro, I parked, as is my custom, at U.S. Park and took the shuttle to the fancy pants Northwest Terminal. Normally, I fly Orange County Air; so, woo hoo, this was the big leagues. I felt bad that I didn't tip the driver, but I didn't have naything smaller than a ten. Sorry, ma'am.
I breezed through security and that's when all my troubles began. My boarding pass very clearly read "Gate A66." Okedoke, I hopped ont he tram and rode up to the north station. As soon as I stepped off the tram, a voice came over the loudspeakers, "Attention Northwest... blah blah blah." My gate had been changed from A66 to A12. Okay, I can handle that. I'm not happy about it, but into every life a little rain must fall. But then the voice said, "Check your boarding pass." Lisaten, motherfuckers, I checked my Bog damned boarding pass, I'm looking at it right fucking now, and it very clearly fucking reads Gate A66, not Gate motherfucking A12. I can deal with the gate change, but to then say that I should check my boarding pass is to imply that I've made a mistake, which at that point I hadn't. Northwest decided to blame me and my fellow passengers for their mistake. Shiteaters.
Injury added to insult, once I finally got on the plane I was in the middle "bitch" seat, not the window I'd booked. Fortunately, there was only one other person with me in the very last row; so, she took the window, her assigned seat, and I sat on the aisle. And of course we lifted off exactly sixty-five minutes after our scheduled departure. And of course airlines don't serve food anymore, nto even on transcontinental flights, though they will sell you a crummy snack pack for a king's ransom. Next time, I'm flying El Al. I hear they still take service seriously.
We had to have made fairly good time, because we landed only forty minutes behind schedule and to have made up twenty-five minutes on a four and a half hour flight isn't bad. At LAX, I walked right past K. Steeze, the Professor, and the Belle of Texas. I vaguely registered a cute brunette off to my left, but had to do a double take before I realized I'd seen that face before and, man alive, she was flanked by my fellow Blue Tree Whackers. We had a nice laugh about my obliviousness and then went gentle into that good night. (The lady at the Detroit check-in counter had made fun of my old, battered bags, but once in LAX I had zero trouble spotting them on the conveyor belt. As always. Fuck you, lady, and have a nice day.)
We drove past a neat, ultramodern restaurant that the Professor had for the past several years assumed was the control tower (even thought it is flanked by taller structures) and made a bee line for the In & Out Burger. Let me say first that the In & Out Burger is my kind of place; the portions are large and greasy, the decor and employee uniforms are delightfully retro, and best of all it's cheap. That said, the name In & Out Burger is wickedly misleading. In last 2oth/early 21st century American English, the phrase "in & out" implies celerity. Like, you pull up to the bank and say, "I'm just need to use the ATM. I'll be in and out." Quick. Technically, every time you use a building you're emabarking upon an "in & out" transaction, otherwise you'd still be inside that building. So, I'm not out of line saying that the name In & Out Burger clearly implies that you'll get in and out with relative speed. Such is not actually the case.
Still, like I always said, it is my kind of place and I had enough fries to make my feel slightly sick. We drove to BTWest, a loft in a converted factory, the boys showed me the Risk board they had stuck to the the underside of their glass dining table with putty, and as both the Professor and the Belle had work in the morning (he had work, her job is a volunteer internship) we all went to bed. Or rather, I went to couch. Or rather, I went to love seat. Being taller than the love seat was long, I slept in a mostly upright position with my feet sticky up into the air off the other end. Hardly comfortable, but such are the thrills of travel.
The Professor offered me his bed, but even I am not so boorish a guest as to turn my host out of his own bed.
[I also wrote up the events of Thursday, July 21, but as I tried to post them, the fine fuckers at Blogger informed my that the service was unavailable due to "scheduled maintenance." Nice of them to let the rest of us in on their schedule. As always, I hope every single motherfucker at the Blogger division of Google bleeds from his eyes every day of his wretched life from now until death.]
Next time on "L.A. Story": Thursday. (Before Blogger fucked us all over, that would have read, "The Triumph of the Narwhal.")
Wednesday, July 20
Man, I really really really hope Northwest Airlines goes out of business. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. If anyone wanted to kill me, it would be extraordinarily easy as I am extreme creature of habit. After a pleasant drive to Metro, I parked, as is my custom, at U.S. Park and took the shuttle to the fancy pants Northwest Terminal. Normally, I fly Orange County Air; so, woo hoo, this was the big leagues. I felt bad that I didn't tip the driver, but I didn't have naything smaller than a ten. Sorry, ma'am.
I breezed through security and that's when all my troubles began. My boarding pass very clearly read "Gate A66." Okedoke, I hopped ont he tram and rode up to the north station. As soon as I stepped off the tram, a voice came over the loudspeakers, "Attention Northwest... blah blah blah." My gate had been changed from A66 to A12. Okay, I can handle that. I'm not happy about it, but into every life a little rain must fall. But then the voice said, "Check your boarding pass." Lisaten, motherfuckers, I checked my Bog damned boarding pass, I'm looking at it right fucking now, and it very clearly fucking reads Gate A66, not Gate motherfucking A12. I can deal with the gate change, but to then say that I should check my boarding pass is to imply that I've made a mistake, which at that point I hadn't. Northwest decided to blame me and my fellow passengers for their mistake. Shiteaters.
Injury added to insult, once I finally got on the plane I was in the middle "bitch" seat, not the window I'd booked. Fortunately, there was only one other person with me in the very last row; so, she took the window, her assigned seat, and I sat on the aisle. And of course we lifted off exactly sixty-five minutes after our scheduled departure. And of course airlines don't serve food anymore, nto even on transcontinental flights, though they will sell you a crummy snack pack for a king's ransom. Next time, I'm flying El Al. I hear they still take service seriously.
We had to have made fairly good time, because we landed only forty minutes behind schedule and to have made up twenty-five minutes on a four and a half hour flight isn't bad. At LAX, I walked right past K. Steeze, the Professor, and the Belle of Texas. I vaguely registered a cute brunette off to my left, but had to do a double take before I realized I'd seen that face before and, man alive, she was flanked by my fellow Blue Tree Whackers. We had a nice laugh about my obliviousness and then went gentle into that good night. (The lady at the Detroit check-in counter had made fun of my old, battered bags, but once in LAX I had zero trouble spotting them on the conveyor belt. As always. Fuck you, lady, and have a nice day.)
We drove past a neat, ultramodern restaurant that the Professor had for the past several years assumed was the control tower (even thought it is flanked by taller structures) and made a bee line for the In & Out Burger. Let me say first that the In & Out Burger is my kind of place; the portions are large and greasy, the decor and employee uniforms are delightfully retro, and best of all it's cheap. That said, the name In & Out Burger is wickedly misleading. In last 2oth/early 21st century American English, the phrase "in & out" implies celerity. Like, you pull up to the bank and say, "I'm just need to use the ATM. I'll be in and out." Quick. Technically, every time you use a building you're emabarking upon an "in & out" transaction, otherwise you'd still be inside that building. So, I'm not out of line saying that the name In & Out Burger clearly implies that you'll get in and out with relative speed. Such is not actually the case.
Still, like I always said, it is my kind of place and I had enough fries to make my feel slightly sick. We drove to BTWest, a loft in a converted factory, the boys showed me the Risk board they had stuck to the the underside of their glass dining table with putty, and as both the Professor and the Belle had work in the morning (he had work, her job is a volunteer internship) we all went to bed. Or rather, I went to couch. Or rather, I went to love seat. Being taller than the love seat was long, I slept in a mostly upright position with my feet sticky up into the air off the other end. Hardly comfortable, but such are the thrills of travel.
The Professor offered me his bed, but even I am not so boorish a guest as to turn my host out of his own bed.
[I also wrote up the events of Thursday, July 21, but as I tried to post them, the fine fuckers at Blogger informed my that the service was unavailable due to "scheduled maintenance." Nice of them to let the rest of us in on their schedule. As always, I hope every single motherfucker at the Blogger division of Google bleeds from his eyes every day of his wretched life from now until death.]
Next time on "L.A. Story": Thursday. (Before Blogger fucked us all over, that would have read, "The Triumph of the Narwhal.")
Monday, August 8, 2005
The Return of the Secret Base
On the one hand, in the last month I have done, by my standards, quite a bit of traveling. I've driven through the fabled Canadas to the boondocks of upstate New York, taken advantage of Wilber and Orville Wright's hard work all the way to and from the Left Coast, and then traversed anew the Great White North on the way to a thriving metropolis in upstate New York. In my travels, I have seen a goodly percentage of my friends, all of whom I do not see as often as I might prefer. I've also taken a few daytrips throughout my beloved Great Lakes State. These treks have had a negative influence on this blog, the Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society, of which I remain the sole member. Or perhaps the travel is just an excuse (the Syracuse excuse?). I tend to think not, but truly that is neither here nor there. In the recent past, this blog has not been all I have wished it to be, and I dedicate myself to righting the course. Coming attractions:
"L.A. Story" - a full recounting of my second journey to the Bear Republic.
"The Adventures of Team Bachelor" - all the festivities and misadventures of the wedding in Syracuse
The best is yet to come. Or at least I hope so. If what came before was the best... wow. And not the good kind of wow. No, not at all.
On the one hand, in the last month I have done, by my standards, quite a bit of traveling. I've driven through the fabled Canadas to the boondocks of upstate New York, taken advantage of Wilber and Orville Wright's hard work all the way to and from the Left Coast, and then traversed anew the Great White North on the way to a thriving metropolis in upstate New York. In my travels, I have seen a goodly percentage of my friends, all of whom I do not see as often as I might prefer. I've also taken a few daytrips throughout my beloved Great Lakes State. These treks have had a negative influence on this blog, the Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society, of which I remain the sole member. Or perhaps the travel is just an excuse (the Syracuse excuse?). I tend to think not, but truly that is neither here nor there. In the recent past, this blog has not been all I have wished it to be, and I dedicate myself to righting the course. Coming attractions:
"L.A. Story" - a full recounting of my second journey to the Bear Republic.
"The Adventures of Team Bachelor" - all the festivities and misadventures of the wedding in Syracuse
The best is yet to come. Or at least I hope so. If what came before was the best... wow. And not the good kind of wow. No, not at all.
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
Science!
Live on TV, I'm watching a man walk in space. What a time to be alive.
Pug Uglies
The most efficient means of luring the Pug Uglies back into their cage is baiting. For half a bone-shaped biscuit, they'll run - not walk - to their cage and stand just inside the threshold. I give each his treat and then close and seal the cage, where they will remain for the next several hours. The last few visits, they seem to have lost most interest in running around the house for a few minutes and instead want to cut straight to the chase. Okay, fine by me, but you guys to realize this means you have to spend even more time inthe cage, right? Alas, I'm not sure their little canine minds are capable of delaying gratification for even a few moments. They want a biscuit and they want it now! Consequences (what's a consequence?) be damned.
And now back to bed for an hour!
Live on TV, I'm watching a man walk in space. What a time to be alive.
Pug Uglies
The most efficient means of luring the Pug Uglies back into their cage is baiting. For half a bone-shaped biscuit, they'll run - not walk - to their cage and stand just inside the threshold. I give each his treat and then close and seal the cage, where they will remain for the next several hours. The last few visits, they seem to have lost most interest in running around the house for a few minutes and instead want to cut straight to the chase. Okay, fine by me, but you guys to realize this means you have to spend even more time inthe cage, right? Alas, I'm not sure their little canine minds are capable of delaying gratification for even a few moments. They want a biscuit and they want it now! Consequences (what's a consequence?) be damned.
And now back to bed for an hour!
Tuesday, August 2, 2005
Is there any movie that couldn't be improved by the presence of Sean Bean?
Pug Uglies
The key to caring for small dogs is bribery. Tyson and Patrick don't like their cage, but bribe them with half a Milkbone each and they run into their box with the celerity of bats flying out of Hell. I'm also taking care of Mac, a Cairn terrier. (Like Toto!) Those three little dog-monsters have done much to overcome my prejudice against filthy dog-monsters, but I remain convinced that I shall never myself own a dog-monster. Back in the day, when we took weekend trips we'd leave out two or three bowls of dry food and three or four bowls of water and lo and behold, three days later Sam would be just as fit and unhospitable as he was at our departure. The dog-monsters require almost constant care. Like old people. And boy howdy do I hate old people. Nevertheless, I forgive the dog-monsters this transgression because they are so monstrously adorable. Especially Tyson, whose eyes point in different directions. He's googly-eyed!
L.A. Story
The first and most important thing to know about my trip is that I traveled 2,000 miles to play five games of Risk and help teach the Belle of Texas to play euchre. I saw neither the Hollywood sign nor the LaBrea Tar Pits. But I did assist in the purchase and transport of a 32" x 80" door, which was subsuquently nicknamed "Sock" and painted with an argyle pattern to resemble a pair of Steeze's boxer shorts. And thus was the first third of Three Doors Down completed. And jumpin' Jack Pratt, am I glad I'm not going to be around for the painting of "Circle." "Stripe" should be easy, but there's no way "Circle" won't be an arduous ordeal. Then again, an ordeal that isn't arduous isn't really an ordeal at all, but rather some kind of inconvenience. "Circle" won't be an inconvenience, it will be a nightmare. I really dodged that bullet.
Victory for ZIM!
Pug Uglies
The key to caring for small dogs is bribery. Tyson and Patrick don't like their cage, but bribe them with half a Milkbone each and they run into their box with the celerity of bats flying out of Hell. I'm also taking care of Mac, a Cairn terrier. (Like Toto!) Those three little dog-monsters have done much to overcome my prejudice against filthy dog-monsters, but I remain convinced that I shall never myself own a dog-monster. Back in the day, when we took weekend trips we'd leave out two or three bowls of dry food and three or four bowls of water and lo and behold, three days later Sam would be just as fit and unhospitable as he was at our departure. The dog-monsters require almost constant care. Like old people. And boy howdy do I hate old people. Nevertheless, I forgive the dog-monsters this transgression because they are so monstrously adorable. Especially Tyson, whose eyes point in different directions. He's googly-eyed!
L.A. Story
The first and most important thing to know about my trip is that I traveled 2,000 miles to play five games of Risk and help teach the Belle of Texas to play euchre. I saw neither the Hollywood sign nor the LaBrea Tar Pits. But I did assist in the purchase and transport of a 32" x 80" door, which was subsuquently nicknamed "Sock" and painted with an argyle pattern to resemble a pair of Steeze's boxer shorts. And thus was the first third of Three Doors Down completed. And jumpin' Jack Pratt, am I glad I'm not going to be around for the painting of "Circle." "Stripe" should be easy, but there's no way "Circle" won't be an arduous ordeal. Then again, an ordeal that isn't arduous isn't really an ordeal at all, but rather some kind of inconvenience. "Circle" won't be an inconvenience, it will be a nightmare. I really dodged that bullet.
Victory for ZIM!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Neutral Man's farewell festivities on Saturday, Shakespeare in Jackson on Sunday, Reed and Cristina's wedding in Syracuse next weekend... humbug. I am a lazy, lazy man, kids, and right now my sitting-on-my-fat-arse is being severely curtailed. I love all the things I'll be doing the next few weekends, I just wish they could have been moved distantly spaced.
Pay me no mind, I always whine like this during these social streaks. Soon enough I'll once again be a recluse who never sees his friends and all will be right with the world.
Pay me no mind, I always whine like this during these social streaks. Soon enough I'll once again be a recluse who never sees his friends and all will be right with the world.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
All Holocaust All the Time
Movies Nos. 3-7 in my Netflix queue, annotated with hyperlinks to the Internet Movie Database. Nos. 1 and 2 are parts 2 and 3 of my three-part introduction to the cinema of Spike Lee, Summer of Sam and 25th Hour. I really liked He Got Game; so, I may have to add more Spike Lee "joints" to the list.
Conspiracy
Uprising
Europa Europa
Out of the Ashes
The Grey Zone
The Troubles
Fucking Paddies. Okay, first of all, if this is real, huzzah, but since when were terrorists known for actually keeping their word? Plus, news reports all day have said that "the IRA" has agreed to give up terrorism (though NPR shied away from calling their actions terrorism, instead preferring the unacceptably sanitized phrase "armed struggle"), but what they are talking about is the fucking Provos. Yes, the Provisional IRA is the largest of the several groups calling themselves the Irish Republican Army, but in recent years, specifically since the Good Friday Agreement, they have not been nearly as violent as the Real IRA or the Continuity IRA.
So, it's just plain sloppy, incomplete journalism to say that "the IRA" has agreed to cease its decades-long campaign of terrorism. Remember right after 9/11, when the major media organizations all said that they would start doing a better, more thorough job of covering events outside the United States? Yeah, nice to see how well they are following through on that promise. But I digress.
I hope today's honeyed words will mean an end to the savage murder of civilians in the name of Irish Republicanism, but I'll be a monkey's uncle before I take terrorists at their word. Cliched but true, there's nothing for it but to wait and see.
Hey, how did Jaime Fox go from Ray to Stealth inside of a year? How the mighty hath fallen....
Movies Nos. 3-7 in my Netflix queue, annotated with hyperlinks to the Internet Movie Database. Nos. 1 and 2 are parts 2 and 3 of my three-part introduction to the cinema of Spike Lee, Summer of Sam and 25th Hour. I really liked He Got Game; so, I may have to add more Spike Lee "joints" to the list.
Conspiracy
Uprising
Europa Europa
Out of the Ashes
The Grey Zone
The Troubles
Fucking Paddies. Okay, first of all, if this is real, huzzah, but since when were terrorists known for actually keeping their word? Plus, news reports all day have said that "the IRA" has agreed to give up terrorism (though NPR shied away from calling their actions terrorism, instead preferring the unacceptably sanitized phrase "armed struggle"), but what they are talking about is the fucking Provos. Yes, the Provisional IRA is the largest of the several groups calling themselves the Irish Republican Army, but in recent years, specifically since the Good Friday Agreement, they have not been nearly as violent as the Real IRA or the Continuity IRA.
So, it's just plain sloppy, incomplete journalism to say that "the IRA" has agreed to cease its decades-long campaign of terrorism. Remember right after 9/11, when the major media organizations all said that they would start doing a better, more thorough job of covering events outside the United States? Yeah, nice to see how well they are following through on that promise. But I digress.
I hope today's honeyed words will mean an end to the savage murder of civilians in the name of Irish Republicanism, but I'll be a monkey's uncle before I take terrorists at their word. Cliched but true, there's nothing for it but to wait and see.
Hey, how did Jaime Fox go from Ray to Stealth inside of a year? How the mighty hath fallen....
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Yeah, so my hope is to post about Los Angeles tomorrow. I left LAX at approximately 11:00pm Pacific Daylight Time (fucking Northwest, both my flights were late) and arrived at DTW at approximately 6:00am Eastern Daylight Time; my sleep cycle is still kind of messed up. Like, last night I got more than a full night's sleep, something like nine hours, but I still woke up tired. Note to self: only travel westward. The next time I visit the Left Coast, remind me to take the long way 'round to get home. Los Angeles to Tokyo to Kyrgyzstan to Turkey to London to Detroit.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Hate and Ignorance Go Hand In Hand
So, The Malingerer now believes that AIDS is a "homosexual disease" and that neither HIV nor the AIDS virus may be tramsitted through vaginal intercourse. He presented me with his "evidence" and told me that "doctors and nurses from around here" had told him that only gays and drug users get AIDS; congratulations, Dad, you've regressed to the early '80s. I retorted that there are doctors, both medical and philosophical (MDs and PhDs, kids), who support the "intelligent design" incarnation of Creationism, and that doctors are as human as the rest of us, and subject to the same prejudices and madnesses. I cited the vast majority of medical opinion and he declared the CDC (the Centers for Disease Control) to be part of a vast left wing conspiracy. Furhter, the notion that any heterosexual non-drug users had ever gotten AIDS was a "media creation." He seems to have missed the fact that I was comparing him unfavorably to a Creationist, a group he regards and despises as morons.
The good news (at least for me) is that this claim of AIDS only striking homosexuals proves that my father is not, as he now claims, a Christian; so, I'm once again confident that he's going to Hell when he dies. God has clearly never spoken to my father, for no one whose heart He has touched could embrace such mindless bigotry. I'd ask my dad to watch the movie Boys Don't Cry, but I'm afraid he'd admire the homophobic murderers. My father has always been an asshole, but he used to be smart, with a curious, inquisitive mind. Now, well, he uses about the same percentage of his brain as does Pat Buchanan. In other words, essentially none.
So, The Malingerer now believes that AIDS is a "homosexual disease" and that neither HIV nor the AIDS virus may be tramsitted through vaginal intercourse. He presented me with his "evidence" and told me that "doctors and nurses from around here" had told him that only gays and drug users get AIDS; congratulations, Dad, you've regressed to the early '80s. I retorted that there are doctors, both medical and philosophical (MDs and PhDs, kids), who support the "intelligent design" incarnation of Creationism, and that doctors are as human as the rest of us, and subject to the same prejudices and madnesses. I cited the vast majority of medical opinion and he declared the CDC (the Centers for Disease Control) to be part of a vast left wing conspiracy. Furhter, the notion that any heterosexual non-drug users had ever gotten AIDS was a "media creation." He seems to have missed the fact that I was comparing him unfavorably to a Creationist, a group he regards and despises as morons.
The good news (at least for me) is that this claim of AIDS only striking homosexuals proves that my father is not, as he now claims, a Christian; so, I'm once again confident that he's going to Hell when he dies. God has clearly never spoken to my father, for no one whose heart He has touched could embrace such mindless bigotry. I'd ask my dad to watch the movie Boys Don't Cry, but I'm afraid he'd admire the homophobic murderers. My father has always been an asshole, but he used to be smart, with a curious, inquisitive mind. Now, well, he uses about the same percentage of his brain as does Pat Buchanan. In other words, essentially none.
Manfred von Richthofen
Yesterday, I turned 26. I've now outlived the famous Red Baron, but only at the cost of failing to achieve any similar degree of public recognition. Blast! In any event, I had a most profitable birthday. The loot:
Star Wars
Darth Vader Voice Changer hemlet
Risk Star Wars Clone Wars Edition
Episode III clone trooper helmet sticker
Books
Sarah Vowell, Take the Cannoli
Steve Martin, The Pleasure of My Compnay
Charles Brooks, ed., Best Editorial Cartoons of the Year - 2005 Edition
CDs
Duvall, Oh Holy Night
DVDs
Star Trek: First Contact
Star Trek: Insurrection
Space Ghost: Coast to Coast - Volume Two
Space Ghost: Coast to Coast - Volume Three "This is 1997"
Awesome. My thanks and love to my brother, sister, mother, and father.
City of Angels
More on my vacation soon. For now, let me just say that we played many games of Risk and taught the Belle of Texas how to play euchre, the temperatures in Los Angeles were cooler than they are here in Grand Blanc, and here are five words guaranteed to make you jealous: the Triumph of the Narwhal.
Yesterday, I turned 26. I've now outlived the famous Red Baron, but only at the cost of failing to achieve any similar degree of public recognition. Blast! In any event, I had a most profitable birthday. The loot:
Star Wars
Darth Vader Voice Changer hemlet
Risk Star Wars Clone Wars Edition
Episode III clone trooper helmet sticker
Books
Sarah Vowell, Take the Cannoli
Steve Martin, The Pleasure of My Compnay
Charles Brooks, ed., Best Editorial Cartoons of the Year - 2005 Edition
CDs
Duvall, Oh Holy Night
DVDs
Star Trek: First Contact
Star Trek: Insurrection
Space Ghost: Coast to Coast - Volume Two
Space Ghost: Coast to Coast - Volume Three "This is 1997"
Awesome. My thanks and love to my brother, sister, mother, and father.
City of Angels
More on my vacation soon. For now, let me just say that we played many games of Risk and taught the Belle of Texas how to play euchre, the temperatures in Los Angeles were cooler than they are here in Grand Blanc, and here are five words guaranteed to make you jealous: the Triumph of the Narwhal.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Rest in Peace
Hyperlink. Thank you, Mr. Doohan, for your decades as Montgomery "Scotty" Scott, chief engineer of the starship Enterprise. Warp speed and Godspeed, sir.
Apollo 11
Thirty-six years ago today, Neil Armstrong took, "One small step for [a] man, one giant leap for Mankind," and he and Buzz Aldrin became the first men to walk on the Moon. In the words of The Onion, "Holy Shit Man Walks On Fucking Moon." Out of all the human beings who have ever lived, only twelve men have ever walked on the Moon, all of them Americans. In the words of the late Sam Kinison, "If you want to impress us, bring back our fucking flag!"
Apollo 11
Neil Armstrong
"Buzz" Aldrin
Apollo 12
"Pete" Conrad
Al Bean
Apollo 14
Alan Shepard (golf, anyone?)
Ed Mitchell
Apollo 15 (crew all University of Michigan alumni)
Dave Scott
Jim Irwin
Apollo 16
John Young
Charlie Duke
Apollo 17
Gene Cernan
Jack Schmitt
I'll be back in Michigan on July 25; so, no bloggy blogging until at least then. Try to survive without me, darlings.
Hyperlink. Thank you, Mr. Doohan, for your decades as Montgomery "Scotty" Scott, chief engineer of the starship Enterprise. Warp speed and Godspeed, sir.
Apollo 11
Thirty-six years ago today, Neil Armstrong took, "One small step for [a] man, one giant leap for Mankind," and he and Buzz Aldrin became the first men to walk on the Moon. In the words of The Onion, "Holy Shit Man Walks On Fucking Moon." Out of all the human beings who have ever lived, only twelve men have ever walked on the Moon, all of them Americans. In the words of the late Sam Kinison, "If you want to impress us, bring back our fucking flag!"
Apollo 11
Neil Armstrong
"Buzz" Aldrin
Apollo 12
"Pete" Conrad
Al Bean
Apollo 14
Alan Shepard (golf, anyone?)
Ed Mitchell
Apollo 15 (crew all University of Michigan alumni)
Dave Scott
Jim Irwin
Apollo 16
John Young
Charlie Duke
Apollo 17
Gene Cernan
Jack Schmitt
I'll be back in Michigan on July 25; so, no bloggy blogging until at least then. Try to survive without me, darlings.
Ready
A public servant I really like is Secretary of Homeland Security Michael Chertoff. Look at him. Sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and a haircut that bald men all over American should emulate. (You cannot have long hair like you did back in the '70s, you pathetic creeps, not if you don't have any hair left on top!) But seriously, look at the man. He looks like he's haunted. He looks like he hasn't slept in Bog knows how long. That's the kind of man I want running the vast, debatably Orwellian Department of Homeland Security. Fat man, rightly or wrongly, appear lazy. And I say this as a lazy fat man. Maybe lacking the discipline to control your diet or exercise properly has nothing to do with your professional competence or dedication to protecting this great nation, but who appears to be the more vigilant sentinel, Secretary Chertoff or the increasingly bulbous Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R, IL)? In any event, I sleep better knowing Chertoff doesn't.
A public servant I really like is Secretary of Homeland Security Michael Chertoff. Look at him. Sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and a haircut that bald men all over American should emulate. (You cannot have long hair like you did back in the '70s, you pathetic creeps, not if you don't have any hair left on top!) But seriously, look at the man. He looks like he's haunted. He looks like he hasn't slept in Bog knows how long. That's the kind of man I want running the vast, debatably Orwellian Department of Homeland Security. Fat man, rightly or wrongly, appear lazy. And I say this as a lazy fat man. Maybe lacking the discipline to control your diet or exercise properly has nothing to do with your professional competence or dedication to protecting this great nation, but who appears to be the more vigilant sentinel, Secretary Chertoff or the increasingly bulbous Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R, IL)? In any event, I sleep better knowing Chertoff doesn't.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Today's sad sack of the day is Chairman Hua Guofeng. He was the leader of the People's Republic of China, but I'd be surprised if any of you had ever heard of him. Oh, well, at least he fared better than poor Liu Shaoqi or Lin Biao, and to his credit he did manage to defeat Jiang Qing and the rest of the Gang of Four.
Vote For Kodos
Hey, could someone leave a comment or send me an email (rebelblackdot@gmail.com) briefly explaning the proposed program of the Democratic Party? I'd be grateful. Listening to Senators Reid and Kerry and Representative Pelosi, I've got a good idea what the Democrats are against (everything under the sun), but I don't know what reforms or programs they actually support. Except Senator Durbin, I'm well aware where he stands: American soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines behave exactly as did Nazis and Soviet commisars. Speak up, lefties, what exactly does your party support? Thanks.
Goodbye, Kitty
Last night, I slept with the door to my room open, extremely odd behavior on my part, I assure you. It was an experiment to see if I might use the alarm clocks in my parents' bedroom to help prevent me from sleeping away my entire solitude. (Their clocks didn't help, but I was able to rise at a satisfactory time in any event.) As I was looking at the open door, I really really wanted Sammy to walk in and jump up on the bed. I wish I was alone in the house with my kitty.
Vote For Kodos
Hey, could someone leave a comment or send me an email (rebelblackdot@gmail.com) briefly explaning the proposed program of the Democratic Party? I'd be grateful. Listening to Senators Reid and Kerry and Representative Pelosi, I've got a good idea what the Democrats are against (everything under the sun), but I don't know what reforms or programs they actually support. Except Senator Durbin, I'm well aware where he stands: American soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines behave exactly as did Nazis and Soviet commisars. Speak up, lefties, what exactly does your party support? Thanks.
Goodbye, Kitty
Last night, I slept with the door to my room open, extremely odd behavior on my part, I assure you. It was an experiment to see if I might use the alarm clocks in my parents' bedroom to help prevent me from sleeping away my entire solitude. (Their clocks didn't help, but I was able to rise at a satisfactory time in any event.) As I was looking at the open door, I really really wanted Sammy to walk in and jump up on the bed. I wish I was alone in the house with my kitty.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Alone
The parents were gone by noon. They shan't return until Tuesday night. We will all be busy during the day on Wednesday, and by Wednesday night I shall be on my way to BTWest in Los Angeles. I'll be back on the following Monday. So, essentially, I am rid of my mother and my father for an entire week. The worm has turned, fortune smiles upon me. In the finest tradition of the JLI, "Bwah ha ha ha ha!"
On the Road
Traverse City, Michigan - camping, Memorial Day weekend
Schroon Lake, New York - the Mountain of Love at the Seagle Music Colony
Los Angeles, California - BTWest
Syracuse, New York - Reed's wedding
Bay City, Michigan - Booth's wedding
On these trips, I have seen or will see Guy Zach Nie!, Sarah (should I start calling her The Gal?), the Mountain of Love, the Professor, K. Steeze, the Belle of Texas, Skeeter, the Anonymous Friend, Daddy Dylweed and family, Reed and soon-to-be Mrs. Reed, Boof and soon-to-be Mrs. Boof, Saturday Night, and Dr. Justin. Others, too? I certainly hope so. I enjoy being alone more than anyone I know, but at the same time I have the best friends in all the world, and I love seeing them.
Yes, my friends are better than yours. It's not a matter of opinion, yours are simply inferior. Suck it up.
The parents were gone by noon. They shan't return until Tuesday night. We will all be busy during the day on Wednesday, and by Wednesday night I shall be on my way to BTWest in Los Angeles. I'll be back on the following Monday. So, essentially, I am rid of my mother and my father for an entire week. The worm has turned, fortune smiles upon me. In the finest tradition of the JLI, "Bwah ha ha ha ha!"
On the Road
Schroon Lake, New York - the Mountain of Love at the Seagle Music Colony
Los Angeles, California - BTWest
Syracuse, New York - Reed's wedding
Bay City, Michigan - Booth's wedding
On these trips, I have seen or will see Guy Zach Nie!, Sarah (should I start calling her The Gal?), the Mountain of Love, the Professor, K. Steeze, the Belle of Texas, Skeeter, the Anonymous Friend, Daddy Dylweed and family, Reed and soon-to-be Mrs. Reed, Boof and soon-to-be Mrs. Boof, Saturday Night, and Dr. Justin. Others, too? I certainly hope so. I enjoy being alone more than anyone I know, but at the same time I have the best friends in all the world, and I love seeing them.
Yes, my friends are better than yours. It's not a matter of opinion, yours are simply inferior. Suck it up.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
"A short skirt,
A Gimmes shirt,
A Jones Soda,
Ain't life grand?"
My stated position is that if I ever see a girl wearing a short skirt and a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt and drinking a Jones Soda Co. beverage, I will propose to her on the spot. Failing that, all I ask for is a girl who appreciates that there may be nothing finer in this world than the "Musical Depreciation Revue" of Spike Jones and His City Slickers.
Same Shit, Different Day
I'd complain about NPR and the fact that the jailing of Judith Miller for contempt of court seems to be getting more coverage than the aftermath of the London bombing, but I worry that I'm becoming a bit of a broken record.
I was talking to The Malingerer earlier (always a mistake), and he was horrified that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had been confirmed to the Supreme Court by a vote of something like 89-11. His position is that since Justice Ginsburg was once chief counsel for the ACLU, no Republican senator should have voted for her. I pointed out to him that that exact same argument, back by the opposite politcal persuasion, had been behind the defeat of Robert Bork's nomination to the Supreme Court, a deplorable act in my father's eyes. He denounces "the Left" (and sometimes I am included in that vast group) for their tactics, while at the same time embracing them wholeheartedly. Dear Bog.
A Gimmes shirt,
A Jones Soda,
Ain't life grand?"
My stated position is that if I ever see a girl wearing a short skirt and a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt and drinking a Jones Soda Co. beverage, I will propose to her on the spot. Failing that, all I ask for is a girl who appreciates that there may be nothing finer in this world than the "Musical Depreciation Revue" of Spike Jones and His City Slickers.
Same Shit, Different Day
I'd complain about NPR and the fact that the jailing of Judith Miller for contempt of court seems to be getting more coverage than the aftermath of the London bombing, but I worry that I'm becoming a bit of a broken record.
I was talking to The Malingerer earlier (always a mistake), and he was horrified that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had been confirmed to the Supreme Court by a vote of something like 89-11. His position is that since Justice Ginsburg was once chief counsel for the ACLU, no Republican senator should have voted for her. I pointed out to him that that exact same argument, back by the opposite politcal persuasion, had been behind the defeat of Robert Bork's nomination to the Supreme Court, a deplorable act in my father's eyes. He denounces "the Left" (and sometimes I am included in that vast group) for their tactics, while at the same time embracing them wholeheartedly. Dear Bog.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
The Church of Henry VIII's Divorces
Okay, I do not at all understand what the problem is here. Hyperlink. The various Anglican and Episcopal churches around the world already permit female ministers; so, what's the problem with allowing female bishops? Make no mistake, I am absolutely opposed to the ordination of women, but once you have taken the step of ordaining women as priests, how can you possibly object to making them bishops? I felt the same confusion over the election of Gene Robinson as the bishop of New Hampshire; Robinson, if you'll recall, is gay. I oppose the ordination of openly and actively gay men as priests, but once they are allowed to be men of the cloth, as in the Anglican Communion, what possible sense does it make to prohibit a homosexual from becoming a bishop? Then again, the Churfhc of England was founded on the contradiction of allowing King Henry VIII to divorce Catherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn; that makes about as much sense as allowing women to be priests and denying them the right to be bishops. Silly Protestants.
In Cold Blood
It is not my intention to seem a heartless monster, but when contemplating the horrific murders in London it is useful to remind oneself that al Qaeda's spectacular, high profile acts of terrorism are increasingly in their lethality. The coordination needed to launch the attack on the Underground is a far cry from the complexity of 9/11's "Planes Operation" or the disrupted "Bojinka" plot to simultaneously blow up several trans-Pacific airliners from the mid-90s.
September 11, 2001 - New York; Washington, DC; & Pennsylvania, USA - 2,986 dead
October 12, 2002 - Bali, Indonesia - 212 dead
March 11, 2004 - Madrid, Spain - 191 dead
July 7, 2005 - London, United Kingdom - approximately 52 dead
Al Qaeda is deadly and ruthless and would not hesitate to stage another massive 9/11-style attack were they able, nor would they shy away from using weapons of mass destruction were they to acquire them. But, as Prime Minister Blair reminded us, "the purpose of terrorism... is to terrorize." We must remind ourselves that liberal democracy has defeated the medieval divine right of kings, slavery, militarism, fascism, and communism. We shall defeat Islamist jihadism, as well. We need only stay the course and declare that though the terrorists can kill us, we will not allow them to frighten us.
Okay, I do not at all understand what the problem is here. Hyperlink. The various Anglican and Episcopal churches around the world already permit female ministers; so, what's the problem with allowing female bishops? Make no mistake, I am absolutely opposed to the ordination of women, but once you have taken the step of ordaining women as priests, how can you possibly object to making them bishops? I felt the same confusion over the election of Gene Robinson as the bishop of New Hampshire; Robinson, if you'll recall, is gay. I oppose the ordination of openly and actively gay men as priests, but once they are allowed to be men of the cloth, as in the Anglican Communion, what possible sense does it make to prohibit a homosexual from becoming a bishop? Then again, the Churfhc of England was founded on the contradiction of allowing King Henry VIII to divorce Catherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn; that makes about as much sense as allowing women to be priests and denying them the right to be bishops. Silly Protestants.
In Cold Blood
It is not my intention to seem a heartless monster, but when contemplating the horrific murders in London it is useful to remind oneself that al Qaeda's spectacular, high profile acts of terrorism are increasingly in their lethality. The coordination needed to launch the attack on the Underground is a far cry from the complexity of 9/11's "Planes Operation" or the disrupted "Bojinka" plot to simultaneously blow up several trans-Pacific airliners from the mid-90s.
September 11, 2001 - New York; Washington, DC; & Pennsylvania, USA - 2,986 dead
October 12, 2002 - Bali, Indonesia - 212 dead
March 11, 2004 - Madrid, Spain - 191 dead
July 7, 2005 - London, United Kingdom - approximately 52 dead
Al Qaeda is deadly and ruthless and would not hesitate to stage another massive 9/11-style attack were they able, nor would they shy away from using weapons of mass destruction were they to acquire them. But, as Prime Minister Blair reminded us, "the purpose of terrorism... is to terrorize." We must remind ourselves that liberal democracy has defeated the medieval divine right of kings, slavery, militarism, fascism, and communism. We shall defeat Islamist jihadism, as well. We need only stay the course and declare that though the terrorists can kill us, we will not allow them to frighten us.
Saturday, July 9, 2005
Goodbye, Kitty
I miss Sammy.
The Group of 8
One of these countries is not like the others. Guess which one:
United States of America
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Japan*
Federal Republic of Germany
French Republic
Italian Republic
Dominion of Canada
Russian Federation
Russia was admitted to the former G7 when the Soviet Union collapsed, a balm for the Motherland's bruised ego. Is anyone seriously going to argue that Russia is more economically important than China? On the other hand, despite some disturbing moves on President Putin's part, Russia is still a quasi-democracy; China remains one of the most authoritarian states on Earth. Still, the G8 is definied as a club of the world's richest nations, a club to which Russia has no more right to belong than India, the world's largest democracy.
*Japan does not have a formal name. Though seldom used, the formal name of Canada is the Dominion of Canada; in governmental communications, both America and Great Britain tend to use their formal names, the United States and the United Kingdom, respectively. During the Second World War, Japan was the Empire of Japan. The emperor is still around, though no longer considered divine, but Japan is most certainly no longer the Empire. There's no name for Japan other than Japan.
Of course, Japan isn't really Japan. "Japan" comes from the Chinese word for the islands, "Jipan." The Japanese name for Japan is Nihon, sometimes styled as Nippon. So really, the Japanese should be called Nihonese.
Then again, what the hell did Amerigo Vespucci ever do that was so great? Really, instead of an American I suppose I should be a Columbian, not to be confused with a Colombian. Welcome to the United States of Columbia? There is still a British Columbia, long after British Honduras went the way of the buffalo.
Wait a second, I've seen buffalo! They aren't extinct. Damn misleading phrase....
Chinese
Japanese
Portugese
Vietnamese
Burmese
Siamese (archaic)
Did I miss any?
The House of Burgesses
America
Senate
House of Representatives
Great Britain
House of Lords
House of Commons
Japan
House of Councillors
House of Representatives
Germany
Federal Council
Federal Diet
France
Senate
National Assembly
Italy
Senate
Chamber of Deputies
Canada
Senate
House of Commons
Russia
Federation Council
State Duma
I miss Sammy.
The Group of 8
One of these countries is not like the others. Guess which one:
United States of America
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Japan*
Federal Republic of Germany
French Republic
Italian Republic
Dominion of Canada
Russian Federation
Russia was admitted to the former G7 when the Soviet Union collapsed, a balm for the Motherland's bruised ego. Is anyone seriously going to argue that Russia is more economically important than China? On the other hand, despite some disturbing moves on President Putin's part, Russia is still a quasi-democracy; China remains one of the most authoritarian states on Earth. Still, the G8 is definied as a club of the world's richest nations, a club to which Russia has no more right to belong than India, the world's largest democracy.
*Japan does not have a formal name. Though seldom used, the formal name of Canada is the Dominion of Canada; in governmental communications, both America and Great Britain tend to use their formal names, the United States and the United Kingdom, respectively. During the Second World War, Japan was the Empire of Japan. The emperor is still around, though no longer considered divine, but Japan is most certainly no longer the Empire. There's no name for Japan other than Japan.
Of course, Japan isn't really Japan. "Japan" comes from the Chinese word for the islands, "Jipan." The Japanese name for Japan is Nihon, sometimes styled as Nippon. So really, the Japanese should be called Nihonese.
Then again, what the hell did Amerigo Vespucci ever do that was so great? Really, instead of an American I suppose I should be a Columbian, not to be confused with a Colombian. Welcome to the United States of Columbia? There is still a British Columbia, long after British Honduras went the way of the buffalo.
Wait a second, I've seen buffalo! They aren't extinct. Damn misleading phrase....
Chinese
Japanese
Portugese
Vietnamese
Burmese
Siamese (archaic)
Did I miss any?
The House of Burgesses
America
Senate
House of Representatives
Great Britain
House of Lords
House of Commons
Japan
House of Councillors
House of Representatives
Germany
Federal Council
Federal Diet
France
Senate
National Assembly
Italy
Senate
Chamber of Deputies
Canada
Senate
House of Commons
Russia
Federation Council
State Duma
Thursday, July 7, 2005
London Can Take It
From June 1940 to June 1941, Great Britain alone stood against the seemingly invincible Nazi war machine. Almost no part of London was spared from the Blitz. Even Buckingham Palace was damaged. The United States was neutral; the Soviet Union was a Nazi ally. The British people are made of sterner stuff than the cowardly Spanish; al Qaeda is mistaken if they believe today's barbarous slaughter will alter British policy to their liking.
Dieu et mon droit.
From June 1940 to June 1941, Great Britain alone stood against the seemingly invincible Nazi war machine. Almost no part of London was spared from the Blitz. Even Buckingham Palace was damaged. The United States was neutral; the Soviet Union was a Nazi ally. The British people are made of sterner stuff than the cowardly Spanish; al Qaeda is mistaken if they believe today's barbarous slaughter will alter British policy to their liking.
Dieu et mon droit.
Tuesday, July 5, 2005
"Over Macho Grande?"
"I don't think I'll ever be over Macho Grande."
The Father and My Father
This Fourth of July, my father put up the "Don't Tread On Me" flag. I don't really mind, since the phrase originated from flags actually flown by Continental forces; thus, quite appropos for Independence Day. But he also put up two yard signs, one reading "Support Our Troops" and sporting a likeness of the flag raising on Iwo Jima, the other featuring a waving American flag and the words "God Bless America." While I should very much like to see this great nation continue to enjoy the Lord's favor, I find my father's new found religiosity disturbing and offensive.
Before 9/11, my father did not believe in God. In his own words, he might have believed "in a deity who was not necessarily the Judeo-Christian God." He loathed organized religion. Since he became a rabid anti-Muslim bigot and raving hatemonger in the almost four years since 9/11, he also claims to have seen "thr truth" about the Almighty and Christianity. I do not believe my father truly believes in the Father, the Son, and/or the Holy Ghost. He has, to my knowledge, never given any money to charity; in fact, he seems to rather hate the poor and destitute, a most un-Christian attitude.
What I think my father believes in is some kind of mythical, romanticized version of Crusades-era Christianity. He has often said that the current War on Terror is just the latest battle in Christendom's "1,300 year war against Islam." What he fails to realize is that Christianity is the antithesis of war. The medieval Church made many mistakes, paramount among them proclaimig the righteousness of holy wars against non-Christians. How is the rape of Jerusalem by the knights and soldiers of the First Crusade any different than the Japanese rape of Nanking? Answer, it isn't, and the vast majority of those Crusaders are to this day still burning in Hell. I can imagine no greater sin than murdering in His name. And yet this is the Christianity my father seems to believe in.
My father reads voraciously, including a great deal about the history of the Middle East and the wars between Muslim and Christian empires. But let this be a lesson: you can read all the time and still not learn anything. England allied with the Ottoman Turks to oppose Venice's merchantile empire. The knights of the Fourth Crusade sacked Constantinople instead of reclaiming Jerusalem from Islamic princes, and installed a Latin king in place of the Byzantine emperor. The British Empire and the Second French Empire allied with the Ottoman Empire against Czarist Russia. How does any of this represent a continuing "1,300 year war" between Christianity and Islam?
Our enemies are Muslims but Muslims are not our enemies, Dad. If you really had any faith in Christ, you'd understand this.
"I don't think I'll ever be over Macho Grande."
The Father and My Father
This Fourth of July, my father put up the "Don't Tread On Me" flag. I don't really mind, since the phrase originated from flags actually flown by Continental forces; thus, quite appropos for Independence Day. But he also put up two yard signs, one reading "Support Our Troops" and sporting a likeness of the flag raising on Iwo Jima, the other featuring a waving American flag and the words "God Bless America." While I should very much like to see this great nation continue to enjoy the Lord's favor, I find my father's new found religiosity disturbing and offensive.
Before 9/11, my father did not believe in God. In his own words, he might have believed "in a deity who was not necessarily the Judeo-Christian God." He loathed organized religion. Since he became a rabid anti-Muslim bigot and raving hatemonger in the almost four years since 9/11, he also claims to have seen "thr truth" about the Almighty and Christianity. I do not believe my father truly believes in the Father, the Son, and/or the Holy Ghost. He has, to my knowledge, never given any money to charity; in fact, he seems to rather hate the poor and destitute, a most un-Christian attitude.
What I think my father believes in is some kind of mythical, romanticized version of Crusades-era Christianity. He has often said that the current War on Terror is just the latest battle in Christendom's "1,300 year war against Islam." What he fails to realize is that Christianity is the antithesis of war. The medieval Church made many mistakes, paramount among them proclaimig the righteousness of holy wars against non-Christians. How is the rape of Jerusalem by the knights and soldiers of the First Crusade any different than the Japanese rape of Nanking? Answer, it isn't, and the vast majority of those Crusaders are to this day still burning in Hell. I can imagine no greater sin than murdering in His name. And yet this is the Christianity my father seems to believe in.
My father reads voraciously, including a great deal about the history of the Middle East and the wars between Muslim and Christian empires. But let this be a lesson: you can read all the time and still not learn anything. England allied with the Ottoman Turks to oppose Venice's merchantile empire. The knights of the Fourth Crusade sacked Constantinople instead of reclaiming Jerusalem from Islamic princes, and installed a Latin king in place of the Byzantine emperor. The British Empire and the Second French Empire allied with the Ottoman Empire against Czarist Russia. How does any of this represent a continuing "1,300 year war" between Christianity and Islam?
Our enemies are Muslims but Muslims are not our enemies, Dad. If you really had any faith in Christ, you'd understand this.
Monday, July 4, 2005
Independence Day!
Happy Independence Day, America! 229 years ago the Continental Congress declared the creation of the United States of America as a nation independent of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, it's mad King George III, and it's hypocritically tyrannical Parliament. The United States and the United Kingdom have since become great friends, but twenty-three decades ago Whitehall stood as a great obstacle to human freedom, an obstacle the nigh-saintly Founding Fathers were determined to surmount. With the help of the despotic King Louis XVI of France, the Continental Army routed the British at Yorktown, prompting our defeated foes to play the song, "The World Turned Upside Down." Imagine the history of the world over the last two centuries had the British Empire prevailed, had we cowered before their might as did our Canadian cousins.
America has been the greatest force for human freedom the world has ever seen. "The shot heard 'round the world" was fired on April 19, 1775, but the shot that changed human history, that declared forever the inalienable rights of man, was fired on July 4, 1776. Happy birthday, America.
Happy Independence Day, America! 229 years ago the Continental Congress declared the creation of the United States of America as a nation independent of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, it's mad King George III, and it's hypocritically tyrannical Parliament. The United States and the United Kingdom have since become great friends, but twenty-three decades ago Whitehall stood as a great obstacle to human freedom, an obstacle the nigh-saintly Founding Fathers were determined to surmount. With the help of the despotic King Louis XVI of France, the Continental Army routed the British at Yorktown, prompting our defeated foes to play the song, "The World Turned Upside Down." Imagine the history of the world over the last two centuries had the British Empire prevailed, had we cowered before their might as did our Canadian cousins.
America has been the greatest force for human freedom the world has ever seen. "The shot heard 'round the world" was fired on April 19, 1775, but the shot that changed human history, that declared forever the inalienable rights of man, was fired on July 4, 1776. Happy birthday, America.
Sunday, July 3, 2005
The Great Apes
Gorilla Grodd
Bobo, the Detective Chimp
Sam Simeon
Ultra-Humanite
I've encountered Grodd in the pages of The Flash and on the Justice League cartoon ("Secret Society, Parts I and II"), and I know he was the villain in the first arc of JLA: Classified. The Ultra-Humanite, though in a non-ape body, was the villain in the five-part JSA story "Stealing Thunder" and also appeared in all his white ape glory on Justice League ("Comfort and Joy," et alii). I was introduced to the Detective Chimp in the current miniseries Day of Vengeance, and I can't say I'd mind seeing more of him. As for Sam Simeon of "Angel & the Ape"? I've never encountered him, but then again I've only been reading DC comics for five years.
Hee hee, monkeys.
Gorilla Grodd
Bobo, the Detective Chimp
Sam Simeon
Ultra-Humanite
I've encountered Grodd in the pages of The Flash and on the Justice League cartoon ("Secret Society, Parts I and II"), and I know he was the villain in the first arc of JLA: Classified. The Ultra-Humanite, though in a non-ape body, was the villain in the five-part JSA story "Stealing Thunder" and also appeared in all his white ape glory on Justice League ("Comfort and Joy," et alii). I was introduced to the Detective Chimp in the current miniseries Day of Vengeance, and I can't say I'd mind seeing more of him. As for Sam Simeon of "Angel & the Ape"? I've never encountered him, but then again I've only been reading DC comics for five years.
Hee hee, monkeys.
Science! Leave it to the geniuses at NASA to figure out a way to combine legitimate science and high velocity impacts, i.e. blowing stuff up! Woot! Just in time for the Fourth of July, we're going to hit a comet with a washing machine! Science!*
*Note that this is the Invader ZIM "Science!," whereas the above hyperlink is the Thomas Dolby "Science!"
Dark Sun. We harnessed the destructive power of nuclear fusion half a century ago. If we can finally perfect stable, containable fusion, my Bog, it'll provide all the energy we'll ever need. It's a brave new world, my friends, just watch out for the Epsilons.
To the Death
Omet'iklon: "I am First Omet'iklon, and I am dead. From this moment on, we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives. This we do gladly, for we are Jem'Hadar. Remember, victory is life."
Jem'Hadar: "Victory is life!"
O'Brien: "I am Chief Miles Edward O'Brien. I'm very much alive and I intend to stay that way."
Sisko: "Come on, people, let's get in done."
*Note that this is the Invader ZIM "Science!," whereas the above hyperlink is the Thomas Dolby "Science!"
Dark Sun. We harnessed the destructive power of nuclear fusion half a century ago. If we can finally perfect stable, containable fusion, my Bog, it'll provide all the energy we'll ever need. It's a brave new world, my friends, just watch out for the Epsilons.
To the Death
Omet'iklon: "I am First Omet'iklon, and I am dead. From this moment on, we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives. This we do gladly, for we are Jem'Hadar. Remember, victory is life."
Jem'Hadar: "Victory is life!"
O'Brien: "I am Chief Miles Edward O'Brien. I'm very much alive and I intend to stay that way."
Sisko: "Come on, people, let's get in done."
I have seen War of the Worlds (we saw it this evening at my dear mother's insistence), about which I will say this one thing only: Steven Spielberg, once one of our finest filmmakers, still has yet to direct a good movie in the twenty-first century. He came very close this time, but blew it at the end. I have not been so disappointed by the end of a movie since Deep Impact.
My advice? Either stay home or go see Revenge of the Sith again.
My advice? Either stay home or go see Revenge of the Sith again.
Saturday, July 2, 2005
Bellvm Americana
Revolutionary War (1775-1783)
*British Empire
War of 1812 (1812-1815)
*British Empire
Mexican War (1846-1848)
*Mexico
Civil War (1861-1865)
*Confederacy
Spanish-American War (1898)
*Spanish Empire
Great War (1914-1918, US 1917-1918)
*German Empire
*Austro-Hungarian Empire
*Ottoman Empire
Second World War (1939-1945, US 1941-1945)
*Nazi Germany
*Japanese Empire
*Fascist Italy
Korean War (1950-1953)
*North Korea
*China
*QT: Soviet Union
Vietnam War (1957-1975, US 1965-1973)
*North Vietnam
*QT: China, Soviet Union
Gulf War (1991)
*Iraq
Afghan War (2001)
*Taliban militia
*al Qaeda
Iraq War (2003-present)
*Iraq
*al Qaeda
An argument can be made for not including the Gulf War. After all, it only lasted a few weeks (and the ground war only a few days), and was entirely one-sided. But, the Spanish-American War can't reasonably be left off the list ("Remember the Maine!", San Juan Hill, America's first and only overseas empire) even it lasted only a few months and was devastatingly one-sided. So, the 1991 Gulf War is in.
Revolutionary War (1775-1783)
*British Empire
War of 1812 (1812-1815)
*British Empire
Mexican War (1846-1848)
*Mexico
Civil War (1861-1865)
*Confederacy
Spanish-American War (1898)
*Spanish Empire
Great War (1914-1918, US 1917-1918)
*German Empire
*Austro-Hungarian Empire
*Ottoman Empire
Second World War (1939-1945, US 1941-1945)
*Nazi Germany
*Japanese Empire
*Fascist Italy
Korean War (1950-1953)
*North Korea
*China
*QT: Soviet Union
Vietnam War (1957-1975, US 1965-1973)
*North Vietnam
*QT: China, Soviet Union
Gulf War (1991)
*Iraq
Afghan War (2001)
*Taliban militia
*al Qaeda
Iraq War (2003-present)
*Iraq
*al Qaeda
An argument can be made for not including the Gulf War. After all, it only lasted a few weeks (and the ground war only a few days), and was entirely one-sided. But, the Spanish-American War can't reasonably be left off the list ("Remember the Maine!", San Juan Hill, America's first and only overseas empire) even it lasted only a few months and was devastatingly one-sided. So, the 1991 Gulf War is in.
Friday, July 1, 2005
The Death of Superman Trilogy
Storylines
"The Death of Superman"
"Funeral For a Friend"
"Reign of the Supermen"
Collections
The Death of Superman
World Without a Superman
The Return of Superman
The Supermen
Superman (Clark Kent/Kal-El)
Cyborg Superman (Hank Henshaw)
The Kryptonian (the Eradicator)
The Man of Steel (John Henry Irons) - Steel
Superboy (Kon-El/Conner Kent)
Man, what a great story.
O Canada!
Also, happy faux independence day to our friends in the Great White North. If Canada is really an independent country, why does their Monopoly money still feature the likeness of the Queen?
Storylines
"The Death of Superman"
"Funeral For a Friend"
"Reign of the Supermen"
Collections
The Death of Superman
World Without a Superman
The Return of Superman
The Supermen
Superman (Clark Kent/Kal-El)
Cyborg Superman (Hank Henshaw)
The Kryptonian (the Eradicator)
The Man of Steel (John Henry Irons) - Steel
Superboy (Kon-El/Conner Kent)
Man, what a great story.
O Canada!
Also, happy faux independence day to our friends in the Great White North. If Canada is really an independent country, why does their Monopoly money still feature the likeness of the Queen?
Article III
Justice Sandra Day O'Conner has announced her retirement from the United States Supreme Court. Hyperlink. Now, who actually thinks the nomination and confirmation process will be civil and/or dignified? Think Chief Justice Rehnquist will give W. the chance to nominate a dynamic duo? In any event, my thanks to Mrs. O'Conner for her decades of service to the Republic.
One Country, Two Systems
On July 1, 1997, sovereignty over Hong Kong (Hong Kong Island, the Kowloon Peninsula, and the New Territories) was transferred from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to the People's Republic of China. While the people of Hong Kong do not live under the same repression as the majority of Chinese, it is equally fair to say that do not enjoy the same civil liberties they did under the British governor. I really don't feel much sympathy for Haong Kong democracy activists. Did you people honestly believe you could both live under Beijing's rule and remain free? How stupid are you? Were you not paying attention in 1989? I sympathize with those who did not have the economic means to leave Hong Kong before the handover, but that does not extend to those who had the wherewithal and chose to stay; they should have known what they were getting into.
I really do like the new Hong Kong flag, though. Hyperlink.
Captains of Industry
Bruce Wayne (Batman) - Wayne Enterprises, advanced research division Waynetech
Lex Luthor - Lexcorp
Ted Kord (deceased, Blue Beetle II) - K.O.R.D. (Kord Omniversal Research and Development), a division of Wayne Enterprises
Michael Carter (Booster Gold) - Booster Gold International (formerly Goldstar, Inc.) **bankrupt**
Jesse Chambers (Jesse Quick) - QuickStart
Justice Sandra Day O'Conner has announced her retirement from the United States Supreme Court. Hyperlink. Now, who actually thinks the nomination and confirmation process will be civil and/or dignified? Think Chief Justice Rehnquist will give W. the chance to nominate a dynamic duo? In any event, my thanks to Mrs. O'Conner for her decades of service to the Republic.
One Country, Two Systems
On July 1, 1997, sovereignty over Hong Kong (Hong Kong Island, the Kowloon Peninsula, and the New Territories) was transferred from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to the People's Republic of China. While the people of Hong Kong do not live under the same repression as the majority of Chinese, it is equally fair to say that do not enjoy the same civil liberties they did under the British governor. I really don't feel much sympathy for Haong Kong democracy activists. Did you people honestly believe you could both live under Beijing's rule and remain free? How stupid are you? Were you not paying attention in 1989? I sympathize with those who did not have the economic means to leave Hong Kong before the handover, but that does not extend to those who had the wherewithal and chose to stay; they should have known what they were getting into.
I really do like the new Hong Kong flag, though. Hyperlink.
Captains of Industry
Bruce Wayne (Batman) - Wayne Enterprises, advanced research division Waynetech
Lex Luthor - Lexcorp
Ted Kord (deceased, Blue Beetle II) - K.O.R.D. (Kord Omniversal Research and Development), a division of Wayne Enterprises
Michael Carter (Booster Gold) - Booster Gold International (formerly Goldstar, Inc.) **bankrupt**
Jesse Chambers (Jesse Quick) - QuickStart
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Something is better than nothing. Hyperlink.
Deutschland Uber Alles. While I want to be rid of Gerhard Schroeder and his "red-green" coalition government as soon as possible, an attention to history has made me very wary of German governments violating the letter of their own constitutions. I'm not trying to draw any inappropriate parallels, but before they began engaging in outright illegal behavior, the lawfully-elected Nazis started by stretching and bending the Weimar Constitution. I'd prefer Herr Schroeder stuck to the letter of German law, even if that means Frau Merkel won't be chancellor until next year.
Deutschland Uber Alles. While I want to be rid of Gerhard Schroeder and his "red-green" coalition government as soon as possible, an attention to history has made me very wary of German governments violating the letter of their own constitutions. I'm not trying to draw any inappropriate parallels, but before they began engaging in outright illegal behavior, the lawfully-elected Nazis started by stretching and bending the Weimar Constitution. I'd prefer Herr Schroeder stuck to the letter of German law, even if that means Frau Merkel won't be chancellor until next year.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Science!
The world is full of madness, but then I think about science and everything seems okedoke. Hyperlink. I want to lazily sail the seas of Titan. "No, these piggies are for science. Science!"
The world is full of madness, but then I think about science and everything seems okedoke. Hyperlink. I want to lazily sail the seas of Titan. "No, these piggies are for science. Science!"
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
The Magic of Shazam!
Heroes
Captain Marvel (Billy Batson)
Mary Marvel (Mary Batson)
Marvel Lad (Freddy Freeman)
Bulletwoman (Deanna Barr)
Spy Smasher (Avi Ducret)**
Timmy the Robot****
Villains
Dr. Thaddeus Sivana
Black Adam (Teth-Adam/Theo Adam)
Mr. Mind
Captain Nazi (Albrecht Krieger)
Mr. Atom
Ibac ("Stinky" Printwhistle)
The Ghoul (Grelf)***
Erlkonig*
Xenophon (Costas Papadelias)*
Sakura (to be determined)*
Ivan Derook****
Madame Libertine (Katrina Krieger)
Arson Fiend (George Tweedle)
Sabbac (Ishmael Gregor)
*created by Mike Wilson
**original Spy Smasher (Alan Armstrong) created by Bill Parker & C.C. Beck, Avi Ducret created by Mike Wilson
***original Space Ghoul created by Otto Binder & Kurt Schaffenberger, Grelf created by Mike Wilson
****original Timmy Tinkle and Ivan Derook created by Otto Binder & C.C. Beck, new versions created by Mike Wilson
Heroes
Captain Marvel (Billy Batson)
Mary Marvel (Mary Batson)
Marvel Lad (Freddy Freeman)
Bulletwoman (Deanna Barr)
Spy Smasher (Avi Ducret)**
Timmy the Robot****
Villains
Dr. Thaddeus Sivana
Black Adam (Teth-Adam/Theo Adam)
Mr. Mind
Captain Nazi (Albrecht Krieger)
Mr. Atom
Ibac ("Stinky" Printwhistle)
The Ghoul (Grelf)***
Erlkonig*
Xenophon (Costas Papadelias)*
Sakura (to be determined)*
Ivan Derook****
Madame Libertine (Katrina Krieger)
Arson Fiend (George Tweedle)
Sabbac (Ishmael Gregor)
*created by Mike Wilson
**original Spy Smasher (Alan Armstrong) created by Bill Parker & C.C. Beck, Avi Ducret created by Mike Wilson
***original Space Ghoul created by Otto Binder & Kurt Schaffenberger, Grelf created by Mike Wilson
****original Timmy Tinkle and Ivan Derook created by Otto Binder & C.C. Beck, new versions created by Mike Wilson
The Long, Hard Slog to Victory
By mid-December 1944, Allied forces in northern Europe were in full retreat. Entire divisions had been cut off and surrounded, communications had been disrupted, English-speaking SS infiltration units had sown mistrust and discord in the ranks, and more American troops surrendered to the enemy than in any other campaign in the battle history of the Republic. So tell me, during the Battle of the Bulge were we winning or losing the Second World War? The insurgency continues in Iraq, but that doesn't mean we aren't winning.
Article III
There is continual gossip about the "impending" retirement of United States Supreme Court Chief Justice William Rehnquist. Yes, Rehnquist is eighty years old and sick as a dog with the cancer, and yes, with an ideologically friendly administration in the White House he can step down confident in the knowledge that he will be replaced by someone of his own judicial-political ilk. These are good solid reasons for a sick old man who has nobly served his country and our nigh-sacred Constitution for a very long time to retire with the just thanks of a grateful nation. My question is this: Justice John Paul Stevens is eighty-five years old, five years beyond the ailing Chief Justice; why are not more people asking when he will step down? Has he publically declared that he intends to die on the bench? Is he holding out for a Democratic White House? Is he just being delightfully stubborn (a position I could respect most enthusiastically)? Why the "death watch" on Rehnquist but not on Stevens? There are only nine of these people at any one time, surely it is not beyond our abilities to pay moderate attention to two of them simultaneously.
I sometimes joke about repealing Article I of the United States Constitution, but I would never joke about repealing Article III. The law, as it is applied in this country, often makes no sense to me, and sometimes it seems to be naught but nonsense. Nevertheless, without the law we are lost.
By mid-December 1944, Allied forces in northern Europe were in full retreat. Entire divisions had been cut off and surrounded, communications had been disrupted, English-speaking SS infiltration units had sown mistrust and discord in the ranks, and more American troops surrendered to the enemy than in any other campaign in the battle history of the Republic. So tell me, during the Battle of the Bulge were we winning or losing the Second World War? The insurgency continues in Iraq, but that doesn't mean we aren't winning.
Article III
There is continual gossip about the "impending" retirement of United States Supreme Court Chief Justice William Rehnquist. Yes, Rehnquist is eighty years old and sick as a dog with the cancer, and yes, with an ideologically friendly administration in the White House he can step down confident in the knowledge that he will be replaced by someone of his own judicial-political ilk. These are good solid reasons for a sick old man who has nobly served his country and our nigh-sacred Constitution for a very long time to retire with the just thanks of a grateful nation. My question is this: Justice John Paul Stevens is eighty-five years old, five years beyond the ailing Chief Justice; why are not more people asking when he will step down? Has he publically declared that he intends to die on the bench? Is he holding out for a Democratic White House? Is he just being delightfully stubborn (a position I could respect most enthusiastically)? Why the "death watch" on Rehnquist but not on Stevens? There are only nine of these people at any one time, surely it is not beyond our abilities to pay moderate attention to two of them simultaneously.
I sometimes joke about repealing Article I of the United States Constitution, but I would never joke about repealing Article III. The law, as it is applied in this country, often makes no sense to me, and sometimes it seems to be naught but nonsense. Nevertheless, without the law we are lost.
Spies Like Us
Why is it that when a given person agrees with a CIA assessment, it is a crack unit composed of the best and brightest minds of ours or any other generation, yet when one disagrees, the CIA is the most amateurish and bureaucratically inept organization this side of the Watergate "plumbers"? Ah, the Central Intelligence Agency, a scapegoat for all seasons. Hyperlink. The same people that delight in highlighting the CIA's misestimations have absolute faith in it's most dire predictions about the Iraqi insurrgency.
Why is it that when a given person agrees with a CIA assessment, it is a crack unit composed of the best and brightest minds of ours or any other generation, yet when one disagrees, the CIA is the most amateurish and bureaucratically inept organization this side of the Watergate "plumbers"? Ah, the Central Intelligence Agency, a scapegoat for all seasons. Hyperlink. The same people that delight in highlighting the CIA's misestimations have absolute faith in it's most dire predictions about the Iraqi insurrgency.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Escape From L.A.
Well, I can finally get K. Steeze and The Professor off my back, my flights to and from Los Angeles have been booked... and they won't cost me a dime! Bwah ha ha ha ha! My sincerest thanks to my dear mother for allowing me to take advantage of her credit card reward points, of which she had accumulated more than enough to wisk me to the City of Angels and back again to the Motor City. So, the week after our annual pilgrimage to Mosquito Mecca, also known as Schroon Lake, New York, to visit the Mountain of Love at opera camp, I shall visit California for the second time. I expect to derive exquisite joy from my time with the boys and the Belle of Texas, currently in LA as part of an internship, and from my first experience with BTWest, the very first incarnation of the BTW House. Woot!
In all my life I never thought I'd be this excited to be going to Los Angeles, described by William Faulkner as "the plastic asshole of America." (I've never read Faulkner, I just like that quote.) Hooray for Blue Tree Whacking.
The Dreadful Sick
By Saturday, the stabbing brink in my stomach had all but disappeared, replaced by a curious soreness in my stomach muscles, as if I'd done a number of sit-ups. I cautiously snacked on some cinnamon-sugar toast and a bowl of Corn Chex without milk. I had eaten nothing at all on Thursday and Friday; so, even the small portions I ate of these mild foods gave rise to some gastro-intestinal hijinks. Apparently, digestion is not like riding a bike; it does not come right back to your stomach and sundry intestines. Nevertheless, this was a major improvement over the queer and disconcerting deadlock of Thursday and Friday. I am still eating smaller portions than those to which I am accustomed, but in view of my ponderous bulk and a desire to do away with some of it it would be a wise policy to adopt modestly sized meals as the new order of things. In short, I am not simply better, I am well.
And of course I blame this entire episode on Skeeter and the spooky coincidences that have recently marked both our lives. Not Invader ZIM's "Halloween Spectacular of Spooky Doom" spooky, but still pretty spooky. I assume The Watergirl is just an innocent bystander caught in the spooky crossfire. Spooky!
High Fives All Around
This afternoon, I weed-whacked and chopped up the branches I had haphazardly pruned over the last few weeks. Sweet merciful crap, it was hot! I do not recall the last June to have so many days marked by afternoon highs in excess of eighty degrees. And, alas, they have not been hot, dry days, but rather monuments to heat and humidity. That's right, dear readers, it's been hot and muggy.
Foreign Affairs
I'd remark on the new leadership in Hong Kong or the new hardline (but mostly powerless) president in Iran, but you people wouldn't care. The utter lack of response to last week's question about your feelings on the European Union demonstrated the futility of trying to engage you Philistines in a discussion about any more worldly than the regrettably sorry state of American journalism. Go back to your spicy chicken wings and NASCAR standings, no need to think about the world beyond our borders.
You know, it must suck to be the Philistines. Thousands upon thousands of now forgotten tribes fought countless wars in the lost mists of pre- and early history, and most of those tribes must have lambasted their enemies as the most abominable people on Earth. The Philistines just had the rotten luck of making an enemy of the one damn tribe (technically, twelve tribes) whose chronicles would go on to be enshrined in the holy text of the numerically largest religion in the world. I'm sure in many ways the Philistines were no worse than the Israelites. This brings to mind FDR's famous words on dictators, "He may be a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch." The Israelites may have been as savage as the Philistines, but the Israelites are our guys; so, the Philistines are remembered as the Philistines, and you'd be well advised to take umbrage at being called a Philistine, as you were in the previous paragraph.
Also, be mindful. Like most anime, FLCL is much better in the original Japanese. The subtitles come fast and furious, but it is a small price to pay for the wonderful voice acting. Fooly cooly, y'all.
Well, I can finally get K. Steeze and The Professor off my back, my flights to and from Los Angeles have been booked... and they won't cost me a dime! Bwah ha ha ha ha! My sincerest thanks to my dear mother for allowing me to take advantage of her credit card reward points, of which she had accumulated more than enough to wisk me to the City of Angels and back again to the Motor City. So, the week after our annual pilgrimage to Mosquito Mecca, also known as Schroon Lake, New York, to visit the Mountain of Love at opera camp, I shall visit California for the second time. I expect to derive exquisite joy from my time with the boys and the Belle of Texas, currently in LA as part of an internship, and from my first experience with BTWest, the very first incarnation of the BTW House. Woot!
In all my life I never thought I'd be this excited to be going to Los Angeles, described by William Faulkner as "the plastic asshole of America." (I've never read Faulkner, I just like that quote.) Hooray for Blue Tree Whacking.
The Dreadful Sick
By Saturday, the stabbing brink in my stomach had all but disappeared, replaced by a curious soreness in my stomach muscles, as if I'd done a number of sit-ups. I cautiously snacked on some cinnamon-sugar toast and a bowl of Corn Chex without milk. I had eaten nothing at all on Thursday and Friday; so, even the small portions I ate of these mild foods gave rise to some gastro-intestinal hijinks. Apparently, digestion is not like riding a bike; it does not come right back to your stomach and sundry intestines. Nevertheless, this was a major improvement over the queer and disconcerting deadlock of Thursday and Friday. I am still eating smaller portions than those to which I am accustomed, but in view of my ponderous bulk and a desire to do away with some of it it would be a wise policy to adopt modestly sized meals as the new order of things. In short, I am not simply better, I am well.
And of course I blame this entire episode on Skeeter and the spooky coincidences that have recently marked both our lives. Not Invader ZIM's "Halloween Spectacular of Spooky Doom" spooky, but still pretty spooky. I assume The Watergirl is just an innocent bystander caught in the spooky crossfire. Spooky!
High Fives All Around
This afternoon, I weed-whacked and chopped up the branches I had haphazardly pruned over the last few weeks. Sweet merciful crap, it was hot! I do not recall the last June to have so many days marked by afternoon highs in excess of eighty degrees. And, alas, they have not been hot, dry days, but rather monuments to heat and humidity. That's right, dear readers, it's been hot and muggy.
Foreign Affairs
I'd remark on the new leadership in Hong Kong or the new hardline (but mostly powerless) president in Iran, but you people wouldn't care. The utter lack of response to last week's question about your feelings on the European Union demonstrated the futility of trying to engage you Philistines in a discussion about any more worldly than the regrettably sorry state of American journalism. Go back to your spicy chicken wings and NASCAR standings, no need to think about the world beyond our borders.
You know, it must suck to be the Philistines. Thousands upon thousands of now forgotten tribes fought countless wars in the lost mists of pre- and early history, and most of those tribes must have lambasted their enemies as the most abominable people on Earth. The Philistines just had the rotten luck of making an enemy of the one damn tribe (technically, twelve tribes) whose chronicles would go on to be enshrined in the holy text of the numerically largest religion in the world. I'm sure in many ways the Philistines were no worse than the Israelites. This brings to mind FDR's famous words on dictators, "He may be a son of a bitch, but he's our son of a bitch." The Israelites may have been as savage as the Philistines, but the Israelites are our guys; so, the Philistines are remembered as the Philistines, and you'd be well advised to take umbrage at being called a Philistine, as you were in the previous paragraph.
Also, be mindful. Like most anime, FLCL is much better in the original Japanese. The subtitles come fast and furious, but it is a small price to pay for the wonderful voice acting. Fooly cooly, y'all.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
The Empire Strikes Back
Special Air Service: "Who Dares Wins."
Special Boat Service: "Not By Strength, By Guile."
Despite all the talk of ours being an information economy and the future of warfare being "network-centric," I still there is great validity in the analysis of history Admiral Mahan expounded in The Influence of Sea Power upon History. Thus, I think it is worth noting that despite al Qaeda's successful and bloody attack on the USS Cole in 2000 (to which President Clinton did not respond), and Beijing's ambitions for the People's Liberation Army Navy (honestly, that's what it's called) to be more than just a brown water force, the three most powerful navies in the world are the United States Navy, the Royal Navy, and Japan's Maritime Self-Defense Force. Woot!
If I ever become a recluse, I think I'll move to the Falklands. That seems like just about the middle of nowhere. Plus, the locals speak English, always a plus.
Special Air Service: "Who Dares Wins."
Special Boat Service: "Not By Strength, By Guile."
Despite all the talk of ours being an information economy and the future of warfare being "network-centric," I still there is great validity in the analysis of history Admiral Mahan expounded in The Influence of Sea Power upon History. Thus, I think it is worth noting that despite al Qaeda's successful and bloody attack on the USS Cole in 2000 (to which President Clinton did not respond), and Beijing's ambitions for the People's Liberation Army Navy (honestly, that's what it's called) to be more than just a brown water force, the three most powerful navies in the world are the United States Navy, the Royal Navy, and Japan's Maritime Self-Defense Force. Woot!
If I ever become a recluse, I think I'll move to the Falklands. That seems like just about the middle of nowhere. Plus, the locals speak English, always a plus.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Hyperlink. Do most of you have an opinion on the European Union? What, if anything, is the importance of the "Non" and "Nee" votes in France and The Netherlands? The EU is something worth having an opinion about, much more so than... whatever the fuck moronic bit of pop culture people have opinions about these days.
Of course, maybe I spend too much time every day thining about China and the EU and what the world is going to look like (geopolitically speaking) in five, ten, twenty years. That's just what I do. That and imagine how cool it would look to see Captain marvel whaling on this villain I created called the Erlkonig. (Yeah, that's right, from Goethe. I'm not erudite, but I fake it reasonably well.)
Thabo Mbeki is not a good guy, but getting rid of Zuma was a step in the right direction. Another hyperlink.
I can't wait for the next Christopher Guest mockumentary, whatever and whenever that will be. Because, let's be honest, A Mighty Wind was - how shall I put this? - disappointing. Not enough Parker, not enough comedy. Yes, the bar was set very, very, very high with Waiting for Guffman and Best in Show, but still.
I miss pining. I mean, I've figured out how to ask girls out; so, I'm not as good at hopelessly pining as I used to be, but still. I used to be really good at pining, and the single worst thing about being here is there's not even anybody to pine over. Sorry, I'm whining. If Freaks and Geeks had had a second season, I hope they would have had an episode titled "Whining and Pining."
Of course, maybe I spend too much time every day thining about China and the EU and what the world is going to look like (geopolitically speaking) in five, ten, twenty years. That's just what I do. That and imagine how cool it would look to see Captain marvel whaling on this villain I created called the Erlkonig. (Yeah, that's right, from Goethe. I'm not erudite, but I fake it reasonably well.)
Thabo Mbeki is not a good guy, but getting rid of Zuma was a step in the right direction. Another hyperlink.
I can't wait for the next Christopher Guest mockumentary, whatever and whenever that will be. Because, let's be honest, A Mighty Wind was - how shall I put this? - disappointing. Not enough Parker, not enough comedy. Yes, the bar was set very, very, very high with Waiting for Guffman and Best in Show, but still.
I miss pining. I mean, I've figured out how to ask girls out; so, I'm not as good at hopelessly pining as I used to be, but still. I used to be really good at pining, and the single worst thing about being here is there's not even anybody to pine over. Sorry, I'm whining. If Freaks and Geeks had had a second season, I hope they would have had an episode titled "Whining and Pining."
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Why in Bog's name don't things simply work? Is it too much to ask for a device to fulfill it's fucking purpose? As, I'm really glad Mom decided to turn the air conditioning off as soon as the daytime high dropped below eighty degrees. Outside, the temperature has dropped to the low sixties, but here in the house it is still seventy-nine degrees with no breeze whatsoever. Way to go, Mom.
Monday, June 20, 2005
I particularly love these twists on familiar sayings:
"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."
--Keith Giffen
"You won't live to regret this."
--David Wilson
And of course I love this instant classic original:
"Either way, your seed dies with you."
--Jon Mace, Zach Nie!, and Mike Wilson
All Good Things...
The key phrase in my previous post that seems to have been universally overlooked is, "there's no reason to panic." Does The Newsletter have structural problems? Yes, it does. Is The Newsletter beyond saving? No, it is not. Am I determined to save The Newsletter? Yes, I am. Do I love typing the words "The Newsletter"? Yes, I do. Possibly too much.
Justice League of America
Superman (Clark Kent)
Batman (Bruce Wayne)
Wonder Woman (Diana of Themyscira)
The Flash (Wally West)
Green Lantern (John Stewart*)
Martian Manhunter (J'onn J'onzz)
ongoing:
JLA
JLA: Classified
Justice League: Elite (mini)
former:
Justice League of America
Justice League
Justice League International
Justice League America
Justice League Europe
Justice League Task Force
Extreme Justice
plus about seven gazillion miniseries
*To be replaced by the recently resurrected Hal Jordan? Also, I love the current direction of Aquaman and hope that he-of-the-orange-shirt spends many years in Sub Diego, but that should in no way preclude Aquaman (Arthur Curry) from returning to the JLA. When, dammit?
Justice Society of America
Mr. Terrific (Michael Holt) - chairman
The Flash (Jay Garrick)
Green Lantern (Alan Scott)
Wildcat (Ted Grant)
Hawkman (Carter Hall)
Sand (Sanderson Hawkins)
Dr. Mid-Nite (Dr. Pieter Cross)
Hawkgirl (Kendra Saunders)
Dr. Fate (Hector Hall)
Power Girl (Karen Starr)
Hourman (Rick Tyler)
Stargirl (Courtney Whitmore)
Jakeem Thunder (Jakeem Williams)
ongoing:
JSA
JSA: Classified
former:
All-Star Comics
The Justice Society of America
All-Star Squadron
Infinity, Inc.
JSA: All-Stars (mini)
"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."
--Keith Giffen
"You won't live to regret this."
--David Wilson
And of course I love this instant classic original:
"Either way, your seed dies with you."
--Jon Mace, Zach Nie!, and Mike Wilson
All Good Things...
The key phrase in my previous post that seems to have been universally overlooked is, "there's no reason to panic." Does The Newsletter have structural problems? Yes, it does. Is The Newsletter beyond saving? No, it is not. Am I determined to save The Newsletter? Yes, I am. Do I love typing the words "The Newsletter"? Yes, I do. Possibly too much.
Justice League of America
Superman (Clark Kent)
Batman (Bruce Wayne)
Wonder Woman (Diana of Themyscira)
The Flash (Wally West)
Green Lantern (John Stewart*)
Martian Manhunter (J'onn J'onzz)
ongoing:
JLA
JLA: Classified
Justice League: Elite (mini)
former:
Justice League of America
Justice League
Justice League International
Justice League America
Justice League Europe
Justice League Task Force
Extreme Justice
plus about seven gazillion miniseries
*To be replaced by the recently resurrected Hal Jordan? Also, I love the current direction of Aquaman and hope that he-of-the-orange-shirt spends many years in Sub Diego, but that should in no way preclude Aquaman (Arthur Curry) from returning to the JLA. When, dammit?
Justice Society of America
Mr. Terrific (Michael Holt) - chairman
The Flash (Jay Garrick)
Green Lantern (Alan Scott)
Wildcat (Ted Grant)
Hawkman (Carter Hall)
Sand (Sanderson Hawkins)
Dr. Mid-Nite (Dr. Pieter Cross)
Hawkgirl (Kendra Saunders)
Dr. Fate (Hector Hall)
Power Girl (Karen Starr)
Hourman (Rick Tyler)
Stargirl (Courtney Whitmore)
Jakeem Thunder (Jakeem Williams)
ongoing:
JSA
JSA: Classified
former:
All-Star Comics
The Justice Society of America
All-Star Squadron
Infinity, Inc.
JSA: All-Stars (mini)
Sunday, June 19, 2005
As Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) told Alfred Pennyworth (Michael Caine), "People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy."
Batman? Brit.
Alfred? Brit. (Kosher.)
Jim Gordon? Brit.
The Scarecrow? Brit.
Dr. Thomas Wayne? Brit.
Batman Begins: finally, definitive proof that not every actor in Hollywood is Australian.
Batman? Brit.
Alfred? Brit. (Kosher.)
Jim Gordon? Brit.
The Scarecrow? Brit.
Dr. Thomas Wayne? Brit.
Batman Begins: finally, definitive proof that not every actor in Hollywood is Australian.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
All Good Things...
No decisions have been made, and there's no reason to panic, but it definitely looks as if the days of The Newsletter are numbered. Originally, the renaissance had six staff columnists: The Plate, Neutral Man, The Guy, the Mountain of Love, M. Phegley, and your humble narrator. Now, we are reduced to four. Sure, technically we still have all six, but in practice we are only four. In the last eleven issues, The Plate has only contributed three "The Hot Plate" columns. He's submitted a fair number of "Less Artsy, More Fartsy" reviews, but they are a pale substitute. I cherish the variety the reviews bring to each issue, but the core of The Newsletter has always been and must always be the columns. In that same span my brother has only contributed four "Is It Too Much To Ask?" columns. He sincerely desires to write more often and promises that he will when his schedule is less hectic (and believe me, his schedule sucks), but his schedule will never be less hectic. He hates, for reasons I will never understand, free time. Whenever his schedule affords him free time, he picks up new jobs and projects to occupy that time. He wants to write, but he'll never be able to do so reliably. Counting on him to have the time to write is like counting on Charles Rogers's collar bone to stay unbroken for more than ten minutes; it's a losing proposition.
And today we hit a new low. The next issue is a "Summer Reading" issue, and I have received material from exactly one staff writer: The Guy. Nothing from Associate Editor Neutral Man, nothing from M. Plegley. Nothing from my brother (though internet access is spotty in the wilds of upstate New York), nothing from the previous guest contrubtors I invited, and of course nothing from The Plate. (Again, think Charles Rogers.) With The Guy's supershort story and my supershort story and one of The Guy's two "Transcripts from the Last Night on Earth," we might have a two page issue. We haven't published a two page issue since Vol. 1, No. 1 (September 2001), when Uncle Jerry, The Plate, and I put together The Newsletter as a lark, and never gave any thought to it as an ongoing venture.
Maybe this issue, Vol. IX, No. 4, should be the last issue. No warning, no begging the staff to actually live up to that title, just POOF! gone. There is a certain poetry in the first and last issues both being two pages. Things seemed so good just a few weeks ago when we published the twelve-page behemoth "The Star Wars Issue," but as I've often said to the staff, The Newsletter is a ravenous beast. It needs to be constantly fed, and I cannot and will not be the only one putting forth any Bogdamned effort (all apologies to The Guy, my hero). But of course, I'll wuss out and won't be able to pull the plug, and The Newsletter will keep limping on, as if anyone actually gives a rat's ass. But start bagging and boarding your issues today, because it is only a matter of time, and probably sooner rather than later, before The Newsletter disappears again.
And after having my heart broken twice, I'll be damned before I resurrect this beautiful monstrosity ever again.
No decisions have been made, and there's no reason to panic, but it definitely looks as if the days of The Newsletter are numbered. Originally, the renaissance had six staff columnists: The Plate, Neutral Man, The Guy, the Mountain of Love, M. Phegley, and your humble narrator. Now, we are reduced to four. Sure, technically we still have all six, but in practice we are only four. In the last eleven issues, The Plate has only contributed three "The Hot Plate" columns. He's submitted a fair number of "Less Artsy, More Fartsy" reviews, but they are a pale substitute. I cherish the variety the reviews bring to each issue, but the core of The Newsletter has always been and must always be the columns. In that same span my brother has only contributed four "Is It Too Much To Ask?" columns. He sincerely desires to write more often and promises that he will when his schedule is less hectic (and believe me, his schedule sucks), but his schedule will never be less hectic. He hates, for reasons I will never understand, free time. Whenever his schedule affords him free time, he picks up new jobs and projects to occupy that time. He wants to write, but he'll never be able to do so reliably. Counting on him to have the time to write is like counting on Charles Rogers's collar bone to stay unbroken for more than ten minutes; it's a losing proposition.
And today we hit a new low. The next issue is a "Summer Reading" issue, and I have received material from exactly one staff writer: The Guy. Nothing from Associate Editor Neutral Man, nothing from M. Plegley. Nothing from my brother (though internet access is spotty in the wilds of upstate New York), nothing from the previous guest contrubtors I invited, and of course nothing from The Plate. (Again, think Charles Rogers.) With The Guy's supershort story and my supershort story and one of The Guy's two "Transcripts from the Last Night on Earth," we might have a two page issue. We haven't published a two page issue since Vol. 1, No. 1 (September 2001), when Uncle Jerry, The Plate, and I put together The Newsletter as a lark, and never gave any thought to it as an ongoing venture.
Maybe this issue, Vol. IX, No. 4, should be the last issue. No warning, no begging the staff to actually live up to that title, just POOF! gone. There is a certain poetry in the first and last issues both being two pages. Things seemed so good just a few weeks ago when we published the twelve-page behemoth "The Star Wars Issue," but as I've often said to the staff, The Newsletter is a ravenous beast. It needs to be constantly fed, and I cannot and will not be the only one putting forth any Bogdamned effort (all apologies to The Guy, my hero). But of course, I'll wuss out and won't be able to pull the plug, and The Newsletter will keep limping on, as if anyone actually gives a rat's ass. But start bagging and boarding your issues today, because it is only a matter of time, and probably sooner rather than later, before The Newsletter disappears again.
And after having my heart broken twice, I'll be damned before I resurrect this beautiful monstrosity ever again.
Friday, June 17, 2005
The best hyperlink ever.
Superman (1978)
Superman II (1980)
Superman III (1983)
Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987)
Batman (1989)
Batman Returns (1992)
Batman Forever (1995)
Batman & Robin (1997)
Batman Begins (2005)
Superman Returns (2006)
I think we can extrapolate from these figures that any DC superhero movie released in 2007 will be doomed to mediocrity. Crap, Wonder Woman is supposed to be released in 2007! Then again, it is to be written and directed by Joss Whedon; so, it's guaranteed to suck regardless.
Superman (1978)
Superman II (1980)
Superman III (1983)
Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987)
Batman (1989)
Batman Returns (1992)
Batman Forever (1995)
Batman & Robin (1997)
Batman Begins (2005)
Superman Returns (2006)
I think we can extrapolate from these figures that any DC superhero movie released in 2007 will be doomed to mediocrity. Crap, Wonder Woman is supposed to be released in 2007! Then again, it is to be written and directed by Joss Whedon; so, it's guaranteed to suck regardless.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
England vs. Rome
By blood I am half-English, compared to one quarter Scottish and one quarter Irish. My closest foreign-born relative was my Great Granny Gray, may she rest in peace, born Maude Pudaphott in an England still ruled by Queen Victoria. Yes, my Grandma Wilson, may she rest in peace, was born Priscilla Gray in an India still ruled by the British Raj, but her father was an American; so, I consider her to have been born an American. I love Great Britain, but more specifically I love England.
At the same time, I am a Roman Catholic, and Holy Mother Church suffered horribly at the hands of many Kings of England. My heart is torn between the Vatican and Whitehall. I have a great admiration for both Saint Thomas Becket and Saint Thomas More, martyrs of the Faith who died at the hands of King Henry II and King Henry VIII, respectively. They served both the Church and England, even if England's king could not see it at the time. On the other hand, I've never been a fan of Saint Joan of Arc. We are to believe that the Almighty really wanted the Dauphin to rule France and not Henry VI? I have a hard time viewing Joan as a martyr; I think she was executed because she was leading the French army, not because angels spoke to her. I doubt the English occupational army much gave a rat's arse about the voices she heard, they just wanted her victories to stop. But, Holy Mother Church sez she is a saint and yadda yadda yadda whatever, she's a saint.
And of course, Catholics are still officially forbidden from ascending to the throne of the United Kindgom. A Catholic, after all, couldn't be the head of the heretical and farcical Church of England now, could he?
By blood I am half-English, compared to one quarter Scottish and one quarter Irish. My closest foreign-born relative was my Great Granny Gray, may she rest in peace, born Maude Pudaphott in an England still ruled by Queen Victoria. Yes, my Grandma Wilson, may she rest in peace, was born Priscilla Gray in an India still ruled by the British Raj, but her father was an American; so, I consider her to have been born an American. I love Great Britain, but more specifically I love England.
At the same time, I am a Roman Catholic, and Holy Mother Church suffered horribly at the hands of many Kings of England. My heart is torn between the Vatican and Whitehall. I have a great admiration for both Saint Thomas Becket and Saint Thomas More, martyrs of the Faith who died at the hands of King Henry II and King Henry VIII, respectively. They served both the Church and England, even if England's king could not see it at the time. On the other hand, I've never been a fan of Saint Joan of Arc. We are to believe that the Almighty really wanted the Dauphin to rule France and not Henry VI? I have a hard time viewing Joan as a martyr; I think she was executed because she was leading the French army, not because angels spoke to her. I doubt the English occupational army much gave a rat's arse about the voices she heard, they just wanted her victories to stop. But, Holy Mother Church sez she is a saint and yadda yadda yadda whatever, she's a saint.
And of course, Catholics are still officially forbidden from ascending to the throne of the United Kindgom. A Catholic, after all, couldn't be the head of the heretical and farcical Church of England now, could he?
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Big fucking surprise. The real danger is that the Iranians will use this admission to manipulate the Europeans, "See, look, the Iranians are being cooperative. There's no need to take this from the IAEA to the Security Council." Meanwhile, the always friendly Guardian Council of the Islamic Republic of Iran gets ever closer to wiping Tel Aviv off the face of the earth. Good times ahead.
"It's Friday night,
I wanted to go out,
Didn't want to go to no show,
Didn't want to cruise Main Street,
I didn't want to go to no disco, no oh,
I just wanted you to come over,
Sit on my couch and hold me tight,
But you went out with some dumb jock,
And left me alone
With my skateboard tonight"
--The Aquabats!, "My Skateboard!" from The Fury of The Aquabats!
I wanted to go out,
Didn't want to go to no show,
Didn't want to cruise Main Street,
I didn't want to go to no disco, no oh,
I just wanted you to come over,
Sit on my couch and hold me tight,
But you went out with some dumb jock,
And left me alone
With my skateboard tonight"
--The Aquabats!, "My Skateboard!" from The Fury of The Aquabats!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Now on it's way to my hot little hands* from the fine folks at Netflix: The Hebrew Hammer, starring Adam Goldberg and Judy Greer. By the Holy of Holies, I hope it lives up to its potential.
Speaking of the Holy of Holies, this past weekend I saw The Last Temptation of Christ. It confirmed my opinion that Martin Scorsese is highly overrated as a director. Now I just need to watch The Greatest Story Ever Told and The Passion of the Christ back to back.
*In actuality, my hands are not little but slightly large. My fingers are kind of long, but the really freaky part is my palms; my palms are like fucking paddles. They're ridiculous. Great Granny Gray's, may she rest in peace, maiden name was Pudaphott ("pud-uh-foot"); apparently, it means "wide feet." All the Wilson men have wide feet (me: size 11 1/2 EEE; my dad: size 9 1/2 EEEE). It would also seem that our "pudapheett" include our hands. The palms are so weirdly huge!
Speaking of the Holy of Holies, this past weekend I saw The Last Temptation of Christ. It confirmed my opinion that Martin Scorsese is highly overrated as a director. Now I just need to watch The Greatest Story Ever Told and The Passion of the Christ back to back.
*In actuality, my hands are not little but slightly large. My fingers are kind of long, but the really freaky part is my palms; my palms are like fucking paddles. They're ridiculous. Great Granny Gray's, may she rest in peace, maiden name was Pudaphott ("pud-uh-foot"); apparently, it means "wide feet." All the Wilson men have wide feet (me: size 11 1/2 EEE; my dad: size 9 1/2 EEEE). It would also seem that our "pudapheett" include our hands. The palms are so weirdly huge!
Monday, June 13, 2005
I had a dream this morning in which the lock on the Mousemobile's trunk was broken and the blasted thing wouldn't stay shut. Note to self: have better dreams. Suggested topic: Maria Sharapova. Mmmmm, Sharapova.
The Aquabats!
The Return of The Aquabats!
The Fury of The Aquabats!
The Aquabats! vs. the Floating Eye of Death! and Other Amazing Adventures Vol. 1
Myths, Legends and Other Amazing Adventures Vol. 2 (B-sides/demos album)
Yo, Check Out This Ride! EP
Charge!!
Charge!!, the new album by The Aquabats!, is awesome. It is exactly the album I was expecting after Yo, Check Out This Ride! Yeah, The Aquabats! haven't really been a ska band since Floating Eye of Death!, but their songs still have the same energy and wackiness, though now more in a half-pop/half-New Wave style. And the band has shrunk from eight (or nine) men to five; Mu330 is the only five-man ska band I can name.
The Roster
The Fury of The Aquabats! (1997)
The Bat Commander - vox
Crash McLarson - bass
Chainsaw, the Prince of Karate - guitar
Prince Adam - trumpet
Catboy - trumpet
Jaime the Robot - sax
The Mysterious Ultra Kyu - guitar
The Baron Von Tito - drums
The Aquabats! vs. the Floating Eye of Death! (1999)
The MC Bat Commander - vox
Crash McLarson - bass
Chainsaw Karate - guitar
Prince Adam - trumpet
Catboy - trumpet
The Robot (still Jaime) - woodwinds
The Mysterious Kyu - guitar
Doctor Rock - drums
Charge!! (2005)
The MC Bat Commander - vox
Crash McLarson - bass
Chainsaw (no more karate?) - guitar
Jimmy the Robot - keyboards
Ricky Fitness - drums
I, of course, have a particular affinity for Chainsaw, since he gave me my Aquacadet name, Captain Thumbs-Up. Thanks, Chainsaw!
The Aquabats!
The Return of The Aquabats!
The Fury of The Aquabats!
The Aquabats! vs. the Floating Eye of Death! and Other Amazing Adventures Vol. 1
Myths, Legends and Other Amazing Adventures Vol. 2 (B-sides/demos album)
Yo, Check Out This Ride! EP
Charge!!
Charge!!, the new album by The Aquabats!, is awesome. It is exactly the album I was expecting after Yo, Check Out This Ride! Yeah, The Aquabats! haven't really been a ska band since Floating Eye of Death!, but their songs still have the same energy and wackiness, though now more in a half-pop/half-New Wave style. And the band has shrunk from eight (or nine) men to five; Mu330 is the only five-man ska band I can name.
The Roster
The Fury of The Aquabats! (1997)
The Bat Commander - vox
Crash McLarson - bass
Chainsaw, the Prince of Karate - guitar
Prince Adam - trumpet
Catboy - trumpet
Jaime the Robot - sax
The Mysterious Ultra Kyu - guitar
The Baron Von Tito - drums
The Aquabats! vs. the Floating Eye of Death! (1999)
The MC Bat Commander - vox
Crash McLarson - bass
Chainsaw Karate - guitar
Prince Adam - trumpet
Catboy - trumpet
The Robot (still Jaime) - woodwinds
The Mysterious Kyu - guitar
Doctor Rock - drums
Charge!! (2005)
The MC Bat Commander - vox
Crash McLarson - bass
Chainsaw (no more karate?) - guitar
Jimmy the Robot - keyboards
Ricky Fitness - drums
I, of course, have a particular affinity for Chainsaw, since he gave me my Aquacadet name, Captain Thumbs-Up. Thanks, Chainsaw!
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Working on my current pet project, a hypothetical series for DC Comics titled The Magic of Shazam!, I've been doing a good deal of research via ye olde internet. On the internet, everyone has an opinion. What so many people fail to realize is that just because you have an opinion does not mean it matters, is right, or is worth debating.
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