Music 1: The Best Is Yet to Come?
Work has begun on my Christmas list, and I am sad to note how many CDs I am asking for. In years past, I have had to, in a limited fashion, scrounge around for CDs. I mean, I own all of the releases by most of the bands I love (2003 releases potentially excluded). The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Reel Big Fish, MxPx, Flogging Molly, Less Than Jake, The Hippos, Green Day, New Found Glory, Mu330, The Eyeliners. With my finances being as non-existent as they are at present, though, there are a number of discs I do not possess. I have suspicions as to the quality of The Ataris' lastest album, but nonetheless I am asking for So Long, Astoria. I need MxPx's new Before Everything & After and Barenaked Ladies' Everything to Everyone; as a last hurrah before they break up, The Hippos are releasing their third album, though I do not yet know the title. The most troubling request is Blink-182's Blink-182. Without getting into the politics of self-titling an album, Take Off Your Pants and Jacket was, at best, disappointing. Aside from the fact that those chodes have sold out more thoroughly than Benedict Arnold, I'm not sure they're even a decent band anymore. But, I will ask for the new album, sight unseen, out of respect for the Dude Ranch-era Blink-182. If the album doesn't deliver as an album, though, I'm done with them. Just done.

Music 2: Music Self-Played is Happiness Self-Made
Both the Mountain of Love and K. Steeze have raised serious concerns about the feasibility of making CODENAME:Koala, the second Real Can of Yams album, this holiday season. It's been two years since Good or Suck! and something tells me if we don't make Koala now, we never will. Bitter experience has taught me to pay attention to that kind of gut feeling.

Indulging Myself
First and foremost, I am sincerely happy for the Mountain of Love and wish to congratulate him for the happiness he has found in the Bassoonatic's embrace. She is awesome and seems entirely worthy of my august brother's affections. However, simply by the nature of who I am, I cannot help but dwell upon how their relationship throughs my own loneliness into stark relief. There is a distinct difference between being alone and being lonely. I have always been alone, but at present I am also lonely. As much as anything else, I miss longing for someone. Perhaps even more than I miss Never Girl, I miss longing for Never Girl. Pining is what I do in lieu of dating, historically speaking, but right now I do not have anyone for whom to pine away pathetically. I do not need a girlfriend, I have always been and continue to be quite alright on my own, but as an added light in my life, I would like a girlfriend. For the foreseeable future, though, 'tis not to be.

Also, the Mountain really needs to get the Bassoonatic away from that Sinatra crap and into some ska.

Sha la la la la la la. Or something.

My dad asked me to read an article he'd dowloaded from the Middle East Forum, the online version, I think, of the magazine Middle East Quarterly. The thrust of the article is that Syrian President Bashar al-Assad is a sponsor of terrorism and not an ally of the United States. Wow, that's a fucking revelation. Why is the obvious supposedly worth reading if it is dressed up in academic robes? Oh, well, at least it wasn't one of his anti-Muslim hate rags.

"I know no matter what, no matter who, no matter what I do, somebody hates me."
--Reel Big Fish, "Somebody Hates Me" from Why Do They Rock So Hard?

I have been to the Ann Arbor, friends, and I have seen the Bassoonatic, the lady who hath filled the Mountain's heart with joy unlike any other, and of her I say nought but this: she is glorious.

"Wait, you don't know Brinkman?"
"Who's Brinkman?"
"Brinkman's huge."

We had a swanky dinner at the Chop House, then back to the Love Shack (the newly-minted name for the abode of the Mountain and his housemates: The All-American Boy, Sam I Am, and Tatsu the Enigma) for cake and presents. A good time was had by all. I had a delicious lobster of truth bisque, a divine swordfish steak, and some tasty garlic smashed potatoes. I cannot rightly say I know the different between "mashed" potatoes and "smashed" potatoes, but you all know me, there is no way I could have conceivably passed up anything called smashed potatoes. SMASHED!

Note to self: begin work on a Christmas list post haste.

I finished up the fifth season; as the Mountain would say, it's on now! I have to wait until mid-November for the sixth season, though, blast it all.

Roar
No one pretends to be a fan of the Lions. To be a Lions fan, you really have to be a Lions fan, because there is simply no fairweather for which you could be cheering. Today's game against the evil Cowboys... is just one of those games when nothing goes right. There's nothing for it, but to remember fondly the 8-8 days of Wayne Fontes and Bobby Ross. Looking back, those were good days, damn good days. Will things get worse before they get better? It's hard to imagine things getting worse. There is one good thing to come of all this; if nothing else, such sweet suffering teaches gratitude for what little one has.

"At the first sign of betrayal, I will kill him. But, I promise to return the body intact."
--Lieutenant Commander Worf, "In Purgatory's Shadow"

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you."

I finished up Ice Station Zebra and have now begun H.M.S. Ulysses. This prompts two thoughts: a) Alistair MacLean is a sorely underappreciated author and b) Star Trek: Odyssey would have been a great show.

I am on the third disc of DS9's fifth season; my word, the glories of which we are capable.

Within her hangers, the Scarlet Narwhal carries the Skipjack and the Tigerfish, daytrippers armed as fighters; the Atari's Revenge, a Ritoshi fighter customized as a yacht by Ming and Pewter; and the Detroit Miss, a launch modified as an armored boarder. There is another auxiliary, the Cora, also a launch, unarmed and unarmored, intended to blend in with normal civilian vessels, but this idea is in flux. Is any of this important? Not really, but to me it's fun.

Someone explain this to me: how do you argue against facts? I mean, I understand how, I've seen many many people do it, as if their unsupported, ignorant opinions could overpower the truth, but I don't understand what makes a person take such a position. I am a highly opinionated fellow, but you will find that my opinions are largely grounded in logical deduction and knowledge of real world conditions; I rarely build my house on sand, and when I am shown that I have, I concede the point. How does ignorance argue against knowledge?

p.s. Some of my friends are drooling nimrods. This does not bother me except when they speak of things about which they know nothing. When this happens, I feel as if the only rational solution is the sudden and arbitrary application of massive violence; yes, that's right, the famous brick in the face.

Quark's Bar and Casino, the Conor O'Neill's of the final frontier.

"So beautiful and yet sooo neutral."
--my favorite philosopher, Zapp Brannigan

Tyler Slade is a man of action. Tyler Slade sounds like the kind of man who should be chased down a hallway by an explosion, as the natural order of things. Tyler Slade's archnemesis is a man named Steele Hunter.

And I didn't make all of this up. Those are the names of real people; the Mountain knows Tyler Slade.

I swear, Never Girl is insane. Within a few weeks, she is moving to an apartment which she will share with her boyfriend/soon-to-be-fiance. Her phone number is changing. Though she offered it, she was reluctant to give me her new phone number, as she thought I wouldn't want to call her and thus risk speaking to her boytoy. Yes, Lindsay, I've kept talking to you though you've been dating him for over a year, but now that you're moving in together, our friendship is over. Sheesh.

Samuel Bubbles Sink Cat Wilson
Sammy's been sneezing up a storm, and some other unfortunate things; so, today I wrestled him into his carrier and took him to the vet. Two things: a) you will never hear a more lamentable sound than Sam's whining from inside his carrier; I feel like Attila the Hun every moment I don't let him out of there. b) Of course, not only did he pee all over his carrier, but when in the waiting room I let him out to comfort him, he peed on me, too. (Or is that peeed?) I hope he appreciates it, the old bastard. And now Sammy's got his paws on some wrapping paper; he should be happy as a clam for hours... until we have to orally give him medicine.

The Mountain left a few hours ago, having spent about twenty-eight hours in town. It was a short, though enjoyable visit.

"Once we hit that bullseye, the rest of the dominos will fall like a house of cards. Checkmate!"
--twenty-five star general Zapp Brannigan of the Democratic Order of Planets (DOOP)

The Mountain of Love is home! His girlfriend, Bassoonatic, called! We had spagetti for dinner! And pumpkin pie for desseret! I love pumpkin pie! Crap, I wanted to get this posted on Monday. Curses!

Once again, playing nice with others is for the birds.

The Mountain is home for "fall break." (Is a four-day weekend long enough to constitute a "break"?) Woo and hoo.

Today, I used a chairsaw and a hand sledge to take apart a shipping crate. I really quite enjoyed it. The days just fly by...

A Matter of Possible Importance
I signed on, but then had to run to the w.c.; so, I put up my away message. While I was gone, Skeeter IMed me and then signed off. I hope things are well with her.



Unimportant Shight
We won last night. I love it when I'm wrong. At the same time, I still think both Purdue and Michigan State have better than even chances of destroying us. As long as the burden of success rests on John Navarre's shoulders, we are in deep trouble.

A moment ago, I visited a blog that was playing that infernal T.A.T.U. song, and now I can't get it out of my head. Blast.

The Death of 17
The Mountain of Love's girlfriend, Stephanie, was give the awesome nickname 17. He and I were IMing tonight and it turns out 17 does not like being called "17." She thinks it's funny, but it also bothers her. Gets her goat, I suppose you could say. The Mountain sez, "If there's a way you could change it, we'd appreciate it." Excuse me for a moment, would you, I have to go puke.

Now that that's behind us, of course I will stop calling 17 17. It was never my intention to give offense and I apologize if any was given. Now of course, I am left to find a new nickname, as "Stephanie" is rather dull compared to 17, the Mountain of Love, Skeeter, Saturday Night Latham, Guy Zach Nie!, and their ilk. Ever since I stole the idea from The Watergirl, fun nicknames have become a staple of the Secret Base.

The Mountain suggested The Big Lebowski, after the movie, which she adores. In that same vein, I suggested The Nihilist; in response to this, the Mountain told me I was acting like "a little bitch." {*} He then said, "Or maybe something that has to do with the bassoon," the girl formerly known as 17 being a bassoon major. Yeah, like what? Bassoon Girl? The Bassoon Baffoon? Low Note? See, all those suck. So, the search continues.

{*} Hmm, Negative 17? Prime Number?

One last thing. "On that note, I must bid you ado." Dude, it's adieu. You know, French for goodbye? How many years of French did you take?



*These indicate moments when I chose not to say something mean, though it would have been fun.

The Glory of Nicole Bonner
An excerpt of David Schickler's "The Smoker," one of the short stories from Kissing in Manhatten:

"I sat five rows behind you and watched your silhouette. I saw you admiring the guy who played the bartender. You know, the guy from On the Waterfront."

Douglas closed his eyes. She's right, he thought. She's nineteen and she's right.

"Anyway, whether you marry me or not, this is what I want to tell you." Nicole exhaled. "It's no good, Douglas."

Douglas kept his eyes closed. He was listening.

"It's no good, the way you're living. All those weights you lift, all those miles you run, all those movies you see. It isn't right. It's lonely."

Douglas looked at her, then. He saw her curves and her temples, but something else, too, something that lived behind her eyes.

"You're a good teacher and all, but you're just killing time, Douglas. I can tell."

Bullshit, thought Douglas. Then he thought, How? How am I killing it?

"I can tell from the books you assign, the ties you wear, everything." Nicole was not chewing her hair. "You're ready, Douglas. For the woman, the one you're supposed to marry." Nicole shrugged, just a little. "And I think she's me. I've dated some guys, and I know what's around, and---well, I just know what I want."

"How?" blurted Douglas. His hands trembled on the snifter, so he put it down. He felt like he might weep, but he refused to. "How... are you saying all this?"

"I just am." Nicole gazed at her teacher.

"Are you in---" Douglas changed phrases. "Do you love me?"

Nicole petted her neck, sipped her brandy. "Look. I've got Princeton to go to. And I've got that huge heirloom library out there to read. I'm just saying that you should have a woman with you at the movies, and she should be me. I'm ready for her to be me."

I want to marry a girl like Nicole Bonner.

This morning, I had the single most amazing dream of my entire life. It was divided into two distinct settings, but randomly jumped between them. In one, I was married and attending a dinner party with my wife; the other couples were all parents, my mom and dad, the Salenskis, the Luberts, etc. In the other, I was married to the same girl, but she didn't appear. My dad, brother, and I were trying to get a flock of birds out of the house; we couldn't figure out how they were getting in. The birds had regular names and we knew what they were, but they had crazy feather patterns: one had yellow stripes and orange polka dots.

I know all this sounds like standard dream fare, but there was something absolutely extraordinary about my wife. I can remember everything about her except her face and name. I remember her clothes, her laugh, the scent of her hair. When she smiled at me, I felt like I could take on the whole Empire myself. I loved her, truly and deeply, more than I have loved any other woman in my whole life. I can't remember her name and I feel terrible, like I have lost a real person. I love her.

How did Seinfeld ever become popular? No, seriously. Friends I understand, the show is as vapid and idiotic as the average citizen, but Seinfeld was far too intelligent and funny; how it succeeded shall remain forever a mystery. If you like Friends, I both pity and admire you. Pity you for being the slack-jawed yokel you are, admire the way you have navigated so successfully through life armed with only a chestnut for a brain.

What's the deal with friendship? What is it that binds two people together? It requires time spent with the person, to become accustomed to them, but it is more than simple familiarity; and there has to be a certain spark, something between you even before you know each other well, to encourage you to spend the time necessary to get to know them. There is an unnumerable number of people with whom I have had cordial, even enjoyable, conversations, yet relatively very few have been pursued as friends. I guess I just find the whole concept odd. Extremely pleasant, but odd.

I love my friends. God knows why they put up with me, or even how.

Hail! Hail! to Michigan, the Champions of... Jack Squat
Coach Lloyd Carr, commenting on Saturday's humiliating lose to Iowa, "John Navarre played extremely well and anybody who thinks he didn't doesn't know anything about the game." If throwing 26-49 is playing "extremely well," I'd hate to see how poorly a quarterback would have to throw to raise Lloyd's ire.

It is bad enough that Coach Carr has never even tried to recruit a replacement for Navarre (I mean, the great Tom Brady only started two seasons; fucking Navarre has been sabotaging our offense for three and a half), but it is adding insult to injury for Carr to stand behind a player who is clearly not up to the job. Let me be clear about this: John Navarre would be a fine back-up, but he has never shown that he has either the physical or more importantly mental ability to be the quarterback for a big time program like Michigan. We have never beaten a ranked oppont on the road with Navarre as quarterback; thus, I stand behind my prediction of a Michigan defeat this Friday against Minnesota.

Quoting Grant Bowman, punk ass bitch of a defensive tackle, "We analyze our own game enough so we know what's going on better than any people out there, whether it's other students, media, or all those armchair quarterbacks that know how to do it better than we do." Let me submit to Mr. Bowman that he and his comrades do not know what's going on, for if they did, he would not be so brazenly arrogant after losing to both decent teams we have faced. Where does this confidence come from? Beating Notra Dame and Indiana (barely) only shows he knows how to best inferior competition; against equals, he has failed utterly. The worst part is the arrogance in the face of failure, which tells me our players have yet to internalize the deficiencies in their play. They do not think that losing is their fault. I can only hope that Friday's lose by Minesota will teach them humility, but I doubt it. It is going to be a long, sad season.

I hope the Lions start to win some games; I don't know if I can handle consistant back-to-back loses on both Saturdays and Sundays.

"I've got a flair for making you care,
You know you should hate me."
--Fountains of Wayne, "I've Got a Flair" from Fountains of Wayne

I cannot say whether or not I like Liz Phair's music, as have heard only one or two songs, but I can say this: I like Liz Phair. To my brother's consternation, I like her because she looks cruel.

Ships of Star Trek
the Enterprise
the Defiant
the Intrepid
the Pegasus
the Hood

Ships of Babylon 5
the Agamemnon
the Lexington
the Nemesis
the Damocles
the Excalibur

Ships of Andromeda
the Andromeda Ascendant
the Pax Magellanic
the Balance of Judgment
the Wrath of Achilles
the Resolution of Hector

Ships of the Space Pirates Project
the Scarlet Narwhal
the Blackdevil Angler
the Walrus of Nova Scotia
the King's Revenge
the Star of Canberra

The Goa'uld
Ra - Egyptian
Apophis - Egyptian
Hathor - Egyptian
Heru'ur - Egyptian
Set - Egyptian
Cronus - Greek
Yu -Chinese
Nirrti - Hindu
Sokar - Egyptian
Zipacna - ?
Tanith - ?
Osiris - Egyptian
Anubis - Egyptian
Baal - Canaanite

The Asgard - all Norse
Thor
Freyr
Heimdall

{A Sincere Prayer For Roy's Recovery}
"Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry"

It used to be that the BTW guys were men's men, without the need for the delicate affections of silly girls... or rather, most of us couldn't get dates. Of the five members of the BTW "high comand" - K. Steeze, the former Bald Mountain, Guy Zach Nie!, the Professor and yours truly, The Last Angry Man - only the Guy had a lady friend. However, this is no longer the case and three and a half of us now have girlfriends: Zach Nie! has his longtime love, Sarah; the Mountain of Love has the lovely 17; the Professor had to leave Vivacious D in Florida; and K. Steeze has one foot in and one foot out of a long distance relationship with Philly Liz. True to form, I am also the last single man.

In related news, Never Girl and her boyfriend are getting an apartment together. To quote her, "No, we aren't engaged or anything, we will just be living in sin." Despite her concerns, I'm really quite okay with this.

And Now, Pointless Memorization!
"Within the Serpent's Grasp" / "The Serpent's Lair"
"Out of Mind" / "Into the Fire"
"Nemesis" / "Small Victories"
"Exodus" / "Enemies"
"Revelations" / "Redemption, Parts I and II"
"Full Circle" / "Fallen" & "Homecoming"

I'm getting more used to playing nice with others, and in all honesty the Space Pirates Project has benefitted from being a group effort. However, there are still frustrations. The following is an example, about which I need to vent:

Thus he was not truly exiled, but rather stripped of rank and forced to make a living elsewhere.

How in the name of all that's good and pure is that not exile?! He wasn't asked to make a living somewhere else, he was "forced to make a living" somewhere else. Hey, genius, that's exile! Far from being voluntary, exile normally involves being "forced to make a living elsewhere," forced being the operative word. Geez Louise!

Something's wrong with my archives, grumble grumble, and I am able to access neither September nor most of August.

Michigan is going to lose to Minnesota. Michigan is going to lose to Michigan State. We will probably lose to Purdue. We will not win another road game as long as John Navarre is our quarterback. This season is already lost; we are going nowhere, except to a five- or six-loss season. The only thing we can do is bench Navarre and play Matt Gutierrez, to get him some game experience before next year. As the clock ran down, I saw Braylon Edwards on the sidelines, his head down in dejection. The other players looked upset as well. If you guys wanted to win so bad, where the fuck where you when we were outscored 30-13? If you wanted to win this game, maybe the offense should have done more than jerk off during the third quarter. It's going to be a long season, and the worst part is that Coach Carr isn't going to blame anybody except the refs, even though both our offensive coordinator and special teams coach need to be fired. Fucking hell.

Oregon and Iowa have already been lost; Minnesota and Michigan State are going to be embarrassing losses; and there are distinct opportunities to lose to both Purdue and Ohio State. Damn you, Lloyd.

Fuck Jim Boccher.

Braylon Edwards just handed Iowa an interception; though it is still the third quarter, the game is over. Final predicted score: Iowa 27, Michigan 23.

Also, we are going to get our asses kicked by Michigan State. The Spartans are going to fucking kill us.

The Crew of the Scarlet Narwhal
Jason Seaholm - captain
Seabass Vieira
Sean O'Mara
Andy Parker
Old Nick (Kcin Uen)
Zhang Ming
Pewter
Octavia Shaw
Crank

Others
Tawny Seaholm
Alexander Parker
Zhang Xiaoping - pirate king
Ghost de Castille
Rose Halifax
Virginia Halifax
Cora Uen (dearly departed)
Sextus Shaw
Septima Shaw
Anna King

Ships
the Scarlet Narwhal
the Blackdevil Angler
the Walrus of Nova Scotia
the Atari's Revenge
the Star of Canberra
the Golden Hawk

Man, this show is going to be so awesome. You may or may not have picked up on a subtle trend, but I really like creating/writing for siblings.

Hmmm, Enterprise appears to have been renamed Star Trek: Enterprise. A small change, but a subtle admission, methinks, that perhaps the "radical change in direction" the show was meant to represent has alienated more people than it has attracted. People like Star Trek; the problem with Star Trek: Voyager and Star Trek: Nemesis was not that they were Star Treks, but that they were individually weak stories.

2151-(2158) Star Trek: Enterprise

2266-2269 Star Trek

2271-2293 Star Trek: The Motion Picture - Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country

2364-2370 Star Trek: The Next Generation

2369-2375 Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

2371-2377 Star Trek: Voyager

2371-2379 Star Trek Generations - Star Trek: Nemesis

Guy Zach Nie is watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. All of it, season by season. On a lark, and because of the highest recommendations by the Mountain of Love and I, he borrowed my first season DVD set. He was instantly hooked, and is now experiencing the season-by-season rise of DS9's glory. O, how I envy him! I am so very grateful to have seen all of DS9, to have lived the saga in real time from beginning to end, but I also envy Zach the opportunity to experience it all for the first time. Normally, it is a dangerous thing to give your material possessions to Zach Nie! There is a very real chance you shan't get them back, or at least no longer entirely whole. However, we have worked out an excellent system: the Mountain is holding one of his books, A Clockwork Orange, hostage. Zach, who is presently on the third season, does not get a new season until we have the old one back, and once he is finished and all the discs have been returned safely, he will get back his novel. The best part about all this is getting to explain pieces of Star Trek history to him; outside my beloved brother and me, no one in Blue Tree Whacking cares much for Star Trek. Yesterday, I got to explain a short history of my favorite villains, the Romulans. Goody gumdrops!

Plans are being made to record the second Real Can of Yams album, CODENAME: Koala, over Thanksgiving for a Christmas show release. More news to follow once there is more news. MTD had but one release, The Murky Transport Disaster Disaster Transport Transport Disaster, so following up RCY's debut, Good or Suck!, with Koala is technically a step into uncharted territory.
{BTW - Blue Tree Whacking}
{MTD - Murky Transport Disaster}
{RCY - Real Can of Yams}
Anything good can be expressed in three initials. {SPP - Space Pirates Project}

For the time being, the erstwhile Bald Mountain shall be called the Mountain of Love. Why? Because of a lovely young lass we shall call 17, who, if all goes well, will shortly be his girlfriend.

The SPP rolls on, though we are running into the same old problem: lack of participation. Of course, I have a uniquely huge amount of freetime; so, I shouldn't criticize the guys for simply having other more pressing concerns. Nevertheless, there has been a clear decrease in the old back and forth exchange of ideas. I am trying to rein in my own imagination, for I don't want to invent something (a race, a species, a storyline) and put a lot of time into developing it only to have it vetoed, but at the same time I cannot proceed with the approval of the others because they simply aren't there. More to the point, school has started for the Professor, my idea-generating counterpart. The Guy's specialty is improving established ideas sculpting them into a better, more usable form; K. Steeze has also taken a more critique-oriented position. That's all fine and good, truly, I just miss Jon.

Zapp: "Whatever it is, I'll place wave after wave of men at your disposal. Right, men?"

(pause)

Anonymous Crewman: "You suck!"

Here's the skinny: I'm a loser. There's no way around it. I live with my parents and have not had a job for a month. My mom knows it. My dad knows it. My brother knows it. (I don't think my sister cares one way or the other, it isn't her field of interest.) But I'm cool, because I won't always be a loser. All I need is a plan, and not even a good one. My mantra, that one phrase by which I sustain myself, is from Alfred Bester's The Stars My Destination, "He was one hundred and seventy days dying and not yet dead."

Apparently, Friday was religious weirdo day here in the GB. Both the Jehovah's Witnesses and the Mormons came by the house, trying to sell salvation. I'm Roman Catholic, kids, I've got all the religious weirdness I can handle, thanks. I feel bad for the Mormons, though, because for the two years of a Mormon's mission, he is not allowed to use his first name; he is referred to as Elder. For instance, Daddy Dylweed was Elder Haney. I, were I to join that odd little cult, would be Elder Wilson. Hey, jackasses, a person's first name was archaically called their Christian name. How does it serve Christ to take away a boy's Christian name for two years? Still, one of the Jehovah's Witnesses was a really hot blonde girl. I hate hot religious girls, because you can look all you want, but you can't touch unless you marry one, and that's way too high a price to pay. Don't be drawn in by her hotness, it's a trick!

I hung out with the Mountain last night. By Jove, I miss that little punk!

"Hey, Bender, where's your bathroom?"
"My bath what?"
"Your bathroom."
"My what room?
"Your bathroom."
"My what what?"

I love the fact that robots need to drink constantly in order to be sober. It never gets old.

Family history can be cool. As proof, I cite the inscription on a trophy found among my late Grandma Wilson's things:

The Simla Open Tennis Tournament
1913 Men's Doubles
1st PRIZE
Presented By
RAJA SIR HARNAM SINGH K.C.I.E.
Won By
E.R. Gray
G.M. Coates

Dr. Ernest R. Gray, a dentist, was my great-grandfather, Great Granny Gray's husband. He died long before I was born. Great Granny Gray was my closest foreign-born relative, hailing from England. Ernest Gray was an American, but lived for many years in Imperial India, where he met, courted, and married Maude Pudaphott, the future Great Granny Gray, and also where they had my recently departed Grandma Wilson (born Priscilla Gray). She was a stubborn New England Yankee, but she'd been born in India. Perhaps I am so fond of Kipling because my family is only two generations removed from the Empire?

It's quite the contradiction: I am fiercely proud of my Irish Catholicism (hell, my name is Michael Patrick), but also fiercely loyal to England. England may have turned her back on Rome, but I cannot turn my back on her. "There'll always be an England"

I am uncertain as to for what K.C.I.E. stands, but I would guess Knight Commander of the Indian Empire. I wish I was a raja. (As the BTW boys know all too well, in Risk the Black Raj is to be much feared.)

On the phone earlier, Never Girl's voice took on a protective, almost fearful tone. She seemed concerned that there are things in my life going on without her knowledge. What exactly have I done to give rise to such suspicions?

Watch the new show I'm With Her. It doesn't seem to be anything extraordinary, except for the priviledge of seeing Teri Polo each week. You don't know Teri Polo? She played Rebecca Welles on Sports Night. You don't know Sports Night? You can go to Hell.

You know, in a way I like Futurama even better than The Simpsons. It's the sense of humor from the golden age of The Simpsons (circa seasons four through nine) combined with science fiction, one of my true loves. In my eyes, it's the perfect show.

Big O
Big Duo
Big Fow

What is the secret of the Bigs? The Big O appeared in the first episode (Act:01) of The Big O, "Roger the Negotiator." Big Duo, teamed up with Schwarzwald, attacked in Act:12 "Enemy is Another Big!" Big Fow appeared in the shadows of Act:20 "Stripes," but was not properly seen and did not see action, teamed with Alex Rosewater, until this week's Act:21 "The Third Big." The Big O is great; kudos to Cartoon Network for financing the second season.

Lot's Band
Yesterday, I was listening to The Hippos. The Hippos have broken up, yet Dave Matthews Band is quite possibly the biggest band in the world. We live in a musical Sodom and it becomes harder each day to find the two good bands needed to stay the Lord's wrathful hand.

See, that's the thing about secrets: if they are central to your story, they have to work. The alien at the end of Alien? That worked, and the film has become a classic. The alien at the end of Alien Resurrection? That piece of crap failed utterly, and thus so did the film. The conspiracy at the heart of The X-Files? Didn't work, because it never fucking happened; I watched that show for years, but eventually I'd had my chain yanked one too many times and decided that the big secret wasn't worth the price of sticking around.

I love the phrase "the secret of the Star of Canberra" as a driving force behind the Space Pirates Project, but I have no idea what that secret might be. Partially because we have little idea where the show is going. It has been decided by informal majority vote to make it an infinite show, i.e. no predetermined end, but rather we'll just follow the story wherever it takes us. Okay, so where do we go? In the first season, the stars of the show - the three friends who suddenly find themselves as space pirates - wrestle with the dilemma of not wanting to hurt anyone or steal anything. They wanted the adventure of being space pirates, they didn't want to kill anybody. But if they don't toughen up they are going to get killed. How do you survive in a cutthroat situation without losing your soul? Okay, there are lots of possibilities there, we can make that work. But where do we go after that?

It is in my nature to work backwards. Once I establish a character, my natural inclination is to discover how exactly they came to be that person. You could say then that I'm better at endings than I am at beginnings. I feel a compulsion to know how it all ends and right now that's simply unknowable, which I find crushingly frustrating.

Also, you know, I wouldn't have to work on playing nice with others if I naturally played nice with others.

Having recently been exposed to the glory of Anthony Burgess's novel, this afternoon I watched the film version of A Clockwork Orange. Sweet merciful crap. The only rational reaction is the massive and sudden application of violence; however, since that hack Kubrick is dead, I have no other recourse than to desecrate his grave. A real horrorshow novella was made into a malenky stinking film, one which I sincerely wish I had never viddied. By old Bog, it was awful.

A memorable quote from Saturday, at the depths of my misery, "Never love anything, it'll only disappoint you." A perfectly valid argument could (and has, many times) been made that I should not care so deeply about college football; nay, I say, for how can one feel unreasonable joy if one does not feel unreasonable anguish? Better to live a life of extremes than risk the sterility of feeling nothing. Love with all your heart, hate with all your soul.

The Space Pirates Project is moving along nicely, with a solid creative team of The Professor, the Guy, K. Steeze, and Your Humble Narrator. I wish the Mountain would contribute, but honestly this stuff isn't his preferred bag; he's never held that much interest in "universe creation," outside of a few exceptions. We've decided upon a medium, animation, and the "cast" is falling into place at a satisfactory pace. If you are interested, please check out the Forums; ideas are always welcome, email them to me at my Yahoo account, rebelblackdot@. Both to stir the creative juices and because I greatly enjoy it, I am rereading Treasure Island. Arrrh!

As I watch this debacle, the only possible conclusion is that the Michigan defense did not spend a single minute preparing for this game. If they didn't practice this week, which they clearly didn't, what did they spend their time doing? I would like to suggest that they spend the last seven days circle jerking. So, fuck Jim Herrmann for not doing ANYTHING to prepare his squad, fuck Braylon Edwards for dropping that last pass, fuck John Navarre for playing like John Navarre, and fuck Lloyd Carr for doing such a piss-poor job of getting his kids ready for this game. This may be our only loss of the season, but only because the Big Ten is weak this year. If we're the best team in the conference, it's a pussy conference.

During Braylon Edwards's freshman season, I said he should be cut for dropping too many passes. I stand by that today. (As I type this, Navarre just threw a picture perfect interception. Good job, Johnny!)

With 10:30 left in the second quarter of the Michigan-Oregon game: Fuck. John. Navarre. Two high passes and he missed an open man on a critical third down. Also, the defense looks porous. My prediction: Oregon 34, Michigan 17.

Wait, Oregon just scored, let me revise that: Oregon 42, Michigan 13.

It's the first mildly chilly day of the Fall; so, today is of course the day my mom chose to clean the windows. It's nice and chilly in the house, allowing me to break out my very favoritest piece of cold weather clothing: Plain Black Sweatshit! I love Plain Black Sweatshirt; even if it faded from true black to gray many years ago, Plain Black Sweatshirt has not faded any more than that! So warm, so comfortable, so able to be worn every day of the week without acquiring an overpowering funk. Hurrah!

"The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead."
--Rudyard Kipling, my favorite poet

Beneath the unfortunate racism in Kipling's "The White Man's Burden," there is an oft overlooked generosity. We, the self-proclaimed civilized world, have an obligation to help the less fortunate. We have an obligation to bring medicine to the sick and freedom to the oppressed. We may debate how best to improve the lot of the poor and I detest those who say we "owe" the developing world; this is not an obligation of the laws of Man, but an obligation to our own ideals, to the people we hope we can be.

Many young South Koreans wish American troops would leave their peninsula. The French oppose us often simply for opposition's sake, and to soothe their own bruised national ego. Does this mean we should have given the South Koreans over to the depraved cruelty of the North Korean Kims? Should we have left the French to rot under the iron heel of the Nazis? No, never. True virtue is its own reward, and expected thanks, even when deserved, is not a good enough reason to do the right thing.

It's three in the morning. I'm going to bed.

Sweet, I'm getting married to a freaky girl named Aisha with a Ryoko tattoo! Fun fact about Aisha: in high school, I asked her to the Prom senior year and she said yes, but the next day told me she couldn't go; so, I took good ol' Lauren G. instead.

On the Space Pirates Project, Steeze thinks I'm putting too much time and energy into the backstory at the expense of developing story arcs. I disagree. Without knowing our characters nor the world they live in, I find it impossible to say what manner of adventures might befall them.

Working on the space pirates project (until we have a title, I think I'll just call it the Space Pirates Project), I'm forced to stare right into the face of the fact that I don't work well in groups. Other people have great ideas, but it is so hard for me to accept that their ideas are better than mine, even when they are. I have to constantly rein myself in, lest I say something I don't mean. What's worse is that sooner or later we'll run into a situation where I say something incredibly cruel, because at that moment it is exactly what I mean, and I don't want to do that to my friends. So, I'm going to take this as an opportunity to work on playing nice with others.

The biggest problem we've run into is how to give our heroes possession of the Scarlet Narwhal. We're got a card game situation (an intentional parallel to the Millennium Falcon) and a police raid gone bad/chaotc situation. I'm a fan of the first, though I admit it needs work; The Professor and Steeze are fans of the police raid scenario. There are problems for both; so, we may require a third scenario. But what? We're also debating Earth's stature in the interstellar community and the number of different alien species we're dealing with, but those are pretty preliminary discussions. I've just posted my latest version of the cast on the Forums (topic: "Space Pirates!", genius) and I'm eager to see reactions.

The Mountain has yet to chime in, but that's because he is ridiculously busy during the school year.

{Deep Space Piracy For Fun and Profit}
My plea to make the space pirates a pan-BTW experience seems to be working. So far The Professor and K. Steeze, my co-creators, have contributed, as well as the Guy. Admittedly, all of this was only as a direct result of a plaintive distress call, but I am optimisitic. I have stated a topic on the BTW Forums for Kevin's comic book, Serma 6; so, I hope a healthy exchange of ideas for both projects will soon be underway.

What's in a name? Quite a bit, to my way of thinking. Yes, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but John Kennedy would not have the inflated reputation he does if he had been born Horace Oglethrorpe. (Truth be told, though, I like the name Horace, at least for a character. Or maybe the Egyptian Horus....) By the same token, I am more likely to watch a show with a respectable name like Stargate SG-1 than it's internal parody Wormhole X-treme!; so, the space pirates idea needs a good name. To this point, the only suggestions are:

Space Pirates - Kevin

Deep Space Piracy For Fun and Profit - Your Humble Narrator

To my way of thinking, I'm not certain that either is acceptable. Space Pirates is far too anonymous, it could be referring to any number of shows. And Deep Space Piracy... is, well, both long and weird. The length is a bigger problem than being weird. Weird is good. Example: Cowboy Bebop. True, bounty hunters - Bebop's protagonists - are called "cowboys" in their world and music, though not necessarily bebop, is a huge part of the show, but still that combination of words, Cowboy Bebop, is weird. Because it is, though, it makes an impression, even before you realize just how damned good the show it.

Brainfart, this is just me writing down ideas as they come to me:
Pirates of the Stars
Piracy For Amateurs
All I Ask is a Tall Ship and a Star to Steer Her By
I'm a Pirate!
Pirates of the Scarlet Narwhal
The Dread Pirate Jason?
The Stars Are For the Taking
The Voyages of the Scarlet Narwhal
Scarlet Narwhal

And now, we bring to a close our triumvirate of triumphs trumpetting the birthdays of a trio of tantalizing temptresses, Her Noir-Hearted Majesty Queen Skeeter, Mrs. Ham 'n' Eggs Blinky, and the oft overrated Never Girl: Happy Birthday!

***Seriously, when I posted the above, I thought it was Monday. The birthday is the fifteenth, not the sixteenth; I thought I was posting on the fifteenth. I'm so sorry.***

I'm taking a break from preparing my KSAOs (Knowledge, Skills, Abilities, and Other characteristics) statement for the National Archives. Under pressure from my mom, who is ignoring my lack of qualifications, I am applying for a job at the Gerald R. Ford Library in Ann Arbor. Mom, exactly what experience do I have preserving historical documents? But, as I live under her roof (and subtle iron boot), her wish is my command. Note the difference between "her wish is my command," which signifies obedience, and "as you wish," which signifies fealty.

Of course, my mom is quite right, I really do need a job. Sigh. My post-graduate year in Ann Arbor may have been financially irresponsible, but by Jove it was fun.

My sister is in Spain today, having finished up almost two weeks of holiday in Germany. When she returns to D.C. - in two more weeks - she'll start a job where she will earn over 400% more than she did last year. Meanwhile, I live with my parents.

Suicide looks better every day.

Everybody knows the Real Can of Yams smash radio hit "Lobster of Truth (Wanted Me For Him)," but you may not know the whole family of Aquatic This of Thats:

Lobster of Truth (inspired when David and Kevin say a wacked out episode of Farscape)
Salmon of Doubt (courtesy of the late great Douglas Adams)
Trout of Blame
Oyster of Deception
Jellyfish of Insecurity
Brine Shrimp of Good Intentions
Starfish of Self-Loathing
Sea Otter of Crippling Emotional Problems

Also, don't forget to check out my excellent proof THE BIG O is the Japanese BATMAN, available for your reading pleasure below.

THE BIG O is the Japanese BATMAN
The Big O, an anime produced by the fine folks at Sunrise and Bandai (the geniuses behind all things Gundam), stars Roger Smith, who is the Japanese equivalent of Batman. How can this be, you ask? Roger Smith "teams up" (his words) with the giant robot called the Big O. Bruce Wayne, the Batman, stalks the night in tights with his underwear on the outside. The Big O has laser beam eyes, hidden missiles, a compressed air megapunch, and is the giant freaking robot! Batman has a utility belt, an attitude, a small army of loyal zealots, and is the world's greatest detective. Obviously there are going to be differences, both because Bruce Wayne was created in 1939 and Roger Smith in 1999 and because there are vast cultural differences between America and Japan. But sit back, read on, and I will explain all...

Roger Smith = Bruce Wayne Bruce Wayne lives in an enormous mansion - stately Wayne Manor - joined only by his balding, loyal manservent Alfred and a succession of young sidekicks/apprentices; Roger Smith lives in an approximately twenty story former bank building joined only by his balding, loyal manservent Norman and his young sidekick/apprentice, Dororthy. Bruce Wayne, fueled by the trauma of his parents' brutal murder, fights a one-man war on crime and injustice; Roger Smith quit the inadequate Military Police when it became obvious they were tools of the Paradigm Corporation and now wages a one-man war on evil and injustice with the Big O. Batman does not use guns nor allow anyone around him to use them; Roger Smith refuses to carry a gun, despite a life of constant peril and Angel's frequent incredulity. Bruce Wayne usually wears black; as a rule of Roger Smith's house, which even the master observes, everyone wears black. The Batmobile is a powerful, black car equipped with armor and all manner of sophisticated devices; Roger Smith drives a powerful, black sedan equipped with armor, missiles, machine guns, and a sophisticated communications system. Batman carries grappling hooks and other tools in his utility belt; Roger Smith summons the Big O through his watch, which also contains a small grappling device and a laser cutting torch. Very few people know that Bruce Wayne is the Batman; very few people know that Roger Smith pilots the Big O.

R. Dorothy Wayneright = Robin Both Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, the first two Robins, were orphans, taken in by Bruce Wayne and given a purpose in life by the Batman; Dorothy is an orphan, both of her fathers - the man who built her and the man for whom she was built - having died in the first two episodes, and she has been taken in by Roger Smith, to whom she has recently expressed a desire to be, like him, a Negotiator. Robin (true of all three Robins) is a trained martial artist and detective, as much an asset to Batman as a sidekick; Dorothy, being an android, possess great strength, speed, and stamina, as well as a keen eye for observation and sharp wit, and is often a great help to Roger Smith.

Norman Burg = Alfred Pennyworth Both men are British, balding, and expert in the use of weapons and the maintenance of sophisticated machinery. Both men serve a solitary, bachelor master set upon waging a one-man campaign for justice, until a little light is brought into both masters' lives by a teenaged orphan. The only difference is that Norman has an eyepatch.

Colonel Dan Dastun = Commissioner Jim Gordon Jim Gordon's best friend is the Batman, even though he does not know it is billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne beneath the cowl; Dan Dastun shares his frustrations and suspicions with his friend Roger Smith, even though he was hurt when the latter resigned from his beloved Military Police. Gordon goes outside the official channels of the GCPD to bring Batman in an difficult investigations; Dastun consults Roger when he thinks might arise a situation beyond the powers of the Military Police, necessitating the intervention of the Big O. Gordon believes in the law, but knows that justice is more important; Dastun believes in the Military Police, but knows that protecting the citizens of Paradigm City is paramount. Both Gordon and Dastun utilize their extralegal allies when needed, but resent the fact that they are needed in the first place.

Big Ear = Oracle {This is my least favorite, but it still works.} Brabara Gordon, the first Batgirl, was paralyzed by The Joker. Determined to keep fighting the good fight, she became Oracle, the world's greatest hacker and finder of information. When Batman needs records accessed or obscure clues looked up, he turns to the seemingly omnipotent Oracle; when Roger Smith needs information, he journeys to the bar called the Speakeasy and consults the man in the back called Big Ear. We don't know where Big Ear gets his knowledge, but for a roll of twenties he'll answer your questions and point you in the right direction.

Angel = Catwoman Catwoman isn't a good girl, but neither is she a serious threat like The Joker or Two-Face; Angel isn't on Roger Smith's side, but neither is she working against him. Catwoman is a thief, but most often she steals from mobsters and rich fatcats, never from the disadvantaged; Angel works for the evil Paradigm Corporation, but she also seems to be trying to take it down from the inside. Catwoman is the only woman to whom Batman seems attracted; though Roger Smith is a connoisseur of beautiful women, no other fascinates him as does the woman who calls herself Angel.

Beck = The Penguin The Penguin is a mobster, a criminal and a murderer, but not a deranged mass murderer like the Scarecrow; Beck is an extortionist and kidnapper, but not a sociopath like Alan Gabriel. The Penguin runs his criminal empire out of a legitimate nightculb, he's a run-of-the-mill gangster with a weird nickname; even when Beck had access to the Megadeus Dorothy II, he didn't try to level the city, but rather tried to steal the printing plates from the city mint.

Schwarzwald = Two-Face Before he became Two-Face, Harvey Dent was Gotham City's District Attorney and an ally of both Jim Gordon and the Batman; before he became Schwarzwald, Michael Seebach was a reporter working to recover Paradigm City's lost memories, making him a tangental ally of Roger Smith. Depending on the flip of a coin, Two-Face acts as either a villain or a twisted version of Harvey Dent; though twisted and malevolent, Schwarzwald's goal remains the defiance of the Paradigm Corporation's wishes: the reawakening of lost memories.

Alex Rosewater = Ra's al-Ghul Ra's al-Ghul is centuries old. He controls a vast, shadowy empire dedicated to culling the human population and restoring nature; Alex Rosewater, as the head of the Paradigm Corporation, controls Paradigm City - the entire known universe - though he seems intent on reviving enough memories to destroy everyone outside the domes. Ra's al-Ghul possesses almost unique knowledge of the Lazarus Pits, the means by which he sustains his immortality; Alex Rosewater seems to possess almost unique knowledge from before Paradigm's mass amnesia of forty years ago.

Alan Gabriel = The Joker The Joker doesn't want money, power, or revenge, he just likes killing people; Alan Gabriel, who is a new character in the second season, seems to do very little other than menace Roger Smith at Rosewater's behest and execute androids. The Joker had pale skin and the world's creepiest smile; Alan Gabriel has pale skin and smiles just enough to make you uneasy.

Giant Robots and Androids
Of course, there are differences. Gotham City is the quintessential picture of American urban decay; after a cataclysm forty years ago, all memory and record of the past was erased from Paradigm City, which seems to be all that's left of the entire world. Bruce Wayne travelled the world honing his body and mind to the limits of human potential; Roger Smith teams up with a giant, heavily armed, possibly sentient robot - a Megadeus - known as the Big O. Batman's apprentices possess no super powers, but instead rely on their superb training; the unflappable R. Dorothy is a sarcastic, piano-playing android. The Batman franchise has been going for sixty-four consecutive years; the original season of The Big O was thirteen half-hour episodes. Batman is a classic piece of Americana; The Big O is a slick, stylish Japanese anime. Still, it's undeniable that Roger Smith is the Japanese Batman.

Two years. Two wars. And in very real terms, nothing has changed. Arguably, the strength of America is reflected in the pettiness of our politics. A United States Senator says that he voted only to "threaten" violence against Iraq. The President of the United States pushes for massive tax cuts at a time when we require increased defense spending and a commitment (for the first time ever) to homeland security. Why? Because our greatest threat is a private organization armed with RPGs, car bombs, and box cutters. Al Qaeda is a threat to American lives and peace of mind, but al Qaeda is not a threat to America. We forged this nation across the length and bredth a continent, and as a nation we withstood the mortal threats of the Confederacy, the Nazis, and Communism. We shall withstand this trial, fear not.

I must confess to a certain frustration with the so-called 9/11 families. I sympathize with your loss, but just because someone you loved died in a terrorist attack does not make you a policy expert. It does not make your opinion on what to do any more valid than that of anyone else. You are not special and exceptional. I am not asking you to get over your loss, I just want you to get over yourself.

God bless America.

Hey, I hope this works. By and by, I think it was the light pink hair answer that produced this result. What can I say, I've had pink hair before and it looked damn good on me.


You are Guu! You are a very strange young
girl that can eat anything, and you grant
wishes and dance the disco. You are confusing
yet wise and very powerful, but do control your
chest hair afro fetish, and try not make your
friends spaz out.


Which Jungle wa Itsumo Hale nochi Guu character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

The only thing better than Jungle wa Itsumo Hale nochi Guu is Jungle wa Itsumo Hale nochi Guu Deluxe. All together now, DELUXE!

Continuing with the triumvurate of birthdays for lovely lasses, all of them turning twenty-four: Happy Birthday! Somewhere, I hope someone is playing "1979." Birthwise, it was a hell of a year.

The new season of Enterprise premieres tonight and I am very excited. Both DS9 and The Next Generation made quantum leaps in quality during their third seasons; here's hoping that pattern continues on Enterprise. You know, one of these days I really should finish Odyssey. In more Star Trek news, Zach Nie! has returned my first season DVDs and is now plowing through DS9's second season, courtesy of the Mountain. This is excellent news.

Can someone please explain to me the big NPR hard-on for Pinochet? The man was an undeniably brutal dictator, but they speak of him as if he were the greatest villain of the 20th century. Hitler? A bad seed. Stalin? He had issues. Pol Pot? Not a nice fellow. But Augusto Pinochet? This was the worst human being who ever lived! How is it that Pinochet is a bad guy and yet Che Guaverra is treated as the gentle champion of the people? Oh, wait, because Guaverra was a communist and violence carried out in the name of left-wing ideals is somehow inexplicably palatable to the otherwise dovish folks on the left.

And now we begin a triumvirate of birthdays, those of three lovely ladies, all between today and the 15th: (in the order that I met them, not the order of their birthdays) Mrs. Blinky (circa 1985), Skeeter (1993 or 1994), and Never Girl (2001). Happy Birthday!

Trivia Night at Conor O'Neill's last night, the team of the Not-So-Bald Mountain, Guy Zach Nie, blast from the past Chris Motel (Zach's amigo), and yours truly. Wonderment of wonderments, we finished in 2nd place, the only time we've ever placed, thus winning $20! We hit up the Fleetwood and on the way to the Back Room, to sate Chris's jones for pizza, he found another $20. Holy Toledo, Batman, talk about improbability! A good time was had by all, even David, who suffered through his first and very likely last Guinness.

I reading Chuck Palahniuk - Lullaby - which means I really wish I had a hippie handy. Admitedly, solely for the purposes of smashing his face in with a brick, but still there's just never a hippie around when you need one.

K. Steeze and the Professor will soon be gone. Things around here are about to become incredibly depressing, especially since both the Mountain (Ann Arbor) and the Guy (East Lansing) are a) busy with school and b) at least an hour away.

I'm starting to hate the cat. Look, asshole, I'm trying to pet you, but I fucking won't if you walk away, sit down, and then come back two minutes later expecting me to pet you. I loved the old Sam, the surly, rat bastard of a cat who didn't have any use for us except feeding him and letting him out on demand. I loved that self-centered, cruel son of a bitch. To me, cats are supposed to be mean. That's their charm.

{Deep Space Piracy For Fun and Profit}
I keep working on the space pirate project, unsure how to proceed. Do I continue to consult with Steeze and the Professor (and possibly Zach Nie!), making all decisions by consensus? Or proceed on my own, in whatever direction strikes my fancy? Or perhaps two very similar, parallel projects, one developed with the group, the other on my own. It is critical to agonize over the details of a television show that will never get made. Critical.

{Anyway, here's an extremely preliminary cast}
Our Hero - a college kid who wins a pirate starship in a card game and realizes his lifelong dreams of instersteller raiding and pillaging; Jason or Sean, maybe...
His Best Friend - his best friend, along for the ride, probably a fat kid named Toby...
Their Other Friend - not as close a friend, but up for the adventure, he desperately wants to steal Our Hero's girlfriend, who has been left behind and all but forgotten...
Girlfriend Back Home - still in love with Our Hero, even after he becomes a pirate; Tawny, perhaps...?
Toll Booth Girl - the "victim" of the crew's first raid, who enthusiastically joins up; she's only 16, but disturbingly hot; Alex, Parker...
Old Engineer - the only remaining member of the old crew, "Old Nick" doesn't have enough money to retire with his comrades; once the master of the Scarlet Narwhal, now he's the drunkard of an engineer; the Professor describes him as essentially a seventy year-old Nick Neu...
Snobby Alien - his (his? do they have genders?) race is a bunch of uppity jerks and while he's more tolerable than most, he's quite crabby about being stuck on the ship; Lorix? maybe they're all named Lorix? naw...
Robot - what's the point of making sci-fi if you don't have a robot running around? Pewter, who really keeps the ship running...
Pilot - do you know how to fly a starship? Because I certainly don't. Aditi, a devil may care Texan beauty, maybe ex-IASA (which is the united Earth space force?)...
Indie Pirate - the shaddiest member of the crew, he's the only one who knows what's going on in the pirate world; perhaps a 1/4 Sirlakin, beneath his gruff exterior be he friend of foe...

Once one thinks about it, the chances of the crew of the Scarlet Narwhal doing any actual pillaging are pretty slim. These are, well, at least Our Hero and his two friends are, ordinary kids who stumble into something extraordinary. They aren't theives, much less bloodthirsty killers. Yet, here they are on an armed pirate ship, wanted by the law - for allegedly kidnapping Toll Booth Girl - what are they to do? I think they'd start playing Robin Hood, raiding pirates and protecting the innocent, in their own incompetent way. Plus, searching for the nigh-mythical pirate ship the Star of Canberra.

I'm bleeding from three different spots and I have grease and dirt in two of my wounds, but at least the Mousemobile has new brake pads and rear shocks.

As far as the space pirates are concerned, so far these are the three leading candidates for the name of the ship: the Scarlet Narwhal, the Bloody Narwhal, and the Jakarta Narwhal. Other names considered include the (insert modifier here) Shark or the Soyokaze. The latter is a reference to the hilarious anime The Irresponsible Captain Tylor, which takes place in space, but features no pirates.

Which spelling is preferrable for an alien race: Sirlakin or Sirlaken? As in the Sirlakin/Sirlaken Plague. I think Sirlakin. Yeah, definitely.

Ooo, Sirlakin or Sirlokin?

I want to have space pirates on the brain. The Professor, Steeze, and I came up with an embryonic idea for a TV show about space pirates. We haven't yet decided what kind of show it will be, and by "kind" I mean in what medium we'll produce the show: live action, cartoon, or anime. Personally, I think faux anime would be the best, along the lines of Teen Titans. We aren't Japanese, we don't speak any Japanese, and we are on the opposite side of the world from Nihon, all of which might be genuine obstacles to making an anime show, but I'd like it to be less episodic than American animation.

So far we have sketchy details of five characters: our protagonist, a naive, wannabe pirate; his loyal best friend; less close friend with designs on our hero's girlfriend back home; a girl they kidnap from a toll booth; a snooty, hyperintelligent alien; and the old drunkard of an engineer. The characters don't have names, backgrounds, anything. Still, there is great potential. I did have an idea for the ship, though, let's call her the Nick Neu.

The Anniversary
Mom and Dad have been married for thirty-two years today. Wow.

Who would have thought that of both my parents, my mom would be the far more annoying of the two. I've been here two weeks and she's driving me batty. You know the old song, "I want a girl just like the girl who married dear old dad"? Yeah, I'll shoot myself in the fucking head before I marry a girl remotely like my mother. She lives her life exactly how I do not want to live mine. I live at home, I'm allowed to whine about boring shite like my parents.

And now a drooling kitty is obstructing the keyboard.

Okay, I guess at seventeen there is no way Sammy comes close to qualifying as a kitty, but "a drooling kitty" sounds better than "a drooling cat." And sweet merciful crap, his drool isn't watery, it's this godawful syrupy horror. Ewwwwww.

"The Hour In 30 Seconds" words by M. Wilson
"Drink drink drink
As fast as you can!
Drink drink drink
Be you woman or man!
Sure you'll puke
That's part of the plan,
Drink drink drink
The Hour's at hand!

Drink drink drink
As fast as you can!
Drink drink drink
There'll be 'Puking, man!'
Hawai'ian Punch:
The sacred brand,
The Hour That
Nobody Wanted, man!"

If you haven't experienced The Hour That Nobody Wanted, man, you haven't lived. Nothing makes you appreciate what's really important in life like watching your brother drink four Liters of Hawai'ian Punch in ten minutes or watching little Liz Ele fight her way through the power squat.

Grand Funk Forever
Happy birthday (Wednesday, in my mind it's still Wednesdya night) to Grand Funk Railroad's Don Brewer, known to me primarily via Homer Simpson. "You kids don't know Grand Funk? The wild, shirtless lyrics of Mark Farner? The bone-rattling bass of Mel Shocker? The competent drum work of Don Brewer?"

The Steeze and I finished "Hyperintelligence," last night. Words by M. Wilson, music by K. Stermer. I'm also helping him with words to a song for which he has already written the music, "Instantation Teleportation." Brand new Real Can of Yams, coming soon to a Virgin Megastore near you.

Also, two-man Risk, even when you are victorious in three of three games, is highly unsatisfying. Of course, I bet losing three of three highly unsatisfying games is even worse.

Watch the brand-new custom-made second season of The Big O on Cartoon Network. It's not what you think, you gutter-brained cretins, it's better.

I watched a lot on TV in Ann Arbor, I watch a lot of TV in Grand Blanc. I love watching TV.

From an unfinished song about Never Girl...
"The part that makes me question why,
The part that makes me want to cry,
I'm standing shaking my fist at the sky!
Because the worst part is I still like her,
The worst part is I still want her,
The worst part is I let her under my skin...
The worst part is that I let her win."

Yeah, I've got nothing. It's raining and the only tasks I have been assigned are outdoors; so, I can't do them, but I can still tell my dad's a little resentful.

I think I want my kids to call me Pop. I've always called my dad Dad; so, that would be fine, too. Father and Pa are entirely unacceptable. Da would be fine, but a little poserish (unless their mom is British, which would be awesome). By the way, I would love for their mom to be British, because then they could call her Mum and have slight accents. Plus, a beautiful British girl is beautiful in a way no other kind of girl can match. Examples: Rachel Weiss, Keira Knightley, Naomi Watts.

From Pop to Naomi Watts in one paragraph. I love blogging.

The single best indictment of blogging every written? By Ed Brubaker, of course.

There's this Aussie twit who has titled his blog "Wilson's Almanac." Notice how this site is so forgettable I shall not even bother hyperlinking to it. Trust me, were a true Wilson to have an almanac, it would rule.

On that note, it's almost too bad my last name is Wilson, because I think it makes a pretty sweet first name.

Saturday night, it was Guy Zach Nie!, Sarah, Steeze, and me at the world famous BJ's, home of "Dancing Sandwiches." We played euchre (because we are Michiganders) and then returned to my house for Risk into the wee hours. I defeated Steeze, somehow the best Risk player I know, to win the game. I had neither the Black Raj nor my beloved African continental bonus, but I pursued a combination Australian Gambit/Asian Simmer to victory. There were several nasty knife fights in Caracas and Zach died chasing the elusive North American Dream.

Via Mr. Bell's fantabulous invention, I spoke with the Mountain twice and also Sardine.

I have determined that my mother has no sense of humor: 1) she finds both The Flintstones and Happy Days funny, 2) she dislikes Jackie Gleason... Mom, your beloved Fred fucking Flintstone was a cheap rehashing of Gleason's Ralph Cramden, and 3) she doesn't like Futurama, not at all, not even a little bit. If you can't laugh at "the lost city of Atlanta," man, why even get out of bed in the morning?

"You were a loser in the year 2000 and you're a loser in the year 4000."
"Yeah, but in the year 3000 I had it all: several friends, a low-paying job, a bed in a robot's closet. I envied no man."

Also today, I operated a chainsaw for the first time! I'm a big boy now.

Two three four? That's awesome!

"Hey, Julie, look what they're doing to me
Trying to trip me up, trying to wear me down
Julie I swear it's so hard to bear it
And I'd never make it through without you around"
--Fountains of Wayne, "Hey Julie" from Welcome Interstate Managers

You know, my sister is cool. Not her taste in music or anything like that, she's just cool. How in the hell did Rick and Joyce produce kids as cool as my brother and my sister?

I watched the Michigan-Central Michigan game today. As it was a creampuff pre-Big Ten season game, I wondered around the dial whenever I got bored. I caught a glimpse of the just passed MTV Video Music Awards. Those cunt rags Good Charlotte played their poser anthem "Anthem," after which Chris Rock quipped, "Good Charlotte? More like mediocre Green Day." Chris Rock is a wise, wise man.

On the subject of Chris Rock's wisdom, rent Comedian. He's got some great insights in it.

I really should shave today, but I don't think I will.

I finished the DS9 fourth season DVD set last night. The fifth season doesn't come out until October. By Lucifer's beard, what am I supposed to do until then?

Never Girl is coming back to Michigan next week, with her boyfriend of now over a year. So, no, I won't be seeing her. Also, I'm more confident than ever those two are going to get married. It's no longer a prognostication of doom, just the way things are. Never Girl had her chance.

Note to self: hey, asshole, are you ever going to return Olga's email?

Blogger and my dad's computer refuse to play nice. Hmmm, I may have to convince him to let me hook my machine up to the cable modem.

How does one recognize the moment when one is no longer an important part of a dear friend's life? How does one know when one's role becomes secondary or tertiary? How can one discern when one is being kept around for nostalgia's sake?

Just a quick suggestion to Sam, our cat: hey, dumbass, if you want to be petted and I'm sitting in a chair, it'll help things significantly if you stay within arm's reach. Sammy's full name is Samuel Bubbles Cat Sink Wilson; we've had him since the Fall of 1986.

On Fish
My sister once had a goldfish that lived for over three years, a beautiful, elegant lady named Fish. My brother once had a goldfish that lived for over three years, a stout, aggressive pugilist named Arthur. My goldfish, a small, funny fellow named Fishy is now about three years old. However, because I received Fishy secondhand from the Phantom Frantom (who also named him) I have always kept him in the small tank the Phantom gave me, whereas both Fish and Arthur resided in those big five gallon jobs. Thus, Fishy is much smaller than either Fish or Arthur were by this age. (I think that Fish is an absolutely amazing name for a fish and quite possibly the most creative thing my sister's ever done. However, I feel that Fishy is rather lacking. Nonetheless, that is his name and will be for the remainder of his life.)

The first fish I buy on my own, I think I'll name Aquaman. Or maybe get two and name the other Black Manta.

Your Own Worst Enemy
Superman = Lex Luthor
Batman = The Joker
Wonder Woman = Cheetah (I think; it's a problem that this is not more clear cut)
The Flash = Captain Cold
Green Lantern = Effigy* (this is tough because the character is not even ten years old)
Aquaman = Black Manta
J'onn J'onzz = Malefic

*The current Green Lantern is Kyle Rayner. He became GL (in real time) in 1994 and has only been on the job a few years. His predecessor, Hal Jordan, was GL for almost thirty-five years and had a very definite archenemy, the evil Sinestro. Kyle has never had that singular enemy. Effigy was created as a dark reflection of Kyle, but he has not been used extensively, despite being perfect for the job of archenemy. A Sinestro-type villain names Nero was also introduced, but he was not very effective. So to this point, sadly, Kyle Rayner had no clear cut archenemy, though in my estimation Effigy is the logical choice.

The Mountain is home. All is right with the world.

A short skirt.
A Gimmes shirt.
A Jones Soda.
Ain't life grand?

Is it too much to ask to just see Sardine?! Damn it, thwarted at every turn! Okay, okay, the actual mechanics of seeing her will pose something of a problem; I'll have to be pleasant and conversational while resisting the nigh-irresistable urge to kiss her each time I see her face. Nevertheless, I really want to see her. And I think she wants to see me, too.

I don't give a fuck what you think, I like Avril Lavigne.

Also, I've just discovered The Brendan Leonard Show. It's awesome. If you are unfamiliar with BTW, if we had a TV show it would be a lot like this.

I've just become aware that my friend Olga is attending grad school in Boston (Tufts) this Fall. Suddenly, without lifting a finger, I know people in Boston. Mike Wilson Luck, people, you wish you had it.

Discrimination!
Why is it that there is both a Batgirl and a Supergirl, but no Wonder Boy? Batman and Superman each have a younger male sidekick, Robin and Superboy, respectively, and so Wonder Woman has a younger female sidekick, Wonder Girl. Quid pro quo. But, so as to avoid the appearance of discrimination (and because the characters work... though Supergirl is in flux these days), they each also have a younger female sidekick, Batgirl and Supergirl. Yet where is Wonder Boy? Why is it that the Dark Knight and the Man of Steel had to let a girl into their "boys' clubs," but the Amazon Princess can maintain her matriarchy without being labelled a discriminator? Hmm? Hmm? Because it is okay to practice sexism against men, that's why. No peace until there is a Wonder Boy! (Of course, were there a Wonder Boy, he'd get mercilessly teased for joining the girls' club. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.)

Dreamer*
Last night I was aware of a dream, which is an uncommon experience for me. Saturday Night Latham had been caught in some kind of accident so that his touch was lethal, like a comic book supervillain. For everyone's safety, he was kept in a big vat in my parent's massive living room, though in real life there is no room like this in my parents' house. This living room looked like something out of Goldfinger's lair, with the vast partially underground pit full of an extremely thick liquid where the coffe table should have been. Anyway, this girl I know from intramurals (I don't know her name, just her face) came up with an antidote to Saturday Night's condition. She poured it in the vat and then tried to touch him. I tried to stop her, because I thought it was still dangerous. Satruday Night came out and touched her. I was certain she'd die, but the antidote had worked! She and Saturday Night embraced and kissed a big Hollywood ending kiss. fin Dreams are weird. I mean, I wasn't even the star in this one!

*Dreamer
Because I can connect anything to comic books, I should mention that Dreamer (secret identity: Nura Nal) is a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes, the protectors of the 31st century. I love how many neat little nooks and cranies there are in the DC Universe. It's fabulous.

The Futurama episode featuring "the lost city of Altanta" is great anyway, but you know what's the best part? Parker Posey as the voice of Umbriel.

"Now I've had my head inside an elephant, a hippo, and a giant sloth."
--courtesy Homer Simpson

Why break the day's streak of unoriginality?

A note to Daddy Dylweed: Jaden Scott? Dude, that's just mean. A of all, you are never going to hear the end of this. B of all, I am NOT going to call the kid Jaden. I don't know what his nickname will be, but it'll be an improvement. (They don't call me The Last Angry Man for nothing.)

"And it may be the whiskey talking,
But the whiskey says I miss you every day."
--Fountains of Wayne, "No Better Place" from Welcome Interstate Managers

***
And now, Lucinda Rosenfeld's contribution to Esquire's feature "Ten Things You Don't Know About Women":

1. Think lips, not larynx, and nice things might happen to you.

2. Put your wallet back in your pants and let us pick up the next round.

3. We order our salad dressing on the side because we are control freaks. We'd like to control you. Because we can't, we control lettuce.

4. We are not all that enthusiastic about men who have extensive knowledge of female reproductive health. Men who tell us what exercises we can do to ease our menstrual cramps and who know the best course of treatment for recurring yeast infections freak us out.

5. We don't actually care what you look like so long as your looks don't constitute a social liability. If you can figure out how to make us laugh, we'll find a way to ignore your steadily decreasing head-to-back-hair ratio.

6. We dislike it when you pound on the bathroom door and ask, "Hey, is everything okay in there?" You don't want to know what's going on in there.

7. We're suspicious of your relationship with your sister. She's roughly our age and has seen you naked.

8. Just let us cry.

9. We're not just pretending to be annoyed when you keep changing the channel.

10. Unless a previous girlfriend has told you you've got great taste in jewelry, chances are, you don't. Think about it this way: Do you ever see us wearing the weird bracelet you bought us? We haven't returned it because we love you too much. And we really do love you.
***

Thus far, it's not really so much a day for original content. Hey, at least when I steal I steal from the best.

This evening, I don't want to do anything. I don't want to read The Emperor's Codes, the book I'm working on. I don't want to read comic books. (Part of this is that I finished my massive DC pile and I'm not nearly as keen to plow through my Marvel and indie piles.) I don't want to commit to watching a movie, but there isn't anything on TV. (Well, Dark City is on now, but I missed the beginning and don't want to put in the effort of really paying attention. I like the movie too much to half ass my way through it.) I've tried the Internet, but it's not nearly as fab as it might seem. The radio just sucks and I can't just listen to a CD; I'm not happy enough to dance and if I'm not dancing I need to be doing something else. Gah, I don't want to sleep, but I don't want to do anything else, either. I don't want to call anybody.

Well, that's not true, I want to call Sardine, but it's far too late.

"A short skirt.
A Gimmes shirt.
A Jones Soda.
Ain't life grand?"

Do You Have Any Books For My Mobile?
Sardine has my copy of About A Boy. Skeeter is holding my What She Saw... hostage in New York. (Is it too much to ask to want to know when Lucinda Rosenfeld's next book is being published?) The Bald Mountain has A Clockwork Orange, which was loaned to me by Guy Zach Nie!, and I have The Watergirl's Where Is Joe Merchant? Books books books books.

I'm bored tonight, can you tell?

Did you know that if you google "zach nie" all you get is weird foreign sites? I've got to find a less crappy search engine. Unfortunately, they all suck, like the vast majority of ye olde Internet.

If your blog is titled "A Day in the Life," you need to stop. Don't stop temporarily, you know, to reexamine what it is you've been doing, stop permanently. You are painfully boring, utterly cliched, and there is no way anything else you might come up with would be any better. Stop, admit that you are a hack, and never blog again. I'm not saying that you can't do anything right, just that this avenue of expression is out of your depth. Stop now before you further embarrass yourself.

I watched several hours worth of Excel Saga over at the home of the Pikachu Tamer this afternoon. Prior to that, we talked for a couple hours, primarily, as is our custom, about music. Our tastes differ, sometimes greatly, but our views on music are nearly identical. He explained to me the technical difference between hard rock and metal and I tried to define the currently blurred line between punk and hard rock. (Examples are easy - Green Day is punk, Soundgarden is hard rock, Audioslave sucks ass - but definitions are hard.) As he has a large poster of Kurt Cobain, may he rest in peace, in his living room, we of course discussed Nirvana, which evolved into us making fun of jackasses who wear flannel in the Summer and sandals with wool socks in the Winter. For the record, YOU DO NOT WEAR SOCKS WITH SANDALS - EVER - IT DEFEATS THE PURPOSE OF WEARING SANDALS.

I had Wheaties for breakfast this morning. There is no better early morning reading than the back of a box of Wheaties; today, it was about Jesse Owens.

No new Teen Titans yesterday, curse it all.

Also, just so you know, there is no more inflammable substance on Earth than bunny rabbit. Blasted things go up faster than school buses. So, you know, be careful. This theory was developed in part by the Professor, the finest mind of ours or any age; so, you know it has to be true. Thanks to Avoid One Thing, the side project of Mighty Mighty Bosstones bass player Joe Gittleman, "the Bass Fiddleman," for first alerting us to this safety hazard in our midst.

Curses, foiled again!

And now... asylum humor!
"I haven't had a full night's sleep in years... Always some idiot on the phone with some new problem... 'Dr. Arkham, the Scarecrow's trying to hang himself!' 'Junkyard Dog flushed something, now all the toilets are broken!' 'The Joker got hold of the cleaning supplies. He's going to kill us all!' It's always something. But tonight? Quiet as the grave. This can't be good."
-courtesy of Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, adminstrator of Arkham Asylum, Gotham City

On the one hand, it's kind of pathetic that John Stamos is doing television commercials for a 10-10-number. On the other hand, he gets to go home at night to his wife Rebecca Romijn-Stamos; so, no matter what he does, he's won. Compared to every other dude on Earth, he's won. Good for him.

On the one hand, it's kind of pathetic that I'm watching TV on a Friday night. On the other hand, it's really pathetic that I'm watching TV on a Friday night. I mean, there are people I could call, but I'm actually quite content in my patheticness. Of course, I'd be more content with Rebecca Romijn-Stamos in my bed, but while I'm at it I might as well wish for the Moon and stars.... I wish I had the Moon and stars. (Looks around expectantly.) It was worth a try.

And now... Jaffa humor!
"Three Jaffa met. It was a tense situation. The Serpent Guard's eyes glowed, the Horus Guard's beak glistened, and the Set Guard's nose dripped."
-courtesy of Jaffa Master Teal'c, former First Prime of Apophis, whom he now regards as "A false god. A dead false god."

I'm making decent progress plowing through my ever-expanding backlog of comics. So far today, I have given second readings to issues of Action Comics, Wonder Woman, H-E-R-O, The Legion, JSA: All-Stars, and JSA.

I have discovered I possess an uncanny knack for looking up links to prep track results. How this is, I have no idea; I didn't even like track in high school when I had friends on the team! But that's neither here nor there. If you want to know about the results of each state's prep track championships, I, apparently, am your man.

It's a full life.

The Not-So-Bald Mountain will be back in ten days. Hot damn. At the same time, I know he'll miss his Seagle friends and justly so. For years, my brother has been the Bald Mountain. Why? Because he is 6'2" with broad shoulders and a shaven skull. Of late, though, he has lost a good deal of weight and grown his hair out. He is a shadow of his former self and yet still a massive human being; so, the "mountain" portion is still accurate. But "bald"? I think not. When he grew a mohawk, he was briefly known as Mount Mohawk; now that he has bogarted my haircut, sideburns and all, what is he? The Hairy Mountain? The Not-So-Bald Mountain? Mount Pampador? Hmmm, I'm sure it will come to me once I get used to the new look. In the meantime, it'll be fantastic to have him back. I've missed the little guy.

Only two things have ever been said about my eyes: long ago, a girl told me I have sad eyes and relatively recently Pelsky told me I have mischief in my eyes. So, I have no idea what I see there. But, about my smile, let me say this: I have one damned infectious smile. I mean, look at it, it's amazing. Genuine to the core, that's what my smle is. My whole face contributes, leading to crow's feet at the corners of my eyes at the young age of twenty-four. I smile a lot and it is a fantabulous thing to behold.

I wish I had a portal as seen in Being John Malkovich. Not for me, but for you guys. Everybody should have the opportunity to know for fifteen minutes what it's like to be me. It's luminous in here.

My new mantra:
"A short skirt.
A Gimmes shirt.
A Jones Soda.
Ain't life grand?"

You Don't Know What You're Talking About
Never Girl thinks The Ataris are fucking amazing live. My question is: why? Historically, I like The Ataris, but I saw them live for the first time on Sunday (Warped Tour) and while their show was adequate, it was nothing to write home about. ***I'd think this even if I hadn't had my ass rocked off by both Less Than Jake and Flogging Molly, the world's two best live bands, in a three day span. But I digress.*** I say that I historically like The Ataris because I have concerns about their new album. I haven't bought it yet, but I have heard it... on MTV. Their big single is called "Boys of Summer." It is a cover of a song from the '80s. (Don't ask me by whom becasue I don't know.) There is nothing more sad than when a band's biggest song is a cover. It's better to never make it big than succeed through a cover. Based upon their excellent earlier albums, I am incredibly disappointed. Additionally, because they are getting MTV airtime, the crowd at their show was filled with teenaged girls, the kind who only sang during the songs that they've heard on MTV. Dammit, these creatures aren't fans of The Ataris, they've just been told that The Ataris are cool. (Which reflects poorly upon The Ataris.) I'm sorry, but it's hard for your live show to be awesome when the pit is overrun with trendy moron kids.

On that note, I hate the current popularity of pop-punk. These trendy kids are at the shows when they have no real business being there. Dammit, it was assholes just like you kids who made high school miserable for the bands, thus prompting their latter day songwriting angst. While I do appreciate and enjoy the irony, it is damned annoying having them at the shows, flavor of the month-loving jerks that they are.

So, essentially what I'm saying is that Never Girl has no idea what she's talking about. Before I introduced her to the scene, she'd never been in a pit. Relying on her own piss-poor taste, she likes Matchbox 20 and Aerosmith. I would argue that liking MxPx and liking Aerosmith are mutually exclusive; so, she's lying about liking one of them. Given these developments, maybe I should have never invited her to that first Mustard Plug show....

I was looking at my reflection in a doorknob. The ol' skull-and-crossbones stood out bright and proud. "Wow," I thought to myself, "I'm a badass!" Then I remembered I'm wearing my brand new Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt. I love Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, but one cannot be a badass wearing a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt. Eh, you win some, you lose some, at least I'm wearing a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt. Life is good.

I'm presently drinking a Blue Bubble Gum Jones Soda. The fortune: "Your social life could be glamorous and rewarding now." Could be? Like it could be and I don't even know it? Or it could be if I did one specific thing? How can I be sure? Is this an intuitive thing? I'm drinking a Blue Bubble Gum Soda and wearing a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt. Life is sweet.

Sardine called earlier and we talked for a hour and a half while she walked around lower Manhatten and changed clothes to go paint the town red. Mmmm, Sardine changing clothes... (insert Homer's drooling sound). It was just a really good conversation and we were both intensely amused throughout. She's coming back to A2 this weekend. What to do, what to do.... I'm thinking about Sardine with her shirt off wearing skin-tight jeans while I'm drinking a Blue Bubble Gum Soda and wearing a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt. Life is super rad.

We all know it cuts deep when a girl sez, "We'll always be friends, though." At the Warped Tour yesterday, the Professor and I divined the single cruelest thing any girl can ever say to any guy: "You're my best friend."

A few weeks ago, after the Reel Big Fish show, I said I felt as if the greatest thing in my life was coming to an end. Please forgive my pessimism. The greatest thing in your life can only die if you let it. Give me one good reason why any of this has to come to an end? Ha, you can't because there isn't. To briefly sound like a greeting card, life is what you make of it. The Professor and I are going to see Flogging Molly tomorrow, and the greatest thing in my life is far from over. And now, I'm listening to "Hey, Julie" while thinking about Sardine with her shirt off wearing skin-tight jeans while I'm drinking a Blue Bubble Gum Soda and wearing a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt. Life is the best thing ever.

E Pluribus Unum
The following is an open letter to all my politically liberal friends. A large number of my friends, quite possibly a majority, are actually of the liberal political persuasion. These are good people, though terribly misguided. I love them dearly, and simultaneously sincerely pray they are never given the reins of power.

I am a Republican. Why? The funny answer, courtesy of Aaron Sorkin, is, "Because I hate poor people." Hee hee. Seriously, though, we all know the Republican Party is evil; so, why throw my lot in with these monsters? A complicated question. First of all, it is important to understand that we are all villains to each other; the way you guys feel about President Bush, a lot of people, myself included, felt about President Clinton. Thus, it is entirely possible that Republicans are not the monsters you believe them to be, just as you may not be the idiots they believe you to be. Second of all, I call myself a Republican, but I do not agree with everything in the official GOP Platform. I am pro-choice; I favor gun control; I did not approve of either recent tax cut, excluding those provisions which eliminated the Death Tax/Estate Tax. What I do believe in is the two-party system. Seriously. You show me a well-functioning democracy, I will show you a two-party system. (For an education in multi-party chaos, please see: the State of Israel.) Third parties in America soley play the roll of spoiler: Theodore Roosevelt in 1912, Ross Perot in 1992, and even arguably Ralph Nader in 2000. Thus, as the patriotic fellow I am, I felt it necessary to identify with one or the other major political party. Based upon a wide spectrum of issues and ideas, including examination of the rise of each party's present doctrine, I chose the Grand Old Party. Thus, I am a Republican.

That wide spectrum of issues and ideas I was talking about, here they are in a nutshell. Well, two nutshells: NAFTA and welfare reform. The North American Free Trade Agreement is a pact between the United States, Mexico, and Canada that all but eliminated tariffs and associated trade barriers between the three countries. Free trade is a good thing. Why? Because free trade has historically meant more jobs and higher GDP for all involved. The high tariffs and other protectionist measures of the Great Depression? Yeah, they made things worse. The single greatest thing President Clinton did in his entire administration was go against most of his own party and ally with Republicans to push NAFTA through Congress. Have there been job losses associated with NAFTA? Obviously, yes, but there have also been significant job gains. (Another benefit, worthwhile even at the cost of short-term American job losses, NAFTA is good for Mexico. The US and Canada are both members of the G-8, meaning they have two of the eight largest industrial economies in the world. Yet, just south of two of the world's richest nations is a third world economy. Why has Mexico, which has a longer history than either of the norteamericano nations, not achieved the same level of economic development? That's a question with a very long answer, i.e. the entire history of the New World from 1492 to the present. Regardless, if we can raise the standard of living in Mexico, we can sell them things. Things that may be made in Mexico, but by American companies, which means the profits come back home. There are only thirty million Canadians, but we do more trade with them than any other nation. A Mexico as relatively rich as Canada would be a major boost to the US economy.)

The 1996 Welfare Reform Act was a flawed piece of legislation, but it did offer one irrefutable benefit: it represented a coherent ideological framework. As conceived in the Great Society, what exactly is the exit strategy of the welfare system? If people are allowed to stay on public assistance indefinitely, and earn more money by having additional children than they would in the job market, where is the incentive to leave the public dole? The argument could be made, and is, by me, that over the first thirty-one years of its existence, the welfare system did naught but actively encourage the perpetuation of an American underclass. In the short-term, the Republicans appear to be harsh and uncaring, but they are trying to get people to stand on their own two feet in the long run. To use a very appropriate piece of common wisdom, the status quo approach favored by Democrats involved giving people fish; the Republicans want to teach people how to fish. FDR said, and I'm very much paraphrasing, "When you are confronted with a problem, try to fix it. If what you try doesn't work, try something else. But do something." The Democrats were quite content to ignore the words of their own patron saint and do nothing.

And now, the pie-in-the-sky part. In very, very ideological terms, which are sometimes lost in the maestrom of politics, the basic underpinning of Republican philosophy is that people can achieve any goal if they work are smart, work hard, and seize opportunities when they present themselves. Democrats seem to lack that basic faith in people to be able to take care of themselves. Of course, these are just broad philosophical strokes and certainly do not encompass every member of either party. My sister is a Democrat because she hates the Republicans; as much as anything else, I am a Republican because I hate the Democrats. But in all of our mutual loathing, we must not lose sight of that fact that most of us truly do love America, especially when we disagree; if not the America we see around, then the America we believe can be.

Let me close with two thoughts regarding the 2004 presidential race. a) Please please please please nominate Howard Dean and b) run, Ralph, run!

The Gods Must Be Crazy
Online, you can find all sorts of information regarding the gods of Egypt, the Greco-Roman pantheon, and the Norse Aesir. However, if you make the mistake of looking for the Canaanite religion, all you get is a fistful of crazy Bible sites. Yeah, great, see, the thing is I just want the skinny on the gods Baal and Mot, not read from Judges and 1 Corinthians. Grr.

Whom would you rather fight: Thor or Jupiter?

Posers
I'm finally writing the story "Killing Osiris," formerly know as "The War of the Five Caesars." Cool. Of course, still no progress on In Search of the Perfect Lesbian. Sorry Margaret, no Kari Putterman for you. Not today, at least.

After spending Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights out, I'm not even going to try to find something to do tonight. I'm just going to sit around the apartment and veg, watch the new episode of Stargate at 9pm and read some comics.