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Slander & Invective

Never before in the history of world politics have our leaders used the cunning, the deft skill, and the razor-honed rhetorical style to quite such effect in making assessments of one another's character in a way that everyone can support.  I feel as though we have ascended to the zenith of diplomacy and furthermore, tact, and that we have all been carried there by the recent exchange of words between North Korean "leader" Kim Jong "It's Time To Get" Il and our own "President," Dubya Monkeyface Bush.

This whole thing started, as these things often do, with Bush opening his fool mouth.  In answer to a question about whether or not North Korea had the capability to deliver a nuclear missile, Bush said, "There is concern about his capability to deliver a nuclear weapon. We don't know if he can or not but I think it's best, when you're dealing with a tyrant like Kim Jong Il, to assume he can."  During this exchange, Bush also referred to Il as a "dangerous person," which is a bit like the pot talking about the kettle behind it's back, but what are you going to do?  While I acknowledge that there is nothing particularly untrue in the President's statement, I would just like to bring up for the umpteenth time that he is a dumb sonofabitch who should really experiment with thinking before he speaks for a change.

In response to this, a statement was issued from the North Korean capitol, which is an onomatopoeic sound for a bouncing ball.  In part, it said about Bush that  "No one can expect to hear reasonable words from Bush, once a cowboy at a ranch in Texas. His remarks often stun audiences as they reveal his utter ignorance."  (One factual error here: He is STILL a cowboy at a ranch in Texas.  Get it straight, North Koreans.)  Additionally, they said that "he (Bush) is a half-baked man in terms of morality and a philistine."  Wow.

Who would have thought that, in the midst of all this sixth-grade feces throwing, these guys would have gotten such a good bead on each other?  Good job, guys.  Now that you know each other well enough to make assessments that only a child would find improbable, maybe you could try having a fucking conversation.

No Longer Allowed in Public

Me.  I am no longer allowed in public.  I have sat on this story since it happened last weekend, and it has now bubbled up to the surface like so much unmelted rock crustiness on the edges of the magma of my mind, so now I share it with all of you, whether you like it or not.

Last weekend, my son and I were having a pleasant day.  We went out to the movies together, to see Racing Stripes at the cool dollar theater over near University Mall where they have little round tables where you can sit in spinny chairs with three other people and eat like a whole pizza, which the theater serves, and drink beers and cokes and stuff, and eat fries - all of which the theater serves.  He enjoyed the movie, I thought it wasn't bad, I picked up a cool indie magazine in the lobby, he got a compliment from a woman as she was leaving (that's the best behaved child I've ever seen...) and then we had to go shopping.

We had to go shopping to get something elusive.  Something that could not be found at the first two places I went, which was how I found myself at...Wal-Mart.  Again.  I know, I know.  While there, we were walking down an aisle when Max stopped, and went back to look at something.  He was about four and a half feet away, and as I turned to see what he was looking at, a stranger roughly shoved, using his flattened hand, quite deliberately, my small son out of his way.  Now - I don't know how all of you would react - and the idea of woundedly crying out, "SIR!!!" seems too English to me - so I tripped the motherfucker.  His face smacked the tile with a satisfying little grunt to punctuate the smack, and I said, "Oh, I am so sorry," as I crushed his hand underfoot walking over him.  See, it was in my mind - NO HITTING IN FRONT OF KID - so my brain fed me this way to make it look like an accident.

So, you could say that this is yet another deplorable use of violence.  Or, you could look at it and say, "well, it would have been a real waste for him to practice hurting others all that time and not use it ever."  Of course, that would just be crazy.  You could say this is a great lesson not to pick on those smaller and weaker than we are.  Anyway, I'm sure you can find some way to explain it.  I just think I need to limit my face time with the rest of the human race until someone invents another satisfying and efficient way to solve problems.

Hair Dryers

I think that one of my favorite small pleasures in life might be the hair dryer.  I love hair dryers.  It seems kind of crude to me that we have to transfer the moisture on our bodies to a largish piece of cloth in order to deal with it, especially in that somewhat chilly morning time when you'd like nothing less than a cool breeze across your naked flesh.  No, the hair dryer is so much more elegant - I'd like to have a full body dryer.  Why can't I?  Why hasn't anyone created this?  Like a sort of warm airlock in your bathroom.  You put your glasses, watch and stuff in it when you go in, and walk through it into the shower, scrape the funk off your body, and come back out into the Dryerlock.  Push a button, and be blown dry from 360 degrees and every possible angle.  How nice.  Maybe there could be a little bench.

I like drying my hair, and one thing that has kept me from shaving my noggin on a couple of occasions (aside from the scars on my head and the assurances from my wife that baldness would make me less attractive) is the idea that I would have no reason to visit the hair dryer.  I like drying my son's hair.  It's very soothing, sitting on the bathroom floor with a kid wrapped up in towels on your lap, whilst you dry his hair.  There's something about the white noise combined with the gentle warm blasts of air that I just really enjoy.  Like, massages - which I don't particularly enjoy all that much, because they typically come with some sort of pain, or speech about how my neck is all messed up or my back is out of whack, or in one notable case, skull x-rays - massages would kick much more ass if they came with like, five hair dryers playing lightly across your hair.  I'd actually like to rig up something over my bed that does this.  Kind of simulates the back-and-forth of dryer action, except, multiply.  A six-armed oscillating multi-dryer, it would be, and by god, that could be the insomnia cure I'm looking for!

There's no punchline to this.

Song for Steve

I don't want to be lonely anymore,
sittin' here all locked up behind my door -
I'd rather just go outside, instead,
but I can't, because I have five heads.
I'm a twisted monster mutant fuck,
rolling on the floor, short on happy luck.
Kids run and scream, women tear their hair,
men cower when they see me standing there.
I never see the sky, I never get to leave,
I just listen to my heads, one of which is Steve.
My heads are everywhere, they're always all around.
They're very heavy, I often just lie on the ground.
Mutated man with five heads on himself,
must put his needs and dreams up there on the shelf,
I am so lonely, but I'm never really alone -
with five heads, there's always at least a drone.
They often argue, they sometimes fuss and fight,
it's really really hard to brush all their teeth just right.
Lots of TVs, I keep them everywhere,
but with five heads, I can't really use a chair.
The world runs from me, I must be quite a sight,
and maybe one or two heads would like to stay and fight,
but I'll stay inside for now, I think I'll take my leave,
and be with my five heads, one of which is Steve!

...one of which is Steeeeevvve...

Barrels of Trouble

Recently, President Monkeyface of this great land of ours met with Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, and pled with him for relief from skyrocketing oil prices.  Sensing that economies such as those of India and China are sucking 'our' oil from a region we made unstable, Bush asked Abdullah if there was anything he could do about lowering the price of a barrel of crude.  Abdullah sighed loudly, replying with,

"Maybe - what about this 'war on terror?'  Oh, and work the shaft more."

As the President explained that you have to break a few countries to spread freedom, his pace quickened as his hand moved more rapidly.  He applied some saliva, licking the head, to make the Crown Prince more comfortable.  As both men scoffed at the idea of developing any kind of alternative energy sources, secure in their grip on the world, and indeed, somewhat lost in the moment, Bush worked the balls, applying crude oil from a golden dish on the mahogany coffee table.  Eventually, the whole thing was over, with the Saudis insisting that they are at capacity in production, and wondering how this little tin-pot cowboy with stained lapels and a hanky in hand had managed to fuck up so much of the Earth.  They agreed on some committees, though, and Abdullah will lower prices when he feels like it, or gets those nude shots of Condi.  Meanwhile, I figure that 30 bucks to fill up my Oldsmobile still isn't half bad when you figure that I'm still not paying for any of the hidden costs, still demonstrating our dependence on foreign oil, and doing nothing with my gasoline dollar to fix the planet.  Could be a lot higher.  I just wish it was purer.  Lot of blood in my gas tank these days.

Amityville Horror & The Race Card

On Saturday night, I was in bad fucking awful mood, so I squealed off into the night, and decided eventually to go to the movies.  I went to the Rave GoogleScreens here in P'cola, and stood in line for almost half an hour behind a kissing couple.  I watched people chatting with their friends, joking and talking, I watched the staff get overwhelmed, and I watched the pigs harass people for loitering.  (I've always wondered where the freedom to assemble ends and loitering begins.)  I got into line at 9:30ish, and I had no idea what I was going to see.  My time-appropriate choices were Sin City, (which I've seen, but would see again), Sahara, The Amityville Horror, Beauty Shop, (which was never really a possibility) and the sequel to The Ring.  I ended up at Amityville, with a large soda in hand and near zero expectations.

And yet - Okay, first of all, horror movies can go either way, they're either genuinely edge-of-the-seat time, or they just don't work, and then it becomes simply an issue of why and to what degree they don't work.  Ryan Reynolds and Melissa George are just fine.  They do okay, though I've seen both of them act in a more persuasive way on television.  Mostly, the house trying to get them is hokey shit.  After the initial shock (the first five minutes) of gross violence has set into your muscle tissue, the film gamely attempts to bring it back by resurrecting the same things, just to greater degree.  "I think I'm gonna go hide in the closet and get Lisa the slut babysitter to finger my cold dead brain hole some more - I'll see you guys later?"  So, in large part, this would have been a very disappointing experience.  Aaand this is where I play the race card.

I was in a theatre populated by mostly younger African-Americans who kept this from sucking.  Black people watching a horror movie have a much better time, in my limited experiences, than white people do.  I have watched horror films with an entirely white, or mostly white audience, and the effect is muted.  There is reaction at the scary stuff, but if you compared it to Saturday night, it would seem like nothing.  Black women scream when stuff is on screen that scares them.  Like, for real.  Stuff happened that I would have just sat through, had it not been for the two women behind me and to my right, who startled the shit out of me with their screaming.  It was fun.  The guy behind me started joking about the movie about the same time I did, and one guy kept muttering, "...every nigga in here gonna be in church tomorrow..."  White people, typically, do not talk to the screen.  There was a lot of talking to the screen going on last night.  "Why'cha just cap his ass now?"  "How'd a woman this hot end up with his stupid ass?"  "Preacher says, 'Fuck ya'll, I'm out."

Now, if I had been into this movie - I might not have liked this.  But this movie wasn't very good, and the way it was handled was much more fun than quietly sucking it up.  I'm not usually into making sweeping generalizations about race, but I'm not breaking new ground here.  Regardless, I would recommend skipping the Amigonngetmymoneyback Horror, or see it in a predominantly black theatre.

Finally, I would refer you to the work of Eddie Murphy, from Delirious, talking about the original Amityville Horror (about which I know nothing, I should add, much too late). 

EDDIE (As the buyer of the house): "Wow, baby, this is beautiful. We got chandelier hangin' up here, kids outside playin', it's a beautiful neighborhood, I really love - this is beaut--"

HOUSE: (demonic whisper) GET OUT!

EDDIE: Too bad we can't stay, baby.

Maxworx

Hey - over to the side is a new gallery, but not photos.  It's Max's recent artistic efforts, and for those parties interested in Max's development, it's required viewing.  There are several really good ones, and so I would encourage you to check it out.  Also, I finally discovered TypePad's caption tool for my photos, so this gallery has them, and the others will probably get updated with them soon.  I have a geek application for it that I'll be doing soon, too.  Credit for the photo on this entry belongs to Amy J.

Rain

The rain is pounding against our house and lightning splits the sky every few seconds.  I hate this place.  Thunder rattles the chimney and windows and it sounds as if the rain will be coming in under the windows and doors.  I came out of sleep quickly, not knowing what woke me up from a sweat-drenched and ugly-dreaming slumber on the couch.  I saw my son standing at the door - he had come to find me, asleep in front of a movie, perhaps awakened himself by the rain.  He is asleep again now, next to my wife, as the water pummels our house.  At least they sleep.  Another pointless fucking Friday night in one of Florida's seemingly unnatural weather systems. My own senses of depression and isolation, either real or imagined, are enhanced by the rain outside, the internal quiet of the house, and the sleeplessness.  Ask an insomniac - restless wakefulness after a short nap in the dead of night - it's our favorite time.  My sore back and muscles are testament to this week's work.  I'm thirsty, and I can't drink water fast enough.  My unquiet mind does not want me to go back to sleep - it wants me to distract it, entertain it.  My head feels heavy.  The background noises and noises of this past week, this past month, this past year echo off of the bones in my skull and rattle around, confirming the hollowness of my head and the shallowness of my brain pan.  So I sit, at midnight, and spew another digital moodswing into the vastness of the interconnected infotech, and feel my legs stiffen, and listen to my fingers pop with the typing.  You ever wonder what bumps in the night, it's me.

Distractions For Your Ass

Hello.  When I am writing this, which is to say, now, it is 9:42 PM.  I have had a pleasant evening, playing with my son and talking to my bro-in-law.  Right now, I am listening to my wife reading Max to sleep from the fifth Harry Potter book.  I think that soon, I shall watch a zombie movie.  Today has been the birthday of Beth, a person I work with, and Mr. Jones, so let's have shout outs for them.  yesterday, was of course, Hitler's birthday, and I think we can skip the shout out for Mrs. Shickelgruber's little boy.

First, I would like to direct your attention to the salt Virgin Mary which has formed under a bridge.  The picture is above, and if you go looking for links about this, you will find countless bozos getting their snapshots taken with a salt stain.  Wow.  "Mom, Mom!  Can I get my picture taken with the stain?"

When my son and I surf the net together, I have to be careful about what we watch.  Oh sure, there's Noggin, and Sesame Street - and he loves those.  He's so good with a mouse now, though, he doesn't really need me for those.  Sometimes, we need something we can enjoy together, and that's why I thought I would point you at a few kid-friendly-but-still-interesting sites.  This site of Taicho drumming midget people has been a favorite for over a year now, and he'll ask for it to be played over and over again.  In spite of my spouse's general disapproval of Homestar Runner, Max and I both like going there, too.  She's got a point of course, Strong Bad is a pretty lousy role model.  But Max really likes Homestar himself, and also Bubs - which I think is cool.  We are also both quite fond of DC Comics cartoons "Girls of Gotham" section; each one's got a "choose your own adventure" thing in it, but there's only four, so that kind of sucks.  We like the games section on Cartoon Network, and they have games in Spanish, so that's a plus.  The game Grow is still very popular at our house, too.  Finally, we have most recently been frequenting the I Love Egg site.  I don't want to understand this site anymore than I do right now, in this hanging moment of time.

Okay - have a nice Friday, and try not to think about how our President, who has been bailed out of bankruptcy in the oil industry (Arbusto) by everyone from his daddy to the kids of Osama bin Laden, made it harder for the average person to seek bankruptcy protection this week.  Also, don't think about Iraq, the Congress, and the new arch-conservative German Pope.  Play games instead.

The German Inquisition?

NO ONE EXPECTS THE GERMAN INQUISITION!

That is, except for me.  The 265th pope of the Catholic Church is Joseph Ratzinger, AKA Benedict the 16th.  There was something kind of nice sounding about Pope John Paul the 2nd that's just not there when you say Pope Benedict the 16th, is it?  Joe was the "right-hand man" of the previous pope, and so his election is seen as kind of a tip of the mitre to JP2.  Pope Ben is also an ultra-conservative German (everyone's favorite and always a hit at parties) and was the head of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, formerly known as the Inquistion.  Don't believe me?  It used to be called the Supreme Sacred and Holy Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquistion, until its name was changed in early 20th century.  I keep up with this shit because I am a wretched heathen.  Here, I found this, too.  The good news of course, (hopehopehope) is that the white smoke will put an end to religious stories masquerading as news on the radio and Internet.  I am fatigued of Catholic news coverage.  Everything from the JP2 getting sick to today's election and blessing - just weeks of media coverage.  On one level, I get it - lots of Catholics walking around in the world, and there is some level of influence here on world affairs - but at the same time, I think I should be able to turn on NPR (though this is no way a slap at Sylvia Poggioli) and not hear anything that mentions a specific religion for say, oh, fifteen minutes.  That's all I ask.

Oh, and that the Inquisitores give me a nice box for my foot bones.