squidbag

Every Tool

Quietly, quickly -
old sneakers run across the midnight dew.
These Vans have holes, so my socks get wet.
You, there, at the end of the pier,
thinking and smoking, on this night;
you don’t hear me, no one hears me,
there is no one here to hear.
Except you, and me, and I don’t even hear me.
I rush up, like the wind,
like a mist of vengeance.
The phone book collides,
with the side of your head, once-
twice, three times, four...forty.
You tip and roll, the blows and their toll,
and the blood and the sweat and the smoke and the wind,
carry you into the black Gulf water.
I toss the phone book in after you,
my phone book of destiny, the phone book - my weapon.
Killing in the name of the phone book, everyone’s name.
I’ve got your number.  Everyone’s number.
I dash away.

Pencil In the Eye Blues

Well, I'd like to come see you,
but I don't think that I should move.
Got to hold it steady,
this goddamn number two.
Well, I'd like to come and see you,
but I just don't know what I can do.
I got me an agonizing pain, now,
got them pencil in my eye blues.
I can kind of see it with my right eye,
but it's lodged in my left,
when I move that eye around,
well I can feel that graphite heft.
Don't tell me about your girfriend,
who ran off with some old guy,
Don't want to hear your problems,
Got a fucking pencil in my eye.
This yellow spear of agony,
that number two of pain,
that long-ass pencil's
nearly touching on my brain.
Don't be asking how it got here,
'cause I really couldn't say,
but the pencil in my eye
is severely in my way.
It's a kind of special suffering,
that I ain't never felt before,
impaled by an item,
purchased at a dollar store.
I wish there was no pencil,
wish that it would go away,
nothin' like a pencil in your eye
to completely fuck your day.
I tried taking some aspirins,
I tried to go to sleep,
but I can't close my one eye,
and the pain just goes too deep.
Got the no watching movies,
got the no reading books,
got the everywhere I go,
I catch some horrified looks,
got the seriously painful,
no panikillers I can use,
got the sharpened, pink eraser
pencil in my eye blues.

Social Fascism

Have you ever known someone - not a friend, not someone close -  to tell you a big sob story about their life?  One of those really good ones, where the bitch/bastard fucked them over, but then they got re-married, but that other bitch/bastard fucked them over too, and then they lost custody of the kids, and had to move, get a new job, sell a lot of their shit, take a cut in pay and live with their mom and dad?  Oh, and they're not getting laid, either.  The whole time you're listening (kind of) to one of these, you're thinking, "I barely fucking know you.  Why would I ever care about this?"  Additionally, you begin to speculate about how fucked up this person really is.  If they're spewing their personal version of "Remembrances of Things Past" at everything with ears which comes along, what other psychotic babies are on board their mental station wagon?  You start doing armchair psychiatry, analyzing them for the full contents of the DSM-IV, and wondering how many knives and firearms they have access to.  Basically, in that moment, (and we'll switch to me now, because I'm not sure how much longer I should've included you fuckers in my brain, anyway) the last thing I want is to know that person.  I want them to be quiet, stop talking to me, stop telling me their problems.  (If the person is an asshole, I'm secretly glad that they have had a rough time of things.  "She took the kids and left your ass 'cause you're a dick, I'm pretty sure there, buddy.)  Essentially, what I want is for them to observe the same patterns of behavior I do with regards to revealing uncomfortable personal truths.

Because, I have come to understand, I am a social fascist.  If you were to casually observe me in public, you would come to the conclusion that I am a nice guy.  It's when others fail to conform to the rather rigid confines of my particular social code that things fall apart.  I'll give you an example (like you need one, at this point): I stopped at the Dodge's convenience store around the corner from the printshop I work in last week at about 5ish to get some soda.  As I was standing in line, I saw a blonde dickhead come in, and let the door swing back, presumably to deal a death blow to the old man with a cane behind him.  I caught the door, held it, and the old guy "god blessed me" as he came in.  I then turned to the dickhead, and asked him, "What the fuck is your problem?"  Most of the ensuing discussion - and there was one - centered on him paying closer attention to his environment from now on.  I have this kind of thing happen a lot.

The realization that I am a social fascist brought with it the theory that everybody else is, too.  Call it projection, but I think everyone walks around with their rules, and gets unreasonably pissy when others can't seem to fall in.  Those folks, most of them, just aren't as volatile as I am, or maybe they have less free time.  They get aggressive in their cars, though, and you see road rage.  You really want to see some societal fun, let's arm cyclists.  Here's a group of people with definite ideas about how things should be going, trying to do what they think is right, constantly being fucked with by a group of bullies in cars.  There would be blood in the gutters.  It's probably hard to bike uphill with an RPG on your back, though.

Passages and Fives

This was sent to me (just the bold, underlined bits):

10 years ago it was 1995, and I was:

Getting married on June 10th,
moving out of the city I was raised in,
turning 21 & experimenting with new chemicals,
getting used to having lost one friend, throwing out another and
making lifelong friends and acquaintances.

5 years ago it was 2000, and I was:

Becoming completely disenchanted with politics,
living my last childless year.
Sharing an apartment with Dug and my brother-in-law.
Going to my first comic book convention.
Planning the future.

1 year ago it was 2004, and I was:

Depressed and stuck in Pensacola, FL,
Becoming completely disenchanted with politics,
Celebrating my son's third birthday while losing my grandfather,
Closing the doors on a failed business endeavor,
Surviving a major hurricane.

Yesterday I:

Forgot all about my troubles for awhile,
Thought about changing jobs (again),
Rode rides with my kid and ate garbage food,
Got along with my in-laws for eight hours or more,
Stayed up late reading comic books.

5 Songs I know all the words to:

"Tough it Out" - Webb Wilder
"Streets of Laredo" - traditional
"Horndog" - Overseer
"Beautiful Poison" - Vini & The Demons
"Christianity is Stupid" - Negativland

5 Things I would do with 100 million dollars:

Move out of Pensacola, FL.  Like, tonight.
Establish college fundage for my progeny.
Go on a several-month-long trip around the world, taking friends.
Buy a political candidate, or shares in one.
Donate to Oxfam, ACTOR, the CBLDF, and the ONE campaign.

5 places I would love to visit:

Dealey Plaza, Dallas, TX
Rosslyn Chapel, Scotland, UK
Switzerland (all of it)
Japan - major cities
some totally deserted place with no people

5 things I would never wear:

female condoms
sulfuric acid
a wolverine
a leather helmet like Natalie Portman's in "Garden State"
anything hip

5 favorite TV shows:

Alias
the Simpsons
Oz
Antiques Roadshow
Moonlighting

5 bad habits:

telling people what's on my mind
smoking cigars
fucking swearing
cutting people off
an inability to relax properly

5 biggest joys:

my wife
my kid
loyal and understanding friends & family
flights of imagination
jokes & spontaneous laughter

...so if you don't tell me a fucking joke, you're depriving me of joy, and I'll find you and tell you what I think, and won't relax until I do.  Oh, and I'm supposed to "tag" somebody with this, so I tag everyone who reads this and has a blog.  Specifically, C, EP, B, MItch, Jesse, Rich, JRH, and JB.  Fucking alphabet soup, man.  Fucking anonymity.

Pensacola Interstate Fair

That's what they call it.  I don't know where the "interstate" part comes from, other than the carnies and rides all have stickers on them from other states.  Read it again.  Yes.  We spent the better part of the day there today, me and my wife and kid and my in-laws, who I do not normally (and especially of late) get along with.  Today was exceptional, inasmuch as I had no static with them, and we all had a good day.  I have learned something recently that helped facilitate this.  When I am having fun on roller coasters and shit with my kid, my in-laws cease to matter.  Hell, I forgot I was in Pensacola for a little while.  As you can see from the photo, my horse is clearly winning.

I have been on the Atkins diet since April, and have lost a bunch of pounds and about eight inches off my waist.  I am far from svelte, but fuck, it's working.  Today, I fell off the wagon directly into greasy food hell - but that had always been the plan.  I ate fried shark on a stick, a bad "Philly" steak sandwich, a funnel cake, and way too much soda.  It was worth it.  You can't really enjoy the fair experience without ingesting something bad for you.  Luckily, for those people who didn't want to eat anything, there was the comedy of Gallagher.  I seem to remember that he used to be funny.  No longer.  He was doing material that was dated in the late 90s (underwear goes on the inside of the pants) and he seemed tailored, kind of, to a conservative West Florida crowd.  He was as edgeless as a kickball, and boring.  I stayed for five minutes.

We rode a bunch of rides, (including one roller coaster with a dragon's head.  While we were on this, Max decided that we had to catch up - from the middle position we were in, to the dragon's head.  Somehow, this morphed into both of us yelling, "Chase the dragon" over and over and laughing.) and Max got filthy dirty and tired, ate cotton candy and hot dogs, and we had a great time with tiny trains and large bears and all kinds of wacky fair shit.  For anyone who can look back on your childhood and grab a good fair memory - Max filed one away today.  He had an awesome fucking time, and so did I.  I took pictures of the people on the midway.  No hunchbacks, but some funny shit.

Best part: I paid the $2.50 to see the Snake Girl, a woman with the body of a snake and a human head.  It is a bad illusion, done with mirrors.  Unless you are my son.  Apparently, to him, this was an abomination.  To Max, this was chilling, and from his position on my shoulders, he grew quiet, and then, after three minutes or so, asked to leave the Snake Girl tent.  Outside, he looked at me seriously and said, "She is wrong.  The Snake GIrl is wrong."  I explained about the mirrors, and this sort of penetrated.  He said, "Snakes don't have human girl heads, and girls don't have snake bodies.  She shouldn't be there.  I don't like her mirrors."  I recognize this mood, and so we distracted him with a Haunted House and a couple of rides.  Later, Max made it clear that he wanted some of my money.

MAX: "Do you have any more money with you?"

ME: "Why?"

MAX: " We need to pay the money and go back to the Snake Girl tent.  We need to tell her that her mirrors are wrong, and that she is bad, and that snakes don't have human faces.  If we tell her, she will stop pretending to have a snake body, 'cause she doesn't have a snake body.  And I want our money back, and she should not do that anymore."

Shortly after this, I taught Max the word "charlatan" and we went up on the big Ferris Wheel.  At the top, since no one could hear us, I encouraged him to say whatever he wanted about the Snake Girl.  He said she was a charlatan and a bottom.  As loud as he could.

That'll show that fuckin' Snake Girl.

Aw FUCK, No.

For those of you who've been wondering when I would gouge out one of my own eyes with a stick to make a point - this may just be the thing that does it.  John Fucking Travolta wants to play Captain America.  Shit.  Five Dollar Fucking Shake, Scientology Asshole Barbarino wants to be Captain Fucking America.  Goddammit.  For those of you who need a refresher on how I feel about the character, go read this again.  Travolta is WRONG.  Cap is not cocky, he does not swagger.  He marches or strides.  You know who should play Captain America?  Matt Damon.  He has a great chin - the only part of your face that shows in the Cap mask - he's got that "I know a lot of things I could do or say right now - but I don't need to say or do them" quality about him and he's age appropriate!  Cap's been frozen in ice, not gathering ergones!  (Okay, there may be some religious intolerance in here - maybe you'd be happier elsewhere.)  I could work with Heath Ledger, Viggo Mortenson, or even Michael Vartan.  That "boy scout" thing kind of has to be there.  Brad Pitt is slightly wrong, Ed Norton would be okay, James Marsden might work.  I could even deal with McConaughey.  I also like this guy.  So there, fucking Hollywood!  There's some suggestions!  Make a good comic movie out of Cap - don't go the Spawn/Steel/Elektra/Catwoman route!

Man, I hope they incorporate elements of either Dead Men Running or Truth.  Or both.

Music

At my job, it is my responsibility to do many repetitive tasks, such as printing thousands of envelopes, or forms, or note cards.  Stapling (or as printers call it, "stitching") booklets and magazines, counting revolutions on the printer drum, you name it - I do stuff in large quantities, and for many hours at a time.  I listen to a lot of CDs on the job because if I didn't, I would be insane.

The presses and machines make kind of a rhythmic music thing on their own, and there is always music from humming machinery.  When things go well, the ABDick press I run fills the ambient lit areas with orange light and small trails, and when the two major presses operate in concert - well, that's a good word, actually.  This is not enough, however, and I have been supplementing the aural atmosphere since my second week on the job.  Yesterday I went from R.E.M. to L7 in eight hours.  A lot of Overseer, too.  Classical weirds people out (and is often not good on under-rested mornings) and jazz isn't for everyone, and I understand that.  I guess.  I thought everyone liked Coltrane.  I never really think of my musical tastes as eclectic until I work around people, though.  There's nothing inconsistent about traveling from style to style as mood warrants.  To me.

I find - with a pang of futile regret - that I enjoy music from my teens a lot, not because of the nostalgia thing, but because it tends to be less loaded.  Emotionally and intellectually.  Here's what I mean.  I think as I have grown older and more experienced, my ears have become jaded.  While I appreciate music now with more acumen and the musical intellect (and information) to better hear subtleties, I no longer hear it quite as honestly as I did when I was a kid.  Occasionally, music will come along and shatter the walls, and I enjoy it like I did back in the day.  The Vini and The Demons album is a good example of this.  I got it when I really needed a fucking good blues album - shortly after we moved here, coincidentally enough - and I played it continuously for like a week.  Eric's got a new track that does it for me, and Brian put out a disc called "the 37th Sessions" that I have yet to listen to with my whole brain.  I can hear good music viscerally, without really always listening.  On one level, I feel that this is kind of dissing the music, because you are purposely not giving it your full - and perhaps deserved - attention, but I also know that the part of me responding under those circumstances knows what it likes without qualifiers.

As far as "shattering the walls" goes, I haven't decided if  A)  Not enough music comes out that is capable of doing this, or B)  I'm not paying enough attention.  I have to assemble 450 soccer booklets tomorrow, so I'm sure I will have plenty of time to think it over.

Coming soon - a "Kvetching about Pensacola"-free entry!!!  Meanwhile, the Squidbag from a year ago today.

Justice & The Former Tyrant

The trial of Saddam Hussein begins on Wednesday, and a lot of people are saying that there will be one day of arguing in court followed by a month or more of sidebar shit-talking, because this whole thing is shadier than the shadow of my ass.  Is it possible for Saddam to get a fair trial?  Does he even deserve one?  Does 'deserve' have anything to do with it?  Is a fair trial a natural right, or one provided for by the governments under which people live?  I'm not entirely sure on this last point.  Like it or not, you will be judged by your peers, and a trial is probably the best way to arrange that.  But when you kill a bunch of people and invade other nations live on CNN, it's safe to say that there is no impartial jury anywhere for you.  Maybe you don't deserve one.  Maybe - just maybe - when you do incredibly fucked-up things out where everyone can see you do them, and they result in the deaths of a lot of people, you get to be judged by everyone, since after all, we all saw you.

Saddam's lawyers are contesting that they have not been provided with any of the documentation - including rules of the court - that they would need in order to intelligently argue any kind of a case.  (Let me just interject here; whether or not Saddam deserves a fair trial, I think the guys who agreed to defend him are doing a good and necessary job that not just anyone would agree to do.)  The prosecution has rejected the argument that Saddam cannot get a fair trial in Baghdad - a pretty valid fucking argument in my opinion - and no one seems to be able to verify that any of the documents that the defense says they never got were ever even sent.  Did a kangaroo just hop in here?  So we know this thing's fucked from the get-go.  Would an international tribunal have been better, or more appropriate?  Well, Saddam did a bunch of shit to Iraq, so it seems like they should get to judge him for that, but when it comes to the stuff he did to other countries - seems like you'd want an authority answerable to someone besides the Iraqi puppet government.  Picture this - Bush on the stand in a court in the US, answering for invading Iraq.  Wouldn't you prefer that other countries were involved, current approval ratings notwithstanding?  Besides, we'd have to empty the sewers to collect a jury of his peers.

I don't really have a point, here - this is a self-indulgent medium, after all.  I will be watching this thing with everyone else and wondering when it is that our leaders go on trial.  No, really.

A NEW Constitution!

The Iraqis had their shot at one, (and it looks like they may have pulled it off) now I want one, too!  I've been looking around and often listening to a bunch of the world lately, and since I can't seem to get my hands on any hostages, power, or a tactical nuke, I've decided to take a red pen to the Constitution of the United States.  I know, I know, "the Constitution is a living, breathing document."  Fine.  Think of this as a necessary surgery, if you must, but it's time for a NEW Constitution, one that's totally in your face!  Except for the "silent s" form throughout.  You, know, when you get to write "Congrefs" instead of "Congress."  I have always loved that, and it confuses people in other countries, so we'll be keeping that.  If you don't like it, kifs my afs.

I have a bunch of adjustments so I'll start with just a few, and then collect your feedback which I can then ignore, and do whatever I was going to do in the first place.  This is referred to as the "Bush Administration Method."  Speaking of the POTUS, wouldn't you know it, he's the subject of my first big change!  No more Secret Service Security detail for the President.  Too expensive, way over the top.  We need an accessible President, one we can hit with our fists, and maybe an axe handle.  If the President needs to protect himself from We the People, let the fucker buy & carry a gun.  Say what you will about Andrew Jackson (go ahead, I'll wait) he had the style of White House we need today - you could go in, wander around, talk to the Prez if he's not busy, maybe steal a candlestick on your way out.  Time for a return to the Jackson White House!  Not the creepy one in Santa Barbara with the child molester, the one with the genocidal redneck on the twenty.

No more white male Presidents, either.  I don't know if you've ever taken a look at one of those kids' placemats with all the Presidents on it, but it's a festival of over-forty white men.  The ONLY variations are political parties and religions.  I am bored with this trend, (and my government, obviously) and think it should be bucked completely out of existence.  The next President should be a half-Hispanic, half-Native American Wiccan lesbian with piercing green eyes and a propensity for public displays of affection.  Failing that, we need to make room for some Jewish, left-handed, red-headed Voodoo preistesses in the fucking White House.  Maybe you think this is an over-the-top form of affirmative action, and unfair.  Fuck you.

Killing people in any way is from henceforth illegal - unless you are a private citizen.  No organizations, governments, states, municipalities, or politicians are allowed to kill people any more.  You can kill someone if you're a private citizen, but there are seasonal limits, rules, and you have to apply for and be granted - by your local governing body - a killing license.  They have to approve your killing, and they're going to notify the victim in the process, so there's much more of a sporting chance here.  Unauthorized killing will be judged on a case-by-case basis.  And no more guns.  I don't like guns unless they're for target shooting, and you don't need to be practicing with targets unless you're going to shoot something else later, and you're not, 'cause there are no more guns.  You want to kill something, get your license and have some fucking backbone about it - use a chair leg or the phone book, some elaborate drugs, I don't care, just no more guns.  We'll discuss edged weapons.

No more penned animals.  You want to pet something, go find it.  You want to eat something, kill it yourself (once you get your license), bring it back, prepare it, and eat it.  If you catch shit about it from someone, eat them.  Once you get your license.

Everyone takes an IQ test, once a year.  Scores will be adjusted for environment and circumstance, but if you're getting dumber, you have to go away.  There will be modeling clay and birds where you go - you might like it there.  We'll give you five years to get your score back up - we need a trend in order to properly judge you - but after that, it's the happy home, and there ain't no coming back.  I think this policy would have spared us the current government, reality television, most of the porn industry, and a great many morning radio shows, so before you judge too harshly - it'd be worth that, wouldn't it?

If you have cable television, you are no longer allowed to vote.  I know this is going to upset a lot of you, but since there are no more guns, you'll just have to hear me out.  Elections are about mainstreaming the actual choices down to two or three, in order to make it look like we can all pick from one of those and be happy.  If you have cable, you've already proven that you cannot effectively do that, and besides, you get your news from cable, and thus - should not be allowed to vote anyway.  If you have cable and give money to your local public radio station, an exemption will be made for you.  If you have cable, TiVo, a video game system, superfast Internet, DVD, VCR, Betamax, a Googlephonic stereo system with a moonrock needle and snacks - well, lock your fucking doors and stay inside.  You don't need the Revolution.  TiVo the Revolution, then watch it when the fires go out.  Burn me a DVD.

Now, like I said, these are just some preliminary changes, and the direction in which this goes could be determined by your suggestions and your feedback.  Or, if I get the bomb, I'll just drop the whole thing.  Take that any way you like.  Slim Pickens rules.

Jesuits are Big Pussies

Catholics, having had their fill of killing during the crusades, the Inquisitions and the persecution of orders of Knights who had money and real estate holdings that the Pope wanted (698th anniversary of the Church's destruction of the Templar order was 10/13), no longer want anyone to kill anyone, ever.  The death penalty is out, and I happen to agree with them - though I would imagine our reasons differ.  Abortion is not cool with them, and they extend the definition of abortion to include any sperm not deposited on hankies and washrags, pretty much.  Euthanasia is not sanctioned, and basically, there is very little righteous killing you can do within the limits and confines of the Catholic Church.  This "not killing anyone" thing has caused Jesuits to grow bored (not content just disciplining children with rulers) and they have come out and condemned boxing as a form of "legalized killing."  Ooh.

In the article, which is actually from a six-page opinion piece in some church rag, the priest condemns the financial gain many have made from the fistic arts, and asserts that boxers carry "the signs of death on their face and body, and most especially in their souls."  Wow.  I'll be willing to bet you didn't know that.  So the church is coming down on boxing.  I know you see where this is going.  It's an infinitesimal leap from this weird point to the Church calling for another hockey walk-out, because somebody might get hurt playing.  I don't think our culture will survive another no-season of hockey.  Soon after, football, soccer & rugby are gone.  Basketball has too many fouls, and you could get hit by a bat or a ball playing baseball.  Or get dirty.  Soon, we are a land deprived of sports of all kinds, except for maybe tee-ball and tiddlywinks.  We must arrest this, before it is too late, and we have no champion save Sportacus to bring us back from the brink.