Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Don't Be Saucy With Me, Bearnaise!
Do you enjoy having the last word but tired of the struggle to get it? Here's a tip: start a blog! And then when you get tired of retorting, just do this:
Maybe it's just me, but I don't get this for several reasons, most notably:
1. There were already 17 newer posts vying for attention.
2. There were only 6 comments between noon today and the time the thread was closed at roughly 6:40 PM my time.
3. If no one else seems to give a fuck, why bother closing the thread?
4. Why bother making it a negative thing if nobody gives a fuck?
Why not just:
1. Leave it, and there might be a residual comment or nine before it completely dies off.
2. You could just close the thread without making a big grandiose and bitter announcement about it.
In the first scenario, you do risk having a continuation of the debate requiring your attention and troll-banning powers which are better diverted elsewhere. So I'd go with #2. But then, you don't get the last word, do you?
Who gives a fuck?
But I will tell you this. I have no issues whatsoever with the word moist. It sounds snack cakey to me.
Feel free to answer that question in comments as well, while we're at it, and since it fits in so well with the blog. Almost a flashback!
Maybe it's just me, but I don't get this for several reasons, most notably:
1. There were already 17 newer posts vying for attention.
2. There were only 6 comments between noon today and the time the thread was closed at roughly 6:40 PM my time.
3. If no one else seems to give a fuck, why bother closing the thread?
4. Why bother making it a negative thing if nobody gives a fuck?
Why not just:
1. Leave it, and there might be a residual comment or nine before it completely dies off.
2. You could just close the thread without making a big grandiose and bitter announcement about it.
In the first scenario, you do risk having a continuation of the debate requiring your attention and troll-banning powers which are better diverted elsewhere. So I'd go with #2. But then, you don't get the last word, do you?
Who gives a fuck?
But I will tell you this. I have no issues whatsoever with the word moist. It sounds snack cakey to me.
Feel free to answer that question in comments as well, while we're at it, and since it fits in so well with the blog. Almost a flashback!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Avoiding Jury Selection
I've been stressed out for a week about my appearance today for jury selection. I'm not sure why I stress about it because I honestly think it would be fun -- if I was healthy and unemployed. Or lightly employed. But I'm still recovering from surgery, get tired easily, and absolutely bombarded at work.
It would also help if I could be teleported downtown to the courthouse rather than driving in rush hour traffic.
I had all my documents in order: discharge papers from the hospital and all medical bills and I was fully prepared to go in and make a case for why I should be excluded from serving as a juror right now. And yeah, some of it might have been exaggerated to some extent, but not by a lot. I do tire easily, and I often need to have a horizontal rest during the day. And those benches in the courtroom remind me of church (which only lasts an hour if you're Methodist) and are not good for the back for long periods of time. (However, the juror chairs appeared to be leather and would probably kick some ass.)
None of this mattered in the end as I was excused. I didn't even have to plead my medical condition to the judge.
I was obsessed today with observing other personalities in the room, along with the state lawyers for thepersecution prosecution and the defense lawyer. Initially it starts off very well. The lawyers question selected potential jurors about their views on a number of "hypothetical" scenarios. Here and there, a few potential jurors will not answer appropriately and be red-flagged. Some of them have been in similar situations as the defendant which creates a bias.
This particular case was for an aggravated robbery charge. The state of Texas apparently has a law that a person being charged with a 2nd felony has to serve a minimum sentence of 15 years vs. 5 years if it was the first felony. And 25 years if it is a 3rd felony. And here's where I managed to get off, I think, although it probably wasn't music to the ears of the defense attorney.
He posed a "hypothetical" scenario for us in which a defendant, we are told, has had a prior felony conviction. Would we be able to consider the minimum sentence of 15 years or would we have a bias in favor of the maximum penalty?
I found my escape route. I explained that I had a problem with the 15 year minimum sentence based on it being a 2nd felony conviction vs. 5 years for the first, because I'd want to know what the prior felony was for. I didn't elaborate. He seemed confused and asked me to clarify. I said, "if the first felony was for a non-violent offense, then I'd have a real problem tacking on an extra 10 years just because he'd served time for a prior non-violent felony.
Drugs. For instance.
And when txrad and I first moved to Texas, our co-habitation arrangement (on certain nights) would have been classified as a felony if the cops had busted down the door and charged right in. I shit you not.
So, yeah. I do have issues with all manner of three strikes laws involving mandatory and extended sentencing because it's all too easy to see those abused. Two or three violent felonies in a row, and I might say throw the person in jail for 99 years. Or a history of violent behavior without a felony conviction would even carry some weight. But I need a clarification on the felony details. Consensual ass fucking and non-violent marijuana cultivation don't count.
So on that note, I'm pretty sure I was discharged.
It would also help if I could be teleported downtown to the courthouse rather than driving in rush hour traffic.
I had all my documents in order: discharge papers from the hospital and all medical bills and I was fully prepared to go in and make a case for why I should be excluded from serving as a juror right now. And yeah, some of it might have been exaggerated to some extent, but not by a lot. I do tire easily, and I often need to have a horizontal rest during the day. And those benches in the courtroom remind me of church (which only lasts an hour if you're Methodist) and are not good for the back for long periods of time. (However, the juror chairs appeared to be leather and would probably kick some ass.)
None of this mattered in the end as I was excused. I didn't even have to plead my medical condition to the judge.
I was obsessed today with observing other personalities in the room, along with the state lawyers for the
This particular case was for an aggravated robbery charge. The state of Texas apparently has a law that a person being charged with a 2nd felony has to serve a minimum sentence of 15 years vs. 5 years if it was the first felony. And 25 years if it is a 3rd felony. And here's where I managed to get off, I think, although it probably wasn't music to the ears of the defense attorney.
He posed a "hypothetical" scenario for us in which a defendant, we are told, has had a prior felony conviction. Would we be able to consider the minimum sentence of 15 years or would we have a bias in favor of the maximum penalty?
I found my escape route. I explained that I had a problem with the 15 year minimum sentence based on it being a 2nd felony conviction vs. 5 years for the first, because I'd want to know what the prior felony was for. I didn't elaborate. He seemed confused and asked me to clarify. I said, "if the first felony was for a non-violent offense, then I'd have a real problem tacking on an extra 10 years just because he'd served time for a prior non-violent felony.
Drugs. For instance.
And when txrad and I first moved to Texas, our co-habitation arrangement (on certain nights) would have been classified as a felony if the cops had busted down the door and charged right in. I shit you not.
So, yeah. I do have issues with all manner of three strikes laws involving mandatory and extended sentencing because it's all too easy to see those abused. Two or three violent felonies in a row, and I might say throw the person in jail for 99 years. Or a history of violent behavior without a felony conviction would even carry some weight. But I need a clarification on the felony details. Consensual ass fucking and non-violent marijuana cultivation don't count.
So on that note, I'm pretty sure I was discharged.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Extra! Extra! Read All About It!
Back when txrad and I first moved into our first apartment together in Los Angeles, I was working and he wasn't. (Gee, kind of like now!) Our apartment manager must have had some connections to the film industry because she got him involved as an extra in an Ice-T music video shoot. He ended up on the cutting room floor.
In the late 1980s when Mike Nichols was shooting Biloxi Blues in Fort Smith, Arkansas I went to a casting call for extras and got selected. I was living in Little Rock at the time so it was a long haul over to the site of the shoot. I may have stayed at a Motel 6 for a day or two. I can't even remember.
My biggest moment in the film was during the theater scene. I was running late that day. When I showed up, all the other extras had already been transported by bus to the site where filming was taking place at Fort Chaffee, a military training facility just outside Ft. Smith.
I was kicking myself for lack of punctuality and thinking I'd really blown it. But I did have full unrestricted access to the snack table of various fruits and other goodies, and I suspect that was for the principals, not the extras.
Soon I was escorted to a room to have my hair buzzed again. This happened a week or two earlier when I was selected to be an extra in the film, but apparently my hair had grown enough to require re-militarization. There were only three other people in the room besides me: my groomer, and another groomer who was working on the actor seated behind me, and that actor happened to be Matthew Broderick. I was about to shit myself. He was having fake five o'clock shadow applied to his face.
After this we were both transported to the room where the theater scene was being shot. As we arrived, all the other extras were present and seated. It was a big room filled with extras. I expected, being late, that I'd be in a back row. Instead I was escorted down to an empty seat near the front about 2 or 3 rows behind where Broderick was placed. I've always wondered how the hell that happened.
In the film, I am clearly visible for several seconds as the camera pans back and forth in the theater scene. I am munching on popcorn.
Anyway, what brought all this up was that I just asked txrad about his experience as an extra. He thought the Ice-T video was low-budget and not very well coordinated. They didn't give them any detailed instructions on what to wear or anything. And I said, "Oh, you should have been an extra in a decent budget film like I was."
Upon selection as extras, we were taken to a big old army barracks building where we had to dig through boxes of military attire -- and I'm specifically referring to garments that would not even be seen on camera. Like....underwear. Yes, I had to pick out an army green wife-beater to wear under the shirt I was given to wear. Can't remember the socks but I'm sure those were in character as well. Crazy.
It's kind of weird knowing that you are out there, and a few million people have probably seen you, and will continue (in decreasing numbers) long after you are gone. When I'm watching any film, I tend to notice extras because of my experience, and wonder why they got involved, how they got involved, whether they did anything else film-related, or just went on with their lives?
Which leads me to a Question of the Day. Who saw Biloxi Blues and did you have any idea you were having a konagod moment? :-)
I probably would have been given a speaking part in the film, if only I'd been fluent inItalian Spanish. (Yeah, Litbrit, I studied both, but you'd never know, would you?)
In the late 1980s when Mike Nichols was shooting Biloxi Blues in Fort Smith, Arkansas I went to a casting call for extras and got selected. I was living in Little Rock at the time so it was a long haul over to the site of the shoot. I may have stayed at a Motel 6 for a day or two. I can't even remember.
My biggest moment in the film was during the theater scene. I was running late that day. When I showed up, all the other extras had already been transported by bus to the site where filming was taking place at Fort Chaffee, a military training facility just outside Ft. Smith.
I was kicking myself for lack of punctuality and thinking I'd really blown it. But I did have full unrestricted access to the snack table of various fruits and other goodies, and I suspect that was for the principals, not the extras.
Soon I was escorted to a room to have my hair buzzed again. This happened a week or two earlier when I was selected to be an extra in the film, but apparently my hair had grown enough to require re-militarization. There were only three other people in the room besides me: my groomer, and another groomer who was working on the actor seated behind me, and that actor happened to be Matthew Broderick. I was about to shit myself. He was having fake five o'clock shadow applied to his face.
After this we were both transported to the room where the theater scene was being shot. As we arrived, all the other extras were present and seated. It was a big room filled with extras. I expected, being late, that I'd be in a back row. Instead I was escorted down to an empty seat near the front about 2 or 3 rows behind where Broderick was placed. I've always wondered how the hell that happened.
In the film, I am clearly visible for several seconds as the camera pans back and forth in the theater scene. I am munching on popcorn.
Anyway, what brought all this up was that I just asked txrad about his experience as an extra. He thought the Ice-T video was low-budget and not very well coordinated. They didn't give them any detailed instructions on what to wear or anything. And I said, "Oh, you should have been an extra in a decent budget film like I was."
Upon selection as extras, we were taken to a big old army barracks building where we had to dig through boxes of military attire -- and I'm specifically referring to garments that would not even be seen on camera. Like....underwear. Yes, I had to pick out an army green wife-beater to wear under the shirt I was given to wear. Can't remember the socks but I'm sure those were in character as well. Crazy.
It's kind of weird knowing that you are out there, and a few million people have probably seen you, and will continue (in decreasing numbers) long after you are gone. When I'm watching any film, I tend to notice extras because of my experience, and wonder why they got involved, how they got involved, whether they did anything else film-related, or just went on with their lives?
Which leads me to a Question of the Day. Who saw Biloxi Blues and did you have any idea you were having a konagod moment? :-)
I probably would have been given a speaking part in the film, if only I'd been fluent in
Friday, May 14, 2010
For a Friend (Or For Me)
[Edited completely rewritten for clarity and to make it less "cryptic."]
On of my blog pals/Facebook friends has been dealing with depression related to loneliness. Been there, done that. It was routine for me to have that when I was in my 20s and searching for love.
However, depression is a sneaky bastard. It will find other ways to creep into your life. Solve the loneliness issue and, like magic, you can get depressed about any number of other things. I know. I've been morbidly depressed since March and what is ironic is that I have absolutely nothing to be depressed about!
Sure, falling on my face and breaking an eye socket and cheek bone wasn't exactly a blast, nor was forking over $9,000 and some change -- out-of-pocket -- my idea of a desirable spending spree. I'm not even depressed about that.
I just seem to get depressed for no reason whatsoever. A cloudy day on the wrong day, or too many of them consecutively. Or getting a letter requesting my presence for jury selection on Monday.
Yep, that's a sure winner! And I can't even look at the bright side: that I get an afternoon off from work with pay, or that I might get 8-10 days off from work with pay. Seriously, if I wanted that I could do it. It's called a vacation. And I need one. But my idea of a vacation sure as shit doesn't involve paying for parking in downtown Austin and sitting in the courthouse watching lawyers make money. Pass on that.
That isn't the source of my depression though. It just helps fuel it. I get depressed by politics, racism, people who think the state has a duty to control what women do with their bodies, oil spills, economic disasters half way around the world, wars with or without end, gang violence, assholes trying to control the minds of children by editing textbooks, tornadoes, earthquakes, (sinkholes are cool though as long as no one gets injured or loses a house), getting old, people dying, spent fuel rods, abandoned animals, hunger, AIDS, waste, inefficiency, forced genital mutilation, and low fidelity.
Those things and a hell of a lot more depress me far more than sitting here thinking about the cost and inconvenience of having two titanium plates installed in my noggin'.
I ache when my friends are depressed. And I don't have any answers. It is a mystery to me. And apparently a fact of life. I guess this is why some people use Jesse Ventura's "crutch" of religion. It gives them a sense of hope, something to lean on for emotional support in times of need. Lucky them. Speaking only for myself, I find that depressing...like having a lifelong dream of visiting Italy and having to settle for the Venetian in Las Vegas.
When someone figures it all out, let me know.
On of my blog pals/Facebook friends has been dealing with depression related to loneliness. Been there, done that. It was routine for me to have that when I was in my 20s and searching for love.
However, depression is a sneaky bastard. It will find other ways to creep into your life. Solve the loneliness issue and, like magic, you can get depressed about any number of other things. I know. I've been morbidly depressed since March and what is ironic is that I have absolutely nothing to be depressed about!
Sure, falling on my face and breaking an eye socket and cheek bone wasn't exactly a blast, nor was forking over $9,000 and some change -- out-of-pocket -- my idea of a desirable spending spree. I'm not even depressed about that.
I just seem to get depressed for no reason whatsoever. A cloudy day on the wrong day, or too many of them consecutively. Or getting a letter requesting my presence for jury selection on Monday.
Yep, that's a sure winner! And I can't even look at the bright side: that I get an afternoon off from work with pay, or that I might get 8-10 days off from work with pay. Seriously, if I wanted that I could do it. It's called a vacation. And I need one. But my idea of a vacation sure as shit doesn't involve paying for parking in downtown Austin and sitting in the courthouse watching lawyers make money. Pass on that.
That isn't the source of my depression though. It just helps fuel it. I get depressed by politics, racism, people who think the state has a duty to control what women do with their bodies, oil spills, economic disasters half way around the world, wars with or without end, gang violence, assholes trying to control the minds of children by editing textbooks, tornadoes, earthquakes, (sinkholes are cool though as long as no one gets injured or loses a house), getting old, people dying, spent fuel rods, abandoned animals, hunger, AIDS, waste, inefficiency, forced genital mutilation, and low fidelity.
Those things and a hell of a lot more depress me far more than sitting here thinking about the cost and inconvenience of having two titanium plates installed in my noggin'.
I ache when my friends are depressed. And I don't have any answers. It is a mystery to me. And apparently a fact of life. I guess this is why some people use Jesse Ventura's "crutch" of religion. It gives them a sense of hope, something to lean on for emotional support in times of need. Lucky them. Speaking only for myself, I find that depressing...like having a lifelong dream of visiting Italy and having to settle for the Venetian in Las Vegas.
When someone figures it all out, let me know.
Friday Pussy Blog: Pussy Foot Edition
And a Tot belly!
Just realized I haven't posted anything since last Sunday. Yes, it has been that kind of a week.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
OK, I'm Done Playing Family Feud on Facebook
Because if this wasn't a top 7 answer, then I'm not at all like the average American.
All Hail Epicatechin
I love science!
Something in dark chocolate seems to help protect the heart, and now researchers say they have identified the molecular mechanism by which a compound found in cocoa can guard against the damage of a stroke.
The compound, a flavanol called epicatechin, triggers two built-in protective pathways in the brain, according to a report published online last week in the Journal of Cerebral Blood Flow & Metabolism.
Friday, May 07, 2010
Friday Pussy Blog: Yawning Pussy Edition
Another brutal week bites the dust. And it was a tad warm as well down here in Tejas.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Go Ozzy!
I swear I was looking for something serious tonight and I found this comment on a page of some sort. Sorry, no linkage, you've either got to trust me or trust me.
Single Ozzy Osbourne Bites heads of mice, birds, bats and other animals. Should he be allowed to continue doing this, its so bad how the screams of the animal while he bites into its neck trying hard to kill it but failing so many times.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Eat Your Veggies
I've been curious to see if anyone had compiled any lists of vegetarian-friendly cities and towns in the US, and I ran across this list. Interesting!
I have a book around here somewhere that has a list of vegetarian restaurants by state, and although it's outdated, I was not surprised by some of the cities on this list. Norfolk, for instance, is not a place that would immediately come to mind when thinking vegetarian cuisine.
Salt Like City did surprise me. Asheville being #1 in the list of small cities was also a surprise.
My only complaint about this list is the inclusion of Santa Monica in the list of small cities. On the one hand, it is a small city. But when I think small city, I think Asheville, Eugene, Athens, but not Santa Monica -- a small city in a county of 10 million people.
I have a book around here somewhere that has a list of vegetarian restaurants by state, and although it's outdated, I was not surprised by some of the cities on this list. Norfolk, for instance, is not a place that would immediately come to mind when thinking vegetarian cuisine.
Salt Like City did surprise me. Asheville being #1 in the list of small cities was also a surprise.
My only complaint about this list is the inclusion of Santa Monica in the list of small cities. On the one hand, it is a small city. But when I think small city, I think Asheville, Eugene, Athens, but not Santa Monica -- a small city in a county of 10 million people.
Monday, May 03, 2010
Monday 俳句
Crude crud heading north
responsibility where?
oh, wash it away.
We've been down this road before and it's one of those frustrating situations in which I want to just give up.
Have no fear. BP will take care of it. Just give them a few months.
We will clean it up," the company said in a statement.
[...]
BP, working with an array of government agencies and private companies, has been unable to stop the flow of crude from the well.
Bob Fryar, the company’s senior vice president for operations in Angola, who was brought to a command center in Houston for the engineering effort, said that on Monday, BP hoped to install a shut-off valve on one of the three leaks. That may stop some of the oil flow, Mr. Fryar said.
May stop some of it? Just relax; they're working on it.
But the biggest leak, at the end of the riser pipe, which Mr. Fryar said was the source of most of the spewing oil, cannot be shut off this way. The company intends to address that leak by lowering a containment dome over it and then pumping the oil to the surface. That effort is still at least six days away, Mr. Fryar said. Another containment dome, for the third leak, which is on the riser near the wellhead, would follow two to four days after the first.
[...]
Speaking of the accident, Mr. Fryar said the blowout preventer “has lots of redundancies, there are lots of opportunities to shut these off. None of these worked.”
[...]
Officials still plan to drill relief wells, which would allow crews to plug the gushing cavity with heavy liquid. Drilling of a first relief well was set to begin “as soon as the weather clears,” Mr. Fryar said. Drilling for a second well was expected to begin in two weeks. The relief wells, however, will take months to execute.
Why am I getting a really sick feeling in the pit of my stomach?
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Hell, The Light Is Already On; Let's Do Something With It
How About Haiku?
we waste so much fucking shit!
where do we go next?
?!?
we waste so much fucking shit!
where do we go next?
?!?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Friday Pussy Blog: Kick A Leg Up Edition
Sissy rarely ever sleeps without one or both legs up in the air. It is the "slut sprawl."
Tater Tot prefers to assume the cat loaf position unless he's on the carpet in the bedroom catching some sunshine. Then he might be on his back with a leg or two up in the air.
I'm about ready to put a leg or two up on the coffee table, have a cocktail, and erase my memory of this outrageously busy week.
HAPPY FRIDAY!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Facebook Humor
I can't be the only one who relates to these. I've had a number of Facebook incidents lately, not to mention the damn games and farms -- particularly the farms, which I'm either downsizing or abandoning completely. You know, after 2 or 3 days in a row when your crops wither because you didn't harvest in time (OK, I have a FUCKING JOB, OK?) you start to realize how annoyingly ridiculous this shit can be. And it's excess stress during a time when I don't need it.
So, time to blow it off and have a laugh.
So, time to blow it off and have a laugh.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Don't Fuck With Mr. Giggles
I was just checking downloaded photos from the past day or two and apparently txrad got his hands on the camera and caught the Tot in a pose I've never seen before.
I'm thinking I need to move out while I still have life and limb.
Friday Pussy Blog: Red Or White Edition
Another incredibly hectic week behind me, with a milestone birthday wedged in there somehow. Had a small celebration last night. A bigger one might be in order tonight since it is FRIDAY!!
Nothing new with Sissy. Same pose EVERY damn week. She's such a sweet girl though. Poor baby didn't get much nap time with daddy today. Daddy got all of about 10 minutes to rest after lunch before scurrying back to his desk.
Tot can't decide whether to suggest a red or a white.
(When in doubt, one of each?)
(Yes, litbrit, those two on top are both a Masi from Italy.)
(When in doubt, one of each?)
(Yes, litbrit, those two on top are both a Masi from Italy.)
Nothing new with Sissy. Same pose EVERY damn week. She's such a sweet girl though. Poor baby didn't get much nap time with daddy today. Daddy got all of about 10 minutes to rest after lunch before scurrying back to his desk.
HAPPY FRIDAY!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
It's My Birthday and I'll Blow If I Want To
You didn't think I'd not blog on my birthday did you?
I got to blow two candles.
What a day.
And now on to something completely unrelated to age (or is it?):
I really hate bands with drummers who are the vocals also. I want some prancing around, but not too much.
"Life in the Fast Lane" by the Eagles comes to mind.
But drummers who go on to become vocalists are fine by me.
I got to blow two candles.
What a day.
And now on to something completely unrelated to age (or is it?):
I really hate bands with drummers who are the vocals also. I want some prancing around, but not too much.
"Life in the Fast Lane" by the Eagles comes to mind.
But drummers who go on to become vocalists are fine by me.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Last Post of the 40s
I wanted to write something special for my 50th birthday which is April 22. This will be my last post as a 40-something. I had hoped to write something very introspective and inspiring. Alas, a draining workday has dealt a fatal blow to that plan.
Basically, it is coming to pass like any other day. Cat litter needed scooping and I wanted to get it replaced today so I wouldn't have a to-do list on my actual birthday that included hauling out clumps of feline piss and shit. Alas, there is no litter in the house. So I can add a trip to PetSmart to my to-do list on my birthday.
It will also be like any other day in that I'm working. I may take off at noon. We'll see how that pans out. The grass is still green, and the sky is still blue. (And the clouds are still white or gray.) The wind still blows and the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Turning 50 is just a day older than turning 49.972603 which is my approximate age at the moment I'm typing this.
I'm a workaholic and a drunk with a penchant for wine, weed andwimmen whisky.
I am no stranger to depression and distression.
I can be pretty hard on myself for not completing things I wanted to do while I was in my 40s. (Well, if they haven't gotten done by now, lighten the fuck up why don'cha?) I'll just reschedule. Simple.
When I moved to Austin at the age of 37, I never in my wildest dreams imagined I'd still be living here when I turned 50. In the best case scenario this is about twice as long as I've ever stayed in one place previously.
I've been obsessed with the census since 1970. I participated in my first one, with great joy and fanfare, in 1980. This is my 4th census in which I participated and the first one in which I've been living as an adult in the same city and the same house since the last one!
So many things have stayed the same since that dreaded day 10 years ago when I went from 39 to 40. And so many things have changed. Even 5 years ago I had no idea what a blog was. HTML were meaningless consonants. My cellphone was probably the size of a fanny pack and it didn't do a fucking thing but make and receive calls. Ahh, those were the days.
So, txrad is going to make mea cake biscuits with maple syrup for my birthday. That's something I've been wanting him to do which he hasn't done -- probably since I turned 40!
Yesterday I went out and spent way too much money on a bottle of single malt scotch which I shall relish at the exact moment I turn 50 on Thursday. (It's after-hours in case any work folks are reading this. Around 6:35 PM if I recall.) This scotch was poured into a barrel when I was 33. Shit, I'd barely learned to use the internet back then. A fax machine was still pretty fucking cool and I was probably just learning how to put color in cells in a spreadsheet. River Phoenix hadn't even overdosed yet in front of the Viper Room, but he was getting pretty damn close. I'll bet he wishes he was 50. (Or not.)
Bill Clinton was starting year #1 of his two terms and had no idea he was going to eventually blow a load on Monica's blue dress. (But I'll bet he was thinking about it.) Jurassic Park was released! (Wait, that doesn't seem that long ago!)
Babies born that year are packing for college. Whitney Houston had a #1 hit on the Billboard charts. There's been lots of water under the bridge since then!
This is why I hate milestone birthdays. I can't get my brain to fucking shut itself off. So while I may turn 50, I can sip and relish something sublime from another era, an era that is lost except for memories and the contents of a bottle. And that too shall soon be pissed away.
I've decided these annual birthdays are a crock of shit. Henceforth, I will only acknowledge birthdays which are prime numbers. The last one was 47. The next one is 53. Fuck everything in between.
Primes make the number of birthdays a hell of a lot more palatable.
Whatever happens, it's a big improvement over last year.
Basically, it is coming to pass like any other day. Cat litter needed scooping and I wanted to get it replaced today so I wouldn't have a to-do list on my actual birthday that included hauling out clumps of feline piss and shit. Alas, there is no litter in the house. So I can add a trip to PetSmart to my to-do list on my birthday.
It will also be like any other day in that I'm working. I may take off at noon. We'll see how that pans out. The grass is still green, and the sky is still blue. (And the clouds are still white or gray.) The wind still blows and the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Turning 50 is just a day older than turning 49.972603 which is my approximate age at the moment I'm typing this.
I'm a workaholic and a drunk with a penchant for wine, weed and
I am no stranger to depression and distress
I can be pretty hard on myself for not completing things I wanted to do while I was in my 40s. (Well, if they haven't gotten done by now, lighten the fuck up why don'cha?) I'll just reschedule. Simple.When I moved to Austin at the age of 37, I never in my wildest dreams imagined I'd still be living here when I turned 50. In the best case scenario this is about twice as long as I've ever stayed in one place previously.
I've been obsessed with the census since 1970. I participated in my first one, with great joy and fanfare, in 1980. This is my 4th census in which I participated and the first one in which I've been living as an adult in the same city and the same house since the last one!
So many things have stayed the same since that dreaded day 10 years ago when I went from 39 to 40. And so many things have changed. Even 5 years ago I had no idea what a blog was. HTML were meaningless consonants. My cellphone was probably the size of a fanny pack and it didn't do a fucking thing but make and receive calls. Ahh, those were the days.
So, txrad is going to make me
Yesterday I went out and spent way too much money on a bottle of single malt scotch which I shall relish at the exact moment I turn 50 on Thursday. (It's after-hours in case any work folks are reading this. Around 6:35 PM if I recall.) This scotch was poured into a barrel when I was 33. Shit, I'd barely learned to use the internet back then. A fax machine was still pretty fucking cool and I was probably just learning how to put color in cells in a spreadsheet. River Phoenix hadn't even overdosed yet in front of the Viper Room, but he was getting pretty damn close. I'll bet he wishes he was 50. (Or not.)
Bill Clinton was starting year #1 of his two terms and had no idea he was going to eventually blow a load on Monica's blue dress. (But I'll bet he was thinking about it.) Jurassic Park was released! (Wait, that doesn't seem that long ago!)
Babies born that year are packing for college. Whitney Houston had a #1 hit on the Billboard charts. There's been lots of water under the bridge since then!
This is why I hate milestone birthdays. I can't get my brain to fucking shut itself off. So while I may turn 50, I can sip and relish something sublime from another era, an era that is lost except for memories and the contents of a bottle. And that too shall soon be pissed away.
I've decided these annual birthdays are a crock of shit. Henceforth, I will only acknowledge birthdays which are prime numbers. The last one was 47. The next one is 53. Fuck everything in between.
Primes make the number of birthdays a hell of a lot more palatable.
Whatever happens, it's a big improvement over last year.
The Next Wave
For months I've been hearing about this so-called "recovery" we're in and all the while I've believed this is a premature celebration. Of course, most of the celebrating has been on Wall Street, and a few upticks in department store sales. But nothing has really screamed recovery yet.
In fact, the devastation at the state level is beginning totrickle gush down to basic essential services -- our backbone. Atlanta's MARTA is feeling it.
Teachers are also about to become acutely aware that the recession is far from over.
The irony here is that we are making cutbacks in areas that cannot be outsourced to India or China.
While Wall Street banks may be celebrating, millions of people at the other end of the spectrum are bracing for yet another clusterfuck.
In fact, the devastation at the state level is beginning to
On Monday night, workers and officials at the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority volunteered to paint the X’s on a third of the system’s buses and trains to symbolize the 30 percent cut in service the agency is facing because of a decline in sales tax revenue and a Republican-dominated Statehouse that has been slow to help.
[...]
“We are just crawling out of a recession,” said Sam Massell, a former mayor of Atlanta, “but we will be knocked back into another one if the salespersons are not behind the store counters, if the restaurant workers are not in the kitchens, if the office staff are not behind their desks.”
About 46 percent of the more than 100,000 people who use Marta to get to work each day say they do not have access to other forms of transportation.
More than 80 percent of the nation’s transit systems are considering or have recently enacted fare increases or service cuts, including those in Kansas City, Mo., Los Angeles, New York and Washington, D.C., according to a survey released this month by the American Public Transportation Association.
Teachers are also about to become acutely aware that the recession is far from over.
From coast to coast, public schools face the threat of tens of thousands of layoffs this year in a fiscal crunch likely to result in larger class sizes and fewer programs to help students in need.
Reports of deep staffing and service cuts are emerging in several states, including California, Illinois and New Jersey, as school officials say that finances have been stretched to the breaking point.
[...]
Education Secretary Arne Duncan estimated that education layoffs could total from 100,000 to 300,000 unless Congress acts.
"It is brutal out there, really scary," Duncan told reporters on Capitol Hill. "This is a real emergency. What we're trying to avert is an education catastrophe."
The irony here is that we are making cutbacks in areas that cannot be outsourced to India or China.
While Wall Street banks may be celebrating, millions of people at the other end of the spectrum are bracing for yet another clusterfuck.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
Friday Pussy Blog: Contemplative Pussy Edition
Lordy, it's been a busy week at work and a long day. Guess you figured at much from the lack of substance here all week.
Sweet Pea enjoying the wet and cool yard.
Tiger staying dry on the patio.
And the almighty Tot having a stretch.
Happy Friday! Three day weekend for me!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Honk 4 Ignernt Assholes
Oh, the irony!
You are not alone.
Just make sure you remember where "your country" came from and how you got it in the first place.
Of course. How the hell did the savages get by for 20,000 years, before whitey showed up, without knowing a damn thing about agriculture?
You sure about that? Or do you just want the portion of it back that benefits you at the expense of others?
You are not alone.
Just make sure you remember where "your country" came from and how you got it in the first place.
Conflicts generally known as "Indian Wars" broke out between American government and Native American societies. The Battle of Little Bighorn (1876) was one of the greatest Native American victories. Defeats included the Creek War of 1813-14, the Sioux Uprising of 1862, the Sand Creek Massacre (1864) and Wounded Knee in 1890.[68] These conflicts were catalysts to the decline of dominant Native American culture. By 1872, the U.S. Army pursued a policy to exterminate all Native Americans unless or until they agreed to surrender and live on reservations "where they could be taught Christianity and agriculture."
Of course. How the hell did the savages get by for 20,000 years, before whitey showed up, without knowing a damn thing about agriculture?
This land is your land, this land is my land
From California to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me.
This land is my land, it is not your land
I've got a shotgun, and you don't got one
I'll blow your head off, if you don't get off
This land was made just for me.
You sure about that? Or do you just want the portion of it back that benefits you at the expense of others?
Friday, April 09, 2010
Friday Pussy Blog: Loaf From Hell Edition
Words cannot describe this week from a work perspective so I won't even try except to say TGIFF. And you know there's an extra F in there for a reason.
Sweet Pea, casting a glance to the kitchen window where someone will soon pass carrying cat food.
The Tot has assumed the position and is ready for daddy in the living room.
Yep, he's ready for a lap to sit on.
Sissy was actually awake and standing up this afternoon when I caught her on the bed.
Had a request in comments last week for more outside cats:
Had a request in comments last week for more outside cats:
Tiger needs to start shedding some of that fur soon.
Sweet Pea, casting a glance to the kitchen window where someone will soon pass carrying cat food.
RIP Malcolm McLaren
He was only 64 and died of mesothelioma.Mr. McLaren was a keen student of the French Situationists, who believed in staging absurdist or provocative incidents as a spur to social change
This is the first I've heard of the French Situationists. That sounds like a movement with konagod written all over it!
I also respect McLaren for his keen business sense.
In 1972 Mr. McLaren and Ms. Westwood took over a store on King’s Road in Chelsea called Let It Rock and began selling hipster Teddy boy fashions. The business was run along unconventional lines.
In a 1997 article for The New Yorker, Mr. McLaren recalled, “We set out to make an environment where we could truthfully run wild.” On most days the shop did not open until the evening and closed within a few hours. The goal, Mr. McLaren wrote, “was to sell nothing at all.”
Brilliant! Recession-proof!
Although I can't quite forgive him for stealing the Antz -- destroying what I considered to be a kick-ass obscure band -- to form the pop-oriented Bow Wow Wow, I still must mourn the passing of Malcolm McLaren. He was an integral player in what is still my favorite music genre of all time.
I was still in high school when the Sex Pistols toured the United States. I knew nothing about them other than what I read in the press, and needless to say, I'd never heard any of their music on the radio. But I was obsessed with the entire aura surrounding the Pistols, and the fact that a British band was coming to the states, behaving absurdly, and playing in a lot of redneck havens, like Tulsa. It was a carefully orchestrated worst tour of all-time! What's not to love?
By 1979 I made my first trip to London and promptly headed into a record store to pick up their album God Save the Queen, which unfortunately I would still not have an opportunity to hear for the first time until I was back in the States.
McLaren was a catalyst who shaped my future for at least seven years, culminating in the 14 months I spent living in London in the 1980s.
Thanks for that!
Adam and the Antz: Before McLaren set his sights on some key musicians.
(By the way, I have this single, same sleeve and everything!)
(By the way, I have this single, same sleeve and everything!)
If you really want to hear them at their best, get your hands on a copy (also on CD) of Dirk Wears White Sox.
There's also a plethora of material on YouTube. I was shocked at the number of demo recordings and b-sides available, many of which I'd never heard until today.
And "this is fucking ridiculous."
Indeed.
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Feeling Blue
I love this time of year. The days tend to be warm while the nights can either be pleasant or cool. Best of all, the wildflowers are in abundance for a short time -- too short for the bluebonnets. Enjoy them while they last. For me, this is one of the highlights of living in Austin.
Consider them a gift from nature. However, they do come with a price. In just a few weeks we will have traded bluebonnets for chiggers and we'll be scratching our legs and genitals until they're bloody. Remember: nothing comes without a price.
Consider them a gift from nature. However, they do come with a price. In just a few weeks we will have traded bluebonnets for chiggers and we'll be scratching our legs and genitals until they're bloody. Remember: nothing comes without a price.
Photo credits: Top - Alberto Martinez AMERICAN-STATESMAN; Bottom - Kim Usey
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Ready for Alternative and Cleaner Energy Sources Yet?
Sorry, but in the 21st century this method of acquiring an energy source is absolutely barbaric.
And the problem isn't unique to the United States.
The death toll from a blast at a West Virginia coal mine rose to 25 on Tuesday, federal safety officials said, making it the worst mining accident in the United States in 25 years.
[...]
Mine safety officials said that there were three groups of miners affected by the blast. One group consisted of nine miners who were leaving the site at the end of their shift in a vehicle known as a “mantrip.” Seven of the miners in the man trip were killed by the explosion while two others were injured and taken to the hospital by rescue workers.
A second group of 18 miners was said to be working a bit deeper in the mine, closest to the area where coal was actually being extracted. All 18 of them died.
A third group of four miners — the ones still unaccounted for — was even deeper in the mine.
The miners were all thought to be working more than 1,000 feet underground.
And the problem isn't unique to the United States.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Monday Morning News InDigestion
Disclaimer: I've been in a pretty foul mood since mid-afternoon on Sunday, and I'm unlikely to find a lot of news to alter that situation.
First, let me say this: cable set top boxes have long been a technological pet peeve of mine since the early 80s. This dinosaur should have died off in the late 80s, or early 90s at the latest.
But, I have satellite. Cable can bite me. That's not to say I don't have issues with the satellite receiver but at least it serves a purpose other than decoding.
--------------------
A Jonesboro, Arkansas atheist group is cleaning up a stretch of a major highway leading into the town. The Arkansas Highway and Transportation Department will provide signs indicating that the group has adopted the stretch of highway.
Two Four aspects of this story I find deeply disturbing to the extent that they grate on my last raw nerve.
1. Without a doubt, any town referred to as Fort God because of the number of churches, probably shouldn't have any litter.
2. Odds would dictate that much of the litter is being generated by people who would refer to themselves as Christians.
3. I wonder how many Christian groups are out cleaning the highway instead of bitching about atheists doing the grunt work.
4. Oh, grow the hell up and deal with it! Garbage along the highways is preferable to having atheists clean it up if the atheists get any recognition for the effort?
--------------------
Then there was the stench of rotting eggs emanating from the Vatican on Easter Sunday.
Whatever. Elan Steinberg is such a pushover.
Honestly, this has gotten to the point where apologies are meaningless. Only actions will carry any weight.
As much as I oppose aggression and violence though, I will confess to having a bit of disappointment in not being able to locate a video of the broom handle incident, not to mention the incense bowl used for (testicle?) protection.
How exciting was your Easter?
First, let me say this: cable set top boxes have long been a technological pet peeve of mine since the early 80s. This dinosaur should have died off in the late 80s, or early 90s at the latest.
But, I have satellite. Cable can bite me. That's not to say I don't have issues with the satellite receiver but at least it serves a purpose other than decoding.
--------------------
A Jonesboro, Arkansas atheist group is cleaning up a stretch of a major highway leading into the town. The Arkansas Highway and Transportation Department will provide signs indicating that the group has adopted the stretch of highway.
1. Without a doubt, any town referred to as Fort God because of the number of churches, probably shouldn't have any litter.
2. Odds would dictate that much of the litter is being generated by people who would refer to themselves as Christians.
3. I wonder how many Christian groups are out cleaning the highway instead of bitching about atheists doing the grunt work.
But some religious leaders are already concerned about the image it could paint for Jonesboro. "I'm not excited about it," said John Miles, senior pastor of the First United Methodist Church of Jonesboro. "Not many of us want to be known as the town with the organized atheist group."
4. Oh, grow the hell up and deal with it! Garbage along the highways is preferable to having atheists clean it up if the atheists get any recognition for the effort?
--------------------
Then there was the stench of rotting eggs emanating from the Vatican on Easter Sunday.
Easter Sunday Mass in St. Peter's Square, the Catholic church's most joyous celebration, began with a senior cardinal defending Pope Benedict XVI from what he called "petty gossip" and hailing him for "unfailing" leadership and courage.
But the pontiff himself ignored accusations that he perpetuated a climate of cover-up for pedophile priests, even as sex abuse scandals threatened to overshadow his papacy.
[...]
Jewish leaders, and even some top Catholic churchmen, were angered after Benedict's personal preacher, in a Good Friday sermon, likened the growing accusations against the pope to the campaign of anti-Semitic violence that culminated in the Holocaust.
The preacher, the Rev. Raniero Cantalamessa, told Corriere della Sera daily in an interview Sunday that he had no intention "of hurting the sensibilities of the Jews and of the victims of pedophilia," expressed regret and asked for forgiveness.
He was quoted as saying that the pope wasn't aware of what the sermon would say beforehand, and that no Vatican officals read the text before the Good Friday service.
The apology satisfied one Jewish leader, Elan Steinberg, vice president of the American Gathering of Holocaust Survivors and their Descendants.
"Now that he has apologized and the Vatican has distanced itself from those remarks, the matter is closed," Steinberg said in a statement.
Whatever. Elan Steinberg is such a pushover.
Honestly, this has gotten to the point where apologies are meaningless. Only actions will carry any weight.
As much as I oppose aggression and violence though, I will confess to having a bit of disappointment in not being able to locate a video of the broom handle incident, not to mention the incense bowl used for (testicle?) protection.
Separately, in Germany, where the church is facing intense criticism about the widening abuse scandal, a man attacked the Roman Catholic Bishop of Muenster with a broom handle during an Easter service in the city's cathedral, police said.
Bishop Felix Genn, 60, defended himself with an incense bowl and was unharmed. After the incident, he continued celebrating the Easter service. The man's motive was unclear, police said.
How exciting was your Easter?
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Where Zippers Don't Belong
Life is fraught with danger and peril. Therefore, I'm not sure why any guy would want to push it another step by having a zipper in his tight briefs.
But if this kind of thing is your scene, be my guest. $21.00, not including optional topical anaesthetic cream or wire cutters.
Better value: for one dollar more, you can solve the dilemma entirely.
But if this kind of thing is your scene, be my guest. $21.00, not including optional topical anaesthetic cream or wire cutters.
Better value: for one dollar more, you can solve the dilemma entirely.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
Screwing Around With $50
Count me out among those who are pushing to have Ulysses Grant replaced with Ronald Reagan on the $50 bill.Representative Patrick T. McHenry of North Carolina wants President Ronald Reagan’s likeness to replace that of President Ulysses S. Grant on the $50 bill.
But the bill introduced by Mr. McHenry and 17 co-sponsors, the majority from Southern states, has run into a hornets’ nest of opposition from Ohio lawmakers who will not stand still for any slight to their home-state hero.
Of course, those Southerners are clever folks. It could just be coincidence that the $50 bill was chosen. And what a coincidence that would be.
Among other things, Grant also signed the 15th Amendment (a measure that [Keya] Morgan, [founder and author of the Grant Homepage, the largest collection of Grant material in the world], said made Barack Obama's presidency possible)
Among those "other things" that Grant did: he signed the law making Christmas a national holiday. (I wonder if the pro-Reagan currency folks would be willing to trade that perk in exchange for the smiling Gipper on a fiddy.)
There hasn't been enough time for the policies of the Reagan administration to be revealed as the disasters they were. A lot of us see it now as we saw it then. But millions more Americans apparently need a few more decades (or centuries) to see the effects of trickle-down economics and other policies of the Reagan era.
Also, I'm already feeling old enough as it is. I've been quite content to live my entire life seeing faces of dead presidents I never knew as living breathing people. The last thing I need to experience is seeing Ronald Reagan on my currency, even if I rarely have my hands on a $50 bill. Having one of those in my wallet is about as common as having a Kennedy half-dollar coin in my pocket.
I simply don't wish to be reminded of the 1980s. Nor do I have any desire to proudly show someone the Reagan portrait on a $50 bill and say, "I once saw his wife speak," or, "I was already an adult when he was shot." No thanks. It's bad enough being older than a current sitting president.
Reagan had charisma. Politics aside, I guess he was a likeable guy even though I didn't know him personally. But his two terms in the White House scarred this nation and I can think of many more people whose portraits would better dignify a $50 bill than Reagan.
Here's an idea. We already have trouble getting the $2 bill into circulation, despite tens of millions of them languishing in banks. Put Thomas Jefferson on the $50 bill -- he deserves a promotion, and give Reagan a shot on the $2 bill. [Poor choice of words but no pun intended.] Not only would it be a more accurate monetary reflection of his contribution to the nation, but the conservatives -- and particularly Southerners -- would suddenly be lining up at the banks to trade in their $1 bills and put the maligned $2 bill into general circulation. And for them it would be like a two-fer deal: it could double as a blow to Honest Abe and rub a little salve into their still-festering wounds from losing the Civil War.
Boy oh boy, then if we could only find a way to return to the days of the three-fifths compromise, that would solve the problem of
Friday, April 02, 2010
Friday Pussy Blog: Good Regular Friday Edition
Nothing particularly "good" about this Friday. It was supposed to have been a day off from work as was yesterday afternoon, and I ended up working 5 1/2 hours today and some yesterday afternoon as well. Can't even get a pussy post up in a timely manner on a holiday!
Honestly, the time change isn't helping much either. I still haven't gotten used to it and cannot believe it's already 7PM here.
Graphic delivered to my Facebook page today by Maggie Jochild.
Honestly, the time change isn't helping much either. I still haven't gotten used to it and cannot believe it's already 7PM here.
Sissy was on the bed as usual. I caught her in "funny face" mode.
The Tot was in supervisory mode as usual, from atop the kitchen table.
He's giving me the "boy, you're in big trouble" look.
Happy Friday!
He's giving me the "boy, you're in big trouble" look.
Happy Friday!
Graphic delivered to my Facebook page today by Maggie Jochild.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
March Liquor Consumption Plunges to 10 Year Low
This is not an April Fool's joke. However, it does only apply to our household, not the nation as a whole.
Today marks 31 days (last time I counted, that's a month!) during which time I have not had a tequila shot, a glass of scotch, a glass of wine, or even a sip of beer. No alcohol since March 1st.
By and large, the month of March was a wash-out for me. I've been focused on little else outside of recovery from all the broken and fractured bones in my face, and the surgery on March 18th. By my estimation, there were around 17 days in the month of March when I only consumed food via a straw. And there were some additional days when the solid food I "ate" was mashed into pulp prior to putting it in my mouth so that all I needed to do was move it around a bit and then swallow. I didn't actually start chewing food until this past week.
I almost wish my fall had happened on February 28th instead of March 1st. At least I could say there was an entire calendar month of distance between then and now. But 31 days is a month regardless. And April is a new month. Time marches on and healing continues.
This afternoon I got my stitches removed which hurt like hell on a couple of them. So now the only souvenirs I have are a couple of titanium plates & screws. I will treasure those for life.
Today marks 31 days (last time I counted, that's a month!) during which time I have not had a tequila shot, a glass of scotch, a glass of wine, or even a sip of beer. No alcohol since March 1st.
By and large, the month of March was a wash-out for me. I've been focused on little else outside of recovery from all the broken and fractured bones in my face, and the surgery on March 18th. By my estimation, there were around 17 days in the month of March when I only consumed food via a straw. And there were some additional days when the solid food I "ate" was mashed into pulp prior to putting it in my mouth so that all I needed to do was move it around a bit and then swallow. I didn't actually start chewing food until this past week.
I almost wish my fall had happened on February 28th instead of March 1st. At least I could say there was an entire calendar month of distance between then and now. But 31 days is a month regardless. And April is a new month. Time marches on and healing continues.
This afternoon I got my stitches removed which hurt like hell on a couple of them. So now the only souvenirs I have are a couple of titanium plates & screws. I will treasure those for life.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
No Comment
[Vomit Warning]
There's a bit of chatter going around in my pathetic circle of bored deadbeats today about this post by Melissa McEwan at Shakesville.
Granted, the gawd-awful new Justin Bieber video does truly redefine the verb to suck, not to mention the damage done to music and all related art forms. (Anybody want the ringtone for your cell?) But why anyone would even bother to blog about it is just baffling.
Let's just hope Joseph Alois Ratzinger and his entourage aren't finagling for backstage passes.
When I have nothing much to say, I don't blog. Or I blog about Fucking. But I sure as shit wouldn't waste a fractional part of my day listening to a shitty song, watching a shitty video by some kid (ok, I already did, so blow me!) who turns red and makes grunting noises from the effort to grow one fucking pubic hair, and then blogging about it!
But I'm not here to write about that piece of trash video, the sickening musical genre,its colonialist rape aspects, or the absurdity of a girly-boy singing about his love interests in an attempt to sell a few million records to 12-year-olds who think they want him between their legs. I couldn't give a Ratzinger's ass.
No, sir. What is noteworthy about that blog post, and what caught my attention is, what you'll find at the bottom of McEwan's post in brackets. Jesus H. Christ. You know, this is just one of those posts which gets completely and unintentionally overshadowed by humor.
It's just my job to share with you, my dear readers, what amuses me. Because I'm a sharing kinda dude.
Now feel free to speak your mind in comments.
[Commenting Guidelines: Please note that the critique in this post does not include condemnation of Melissa McEwan as a person, artist, or blogger. Comments that present an argument based on an erroneous assertion that this post is criticizing McEwan personally, or her talent, will be considered off-topic. Comments that do criticize McEwan personally, or her talent, will also be considered off-topic. Also unwelcome is bullshit commentary that seeks to imply, directly or indirectly, that commenting guidelines of Shakesville are irrational and unique to the blog, and exist solely to complicate the situation by enabling RTI (Rapid Troll Identification], and facilitation of commenter ridicule by the incessant puppet show of hall monitors vigorously shaking their pom-poms for the blogmistress, and regular readers with hall monitor aspirations, all due to abject commenter failure to read and/or completely comprehend expectations as put forth in this guideline and those stored elsewhere in the dark cavities and crevices of the blog. Ignorance and laziness are no excuse. Failure to adhere to these guidelines (seen and unseen) will result in a swift and immediate ass-branding by the red-hot Advanced Feminist Iron roughly 3 or 4 times before being banned and redacted in shame. Otherwise, feel free to express your honest opinions, but proofread for maximum clarity several times and then slowly count backwards from 1,000 before you hit "publish." Above all else, if you are unclear, don't ask for clarification as this immediately identifies you as entry-level. If you thought Sarah Palin's target-practice pop-off map of House Democrat seats was bad, go ahead, test me.]
There's a bit of chatter going around in my pathetic circle of bored deadbeats today about this post by Melissa McEwan at Shakesville.
Granted, the gawd-awful new Justin Bieber video does truly redefine the verb to suck, not to mention the damage done to music and all related art forms. (Anybody want the ringtone for your cell?) But why anyone would even bother to blog about it is just baffling.Let's just hope Joseph Alois Ratzinger and his entourage aren't finagling for backstage passes.
When I have nothing much to say, I don't blog. Or I blog about Fucking. But I sure as shit wouldn't waste a fractional part of my day listening to a shitty song, watching a shitty video by some kid (ok, I already did, so blow me!) who turns red and makes grunting noises from the effort to grow one fucking pubic hair, and then blogging about it!
But I'm not here to write about that piece of trash video, the sickening musical genre,
No, sir. What is noteworthy about that blog post, and what caught my attention is, what you'll find at the bottom of McEwan's post in brackets. Jesus H. Christ. You know, this is just one of those posts which gets completely and unintentionally overshadowed by humor.
It's just my job to share with you, my dear readers, what amuses me. Because I'm a sharing kinda dude.
Now feel free to speak your mind in comments.
[Commenting Guidelines: Please note that the critique in this post does not include condemnation of Melissa McEwan as a person, artist, or blogger. Comments that present an argument based on an erroneous assertion that this post is criticizing McEwan personally, or her talent, will be considered off-topic. Comments that do criticize McEwan personally, or her talent, will also be considered off-topic. Also unwelcome is bullshit commentary that seeks to imply, directly or indirectly, that commenting guidelines of Shakesville are irrational and unique to the blog, and exist solely to complicate the situation by enabling RTI (Rapid Troll Identification], and facilitation of commenter ridicule by the incessant puppet show of hall monitors vigorously shaking their pom-poms for the blogmistress, and regular readers with hall monitor aspirations, all due to abject commenter failure to read and/or completely comprehend expectations as put forth in this guideline and those stored elsewhere in the dark cavities and crevices of the blog. Ignorance and laziness are no excuse. Failure to adhere to these guidelines (seen and unseen) will result in a swift and immediate ass-branding by the red-hot Advanced Feminist Iron roughly 3 or 4 times before being banned and redacted in shame. Otherwise, feel free to express your honest opinions, but proofread for maximum clarity several times and then slowly count backwards from 1,000 before you hit "publish." Above all else, if you are unclear, don't ask for clarification as this immediately identifies you as entry-level. If you thought Sarah Palin's target-practice pop-off map of House Democrat seats was bad, go ahead, test me.]
A Fucking Sense of Humor
The Fucking people are happy with the idea, but the Fucking mayor isn't too pleased about a German firm which plans to make a beer called Fucking Hell.Yes, the common English term for surprise and/or frustration is now a brand name thanks to a German firm which has been granted permission by the European Union's Trade Marks and Designs Registration Office to brew beer and produce clothing under the name.
[...]
"Hell" in fact is a term for light ale in southern Germany and Austria, so see, it all makes sense.
Still, the mayor of Fucking isn't too pleased with the notoriety that this beer, which is set to be released in August or September, is going to bring to his town that's already had 12 or 13 signs stolen over the years. According to Radio Netherlands Worldwide, though, Fucking residents voted to keep the name recently despite the problems caused by tourists who just can't help but take pics in front of the traffic sign on which the village's name is printed.
Tourists need to grow up. It's just a Fucking sign. I just cannot grasp the mentality of people who would drive out of their fucking way (oops, pardon my French!) to get a Fucking picture of a Fucking road sign, or worse: steal the Fucking sign.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go apply for a passport, consult my European road atlas, and plan a Fucking vacation. I'll find a little Fucking hotel or B&B close to a Fucking bar where I can take a short Fucking walk and raise a pint of Fucking Hell before retiring for an evening of sweet Fucking dreams.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday Morning Raccoon Blogging
I'm starting to feel like Ellie Mae Clampett with all my critters lately.
This critter has been hanging around off and on this week (mostly on), and isn't very shy either. He knows what he wants and no two-legged human is going come between him and a free meal. However, he does approach the bowl slowly, as if this dumb human isn't going to notice that he's 3 inches closer to the food bowl than he was when I turned my head to look away for a second.
Then he looks at me like, "But I'm not getting closer, I'm not! I swear!"
It's a thin line (and one consonant) separating a pest from a pet! But I'm not going to encourage this.
Some Wiki facts:
This critter has been hanging around off and on this week (mostly on), and isn't very shy either. He knows what he wants and no two-legged human is going come between him and a free meal. However, he does approach the bowl slowly, as if this dumb human isn't going to notice that he's 3 inches closer to the food bowl than he was when I turned my head to look away for a second.
Then he looks at me like, "But I'm not getting closer, I'm not! I swear!"
I kan haz kat fud, pleze?
It's a thin line (and one consonant) separating a pest from a pet! But I'm not going to encourage this.
Some Wiki facts:
When fed with cat food over a long time period, raccoons can develop gout.
Raccoons without a fear of humans are a concern to those who attribute this trait to rabies, but scientists point out that this behavior is much more likely to be a behavioral adjustment to living in habitats with regular contact to humans for many generations.
With their broad auditory range, they can perceive tones up to 50–85 kHz as well as quiet noises like those produced by earthworms underground.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday Pussy Blog: Beggars Banquet Edition
Happy Friday!
At feeding time, the Tot just will not stand still for a photo op!
If I kneel down he'll come running over to get in my face before I can even get a picture snapped.
Sissy, on the other hand, will make the effort to open her eyes and that's about it.
Sweet Pea and Tiger will congregate and do some eye-begging.
This has been an exhausting week of recovery. There's a world of difference in my appearance between Monday and today, but I'm still looking forward to a very lazy weekend of rest and relaxation.
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