Radio Update

It feels good to be back on the radio.
Upcoming radio shows: (You can also listen on-line)

Sunday, Oct 1, 7 am -9am usa EST.
Celtic folk, American blues and European jazz. In that order. From my own collection!
Update: Two songs into this show, the regular DJ's showed up- there was some confusion. I'm pretty pissed-off. I had a good show planned.

Sat, Oct 7, 5pm -7pm usa est. The Locals Only show.
All local and regional bands, many of which feature me as musician and/or engineer. Listen as I shamelessly plug my friends and slander my enemies. I am a ham I am.


Mon. Oct 9, 7pm- 9pm The Lost Music Saloon - I'll be producing a live performance by Lee Harris and Country Sunshine. Tune in and listen to live music on the radio (or the web).

Check it out. WRIR radio is fun radio! (No commercials either.)

Bambi Meets Godzilla (The Movie)

The DVD boxed set is due out soon.
I remember seeing it in the theatre, but I don't think it was based on a 'real' book or anything.
Marvel Comics did an adaptation of it , but it really sucked. Curiously, that comic is very valuable because it was so awful that Toho studios sued Marvel for a product recall, hence there are only seventy-odd copies known to exist. I sold one at the 1994 San Diego Comic Convention-actually I traded it for 10 kilos of weed, a bushel of peyote buttons and some magic beans. I came out ahead on this deal, considering that the copy I sold was printed at Kinkos two days before the show.

T-Word

Have you ever been trapped in a basement apartment with 400,000 swarming termites?
I have.
After they were done, my house was full of dead termites, which I swept up and placed in a heaping pile in the main foyer of the apartment so that my half-dozen upstairs neighbors could see what was living in the walls of their $1000 a month ( 199o's) apartments.
I was trying to get my negligient landlord to let me break my lease, and those bugs did the trick.

Termites are a homeowner's nightmare. During my various temp jobs in real estate and insurance, I learned the true power of the T-word- agents and adjusters spoke it in hushed tones, as termites mean spending lots of money. A Termite Report can make or break a deal, which also involves money and risk.

Which brings us to the other T-Word: Terrorist.

If Terrorists were Termites , this is how our War On Terra might look:

House has termites. Lots of them.
Spread poisoned sawdust out as termite bait. This is obviously a really stupid idea, but somehow you convince your spouse that it'll not only work, it'll save you thousands of dollars.
This kills a few termites , but the rest mutate into Terromites and adapt to the poison in the sawdust, converting it into food and using all the free fuel to breed faster than ever before.

After the spreading of the sawdust fails, the next step is to rid your home of terromites by using a wooden baseball bat to smash the walls. The smashed walls are even easier for the termites to devour - the faster you smash , the faster they eat, hastening the collapse of your building.

What happens after that? You are homeless and you now have a reputation for being the kind of fellow who smashes the walls of his house with baseball bats.

And all your money is gone.

Scalped

Last night I dreamed that I was using a shaving razor to remove my scalp. I was shaving my head just as I normally do, but instead of removing the stubble, the disposable razor was peeling my skin off, exposing my skull. I watched myself in the mirror. In the dream , I notice that I have hair. Long curly hair, it's coming out in clumps. Chemo, I was thinking.

I couldn't stop myself, but it didn't hurt. In my dream, I somehow knew that I was drunk, which is not so weird- I haven't had a drink for over a year now ( whew!), but I do dream about it, and never in a good way.
I felt really bad about relapsing too, but even my drunken dreamself realized that skinning myself was overdoing the guilt just a bit. Thing was, my thoughts had no connection to my actions. I could feel the desire to stop, but that's all I could feel. No fingers, no tongue, and if what I saw in the mirror was accurate, no skin above my former hairline.
I wanted to drop the blade and run across the street to the hospital - oh, shit, I thought- does anyone know how long you can live without a scalp? Should I pack it on ice?
Maybe I can Google it and find out. I actually thought that-crazy, I know, knew even.
But I couldn't do any typing. I was busy cutting myself.
It got rather gory before I woke up.
After that , I couldn't go back to sleep.

Good Luck With That

I posted a really bad blog from work today- I rushed home , anxious to delete it- or at least remove the libelous bits- but not to worry, Blogger ate it.
Until today, I thought Blogger only ate good posts.

Man, I'm glad no one read that! It would have been disastrous.

I have to go to a meeting at the station in a little while- I usually don't mind these meetings, but I really feel like writing instead- see, I've got it all figured out, crystal-clear, like. Everything fits very neatly- there are no traps, hazards or secrets. Hoorah!

No time to write it all down now- I'll just have to remember it all until I get back home.

Japan: Red State

Japan's new Prime Minister seems to be using the Bush Administration as his role model. Some bits of this article are particularily disturbing:

One of Mr. Abe’s first steps was to increase the number of advisors to the prime minister, adding new posts for aides in charge of national security, education and the North Korean abduction issue. Members of Mr. Abe’s staff have said these aides will have their own staff of experts and researchers, allowing them to draw up policy directly without relying on ministry bureaucrats.

“The prime minister’s office should be built into a control center for the whole nation,” said Yasuhisa Shiozaki, the newly appointed chief Cabinet secretary. “The office will put forward policies based on strategic thinking."

He's going to be the Decider! The strateginator-in-chief! But first he's going to create jobs- for his hand-picked cabal of cronies.
You might think I'm laughing, but I'm not.
There are some serious implications to a nationalistic, expansionist Japan with a bunch of newly appointed high-ranking cronies with little accountabilty or oversight "to draw up policy directly without relying on ministry bureaucrats"

Consider this: A jingoized Japan builds a new military in response to a real or perceived North Korean 'threat'. Even though this would violate their post-WWII Constitution , who could stop them? The U.S. has built N. Korea and lil' Kim up as a boogeyman and Bush has set a precedent for 'pre-emptive wars'...so, a little nightmare scenario: After a very rapid military expansion, a bomb goes off in Japan - perhaps a Korean missile is blamed- true or not, Mr. Abe uses the excuse to invade North Korea. The U.S. would be pressured into vetoing any UN resolutions aimed at preventing this; by the time these events occur, any UN influence would likely be nearly evaporated due it's own lack of gravitas and cohesion.

What if Mr. Abe gets his way?

If you think Japan couldn't produce a powerful military very, very quickly, think again. Mitsubishi, manufacturer of the deadly 'Zero', is still in business and I'm sure that the state-of-the-art factories already in place could be converted to produce fighter jets and tanks in a timely and effective manner.
I'd also wager that Honda would make pretty good tanks and they'd be a lot cheaper than ours.


But that's crazy, right? Japan would never build a real army! Right? Read on:

Instead, many here believe one of Mr. Abe’s top priorities will likely be revising the pacifist Constitution, written by Japan’s postwar American occupiers, to permit the country to have full-fledged armed forces. Mr. Abe has also spoken in favor of a new law to allow Japan to send troops overseas on peacekeeping missions, and of closer military cooperation with Washington, Tokyo’s most important ally.

OK- so he gets his army, and he uses it to spread freedom on North Korea. Predictably, it goes about as well as Bush's war in Iraq- but with such close financial and political ties with Tokyo, it will be difficult for whoever is the U.S. President at that time to intervene in the new , 'pre-emptive' aggression.
This is when China starts getting really dicey with the new Japanese Army. There's a long, bloody history here...what happens if China declares an alliance with oh, let's say, Iran, Cuba, Venezuala and Pakistan? Get Japan out of Korea or we call in our debts, China might say to the US.
Suddenly Japan has a lot of enemies- some of which are also unfriendly towards the USA.
Does the American President condemn Japan for it's attack, or does he send military aid to our Japanese 'ally' instead?

That is what Khruschev did in 1960- he sent Russian missiles to Cuba in order to discourage another Bay of Pigs fiasco- it's not unreasonable to think that a future US leader would send some US nukes to Japan as a 'deterrent' if Japan felt strongly threatend.

WWIII seems a likely result. War needs oil.

And if we are fighting Iran and Venezeula and Iraq is in chaos, where do we get our oil? Will Norway choose sides? Norway is the world's third largest oil producer, so it will be an important factor as pipelines are cut and resources dry up . Will the EU stay out? England seems a bit weary of fighting America's wars-they have enough trouble at home...

Could we still get oil from the Saudis if the Chinese are willing to pay more- maybe even pony up some missiles in the bargain? I hope we never find out.

Mr. Abe also has some very regressive social agendas:

Another was the selection of Eriko Yamatani to the post of education advisor. A 56-year-old former reporter for the Sankei Shimbun, a right-wing daily, Ms. Yamatani has been a vocal critic of sexual education and teaching of "excessive" gender equality in schools. The incoming state minister in charge of gender equality, Sanae Takaichi, was another social conservative who opposed allowing women to legally keep their maiden name after marriage.

Holy freekin' Animal Farm!
What exactly is "excessive" equality? That makes no sense.
Between people, things are either equal or they are not, as Orwell's pigs famously illustrated.
There cannot be "excessive" equality- only equality or inequality.
The fact that Mr. Abe created a Ministry in charge of gender equality indicates that gender equality is, and will continue to be, a serious problem in Japanese society. His appointees are not exactly Susan B. Anthony types, that much is certain.

A woman should stay home and raise the children - and the schools should change:

...the new prime minister risks angering Asian neighbors with his calls for Japanese schools to teach more patriotism and traditional values, at a time when many of Japan’s former wartime victims accuse the country of whitewashing military atrocities from its textbooks.

The last time the Japanese stressed nationalism, patriotism and traditional values , they created a generation of Banzai warriors and Kamikaze pilots. I'm not saying that this is what will happen, but this is how these things start- Japan has the money and industry to build an army quickly, and the new PM is using his nation's long-standing grudge with North Korea to his polarizing political advantage in much the same way Bush Jr. used his dad's beef with Saddam to galvanize public support for his really bad idea.

“Mr. Abe is definitely trying to build something that looks like the White House,” said Tomoaki Iwai, a professor of politics at Nihon University.

Mark my words. Nothing good will come of this.

35 to 1

My Boss started his vacation last week, which leaves me in charge. I don't mind- my workload is rather light, so doing his job is easy; it also allows me to hand off the processing of widgets (busy work) to the New Guy.

What New Guy? Where is he?

New Guy came in late Friday, worked on his myspace site for a while and went home early; yesterday was much the same. He left quite a trail of cookies- his myspace contains some weird shit, even by my standards- for example , he seems to be fond of comparing Tupac Shakur to Jesus Christ via unattributed references to Machiavelli.
I don't know anything about Tupac Shakur except that, just as Jesus and Niccolo, he once lived and is now dead.
The characteristic of being dead seems to be the only obvious common thread between these three men.
Tupac was a devotee of Machiavelli? I guess. I'll take Newbie's word for it since I don't care enough to do even the most cursory "research" (Google).

(I wonder if Prince is a Machiavellian?)

New Guy told me he is 25 years old. His myspace says he just turned 23.
New Guy lists his income as$45k- $60k on myspace.

I know that he makes $11/hour, which is $22,8000 per year.
To make $45k , he'd have to work 4,091 hours a year, or nearly 80 hours a week- even factoring in overtime, that's 3,413 annual hours , or about 65 hours per week.

Almost all of these hours must get logged between 5pm and 9am, because I hardly ever see New Guy. He pretty much stopped coming in when the Boss went on vacation.
New Guy doesn't know it, but I have access to all the Boss' data, including Widget Reports.
Here is what I have found:

Daily Widgets processed by New Guy since Boss' Vacation= 0,22,0 ...total=22
Daily Widgets by me =282, 297, 187...total= 766

766 to 22- this is roughly 35 to 1.
Keep in mind that I'm also doing the Boss' work while I'm out-widgeting NG 35 to 1.

There is a precedent for this. When I started here, there was a woman in New Guy's chair that posted similar numbers. She told me, straight-up, that her strategy was to get fired and then sue the company for racial and gender discrimination , take a settlement and retire.

That's smart thinking, I said. That'll look great on your next job application , which will probably be at Wal-Mart, Goodwill or Taco Bell.

Hrrmph, she said. This was to be one of our final conversations, as HQ, unbeknownst to me, had already started the firing process. The Big Boss drove down from D.C. just to give her a three-hour closed door 'last chance' lecture.

Big Boss gave me a very abridged summary of their talk.

Why does Allan produce forty times as many Widgets as you?, asked BB.

Because he's a White Man and I am a Black Woman, she replied.

Big Boss is black and so is his wife (his wife is a very ambitious and accomplished lawyer) - I don't believe that BB gives a damn about his employee's skin color- he certainly does not approve of the "I suck at my job because I am black" approach- all Big Boss wants is good Widget Numbers. Somehow, my white masculinity was preventing my co-worker from achieving good Widget Numbers.

Explain that statement, Boss asked. Give specific examples.

(If any were given, the complaints never reached me)

Improve your reports or get fired, she was told by Big Boss. I don't know what Big Boss did about her discrimination claims- all I know is that someone from HR later asked me if I had ever witnessed any racial or sexual discrimination regarding this woman.

Had I?

Hell yes!

She refuses to help with the moving and delivery of documents, saying that it's "man's work". I explained that I had several dozen witnesses- she would often tell clients that they would have to wait for me before they could get a pick-up ; that she didn't do pick-up/delivery.
To me, this is blatant sexual discrimination on her part against me- who do I report it to? The woman is younger than me and has no physical ailments- she just won't move anything heavier than a pencil.
Thanks for asking.

I don't know what HR did with my report, only that there have been several New Guys since then and that the woman's application for unemployment benefits was rejected- returning her building passkey in shreds (she literally shredded it and placed it in a postage-paid mailer!) did not help her case.

I hope New Guy doesn't pull that shit. He seems like an OK kid- and he helps me when it's time to move stuff - maybe he just found another job. I wish he'd called, though. If he'd asked, I would have covered his ass for him- now it looks like he's quitting and/or getting canned.
Oh well.
At least no one is giving me shit about ice cream today. If they fire me, there will be no Records department at all.
I have job security.
Whee.
But...

I have a job interview next week. It's with a large A/V production company. They called me- it turns out that one of the volunteers I produce shows for has a boyfriend who works for them. She told him about my audio prowess and the headhunting was set in motion.
It's more who you know than what you know...but I do know my audio, so I'm hoping for the best. I'll have to learn most of the video side, but it's tech stuff. I am really good at tech stuff. If they hire me, I can do the job. Whatever it is.

It's too early to know anything else, but I do know that I am sick to fucking death of counting Widgets.

Caution

Objects seen in the future may be nearer than they appear.

Sour Cream

Today I fucked up and got my ass in a sling over some ice cream.
I can't mix ice cream with the workplace without raising hell. I used to get drunk , get high , fuck around- act out all sorts of job-threatening behavior at almost every job I've had but I never got in trouble for any of that- just the goddamned ice cream.

At lunch today I saw workers setting up tables and wheeling a Good Humour cart into the main lobby of our new, yet already crumbling building. Every once in a while there will be a promotional event held there- sometimes it involves giving away free foodstuffs, of which I usually partake; at other times the foodstuffs are the promotion and are being sold at fairground prices. I avoid these.

How much?, I asked one of the ice cream girls.

Free, she said. At 3PM.

Thank you, see ya at 3!

It was closer to 3:30, but I missed the rush, so I had full run of the sundae line.

Chocolate or vanilla?

Both. Extra Chocolate.

It seemed the prevailing etiquette was to only have one or the other. Two scoops and I'd already started pushing invisible social boundaries. It's a sad reflection on the lack of individualism in the workplace that something like asking for a second scoop of ice cream is unspokenly considered threshold behavior.
My Spidey Sense started tingling, but I went with the flow of the sundae buffet, move along, move along...I heaped my bowl with nuts, berries, M&M's , choclate chips and hot butterscotch fudge until goo was dripping from all edges. A strategically arranged pile of napkins protected my hands from sticky calamity.

This was the MotherShip Sundae.
The Goddess Sundae.
The Sundae Herald of Armageddon.

This sundae might be too big to fit on the elevator, I thought, just as five (5!) Office Hens from The Firm join me in the elevator. They must have been having a smoky clucking break, because they had no sundaes and some of them looked at my stacked bowl with obvious envy.

Under normal conditions, time halts for me when I am in a crowded elevator. I panic and wonder if I'm ever getting off- ever.

I was in an elevator , surrounded by overweight women who coveted my massive sundae. I felt like a black jellybean in a carton of eggs.

"Hi. Did y'all get any ice cream? " Maybe they didn't know that it was free?

"No," said one, "we don't work for ( Other Firm). She was also implying, of course, that neither did I.

"Oh. Is this their ice cream?", I asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Yes".

"Well, they gave me some , no problem. It's set up in the public area, you know."

"Well, I probably couldn't get any. They know me."

Anonymity is the key to ice cream? I was getting ready to follow up on that, why would they deny her ice cream if they knew her? Are they adversaries?

*Ding!*
We get off the elevator- shit!- late Friday and it was crowded near the elevators.
I stepped out carrying this multi-hued, giant-ass contraband sundae. I might as well have beeen covered with red ink following a bank heist. I was busted by everyone, no getting around it. Tsk...who does he think..., tsk..heh,heh, he stole ice cream...etc...fuss fusss

"Well, you can always take it back and apologize", suggested a helpful Hen. She was serious.

I said thank you when they gave it to me, now I should apologize?
How can I apologize when my mouth is full of ice cream and strawberries? That would be rude.
I retreated to my cell and I enjoyed every ill-gotten bite.

I think that if Other Firm had wanted to keep their ice cream to themselves, they would have kept it in the office like we do instead of setting up in the entrance to the building.

My boss is on vacation next week, but when he gets back, I'm sure someone will say something
and some sort of punishment will be meted out. I have a history of ice cream agitation. I am allergic to ice cream socials .

This is horseshit. I just turned 40 and I'm worried about getting fired over ice cream?
This is my job reality? That's fucked up.
Crazy fucked-up.
It occurs to me that they can kiss my ass.

Real Media

I rarely blog about mainstream entertainment media.
There are two reasons for this.
The first reason is: I hate it.
The second: I don't know jack about it.

Not all of it- I like some TV shows (House, Stewart/Colbert, NFL games, Buffy, etc) and would undoubtedly like others ( Weeds!) if I had the time and cable to watch them.
I like movies, but I never watch them unless someone else wants to- I used to rent a lot of movies when I was drinking, but I sorta renting stopped after I quit drinking. Hadn't really thought about it like that...hmmm.

I love radio. Independent radio.
It was nice to get back to the station and get actual lovin' hugs from the lovin' people who volunteer there. We have an all-volunteer staff and operate on a shoestring budget of donations and underwriters, but we are in our second year and getting bigger and better all the time- it's a minor miracle we made it two months, much less two years. I was there in the beginning- it was chaos! Fun chaos, but chaos nonetheless. Now , it's easy. We are a model station.

Forget about Jack and Corporate radio. Don't support them. Support your local stations- if you don't have one , start one. Here is how.

We bring our community national programs like Democracy Now, News and Notes, and Talk of the Nation, as well as our own locally produced news and interview shows. Sometimes I engineer these- evenings and weekends it's all music- here's a schedule.


We are what radio should be- by the people, for the people, supported by the people. It's organized anarchy at it's best- volunteers gravitate towards things that they are good at and care about- this is why we have such great people working for free- things get done well because when people care they do better work. (Corporations often ignore this simple concept and consequently wonder why they have unhappy workers)
We operate on funds given to us by our audience, because, believe it or not , people like having a local station to call their own. We listen to our audience and create shows for them.
That is our mission. Serve the best interests of the community.
Our DJ's are just regular folk, ranging from high school students to retirees. They live here. They aren't pre-recorded voices on a computer in LA.

Our DJ's take considerable time, thought and expense preparing for their shows- we don't have any playlist handed down from corporate headquarters- we aren't doing the robo-jack shuffle- each host has a particular style or genre and between them we cover a lot of ground, but in a sensible , coherent format.

Without ads. And we aren't NPR.

My next show is Sunday , Oct 1, 7 am- to 9am EST , which'll be afternoon for the discriminating European listener. I'm flirting with the idea of calling it "Tom Waits for no one" and playing two hours of Tom Waits but I'll probably save that idea for a late night show- if I ever do one.

Anyway, it's great fun being able to play whatever I feel like - I play actual vinyl from my own collection. Old school!
I can play Captain Beefheart's Safe as Milk, Clash's London Calling and X's Wild Gift on Sunday morning.
I like Gong in the morning. Original drummer Pip Pyle has recently died, so I think some Banana Moon is in order- Floating Anarchy !

What do you like in the morning?

Crossfire is the New Hopscotch

Want to read about what I do at work?
Of course you do- otherwise you wouldn't read blogs.
What exactly do I do for a living?
I'm not trying to be evasive, but I really can't tell you much about it without having to kill you.

Not that I'm involved in anything covert, clandestine or illicit- it's just that a detailed description would either drive you to suicidal despair or simply cause you to expire from boredom.
But- I do have broadband internet and lots of free time.
I use it constructively.
Today I spent an hour tracking my internet traffic.
I have developed a mild obsession with tracking exactly what words people type into their search engines to find my blog- above is an example: someone in Germany typed the phrase
"never question authorities" into Google and my site was #1 out of over 60 million hits.
The history of German authoritarianism does not, in my opinion, conjure pleasant imagery, so I'm not certain I want this place of dubious honor.
"never question authorities"
hmmmph

Dear Reader, please question authorities.
No - forget the please. The time for manners and decorum has long since passed.
I insist that you question authorities.
With due respect to Thailand, not every King loves his people.

Some kings are Mad Kings. War Kings.

Only a Mad War King would consider digging a giant moat around Baghdad to be a sign of spreading "freedom and democracy".

Nothing says "Liberty" like a 60 mile moat around your hometown.

Our Mad War King's legacy will be a 95 km ditch around a giant pile of rubble formerly known as the cradle of civilization.
From cradle to mass grave.

Iraqi children will bury their parents in this ditch and then skip merrily back to the bombed-out orphanage , playing 'crossfire' all the way. Those kids are certain to grow up loving America. I shudder to think of the gratitude they might display if given the chance.

When I think of war and trenches, I think of Verdun.
Dachau and bulldozers.
Pol Pot and punji sticks.

I find it difficult to place these ditches, trenches and tunnels in any sort of positive or uplifting context.

Let's build a moat around freedom.
We're fighting a modern version of a 12th Century war- why not use updated medieval siege technology?



--"THE BITE OF FREEDOM'S HAND"--

Subject to Change

"Here is the Answer to Everything", whispered the mist.

My ancient camera frustrates the hell out of me- not only is it useless for photographing vampires , it also refuses to pixelate my hallucinations.

At the time, it appeared as if a roc had perched on the shrouded peak of this building and the naked eye could just barely discern the shifting of it's enormous wings as it balanced and counter-balanced itself against the buffeting winds.

Of course, there probably aren't any rocs in Chicago, but there was something there - at risk of sounding like a ranting, chanting, crystal-waving post-New Age acid casualty, I've been feeling some
"weird energy" lately- a shift in the Force , if you will. It doesn't feel like a Death Star/Alderaan moment- it's a Grey Shift, and it's still in progress. Being incomplete, it's impossible to tell if it's Light or Dark Shift- or even to determine if such stark differences exist.

Me, I don't really care what you call it, but weird, inexplicable things do happen. All the time.
Mostly, I'm afraid, we fail to notice them.
I wrote about this on Sunday when I was in Chicago, but by coincidence (?) , my blogmate Susanne posted a really cool link only a few seconds after I posted my piece, and judging from a couple emails, I'm not sure mine was seen by very many readers. Normally, I wouldn't care, but it was a pretty intense experience and I was hoping to hear...I dunno. Something.

In that post, I described seeing a photograph at the Celtic Fest that stopped me in my tracks. This is a pic of the pic:

Click pic for a story I wrote about this place last March...

In my dreams my initial vantage is much higher- the cliffs are much taller and have less of a slope, and that beach is very, very small and sort of huddles against the cliffside, making it difficult to fully view from above without leaning dangerously over the cliff's edge. The dream place has less foliage, the higher , steeper cliffs having no purchase for soil, but the geography is uncannily familiar. There's a lot missing in this photo, but the resemblance to my recurring dream was so strong that I wound up staring, trying to mentally overlay my dream image onto the the photo.
Close fit. Felt weird, but in a good way, I think.
Probably just the result of a chemical imbalance caused by too many Chicago style hot dogs the previous night.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of an experiment conducted with a strange bit of magic leaves acquired from a local alchemist, but I coulda sworn that I saw tiny dancing women, smaller than children even, merrily dancing in 3/4 time.

It's indistinct in the pic, but the sign in the front of stage has a schedule of performers, to which someone has added in black marker ,'talent subject to change'.
It didn't say "change size" , so I guess these were actual wee folk and not just humans zapped with a shrinking ray.

Return to Whatever

RAIN

My first day in Chicago was spent in the rain. Coming back from the airport, I hadn't thought to carry an umbrella.
Can you even bring umbrellas on airplanes anymore?
If there isn't a flight ban on umbrellas, there should be.
Imagine what would happen if everyone opened their umbrellas in the coach of a passenger jet- freekin' chaos is what!
Besides, if it's raining inside the jet, it's gonna take a lot more than an umbrella to help you.


I love Art, but I am not smart enough to know a great deal about it -or to even claim to understand it.
I'm not sure how I feel about giant electronic portrait monolith fountains. I had the urge to recreate the opening sequence to Kubrick's 2001- sadly, no one had thought to leave any skeletal remains for me.








Big Brother is watching you.
Many parts of Chicago have surveillance cameras- something I usually loathe- but I made a wrong turn Tuesday getting off the El and wound up in the Projects on State St., suitcase in hand. I've been in worse neighborhoods, but not often and not for long. This was one of the few such Public Housing Projects still standing.
Nice place.
Lots of cops, lots of cameras and all sorts of activity.
There were many young men ready to assist me should I need some rock, blow or pussy.
One helpful gentleman even offered me a ride in his taxi, which he kept parked in the alley behind a liquor store.
Follow me, he urged.
Did I need a hand with my suitcase?
No thanks.
Given the circumstances , I felt it best if I stood in plain view of the Police Cam.

I didn't take any pictures of the Projects. I am not that stupid.



We never did get Funkadelic tickets- Bryan said it was in the suburbs and didn't feel like going -his job was wearing him out and having me around didn't help, I guess.

The Mothership did land in Downtown though.
I really dig this giant jellybean blob. It's in the Millennial Park
It's like a still-life done in quicksilver.

The rain picked up a bit here, and I was really glad I had brought a jacket. Jackets are much safer than umbrellas, so bringing one on the plane was no problem.
Security on the flight in was a joke. I had a gel deodorant in my only bag and it went right through the X-ray without so much as a beep. As I was in the boarding line, I was singled out by TSA for a 'random' search. A squat and sour young woman in a crisp TSA uniform showed me her badge-OK-dig in, nothin' in there, I thought, hating every minute of this bullshit world of forced fear...but she couldn't get my bag's zipper more than an inch open.
It seems a sock had gotten stuck in it. I thought about offering to help unstick it, but was afraid that doing so might cause trouble. The deodorant, you know.
She flashed a penlight into the tiny aperature and said OK.
That was it.
I could have brought dope and hand lotion and not gotten caught.



Anyway, the next day I sought shelter from the rain by standing under the metal bean . This is what it looks like from underneath.








I am not sure what to make of this next pic. I stopped to have lunch at the Beef and Brandy, and after several coffees, I had to use the loo.



Upstairs in the men's room, I was confronted with this- a urinal full of ice cubes.

I have never before seen a urinal full of ice cubes. There were none in the sink or in the toilet, just the urinal and the floor in front of it.
Who pissed here? Iceman?

I was glad I had ordered coffee and not iced tea or a fountain drink.

One more pic- this is me at Wrigley. I gotta admit that being out at the old ballpark is one of America's Good Things.

More later- I'm wound up and sorta jet-lagged- gotta try to relax and get back to work tomorrow. My internal clock feels all screwed up- stayed up late reading most nights- Bryan has no PC, but he has an excellent collection of books- but also got up early most days.
Wired and tired, I bid you goodnight.

I Miss You

I'm going home tonight- my trip is all but over.
I'm glad I came here, but I am actually starting to miss my home, my guitars, my cats, my friends, my radio station...
Being away , I realize that much of what I take for granted is actually quite precious to me- even my job doesn't seem so horrible - but that will change upon resumption of work, I'm sure.

You know what else I miss?
I miss you.

A Commercial I Actually Like!

A friend just emailed me the link to a Honda Accord commercial. Here's a bit of the email wording:
"The film took 606 takes. On the first 605 takes, something, usually very minor, didn't work. They would then have to set the whole thing up again. The crew spent weeks shooting night and day. By the time it was over, they were ready to change professions.

The film cost six million dollars and took three months to complete including full engineering of the sequence. However, it is fast becoming the most downloaded advertisement in Internet history.

When the ad was pitched to senior executives, they signed off on it immediately without any hesitation - including the costs.

There are six and only six hand-made Honda Accords in the world. To the horror of Honda engineers, the filmmakers disassembled two of them to make the film.

Everything you see in the film (aside from the walls, floor, ramp, and complete Honda Accord) is parts from those two cars."

I also checked the urban legends sites to see if it was indeed a real commercial, and they say it is to the best of their research. Check it out if you want to read the breakdown behind the commercial.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. I love it when something wonderful is accomplished with some brain power and people working together!

On the Beach

Ok, ok...the bagpipers were not nearly as bad as thought- it was a marching troupe w/ drummers etc...the Celtic Fest was great. Saw some really nice smaller groups at tents scattered all over Grant Park, even got a brief introduction to the harp ( not the harmonica) and decided that I want to add it to my list of instruments played.
Sweet.

There was a travel services tent set up and I saw a photo of a secluded rocky beach that that looked almost exactly like a beach I sometimes visit in my less disturbing dreams- I had thought it was a mnemonic holdover from a long-ago visit to the Pacific NW or Maine, but it this pic was from Cornwall. The resemblance stopped me dead in my tracks.
My brother thought something was wrong.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing...I've been to this place before. Many times, in my dreams. My cat walks around with me and tells me secrets- it's pretty cool, really. Just can't get over how much this looks like that place- minus all the sun-bathers , of course. In my dream , it's deserted and you need to know where hidden path is to get there...that's where the cat comes in."

"Uh. Ok." Bryan is used to hearing me saying weird shit.

His friend listens to me and adds:

" I dream too- except I'm awake and and I see all the people who have lost their bodies and are looking for new ones. They try to look me in the eye and take my body- they got washed up the river and died, but it's so hot where they are from I sweat when they see me- they are everywhere- I'm feeling controlled down here... I want to go home now and make sure a gas leak hasn't killed my puppy...street musicians are being contrlolled from above, too ... "

Uh oh. I like to think I know when I sound crazy, that much of how I express myself is for effect, somewhat tongue-in-cheek , and not a sign of waxing schizophrenia- but what she is saying is scary and truly nuts. I've seen plenty of really ill persons in my time and this poor girl is one of them. The years and years of crack abuse have not helped.

We leave much earlier than I would have had I been alone. The Twin is shaken and drained by all this crazy, but he loves her, so I know better than to tell him how I feel about trying to save addicted andcrazy people from themselves

We get deep dish pizza, and that helps our mood a lot.

Strangely, this close exposure to someone who is so truly and profoundly dissassociated from reality is almost as comforting as it is disturbing- I sometimes wonder if perhaps I too have "gone off the deep end"-but I haven't, I don't think.

Still, the image of that beach haunts me. There's something to this and it's not insanity, but I don't pretend to understand what it really is. It feels good, safe, familar, calm - not scary and freaked-out.

I want to be on that beach.

Dodging Bagpipes

Today we're going to the World Music Fest downtown, which looks good- trying to determine te best way to get there, as the normal path is blocked by a Bagpipe Circle which we will attempt to circumnavigate in order to reach the string and vocal oriented Celtic stages with our ears intact.

Bagpipes are tricky though- like mustard gas, they can inflict serious harm from long distances depending on how the wind is blowing.

Forty Candles

They say it's my birthday...Four-0!

Today I met my blogpal Citymouse for a delightful lunch in downtown Chicago- I will let her fill you in on the details, as I am paying to blog at a cafe- there is nothing like a running meter to induce writer's block!
I must say that it's reassuring to note that all ( both) of my real-life meetings with blogpals have been with people who were just like their blogs.

My brother had to attend a hard-drinking work party last night ( he actually has a real job) so he went home early today and is sacked out at home -I, on the other hand, am wired off my ass on coffee and happy human feelings... so back to my second home, the Cafe.

No Funkadelic tonight...oh well.

I'll let the twin sleep a while and then I'll make him go out to eat. I feel bad because I seem to have unlimited energy when I am separated from my job- and his job seems to drain him.
I think I'm losing weight on vacation just from the sheer amount of walking I have done. It feels good to be active all day, it really does. I've walked 35,000 miles (it seems), been to three museums and countless parks;I've also read three boooks so far- Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenriech, The Sweet Smell of Psychosis by William Self and Freakonomics by Steven Levitt. The Self book was sorta like mental chewing gum, but the other two are very great andinsightful reading- but now is not the time for book reviews.
Gotta say- there is something supremely calming about sitting under a tree in front of a Calder and reading for a few hours. I could do that everyday and not grow bored, I think.

Everyday is a new learning experience- when I can post pix I will get into some details...

Yesterday I spent a indeterminate amount of time inside a mirror-walled walk-in kaliedoscope at the Field Museum- it was a lot like a really good acid trip...actually I was tripping wicked hard at the time - but no illegal drugs were used. I'm leaving it at that for now- that's a whole 'nother post!
Besides, I'm forty now and I'm too old for that stuff- but yesterday I was still 39!

Quick

Sitting in a Mexican cybercoffeeshop eating lemon cheescake for breakfast at noon. This is the 'jumping off' point for my daily adventures- today I think I'll see King Tut and then visit Auschwitz. After I walk back to the apartment and retrieve my Transit card...argh!
The Cubs suck this year, but Wrigley is always fun!
Sun!
Sun!
Tommorrow we are going to try to see Funkadelic, which would be freekin' awesome!
Fingers crossed!

Update- this didn't publish first time 'round. It's close to 7pm now and I'm back at the cafe. Flan! Yum!

Just finished visiting the King (Tut) . He's in good spirits despite being dead for 5,000 years. Spell #6 from the Book of the Dead seems to be doing well for him.
Got some stories to tell, but I'm paying by the minute to write this...see y'all soon!

When the Rain Comes

I got to the airport two hours early, as requested by the fine print on my e-ticket.
Good thing I got there early, because I was just in time to watch the flights screen change- my flight , 4188 to Chicago, went from "on time" to "cancelled." Since my flight was the first one listed, I halfway expected the rest of the listto follow suit- perhaps some sort of incident had occured and there were to be no flights that day...

Nope. It was just my flight- not to worry , I am told.
.
"We have one leaving in an hour to St. Louis , and from there you can connect to Chicago ".

"Excellent. What's the ETA in Chicago?"

" 6:50 PM"

"!!!%@(&8&%"!!!???" ( It is 9 am- my first flight was to leave at 11 am and arrive in Chi-Town at noon (one hour time diff)

"There's a four hour layover in STL"

"Whatever gets me there. I'll take it."

The Airline Guy types a lot. He smiles, then winces. He continues typing and his facial expression seems to change with every keystroke.

Finally.

" Sorry. The connection is full. "

Good news, actually, because if I'd learned about this cancellation while stranded in St. Louis, I would have been really pissed- not to mention stranded in St. Louis.

" We have a non-stop at 3pm- would you like that?"

Sure- why not? I spend the first six hours of my vacation in the Richmond airport terminal. I read my entire travelling book during this wait and am forced to buy another -Nickel and Dimed by Barabara Ehrenreich (sp?) - excellent book, but it depresses the hell out of me because what she describes is familar territory to me- and it's so short I finish it before the plane reaches Chicago...in the spirit of her book, I do the math:
It cost me $13 and took two hours to read- that's $6.50 an hour to read. At that price, a $10 movie seems almost reasonable.

Highly recommended book nonetheless- use your library!

I finally get to Chicago right as the Twin is leaving work, so that works out OK.

He shows me to a coffeeshop w/ internet, where I sit at this very moment, waiting for the rain to let up, which looks to be happening now-the weather here is notoriously unpredictable.

In a few minutes I will catch a train to Lincoln Park and tour the Zoo- and the Twin has scored tickets to the Cubs game tonight (if the rain stops), so today looks pretty good- as long as it stops raining.

If it doesn't stop raining, I am screwed.

My brother doesn't have TV or a computer. He doesn't even have a working CD player, though this is due to a recent malfunction, not his obsessive Luddite ways. If it keeps raining, I will be stuck in his apartment with a cat and a book.

That's what I do pretty much every night at home - not what I came here for.

Please make it stop raining!

Music Questions and Half-Answers

This is something I made for a CD cover. My printer decided I'd do better if I just used a Sharpie...
*sigh*
I can never decide what songs to put on my CD's. I have a lot of material.
After twenty years of playing music I still don't have an answer for that dreaded question: "What kind of music do you play?"
Fuck. I hate that question.
My only answer is "listen." But who has time for that?
Ha! At least I get regular FM airplay even if I have to play the goddamned CD myself!

Not long ago I was trying to put another band together and I went to visit a singer/pianist I'd met at the station. I was playing some of my songs on a CD when her boyfriend came over- he listened for a second and asked:

"What do you call this?"

"Not sure. It's new- no words yet."

"No. I mean this kind of music. What do you call it?"
I could tell he hated it.

But I had no snappy reply. Uh, rock?
That's lame. It means nothing.

Until then, I'd thought that I'd found a new friend and possibly a singer- the woman in question is pretty good writer and we got along really well. A jam/audition/rehearsal was scheduled for the following week...

-but-

My confirmation emails were not answered.
My phone call was not returned.
Practice came and went and I haven't heard a word since that visit.
I guess she hated my songs.

You might like them . What sort of music do you like?

For me, it's easier to list the music I don't like, because I like most styles.

I don't like most Top 40.
Ever.
From any year.

I don't like anything with the word "contemporary" in it, such as "contemporary Country" or "contemporary Christian".

I detest "smooth" Jazz.

I hate anything spelled "Lite". This universal condemnation is not limited to music- it's also quite applicable to foodstuffs and quality in general.
"Lite" is a sort of code for "unsatisfying" these days.

I like Billie Holliday, Frank Zappa and Gong. I like Tom Waits, Bob Dylan and Peter Tosh. I like
The Clash, Iggy Pop and Brian Eno; Funkadelic, Hank Williams and Steve Earle. Danielle Dax, X and Can.

I also like a lot of the new music I hear at the station , but I'll be buggered if I can remember the names of the bands-as a new pal was telling me the other day: " What the fuck is wrong with people over 35? They all stop listening to new music!"

True, sorta. When I was 16 I could list every member of every incarnation of Hawkwind and Motorhead. I could name all the Mothers of Invention- on every album! I knew the words to every Grateful Dead song ( I eventually learned that the Dead did a lot of covers) .

Now?
I can't even name what's being played right now, but it's some sort of disco/techno/trance/house - you know- the 180 beats per minute drum-machine stuff, with lots of female vocal samples that sound like they were lifted from porno flicks.

It's like being rapidly and repeatedly struck in the head with a rubber mallet while listening to the same fake orgasm over and over and over... this must be somone's idea of a good time, but it's not mine.

I feel like listening to Jethro Tull instead- or maybe Lucinda Williams. I like listening to her sing about guitars and loneliness.
She knows what's what.

*click*

See you in a while.

Where Were You?

September 11, 2000- 3AM: I'm waiting for the County Police to let my girlfriend out of jail. She never came home that night- I was on probation and couldn't drink much or do any drugs- urine tests, you see, so I stayed home - but that didn't stop her from going out without me and getting busted for drugs and drunk driving.
At her house we had a terrible row. I'm told that I'm no fun when I don't drink. I point out that getting busted isn't fun, so could she please shut up and go to sleep? My mood isn't helped by having to raise bail money for her, which I think she used to buy cocaine ...I never saw that money again.
We broke up a few days later- on my 34th birthday. I got drunk alone and hoped I didn't get called in for a urine test the next day. I didn't.

September 11, 2001:






Sept. 11 ,2002 -? : In 2002 I was still drunk from 2001, plus I had a lot of Oxycontin left over from surgery... I don't remember much else- I didn't go anywhere or do anything.
2002 was a really bad year for me.
I have nothing to show for 2002. That year never happened.

Sept. 11, 2003- 1 AM: I am out of work , nearly out of money and out of beer. I walk to a nearby pub where I can run a tab. There's a woman there. She asks me how I'm doing.
I tell her I'm broke, have no job, no hope and am only here because it's nearly last call and I really need another drink before they close.
This relationship lasts exactly a week. 2003 was the last year that I got so much as a kiss on my birthday.


Sept. 11, 2004 -All Day: I don't know what I did that day. I don't remember most of 2004- by this time I'd started blogging, but my posts from that time are almost incoherent, and those posts are pretty much all I have to go on in lieu of memory... I was drinking a lot and not very happy, I remember that much. How did I manage to be so unhappy for so long? I wish I could say I've no regrets, but that would be a lie. I have lots of regrets.

Sept. 11, 2005- All Day: All that drinking finally caught up with me. A few nights ago I started vomiting blood.
Lots and lots of blood.
Enough blood to paint my bathroom walls black. Not red- black.
I barely made it to the ER- here is an example of just how fucked-up my thinking had become:
- I live across the street from a hospital. (I'm looking at it right now) After a few hours of bloody emesis, I decided that I'd better get help or I was going to die. I know that the hospital across the street is fives times as expensive as one several miles away, so I chose to drive there instead of walking across the street. The few extra minutes might've killed me , but I got lucky and they didn't. I was a mess.

I had several emergency transfusions and three endoscopies.
I had a seizure on the operating table and almost died, but by Sept. 11th I was off of life-support and only a day or so from being sent home. I was in for five days but it seemed forever.
(I got out the following afternoon)

I haven't had a drop of alcohol since then. Has it really been only a year?
There's a huge feeling of distance between then and now.
Sometimes I feel as if I am only one year old.

Today: One day of work, tonight I'll pack. Tomorrow I'll be in Chicago.

Getting There

The next time I take a picture of this statue, I will not put my finger over the camera lens. The next time will be Thursday.
This in the garden at a Chicago museum which has lots of paintings and sculpture and stuff.
I am not sure what they are featuring at the moment, but I do know I will go there again next week. During one visit they had a Georgia O'Keefe exhibit, another time they had a truly enlightening gallery of 'Degenerate Art'from Germany during the 1920's and 30's, not only was the art amazing, but the history behind the exhibit was fascinating- and terrifying.

Speaking of book burnings:
If you paid any attention to this, you probably know that no problems actually got solved; nonetheless it's good to remind people what can go wrong and how wrong it can go.
Book burnings? Never happen here.
Keep thinking that.


I don't know what's visiting the museum now , but I'm sure it'll be good.

Along the lake is a beautiful park, which I last saw in Spring of 2002:


At the other end of this park is a different musuem, this one is full of animals and caveman stuff. They had a giant Chocolate exhibit last time I was there. It was so good it gave me cavities.



Not far away is another museum- it's the kind where they keep fish. Depending on what's at the nature-stuff museum, I may revisit the fisharium. If not, there is a WW2 U-boat docked down the lake a bit that I'd like to see.
There's yet another museum too- about machines and stuff. I'm hoping it has a Giant Robot Monster Exhibit, but it probably won't.

Friday brings my 40th birthday.

I am packing a clean shirt just for this occassion, sinceI have a feeling that my pic might show up somewhere - otherwise I'd consider travelling sans luggage- I mean luggage is just for carrying drugs , guns and liqour, isn't it? None of these are allowed on planes anymore.

Bummer.

I've always wanted to get laid on a plane, but without drugs and liquor the odds are not so good.

Nothing Works

Chris was getting really tired of listening to the Bear's complaints.He despised his latest office job and he hated all of his co-workers, but the Bear was the worst. The Bear in the next damncube.

"Nobody cares", muttered Whiny the Boo-hoo Bear to himself.
"Nobody cares", repeated Boo, just a little louder.
One more time, louder still.

Boo looked over at where Christopher Sobbin pretended to be engrossed in an Excel spreadsheet. Chris was trying to make his picks for this week's football pool, but that goddamn fucking bear was distracting the shit out of him.
I never should have taken this job, thought Chris. This place is full of fucked-up people, more than I'm used to, and I'm used to a lot.

"Nobody CARES", went Boo-hoo, managing to be both pitiful and loud.

"Jesus fucking nailholes!", exclaimed Christopher, "what the fuck is wrong this time?"

"I forgot my password"

"Again? Dammit...hold on."
Chris wrote something on a post-it note and handed it to the bear.
"Here's your password. Don't lose it this time."

"It doesn't work-nothing ever goes right for me", sighed the insufferable ursine irritant.
"Mr. Rabbid said he was gonna fix my computer real good before he left, but it hasn't worked right since he quit."

"Rabbid didn't quit. He got fired. Because you told Mr. Owl about his thing with Cutlet."

Chris wasn't sure what exactly happened between Rabbid, who was at least 40, and Cutlet, an intern of indeterminate age and gender. Chris hoped that by mentioning it, Pooh would spill the beans, but the annoying fucker was too wrapped up in his self-pity to engage in gossip.

"Here, Bear. Let me take a look." Chris wheeled his chair over to Whiny's cube. He typed in
'Ctrl+Alt+Delete'.
Ugh!

"Goddamnit, you fucking chucklehead! There's honey all over your fuckin' keyboard!"

"That's it!", squealed the bear, clapping his sticky paws together. Chris noticed paperclips and pen caps stuck in the matted mess of Whiny's fur. The bear-smell was so sourly rotten that it made Sobbin wince.
Just because you shit in the woods doesn't mean that you don't have to wipe your ass, Chris mused-not for the first time.

"That's what?"

"My password! H-U-N-N-Y! Honey!"

Christopher went back to his spreadsheet; in his mind he was killing the Bear in a thousand horrible ways.

And they all lived happily ever after.

What If?

I read this post and this post today and it made me wonder what it would be like to be a parent.
How would I explain things to my kids without making them as fucked-up as I am?
By things, I mean everything.
There's a lot of things to explain.

If you read the first post, you'll have seen that kids can also explain things to us;that there is an amazing clarity of thought in pre-adults...um, my mind wanders...oh.
Right.
What happens to that clarity? Is it ruined by over-exposure to adults?

I lost my clarity cherry when I started binge-drinking and dropping acid at age 14; I understand that this is not considered normal.
I certainly wouldn't let my kids get like that.
I hope.

I'd be a helpless parent. I fear I wouldn't be able to give answers to basic questions- for instance: if your child asks you, " what are thoughts?", what answer do you give?

My Kid: "Daddy, what are thoughts?"

Me: "Thoughts are the voices in your head that tell you what to do."

My Kid: "You are the only one who hears those. What are thoughts, daddy?"

This is the cue for my ex-wife to drive in to pick up the kids, saving me from having to answer the question.

"Ask your mother- see you next weekend!"

I'd watch my entire life climb into an SUV, my SUV, our SUV and disappear, just like they do every Sunday.

I'd shuffle my feet and wonder where it all went wrong.

What's In Your Mouth?

The Pretty Office Thing never says hello to me.
She never returns my smiles when we pass in the hall.
That isn't unusual here- not many people here smile- they are not in the business of smiles. It is a Law Firm.

Anyway, I was shocked when Pretty Office Thing addressed me at lunchtime- it took me a second to realize that she was talking to me, as she called me 'Hamilton', which is not my name.

"Hey, Ham, whatcha eatin'?"

-no reply-

"Hamilton? Whatcha got?"

"Mmmph -*swallow* - pasta salad." ( and a delicious fantasy involving you and warmed chocolate syrup, but I don't say that)

"Mmm...looks good- c'n I try some? where'd ya get it?"
( I drop a little on her plate using a fork that's been in my mouth. She's OK with that, which is a good sign.)

"I made it. I've been eating it for days. Would you like more?" ( I really enjoy watching you put food in your pretty mouth. Please ask for more)

"Sure. This' really good. Where'd you get the recipe?" ( She is totally digging my pasta salad- for me this is as good as 'Second Base'!)

"Didn't use one. "

She pauses, looks down at the spiral noodles, then resumes eating. It's good stuff.

"Oh. You really made this?" ( Why is that surprising? Perhaps POT , like most attractive women, is accustomed to having men lie to her. I'm not above doing that, mind you, but I wouldn't fib about pasta salad-I can actually make pasta salad)

She eats some more and considers this. It's been a while since I've seen a woman with my food in her mouth. I'm surpised at how much I enjoy watching her. Such a pretty mouth...she asks me a question- I barely hear her- I am quite distracted by this unexpectedly erotic experience

"How? Tell me how."

"How... what ?" ( How about this table-top , right here, right now? We'll probably break it, but so what- How's that sound?)

"How did you make this?"

"Oh. Boiled some pasta, drained it, cooled it , tossed in some oil and vinegar and garlic and some veggies, fresh basil ,blah, blah blah ...not much to it, really."

"Oil and vinegar? Like in Italian dressing?" ( Ok, so maybe POT isn't really bright, but she is a babe and she's eating my pasta and being nice to me, so don't laugh at her.)

"Yep.Exactly. In a pinch , you can even use Italian Dressing."
( And if you wanna play with the Italian Dressing, don't use the Fat Free kind. No oil = no lube)

"Cool. Hey, Ham, can you write that down for me?"

"Sure. I'm Allan, by the way." ( And I will write this down as soon as I get on-line)

This, to me, is awesome. I now have an excuse to approach POT-with a hand-written recipe, no less!
I'm sure you've heard the old cliche: " The ticket to a man's heart is his stomach"? Well, the ticket to a woman's , um, heart, takes the same path.

So I write down a recipe for POT and deliver it to her cube as promised.
Of course, this presents itself as a marvelous chance to ask her to dinner. I've not had a chance to demonstrate my culinary talents to a woman in quite awhile- I've got the whole wonderful event planned in my head- I will even tidy up my apartment when I get home, because I am sure she will say 'YES'.
The weekend is almost here!


"Here you are, as requested."

"Hey, thanks- that was quick! I appreciate this!"

"My pleasure...say, if you aren..."

"My boyfriend loves pasta salad, but he buys it from the store."

"Oh. (Philistine!) Hey, I forgot something on that recipe, can I see it for a sec?"

Directly under the last bit (1/4 cup chopped parsley) I add:

-1 heaping tbsp. saltpeter

-2 tsp. arsenic

Make Money Blogging pt2 ( w/ BIG update)

You may be aware that I am the inventor of Whalanol. Whalanol is a blubber-based petroleum additive- 'Google' it and any link you find will eventually lead back to this very blog.
(Before I invented it, whalanol yielded zero hits)
Some sites actually picked it up as a news item , re-wrote it slightly and used it as filler.
Some just flat-out cut and pasted the whole post.

I wonder how often my blog ( and yours, yours and yours...even yours) gets plagiarised and used as 'content' for bogus web-sites?
Offhand, I'd guess this happens all the time.
I just got lucky because 'whalanol' is Google-friendly , which made it easy to find the culprits.

Months ago, at the urging of a blogpal, I sent some posts in as submissions to this site, 'X' , and never heard a word again...just another scam, I figured. Months and months have passed since then...
The emails from site 'X' must've gone into spam limbo, but I recently got a note from Paypal- money from site 'X' had been deposited into my account...payment for an article- which was just a pasted post, really.

So whatta ya get for inventing something that doesn't exist?

Man, I was all trembly with anticipation at opening this email.
Trembly with anxiety.

My first thought was: " It's a good thing my Paypal doesn't link to my main personal bank accounts, because someone has certainly hosed me."

Surprise! Money was placed into my account from 'X'. It seems that they went out-of-business shortly after purchasing three (@ $ 6 ea.) nonsense blogs from me and were closing all their accounts. The stuff they bought was utter shit, which might explain why they don't publish any longer...


Eighteen bucks! Whoo.

Still, it beats Google Ads.

Scam Update: The publisher is still there- I didn't make the minimum pay-out amount. Not sure why they paid me...

That's the scam , see? All these pay-per-click ruses don't pay until you reach a certain amount of revenue- say $25 or so, but almost no one actually reaches that level- and those that do are er, um, totally fucking insane, even by my own extremely lax standard of sanity.
Here's a good one
I got the link from site 'X'.
It's a Ponzi scheme involving junk email. There should be a specific sub-division in the Inferno for the perpetrators of this sort of con.
Check it out- you get $0 .02 USD for every junk email you 'read'. (I'm guessing this means clicking it open, maybe hitting a link)
So- how long could that take? Ten seconds?
OK.
At 10 seconds per junkmail, you can read 6 emails a minute.
That's 12 cents a minute.
Or $7.20 per hour, assuming you can receive and read emails at the given rate for an entire hour without taking a single break at all.
If it works as well as stated, you can earn up to $288 just for spending 40 non-stop hours staring into your monitor and scanning junkmail. You'll need to open 2,640 junkmails a week to make that $288- I don't know how you feel about junk email , but to me 2,640 is an awful lot of junk mail, more than I am emotionally equipped to handle.

2,640 junkmails a week. Imagine what sort of dreams you'd have after reading 2,640 spams.

Madness.

Oh, yeah- you also get referral cash.
Always avoid schemes involving referral cash- it's code for 'pyramid scheme'.
See, you sign up someone, and they sign up two more people and so on- usually there is a 'start-up' fee involved (this is where the actual money comes from) but in this specific link the cash comes from sleazy advertising brokers (spammers) with less than scrupulous clients- those Gift Certificate ! Free Laptop! Take Surveys for $$$ emails - read the fine print.Those things do send themselves, but they don't do it for free.
Someone is paying someone else to send you that spam- and they've got a network of monkeys opening the mail they send mail for 2 cents a pop.
That way, they can point to the 'click-thru' statistics to convince clients that their advertising dollars are well spent- see, they'll say, look at all the traffic you'll get...you will reach your target audience!- especially if your target audience works in an internet-based virtual sweatshop.
Read that fine print.
(Actually, don't read it -opening the mail puts money into the bastard's pockets )
You will find the emails are almost always sent by a second or third party and aren't endorsed by or remotely connected to the product or service offered. It's still legal, but just barely.

Curiously, $288 per week is about average for working at the local McDonalds- and McDonald's will also pay you to refer your friends as new employees.

Curiouser- I just submitted this post to site 'X'- I haven't even blogged it yet- and it was returned as being a duplicate of an article already submitted. I just wrote this!
What gives?
(And yeah, I thought to remove the link- I thought that it was the duplicate...)
------------------

Geekdom Update:

I updated my links using what must be the laziest method yet devised:

I just copied the source code from another blog, cut out the redundant links and pasted the whole mess directly into my template.
Took 40 seconds.
See if you can guess who I ripped off.

I've also learned why I can't switch to Beta- it's because I'm a 'Team Blog'- my West Coast blogpal Susanne sometimes posts here and has access and stuff.
She's been reading my blog for years and I'll be damned if I 'kick her out' just so I can easily add doo-dads to my site.

Some new links added- check them out- and some old ones were removed.
Mostly, this was done because the sites are defunct, notably:

- My Old Pal Jerky has closed up shop at the Daily Dirt, which is a shame. His site was a much better news source than the TV, with the bonus of being really, really funny.
His site was my first bookmark- in fact, I contracted blogging fever as a frequent political conspiracy ranter on Jerky's site, which was sponsored by porn ads- the money from those ads has vanished and now, so has the Daily Dirt...Jerky continues to rock on, though!

-And...eh, why bother? Life's too short.

Car Trouble

My brother drove out from Chicago last week when we thought our Granma was dying-(a false alarm, thank Godzilla) and his car broke shortly before he was to return home. Good thing it broke here and not in Ohio or the West Virginia mountains on the way home- all that Deliverance banjo-pluckin' pig-squealin' stuff is true- only a million times worse.
Not really.

One night many years ago I was playing guitar in a band called Glass- in hindsight, they were 'emo', but with my pal Mike on drums and myself on lead guitar we had a real hard punk/psychedelic edge- we had just played an outdoor weekend party and the drunken rednecks had loved us, it was our only good show, come to think of it...the singer and bass player were planning on kicking us out because we ( mostly me) were too "unorthodox" for the sound they wanted. They weren't gay or Goth, but they wanted to people to think they were, wanted to be in that scene...puzzling,really, how they'd be unhappy because an audience was lovin' their music.
Fuckin' elitist snobbery, is what that is.

The crowd at the final mountain show- hundreds of folks from all over the state- really liked us. A lot of good local bands played at those parties since there really weren't any clubs out there and the audiences were sharper than you'd expect. They really liked the weird heavy shimmer sound we had. Lots of bikers and longhairs, no fights, no cops, lotsa dope- fun! All the bands were well received, always a big plus ! Playing for cheering masses...that is rare and awesome.

Funny thing- the crowd's going yahoo apeshit crazy and meanwhile the singer's mentally rehearsing the "you are fired" speech that he's going to give us afterwards.
He was actually pissed that the crowd liked us- we had 'ruined' his vision of the band -we rocked!- and it didn't matter that people really enjoyed it. People like that shouldn't like it,was his opinion.
It wasn't pure enough - we had soiled it.

On the way home, their car broke down on a lonely-ass mountain road. I was with the singer, his GF and the bass player- Mike the drummer had gone ahead with others.
Lucky drummer.
It was close to midnight and this was before cell-phone days...we took turns fucking about with the motor- no go.
After a while , a couple drunk rednecks show up and ask if they can help.
Seems the transmission is shot...maybe....perhaps I could call a tow from the store ahead? They were headed that way before it closed- someone need a ride to a payphone?
I look at my bandmates , who are still wearing mascara and black lipstick from the show ( no makeup for me)
and decided that they would be bad choices to venture into Hillbilly Hollow. The girl was not an option, obviously.
Sure, I'll go.

It'll give me a chance to get away from you guys and smoke a joint...

Redneck #2 volunteers to stay behind. This scares the girlfriend- of our intrepid group , I was the oldest and by far the most worldy-these Art School kids were terrified, but my 'Spidey Sense' never flickered - the kids were even scared shitless of the bikers at the party despite the fact that the biker audience was rockin'- now they are afraid of Pickup Truck Guys who are being as nice as can be...strange, sheltered pre-emo kids.
Just tell them you are in the band and they will be nice to you, I told the kids. Maybe they took ecstasy or something-they hid in the trailer a lot before the show...I mingled.
(I liked the bikers- they had the best drugs)

anyway...

I ride with one guy to the store- he points out an abandoned house- that's where Patsy Cline was born, ya know? We smoke my joint and he tells us we can stay at his house if we can't get the thing running. There aren't any motels and the garage won't be open on Sunday-but he can probably fix it in the morning anyway.
Nice guy, really.
We get some beer and I call- no towing available until morning. OK, I guess we'll take ya up on that offer, much obliged.

On the way back , Truck Guy asks," you know why my buddy stayed with your friends, dontcha?"
"No, I don't" . I'm a bit alarmed.

"Well, you seem normal, but those guys might get in trouble, 'specially if the Sheriff came, so Rudy (whatever) stayed by jus' in case"

"Why?"

" 'Cos they're faggots."

He says this plain-as-day, like I should know what he's talking about, like it's taken for granted that they would be in danger.
Oh yeah- the guys in the band wear berets and mascara, not often seen in Appalachia-especially that long ago.

He thinks the girl is my GF..hahaha, I laugh- nah man, it's just this band thing like Alice Cooper or Kiss- he seems relieved at hearing this. Maybe in the morning we could play a song for his wife- she likes Alice Cooper, he tells me.

anyway..

We get back to the car and a couple guys from the party have already stopped and are fixing it enough to get it home. One of them says "awesome show, man" to me, over and over. We drink beers while the mechanic guys do magic redneck motor tricks.

All the way home I listen to the kids whine about the "dirtball hillbilies" and how one of them got grease on the dashboard and how the other one smelled so bad...totally ignoring the fact that these same guys had just saved our collective ass and had even invited us into their home if needed.
Shit, I was kinda lookin' forward to getting wasted all night- instead, when we got back to town I was told that I wasn't in the band anymore and dropped off at my home, guitar in hand.

That band never played again.

Can't Have It

I am not allowed to convert this blog to Blogger Beta.
So, I created another blog under a different name and specs- not a problem to do that, as long as I use a new 'name'.
Sign into Beta as 'myself'?
Can't be done.
No Beta for me.
I did get a nice letter from Blogger- they have reviewed my blog and found that it is not 'spam' (?) and will not be deleted- thank Godzilla for that.
Nice of them to tell me.

What causes this? Have I been flagged?

When I get home, I'll fill up my shiny new blog.

Experts State the Obvious ( and so do I)

I'm not sure why this is considered news, but there's yet another study out today; repeating what most of us already know:
Fucked-up parents produce fucked-up kids.


Children who grow up with alcoholic parents bear emotional, behavioural and mental scars, experts say.

Many of the children of alcoholics, even those who would perhaps have been withdrawn, could grow up to be likeable, kind and intuitive.

But the problems surfaced when they had to confront difficulties.

The report said: "Their feelings about themselves are the opposite of the serene image they present - they generally feel insecure, inadequate, dull, unsuccessful, vulnerable and anxious".

They also struggled to develop strong personal relationships.

It's actually far worse in reality than this excerpt indicates, if this is your life you know that.
If it's not , consider yourself lucky, but you will never be able to understand how hard it can be to 'outgrow' this crap.

I'd like to think it does get 'better', but I'm not sure what that really means. Does it mean normal?
I don't know what that is. I've never had 'normal' in my life, I'm not sure I could stand much of it really...but some stability would be nice.

And someone.
A person.
Some one.

And that's hard- it's asking a lot. I've had women tell me that "hey, no big deal about the booze...you quit right?- but there's something else..." and then there's a 'but', which of course is the drinking, although this isn't what they say.
Can't blame them, really.

Years ago, during a brief period of State-mandated sobriety, I found out how hard it was to date an alcoholic if you don't drink. I was talking of this to a friend today, but what I didn't get a chance tell my new friend was that I really loved my GF at the time, and it really broke me up that she would rather quit me than quit drinking.

Years after that, I had decided I would rather quit living than quit drinking.
It was the bleeding that made me change my mind, though I hadn't heard it put quite that way until today.
The bleeding made someone else quit too- more than the blood loss, so much bleeding...everywhere.
There's a lot of other types of bleeding that come after the transfusions and surgeries...
...after the decision to keep going on is made, the bleeding still continues. A little.

Emotional hemophilia.

Emophilia? (Hah! I like that)

Sometimes I write about that lingering bleeding. I don't really enjoy doing so, but I do it anyway.
It makes many people uncomfortable, and for this I am sorry.
It is part of me and I can't change that. For this I will not apologize.

"Damaged goods seeking same" ( because no one else understands).

I wrote about this a while ago - through a miracle of cyber-synchronicity that writing found its way to the person for whom it was intended.
I didn't know they existed when I wrote what I did, but they do exist.
How do I know they exist?
The message was found.
It was read. It helped a little.
That's all I know.
I don't know what that means to anyone else, but it means a lot to me.

Give and let give

According to ask.com I am #2 of 5,940 in ...well, let's just say I really ought to be able to get a date.

Lost & Found Dept.

FOUND: SOFA-BED


One white sofa-bed combination, soaking wet.
Lost during last night's storm?
Found next door. It's slightly drier than it was this morning.


It's right where you dropped it. You can't miss it.

-------

LOST: MUSEUM


This path and bit of stairs used to lead to the Va. Museum of Fine Arts North Wing. At present, they lead to a metal construction dumpster. (I had to hold my cam above the fence to get this pic, btw)
Behind the dumpster there appears to be a giant hole in the ground where the entire North Wing used to be.
Several signs indicate that there will be a museum here again.
A bench (foreground) is provided should you care to wait.

I'm not waiting. I'm traveling. In ten days I'll be in Chicago and the museums in Chicago kick serious ass. See this?:

The last time I was there, this building was full of chocolate and dinosaurs.
This isn't one of my crazy Interweb delusions- it really was!

Let me repeat:

Chocolate and Dinosaurs

How much better can it get?

Honey, I'm Home!