Do'h-erty!

Wow, is it possible for Pete Doherty NOT to get arrested? I really liked the Libertines, but he's so icky, it's mind-boggling, and this latest creepiness is even more so.

At one point, he was arrested three times in one day.

Rocker Doherty arrested after drugs photos
Sat Apr 29, 2006 4:06pm ET169

LONDON (Reuters) - British rock singer Pete Doherty was arrested on Saturday after a police investigation into a tabloid photo which the paper said showed him injecting drugs into a female fan's arm as she lay unconscious.

It was the latest brush with the law for the 27-year-old, who is more famous for his on-off relationship with supermodel Kate Moss and his public battle with hard drugs than as the frontman of punk outfit Babyshambles.

"At 0800 this morning (0700 GMT) a man aged 27 years old was arrested on a street in an east London borough on suspicion of administering a noxious substance recklessly," said a police spokesman.

"He is in custody at the police station and inquiries continue."

The Sun tabloid printed the picture on Friday, saying it and another showing Doherty injecting himself with an unknown substance were taken at his home in Hackney, London, within the last five weeks.

Doherty has made a string of court appearances in recent months on drugs charges.

Last week he was arrested for suspected drug possession only hours after a judge spared him a jail term and ordered him to undergo rehabilitation for previous narcotics offences.

The pictures came seven months after the Sun's main British tabloid rival the Daily Mirror printed photographs apparently showing Moss snorting cocaine while Doherty and his bandmates recorded in a London studio.

Those images prompted several fashion houses to drop Moss, although her career has thrived since she left a drug rehabilitation center in the United States in October.

Blooming

Took this (R) at the Conservatory in Lincoln Park. Those flowers had very deep bells, and I didn't quite capture the intensity of their purple with my little camera. Those flowers were large, larger than a kiwifruit, perhaps the size of large Roma tomatoes.

They've got a Spring Flowers exhibit there right now, and had a lot of pretty plants blooming, filling the Conservatory with wonderful scents and beautiful colors.

Nice place to go, since it's been so rainy and gloomy these past few days.

There was a wedding party in one of the wings of the Conservatory, getting their pictures taken amid all the flowers.
I didn't have enough shots on my digital camera to capture all the flowers that I wanted, but I figure I'll go back soon and take some more pictures.

Here's a shot of the Koi (L) in the Koi pond which is at or near the Orchid Room -- I can't quite remember, since it was all so dazzling. They were busy looking for food, in their typically fishy way. Of course, we're not allowed to feed them, but that doesn't prevent them from trying to get people's attention, anyway!

There were some amazing orchids in the Orchid Room, but it was hard to get them to really look good in pictures -- not because of the flowers themselves, but because of the setup in the room, like the background and what-not.

I like the Conservatory. It's a pleasant little sanctuary. I wish it was larger, although if it was, they'd probably have to charge admission for it. They need more benches, too, where you can simply sit and bask in the beauty, instead of clumsily crouching where you can find a spot to drink it all in. Of course, there's so much foot traffic there that you can't get too much peace or solitude, but every now and then you find a nook where you can, and it's nice.

Helter-Skelter Eyes

You know you're in deep if even Fox News goes after you.

Blech.

Most definitely sick. Not seriously, of course, like that 100-Day Cold from hell in February, but still, it's annoying.

As for my ambitions/dreams, the main one I focus on is writing. I'd rather be a writer who can act than an actor who writes. If I can make a go of writing, I'll moonlight in actorly stuff, for fun, since I perform almost instinctively, and would enjoy it without having to succumb to the pressures of acting as a profession. Actors are at the mercy of so many nefarious forces, it would be really threatening. Writers have their own bugaboos, but I feel like they're more manageable, and less time-dependent.

For most of my years, I always seemed to look older than I was -- people usually guessed I was about 5 years older than my actual age. Which was great when I was 16 and trying to buy beer (and succeeding -- heh, in retrospect, it was an early part I played: donned my Corvette baseball cap and sleeveless black t-shirt and jeans, and bought myself a case of beer without getting carded. My friends thought I was a rock star, and I couldn't believe I'd pulled it off, either -- I half-expected bumping into a cop while walking out with the beer). When I was 15, 19-year-old girls flirted with me, until they found out how young I was -- the virtues of height, I guess, and a somber bearing. One of them, Paula, said "Too bad you're not 18..." and I was thinking *Aw, come on!!* I'd catch crap from the older guys, who resented when the gals would pay me attention, since I was the baby of our group. This was at a fast-food place where we all worked, back in 1985-86, long, long ago, back when they still had the rust-colored polyester bell-bottomed uniforms. *shudder*

When I was in college, people thought I was a senior, even though I was just a freshman. It had advantages, I guess, womanwise. But at some point, weirdly enough, when I reached my 30s, I caught up with my age. Not like I looked like I was in my 30s forever, but somehow when I reached my 30s, people stopped guessing that I was older than I was. I stabilized. That's good, from an actorly perspective. Hopefully I'll stay in that range for awhile. If not, no problem.

I kind of wasted my 20s, some. I didn't do nearly as much as I wanted to. Did a lot of political stuff, but didn't do as much inner stuff as I'd wanted. That kind of flared up more in my 30s, when it was The Time of Getting Serious. I mean, the 90s were fun -- probably the last fun decade we'll have in America, at the rate things are going.

Anyway, enough on that.

C.O.D. 3

I'm almost hooked on Group Hug. Not quite, but almost -- I kinda like PostSecret better, but it's still fun to see what people write. I'm going to not blockquote them, so they look slightly less assy when laid out in this template...

I just saw the most beautiful picture of my friend and her boyfriend, who is much younger than she, and I got so jealous that I almost cried, and I have not cried in months, not since before my own boyfriend, who I loved, found out I cheated on him and left me. I just said all these horrible things about her in my mind about how she's annoying and fat and insensitive and I was so incredibly jealous that she gets to be in love and I don't anymore. Because I ruined what I had and she is irritating beyond belief and she just for some reason gets the willpower not to cheat on the person she loves. And they really love each other. And I really hate her for getting that when I didn't and I do not care that it's my own fault.

I guess I'm not really her friend.

===

i have a hard time saying "no" to ppl and it has cost me...alot... ive lost countless girlfriends and many friends all because i feel the need to make every1 happy. i realize i cant make every1 happy all the time but i honestly try. but the more i try to make ppl happy the more ppl i end up hurting. and honestly i've hurt myself the most, i feel very empty and cold but everyday i wear a fake smile and sacrafice myself in the name of humor, or simply to see a true smile on someone elses face. it is in those few moments that i actualy feel less empty but it is only a faint flicker of warmth in a cold empty shell of a man. as much as i want to change and be able to say "no" and maby even build a relationship with a person and know that i wont end up hurting them, i know that i cant my mind/body wont allow me to. i am a whore 4 others happyness

===

i got handcuffed last night for "profanity in public" and misconduct. all i yelled at the cop was "go home and feed your kids", but it was over the sound of music and other people talking, so i don't know how he sorted me from the rest. later he said that he heard me saying "f the police" or some crap like that, but i wouldn't talk to them. then he drove me about 6 miles into another part of the beach area and dropped me off without my wallet, but he didn't find my cell phone when he searched me. they took off the cuffs, wrote me the ticket and left. i called my roomate who now calls me "Typhoon" since they dropped me off near typhoon saloon, and he picked me up. i just needed to vent, because i'm tired of dick cops like the one i met last night. i hope no one ever has to deal with that. thanks grouphug!

As usual...

...inspired by something I saw on Amy's blog, I want to run with it a bit. People ding Socialism for its emphasis on equality -- they say "People aren't equal" and view it as "making everybody the same" in some cartoonly dystopic Harrison Bergeron kind of sense.

But, in truth, we are all equal, in that we are all human, and, lacking a standard of human perfection (some would say Jesus would qualify, but even the most fervent Christians fall woefully short of Christ's example). We're all born, we all grow up and old, and we all die. People haven't quite yet worked their way around that, although I know money is being spent on death-avoidance and longevity.

There's another way we are equal, though, not just in our mortality. It is in our own individuality and uniqueness, and in the variability of our talents. Everyone is good at something. Everyone has a talent, something that they are either really good at and/or really enjoy, and which fulfills them.

So much of our society is devoted to looking outside yourself, at externalities -- "If I get X, I'll be happy." -- but I think a surer path to happiness is rooted in some earnest introspection, and an assessment of: 1) what you're really good at, and 2) what you enjoy doing.

Throwing aside issues of profitability, people need to get an understanding of their own talents. Some people devote their lives being lawyers, when really they would have made better dancers. Or instead of being an office worker, they'd really rather be a fisherman. People need to be honest with themselves and follow their particular bliss -- therein lies a more honest Socialism, as I see it, because if everybody did do that, our society as a whole would benefit, and humanity would benefit.

Instead of raising economic expectations as the only meaningful arbiter of value, people need to ask themselves what they're good at, and what they enjoy doing. And if more people began doing that, then we'd have a broader standard of excellence, and a novel equality would arise.

Does that make sense? I mean, people often talk about the jobs nobody wants to do, but there are probably people who would want those jobs, if they paid well enough. The way our society works at present, the nicest, most pleasant jobs also pay the best. The truly rotten jobs don't pay well -- but perhaps if more people began devoting time to exploring their own talents and desires, they'd leave behind those jobs that they're holding just to make ends meet and pursue whatever their particular dreams are, which might then create demand in those rotten jobs that would lead to an increase in wages for those particular jobs.

This probably sounds like liberal drivel, but it makes its own kind of sense to me. Life's just too short to waste doing things you don't want to do, and I think every sane person is honestly good at something. It gets more complicated when you think about people who are good at killing, I suppose, but I think those people are a minority -- I mean, if we were all natural killers, there'd be no need for boot camp to train people to be soldiers!

Anyway, a lot of people spend time trying to do what they think they're supposed to be doing, and they don't pay attention to what it is that they actually enjoy doing, and what they're actually good at. The keys to bliss lead thataway, in my opinion.

Cold

I didn't fight off the cold. It waltzed into my lungs around midnight. Darned rude of it, if you ask me. I took some cold meds to stave it off.

Work continues on the story, though not as much as I'd like, because the cold distracts me. I only got around 700 words on it this morning, which is about half what I usually write on a good day. I'll go back to it later today, see if I can reach my personal quota.

Ahh, Keira Knightley...

And the world's sexiest woman is...
Thu Apr 27, 2006 8:09am ET168

LONDON (Reuters) - British actress Keira Knightley was voted the world's sexiest woman in a magazine poll on Thursday, beating model Keeley Hazel and Hollywood star Scarlett Johansson into second and third place respectively.

The poll, which British magazine FHM said was based on two million votes, saw homegrown model and TV presenter Kelly Brook slip to 5th from first last year, while Angelina Jolie, expecting a baby in mid-May, came fourth.

Beyonce Knowles was the sexiest pop star at number seven and Russian tennis player Maria Sharapova the top sportswoman at number 56.

FHM said the poll was the only one of its kind voted for entirely by the British public.

Sikeclops

Inspired by Bohemian Girl's cool ECU portrait, my own feeble effort (my camera lacks the zoom option, so I'm a bit blurry!) Let's try some natural light...

Gurk.

Work blew today. Busy busy busy routing manuscripts while coworkers feuded with each other. I'm an editor (shhh, don't tell). My workplace is dysfunctional, very poorly managed, leading to little turf wars between groups and individuals. Anyway, it was complicated and stressful, and I'm just glad to be home and away from it.

Drowning in Ink's Amy went to a Socialist meeting, which I found pretty bold, given how nutty and cultish so many of the hardline Socialist groups are, Stateside. Socialism had a chance in the US, back before WW I. After then, hah -- anybody who's a diehard Socialist, Trotskyite, Maoist, Marxist-Leninist, or Stalinist in this day and age is dreaming, or deluded, or looney, or perhaps all of the above. Any idea of a party vanguard leading the workers to Utopia(tm) is just a sick joke, what postmodernists like to call an "emancipatory metanarrative."

The Scandinavian countries took the best route toward Socialism, the democratic socialist route, but overall, most "Socialist" countries have as much to do with Socialism as "democratic" countries do with Democracy. The exigencies of power, authority, and control ultimately derail efforts at political liberation. I think the social and cultural spheres are where it has to happen, versus the political sphere. But enough of that.

What else? I'm cooking a salmon salad sandwich with provolone on sourdough bread, pan-frying it in extra-virgin olive oil. Yum!

C.O.D. 2

Lots of bawdy ones on Group Hug today, so I went for some silly ones, instead...

i wish i could kave a perfect kiss, like what u see in movies how people lightly kiss eachother then they back away ,look into eachothers eyes,then look at eachothers lips, then so lightly liss eachothers lips then back away just a little and when they come back in to kiss again they open thier mouths and when thier mouths are closing thier lips meet while thier still closing then they repeat it ......i saw my friend kissing his girlfriend so prefectially like that and i got sooo jealous because ive never haad a kiss like it
===
yep that's right

I love music more than people.
(especially Nirvana: "It's better to burn out than to fade away.")

Wait, wasn't that Def Leppard who said that in "Pyromania"?

I have had lots of cheap chocolate peanuts and I'm listening to Monster Magnet - Lizard Johnny and it's giving me an erection.
And saying "erection" in my head is also giving me an erection.

Heh. Guess he hasn't smoked enough pot, yet.

I wish the South won the Civil War, so us Northerns wouldn't have to deal with the= stupid, redneck, cousin fucking, and igronant people. America would be such a smart country and we wouldn't have a lot of the problems we do. After the North lost, then we would invade the South with our better techonogly and free the slaves. Then we would gave the slaves the West. Then we would let the Southerns fucked with themselves. Every know and then we would bomb Richmond to make sure they aren't trying to get us back.
I pray a fellow yankee moderate gets this post.

Hmmm.

*Koff Koff*

Well, hell. I'm fighting a cold right now. Curses. Just a sore throat right now, and not even a very bad one, so hopefully my bod is fighting it off, but you never know with colds.

Oh, I heard that they're making a TV movie miniseries/drama about bird flu. That seems so astoundingly lame, it almost defies commentary. It's kind of hard to make flu, even deadly bird flu, good dramatic fodder. Stephen King did it well in the first half of The Stand, but I highly doubt they'll be able to pull it off on network TV. I can see it now...

CUT TO FLOCKS OF CANADA GEESE. SCIENTIST HOFFMAN AND SHERRIF KRISTOFFERSEN ARE WATCHING.

Dustin Hoffman (looking with binoculars): Definitely looks like they're coming, yeah.
Kris Kristoffersen: We'd better shoot them.
Dustin Hoffman: We can't shoot all the geese.

CUT TO GEESE LANDING IN POND. CHILDREN PLAYING BY THE POND. WILFORD BRIMLEY SITS ON A BENCH, WHILE TIMMY PLAYS WITH A TOY SAILBOAT

Brimley (talking to TIMMY, his grandson): Now, you don't sail into the wind, Timmy.
Timmy: Sorry, Grandpa. (coughs)
Brimley: (coughing) Lotta goddamned geese on the pond today, huh?
Timmy: I love you, Grandpa (sneezes).

EVERYBODY FALLS DOWN DEAD

CUT TO BILL PULLMAN, AS PRESIDENT

Pullman (grimacing): We've got no vaccine? Not even for me? I'm the President, dammit.
Holly Hunter: Budget cuts, sir. You authorized'em.
Pullman: We're talking about 25 million people, here. Dead.

I don't know who is going to be in it, of course; but I couldn't resist an Outbreak-related jab at Hoffman.

Whatever they do, I imagine it'll suck majorly.

Beantown

Thanks to bohemian girl for the timely meme (*cracking knuckles*) ...

Here are 10 beans that I am spilling...

1. I actually like going grocery shopping.

2. I know how to shoot a bow and arrow, but am not a hunter; I'm a good shot, too.

3. I started swearing when I was 9 years old, and really haven't stopped since then.

4. Sometimes I laugh at inappropriate things, like when somebody says "He drank himself to death" -- that phrase just makes me laugh; same with "I threw my back out." That's just a silly way of putting it. One time, I was in a car wreck with a friend, and when he turned and looked at me, his expression made me bust out laughing, which pissed him off ("Shut up! My mom's gonna kill me!!") But that expression was priceless.

5. I think I'm fairly psychic -- but unpredictably so; I've predicted a lot of useless things over the years, so no luck so far at winning the lotto.

6. I cry at movies -- Shane alone will bring me to fits of sobbing. Doesn't matter how many times I've seen it. Several other movies have that effect on me, but I can't recall them at the moment. Weddings also make me tear up, as clichéd as that sounds.

7. I'm phobic about flying; wasn't always, but got that way after 1998, and I haven't flown since then.

8. I wish I had a full-blood sibling, younger or older -- just somebody to compare notes with, be related to. That would be cool.

9. I stopped believing in God when I was 10, and even challenged the Devil to appear (figuring that he'd be more likely to show up than God, since he's all about tempting mortals and all of that jazz). But, he didn't show up, the bastard. Of course, people might say "How do you KNOW he didn't?" but he didn't. It was a boring, uneventful night. Not even any bad dreams.

10. I cook better than anybody I know, but am not as good at plating and presenting it. Not that anybody minds, because the food is good, but I kinda mind. I respect good presentation, but can't quite nail it.

C.O.D.

Confessions of the Day, courtesy of Group Hug...

I'm sat just reading grouphug atm and about to tidy my room. This is normal.

I'm waiting until "Domo Arigato" by Styx finishes on my mp3 before going for a piss and I'm planning to masturbate to internet porn in about 40 minutes. Is this normal?

I told my parents I got a cut on my foot by glass off a friends driveway when I was riding my bike barefoot(I required stitches). In reality, I cut my foot when I jumped onto a car and got it caught on the wiper blade while trying to get away from a big dog. That was 20 yrs ago!! I am still afraid to tell them because we were not allowed to jump on cars then, and now so much time has passed, how do I bring that up?

I fucking hate cats more than you.

Noselita just came by, grumbling about me blogging (or, more accurately, at me reducing the screen when she walks by). I grumbled about her endlessy looking into my cubicle, being so nosy and all. And so it goes.

AC/DShe v. Hell's Belles

I love it:

AC/DShe

Hell's Belles

AC/DShe have the look down and stick with the Bon Scott era, which I think are points in their favor (and they have better t-shirts), although there's really only one way to be sure: they need a battle of the bands, to see who rocks harder.

An all-female AC/DC tribute band is just too great, like an all-female Zeppelin tribute band. Now I have to look up all-female tribute bands, see what good ones are out there.

Shivers

It's cold and windy today, almost obscenely so, for this time of year. Got a window AC unit for the place (rented it for the "summer") because it's been so hot lately, and then suddenly the temperature crashes, and I can hear the wind howling around the unit, even as the radiators clang and shudder. Ironic, eh? Springtime in Chicago, my dears. Wait, is that rain I hear? Cold, windy, AND rainy? The trifecta!

Psychoboss took off from work midday again, as she usually does. Leading by example? I don't think so. Do as she says, not as she does.

I walked home after work, took some pictures, none of them extraordinary. Some days it's like that, nothing quite connects. Saw a lot of couples in bars for a Monday; probably just taking full advantage of the fleeting good weather.

A lot of Cubs fans were milling about, so there must've been a game yesterday. My favorite was this tawdry nearing middle-aged faded hottie, with voluptuous curves and straight dye-assisted brown hair and overtanned skin in distressed jeans and a very tight navy blue Cubs away t-shirt, her hips swinging too widely for the narrow sidwalk she walked, her thick Gucci shades masking her expression, her coral lipstick standing out against her tangerine skin. I was lucky that I saw her at a corner, where I had room to get out of the way of her hip swivel, or she'd have bumped me into oncoming traffic. She looked like an old Jersey Girl to me, or a recently converted Mets fan.

I dread work today; nothing specific, just going there at all. Some days I sleepwork there -- just sort of coasting along in a daze, and if you asked me what I'd just worked on, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you. The hardest part about finding a new job is pretending you care about the job you're trying to get, because I never do. "Where do you see yourself in five years?" Hahah -- "Hmm, I see myself as your supervisor. I'm firing you."

Someone should send me a meme. I'm a sucker for those. But it should be a good one.

Well, Hell.

I've got just about the nosiest coworker. She'll peek at my monitor as she walks by and say "Hey, Bloggy Bloggington..." -- I've seen her blog, and it's sooooo boring (no, I'm not so mean as to share the address of it; besides, it would make you pass out with boredom).

But I don't see why people make boring blogs at all. Maybe they're just blogging for its own sake, without actually having anything to say, or maybe they're just not interesting people. I don't know. Or maybe I'm just really easily bored. That's possible, too.

Saw some guy on the bus this morning wearing an honest-to-god black beret. Unironically, as far as I could tell. He was a 30-something, and had a shirt the color of a Starburst fruit chew (orange-flavored chew, incidentally) over black jeans and combat boots. He looked to be working on a shooting script, although I'm not 100% sure. It was on lime green paper, and he was jotting things in the margin. He had a troglodytic face, like if Ron Perlman had gotten crossed with William H. Macy and then punched in the chops a few times so his lips swelled up a bit more.

That's a more martial beret than the guy actually had, but it was close, I guess. He wouldn't have passed any fitness tests, for sure, except for maybe competitive eating.

Huffin and Puffin

I like the headline. I'd add "especially the teens that are doing it," since it kills so many brain cells.

Fewer teens realize dangers of "huffing"
Mon Apr 24, 2006 10:47 AM ET
By Amy Norton

NEW YORK (Reuters Health) - About 20 percent of U.S. teenagers admit they have gotten high by inhaling common household products, and fewer understand the dangers of this practice compared with teenagers five years ago, according to a report released Monday.

The findings reflect a drop-off in educational efforts begun in the 1990s to combat the growth of inhalant abuse, says the Partnership for a Drug-Free America, which is publishing the report.

Sniffing or "huffing" vapors from ordinary products like glue, spray paint, nail polish remover and gasoline was once a "fringe" activity, said Steve Pasierb, president and CEO of the Partnership.

But by the mid-1990s, the practice had "exploded nationwide," he told Reuters Health, and even elementary school children were experimenting with the inhalants readily available under their kitchen sinks.

In 1995, the Partnership launched a large advertising campaign that was credited with boosting awareness of the dangers of inhalant abuse -- which include damage to the brain, liver, kidneys, vision, hearing and even sudden death from suffocation or heart arrhythmias.

More importantly, surveys found an accompanying decline in the percentage of kids who'd ever tried huffing, from 23 percent in 1995 to 18 percent in 2001.

But the new findings, based on a national survey of more than 7,200 teenagers and 1,200 parents, suggest awareness has waned and abuse is on the rise.

Overall, the survey found, 64 percent of teens "strongly" agreed that huffing can be fatal, down 19 percent from 2001. And 77 percent strongly agreed that inhalants can cause brain damage, down 9 percent.

"It's a lack of education," Pasierb said, noting that parents and kids alike need more information.

Only 5 percent of the parents in the survey thought their child had ever abused an inhalant, although 20 percent of teens said they had.

Some parents may simply be unaware of the practice, but many may believe that their child wouldn't do it, Pasierb noted.

He said the Partnership is restarting its ad campaign warning against inhalant abuse, because today's middle-schoolers weren't exposed to the educational efforts of the 1990s.

"This is something we need to keep up," Pasierb said.

The campaign includes advice on how parents can recognize signs of inhalant abuse, such as chemical odors on children's hands or clothes, spray cans or soaked rags in their rooms, and physical and behavioral signs such as a dazed appearance, red and runny eyes or nose, irritability and problems at school.

Stellar

Wow, I can see the crescent moon and Venus outside my window this morning. They're very close together in the sky. I like that.

Had a big-time brainstorm with my cynical fable. I was wrestling with it all weekend, which usually makes me depressed, like if I can't sort out the puzzle of the story, but this morning, on my way to work, it occurred to me just how I'd make it work, so I'm happy about that. If I do it right, it'll be a fairly sleazy, sordid story that's magnificently written, which should offer some contrast to the reader(s) and impress them. That's if I do it right. If not, it'll just be so much junk.

Looks like Blogger's stepped on its own dick this morning, is having trouble updating itself, or something. Not quite sure what's going on with that, so this post may not be posted for awhile. Not entirely sure. Sometimes I detest Blogger. Now I see there's a scheduled outage today. Yeah, boys, get things working again!

Rafterman

Kinda weird, eh?

Man Recovered From Raft Puzzles Swedes

Sat Apr 22, 9:14 PM ET

Swedish authorities Saturday were investigating how a man calling himself a "stateless American" ended up floating on a raft of oil barrels and wood planks in the waters between Denmark and Norway.

The man — who carried no identification, spoke perfect English and said his name was George Williams — was found by a Norwegian oil tanker on Friday morning, floating in the Skagerak sea on a raft of four oil barrels held together by a frame of wooden planks.

He told police he had been thrown from a ship several days earlier and now wanted to go to New York, but offered little further information.

He asked to be taken in by Swedish authorities, and shielded his face from photographers when he was taken to a port in southern Sweden.

"If he was thrown off a ship, they must have thrown off the raft for him to sit on as well, so I don't know," Swedish marine police spokesman Bengt Albinsson said. "We are trying to figure out the circumstances, but we will have to see how much he wants to tell us."

The man claimed to be a "stateless American" born in Cape Town, South Africa, in 1959, police spokesman Thomas Fuxborg told newspaper Dagens Nyheter.

"He says he has lived for a long time in the USA, but does not want to say where," Fuxborg said. "He has worked in Europe, but does not want to say where and with what. He is not seeking asylum in Sweden but wants to go to New York."

The man was taken to a hospital in southern Sweden to be treated for dehydration and a frostbitten foot, but did not seem seriously injured, authorities said.

He will be held in police custody until Monday, when authorities will contact the U.S. Embassy to try to confirm his identity, Fuxborg said.

Confessionalism

That Group Hug site amuses me. It doesn't have the visual punch that PostSecret does, but it has tons of entries, some pathetic, some icky, some scary, some amusing, and they go on and on...

My girlfriend says I'm addicted to Texas Hold'em and sex. I wish I could find a way to combine both.

i went to the fair today but the whole reason i went was for the deep fried twinkies i ate ten i cried when i had to leave i had to leave i hate my mom i told her to bring more money.

there is a hanger under my bed and i can't get it out.

to tell the truth, i put it there.

I want to have sex with my mother-in-law. I love my wife, and she is the most beautiful woman I've known. But sometimes, when I'm near my mother-in-law, I just want to take her up to her room and show her what she's been missing for quite some time now. I know I can give her what my wife's stepdad can't. She's an older woman, but certainly not too old... and she's still unbelievably attractive. On occasion I will find reasons to stop by while she is home alone, but nothing ever comes of it. I wish I could make her scream the way I can her daughter.

People are funny.

Black & Tan

Black and Tan are fascist colors, too. Shhh, don't tell Ben & Jerry, or they'll really be upset. They need to bring back Holy Cannoli. Now that was an ice cream!

Ben & Jerry's sorry for Irish "Black & Tan" upset

Fri Apr 21, 2006 2:38pm ET

DUBLIN (Reuters) - Ice cream makers Ben & Jerry's have apologized for causing offence by calling a new flavor "Black & Tan" -- the nickname of a notoriously violent British militia that operated during Ireland's war of independence.

The ice cream, available only in the United States, is based on an ale and stout drink of the same name.

"Any reference on our part to the British Army unit was absolutely unintentional and no ill-will was ever intended," said a Ben & Jerry's spokesman.

"Ben & Jerry's was built on the philosophies of peace and love," he added.

The Black and Tans, so-called because of their two-tone uniforms, were recruited in the early 1920s to bolster the ranks of the police force in Ireland as anti-British sentiment grew.

They quickly gained a reputation for brutality and mention of the militia still arouses strong feelings in Ireland.

"I can't believe that Ben & Jerry's would be so insensitive to call an ice cream such a name and to launch it as a celebration of Irishness ... it's an insult!" wrote one blogger on www.junkfoodblog.com.

"I hope they don't try to launch it here in Ireland or I imagine they'll lose a lot of their fans."

Ben & Jerry's, a unit of Anglo-Dutch consumer goods giant Unilever Plc, prides itself on its commitment to friendly business. Its mission statement includes a pledge to show "a deep respect for human beings inside and outside our company and for the communities in which they live."

Boyle, oh Boyle!

Lara "Thin" Boyle was hot before she got all anorexic. A shame, really. Waste of a good-looking woman.

What the hell?

Saw a commercial for some movie about gymnasts that has Hillary Swank (or a lookalike; not quite sure) wearing a modified Black Flag t-shirt. "Flag" is gone and it just says "Black" and the four-bar flag symbol has been colored in to be a straight black bar. I don't know what they're up to with that, but I don't approve. I'll try to pass along a picture of it, once I see and can remember what it's called.

Got Hipsters?

Do You Have Hipsters?

Funny, though where've you been all these years, sport? If I see one more person in Chuck Taylors, I'm gonna puke on them -- whether the person or the shoes, I haven't decided, yet.

What else am I thinking about right now? My cynical story, yes, yes. I'm going to start on it tonight, while I finish my beer.

I'm trying only to post one picture per four-entry cluster, but it's hard. I want to post more pictures, but I'm really trying to restrain myself, for the sake of the foolish little rules I've set up for myself on this blog, which I haven't really ironed out, but kind of know intuitively.

How much car exhaust have I inhaled today? My lungs are probably full of glass. I remember seeing pictures of smog, based on regions, and city-smog was kinda scary on a microscopic level. Tiny bits of metal and glass and dirt and other nasty stuff -- I think living in the city is the equivalent of smoking X number of cigarettes a day. Nasty.

Art is expensive. I always think up projects, even middling ones, not huge, grandiose things, and they invariably end up too expensive. I've tried to get around it, like culling stuff from thrift stores or found objects, but it still ends up more costly than I'd like -- champagne dreams on a beer budget! I usually just jot the ideas down in one of my notebooks for later implementation, once I get enough money together. Then again, art is where you find it. That's why I'm totally hooked on my little digital camera -- instant fix.

Check this out...

Jumbo architecture turns jet into dream home

Fri Apr 21, 2:39 AM ET

A wealthy California woman is to turn a Boeing 747 jet into a house on some of the most exclusive real estate in the world.

Francie Rehwald wanted a house that was environmentally friendly and "feminine". Architect David Hertz, a specialist in using recycled materials, said she was stunned when he recommended an old 747, the biggest commercial aircraft in service.

The jumbo jet cost about 40,000 dollars from a cemetery for more than 1,500 scrap airliners in the California desert.

The jet is to be moved in parts to a 55-acre (22-hectare) site in the Malibu Hills near the Pacific Ocean and Rehwald admits the final cost will be several million dollars.

The wings will be the main house. The cockpit will become a meditation temple, the jet's trademark hump will become a loft and the remaining scrap will be used for more buildings.

"The whole idea stated very seriously, about a beautiful, sublime architectural piece. It's not just living in an airplane," said Hertz, who runs a design firm in Santa Monica, near Los Angeles.

"The client just asked me to create something that was curvy, linear and feminine," he added, noting the site had a beautiful view toward a mountain range.

"To build -- that would have been very expensive, so I started to think: 'Well, there is something that does that much better, that's a wing,' and then we started to superpose different aircraft wings on the site to find the best size and shape."

"When you look at them, they are very curvy, very soft, and very feminine and thin."

Finding an old version of the 230-foot-long (70-metre-) jet was easy in California because of the desert scrapyard.

Rehwald, whose family set up the first Mercedes-Benz concession in California, bought the 28th of the approximately 1,430 Boeing 747s built up to now. It was delivered in 1970 to TWA and finished its flying time with Tower Air 30 years later.

The architect needs permission from 17 government agencies, including the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), for the project, which still needs final planning permission.

Hertz hopes construction will start in June.

The jet will be cut up and taken in parts by road to the Malibu Hills and then taken by helicopter to the site. "It is thrilling to imagine this wing becoming a roof," said Rehwald.

The roof, however, will have to be registered with the FAA and a red cross painted on it so that planes flying over do not mistake the house for a crashed jet.

The house will incorporate many state-of-the-art energy saving devices, including special air conditioning and a rain-collection system.

"This projects embodies a lot of a philosophies in architecture I've been interested in for many, many years," said Hertz.

"It deals with prefabrication, recycled content.

"Think about the airplane as a giant aluminium can. It's 100 percent recyclable product. It represents an abandoned infrastructure unutilized, billions of dollars of research and development that went into the plane, a 200-million dollar airplane, that you can buy for 40,000 dollars."

$40K for a 747 body? Far out. Guess the shipping and handling would be a bitch, though.

How I feel today

Blah blah blah blah

I'm in a crappy mood today. Nobody's around. It sucks. I'm lonely.

Had this ultracynical writing idea, but I won't share it here (because to me it's like letting the air out of a balloon if I talk about it). Anyway, my mood is black enough to put the idea into practice, see if I can make a story from it. The challenge will be trying to keep it the way I have it envisioned, versus letting it creep into something else. I know, that's all cryptic and what-not, but screw it. It'll either be worth reading or it won't; but the seed from which it springs is the most cynical thing I've ever planted.

In other matters, I know somebody -- I'll call her "Else" -- who sure could use a lot of therapy. A ton of it. Between OC, seething PA, and perhaps depression as a cherry on top, she just could use boodles of therapy. But she'll never do it; not unless everything implodes around her. It's very frustrating, dealing with crazy people, because they expect the world to bend to their neuroses -- maybe that's the definition of craziness, I dunno. You walk off the side of the building because you think you're immune to gravity. There is a certain malevolence to madness, because it doesn't recognize itself, has elaborate rationales up in place. I think Else should check herself into an institution, frankly, and take a break from the world, because she can't handle it, otherwise. I think she may be on antidepressants, but whatever she's on, it's not quite doing the trick -- she needs more. Of course, if I suggested that, she'd flip out and probably never speak to me again. Oh, well. It's not my business, anyway -- but I interact with her a fair amount, and often find that I have to either adapt my routines to suit her neuroses, or else butt up against them and put up with her sulking, pouting nonsense. Long-term plan is simply to disassociate myself from Else. I doubt even a therapist could really help her until she's ready to admit that she's a mess and get something done about it.

Whew

Had a bit of a compuscare this morning: the Blue Screen of Death. I backed up my fiction and photos, and hope that whatever bee got in my Dell's bonnet managed to fly off on its own. We'll see, I guess. Would really rather not have to buy a new computer right now.

I'm eating waffles at this moment. Eggo Homestyle, I think.

Jane's Addiction alumni plot debut album, tour

Thu Apr 20, 2006 3:55pm ET

By Jonathan Cohen

NEW YORK (Billboard) - Rock quartet the Panic Channel, which features former Jane's Addiction members Dave Navarro, Stephen Perkins and Chris Chaney, along with singer Steve Isaacs, will release its debut album, "(ONe)" on September 12 via Capitol Records, the label said.

A two-song digital release of "Why Cry" and "Tea House of the Spirits" will be available May 16. Another new song, "Go On," can be streamed from the band's Web site.

"It's definitely rock," Navarro previously told Billboard.com when asked to describe the band's sound. "The best description I can give you is, if Rush was an alternative band with a little sense of goth. It's like a goth Rush."

The Panic Channel will preview material from "(ONe)" on its first tour, which begins May 16 in San Diego and will run through June 7 in Los Angeles.

For some reason, "it's like a goth Rush" makes me laugh. Is that a selling point? Are they trying to reach Rush fans, or goths??

Poor Eric Avery. He was an original Jane's Addiction alum. Wonder what he's doing these days -- I used to imagine him in bars, drunkenly trying to pick up girls, saying "I was in Jane's Addiction" and none of the gals believed him, or else asked to meet Dave Navarro or Perry. Hey, there's a Wikipedia entry on him. Good old Wiki! Interesting that he turned down chances to return with Jane's; looks like he's a Hollywood brat.

Rotten, you are

My all-time favorite punkrait. Just a great picture, and from what Lydon has said about it, he dressed like a Teddy Boy precisely because the photographer wanted him and the Sex Pistols to "dress like Punks" so Johnny went the other way, making himself look like a Ted. Awesome. And the look, even better. Pure menace!

The Forest in Winter

This clip on SALON is surreal -- comedy, horror, psychedelia.

I like the "meta-translation" -- from Japanese to Russian with English subtitles, or some permutation of that. Adds a layer to it, the gravitas of the Russian narration with the odd wordplay of Anglified Japanese.

Trainwomen

Saw two really beautiful trainwomen today; I call them that because, of course, that's where I see them, ergo, "trainwomen..."

First was a brightly-bottled blonde (I know they keep dumping the "e" off of "blonde" but I just can't bring myself to do it) professionally attired in ivory slacks with a black blouse and a denim jacket. She looked sharp, had a great face, was petite -- of course, she knew how hot she looked, standing there reading her morning tabloid. Big eyes, wide mouth, big lips, petulant gaze. Pretty. Not my type, really, but I could recognize that she was honestly beautiful. All of the fellows on the train noticed her, at least the ones in range. It was funny, because nearby sat a brunette woman with big Jackie O shades on, with a look kind of like "Oh, sure, ogle the blonde, boys. Jerks."

The other was more interesting in a way -- young black woman who had a really striking face -- she could have been Denzel Washington's sister, the way she looked, with a high-cheekboned, regal beauty to her. Her eyes were big and black and had a gaze that could puncture plate glass. Her hair was long and looked to have tiny braided extensions woven into it. She didn't need that, I don't think -- she could have been bald and would have still been beautiful. Her skin was warmly dark. Her handbag was too big, kinda crappy, but she had a Razar (?) cellphone, the dark gray kind.

Well, this sucks

Arthur Lee has leukemia. Not only did he not get into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, but he's got leukemia, now. He belongs in the RNRHF more than Miles Davis ever did. I mean, he's one messed-up dude, did a lot of jail and got into lots of trouble, but he was a huge player in the 60s psychedelic scene.

Love (wikipedia entry). Check out Forever Changes, you'll see how great it is. There's even a remastered version with additional songs and outtakes on it.

Joyce v. Hitler

I'm no fan of James Joyce. I think he sucks. One time I took a swath of Joycean prose and paired it up with Hitler's (since Hitler sucks, too)...

Joyce...

"Hoopsa, boyaboy, hoopsa! Hoopsa, boyaboy, hoopsa! Hoopsa, boyaboy, hoopsa!

Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little perceptive concerning whatsoever matters are being held as most profitably by mortals with sapience endowed to be studied who is ignorant of that which the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the prosperity of a nation more efficaciously asserted than by the measure of how far forward may have progressed the tribute of its solicitude for that proliferent continuance which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunately present constitutes the certain sign of omnipollent nature's incorrupted benefaction. For who is there who anything of some significance has apprehended but is conscious that that exterior splendour may be the surface of a downwardtending lutulent reality or on the contrary anyone so is there unilluminated as not to perceive that as no nature's boon can contend against the bounty of increase so it behoves every most just citizen to become the exhortator and admonisher of his semblables and to tremble lest what had in the past been by the nation excellently commenced might be in the future not with similar excellence accomplished if an inverecund habit shall have gradually traduced the honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that thither of profundity that that one was audacious excessively who would have the hardihood to rise affirming that no more odious offence can for anyone be than to oblivious neglect to consign that evangel simultaneously command and promise which on all mortals with prophecy of abundance or with diminution's menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably enjoined?"

Hitler...

"For as soon as a man appears who profoundly recognizes the distress of his people and then, after he has attained the ultimate clarity with regard to the nature of the disease, seriously tries to cure it, when he has set a goal and chosen the road that can lead to this goal - immediately small and petty minds take notice and begin to follow eagerly the activity of this man who has attracted the public eye. These people are just like sparrows who, apparently uninterested, but in reality most attentive, keep watching a more fortunate comrade who has found a piece of bread, in hopes of suddenly robbing him in an unguarded moment. A man need only embark upon a new road and all sorts of lazy loiterers prick up their ears and sniff some worth-while morsel which might lie at the end of this road. Then, as soon as they have found out where it may be, they eagerly start out in order to reach the goal by some other road, if possible a shorter one."

Good morning, Starshine!

Contented

I may do the four post-a-day thing to beef up the content, and also to keep with a bit of a theme I have going with this blog. Haven't entirely decided, as usual.

That's a pretty big curse...
Mon Apr 17, 2006 10:13am ET169

MOSCOW (Reuters) - Russian police are looking for two mystics who persuaded a student to part with more than $160,000 in exchange for lifting a curse, RIA news agency reported Sunday.

"Two unknown women, on the pretext of lifting a curse, stole $150,000 and some jewelry by means of deception. The total amount stolen is estimated at 4.48 million roubles ($161,800)," the agency quoted a police source as saying.

The victim is a female student at Moscow's elite State Institute for International Affairs, RIA said. Many Russians are highly superstitious. They spend huge sums each year on faith healers and alternative medicine.

Pretty wild that 4.48 million roubles only equals ~$161K. Poor Russia.

Today

Today, today, I'll work on my resumé; well, add the new stuff since January. And when I say "today" I mean "tonight" -- don't want to do it right now. After that, new jobbage. Gonna ditch the nonprofit world once and for all. Nonprofit has all the politics and corruption that's perceived to be in the for-profit world, but doesn't pay as well. Sooo....

This is from a few years ago (work-related; names changed, obviously), sampling some of the daily workflow as if it were an episode of 24:

Now I have this image of the cut-in scene techniques, with multiple faces/events going on at once...

HG: We're screwed. No way can we make this deadline.
Baron: You think?
HG: Yeah.

(same time)

Jungle (sweating): No way can I get all of these manuscripts done myself. (takes gun out from desk, toys with it, brings gun to forehead).

(same time)

Charlie: Christ, why aren't people giving me work? I just don't understand this. I see the schedule, I know the work is there to be done. But why aren't I getting it??

(same time)

Chair: I like teal. It's a pretty color. Yes. And bacon. I like bacon, too.
Jungle (entering): You wanted to talk?
Chair: Did I? I'm talking right now.

>>CUT TO TIMECLOCK<< (with accompanying doom beats counting off the seconds)

Eyebrows

Saw two really tall brunette gals on the train today (maybe 5'11"). One was really pretty; the other, less so. The pretty one had a kind of babyface, and a radiantly white smile -- funny how omnipresent tooth-bleaching tech is these days. She had kind-looking eyes when she looked at her friend, though I thought she'd plucked her eyebrows too much -- those Marlene Dietrich brows always give me the heebie jeebies. Oddly enough, I like nice eyebrows on a gal -- if they're overplucked, it makes me think she's neurotic or something. Audrey Hepburn had pretty decent gal eyebrows.

Whoa.

Fruitcake from ’62 as good as new

But recipient of gift still won’t eat confection found stashed in attic

The Associated Press

Updated: 5:41 p.m. ET April 18, 2006

WAUKESHA, Wis. - Lance Nesta did what many people do when receiving a fruitcake — he set it aside, only to rediscover it more than 40 years later in his mother's attic. Nesta couldn't resist taking a peek at the cake, still in its original tin and wrapped in paper.

"I was amazed that it hadn't changed at all," he said.

Nesta's two aunts sent him the fruitcake in November 1962 while he was stationed in Alaska with the Army.

"I opened it up and didn't know what to do with it," Nesta said. "I sure wasn't going to eat it, and I liked my fellow soldiers too much to share it with them."

As best he can remember, he packed the cake with the rest of his belongings and shipped it home to Waukesha when he left the military a few years later. He recently rediscovered the boxed fruitcake in the attic of his mother's home in Waukesha.

His mom had given him advance warning of the fruitcake back in 1962.

"She knew I hated the damn things, but she said she didn't have the heart to tell my aunts, who had already mailed it," he said.

The cake arrived wrapped in brown paper with a red "fragile, handle with care" sticker on it. The cake itself was contained in a round blue tin printed with the words "Old Fashioned Fruitcake."

"Now it's just old," Nesta said.

While looking at the cake's container this week, he noticed the listed ingredients included rum and brandy.

"If I had known back then that it had rum and brandy in it, I would have eaten it," he said.

Help me think

Of something new. Something true. Today was full of nothing, another wasted day.

Paris Hilton singing. Good Christ, she's so talented. Poor Hugh, having to listen to that off-key warbling skank.

Damn Mark Urchenko. I can't beat him at "Galaca" -- a Galaga-inspired ripoff. I only got to 18th level, a feeble 96,730 points. Tuh.

Dead Man/500 Miles. Jim Jarmusch is probably puking right now.

Hell, yeah!

I'm all over the map this morning. Woo hoo! I'm a sucker for the bloggage! Can't say I have any real plan for this one -- it's going to be whatever I want it to be. I'll try to keep it interesting. Maybe I'll fail, but it's no sweat, I can just as easily delete it and start over with something else.

Pink Floyd, "Arnold Layne"