Stormage

Not a funnel cloud, but a great storm front that moved over the city tonight. The skies are fearful tonight!

20 More Songs

This was inspired by Susannah's response to Amy's aforementioned post. Twenty more songs, these from my iTunes off my PC, set to shuffle, like the other...

1. Angry Samoans, "Gas Chamber" -- good Caliband. Epitomized Punk attitude and brattiness -- not my favorite of theirs, but nice to see them represented;
2. M.I.A., "Tell Me Why" -- one of Las Vegas's only hardcore bands; a good, very 80s sound to their stuff; they were a proficient band, now almost totally forgotten, their name eclipsed by that pop diva of the same name;
3. Articles of Faith, "Acceptance" -- another song by them? Heh. Chicagoans, notable for their three-guitar attack, which was rare for Punk bands;
4. Ted Nugent, "Wango Tango" -- hahah! There's an iSkeleton! Nugent was never too subtle in his lyrical themes; I think you can guess what that song's about;
5. Bikini Kill, "Rebel Girl" -- I had a crush on Kathleen Hanna, and liked Bikini Kill's sound more often than not;
6. The Doors, "Crawling King Snake" -- bluesy bravado, Doors-style; I like the Doors, even when Morrison's getting all drunk/drugged-out poetic and all of that. Also, I can pass for young Ray Manzarek when I grow my sideburns out long, and can do a good vocal impression of Morrison when I sing -- he's right in my range (no, I'm not singing for you!);
7. Jimi Hendrix, "Little Wing" -- pretty song, soft and sensitive; Hendrix was amazing;
8. Les Fleur de Lys, "I've Been Trying" -- they were a solid 60s band with a terrible name; my favorite song by them is "Hold On" (fantastic -- the version with the woman singing it is tops) and "Mud In Your Eye" (great freakbeat tune);
9. the Ramones, "Cretin Hop" -- nothing I can say about them that hasn't been said more often by better folks; it's a fun song, I like it;
10. Elliott Smith, "A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to Be Free" -- pretty, haunting song that makes me think of Beatles tunes; Smith was really something else -- his songs always touch me, make me sad that he killed himself;
11. Roxy Music, "Prairie Rose" -- I love Roxy Music, especially their earliest stuff, when Brian Eno was still with them -- just trippy and glam-sleazy-punky-cool;
12. Iggy Pop, "Candy" (with Kate Pierson) -- a pretty song, always comes into my mind because of a character I have in a story by that name;
13. Big Star, "September Gurls" -- wow, what luck! My absolute favorite Big Star tune! Pretty, dreamy, wistful -- Big Star were awesome;
14. the Belairs, "Mr. Moto" -- I'm a sucker for surf guitar, what can I say?
15. Modest Mouse, "Ocean Breathes Sally" -- not sure if these guys are one-trick ponies or what, but I like what they did on their "Good News..." album;
16. Mission of Burma, "Academy Fight Song" -- a lot of people say they like this song best of theirs; I actually like "Red" more, but this is a good tune, showcases a lot of what this underappreciated band brought to the stage;
17. Placebo, "20th Century Boy" -- a cover of the T. Rex tune; you probably remember this one from the car commercial with everybody grooving to it; great feel-good glam song;
18. Guns n' Roses, "Don't Cry" -- GNR were briefly great, before Axl's ego and the endless drugs and alcohol burned them out, made them a joke -- this was one of their last gasps;
19. Dead Kennedys, "Kill the Poor" -- one of my faves of theirs, full of snarling satire and fast tempos and lots of Jello's attitude -- when I was a teen, I thought they were just so scary a band, and usually liked bands that made me scared, figuring they were onto something;
20. Soft Cell, "Loving You, Hating Me" -- hahah! That might as well be a theme song of mine.
    

Pulp!

SLATE had this piece where they showed how 50s publishers took classics and rendered them as pulps! I liked them all, but the above one might be my favorite. I can imagine the captions being read with a heavy echo.

Pretty Purple Pansies

At least I think they're pansies.

20 Songs

A meme inspired by Amy's efforts, the first 20 songs on my iPod (just randomly picking them on "shuffle")...

1. Articles of Faith, "My Father's Dreams" -- good Chicago hardcore band from the 80s; fast and fiery -- the lyrics kind of resonate with me, too;
   
2. Radiohead, "Knives Out" -- really pretty song, dreamy, haunting -- like so many Radiohead tunes;
3. Black Flag, "Slip It In" -- originators of LA hardcore, deadly-powerful, not for the faint of heart, masters of aggression and feedback;
4. Iron Maiden, "Purgatory" -- cool Metal band; almost jazzy in their amazing complexity; this is off of "Maiden Japan";
5. The Kingsmen, "Louie Louie" -- what's not to like about that one? It's fun, and everybody has covered it;
6. The Renegades, "Thirteen Women" -- a great cover of a Bill Haley & the Comets tune; fuzzed-out guitar and amusing lyrics -- probably my dream world, there;
7. Black Flag, "Depression" -- a good theme song for when I'm in a down mood;
8. The Hellacopters, "Paul Stanley" -- these Swedes do Rock right; simple as that;
9. The Proletariat, "Recollections" -- political postpunk from the early 80s, with amazing guitarwork; reminds me of Gang of Four, but with more guitar bite and more strident lyrics, believe it or not;
10. Slade, "Mama Weer All Crazee Now" -- great song, anthemic and glam-fat guitars, just a good-time tune;
11. The Ramones, "Rockaway Beach" -- one of my favorite Ramones tunes, a carefree, drive-with-the-top-down kind of song;
    
12. The Pagans, "Mixed Emotions" -- a Cleveland Punk band from the 70s, with that odd kind of sound that a lot of those bands had in Cleveland, like mingling pop melodies with punky lyrics;
13. AC/DC, "Problem Child" -- a straight-up rocker, like all of AC/DC's songs, a good song for a summer drive, with a very straightforward melody;
14. Wire, "The Agfers of Kodack" -- off of their "comeback" album, Send, showing that they still have it, nicely distorted sound, up-tempo, urgent sound, with lots of washes of electronic noise in the mix;
15. The Stooges, "1969" -- a year before I was born; good song, bare-bones melody with the Bo Diddley "jungle rhythm" to it, full of simple insolence, a good template for what was to come in the 70s;
16. Hüsker Dü, "Now That You Know Me" (live) -- off The Living End, their live album, one of my all-time favorite songs by them, managing this beautifully melodic urgency, triumphant and yearning and powerful -- like many of Grant Hart's songs for them, just right on the mark; if you hear it, you'll see -- it makes me feel all lovey inside;
    
17. Orange Goblin, "Song of the Purple Mushroom Fish" -- instrumental piece by these British psych-rockers (heavily shaded by Metal); dreamy, perhaps a little menacing, like going for a boat ride on the River Styx, alone -- these guys don't sound like the Brits that they are; they have a very American boogieness to their sound;
18. Blur, "Song 2" -- Woo 'Oo! You know the one; Blur's rocking near-hit, a good time tune that has a sound that makes me think of when Alternative music was really alternative;
19. Franz Ferdinand, "Michael" -- there's sort of a backlash against these guys, but I think they're good, and this song's just too funny with its homoerotic vibe -- it has a section of backward-masking in it, where the guy says ("Call your Mum, she's worried about you!") -- they said that in an interview;
20. Flipper, "The Lights, The Sound, the Rhythm, the Noise" -- Flipper are their own thing, either a love'em or hate'em kind of band, making a droning, incredibly sloppy noise that can drive people insane, but I like'em -- their songs make their own kind of sense.
    

Freaky Friday

Music: INXS, "Don't Change"

I'm not an INXS fan, but that song sort of resonates with me. I remember liking it when I was about 14 or 15, full of youthful hope and promise, digging the Little Drummer Grrl (a friend of mine from then), when nights seemed forever and I had wrestled time to the ground, or so I'd thought, young Punk that I once was. They were a Pop band, but I liked that song, anyway. That one, and a couple others of theres. Shhh, don't tell!

It's funny, but the two other people I know who were Punks "back in the day" are, like me, total norms today -- you'd not blink twice if you saw me. But we always find each other out, just a few words here and there, a reference that only Punks would actually know, and it's like "Ahaaaa, were you a Punk?" I always find that funny when I'm on the bus and I see some kid with a skateboard and a fauxhawk, or a jacket bracketed by safety pins with band names painted on it. They probably see me and think "Norm." with derision, but I look at them and think, "Poseur." At least when I was a proper Punk, it was still a new thing -- being a Punk today means nothing. Less than nothing. Maybe even less than it meant back then! Hahah!

It's dreadfully humid in the city today, making me feel like I'm in a steam room or something. We've been getting freaky-big storms and ample rains this May, once the cold weather finally gave itself up, Winter conceding to Spring, throwing its cold hands up in irritation, while blustery Spring does a festive little rain dance on the city.

I think this summer's going to really be a hot one in Chicago. Just seems like that's how it will be. Bleah. Speaking of "Bleah" -- I passed that intersection at Lincoln Park West and Belden where that poor little girl, Maya Hirsch, was run down by that horrible Roth bastard who did a hit and run, snuffing her sweet little life away because the idiot didn't stop at the stop sign there. People have been putting memorials at that spot, like flowers and teddy bears. And it breaks my heart to see it. I'm so glad that somebody caught that guy's license plate number before he gunned his Lexus up the street and took off. They caught him, and he'll pay for what he did to her. How fitting that a vanity plate was what led him to being caught.

Poetry Thursday

For a special friend, wherever she may be.

She

Chocolate gaze candy-wrapped in amber,
sweetly chimerical smile beguiles
and entrances lucky few who know her.

I'm one, just one, and a fortunate son
to have drawn a line from Me to She
inked by love and courtliest passion.

I don't have the skill to do her justice.
She is better rendered with brushstrokes.
And here I sit without a pot of paint!

To say She's my Muse would only confuse;
she's precious, and so much more than that:
There are just too many words I could choose.


Later: I kind of wonder whether "Cinnamon gaze..." might work better than chocolate. Hmm. Because it would kind of resonate with "Cinnamon glaze" -- see? And maybe the flow is better.

Cinnamon gaze candy-wrapped in amber...

Lily

Seeming

Seems like I need something upbeat to counter the Pete Doherty Deathspiral, I guess. What, I don't know. How about something silly, like this -- there's nothing KISS won't merchandise, I think...

GRAND OPENING OF THE WORLD'S FIRST KISS COFFEEHOUSE ON TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 2006

Myrtle Beach, SC - May 23, 2006 - If you want rock and roll all night, KISS Coffeehouse will be the place to be. On Tuesday, June 27th, legendary KISS band members Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons will be on hand at Myrtle Beach South Carolina’s Broadway at the Beach to cut the ribbon on the most outrageous coffee and dessert shop ever constructed.

Through a deal brokered by Signatures Network, Inc., KISS’s exclusive merchandising company, the KISS Coffeehouse in Myrtle Beach, SC is the first licensed coffeehouse by the band known for their incredible stage show, face paint and full throttle rock and roll.

“The idea was to take the energy and excitement of the live KISS show and bring it into a retail setting,” explains long- time KISS fan and storeowner Brian Galvin. “KISS fans will not be disappointed!” pledged Galvin, who knows firsthand the high expectations loyal KISS fans will have for this concept. The coffeehouse will also serve as an official KISS Army recruiting office, exposing new fans and reminding die-hard supporters why KISS continues to be one of the most exciting bands in history.

With over twenty foot tall smoking KISS boots flanking the storefront and rare KISS memorabilia and costume pieces on display, the KISS Coffeehouse raises the bar for retail design. “This will become a major tourist attraction,” states Galvin confidently. “This is truly the most exciting coffee shop on the planet!”

The KISS Coffeehouse menu will feature Signature KISS Coffee, including Demon Dark Roast and French KISS Vanilla, eight flavors of the KISS Frozen Rockuccino™, the most caffeinated and refreshing coffee beverage on the market, as well as full array of cookies, brownies and cupcakes. For more info and a complete menu list, please log on to http://www.kisscoffeehouse.com/menu.htm

According to Paul Stanley, "The KISS Coffeehouse is our way of providing everyone with the buzz of great, quality treats and coffee filled with enough sugar and caffeine to get the party started, and keep it going!"

Gene Simmons adds, “Every army needs food and drink and the KISS Army is no exception! Even the non-enlisted will find our treats and java rockin' good!”

To add to the Grand Opening festivities, KISS tribute band, KISS Army, will be performing on the Celebrity Square Stage at Broadway at the Beach from 8:00- 10:00 p.m., when a KISS- style fireworks display will light up the sky in front of the shop. Myrtle Beach’s classic rock station, Wave 104.1, will promote the event and will be on site broadcasting live.

In conjunction with the opening, 1,000 bags of the KISS Army Blend will be shipped to the US Armed Forces serving in Iraq. “Anything we can do that lets our brave armed forces personnel know that they are always in our hearts and on our minds is a small token of our deep appreciation for the sacrifices they make every day for us. We pray for their safe return,” said Stanley.

Doherty Deathwatch (2)

It continues. 3 months and counting, as he works his entropic death spiral...

Showbiz News
Drug stunt costs Pete Doherty dearly

Monday, 22nd May 2006, 14:12
LIFE STYLE EXTRA (UK) - Kate Moss kicked and punched ex-lover Pete Doherty after he injected heroin in front of a film crew.

The supermodel allegedly lost her temper and attacked the drug-addled rocker as the pair talked in the street outside her London home.

She was furious after hearing the troubled singer had injected drugs backstage after a gig in Berlin - then squirted a syringe full of his blood over cameramen filming his Babyshambles bandmates.

Doherty told a Swiss newspaper: "She was furious. She hit me until I was black and blue. She whacked me with her fists and feet.

"I'm OK but she injured my finger."

Meanwhile, Doherty has been axed by his record label, Rough Trade, following the stunt.

An industry insider told Britain's Sunday Mirror newspaper: "That was the last straw for Rough Trade. They couldn't put up with that sort of behaviour any longer.

"There's only so much they could take... and Pete's gone way beyond that. Rough Trade backed Pete as much as they could."

A Babyshambles spokesman has confirmed the band are not on the label anymore.

Anonymous

Poor Amy received some anonymous hatemail because she'd written about having children at a young age -- two beautiful daughters (one when she was 18, one when she was 21). I think it's ridiculous than anybody would pass judgment on something like that. It's laudable that Amy chose life, frankly, given the alternative. To me, it says everything in the world that: a) Amy had her two daughters; and b) is proud of that accomplishment; while c) Ms. Anonymous engages in a cowardly, hateful attack, and d) Amy graciously forgives her attacker.

It's difficult to fathom what Anonymous's beef is with Amy. I mean, should she have put her career first? Or is the attacker taking some kind of weird puritanical stance with her?? Either way, I think the picture of her daughters that she posted was the best refutation she could offer. I think it's great that Amy's young enough to enjoy so much time with her daughters.

There is no job that's more thankless and difficult and rewarding than parenting. There's no perfect time to have a child, frankly -- when you're really young, you're healthier and have more energy, but may not be fully-formed in your personality; if you're older, you may be more established, but you're not as robust, and often might have competing priorities that take away from the time with your children.

For Anonymous to judge Amy (or anybody else in that situation), though, is just wrong. Especially since she's obviously a good, caring, loving parent, which is the most vital and important thing a person can be to their children.

Abe

New Day Rising

The lake poses as an ocean today, under an almost-summer sun. Wind blows, and seagulls fly.

Doherty Deathwatch

I think maybe 3 months for him. Especially if Kate Moss doesn't have him back.

Pete Doherty says he'll give up drugs for Kate Moss

Branching out

Hipster Bingo

Too funny!

Hipster Bingo

Sequenced

May the Brave New World now begin! They always talk a lot about the diseases they'll cure, but eugenics isn't far behind, for those able to afford it.

Last chromosome in human genome sequenced
By Patricia ReaneyWed May 17, 1:17 PM ET

Scientists have reached a landmark point in one of the world's most important scientific projects by sequencing the last chromosome in the Human Genome, the so-called "book of life."

Chromosome 1 contains nearly twice as many genes as the average chromosome and makes up eight percent of the human genetic code.

It is packed with 3,141 genes and linked to 350 illnesses including cancer, Alzheimer's and Parkinson's disease.

"This achievement effectively closes the book on an important volume of the Human Genome Project," said Dr Simon Gregory who headed the sequencing project at the Sanger Institute in England.

The project was started in 1990 to identify the genes and DNA sequences that provide a blueprint for human beings.

Chromosome 1 is the biggest and contains, per chromosome, the greatest number of genes.

"Therefore it is the region of the genome to which the greatest number of diseases have been localized," added Gregory, from Duke University in the United States.

The sequence of chromosome 1, which is published online by the journal Nature, took a team of 150 British and American scientists 10 years to complete.

Researchers around the world will be able to mine the data to improve diagnostics and treatments for cancers, autism, mental disorders and other illnesses.

FINAL CHAPTER

Chromosomes, which are found in the nucleus of a cell, are thread-like structures that contain genes which determine the characteristics of an individual.

The human genome has an estimated 20,000 to 25,000 genes. The sequencing of chromosome 1 has led to the identification of more than 1,000 new genes.

"We are moving into the next phase which will be working out what the genes do and how they interact," Gregory told Reuters.

The genetic map of chromosome 1 has already been used to identify a gene for a common form of cleft lip and palate. It will also improve understanding of what processes lead to genetic diversity in populations, according to Gregory.

Each chromosome is made up of a molecule of DNA in the shape of a double helix which is composed of four chemical bases represented by the letters A (adenine), T (thymine), G (guanine) and C (cytosine). The arrangement, or sequence, of the letters determines the cell's genetic code.

The scientists also identified 4,500 new SNPs -- single nucleotide polymorphisms -- which are the variations in human DNA that make people unique.

SNPs contain clues about why some people are susceptible to diseases like cancer or malaria, the best way to diagnose and treat them and how they will respond to drugs.

I've Got a Foggy Notion

John Carpenter's, "The Fog" (opening)

Wow, the lake is obscured by a massive bank of fog -- it's unusual having fog roll in during the evening, with the Sun shining as it's setting, it makes for a weird vista.

Looking to the north, I see that the fog has already claimed buildings there, and to the south, most of the Loop is hidden from view. Where I sit, however, it's a pocket of clarity amid a sea of obfuscation, protected by sunlight, but only a little while longer, because sunset is coming.

It's mesmeric, really, this great, gray wall that is gliding ever closer. I love fog, because it makes everything mysterious. Even the most mundane walk becomes magical when there's fog around. Still, a fog bank this massive, this late in the day, is faintly disconcerting.

Mansun, "Wide Open Space"

Britpop

I'm in the mood for music and video. Let's make it a block of Britpop...

The Stone Roses, "Fools Gold"

The Stone Roses, "I Wanna Be Adored"

They were huge, right on the cusp, and they blew it. One of the all-time best debut albums, and then they flamed out.

Oasis, "Supersonic"

Blur, "Parklife"

I don't know where I come down on the Oasis/Blur thing. Blur has some great songs, but they're also really uneven, in my opinion. Oasis were consistent and solid and had a more steady sound, but I dunno.

Pulp, "Lipgloss"

Pulp, "Babies"

Jarvis Cocker had a great style to him -- a sort of reptilian charm.

Sleeper, "Inbetweener"

Lush, "For Love"

Huge crush on Lush's Miki Berenyi (pictured above). Exotically beautiful woman.

Elastica, "Stutter"

Elastica, "Waking Up" (live)

I had a huge crush on Donna Matthews (the redhead in the video). Purloined riffs and all, Elastica still made good songs; their debut was really solid, through and through. Heroin did them in in the worst way.

Suede, "Metal Mickey"

Root and branch

Uncle Scam

The jam America finds itself in is that it's the first empire that wants to be popular, wants to be liked. That's a very American quality: "Please like us!!!"

NYT
May 14, 2006
Books on Anti-Americanism
They Hate Us, They Really Hate Us
Review by ROBERT WRIGHT

You wouldn't expect to find good news for President Bush in a book by Andrew Kohut, a pollster and commentator who seems to divide his time between quantifying America's Bush-era plunge in the world's esteem and quantifying Bush's plunge in America's esteem. Then again, you also wouldn't expect to find good news for President Bush in a book by Julia E. Sweig, a liberal senior fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations. But Sweig's "Friendly Fire" joins Kohut's "America Against the World" (written with the columnist Bruce Stokes) in showing that Bush isn't the only one to blame for the world's dim view of the United States. And these days that counts as good news for Bush.

Whether it's good news for the United States is another question. Once you see the deep and diffuse roots of current anti-Americanism, you realize there won't be an easy fix. Still, these two books — especially "Friendly Fire," the more prescriptive of the two — offer insight into how we might avoid what Sweig calls "the Anti-American Century."

The strain of "American exceptionalism" that President Bush has made internationally infamous is hardly new, Sweig notes. A Latin America specialist, she can list a century's worth of examples of the dubious idea that "America could throw its weight around — willy-nilly of international law or the sovereignty of other states — because its goals were noble, its values universal in their appeal."

And she doesn't stop with Latin America. More obviously germane to current headlines than the 1954 coup America sponsored in Guatemala is the one it sponsored in Iran in 1953, ushering in the secular authoritarianism that would in turn usher in the fundamentalist revolution of 1979. This, like so much American support for oppression during the cold war, made less of an impact on Americans than on the oppressed. "The dramas that contained the seeds of today's rebellion played out in obscurity, as yet imperceptible to the naked American eye," Sweig writes in the course of her sweeping and pungent review of abrasive American foreign policies.

Anti-Americanism emanating from globalization also long predates the Bush presidency. As Kohut and Stokes point out in their data-rich book, international resentment of American culture (movies, McDonald's) and business practices (long work hours) was appearing in Gallup polls by the early 1980's.

If America has been alienating people for decades, why has anti-Americanism so rarely gotten the attention it's getting now? For one thing, several forces have converged to create a new truth: national security depends crucially on foreign feelings toward America.

Of course, it was always important that some people — notably political leaders in nations deemed allies — like us. (Alienating freshly installed dictators has long been considered poor strategy.) But popular sentiment mattered less in the years before democratization made leaders beholden to the masses in so many countries, and before microelectronic information technology made the masses in even authoritarian nations more unruly.

And, of course, terrorism wasn't the threat it is now. The Venezuelans who stoned Vice President Richard Nixon's car in 1958 might have made their grievances felt more powerfully and farther to the north if they'd had modern munitions, transportation and information technology. Neither book much emphasizes this peril of anti-Americanism — the growing lethality of grass-roots hatred. But the war on terror is the backdrop for their illumination of how anti-Americanism impedes effective alliances.

America's post-cold-war pre-eminence — and the sudden visibility of that pre-eminence — complicates our attempts to win friends. People already ambivalent about encroaching American culture and commerce can increasingly see affluent America itself via video. Masses that have long felt bitterly toward the rich in their own nations can transfer some antipathy to their new next-door neighbors, us: the globalization of resentment.

In sum, by the late 90's America was becoming a more natural target for ill will, even as its national security rested increasingly on good will. More than ever, we needed a leader of diplomatic sensibility, keenly attuned to the hopes and fears of diverse peoples, willing to help other nations address their priorities.

And in walked . . . George W. Bush. His alleged failures in this regard have been so thoroughly discussed that we can save time by evoking them with keywords: "crusade," "evil," Kyoto, Iraq, Bolton, Geneva Convention and so on. There's no proving Sweig's contention that Bush's "policies and nonpolicies . . . stripped bare the latent structural anti-American animus that had accumulated over time," but Kohut's Pew Research Center polls show that global opinion of the United States has plummeted under Bush — not just since its unnatural post-9/11 high, but since he took office.

And this time it's personal. Only a few years ago, anti-Americanism focused on government policies; the world "held Americans in higher esteem than America," Kohut and Stokes note. But foreigners are "increasingly equating the U.S. people with the U.S. government."

Kohut and Stokes argue, in effect, that these foreigners are confused, that Americans aren't in the grips of the offensive exceptionalism lately exhibited by their government. According to the polls, "the American people, as opposed to some of their leaders, seek no converts to their ideology." And they are not "cultural imperialists." Maybe not. But this reserve seems grounded less in humility (60 percent of Americans consider their culture "superior to others") than in apathy. Americans, Kohut and Stokes write, tend "to downplay the importance of America's relationship to other nations . . . to be indifferent to global issues . . . to lack enthusiasm for multinational efforts and institutions" and in general to have "an inattentive self-centeredness unmindful of their country's deepening linkages with other countries."

In other words: We're not obnoxiously evangelistic, just obnoxiously self-involved. So even if Bush doesn't reflect the real America, and is replaced by someone who does, we'll still be in trouble. At least, we'll be in trouble if much of the problem is indeed, as Sweig argues, the longstanding "near inability of the United States to see its power from the perspective of the powerless." Changing that will require not a leader worthy of the people, but a leader willing to lead the people.

Sweig complains that "Americans think of themselves as kings and queens of the world's prom." But, actually, we can't escape that role, at least for now. In wealth and power we are No. 1. The question is whether we'll be the typical prom king or queen — resented by most at the bottom of the social hierarchy and many in the middle — or instead the rare prom king or queen who manages to be really, truly, you know, popular.

Americans may be bad at doing what Sweig recommends — "seeing ourselves as others see us" — but we're not alone in this. People in general have trouble putting themselves in the shoes of people whose circumstances differ from theirs. That's why the world is such a mess — and why succeeding at this task would qualify as real moral progress.

So history has put America in a position where its national security depends on its further moral growth. This is scary but also kind of inspiring. Maybe the term "American greatness" needn't have the militaristic connotations lately attached to it. Here, perhaps, is an exceptionalism worth aspiring to. But if we succeed, let's try not to brag about it.

It's okay

My laptop wasn't dead. It just knocked itself out because of a glitch with the power pack. It's all better, now. Whew.

Saw an article in Reuters, a puff piece about the vintage American cars in Cuba, and liked this quote...

The Chevy is the car that needs least overhauling, says Roberto Diaz. "A 1955 or 1956 Chevrolet is the most durable car. Some even have the original factory engine working."

"I never thought these cars could last so long, a whole lifetime," said taxi driver Reinaldo Armengot. "The makers must have made a mistake."

They've "fixed" that "mistake" since then, rest assured!

He-Man

A couple of things I stole from SLATE....

Watching He-Man

The best part about rewatching He-Man, after the initial nostalgia-burst, was tracking the show's hilarious accidental homo-eroticism--an aspect I missed completely as a first-grader. In the ever-growing lineup of "outed" classic superheroes, He-Man might be the easiest target of all. It's almost too easy: Prince Adam, He-Man's alter ego, is a ripped Nordic pageboy with blinding teeth and sharply waxed eyebrows who spends lazy afternoons pampering his timid pet cat; he wears lavender stretch pants, furry purple Ugg boots, and a sleeveless pink blouse that clings like saran wrap to his pecs. To become He-Man, Adam harnesses what he calls "fabulous secret powers": His clothes fall off, his voice drops a full octave, his skin turns from vanilla to nut brown, his giant sword starts gushing energy, and he adopts a name so absurdly masculine it's redundant. Next, he typically runs around seizing space-wands with glowing knobs and fabulously straddling giant rockets. He hangs out with people called Fisto and Ram Man, and they all exchange wink-wink nudge-nudge dialogue: "I'd like to hear more about this hooded seed-man of yours!" "I feel the bony finger of Skeletor!" "Your assistance is required on Snake Mountain!" Once you start thinking along these lines, it's impossible to stop. (Clearly, others have had the same idea.) It's a prime example of how easily an extreme fantasy of masculinity can circle back to become its opposite.

I find that amusing. Certainly NOT what Mattel had in mind.

Facade

This is just a shadow of a tree on an old, old building in my neighborhood.

Blur's Rock Profile

This is too funny. The sound isn't quite synched on it, but it cracks me up, anyway:

Blur's Rock Profile

Growl

My laptop died (or lapsed into a coma) on my commute to work this morning. I don't know what happened (the battery was fine), but I couldn't revive it. And I was in the middle of writing a story, between saves, even. How infuriating. I'm usually pathological about saving files on any laptop, just in case, but this crash caught me offguard. Oh, well. I'll check it out when I get home, see what, if anything, I can do. Only maybe 300 words lost/in limbo, so it could be worse.

I'm more worried about remembering whether I successfully migrated all my stories on that laptop onto my PC at home. I think I was good about that a year or so ago, but I'm sometimes unaccountably disorganized in those matters, so I'm not 100% certain.

The Book 2 snippet I posted awhile ago is an example of that -- when I got a new Dell PC to replace the old IBM Aptiva I'd had, I did a massive file migration, including (what I thought) was Book 2, but it turned out, somehow, that I didn't transfer that one, so I only have that in hard copy (thank heavens I at least took the time to print it out, or then I'd really have blown a gasket). Anyway, I've had to transcribe that one from the hard copy into the new PC, which is fine, because it ends up being another draft on the sly, rather than just a word-for-word transcription. But still, it's an annoyance.

It's rainy and yucky in Chicago today. Not cold, fortunately, but definitely BLAH weather. I'm sure Amy can relate, since she's apparently a Chicagoan, too.

Branches

Answer Me Jesus(tm)

Such a simple idea, so brilliant! Wish I'd thought of it...

Answer Me Jesus

Hell, if your average fundamentalist consulted this, they'd probably end up being more pious than they currently are. There needs to be an Answer Me Buddha. Whoops. There IS an Answer Me Buddha, by the same people.

C.O.D. 9

Group Hug. More like Group Rugby Scrum!

man, i really hate her. she is such a self-righteous prick who think she's better than everyone - and you know what? she admits that she thinks she's better than everyone! she talks about people behind their back publically. like she writes about them in her blog and knows that they read it, and expects them not to know that she's writing about them. we're not that retarded, dear.

other than having poor character, she was the main reason that my boyfriend and i broke up. i mean, i can't blame her completely. you see, she was my best friend. i introduced her to my boyfriend and i had no idea that they'd become such good friends. soon i found myself having to compete with her for his attention. they're always together, even if they're just 'friends.'

so no matter how many times he says there's nothing between them, i can't believe that. why doesn't he pay attention to me? what happened to loving me forever until the world ended? and no matter how many times i tried to explain why i was crying, he would just get frustrated and think i was overreacting.

so i dumped him, and now i'm single.

...so... now what?

===

I've always wanted to confess something in my life, but I can't. That is why I hate myself, a bit, and think that I am one of the stupidest people in the world; on par with Albert Einstein for inventing the A-bomb. So, although this may be an oxymoron...I am going to confess that I am afraid to confess. It may not make sense, and I'm not even sure it's an oxymoron, I'm no fucking English teacher. But seriously, just typing this is making me nervous as hell, it may not be a confession of something overly personal (imagine how I'd be if it was...), but I still feel that giant hammer banging on my head as this useless-almost-not-really-even-a-confession confession is being typed. God, why can't I confess anything?

===

I've had this huge crush on this guy allll semester. And hes so mixed and confusing that i figure, that if hes sending mixed signals, i shouldn tbe interested becasue it means hes not. And then he gives me somthing to hang on to and i hate this cycle!!! I would just ask him out already but i think thats the guys job, and if hes not asking me out, he doesn't like me, right? alot of guys are telling me just to do it, because they think hes shy. In highschool i was really invalidated and made fun of for asking a guy to a dance, and rumors behind my back and then i felt like he felt like he HAD to go with me, so now im deathly afraid of taking the responsibility of starting the relationship. I'm afraid of being annoying. URGH if only he would ask me out. I would love that. that would make my freaking day. Untill then i can just be shy and in silence and suffer for it. ADVICE: guys, if you like a girl, ask her out. if not DONT FLIRT OR SEND MIXED SIGNALS!IT DRIVES US CRAZY! its really not fair.....

Jenny Wright

Another celebrity crush! An actress I liked a lot "back in the day" was Jenny Wright, who looked like all kinds of trouble, back in her prime. She had some kind of breakdown or something and her career took a nosedive, and she all but disappeared for some time. Her last listed acting credit was in 1998. The writeup below is from one of the infosites about her, which unaccountably omit "I, Madman" from her list of credits...

Lissome blonde actor who began in supporting roles as ingenues and later played several earnest leading lady parts in mostly routine films. Wright studied acting at the Lee Strasberg Theater Institute and with teachers including Stella Adler. A New York native, she lived for a time with her family upstate but returned to Manhattan as a teen and found work in off-Broadway theater. Wright made her film debut in "The World According to Garp" (1982) and for a time seemed posed to enter the "brat pack" gang of young actors reaching for stardom in the mid-1980s. She played the modest-sized role of Rob Lowe's wife in one of that group's signature films, "St. Elmo's Fire" (1985), but Wright's subsequent credits have received variable exposure.

One of Wright's best parts was as a female vampire with a fondness for young cowboys in Kathryn Bigelow's intelligent and handsomely wrought horror entry, "Near Dark" (1987). Some of her other films have received precious little exposure, such as the uneven but sometimes engaging oddity, "Twister" (1989), and the "thirtysomething" ensemble comedy-drama, "Queen's Logic" (1991). As one of the few women in the cast of the so-so sequel, "Young Guns II" (1990), Wright at least had a good exit scene. "The Lawnmower Man" (1992), meanwhile, found the lovely actor in a big hit, but soft-pedaled her role as the lover of a man used as a guinea pig in virtual reality experiments in favor of flashy special effects.

Some people wonder whether it was drugs or going crazy or what that led to her disappearing for awhile, and her general career flameout. Nobody's quite sure. She is still alive, apparently. There was a fansite to her for years, but looks like it's gone. It wasn't very well-designed, but did have some current information on it.

She was really solid as Mae in "Near Dark." Below is a mini-bio from IMDB:

In the early 1980s, a young actress made her first appearances in television and films with an unforgettably quirky presence - vulnerable and seductive all at once. Her delicate features - unusual green eyes and aching-to-be-kissed lips - combined with her petite and shapely figure to make a true gamine beauty.

Unfortunately, she never had much of a chance; she was sidelined into 'tramp' roles from the word go. Her small-screen debut on the critically acclaimed sitcom, "Love, Sidney," was as a teenage runaway/prostitute. Her film debut in "Pink Floyd: The Wall" cast her as a groupie. For the remainder of 1982, the bad girl image more or less stuck: she gave Robin Williams' Garp his first sexual experience as flighty Cushie in "The World According to Garp" and she played the flirty younger sister of Tommy Lee Jones' girlfriend in the made-for-TV film "The Executioner's Song."

In 1984, she was cast as Eileen in "The Wild Life," a semisequel to the popular "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." She was her charming self, in a role that didn't have much to offer, but gave some bright spots to an otherwise forgettable film. The two films she made next, 1985's "St. Elmo's Fire" and 1986's "Out of Bounds," cast her with members of the Brat Pack. Although she was never an official Brat Packer, she was on its fringes.

In 1987, Jenny was offered her first star turn in Kathryn Bigelow's "Near Dark." Released at the same time as the mainstream-smash "Lost Boys," it finished decidedly second at the box office - a shame, since Jenny's performance as vampire ingenue Mae was nothing short of brilliant. This film also marked her decided career directional change away from mainstream film and into endues.

"I, Madman" was made in 1989, and Jenny was perfect in her dual role as real-time victim Virginia and fifties-era victim Anna Templer. Unfortunately, it marked the last time Jenny had a major role in a film, and in the early 1990s she reprised her early-career persona of the tramp in films like "Queens Logic," "Young Guns II" (as a memorable madam), and 1992's "The Lawnmower Man" (as Marnie Burke, a widow on the prowl). Making only one more film appearance in 1998, she has virtually disappeared. Attempts to locate her to appear with her colleagues in a documentary about "Near Dark" were unsuccessful. Ironic that this talented actress, so good in two films with sinister plots ("Near Dark" and "I, Madman") should be the subject of a mystery herself.

Where have you gone, Jenny?

More Trees

Here's another one, different tree, different day. What can I say, I like the high contrast between tree and sky?

Trees

I'm a fiend for photographing trees.

C.O.D. 8

Group Hug, as usual. Oh, that reminds me: PostSecret should have their new cards out today.

===

I often pretend that we are at war with a bunch of hostile aliens called the skletars. Essentially they look like skeletons and have the ability to turn humans into sketar like beings called sklones. They do this by shooting us with a laser beam which is actually a magneting pulse which carries nano robots which act as a sort of skletar DNA, these nanites eradicate all of our soft tissue leaving deformed skelton like beings that are rough clones of the skletar that infected us.

The war has gone on for some years and we are slowly winning.

I usually act out scenes while alone.

I'm 28, married (my wife is hot - i lucked out) and I have a good job as a web developer.

I'm also a huge sci-fi geek.

I might write a book about it, it's cheesy enough to sell.

===

my hat is so cool!!!

===

I spend all day talking to a bunch of idiots on the internet because I am a sad little irish man with no spuds left to pick. there aren't even any English people here for me to kill anymore. I don't know what to do anymore.

===

I am a very kind person, have never been in a fight, have never said rude or unkind words to someone directly.

However if someone tells me they like the Olsen twins I may just blow up in their face.

Sugar Baby Love

Stumbled onto this on SALON. Great ad! Amazing what you can do in a non-Puritanical society!

Sugar Baby Love

The AIDS awareness campaigns of our youth were grim. There were the half-naked, porn-y looking young men leering at us from bus shelter ads that seemed to suggest either a). the virus can be carried in the sexiest of packages, or b). condoms really, really turn this dude on. Or there were the teeth-grindingly earnest ones -- like today's ubiquitous We All Have AIDS ads (memo to Whoopi, Rosie and Tom: No you don't) or that Jimmy Fallon PSA. They all just make us flinch and turn quickly away. So when we saw this great new three-minute cartoon by Wilfred Brimo, set to The Rubettes' 1974 classic "Sugar Baby Love" and part of a French AIDS awareness campaign, we could only wonder: What if all safe-sex ads were this fun (and sensible, romantic and moving)? (Check out the great one he made in 2005 here.)

Theatrical

I watched most of "Gangs of New York" last night (twice -- saw it on Bravo or FX; I can't remember, now -- saw the latter half of it first, then about the first third of it second). Interesting, odd movie. Daniel Day-Lewis does a great job, I think, in his role as Bill the Butcher. Memorably villainous in a faintly ridiculously melodramatic setting -- he steals the movie with that flinty glint in his eyes and his almost gleeful malevolence. Now I feel like I have to get it on DVD or something and watch the whole from front-to-back.

There used to be a neighborhood in Chicago called "Hell Town" -- the whole Five Points thing made me think of that. Hell Town was sort of near where Pearl Art Supply is, downtown, to the west a bit.

I also watched "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," which was alright, despite getting shellacked by the critics and was a bomb at the theaters. But, having actually read the graphic novel it's based on, I was more forgiving of it, I guess. It didn't seem any worse than most of the summer blockbuster types of movies, and I liked some of the fanciful details, like the rendering of Nemo's Nautilus, which looked cool. Stuart Townsend was great as Dorian Gray, I thought. Maybe there was just too much to pay attention to (and too little?) for most of the viewers? I don't know -- I didn't dislike it, anyway, and I'm usually pretty picky about movies. I think Moriarty could have been better cast -- Gary Oldman might've been a good choice.

Model 500

A .50 caliber handgun? It's insane. The Model 500.












Only a crazy person would shoot a gun like that. It's part of the usual bigger-better-faster-more American ethos, but, Christ, it's crazy.

I wonder if they sell free wrist splints with each pistol that they sell.

Hola

Saw this bike yesterday, with some roses, tulips, and other flowers on it, awkwardly chained to that length of railing. It's a BMX-type bike, so the inclusion of the flowers was sort of incongruous, which is why I took the picture at all.

It's sunny and pleasant this morning. I haven't written a lick of fiction, yet, but am hoping to take care of that later this morning.

Meanwhile, how about a haiku...


Stylish Lamia!
One fashionable strutter,
chewing fat with friends.

C.O.D. 7

It never ends. Poor Group Hug -- it's a crush of confessions. I had to dig back a few days/weeks for some interesting/amusing ones...

I listen to Kelly Clarkson and like it.

===

There is this girl named Chelsea and I love her. We ARE the dynamic duo...

===

I HATE HIM! I love him so damn much, but he only likes me as a friend! But the signs are so strong....then he flirts with R****! But read what he said to me:
"Yes..I'm thankful I have you in my life Nat. You're a very good person."

Actually, now that i think about it.....it doesnt really hint to anything.

===

i never met a three-legged dog not named "tripod." everyone thinks they're being funny, but that dog still has more legs than you. how funny are you now?

===

On the weekends, I dress up like a female clown (even though I am male) and I dance on the street for tips. Sometimes, I take a man home from dancing and we have sex. After he finishes on me, I whip out my dick and let him either run away or beat me senseless.

Sorry, I had to post that last one because it's just so messed up -- a dancing, crossdressing, masochistic gay clown.

The Maginot Lawn

Inspired by something Amy wrote in her Beanie confessional.

Where I come from (Rust Belt), when you drive your car across somebody's lawn, it's called a "lawn job" -- don't know whether you have your own terms for it, but, above and beyond toilet-papering was the lawn job -- the tactical nuke in the American teenager's arsenal, along with egging. In our area, muscle cars carried the day -- the land of Camaros and other big old V-8 cars from the glory days of gas-guzzling. This is actually a two-part story.

The first part had this guy who lived on a corner, like a turn in a given road, who had built a great fortress on his lawn -- he'd piled big rocks along the edge of the lawn, and had taken those road sign poles and lined them up along the side of his house and built hedges around them. That was sort of the worst insult to our teen pride -- that this guy had built a hedge deathtrap in his yard, so if you happened to drive through his hedges, you'd get your car shredded by those stealth poles, like some suburban tank trap.

But, I'd divined a weakness in the guy's automotive Maginot Line. His defenses forme an L-shape, which would protect his yard from all normal curb-huggers who came and went on that particular road. However, if you veered off the road and went across his neighbors' lawns, you could access the guy's lawn without any risk.

So, we raced up the road and, about three houses down, went off the road and cut across the lawns, one, two, three, until we reached the Maginot Lawn. Then, having reached the desired destination, we did three donuts with the car, a nice rear-wheel drive 70s car, chewing up lawn with that thumpeta-thumpeta sound, before nosing the car back out the way we'd come. We'd high-fived each other at our juvenile triumph. I wasn't driving; I was riding shotgun, drinking Busch beer (which, on reflection, I haven't drunk since then).

Flush with victory, a buddy and I took it upon ourselves to give our high school a lawn job. This was a long time ago. At this time, it was either very early spring, or else very late winter; I can't honestly remember. But it was during a school holiday, so the school was closed for the weekend.

We drove around on the high school's lawn, going back and forth, noting that there was some snow and frost still on the lawn, there. We decided on one last lawn job, going up a hill, when everything fell apart.

His car got stuck! We went from laughter to frustration to worry -- the car was perched on a hill overlooking the high school. Any cop driving by would see it. Anybody driving to the school would see it. And from the angle of approach, there was no confusing what we'd been doing.

So, I got out and tried to push, but, like most rear-wheel drive cars, it doesn't handle well in slippery stuff. We both got out and pushed, but couldn't get enough traction. We stuffed junk under the tires, tried going backwards, but there was enough of a dip at the base of the hill that we couldn't back out, either. We were stuck.

I'd only been wearing a light jacket, which had been fine in the car, but wasn't any good when we were outdoors. But we were totally stuck, and it was about 1 a.m. There was nothing to do but try to find a telephone.

We left the car and tramped our way from the high school toward the Mall, which was about the only place where we could hope to find anything -- our high school was sort of remote, relative to the rest of the town. We sure as hell weren't going to drop by any friends' houses that late, and besides, we didn't know anybody in that area who was alright.

Crossing the street, we came to a gas station (which was at the corner of the Mall's parking lot), one of those islands where there's a clerk behind plate glass with cigarettes and sodas for sale. The guy was totally asleep. We didn't find a phone, and my buddy noticed a fridge next to the door, full of Pepsi and Cokes and Mountain Dew. We looked at the sleeping clerk and my friend said "We should take some sodas."

And I said "Forget that, we should find a phone. I'm going to the Mall."

So I started walking that way, now definitely freezing, shivering, because it was bone-cold that late. Then I hear my friend call my name, and I look back and I see him standing there, holding two soda bottles.

Then he drops them, and they make a loud crash. I don't understand what the hell he was doing, so I take off running for the Mall, and he runs as well, and I hear the gas station clerk from behind us "Hey, you little sons of bitches!!!"

Now I'm thinking "Nice move, jackass. We're busted for sure!"

But I keep running, and reach the Mall, hiding behind a wall, near a trash compacter. My buddy (who was a smoker) caught up, wheezing, hands on his knees, head hunched forward.

"What the hell were you doing back there?" I asked him.
"I wanted a Pepsi," he said.
"Why'd you drop them?"
"My hands were too cold; I lost my grip."

So, now we were at the Mall, still hell-and-gone from any phone, as far as we knew. I went to the service entrance and tried the heavy steel door, thinking it would be locked, but it was, to my amazement, unlocked. I pulled it open and we went down the hallway, hearing mall muzak blaring, echoing.

We were really worried that we'd run into a security guy; there had to be at least one in the building, since that door was unlocked. We followed the hallway to the entrance to the Mall concourse, itself, and were bombarded by the muzak, which was really blaring. It sounded like somebody, somewhere, was buffing the floor, but we couldn't see them.

I spotted a phone tree and we ran to it, where my friend called his older brother, who was in his 20s, maybe even 30s -- OLD, by my reckoning at the time. Old, and pissed to be called in the early morning by his younger brother in a jam. He asked his brother to pick us up at the Mall, told him where.

Then, he said "We should go run around in here or something. I mean, we have the whole Mall to ourselves."

But I nixed that, saying "No way; there have to be security guys in here somewhere. Let's just go wait for your brother before we get caught."

So, we crept back outside and waited for what felt like forever for his brother to come rolling up in an old green Buick, made as hell, chain-smoking. He demanded to see his brother's car, so we drove back to the school and tried again, without luck, to move it, the brother cursing out his younger brother. By then, it was, I dunno 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning.

He said they'd have to get some chains and tow it out, but that it would have to wait until morning. He drove us home without a word, my friend thanking his brother and making inane chit-chat, while I was thinking how great it was that my folks were in Pittsburgh at the time, so there was nobody at home to catch me coming in so late, but really annoyed at my friend as only a teenager can be.

Anyway, that was it. Friend was able to rescue his car, and the Maginot Lawn guy reseeded his lawn. The surburban cycle of life continued. I never told my folks about that long, long night.

C.O.D. 6

Let's see what Group Hug's got going on today...

I have had feelings for you for years. It's funny how things have come full cycle. I'm afraid to say anything because I don't want to ruin the friendship that we have. I'm not imagining the tension though, we've been flirting for almost a decade...I always pictured us getting married. Now that we're finally both single, can't we just have wild passionate sex? I'm sure it would be amazing...

===

I hope the creator of Myspace burns in hell.

===

i had a dream about bleeding white roses, Christ, and st. christopher. my name is chris, too. i wonder what it could mean.


I guess there's a 6-month lag time between confessions and posting of them, which makes that second one amusing -- what happened to that person (if anything) 6 months ago to make them hate Myspace so much?

As for the first one, wow, flirting for a decade?? That's commitment! And yet, reticence is also in the mix. Strange.

The third one is nicely, gothically symbolic. I ran it through a couple of dream analyzers. Freakydreams.com...

Your Dream: i had a dream about bleeding white roses, Christ, and st. christopher. my name is chris, too. i wonder what it could mean.

Words like white: People feel they can rely on you. You have an abundance of energy and vitality.

Words like roses: Beauty. Goodness. Perfection. Something is working very well for you.

Words like christ: Human aspect of divinity. Salvation. Healing. Good hopes ahead. Consolation.

There you go, Chris.

Todazed

Chicago was pretty today, nice temperature -- cool, pleasant, sunny, and clear. As I usually do (on good weather days), I walked home from the River, in hopes of finding something worth photographing. Nothing jumped out at me, so I just enjoyed the walk. The Mag Mile was packed with shoppers, tourists, and workaday folks. I don't always walk the same way, like to mix up my routine; it's a fun way to explore the City.

Chicago comes nicely alive in Spring, once people are fairly sure a freak snowstorm isn't about to turn up.

Madolyn Smith

Madolyn Smith.

I had such a crush on her, back in the day. Beautiful woman, knockout gaze. She was in a lot of movies for awhile, before basically disappearing. Her first role was in Urban Cowboy, according to IMDB. That's certainly the first role I remember seeing her in, losing out to Debra Winger! Come on!!

Maybe I'll post my assorted celebrity gal crushes. *sigh*

Steve Marriott

Steve Marriott ruled. Lead singer with the Small Faces, and then with Humble Pie, he had one of the all-time best voices in Rock music. He died in 1991, in a housefire because he fell asleep while smoking.

It sucks, because he never really saw any money from his Small Faces efforts, because of various rights issues and mismanagement, and despite being in some primo Rock bands, he really was, at heart, an R&B singer, the archetypal Blue-eyed Soul singer.

The Small Faces had such a good Mod thing going; after the Who, they were the top Mod band. Great, soulful sound. Robert Plant totally based his own vocal style on Marriott, who was the gold standard for frontmen back then...

Small Faces, "Whatcha Gonna Do About It"

Small Faces, "Tin Soldier"

Small Faces, "Song of a Baker"

Small Faces, "The Autumn Stone"

And Humble Pie rocked, too...

Humble Pie, "Natural Born Boogie"

Humble Pie, "I Don't Need No Doctor" (second half of this clip; first half is the Small Faces's "Itchycoo Park")

C.O.D. 5

People, people. What is the world going to do with you?

My dad is outside mowing the lawn. He wants me to mow the tennis court. I couldn't be fucking bothered.

===

my girlfriend left me when i thought everything was going perfectly.i really do love her. now shes going out with some other guy. they had sex after going out for 2 months. i really am happy for her cause im still her friend and all. but i hope she gets some kind of std and i want him to spontaniously combust.

===

i really cant write the conclusion in my eassys

Shade Shady-Shade

I bumped the post below up a notch, deciding to play ball and add something Sikedelic to the Self-Portrait Tuesday meme, instead.

I think there should be a "Wear Shades All Day" Day. That would be my first holiday. I think that would be cool. I'd love to wear shades at work all day, too. That would rock. I wonder if a person could do that. I mean, if you said the fluorescent lights were hurting your eyes, could they even stop you? I dunno.

It would be a celebration of all things shade-related -- style, beauty, aloofness, anonymity, desire to be left alone, rock-n-roll, glamour, trash, etc.

What day should it be? Maybe on the Summer Solstice? The longest day of the year? Any suggestions for Wear Shades All Day Day (WSADD)? Rampant wearing of shades make me think of the mighty Swervedriver...

"Last Train to Satansville"
"Duel"

Blurry, cont'd

Okay, I'm back. Here's a shot of Neptune that makes me think of that existential dread which sort of hit me with that other picture (which I can't find online as of yet).

It's dark and enigmatic. Nothing else can be seen around it. Lord knows what that white splotch is; looks like it could be near the Great Dark Spot (Neptune has one of those endless storms on its surface, too, like Jupiter -- I read that because there are no landmasses on those planets, the storms never die out, or at least persist for a very, very long time).

Anyhow, it's out there, and we can glimpse at it with our telescopes and satellites, but it's ineffable and most definitely hostile to human life. It's like God's unblinking eyeball staring at us. One can just as easily look at it and find beauty -- the blue is beautiful; it's a result of all of the methane on Neptune. It's also a reality that has nothing to do with us, except inasmuch as we are aware of its existence. When our Sun finally dies and heat pasteurizes the Earth, Neptune will go along the way it has, heedless and lifeless, a beautiful sterility. But with one less moon -- apparently Triton's orbit is decaying, and it will crash into Neptune. Of course, we'll surely be extinct by then, but I felt bad for poor little Triton. This is from the wikipedia link for Triton...

Due to its retrograde motion, the already-close Tritonian orbit is slowly decaying further from tidal interactions and it is predicted that between 1.4 and 3.6 billion years from now, Triton will pass within its Roche limit [6]. The most likely outcome will be collision with Neptune's atmosphere, although ring formation due to tidal disruption is also possible.

So, maybe Neptune will get another ring as Triton gets pulverized by Neptune's gravity. Whatever the eventual outcome, it's doomed. They say there is a chance for primitive life on Triton, beneath the surface, where liquid water exists. But it'll likely never have a chance to move beyond that point.

Don't mind my brain staggers, here. There's an aribtrariness to physics that is frightening -- if X occurs, Y will happen. It makes it understandable why people built theological and philosophical bubbles around themselves for protection. The reality, even the blurry, fuzzy, unknowable stuff (which is just about everything) is too frightening to gaze at for long.

Do you remember when the comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 blasted into Jupiter? I remember having the same kind of dread when I saw that, given our own planet's history with asteroid and comet impacts. If that had been the Earth, it would have been a slate-wiper. That didn't get so much commentary at the time (or since), probably because it was so obviously the case, and so discomforting.

Anyway, there's an aesthetics of dread I feel, and I find it in the blurry things. The monster is scariest when you know it's there, but can't quite see it, or can't see it clearly.

Blurry

I haven't written about it here, but I have this aesthetic stance about low-budget horror movies, namely that the lower-budget it looks, the more effective it can be. I don't necessarily mean bad production values per se -- like the monster in the rubber suit with the zipper evident on it or something -- but rather in the shooting of the film.

If it's shot too well, or the production is too clean, it loses something, at least in my view. The best horror movies should look like they're shot by amateurs, because it adds a layer of authenticity to it. Aside from the cavernous nostrils of Heather Donahue in Blair Witch Project, what made that one work as a horror movie was the willful amateur feel of it. In fact, their choice of film had a definite impact on the viewer, like the shakiness of the camera and the film speed. Though I think a lot of that movie was chalked up to hype, I can't fault their overall approach to the filming of it.

The original Night of the Living Dead and Texas Chainsaw Massacre also had that feel, a sense that you were watching something that was actually happening. The very sloppiness of it makes for better horror, in my view. Too polished, and it's just like any other movie.

I'd been reminded of this recently when I'd looked at a picture of one of the outer planets. Maybe Saturn or Uranus -- one of the planets with rings. Anyway, it was a fuzzy picture, looked to be shot with some kind of x-ray or chromatic kind of lens. It was a far cry from the pretty artist renderings of the planets, or the beautiful, crystal-clear Hubble Telescope shots we've enjoyed over the years.

Looking at this picture, I was struck with horror by it, oddly enough. Reading about the planet's deadly climate (insanely cold, deep oceans of liquid methane, horrible winds, endless storms) -- a place that would kill a person in moments, and seeing that fuzzy picture of that planet, I was stricken by the monstrous reality of the thing. That planet is out there. Not an artist's conception, but for real. When you realize how inhospitable space is, it makes what life we have here all the more precious. All of our eggs are in this tiny basket. Confronted with the horror that is space, the endless otherness of it, it makes home seem infinitely precious, worth saving.

I've got to go to work right now, but I'll be back later, maybe with a fuzzy picture of one of the planets.

Ghost Tree

This tree is in Lincoln Park, just south of the Lincoln Park Zoo, near one of the duck ponds. It's an old birch tree (I think) that has grown and expanded into a spray of branches. I liked the way this picture turned out, looking almost like a watercolor.

Self-Portrait Tuesday: Introduce Yourself

Snippets

Okay, honoring Maddy's request, here are the opening paragraphs of four of the books I'm sending out chapters for to hopefully catch the eye of agents, like puffing on a dandelion gone to seed. These won't have much meaning outside of the stories they belong to, but so what?

Also, I'm eventually going to start a fiction blog. I'll let you know when that's up and running.

Book 1:

"The labyrinthine swirl of steel and glass spread-eagled before him in incomparable complexity, a puzzle without a solution, dazzling, almost fractal in the endless iterations that seemed to replicate themselves in the same, pointless pattern. Shiny metal painted glossy reds and pumpkin glazes, champagne toasts and golf-course greens between lavender blues and ski-slope silvers, egg yolk yellows competed with broken-shell whites—and if the colors weren’t enough, there were people milling endlessly between them, coming, going, back and forthing, without rhyme or reason."

Book 2:

"Let’s be straight: I’m not some skanky homewrecker, okay? Nick came along with his own issues, and I just happened to be there, and I thought he needed some help, so I helped. It’s not my fault that he got divorced. Okay, maybe it’s partly my fault, but the baggage was there way before I came along."

Book 3:

"I used to be Jack Deth, like the guy from Trancers except that I’m not like him cuz he’s old and slicked back, while I’m young and spiked up. But I liked his name, so I took it. And they took it from me. Just like that. Now I’m 'Jack Jealous' for anyone paying attention."

Book 4:

"They came for Lynch before sunrise. Nothing fancy, just the gleam of a flashlight in his face and the point of a pistol to his forehead."

Stupidity Tries

Back at work again; our e-mail server looks to be on the blink, unfortunately. The last pre-e-mail (funny phrasing, there) workplace I was at was in 1993. I don't know how I worked without it. Ah, it's back online. Whew. Close one, there.

So, I mailed out three stories, all sure to be rejected, but one has to try, anyway. I've sent out 21 stories in the past year, and had one get accepted, so that's not a bad return rate for an unknown, I suppose. Hopefully I'll get a few more under my belt this year, but we'll see. The larger goal remains getting agented for the longer fiction, so I'm slinging out chapters from the books I've worked on over the years this week, hoping something connects. If it does, I'll do a little happy dance.

Colbert

Lifted from SALON. Bravo to Colbert for his ironic attack (you can watch it here), once you get past the SALON ad.

The truthiness hurts
Stephen Colbert's brilliant performance unplugged the Bush myth machine -- and left the clueless D.C. press corps gaping.

By Michael Scherer

May. 01, 2006 | Make no mistake, Stephen Colbert is a dangerous man -- a bomb thrower, an assassin, a terrorist with boring hair and rimless glasses. It's a wonder the Secret Service let him so close to the president of the United States.

But there he was Saturday night, keynoting the year's most fawning celebration of the self-importance of the D.C. press corps, the White House Correspondents' Association dinner. Before he took the podium, the master of ceremonies ominously announced, "Tonight, no one is safe."

Colbert is not just another comedian with barbed punch lines and a racy vocabulary. He is a guerrilla fighter, a master of the old-world art of irony. For Colbert, the punch line is just the addendum. The joke is in the setup. The meat of his act is not in his barbs but his character -- the dry idiot, "Stephen Colbert," God-fearing pitchman, patriotic American, red-blooded pundit and champion of "truthiness." "I'm a simple man with a simple mind," the deadpan Colbert announced at the dinner. "I hold a simple set of beliefs that I live by. Number one, I believe in America. I believe it exists. My gut tells me I live there."

Then he turned to the president of the United States, who sat tight-lipped just a few feet away. "I stand by this man. I stand by this man because he stands for things. Not only for things, he stands on things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message, that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound -- with the most powerfully staged photo ops in the world."

It was Colbert's crowning moment. His imitation of the quintessential GOP talking head -- Bill O'Reilly meets Scott McClellan -- uncovered the inner workings of the ever-cheapening discourse that passes for political debate. He reversed and flattened the meaning of the words he spoke. It's a tactic that cultural critic Greil Marcus once called the "critical negation that would make it self-evident to everyone that the world is not as it seems." Colbert's jokes attacked not just Bush's policies, but the whole drama and language of American politics, the phony demonstration of strength, unity and vision. "The greatest thing about this man is he's steady," Colbert continued, in a nod to George W. Bush. "You know where he stands. He believes the same thing Wednesday that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened Tuesday."

It's not just that Colbert's jokes were hitting their mark. We already know that there were no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, that the generals hate Rumsfeld or that Fox News lists to the right. Those cracks are old and boring. What Colbert did was expose the whole official, patriotic, right-wing, press-bashing discourse as a sham, as more "truthiness" than truth.

Obviously, Colbert is not the first ironic warrior to train his sights on the powerful. What the insurgent culture jammers at Adbusters did for Madison Avenue, and the Barbie Liberation Organization did for children's toys, and Seinfeld did for the sitcom, and the Onion did for the small-town newspaper, Jon Stewart discovered he could do for television news. Now Colbert, Stewart's spawn, has taken on the right-wing message machine.

In the late 1960s, the Situationists in France called such ironic mockery "détournement," a word that roughly translates to "abduction" or "embezzlement." It was considered a revolutionary act, helping to channel the frustration of the Paris student riots of 1968. They co-opted and altered famous paintings, newspapers, books and documentary films, seeking subversive ideas in the found objects of popular culture. "Plagiarism is necessary," wrote Guy Debord, the famed Situationist, referring to his strategy of mockery and semiotic inversion. "Progress demands it. Staying close to an author's phrasing, plagiarism exploits his expressions, erases false ideas, replaces them with correct ideas."

But nearly half a century later, the ideas of the French, as evidenced by our "freedom fries," have not found a welcome reception in Washington. The city is still not ready for Colbert. The depth of his attack caused bewilderment on the face of the president and some of the press, who, like myopic fish, are used to ignoring the water that sustains them. Laura Bush did not shake his hand.

Political Washington is accustomed to more direct attacks that follow the rules. We tend to like the bland buffoonery of Jay Leno or insider jokes that drop lots of names and enforce everyone's clubby self-satisfaction. (Did you hear the one about John Boehner at the tanning salon or Duke Cunningham playing poker at the Watergate?) Similarly, White House spinmeisters are used to frontal assaults on their policies, which can be rebutted with a similar set of talking points. But there is no easy answer for the ironist. "Irony, entertaining as it is, serves an almost exclusively negative function," wrote David Foster Wallace, in his seminal 1993 essay "E Unibus Pluram." "It's critical and destructive, a ground clearing."

So it's no wonder that those journalists at the dinner seemed so uneasy in their seats. They had put on their tuxes to rub shoulders with the president. They were looking forward to spotting Valerie Plame and "American Idol's" Ace Young at the Bloomberg party. They invited Colbert to speak for levity, not because they wanted to be criticized. As a tribe, we journalists are all, at heart, creatures of this silly conversation. We trade in talking points and consultant-speak. We too often depend on empty language for our daily bread, and -- worse -- we sometimes mistake it for reality. Colbert was attacking us as well.

A day after he exploded his bomb at the correspondents dinner, Colbert appeared on CBS's "60 Minutes," this time as himself, an actor, a suburban dad, a man without a red and blue tie. The real Colbert admitted that he does not let his children watch his Comedy Central show. "Kids can't understand irony or sarcasm, and I don't want them to perceive me as insincere," Colbert explained. "Because one night, I'll be putting them to bed and I'll say ... 'I love you, honey.' And they'll say, 'I get it. Very dry, Dad. That's good stuff.'"

His point was spot-on. Irony is dangerous and must be handled with care. But America can rest assured that for the moment its powers are in good hands. Stephen Colbert, the current grandmaster of the art, knows exactly what he was doing.

Just don't expect him to be invited back to the correspondents dinner.

Mayday

I took a personal day from work today, not wanting to have to deal with the chaos that's sure to emerge downtown with the huge immigration protest (I heard estimates of as many as 300,000 people turning up in Grant Park, which probably means more like 500,000 will show up). Anyway, since that last protest made commuting outright hell, I decided I'd avoid it entirely by taking a day away from work and getting some short stories out to magazines. I've got three on my desk, packed and ready for postage. I'll take care of that this morning.

Saw the Warhol exhibit this weekend at the MCA, and thought it was a little thin, to be honest. The MCA always does that -- way too much white space between the walls. Is there so little good modern art that they have to do that, or is their curator phenomenally lazy? I liked when the Terra Museum of American Art was still tucked in its ridiculously tiny gallery space on the Mag Mile -- it was cozy and intimate, but had wonderful artworks in there that the people in the big queue for caramel corn a couple doors down probably never noticed.

Anyway, I'd hoped that they had more of his work on display, but no such luck. But for $10, I can't really complain, I suppose, although they had so much exhibit space under construction, that was also a disappointment. I'd be happy to put together some sculpture for them if they're hurting for exhibits! ;)

So, I'm going to take four different book drafts I've written over the years (starting from '99) and query agents with them -- two "literary" pieces, one fantasy, one science fiction. For years, I would revise and natter about with them, but I'm determined now to just throw them out there and see what happens. Odds are they'll just come bouncing back with rejections, but there's only one way to know for sure! This is on top of the cynical piece I alluded to the other day, which I've only just begun.

The first one I wrote in 1999, during a glorious six-month stint without a job. That remains a fond memory, writing ~10-15 pages a day, single-spaced, clacking away like a word whirlwind. I want to get back to that in the worst way -- when I get a bunch of material done, I'm so happy. Anyway, that's my goal for 2006, writingwise.

C.O.D. 4

More participants in the pathos parade that is Group Hug...

Everyone else has had more sex than me. Does anyone else get that feeling?

*sigh* But I've got big ass titties.

===

What do I have to confess..?

.. This site makes me doubt the world, and all the people in it. Especially the ones I used to think I was close to. I suppose you can never really know a person. They're all backstabbing sons of bitches, just like most of you who post here.

Best friends commit acts that would emotionally kill their comrades. Lovers put the most depraved, unessecary animal cravings above the feelings, and love of their partners.

There is no honor and nobility left in people these days. It makes me sad.

-Sully

===

I have a screwed-up sense of justice.

My best friend is still my best friend and all, but he's been a total douchebag lately.

He just has to argue for the sake of arguing on just about EVERY TOPIC you can imagine.

He is also insanely frugal, I can't think of the last time he HONESTLY took his girlfriend out on a date as well as taken care of the check all by himself.

He has a terrible temper and always gets in pissy fights with his girlfriend when she doesn't deserve it.

Two days ago I kissed his girlfriend. He can never know, but somehow I'll always feel smug and like I've exacted vengeance.

No matter how committed they ever get, I can at least know in the back of my mind, she had and probably always will have a crush on me, and he's just stuck with her forever, and she's now already cheated on him.