It's happening

Crap, you guys. We're boned.

Dewey's Thruway

So, this one is for all my homies who had to drive across upstate New York for four years.

The comic in question is Octopus Pie. I've tried to get into it before and failed. This time, however, it seems to have stuck and I'm quite digging it.

Also, at the recommendation of a dude who plays at Blue every now and again, Craig Mathieson, I have scoped out The Bowerbirds. Now it is I who will do the recommending.

And last week was a cool week at Blue. I went on Thursday as I normally do - generally because Sam James is playing - and saw a different act. Jesse Ray Carter. I was the only person there, apart from his lady and the owners. We chatted after his set and I found out that he was trained by none other than John Hammond! How sweet is that?

So, all of that stuff is cool.

Then the next day was Death Match VIII. Death Matches are always Sam James versus Meantone. They play to the death. I only made it for two songs, but Mr. Carter was there and pointed me out, so I got a wave out of Meantone. I'm looking forward to the next one.

So that's more cool stuff.

Yes!

Big Bird Sings at Jim Henson's Memorial

EDIT: More Paragraphs explaining self!



This is Big Bird singing "It's Not Easy Being Green" at Jim Henson's memorial.

Personally, this is one of the sweetest, saddest videos I've ever seen. I was moved to tears. I'd like to say it's not often that I cry, but that's not completely true. It is true, however, that I don't often cry like this.

I think part of that - the tears, that is - is because I hold Jim Henson in extremely high regard. He did a wonderful thing with both The Muppets and Sesame Street. There's some ineffable quality to them that makes them both child-likable-yet-adult-relatable. He created something that doesn't talk down to children but does cater to them.

If I lived my whole life and created something half as wonderful as The Muppets, I would die a happy man. And Big Bird's ode is perfect. Just perfect.

This video is a really good sort of cry, you know? One that truly honors the memory of the mourned. Like John Cleese's eulogy at Graham Chapman's funeral. It doesn't reek of over sentimentality. It just is. And that you can hear Big Bird's voice breaking up a bit just makes it all that much more perfect, more honest and more true.

This is the sort of thing you'd like for your own funeral. And I don't mean Big Bird singing, I mean the emotion, heart and honesty. The devotion. The truth. It's not easy being green. But it does have moments of wonder and awe and sometimes people really do recognize that being green is awesome. Jim Henson was green, you know? People loved him but they didn't Get him.

I don't know. I'm still getting weepy eyed just thinking about the video ten or fifteen minutes later. Maybe I'm biased. But when I think of the gods of humanism, Jim Henson is at the top of the totem pole.

Portland's Dry History

So, I've blogged before about Portland being the start of the Temperance Movement and how funny I find that. Not "Ha ha" funny, mind you, but "huh" funny.

Switch Magazine - a publication I generally detest - has a pretty great article about a Portland Prohibition Tour.

Check it.

Also, Salty Buddies of Age, we should take advantage of this guide. What are we doing next Tuesday 'noon? We're taking a walking tour of Portland's intolerant past.

We're Heroes!?

Disaster Averted.

That post title is the perfect time for the (SFW) Interrobang.

The Way Life Should Be

I've got a lot of pride in Maine. In Portland. In Sebago.

It has blossomed since moving out to Portland. I can't put my finger on quite why. I love The City, that's one part of it. I think another might be the fact that I'm working for the news and get to hear about The State every day.

I feel connected to it.

Every day I'll hear something that reminds me of growing up here. Of the "magic" - if you will - that brings thousands to The Pine Tree State every year. Every day is a new day with new stories and yet, it's all strangely the same. Everything has a root somewhere back in Maine History. It's a strange spiraling sort of thing. I'm not really sure I can explain it. But I do love it.

Anyway, I found an article that speaks to that very "magic" sort of feeling that can be found throughout the state. It's the same everywhere here, but it's different because every part of the state is different.

The article was written by one Heidi Julavits for Slate.com. Julavits is a native but not quite. She explains it quite artfully in her article, I think.

To wit:

But non-natives—"From Aways" in native parlance—aren't the only ones indulging in gross acts of distortion. Maine's state slogan, recently changed from "Vacationland" to "The Way Life Should Be," represents one of the boldest moves in the annals of intentional misrepresentation, depending on your notion of ideal living conditions. There are more obese people in Maine than in any other New England state. In Maine, it's illegal to bait bears with donuts and then shoot them (presumably, people, and bears, should be less fat because of this law). Maine has more cat owners than any other state. Maine's drug of choice is coffee brandy. If you want to grow your own food, which an astonishing number of people in Maine feel compelled to do, you have 122 days to accomplish this between frosts. The annual mean temperature on the coast, where I live four months per year, is 46 degrees (40 degrees up north). If you spend a year in Maine, you'll enjoy 128 days of rain, 48 days of fog, and 17 days of snow. The only state poorer than Maine in 2005, the year of Hurricane Katrina, was Louisiana. Meaning, the only state worse off financially was a state that suffered the most crippling natural disaster in the history of this country. In Maine, meanwhile, 2005 was business as usual—just a lot of fat people hanging out in the rain with their cats, drinking coffee brandy and trying, without cheating, to kill a bear.

The article is here.

Oh man!

Oh man, so it's been a month since I've posted. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I've got an idea for a diatribe against Governor Palin but I'm running late for work and just can't be bothered about it at the moment.

So instead I've just got further proof that I'm not alone in realizing that the octopus will conquer the world. It's coming guys, prepare yourselves.

OK. So that's all for now. Maybe I'll also post about enjoying my job. We'll see.

Zombie Haikus

This is very much how I imagine the post-apocalypse.

Delightful.

Elephant Shrew, actually

The look on his face changed from sanguine and benign to a sneer that spoke of sadistic violence and sex upon triumphing nature and capturing the elusive Lesser Sharkdog of the Greater Antilles, but even his serape couldn't fill the growing emptiness that grew inside Hannibal as he realized that he'd finally caught his greatest catch.

His life would be devoid of purpose from this moment on. He'd wander Northern Africa from opium den to gutter, babbling on about the sharkdog in a hoarse whisper to anyone who would listen.

Of course, no one would.

Campaigning

Frankly, I think this ad is a more effective ad than anything we've seen in Presidential Ads for decades. My major reason for liking it is that it's not attacking Stevenson, Eisenhower's opponent in the '52 election.

And while the "everybody likes Ike, so why don't you?" message is a little abrasive or overwhelming here, at least it's honest. We've seen billions of ads with the same message our entire life. It's nothing new.

But it is good animation.

It's Even Worse Than I Thought

Guys. Oh god. Guys. This is terrible.

Horrible, really.

There are octopuses out there with more than 8 arms. In fact, they have a specimen with 96 tentacles




96!

This monstrosity even reproduced, though I am relieved to report that all of her fiendish spawn not only died, they had the normal amount of legs.

But imagine, just imagine, that horrible, sticking, wet sensation as an octopus grabs onto your leg to drag you to the inky depths. Now imagine it times 12! There would be no escape. No time to scream, to call for help or even to send one last, hard telepathic thought of love and warmth to your dear ones.

There would only be the hideous grapple. Then cold death on the bottom of the ocean. She would suck out your eyes and each tentacle would grow stronger and she would wait for her next victim.

Nature is a cruel beast.

1, 2, 3, ...um

Cute music girls plus Sesame Street. Now that's what I call an education. I don't even care about the numbers past four.

Plus there are penguins!

Fête Nationale

I spent Bastille Day of '07 in Paris. And the celebrations did commence indeed. This video is from the night before, however it was almost definitely late enough that it was the 14th.

I want to hold your hand

We spent the evening on the canal that Amelie skips stones into, went to a shop and bought beers and peanut flavored snacks and drank and ate and danced and sat and stood outside a club. They played loud and we were in a rather large company of people.

The evening was thoroughly enjoyable, save for someone stealing Vanessa's purse! Vanessa and her boyfriend Marc were good enough to shepherd me about Paris, speaking English and Spanish with me. They were kind and generous and truly fun people. The Earth would be better for more of them and the kind of person who would steal her purse is indeed a low form of scum.

But even with her purse stolen, the merriment carried on. These are the kinds of people who don't let trifling matters bother them. Credit cards, passports, licenses and the like can all be reordered and canceled as need be. People are harder to come by and people who realize this - as they were and ever will be - are rarer still.

We left the club at three or four or so in the morning and hopped in a cab. Well, Marc and his friend Estefan had to hoof it back to Vanessa and Marc's abode as there was not space in the cab for us all. We sat around their apartment, drank more and talked until the sun was fully risen. We sat on their deck and watched the people in the apartments around us wake up and fell asleep on mattresses laid on the floor of their living room.

And the next night, the night of proper Bastille Day celebrations, they took me under their wing again and we went to a high spot in Paris, not Montemarte (at least, I don't think it was) and we fought for a view of the fireworks in front of the Eiffel tower. The mood was light and happy.

Truly wonderful people can make for a truly wonderful trip. Thank you, Marc and Vanessa!

My New Hero

Remeber PBR Coffin Guy? Yeah, I guess he's pretty cool and whatevs, but this guy takes the cake.



It'd be pretty sweet to go over to his house.

"Hey man, can I get you a drink?"
"Yeah, I'll take a vodka tonic"

And then three minutes later you're drinking! My hope is that he only invites over people who drink vodka tonic and when they ask for it without the cuke, he kicks them into the basement where a fiendish Rube Goldberg torture device awaits. Also, polka music.

Hamsters and Lego Elevators

Yes, Please!



Maybe it's the beers I've had, but this video is engaging, humorous, hilarious, sorta-boring and then funny in that order.

It does have a happy ending, though.

GO, DOPEY!

PS. Does that Lego Elevator have some sort of weight sensor in it? How clever!

His Cousins are creepy, too.

Oh god. You guys. It's closer than I feared.



The octopocalypse. Man. Dangit. I had stuff I wanted to do. Well, if you need me, I'm moving out to a mountain in the desert. Those eightleggers do like their water. Join me, we'll form the last stronghold of humanity. Hopefully it'll be like the Battle of Helms Deep.

We must study their habits

The better we prepare ourselves the better we'll be able to defend ourselves.

"They favor their first left tentacles, boys, you know where to slash!"

via bOINGbOING

Way better than a gnome

geraaaaaaaaainiummzzzz

Neat! It would be amusing - amusing to me, of course - to put these under one of those bending-over-ass-crack-cut-outs. Surprise! ZOMBIED!

They should also make many different styles of this thing. Grandmothers, children, business types etc. etc.

link. via bOINGbOING

It reminds me, if only slightly, of one of the graves I saw in Pere Lachaise Cemetary. Lemme see if I can't find my pic-a-chers of 'im.

Everything's fine...fine...

...but your cerebellum does look mighty tasty

Favorite Foreign Words/Phrases

The BBC has an online supplement called "Magazine," which I have just discovered on its fifth birthday.

So they posted a list of some of their favorite, most read, most emailed, etc. articles. One of these articles covers reader submissions of their favorite words and phrases from other languages. There's some humorous, handy stuff in here. My favorite:

1. "My favourite is the French 'l'esprit d'escalier', or spirit of the staircase. This is used to describe the precise moment a person comes up with a clever retort to an embarrassing insult. It is usually after leaving the party, and walking down the stairs that the quip comes to mind."

And it is worth noting at this point that they wrote an entire article devoted to a foreign word in one of Bill Clinton's speeches. I feel the word is actually my fo' rizzle favorite. But it ain't on the list. So I guess I can't pick it. Anyway, the word, you ask?

Ubuntu.

It's Meta, Man

In an interview called "True Confessions," Tom waits is interviewed by none other than Tom Waits.

He says some lovely, profound, weird and way-out things. But I think you'll all realize, as I did, that deep down he's a reasonable guy. He understands. Particularly when you read this passage:

Q: How would you compare guitarists Marc Ribot and Smokey Hormel?
A: Octopus have eight and squid have ten tentacles,
each with hundreds of suction cups and each have the power to burst a man's artery. They have small birdlike beaks used to inject venom into a victim. Some gigantic squid and octopus with one hundred foot tentacles have been reported. Squids have been known to pull down entire boats to feed on the disoriented sailors in the water. Many believe unexplained, sunken deep-sea vessels, and entire boat disappearances are the handiwork of giant squid.

The man is a genius. Although I will point out that fear of squid is misguided. They have no real intelligence or ambition.

It's the octopuses, man. Look out.

Next? A Bumblebee

MORE reasons that Octopuses are terrifying.

This one Mimics stuff to trick th'animals around it. The video shows flounder, sea snake and lion fish as well as some basic octopus evasion techniques.

If you see a man walking strangely up the street, not saying anything and perhaps gasping a bit as though out of breath, I recommend you waste no time and attack! For if you don't, the octopus will surely be revealed and you will just as surely be dead.

'Nuff Said, Bub

There are about 11 species of African Frogs, it has recently been discovered, who create skin-splitting bone-claws when threaten.

And then gouge you!

The article, by the way, does contain the phrase "collagen rich sheath." You are warned.

Froggy went a cuttin' and he did ride (uh huh)

I need to read Slaughterhouse Five again...

Times Online has recently published this article from Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s private journal about his time in Dresden, the city of the famous bombing. That act, of course, forms into one of the centerpieces of Slaughterhouse 5.

And it positively drips with the humanism that makes him one of my heroes.

The facile reply to great groans such as mine is the most hateful of all clichés, “fortunes of war”, and another: “They asked for it. All they understand is force.”

Who asked for it? The only thing who understands is force? Believe me, it is not easy to rationalise the stamping out of vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored when gathering up babies in bushel baskets or helping a man dig where he thinks his wife may be buried.

The article is worth a read and if you feel like being incensed, check out some of the comments.

My guess is they somehow felt at one point that the saturation bombing of Dresden was justified and when they realize - or rather don't realize but see a faint glimpse of - the tremendous tragedy of the whole thing, they lash out at the person who makes them feel bad for justifying such a horrible act.

Also, I do believe one of the people in the comments thinks Vonnegut is still alive.

A wonderful new drug

Scientists are trying to make a drug that will diminish social anxiety. I didn't even bother reading the whole article because this wonderful "new" drug already exists. And it's called alcohol. Geez, scientists, get with the program. Why not study something useful? Like perhaps how to stop the inevitable octopus menace?

I almost wrote "inevitable zombie menace" and then realized that'd be less horrifying and more awesome. Zombies aren't smart, they don't have eight prehensile limbs (sometimes they don't even have four limbs!) and they only want brains. Octopuses want power, crabs and to drag you to an inky, horrible and cold death and swallow your soul.

Octopocalypse. It'll happen. I'll be ready. And by ready I mean shrieking on a chair in the kitchen like 50s sitcom wives at the sight of a mouse.

Do it, Hulk, do it!

The Hulk is, after all, one of my favorite people in the world. My MySpace says so. He and Jimmy Carter. "gggrrrrRRRRRAAAAAHHH! HULK CARTER WANT BUILD HOME FOR NEEDY!"

Kate Beaton Comics Rock!

So there's this Canadienne named Kate Beaton and her comics rock, if you hadn't gathered from the title of this post.

Her historical ones are pretty great but I was just scrolling through the "Nonsense" section of her website and found these gems:





Many of the others appear to be hand drawn. I particularly like her recent Garfield comic. Her style took a minute for me to adjust to, but now I quite like. Also, she's a fan of Anders Loves Maria, a comic I have increasing affection for.

Break it down, now

Some sociologist of some stripe or another has broken down political party contributions by occupation.

It's an interesting look. A couple of "huhs" and "hehs" and "What?s"

I guess it makes you think. I particularly enjoyed this breakdown:

Babies Lurve Banjos!

Adorable!


This wee chap here is utterly in love with the sweet twang of his momma's dulcet pluckin'. Would he love it so much, I wonder, if'n 'tweren't his mammy clawhammerin' the jams?

It reminds me in a way of the Hey Jude Toddler. Except younger and more bouncy.

Moderation's the key?

I have to confess that I hate the sunlight scare. The fear that exposure to sunlight is going to give you horrible cancer and you will die. The fear that it accelerates aging and kills puppies.

It would seem to me that humans have been going through several hundred million years of evolution in exposure to the sunlight. Ever since that legged fish flopped out of the water and wriggled onto the beach, animals have been getting better and better at dealing with exposure to the sun.

And while over-exposure does have downsides, sunburns and, I'll admit, an increased risk of cancer, in the end sunlight is good for you. Each of those words is a separate link, by the way. Though the last way may be lost on women, the second will be lost on men. Equal opportunities.

And it's not even that sunburning is going to cause cancer. There's a learning curve here, and you have to figure out when to get out of the sun. But you certainly shouldn't be completely covered up, either. Get your Vitamin D. There's probably a reason sitting the sun just feels good. It excites the skin.

My suspicion is that your atoms (I've been worrying a lot about atoms lately) are experiencing a sort of "E.T. Phone Home" moment. We're all stellar ejecta in the end, products of the Big Bang. Forged from the same infinitely dense, cosmically hot explosion that created stars and planets and black holes. Feels good to get a little of that space radiation under our skins.

My theory is this falls under the Atkins Diet/Autism/ADHD fads. People will get their feet on the ground on this one and realize the hysteria. Indeed, it's happening now.

Which is good.

Befriend the sun.

What a sweetheart

I don't need to defend myself here.

His dying, Urn-est plea

The man who invented the Pringles can, Fredric J. Baur, has passed on.

Before he went, however, he maintained such a pride in his creation of the container for the "Salty, stackable, saddle-shaped snack" that he requested to have part of his remains buried in one.

I think that's pretty cool. His family complied. What I want to know is, did they buy the tube at a Kroger's or something and have it open at the wake, requesting people to eat from it if they really loved Dr. Baur? Is it weird that they had to eat the contents of the urn before putting the dead guy in it? Part of him, at least. It would be pretty cool if they'd had the head burned separately and put that in the can, I guess. Are his remains living up to the "salty, stackable, saddle-shaped snacks" that were in there before it?

it sorta reminds me of The Big Lebowski. The end of it, at least.

It is our most modestly priced receptacle.

Three Jocular Gentlemen

We're all there with you, though

Another prescient comic from Toothpaste for Dinner

Animals love each other

With regard to my previous post about the tower of walking cuteness that was a rat riding a dog riding a cat, I offer this link:

Raccoon on boar.

Haha, "All aboard!

I'm so clever.

One can't help but wonder what other miraculous riding arrangements this contest will call forth from the depths of the forest. Bats on bears? Snakes on bees? Koalas on kangaroos (yes, please!)?

Carving the cognitive surplus

Tristyn sent me an engrossing link about The Cognitive Surplus.

In summation it argues that we've had an overwhelming load of free time where our brains have not been occupied by fuck-all. No work, no survival stuff. So the sitcom was created and sort of absorbed some of that brain load. We're shaking ourselves out of it, though, and beginning to realize that there are things we can be doing for society and with society as a whole, largely in thanks to th'internet.

Kiss your tubes, folks.

So how big is that surplus? So if you take Wikipedia as a kind of unit, all of Wikipedia, the whole project--every page, every edit, every talk page, every line of code, in every language that Wikipedia exists in--that represents something like the cumulation of 100 million hours of human thought. I worked this out with Martin Wattenberg at IBM; it's a back-of-the-envelope calculation, but it's the right order of magnitude, about 100 million hours of thought.

And television watching? Two hundred billion hours, in the U.S. alone, every year. Put another way, now that we have a unit, that's 2,000 Wikipedia projects a year spent watching television. Or put still another way, in the U.S., we spend 100 million hours every weekend, just watching the ads. This is a pretty big surplus. People asking, "Where do they find the time?" when they're looking at things like Wikipedia don't understand how tiny that entire project is, as a carve-out of this asset that's finally being dragged into what Tim calls an architecture of participation.

Think about all that brain power, is th'argument here, and what better we could be doing with it. I, for one, think that we need more Pet Rocks. Or more of this

Like Wine or Cheese, I guess

It's not that I think I'm getting old, like a stick in the mud or anything. But I'm definitely aging.

I really hurt my neck last night. I leapt over a railing and when I came down on my feet something lodged or dislodged or jarred. Anyway, it's sore. Right now I'm just waiting on it to get better.

Sure I've had a sore neck before. But I usually did something to deserve it before. Like sleep in a closet or take a nasty fall water skiing. But I just landed this time. I'm not sure if my body's trying to tell me to stop landing, but I don't plan on following that advice any time soon.

So while I'm grouchy and sore I've been thinking about how lives change. And, again, I really don't think that I'm old, but I'm getting older. No longer am I thrilled by the prospect of toys or playing hide and seek. I do, however, recall the exhilaration of getting new shelves for my room.

That shocked me. Realizing I could be excited for matching woods in my room. Finding a kitchen table. I think it's the same sort of, "I'm making it mine" thing that throwing up posters of Rammstein and KoRn was in high school but it just seems like such an adult thing.

On the other hand, there's a joyful juvenile tract through my life as well. I'm still pretty keen on comic books, cartoons and movies. Zombie Kickball has been occupying a large part of my cerebellum lately. And I still doodle as obsessively as ever.

But I've been aware of little changes in my body and life that show my advanced years. I guess the fun comes in reconciling the forty years of adultivity ahead of me with the twenty years of youthful exuberance behind. And after sixty five I completely plan on regressing. Should be a fun time.

And what do you think of the Deep Ones?

Here is an alleged interview from 1933 with H.P. Lovecraft. I question it's authenticity but it's still pretty neat to watch.



My favorite quote came in reference to whether or not he had considered the idea of adapting his works to the silver screen:

My work is too arcane and... I hope, too frightening to be consumed with sarsaparillas and popped corn.

I really like the reporter. I think it might be Gordon Cole.

That's two links, by the by, the second will give you an example of what, exactly, I'm talking about.

Cat on Rat on Dog... Where's Dr. Seuss?

A man recently trained a rat to sit on a cat to sit on a dog, creating a tower of cute whimsy. There's totally a kid's story in there. Except for the fact that the artist in question is a homeless crazy.

The link is a video. My personal favorite quote might be, "It's never been about the money."

Or perhaps when he's talking about Van Gogh.

Portland Rocks!

I'm entirely too excited about this event.

ZOMBIE KICKBALL!

Dude! That's like... so cool! SO COOL!

I'll be there with bells on. And by bells on, I mean ragged jeans and pale make up.

Good music, zombie times and kickball. Who could ask for more?

Pre-Colombian Medical Tourism

Medical Tourism is an increasing trend. People in the U.S., where the health industry is fairly deplorable (if you haven't seen Sicko, I'd highly recommend it) will travel to other countries to have medical procedures done. Hannaford, for instance, has a program where knee and hip surgery is performed in Singapore. The benefits are many: it's cheap! Sometimes as much as 10% of the original cost. Doctors are trained in either the U.K., Canada or the States and you get a long recovery time in a foreign country. Service tends to be prompt and professional, quicker even than the U.S. Of course, there are downsides. You aren't anywhere near your family, for instance, and should something bad happen you have to navigate a foreign legal landscape.

I'm for it. I'm ardently opposed to the H.M.O. system and our outlandish fees. I'm also none too fond of the fact that the U.S. is one of the only first world countries without universal health care. Seriously, we're behind Cuba. Cuba! The country that just this year got cell phones has better health care than we do. And a fearsome literacy rate.

I'm also for Cuba.

Anyway, this post isn't really about Medical Tourism. Sort of. I mean, you need a time machine for the kind of medical tourism I'm talking about.

It turns out the Incas were surprisingly skilled at trepanation. If you're unfamiliar with that, it's where they remove a bit of your skull to relieve internal pressure. Particularly after receiving a severe blow and the blood starts flowing up there to help you recover.

If you're not into reading the entire article, here are some neat snippets from it:

Shaved Skull

So, the method of making a hole in your skull was to shave away bits of it. They had it down to such a science at the end that the Inca Nation - in a time before electricty, hospitals, vaccinations, penicillin and advil - had a 90% survival rate. 90%! For putting a hole in your skull! They also had a surprisingly low rate of infection afterwards.

Drunken Surgery

So you've lived through the battle but before you could kill that last guy, he gave you one hell of a smack. Time to start drinking. Without anesthetics the preferred method of putting you under was Maize Beer. Which kind of sucks. Not only do you sustain a horrible head injury but during recovery from having bits of your skull chipped away, you're going to have one hell of a mean hangover.

Worked though.

Acceptance

You wouldn't even be the weird guy with the hole in his head! In one site nearly a third of the skulls had trepanation holes. It was the thing to do. Like tattoos, piercings or inserting a magnet into your finger, it's a culturally accepted thang. Ain't even a phenomenon.

When Time Machines are invented, travel back to 1400s Perú and seek out some nifty skull surgery. You'll get to drink Maize Beer, hang out with warring, human-sacrificing tribes and honor llamas.

Here are some other reasons why the Incas were cool:
Fat Kids and Nice tans.

Sun worship! Ha!

Sketchcraft in Brooklyn

Song's called "Lovecraft in Brooklyn" by the Mountain Goats and this is a version remixed by Aesop Rock. It's all set to a sketch from Sketch Theater. The sketch is done by some dude named Nate Frizzell. It's captivating to watch the sketch form before your eyes. And the song's kinda neat, too.

Thanks to Ectoplasmosis for another neat link!

A Skewed Perspective

A recent New York Times Editorial really captivated me. It deals mostly with the recent Obama/Wright controversy which I feel has been blown way out of proportion.

I like Reverend Wright, quite frankly. Sure he's boisterous and loud and said, "God Fucking Damn America" or something. But he's right about a lot of what he says. It is a country run largely by white men who have an active and long-standing interest in keeping down minorities of all stripes and enforcing the status quo.

But his distrust stems from a solid two hundred year heritage of abuse. There certainly are problems with America and Reverend Wright happens to see (some of) them with alarming clarity.

On the other side, though, we have people like this Hagee fellow, or Pat Robertson or any other religious, right-wing evangelical. These guys are hateful and have no good reason to be after a lifetime of privilege and power. The American system works for them and they still want to crush gays, jews, blacks, catholics, atheists, sodomists, abortionists, leprechauns, anteaters and apple pie. These guys are awful, despicable human beings.

And it's OK that they endorse John McCain. It must be OK. It has gone unsaid, unchallenged and unrecognized for months. Say what you will about the relationship between Reverend Wright and Obama (and I'll say this: I like that we've got a candidate who was angry at some point. Maybe he'll get something done), it's nowhere near as ill-boding and insidious as this nasty McCain/Hagee business.

And in the end, the Obama/Wright thing really doesn't influence my opinion on Obama or Hillary. I'm still on the fence. I still can't decide. I'll be more than happy with either candidate and I hope that enough Democrats aren't childish enough to completely screw the pooch here and vote Nader and give us another four years of economic slipping and another 100 years in Iraq and war in Iran and the slow chipping away of our rights.

My hero

So, this man loves PBR. I also love PBR, though I must confess my devotion falls a little short of his.

Not that I don't envy him and perhaps even strive for his goals. Maybe I'll have my ashes placed in an urn shaped like a PBR bottle.

Yes, it comes in bottles. It's perhaps the most delicious way to consume the beverage.

Holy Crap!

This might be one of the most incredible inventions ever.

Now if only I ate more stuff out of jars. It's still really clever, though.

5 (presumably) Diabetic Cats

A comparison of Wilford Brimley to not 1 or 2 or 3 but 5 cats to which he bears (or they bear) a distinct resemblance. One can assume these cats are all vaguely cranky, speak in a horrible creole (at about 1:40. He's got a beard!), and enjoy oatmeal.

Link

Adorable Penguin Technology

So, there was a poor penguin named Pierre
Who found that he was losing his hair

So a wet suit was made
So he could leave the arcade
And fish for quarters in the cool arctic water!

Shit. That sucks. Anyway, that's the story. This penguin was losing his feathers. Unlike mammals, penguins have no blubber to insulate against the cold. They rely on their waterproof feathers to keep the icy water out. So some people made him a wet suit. Now all his feathers are returning and he's being weaned off the wet suit.

Hooray for science!

And on a related note, they've discovered the remains of Human Sized Peruvian Penguins. If it turns out they ate flesh, I'll have something new to add to my nightmares.

"¡No! ¡Andalé! ¡Los pingüinos horrificos vienen del mar!"

And that would be the story of the death of the Peruvians. For surely no one could withstand the fury of the Mighty Penguin (Pingüino Temible).

I'm a genius!

I've done it now!: http://tinyurl.com/u

Haha. I'm so clever. If at first you don't understand, follow the link (do it, do it!) and read what the site's about.

Haha! It is a pretty clever site, though.

Happy May Day!

In lieu of a basket, I have for you a sort of digital treat that might come inside a hypothetical imaginary basket. Woven of reeds of Ones and Zeros.



Enjoy!

And who stole his orchestra?

HOOOOOMEEEEEEERRRR!!!!

EDIT: Sunrise, Sunset.

Vacation time, ladies!

Need a rest, girls? Some time to get away from it all and reflect? Why not visit The always lovely Congo?

Go by yourself, though. I'm not tagging along.

EDIT:Maybe I will come along...

Haha, Neat!

Some student of Shakespeare and Tarantino has translated some memorable scenes from Pulp Fiction into delightful Shakespearean Style quotes.

I'm naming my kid Harris Paramentier or whatever that was. I know the first word was "Hachis" but what cruel parent would name their kid Hachis?

Summertime!

The Whole World features a great, infectious summertime beat. It is, however, a depressing sorta song about oppression and greed now that I actually pay attention to the words.

Anyway, I often think of it as a summery song. And seeing as how it's warming and sunny and generally loverly outside, I'm posting it.



Watching the video, it's no small wonder they made Idlewild. Perhaps they should've just made a lot more music videos like this, though, because Idlewild was kind of crap.

Hallelujah

Lore, of the long extinct Brunching Shuttlecocks acclaim, has resurrected the ratings system from said website in video form for Wired.com. "Oh frabjous day, callooh, callay!" he chortled in his joy.

The latest review Optical Illusions is well worth your time. I'm not embedding it because he apparently desperately needs the hits. So both of the hits he gets from this site will be completely worth it, I'm sure.

Enjoy.

If I have to go, let it be from this

Apparently there's a horrible disease called Frontotemporal Dementia. A mathematician and composer both died of it about 75 years apart. And the mathematician, who died more recently, became obsessed with a work the composer made while in the throes of said illness.

Link to BoingBoing write-up

Buttmachine

Buttmachine is a song by That 1 Guy. Some sort of musician/artist playing a self-made musical instrument. It's a wonderful little video. Well worth a watch. I guess, as a warning, there are butts. But they are all clothed. And some of them are his.



It's also worth checking out this video of him playing his instrument *snort* live to see whatall he does to make such noises.

And thanks to Ectoplasmosis for the linkstravaganza.

New post

New post over at Grungy Noir. Little poem. Think it maybe should be a song. It's old and I recently uncovered it.

There's parts of it I think work really well. There're parts of it that I don't think work as well. All in all I'm in favor of it. Please do comment, though. You can leave comments there or email me or leave them here. I'll get them eventually.

Rock and Roll. I'm going to bed.

Magnetic North

Last night I went to the Portland Stage Company and saw a (free!) play. The play is called Magnetic North by one William Donnely and follows four people as they discuss what it means to be in love.

Of course there is more than that. But I think when boiled down, that's the heart of it. And that heart is really solid. Before I get much further, I want to point out that I don't particularly like stage acting and I don't have much training in dissecting plays. I'm going to try it anyway.

The writing is sharp. The characters are all distinctive and the humor (you will laugh, methinks, unless you're an insufferable curmudgeon) comes out in genuine and endearing ways. Magnetic North (almost) never feels like a real conversation. But when you go to a play, you don't want to see that. This is witty and intelligent stuff. If you want to see real people talk, hang out with your friends and let them carry the conversation for a bit. If you want to see how you wish you talked, go see a play. This play.

The plot is simple. Simple is often good and sometimes great. I'm not sure this is great, but it's better than good. A married couple - James and Leigh - has hit a snag in their relationship and the husband happens upon a significant ex-girlfriend - Mara - from his youth. James has a work buddy, Emmet, who bears witness to James and Leigh's turmoil. They use him as a confessional. Emmet is the audience, but he gets to participate. He is also the strongest character in the show. He's unique and funny and honest. Quincy somethingorother, the actor who portrayed him, did a masterful job.

Mara is a vibrant and vivacious (can that word be used non-ironically?) 30 something ex-lover of James. She plays the part well. She's persuasive and seductive and attractive and a little bit hurt. Daniella... somethingorother (no relation) does a wonderful job. I never questioned her role but never celebrated it, either. That might be a defect of the character who's driving for a rupture in James' marriage and not a portrayal issue. The jury's still out on that one.

Leigh is the beautifully wounded wife of James. She's had a miscarriage and is still picking up the pieces. Jesse Whats'erface only sufficed in acting the part for a while for me. Then she delivered this monologue about her initial encounter with James. About falling in love with him. It was the sweetest thing I have seen on stage and one of my favorite monologues of all time. From that moment on, Leigh was all right with me and Jesse was more than redeemed. It's one of those moments where you realize how cool love can be.

James, played by Tom... um... Tom, was the weak link for me. He seems like a charming enough guy but he's nonresponsive. Or he responds to stimuli that's not there. I understand he's a drama teacher or something from NYU so he might've had a snobbish attitude about this role way up in Little Ol' Maine. But if that's the case, what's he doing up here? He was more or less sufficient for my tastes, though.

The stagecraft was pretty cool, too. A giant lazy susan was built on top of the stage and used to rotate the sets. There's a spartan living room, a barebones bar and an office copy room. They spin hither and yon, as rooms are wont to do. The ladies pretty much stay in their worlds. Domestic Leigh at home with the Jane Goodall documentaries and Mara (except for one quick jaunt to the street outside her apartment) remains at the bar with the wine and tunes. It's an engaging and clever way to break up the scenes and there is an interesting scene of interwoven dialogue that plays off the openness of the set.

The play resolves in the way you'd expect. There's no let down or surprises for students of structure. Well, there are pleasant surprises. You root for the right people and you still care about the wrong ones.

All in all, I'm for it. If you're feeling rich and looking for a quick thrill, the play's only an hour and a quarter and you'll laugh and you'll get lost in it. You might even find your heart is drawn to magnetic north even though it's easier to see geographic north.

Best Day Ever!

Happy Act Like a T-Rex Day, evybudy!



This is a great example of internet fueled instant culture. There's not even an official website for this day but thanks to the social networking site Facebook (in particular) and several others too, most likely, there are people across the country - maybe even the globe - celebrating Act Like a T-Rex Day.

Shorten your arms. Stalk and stomp. Roar. Shake your (meaty) food with your mouth before swallowing it.

Eat a lawyer.

Philosophize! Make innocent and erroneous assumptions about the nature of being, the nature of language and the creepiness of octopodes only to be corrected by your friends!

note: Krister does not condone the eating of lawyers or uncooked food. Unless it's sushi.

He has a human face

Another mystery solved! Take that, Da Vinci (Di Vinci?), you can't avoid the cameras for all of you (un)life.

Things You Can Pass A Baby Through

1. Unstrung Tennis Racket

2. Basketball Hoop

3. Field Goal Posts

4. Blue Whale's Aorta

5. The opening of an Adult Human Female's Pelvic Bone

6. Deskinned Floor Tom

7. An Open Window

8. Tire Swing Tire

9. A Boa Constrictor

10. Roadside Culvert

I don't condone passing a baby through any of these. Though you might find it necessary for at least the pelvis one.

And the whale aorta.

Method, That Scientific One

Sometimes I wish I was more into Science. Bascially I'm looking for some sort of motivation to make my exercise more consistent. But being into Science I might be more interested in the subtle effects changes in diet have or how modifying my exercise routine changes my metabolism. Noticeable effects on mood, energy, attention etc.

Instead I don't really pay all that much attention to it. And I don't care to.

Or something.

Right now the only motivation is the little steps I see. There are some, but it's never very much. Not greatly encouraging. I am keeping at it, though. I do know that this sorta stuff takes time. But being consistent, lame.

Oh, Danny Boy

Ok, I take it back. This video has convinced me St. Patrick's Day is worth celebrating.

I love the muppets.

Happy Liberalia!

St. Patrick's day, pfah, let's celebrate in the bacchanalian sinfest known as Liberalia. If you didn't have enough toga fun celebrating The Ides of March, that is. And we all know you didn't.

I celebrated St. Patty's day yesterday. It was pretty good times. At Noon or so I got a call from Nick that Wendy wanted to make up some pancakes and eggs. Not being one to turn down food, I took off. I brought Champagne and Orange Juice and PBR as well, just to make things fun.

Wendy and Maddie made the breakfast, I poured the drinks. Nick sat around. We ate. We made our Mimosas green. Later on, we mixed PBR and OJ (It's about what you'd expect) in a sort of bootleg Redneck Mimosa. I was hoping for some Tang in place of the OJ, but none abounded in the Rite Aid.

After watching Superbad, Nick took off for work and I escorted the ladies to Hannaford where they purchased a proper Irish dinner. Corned beef and boiled potatoes and cabbage. I didn't partake of that on account of going to bed early for work. For I am lame.

But when I woke up I saw carrots, too.

Oh! They made an apple pie. Hopefully I'll get a chance to try it, but I'm not guaranteeing it.

Maddie, Wendy and I played Apples to Apples for a bit, too. All in all it was a good day and a proper celebration of... well, not really that properly Irish (for me) but a proper celebration, to be sure.

Notebooks

I'm a little worried I'm going to come home drunk some day and spend fifteen dollars on these notebooks. They look pretty awesome and I've read nothing but good reviews about them.

And I know that says, "drunk some day" up there and that you aren't supposed to drink during the day. All I have to say to that is that I get up at 3 AM. And most weekdays lately, I haven't even been drinking. Unless it's a Friday, but that doesn't really count.

But those notebooks look pretty cool.

Instead I bought a new Moleskine today. I've been needing one. And some pens. And the second issue of Fables, which I look forward to reading at work.

Beards and Memories

I was just cruising along the information superhighway and checking out a review of Drew Toothpaste's beard, when I looked to the right and noticed a link to this guy's beard.

dalas! Anyone else remember that guy? Good to see he's growing a beard.

Lady Madonna: So Great

You probably are well familiar with this song, but I think it's important that you listen to it right now. It's not like you're in the middle of anything important, excepting, of course, my blog. Which is of utmost importance.

Creep in like a nun.

Hooray for good music good times!

Some sort of an update

A couple important things that've happened recently:

I went and saw an awesome revival blues show on Sunday night. Samuel James hosted a pre-release party for his upcoming album at Space Gallery. He had a host of awesome guests. Every other song he had a new person come up on stage with him. I had no idea the revival blues scene was so huge. His guests included his father, area artist Meantone, Moses Atwood and Papa James, father of the featured musician. The song with Meantone started as a collaboration and ended as an uproarious Blues War. They were running around the stage, slamming on their resonators, switching guitars/banjos and hats even! There was also a show stealing Musical Saw player. There was one other guy he played with who was highly energetic. Belting out the song with everything he had in him, stomping furiously the whole song. Unfortunately, I have no idea what his name was.

But it was great.

And at the end of the show everyone who had been a guest got up for one last singalongy song. The whole night was pretty wonderful.

It would entirely behoove you to check out any of those named artists. I just couldn't be bothered to link to them.

And yesterday we fixed the washing machine. When we opened up the beast in the basement, we uncovered three of my socks and no one else's. And one of those socks was the one causing the problem and blocking the pump. It was pretty easy to fix but sort of a bitch to dis- and re- assemble.

Anyway, good times.

Hey Jude

All right, I understand that "Hey Jude" can be a divisive song, with people loving or hating it and not really in between. However, I do believe that there is not a single person alive who can't enjoy this kid's devotion to his passion: being cute.

This Kid epitomizes (perhaps?) that wonderful childhood quality of self-gratification and self-satisfaction. He's doing what he loves because it makes him feel good. He loves the song, so he's gonna sing it. And he's gonna do it in his diapers, by gum. Anyway, the cutest kid ever.

Fame

I'm gonna live forever!

Check it out, everyone, I'm Famous!

That link probably won't work forever, but not to worry, I'm copying the file to a DV tape. Oh memories.

Infectious Fun

Ha! OK, Kudos to Tristyn for pointing me toward this delightful video. I think we can all get behind it.

Lollipop!

I guarantee you'll feel great after watching it.

Twitterlee-Dee 2

OK. So I updated the Twitter account (months ago) to be updated via SMS. I'm finally actually USING it on a somewhat regular basis.

And If you'll roll your eyes to the right (not that kind of roll... jerk) you'll see that updates are right there! The last three! What a world we live in, eh?

My weekend:

Friday Night: Hung out, drank wine. Good times. Naps. Etc. etc. Then I drove Joe, this guy who crashes here, to The Station and he watched the glory of a Nick-directed show that aired on Fox. He was also drunk for the first time in months.

Then we went out to Brian Boru's and met up with Luke and had birthday pleasantries. Which mostly just meant hanging out like we usually do. I drank an energy drink on the way out and consequently felt sorta like shit for most of the time I was out there. I guess that's what I get for being up since three in the A.M.

Saturday I drank more wine and met up with work folks for celebrations of Matt's birthday. We started at Dogfish with delicious foods, went over to the White Heart for boogieing (yep, I was dancing. ...I had had a few. It was ridiculous, you would have loved it). We ducked out of The White Heart a bit early and jetted over to Empire and met up with Nick's Ladyfriend and associate. From there Wendy took us in to the PSC where I may or may not have wheelchair jousted and removed my pants. Not at the same time.

Then I went home and slept.

The next day Mum came over and we had a pleasant dinner involving Pizza made by yours truly, a bottle of wine and an apple pie. I also bought her flowers. Happy Birthday, Mum!

Then I went to bed and from there to work. Then I wrote this post.

Besides a good band name, of course

What on earth is a "Chinchilla Beard"?

I've been reading Sherlock Holmes stories lately. It's way more enjoyable than when I tried as a younger man. Largely, I think, because of the steady evolution of the English language. But this particular story, "The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb," features a man with a "chinchilla beard growing from the creases of his double chin."

I leads me to believe it's one of those beards that grows on the soft, fleshy part of the neck. The part that I hate shaving because I worry about slipping and cutting open my carotid and bleeding out on the old-soap-green linoleum tiles.

I think it's the beard you see a lot on basketball players? Almost like chin straps, but further back on the neck. Under the jaw.

I'm also, of course, puzzled by the name. I've been looking at pictures of Chinchillas (Awwwwwwww) and they don't seem to have any sort of beard. The name "Chinchilla" is Spanish and means "Little Chincha." And the Chincha in this case refers to the Chincha People of the Andes. They were conquered by the Aztecs about a century before the Spaniards showed up BUT their taste for wearing and eating Chinchillas lived on.

Maybe those guys had beards like that?

Maybe it looks like the beard you'd have if you strapped a Chinchilla under your chin. Which sounds like a highly worthwhile adventure, if you ask me. And if you don't care about my opinion, I must question why you're reading this.

I don't know. If anyone has any answers, I'd like to hear them.

EDIT:

A mystery solved?

Mum pointed out to me an article about a Beard Growing Competition in a town in Queensland, Australia called Chinchilla. The town, it seems, is named after an Aboriginal word for a kind of vine. BUT a "famous" resident was an explorer by the name of Ludwig Leichhardt. Apparently he disappeared and was never found again. The important thing here, though, is his Great Bushy Beard.

If he instilled in the town of Chinchilla a sense of Beardy Pride, could it be that it's fame creeped out like some insidious fungus? Much like the name Sideburns coming from General Burnsides?

Mum also suggested that perhaps the Chinchilla Beard is rather soft. I would guess that hard to infer from Sight, although it's possible Holmes walked up to the man and caressed his beard.

Also, holy crap, check out Henrik Ibsen's Sideburns.

And also, a handy list of Facial Hairs.

Ron Paul: Not That Great

Ron Paul has created a lot of buzz by being conservative but wanting to end our Iraq occupation. He also supports getting rid of the Federal Income Tax. That's kinda neat. Also cool? He opposes the War on Drugs.

I think he opposes it for the wrong reasons, but opposition is opposition.

But he's not that great. He wants to build a 700 mile wall on the Mexican Border, because the only immigrants we want sneaking in are Canadians and those who know how to swim. He's pro-life, but I don't think he expects other people to also be. However, he introduced the Sanctity of Life Act which would repeal the federal effects of Roe V. Wade and leave it all up to the states. He personally believes that marriage should be man and woman. He doesn't think there needs to be a federal definition as such, but that each state can go ahead and do that if it wants. Paul doesn't want federal courts hearing matters about any of those things. He opposes the Patriot Act but he also opposes Gun Control.

He supports pulling out of NATO and the UN. That scares me.

Basically, why Ron Paul isn't that great, or even great at all, I'd say, is that being a hermit doesn't work. It seems that his basic strategy would be to be that kid who shuts his eyes, puts his fingers in his ears and yells, "LA LA LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU LA LA LA." There's a lot of shit that government does that sucks. But there's a lot of good. If you want to abolish all programs not specifically stated in the Constitution, you get rid of great things like LI-HEAP, Federal Housing Funding, Free and Reduced School Lunch etc. etc. These are things people really need.

He's probably a nice guy. I bet he's an ideal candidate for running something small and self-sustained. Let's give him Delaware. I don't think he should be meddling in the affairs of one of the most influential, wealthy (sort of) nations of the world. Isolationism. It doesn't help anyone.

Remember when the Ents didn't want to get involved in that big war in Lord of the Rings? And then they were fucking sideswiped and taken advantage of?

Remember how the United States was Isolationist before Pearl Harbor? Germany before WWII?

I don't know, I think Isolation just gives you a chance to go crazy and be taken advantage of. It doesn't solve problems. Ron Paul won't solve our problems.

I don't think I'm making myself completely clear. He's unfit to lead, though.

Stick that in your pipe and Drink it, Dow.

The 1855 Governor of Portland, ME, Neal S. Dow was an ardent Prohibitionist. He set into place the Maine Law of 1855 which banned the sale and manufacture of liquor except for "medicinal and mechanical" purposes.

Which interests me. I understand where the medicinal part comes from but what on earth is the mechanical bit?

Anyway, the point of this missive is that on Neal Street there's a Gulf station and on Dow street there's a 7/11 and since both are within easy walking distance, they serve as the purchase points of most of my beer not bought at a bar.

Irony? Perhaps. I'm sure Dow's spinning in his grave thinking about it.

EDIT:

Here's a map!

View Larger Map

Lemme walk you through it. My house is there on Marshall Street in the lower left corner. It's on the left next to the "St." Walk up Marshall, hang a right on Brackett and then walk the wrong way down Neal Street. That's the Gulf station on the corner of Neal and Congress. Take a right on Congress and walk to Dow Street. That's where the 7/11 is.

Neat!

The Porcupine Trail

While skiing on Sunday, Dad and I met up with a couple of other instructors and regulars while out on the trail Dudley Do-Right.

"Did you see The Porcupine Trail?" They asked.

"There's one up there and just down there."

We hadn't. We skied a bit down and stopped above one of those trails of anti-freeze that Snow Cats sometimes leave while grooming the trails late at night. Except, on closer inspection, this trail had quills. And bits of flesh.

This was where a porcupine, an animal with no natural predators on the mountain, had met its end in the steely crush of a rolling tread. Not unlike a tank tread. There were some skull fragments. There was a complete claw. Which, despite the best efforts of one of the guys, would not be stuck to a nearby light pole.

"Best groomed porcupine in all of Maine."

Skiing

I've been skiing this year. It was pretty good. The snow was OK and the weather was phenomenal and the slopes weren't crowded.

I skied up to Mt. Abram. It's about an hour and a half from here in Portland, but a lovely drive up Route 26. Plus I've been skiing there for 22 odd years. Plus Dad gets me in for free.

Plus it's part of the ritual. Skiing has a whole, unrecognized ritual which is equally as important to the experience as whizzing down the trails on a pair of flat boards. Or on a single board if that's your (lame) "style."

Kidding! Snowboarding's OK. And we can all agree it beats the hell out of telemarking.

So the ritual. Get up early on a weekend day. Pack your stuff. You need a whole new suit for this exercise. You pack your snow pants, parka, mittens, spare gloves, specialized boots, hats, goggles, scarves, face warmers, sweatshirts and extra layers. Grab the skis and the poles and throw them in the car.

Drive out to the country.

Often a scenic and lovely drive. Route 26 certainly is.

Arrive. Unpack the car. Purchase your ticket. Change! This is an important part of the ritual indeed. You can't just change. It's important that as you're putting on your ridiculous costume which (ridiculous though it may be) will keep you warm and dry you chat with the folks changing around you. Talk about favorite trails. Things you've missed. Funny anecdotes about desperately having to pee while out skiing (happens to everyone). What sort of liquor you have in your flask.

Make sure you're wearing a sweater. And a sweater you normally wouldn't be caught dead in. A sweater that would embarrass one of those snooty frat guys in College Movies. It's important.

You're all set. You've strapped on your bulky boots which make walking a new adventure (though I'm a pro). Stumble out of the lodge, grab your skis. Click in. Get in the lift line.

Ride up. Enjoy it. When was the last time you were hanging out in a chair lift? Floating twenty or more feet in the air. Turn around, crane your neck around and look awkwardly above the heads of those on the lift behind you. You can see for miles across wilderness and snow and roads carving patchwork patterns across the landscape. Occasionally a cell tower juts up or a silo. Appreciate the majesty of what you're about to do. Think about the edges of your skis melting the snow to water as you turn. The sounds you'll hear. Maybe you'll start a conversation and have to stop for the wind rushing past your ears. Maybe you'll keep shouting louder and louder. What will this view look like when you're descending the mountainside at 30 MPH on a pair of thin wooden planks with sharp metal edges?

Slide off the lift. Maybe you've got a favorite first run. Maybe you're playing it by ear. Letting the skis decide. Either way, inhale, point them boards downhill and push, because baby you're off.

And at first it's a little slow going while you remember what to do. For some (ahem) this is only a turn or two. For others it's most of a trail. Some might even need refresher lessons.

My favorite thing to do when skiing is to try and not think at all. To try and almost achieve a sort of Zen-trance. Those moments of pure ecstasy as your edge sinks in after a rooster tail cascade of snow shot up and you take off on a turn. Go over to the edges and feel some of that untraveled and still fresh snow. Traverse the middle and watch out for bumps. Catch a little air.

Stop. Breathe. Look around.

Think about technique. Think about other people's techniques. There used to be a guy who skied Mt. Abram fairly regularly who would put his poles up to his armpits and hold his arms out like a T. His turns weren't great but he'd try and touch the tip of his pole to the ground, dragging it for a few yards before turning the other way. He wasn't the most technically accomplished skier. But he was a Skier. He was there for himself, appreciating his sport in the way only he could.

Slide to a stop at the bottom.

Get ready to do it again. But beware, Gravity is a Harsh Mistress and you might well fall. It's all part of the experience, though. Laugh it off. Even if you've broken something, you broke it while skiing. It's a story. Something for the lounge after the day is out. They've got Ski Patrols for that sorta shit, anyway (Mt. Abram's Ski Patrol motto: You bag it, we drag it).

After a while, you need some hot chocolate. Your face is a bit chilled. You're invigorated by the cold but your legs need a minute. You just like hot chocolate. You'll need it at some point. Ski down to the lodge, pop out of your bindings. Clunk into the cafeteria area. Put one of the cups under the Hot Chocolate machine and press the button as in a nearly profane orgasm of hot water and chocolate mix your cup is filled. Wait! Release the button just a moment after the machine recommends. It's better this way.

Sip.

Enjoy.

Do it all again.

Mustache Feeling

So, this clip from The Tick pretty much sums up how I've been feeling for the past week and a half. And if you haven't seen my face, you might be able to guess why by the end.

GAH!

5 Scientific Reasons the Zombie Apocalypse Could Actually Happen

It's kinda terrifying. And kinda awesome.

Also, Cracked has a lot of cool articles. Go read them.

...shudder...

Feelin' Loop

My Grandmother gave me some cash for Christmas and with said Bucks I picked myself up a Boss RC-20XL Phrase Recorder. Plenty of people have reviewed it, so I'm not gonna do that here (though it is pretty awesome).

Why I really like it is that I'm finally teaching myself some friggin' scales and it's allowing me to tool around with those over my own self playing. I've got a couple of CDs and one tape that have tracks you can play over, but I've never been too interested in that. But the ability to riff over my own stuff has been really liberating. I'm having a lot of fun with this guy. I looped a simple song (Spoon's Infinite Pet - after an idea from Nick) and have spent at least thirty minutes playing over it.

What fun!

Also, I cleaned up my room and have finally utilized the shelving Mum got me for my birthday so the room looks less hovelesque and more like a respectable place. If only I could clean up the rest of this crap, I'd be golden.

So that's my Saturday so far. I got up late. I'm about to shower, then go cash in on Dad's gift of $40 to RSVP. Then I'll have some dinner and it sounds like we're going to a party in Bridgton.

A good day, all in all.

Contraception

I know you've all been waiting for a Holiday update. Here goes:

It was good. I ate a lot. I was really happy to see friends and family. Lovely time of year. And it was a White Christmas! I had a lot of fun making my christmas cards.

Now on to other stuff.

As you no doubt recall, King Middle School here in Portland approved a decision to provide birth control pills to sexually active middle school students. King Middle School happens to have students from as young as 11 all the way up to the ages 14 and 15.

People were pissed off when they found out. The most logical (in my mind) were the ones mad that the kids wouldn't even have to tell their parents. The least were assuming all the kids would start receiving it automatically. King already provided condoms, it's worth noting.

It seemed like a reasonable plan to me. They're not providing anything that's not already available to the kids. All it takes is a trip to the medic and any kid can have a completely confidential meeting with the doctor to talk about whatever. The parent has to leave. So the school confidentiality issue isn't an issue. Other people were concerned that 11 year olds taking the pill would suffer hormonal problems. Well, they probably would. But seeing as how you still have to get doctor approval and a doctor's prescription to get the pill, I doubt a lot of them will be getting it. And the five students (last I checked) who are receiving the pill are all 14 or 15.

There were, of course, knee jerk reactions. But as people started paying attention to the information that was already readily available they calmed down. For the most part. There was still a movement, however, to recall three of the school board members who voted for the pill.

It failed miserably.

And that makes me really happy. They needed 3,000 signatures for all three school board members and got under 300.

What makes me happiest about it is that I think it proves that most people are reasonable and in the face of all the good evidence that this program will do good things, they accept that. The petition has been available for signatures for quite a while, and it still got fewer people than a Shaker Meeting.

BAM!

EDIT: I corrected some figures at the end.