Rosie O'Donnell seems to be convinced that 9/11 was a conspiracy by the Bush administration to set up the conditions of an oil bonanza... or something. We can really do no more than surmise what the purpose of the conspiracy actually was because all we have is a disjointed symphony of things that are intended to make us suspicious of our own national motives or - at the very least - help us cue the spooky music in the dark theaters of our minds.
Her list is another version of the same kinds of things that have already been dismissed years ago when Michael Moore tried to conduct that same orchestra. That particular deconstruction of the conspiracy theory was done at the hands of the ultra-right wing paramilitary publication known as Slate Magazine. Christopher Hitchens, that puppet like mouthpiece for the unrepentant capitalist war-mongering press, wrapped this subject up in 2004, so far as I knew.
Well... little did I know.
O'Donnell now informs us that Britain sent their sailors into Iranian waters to be arrested in order to provoke events that will lead to an invasion of Iran. At least that is what I am able to decipher - if, in my decrepitude, I can fathom her poor one-off of cummings-style open verse - by the cryptic assertion that "the british did it on purpose".
O'Donnell's pleasant poetry concludes with the lines
we will be in iran before summer as planned
Well, it is our job to be suspicious of our national motives. Our national motives are in constant need of review, no matter what party is at the policy controls. No good citizen of a free republic should blindly follow the dictates of the national leadership without at least some cursory understanding of the reasons or the possible consequences. Serious questions about our involvement in the Middle East are waiting for answers that never seem to be forthcoming, let alone clear. And, just for clarity's sake, I am neither a friend to this current administration or a supporter of its nation-building goals, such as they are. The Bush administration is a shambles and can't seem to manage to put a foot right to save itself. I can't wait for it to be replaced and gone. What passes for leadership coming from the Executive is really no more than a festering mess.
But charges that the UK planned the event of this past month as a prelude to war, and that we will have a strike force fighting with Iran before the summer begins as planned, requires Ms. O'Donnell to produce hard evidence that such plans exist. Surmising, extrapolating, guessing, or bloviating, do not constitute rational public discourse when charges of such a deadly serious nature are opened.
The burden of proof now rests with O'Donnell. She must produce the documentation to back this claim, or we should view this as simply another round of posturing by an inelegant and poorly disguised political hack. If nothing else her failure to provide such concrete evidence of these plans - without the comfortable cover of personal opinion masquerading as fact - does further harm to those of us who are trying to provide a serious argument against the Iraq adventure, and she becomes a blue plate juggling Bozo on the periphery of honest debate. Much like the painfully thin, pistol-armed blonde who juggles red plates on the other side of the curtain.
Something instructs me to not hold my breath while waiting for Rosie to fess up on her sources. Methinks it is mere opinion, in the end, and therefore something similar to a certain orifice we all possess.
Comments are off on O'Donnell's blog. What need have we to explore this all further?
Please Allow Me To Yell At The Internet For A Second Here...
Ahem. Excuse me. I am a very happily married man. And even if I were single, God help me, I'd still be 53 years old with a bit of a belly I really have to get to work on pretty soon (again).
I am not in the market for a date.
I wouldn't know what to do with it if I had one. If I were single right now, my chances of snaring some little twenty-something-year-old with ultra milky smooth skin and peach-colored eyes or something would be pretty damn slim. I haven't had a six-pack under my rib cage in twenty years, and when the sun on the beach hit my hair there would be enough white to remind her of Christmas. Not exactly the studly one anymore, if ever I even was. And, believe me, reading is really high on my "what to do for fun at night" list. If there was a way to make some 30-ish sex kitten snore, I am that formula.
I recognize that internet marketing attempts to target their audience. They have found a way to "read" you via cookies or whatever. But explain to me how a person who spends most of his internet time with his stock portfolio, his blog, a handful of daily blogs he visits, Yellowbook in pursuit of potential customers, Morningstar, his bank account, and CityJournal, ends up with an ad that is offering to let me meet singles "in my town"??
I HAVE NO DESIRE TO MEET SINGLES "IN MY TOWN". The internet can't even NAME my town, and the singles I come across in real life SCARE ME HALF TO DEATH!
So stop it. I can deal with the ads for the best bank rates around. I could at least DO something with that baby. But this other stuff... oh puh-leeeze.
A couple of weeks ago I told everybody to shut up. Following that episode Atul wanted to know what it was about others that made us pay attention and show them their due respect when they opened their yaps spoke.
So in keeping with the spirit of our last few items amongst the Roundtablers;
Go over there or don't, I don't actually give a crap.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Back From Omaha...
Back from a short trip to Kansas City and then a couple days in Omaha selling my wares.
Hiya.
Omaha is an interesting place if only for the fact that it is the home of "The Wizard of Omaha" (by name of Warren Buffett). The billionaire.
What's funny is that when you bring up his name to people there they speak of him as "Warren" this and "Warren" that. And "oh yeah he lives in a ranch house over there, nothing fancy. I know his carpenter." He runs a company called Berkshire Hathaway (the "A" stock is $108,290 a share, but the "B" stock is only $3600 a share) that has made the people who stuck with him when the company was only a few dollars a share incredibly wealthy. And through it all the whole crew of them seem to have all remained as down-home and decidedly not ostentatious as you could imagine. Buffett still makes a salary of $100,000 a year, they say, and is often published and quoted as criticizing CEO's of failing companies who walk away with millions. That's my guy!
But I want to mention "sticking with" other folks in this post. An object lesson about why it is good to stand by your friends.
Years back when I had that small magazine I published some writers whose stuff I liked and not just a few of them have moved ahead with their work. I didn't discover anybody, they were already being published in the small press world, but I'm proud to say I saw their talent when they were starting.
Sharon Dolan is a poet who wrote "These, our dreams. This window could stay open for a million years" when she wrote for my Review back in 1992. Amazon offers a collection of her work titled Realm of the Possible (among others as you will see if you click her name there). It carries very positive reviews.
William P. Haynes wrote us a cryptic piece he called "Horses" for that same Spring-Summer issue, only at the time he wrote under the pen-name of Elliot. Now his Mesphisto’s Seed series is into its third book. Funny... he uses his real name now but one of the characters in the story is a fellow named Elliot. Cheeky devil.
I've offered to back people in their work before if they were going to self-publish. Yes it is enlightened self-interest, but self-publishing isn't cheap. So far, perhaps, some have misunderstood my intentions. Maybe someday I can play my Diaghilev to some burgeoning talent. That would make me very happy. I get a kick out of other people's success.
Speaking of which... check out the latest thing that has happened to another one of my friends. We know her as Agent Bedhead, a respective blog-daughter of mine but even more so a purveyor of all things from the muddy underside of the red carpet.
Her first movie review for Pajiba is right here, done in her best slasher coquette voice. I never heard of the movie, but that obviously only means its something recent.
Go leave a comment. Get in on the ground floor. I'm tellin' ya.
Sunday nights are usually boring in the blog-osmic-exo-sphere. The usual places I go around to are generally quiet. No shouting. No noise. Just blah.
I guess a lot of people are watching Sunday night cable which, if you really let yourself get into it, will instruct you that everything you know is wrong and everything you always suspected when you were on LSD back in the day was true. The Nazis had flying saucers that may still be active today. There is a connection between these Nazi flying saucers, the Knight's Templar AND the Holy Grail. There is a secret world navy ready to fight the forces of Markab should they finally burst out of their intergalactic moth cocoons and attack the Earth or something. You know, the real important stuff.
Next month I am going to give a speech outlining my decades of work and study to the Finnish UFO Research Association, wherein I shall present my complete treatise A Final Word On The Identity Of Our Alien Forefathers, which I have completed after almost twenty-five years of study. This is the subject you laymen would call "ancient astronauts". Just so you know.
To summarize for my millions of readers out there in the blogodexidrinarcturosphere (because of your short attention spans) I will summarize the results of my study.
If you're still reading...
Here is the cornerstone evidence of the argument for extra-terrestrial influence in the ancient world. This Egyptian display of ancient aircraft is found in an ancient tomb. Note the varied flying craft depicted.
Egyptian display of ancient aircraft
My particular epiphany began with the image near the lower right corner. The study of this detail of Egyptian display of ancient aircraft, after many years, finally bore fruit!
Detail of Egyptian display of ancient aircraft
It was intensely illusive, but - slowly - the evidence finally revealed itself to my inquisitive, fevered, and exquisitely well-tuned mind!
Inspiration for the detail of Egyptian display of ancient aircraft
It is obvious from the evidence revealed what our conclusions must be - considering the distinctive profile of the craft in question. There could only be one logical source for the knowledge given to the ancient tomb builders and, probably, all the purveyors of Earthly culture since.
The baseball season is around the corner and we will once again get to see how ridiculous the Cubs are going to look great the White Sox are going to be. Hopefully a return to the American League Pennant is on its way. I think the boys got a little too happy about themselves last year. Anyway we shall see, as they say.
But more than how stupid the Cubs are just talking about the belov-ed White Sox, I think the time has come for Baseball to get its priorities in order and get Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame.
In the over 120 years since they have been taking somewhat reliable records of such things, no one in the entire history of the game has more base hits (4,256), played in more games (3,562), batted more times (14,053), had more seasons of 200 or more hits (10), or played in 500 or more games at five different positions (only player to do so). This is not to mention his 44-game hitting streak (National League record), his 17 All-Star appearances, his three World Series rings, his 2 Gold Gloves, his 3 batting titles, or his .303 lifetime batting average.
He is not in the Hall of Fame, though he has been eligible for years, because he was caught placing bets on baseball games when he was the manager of the Cincinnati Reds. And Baseball has a Real Big Problem with ballplayers gambling on baseball games. Not that, as a White Sox fan, this means anything to me personally. But anyway several years back the commissioner of Major League Baseball banned him from the game and said he will not ever be added to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Period. Fini. All over. End of story.
To be fair Pete did himself no favors by his years of boldfaced lying about his gambling. He denied and denied and denied to everyone and their brother that he was guilty - even after it was proved and blatant - and then he said "well maybe" and then he said "well OK, I did a little" and then "yeah I did that a LOT." The world had to drag it out of him, and the process of him finally fessing up to what everybody else already knew took years. So he multiplied his own problems, to be sure.
But no Hall of Fame for Pete Rose.
On the other hand the guy that Rose chased so doggedly in order to accomplish the most difficult career record in baseball that can be imagined (most career hits) is not only in the Hall of Fame but was one of the first group of ballplayers selected to that honor.
Ty Cobb had 4,189 career hits and held that record for over 50 years. It was considered unbreakable, until Rose (whose personal tenacity on the field very much rivaled Cobb's legendary and incendiary style).
At the end of his career a charge of being involved with gambling on baseball games was also leveled at Cobb, but no one could make anything stick and Cobb appealed to the world of baseball that his name was being dragged through the mud. Nothing ever came of the charges.
In a baseball sense I feel a great case can be made that Ty Cobb may have been the single greatest ballplayer that ever lived; black or white, any era, bar none. If the contemporary accounts and reams of statistics and accomplishments are the guide, any honest student of the game would have to assent that a case could certainly be made.
But what Tyrus Cobb also was, and it is simply a matter of the cold record, was a raging, monstrous, almost Homeric bigot of the first and highest order. He made no bones about it. He once attacked a black woman for not "deferring" to him, and had to be restrained by another ballplayer from probably killing her. The "Georgia Peach" had the advantage of living in a time when the strange fruit of lynching was still a common spectator sport in the South. He righteously questioned the white ballplayer, who got him to stop, about his racial loyalties.
And this was simply one of a stark handful of incidents just like it, and all of them centered on the issue of race.
It should be noted that Pete Rose's history included a childhood growing up in a working-class town of Anderson Ferry, Ohio - where the majority of his friends growing up were black. Of all the marks that can be attached against Rose's name, the very last thing that could rightfully be said about him was that he was a racist. It is easy to see, by the flavor-composition of his closest friends, that such a charge would be completely and utterly absurd.
So if a value judgment was to be made on the natural faults of these two men, and all humanity is flawed, which is worse; being a gambler or being a racist?
Which of these two weaknesses would mark someone as having less personal character? Which of these two traits, gambling or bigotry, is the larger moral defect? Which man harbors a larger deficiency? Is gambling worse than bigotry, or is bigotry worse than gambling?
I am not saying Pete Rose should be allowed into the Hall of Fame because he was a "good white guy" who has "black friends" so, because we're all soooo politically correct, we should reward him for being the way a person is supposed to be anyway, if they are even a halfway decent human being.
I am saying bigotry is a worse fault that gambling. But baseball doesn't seem to mind a bigot as much as they mind a gambler. And that is an inane condition to find oneself in.
Either say we are talking about baseball, wherein a man's personal life is no part of our collective memory when it comes to the game and let Pete Rose into the Hall of Fame; or say a person's moral life is a criterion for acceptance... and get Ty Cobb out.
To my way of thinking, Baseball cannot do neither and still call itself a national anything.
Spring has sprung and time has come when an old man's fancy turns to thoughts of ridiculously fast automobiles.
Do you like this Calvin sticker? I think "Pissing Calvin" is so 2002, and all the variations pissing on this, that, and the other thing are just overdone already. It probably lost the fun after seeing the second one. And all the rest just sort of got a golden pleh.
You can get these Calvins for your car at Vinyl Mayhem (no I am not an affiliate).
But, you know, a little while back I came across a street legal vehicle that just seemed perfect for a 53 year old man who had already had all the midlife crisis crap he was due and is just looking for his FU Car.
An FU Car. That's when an older guy gets a red car with racing stripes and everybody says he's trying to be young again but he knows that's what they're saying and they're wrong and here's my FU Car anyway you miraculous idiot.
Right now I drive a MINI, and I'm in total love with the thing. But if I really wanted a street-legal, actual take-it-on-the-road FU Car, I'd get me one of these...
I think probably inspired by last week's notion of just shutting the hell up, Atul takes it a step the other way and wants to know what makes you listen to someone.
A mother polar bear in a Berlin zoo rejected her cub. In order to keep the cub alive the zoo and its staff hand-fed and cared for it. An "animal activist" by the name of Frank Albrecht was opposed to the action saying that "feeding by hand is not species-appropriate, but a gross violation of animal protection laws" and that "the zoo must kill the bear."
I don't normally go off the deep end like this, but - as far as I'm concerned - this latest chapter in the continuing saga of the warped sensibility of so-called "animal rights" activists really opens up exactly what is so ridiculous, absurd, and ultimately madcap and misguided about that particular class of misbegotten wack-jobs.
There is something so other-worldly about Albrecht's opinion I sometimes have to wonder if he shouldn't have just been born a weevil in the first place so the rest of us can go about our business without the benefit of his ludicrous moral squint.
Forget for a moment that the species of bear in question is FACING EXTINCTION. Put the natural human emotion of giving aid and succor to a helpless creature out of your mind. Just kill the bear. Because if the mother would have rejected the cub in the wild, nature would have killed it anyway.
So the principle is that we shouldn't supplant or replace a natural occurrence from changing the order of things. Nature's law should never be tampered with. The results of nature need to be respected.
Saying we agree with that, however, means that we should also not negate human nature. So - according to Albrecht's own logic - it is perfectly alright to point our finger at him with one hand, cover our mouths with the other, and laugh derisively at him until he goes away.
That would be human nature. And I'm very much opposed to tampering with that as well.
I pass through all the blogs on my blogroll pretty often (and hey, some of you need to wake up & post something lately!). But there are only a full handful that I read every day, often before I even check my personal e-mail (though a short time after I check my stocks - priorities, here, people). That's how much I like them and how highly I personally think of them and/or their creators.
One I check every day belongs to Avitable. And this morning he has a music meme posted. Now, it is true I don't do a whole lot of memes (and the ones I do always get a little tweek somewhere along the way), but I started reading and thought it might be worth a try. He asks you to list seven songs you are especially into right now, no matter what they are.
And that's when I changed my mind about doing it, because I can't actually name them. It isn't I don't know the artists who do them or what their titles are; it's when I started to list them when it dawned on me how goofy the list looks.
How do I explain lately being haunted by Sibelius' 5th? Sounds kind of pompous, don't you think? And yet it is true. I heard it on the radio driving out to Michigan the other week and it just sits there in my head like a tumor. Er... maybe that's not such a poetic way of saying it but I think you know what I mean.
Right away I'm thinking - "hmph! I'm going to write instead about how we rely on memes and YouTube too much in the blogeramalammadingosphere". Except that would mean I would have to stop relying on memes and YouTube to get me through an empty patch in my head.
Yeah that's a throat-cutter.
So instead I've decided to just post a rambling report on what went through my head at 6:30 this morning. Funny how an idea about talking against "the usual fare" ended up as the usual fare...
What I think about sometimes is the people who occupied that space before us. People whose lives ended a long time ago, and whose bodies are dust and bone and their names forgotten.
There were real people in that space once. They stood on that sidewalk or looked out over that lake. They laughed. They had things they wanted to do. There were people they cared for, and other people they really didn't like very much.
They felt cheated sometimes. They knew they were really loved other times. They hoped they could get that job. They prayed desperately, on their knees, for their kid to get better. They had fears and qualms and there were things that made them laugh. And unless there is anyone around right this minute who knew them personally, or their name is in a book because they did something astounding or historical or nefarious or important, they are totally forgotten.
There's an image of a person whose name we don't know and they were here, breathing the air, feeling hungry, walking, resting. And then, not here.
And every one of us will someday be just like them. A shadow of an image in a scene. Nameless. Lost. Forgotten.
We all know it will happen sometime. It comes for us all. You would think that, knowing how our stories all end up, we'd treat the days we have in our hands differently. But only the shamans ever really manage that. Shamans and saints. Once in a while a poet maybe.
I want to remember people I've never met. Somebody has to remember them. Someone has to hold their memory. But I don't know who they were, and I don't know how to do it. I figure if I can do it for them, someone will do it for me.
I look at a street and see the people who were there a hundred years ago. I can hear them. I think it is a crime they aren't remembered.
I have no idea why it is this way with me. Or what I'm supposed to do about it.
It occurs to me that I never bore you with petty details about my wonderful life and that - if this is going to be a real blog - I should start talking about my trials and tribulations in the work-a-day world. So I will now trouble you with little shitty stuff that is really bothering me.
Except I can't think of anything.
So so much for that idea.
I think once you start losing all your testosterone not much of anything really bothers you anymore. So I guess I should be bothered that I'm virtually bleeding away my testosterone level. But it really doesn't bother me. Probably because my testosterone levels are so not there.
The good part about that is I look at guys who are all hepped up on their hormones and I'm just glad I'm not them any more. That is waaaay too much energy spent on who gets to the stop light first, y'know? Save it for opening the champagne bottle.
But I just want to say, at the end of that article it says
The country was also in last place among 41 nations in a 2005 poll by condom manufacturer Durex, with people having sex just 45 times a year compared to a global average of 103.
and I'm reading that and asking... 103 times a year?
That's like, a lot!
And - if I fell short of the global average because of having no testosterone to speak of - I guess I could be really bothered about that. I could write about that!
Except my testosterone levels are so low it really doesn't bother me, so... I guess I'll see you guys later.
Just how important do you think your opinion is, anyway? What makes you think people want to listen? Why do you assume people give a shit about what you have to say?
Did you ever try silence once in a while?
Do you think, or were you raised to think, that everybody should just fucking freeze when you open your yap? Did it ever occur to you maybe nobody actually cares?
And why do you feel the compunction to speak fast and answer people quickly? Don't you have any idea at all how powerful silence is? When you ask a question and a person takes a long time to respond, doesn't it affect you differently than when they just blurt out the usual shit? Can't you see how it changes the weight of their response?
Everybody has a right to their opinion. They also have a right to zone your crap out.
Try it once - try just putting a sock in it once for Christ's sake. Why don't you just sit there and listen once in a while? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Thanks for listening.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Where You Been?
Wow.
1. What have you people been doing to the stock market while I was away? Ouch. But not really if you are in for the long haul. Out of 22 stocks in my portfolio, even after all the recent bloodletting, 15 are still higher than when I bought them and 7 are lower - though three of those are lower only when counting in the commissions to the broker for them. Word - we don't scare worth a damn. On a couple that are down I am actually thinking about buying more at the new bargain prices. The market is crazy. Good companies are down by rumor alone. Identify them and get out the check book!
2. I had no idea there were mountains in New Jersey. Go figure.
3. When I left on this recent business trip there were snow hills at the end of my driveway. Now they are gone. What did you do with them?
4. Gee, when I am not here to check my blog there are 789 less hits in the stats... I mean...
Nevermind.
Wow is it good to be home. Look at all the hits I'm getting all of a sudden! You guys must really miss me!
Last week somebody on the Blogroll was talking about whether or not to accept a link exchange from someone who was obviously in diametrical opposition to just about everything he stood for, politically.
I can't recall who wrote that and, based on his conclusions, I thought he made the wrong call on it - but I didn't feel it right to cut into his reasoning on his turf. Telling him I thought he was wrong seemed both pointless and inappropriate. It was his turf after all. Plus he was kinda snarky about it and I was like... all scared and shit. Yeah OK - you noticed I can't recall who did this, right? Okay so it isn't one of the blogs I read a whole lot. I mean - hell - he's wrong 95% of the time anyway so why would I... I mean... my time is, like, limited and all.
If the opposing political view had been something in support of skinheads or Neo-Nazis and these were the guys linking him I would have said "yeah you definitely got a point there for not reciprocating. Screw those guys." But it wasn't. It was basically just standard opposition politics, American style. You know the type - where even though it isn't anywhere close the one does everything but claim the other is a Neo-Nazi anyway. Just for a little hyperbolic fun like we always do.
I disagreed even more so because the political view the blog writer was questioning was closer to my own and it made me think - God, if he only knew how much on the other side of issues I was he'd jettison my link in an instant, no fail. So I hunkered down.
But it dawned on me that - when I look at who is on my Blogroll or a member of the Roundtable - though there are some whose politics very closely relate to mine, there are also some folks listed there who are considerably far away from me, politically. And when I read them - which I do pretty much on a daily basis - there are times I cringe at what I'm reading when they get "political," especially when it is the usual, expected, ponderous, eye-rolling horseshit the other side serves up on a daily basis even though the Presidential campaign is NEXT FREAKIN YEAR.
Calm down. Calm down. Ready... steady...
So the thing is I'm not going to question who links here unless you're on some extreme trip around the bend or loony or a Nazi or, like, Dennis Kucinich or something. Your opinions are sacred... plus I respect you. And have you seen the traffic figures lately??!? I need all the friends I can get!!
If there are any actually serious linkage questions, I would refer you to our superior policy on the linkage aspect of bloggyworld.
The Precise Moment The World Started Going To Shit
The world started going to shit with the invention of Jiffy-Pop Popcorn. Why do I say this, says you? I'll tell you why, says I. Because when this came along everybody saw it on TV and said "Oh! That's NEW! We have to try that!" And so the guy who invented it became rich, probably, and we stopped making popcorn the old fashioned way; which was with oil, popcorn, a stove and fire.
You would think that that would have been the end of it. Guy invents an aluminum pan that blows up and then you open and eat. What more could be done? That's it, you might think, but noooooooooooooooo. That was only the start of the downward cycle that began the end of civilization as we knew it. Because Jiffy Pop made it OK not to make popcorn the old way. All of a sudden it was OK to not do that the way we always did it. Look! It's NEW! We can do it this way!
The next thing that happened was air-poppers. Air-poppers were politically correct popcorn makers because they were virtually devoid of oil and butter. Don't want oil and butter killing you, do we? Uh-UH! Of course right out of the get-go they made popcorn taste like pablum until you juiced it up. But the fact that it didn't cook in oil (Oh God forBID!) meant it came out all good for you and shit. Then you had to be the one to name your poison. SURE. Put it all on me! That's great. Except it didn't end there.
Next thing you know we're making popcorn in microwaves. And we'll give in to your taste buds there, bud. We'll even pack the salt and butter right in there for ya. You don't have to do a damn thing. Nevermind the fact it might smell a little rancid when you start it off. This is CONVENIENT. You can go have multiple personalities so much more easily now! Go get some meds... we'll pop this for ya! Ho ho ho!
It's gotten to the point where nobody even knows how to make popcorn the right way anymore. And all because of Jiffy-Pop, making it OK to do it the NEW! and FUN! way. And everything went to shit after.
3 Tbsp peanut or grapeseed oil 1/3 cup of high quality popcorn kernels 1 3-quart covered saucepan
Heat the oil in the saucepan on medium high heat. Put a few popcorn kernels into the oil and cover the pan. When the kernels pop, add the rest of the 1/3 cup of popcorn kernels. Cover, remove from heat and count 30 seconds. Return the pan to the heat. The popcorn should begin popping soon, and all at once. Once the popping slows to several seconds between pops, remove the pan from the heat, remove the lid, and dump the popcorn immediately into a wide bowl. With this technique, all of the kernels pop, and nothing burns. Add melted butter and salt to taste.
Back from Michigan and I am tired. So tired I almost forgot this is our newest member's debut at the Roundtable. Welcome Deni in.
He is whoring for the righteous guardians of perspective and metaphor and doing a bang-up job. No one is safe. No one.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
What Muriel Does At 1:11
I can't seem to shake off. But I still don't get what that was at 0:57.
I'm off to the wilds of Western Michigan for a couple of days. So I'll leave our friend Muriel Anderson to hold down the fort for a while.
One of our least appreciated natural treasures. Truth is I'm more a friend of her Mom and Dad (Andrea and Ted), but she grew up in our Meeting and so we all get to claim her.
Added later: You know you're supposed to click that video in the sidebar and then come back and read the blog don't you? You do know that, right? I hate those blogs that automatically play a song when you get there - but if you want the full bistro effect of this joint I'd rather recommend it. I'll wait....
Antonella Barba is officially the most searched-for item on MSN, Google, and Yahoo as of today. I will admit total ignorance of who the hell she is, but I would like to commend Yahoo for finally recognizing what's really important, for once.
I've been very bad in the citizen department the last few years. I look at the candidates and it's just funny. I can't help it. And I pay my taxes, and it isn't like I try to avoid jury duty and stuff. In fact the last time I was called they asked "would put more credence to the word of a police officer over someone who wasn't a police officer?" And I told them the truth. I pointed at the defendant and said, "over that guy I would. Hell yeah." But they still didn't take me. So much for being an honest, upright, do-right. Well I do my part, but with all the early excitement about the coming elections I find I'm really not very well informed.
So I grabbed the nearest newspaper and started reading.
When I did keep up (back in the day) I had a habit of reading the paper from back to front. Sort of like eating a cake with chocolate frosting where you eat all the cake and leave the frosting for last. Oh the anticipation. Anyway I was pretty well-schooled in the times when I did that, so why not do what I did when I did what I did?
Yeah well the first guy there seems awfully reasonable, and "business sacred. Satisfaction guaranteed." Yowzah! He makes that Mrs. Dr. Edwards look pretty lame. And I could use a good tailor. I don't want to stink up the place in the summer when I walk around in my three-piece suits.
Hey wow - imagine that! It would be pretty cool ride around in a for real Hummer instead of one of those poseur ones in yellow that I see around these parts. Glorified Cherokees at 11 miles per gallon size-issue whores. Ha! I drive a MINI, what are you compensating for!? Heh. Where was I? Oh... yeah... jeez. Glad I don't live on the south side. Phew...
Wow. Looks like the Budweiser people have finally realized how much their beer sucks; they've got some new brands coming out, looks like. But what the hell are we doing in Manila??
This is going to be hard. I guess I was more behind the news than I thought.
And I wonder how comes it the Blogger dictionary can correctly spell check for "Budweiser" but still shows "internet" as misspelled?
Usually people don't click interior links in a post, and you don't have to here either. But you'd be rewarded for it. Well it might hold your interest.
Every once in a while when I am in the writing zone (the off-line project, not the blog) I flash back.
For the more alert amongst you: If you click this picture you may be able to see a name amongst the contributors that might be of interest. Meaning my own. OK so maybe no particular interest, but I was looking at what I've been writing off line and thinking about those bad old days. Whatever. This is what we used to do before there was an internet, and the Green Mill poetry slams were raucous and there was Be Bop played in an impossibly small room called The Get Me High on Honore St. in Bucktown... when there was a Get Me High.
The zine was produced by Mike Miskowski (who I think now lives in Seattle). I only just recently discovered he had a website while looking up another contributor to that era (a guy named Oberc who drew for my magazine, contributed to this one, and conducted a search for the real Lorri Jackson after she died of an overdose) when I found this. To my surprise... there's me. I used to go by the last name back then. Signed everything that way. And I have a box full of stuff like this that floated in the ether of an underworld almost 20 years ago.
Of Miskowski's publication here, known as Mallife, it was said
Its pages (and magnetic tape) have showcased some the strangest and most original voices in the marginal and underground mail network, jammed together in a not-so-easy to read, mix and match, casserole. Our aim was to entertain, of course, and to present a document of the collective scream at any given moment. There were never guidelines, we were partial toward new ways of seeing, works that pushed the boundaries established in the author's own mind, both in form and content. We hope that much of that content is as vital today as it was then.
Or OK maybe he said that. But wouldn't it be cool if you could contact him and get Number 17 or Number 19?
Out of curiosity I dug out my old #17 and read something of the portrait of the drunkard as a younger man that spread before me. It was a poem put into a prose form. We did a lot of pointless, pretentious stuff like that then.
...I can now predict every word from every head. Heads like coconuts in burlap sacks stuck on pegs atop legs that go in predictable ways from wall to wall or at right angles from the dance.
...Some say their job, their future, their paycheck, their status. With me & you its always been vengeance. I like being dizzy.
Yeah the recent stuff isn't anything like this. I only see bits and pieces in the recent stuff. What was it I wrote there... "recognize nothing and numb yourself into a deep blue rhythm that moves the body through the calendar like a worm stopping for nothing more solid than ice and keeping one eye overhead for birds."
I kind of like our newest member. It was kind of a relief when he joined up - somebody besides me has to know what they're talking about around this table when it comes to music!
On Vincenzo's Trail
One shouldn't think that just because there hasn't been a restaurant review posted for a while that we've dropped our search for Vincenzo. The fact of the matter is that I have three reviews ready (South Water Kitchen, Bistro 110, and Solace) but simply haven't gotten to them what with all the bad memes, casual rants, and pointless observations on the forbearance of reptiles I've drowned you in.
Yet I must admit that the presence of restaurant reviews does pull in a host of search results from people obviously looking for those things. That has been a good source of new readers. Anyway they are easily a better crowd than the ones who somehow get here looking for "horse + dong + lovers". So, obviously, I shouldn't ignore the mandate for too long lest I lose the focus of the project.
Well the fact of the matter is... Vincenzo can run, but he can't hide. I don't have a vast pool of resources funded by an ever-growing, awesome stock portfolio or a network of subservient contacts that spans the globe just for nothing, you know.
He had no hope of losing us when he switched gears from bistros and went into the cheese business. I think he should have used a better disguise. No?
For a while he was holed-up in Ashville, North Carolina. But I hear he couldn't quite get used to shit-kickin' music with the Parmesan.
He obscured his nefarious history with an artful biography when he was operating in Ohio. But our informers uncovered him, ferret-like, regardless. They found him regardless because, no matter how much you stomp your feet, irregardless is STILL not a word in this universe.
For a time he set up shop in New England, but we understand he couldn't quite get his mind around the omnipresent scent of clam chowdah on everybody's clothes.
And we're all but certain this was a false lead. Yeah - that photo doesn't have our Vincenzo's fingerprints anywhere near it.
And though he was obviously here sometime before or after his Ohio venture (yes - his fingerprints are all OVER that one), we think this guy was innocent of any connection. His story didn't change no matter what we put under his fingernails. Er...
He almost fooled us with the pizza gig. He was probably sure we'd get him confused with his other front, but it's kind of hard to hide when you keep using the same name. Ya think?
On last report we had a hint he was in Seattle. Now... I happen to know we have a fairly good extension of readers in that vicinity. I patiently await a report. Don't make me come over there.
But never fear because, in time, we will put up all the reviews we have in storage. And that is not to say the general frivolities will ever be done away with. Just so you know. I still get a kick over the people who get here trying to find "red + wheelbarrow + sexual + positions".
That's a kind of specificity that really has me intrigued...
Rosie O'Donnell seems to be convinced that 9/11 was a conspiracy by the Bush administration to set up the conditions of an oil bonanza... or something. We can really do no more than surmise what the purpose of the conspiracy actually was because all we have is a disjointed symphony of things that are intended to make us suspicious of our own national motives or - at the very least - help us cue the spooky music in the dark theaters of our minds. 
(among others as you will see if you click her name there). It carries very positive reviews.
