We call it the bathroom, even when there's no bath. You'd think we'd call it the toiletroom, or the sinkroom. Maybe the showerroom, if what it has is a walk-in shower with a door. Some newer houses that I've been in, the toilet, with its roll of toilet paper that seldom tears properly along the perforations, gets its own tiny room with a door separate from the sinks and tub. I can picture the paranoid American parents of today compulsively spraying and scrubbing that doorknob every day. "Eboli and ecola gonna get me! Gotta scrub that knob so I can one day scrub a 24-karat gold bathroom doorknob someplace! ...Ha ha, 'scrub that knob'. No time for laughs! Ecoli gonna get me!"
Other places in the world, the bathroom's called the water closet. Or the lavatory. There's a nice word that politely downplays the room's excretory function. If we're British, we can skip to the loo. Of course, our skipping can be awkward if we really need to go.
At home, it's the bathroom, but in public, it's the restroom. Yet — I haven't tried it myself, but I have a hunch — merely resting in the restroom is quite frowned upon. Someone finds you napping on the floor in there, they'll think you're a homeless person and give you a new home — one where the toilet stands nakedly in the same room as the beds — and where the lone door is only unlocked from the outside. Nope, no time for resting in the restroom. You do your shit (or piss), you get out. Depending on the sort of person you are, you wash your hands between those two things — that is, if you can coax some water out of those faulty sensor-activated faucets. Maybe you also sort-of dry your hands with one of those automatic dryers that stop about five seconds too early. At least for me, they do. Maybe I just have big hands. All the better to wrap around a certain neck, my dear. (My guitar's neck!)
Here's something about me that may interest some people: In a public restroom, I'll usually urinate his way, y'know...standing at the urinal, inconspicuously. In a private bathroom in someone's home, meanwhile, I do it her way. There are many great reasons for this. First off, I live with my folks — thank you, thank you very much — in a house with very thin walls, where the main bathroom is the only completely interior room (no windows). When my father uses the bathroom, unless the music, kitchen sink, or television is sufficiently loud and/or engaging, we all have to hear it. I'm more considerate; I muffle the sound by doing it her way and covering the toilet with myself. Secondly, no need to worry about aim. Amazing how men can live as many years as they do and not quite master that skill, ain't it? No aim, no mess. Thirdly, I'm just the sort of person who likes to take it slow, so to speak. I can sit. I can stay a while if I feel like it. I'm in no hurry to walk out and have to resume dealing with everyone. Sometimes my name gets shrilly called the very instant I open the door. Your family ever do that to you? Drives you nuts. You don't even get to breathe. Naturally, I often hear my name when I've just gotten in there. I don't wanna deal with them right now. I'll just sit and stay a while. Let my mind drift wherever it wants for a moment or six as I stare into space — you know, as much as it can drift in that thin-walled house with the television blaring. (Side note: I was on the can when I first heard, from Brian Williams on the television, that Michael Jackson had died. It was immediately followed by my mother saying "HE DIED?!?") I will also admit to grooming myself sometimes while I'm "there". You may have noticed that I'm a bit of a hairy creature. Still, for all the evident testosterone, I urinate her way in private bathrooms. By the way, I think the phrase that applies to my revelation here is "baring myself on the page".
Have you ever been using the toilet — you're sat there, you're going to be there for a while — and you realize that there is a MOSQUITO! Right there in the bathroom with you! Here you were — you thought you were clear to be totally naked, exposed and vulnerable — and one of nature's bloodsucking CREATURES is right there! They've got their eyes on your prize! And you can't move; it'll stink up the room prematurely! You have to hope that at least it doesn't go out of sight where it can sneak up behind you. If you're lucky, it'll make the mistake of flying in front of you just where you can clap your hands exactly on it. Spiders and other small things are also loads of great entertainment if you're droppin' great loads.
Eventually, I do use the bathtub in the bathroom. Of course, I shower; never bathe. Baths are giant puddles of your own filth; you gotta let gravity do some of the work for you. So I shower in the same tub (or shower) in which the rest of the family showers. My family recently converted from the old-fashioned bar of soap to more contemporarily hip liquid soap, and those 3D "bath sponges". I don't often like my mother's ideas, but I am very much loving not having to wash all the hair off the soap before I use it anymore.
So we use liquid body soap. Of course, it's never called "soap" these days. The common descriptor seems to be "body wash". There are other variations floating about. There's a "facial cleanse" and a clarifying something-or-other. Kinda ironic that we can't be sure what a "clarifier" does. Somehow, shampoo is still called shampoo. Thank goodness for a little sanity. And we still have conditioner, even though I'm still not exactly sure what conditioner is supposed to accomplish. I asked my folks this recently; the response I got was "It conditions your hair!" Gee, very helpful. Good to know that if my hair runs an impromptu race, it will be well-conditioned for it.
Many items around the tub and the rest of the bathroom, it isn't obvious what they are. The first thing on the container that the eye notices isn't usually what the stuff is; it's merely the company logo. Sometimes you really have to hunt through the very large advertising buzz words ("INVIGORATING", "REFRESHING", etc.) and the pretty flavor indicators — you got your nice picture of a pomegranate or whatever — and, finally, somewhere in tiny print near the bottom, it says "cleanser". Great, just what I need — to be cleansed. Like ethnic cleansing. There is one company with products in our bathroom that's actually pretty good with telling us what's inside. The company's name is "Up & Up", and I can't help but imagine that they were founded by the Up Brothers — Jack and Fuck.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Not Every Free Thing is a Gift (Indeed, Very Few Things Are)
The past couple days saw yet another story of a career politician (a gop, natch) making a pro-rape comment. And naturally, those days also saw many people expressing outrage online. The question I gotta ask is this: how are these people allowed into politics in the first place? I'm not convinced that they're all beamed down from some supernatural, misogynist, bigoted mothership. I believe that they are created and installed by us — the people.
Ladies of the U.S., I hate to tell you this, but here it is: The people of this country are firmly primitive and regressive, and there is no possible short-term "change" that will reverse this and so quickly make us a females' utopia.
The prevailing idea in much of the country seems to be that the future is inexorably bleak — in all respects — and that the "old days" were better. Somewhere in people's minds, we were at our highest quality of life in the days when men had complete and utter control, and that slight majority of us known as women were essentially considered commodities — not even human. It was only a little less than a hundred years ago when that slight majority was first granted the right to vote. I wasn't there at the time, but I expect that the women's vote was granted with tremendous reluctance. That reluctance has not faded in the least; indubitably, it is increasing with the presence of all these "regressives" — people who seem to see a long-established religion as permitting and encouraging rape. (I stumbled upon this on a humor site compiling "Unintentionally Sexual Church Signs", and I honestly cannot fathom another way to interpret it. "To forgive is divine! Be a deity! Do what we goddam tell you to!")
No. Do not be sub-human deities. Be humans. Stand tall for yourselves — for ourselves. We got a lot of work to do yet. We may not see positive results in our lifetimes yet. But we have to try.
Teach peace. Teach equality. If you can, teach all the people how to recognize and avoid these. (A reputable-enough source, yes?) And, if you must be religious, at least be very careful with how you interpret your sacred texts. It may take a generation or three for us to come to the point where we aren't electing people and then getting faux-outraged when one of them claims that rape is a gift (basically, paraphrased). And, who knows? Maybe by then we'll have shifted out of reverse as a people and actually rendered our future brighter than it seems now.
Meanwhile, we have to hang in there and work/vote for what is available, while it seems we still can.
Ladies of the U.S., I hate to tell you this, but here it is: The people of this country are firmly primitive and regressive, and there is no possible short-term "change" that will reverse this and so quickly make us a females' utopia.
The prevailing idea in much of the country seems to be that the future is inexorably bleak — in all respects — and that the "old days" were better. Somewhere in people's minds, we were at our highest quality of life in the days when men had complete and utter control, and that slight majority of us known as women were essentially considered commodities — not even human. It was only a little less than a hundred years ago when that slight majority was first granted the right to vote. I wasn't there at the time, but I expect that the women's vote was granted with tremendous reluctance. That reluctance has not faded in the least; indubitably, it is increasing with the presence of all these "regressives" — people who seem to see a long-established religion as permitting and encouraging rape. (I stumbled upon this on a humor site compiling "Unintentionally Sexual Church Signs", and I honestly cannot fathom another way to interpret it. "To forgive is divine! Be a deity! Do what we goddam tell you to!")
No. Do not be sub-human deities. Be humans. Stand tall for yourselves — for ourselves. We got a lot of work to do yet. We may not see positive results in our lifetimes yet. But we have to try.
Teach peace. Teach equality. If you can, teach all the people how to recognize and avoid these. (A reputable-enough source, yes?) And, if you must be religious, at least be very careful with how you interpret your sacred texts. It may take a generation or three for us to come to the point where we aren't electing people and then getting faux-outraged when one of them claims that rape is a gift (basically, paraphrased). And, who knows? Maybe by then we'll have shifted out of reverse as a people and actually rendered our future brighter than it seems now.
Meanwhile, we have to hang in there and work/vote for what is available, while it seems we still can.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
I Could Only Write This During the Playoffs
Has American football surpassed baseball yet as our national pastime? Seems like it to me. The countryfolk around me seem to express that much greater enthusiasm about the pigskin sport (hereinafter "football"; may this not confuse my non-US audience) than they do about the diamond sport these days. And why shouldn't they? Football, with its warlike qualities, is much more relevant to the American psyche than the quaintness of making it "safe at home" on a nice summer day. And it seems to have a greater variety of winners from year to year as well. (I guess; I don't pay such close attention.) Baseball, meanwhile, has been pretty much plundered by big money; almost all the stadia bear some forgettable, corporate name, and it's generally the same teams in the playoffs every year now. I am sick to my stomach of the New York Yankees and the St. Louis Cardinals. Braves, too. If only the Birds and the Pinstripes just went away and gave someone else a chance, maybe I'd be interested in baseball again. Maybe that's true of other "fans" as well (beyond New York City and the shadow of the Arch). My Cubbies may be a lost cause, but that needn't be true of the whole sport.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Musing City
I got back from four days and change in Nashville yesterday. Already I feel a need to get back to Tennessee, Jed. The change in scenery — more accurately, the momentary introduction of scenery — was exactly what I likely still need. Lately, I've felt particularly stifled out here in the flatlands. It seems that there's nothing out here, least of all truly friendly people willing to lend a hand, or even an eye or ear. This sanitized plastic land is not the place for me. Maybe the whole country is sanitized plastic by now; me, I'm willing to give the benefit of a doubt to places I haven't fully gotten to know yet.
So I was in greater Nashville for a handful of days. I can tell you this much: whether it actually has it or not, Nashville at least has the aura...of "life". I don't quite know how to explain it; there's just a feeling that things actually happen there. It's a feeling that permeates the rolling hills and the winding roads that must conform to them — roads on which one can easily get lost without a GPS, because there's no workable grid. But getting lost there isn't too bad, because it's very beautiful in the rolling greenery, or green-red-and-orange-ery here in the autumn. At least it is during the daytime; those close, fast-paced winding country roads tend to not be at all lit at night. I say all this, by the way, as someone who is apparently really amazingly good at directions. Pretty much anyone I talk to tells me how horrible they are at directions and navigation. But give me a couple minutes with Google Maps before I hit the road, and I sail smoothly. At least I usually do; I had rather a hard time one night in England in 2006. So maybe I'm skewed by my life in flat, gridded Illinois. But I've done well so far in the Nash. Anyway...
I didn't get to manage but a couple interactions with "locals"; I would love to have interacted more. As it is, I stayed alongside my family, except for one night at a bar, finally meeting someone I had known in cyberspace for a while. (Also, the previous night when I tried meeting them and failed, but never mind.) As a northerner in the South, it was wonderfully trippy for me. And from a comment made by the fellow who came to join my friend and me, the feeling was mutual.
I would most certainly benefit from getting out (of town/state) and interacting more often. If only I could find a way to be able from within this cornstalk-barred prison....
****
Here are some things other than scenery and natural beauty that I've seen in Tennessee but not in Illinois that I can recall:
• SPEED LIMIT 70
• MapCo
• Belk
• Stoplights after midnight implementing a two-way stop by having one of the two intersecting streets seeing yellow flashing lights while the other street sees the usual red flashers. I guess that's how that works, based on about two other vehicles that were out at the time that I saw.
• Exxon, though we do have their other half, the most boringly-named Mobil. No "Tigermarket"s here.
• Kroger, except down in the south of the state where I never went until last year. Actually, Bloomington-Normal might have it. I never go there, so I don't know.
• Someone else's outdoor cat coming to visit us and ours, although ours is not particularly a fan
• Shoney's (I'm pretty sure)
• Publix
• Cartoon-esque holes in the ground and a tree or two in the yard. Where are the "critters" that would make such holes where I live? What do they look like?
• An OVERSIZE LOAD passing another OVERSIZE LOAD on the interstate. I'm sure that's not exclusive to other places, just something I don't see every day. Actually, this might have been in Kentucky on the way back.
• Piggly Wiggly. I'd heard that these existed, but I never saw one until this past Monday.
• Quite so many two-or-more-word street names. Seems Tennessee likes to make it absolutely known who their roads are named for. I think the town I live in has exactly one street that bears a person's full name, and it likely helps that that one person is named "Ed". If we named a street for General George Patton, as has been done in a couple places in the greater Nashville metro, it would likely just be "Patton Avenue".
And that reminds me of another thing: Pikes. No Illinois roadway seems to be described as a "pike". We got most every other variety of thing to drive on: street, avenue, boulevard, drive, road, parkway, court (if it's a dead-end or only a block long). Occasionally we might chance upon a "trail", or "place", or something. But no pikes here. Weird.
• Jack in the Box. Another chain that's supposed to be nationally renowned, but if we have any here, I don't know where they are. I don't even know what kind of food they serve, exactly. Typical greasy fast food?
Actually, there are a couple chains like that, or used to be. Chick-Fil-A was totally unheard of here until maybe three or four years ago when one came in to replace the McDonald's in the Illini Union food court. News is that they've opened a few places in Chicagoland since. Also, Chicago has had a White Castle or three — the one at Clark & Ridge comes to mind — but never down here.
• A sign at the end of a dead-end street saying "Temporary Dead End", with another one right behind it saying "Permanent Dead End". The site of a legal battle, my family surmised.
• Someone removing their clothes right there in the bar. It wasn't my friend, and I don't think "Trish" will be, but it was good for a laugh. "Why is your bra in your hand?" "Because I took it off."
• A kitten climbing a tree. Before I went down, my cousin had actually snapped a picture of "Ellie" having gotten on the roof. I didn't get to see that in person, but that can be all right.
• Someone using their fireplace. Matter of fact, the house I live in doesn't even have a fireplace.
• The kitten using the ash-filled fireplace for very much her own purposes.
• And, last but not least, I feel a need to point out that I live north of this. But I'm told I ain't missin' much there.
So I was in greater Nashville for a handful of days. I can tell you this much: whether it actually has it or not, Nashville at least has the aura...of "life". I don't quite know how to explain it; there's just a feeling that things actually happen there. It's a feeling that permeates the rolling hills and the winding roads that must conform to them — roads on which one can easily get lost without a GPS, because there's no workable grid. But getting lost there isn't too bad, because it's very beautiful in the rolling greenery, or green-red-and-orange-ery here in the autumn. At least it is during the daytime; those close, fast-paced winding country roads tend to not be at all lit at night. I say all this, by the way, as someone who is apparently really amazingly good at directions. Pretty much anyone I talk to tells me how horrible they are at directions and navigation. But give me a couple minutes with Google Maps before I hit the road, and I sail smoothly. At least I usually do; I had rather a hard time one night in England in 2006. So maybe I'm skewed by my life in flat, gridded Illinois. But I've done well so far in the Nash. Anyway...
I didn't get to manage but a couple interactions with "locals"; I would love to have interacted more. As it is, I stayed alongside my family, except for one night at a bar, finally meeting someone I had known in cyberspace for a while. (Also, the previous night when I tried meeting them and failed, but never mind.) As a northerner in the South, it was wonderfully trippy for me. And from a comment made by the fellow who came to join my friend and me, the feeling was mutual.
I would most certainly benefit from getting out (of town/state) and interacting more often. If only I could find a way to be able from within this cornstalk-barred prison....
****
Here are some things other than scenery and natural beauty that I've seen in Tennessee but not in Illinois that I can recall:
• SPEED LIMIT 70
• MapCo
• Belk
• Stoplights after midnight implementing a two-way stop by having one of the two intersecting streets seeing yellow flashing lights while the other street sees the usual red flashers. I guess that's how that works, based on about two other vehicles that were out at the time that I saw.
• Exxon, though we do have their other half, the most boringly-named Mobil. No "Tigermarket"s here.
• Kroger, except down in the south of the state where I never went until last year. Actually, Bloomington-Normal might have it. I never go there, so I don't know.
• Someone else's outdoor cat coming to visit us and ours, although ours is not particularly a fan
• Shoney's (I'm pretty sure)
• Publix
• Cartoon-esque holes in the ground and a tree or two in the yard. Where are the "critters" that would make such holes where I live? What do they look like?
• An OVERSIZE LOAD passing another OVERSIZE LOAD on the interstate. I'm sure that's not exclusive to other places, just something I don't see every day. Actually, this might have been in Kentucky on the way back.
• Piggly Wiggly. I'd heard that these existed, but I never saw one until this past Monday.
• Quite so many two-or-more-word street names. Seems Tennessee likes to make it absolutely known who their roads are named for. I think the town I live in has exactly one street that bears a person's full name, and it likely helps that that one person is named "Ed". If we named a street for General George Patton, as has been done in a couple places in the greater Nashville metro, it would likely just be "Patton Avenue".
And that reminds me of another thing: Pikes. No Illinois roadway seems to be described as a "pike". We got most every other variety of thing to drive on: street, avenue, boulevard, drive, road, parkway, court (if it's a dead-end or only a block long). Occasionally we might chance upon a "trail", or "place", or something. But no pikes here. Weird.
• Jack in the Box. Another chain that's supposed to be nationally renowned, but if we have any here, I don't know where they are. I don't even know what kind of food they serve, exactly. Typical greasy fast food?
Actually, there are a couple chains like that, or used to be. Chick-Fil-A was totally unheard of here until maybe three or four years ago when one came in to replace the McDonald's in the Illini Union food court. News is that they've opened a few places in Chicagoland since. Also, Chicago has had a White Castle or three — the one at Clark & Ridge comes to mind — but never down here.
• A sign at the end of a dead-end street saying "Temporary Dead End", with another one right behind it saying "Permanent Dead End". The site of a legal battle, my family surmised.
• Someone removing their clothes right there in the bar. It wasn't my friend, and I don't think "Trish" will be, but it was good for a laugh. "Why is your bra in your hand?" "Because I took it off."
• A kitten climbing a tree. Before I went down, my cousin had actually snapped a picture of "Ellie" having gotten on the roof. I didn't get to see that in person, but that can be all right.
• Someone using their fireplace. Matter of fact, the house I live in doesn't even have a fireplace.
• The kitten using the ash-filled fireplace for very much her own purposes.
• And, last but not least, I feel a need to point out that I live north of this. But I'm told I ain't missin' much there.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Class is By and Large Dismissed
Sleepless night on the couch before I hit the road to Nashville for a few days. Being up from 4a to about midnight, you'd think I could sleep more easily for a while. Ah well; time to write.
I found myself thinking back to an instance in high school where my intranet account seemed to have frozen up at a rather inconvenient time. I needed to use Word, and I wasn't being granted access. I went down with a hall pass like the ones I always carried through the halls during class when I had to — exactly once, during freshman year, did someone actually stop me to look at it — and talked to the network admin about the problem. The cause was indeed found: My account had been purposely suspended because I had a small bunch of mp3s in the folder.
That was kind of amusing; they were not full songs. They were merely clips of 'em, used in a Powerpoint presentation for Spanish class the previous semester. I used them because I apparently had no clue how to give a Powerpoint presentation, in any language. I considered, and kind of still do, Powerpoints to be excess media. Words on the screen and coming from my mouth? What does that accomplish? So, music man that I am, I just had bits of songs for the audience's enjoyment as they read. And I had explained this at the beginning of the presentation — in Spanish, of course.
But anyway, it evidently took admins a while to discover that there were mp3s (of any variety) in my folder, and they just suspended the account without a notification one day, when I rather needed to use the account for some advanced-placement physics work. I calmly explained to the admin in that basement cloaked in the sort of dull yellow that only schools possess, that the mp3s were old news and could be safely erased. Normality was restored. Still, though, I look back and recall just how terribly bureaucratic the old high school was.
High school was horribly bureaucratic. We weren't allowed to wear hats; apparently, hats are dangerous weapons. You throw 'em like a Frisbee, they can cut through solid metal statues. It was in a movie. Or, I think their explanation was, we could hide other weapons in the spaces between the top of the hats and the top of our heads. Well, by that logic, couldn't we be hiding weapons in all our clothes? We should all walk around naked! That ought to ensure a lack of dangerous weapons. Unless someone figures out how to shoot a laser from within their finger or something; then I guess we're screwed.
But yeah, everybody naked in the Illinois autumns and winters! That's wonderfully in tune with the bureaucracy. And there'll be no weapons. Except maybe exacerbated teenage hormones. But even then, in this age of tight, low-rider jeans on the ladies, I'm absolutely amazed at the self-restraint I had during those years. And at twenty-six years of age now, having still never had even a casual girlfriend, I'm still utterly astounded at the civilized self-control I, and probably a great many others, seem to have.
But back to schools. Last night, on the national news, they ran a story about young women turned away from their own homecoming dance because, in some Utahan's eye, their skirts were too short. They had a picture of the spurned ladies in their dance clothes. I can tell you this: There was absolutely nothing provocative, offensive, or anything of the sort about any of the ladies or their apparel. Who cares about bare legs up to the knees? Legs do nothing for me. The good stuff is in between!
It's all so arbitrary. I think we should find a new name for "schools". Everything else in our society is being made over; just ask George Carlin. But I think I have a new term to describe schools: Human processing plants. Manufacturing facilities designed to convert vibrant and promising young people into passive sheep, accepting whatever they're told and never revolting, despite all the urges to the contrary at that age. Somehow, by and large, they pull it off. Saddening.
Although, there was the one rule during our Freshman year where we all started out having to wear those ID tags with the clips on us at all times. Enough of us rejected the notion that the requirement was eventually thrown out. A small victory, perhaps; we seemed to make the point that someone legitimately associated with the school could wreak as much havoc as someone who waltzed in from outside.
By the way, this last was 2000 — before 9-11. It's possible that the country was always heading this way, and that 9-11 merely accelerated it. Schools can easily be seen as microcosms of this country — people obsessed with security and soulless bureaucracy as a supposedly airtight and efficient enforcement method. I remember one time somewhere after 9-11 when everybody in the whole school got evacuated and crammed into the next-door middle school's gymnasium because someone spilled salt on a table in the cafeteria at breakfast, and someone cried ANTHRAX. Fun times.
But that's just it; schools as national microcosms. If we can change how the schools function, maybe we can change how the country functions. If the presidential debates and surrounding political scene are any indication, the change is quite in order. I say start with the schools. Teach the kids to think for themselves; when to rebel; when to comprehend and accept reason in rules. Who knows, it might catch on. More schools; fewer human processing plants.
Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta rub one off to a fantasy of teen girls in tight low-riders.
I found myself thinking back to an instance in high school where my intranet account seemed to have frozen up at a rather inconvenient time. I needed to use Word, and I wasn't being granted access. I went down with a hall pass like the ones I always carried through the halls during class when I had to — exactly once, during freshman year, did someone actually stop me to look at it — and talked to the network admin about the problem. The cause was indeed found: My account had been purposely suspended because I had a small bunch of mp3s in the folder.
That was kind of amusing; they were not full songs. They were merely clips of 'em, used in a Powerpoint presentation for Spanish class the previous semester. I used them because I apparently had no clue how to give a Powerpoint presentation, in any language. I considered, and kind of still do, Powerpoints to be excess media. Words on the screen and coming from my mouth? What does that accomplish? So, music man that I am, I just had bits of songs for the audience's enjoyment as they read. And I had explained this at the beginning of the presentation — in Spanish, of course.
But anyway, it evidently took admins a while to discover that there were mp3s (of any variety) in my folder, and they just suspended the account without a notification one day, when I rather needed to use the account for some advanced-placement physics work. I calmly explained to the admin in that basement cloaked in the sort of dull yellow that only schools possess, that the mp3s were old news and could be safely erased. Normality was restored. Still, though, I look back and recall just how terribly bureaucratic the old high school was.
High school was horribly bureaucratic. We weren't allowed to wear hats; apparently, hats are dangerous weapons. You throw 'em like a Frisbee, they can cut through solid metal statues. It was in a movie. Or, I think their explanation was, we could hide other weapons in the spaces between the top of the hats and the top of our heads. Well, by that logic, couldn't we be hiding weapons in all our clothes? We should all walk around naked! That ought to ensure a lack of dangerous weapons. Unless someone figures out how to shoot a laser from within their finger or something; then I guess we're screwed.
But yeah, everybody naked in the Illinois autumns and winters! That's wonderfully in tune with the bureaucracy. And there'll be no weapons. Except maybe exacerbated teenage hormones. But even then, in this age of tight, low-rider jeans on the ladies, I'm absolutely amazed at the self-restraint I had during those years. And at twenty-six years of age now, having still never had even a casual girlfriend, I'm still utterly astounded at the civilized self-control I, and probably a great many others, seem to have.
But back to schools. Last night, on the national news, they ran a story about young women turned away from their own homecoming dance because, in some Utahan's eye, their skirts were too short. They had a picture of the spurned ladies in their dance clothes. I can tell you this: There was absolutely nothing provocative, offensive, or anything of the sort about any of the ladies or their apparel. Who cares about bare legs up to the knees? Legs do nothing for me. The good stuff is in between!
It's all so arbitrary. I think we should find a new name for "schools". Everything else in our society is being made over; just ask George Carlin. But I think I have a new term to describe schools: Human processing plants. Manufacturing facilities designed to convert vibrant and promising young people into passive sheep, accepting whatever they're told and never revolting, despite all the urges to the contrary at that age. Somehow, by and large, they pull it off. Saddening.
Although, there was the one rule during our Freshman year where we all started out having to wear those ID tags with the clips on us at all times. Enough of us rejected the notion that the requirement was eventually thrown out. A small victory, perhaps; we seemed to make the point that someone legitimately associated with the school could wreak as much havoc as someone who waltzed in from outside.
By the way, this last was 2000 — before 9-11. It's possible that the country was always heading this way, and that 9-11 merely accelerated it. Schools can easily be seen as microcosms of this country — people obsessed with security and soulless bureaucracy as a supposedly airtight and efficient enforcement method. I remember one time somewhere after 9-11 when everybody in the whole school got evacuated and crammed into the next-door middle school's gymnasium because someone spilled salt on a table in the cafeteria at breakfast, and someone cried ANTHRAX. Fun times.
But that's just it; schools as national microcosms. If we can change how the schools function, maybe we can change how the country functions. If the presidential debates and surrounding political scene are any indication, the change is quite in order. I say start with the schools. Teach the kids to think for themselves; when to rebel; when to comprehend and accept reason in rules. Who knows, it might catch on. More schools; fewer human processing plants.
Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta rub one off to a fantasy of teen girls in tight low-riders.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Looking through my archive here as I put some new tags on posts, I realize I have a curious lot of rather dopey "emo" posts here — you know, the kind of vague, moping posts that gave rise to the "annoying Facebook girl" meme. On one hand, I want to clean that stuff up (delete it); on the other, I rather like the idea of having an unfiltered record of my ups and downs.
That's one thing that amuses me: that signals of desperation actually by-and-large repel our fellow human beings. That's certainly how it appears in this Western culture, at least. Usually, when someone actually answers a call for civilized help, it makes the news. In other words, the norm is to ignore people who need, or, okay, claim to need, a helping hand. In fact, I seem to recall a few news articles where people were arrested for helping the homeless or similar.
Truth is, we're not the least bit above primal Darwinism. The financially/socially/physically?/etc. fittest survive, unconcerned about the unfit; the unfit could all perish, and the fittest would not miss a beat. Heck, the gop [see post below] running for president now is rather known for saying that he's "not concerned about the very poor". We have a Darwinian people gripping this country, denying, among many, many other things, the teachings of Darwin.
We're wonderfully contradictory. Maybe we're in a transitional phase of humanity; maybe humanity is eternally a Darwinian entity with mere flashes of what I will call post-Darwinism.
Either way, for the time being, those post-Darwinist flashes are out there somewhere. And I want to find those flashes.
That's one thing that amuses me: that signals of desperation actually by-and-large repel our fellow human beings. That's certainly how it appears in this Western culture, at least. Usually, when someone actually answers a call for civilized help, it makes the news. In other words, the norm is to ignore people who need, or, okay, claim to need, a helping hand. In fact, I seem to recall a few news articles where people were arrested for helping the homeless or similar.
Truth is, we're not the least bit above primal Darwinism. The financially/socially/physically?/etc. fittest survive, unconcerned about the unfit; the unfit could all perish, and the fittest would not miss a beat. Heck, the gop [see post below] running for president now is rather known for saying that he's "not concerned about the very poor". We have a Darwinian people gripping this country, denying, among many, many other things, the teachings of Darwin.
We're wonderfully contradictory. Maybe we're in a transitional phase of humanity; maybe humanity is eternally a Darwinian entity with mere flashes of what I will call post-Darwinism.
Either way, for the time being, those post-Darwinist flashes are out there somewhere. And I want to find those flashes.
I don't like to get too overtly political in my cybertravels, but here's a thought that amused me: I think we ought to start calling republicans "gops". The derivation of that term should be obvious, and it just sounds very much like an old-fashioned slur — something racist or homophobic. "Fuckin' gop!" I should think the political right's opponents should be happy to have such an easy derogatory name to use on these greedy, oppressive, angry people. Plus, it sounds like "cops" — people loved by gops, not so much by, well, others. I think both sides could come to embrace the idea. You be my gop, I'll be your lib.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Sob Story: Epilogue
It seemed like I ought to check back in after that whole big thing back there. I just wanted to say that I appear to be reasonably secure here at home after all. My family's had a nice talk, following my whole big thing, and the point appears to be made that I already have about all I can handle, and family likewise. Call it "the family forgiveness act". We need each other, without the anger.
Of course, I still have the problems of being unemployed, socially deprived, and soaked in student debt and bimonthly health insurance payments. But at least I'm slightly less miserable. And at least I won't be miserable without a consistent place to sleep and eat.
Still, if you have a good job opening, fill me in, won't you?
Of course, I still have the problems of being unemployed, socially deprived, and soaked in student debt and bimonthly health insurance payments. But at least I'm slightly less miserable. And at least I won't be miserable without a consistent place to sleep and eat.
Still, if you have a good job opening, fill me in, won't you?
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Speak of it Only in a Soft, Sharp Whisper
Here's something no one ever seemed to talk about, even though it's totally a thing. I guess no one ever talked about it because it wasn't a universal thing, but it's a thing nonetheless. I've long known this thing from a handful of records, from people whispering around me in classes, and from other sources that escape me just now. Somehow, I never thought to mention it to anybody. Never thought to look it up on the net, either. Certainly never thought to give it a proper name. I just kind of enjoyed it when it happened and thought nothing more of it.
Then earlier this week, a cyberfriend of mine posted a link to an article. The article seemed to think it was talking about my thing, but I'm certain it was actually pursuing something different. But it was enough. For the first time, it was evident that a handful of people out there know the thing and are reasonably excited to talk about it. Even if the article missed the mark, it had plenty of links and references to people who didn't. All the while I was off in my own little world, other people were uniting theirs into one growing, marvelous globe. They even decided upon a name, albeit a clinical one that translates into an unmemorable set of initials.
The name is: Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. ASMR for short. And what it is — are you ready for this? No you're not. Unless you've experienced it, in which case I retract that statement. What it is, basically, is this: A sort of upper-body orgasm induced by intimate, yet sharp, sounds. The best example of such a sound that comes to mind is a really close-up whisper on a quiet background, full of well-enunciated Ts and Ss. Sometimes and somehow, those sounds just perfectly hit something within my head, resulting in, at least in my case, a kind of flash-orgasm shooting from near my inner ear down into my upper back, usually on the right side near my shoulder.
I should add that I seem to need to be relaxed for it to happen. If I'm too tense, and given my current life situation, that does happen often, the tension seems to kind of block the sounds from getting through to the "sweet spot". So relaxation is a good thing to have. (When isn't it?)
So there you have it. Apparently, not everyone gets that. But there are plenty of people that do, and they are gradually emerging from the deepest recesses of the Internet (which happen to include YouTube and *ahem* Blogger). And, for whatever it may be worth, I'm happy to join them. This is why I was so stunningly tolerant of classmates whispering around me during class, back when I was actually an enthusiastic student eager to do well. Ah, that seems so long ago now.
This is not the original article to which my friend linked. But it's as good an information repository on the matter as we're likely to find at this point. There is supposedly an official research website, but it hasn't worked since I stumbled upon all this. And there are plenty of other links within this article.
But you know I can't just leave you hanging. I have to provide at least a couple of examples of my own "triggers". I'll start you with psychedelic pstaple Syd Barrett and his old band. Isn'T iT goooooD?
Next up, the acid folk stylings of Linda Perhacs. This demo appears on the expanded CD reissue of her classic 1970 LP Parallelograms. Listen in particular for the middle part with the right-channel-dubbed vocal.
I'll leave you with those two for now. YouTube can only do so much. (I have an mp3 copy of, of all things, Johnny Mathis' "Chances Are" where Johnny's voice is astonishingly crisp in the right channel. I don't think the 'Tube can match it.) And anyway, "chances are", we wouldn't want to overdose on these "back-gasms". Everything in moderation; always remember that.
Peace, love, and limited quantities of euphoria,
~C.A.~
Edit 2013-8-24: Further thoughts on this phenomenon here.
Then earlier this week, a cyberfriend of mine posted a link to an article. The article seemed to think it was talking about my thing, but I'm certain it was actually pursuing something different. But it was enough. For the first time, it was evident that a handful of people out there know the thing and are reasonably excited to talk about it. Even if the article missed the mark, it had plenty of links and references to people who didn't. All the while I was off in my own little world, other people were uniting theirs into one growing, marvelous globe. They even decided upon a name, albeit a clinical one that translates into an unmemorable set of initials.
The name is: Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. ASMR for short. And what it is — are you ready for this? No you're not. Unless you've experienced it, in which case I retract that statement. What it is, basically, is this: A sort of upper-body orgasm induced by intimate, yet sharp, sounds. The best example of such a sound that comes to mind is a really close-up whisper on a quiet background, full of well-enunciated Ts and Ss. Sometimes and somehow, those sounds just perfectly hit something within my head, resulting in, at least in my case, a kind of flash-orgasm shooting from near my inner ear down into my upper back, usually on the right side near my shoulder.
I should add that I seem to need to be relaxed for it to happen. If I'm too tense, and given my current life situation, that does happen often, the tension seems to kind of block the sounds from getting through to the "sweet spot". So relaxation is a good thing to have. (When isn't it?)
So there you have it. Apparently, not everyone gets that. But there are plenty of people that do, and they are gradually emerging from the deepest recesses of the Internet (which happen to include YouTube and *ahem* Blogger). And, for whatever it may be worth, I'm happy to join them. This is why I was so stunningly tolerant of classmates whispering around me during class, back when I was actually an enthusiastic student eager to do well. Ah, that seems so long ago now.
This is not the original article to which my friend linked. But it's as good an information repository on the matter as we're likely to find at this point. There is supposedly an official research website, but it hasn't worked since I stumbled upon all this. And there are plenty of other links within this article.
But you know I can't just leave you hanging. I have to provide at least a couple of examples of my own "triggers". I'll start you with psychedelic pstaple Syd Barrett and his old band. Isn'T iT goooooD?
Next up, the acid folk stylings of Linda Perhacs. This demo appears on the expanded CD reissue of her classic 1970 LP Parallelograms. Listen in particular for the middle part with the right-channel-dubbed vocal.
I'll leave you with those two for now. YouTube can only do so much. (I have an mp3 copy of, of all things, Johnny Mathis' "Chances Are" where Johnny's voice is astonishingly crisp in the right channel. I don't think the 'Tube can match it.) And anyway, "chances are", we wouldn't want to overdose on these "back-gasms". Everything in moderation; always remember that.
Peace, love, and limited quantities of euphoria,
~C.A.~
Edit 2013-8-24: Further thoughts on this phenomenon here.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Sob Story, Part Three
All right. I want to thank you, cybercitizen, for playing the role of Doctor Freud here for me. Here we go.
Things are good. Father has his television and word-search puzzle book; I have my cyberspace, with its music, virtual friends and useless job sites; things are almost ... peaceful.
Then ... a low rumbling; a subtle thunder.
The quadrupeds explode into a vocal foreshadowing of their own vocal explosion's aftermath. True, they go off for any visitor — sometimes even me — but this particular visitor elicits a unique tone; the howls are louder and in greater unanimity, as if providing a symphony its crescendo. The oldest, in particular, seems to be wailing as she did once upon a time when people left. Something disappointing must be happening; the symphony has reached its end.
They go to greet the visitor in the hopes that their greeting will instill a sense of love in the newcomer. And, for maybe half a minute, there is a kind of high, sing-song quality to the human voice in the other room. But it quickly subsides along with the tapping and sliding of paws on the hardwood floor. And, not two minutes from the dogs' initial eruption, a new cacophony echoes through the house: a blizzard of profanity and discontentment, the biting cold misery settling into the interior landscape. And I do my best to seek shelter from the storm.
Mother's home.
Letting everyone know, among many things, that she hates coming home.
So, I've gotten to thinking that maybe leaving (getting kicked out) wouldn't be such a bad thing — as long as I have a place to go and something to do when I get there.
One friend commented on Part One that I probably want a place of my own. I'm actually not convinced I want a place all my own; I'm fine sharing a place. I just don't want to share a place that's soaked in misery.
So maybe that's why I've written this whole thing: it's a call for friends and/or potential friends to maybe take me in for a while, or at least offer some tips on where to go and what to do. A couple people have made me an offer, but I'm not quite ready to accept one just yet. I guess I want to gather some options.
Today, meanwhile, I'm getting ready to talk with my career counselor at the university. And after that, I'm going to an examination where the university will determine whether or not I'm fit to stand behind a counter and sell candy bars. (I did work four solid years at a now-defunct Baskin Robbins. I miss that job.)
Peace and love be unto you.
Things are good. Father has his television and word-search puzzle book; I have my cyberspace, with its music, virtual friends and useless job sites; things are almost ... peaceful.
Then ... a low rumbling; a subtle thunder.
The quadrupeds explode into a vocal foreshadowing of their own vocal explosion's aftermath. True, they go off for any visitor — sometimes even me — but this particular visitor elicits a unique tone; the howls are louder and in greater unanimity, as if providing a symphony its crescendo. The oldest, in particular, seems to be wailing as she did once upon a time when people left. Something disappointing must be happening; the symphony has reached its end.
They go to greet the visitor in the hopes that their greeting will instill a sense of love in the newcomer. And, for maybe half a minute, there is a kind of high, sing-song quality to the human voice in the other room. But it quickly subsides along with the tapping and sliding of paws on the hardwood floor. And, not two minutes from the dogs' initial eruption, a new cacophony echoes through the house: a blizzard of profanity and discontentment, the biting cold misery settling into the interior landscape. And I do my best to seek shelter from the storm.
Mother's home.
Letting everyone know, among many things, that she hates coming home.
So, I've gotten to thinking that maybe leaving (getting kicked out) wouldn't be such a bad thing — as long as I have a place to go and something to do when I get there.
One friend commented on Part One that I probably want a place of my own. I'm actually not convinced I want a place all my own; I'm fine sharing a place. I just don't want to share a place that's soaked in misery.
So maybe that's why I've written this whole thing: it's a call for friends and/or potential friends to maybe take me in for a while, or at least offer some tips on where to go and what to do. A couple people have made me an offer, but I'm not quite ready to accept one just yet. I guess I want to gather some options.
Today, meanwhile, I'm getting ready to talk with my career counselor at the university. And after that, I'm going to an examination where the university will determine whether or not I'm fit to stand behind a counter and sell candy bars. (I did work four solid years at a now-defunct Baskin Robbins. I miss that job.)
Peace and love be unto you.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Sob Story, Part Two
And I'm back. For a little while.
So I'm a “special kid” (who apparently is cool revealing those details to the world) with nowhere to go and, presumably, nowhere to come from, very soon.
As those of you who've checked out my song “Now What?” posted above and been able to listen to it despite the outside noise that plagues the left channel in particular, may know or have figured out, I'm just out of college. It took me twice as long as it apparently was supposed to have done, but I did finish. My degree? A bachelor of the arts in creative writing, mathematics and technology. I kind of semi-joke that, in other words, I'm a jack of all trades and master of none. I aborted the mathematics and computer science bits of my education two or three years in when I realized that I was neither enjoying nor doing well in those classes. I subsequently tried three or four majors — anthropology, psych, rhetoric — before getting together with a small team of administrators to write up an independent creative writing major, designed with a focus on poetry and an intent on just getting me the hell out of college. It took a lot of effort (in my opinion) and rather a bit of intervention to even get me to realize the IPS (Individual Plan of Study). For a couple semesters, I went as low as one class at a time. The normal full-time number of classes per semester is four. In fact, I seem to recall sitting one semester out entirely, in an effort to shake the pressure and depression.
I've kind of forgotten where I was going with this. I just put on Court & Spark. I think what I was saying was that I went through all that for...what? A slab that is currently sitting in my gig bag? Oh, and can't forget that student loan debt, which, thanks to what I can only guess is a communication error, is triple what I thought it would be.
That's what I got. No real clues about life beyond academia. No job, and no particular career aspirations. I can tell you that the idea of a career — one thing that I spend my whole life doing — turns me right off.
So what about minor day (or evening/late-night) jobs? Well, who's hiring? Doesn't seem to be much out here. I did have a job for a couple years that I purposely left a couple years ago. They claim to take me back if I want, but, again, I left it for a reason. I tried, for a while, to do a job that requires me plopped in front of a computer all the while. I simply don't have it in me. I'd find myself just sat there, zoned out, accomplishing nothing. Not even surfing the net; just sitting there — even though I sit at a computer nearly all of my “spare” time, basically playing music and messing around mindlessly. And the reason I spend my spare time doing that is, as I mentioned in part one of this extravaganza, I have no social life. Nor do I care much for movies, books, television, or most video games. (I probably could have been a gamer, if games hadn't gotten all 3-D and pseudo-realistic.)
I'm a “mouse potato” with an inability for that would-be profession to translate into an actual profession. Certainly my other natural high points — wit, writing skills, musical knowledge and talent — have no place in contemporary society, at least not in America. I need a job with social aspects. And so I ask again: Who's hiring?
I suppose you all realize that I'm not one who's willing to stay with something that I don't enjoy. This happens to be precisely where I clash with my mother, who stayed at her old workplace that she detested for some sixteen years before being unceremoniously fired for an expletive. She's also sticking with a loveless marriage to my spineless father (who's another story altogether) which just about daily features high-volume arguments. I'm thankful that neither parent is an alcoholic; imagine the destruction that could result from that. Mother knows she can't particularly count on my father for much, so I become a kind of “go-to”.
And, for some reason, she wants me out of the house.
Just a shade more in part three.
So I'm a “special kid” (who apparently is cool revealing those details to the world) with nowhere to go and, presumably, nowhere to come from, very soon.
As those of you who've checked out my song “Now What?” posted above and been able to listen to it despite the outside noise that plagues the left channel in particular, may know or have figured out, I'm just out of college. It took me twice as long as it apparently was supposed to have done, but I did finish. My degree? A bachelor of the arts in creative writing, mathematics and technology. I kind of semi-joke that, in other words, I'm a jack of all trades and master of none. I aborted the mathematics and computer science bits of my education two or three years in when I realized that I was neither enjoying nor doing well in those classes. I subsequently tried three or four majors — anthropology, psych, rhetoric — before getting together with a small team of administrators to write up an independent creative writing major, designed with a focus on poetry and an intent on just getting me the hell out of college. It took a lot of effort (in my opinion) and rather a bit of intervention to even get me to realize the IPS (Individual Plan of Study). For a couple semesters, I went as low as one class at a time. The normal full-time number of classes per semester is four. In fact, I seem to recall sitting one semester out entirely, in an effort to shake the pressure and depression.
I've kind of forgotten where I was going with this. I just put on Court & Spark. I think what I was saying was that I went through all that for...what? A slab that is currently sitting in my gig bag? Oh, and can't forget that student loan debt, which, thanks to what I can only guess is a communication error, is triple what I thought it would be.
That's what I got. No real clues about life beyond academia. No job, and no particular career aspirations. I can tell you that the idea of a career — one thing that I spend my whole life doing — turns me right off.
So what about minor day (or evening/late-night) jobs? Well, who's hiring? Doesn't seem to be much out here. I did have a job for a couple years that I purposely left a couple years ago. They claim to take me back if I want, but, again, I left it for a reason. I tried, for a while, to do a job that requires me plopped in front of a computer all the while. I simply don't have it in me. I'd find myself just sat there, zoned out, accomplishing nothing. Not even surfing the net; just sitting there — even though I sit at a computer nearly all of my “spare” time, basically playing music and messing around mindlessly. And the reason I spend my spare time doing that is, as I mentioned in part one of this extravaganza, I have no social life. Nor do I care much for movies, books, television, or most video games. (I probably could have been a gamer, if games hadn't gotten all 3-D and pseudo-realistic.)
I'm a “mouse potato” with an inability for that would-be profession to translate into an actual profession. Certainly my other natural high points — wit, writing skills, musical knowledge and talent — have no place in contemporary society, at least not in America. I need a job with social aspects. And so I ask again: Who's hiring?
I suppose you all realize that I'm not one who's willing to stay with something that I don't enjoy. This happens to be precisely where I clash with my mother, who stayed at her old workplace that she detested for some sixteen years before being unceremoniously fired for an expletive. She's also sticking with a loveless marriage to my spineless father (who's another story altogether) which just about daily features high-volume arguments. I'm thankful that neither parent is an alcoholic; imagine the destruction that could result from that. Mother knows she can't particularly count on my father for much, so I become a kind of “go-to”.
And, for some reason, she wants me out of the house.
Just a shade more in part three.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Sob Story, Part One
Happy Labor Day weekend, cyberworld.
Like many younger Americans, the exact meaning of Labor Day is deep within a mist from me, so it may or may not be somehow poetic that I'm bringing this up now. And I'm hesitating at the beginning here, considering that, apparently, I really feel that I need to write and post this. At least some aspect of it doesn't seem right. But here it is:
My mother has threatened to kick me out of our house if I should remain unemployed come this month's end.
This, as perhaps you can imagine, is not something I'm having a great time coping with. I've been in my parents' shelter all my twenty-six years. I went to college right across town. I've never known anything else. And despite my mother's half-assed attempts to charge me (her only son) monthly rent for staying here, I'm not the least bit prepared for anything else, and I'm wholly unlikely to make a smooth transition.
Another piece of information that might be useful here: I'm a child of Asperger's Syndrome. Though the affliction was more prevalent in childhood than now, my aversion to minor changes then may perhaps be indicative of my (potential?) aversion to major changes now. Also, it meant that I was not at all social growing up — I wasn't anti-social, I just simply didn't make friends or talk much — the consequence of which is that I have no social group — no clique or niche — that I identify with or conceivably fit in. Though that aspect of me has eased somewhat the last few years, I still nonetheless have no close friends, not even from the last bits of college. Also, I don't drink, which rather robs me of what seems to be the primary means of adult socialization. I have kind of bar-hopped locally on Saturday nights now and then, occasionally casually conversing with a familiar face from days of old and then just awkwardly standing or sitting with nothing much else to say. And, to top that all off, I am an only child. For all the horror stories of sibling torture I've heard, I can't particularly recommend “onlihood”. I might not even recommend first-born-hood, but I suppose our species actually does depend on those. I can sort of approximate a sibling with my only cousin, who is a wonderful perpetuator of peace, love, and a general lack of dysfunction, some three-and-a-half hundred miles away.
Where was I....the Syndrome also means that I take horrendous amounts of time doing certain things that might take non-afflicted people not so much time. Writing is often a good example of such a thing. And I must break now. Back in a bit.
Like many younger Americans, the exact meaning of Labor Day is deep within a mist from me, so it may or may not be somehow poetic that I'm bringing this up now. And I'm hesitating at the beginning here, considering that, apparently, I really feel that I need to write and post this. At least some aspect of it doesn't seem right. But here it is:
My mother has threatened to kick me out of our house if I should remain unemployed come this month's end.
This, as perhaps you can imagine, is not something I'm having a great time coping with. I've been in my parents' shelter all my twenty-six years. I went to college right across town. I've never known anything else. And despite my mother's half-assed attempts to charge me (her only son) monthly rent for staying here, I'm not the least bit prepared for anything else, and I'm wholly unlikely to make a smooth transition.
Another piece of information that might be useful here: I'm a child of Asperger's Syndrome. Though the affliction was more prevalent in childhood than now, my aversion to minor changes then may perhaps be indicative of my (potential?) aversion to major changes now. Also, it meant that I was not at all social growing up — I wasn't anti-social, I just simply didn't make friends or talk much — the consequence of which is that I have no social group — no clique or niche — that I identify with or conceivably fit in. Though that aspect of me has eased somewhat the last few years, I still nonetheless have no close friends, not even from the last bits of college. Also, I don't drink, which rather robs me of what seems to be the primary means of adult socialization. I have kind of bar-hopped locally on Saturday nights now and then, occasionally casually conversing with a familiar face from days of old and then just awkwardly standing or sitting with nothing much else to say. And, to top that all off, I am an only child. For all the horror stories of sibling torture I've heard, I can't particularly recommend “onlihood”. I might not even recommend first-born-hood, but I suppose our species actually does depend on those. I can sort of approximate a sibling with my only cousin, who is a wonderful perpetuator of peace, love, and a general lack of dysfunction, some three-and-a-half hundred miles away.
Where was I....the Syndrome also means that I take horrendous amounts of time doing certain things that might take non-afflicted people not so much time. Writing is often a good example of such a thing. And I must break now. Back in a bit.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
The Day Blogger Went All Femality
A handful of people in the wild, wacky world of Facebook have proclaimed this "the day Facebook went all Vagina". I guess this is what counts in this country as a protest, after the Michigan incident where a female house speaker was barred from speaking after using the word vagina in a (pro-women's-rights) speech. Okay, granted that censorship in general is a huge problem here and elsewhere that seems to be getting inexorably worse; nevertheless, I'd like to know who all — what kind of people — were behind the decision to bar this speaker. I have a hunch.
I'm not sure I've mentioned this in public so much, but I'm kind of a feminist. I'd very much like to see a matriarchal society emerge here in this digital age. I'm sure the patriarchy has been excellent for self-protective nation-states in the days before globalization, but as we come together as peoples, the need for the male brand of aggressive "conquer at all costs" leaders diminishes. Heck, if this country is any indication, the idea backfires when the leaders have nothing left to plunder but their own people. And, maybe you've noticed this, but our leaders/plunderers tend, perhaps overwhelmingly, to be men. I say, put the men to their more natural strengths — domestic physical and related labor — and get more women in charge. At least just to try it. See what the womanly touch can do for a nation — and a globalized world.
Although, perhaps somewhere within, men know they're on the way out. That might be why so many of them are quick to strip women of basic, natural needs and expressions, apparently now going so far as to prohibit use of the proper term for the female reproductive outlet.
This may be some perverse release for the men, but it is not healthful to us as a people, and I am not convinced that we're doing enough to stop it. What we need to do, I'm not sure. But if it helps ease talks between the sides, I'd like to propose a new euphemism for vagina (and other female reproductive parts). Hey, I'll be honest: vagina really isn't all that pretty a word to describe an often pretty thing.* (I have the same complaint about "orgasm".) I used this new term in my song "Sweet Release" (read and listen a few posts from the top of the blog). The term is... "femality".
This is not to be confused with "femininity". Femininity is more about qualities that play into the traditional gender role of the girl/woman. Pink, flowery dresses, long hair, quiet subservience...those are feminine qualities. Femality is simply the physical quality of being female. It's a perfectly honorable thing to have.
So if you got it, let it rock. And don't let the government or other slimy bastards get all up in your femality! Stand up for yourselves! And maybe...just maybe...take full control.
*I guess it's a pretty thing; I've not had the pleasure of encountering (m)any vaginas.
I'm not sure I've mentioned this in public so much, but I'm kind of a feminist. I'd very much like to see a matriarchal society emerge here in this digital age. I'm sure the patriarchy has been excellent for self-protective nation-states in the days before globalization, but as we come together as peoples, the need for the male brand of aggressive "conquer at all costs" leaders diminishes. Heck, if this country is any indication, the idea backfires when the leaders have nothing left to plunder but their own people. And, maybe you've noticed this, but our leaders/plunderers tend, perhaps overwhelmingly, to be men. I say, put the men to their more natural strengths — domestic physical and related labor — and get more women in charge. At least just to try it. See what the womanly touch can do for a nation — and a globalized world.
Although, perhaps somewhere within, men know they're on the way out. That might be why so many of them are quick to strip women of basic, natural needs and expressions, apparently now going so far as to prohibit use of the proper term for the female reproductive outlet.
This may be some perverse release for the men, but it is not healthful to us as a people, and I am not convinced that we're doing enough to stop it. What we need to do, I'm not sure. But if it helps ease talks between the sides, I'd like to propose a new euphemism for vagina (and other female reproductive parts). Hey, I'll be honest: vagina really isn't all that pretty a word to describe an often pretty thing.* (I have the same complaint about "orgasm".) I used this new term in my song "Sweet Release" (read and listen a few posts from the top of the blog). The term is... "femality".
This is not to be confused with "femininity". Femininity is more about qualities that play into the traditional gender role of the girl/woman. Pink, flowery dresses, long hair, quiet subservience...those are feminine qualities. Femality is simply the physical quality of being female. It's a perfectly honorable thing to have.
So if you got it, let it rock. And don't let the government or other slimy bastards get all up in your femality! Stand up for yourselves! And maybe...just maybe...take full control.
*I guess it's a pretty thing; I've not had the pleasure of encountering (m)any vaginas.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Baseball Season's Under Way
I wrote this at the beginning of the 2011 baseball season and posted it as a Facebook note. Why there and not here, I don't know. So I'm bringing it here now. And why not? The Cubs have lost twelve straight coming into today. And they're down a run now.
There's a certain poetry about the Cubs and their fans. A parallel, perhaps, to the greater humanity and the widespread undying faith in a higher power that will make everything "right". Sure, it's possible. It could happen. Any millennium now.
Somehow, it remains. Nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens, and the faith somehow remains. We will be rescued from this existential hell! We will be saved! The Cubs are going all the way! Humanity is going all the way!
I find it fascinating that the same people in the heartland who make it a point to act as sort of local missionaries, spreading the word about our savior, should mock the Cubs and their fans for believing in something that "just ain't gonna happen".
And, of course, I'm not the least bit religious in any sense or direction. I firmly believe that anything involving deities and saviors that aren't ourselves is pure bovine fecal matter.
So why am I a Cubs fan? Maybe it's partly genetic, but the Cubs happen to strike me as simply being a uniquely likable organization, unlike any other sports entity. Yeah, the Red Sox got that cozy community feeling as well, but the Cubs' aura beats it out, to me. The Cubs can trade away the half of their major players that don't have noticeably imperfect personalities, and, in spite of what I say at that time, spring comes around, and, somehow, here I am again.
Cubs fandom is the mark of true human beings. And, in spite of my frequent talk of me coming from another planet, that ain't likely. I am human, and I find it best to roll with that.
Play ball!
There's a certain poetry about the Cubs and their fans. A parallel, perhaps, to the greater humanity and the widespread undying faith in a higher power that will make everything "right". Sure, it's possible. It could happen. Any millennium now.
Somehow, it remains. Nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens, and nothing happens, and the faith somehow remains. We will be rescued from this existential hell! We will be saved! The Cubs are going all the way! Humanity is going all the way!
I find it fascinating that the same people in the heartland who make it a point to act as sort of local missionaries, spreading the word about our savior, should mock the Cubs and their fans for believing in something that "just ain't gonna happen".
And, of course, I'm not the least bit religious in any sense or direction. I firmly believe that anything involving deities and saviors that aren't ourselves is pure bovine fecal matter.
So why am I a Cubs fan? Maybe it's partly genetic, but the Cubs happen to strike me as simply being a uniquely likable organization, unlike any other sports entity. Yeah, the Red Sox got that cozy community feeling as well, but the Cubs' aura beats it out, to me. The Cubs can trade away the half of their major players that don't have noticeably imperfect personalities, and, in spite of what I say at that time, spring comes around, and, somehow, here I am again.
Cubs fandom is the mark of true human beings. And, in spite of my frequent talk of me coming from another planet, that ain't likely. I am human, and I find it best to roll with that.
Play ball!
Thursday, May 17, 2012
I quite dislike getting the news of the death of certain pop stars. Not because I'm a fan, but because I know I'll have to put up with their insipid pop music as everyone's playing it in tribute. Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, now Donna Summer. Rest in peace, all of 'em. I know I'll be leaving them in peace.
Lolling Out Loud
Those of you who've interacted with me online a lot may have noticed that I never use the term "lol". I'll say "ha ha", "heh", "hee hee", or any one of a number of such things, but I just don't dig "lol". I guess I'm a big fan of particular expressiveness; I find "lol" to not be terribly descriptive. And it certainly doesn't convey the feeling of actually laughing out loud very well. Especially since many people use it in nearly everything they post. And frankly, I ain't laughing at everything they post. It's rather lost any kind of meaning for me. Heck, a couple people even put some variation of "lmao" in nine out of ten statuses/tweets/etc.. I wonder, "What, isn't there a strong enough duct tape that can keep your ass attached while you laugh? You've lost it so many times now."
I also get rather turned off by so many discussions I encounter where about a third of the transmissions, including the last consecutive four, are just "lol". Maybe my sense of humor is just different from that of most people, but I am seldom laughing that much in one conversation. I tend to picture these "lol-ers" as just sitting there, sort of pretending to be amused — maybe making just a fraction of a chuckle with their breath, maybe two very short exhales through the nose, but very little show of emotion at all. And that's about how "lol" comes across to me — emotionless filler.
I rather hope that I don't find myself putting emotionless filler out there. Or that society should somehow compel me to. I kind of feel like I'd be holding my hands in the air and surrendering if I used "lol". Come to think of it... lol rather looks like a guy with his hands in the air.
And I probably should say, I don't completely distance myself from cyber-acronyms and similar initials. I'll use FTW on occasion, as well as a couple others that escape me just now. But LOL just doesn't do it for me. Nor do OMG or ROFLMAO. And I'll usually use an emoticon in place of "WTF": ¿-⌠ (Tilt your head like you would for :-), and you'll see it. Hopefully.)
I also get rather turned off by so many discussions I encounter where about a third of the transmissions, including the last consecutive four, are just "lol". Maybe my sense of humor is just different from that of most people, but I am seldom laughing that much in one conversation. I tend to picture these "lol-ers" as just sitting there, sort of pretending to be amused — maybe making just a fraction of a chuckle with their breath, maybe two very short exhales through the nose, but very little show of emotion at all. And that's about how "lol" comes across to me — emotionless filler.
I rather hope that I don't find myself putting emotionless filler out there. Or that society should somehow compel me to. I kind of feel like I'd be holding my hands in the air and surrendering if I used "lol". Come to think of it... lol rather looks like a guy with his hands in the air.
And I probably should say, I don't completely distance myself from cyber-acronyms and similar initials. I'll use FTW on occasion, as well as a couple others that escape me just now. But LOL just doesn't do it for me. Nor do OMG or ROFLMAO. And I'll usually use an emoticon in place of "WTF": ¿-⌠ (Tilt your head like you would for :-), and you'll see it. Hopefully.)
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Eight More Favorite Albums
So I thought I'd post something rather more positive after that lash at commercial radio below. Enjoy!
July - July
I can't believe I forgot about this one in the first "Favorite Albums" installment. This is one of the cornerstones of classic British psychedelia.
"Mothers say, stay away far as you can, friendly man."
Boston - Boston
So after my post about commercial "classic rock" radio, I go and endorse the album with More Than a Feeling on it. What the hey? Well, I happen to think that More Than a Feeling retains its freshness and just outruns the blurred line of overplayedness. Indeed, I think that the whole album retains a crisp, fresh and unique sound. Well, maybe Rock & Roll Band is just a bit stale.
"Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder / Hope it doesn't take too long / Can't you see there'll come a day when it won't matter / Come a day when you'll be gone."
Ananda Shankar - Ananda Shankar
Ravi's nephew released this marriage of East and West in 1970. I actually haven't spun this in a while; I need to again.
"He belongs equally to us all."
Frank Zappa - Joe's Garage
Zappa takes an utterly horrifying three-LP look at this society's views on music, taken to their logical extremes, as only the supernaturally intelligent Zappa can.
"I've got it — I'll be sullen and withdrawn. I'll dwindle off into the twilight realm of my own secret thoughts...."
Rainbow Ffolly - Sallies Fforth
Something lighter-hearted to follow up the insanity of Joe's Garage: an unfinished, playful pop-psych record from the UK in '68. Excellent pop songwriting, randomish non-sequitur segues....such qualities don't often show up on albums.
"Come on Noah! Eat up your curried unicorn!"
Steve Miller Band - Fly Like an Eagle
Les Paul's eager student flaunts his psychedelic side in 1976 with the finest in outer-space production, but not without acknowledging his roots. Just a captivating listening experience.
"We're lost in space, and the time is our own."
Anonymous - Inside the Shadow
That's just the band's name; they're not actually anonymous. What they are is a thoroughly excellent sort of hybrid of the Byrds, Jefferson Airplane, and maybe a touch of the kind of "power pop" that had established itself by 1976, when this came out. Wonderful, other-worldly sounds from Indianapolis.
"Will you ride?"
Sopwith Camel - The Miraculous Hump Returns From the Moon
From 1972. Think "Vaudeville in space". The album has some nice jazzy touches as well.
"Who's gonna go on all those trips in outer space?"
July - July
I can't believe I forgot about this one in the first "Favorite Albums" installment. This is one of the cornerstones of classic British psychedelia.
"Mothers say, stay away far as you can, friendly man."
Boston - Boston
So after my post about commercial "classic rock" radio, I go and endorse the album with More Than a Feeling on it. What the hey? Well, I happen to think that More Than a Feeling retains its freshness and just outruns the blurred line of overplayedness. Indeed, I think that the whole album retains a crisp, fresh and unique sound. Well, maybe Rock & Roll Band is just a bit stale.
"Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder / Hope it doesn't take too long / Can't you see there'll come a day when it won't matter / Come a day when you'll be gone."
Ananda Shankar - Ananda Shankar
Ravi's nephew released this marriage of East and West in 1970. I actually haven't spun this in a while; I need to again.
"He belongs equally to us all."
Frank Zappa - Joe's Garage
Zappa takes an utterly horrifying three-LP look at this society's views on music, taken to their logical extremes, as only the supernaturally intelligent Zappa can.
"I've got it — I'll be sullen and withdrawn. I'll dwindle off into the twilight realm of my own secret thoughts...."
Rainbow Ffolly - Sallies Fforth
Something lighter-hearted to follow up the insanity of Joe's Garage: an unfinished, playful pop-psych record from the UK in '68. Excellent pop songwriting, randomish non-sequitur segues....such qualities don't often show up on albums.
"Come on Noah! Eat up your curried unicorn!"
Steve Miller Band - Fly Like an Eagle
Les Paul's eager student flaunts his psychedelic side in 1976 with the finest in outer-space production, but not without acknowledging his roots. Just a captivating listening experience.
"We're lost in space, and the time is our own."
Anonymous - Inside the Shadow
That's just the band's name; they're not actually anonymous. What they are is a thoroughly excellent sort of hybrid of the Byrds, Jefferson Airplane, and maybe a touch of the kind of "power pop" that had established itself by 1976, when this came out. Wonderful, other-worldly sounds from Indianapolis.
"Will you ride?"
Sopwith Camel - The Miraculous Hump Returns From the Moon
From 1972. Think "Vaudeville in space". The album has some nice jazzy touches as well.
"Who's gonna go on all those trips in outer space?"
Monday, May 7, 2012
Fifteen (or Sixteen) Songs That Classic Rock Radio Needs to Forget
The appearance of this topic on here may puzzle many of you. "Cheshire Adams is a well-seasoned veteran of the music blogosphere and just about every musical outlet of the Internet. Why is he wasting space on terrestrial radio? That dump's been dead for years!" Well, suffice it to say that even with the mp3 player and all the contemporary conveniences, I still find myself trapped in a car with a closed-minded family member or two every so often. So I once again turn to my blog as an excuse to get this stuff off my chest. And I'm going to try to pick evenly and fairly from classic rock radio's limited range of artists — one from each overplayed artist.
Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody
I can hear all the Queen lovers and Wayne's World fans getting up in arms over this choice. The truth is, though it's a fine song on its own, cinematically sewing styles together, it has simply been played and heard far too often. Believe me, back when I was making my own mixtapes on cassette (I think I got up to eight and a half), before I discovered the blogosphere, this was on one of them. Alas, the commercial world has utterly robbed this song of its luster and rendered it a mundane lump of rock in a volcanic wasteland. But I may still listen to Weird Al's Bohemian Polka on occasion.
Foghat - Slow Ride
Oh my holy Zarquon, does this song ever end? It just goes on and on and on. It was only so good to begin with. This song has nothing to hold my interest, despite the ending that gradually speeds up as if approaching orgasm. No orgasm here, though; just another mundane "classic rock" radio song.
Foreigner - Cold as Ice
Foreigner left a few candidates for this list: "Hot Blooded", "Feels Like the First Time", "Jukebox Hero" ... but I think this one beats out the other hits in the forgettability department. "Hot Blooded" at least is cheesy in that Seventies style that never gets old. And I suppose I can grant "Jukebox Hero" its "pomp" value.
Pink Floyd - Time / Money
I couldn't decide between the two overplayed Dark Side of the Moon hits, so I picked them both. Hey, "time is money", right? Ha ha. Certainly overexposure renders them the same mind-numbingness that emanates from a radio tuned to a "classic rock" frequency.
The Who - My Generation
Televised and similar commercials might be in part to blame for this song having gotten stale. Sure, it was a vital cultural touchstone when it came out, but now? As Calvin (Hobbes the tiger's human) pointed out in one strip, the generation that created it is now the establishment. The song has become a symbol of the bland, greed-driven baby-boomer corporate culture that's gripped this country in bondage and pleasured itself all up in it. It's repulsive. (It's possible that Townshend and Daltrey realized this after just a few years; "Meet the new boss / same as the old boss", they sang in the Orwellian "Won't Get Fooled Again" in 1971.)
Bad Company - Can't Get Enough
Another band with plenty of choices — "Feel Like Makin' Love" and "Rock & Roll Fantasy" come to mind. This one, I decided, wins the blandness contest among Bad Company's big splashes in the classic rock cesspool.
Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love
It's just been overplayed. Simple as that.
The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want
Use the "world's greatest rock & roll band" protest all you want; this thing is a snoozefest. "Sympathy For the Devil" is cuttin' it close as well.
R.E.M - The One I Love
R.E.M. ain't that great a band to begin with; they're kind of drone-y. This song tries so hard to be something; it's, like, almost there.....! But not quite. Drives me nuts.
The Eagles - Hotel California
Another song that could've been fine if stations would've played this song in greater moderation, even though I feel like I've heard certain musical elements of this song in something older. But the stations haven't done so. Also, I won't diss it outright as an official entry here, but "Peaceful, Easy Feeling" is boring.
Eric Clapton - Wonderful Tonight
All right, boring and overplayed sappy shit!
Stevie Nicks - Edge of Seventeen
Good God, this song just goes on and on and on. Stevie should have stayed with the Mac.
ZZ Top - Tush
Short, mercifully...but still overplayed and boring. Was there some kind of novelty value to this song at one point? 'Cause it's lost now.
Electric Light Orchestra - Don't Bring Me Down
For a non-overplayed take on the main riff here, may I suggest Atomic Rooster's "Can't Take No More"?
....Finally, Journey. I sense some of you have been eagerly awaiting a Journey entry on this list. And I ain't one to disappoint.
Journey - Any Way You Want It
Okay, maybe I do disappoint in that the choice isn't "Don't Stop Believin'", but I ain't quite that "hipster". I pick this song because, in addition to being mundane radio noise with none of the catchiness of DSB, this song also gets regularly whored out in commercials. I make reference to one particular commercial that's using it now in one of the selections in the Facebook roundup that's the post below this one. It's like "Oh my God, not this again! Somebody put a foot-long bullet in my head. So....boring!"
All right, that's all for now. I'm listening to fresher stuff as I type this, so I likely missed a few things that make me change the station. Skynyrd and later-era Aerosmith should probably make an appearance here somewhere. Anyway, have a great day!
EDIT 8-30-12: I'm adding a bonus entry, the suggestion thanks to Brian...
Manfred Mann's Earth Band - Blinded By the Light
This kind of long Springsteen cover is played out. And cutting out the solo doesn't make it much better; it's just kind of there. It could have been all right with lesser airplay, like the Earth Band's other Springsteen cover, "For You". That one has a certain freshness, although I think they chickened out replacing "lick my sores" with "fight my wars".
Okay, bye!
Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody
I can hear all the Queen lovers and Wayne's World fans getting up in arms over this choice. The truth is, though it's a fine song on its own, cinematically sewing styles together, it has simply been played and heard far too often. Believe me, back when I was making my own mixtapes on cassette (I think I got up to eight and a half), before I discovered the blogosphere, this was on one of them. Alas, the commercial world has utterly robbed this song of its luster and rendered it a mundane lump of rock in a volcanic wasteland. But I may still listen to Weird Al's Bohemian Polka on occasion.
Foghat - Slow Ride
Oh my holy Zarquon, does this song ever end? It just goes on and on and on. It was only so good to begin with. This song has nothing to hold my interest, despite the ending that gradually speeds up as if approaching orgasm. No orgasm here, though; just another mundane "classic rock" radio song.
Foreigner - Cold as Ice
Foreigner left a few candidates for this list: "Hot Blooded", "Feels Like the First Time", "Jukebox Hero" ... but I think this one beats out the other hits in the forgettability department. "Hot Blooded" at least is cheesy in that Seventies style that never gets old. And I suppose I can grant "Jukebox Hero" its "pomp" value.
Pink Floyd - Time / Money
I couldn't decide between the two overplayed Dark Side of the Moon hits, so I picked them both. Hey, "time is money", right? Ha ha. Certainly overexposure renders them the same mind-numbingness that emanates from a radio tuned to a "classic rock" frequency.
The Who - My Generation
Televised and similar commercials might be in part to blame for this song having gotten stale. Sure, it was a vital cultural touchstone when it came out, but now? As Calvin (Hobbes the tiger's human) pointed out in one strip, the generation that created it is now the establishment. The song has become a symbol of the bland, greed-driven baby-boomer corporate culture that's gripped this country in bondage and pleasured itself all up in it. It's repulsive. (It's possible that Townshend and Daltrey realized this after just a few years; "Meet the new boss / same as the old boss", they sang in the Orwellian "Won't Get Fooled Again" in 1971.)
Bad Company - Can't Get Enough
Another band with plenty of choices — "Feel Like Makin' Love" and "Rock & Roll Fantasy" come to mind. This one, I decided, wins the blandness contest among Bad Company's big splashes in the classic rock cesspool.
Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love
It's just been overplayed. Simple as that.
The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want
Use the "world's greatest rock & roll band" protest all you want; this thing is a snoozefest. "Sympathy For the Devil" is cuttin' it close as well.
R.E.M - The One I Love
R.E.M. ain't that great a band to begin with; they're kind of drone-y. This song tries so hard to be something; it's, like, almost there.....! But not quite. Drives me nuts.
The Eagles - Hotel California
Another song that could've been fine if stations would've played this song in greater moderation, even though I feel like I've heard certain musical elements of this song in something older. But the stations haven't done so. Also, I won't diss it outright as an official entry here, but "Peaceful, Easy Feeling" is boring.
Eric Clapton - Wonderful Tonight
All right, boring and overplayed sappy shit!
Stevie Nicks - Edge of Seventeen
Good God, this song just goes on and on and on. Stevie should have stayed with the Mac.
ZZ Top - Tush
Short, mercifully...but still overplayed and boring. Was there some kind of novelty value to this song at one point? 'Cause it's lost now.
Electric Light Orchestra - Don't Bring Me Down
For a non-overplayed take on the main riff here, may I suggest Atomic Rooster's "Can't Take No More"?
....Finally, Journey. I sense some of you have been eagerly awaiting a Journey entry on this list. And I ain't one to disappoint.
Journey - Any Way You Want It
Okay, maybe I do disappoint in that the choice isn't "Don't Stop Believin'", but I ain't quite that "hipster". I pick this song because, in addition to being mundane radio noise with none of the catchiness of DSB, this song also gets regularly whored out in commercials. I make reference to one particular commercial that's using it now in one of the selections in the Facebook roundup that's the post below this one. It's like "Oh my God, not this again! Somebody put a foot-long bullet in my head. So....boring!"
All right, that's all for now. I'm listening to fresher stuff as I type this, so I likely missed a few things that make me change the station. Skynyrd and later-era Aerosmith should probably make an appearance here somewhere. Anyway, have a great day!
EDIT 8-30-12: I'm adding a bonus entry, the suggestion thanks to Brian...
Manfred Mann's Earth Band - Blinded By the Light
This kind of long Springsteen cover is played out. And cutting out the solo doesn't make it much better; it's just kind of there. It could have been all right with lesser airplay, like the Earth Band's other Springsteen cover, "For You". That one has a certain freshness, although I think they chickened out replacing "lick my sores" with "fight my wars".
Okay, bye!
Facebook Selections, Pt. III
Not quite seven months this time.
These posts are crazy-long, aren't they?
"Look at you!" What is this condescending nonsense? "Look at you!" I know damn well what I look like or what I'm doing. I don't need the approval of some arrogant, self-righteous nitwit. Take a look at *your*self, why don't you? *I'm* going to look at the ladies!
While trying to light the Chanukah candles, the flame went out on us. Oops.
Often, the local lanes move faster than the express.
The child just wanted to gaze into the wrapping paper, while everyone else wanted to tear it apart.
(the night after Christmas) Well, I'd better get in line for my King Day shopping.
There should be a band called "Turns Out They Were Midgets. Who Knew?".
I'm just a bit of a ways down the interstate from Normal.
I'm tired of hearing about smart phones. I'd rather have a wise phone.
Just *some* of a sudden
I think I've figured out why dubstep and autotune are popular. Somewhere along the line, people discovered that the beat is the only thing people can hear in a crowded night space, and therefore all other aspects of the music could be absolute non-biodegradable fecal matter, long as the beat remained intact. Hey, even if they do hear other aspects of the music, everyone's drunk anyway.
First world problems: Feeling obligated to appear concerned for all humanity by describing some inanity on the Internet as a "first world problem".
i can haz original thoughtz
I was very self-absorbed growing up. It turns out they're saying "DE-FENSE". I always just heard "heave heh" and thought it was just some kind of good-time gibberish.
"I took a women's psychology class once .... That teacher was such a bitch!" —My mother
"Everything" bagels only have poppy and sesame seeds, and bits of onion. How is that "everything"? I demand everything from rubber to lilac on my each and every bagel! It's the Jewish version of Every Flavor Beans. Harry Pottman goes to Hogschwartz!
Your attention please: "Cheshire" rhymes with "pressure". That is all.
The Super Bowl: A celebration of the fact that we're just about done with football for a few solid months. Good.
"Mommy, why are you watching a show about mothers who kill their children?"
Cheshire sez: Business that is open is most likely to get business.
I hope this isn't "TMI", but I came to realize that the sound my toilet makes when returning from "flushed" to "ready" could totally pass as background for ambient music.
*ZIP!* —the sound of a deadline whooshing by. Also, how much of a damn I give.
Life's simple pleasures: Bubble wrap.
When I was growing up, my mother told me "don't be fresh". Well, what's the alternative to being fresh? Being rotten! Am I right?
I'm sorry, but I just cannot look at that and interpret it as something other than "Deadmau Five".
Accurate adjective is accurate
Inane meme is inane
If you're building your toolbox, where do you keep the tools when you take a break?
iDunno
Thought someone called my name, but I guess that was just the music.
on we: ennui
cunt-rol freak
Menards: what a Brit exclaims when he's hit in the groin.
Life's simple pleasures: A good chocolate shake; good live music; good times and laughs with groovy people; all those things together.
I think that, if the characters in a commercial are going to have a conversation made out of the lyrics of a pop song, the commercial should be prohibited from playing the actual song at the end. It's insulting to the viewers' intelligence.
Lately it occurs to me...the new Pepsi logo looks suspiciously similar to the Steal Your Face logo.
"Facebook us! We tow cars!" —rearrangable sign for a corner convenience store
Is there an opposite of "je ne sais quois"? You know, a certain UNendearing quality? Seems like there ought to be.
I am wholly against cat declawing, but I wouldn't mind dog delarynxing.
Beating a cold: Laying off some olfactory workers.
Baseball player: A ballpark figure.
There is nothing like the roar of really good seltzer.
We have an adjective "dreary", but we don't have a noun "drear". It would be useful for describing my father.
The problem with nice days is, battling flying pests all evening.
has-been
husband
Bud Light is using "Here We Go" as a signifier of a good time. Usually, when I say "here we go", it means my family is getting into a routine and wholly unpleasant argument. "Ugh, here we go..."
Apparently, "Washington University" is in St. Louis. This kind of thing might be why I never got into college sports.
Like a simile
it turns out I don't always
like a simile
These posts are crazy-long, aren't they?
"Look at you!" What is this condescending nonsense? "Look at you!" I know damn well what I look like or what I'm doing. I don't need the approval of some arrogant, self-righteous nitwit. Take a look at *your*self, why don't you? *I'm* going to look at the ladies!
While trying to light the Chanukah candles, the flame went out on us. Oops.
Often, the local lanes move faster than the express.
The child just wanted to gaze into the wrapping paper, while everyone else wanted to tear it apart.
(the night after Christmas) Well, I'd better get in line for my King Day shopping.
There should be a band called "Turns Out They Were Midgets. Who Knew?".
I'm just a bit of a ways down the interstate from Normal.
I'm tired of hearing about smart phones. I'd rather have a wise phone.
Just *some* of a sudden
I think I've figured out why dubstep and autotune are popular. Somewhere along the line, people discovered that the beat is the only thing people can hear in a crowded night space, and therefore all other aspects of the music could be absolute non-biodegradable fecal matter, long as the beat remained intact. Hey, even if they do hear other aspects of the music, everyone's drunk anyway.
First world problems: Feeling obligated to appear concerned for all humanity by describing some inanity on the Internet as a "first world problem".
i can haz original thoughtz
I was very self-absorbed growing up. It turns out they're saying "DE-FENSE". I always just heard "heave heh" and thought it was just some kind of good-time gibberish.
"I took a women's psychology class once .... That teacher was such a bitch!" —My mother
"Everything" bagels only have poppy and sesame seeds, and bits of onion. How is that "everything"? I demand everything from rubber to lilac on my each and every bagel! It's the Jewish version of Every Flavor Beans. Harry Pottman goes to Hogschwartz!
Your attention please: "Cheshire" rhymes with "pressure". That is all.
The Super Bowl: A celebration of the fact that we're just about done with football for a few solid months. Good.
"Mommy, why are you watching a show about mothers who kill their children?"
Cheshire sez: Business that is open is most likely to get business.
I hope this isn't "TMI", but I came to realize that the sound my toilet makes when returning from "flushed" to "ready" could totally pass as background for ambient music.
*ZIP!* —the sound of a deadline whooshing by. Also, how much of a damn I give.
Life's simple pleasures: Bubble wrap.
When I was growing up, my mother told me "don't be fresh". Well, what's the alternative to being fresh? Being rotten! Am I right?
I'm sorry, but I just cannot look at that and interpret it as something other than "Deadmau Five".
Accurate adjective is accurate
Inane meme is inane
If you're building your toolbox, where do you keep the tools when you take a break?
iDunno
Thought someone called my name, but I guess that was just the music.
on we: ennui
cunt-rol freak
Menards: what a Brit exclaims when he's hit in the groin.
Life's simple pleasures: A good chocolate shake; good live music; good times and laughs with groovy people; all those things together.
I think that, if the characters in a commercial are going to have a conversation made out of the lyrics of a pop song, the commercial should be prohibited from playing the actual song at the end. It's insulting to the viewers' intelligence.
Lately it occurs to me...the new Pepsi logo looks suspiciously similar to the Steal Your Face logo.
"Facebook us! We tow cars!" —rearrangable sign for a corner convenience store
Is there an opposite of "je ne sais quois"? You know, a certain UNendearing quality? Seems like there ought to be.
I am wholly against cat declawing, but I wouldn't mind dog delarynxing.
Beating a cold: Laying off some olfactory workers.
Baseball player: A ballpark figure.
There is nothing like the roar of really good seltzer.
We have an adjective "dreary", but we don't have a noun "drear". It would be useful for describing my father.
The problem with nice days is, battling flying pests all evening.
has-been
husband
Bud Light is using "Here We Go" as a signifier of a good time. Usually, when I say "here we go", it means my family is getting into a routine and wholly unpleasant argument. "Ugh, here we go..."
Apparently, "Washington University" is in St. Louis. This kind of thing might be why I never got into college sports.
Like a simile
it turns out I don't always
like a simile
For the Benefit of Any Readers Not in My Books of Faces
After eight arduous years, I'm finally graduating from UIUC. The official name of the degree is "Bachelor of the Arts in Creative Writing, Mathematics & Technology". In other words, jack of all trades and master of none. So, on I go from one interminable life phase to the next: Twenty years of schoolin', to Lookin' for a day shift. (Or a night shift; that would seem to coincide with my natural hours more nicely.) If anyone has some job suggestions, feel free to lay 'em on me. I think I want to work with people face to face. And travel.
Peace and love,
Cheshire Adams
Peace and love,
Cheshire Adams
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Cheshire Adams - Large Outside, Kitten Inside lyrics
Pulled me in like a vacuum
an inexorable grip
a black hole for the unpleasant norm
where time can just slip
Once as mighty as Everest
the vortex now remains
but in my brain
which is swirling
swirling
down that drain
A tranquil Saturday morning
where the wild things explode
we bonded like ions
in our peaceful abode
A time to bathe in a natural friendship
machines could flip off
you with your innate understanding
and a feel
feel
so tender and soft
Was a bittersweet sixteen years ago now
now the spirit's aloft
Yes you're gone
The bright tulip had grown so tall
when along came the dogs of doom
a deadly chemical that just slashed
this thing that had bloomed
Now you and I could have stood up to them
but you retreated below
I was held up and captive
Scarred by your eyes' glow
On the blue moon where we'd meet
the air was so thin and cold
So numbingly cold
And I did my best to ignite the sun
but the sun was eclipsed by the world
and onto that planet's surface
I was hurled
Battered and bruised, dazed and confused
confined to five feet off the crust
as Mother Nature and Father Time
they got together
and rocked that blue moon to dust
Naught but dust
And the way that I feel
I doubt I will heal
for so long
For so long I will try
to see out in the sky
a new dawn
A new dawn that will let
me be free and forget
that you're gone
For while that sun shines
I know in my mind
you'll live on
an inexorable grip
a black hole for the unpleasant norm
where time can just slip
Once as mighty as Everest
the vortex now remains
but in my brain
which is swirling
swirling
down that drain
A tranquil Saturday morning
where the wild things explode
we bonded like ions
in our peaceful abode
A time to bathe in a natural friendship
machines could flip off
you with your innate understanding
and a feel
feel
so tender and soft
Was a bittersweet sixteen years ago now
now the spirit's aloft
Yes you're gone
The bright tulip had grown so tall
when along came the dogs of doom
a deadly chemical that just slashed
this thing that had bloomed
Now you and I could have stood up to them
but you retreated below
I was held up and captive
Scarred by your eyes' glow
On the blue moon where we'd meet
the air was so thin and cold
So numbingly cold
And I did my best to ignite the sun
but the sun was eclipsed by the world
and onto that planet's surface
I was hurled
Battered and bruised, dazed and confused
confined to five feet off the crust
as Mother Nature and Father Time
they got together
and rocked that blue moon to dust
Naught but dust
And the way that I feel
I doubt I will heal
for so long
For so long I will try
to see out in the sky
a new dawn
A new dawn that will let
me be free and forget
that you're gone
For while that sun shines
I know in my mind
you'll live on
Cheshire Adams - Society's Waste (acoustic)
Written a while ago (click for lyrics); recorded this past Thursday (4-19-12). This song rather should be electric, but, y'know....
As always....you got comments, please share 'em.
As always....you got comments, please share 'em.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Public Autoerotica
(This poem depends on its visual layout, which Blogger will not allow. Therefore, it can be viewed on Google Docs....
....here.
Peace.)
....here.
Peace.)
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Eight Favorite Albums
Before the next — hopefully my final — semester starts, I wanted to jot this down in a place where I can count on it not getting "pruned". The original version of this was utterly magnificent, I tell you.
Joni Mitchell - Court & Spark
It was roughly junior year of high school when I first heard this, and it actually took a couple listens before the magic poked my brain sharply and permanently scarringly. An already great lyricist has honed her instrumentation skills to leap into supernatural musical realms.
"Laughing and crying, you know it's the same release."
Churchill's - Churchill's
Mostly British psychedelic rock, recorded in Tel Aviv, and indeed bearing certain musical traits of that region. This is fuzz at its finest.
"Straight people...turn them all on now."
Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention - We're Only in it For the Money
Described by some as "Sgt. Pepper's evil twin", this simultaneous jab at the establishment and the counter-culture in 1968 will blow your brain apart in much the way that the "flower punk"'s brain blows apart right before your ears on this record. Relentless experimentation and effects make it.
"You'll be absolutely free only if you want to be."
Caravan - In the Land of Grey & Pink
Caravan seem to me the most "accessible" of the Canterbury bands — a scene centered around a sort of progressive jazz-pop sound. This is probably their finest moment, marrying that sound with a sense of humor (or humour) and a knack for catchiness and memorability, with the side-long "Nine Feet Underground" providing that other-worldly journey that stays with the listener long after it's ended.
"These dreams are always ending far too soon."
Steely Dan - Aja
Say what you will about the 'Dan; this is a bloody good album.
"Could it be that I have found my home at last?"
White Noise - An Electric Storm
Some BBC Radiophonic Workshop people played around in the studio after hours and produced a uniquely spooky record, filled with whooshes and other odd sound effects from relentless tape manipulation and experimentation. "The Visitation" is downright chilling.
"Why do you let it hold you? Life must be lived in full view. In every sin, there must be pride. Your hidden dreams can't be denied."
Spirit - Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus
Many styles of memorable, well-crafted pop/rock songs. Simple as that.
"Oh no, you got too much to lose; got to get on home to the animal zoo."
The End - Introspection
Bill Wyman of the Stones produced this album of British pop-psych that was perfect for the time they recorded it — 1967. Sadly, the album's release was delayed until two years later, when pop-psych was long-history in the minds of record buyers, and the album sank with nary a trace. Luckily, it didn't perish altogether.
"You can't hide inside a dream."
Joni Mitchell - Court & Spark
It was roughly junior year of high school when I first heard this, and it actually took a couple listens before the magic poked my brain sharply and permanently scarringly. An already great lyricist has honed her instrumentation skills to leap into supernatural musical realms.
"Laughing and crying, you know it's the same release."
Churchill's - Churchill's
Mostly British psychedelic rock, recorded in Tel Aviv, and indeed bearing certain musical traits of that region. This is fuzz at its finest.
"Straight people...turn them all on now."
Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention - We're Only in it For the Money
Described by some as "Sgt. Pepper's evil twin", this simultaneous jab at the establishment and the counter-culture in 1968 will blow your brain apart in much the way that the "flower punk"'s brain blows apart right before your ears on this record. Relentless experimentation and effects make it.
"You'll be absolutely free only if you want to be."
Caravan - In the Land of Grey & Pink
Caravan seem to me the most "accessible" of the Canterbury bands — a scene centered around a sort of progressive jazz-pop sound. This is probably their finest moment, marrying that sound with a sense of humor (or humour) and a knack for catchiness and memorability, with the side-long "Nine Feet Underground" providing that other-worldly journey that stays with the listener long after it's ended.
"These dreams are always ending far too soon."
Steely Dan - Aja
Say what you will about the 'Dan; this is a bloody good album.
"Could it be that I have found my home at last?"
White Noise - An Electric Storm
Some BBC Radiophonic Workshop people played around in the studio after hours and produced a uniquely spooky record, filled with whooshes and other odd sound effects from relentless tape manipulation and experimentation. "The Visitation" is downright chilling.
"Why do you let it hold you? Life must be lived in full view. In every sin, there must be pride. Your hidden dreams can't be denied."
Spirit - Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus
Many styles of memorable, well-crafted pop/rock songs. Simple as that.
"Oh no, you got too much to lose; got to get on home to the animal zoo."
The End - Introspection
Bill Wyman of the Stones produced this album of British pop-psych that was perfect for the time they recorded it — 1967. Sadly, the album's release was delayed until two years later, when pop-psych was long-history in the minds of record buyers, and the album sank with nary a trace. Luckily, it didn't perish altogether.
"You can't hide inside a dream."
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Selections from Seven *More* Months of a Second Facebook Account
This period saw the introduction of a subset of my friends on there who could see some uncensored stuff. There were maybe eight of my three hundred seventy-something friends on it, and they saw maybe five statuses that no one else did.
So, uh, happy Gregorian New Year, and enjoy!
It was a moment of intense, supernatural realization. The universe suddenly made sense. Armed with this newfound knowledge, I could take the whole bloody thing on, hand to void, and win. Ask the alarm clock. It took it.
Those graduate gowns are a wonderful shade of Cubbie Blue......
Toto...I've a feeling we're not on Campus anymore.
"Had you taken your antidepressants the day you committed the murder?"
"I honestly don't remember."
One of the few downsides of not having a mobile device is the inability to capture a photo or video of three people at the same table at a restaurant, all on their own mobile devices, completely silent.
On second thought, maybe that's all right.
Tabasco status. To spice up your news feed.
If pleasure is childish, I don't want to be an adult.
Have you noticed that we have "budding" geniuses but "bloomin'" idiots?
I'm too full of my own to take any of yours.
I could feel my brain ripping neatly in two. Although a sharp and abrupt sensation, it wasn't terribly painful. I knew that everything would be all right.
I was always rather self-absorbed. For years, I thought Lamaze was some kind of macramé-type artsy thing.
Some guitarists like to use picks; some prefer bare fingers. Different strokes, eh?
Great words in the English language: Awkward. It is as it says.
I tried hitting the Refresh button. It didn't work. I'm still groggy, high-strung and cranky.
The university's "spam digest" used to just leave me alone if I hadn't gotten any e-mails that qualified as spam that day. Now it sends me "0 new messages" e-mails.
"She used to be younger than you, but now she's your age." —my mom
I suppose that, as a Cubs fan, I should actually admire spammers and the like. Stayin' positive. Keepin' at it.
It's a nasty job, but someone's gotta do it. Or so we think.
"Smart as a whip". How is a whip smart? Does it drive the horses? Nothing with which we associate whips today connotes "smart". "Sadistically sexy as a whip", maybe. But not particularly smart.
I'm not always certain whether they're fruit flies or eye floaters.
Kvetch 22. You can't deal with something without complaining, but the complaining just makes the thing more difficult to deal with.
Life's simple pleasures: sucking the pimientos out of olives.
Things people say that bug me: "I'm just sayin'." To me, this implies that there's no thought behind the words. No substance. Just emptily sayin'. Just thought I ought to tell you.
Zombie mother to her children: "Eat your noodles!"
Hands-free phones: Allowing people who talk to themselves to not seem so crazy.
I saw a magazine cover that advertised "Ten style rules to break now!" Is it actually possible for style to be its own absence? Doesn't it render the whole thing meaningless? Maybe the new style is golf attire.
Why do we "write stuff down" but "type stuff up"?
I don't watch CSI or whichever show it is that he's on, but I figure Gary Sinise is a good actor by the fact that he seemed genuinely enthusiastic when performing the seventh inning stretch at the Cubs game.
"The Face Book" — the name of a book sitting on a table in the waiting area at the cosmetic surgeon's
Life's simple pleasures: Listening to the dogs crunch when I've given them croutons.
(Is it just me, or do all my "life's simple pleasures" involve food?)
A tiny spider
Roaming 'round the monitor
Trying to get down
I think the spiders are trying to tell me something by using me, at this position before the computer, to build their web from the ceiling.
You might be on Facebook a bit too much if, while driving someone else's car, a good while into the trip, you suddenly notice the little blue sticker in the bottom left of the windshield, and you think you got a notification.
I wonder if Lady Gaga is popular enough to get her own Google app. I'd enjoy hearing all the grown men and women talking about Google Gaga.
Watching my e-mail
For something personal that
Will kick my head in
Idle (or Idol) observation: Steven Tyler is appearing in drug rehab ads. He's also moved over the years from pioneering awesome rock to mainstream drek.
TV-MA-LSMFT
Who here "takes" lunch? I don't "take" lunch, but I will occasionally "have" lunch. The economy prevents me from "going out to" lunch often. Actually, I don't need to go out to it. I'm already there.
Life's little moments: Getting to your parents' empty house, using the house phone to call their cell, and hearing their cell ring in the next room.
You might be in a small town if it's late August, and the ballpark has a sign advertising an event for May 21.
You might be in a small town if you overhear someone say that it's okay if flies get in the house because it gives them something to do.
"Deal with it." There's an interesting turn of the English language. "That's the way it is. Deal with it." "Thank you, I will." POW!!! "There. I've dealt with it."
I gotta say, for all the praise I've heard about Paul Newman, he apparently never figured out the art of putting shaker tops on his dressings. (Yeah. I know. I'm a young'un.)
People I admire: a Gulliver's delivery guy with an "Official member of the Piss and Moan About Everything Club" T-shirt. "Welcome home", I told him.
We call it "playing" music even when we're dead serious about it. Although occasionally someone will "work" their guitar.
It seems smart, to me, to live east of the place you go during the day. That way, the sun isn't blinding you both ways.
Doing the dishes
Hoping that thereby I can
Feel a little warmth
"Let's make homemade 3D the next big thing." Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think there's already something very similar to this. It's called "life".
I, like many other Americans, suffer from an extreme and seldom diagnosed mental condition known as GAFDD, or Give a Fuck Deficit Disorder. Please copy and paste this to your status to raise awareness of this affliction. Or don't.
You ever ask a family member where they're going, and they say "out"? Don't you just want to punch them in the face?
You ever try to click "Cancel" for something on the computer, and the computer won't let you because it's too busy with the process you're trying to cancel?
You know how some people say "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"? I say, fuck that shit!
The pepper-sprayer's name is Bologna? Man, you can't make this stuff up.
Where did the idea of calling one's children "Boo-boo" come from? "Boo-boo" in my mind refers to a scrape or similar injury — the result of an accident. Oh, wait.....
Is it "hipster" to dismiss hipsters as cliché?
"Divided by zero". Not divided. One. Thoughts like this are why I switched out of math/computer science.
A moccasin is a nice casual bit of footwear for indoor and light outdoor use. A water moccasin is a fanged, venomous creature of wilderness. How is this possible?
The serving spoon fell in.
It may perhaps be beneficial to folks to tell you this: I have very little sense of "cute". Puppies and babies do nothing for me, exactly one adult dog that I know of qualifies, and children only rarely qualify. Cats are more "majestic" than "cute", per se.
And I REALLY don't like referring to mixed-breed dogs with made-up combination words like shnoodle, chorkie, or whatever other god-awful concoctions I've heard. They're mutts! Mini, standard, and large, mutts!
I'm dog tired. Think I'll nap now.
It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World FTbigW
What starts with an F, ends with a K, and involves a lot of soul-crushing disappointment? (hint: the answer appears in the name of this blog post.)
"Those people on TV sound like you, Mommy!"
I don't think I've ever actually seen a prank "flag" gun in real life, but it seems to me, the flag ought to pop out in a way that the "victim" can see it, rather than rotated 90° like they're always portrayed.
"Word to the wise." Don't the wise already know the word? That's why they're wise. You don't need to give the word to the wise. The ignorant are the ones who could use it. "Word to the ignorant." That makes more sense to me.
Human animals: Pigs, road hogs, stupid cows, horses and bulldogs on the field, bunnies that aren't dogs, dirty rats, scaredy cats who are chicken, snakes in the grass, loan sharks. Sitting ducks for a poem or a song. Go get 'em, tiger!
The flower supplier for my cousin's wedding is called "Pollen"? Awesome! I can't wait to get my groceries at Artificial Preservatives!
The landing gear on my spacecraft is damaged. And the entire planet is hard land — no water. I'll have to remain in orbit indefinitely.
You ever bite into a Reese's for the first time in a long time and realize, after a couple seconds, that you're eating the redundant, inedible brown wrapper?
On this, the (pick your own integer)th day of Thanksgiving, I give thanks that I'm under absolutely no obligation to stay true to trends and can therefore skip days and indeed stop doing this altogether. Peace and love.
From the other room, the 60 Minutes ticking sounds like a parent making that "Naughty, naughty" sound. "Ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch.....bad TV viewer. You should know better."
Anal eyes
Analyze
Anal lies
(stares at this with hand on chin, pondering if it's worth anything)
It can hardly be a coincidence that there are three Ps in "puppy".
Dynamus
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." Who here has someone they consider "a good neighbor"? Is a good neighbor merely one that leaves you alone? "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there but will do nothing for you."
"Keep your eyes peeled." Do I even have to explain my puzzlement at how this one came about?
taking showers away from me
Considerate
Consider it
I keep my toiletries in a plastic bag from Reckless Records, which I keep in my bedroom. This way, they're not locked in a bathroom that someone else is using when I need to freshen up and leave in a rush.
Dinner just tastes so much better than supper, doesn't it?
Typist: One who discriminates against those who "aren't their type".
I wonder how much of my life I've spent drying stuff. My hands, dishes, clothes, the rest of my body. Seems like a lot sometimes.
If I ever have a child (ha ha), I think I'll name it "Fire".
With apologies to Tom Paxton:
I don't want a puppy-wuppy in my humble abode
In my humble abode in the sun
For a puppy's more unpleasant than a busted commode
In my humble abode in the sun
If you outlaw anything at all, there will be outlaws.
I thought I saw you for a moment, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't actually you.
Every piss is when you Pee.
What's with all the parking signs and meters that prohibit parking completely between 2a and 6a? For what reason? Does somebody actually enforce that stuff?
I heard my mother talking about curling someone's hair with a straightener. I thought, what? Shouldn't that require a curler?
I take comfort in the fact that, in this contemporary, hi-def world, drive-thru speakers are as crackly and primitive as they've ever been.
We humans love convenience. We'd much rather send our pets out in the cold rain than clean up our floors inside.
I need sex like there's no fucking tomorrow.
Feel like posting a status, but have nothing much to say just now.
Peace and love!
So, uh, happy Gregorian New Year, and enjoy!
It was a moment of intense, supernatural realization. The universe suddenly made sense. Armed with this newfound knowledge, I could take the whole bloody thing on, hand to void, and win. Ask the alarm clock. It took it.
Those graduate gowns are a wonderful shade of Cubbie Blue......
Toto...I've a feeling we're not on Campus anymore.
"Had you taken your antidepressants the day you committed the murder?"
"I honestly don't remember."
One of the few downsides of not having a mobile device is the inability to capture a photo or video of three people at the same table at a restaurant, all on their own mobile devices, completely silent.
On second thought, maybe that's all right.
Tabasco status. To spice up your news feed.
If pleasure is childish, I don't want to be an adult.
Have you noticed that we have "budding" geniuses but "bloomin'" idiots?
I'm too full of my own to take any of yours.
I could feel my brain ripping neatly in two. Although a sharp and abrupt sensation, it wasn't terribly painful. I knew that everything would be all right.
I was always rather self-absorbed. For years, I thought Lamaze was some kind of macramé-type artsy thing.
Some guitarists like to use picks; some prefer bare fingers. Different strokes, eh?
Great words in the English language: Awkward. It is as it says.
I tried hitting the Refresh button. It didn't work. I'm still groggy, high-strung and cranky.
The university's "spam digest" used to just leave me alone if I hadn't gotten any e-mails that qualified as spam that day. Now it sends me "0 new messages" e-mails.
"She used to be younger than you, but now she's your age." —my mom
I suppose that, as a Cubs fan, I should actually admire spammers and the like. Stayin' positive. Keepin' at it.
It's a nasty job, but someone's gotta do it. Or so we think.
"Smart as a whip". How is a whip smart? Does it drive the horses? Nothing with which we associate whips today connotes "smart". "Sadistically sexy as a whip", maybe. But not particularly smart.
I'm not always certain whether they're fruit flies or eye floaters.
Kvetch 22. You can't deal with something without complaining, but the complaining just makes the thing more difficult to deal with.
Life's simple pleasures: sucking the pimientos out of olives.
Things people say that bug me: "I'm just sayin'." To me, this implies that there's no thought behind the words. No substance. Just emptily sayin'. Just thought I ought to tell you.
Zombie mother to her children: "Eat your noodles!"
Hands-free phones: Allowing people who talk to themselves to not seem so crazy.
I saw a magazine cover that advertised "Ten style rules to break now!" Is it actually possible for style to be its own absence? Doesn't it render the whole thing meaningless? Maybe the new style is golf attire.
Why do we "write stuff down" but "type stuff up"?
I don't watch CSI or whichever show it is that he's on, but I figure Gary Sinise is a good actor by the fact that he seemed genuinely enthusiastic when performing the seventh inning stretch at the Cubs game.
"The Face Book" — the name of a book sitting on a table in the waiting area at the cosmetic surgeon's
Life's simple pleasures: Listening to the dogs crunch when I've given them croutons.
(Is it just me, or do all my "life's simple pleasures" involve food?)
A tiny spider
Roaming 'round the monitor
Trying to get down
I think the spiders are trying to tell me something by using me, at this position before the computer, to build their web from the ceiling.
You might be on Facebook a bit too much if, while driving someone else's car, a good while into the trip, you suddenly notice the little blue sticker in the bottom left of the windshield, and you think you got a notification.
I wonder if Lady Gaga is popular enough to get her own Google app. I'd enjoy hearing all the grown men and women talking about Google Gaga.
Watching my e-mail
For something personal that
Will kick my head in
Idle (or Idol) observation: Steven Tyler is appearing in drug rehab ads. He's also moved over the years from pioneering awesome rock to mainstream drek.
TV-MA-LSMFT
Who here "takes" lunch? I don't "take" lunch, but I will occasionally "have" lunch. The economy prevents me from "going out to" lunch often. Actually, I don't need to go out to it. I'm already there.
Life's little moments: Getting to your parents' empty house, using the house phone to call their cell, and hearing their cell ring in the next room.
You might be in a small town if it's late August, and the ballpark has a sign advertising an event for May 21.
You might be in a small town if you overhear someone say that it's okay if flies get in the house because it gives them something to do.
"Deal with it." There's an interesting turn of the English language. "That's the way it is. Deal with it." "Thank you, I will." POW!!! "There. I've dealt with it."
I gotta say, for all the praise I've heard about Paul Newman, he apparently never figured out the art of putting shaker tops on his dressings. (Yeah. I know. I'm a young'un.)
People I admire: a Gulliver's delivery guy with an "Official member of the Piss and Moan About Everything Club" T-shirt. "Welcome home", I told him.
We call it "playing" music even when we're dead serious about it. Although occasionally someone will "work" their guitar.
It seems smart, to me, to live east of the place you go during the day. That way, the sun isn't blinding you both ways.
Doing the dishes
Hoping that thereby I can
Feel a little warmth
"Let's make homemade 3D the next big thing." Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think there's already something very similar to this. It's called "life".
I, like many other Americans, suffer from an extreme and seldom diagnosed mental condition known as GAFDD, or Give a Fuck Deficit Disorder. Please copy and paste this to your status to raise awareness of this affliction. Or don't.
You ever ask a family member where they're going, and they say "out"? Don't you just want to punch them in the face?
You ever try to click "Cancel" for something on the computer, and the computer won't let you because it's too busy with the process you're trying to cancel?
You know how some people say "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"? I say, fuck that shit!
The pepper-sprayer's name is Bologna? Man, you can't make this stuff up.
Where did the idea of calling one's children "Boo-boo" come from? "Boo-boo" in my mind refers to a scrape or similar injury — the result of an accident. Oh, wait.....
Is it "hipster" to dismiss hipsters as cliché?
"Divided by zero". Not divided. One. Thoughts like this are why I switched out of math/computer science.
A moccasin is a nice casual bit of footwear for indoor and light outdoor use. A water moccasin is a fanged, venomous creature of wilderness. How is this possible?
The serving spoon fell in.
It may perhaps be beneficial to folks to tell you this: I have very little sense of "cute". Puppies and babies do nothing for me, exactly one adult dog that I know of qualifies, and children only rarely qualify. Cats are more "majestic" than "cute", per se.
And I REALLY don't like referring to mixed-breed dogs with made-up combination words like shnoodle, chorkie, or whatever other god-awful concoctions I've heard. They're mutts! Mini, standard, and large, mutts!
I'm dog tired. Think I'll nap now.
It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World FTbigW
What starts with an F, ends with a K, and involves a lot of soul-crushing disappointment? (hint: the answer appears in the name of this blog post.)
"Those people on TV sound like you, Mommy!"
I don't think I've ever actually seen a prank "flag" gun in real life, but it seems to me, the flag ought to pop out in a way that the "victim" can see it, rather than rotated 90° like they're always portrayed.
"Word to the wise." Don't the wise already know the word? That's why they're wise. You don't need to give the word to the wise. The ignorant are the ones who could use it. "Word to the ignorant." That makes more sense to me.
Human animals: Pigs, road hogs, stupid cows, horses and bulldogs on the field, bunnies that aren't dogs, dirty rats, scaredy cats who are chicken, snakes in the grass, loan sharks. Sitting ducks for a poem or a song. Go get 'em, tiger!
The flower supplier for my cousin's wedding is called "Pollen"? Awesome! I can't wait to get my groceries at Artificial Preservatives!
The landing gear on my spacecraft is damaged. And the entire planet is hard land — no water. I'll have to remain in orbit indefinitely.
You ever bite into a Reese's for the first time in a long time and realize, after a couple seconds, that you're eating the redundant, inedible brown wrapper?
On this, the (pick your own integer)th day of Thanksgiving, I give thanks that I'm under absolutely no obligation to stay true to trends and can therefore skip days and indeed stop doing this altogether. Peace and love.
From the other room, the 60 Minutes ticking sounds like a parent making that "Naughty, naughty" sound. "Ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch ntch.....bad TV viewer. You should know better."
Anal eyes
Analyze
Anal lies
(stares at this with hand on chin, pondering if it's worth anything)
It can hardly be a coincidence that there are three Ps in "puppy".
Dynamus
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there." Who here has someone they consider "a good neighbor"? Is a good neighbor merely one that leaves you alone? "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there but will do nothing for you."
"Keep your eyes peeled." Do I even have to explain my puzzlement at how this one came about?
taking showers away from me
Considerate
Consider it
I keep my toiletries in a plastic bag from Reckless Records, which I keep in my bedroom. This way, they're not locked in a bathroom that someone else is using when I need to freshen up and leave in a rush.
Dinner just tastes so much better than supper, doesn't it?
Typist: One who discriminates against those who "aren't their type".
I wonder how much of my life I've spent drying stuff. My hands, dishes, clothes, the rest of my body. Seems like a lot sometimes.
If I ever have a child (ha ha), I think I'll name it "Fire".
With apologies to Tom Paxton:
I don't want a puppy-wuppy in my humble abode
In my humble abode in the sun
For a puppy's more unpleasant than a busted commode
In my humble abode in the sun
If you outlaw anything at all, there will be outlaws.
I thought I saw you for a moment, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't actually you.
Every piss is when you Pee.
What's with all the parking signs and meters that prohibit parking completely between 2a and 6a? For what reason? Does somebody actually enforce that stuff?
I heard my mother talking about curling someone's hair with a straightener. I thought, what? Shouldn't that require a curler?
I take comfort in the fact that, in this contemporary, hi-def world, drive-thru speakers are as crackly and primitive as they've ever been.
We humans love convenience. We'd much rather send our pets out in the cold rain than clean up our floors inside.
I need sex like there's no fucking tomorrow.
Feel like posting a status, but have nothing much to say just now.
Peace and love!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Cheshire Adams - Now What?
Performed live for my poetry class, 12-6-11.
Well now, people told me when I was young, when I'm
Older, if I'm gonna have my fun, I gotta
Bust my ass all the while before, even
Though it may seem like an endless chore, it's gonna
Bring success to you when you are done, yeah it's
Gonna help you out in the long run, so now
Get to work and set aside your fears, you'll be
Good to rest in just a few short years
I had no way of knowing better
I followed everything to the letter
I hunkered down and I worked so hard
My ass is busted into shards
Here I am
Now what?
Well I sealed myself off from the social world, and I
Never even stopped to talk to girls, yeah I
Broke myself off from the world I knew, and I
Can't get back on 'cause I got no glue, but I
Got this glossy, nice certificate, and not a
Single clue for what to do with it. Tell me
Is there any place that I can go? There must be
Someone 'round here who knows
Here I am
Now what?
Take these shards of my shattered ass, and give me
Something I can use that'll last. See, I've
Been through hell and now I want out. I need
Something I can be about
Here I am
Now what?
Well now, people told me when I was young, when I'm
Older, if I'm gonna have my fun, I gotta
Bust my ass all the while before, even
Though it may seem like an endless chore, it's gonna
Bring success to you when you are done, yeah it's
Gonna help you out in the long run, so now
Get to work and set aside your fears, you'll be
Good to rest in just a few short years
I had no way of knowing better
I followed everything to the letter
I hunkered down and I worked so hard
My ass is busted into shards
Here I am
Now what?
Well I sealed myself off from the social world, and I
Never even stopped to talk to girls, yeah I
Broke myself off from the world I knew, and I
Can't get back on 'cause I got no glue, but I
Got this glossy, nice certificate, and not a
Single clue for what to do with it. Tell me
Is there any place that I can go? There must be
Someone 'round here who knows
Here I am
Now what?
Take these shards of my shattered ass, and give me
Something I can use that'll last. See, I've
Been through hell and now I want out. I need
Something I can be about
Here I am
Now what?
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Here's a good summary of what's wrong with our country (and perhaps beyond): "tl;dr". It stands for "too long; didn't read", and it is sufficiently common lingo in cyberspace. I feel like finding some of these people's contributions to the web and commenting "tii;nwr" — "too ill-informed; not worth reading". You know why our country's in the john? Large numbers of people who can't be bothered to pay attention.
Smart peace and harmony to us all.
Smart peace and harmony to us all.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Pheromone
I’m gonna be blunt: I need sex.
I’m not the least bit prepared for getting emotionally involved with any one person. And I’m certainly not prepared for any possible consequences. But I’ve been frustrated, and I gotta take it out on someone, preferably in a way that we’ll all enjoy.
Of course, being a child of polite society, I can’t really ask anyone directly. So I’m putting this out here, calling it a poem, and hoping it’ll work.
I’m available.
I’m not the least bit prepared for getting emotionally involved with any one person. And I’m certainly not prepared for any possible consequences. But I’ve been frustrated, and I gotta take it out on someone, preferably in a way that we’ll all enjoy.
Of course, being a child of polite society, I can’t really ask anyone directly. So I’m putting this out here, calling it a poem, and hoping it’ll work.
I’m available.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
A few people on Facebook mentioned on the eleventh that it was "National Coming Out Day". I couldn't help noticing that all the people who mentioned it.......are female.
But when you think about it, lesbianism makes sense. The female form, and the average female mind, are attractive. Who the hell's attracted to this lumpy, hairy shit? (gestures to own genitalia)
Of course, the phenomenon of gay guys remains unexplained by this.........but I will not deny them the right to be that way.
Equal rights for all.
Peace and love.
But when you think about it, lesbianism makes sense. The female form, and the average female mind, are attractive. Who the hell's attracted to this lumpy, hairy shit? (gestures to own genitalia)
Of course, the phenomenon of gay guys remains unexplained by this.........but I will not deny them the right to be that way.
Equal rights for all.
Peace and love.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Cheshire Adams - Sweet Release
At last! A new song (as of 9-20-11)!
One take. Edited out a couple bits of the intro that caused it to go on a bit longer than appealed to my aesthetics, and ever slightly faded out ending (I'd tried mimicking the "fade out" trick manually as I was playing, but it still needed a bit of a finishing touch in Audacity, IMO).
As always, comments are welcome. And indeed encouraged.
(P.S. I moved "It's Psych" back a ways in the blog, around its approximate recording date.)
A strange new pulse possesses me
All my might won't break me free
I'm helpless here in Nature's grip
Which tightens still at the sight of your hips
You've got that shape that casts a spell
Perhaps you're in that grip as well
Any time you wanna
We can reach Nirvana
Put our troubles on our
Fire
'Cause it's built up like a great big wall
I need your touch to make it fall
So let's make love, let's make peace
Let's induce this sweet release
Those jeans would surely tell no lies
They advertise, they hypnotize
So snug around your perfect thighs
And so this pulse shall onward rise
I want to elicit complicit sighs
And shoot us up into the skies
So come on Girl
We're gonna ditch this world
Let it all unfurl
Higher
We shall fuse our energy
To take on this whole galaxy
And so expand, and so increase
Destined for that sweet release
You know that I can't help but see
Your obvious femality
It seems to scream, Hey look at me
I'm in charge here. Glory be!
And I'm just sat here helplessly
Got no choice but to agree
So whaddaya say
We're gonna do this today
Let whatever may,
Transpire
'Cause it's built up like a great big wall
I need your touch to make it fall
So let's make love, let's make peace
Let's induce
This sweet release
One take. Edited out a couple bits of the intro that caused it to go on a bit longer than appealed to my aesthetics, and ever slightly faded out ending (I'd tried mimicking the "fade out" trick manually as I was playing, but it still needed a bit of a finishing touch in Audacity, IMO).
As always, comments are welcome. And indeed encouraged.
(P.S. I moved "It's Psych" back a ways in the blog, around its approximate recording date.)
A strange new pulse possesses me
All my might won't break me free
I'm helpless here in Nature's grip
Which tightens still at the sight of your hips
You've got that shape that casts a spell
Perhaps you're in that grip as well
Any time you wanna
We can reach Nirvana
Put our troubles on our
Fire
'Cause it's built up like a great big wall
I need your touch to make it fall
So let's make love, let's make peace
Let's induce this sweet release
Those jeans would surely tell no lies
They advertise, they hypnotize
So snug around your perfect thighs
And so this pulse shall onward rise
I want to elicit complicit sighs
And shoot us up into the skies
So come on Girl
We're gonna ditch this world
Let it all unfurl
Higher
We shall fuse our energy
To take on this whole galaxy
And so expand, and so increase
Destined for that sweet release
You know that I can't help but see
Your obvious femality
It seems to scream, Hey look at me
I'm in charge here. Glory be!
And I'm just sat here helplessly
Got no choice but to agree
So whaddaya say
We're gonna do this today
Let whatever may,
Transpire
'Cause it's built up like a great big wall
I need your touch to make it fall
So let's make love, let's make peace
Let's induce
This sweet release
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
