Do You Realize

Lovely and depressing...

The Flaming Lips

Idiot Idol

It sure seems like a season of media right now.
The new season of American Idol is upon us.
And the election action is in full swing, which devolved into something a lot like American Idol.

I will admit to seeing some of the first episode of American Idol. I was just sitting there, eating my dinner trying to think about not thinking about things - when on comes American Idol.
With big sweeping shots of arenas and football fields and convention centers full of people, "all hoping to be the next American Idol..."

Holy fucking shitballs!
Thousands of people lined up like cows at the meat packing plant.
Only this machine packs up humiliation along with just a bit of celebrity.

The celebrity is the E Coli in the hundred pound package of humiliation hamburger.

Thousands of people in line to perform. Thousands of delusional, mediocre narcissists, hoping to become the next American Idol.
Millions, millions of people tune in, to watch these folks croak like frogs for three absurd judges of stardom.
Judges handing down sentences of false hope or facing up to the reality that your singing sucks (and thus so does the rest of your life).

How did we get to this point?
Are we, collectively, this oafish? This stupid?

It makes me want to open the borders. Clearly, the gene puddle here on the American Island is failing us.
I saw the evidence, with those self-conscious dullards, whose only real hope of embetterment is the long shot they karaoke better than everybody else.
We need some fresh genetic stock here.
And perhaps a system of social values which good, solid work more than the greedy new rich and celebrity insanity.


I know that won't happen though. We have made the turn.
There are dopes propped up in/by their protective self serving circles. Too many art school grad's, all making art that looks like similar advertising. Too many DJ's and dudes "making beats" which sound shockingly similar and are less made than rearranged. Too many self appointed experts, reporters and pundits churning out shite "information" via the blogosphere (myself included).

You tell me that the blog is great, and I will tell you that your singing voice is amazing.
Deep down, we both know that those are lies.
We like to hear nice things said about ourselves.
We like to think our lives are more merit worthy than they actually are.
We deserve the next American Idol.

proof of life

Well, there have been a few calls asking just what the hell is up out here...

So, here is the quick rundown:

There have been a few mid-terms, which have proven that I am pretty competant at statistics when compared to your average douche. There is a final left which (barring bureaucratic bullshit) will be the end of this round of school stuff. I will probably final next week. Papers shuffle following that.

There has been no heat here, in the house, for twenty-five days. That has made the mood here something other than rainbows and dasies. The issue was resolved today. Now before you folks in climates which know temp's below fifty degrees laugh, remember that I have been on the west coast for a number of years and that I am a delicate fucking flower.

I have transitioned to a day shift, which has me rising at an hour I am more inclined to retire at. So early, in fact, that I could get up, take the train to work, get in some coffee and still kick roosters out of bed. That is, of course, if I lived in a state where the Terminator wouldn't have my head for kicking roosters at any time, including those hours prior to their appointed doodle dooing duty. So early that said roosters have not always finished their calling by the time I return to the train station, if I cut out early.

KVC has taken flight to Ohio, just today. There are some health issues with the Great Aunt Betty. Word is that the cancer is rising, and not in a horoscopic manner. KVC was of a mind that she needed to say hello in person, and with all prayers not good-bye.


The golden pig is, perhaps, making it's final stroll through the tables. One last round to pinch a loaf on all of the bread plates. To top off the tumblers with it's golden shower.

In closing...


With weak words I try to make the mark.
I try to stay on scene.
I try to stay on target.

note

note that he is steering with one hand...

I Love College

I assume you love college, too...

Things were simpler in college, right?

I think I paid two bills for rent and I had a job at a head shop.
Next door to a record store.
Across the street from a gyro joint, a block from the pizza place.

I could sort out a weeks worth of happiness with a tab that would equal the price a nice dinner now.
I could spout off about French philosophers and people would be able to keep up their end of the conversation.
I could slap some paint on something and people thought it was awesome.
I couldn't swing a bag of weed without hitting a dozen amusing freaks.
I saw four cool shows a week, and still had time to go out for pool and bullshit.

Why, in the hell, did we ever leave college?

Asher Roth, I Love College

Thinning the Herd

There are all manner of things here in SF to freak the freaks.

It is a little strange to see folks so upset about some wind and rain, in a city that could shake itself into a flaming bog of bloody mud at any given moment, but anyway...

We've got tigers killin' folks too.
And there is a lot of fuss about it.

It seems that a Siberian tiger hopped the fence, killed a guy and mauled a few of his buddies at the zoo, a couple days back.

The tiger was in it's little cat house (she was here for breeding purposes) and hopped the moat. The moat was a concrete ditch, about a dozen feet deep and maybe twenty feet across, by generous reports.

And it was a tiger that has roughed up one of Jack Hanna's buddies previously.

The recenty departed may, or may not, have been taunting the tiger - or perhaps clambered over the outer fence.

It was around dusk, as well. Tigers do most of their hunting at dusk.

Oh, and other zoo folks have seen tigers jump the moat before. No problem.


Shit, if I was a bored tiger hanging out in SF waiting for some action - and there was some idiot was shouting tiger jokes or hopping my fence, well, I might have a go myself.


So, the tiger Tatiana whupped up some guy.
He ran away, which is reasonable.
His pals tried to intervene.
Tatiana, instinctively, viewed them as an interruption to a killing and gave them a bit of a slash.
Like a good hunter, she followed the blood trail to finish some business.
And she got shot.
Dinner died.



Now sure, I feel bad for some folks.
I guess the dead dude's folks were watching the story on the news, before they heard the jist.
That seems extra creepy.

Still, you have alpha-predator chillin' with alpha-ego - with a bit of a pit separating them.

Shit is going to get ugly, eventually.

That is a few thousand years of genetic information regarding the quick execution of large mammals working against a few dorks and a ditch.


I don't have any man-eaters here in the cat pack, but Christ, on a matter of scale I could tell you that a kitty that is a foot long can clear a double bed. Just by some simple math guesstimation I'd figure a six foot long cat might take that moat in stride.

Tatiana is dead, off'd by some late arriving cops. There is a dead guy, with some greiving mauled brothers. There are a herd of shitty salivating lawyers.
The whole thing is sad...

Dedicated to Evel

So, what did you do today that was extra cool?


Chances are, this guy has you beat.
Beat by about three hundred plus feet.




Hopefully, this post makes up for blogging about podcasts when my score gets settled.

hip hop is dead

Alright, a person could make a pretty good arguement that hip hop is walking with crutches these days. I'll give you that.

There are too many douchebags "making beats" today to not be overwhelmed by the mediocre nature of readily available listening material.

As an antidote for your disbelief that there is anything worthwhile going on in the medium, I'll invite you to go download a podcast from KEXP though...

Music That Matters, Volume 77 is a bit put together by DJ Chilly (whose name is enough to make me dislike him).

I give it a listen, regular like...
There is some good shit there.
There is a KEXP link over there, though you gotta go to ITunes to download it.
Sort it out, you must be tech savvy.
Savvy?

The other podcasts are pretty great, too.



I'll mark this as a "worst post ever" because it is a blog post about a podcast.

book bs

I tore through this Irvine Welsh book, Acid House just recently. What a fun read. See there are all of these characters who are Scots, their dialog is written phonetically so you are right in on the accent. I love the whole brain game to that and there is some other concept driven stuff as you are reading that breaks things up a bit more than the usual read. It's worth a pick up.







I grabbed this old Russian reader off the shelf, 'cause I was out of fresh print for the train ride. What has it been, like fifteen years since I slogged through this like some Siberian torture trip? Actually, that bit about the Ridiculous Man was pretty good. Oh, and that stuff contrasting men of intellect against men of action seems somehow more relevant this time through.
I musta been a little idiot shit the first time I read this.





Hey, I can't always be plowing through the most depressing books known to man! Sometimes I want to not think about our natural talents for greed, malice and buggery. Sometimes, I want to look at shiny pictures and think about nifty shit. Steve McQueen sure had a knack for picking the nifty shit, then using that nifty shit for it's intended purpose. Steve McQueen was cool.






I am just dipping into this Planet of Slums book. You know, to learn some more fucked up statistics about our natural abilities associated with greed, malice and buggery...

Fucking Flip Flops

Did ya know that I hate flip flops? I am not saying I have a mild distaste for flip flops, or that I am of a mind that they are less than attractive.

I really, passionately, hate fucking flip flops.








Beyond just the crumbling of the basic rules of decent fashion, this particular bit of the new casual style is a god-damned affront to me. Feet are fucking ugly things, and I don't necessarily care to have them right out in front of me. Then there is that sticky slapping sound as sweaty sole releases and rejoins to the cheap ass plastic, I can do quite well without that. The sweaty slap is like siren to the fucking Frito foot smell as an extra assault on my delicate damned constitution.



As I was getting off the train, this morning, I got aesthetically attacked by a pack of the fucking flip floppers.

(Consider that it is winter here and it is motherfucking monsooning. It is cold and windy and less than comfortable for my wing tip shorn tootsies.)

There they were though, god damned hobbit feet slapping down the rain soaked sidewalk. I could actually see the filth of grey rain water dripping from those curled hog-nose toes. Splashing down the street like a pair of raw pork loins being clapped against a brick wall.


The rise of the flip flop in our fashion sense lies in diametric opposition to our society's level of intelligence and aesthetic sense. I rue the flip flop and question the character of any person that wears them for more than a trip to the pool.

Latest Polls...

Poll: Bullshit Is Most Important Issue For 2008 Voters



Just by the way, if you are feeling great about Barak's win in Iowa go take a look at this article...

http://www.thenation.com/blogs/edcut?bid=7&pid=266130

Highlight? Here's the Democratic delegate count for the top three candidates after Iowa(2,025 delegates are needed to secure the nomination):

Clinton – 169

Obama – 66

Edwards – 47


Remember that post about HST's Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72? Sorta ties right in here, doesn't it?

Beer

Who needs a cold one?

The Sword

Alright, why didn't anybody tell me about them?

Don't hoard The Sword, bro.