My Haloscan sub is about to run out and I'm not gonna renew it.
It loads like an anaconda swallowing a boar, devours comments like a survivor of the Irish Potato Famine and in general comports itself in a manner unbecoming a steward of my reader's priceless musings.
I'll be dumping it and reinstating the annoying-but-reliable Blogger comments sometime in the next couple of days.
Your deathless Halo-prose may vanish along with the software, but will live forever in the blackened lump of my heart.
And isn't that what all this is really about?
Hmm?
11.07.2008
musique nonstop: TV on the Radio
I mentioned their new one a while back, but after a stint in heavy rotation I demand y'all pick it up.
Nothing weak, a handful of solidly A-list tracks and a couple of instant classics make for one hell of a record.
It's exciting to find something so good and fresh and intentional.
This one reminds me of picking up 1999 in my youth, when Prince was hitting his stride and you could tell he was ready to tear off a run of amazing music.
fan video of my favorite track-
Nothing weak, a handful of solidly A-list tracks and a couple of instant classics make for one hell of a record.
It's exciting to find something so good and fresh and intentional.
This one reminds me of picking up 1999 in my youth, when Prince was hitting his stride and you could tell he was ready to tear off a run of amazing music.
fan video of my favorite track-
11.06.2008
stream of unconscious
Devra paid a visit tonight.
There was Son of Frankenstein with its German Expressionist sets and scenery chewing hunchback, and cookie bars in a pyrex dish, and the baby crying for a while, passed around fluidly like a garden snake though sets of hands above the ground.
Basil Rathbone was the finest swordsman in Hollywood but had to lose every fight on the silver screen.
We read her a letter from our German friends, and gave her a copy of the Arion Moby Dick as a belated birthday gift.
Where to hang Rineke Dijkstra?
The green wall was serviceable, the yellow was better.
Devra ran across an exhibition of her works while carrying the volleyball across Europe last summer.
The sewage downstairs is gone, but the wreckage remains.
The insurance check is in mom's name, and I know she'd like to spend it on everything except fixing the floor.
Things were always too expensive to fix.
All problems called for the makeshift solution.
She once took me to a therapist for my intractability.
I tracked dark circles across the pages of several booklets and stared at hieroglyphics.
He blamed my behavior on my grandfather's death and instructed her to lock me out of the house and search my room for drugs.
I forget how long I didn't talk to her.
Living here with all their relics, I can call her up like room service.
It's sad to have better conversations with her dead than alive.
Ghostyhead, Rickie Lee Jones
There was Son of Frankenstein with its German Expressionist sets and scenery chewing hunchback, and cookie bars in a pyrex dish, and the baby crying for a while, passed around fluidly like a garden snake though sets of hands above the ground.
Basil Rathbone was the finest swordsman in Hollywood but had to lose every fight on the silver screen.
We read her a letter from our German friends, and gave her a copy of the Arion Moby Dick as a belated birthday gift.
Where to hang Rineke Dijkstra?
The green wall was serviceable, the yellow was better.
Devra ran across an exhibition of her works while carrying the volleyball across Europe last summer.
The sewage downstairs is gone, but the wreckage remains.
The insurance check is in mom's name, and I know she'd like to spend it on everything except fixing the floor.
Things were always too expensive to fix.
All problems called for the makeshift solution.
She once took me to a therapist for my intractability.
I tracked dark circles across the pages of several booklets and stared at hieroglyphics.
He blamed my behavior on my grandfather's death and instructed her to lock me out of the house and search my room for drugs.
I forget how long I didn't talk to her.
Living here with all their relics, I can call her up like room service.
It's sad to have better conversations with her dead than alive.
Ghostyhead, ghostyhead, standing in the door
You think if you don't answer
I can't hear you anymore
Chains you hung from ear to ear
Finally drug your head
But I can see through anything
I know what you bled
Ghostyhead, Rickie Lee Jones
11.05.2008
11.04.2008
Title of the Week
Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism by Mary Daly.
Taking it to the next level is the battle axe graphic on the cover.
Taking it to the next level is the battle axe graphic on the cover.
11.03.2008
Halloween Report
The party was epic, as always.
I wasn't tremendously excited by my costume but had very little energy to spare, and it turned out okay.
I'm already stockpiling ideas for next year and vow to come back strong.
Costume of the night goes to Mike Funk's Angus Young.
As the evening progressed weaker partygoers laid down their props, but Mike rocked his Gibson the whole evening.
The founders of the feast, Neal and Patty, aka Popeye and Olive Oil.
Your humble narrator, chatting with Cindy and Shawn as the Devil Twins:
Angus wasn't the only rock god in attendance- here, he chats with Nigel Tufnel:
Teri, rocking her Dio de los Muertos look:
Pictures don't do it justice- she looked like a Posada engraving come to life.
Heroic trio in the dungeon:
The decorations this year were the best yet. Patty picked up a couple of rolls of vinyl stone wall paper and the results were spooktacular.
The Fusser dictated an earlier than usual exit which saved everyone from a repeat of last year's 3am dance floor striptease, when I threw my tee shirt into the crowd and handed out the potatoes stuffing my shorts to any lucky lady within the scope of my blurred vision.
This year there was more dancing, earlier in the evening.
The ball got rolling when a TV on the Radio tune lured Mike, Lisa and yours truly onto the dance floor.
A few tunes later there were 10 of us rocking out.
Been Caught Stealing by Jane's Addiction hit, and suddenly the whole place was jumping.
Very very fun.
The world needs more drunken Caucasian gyrating.
I think next year I'll bring a strobe light.
I wasn't tremendously excited by my costume but had very little energy to spare, and it turned out okay.
I'm already stockpiling ideas for next year and vow to come back strong.
Costume of the night goes to Mike Funk's Angus Young.
As the evening progressed weaker partygoers laid down their props, but Mike rocked his Gibson the whole evening.
The founders of the feast, Neal and Patty, aka Popeye and Olive Oil.
Your humble narrator, chatting with Cindy and Shawn as the Devil Twins:
Angus wasn't the only rock god in attendance- here, he chats with Nigel Tufnel:
Teri, rocking her Dio de los Muertos look:
Pictures don't do it justice- she looked like a Posada engraving come to life.
Heroic trio in the dungeon:
The decorations this year were the best yet. Patty picked up a couple of rolls of vinyl stone wall paper and the results were spooktacular.
The Fusser dictated an earlier than usual exit which saved everyone from a repeat of last year's 3am dance floor striptease, when I threw my tee shirt into the crowd and handed out the potatoes stuffing my shorts to any lucky lady within the scope of my blurred vision.
This year there was more dancing, earlier in the evening.
The ball got rolling when a TV on the Radio tune lured Mike, Lisa and yours truly onto the dance floor.
A few tunes later there were 10 of us rocking out.
Been Caught Stealing by Jane's Addiction hit, and suddenly the whole place was jumping.
Very very fun.
The world needs more drunken Caucasian gyrating.
I think next year I'll bring a strobe light.
remix
our pal Mike Funk did a Radiohead remix you should vote for.
Oh, and you can listen to it if you like.
Help him win bragging rights over his music nerd buddies, won't you?
Oh, and you can listen to it if you like.
Help him win bragging rights over his music nerd buddies, won't you?
11.02.2008
AT&T- your source for the worst broadband available
You might think my DSL trials would be over after a month of the run-around.
You'd be wrong!
I just got a call from some customer drone who told me I'm too far from the CO to get the 6mb pipe they pre-qualified me for and that my account was being downgraded to their 3mb pipe.
At this rate it may not be long before I downgrade them to Charter cable.
Charter was way too expensive, but their service did what they said it would and it came without the heaping side order of BULLSHIT AT&T has delivered.
You'd be wrong!
I just got a call from some customer drone who told me I'm too far from the CO to get the 6mb pipe they pre-qualified me for and that my account was being downgraded to their 3mb pipe.
At this rate it may not be long before I downgrade them to Charter cable.
Charter was way too expensive, but their service did what they said it would and it came without the heaping side order of BULLSHIT AT&T has delivered.
election news
Naive Progressives and Why They Piss Me Off, Prop 8 Edition:
So the big final ad push for the No on 8 crew is a happy appeal to the better nature of voters, showcasing smiling families being together, the implication being 'who would vote against THIS?'
Which I don't think will impress anyone except those who've already set up their tents in the NO on 8 campground.
What would've worked better is pointing out the army of Mormons and other out of state Fundie groups who've poured millions of dollars and thousands of volunteers into the Yes on 8 campaign.
Take a page from the tribes running casinos- when Vegas poured millions into a campaign for indian gaming regulation, they made sure the voters knew about it.
Fairness and equality are a hard sell here.
It's much easier to get people riled up about outsiders sticking their big noses in California's business.
Maybe I should become a big money political consultant...
So the big final ad push for the No on 8 crew is a happy appeal to the better nature of voters, showcasing smiling families being together, the implication being 'who would vote against THIS?'
Which I don't think will impress anyone except those who've already set up their tents in the NO on 8 campground.
What would've worked better is pointing out the army of Mormons and other out of state Fundie groups who've poured millions of dollars and thousands of volunteers into the Yes on 8 campaign.
Take a page from the tribes running casinos- when Vegas poured millions into a campaign for indian gaming regulation, they made sure the voters knew about it.
Fairness and equality are a hard sell here.
It's much easier to get people riled up about outsiders sticking their big noses in California's business.
Maybe I should become a big money political consultant...
11.01.2008
online!
Checked the modem tonight and got the (literal) green light.
Finally, only took them a month.
Normal updating has returned, hallelujah!
Finally, only took them a month.
Normal updating has returned, hallelujah!
PELF staged reading
attn Los Angeles readers!
Published works, notable theater groups commissioning plays...I'd say Pelf has 'made it'.
Not on the Tony Kushner/David Mamet scale, but how many people in the world ever make a penny writing plays?
GRATZ Pelf!
Published works, notable theater groups commissioning plays...I'd say Pelf has 'made it'.
Not on the Tony Kushner/David Mamet scale, but how many people in the world ever make a penny writing plays?
GRATZ Pelf!
Uncle Timmy Paints a Bust
Snazzy!
Click the thumbnail for a more substantial image.
Our friend Mike is a world-class sculptor who Timmy spotted in a bookstore and struck up a conversation with. Now he paints his stuff for box art.
Way back in the mists of prehistory the Wife, then known as The Little Red Headed Girl from the Coffee Merchant, confided to her brother that she thought I might be....a geek.
Uncle Timmy became incensed.
"He is NOT a geek!"
Moral of the story-
When a guy who works next door strikes up a conversation about the merits of different Japanese metallic paints, it pays to indulge him.
Click the thumbnail for a more substantial image.
Our friend Mike is a world-class sculptor who Timmy spotted in a bookstore and struck up a conversation with. Now he paints his stuff for box art.
Way back in the mists of prehistory the Wife, then known as The Little Red Headed Girl from the Coffee Merchant, confided to her brother that she thought I might be....a geek.
Uncle Timmy became incensed.
"He is NOT a geek!"
Moral of the story-
When a guy who works next door strikes up a conversation about the merits of different Japanese metallic paints, it pays to indulge him.
catching up
Still no internet.
Daily calls to various brain damaged AT&T service drones has hopefully made me such an pain in the ass they'll hook me up just to spare themselves the static.
The highlight thus far- the service guy (the replacement for the one that never showed up) finally arrived and spent 40 minutes poking around and calling various numbers, which were not obviously more potent than the ones I've been using. You think they'd give their own people the Bat Phone, but no.
He wound his way through a labyrinth of wire, physical and bureaucratic, eventually discovering the secret at the heart of the maze- AT&T had never actually turned on my service.
You think it would be obvious to any of the 5000 people I've complained to over the past few weeks, but no! Sherlock Tech must be dispatched from the home office to discover these enigmatic, buried truths.
They claim that NOW they've turned it on, but I still have to wait a few days until they "wire it", whatever that means.
In the meantime, Halloween!
There are some pics of the Fuss in his holiday regalia I'll be posting shortly.
The Fiend went as the Sugar Plum Fairy and was an otherworldly vision, down to the purple pumpkin that matched her outfit to a T.
Keith and Terri's daughter Vera broke gender ranks by going as a hockey player, complete with personalized jersey and tiny hockey stick.
Our party is tonight, and there have been drastic revisions in my look.
Out with the unqualified teen mother, in with Edwardian big game hunter!
Which would make my ubiquitous gin and tonic a prop, not a drink!
The wife is working with a disgruntled cafeteria worker in Soviet Russia concept.
Two late inspirations that we've filed for future consideration are Giant Ghandi, where I shave my head, get a spray tan and wrap my loins in linen, and a Diane Arbus family theme (the fuss could be the dwarf gigolo, I like the True Patriot, or maybe the Jewish giant, the wife as one of her eerie portraits of retarded people.)
Babies take a lot of energy, moving and settling in takes a lot of energy, probating estates takes a lot of energy, battling AT&T takes a lot of energy...all of this has undermined my usual enthusiasm for the only holiday that matters.
On the house front, the bedroom is done. The kitchen is done. The office is done, except for the ongoing debacle with AT&T's posse of drooling clowns. Up next is the bathroom, which needs painting and shelves.
The wife's cousin is heading down next weekend to repair the anarchy of the Turd Tsunami, installing a new floor and patching up the holes in the walls. We have a tenant lined up.
Everything is coming together, if more slowly and disjointedly than I'd like.
Daily calls to various brain damaged AT&T service drones has hopefully made me such an pain in the ass they'll hook me up just to spare themselves the static.
The highlight thus far- the service guy (the replacement for the one that never showed up) finally arrived and spent 40 minutes poking around and calling various numbers, which were not obviously more potent than the ones I've been using. You think they'd give their own people the Bat Phone, but no.
He wound his way through a labyrinth of wire, physical and bureaucratic, eventually discovering the secret at the heart of the maze- AT&T had never actually turned on my service.
You think it would be obvious to any of the 5000 people I've complained to over the past few weeks, but no! Sherlock Tech must be dispatched from the home office to discover these enigmatic, buried truths.
They claim that NOW they've turned it on, but I still have to wait a few days until they "wire it", whatever that means.
In the meantime, Halloween!
There are some pics of the Fuss in his holiday regalia I'll be posting shortly.
The Fiend went as the Sugar Plum Fairy and was an otherworldly vision, down to the purple pumpkin that matched her outfit to a T.
Keith and Terri's daughter Vera broke gender ranks by going as a hockey player, complete with personalized jersey and tiny hockey stick.
Our party is tonight, and there have been drastic revisions in my look.
Out with the unqualified teen mother, in with Edwardian big game hunter!
Which would make my ubiquitous gin and tonic a prop, not a drink!
The wife is working with a disgruntled cafeteria worker in Soviet Russia concept.
Two late inspirations that we've filed for future consideration are Giant Ghandi, where I shave my head, get a spray tan and wrap my loins in linen, and a Diane Arbus family theme (the fuss could be the dwarf gigolo, I like the True Patriot, or maybe the Jewish giant, the wife as one of her eerie portraits of retarded people.)
Babies take a lot of energy, moving and settling in takes a lot of energy, probating estates takes a lot of energy, battling AT&T takes a lot of energy...all of this has undermined my usual enthusiasm for the only holiday that matters.
On the house front, the bedroom is done. The kitchen is done. The office is done, except for the ongoing debacle with AT&T's posse of drooling clowns. Up next is the bathroom, which needs painting and shelves.
The wife's cousin is heading down next weekend to repair the anarchy of the Turd Tsunami, installing a new floor and patching up the holes in the walls. We have a tenant lined up.
Everything is coming together, if more slowly and disjointedly than I'd like.
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