Tanagra: the source of imperishable life

I'll take SPIN for $200

2006-02-16T11:54:00.000-08:00

Did you ever wonder how George W. keeps his image up through all the muck? The unfortunate answer to that question is—WITH YOUR TAX DOLLARS. That’s right, we’re all paying for the spin that’s meant to bamboozle us into thinking the Prez is earnest, honest, and sometimes the victim of unfortunate circumstance.

According to the Government Accountability Office, in the past two-and-a-half years, the Bush Administration has spent 1.6 billion dollars on advertising. The ads were created to bolster appeal, to redirect attention, to slip Bushie’s nasty actions under the rug. Here’s the interesting breakdown (for those advertising friends of mine) to see how our industry is helping bloat the Republican Machine.

Ad dollars spent:

Leo Burnett $536 million
Campbell-Ewald $194 million
GSD&M $179 million
JWT $148 million
Frankel $133 million
Ketchum $78 million

Of course, dollars are dollars, and I’m not one to complain about filling the company coffers. I like having a job. But, damn it, I cringe to think that some of my colleagues are forced to brainstorm ideas on how to pump up Georgie Boy. I wonder if they’ve slipped some subliminal messaging into the ads? Georgie and team wouldn’t notice the difference. Milliseconds of film could display “LIAR LIAR” or “You’re next on Cheney’s list.”

Either way, the issue here is how exorbitant the price tag is for Bush’s ad and PR campaign. The worse he gets, the more he spends. I think it’s interesting that Bush passed a law last year making it more difficult for people to file for bankruptcy, yet he’s bankrupting us all.

Vices or Vises?

2006-02-14T22:38:00.000-08:00

It feels like I haven’t written on this blog in a million years. It’s been exactly 16 days. It has weighed on my thoughts, which makes my mind wander to how I should be writing more. Then, I start self-analyzing. It gets brutal, and I tear myself to pieces. So, I put on the brakes. Halt. Stop right there.

Take a deep breath. Ahhh, I remember now, darn it, I can’t do it ALL. Shit, I’d really like to do it ALL. It’d be nice to have super human energy, to step through each day doing exactly what my high hopes set me up to do. But the reality is that I just-can’t-do-it-ALL, because there isn’t enough super human energy in me, and damn it that pisses-me-off.

Have you ever felt like this? If you have, you may need Tripsocord Milusen.

Those high achieving thoughts debilitated me. The stress was unbearable. I couldn’t function. My co-workers started to ask questions. Finally, my wife said something to me, and that’s when I started taking Tripsocord Milusen. My life has changed drastically, all for the better.
–- Chad Newhouser, co-vice president of Spunkleechies House.

Tripsocord Milusen is a Hominidae serotoninreflimator. It messures the brain’s expectation sensors and blocks the path of ambition-like tendencies that pass through the neural system. Before you know it, you’re happier working toward the middle life. No more pressure, no more hyper motivation. You’re now operating with the lower cerebral masses. No more strategy talk, no more keeping on your toes, no more Paul Pope triangular-erecting calf vices feeding on your neck. Tripsocord Milusen is here to straighten out your life.

‘It’s such a great relief, not to think so much,” said Gerard Goodriff, a 4-month client who worked at a Ti Kan granular investment company.

According to top American scientists, running with high ambition is known to cause early onset of blood pressure, cardiac disease, blood paranoia, and mental health conductivity. With Tripsocord Milusen your high drive will shift into neutral, heading you toward a carefree life south of the bell curve.

“I had no idea The Avengers was playing on Nick at Nite,” said Sandy Trunken, a former New York State senator's wife. “I was always trying to chase the next dream. Thank you Tripsocord Milusen.”

Ask your doctor about Tripscord Milusen today. You, too, can forget about tomorrow.

Fighting grime

2006-01-30T19:49:00.000-08:00

Of all the social issues college students have stood up for over the ages--peace, gender equality, racial acceptance, democratic rule--the recent one at Yale University is something of great inspiration.

For 10 long years, Yale students have been pounding on administrators' doors to change the university's "no soap" policy--a simple yet hygienically cruel cost-cutting measure that dates back to the university's founding in 1701.

Now, the lack of soap in college dorms is unusual, but to have such a situation at an Ivy League school is even more unusual. Yale administrators cited lack of appropriate funds as the reason for no soap in the bathrooms. Apparently, the $9,540 per year for dormitory residency wasn't enough to cover the cost of soap--even if they shopped at Costco.

Finally, the administrators caved in. Word leaked to the press. Yale's reputation was at stake due to the hygiene-centric attitudes of newer generations. (Some insiders blamed the Japanese and their sanitizer influences on American culture.) The decision was made to wipe the no soap policy clean from campus balance sheets.

Yale students and grads cheered in celebration. "Victory at last," wrote Ted Wittenstein, a 2004 grad who analyzed weapons of mass destruction intelligence for Congress, to a friend in an email message, as reported by the AP.

There's nothing more fulfilling than working hard for something you believe in. Life is full of struggles. But, when the struggles get you down, just think about those poor Yale kids. They perservered, they fought the big fight, and they won. So can you.

Music moguls, get over yourselves

2006-01-18T13:20:00.000-08:00

I've been in a huff over the digital copyright issue since the filesharing lawsuits handed out to students a few years back. But, the recent lawsuits against Sony and the increasing number of royalty and licensing issues concerning digital media has revived my annoyance with the industry.

Mike, a fellow blogger at ThisAreMusic, nudged me toward David Byrne's website to give me one more example to get my goat. Byrne tells us how the industry, through the Digital Millenium Copyright Act, has placed onerous restrictions and licensing agreements on streaming radio. Why? Maybe the legislators were too stupid to know what they were doing. Maybe they had no idea that streaming radio serves the same purpose as broadcast radio. Both are probably true, but, in the end, the "rules" are just another example of the industry's paranoia about CD profit losses.

If I didn't love so many of them dearly, I'd simply pick the CDs in my collection with the big-guy labels and toss them on the disc golf course (this would be the light-weight division, which gives me kudos to adding TWO new classes of sport on the disc golf course). And, I wouldn't try to keep them on the grass. No, I'd aim for the ooze flowing down some crack of the Huron River.

I'm a firm believer in sharing digital music, simply because it inspires me to buy CDs. Damnit, I like buying CDs. I like owning the music, checking out the insert, drooling over trinkets of lyrics and music-god oddities. It makes me feel like a member. And, I need this because nobody else will let me be a member. I'm a lonely person; this membership makes my life worthwhile. (I'm not that bad off, but I like to give myself a pity party now and then.) But, you know what I really hate? Paying $16 for a shitty CD. That makes me want to revoke my membership and rub the CD on raw beef and give it to my dog.

With a few digital samples, I'm able to weed through the junk and be more precise about my spending. In the end, I end up spending more. This is what the music industry doesn't seem to get.

Before I was able to taste-test music online, I'd be very reluctant to spend my money at the record store. Face it, I'd been burned too many times with a shit CD: A band would release a catchy single, I'd run out and buy the CD, and then I'd learn the other 10 tracks blow. This experience taught me to wait. I'd wait until I heard a rockin' CD with friends. I'd wait until a few more singles were released. I'd wait to read or hear a reputable band review. Sometimes, I'd wait so damn long, my excitement turned elsewhere and the band was put on my "will buy later" list. Say goodbye to spending my money right away. The industry and the band lost their moment of opportunity. In those days, I spent less money on CDs. So, the industry argument on how digital downloads and sharing carves out CD profits is complete bullshit.

Maybe it's time to go completely digital. Maybe it's time for everybody to get on board with record companies like Cordless Records. Total Internet sales, marketing, and distribution--worldwide. No more concentration on the production of CDs. Fans can burn to their hearts desire after their purchase without creepy protection devices or additional fees. What's more, with companies like Cordless Records, bands retain ownership of their masters and copyrights. Sure, right now the "success" of a band is still measured by how many CDs are sold, but how long will that last? Times are a'changin, and traditional record companies will feel the backdraft when the weights fall in favor of online music.

Pay it again Sam

2006-01-16T21:08:00.000-08:00

Everytime I hear another story about digital protection I lose my pants.

(That's because my stomach muscles tighten when I get angry and my extreme low-riders fall off my non-existent ass.)

Besides Sony and their digital copy paranoia trips, the latest news comes from the U.K. where DJs are now required to purchase an additional license from the music rights agency Phonographic Performance Limited when playing digital copies of CDs, vinyl records, or online downloads.

PPL claims that current licenses do not include digital music, and as a result an extra charge is necessary. Bullcrud. This is just another example of the record industry trying to make twice the profit on a single sale of music. There is no legitimate argument for requiring an additional license in this case except for industry greed.

DJ groups are outraged. They argue that they're playing the same music in the same venues to the same audiences, except in a digital format. With digital, DJs don't have to lug around 100s to 1000s of CDs. But, they can forget about lugging around their entire digital collection if it's extensive. The license restricts DJs to 20,000 tracks per public performance.

Many DJ groups and the National Association of Disc Jockeys have gathered to create a committee to lobby this issue. Hopefully, in the end, they'll get to use digital free-of-charge and we'll get to see the music industry's Robber Barons smolder in the flames of public resistance. Personally, I'd like to rip an electronically charged MP3 up one of their ySpots.

I'd like to go back to sleep now

2006-01-16T19:43:00.000-08:00

Here's an update on my computer drama.

After a trek to Best Buy (yes, I can't believe I betrayed my sacred oath and walked through those doors again), my friendly neighborhood computer geek informed me that I am now the proud owner a large doorstop. Umph, I replied. There must be a better way to show my love and appreciation for this machine--a plastic encased creature that has been the receptacle of my hard work, creative stumblings, and literary triflings.

Then it occured to me. I can use it on the disc golf course. I'll start a new trend. The very first heavy weight class in disc golf. To get others to catch on, I'll wait on the course until a line-up of guys is behind me. Then, I'll start chucking my laptop about 5 feet at a time, over and over again until the guys are completely irritated with me. One of them will step up (the cutest one, of course) and say "look, those cords fit you well, but this is how to toss a laptop through the fairway." Ahhh, I'll yell with glee. My laptop has new purpose--it's now the most challenging frisbie on the course. I'm satisfied. Life is complete. My hard work and creative twaddling on this machine has been transformed to the promotion of fresh air and exercise, and the occassional smoke break.

Eventually, I start marketing the heavy weight disc and become filthy rich. Dope smoking slackers across the world look to me as a Goddess. Indie rockers, hipster writers and the one-and-only Johnny Depp want to hang out with me.

I know you're thinking this "fantasy" is a bit over the top. But, honestly, all of that really happened. Then, I rolled over and hit the cold spot of drool on my pillow and it all disappeared.

I'm slowly working my way back into your virtual lives, so please be patient and don't think I've gotten bored or have severe writer's block.

It's time to take a break--NOT

2006-01-12T18:48:00.000-08:00

What do you do when you're ferverishly typing your next exciting blog post and suddenly your computer starts to sizzle and brew its insides like burnt Texas toast in the DeLonghi? If you're like me, you scream, "Ahhhh, my files are melllllting."

This is what happened to me the other day, hence my absence from the blogosphere. So, here I am, all newly connected on my antique Gateway that moves at the pace of a worm cut in half. This is no way to live when you're a technically in-tune individual such as me. Again, I have been humbled. I will survive.

So, now on to the thing I was so feverish about before the plastic-melting stench and smoke invaded my life.

January 10th marked the beginning of the Muslim holiday Eid-Al-Adha. According to tradition, Eid-Al-Adha celebrates the sacrifice that Abraham was willing to make of his son Ishmael (or, Issac, as told in the Bible). The holiday brings much festivity, prayer, and pilgrimages to Mecca.

In Dearborn, Michigan, Eid-Al-Adha also means more time off school for our youngsters. Now, I'm all for diversity, but in the wake of the long Christmas break, the last thing these kids need is more time off from the classroom. What's more, in order not to cause controversy (HA!), the Dearborn School District slyly refrains from printing on the school calendar exactly why there is no school. The calendar simply states "vacation" for three days, which fall just prior to MLK Day.

The hedging on this issue in the district is unnerving. I questioned several administrative staff members in the district about this "vacation." Apparently, they have been given instruction not to disclose any information concerning the real reason school is out of session. Their answers were the same every time. "It's vacation. That's all I can say." As if the kids were in dire need of another vacation from their neverending studies over Christmas. No ties to the Muslim holiday are publicly acknowledged. Very odd, indeed.

As far as my research has found, no other Michigan school district recognizes this holiday with time off. It's unique to Dearborn. Does this fact have something to do with the district's uneasiness about announcing the true reasons behind the vacation?

To clarify my position, I am not in opposition of observing Eid-Al-Adha. I'm just opposing that the holiday adds to the number of days off in the school year for all students. The combined vacation days in this district don't just shorten the summer break; they also break up the continuity of learning. It's as if Dearborn kids are sprinting through the curriculum, moving along quickly then taking a break, moving along quickly then taking another break. It's ridiculous.

The Eid-Al-Adha vacation also begs the question of how religion influences the decisions made within the secular establishment of a school district. Although noteworthy, that question for debate is useless because the bottom line is that school districts cannot count a day as a legitimate day of instruction unless 75% of students are in attendance. Dearborn, most specifically East Dearborn, has already experienced the lack of appropriate attendance during Muslim holidays. Therefore, it has been deemed necessary to provide vacation days during those times to avoid being fined or reprimanded by the State.

The topic of time off for religious holidays is tricky business. Nonetheless, in Dearborn it's time to come up with creative solutions to the number of days off during the school calendar. Maybe we can shorten the Christmas holiday. Maybe we can divide the district so that predominately Arabic schools recognize the Muslim holidays while predominately anglo schools recognize the Christian holidays. These are just options, and undoubtedly dicey ones to throw out for discussion. But, a decision needs to be made so that students aren't off for two weeks, on for five days, off for four days, back again for three weeks, off again for one week, and so on.

There is no consistency for learning under the current method. And, this situation will become even more exacerbated with the new law governing that all Michigan schools start after Labor Day.

If it's time to rid the schools of religious influence altogether, so be it. Under the current program, true fairness would mean that we recognize all religious holidays in the school calendar--Jewish, Arabic, Christian, African. You get the picture. If school districts statewide did just that, heaven knows, our kids would never be in school.

Is it too much to take only a week off in December, and then a week off in January? Can't we cut down on the existing week-long breaks over Easter and Thanksgiving? How about taking another look at the week-long midwinter break? Let's ask the teachers.

I'm thinking that the current calendar, with its many, many vacations, does nothing but give teachers plenty of rest, while parents work harder at keeping their kids' studies in check due to lack of classroom time. Case in point, at the onset of every vacation, my kids come home with a study packet.

Since the Teacher's Union negotiates the details of the school calendar, I'm convinced that the results we see every year are in the best interests of the teachers, and not the students. The religious holidays may be a good reason for more time off that are above and beyond the traditional breaks. There obviously has been no compromise elsewhere in the calendar.

The Teacher's Union isn't the only one at the bargaining table. The union for non-instructional employees are also a part of the negotiations. However, I'm going to guess that their union might not support the calendar as is. Why? Because non-instructional employees don't get paid during those additional days off. I'm sure they'd rather be working, getting paid.

David Mustonen, Communications Coordinator for the Dearborn School District, suggests that parents write letters or emails to the school board, the superintendent, the directors of education, and each union about the calendar. Although I haven't spoken with many of the Muslim families affected by days off during Christmas and Easter, I certainly have heard many qualms from non-Muslim families about the extra number of days off during Ramadan and Eid-Al-Adha. It's time to make a change. Otherwise, next year we might be celebrating The Islamic New Year.

Bush signs law with fingers crossed behind his back

2006-01-09T21:27:00.000-08:00

George Bush signed a new law last week prohibiting the torture of detainees. However, Bush states that it's ok to bypass the law if "I say so."

If Bush is the only US citizen allowed to torture detainees legally, I say please detain these two and put an end to the madness.

There's no love like dolphin love

2006-01-06T15:09:00.000-08:00

The smash hit Stung by Love has made a cultural impact throughout the world. By exposing the negative underpinnings of discrimination and intolerance, the film has prompted people throughout the world to come out in droves to show support for the acceptance of interspecies relationships.

The backing of the global community has made a big impact on Sharon Tendler, a British citizen who recently wed Cindy, her dolphin boyfriend of 15 years, at a private ceremony in Eilat, Isreal.

She said it was love at first sight with Cindy, a 35-year-old bottlenosed. "It's not a perverted thing. I do love this dolphin. He's the love of my life," said Tendler, according to The Associated Press.

Although the interspecies marriage holds no legal bearing, the increasing number of these ceremonies is sure to put pressure on laws governing the definition of marriage.

In Ocean City, NJ 15 church pastors have conducted interspecies marriages with the opinion that the underlying importance of marriage is the exchange of love and devotion and not the human to human factor.

See the full article of Tendler and Cindy's wedding here.

Disclaimer: Some information in this post consists of wild fictional tidbits while, amazingly, other information is complete fact.

Stung by love--a catfish story

2006-01-04T23:53:00.000-08:00

Miramax Films reemerges this season with a new smash hit, Stung by Love, starring Tina Yothers and Trebone the Catfish. Based on a true life story, Yothers plays WM Lorrimey, an Indiana teen who becomes smitten with a charming catfish after tossing him a tunafish sandwich in a shallow river bank. The film explores the sodden trenches of forbidden love and exposes the dire resistance of small town traditions.

Yothers gives a performance of a lifetime, perfecting the agonizing struggles of defying a strict rural upbringing. To prepare for the role, Yothers spent several months living side by side with Amazonian catfish--eating, cajoling, and bedding with them to establish the exactness needed for the role.

This is a new direction for Trebone, who has mostly been cast in family films. Shifting from gaity to a more serious subject was an easy transition for Trebone, as seen by his and Yothers' heated on-screen chemistry. Look for Oscar nominations on this one. I give it 5 stars.

Stung by Love is not suitable for children due to its violent and steamy nature.

Hit Man or child abuser?

2006-01-04T09:38:00.000-08:00

The latest in Detroit celebrity news brings us a sad account of former boxing champ Thomas Hearns hitting his 13-year-old son, causing a black eye and busted lip. This event gives new meaning to Hearns' namesake, the Hit Man. Maybe he should be called Hit The Little Man.

According to police, Hearns ordered his son to another room in their Southfield home. When the boy refused, Hearns hit him in the face--hard, with knuckles. Hearns' wife called the police to stop the domestic dispute.

Hearns was released on a $10,000 bond after being charged with assault and battery. My question: Why was he charged only with assault and battery, a simple misdemeanor? The last I heard, a 13-year-old is a minor. And, this 13-year-old happened to be his kid. Doesn't it make sense that the man should also be charged with child abuse? Is this another case of the law being just a little bit different for celebrities?

Goodbye, good riddens

2006-01-03T11:17:00.000-08:00

Happy, Happy New Year. I'm so excited for 2006. This year will bring promise for new beginnings, happy endings, treasured moments. (I'm taking a course at the Hallmark Institute.) Actually, I'm just glad 2005 is over. You see, last year was full of tin-wrapped memories--some hitting me personally while others had public concern.

Here's my Top 10 Reasons For Yelping Hooray At The End Of 2005.

10. A broken heart: Everyone hates a broken heart, especially me because I'm a total love hoard. I've mended, but I feel so badly for poor Renee, Jennifer, and Jessica.

9. A tragic car accident: This wasn't a simple fender-bender. No, when I get into an accident, I have to completely annihilate my vehicle without proper insurance to pay for a replacement. Thank you, Maureen. You're true evil to YOURSELF.

8. Financial ruin: I'm so bad off, I've been removed from all credit reporting agencies. They won't even list my name and social much less a score. Maureen who?? Did you check the FBI?

7. Unemployment 4-times over: Ok, this isn't my fault. Honest. I did everything I possibly could to hold down a job, but nobody liked that I could'nt work an entire 40 hours and that I thought 9:30 was an appropriate start time.

6. Too many cops: Ok, I'm not a criminal, but apparently a lot of cops thought they needed to speak to me directly this year. In fact, I should coin 2005 The Year of the Cop. Sorry, Team Angry Monkey for delaying our Traverse City trip.

5. Braces: Three years! Three fucking years!

4. No health insurance: After years of well-paid jobs and secure premium health insurance, I'd become stupidly oblivious to the concerns of the uninsured. I beg for forgiveness, because there's nothing more infuriating than having to pay $70 for a month's supply of meds that keep you from having a stroke! Do I want to keep my $70 or do I want to have a stroke? $70? Stroke? $70? Stroke? Ahhhhh!

3. $6.10 Marlboro Lights: You can now get a 12-pack of Busch for less than a pack of cigarettes. My grandfather is laughing in his grave right now. In heaven, beer and cigarettes are free.

2. The Michigan economy: Thank you Mrs. Granholm and the Big Three. The good news is that there's bolstered opportunities for migrant and seasonal farm workers.

1. Hurricane season: Thanks to George Bush we had a record breaking hurricane season. He wanted us to be the best at everything, and damn it, we did it. For the first time in history, we were able to use the Greek alphabet to name Tropical Storms Alpha, Delta and Epsilon and Hurricane Beta. (Of course, I had to point out something, anything, no matter how inane, to blame on our presiding prez.)

Now that I've vented about 2005, it's time to extend thanks for the year. I'm in good health. My kids are incredible. And I've met lots of wonderful new people, namely many of you. Thanks to everyone who has emailed me personally concerning this blog. I'm a taint blushed but your encouragement keeps me moving on. Look for more to come.

A Christmas aftermath

2005-12-27T18:43:00.000-08:00

The mistletoe didn't bring much flavor to this year's holiday, but we're happy to have ended up with lively Xbox games, baby dolls, a desperately needed couch cover, and extra poundage from the continuous feasting. To smack 2005 before the New Year's first splendid Sunday, let's get down on some cupcakes and all that is Narnia.

The Chronic of Narnia

Kick it Christmas with WOXY Vintage

2005-12-22T07:15:00.000-08:00

Yearning for some kick ass Christmas tunage? Stream into WOXY Vintage for alternative, punk, and indie holiday tunes to groove you through the shopping, holly, and Yuletide squeeze. You'll hear numbers from Feist, Low, Rilo Kiley, Big Star, Squeeze and much, much more. Kick those holiday blues under the tree, toast up with a healthy shot of Jameson, and sing some songs with me. They're playing 24/7 today through Christmas Day. Love yas all!

Santarchy or just some plain 'ole Bad Santas?

2005-12-20T11:06:00.000-08:00

A band of drunken Santas pissed off the side of a bridge Saturday night in Auckland, New Zealand, and soaked passing cars in urine. The Santas then proceeded to rampage through the streets in protest against the commercialization of Christmas. They threw beer bottles, dangled from the moorings of a cruise ship, and vandalized a Christmas Tree (at least they didn't molest the tree).

To celebrate their cause against commercialization, the Santas continued to party down. They visited a convenience store and helped themselves to cases of 40 oz beers. They said Merry Christmas (not that commercialized Happy Holidays) to the store clerk and headed out for more gregarious protestin'.

The police had a difficult time charging many of the Santas with a crime since it was hard to identify who did what--they were all wearing the same outfit.

I'm wondering if the Santas granted any wishes that night.

Drunken Santa, my Christmas wish is to have my braces off before I turn 55. I'd like one of those elves to clean my house and babysit for me. I'd like the rust around my kitchen sink to stop showing up. I'd like that kink in my neck rubbed out every night by a completely wonderful man. No, it can't be you, Drunken Santa. Keep your hands off me. Hey, that beard stinks. Shit, Police!!

A police officer showed up, but Drunken Santa punched him in the face. He said Merry Christmas, threw me a basket of oranges, and ran into the darkness. I heard a bottle cap fall from his pants.

According to Wikipedia, the Santa protests against Christmas commercialization is called "Santarchy." Unlike most organized protests, Santarchy permits its participants to be totally smashed in public. As a Santarchist, you can also destroy public property, burn flags, punch the president, and expose yourself. It's a lot like a fraternity, but with a Christmas theme.

Some local Detroit Santarchy can be seen on Kit Burns Was Framed!

Merry Christmas

2005-12-19T18:51:00.000-08:00

A Merry Christmas from our house to yours.

It's been a rough and tumble Christmas time for this shopping mom. My daughter went online and created a wish list 4 pages long! In the end, I found myself at the local Limited Too buying trendy outfits and accessories. My son's only wish--Xbox. Ok, I've succumb to years of my kid sitting on the floor with a control pad glued to his hand. After several attempts of trying to get a low bid on ebay, I finally ended up finding the best price at the nearby EB Games. Mickey got a few furry toys and a delectable bone. What does Mom get? Lots of hugs and kisses, which are priceless.

No casual farting in the office--EVER

2005-12-16T13:23:00.000-08:00

Warning: This entry contains sophmoric content and may offend the tightly wound.

Trapped all day in a cubicle somewhere very, very far away from a window and surrounded by the drips of the IT honeycomb, I sometimes feel like I'm truly working under the deck of The Enterprise. So far, it's been a sterile existence. But, that all ended today when I met the farting man. This person has no problems sharing a series of noisy flatulence with you. And, this isn't just a one-on-one thing. The guy gushes out farts in full conference rooms, and in crowded cubicles. While he strolls down the aisle, his ass hums out an opus in C minor.

Aren't there certain things we all know from the moment we pass through the birth canal? Like, how to suckle, don't spit on people, and eat all your vegetables. No farting in public is on the list. Sure, we've all let one slip here and again, but the typical response is horrible embarrassment. This happens to me when I'm in the movie store or a library. There's something about the patient contemplation of picking out a title that makes me gassy. When I feel this urge come on, I make sure to quietly shuffle away from any bystanders. I digress.

There are office rules when it comes to bodily functions. We all must abide, otherwise there is a breakdown in the 3-steps removed relationship we have with our co-workers.

Since I'm on this sick topic, I thought I'd share a few rules with you on the poop-at-work scenario (citation unknown). Unfortunately, this list doesn't cover what to do when someone comes into the stall next to you and starts heaving and vomiting. I'm not sure about that one. It happened to me the other day, and I just applied the ESCAPEE rule--don't acknowledge.

HOW TO POO AT WORK: We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brewing down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POO is inevitable. For those who hate pooing at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.

CROP DUSTING: When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.

FLY BY: The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooing. Walk in and check for other pooers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

ESCAPEE: A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK: When forcing a poo, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

COURTESY FLUSH: The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poo hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poo has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME: Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOER A colleague who poos at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooer enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooer before entering the bathroom.

THE POOING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N) A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooing goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Pooers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVENS: A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooer of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR: Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poo at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

CAMO-COUGH: A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE: A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooer can poo in peace.

WATERMELON: A poo that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

HAVANA OMELETTE: A case of diarrhea that creates series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using Camo-Cough with an Astaire.

UNCLE TED: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poo when the bathroom is empty.

Panic from Detroit takes the long bus to Lansing

2005-12-15T07:08:00.000-08:00

Detroit residents have once again demonstrated to the Nation that lawlessness and unruly behavior is our signature in the Motor City. Two busloads of Detroit high school students showed up in Lansing on Wednesday to put pressure on the Board of Canvassers as they met to certify the Michigan Civil Rights Initiative (MCRI), an anti-affirmative action proposal, for the November 2006 ballot. The initiative, if voted into action by the public, would amend the Michigan State Constitution and would dismantle the use of affirmative action in hiring and college admissions.

The kids, who were riled up by some extreme leftist advice, joined the group By Any Means Necessary (BAMN) to disrupt the Board's meeting and infiltrate on the voting process. They shouted protests to the proposal. They stood on chairs and yelled, "They say Jim Crow. We say, hell no." They argued that they should be able to go to college, too, and that the proposal, if voted on next November, would prohibit their opportunities.

It's not clear why the demonstrators were under the impression that they wouldn't be allowed to go to college without an affirmative action ruling in place. Hard work, good grades and a means to pay gets anybody into college, regardless of race, creed or sexual orientation.

What is clear is that the demonstrators contaminated and dishonored a Constitutional process in an unprecedented way. "I have never in my 20 years of service seen such anarchy and lawlessness," said Board of Canvassers member Lynn Banks to Frank Beckman in a WJR radio interview.

In the end, the four members of the Board did not approve the initiative for the 2006 ballot. Two members, including Banks, followed the letter of the law and voted Yes. One member did not vote at all, and the other voted No. The entire Board is now in breach of a court order and must reconvene to put the initiative on the 2006 ballot. Banks said she will not meet again unless there is lawful order and a consensus beforehand that all members of the Board will follow the law.

The MCRI received enough Michigan voter signatures to get on the ballot. Keeping it off the ballot breaks the law. Leaning on appointed officials who are by law required to follow through is scummy. This was an obvious attempt to delay the initiative from being certified for the ballot.

BAMN rallied those kids and adulterated the intent of this State's Constitution. What's more is that the organization taught dozens of naive Detroit students to disrespect the law and due process. If BAMN was so motivated about this initiative, why weren't they organizing responsible protests when signatures were being collected for the MCRI? Why weren't they shouting then? It's too late now. MCRI will get on the ballot eventually, and the State's entire voting population will decide the outcome of affirmative action in Michigan. If BAMN is seriously concerned about those kids' futures, they should teach them about the importance of voting.

Tessitura

2005-12-13T07:17:00.001-08:00

Tessitura is the Italian word to mean "texture" or "weave," like in the weave of a beautiful fabric. In music, the term refers to where a piece "lies" for voice--how the voice is weaved throughout the highs and lows of the music. The tessitura of a piece determines the type of voice that should be chosen to achieve the most desireable overall sound. In other words, the singer should be able to use the strongest and most beautiful part of her voice most of the time when singing the song and not necessarily just be able to hit the highest or lowest points. (Aren't you glad you just had that flash lesson on voice?)

Turns out Jonathan Williams has a bit of knowledge on this subject, and he puts weaved voices to the test on his CD On The Importance Of Being Confused. Recording under the name Tessitura, Williams has come out with a collection of songs reminiscent of the Elephant 6. Confused is filled with fragrant voices mixed with buzzy guitars, dreamy melodies, and poppy persistence. At times, there's a twinge of Pink Floyd hypnotics hinting at...maturity? All this coming from a casual dude claiming to be "just a guy writing and recording some songs of his own," and giving then giving them out for FREE.

Hold is by far the catchiest tune, and someone please tell me why I feel like I've heard 30 Seconds before? If you are an Elephant 6 fan, you'll like Confused. Download the entire CD at here.

When Williams isn't plucking songs from head for Tessitura, he plays with Cincinnati's The Spectacular Fantastic.

Menino's stop to the Stop Snitchin

2005-12-12T09:53:00.000-08:00

The streets of Boston aren't safe anymore. T-shirts baring the words Stop Snitchin are bringing up the crime rate and intimidating murder witnesses. The evil-doing t-shirts must be stopped was the message delivered by Boston Mayor Thomas Menino at an anti-crime meeting last week. The mayor directed law enforcement to seize all Stop Snitchin t-shirts from Boston retailers. The t-shirts will be snatched from their hangers, beaten inside out, thrown into a large dumpster and then set on fire. The pricy flame-retardant line will undergo torture (but nobody will know about that because it's a crime) and then be sent to an industrial shredder in West Orange, New Jersey.

Seriously now, T-shirts causing crime is an interesting concept but there's no muscle in it. It's obvious the t-shirt's designer, M. Antonio Ennis, is trying to send a message. And, it's safe to say that it's a reckless and inciting one, but the message itself does not cause harm, at least not directly. What's more is that the ability to display a message, even one that's riotous, is protected under the First Amendment. I'm perplexed that Menino, a government official, forgot about First Amendment rights before he ordered the seizure and removal of these t-shirts.

The ACLU of Massachusetts brought the hammer down on Menino's directive. But, the mayor is determined to find a way to shut down the sales of these shirts, as well as the Stop Snitchin website. The mayor's actions are well-intentioned, but he's putting his efforts in the wrong place.

Side note: www.stopsnitchin.com is certainly kickin' in design, but it's also a little scary.

Who put the tickle in technical?

2005-12-12T09:10:00.000-08:00

Having spent the majority of my professional life writing or directing the development of technical manuals and various technical communications, such as the life-support of all software (aka, "Help"), I thought I'd come across every possible flavor of the tech document medium known to man. I was wrong. Rory Blyth's version of the tech doc is in a genre all its own. It made me squeal with laughter AND I actually learned something. Check it out.

There's a secret message in my geek's manual.

God's got a sign for you

2005-12-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

Have you noticed how God has hired an ad agency to remind us of his presence? Billboards are popping up all over the Detroit metropolitan area promoting messages from God in knocked out type.

I’m sure that God has good intentions, but it’s a little strange to imagine him (or her) sitting in a room full of ad junkies nodding his head in approval or disapproval over a campaign pitch.

This is what I think every time I see one of these billboards. I see God, in his infinite self, disagreeing with the hardworking creative team, giving his input and shoving his muddled ideas down their throats. “Sure. Of course, we can do that,” says the creative team with smiles on their faces.

Then, when God leaves, they agree in stereo how retarded he is. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be forced to put God in this context.

Driving down Interstate 94 heading west toward Ann Arbor, God tells us “Feeling Lost? My Book is your map.” I don’t want to be cynical about God, but I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to help me when I get lost off the Jackson Rd. exit. Will God help me navigate my journey in life? Absolutely. But, I shouldn’t be thinking about such things while driving my car. I’ll start thinking about how troubled I am, how I can’t pay my bills, how I’m a lonely, aging fool with no purpose. Deep in thought about the pursuit of some guidance, I’ll forget where I’m at and plow my car into the back end of a semi-truck. Do I now get to sue God for putting that damn billboard up?

These billboards prompted me to investigate. I’m concerned about the intermingling of commercial advertising and God. God is an all-powerful presence. And, the last I heard, he was pretty popular. Does he really need an advertising scheme? Apparently, some people think he does.

In 1998, an anonymous donor hired an ad agency to come up with a campaign that would get people thinking about spirituality and their relationship with God. The donor simply wanted to spread positive thoughts about God. There were no specific religious affiliations tied to the messages--just thoughts about God, signed by God.

The original campaign started in Florida and gained wide attention. Ultimately, the Outdoor Advertising Association of America (OAAA) donated billboard space throughout the country, totaling a value of $15 million. Yikes! That's a lot of loot. Imagine the various other good deeds that might have gone toward. The OAAA felt that 2005 has been a troubling time for America, and that it might be helpful to get us all thinking about God again. God's popularity must have dropped a few points between 1998 and 2005. The GodSpeaks billboards are sprouting all over the country again, displaying a set of nine quotes from God. I pray none of them causes an accident.

Remembering Lennon

2005-12-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

December 9, 1980. My radio alarm clock went off, and as usual, I awoke to the cluck, cluck of Bob and Doug MacKenzie welcoming me to the Great White North. As I wiped the sleep from my eyes, the clattered voices of the DJs turned serious with the morning news.

Mark David Chapman, a mentally disturbed fan, waited outside of the Dakota, a Manhattan apartment building, as John Lennon and Yoko Ono walked home from a recording session. As the couple approached, Chapman fired shots and fatally wounded Lennon. He died on the way to the hospital.

I was stunned. John Lennon couldn’t be dead! I must have misunderstood. It’s a horrible joke. I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen to check the morning paper. I burst into tears.

An hour later I sat in class, numb from digesting the news. My mind flowed with every Beatles song, every Lennon song…I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go ‘round and ‘round. I really love to watch them roll.

It would be impossible to count the number of hours I'd spent with the headphones on wearing out my Dad's Beatles/Lennon vinyl collection. I knew every lyric, every note.

The morning bell rang. Mr. Paul, my sixth grade teacher at St. Christopher's, requested our morning dedications. I raised my hand for the first time ever to offer a prayer.

“I’d like to pray for John Lennon’s spirit and for all of his grieving fans. He was an inspiration to us all.”

Mr. Paul stood frozen in his fro and bushy mustache, staring at me for a long, drawn-out minute. Maybe he was stunned to be praying for a hippie, rock icon. Maybe he was stunned that he was hearing an unsolicited current event from an 11-year-old. Maybe he smoked a joint on his way to work and was trying to decipher my meaning since it wasn’t the usual “I’d like to pray for grandma. She’s having hip surgery.”

My class prayed silently for a few minutes. I could feel a warm chill under my burgundy knee highs. Through the many more years of Catholic school, I never again requested to pray for something publicly.

This Thursday marks the 25th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. His legacy stands strong and his music continues to influence generations old and new. To mark the anniversary, the DVD Deluxe Edition of Imagine was released today. The documentary, originally released in 1988, gives a stirring portrait of Lennon from the days of the Cavern Club to the drunken months he was separated from Yoko.

The project was completed independent of Yoko Ono, which allows for a candid portrayal of the man, his dreams, his music, his loves, and his sufferings. It's everything you can should expect from a movie, but it's what Lennon brings to your heart that makes you understand so much more.

Baby making cocktails need to be flushed

2005-12-02T13:09:00.000-08:00

Men making babies with other men. That’s right, the science is almost here. No adoptions or serious choices about who gets to be the biological father. I’m talking Ted and Ed are having a baby. Their baby! Together!

I learned from Wired News that scientists have found a way to manipulate the cloning process so that it can be used to make embryos artificially. Based on this "science," there's no need for the simplicity of just one egg and just one sperm. (click image for full view)

There are some things science should leave alone.

The natural reproduction process is sacred and complicated. There should be no deviation from the original plan: a male sperm fertilizes a female egg, and each must come directly from its original owner.

I realize there are many variations of the reproduction process in current practice. And, I wholeheartedly support them. Surrogates and in vitro fertilization have helped many couples have babies biologically. I support those practices because they adhere to the original plan of female egg, male sperm, and original owner. No tampering.

When you introduce the cloning process to reproduction, you are removing the natural, synchronized formula of baby making. Think about it. What’s more artistic and romantic? A tiny, legless sperm swimming in the race of its life, facing danger at every turn, trying to beat all the other wiggly sperms to finally reach that ellusive ovum? Or, extraction of a donated egg, removal of the nucleus, insertion of skin cells, cultivation, more extraction, coaxing generously to convince cells to be human, insemination of new “human” egg, and pop in the oven for ahhh maybe nine months? It’s apparent that God’s scheme is more lovely than ours.

Although in vitro 86s the romantic journey of sperm to egg, it still holds the fundamentals of conception and offers people the opportunity for a happy ending. This psuedo cloning process, however, is an attempt to reinvent the process entirely. The result is not human. I doubt gay couples are going to be biting at the nub to purchase a non-human biological baby (that phrase doesn't ring properly, does it?). So, I suggest those scientists take off their gloves and pick up a couple cans of Playdough.

Stately grapes

2005-12-01T16:21:00.000-08:00

It was a good day for Michigan wine enthusiasists. The Michigan Senate committee unanimously passed legislation allowing direct shipments to Michigan consumers from wineries throughout the United States. This includes Internet sales.

Under the legislation, Michigan consumers will be able to buy up to 1,500 cases of wine in a given year over the Internet and through mail catalog sales. That's a lot of wine! A total of 18,000 bottles of wine per customer in a year's time. That's more than enough wine to satisfy the average wine-aholic. But, the greater good about this legislation is that it allows for the purchase of out-of-state wines that consumers would not ordinarily be able to buy unless they visited the wineries in person.

I became very attached to some Washington State wines when I lived in Seattle. But, I've had to go without because I now live in the Midwest. With this new legislation, I can order those favored bottles directly from the winery. Sure, I'll be obliged to provide my age through a verification of some sort (e.g., fax, email of a driver's license), but that inconvenience is miniscule compared to the inability to savor wines outside or my grocery store or specialty region.

Queen vs 50 Cent, finding somebody to love

2005-12-01T08:52:00.000-08:00

If you haven’t been introduced to the world of mashups (get in the now, people) here’s a little introduction.

According to Wikipedia, a mashup is a term used to describe a website or web application that seamlessly combines content from more than one source into an integrated experience.

In most cases, a mashup takes a song from one genre and mixes it with a song from a different genre, creating a collision of music that would never be formed otherwise. It’s like musical Twister. Some mashups work but most are ridiculous. The important thing to keep in mind is that, sometimes, “ridiculous” equals entertainment.

This isn’t the best of mashups, but I just love the idea of a flaming 50 Cent. Check the sounds here.

Grabs dem gifts, a shopping horror story

2005-11-30T08:37:00.000-08:00

Very early last Friday morning (5 a.m. to be exact) my brother convinced me to take a trek to Best Buy.

Ok, to halt you from jumping to any conclusions about my character, I am not the kind of person who drags herself out of bed to go shopping, especially on a day called Black Friday, where typically hundreds, if not thousands, of frenzied shoppers will be ready to fight to the death for limited merchandise. No, I’m not a sale monger.

On this special occasion, however, my brother was able to convince me to tag along only because we were still up from the night before. I wanted to go to bed, but some how my brother’s sad little face persuaded me to go. I didn’t want him to go alone. He’s not from Detroit, he grew up in the sticks, and he might get hurt out there all by himself. I’m the tough big sister. He needed me to take care of him. I’d protect him with my lethal karate chop.

Still too buzzed to drive, we called a cab. It was a dark, quiet morning. No birds, no stars, no inkling of the breaking daylight.

As we pulled up to the mini mall, I could see that the parking lot was no parking lot—it was a refuge camp. Cars zigzagged everywhere. Horns honked at herding pedestrians. People wandered aimlessly waiting for their homing devices to kick in to point them to the Best Buy entrance. I was waiting for a convoy of camels to appear. Thankfully, they stayed home. It must have been too early to bring out the camels.

We decided to save the cabbie from having to inch his way through the mayhem. We got out of the cab halfway through the parking lot.

At that moment, I realized how cold it was outside. The temperature was surely in the single digits. Being half-crocked when I left the house, I didn’t think about grabbing a hat and gloves. This, I noted to myself, was a serious mistake. When we reached the main entrance, we discovered THE LINE. A very long line wrapped around to the back of the building. People were waiting to get in, ten at a time. My only thoughts were, “Can we get the cab back?”

It was a good thing my brother was so dedicated about getting that half-priced digital camera, because I wouldn’t have waited in that line otherwise. It was a good thing my insides were still cozy from booze, because I wouldn’t have waited in that line otherwise. It was a good thing that the dudes standing behind us were chatty and distracted me from my numb hands and ears, because I wouldn’t have waited in that line otherwise.

It took us a half an hour to get into the store. I thought the line outside was ridiculous, but what I saw next blew my mind. MORE LINES. Lines strung people together through every aisle in the store. Want to look at radios? Get in a line. Want to look at printers? Get in a line. Want to finally buy something? Get in another line.

We got in the line for cameras and waited for another half hour or so. As we waited, I watched in disbelief as people buzzed and swarmed through the store like a disturbed hornet’s nest. These were some serious, angry shoppers. They knocked into each other and said, “Excuse you!” They swore profanities when their treasured item was sold out. Shit, fuck, piss, Merry Christmas. They literally dove--and I mean off their feet and into the air--to be the first to reach that last reduced-priced TV. They bribed the shaken, pubescent Best Buy employees to get at the head of the line. I heard one frightened employee say, “What? Do you want to cause a riot?”

Finally, we reached the beginning of the camera line to find out that my brother’s sole motivation for making this trip was gone. No more digital cameras under $300 were in stock. Just like the rest of the poor fools who made this journey and waded through the muck of holiday sneer, my brother was disappointed, and he needed a new purpose. He bought a printer/scanner/fax machine.

It was 7:30 a.m. as we headed home. The sun was up and the streets were starting to percolate with a new round of shoppers. We decided to stop at the coffee shop for breakfast. That was the best part of the trip. Eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and smoking cigarettes on a slight hangover after being up for 24 straight hours with my little bro. I’ll never go to Best Buy again.

Apparently, shoppers all over the country were lined up in the wee hours on Black Friday to grab those amazing discounts. A line up to 400 people deep was reported outside the Sears store at Twelve Oaks Mall (Novi, Mich). Sears was offering free $10 gift cards to the first few hundred customers. Ten measly dollars! Stand in line at 4:30 a.m. in 6-degree weather to get a $10 gift card! For $50, I bet you couldn’t get a fraction of those people to stand behind a counter, in the middle of the day, in a heated building, to serve food to the homeless.

At Fairlane Town Center Mall (Dearborn, Mich.) the parking lot was already 70 percent full by 6:30 a.m. Try getting half of those people to show up to a job by 6:30 a.m. Not!

Wal-Mart reported that 2 million shoppers showed up at their stores in the first hour after opening at 5 a.m. In one of its Orlando, Florida stores, customers couldn’t keep the holiday peace. A brawl broke out and shoppers flailed at each other. They’d probably gone mad over those $378 HP laptops. Why didn’t Wal-Mart hand out a cocktail of Depakote and Buspar to each customer as they entered the door? Then, they would've all been calm, happy shoppers smiling as they gathered around the Holiday Tree (oh, I mean Xmas Tree, oh I mean Christmas Tree).

Happy holidays. And remember, it's about the giving not the gifting.

Spread a little Spam

2005-11-23T10:57:00.000-08:00

The morning ritual of checking email starts around 9 am. I login. Wow! I’ve received 29 new emails. I grin to myself, “Damn, I’m popular.”

First items in Inbox:

Verna Lunsford writes to give me a hot stock tip on the transfer of a product called Lipo-laser. Since I have a lot of money to throw around but don’t have the patience or the tenacity for paying close attention to the ups and downs of the stock market, this info is invaluable to me. Thank you, Verna, for taking the time to think of me.

Blanche Molina sends me a message with the subject line: “Of fall a hurricane layout.” OH, I’m excited about this one. I’m going to finally learn about that damn hurricane layout. What does God do when he’s planning those things? What’s his design process? Does he get drunk first? Did he write a design manual so we can create our own hurricanes? When a part of the Earth gets a bit too dirty, we can whip up a Hurricane laced with 409 to clean it up. Well, I’m awfully disappointed because when I open this email, I realize it’s not about hurricanes afterall. It’s about penises, or rather pills for penises. It’s an advertisement to cure any erectile dilemma. This one gets deleted quickly. 1. I have no penis. 2. I currently know no penis. 3. If I currently did know a penis, it most certainly better not have penis issues (warning to anyone expecting to introduce me to their penis).

Ok, so I’m not that popular. Sigh my deflated ego. Most of my email comes from people with names like Leila Leach, LaTonya Lang, or Serena Stratton—all of whom are not breathing, engaging human beings but rather blowup dolls with lipo-lips. Lipo-lips that were injected with the stuff left over from the Lipo-laser. I’ll buy 100 shares of that, please!

Spam is so prevalent in our lives these days. We run but we can’t hide. Sometimes, we have to take a morsel of Spam and spread it with delight. I learned this from the dear Rory Blyth.

Having received some Spam promoting a penis-enlargement patch, Rory curiously checked out the penis product’s website. He was astonished to find, as am I, these testimonials. (Note: I’m at work so I can’t check out the “actual” website to verify the accuracy of Rory’s details. But, since I’m sure they buggered right out of his own head, I don’t feel the need.)

Thank you so much for your incredible penis patches! I can drive in the carpool lane now. All I have to do is prop my penis up in the passenger seat, put a hat on it, and away I go. Never mind that I can’t really get out of the car anymore – just getting to finally travel in the carpool lane is enough for me.
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My penis is just ****ing huge, man. Seriously. It’s B – I – G. I’m diggin’ it, but my wife was hoping you could send some vagina-enlargement patches soon since she can no longer accommodate my girth. She says that sex with me is like giving birth to a Volkswagen backwards. AWESOME!!!
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I’m writing to you from prison. Why? Because I used your patches for eighteen months straight, and now my penis is a lethal weapon. I impaled several people with it at a crowded mini-mart in October, and now I’m doing time for manslaughter. I nearly escaped by uncoiling it one night, pushing it through the bars, looping it through the guard’s keys, and bringing them back to my cell, but I got caught when someone tripped on and then noticed my forty-five foot long manhood. It was embarrassing, but I think the guards envy me. Thank you for your truly excellent patches!
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I live in downtown Seattle, and there was a fire in my office building last week. The way out on my floor was blocked, but I saved the day when thirty-seven coworkers climbed three stories down my penis to safety. The mayor got wind of what happened and presented my penis with the key to the city. He also ordered that all firemen use your patches for the betterment of public safety.
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Your patches are TOO good!?!?!!! My penis is so large now that I pass out every time I get an erection. Like last night when I was thinking about Natalie Portman naked. All I heard was the roar of gallons of blood pouring into my flaccid penis, and then nothing – the lights just went out. Yep. That Natalie Portman. She sure is a hot one. I’d really like to – oh, crap – it’s starting to-
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Your penis patches worked so well for me that I bought them for the entire family. That jerk Anderson next door isn’t so smug about his Mercedes anymore – not since we’ve taken to draping our enormous penises over the fence during dinner.
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Not only has your patch made my wife a very happy woman, it has also given me a second income. My penis now works as an emergency speed bump for the Oregon Department of Transportation. They call me whenever there’s an accident and they need a way to slow down traffic in the area. They’re also looking into using my penis as a temporary dam in rural construction areas. I can now satisfy my wife AND I’m wealthy beyond my wildest dreams!!!!!
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Wow. I knew your patches would increase the length and girth of my (formerly) microscopic penis, but I had no idea they’d make me famous, too! My penis is now being listed as a tourist destination in my hometown. They’re building a resort on the north end, and a water park a few miles south of there. It’s a little noisy when I’m trying to fall asleep at night, but even so, there’s still something comforting about knowing that so many people have made my penis a destination for their holidays this year. Thank you, penis patch company!
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I’m sending along a clip from today’s paper. That’s me in the photo, posing with my patch-enhanced penis. You’re probably wondering about everything else – it’s the deep sea camera equipment that they attached to my unit before lowering it to the bottom of the Marianas Trench with help of a crane. Because your patches were so effective, we were able to discover over TWO HUNDRED new breeds of fish, all of which have been named after your fantastic penis growth patches. Way to go!

Thanksgiving blessings from across the pond

2005-11-22T06:54:00.000-08:00

In this time of war, it's nice to know that people still like us Americans. We're not all political anarchists, waving our mighty swords at the World. Many of us are soft and cuddly creatures overrun by doctored voting booths.

This week, let us all give thanks for the precious goods we have to eat because right now American soldiers are going without, Iraqi children are starving and cold, and in many parts of the World, the country, and even your own city there is no such thing as left-overs.

Thank you Wulfweard the White.

Jeff Mangum surprises fans in NYC

2005-11-21T19:26:00.000-08:00

There are few albums that come along that change your life. I have many bands to include in my life's list of major influence. But, like most music fanatics, I am able to whittle it down to a few chronologically: The Beatles, The Who, Led Zeppelin, Neil Young, Paul Simon (thank you, Dad, for all of that) Echo, The Smiths, The Cure, Natalie Merchant, Gang of Four, all of the Elephant 6, Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs, and most recently, The Dandy Warhols.

The most prominent influence of my adult life has been Neutral Milk Hotel (thank you, Dave, for that). If you are unaware of these guys, it's time to pay homage. They were such a lightning rod that most people missed the strike. When I first heard them on In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, I was taken back to the significance of The White Album. Every song on the album plays a part to equal the whole. There is no listening to your favorite song. Each song is a must from beginning to end, stringing one well-casted melody to the next. Therefore, listening from the first track to the last is a necessity. The tragedy is that Neutral Milk Hotel decided to no longer make music after their majestic In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Nobody knows the reason for NMH's disappearance; we just know that we've all missed the genius of what may come to the future of our ears.

Last week, just like a sudden appearance of Neil Young, who turns an ordinary show into a masterpiece, NMH frontman Jeff Mangum decided to show up at NY's Knitting Factory to play with Elf Power. He slowly appeared on stage in a simple shirt and baseball cap. He crooned his usual apparatus and made fans think they'd gone to heaven.

My first Christmas wish: to own a time machine so I can catch Jeff singing last Thursday. My second wish: that Jeff rejoins NMH and shows us what his dreams are made of.

No winners, no losers in the Everglades

2005-11-17T09:16:00.000-08:00

In this year’s Everglades Battle of the Reptiles, top prize goes to NOBODY!

After six elimination rounds, the Everglades' most anticipated contest came down to two rivaling participants. Charley, the 13-foot Burmese python from the tough neighborhood of Grassy Knoll, and Brutus, the muscle-bound 6-foot-long American alligator from The Sludge, were ready to fight to the death.

Spectators waded in the reeds, cheering on their favorite hero to win. “I’ve been waiting for this day for eight long months. Brutus is my hero. He’s going to win for sure,” said fan Titus the Frog, croaking a loud song to show his support.

The python and alligator stared each other down and sloshed their weight in the murky water. Brutus had the advantage, outweighing Charley by nearly 300 pounds. When the alligator raised his thick neck, showing off his visceral six pack, the crowd yelled for more.

At first, it seemed Charley was unsure of himself, swerving back and forth, inch by inch away from Brutus’ shards of teeth. Just when Charley was about to back into the spectators, he stiffened. He unhinged his jaw and opened his lips as far apart as they could possibly go. Brutus hissed, mocking the python’s toothless mouth. Suddenly, in a moment of shear viciousness, Charley sprung his 340-pound body toward Brutus’ nose, swallowing the alligator’s entire head in an instant.

The crowd gasped and watched in disbelief as the python slowly engorged himself on Brutus’ flesh. After 30 minutes, only the alligator’s tail remained visible. Then, an unexpected bursting noise filled the air. To the crowd’s horror, Charley splat wide open, exposing not only the dead alligator’s digested body but also his own interior slushy parts.

It was a sad defeat for both contestants. As a tribute to both Charley and Brutus, a memorial is in the planning stages. Fans have volunteered to erect a monument at the battle scene depicting a sculptured figure of a python head on an alligator body. Plans to play a recording of Sophia Hardig is also in the works.

Ok, after seeing that picture, I couldn't help but to make up this story. I know my kids will love it. Hope you get a tickle from it too.

Here's the factual, serious tale of the python and alligator.

Art goes with Rock

2005-11-14T20:16:00.000-08:00

Everyone has their list of hideous Rock album covers. This week, Pitchfork's Brent DiCrescenzo gives us his view of the worst album covers ever. And, man, is it worth the read!

Not only does DiCrescenzo remind us of how important artwork is for bands (a fact we may all easily forget in this world of digital exchange), he spices us up with left-over fat from "bands ala carte." His list is brilliant and I enourage you all to take a look-see.

But, I'm not here just to give kudos to Brent DiCrescenzo. I was also nudged to mention this list because the one-and-only Ted Nuggent appears on it. You see, one of my dearest friends happens to be Ted's daughter, and she's had to live through some unworldly grief because of Ted's anti-human negotiations in this fine city we call Detroit. (For the record: those who know me personally can attest to my inhabitions about announcing my knowing Ted Nuggent. I'm a little weird about it. But, this place and time seemed appropriate to bring my understanding of him to light.)

My Review:

Ted. I can see you thinking of this pose while you're squatting your 55-year-old ass in the woods taking a solid shit and hooting about how you still "got it." Guess what? Nobody likes you. You're still attracting Taylorites with goals to "get me a double-wide."

Sure, you moved to Texas, but your new neighbor eats dry bran flakes to feel the 'membrance of a conscience. Hmmm, lack of conscience...sounds a lot like you...with all them wandering offspring waiting to finally meet you an all. I guess they should be lucky to just get a paycheck, huh? How about the ones who didn't take you to court?

Keep it up, Nuge. Them howling's gonna take you down someday.

I'm not bitter. I'm only thinking of my friend. Even my kids know the bastard! What do they say when they hear him on the radio? That's Riley's grandpa! Gawd, even Britney can't compete with that.

Brent's review:

Nuge, dude, look. This isn't a nightmare, or "scream dream," at all. It's a gift from the gods! You can rub one of your guitarhands as a slide against your other guitarhand! Pickups'll pickup pickups in a gnarly buckshot of electro-fried guitarpowder! What for other people is warming hands over a campfire will for you be a wall of doe-killin' badass noise.

Kalamazoo kazoo

2005-11-14T10:18:00.000-08:00

To applaud the Kalamazoo Promise, I propose the purchase of a cute little Kalamazoo Kazoo. You can get one here. You never know when a kazoo may come in handy. Later, if we all agree, we can join together in a kazoo celebration, playing our favorite kazoo melodies.

Thanks pittcaleb for the KK info.

More than a promise, a guarantee from Kalamazoo

2005-11-13T10:46:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week I heard an astonishing thing on the radio: free college tuition for all Kalamazoo K-12 students. Unfortunately, the radio hosts didn’t have any further information, and, in fact, they thought it might be a wild rumor.

Later that day, I called the City of Kalamazoo and checked the school district’s Web site, but I learned nothing more of this “rumor.” I dismissed it because I didn’t think it was possible that such an extraordinary event could occur, especially when it would involve millions upon millions of dollars.

I’m amazed to learn today from the Detroit Free Press that the rumor is true! Anonymous donors are offering to pay up to 100% of college tuition for all of Kalamazoo's high school graduates starting in June 2006, as long as attendance is at a Michigan public college or university.

I’m in complete shock about the enormity of this generosity. College tuition is becoming more and more out of reach, especially for middle-income families who are just beyond the income limit for receiving aid.

I personally spent many years scraping by to stay below the income limit so I could receive federal aid. Can you imagine, intentionally staying dirt-ass poor so you can afford to stay in college? It's a complete contradiction. And, I’m not talking about reducing my income from one cushy number to another. I had to reduce it from $12,000 per year to under $6,000. That was just enough to subsist on Ramen and Budweiser, so I didn’t complain much. Even with the aid, I still racked-up student loans totaling $20,000.

Since tuition is a major concern for many parents and college-bound kids, the Kalamazoo plan, called Kalamazoo Promise, must come as a tremendous relief. The plan is the first of its kind in the State of Michigan, providing a 100% scholarship for children attending in the district from kindergarten through 12th grade. While its backers are aimed at providing Kalamazoo’s 11,000 students with a college education, they’re also hoping the plan will boost Kalamazoo’s economy by attracting new residents and businesses to the city.

I only have eight more years before my first born starts college. Maybe it’s time to consider a move to Kalamazoo. Heck, it’s close to the lake!

Free Press article.

More on 70s TV

2005-11-11T08:46:00.000-08:00

Not that I'm on a 70s TV kick, but I have to mention that the entire first season of The White Shadow is finally on DVD. Produced in 1978, this show dug into the hearts of basketball-loving teens and set a precedent by covering issues such as drinking, pregnancy, and gambling (eat your heart out Richie Cunningham!). To put it short, the writing was great. I really liked the shorts, too!

Unfortunately, The White Shadow was short-lived (kick me for using that word again), ending its last "quarter" in 1981. Even so, its writers duly noted their abilities and went on to work on other exemplary shows like St. Elsewhere, NYPD Blue and Northern Exposure.

Get it from Amazon.

Dude, pass the seaweed

2005-11-10T13:33:00.000-08:00

It’s not new news that the drug culture was omnipresent in the 70s--showing up in our music, movies, college campuses, and living rooms (well, maybe my living room and not yours…I was a product of young 60s love). Most astonishing though is that it showed up in our cartoons! Yes, during the 70s, it was Saturday mornings of “kids on trips.”

The biggest trips were the shows developed by Sid and Marty Krofft. H.R. Pufnstuf and Sigmund And The Sea Monsters were some of the strangest yet mesmerizing television shows ever to be seen by America’s impressionable youth. In a song and dance format, actors played alongside caricatures of colorful creatures and inanimate objects. The shows were part cartoon, part Alice In Wonderland, and part Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.

H.R. Pufnstuf, the story of a boy, a magic flute, and a dragon donning a Southern drawl and white boots, was the more popular of the two shows. I don’t need to say much about the hippie influence on this show. “Pufnstuf” should just about say it all.

For whatever reason, I was more interested in Sigmund And The Sea Monsters. Maybe the attraction was that I, too, wanted a large pile of seaweed to be my best friend. We could’ve hung out on the beach, singing and dancing all day in our world of sun-poisoned delirium.

Hell, I want to do that now! I guess not much has changed for me since I was six-years-old.

The good news is that a new generation of kids will get to experience the dreamscape that is H.R. Pufnstuf. Astonishingly, the Kroffts are bringing Witchiepoo, Jimmy, and the Mayor of Living Island to the big screen in an H.R. Pufnstuf movie. What's more, the entire Krofft catelog is now available on DVD.

This makes me wonder…are we currently living in a drug-influenced culture? Nah! We’re so advanced in 2005, we now have the ability to expand our imaginations through sheer will. How else can we explain the success of Tim Burton?

More by Sid and Marty Krofft:
The Land of the Lost
The Donnie and Marie Show
The Barbara Mandrell Show

Ice Man returneth

2005-11-08T10:00:00.000-08:00

It’s exciting to announce that Team Angry Monkey successfully completed the Iceman Cometh mountain bike race. Our quickest member, Adam, finished in just over three hours! As each of us crossed the finish line, our support group (thank you guys, you’re awesome!) cheered us on and carried us to the beer cooler. There’s nothing like adding a little alcohol to your brain when you’re already in a state of delirium.

The Highlights

Sandpits
Ryan’s leggings
The lavish night-before pasta
Goo, on your hands, face, gloves
Me and Kavita eating Nicole’s dust
Pinkie
The “condo”
The 17-mile relief team (I would’ve never made it without you!)
Dana and Bill
The 1am bathroom phone call
Justin and Chad tossing their bikes over the fence
Adam’s big burrito
$1.50 Coronas
The sweet ass banner and bumper stickers (thanks Mark!)
Chad quit a race? No way!!
The humidor
Apples
Post-race pedicures
Did I mention sandpits?
Mike’s tacos, shaken not stirred
Meeting people who really know how to train
Jamie Kennedy, shizz knat
Bob Evans who?

Fantastic trip guys! Looking forward to next year!

Check out more pics:
1
2
3

Bring on the Ice Man

2005-11-04T07:03:00.000-08:00

This weekend Team Angry Monkey will be heading up to Traverse City to ride in the mountain bike race Iceman Cometh. It'll be a grueling 27 miles of trails, but Team Angry Monkey is ready. We trained all summer, with me having puked only twice.

I'll be taking on the trail with my 12-year-old rigid Raleigh. This is not due to some fanatical tough-ass act. No, my unemployed self couldn't bring on the bucks for a new bike this year. No fear. That bike is a beast. We'll do fine. And, come Saturday evening, I'll be bubbly inside the hot tub and out.

Peace.

It's called Ramadan and there are restaurant specials

2005-11-03T23:03:00.000-08:00

November 4th ends the month of Ramadan with a boisterous celebration of the Eid al-Fitr. Ramadan is a Muslim remembrance--marked by prayer, fasting, and charity--to pay homage to the time when Muhammad received the first verses of the Qu’ran from Allah.

The reason I know this is because I live in Dearborn, Michigan, and the public schools are closed from Wednesday through Friday this week, which begs me to understand why.

I didn’t think much of the school break, since I'm rather introspective when it comes to Muslim issues. I’m at home with the kids right now, so no special arrangements had to be made. The holiday break for Eid didn’t put a crinkle in my schedule. So, I didn’t think much of it.

Until this afternoon.

It’s Thursday. Garbage day. Time to pull out our trash for the next day’s 7:30 AM pick up. (Yes, there’s no blowing off the garbage haul to the curb at my house. You won’t be able to run out there at 7:00 AM in your undies—unless you’re very, very determined. I don’t know any people like that, thankfully.)

As I dragged my garbage cans down the drive dutifully, I noticed my neighbor’s pile. He had some beat up drums sitting on the curb. When I saw those drums, I had my first striking thought about Ramadan, and I wondered if the garbage would indeed be picked up the next day. Or, would it be held up a day like on a Christian holiday?

Gosh, I hoped not. I didn’t want to see those drums sitting out there like that, even if they did remind me of how my young neighbor has learned to really kick some shit on the drums. Take ‘em away. They make me sad.

Still, I’m remembering Ramadan.

I'm wondering about my tenses.

Valerie Cherish: gimme that labia

2005-11-01T14:35:00.000-08:00

This summer HBO came out with a comedy called The Comeback, starring Lisa Kudrow as the has-been actress, Valerie Cherish. The show sucked. Kudrow made an attempt, but damn it, she just isn't funny.

However, the script is based on a funny premise. It requires you to love how much you hate Valerie Cherish. Kind of like how you love to hate Archie Bunker. But, without the success of that formula, there's no show. Kudrow couldn't pull it off.

Her only accomplishment was making you annoyed with HBO for letting her be center stage.

Not all is lost! With Kudrow out of the picture, I'm thinking The Comeback should come back--with Madonna as Valerie Cherish. Madonna would give her that necessary evil that will make you love to hate her. I mean, we already love to hate Madonna, right?

If HBO can't cast Madonna, maybe they can get her labia to do the part.

Trackback this pic to Something Requisitely Witty and Urbane.

Give me that old-fashioned soap opera scandal please

2005-11-01T10:56:00.000-08:00

The Bush team makes me look back on the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal with fond memories. It had entertainment value: blowjobs, secret closets, white stains on dresses, young interns beating off old guys. It’s quite a folly how there was an impeachment process, a costly 14-month investigation, and extreme tabloid coverage of The Presidency over a girl and her lips. In the end though, it gave us an opportunity to know our neighbors. There was discourse, finally. Republicans and Democrats came together in office cubicles everywhere. All of a sudden, we were speaking to each other without fierceness or scorn. Was it because there was nothing REAL at stake?

Now, we have a White House scandal that has put people’s lives at risk. Do I really want to anticipate the next scoop? The next piece of dirt splattered on the front page? No, this isn't what I want to see happening in my country.

As usual, when Big Government Goes Bad, there's a fall guy: Mr. Lewis Libby, aka Scooter. He should be called Suck-It-To-Me Scooter.

Suck-It-To-Me Scooter owns a new horse. She’s called Guilty. Guilty is a quick dark steed, bred specifically to accept the ills of an entire Administration. The plan is that Suck-It-To-Me Scooter rides Guilty far, far away so that the American public will never piece together Bush-Cheney’s immoral agenda and lawlessness.

Who knows if Suck-It-To-Me Scooter and Guilty will travel to some forgotten land on page 10 of The New York Times. All I know is that I’m tired of learning about Bush’s carelessness and lack of concern for the American public. It sickens me. He had a bad week last week? HA! My unemployed ass barely squeaked out a mortgage payment—AGAIN! I was squirming about how to buy tidbits for Halloween costumes.

Stay tuned to see how sick I am next month when I’m moving into one of the boxes in my garage. Mr. Bush, what the hell are you doing to us?

Tangent Time:

Nicholas D. Kristof of The New York Times wants to ask Dick Cheney the following questions. Since I’m inclined to ask the same, I’m reprinting them here. Maybe Mr. Cheney will finally speak out, or will the Big Cat in the White House continue to hold a claw in his tongue?

Did you ask Scooter Libby to undertake his inquiries about Ambassador Joseph Wilson? Mr. Libby made such a concerted push to get information, from both the State Department and the C.I.A., that I suspect that you prodded him. Is that right? If so, why?

Why did you independently ask the C.I.A. for information about the Wilsons? The indictment states that on June 12, 2003, you advised Mr. Libby that you had learned, apparently from the C.I.A., that Mr. Wilson's wife, Valerie, worked in the agency. So did you ask George Tenet, then the director, about Mr. and Mrs. Wilson? Did you review the related documents that the C.I.A. faxed to your office?

Did you know that Mrs. Wilson was a covert officer? The indictment states that you knew she worked in the C.I.A.'s counterproliferation division. You would think that anyone as steeped in intelligence issues as you are would know that meant she worked in the Directorate of Operations and was perhaps a spook's spook.

Did you advise Mr. Libby to leak information about Mrs. Wilson's work in the C.I.A. to journalists? Mr. Libby flew with you on Air Force Two on July 12, 2003, and according to the indictment, one of the issues Mr. Libby discussed onboard the plane (with you?) was how to deal with the news media. Within hours, the indictment charges, Mr. Libby told two reporters that Mrs. Wilson worked in the agency.

When Mr. Libby made his statements in the inquiry - allegedly committing perjury - were you aware of what he was saying? Mr. Libby rode to work with you almost every morning, but this topic never came up?

Was Mr. Libby fearful of disclosing something about your behavior in the summer of 2003? Mr. Libby is renowned for his caution, yet he is alleged to have suddenly embarked upon a high-risk campaign of leaks and lies. If he did do that, was it a misguided attempt to protect you? The alleged lies shielded you by indicating that the information you gave him about Mrs. Wilson instead came from reporters.

A night with Feist

2005-10-31T14:17:00.000-08:00

“When the optic nerve is stimulated by a heavy blow, the brain interprets the signals it sees as light. Hence we 'see stars'.” –Monarch (Lay Down Your Jeweled Head)

Actually, that’s what happens when your optic nerve is hit by the presence of Feist. Feist not only makes you see stars, she makes you hear what's beyond them.

I went to the Feist/Broken Social Scene show last Thursday at The Majestic, primarily to see Broken Social Scene. But, once Feist brought her sprite self to the stage, I could’ve cared less if Jesus was coming up next.

(Just kidding about the Jesus thing… I have to make sure I don’t piss God off too many times this year. I’m reaching my quota.)

Feist transfixes you as she plays hopscotch with her ranges. You pay close attention just to find out the next place she can go. Bare-chested (figuratively) and exposed on Gatekeeper and Now At Last, her voice and guitar become all the music you need. It makes you wonder, am I really at a rock show?

Hell no! According to Feist, she puts on a “roll” show. That’s right, we rolled with her sexy bossa nova, jazz-pop, indie rockin' voice. Even Harry Houdini couldn't resist her. His ghost made a cameo appearance at the beginning of Broken Social Scene's set, causing lead singer Kevin Drew to run around in his green-striped undies. Thank you Leslie for being able to bring back the dead.

Look for more Leslie Feist on the new Kings of Convenience album, Republic of Two.

High-priced tricks, treats

2005-10-26T18:41:00.000-07:00

In my house, Halloween is the most important holiday of the year. It’s shocking to me, but my school-aged kids have more interest in free candy, scaring the crap out of each other, and dressing up in gore than they do in gifts on Christmas Day. Around here, the frenzy for a pillowcase full of wrapped-up sugar starts in September.

I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. My neighbors start decorating in September. They lay out bundles of hay, miniature graveyards, electric chairs, bloodied bodies; you name it they’ve got it. I’m the rebellious neighbor who waits till the week before to buy pumpkins!

Of course, the kids poured over Party City’s Halloween mailing of $20 costumes for people under four-feet tall. You probably guessed it—we received that mailing in September.

But, this year, we’ve topped even the most ghoulish of towns. We have Halloween USA. That’s right. The strip mall three blocks away used an open space to bring us the Mecca of Halloween stores. Now, a trip to Rite Aid has become a struggle through traffic. I’ve decided to ride my bike until they close down. (I just hope it doesn’t turn into a Christmas store!)

What the hell has happened? We’ve gone mad over Halloween. Maybe it’s just me, but I have no recollection as a child of this much commerce being built around Halloween. Right now, as a country, we’re spending billions! When I was a kid, we threw something together from fabric and old clothes. There was no buying of anything! Have we all become suddenly wealthy or is this a fast-food holiday?

What’s your Halloween budget? Did you start saving in July? Me, I’m unemployed, so this year we’re all going as hobos.

Three Peanuts cases in the basement, really!

2005-10-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

By taking some goofy test, I learned today that the Peanuts character my personality best represents is Schroeder. (This is important stuff, so you should pay close attention.) What a surprise, huh? I bet all of you who know me are saying, "Yeah? Go figure."

Well, there's more to this story than some silly Internet personality test.

You see, I have three boxes of Peanuts paperback books in my basement. Why? I just happen to have really dug Peanuts when I was a kid. I didn't just like the comics, I liked the books, too. Charles Schultz was one of the first authors I knew by name. The second, of course, was Judy Blume. So, for many years I collected the books, and I still have them. They're a bit yellow from age, and the glue has cracked in the bindings, but the stories are still intact, ready to take you to baseball games, flying doghouse races, and childhood crushes on big-headed bald boys.

The ones I like the most though are the Schroeder/Lucy stories. The tug-of-war between them can be a bit...adult. The coyness, the petty games, the male aloofness, the female bitchiness. Hmmm, now that I think of it, maybe these characters gave me some insight on my up-an-coming male/female relationships. (Is this giving me away some??)

Admittedly, I had a thing for Schroeder. He's smart and focused, with a twinge of spunkiness in him. Even if he doesn't move much, the spunkiness is still there. Maybe it's in his hair. And, the way he pisses off Lucy gives you complete satisfaction. She's hard to like, and watching her get shut down is rewarding, even at a young age.

So, does anyone have some extra shelf space?

Which Peanuts character are you?

Izod just added some bling

2005-10-19T14:26:00.000-07:00

It’s time to wear uniforms on the court—and off. That’s the recent message from NBA commissioner David Stern after announcing a new dress code.

Of course, Stern is receiving a lot of flack from players. It’s an infringement on personal preference, they say. It’s a player's right to "represent," to express their culture, attitude, and taste. Blah, blah, blah.

Oh, come on! I haven’t heard more whining since the last time I chaperoned a field trip with my daughter’s third-grade class. These are grown men with professional jobs. Is it so much to ask them to behave and dress professionally while on-the-job? Nobody is telling them what to wear when they’re in their hotel room, when they go out for the evening, or during the off season. They simply have to follow a business-casual dress code that most Americans have to follow while they are at work. Since pro basketball players are in a position to be representing the NBA on their way to work and on their way out just adds hours to the work day—or evening. It's called OVERTIME.

I could honestly care less what these guys wear off the court. All I want to see is the Pistons kick ass on the court. But, seriously, they should stop acting like spoiled brats. They’re millionaires! They can certainly afford a second wardrobe.

But you have to admit, it will be strange watching the NBA turn out a bunch of PGA look-a-likes to the post-game press.

Don't forget to press them pleats, boys!

A bigger message with fewer words

2005-10-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

In the last seven years, I've often wondered who is the brilliance behind those George W speeches. You know what I'm talking about...the creative transposing of words, the unique inflections, the steady pauses. It's an amazing play on political-speak. It's an outright persuasion-invasion.

Please, take a moment to learn more about the mastermind behind the words that move our nation's leader.

A Bigger Message With Fewer Words: required viewing for all incoming poly-sci majors at online universities everywhere.

Watch your mouth

2005-10-17T11:36:00.000-07:00

"Yeah, I had clearance, and you didn't, you plebian fuck. Now get outta my way." --
Judy Miller 10.17.05 - 1:52 pm blog entry on Eschaton.

Yikes, those are mighty words from a gifted New York Times reporter. Apparently, she's a bit dismayed over the latest controversy.

Did Judy Miller have appropriate security clearance to information that led her to write the NYT's article that vindictively outed CIA agent Valerie Plame's identity?

It's evident that this current debate is a complete diversion to keep the Administration clean of the leak. Unfortunately for Miller, this time, her proven pig-sniffing abilities are working against her.

It's most probable that Miller was given "special access." When a directive to give a reporter access comes from the Vice President of the United States, its legal legitimacy becomes defunct at the time of action. But several years down the road, when there is a White House investigation on such matters, the ambiguity of any special access becomes a safeguard for the Administration. It will be interesting to see how this all plays out. In the end, however, I'm sure Judy Miller's special status with the GOP will be as looming as the WMD.

Click here for a full account of this affair. May Rove burn.

Antibiotics and Jameson hot toddies

2005-10-16T17:53:00.000-07:00

Suffering from a nagging chest cold that turned into a severe sinus infection, I have had the inability over the last few days to verbally speak a coherent sentence much less write one. Therefore, instead of dissecting some relevant issue that I find interesting at the moment, I’ve decided to entertain you with my amateur writing of fast fiction and poetry. Feel free to flog me or use this entry as a target on your dart board. (Camille Claudel, The Waltz)

What he wanted

was a cushion. That sat
firmly on the floor, collecting dust.

Steady old couch. Faded with sun.
Pleasant to touch
and always comfortable.

The day I spoke a squeak
He began to frizzle and backpeddle.

Couches don’t speak, he said.
They do when
you jump on them enough.

Just my cup of tea
The men gathered around the dining table, each distinguished in their look and voice. They argued of our allegiance to France. I served tea politely, leaning in toward the table between the elbows of these stately men.

As I bent forward to pour the last cup, the gentleman directly across the table stopped my gaze. His eyes pierced my thoughts and made my chest heave. I stepped back abruptly, nearly tripping over my own feet. The others took notice as I disguised myself in an act of clumsiness.

Flushed, I quickly glanced back at Mr. Hamilton. I realized that I’d be seeing him again, and that America was not going to be ready for the real me.

Snow

Crystal so clear
Prickly sideswiper
Brushes against your lips and ears
It could be a finger pointing
To wake you up
Or a jolt to loosen your fear
Frozen flower bloomed on a rock
Doesn’t want the sun to appear
To last one more hour
In its white hydranth
A creature of time
The right here, right now

Jubilation

A secret jubilation
Knocks me down on my knees
And for the first time
I see the flowers in the grass
The tiny pebbles lay insignificantly
Smiling half moons
New moons
This is no dark
As I put my hands up
Palms cup the sky
It was this day you saved me
No letters of consent came in the mail
No contest winner
A simple knock on the door
To end my winter’s achy night

Fast Potatoes
It was the day before the family’s big Thanksgiving reunion, and Grandma was certain the delivery of potatoes would arrive at any moment. She waited.

Night fell. Grandma didn’t sleep a wink stricken with fear of no potatoes. The sun was bright when the clock hit noon on feast day. Grandma was in a near-fatal panic.

Finally! A truck arrived with 80 bags of Yukons. How would Grandma make 800 pounds of mashed potatoes in just one hour? At that moment, young Joe came with exciting news. “Grandma, our neighbor Slappy just won the world’s record for being the fastest potato peeler ever!”

Grandma called Slappy and pointed him to the mounds of potatoes. His hands moved so fast with the peeler, potato skins twirled in the air all over the kitchen. It looked like a swarm of locust, but really it was potatoes. Just before the water turned to a boil, Slappy finished the last potato. Grandma dropped it in the water and smiled.

The mashed potatoes were a hit. Everyone asked for seconds. The Thanksgiving dinner was a success thanks to Slappy and his fast potatoes.

Who's the real baby?

2005-10-13T23:18:00.000-07:00

Has David Cross finally crossed the line? In a recent federal complaint filed in Seattle, Thomas Weber, former Nashville club manager, is asserting that David Cross used his likeness and voice without consent on the Grammy nominated Shut Up, You Fucking Baby!

Although Weber makes a very good point in his law suit about the music industry and its whininess over copyright infringement and free downloads, do we, the David Cross-loving public, have to be denied the rights to buy up copies of Shut Up, You Fucking Baby!? Isn’t there another way to slap the big bad music behemoths on their greedy little hands? I say pay the fucker off, David. Give him his money. You egged him on, and then exploited him to all of our great joy.

If you haven’t listened to Shut Up, You Fucking Baby! you should. I’m searching at this very moment to find some free downloads so that we can all toast to Weber and the big bad music behemoths.

If you’d like to get in touch with Thomas Weber, here’s his phone number (615) 354-5205 and email address WeAreNotLaughing@yahoo.com.

P.S. I think I might be breaking some kind of copyright law by posting this picture.

MTV mayor lets earring go

2005-10-12T20:46:00.000-07:00

As a suburbanite who lives mere miles from the Detroit line, I know that my opinion on mayoral issues may not count for much. However, I have to say that we’re all witnessing a diversion from past politics in the city of Detroit. What’s the big difference with the current mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick? Pure guts. Or, true grit, if he was an old white guy.

Simply put, Kilpatrick is a mystery to most status quo politicians. He’s in essence the MTV mayor. Plagued by problems that are better known to party-hound musicians, Kilpatrick blazes a trail that leaves most of his counterparts feeling very uneasy and unsure of what the hell is going on. Kilpatrick’s been shunned by Washington, investigated for wild parties and the murder of a prostitute, hung by the media for his “wife’s” Navigator, and given the good ‘ole boy heave-ho for wearing an earring.

Listening to Kilpatrick speak to WJR’s Paul W. Smith at the Goodfellow’s Tribute Breakfast, it seems as if he’s learned a few things. Having lived through all the personal controversy and frustration of the last four years, maybe he’s grown up. But, more important to the city, Kilpatrick reminds us that things are different in Detroit.

There is an obvious vibrancy running through the hub of Downtown Detroit. GM’s Ren Cen just got a facelift. Nike is running a new ship on Woodward. Compuware is thriving and glimmering at the center of Campus Martius. Thirty-two new restaurants have opened. One thousand units of new housing have been built. What on earth is going on? If this so-called outlaw mayor is bad news, why are we seeing all this progress?

Sure, there’s city budget controversy. There’s speculative office corruption. There’s city council feuding and certain below-average education offered to Detroit’s children. But, is any of that new to this city? Let me take the risk of sounding naïve, but don’t we need to bring Detroit back one step at a time? Without cultivating commerce, we don’t get the rest of the pie. Without steps one, two and three, we don’t get four, five and six.

I personally don’t care if Kilpatrick wears a tribute to his wife in his ear. In fact, I think it’s kind of sweet. But, he has to make the moves that are governed by today’s political playbook. If leaving the earring out keeps him off the tabloid radar, so be it. Let’s focus on the tracks that direct Detroit in a forward motion. Kilpatrick has been a formative steam engine. And, as we know, steam engines get really hot. But, damn, it’s better than sitting in the caboose watching all the other boxcars moving on ahead of you.

Detroit, past and present

2005-10-12T05:59:00.000-07:00

This summer, I had the unique pleasure of spending many long lunch hours in Detroit's Campus Martius park. Camped in a circle off Woodward, just north of Congress and south of Gratiot, the park is filled with people. They stroll casually, chat and eat lunch at patio tables, and listen to local musicians. It’s something you’d envision elsewhere. Not Detroit.

What made these visits even more surreal to me was that at the time I was reading Jeffery Eugenides’ book Middlesex. Besides being a brilliant writer and storyteller, Eugenides packs this book with the most finite details of Detroit during the early 1900s. His descriptions are so masterful that as I sat in my patio chair off Woodward I could see this early Detroit come alive.

Eugenides’ characters visit Grand Trunk, play cards at the first clubs in Greektown (where they strictly spoke Greek), bootleg hooch across a frozen Detroit River, and work in a place called Black Bottom. This is more than a novel, it’s a history lesson. I came to know more about my native city from reading Middlesex than I did from living and going to school in the city itself.

Unlike many books that are rich in detail, this book is a page-turner that keeps you yearning for more. And, at the end, you'll feel like you're saying goodbye to old friends. If you haven’t read Middlesex, you should.

Me and SPIN, twenty years in the making

2005-10-09T20:58:00.000-07:00

This month’s SPIN is dedicated to themselves. It’s a 20th anniversary celebration. Two decades have passed since they’ve opened up shop to give us all a mainstream taste of the alternative. To their credit, SPIN, over the years, has given many up-an-coming bands the chance to bask in the spotlight. Without that chance, widespread America may have overlooked some damn good music. It’s hard to recall, in this era of Internet and small-world syndrome, that there was actually a time when the bulk of us were at the mercy of the truly oblivious—American FM radio and RCA/Capitol Records type mongrels.

But, as I read this Special 20th Anniversary Double Issue I realize that the interviews, the contents, the nostalgia go back to the 80s, a time when I first took music seriously, in a way that reflected who I was as a unique human being. All of Spin's noted bands, all the artists, all the affable influence go back to this odd, fashion-disoriented decade. Yes, I was listening to the Smiths, Echo And The Bunnymen, The Sugar Cubes, The Cure, Siouxsie, Sonic Youth, Violent Femmes, Joy Division. But, a question lingers in my head: where did I learn of this music, if not from the radio? I wasn’t reading SPIN magazine.

To dig through my memory banks is difficult, but after some thought I have to give a slice of credit to a forgotten Canadian radio station CFXX 93.9. As I remember it, the station’s alternative programming was brief, having been bought out by CHUM Limited in 1985. But, for me it was enough time on the air waves to make a difference. After that, I was spending all my babysitting money at the record store, buying up anything “different.” In circa 1984-1985, my clock radio would wake me up for school with the clacking of SCTV’s Doug and Bob Mackenzie singing that “Wake Up” song. Then, I’d roll out of bed to the sounds of the Psychedelic Furs. This was my orientation to great things to come: Jane’s Addiction, Dinosaur Jr., REM, Nirvana, Portishead, Cake.

Just like SPIN, I don’t have enough space to write about all the amazing bands that have made a difference to me in the past 20 years—all the years of my collective adult life. I’m just glad that some how, some way, that music reached me. I suppose that’s where SPIN has been successful over the years, sending us news of the new and nameless. However, I see fewer and fewer unheard-of bands filling SPIN’s pages these days. Most of what's in SPIN can be heard on CIMX 88.7 (better known as 89X, Detroit's Only Source of Alt Rock), which I can't manage to stomach for more than two songs at a time. I find that MAGNET and Alternative Press do a much better job of giving us something new to chew on. And lucky us, all we have to do then is check out myspace to hear a few tracks. It’s great to be living and loving music in 2005.

Sounds to hear:
The Futureheads
Teeth

Welfare doesn’t cause hurricanes, floods or death

2005-10-08T08:30:00.000-07:00

This is a reprinting of a piece written September 20, 2005.

There’s much news being published lately on post-Katrina finger pointing and blame gaming. Unfortunately, some of it has a hint of severe right-wing idiocy, like the commentary by TIA Daily’s Robert Tracinski. Tracinski suggests that the New Orleans populace has nobody to blame but themselves for the tragic Katrina aftermath because the city continues to be a dumb, poor, welfare state. This is just another example of white affluence spouting off about things they know nothing about. When was the last time Tracinski visited someone in the projects?

Let's get real here. Welfare is not just a state of existence, it’s a state of mind--typically from the time one is born. Welfare isn't a garden where bad seeds are planted and then grown into persistent weeds. No, the problem is that this garden called welfare lets the weeds take over. The flowers never get a chance to bloom. And our government is the first to point out that it costs a lot of money to nurture flowers. Weeds are cheap. (Of course, that's not actually true if you look at the costs of the penal system.)

Welfare is a perpetual state of existence for those who live in poverty. And it breeds from one generation to another. Can you honestly blame a third generation welfare recipient for not holding values and mores that he or she has never known or seen? Does welfare raise people out of poverty? Provide them with an education? Teach them that hard work pays? Offer them an opportunity to have a real home, one they can take care of and call their own? No. It simply corrals the undesirables so that the rest of society can go about its business. Does a welfare recipient live in luxury, eat organic produce, stroll down the street in a suit to a well-paying job? Do you think they know anybody who does? No!

Fact: New Orleans public schools are 96% black
Fact: Only 76% of New Orleans public school students graduate from high school
Fact: Only 25% of New Orleans residents have bachelor's degrees or higher
Fact: Median household income in New Orleans is $27,133
Fact: Persons beneath the poverty level in New Orleans is 27.9%

I am in no way condoning lack of ambition or self-reliance, which is an obvious requirement in this country to keep food on the table and get ahead. However, it's out-right arrogance (and, maybe, ignorance) to suggest that one can get by in this country on self-reliance alone. Let's ask ourselves: Where did you get your values? Where did you get your education? Where did you grow up? Who put food on your table? Who took you to baseball practice? Who groomed you to get that first job? Who helped you with geometry? Who helped you get into college? Who helped you with the down payment on your first home? Who took a look at your life’s history and gave you approval for your first loan? Now, let's ask these questions of someone who's a product of welfare: Who helped you with your homework? Who helped you make dinner and put your brothers to bed while your mother was working her 12-hour shift at minimum wage? Who bought you new shoes, clothes and supplies for school? Who noticed you needed a tutor for English because you were having a hard time reading? Who showed you how to make some good cash pushing vials on a street corner? Who told you school wasn't important? Who told you that being tough on the street was essential? Who told you that having babies was no big deal? Who told you not to care too much because it was always going to be this way?

It’s evident that familial and community support is crucial to making better human beings. It would take a tremendous social effort to reverse the upbringing of the poverty-stricken, i.e., to change the "error" of their ways. Or, we can just give them a little bit of money for food, provide them with some squalid shelter away from the rest of us, and be done with it. Which one sounds easier to you? As you can see, our American community has already made its decision.