From Le Voyou Innocent:
Mes gens viennent des Iles Britanniques. Où la Tamise de Rivière* il coule si libère.
Ma peau n'a pas de pigment et mes plages aucun sable. Le Voyou a volé ma dignité.

By L'Influence d'Tim, Matt et Nate
*River Thames

I got a phone call on my cell phone. The person on the other end said, "Hello, is this BookPeople?"
I thought maybe I'd given out that number by accident, as I sometimes get a little confused with phone numbers that I give out all the time, particularly as they both start with a 4. I asked her how she got the number while being polite and helpful and not saying any bad words, and while giving her the information she wanted about the book she was looking for. She said an employee wrote it down for her during the weekend and told her it was BookPeople's number, that she should call for the answer to her question.
I'm not so much pissed that it happened as I am worried that it has happened a hundred times before. Grrr.

"I hate bears."
-Bob Dylan

"Bring the Whole Kids. Yippee."
-Bob Dylan

Also, we're having a party on Friday for Toshi. If you know what that means, you might be invited, as several folks are. Now You Know.
PS. The party will feature Tiramisu and Lasagna, as well as some pork-free Chicken Cordon Bleu and regular as well as maybe carb-free ice cream. Dana has promised to make her tasty potato concoction. I tell ya', that girl has got an innate understanding of the spud that allows her to do great things. Her potato soup is positively inspired.

It finally happened: I saw one of those cheap, crappy political bumper stickers, the ones that say "these colors don't run" that were printed by the thousands in cheap, crappy ink about two years ago, faded until it was just black letters on a white background.

"I don't much care what you do. What an odd feeling."
He looked again at the email and thought over what she could possibly mean. Her notes were often cryptic but always she expected him to know what she intended. She gave no clue, no other hints. Only that she didn't care and found it odd. He considered emailing her back, but that would mean he'd have to say something appropriate to what she wrote and he wasn't even sure how to bluff. What if, god forbid, he bluffed the wrong ways, implying not one but two wrong meanings. It had happened before and she was so horribly sharp that she usually caught it. He looked again.
"John,
I don't much care what you do. What an odd feeling.
Louise"
That was it. He thought about calling her and asking he what she meant, but that never turned out well. She'd just get mad and pout. Maybe he should send flowers. He'd have to send a little note when them, but he could be cryptic right back at her in three words. Hell, he could just write "love you, John" and call it a day. There was no way to see that as anything specific. Yes, that's just what he'd do. He'd send flowers.
What kind though? She always read so much meaning into flowers that he was also scared of them a little. Maybe carnations? They were odd without being specifically meaningful? Chrysanthemums? They were for homecoming, so no, none of that. Daisies? She hated daisies but always pretended to like them. They usually elicited a positive response, but she knew he knew that and had been using that against him. Forget-Me-Nots? He shuddered at that. The last time he'd sent her a mixed dozen of them and yellow roses, she'd actually hit him in the face with the hat rack when he came in her front door. Nope, flowers were not going to work today unless he sent her Orchids? They're poisonous, but very lovely. Yes. Orchids. And a note that just said "Love You, John." Let's see her twist that.

I've just heard a song by Bob Dylan that I have probably heard before, but never noticed. It's called "Baby, I'm in the Mood For You." It's pure Woody Guthrie. It's a tasteful song, despite the title, about loving a woman. There's a line in it, Sometimes I'm in the mood to move my house around/Sometimes I'm in the mood to move the whole town/but then again, and again, and again, oh/ baby I'm in the mood for you. He does it all in that Woodie voice that he does, like the one Andy Kauffman did to tease Jerry Lawler for being hick. It really improves a fella's morning, hearing a good silly song.

The song of the modern consumer:
"I'll give up convenience,
but only if I can pay a little more."

"Nothing Further, Father?"
"Nothing furtherfather? Shouldn't that be Nothing Fatherfurther?"
-Marx

Geez. If this didn't come up in a big scary way last night, I wouldn't be creeped out.

Your trust was violated in the past, and you still feel the wound. You keep it in the background of your awareness, fascinated with the way it never really heals. Though I sympathize, I want you to know that it's time to move on. Your horrified disbelief about having been treated so badly is close to becoming just another bad habit. Your instinct for self-protection is threatening to devolve into indulgent self-pity. What should you do? The first thing is to forgive yourself for the blindness that put you in the path of those who betrayed you. The second step is to restore your trust in yourself. Third, find a way to feel gratitude for those who abused your trust. Yes, you heard me right: Be thankful for all they taught you about how to become yourself.
(My brezsny for the week)

Lively up yo'self! You look like death!

I tell ya, it's like there's an elephant in the room and nobody's talking about it.

Oh. Hmm.

I didn't even know there was a disagreement about how many nails were used. I suppose it does expose an underlying ideology that is dangerous, but still, it's kind of a petty squabble. I mean, if you're a true fundamentalist, you have to accept that there isn't an enumeration of the nails used, sure, but you also have to not pray in public or in church, as Matthew 6:5-15 instructs in so many words.

"Hey, Mister, can you-"
(interrupting)"What's up, Dipshit?"
(a pause)"I told you not to call me that."
"I'm sorry, shitstick. I forget sometimes. Like your mom."
"That isn't funny."
"Well no, it wouldn't be. At least, not to you."
(clearly agitated)"Well, screw you, Mister!"(storms off)

Another job avoided by the power of the Personal Insult! Whee!

I found this out also: I'm very succeptable to henna. Maybe just 'cause I'm pale, I don't know, henna sticks to me like brown on white-boy skin. I put the goop-stuf on my hand for all of 10 minutes. It's lasted 3 days now without fading appreciably. You're supposed to leave it on for between 3 and 24 hours.

Back to accountability:
I think a reason for the absolute and abject lack of accountability is the litigiousness of the society. If you bump your car into another car, you can't just offer to pay for it: they'll take you to court and have their insurance sue your insurance and then sue your insurance for letting their insurance sue your insurance, and then they'll sue you for allowing the pointless lawsuits between the insurance escalate. Sure, that's an exaggeration, but it often feels like that. The only think that keeps most people, I'm fairly sure, on the "straight and narrow," is the fear of legal ramifications. If there were no law to keep any and everyone from stealing and injuring everyone else, there would be massive theft and injury. The correct reaction to accidentally harming another human is not "I'm sorry. Are you OK," it's "NOT MY FAULT! NOT MY FAULT!" So there ya go.
Maybe it's the cynic in me, but that's how I see things.

Just say it over and over again:
Humanity is not too sick to survive,
Humanity is not too sick to survive,
No really,
Humanity is not too sick to survive.

I've been having a problem with accountability. I feel that if I don't constantly tell myself that everything I do is my fault (which it is), I'll start believing that I can get away with things. This is unhealthy. I also find that, if I don't have that running commentary explaining why everything I do is my fault (which it is. I am responsible for my own actions), I yell a lot at traffic. If I'm thinking, "What can I do to make this situation turn out so that I get what I want," while I drive, I'm a better driver, maybe just because I pay more attention and am aware of my surroundings.
With regards to the previous post, I just have a line from Ghostbusters in my head; it's not a healthy one. I keep thinking, "Humanity is too sick to survive." That's not a good way to think, says me.

My goal for the week: cut humanity some much-deserved slack.

There's a show on TV right now. It's in Spanish. On it, a man is being fixed up with one of three women. They have each cooked a dish. He gets to taste one bite and decides which he wants to date, based on that. It's... distinct.

I've seen more episodes now. I've got more even on the way. And then more. And more.
There are a lot of episodes of Farscape. There are more than 40 discs now released in the series. On the one hand, it's a silly sci-fi show. On the other, Muppets!

In fact, here's an example:
Episode 1 ends with Our Hero, John, sitting at a table having just been threatened by no less than sixty percent of the crew. The next one opens with them waking up to an alarm (did his shit get ganked in the night by the little froggy dude? I don't know. It's a plot point that was introduced and forgotten. Or was it?) and discovering that their ship is projecting its location (they like the word "exponentially," don't they?) and they have to muffle the signal.
"Hey!" says Our Hero, "Isn't there Water on the Third Planet Down There?"
How in the hell...
What?
He was clueless and lost a minute ago. Then he slept again (he'd slept on the ship in the previous episode, so don't gimme that "fresh eyes" crap) and now he knows the composition of passing planets? What?
Oh wait. That's episode fucking 7. It's only consecutive on the DVD release of this series that may be fantastic, but has a stupid, stupid rat-creature of a feature on it. Discs 5-11 of the series contain consecutive episodes. All of season 2 contains consecutive episodes. Season 1, discs 1-5: load o' crap.
It's like some Fox exec designed it: "Heh. This'll turn off those new fans. If you don't know the show, this will make it look weak and badly written. Mwahaha!"

I've now seen a little Farscape. The series is good, but the DVDs have one of those features-that's-not-a-feature: they're all the hell out of order. I've now seen, like, episodes 1, 4 and 7, or something like that. This serves to accentuate the fact that there is no character development in the series, so you can watch them in any old order. It seems that between the first and second episodes (actually first & fourth), the crew of prisoners are ready to trust the alien invaders who they tried to kill moments ago. There even seems to be affection blooming between the two warrior types. I dunno. Maybe they develop in episode 2. It's kind of jarring, though, how they put the discs together, as it really makes the series look poorly written. Oh well.

Lord Of The Rings, Fellowship of the Ring, the Short Version.

An answer to my previous question about Germany and its several names.

Oh, and I'm not going to SCaRE (the vampire game I threatened to think about going to on the second of March). Instead, A friend is throwing a big party, to which I intend to go. Brother Machine, as I understand it, will be there as well.

A puzzler for youse:
In Italian, Germany is called "Germania". The adjective German, though, is "Tedesco." Why?

Hee. The Apex of Sexy Danger.
If that makes no sense to you, you oughta start toward the beginning of the story. Ta.

I am almost practically thinking about maybe considering going to this.

Their references to Kottke.org got me wondering: is Leo Kottke's irregular but always fascinating blog still up? Yes. It is.

This neat little reference was pointed at me recently. Beware the death of a thousand pop-ups, but the content is pretty keen.

Oh, what the hell. I'll jump on the hysteria bandwagon too. Now you're on it as well. I guess it wouldn't be so compelling if it didn't sound so plausible.