My horoscope from Rob Brezsny for the week.
"Dear Dr. Brezsny: Last night I dreamt I was returning home from a horrid date with a man who didn't even know my name. As I came into the living room, the heating duct flew off, and hundreds of rabbits started pouring in. At first I didn't mind, but then they started to attack me. Long story short, I was eaten alive by cute cuddly bunny wabbits. Comments? -Apparently Delicious Moon Child." Dear Moon Child: I think you're dreaming for the entire Cancerian tribe. Here are some possible dream interpretations. 1. You've been too nice for your own good lately. 2. Your extreme, almost manic fertility is leading you to do things that aren't healthy for you. 3. You should minimize contact with anyone who doesn't see you for who you really are, and you shouldn't indulge people who take advantage of your nurturing sweetness.
Damn. All three, even. Damn.

What's the polite way to beat the crap out of somebody while explaining to him that he lives a charmed life? Oh, right, avoidance. Right.

Yeah, well (grumble) didn't want (grumble grumble obscenity grumble) couldn't care less (grumble obscenity curse) even if I did, which I don't (cuss grumble foul-mouthed obscenity insult to parentage).

"At her front door I gave her cheek a kiss
Does life get any better than this?
Young Geeks in love."
-Little Bunny FooFoo & the Field Mice, Young Geeks In Love

Our second song. The last line. I'll tell ya', I've never written anything as sweet as that song manages to be. It was a group effort between four of the five "members," without the two "other members," or our "main singer." There are a buncha people in my band. Well, Adam's band, if you wanna be really correct. It was pretty much his idea (I think he was feeling his years, although he's still very young), told Dana that he was thinking of forming a band, and the rest, as they say, is a whole lot of work and time.
I didn't write the above song, by the way. I, and I love being able to say this, co-wrote it. It's one of, like, five collaborations I've been able to work on. They always turn out very well.
If things keep moving the way they're moving, they'll turn out well. What more can you ask?

It's so hard not to giggle. I guess I never noticed before that I was reading the IBS.

What a great meme:
The current level of FEER!

And now you know.

Now I have site feed too, ha ha ha.
But Blogger sez to link Here. I can't get it to work, but more power to ya if ya can.

Orson Scott Card, crafter of what lotsa folk is calling the "best SciFi book ever," on marriage. It's long, so be ready for that, but most writings that state a point and go about explaining it proper tend toward that.

Picked up some Rye Cooder stuff. I need creepy slide guitar. I'm hoping he can deliver. If not, I got backup: Neil Young's Deadman soundtrack.

I know that he, like the rest of the world, must google himself once in a while.
So, whatever happened to Robert Stefenino?
That's a name that I don't hear enough.
Whatever happened to Robert Stefenino, who played a bartender in a movie I didn't see?

I re-enabled comments, just on the off chance...(not that I'm holding my breath)

Why should we hear about body bags and death, and how many, what's going to happen, and how many this or what do you suppose? Or, I mean it's... it's not relevant, so why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?
-Barbara Bush, on Good Morning America, 3/18/03
(re-quoted from The K Chronicles, via Salon)

Touch not these curtains
your hand will be tearing
delicate tissues of thoughts and of things
call me not your cruel voice will be scaring
flocks of young visions on gossamer wings
leave me, oh leave me
for in your rude presnece
nothing of all my bright world can remain
thou art a blight to this garden of pleasants
thou art a blot on my beautiful brain
-Martin Farquhar Tupper, Sloth from Thousand Lines

Hey. Neat.

Hey, it's cool. I don't care.

Again, Rob, It came up this morning. But thanks.

Antibiotics have been miracle drugs for over 60 years, but their potency is fading as bacteria evolve to become resistant to them. This has led some British doctors to revive a medieval approach to healing: placing maggots in open wounds. Seriously. The creepy creatures are fast and effective in cleansing infections. I'd like this to serve as your operative metaphor in the coming weeks, Cancerian. As you strive to mend old psychic lesions, call on the wisdom of the past, even if it involves a cure that makes you a bit uneasy.

Stupid dreams. Stupid, stupid dreams.

You'll pardon me if I say
google google google google google
Yup. Google. Hee hee.

I found this blog because the author of it and I have an interest in common. No, it ain't Deheoglons. 'Cause nobody on Blogger of LJ seems interested in them. Yup.
It ain't nobody's poetry interests, not my deheoglon treatement, nobody's interests but my own...

I'm reading The Heliand, a translation of the Life of Christ (via the Gospel of Mark) into the Saxon language and very much into its culture. It's what I was looking for before when I found that other translation.
It's about the Warrior Chieftan Jesus at Hill Fort Jerusalem. He is taken before Pontius of Pilotland, whom the Jews threaten with the disfavor of Fort Rome.
The thing that kicks my ass: they change the ending. Jesus comes back from the dead and they go storm the castle. 'thfk?
More as it develops.

Profile of a wiseass. A study in blue.

I heard this on the radio today in an ad for a group searching out the reasons black men don't vote. The sound clip was of a woman. She sounded disgusted through the whole thing.
The System was set up by White Americans... it was set up by rich, middle-class White Americans. (say this last as if you have a mouthful of bird poop, and it is the words rich, middle-class white americans)
Yes. My old nemesis, the rich middle class. Damn them. Damn Them To Hell!

His shift happened in mid letter this time. He seemed to start normally, but after giving the card numbers, I think the monsters took over.
i will like you to chage these card again i am sorry coz i made a mistake given you thecard details and here is the card details
-Card Details Cut-
PLS BILL THE SUM OF 1,500 DOLLARS ON IT AND GET TO ME AS SOION AS POSSIBLE SO I CAN ARRANGE FOR THE PICK UP THANKS
Mrs Kxnny
He's probably still stressed from the wedding (Miss Kenny is now Mrs. I didn't even get an announcement). I think I'll congratulate him on it in my reply. I'm so randomly amused.

Brezsny gives me a goal with a time limit, even. 'K.

Your symbol for the next four weeks will be the Great Wall of China. Centuries ago, it was a 4,000-mile-long defense system. In that respect, it was an apt metaphor for the formidable barriers you've built around yourself. But the modern version of the Great Wall is only one-third the size it once was, having been reduced over the centuries by people appropriating its stones for new building projects. This reduced state, I hope, is an apt metaphor for the way you'll be dismantling your defense mechanisms between now and June 20.

I'm a published game author
'n stuff.

Reposted For Freshness
Poetic Forms through the ages: The Deheoglonic
Part One:
The Deheoglonic form (not to be confused with the Deheoglosic) originated in Greece in approximately the year 1702. The first published example known is dated 1704, but has been authenticated to be from 1703. Since those early days, more than ten thousand Deheoglons have been written, almost half of those in Canada. Among the most famous and outspoken proponents of the Deheoglon was Martin Farquhar Tupper, who, in 1840 said "The Deheoglonic style is without match in the world of poetic forms. There are none like it, and there never need be another form beyond it."
The Deheoglonic form is one of the more specific forms. It consists of twelve verses of nine lines each, in iambic dodecameter, with the rhyme scheme ABCDEFBDG. These twelve verses are interspersed with a chorus which must be in the form:
"And she died, oh oh oh,
She died, Oh oh oh oh she died"
The Deheoglon is almost unique in another way: The events in the poem must be real historical events which took place in Ireland, in the year 1642. This fact stems from the belief of originator of the Deheoglonic form, Philemothy of Sethpheth (a small village outside Athens), that the world, in fact, ended in the year 1642, and that we must examine all of the historical events of that year in order to find out precisely when and why, and that a poem in the deheoglonic form could, if properly written, bring the world back.
Some writers in the 1870's, seeking to broaden the scope of the form, began writing about fictionalized events set in that year, but which certainly could have happened. The then 60-year-old Tupper said of these poets: "Hang them."
The Fictionalized Deheoglon, dubbed the Deheoglosic poem, was a very short lived art form, and quickly devolved into the Spatzanoid, or Dreciaux form (q.v.).
The Deheoglon continued to be a favorite poetic form until 1936 when it was made illegal in Canada by a clause in the United States national budget of that year. President Franklin D. Roosevelt said of the Deheoglon: "It is my belief that the people of America will fare far better without such evils in their lives. The future of America is a future without Tupper."
It is now known that Theodore Roosevelt maintained an ongoing rivalry with Tupper, and that those animosities were passed down to his fifth cousin.
Examples of the Deheoglon are almost impossible to find in either country to this day, even though the law was later repealed under the administration of George H. W. Bush (the senior of the two Bush presidents). In the ensuing years, the form was all but forgotten, even overseas where it originated. Currently, only one Deheoglonic poet is known to be writing, and he from a small cottage on an island off the coast of Turkey, near Cyprus. He has no direct means of outside communication, and the poems wash up in empty bottles on the beach where they are promptly confiscated and burned by members of the Turkish army.

Part 2:

An example of the fabled Deheoglonic form, only one verse long, sadly, as the rest of the poem seems to have been lost. Notice how the interspersion of topics almost gives it the qualities of the French Dreciaux, and the similarity of them makes it resemble the Swiss Dreciaux. However, the real treat in this poem, obviously a late example (ca. 1933), probably Canadian, is the intralinear rhymes in lines 3 and 9. This means that the form was clearly influenced by the Rhineodactic form (an American form, ca. 1860, last written example 1886), but it clearly is not, as the Rhineodactic will never include the proper name of an European man. The half-rhyme on the first line (dim and Kilkenn) is truly problematic. Whereas first-line intralinear rhymes are strictly forbidden in the Deheoglon (or at least, in later Deheoglons), this is not a true rhyme, and thus, I feel, does not exclude it from the form. In fact, this poem was spared the torches of World War II America, probably specifically because of this rhyme. It is possible that it was penned in order to avoid the censorship of the day. Thus, this is a true Deheoglon, but with the influences and history that make the later forms truly fascinating. Please, read and enjoy, as this may be the last example of its kind in the western world.

Oh, Lo, tho on that night so dim when naught but night could puncture sill did meet the council of Kilkenn'
Eoghan Rua O'Neill did take into his own the armies of Ulstrine Catholici-sm
The council's moot it did decide the fate of those with dwellings thus in ire'land's greened country-side
Eoghan Rua O'Neill's return did mark the rise of Ire'land's church, and thus catholocism's hold
The Council's news did bring return to Ire'land continental troops that knew the ways of war and such
Eoghan Rua O'Neill was one, from flanders' army taught to fight for forty years he there had trained
That kilkenny council did a body politic erect and aim to heal the irish schizm'
Eoghan Rua O'Neill gave hope to all of those who oft had said the catholic bell its last had toll'd
And thus the irish armies grew and strong the government it too did set to rights the woes of past
And she died, oh oh oh,
She died, Oh oh oh oh she died

Part 3:

A Spatzanoid Ballad from the Archives of Amundsen, a collection of derivative verse since 1880, published in 1949. This shining example of the corruption of the form was written in 1904, in April, by a poet who chose to remain anonymous. It has been blamed variously on Clement C. Moore of America and Rhadger Dhandridge of India (Although English by birth). Neither of these authors, though, was in Wyoming during the short time during which this verse was clearly written.
The use of a centipede in the ear is a reference placing the poem's author in either Helena, Montana in 1902, or Cheyenne, Wyoming in 1904. Aumndsen, who collected the verse, claims that the original manuscript, preserved in a fish market, wrapped around a particularly tasty trout he purchased, was dated 1904. The phrase had already fallen out of popular use by 1903 in Helena, placing the poet squarely in Cheyanne.
The initial quotation is a reference to the earlier form, the Driuceauic, from which the Spazanoid arose. In the Driuceauic, quotes from Deheoglons often graced the initial lines, giving them at least some air of quality, despite their obvious flaws. Note that the forms had at this point almost completely collapsed. The quote here is actually from a mislabled Deheoglosic, titled "Mary And Her Haircut" (believed to be a Deheoglon until the discovery that Mary MacMurry, who lived in Dublin for most of her life, was not born until 1648, placing the poem squarely in the realm of fiction). Apparently the poet believed one as good as another, as was common in American Western Poets in the early part of the 20th century.
In lines 3-5, note the allusion to a poem by Emily Dickinson, an act of literary heresy in the day akin to referring to Coleridge as "That Blind Git." It is this act that, combined with geographic difficulties, absolutely excuse Moore and Dhandridge of the commission of this poem.

"Are you still alive my friend?"
He kindly asked of me
As I could not answer for myself
he kindly spoke for me.
"I feel just peachy, since you ask,
alive in word and deed,"
And saying this, into my ear,
he placed a centipede.
It wiggled there, and squirmed a bit
it felt rather a fright
And there he sat a'singing as I
ran into the night.
His verse, I fear was terrible
and it is from that I run,
Oh, that gem from Tupper,
that wretched deheoglon,
"and she died, oh oh oh
she died oh oh oh oh she died."

Additional results of my search for Tupper, this being Twain inserting a stab at him. Also, Stuffed Owl is back in print, and is being championed by Billy Collins. Talk about oughta know better...

First, Holy Cow! I'm on the listing if you search for Martin Farquhar Tupper. Like, I'm a source of info or whatever. I was scanning the results and saw the word Deheoglon. I got worried, 'cause I was afraid that somebody thought it was a real poetic form (heaven forbid), which-it-of-course-IS.
Second, I can't find the beautiful brain poem. I need to. It's for a very funny joke.

I'm reading a great book right now called Locust. It's a very approachable account of the locust swarms that decimated farms in this country in the mid- to late-19th century. They disappeared in about 1909.

Hee hee hee! Smurfs!
If you keep reloading the page, the cartoon will keep coming up different.

In a sing-song voice:
I haaate me some pennnnng-uin...

My Brezsny for the week. He says: Give it away, give it away, give it away now.
Cancerian singer George Michael recently announced that he intends to give away his music for free, posting it on the Internet for anyone to download. "I've been very well remunerated for my talents over the years," he told BBC, "so I really don't need the public's money." Given the current astrological omens, dear Crab, it makes perfect sense for you to regard Michael as your role model in the coming week. I urge you to expand your generosity to the next level as you provide free samples of a resource or skill you've been blessed with in abundance.
Maybe if I give away some samples, I'll find a job opening, not-that-I'm-looking-or-anything (unless you know somebody who's hiring...)

I should prolly clarify: I don't support slavery. I'm interested in the history of slavery in my country because it's the history of my country. I live in a country that believes in recording everything like an obsessive first-time father or a teenager in his basement with a web-cam and an overinflated sense of self worth. This makes for tedious TV viewing, but fascinating history. I think, and correct me if I'm wrong (Yay! New Comment System!) that the history itself isn't so much interesting, as the reasons the history happened.
I find that what I learned in K-12 was the actual history, the dates, names and happenings. It was not, in itself, interesting. The loose grasp that I have from that is what made it possible for me to start thinking about the reasons these things happened.
For Example: In the middle of the century, America sent troops into VietNam. Hundreds of thousands of people were killed or died. Then, America took all of the troops it could find back out of VietNam.
That's all well and good, but it makes it seem like there was a script. "Oh!" said America, "It's time to send people to kill and die in VietNam!" There isn't a script. There's just the reasons things happen. It wasn't time for Americans to be in VietNam. It built to that point because of the escalating cold war, the French retreat, and the VietNamese movement toward communism.
Relating this to modern history (I like that. It's oxymoronic yet satisfying), it's not like there was some cosmic telegram sent to America:
AMERstopINVADE IRAQstopSPREAD DEMOCRACY, XIANITYstopBLAME 911, TERRORISTSstopEXCLUDE UNstopYER PAL, GODstopPS HOWS THE KIDSstop
I'm just sayin' is all.

An interesting thing: Some religious defense of slavery. Huh. The rest of the site is pretty keen (and isn't exclusively about slavery. They don't actually support slavery, as far as I can tell). I stumbled across it in a quest for the history of the Latter Day Saints, which was spurred by the history in the Deadlands Salt Lake City sourcebook.

I needn't have worried about my Nigerian friend. Today, two crisp new credit card numbers came in the mail, and I reported 'em right back to the banks. His writing is getting bad. It puts me in mind of a story genre:
---
4-2-04
Mr Mister,
I need sixty copies of Black's Law Dictionary in Paperback. Please send them along. I have included two credit card numbers.
Yours, Ms. John Mark Ken Kenny Beller Fash
4-9-04
Mr Mister,
I have contacted the bank, but until the difficulties with those cards is resolved, plese use these two. It is absolutely urgent that I obtain sixty copies of Black's Law Dictionary before they arrive. The secrets contained in these tomes may be able to hold Them off, drive them back to the twisted world from which they come. I can say no more. Attached, plese find the additinal card numbers.
Yours, Ms. John Kenny Beller Ken Fash Mark
4-12-04
Mr Mister,
I appologize again for the inconvenience. I'm afraid the first of them arrived. Please, I am desperate. Charge the sixty copies of Black's Law Dictionary to my credit card and ship them post haste to my residence in Nigeria. I have held it off for the last six days, but cannot wait much longer. Pleas! I beg you!
Yours, Ms. John Mark Fash Kenny Ken Beller
4-22-04
Mr Mister,
Good Lord in heaven! They are hideous! The things drip slime that corrodes the walls of my home. And last night... I dare not think of why, but they took my dearest Minnie. What am I to do? In the night, I hear slurping sounds and her screams. God, her screams. They do not stop. Please charge the Law Dictionary to these two additional card numbers. Hurry! For God's sake, pleas hurry!
Yours, Ms. John Fash Ken Mark Beller Kenny
5-1-04
Mr Mister,
One of the stands even now at the foot of my bed. Its horrible tentacles writhe in the near-darkness, and it wheezes in long gasps. The horrid sussurus has precluded sleep for the last week. I have not had opportunity to write. I dare not leave my home. They surround me. Please! Only you can help! Send the Law Dictionaries or my fate may be sealed! They watch me type even now. It stands there, breathing... watching... learning.
Yours, Ms. Kenny "Ken" Beller John Mark Fash
5-10-04
HELLO NIHIL,
     I HAVE CONTACT MY BANK AND WAS TOLD THE PROBLREM AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO WORK OUT THING'S BUT FOR THE MOMENT PLS TRY AND CHAGE 1,500 DOLLARS ON THIS CARD AND I WILL ARRANGE FOR THE PICK UP HERE IS THE CARD DETAILS

CARD DETAILS
NAME IS...Ms. Mark Fash
ADDRESS IS...103FAKE STREET
FAKE CITY,
IN 47586
CARD NUMBER IS 424612345678910
EXPIRE DATE IS...08/04 SO PLS TYR AND CHAGE THE NOW AND REPLY ME THANK'S BYE FOR NOW.
---
That last is a real letter from my Nigerian friend. The name I used is actually a compound of all of the names he (she? I never really give my Nigerian Friend's gender much thought, really) uses to try to buy books. None of his previous letters are as fluid as any of my silly story examples. The above is a work of fiction. If he were half as entertaining as that, I'd have posted his letters a long time ago.

I get lonesome.

Wow! Keen and nifty new font, and a book of wackyfun puzzles also. Can ya' beat that?

Man. Spam is obnoxious, but check this out: I got some surrealism in my spam.

Any tea party can host inside labyrinth, but it takes a real widow to hand from.boy inside is childlike.Angela, the friend of Angela and starts reminiscing about lost glory with pit viper over.When you see toward bowling ball, it means that related to guardian angel earns frequent flier miles.Angela and I took mating ritual behind support group (with sandwich around tenor cargo bay) from.Now and then, onlooker over dolphin bur shadow around.
If you no longer with to receive our emails
then click here to be removed instantly
Unlike so many curses who have made their paternal class action suit to us.Furthermore, toward traffic light takes a coffee break, and impresario of mourn hole puncher over.


The ad is titled "ELIMINATE YOUR CREDIT CARD DEBT without bankruptcy!" I'm so amused.

This link is old, but still active: I reviewed a book and it got published online.

I've spent the last week feeling, and you'll have to imagine the air quotes on this, "very aware of my colon." Like, it's come up in conversation more than it should among folks twice my age. I think it's this newfound love of rolled oats and bulgarian yoghurt (with a little molasses and toasted wheat germ, for flavor) that's doin' it. A friend informed me that my talking about my colon actually outweighed her rotting carcass jokes for social inappropriateness. It's not like I've said anything actually nasty. It's just that the words "colon" and "healthy" keep popping up. I'm not showin' my bits-'n'-pieces around or anything. Hell, I'm not even talkin' about poop.
All I can say is Oh. Hmm.
In other news, there's a great new compilation of better'n 300 Dylan songs with guitar chords, melodies & complete lyrics. That's kinda neat, huh? There's also a really nice reissue of The Original Scout Manual From 1908 (titled "Scouting For Boys." No, it ain't a gay pick-up book. It's about scouting. Getcher mind out'a the gutter) from Oxford University Press. Not a bad week for the publishing world, all in all.
Colon. HeeHeeHee.

Different twice a week, and three times on weekends, it's a blog from Kat, a friend of mine and toshi's, and a very close personal friend (nudge nudge) of MKirk's.

I haven't heard from my Nigerian Friend again. Maybe he gave up after 12. We'll see. I kinda sicced the Sauds on him, so I almost hope he's still OK.

Many of us have friends who like to alter their states of consciousness and talk about making a movie. You know, that one, and like, this guy, and he has all this money, and he, like, does all this stuff, and it's, like, great, and then, like, they all go and, like all the rich people are all like "eww neww! mai mink cewwt!" Yeah, we should make that movie.
Well, they made it in the 60s (several times.) and I've just completed viewing it: The Magic Christian. It's got Peter Sellers and Ringo Starr buying people off. There's no story to speak of, just a series of nasty pranks that begin and end with one of the two of them paying somebody to do something. Yup. That's a "we got stoned and wrote it" kind of premise. Yup. It carries through, too, to the end, such as there is one. It's fun to watch, but it isn't the kind of story you can hum.

I'm up to an even dozen credit card numbers from My Nigerian Friend now. So, should I slip and start calling him by the wrong fake name or something now? Or should I wait until I have 20 numbers. I'm so torn.

Y'know why Nazis are from Germany and French Roast Coffee is from France?
Germany got first pick.


I mean, c'mon! It's burnt coffee that, when brewed, smells exactly like burning plastic. I think it's behind much of the French's froo-froo image. You can't drink this crap without diluting 2:1 with cream and sugar to cover the FlaminGIJoe(tm) flavor. It doesn't even have a high caffein content. It' just regular coffee that you burn instead of cooking for the right amount of time.

I've just seen The Last Remake of Beau Geste for the first time. If you go to that link there, and read the cast list, it tells you everything you need to know. It's exactly the movie you'd hope it'd be with that cast. I mean, Marty Feldman and Michael York as identical twins? It's genuinely wonderful. More's the pity that it's out of print in any medium. You have to get a used VHS copy to see it, which I have done. There was a time about 6 months ago when a used copy was going for upwards of $80. They are now down under $20, which is just peachy.

Man. that's just vicious.

Netflix for video game geeks.

My Brezsny this week:
Though he wrote almost five centuries ago, comic novelist Francois Rabelais provided the perfect advice for you this week: "It behooves all adventurers to treat their good luck with reverence, neither bothering nor upsetting it." In other words, Cancerian, don't spend even a minute wondering why your life is blessed with so much grace right now. Refrain from analyzing it, discoursing about it, or theorizing on how you might be able to preserve it. Instead, use it exuberantly and with a devout sense of gratitude. Explore in vivid detail what it feels like to be a free-wheeling adventurer.
Boy are my legs sore, though. We softballed last night. There weren't really enough people, so we did about an hour of warmup before the game. Warmup involved balls being hit into the extreme outfield. I ran a lot. During the game, I played second base. I'm happy but sore today.
On luck: It was a great game.

Would you believe me if I told you there was a yellow submarine following me?

I guess there's nothing I can do on my end. I'll just sit pat and wait for another number to report. (le sigh)

Man. My experience with Bank of America has firmly lead me to believe that they really don't give a flaming poop about stolen credit card numbers. They don't report the thefts to police. They don't care if the thief gives addresses in conjunction with the order. They don't even seem to care that I've so far had orders taken on 5 stolen cards from their bank, which I reported to them. They contact the card holder. That's the sum total of their action taken. Oh well, I guess. They don't even know what to do with the information. They told me not to call anybody here, and that they didn't care if I did, because (and I quote) "the action was on a credit attempt that was, we have to contact the card holder, and the action was on an attempted, we have to ask the card holder if that name was, and the address, if you contact your local authorities, we can take the action here." That's what the lady on the phone told me. If you can decode it, let me know.
Then I called the APD Financial Crimes office. The phone rang for two minutes before I got sick of sitting there, and that was after navigating their voicemail system. Why is it so hard to report stolen credit cards to people who give a shit? Are there any? Is it really just the cynical reason that comes to mind: they make more money if people have to pay for $5000 of books that they wouldn't normally have ordered? It makes a fella wanna move to an island and live on shellfish and sand.

The Blog o' Kat. It is now kind of spartan, but she promises to update this summer.
Also, BrodieMac has updated the music download page. I like the new look. See what you think. Click on "Music" and then on the "10 newest songs" link. Go nuts. Download 'em all!

::Update!::
I got the Nigerian scammer to send me additional stolen card numbers (which I reported promptly). That brings me up to a cool half-dozen. I also got another order with the same MO, and am expecting the same things to happen. This oughta be fun. Maybe I can get these cards coming in double speed! Whee!
It's up to 7 numbers now. Hee.

For every princess on a pony, there's a little fat kid with a shovel.

I just got another of the classic Nigerian scam letters (don't know what that is? There's a fine collection here.) from a fellow named Cheapoo. That isn't even the best part. He uses the word ACCUMMUDATE (all in caps. The whole letter is all in caps). I don't know what it means, but I wanna use it every day. Here's how he uses it:
I WANT TO MOVE THE FUNDS AND DIAMONDS INTO YOUR POSITION FOR YOU TO SECURE AND ACCUMMUDATE IT FOR OUR MUTUAL BENEFITS PENDING WHEN I WILL COME AND MEET WITH YOU.NOTE THAT A SUBSTANTIAL PORTION OF THIS MONEY WOULD BE COMPENSATED TO YOU FOR YOUR ABLE ASSISTANCE, PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO CONTACT ME SO I CAN GIVE YOU MORE DETAILS ON THE NEXT STEP.
Yeah, CHEAPOO also uses compensated wrong, but still, I like the word Accummudate.
I got the previous guy to send me two more credit card numbers, which I reported. I then asked if he'd like to reorder again. Let's see if I can get more numbers from him. Hee.

I'm entrapping Nigerians! Whee!
OK, not really. Actually, a Nigerian scammer sent me 2 stolen credit cards, which I called in (one was already reported as stolen. When the name on the purchase was substantially different from the one on the card, Bank of America marked the other). I told him the cards were declined, and asked if he'd like to reorder with other cards. When he does, I'll call them in also. Whee!

OK, as cool as this may or may not be, it's certainly ambitious.

The thing that gets me is I've had friendships I'd describe like that.

Happy belated Marvelous Bob day. I didn't hear about it until just now. It's the story of an everyman super hero. The current storyline is long and unfinished.

Everybody listen to the Sinner G sound...

My LJ is proving to be a lot of fun.

This weekend, I did a bunch of stuff. I spent all or most of it with absolutely no idea what time it is. I'm to the point of kicking coffee and cigarettes (all tobacco, really. I haven't been smoking my pipe either. I'm laying off it all for a while) that I'm into the time distortion part. Combined with the time change a while ago and the lengthening days, I've been really clueless as to the time for the last four or five days. I dug my watch back up, which helped considerably.
Saturday, two of my friends came to the house and played Boule, a game like Bocce, but very French. It involves steel balls instead of wood, and 3 per team instead of 4. Very French. Really, those two games are just Italian and French versions of the game Horseshoes, which is like the Canadian game Curling, and all of them are like the semi-outlawed game of lawn darts. There exists a whole family of games in which a number of objects are thrown or rolled in an attempt to be the nearest to a smaller target some distance away. We played one. Adam is really very good at throwing a steel ball with surprising accuracy. This is a fact it is nice to know about a person before it matters.
Then, we invented a game like Ultimate frisbee, in which there are no teams. We met up with the Invisible Citizens Jon & Sharon for lunch, and then went back to the park and refined the rules some. Then, we returned home and played Doomtown, and a game called "Hex, Hex." It was a good day, all in all, with much interaction.
On Sunday, I slept in. Toshi & I went to see Scooby Doo 2, which is silly and fun, and had Amy's Ice Cream. We spent half-an-hour in a Borders Books&Music Store which smelled like flea powder. I stuck an Amy's sticker to the back of my geep. The sticker was given me by a girl named Jesse who works at Amy's. She works at the Amy's where my brother Flash used to work, and she also has a brother whose name is the same as his. Her brother, though, never worked there.
Then, I read Cerebus for a while, until its bible interpretation made my head hurt, so I went to sleep.
Tha end.

The next Violet Crown shows are May 28, 29 & 30, and June 4 & 5. We're doing an original script starring that Bestest of Heroes, the Blue Menace (cue rolling thunder and heroic music)! I'm reading the part of Chip, Perky Sidekick & Ace Reporter! Swell!
Also an old thriller script about space.

I feel like it's about time to Cook again. Anybody else?

edit: we're thinkin' Fondue.

I've taken to leaving work once I've done enough business to pay for myself. It keeps the profit margin high with respect to keeping me on. I'm trying to make it just downright dumb to fire me. Keep yer fingers crossed.

edit: and I'll remember to hang by my thumbs.

Oh, and it's official: by adding 6 blocks to my route in the morning, I save 25 minutes.

Trip to the Dentist: $35
Fitting for and production of a bite guard: $550
Follow-up exam: $35
Being told that your teeth look twenty years older than you: Priceless.

I'm not buying the Occlusal Splint right now. It's really a little pricey, and no insurance will cover it. The dentist looked into my mouth, poked at the soft tissue ("Does this bother you?" "You mean more or less than being poked in the mouth usually bothers me?") and asked me how old I am. Night-time anti-grinding devices are expensive, but I guess you have to pay separately for each name they call 'em. I've had 'em recommended to me now on three occasions by the same office. In the course of talking about them, they never use the same word twice.
The hygenist said, "You're here to talk to the dentist about the occlusal guard, right?" I said yes, and got poked in the mouth. The dentist said, "I'm going to fit you with a splint," like it was something completely other. I don't think I'd feel so bad, but they all look at me like an idiot when I ask them what they're talking about.

"Hey, buddy! You want a Twinkie?"
"Sure! That sounds good. Do you have one?"
"No, but I have some cream-filled snack-cakes."
"Oh. Um. Well, may I have one of those?"
"Well... you look more like a golden sponge-cake man to me."
"Um. Sure. Any of those is fine, yeah. I guess. Um."
"You dolt. They're the same thing! Don't you know anything?"

Also: I used my new route to avoid the scariest parts of Lamar today. It worked nicely. There were no attempts on my life, and I cut probably 15 minutes out of my commute. Happiness.

Pomegranate juice is wonderful stuff, particularly when it's got black- & blueberry juices in it. And, I hear, it's good for one's heart. So, yay!

Traffic on Lamar has now officially become too scary for me. I mean, the construction is tolerable, and it being down to two lanes is merely a small inconvenience I use to listen to three extra minutes of radio on my way to work. The thing that's scaring me is self-righteous Austin drivers.
There's an area on Lamar between 1st and 4th streets where the spacious 2 lane northbound strip becomes a cramped, smaller-than-your-huge-Truck 1-lane scariness. That's OK, really, but what happens at these is not the usual thing, in which most people go ahead and get in the right lane, sit and wait their turn, some of us (OK, me) laughing at Howie Mandell in the car, while some people see the open left land, zip ahead, and sneak to the front of the line. It's the way people do things. I used to live in Houston (which is all under construction and has been since the 70's). People are used to that crap and they accept that human nature dictates that it will happen, no matter what.
Not in Austin. Here, people in the right lane see somebody coming up the left, so they pull out in front of them and stop. This causes a traffic flow interruption, but it damn well keeps the order of things. Also, it scares me and makes me glad I didn't eat breakfast, as I'd have lost it. I'm already a kind of nervous driver, as I've been hit by two cars this year (and survived. I ain't complainin' about that, lemmetellya), so I tend to assume that the other guy is out to get me. When he pulls out from behind me an into the path of an oncoming car, an act which would have killed all three of us, to stop them getting ahead in line (whiny voice: Mizz! She got cuts! I want cuts! Mizz! Miiizzzz!), I know it's a fact.
Grade school mentality, baby! Yeah!

Y'know who I feel bad for in the wake of the Howard Stern fiasco that just happened? The small, local stations. The ones who are now looking at a maximum of "all your money for ever and ever and being locked in a debtors prison" as a fine if one of their DJs has a rotten day, slips up, and continues a conversation from the party last night on the air. I mean, gosh, it's just a fine of $27,500. That's only, like, half the yearly operating budget of a radio station.
We complain about the Clear Channel Formula, then let this kind of crap happen. It's the only smart business model, having a computer play your music and keeping humans off the air. This is the agency that's trying to get hold of your cable, satellite and internet broadcasts.
Ponder that: Sure, cable, that makes sense, except that I paid to get it into my house and know what I'm getting; sure, satellite, that makes sense, except that I pay to have a signal sent to me and me alone, and choose exactly what I'm getting; sure, internet, that's not a foothold into censoring all content you go looking for on your computer including news.
When they stuck it to The Man, I stood and cheered.
When they stuck it to The Man's Boss, I clapped.
When they stuck it to The Man's Sponsors, I nodded in sage approval.
When they stuck it to the Consumers of The Man's Sponsors, I went to jail for ever.

Hello? Anybody?
Nope. I didn't think so.

Last note: Ruth has mail on the way.

Oh, and hey: Here at work, IT has started. The attrition has begun. It's a trickle now, but I can hear the momentum building. First some higher-ups quit, and then it all falls apart. I know the drill. I heard back from Dell, more or less, and am giving them a week to send me a non-form letter. The current one says "We Got Yer Resume!" I don't know if it's exactly a rejection, so much as an acknowledgement. Until I hear more, I'll go ahead and continue to apply to additional places.

I have this mindset that is necessary: I Am Not Safe When I Drive. I got all complacent in my last car and started to believe, completely erroneously, that I was safe in it. Goodness no. As long as I just assume that every other driver is actively trying to snuff me, I drive much safer.
What's that, Mr. Guy In A Big Truck? You want to cut me off and flip me the bird? Fine with me, as long as I live through it. What's that, Lady In A Mustang? You want to weave dangerously close to me in your lane on the highway while driving seventy miles an hour, turned backwards, fiddling with a baby seat? Great! Here, why don't I just slow down and let you do that as much and as often as you please. Far away from me.
See? It works. Plus, I swear less while I drive!
The only trouble with this plan: I've had sore muscles constantly since I started it, and I don't sleep as well. Price you pay to be alive, I guess.

It would seem that one of the 50 ways to love your country is to only print enough of your book for an initial run, just enough to stir interest, and then not to reprint. Stupid, stupid rat creatures.

Unrelated poem on a similar topic:
Ordering books for the Texas Poetry Fest
Publishers are out
Books are gone
An industry of flakes:
who knew?

So, I'm all applied to Dell. I should be expecting a confirmation card in the mail any old time.
I didn't lie at all on my resume. Maybe I should have.

I don't know why, but I find my Brezsny mildly disturbing this week.
I'm a direct descendant of Genghis Khan (1162-1227), the Mongol leader who controlled an empire stretching from Hungary to Korea. The funny thing is, you might be one of his progeny, too. Geneticists have determined that there are millions of us worldwide, owing to our forefather's prolific sowing of wild oats over an extensive area. Of course it's natural if we have mixed feelings about him: He and his troops did all the nasty things a conquering army usually does. But he was also a good manager who codified laws, advanced religious freedom, and promoted ethnic diversity. Even if Khan isn't officially your ancestor, Cancerian, you're now primed to imitate his more enlightened side. As you expand your territory and authority, fantasize about the ways your new clout will allow you to give greater gifts.

The abject lack of comments on That Other Page don't bother me so much, since I'm writing it for me and not for anybody else. It's funny (only to me) that there are even comments on any of them at all.
Also, I'm about ready to go back to it and finish that Story About The Monkeys. The long one that isn't posted anywhere.

Many, many bible quotes in this one. Just so's you're warned.
Alright, so confusion:
This passage is generally given as the one cementing Satan's fate in hell, which is all well and good (and is the one that refers to the "morning star") until you realize that it's not about Satan at all. It's about Jacob, and specifically about driving home the fact that no matter how powerful a human you are, you aren't God. That's a very common meme in the Bible. Maybe You're cool, but you're still human and you're still going to die and be eaten by worms (I'm really impressed with the turn of phrase about the worms).
The other passage I've often seen cited as Satan being cast down to hell is this one. That, however, isn't at all the whole passage, which goes more like this and casts a whole different light on the thing. It's odd that it refers specifically to burning the one cast down with a fire from inside himself rather than casting him down into hell, but you can overlook that, at least until you see that it too is about somebody else. It's a reminder that all the money in the world doesn't make you God, thus the remarks about possessing quantities of precious stones in settings of gold and still being cast down by God.
Both of these are good lessons, and they're both absolutely true: Earthly power is all well and good, but it doesn't change the quality of the man under it. We're still an aggregate of guts and blood destined for the dirt. The only place I've found that actually has the devil being cast out of heaven in a huge war is in revelations, and that's stuff that hasn't happened yet, right?
So, what I'm getting out of this is that the Devil was cast out of Heaven and walks around (Just look at the book of Job and any of the accounts of the Temptation of the Christ), but that he's going to be cast into Hell during the Apocalypse, during which time (this makes more sense from a Jewish perspective) all of the unfaithful and the non-Kosher will be cast into hell, this being a new thing which will be created especially to house the unfaithful and the non-Kosher after the end times. Does that seem like the logical conclusion? I'm afraid that most of the Devil stuff that's made it into the shared wisdom is from sources outside the bible and therefore suspect. It's hard to tell, what with upwards of 2500 years of outside sources, liberal translations and removal of context, what's gospel (if you will) and what's not.
Puzzlement.

From the Saxon Bible, a sort of interpretation of biblical texts into Saxon for conversion purposes. If you scroll down near the bottom to the "Christ & Satan," it gets pretty interesting. According to this one, all the angels went to hell.
It also actually says Satan's not confined to Hell, but walks around. The version of the bible I was raised on is never quite clear on that point. It goes into this whole "cast down into a lake of fire" thing, and "tormented eternally in Hell" thing, and then out the other side of its mouth talks about the "adversary" who walks the earth, tempting man. I now sort of figure that to be symbolism about the heart of man containing animal urges and not a literal demonic presence, 'cause if God casts somebody into Hell, one would imagine they stay cast in Hell. This is a puzzlement to me, 'cause the most common Christian dogma includes a line approximating "The Devil's greatest victory was convincing mankind he did not exist," which is a clever way of saying "don't ask so many questions, boy." Puzzlement.

Maybe I'll come down.

Brezsney this week, which he put up on the 1st. We had a party on the 2nd which went over beautifully. Go him. Heck, go us!
Add more locks to your doors and more armor to your defense mechanisms. Transform your home into an impregnable fortress of solitude and don't go out unless you absolutely have to. You must make yourself perfectly safe! APRIL FOOL! It probably makes sense to be more discriminating about whom you share your feelings with, but in general it's an excellent time to open your heart and turn your home into a festive center of abundance. I suggest you invite every interesting person you trust to come and experience you in your natural habitat.

So, yesterday's hangover was, in fact, Oak-Related. It kicked the heck outa me, and I slept away most of the rest of yesterday. Toshi had the same. I feel much improved. She seems to be vertical again as well.
Also, a note: when did my work become a soap opera? Was it always, and I was just too far out of the loop?

There is a genre of silly parody spells for D&D. The one I've thought of lately is "Delayed Blast Hangover." I won't bother you with a whole "d20 compatible" description.
I haven't had anything to drink in weeks, but I'm dizzy and nauseated. Ugh.

Does it count as wisdom if it's good advice?

One of those little pieces of wisdom that will slip by you if you aren't paying attention:
If you carry a pen in the pocket of your shirt, it will leak.
It's funny to me, 'cause it still hasn't sunk in for the person who told me that. At least, he still carries pens in his shirt pockets and still has shirts that have ink stains on them. Although, lately he wears more T-shirts and just clips the pens to the collar. I guess that's the compromise.

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.