I've seen a lot of references to My Back Pages lately. I've had a different Dylan song running through my head, though. It's called Tombstone Blues. One specific verse keeps tickling the back of my mind:
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge.
That's, of course, after the verse about selling roadmaps to the soul, which I also think is just pure genius. I just think this particular verse really speaks to the desire in those of us with sweetness and simplicity to try to make things better. I think it articulates the pain of being powerless.
And I'm sorry, 'cause I'm powerless.
Monday, June 14, 2004
It started with a quest to find the correct spelling of youse.
Then, I followed the links under that to a page which vindicates my viewpoint on the word "y'all" and its proper spelling (not ya'll, thanks much). It's an important word, or at least an important form to have, because it's darn confusing to have the singular and plural forms of "you" be identical.
Also, there's a link to a neat regional note about deletion of the initial w in 'ords, a practice 'ch'I find funny.
Anybody got anything to say? Nope? OK.
Then, I followed the links under that to a page which vindicates my viewpoint on the word "y'all" and its proper spelling (not ya'll, thanks much). It's an important word, or at least an important form to have, because it's darn confusing to have the singular and plural forms of "you" be identical.
Also, there's a link to a neat regional note about deletion of the initial w in 'ords, a practice 'ch'I find funny.
Anybody got anything to say? Nope? OK.
Friday, June 11, 2004
Cht'thschs, whom the hairless two-leggers call Meowsers, waits patiently in the bushes. Cht'thschs is coiled, watching the Enemy frolic. This time, there can be no escape. This time, Cht'thschs has a plan.
Pulling herself forward, paw over paw, she approaches the enemy silently. The bush does not shake, she does not scratch the ground. This day, the Enemy will know defeat. Once she is within six inches of the Enemy, only the leafy camoflage of the bushes separating them, Cht'thschs prepares her weapons. She flexes her paws and prepares for the battle ahead. The Enemy does not seem to notice.
Cht'thschs tenses, prepared to dispense death. In a swift, liquid motion taking less than a quarter of a second, too fast for the hairless two-leggers to see, she leaps, crashing out of the bushes and into the Enemy.
It flaps its horrible feathery leg, trying to fly, but she keeps her jaws locked in a death-grip. The Enemy, sensing its defeat, slows its useless flapping. Cht'thschs now brings her claws down onto its heaving body, rending flesh. The Enemy, its neck crushed and its body badly beaten, finally gives up.
Cht'thschs devours what little meat she can. Just as she is finishing and considering retiring for the afternoon, another Enemy lands nearby, eyeing her cautiously while scratching for edibles in the grass.
Pulling herself forward, paw over paw, she approaches the enemy silently. The bush does not shake, she does not scratch the ground. This day, the Enemy will know defeat. Once she is within six inches of the Enemy, only the leafy camoflage of the bushes separating them, Cht'thschs prepares her weapons. She flexes her paws and prepares for the battle ahead. The Enemy does not seem to notice.
Cht'thschs tenses, prepared to dispense death. In a swift, liquid motion taking less than a quarter of a second, too fast for the hairless two-leggers to see, she leaps, crashing out of the bushes and into the Enemy.
It flaps its horrible feathery leg, trying to fly, but she keeps her jaws locked in a death-grip. The Enemy, sensing its defeat, slows its useless flapping. Cht'thschs now brings her claws down onto its heaving body, rending flesh. The Enemy, its neck crushed and its body badly beaten, finally gives up.
Cht'thschs devours what little meat she can. Just as she is finishing and considering retiring for the afternoon, another Enemy lands nearby, eyeing her cautiously while scratching for edibles in the grass.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Ray Charles died. As an act of protest, I'm going to remember him instead of Reagan on Friday. Take that, The Man!
Sometimes it's funny the words that a spell check doesn't know and has to learn.
I don't believe you
You got milk & honey
I don't believe you
You got luck & money
Don't be sad.
For God's sake, don't be sad.
-BM
You got milk & honey
I don't believe you
You got luck & money
Don't be sad.
For God's sake, don't be sad.
-BM
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Kill! KILL!
-Arlo Guthrie
It is better to have loved and lost than to have a bee-sting on your eye.
-Arlo Guthrie
It is better to have loved and lost than to have a bee-sting on your eye.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
I was about to gripe about the rain, but it's not 95 degrees outside. It's cooled off nicely, and the rain is refreshing. I'm going to need new tires before awfully long, but I'll burn that bridge when I come to it.
Like an old Sam Cooke song, it came into my head:
Another Tuesday mid-morning
and I ain't go nobody
I got some money 'cause I just went to the bank and deposited my paycheck.
Oh, how I wish I had someone to talk to,
I'm awfully bored at work.
Like an old Sam Cooke song, it came into my head:
Another Tuesday mid-morning
and I ain't go nobody
I got some money 'cause I just went to the bank and deposited my paycheck.
Oh, how I wish I had someone to talk to,
I'm awfully bored at work.
The question is, why are you inviting all this cancer and car trouble into your life right now?
I'm watching Penn & Teller's Bullshit right now. It's about charlatans, cheats and other fun crap.
I'm watching Penn & Teller's Bullshit right now. It's about charlatans, cheats and other fun crap.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
So, here's what I've been thinking about lately.
There are, it seems, two attitudes about World War II, the one that happened in Europe and the Pacific. You know the one. It was, in essence, the end of World War I, only with bigger guns, more advanced technology and better airplanes. Ah, yes. Now we're on the same page. It's the airplanes that really interest me, or at least that started this line of thought.
WWII was the end of the age of heroes. It was the end, really properly the end, of the NeoClassicism that held Western culture in sway for about six hundred years, more or less. This gives rise to two ways of looking at the war itself, a "just-post" and a "very-post." Probably, there will be an "ancient history" view arise, but it won't be in my lifetime. It has already started, with the belief that the Holocaust was a myth. The generation who saw the people taken out of camps can't deny that there were people hurt, killed and destroyed. The next generation has the stories of that generation to listen to, and can still feel a chill. With my generation, it's really too easy for that to take on a mythical quality. It happens faster now, as evidenced by the "moon landing myth" myth. I'm not going to call it a full-fledged attitude yet.
The "just-post" attitude was shaped by three huge factors: the end of the worst economic depression the United States had seen outside of civil war; the end of the Edwardian era, which followed the Victorian era and all it entailed; and the absolute horror of what had just happened in Europe and Japan. Despite what we would believe, Americans were a humble people. We were (and are, I'd very much argue) still in the shadow of our parent country, England. The culture of England at the time was still influenced heavily by Victorian morals and values, both of which called for extreme modesty and knowledge of place. As one of a gaggle of bar-sinisters of the Former British Empire, America had a sense of shame. What needed to be done was done, and no glory was necessary for performing necesseties. The Great Depression only served to heighten that sense. Here we were, the misbehaved bastard children of England, and we were absolutely broke. Sure, the rest of the world was too, but the attitude of the day called for introspection, knowledge that it didn't matter what the neighbors were doing, so much, as long as you were taking care of your business. And we didn't seem to be. America of the fifties were young enough to remember that. The generation who were having babies in the decades succeeding the war remembered having nothing and remembered seeing that nobody had anything. They were raised by parents who, even vicariously, were still mourning the death of Prince Edward. They saw news reel that showed things that had never been done to men with huge, terrifying machinery and guns that were bigger then even the imagination can do justice. They knew the horrors of war more directly than any generation before them.
So what does all this mean? A thousand thousand men left their homes in America, fought a huge war, and came home. It means they didn't talk about it much more than they had to. It means a generation of men got a lot of practice saying "I just did what needed to be done." The people back home had an inkling what happened over there, and they had no desire to know more. Men died horribly in the mud. Men were killed in hales of bullets. The details were probably best forgotten. If there was any doubt of that, we need only look at Vietnam. As a nation, we're still stigmatized by what we saw reported there, and by what we've since heard rehashed over and over by the soldiers. War has always been horrible. In this century, we've learned to photograph it. Up until World War II, most men didn't talk about it.
But there were heroes. There were people whose stories were reported to the people back home. There were villains, whose names were reviled but respected. Sure, there were armies of faceless men, but there were men in the front. That's the "just-post" view. A million faceless grunts and a hero in the front. It's the classic view of war. It's how the Trojan war was reported. We know Hannibal, but we don't necessarily know the names of his sergents. Napoleon and his generals are known. Who were the men on the field? They were an army of men doing what they had to do. There's nothing wrong with that view. It's how human history has viewed war for millenia. Like, roughly three of them.
And now it's the future. Now, America is run by a generation who did not live through the worst economic depression in American History. It is being run by the generation who Won the biggest war ever, and don't you forget it. We've become proud. We've become loud sloganeers for our Great Nation. We won. Our fathers leveled two cities in seconds just to prove a point, and that's not counting the countless cities they leveled over the course of years to prove the same point. We inherited the power to do the same, and we turned it into the power to level the planet in seconds just to keep proving the same point. Victoriana? Why, it's kitch. It's collectible. Humility? Well, sure, it's a fine thing. The horrors of war? Far removed or as close as possible, thank you very much. We've seen people blown up, shot, beheaded and executed, and that's just on the news.
And we've started coaxing the stories out of the soldiers. We now realize that every single person who fought in that war and lived has a story. Many people are collecting these and publishing them. This is the foundation that will allow WWII to become the stuff of legend two hundred years hence. It already seems that any amount of information you have on the war is a pittance. You can't know everything, so you can't know anything. The information available is confusing and complicated.
What year did the war start? Why, 1941, of course, when America joined in. Or 1939, when Hitler invaded Poland. Or 1933, when Hitler came to power. Or 1919, when Germany was screwed by the Treaty of Versailles (justly or not, whatever you believe. They got screwed, which lead to them deciding to pull themselves up by their bootstraps). Or 1914, with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I'll stop.
The point: The classic view of WWII was of a few named heroes and a million faceless grunts; the modern view is of a million men, each with a story to tell.
That's what I've been thinking about lately. That, and work, of course. Always work.
There are, it seems, two attitudes about World War II, the one that happened in Europe and the Pacific. You know the one. It was, in essence, the end of World War I, only with bigger guns, more advanced technology and better airplanes. Ah, yes. Now we're on the same page. It's the airplanes that really interest me, or at least that started this line of thought.
WWII was the end of the age of heroes. It was the end, really properly the end, of the NeoClassicism that held Western culture in sway for about six hundred years, more or less. This gives rise to two ways of looking at the war itself, a "just-post" and a "very-post." Probably, there will be an "ancient history" view arise, but it won't be in my lifetime. It has already started, with the belief that the Holocaust was a myth. The generation who saw the people taken out of camps can't deny that there were people hurt, killed and destroyed. The next generation has the stories of that generation to listen to, and can still feel a chill. With my generation, it's really too easy for that to take on a mythical quality. It happens faster now, as evidenced by the "moon landing myth" myth. I'm not going to call it a full-fledged attitude yet.
The "just-post" attitude was shaped by three huge factors: the end of the worst economic depression the United States had seen outside of civil war; the end of the Edwardian era, which followed the Victorian era and all it entailed; and the absolute horror of what had just happened in Europe and Japan. Despite what we would believe, Americans were a humble people. We were (and are, I'd very much argue) still in the shadow of our parent country, England. The culture of England at the time was still influenced heavily by Victorian morals and values, both of which called for extreme modesty and knowledge of place. As one of a gaggle of bar-sinisters of the Former British Empire, America had a sense of shame. What needed to be done was done, and no glory was necessary for performing necesseties. The Great Depression only served to heighten that sense. Here we were, the misbehaved bastard children of England, and we were absolutely broke. Sure, the rest of the world was too, but the attitude of the day called for introspection, knowledge that it didn't matter what the neighbors were doing, so much, as long as you were taking care of your business. And we didn't seem to be. America of the fifties were young enough to remember that. The generation who were having babies in the decades succeeding the war remembered having nothing and remembered seeing that nobody had anything. They were raised by parents who, even vicariously, were still mourning the death of Prince Edward. They saw news reel that showed things that had never been done to men with huge, terrifying machinery and guns that were bigger then even the imagination can do justice. They knew the horrors of war more directly than any generation before them.
So what does all this mean? A thousand thousand men left their homes in America, fought a huge war, and came home. It means they didn't talk about it much more than they had to. It means a generation of men got a lot of practice saying "I just did what needed to be done." The people back home had an inkling what happened over there, and they had no desire to know more. Men died horribly in the mud. Men were killed in hales of bullets. The details were probably best forgotten. If there was any doubt of that, we need only look at Vietnam. As a nation, we're still stigmatized by what we saw reported there, and by what we've since heard rehashed over and over by the soldiers. War has always been horrible. In this century, we've learned to photograph it. Up until World War II, most men didn't talk about it.
But there were heroes. There were people whose stories were reported to the people back home. There were villains, whose names were reviled but respected. Sure, there were armies of faceless men, but there were men in the front. That's the "just-post" view. A million faceless grunts and a hero in the front. It's the classic view of war. It's how the Trojan war was reported. We know Hannibal, but we don't necessarily know the names of his sergents. Napoleon and his generals are known. Who were the men on the field? They were an army of men doing what they had to do. There's nothing wrong with that view. It's how human history has viewed war for millenia. Like, roughly three of them.
And now it's the future. Now, America is run by a generation who did not live through the worst economic depression in American History. It is being run by the generation who Won the biggest war ever, and don't you forget it. We've become proud. We've become loud sloganeers for our Great Nation. We won. Our fathers leveled two cities in seconds just to prove a point, and that's not counting the countless cities they leveled over the course of years to prove the same point. We inherited the power to do the same, and we turned it into the power to level the planet in seconds just to keep proving the same point. Victoriana? Why, it's kitch. It's collectible. Humility? Well, sure, it's a fine thing. The horrors of war? Far removed or as close as possible, thank you very much. We've seen people blown up, shot, beheaded and executed, and that's just on the news.
And we've started coaxing the stories out of the soldiers. We now realize that every single person who fought in that war and lived has a story. Many people are collecting these and publishing them. This is the foundation that will allow WWII to become the stuff of legend two hundred years hence. It already seems that any amount of information you have on the war is a pittance. You can't know everything, so you can't know anything. The information available is confusing and complicated.
What year did the war start? Why, 1941, of course, when America joined in. Or 1939, when Hitler invaded Poland. Or 1933, when Hitler came to power. Or 1919, when Germany was screwed by the Treaty of Versailles (justly or not, whatever you believe. They got screwed, which lead to them deciding to pull themselves up by their bootstraps). Or 1914, with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. I'll stop.
The point: The classic view of WWII was of a few named heroes and a million faceless grunts; the modern view is of a million men, each with a story to tell.
That's what I've been thinking about lately. That, and work, of course. Always work.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
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.
"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.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
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?
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?
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