Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
PSA: Republicans to save us from weather
This morning on NPR, a woman at the RNC actually implied that Gustav could be affected, or prevented, by the RNC toning down its parties.
I wish I had the exact quote, but I'm pretty sure it blew a blood vessel in my brain just listening to it the first time -- so consider yourselves lucky.
I mean, this is a slip of grammar, right? Republicans don't actually think that the RNC has anything to do with a hurricane hitting New Orleans again, right?
Guys?
Right?
I wish I had the exact quote, but I'm pretty sure it blew a blood vessel in my brain just listening to it the first time -- so consider yourselves lucky.
I mean, this is a slip of grammar, right? Republicans don't actually think that the RNC has anything to do with a hurricane hitting New Orleans again, right?
Guys?
Right?
PSA: Bruisability
After helping my mom move on Saturday, my left leg has 17 separate, distinguishable bruises, my right leg, 30.
I look more or less like a remainder apple left in the bottom of the bushel.
I look more or less like a remainder apple left in the bottom of the bushel.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Mix: No, it's NOT country, SHUT UP, LA LA LA
"I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrows" -- Alison Krauss and Union Station
"Make Me" -- Heart
"In The House of Tom Bombadil" -- Nickel Creek
"At the Bottom of Everything" -- Bright Eyes
"Looking for Astronauts" -- The National
"Lazy Eye (Bluegrass Tribute to Silversun Pickups)" -- Radical Re-interpretations
"Simple Man" -- Lynyrd Skynyrd
"Can't Hurry Love" -- Dixie Chicks
"Down To The River to Pray" -- Alison Krauss and Union Station
"Coyotes" -- Don Edwards
Bonus track: "Twist Of The Magi" -- Shedaisy
"Make Me" -- Heart
"In The House of Tom Bombadil" -- Nickel Creek
"At the Bottom of Everything" -- Bright Eyes
"Looking for Astronauts" -- The National
"Lazy Eye (Bluegrass Tribute to Silversun Pickups)" -- Radical Re-interpretations
"Simple Man" -- Lynyrd Skynyrd
"Can't Hurry Love" -- Dixie Chicks
"Down To The River to Pray" -- Alison Krauss and Union Station
"Coyotes" -- Don Edwards
Bonus track: "Twist Of The Magi" -- Shedaisy
Saturday, August 30, 2008
PSA: Unpheromones
Yesterday at Pizza Hut, I made a male employee I'd never seen drop a bucket lid he was holding. I was just standing there.
"I'm clumsy sometimes," he said, and smiled at me goofily.
Another male employee I'd never seen stopped in the middle of his work in the walk-in fridge when I went to put some dishes away, and asked me with a note of sincerity in his voice, "so how are you today?"
"Fine," I said, and left the freezing room.
Well. I'm not quite sure what to make of it all, frankly. I seem to have developed some kind of superpowers over the last who-knows-how-long. Which begs the question: Is it finally time to write to my celebrity crush and ask him if he'll marry me?
I'll let you know what James Spader says.
"I'm clumsy sometimes," he said, and smiled at me goofily.
Another male employee I'd never seen stopped in the middle of his work in the walk-in fridge when I went to put some dishes away, and asked me with a note of sincerity in his voice, "so how are you today?"
"Fine," I said, and left the freezing room.
Well. I'm not quite sure what to make of it all, frankly. I seem to have developed some kind of superpowers over the last who-knows-how-long. Which begs the question: Is it finally time to write to my celebrity crush and ask him if he'll marry me?
I'll let you know what James Spader says.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Local Trivia: Oh, those summer nights of our youths.
In the paper's parking lot last night as we left, near the overpass at the back, were some youths, obviously conspiring. After a minute or so of paying half-hearted attention, we saw three of them take off across the parking lot toward the street, and one of them yelled "you didn't see nothin'!"
A few seconds later, a moped-dirtbike type thing rode off with another youth on it, and a fifth youth eventually followed, running.
A pickup truck pulled up to the light at the corner where the overpass is a minute later, and the last running youth was called by his cohort in the truck -- when he heard them shouting at him, he reversed direction to run toward the truck and catapulted himself into the pickup bed -- it was like watching a pole vault, minus the pole: graceful and probably painful.
Approaching the spot at which they'd been committing whatever hijinks they were up to, we climbed onto these giant cement slabs that hold a giant piece of plywood up to a hole in a fence there.
"Oh," I said as it hit me. "This is the impound lot, isn't it?"
The police station is just beyond the overpass and their impound lot is housed directly underneath.
They got their dirtbike back.
A few seconds later, a moped-dirtbike type thing rode off with another youth on it, and a fifth youth eventually followed, running.
A pickup truck pulled up to the light at the corner where the overpass is a minute later, and the last running youth was called by his cohort in the truck -- when he heard them shouting at him, he reversed direction to run toward the truck and catapulted himself into the pickup bed -- it was like watching a pole vault, minus the pole: graceful and probably painful.
Approaching the spot at which they'd been committing whatever hijinks they were up to, we climbed onto these giant cement slabs that hold a giant piece of plywood up to a hole in a fence there.
"Oh," I said as it hit me. "This is the impound lot, isn't it?"
The police station is just beyond the overpass and their impound lot is housed directly underneath.
They got their dirtbike back.
Local Trivia: Hot wax women.
Yesterday, I went to the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center, where I saw the most lifelike human figures I've ever seen. I don't know whether they were made of wax or some other material -- despite my fixing my gaze on one Pequot man in a canoe for two minutes to see if he would take a breath.
Thanks in part to my recent weight loss as well as the intrinsic interest in seeing topless women whatever your gender or sexual preference, I spent much of my time staring at the breasts of the half-naked, historically accurate fake Pequot women. This activity led me to draw two conclusions, either of which would explain the almost preternatural perfection of these women:
Thanks in part to my recent weight loss as well as the intrinsic interest in seeing topless women whatever your gender or sexual preference, I spent much of my time staring at the breasts of the half-naked, historically accurate fake Pequot women. This activity led me to draw two conclusions, either of which would explain the almost preternatural perfection of these women:
1. The same model posed for all the Pequot women's bodies, and the sculptor, who had never seen a National Geographic in his (it had to be a man) life, made some allowance for age -- but not much.
2. Had they lived today, Pequot women with their indomitable genes would be to a woman shopping for C/C+ intimate apparel and remain gravity-defyingly "perky" well past motherhood, even into their Tribal Elder Council years.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
PSA: What more people need to see
"More people need to see how STUPID they are."
-Debbie Rich, comments
Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center
Race exhibit, August 2008
-Debbie Rich, comments
Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center
Race exhibit, August 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
PSA: Birthday media breakdown
..................... TV on DVD...........CDs...........books
Family ................3.....................2..................0
Friends................1.....................0..................5
Family ................3.....................2..................0
Friends................1.....................0..................5
Local Trivia: No joke.
Observed: An elderly man, white beard, in black pants, wearing a black jean jacket over a Heath-Ledger-Joker T-shirt, with a Heath-Ledger-Joker's head decal baseball cap.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Local Trivia: She's like a tiger in the bathroom.
The Plainville Public Library's women's room toilet flushes so loudly that it sounds like a mountain lion roaring before it pounces, every time.
PSA: Things that surprised Sharon at my family birthday party
The laying on of hands for the "birthday prayer"
The persistence of my aunt in trying to convince me to go on a blind date
The interrogation of my church-going practices: "Were you in church on Sunday? When was the last time you were in church? This year, sometime?"
Joking about gambling, particularly the discussion of the buffet at the casino
That my aunt -- the one asking when I'd last been in church, and trying to set me up with a church boy -- thinks the Jewish tradition of bar mitzvahs are "beautiful and deep"
That the same aunt spent about a minute trying to remember my last name, and also asked when Tyler's wedding would be (it happened in April)
The persistence of my aunt in trying to convince me to go on a blind date
The interrogation of my church-going practices: "Were you in church on Sunday? When was the last time you were in church? This year, sometime?"
Joking about gambling, particularly the discussion of the buffet at the casino
That my aunt -- the one asking when I'd last been in church, and trying to set me up with a church boy -- thinks the Jewish tradition of bar mitzvahs are "beautiful and deep"
That the same aunt spent about a minute trying to remember my last name, and also asked when Tyler's wedding would be (it happened in April)
Monday, August 25, 2008
PSA: Author able to make "gulag" funny needed, ASAP
I did not know until today, but Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn died this month.
I've never read a book quite like Gulag Archipelago for making enforced captivity seem life-affirming and even hilarious at times. We clearly have a niche in need of a writer, here.
I've never read a book quite like Gulag Archipelago for making enforced captivity seem life-affirming and even hilarious at times. We clearly have a niche in need of a writer, here.
Local Trivia: There must be something in the water...or the pavement.
The number of men "on the street" who've hit on me in the last week:
5.
5.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Accusations VII
The regional manager of the Pizza Hut, who threw out my blue plastic sheepdog cup Friday morning when I left it sitting where I always do in the back room. (I had to fish it out of the trash.)
Celine Dion, for covering Heart's "Alone." And somehow, unimaginably, making it whinier -- and not in a good way.
Whoever left all those rubber bands on the sidewalk in Cambridge, MA last week -- not for littering, no, but for giving false hope to rubber band shooters who then found those bands brittle and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. For shame, sir. For shame.
Celine Dion, for covering Heart's "Alone." And somehow, unimaginably, making it whinier -- and not in a good way.
Whoever left all those rubber bands on the sidewalk in Cambridge, MA last week -- not for littering, no, but for giving false hope to rubber band shooters who then found those bands brittle and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. For shame, sir. For shame.
Yearbook Quotes: "What a long, strange trip it's been..." (deep thoughts)
“Someday, people might just survive off of batteries that they tested on their tongues! I know that made like, no sense, but hey! That’s life.”
“Isn’t Millhouse great? That blue hair, coke-bottle glasses…he’s just dreamy.”
“I can’t believe we’re almost seniors. PART II: I can’t believe we’re…oh, wait, I already said that.”
“Besides, shoes that are pointed are better than shoes that are rounded.”
“You need to go. So I’ll write very fast and not give this any thought. I’ll be smudging up a storm but who cares. (It gives character.) Well now that I’m rushed and can’t think of what to put. You need to go. So bye.”
“Have a great summer and stay away from the communists.”
“Isn’t Millhouse great? That blue hair, coke-bottle glasses…he’s just dreamy.”
“I can’t believe we’re almost seniors. PART II: I can’t believe we’re…oh, wait, I already said that.”
“Besides, shoes that are pointed are better than shoes that are rounded.”
“You need to go. So I’ll write very fast and not give this any thought. I’ll be smudging up a storm but who cares. (It gives character.) Well now that I’m rushed and can’t think of what to put. You need to go. So bye.”
“Have a great summer and stay away from the communists.”
Saturday, August 23, 2008
PSA: Birthtimes
So everybody in the world has one of 366 birthdates, and with 6 billion people alive just now, that's a lot of people per day. I guess the Leap day babies are exceptional, but other than them, we're all in pretty much the same very crowded boat.
I've always remembered birth times, though, and I think that might be the way to separate us all.
I was born at 12:48 p.m. on a Sunday. I always liked that 12 went into 48 perfectly, four times. Although "four" in Chinese sounds like "death," I associate it with nature -- as in, the four seasons. And in China, the four seasons are also associated with different personality characteristics, flowers and ideas, so there's a good Chinese side.
Tyler was born at 3:34 p.m. on a Tuesday, I believe. He was born in 19 minutes, is how the story goes, though I believe that was 19 minutes after Mom arrived at the hospital, and they used forceps, which may or may not have affected the shape of his head. Still, if I ever end up having a kid or kids, these are the genes I hope have been passed on.
Spencer was born at 2:44 p.m. on a Wednesday, though I doubt the accuracy of the doctor's watch in this instance, simply because I'd prayed for him to be born at 2:47 p.m. (And if God gets you within three minutes, why wouldn't God make it precisely what you asked for?) When I prayed this during evening prayers the night before Mom went in to be induced (at 9 a.m.), she asked why I had prayed it; I said I didn't know. I still don't.
I've always remembered birth times, though, and I think that might be the way to separate us all.
I was born at 12:48 p.m. on a Sunday. I always liked that 12 went into 48 perfectly, four times. Although "four" in Chinese sounds like "death," I associate it with nature -- as in, the four seasons. And in China, the four seasons are also associated with different personality characteristics, flowers and ideas, so there's a good Chinese side.
Tyler was born at 3:34 p.m. on a Tuesday, I believe. He was born in 19 minutes, is how the story goes, though I believe that was 19 minutes after Mom arrived at the hospital, and they used forceps, which may or may not have affected the shape of his head. Still, if I ever end up having a kid or kids, these are the genes I hope have been passed on.
Spencer was born at 2:44 p.m. on a Wednesday, though I doubt the accuracy of the doctor's watch in this instance, simply because I'd prayed for him to be born at 2:47 p.m. (And if God gets you within three minutes, why wouldn't God make it precisely what you asked for?) When I prayed this during evening prayers the night before Mom went in to be induced (at 9 a.m.), she asked why I had prayed it; I said I didn't know. I still don't.
Friday, August 22, 2008
PSA: What is it about Goats??
In what we have to assume is a bizarre phrasing error, Holiday Mathis today told Capricorns they could have sex with anyone they wanted:
She could've at least put "them" at the end.
(No one likes to be thought of as an "it," Holiday.)
Your attitude is so winning, people want you to get closer to them, join their teams and be a partner in revelry. It's as easy as thinking about the whom and what you want to do, and then doing it.
She could've at least put "them" at the end.
(No one likes to be thought of as an "it," Holiday.)
Confessions XIX
Today I tried on the "Today's My Day" t-shirt I got from the Ground Round when I had my birthday party there, just to see.
It fit.
That Ground Round party was for my fifth birthday.
Yearbook Quotes: "Never change" (compliments)
“Hey psycho!”
“Bite me you freak!!”
“I believe that, despite what anyone else says, your life will get better.”
“Hi, See ya next year.” [In my senior yearbook]
“Keep playing trumpet or whatever you play.”
“I don’t really know you…”
“I don’t know how I’d be able to do my work without your senseless babbling…”
“YOU ARE A PARTY ANIMAL. WHERE DID YOU GET THAT WHIPPED CREAM & HOW ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT THING WITH YOUR LEG. BAND WAS OK.”
“Bite me you freak!!”
“I believe that, despite what anyone else says, your life will get better.”
“Hi, See ya next year.” [In my senior yearbook]
“Keep playing trumpet or whatever you play.”
“I don’t really know you…”
“I don’t know how I’d be able to do my work without your senseless babbling…”
“YOU ARE A PARTY ANIMAL. WHERE DID YOU GET THAT WHIPPED CREAM & HOW ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT THING WITH YOUR LEG. BAND WAS OK.”
PSA: I an t ear ou, y u re br k ng up
I ordered a new phone yesterday -- exactly the same phone, but a new one.
I figure if it's survived a year of the kind of abuse I inflict on electronics, my LG deserves another chance. Maybe this time I'll get some sort of protective sleeve, though: $184 is no joke.
But it will be worth it if you're all able to hear me loud and clear 2-4 business days from now.
I figure if it's survived a year of the kind of abuse I inflict on electronics, my LG deserves another chance. Maybe this time I'll get some sort of protective sleeve, though: $184 is no joke.
But it will be worth it if you're all able to hear me loud and clear 2-4 business days from now.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Horrorscopes
The Biblical injunction against reading horoscopes, and consulting Tarot cards and holding seances and the like, doesn't make sense until you try them. There is a certain horror that builds over time and exposure to these predestining forces, the creeping sensation that you are being controlled by external means, and impersonal ones.
"Oh," you find yourself thinking, almost accidentally, in response to a prediction that your weekend will be difficult. "I have to prepare."
Of course it starts with predictions you want to believe -- good ones, proving you're lovely or loving or loved. But they turn, even the best ones, to control. They promise structure and predictability and a certain kind of safety, by robbing you of your freedom.
It's similar to Calvinist predestination, to being a "sinner in the hands of an angry God," but with only the swirls of dust, gases and chemicals that make up stars and constellations as Fates. There is no way to win their favor or assuage their wrath. They have none of the hot temper of (the desert God) YHWH.
They're colder, in other words. Horoscopes lead into a cold hell.
"Oh," you find yourself thinking, almost accidentally, in response to a prediction that your weekend will be difficult. "I have to prepare."
Of course it starts with predictions you want to believe -- good ones, proving you're lovely or loving or loved. But they turn, even the best ones, to control. They promise structure and predictability and a certain kind of safety, by robbing you of your freedom.
It's similar to Calvinist predestination, to being a "sinner in the hands of an angry God," but with only the swirls of dust, gases and chemicals that make up stars and constellations as Fates. There is no way to win their favor or assuage their wrath. They have none of the hot temper of (the desert God) YHWH.
They're colder, in other words. Horoscopes lead into a cold hell.
PSA: What I Want for my Birthday.
A key lime pie. (Check.)
The Office, season 4. (Check.)
Friends -- the people, not the sitcom. (Check -- unless you're all faking. [Or a sitcom.])
World peace.
I guess there's only one thing left on my list, for those of you who were thinking of getting me something. Better rush out and get it before Saturday.
And don't worry. I won't mind if I get duplicates of that one.
The Office, season 4. (Check.)
Friends -- the people, not the sitcom. (Check -- unless you're all faking. [Or a sitcom.])
World peace.
I guess there's only one thing left on my list, for those of you who were thinking of getting me something. Better rush out and get it before Saturday.
And don't worry. I won't mind if I get duplicates of that one.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Yearbook Quotes: "SSS" (regrets)
“Our double suicide (out the window) would have been a good conversation piece.”
“Oh dear God, what a dumb year.”
“Sorry, this is all I have to write with.” [In red colored pencil]
“Too bad you won’t see me overcome my flutiness.”
“Our phone conversations (sorry about that one in particular – you know and remember, I’m sure)…”
“Alisha – Nooooo!! Sorry, Alicia.”
“Those calculators are invading my life.”
“P.S. I’m still an agnostic. Better luck converting me next year.”
“P.S. (Sorry I have no P.S.)”
“Jeff knows I’m really not that stupid – doesn’t he?”
“Sorry I didn’t kill you with that plastic bag, but there is always next year.”
“Oh dear God, what a dumb year.”
“Sorry, this is all I have to write with.” [In red colored pencil]
“Too bad you won’t see me overcome my flutiness.”
“Our phone conversations (sorry about that one in particular – you know and remember, I’m sure)…”
“Alisha – Nooooo!! Sorry, Alicia.”
“Those calculators are invading my life.”
“P.S. I’m still an agnostic. Better luck converting me next year.”
“P.S. (Sorry I have no P.S.)”
“Jeff knows I’m really not that stupid – doesn’t he?”
“Sorry I didn’t kill you with that plastic bag, but there is always next year.”
Confessions XVIII
I used to skip gym class on Fridays of my senior year in high school – to go to music theory class in the band room.
I got one of the music theory students (also known around my school as “one of the potheads”) to walk me down the aisle at graduation because he’d failed to beat up the friend I didn’t want to walk with before said friend had asked.
The guys from music theory were kind and thoughtful, worked hard at what they cared about (music), always welcomed me to their class (even in my gym clothes), and wrote some of the most thoughtful and interesting messages in my yearbook at the end of the year. (The confession is that I should’ve been a pothead.)
I got one of the music theory students (also known around my school as “one of the potheads”) to walk me down the aisle at graduation because he’d failed to beat up the friend I didn’t want to walk with before said friend had asked.
The guys from music theory were kind and thoughtful, worked hard at what they cared about (music), always welcomed me to their class (even in my gym clothes), and wrote some of the most thoughtful and interesting messages in my yearbook at the end of the year. (The confession is that I should’ve been a pothead.)
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
We've come a long way, Betty.
One year ago today, I was down inside the D.C. beltway, pulling Betty out onto the open road of Mount Ranier, MD for the first time, and heading north.
What a great car.
What a great car.
PSA: Dear Ygykaw Ticazamulycy:
I don't know how you got my email address, or how your message got past the spam filter, but what I'm most interested in is what made you think of me when you decided to advertise a "dating site for kinky people."
Then it occurred to me that you must have read my blog, and confused the words "idiosyncratic" and "kinky."
Please look them up ASAP.
And when you create a "dating site for idiosyncratic people," feel free to contact me again.
Thanks and sincerely,
Alicia.
Then it occurred to me that you must have read my blog, and confused the words "idiosyncratic" and "kinky."
Please look them up ASAP.
And when you create a "dating site for idiosyncratic people," feel free to contact me again.
Thanks and sincerely,
Alicia.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The year is 28 A.F.Z.
Inspired in part by my email account's constant insistence that I'm sending my emails four hours later, and in part by a half-viewing of what is now the weirdest movie I've ever seen half of (yes, weirder even than the Institut Benjamenta from writing seminar), I propose a set of entirely new, personal calendars.
Our Gregorian calendar, though popular, is not the only game out there. Thailand, for instance, is in the year 25xx something, counted from the year the country began (according, I suppose, to popular history). And we're postmodernists. So why not change it up a little?
And why not count from whenever we want -- especially since most experts agree that Jesus was born around 4 or 6 A.D., not the year 0 as we suppose -- no matter how ridiculous?
My new calendar will count from the first showing of the 1980 movie The Forbidden Zone, and will accordingly be abbreviated A.F.Z.
I'll let you know when I've figured out what day our New Year's falls on.
Our Gregorian calendar, though popular, is not the only game out there. Thailand, for instance, is in the year 25xx something, counted from the year the country began (according, I suppose, to popular history). And we're postmodernists. So why not change it up a little?
And why not count from whenever we want -- especially since most experts agree that Jesus was born around 4 or 6 A.D., not the year 0 as we suppose -- no matter how ridiculous?
My new calendar will count from the first showing of the 1980 movie The Forbidden Zone, and will accordingly be abbreviated A.F.Z.
I'll let you know when I've figured out what day our New Year's falls on.
New word: Calendarsthenics
n. 1. Mental exercise involving figuring dates or times, including adding or subtracting hours and figuring the weekday on which a certain date falls (past, present or future); 2. Scheduling a meeting or other get-together with others who have busy schedules; 3. Attempting to revise common concepts of time or historical milestones to conform to new or different values, i.e. counting years in other-than-C.M.E. or A.D. time.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Another urgent question.
Umberto Eco says in number nine of his characteristics of Ur-Fascism that "since enemies have to be defeated, there must be a final battle, after which the movement will have control of the world. But such a 'final solution' implies a further era of peace, a Golden Age, which contradicts the principle of permanent war. No fascist leader has ever succeeded in solving this predicament."
Of course, we know Orwell's society in 1984 solved the predicament by faking permanent war. (Or were they faking?)
But what struck me was the phrase "since enemies have to be defeated."
Is this a fascist way of thinking, that enemies have to be defeated?
If so, how can we get out of it? While still admitting that we have enemies in the world?
If enemies are defeated, will we be safer or in more peril?
Were we all safer during the Cold War than we are now?
Of course, we know Orwell's society in 1984 solved the predicament by faking permanent war. (Or were they faking?)
But what struck me was the phrase "since enemies have to be defeated."
Is this a fascist way of thinking, that enemies have to be defeated?
If so, how can we get out of it? While still admitting that we have enemies in the world?
If enemies are defeated, will we be safer or in more peril?
Were we all safer during the Cold War than we are now?
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Urgent question.
Are we fascist?
Umberto Eco, in the November/December 1995 issue of the Utne Reader, explains fourteen elements of "Ur-fascism," which he defines as "eternal fascism."
Eight says the followers of Ur-Fascism feel humiliated by their enemies, but also "must be convincd that they can overwhelm the enemies. Thus, by a continuous shifting of rhetorical focus, the enemies are at the same time too strong and too weak. Fascist governments are condemned to lose wars because they are consitutionally incapable of objectively evaluating the force of the enemy."
This doesn't seem quite like what's happening in Iraq -- except that we were humiliated, from an imperialist (fascist?) point of view, by our not completely obliterating them in the Gulf War.
But we do seem to have a "constitutional" inability to accurately evaluate the situation.
What do you think?
Umberto Eco, in the November/December 1995 issue of the Utne Reader, explains fourteen elements of "Ur-fascism," which he defines as "eternal fascism."
Eight says the followers of Ur-Fascism feel humiliated by their enemies, but also "must be convincd that they can overwhelm the enemies. Thus, by a continuous shifting of rhetorical focus, the enemies are at the same time too strong and too weak. Fascist governments are condemned to lose wars because they are consitutionally incapable of objectively evaluating the force of the enemy."
This doesn't seem quite like what's happening in Iraq -- except that we were humiliated, from an imperialist (fascist?) point of view, by our not completely obliterating them in the Gulf War.
But we do seem to have a "constitutional" inability to accurately evaluate the situation.
What do you think?
Friday, August 15, 2008
In Defense of Poppery, III: "Handlebars"
Pop example: Flobots, "Handlebars"
What redeems it: This defense of poppery is a bit of a departure from past defenses, in that I've chosen for my subject a song that needs absolutely no defense at all.
Anyone who's heard the Flobots' "Handlebars" on the radio for the first time, surrounded by White Stripes and One Republic, knows the chilling genius of this song -- and I mean "chilling" in its original, running-down-your-spine sense, not as in "we wuz all chillin' in my crib."
But let me expound on its perfection, anyway.
"Handlebars" starts out with a simple plucked guitar intro, followed by a canned voice singing "I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars." A light drum comes in before the rapping begins.
I laughed aloud the first time I heard this intro. It was so childlike that I just about forgave the surely false stipulation that the bike literally had no handlebars. (What the singer meant, I figured, was "look Ma, no hands!" but saying "I can ride my bike with no hands" would have been much worse.) The apparent mistake added to the childishness, and the distance of the through-an-old-radio mixing makes it seem somehow quaint, but also ironic.
The first verse follows, which in its entirety reads:
This verse, though, relates almost entirely to the singer's status as a "famous rapper," and where it diverts attention from that, it's clearly intending to show devolution on the part of the mind of the narrator -- again, childishness takes control, to the point where the things the rapper brags about are increasingly unrelated to any actual accomplishments: "Me and my friend saw a platypus" is charmingly irrelevant, and the exact type of thing a child would brag about. (Having not yet had the chance to do anything substantial in life, kids focus on what they've seen.)
"Guess how long it took" implies that the singer is seeking approval -- but the pace of the verse is frantic enough (though very controlled, and this is important) that there's no chance for any adult to answer. (This is also important.)
The overexcited, childish narrator goes on to point out that he can "keep rhythm with no metronome" and "see your face on the telephone" in the second chorus.
The second verse builds more frenetically than the first, which was all more or less the same pace -- where before you might imagine a child who'd just eaten too much cake, now you're picturing an adult who's begun to experience mild delusions:
This was when I stopped laughing. The danger of someone who has a "look at me! Look at me!" attitude and either is capable or believes himself capable of inventing and wielding this kind of technology is obvious.
Obvious to the listener, but also obvious to the singer. From the first line, the irony of the song's lyrics has been obvious. At first, the danger of a childish approach to life isn't clear, since the stakes are so low -- so you know the words to "De Colores" and can tell me about Leif Ericson, eh? Well, isn't that cute.
There's an element of cute in the second verse as well (why a thrift store? And isn't it funny that he's claiming to do all this stuff he obviously can't do?), but by the time he claims that "me and my friends understand the future" and that he can "see the strings that control the system," and that he doesn't need "assistance," that's scary.
A trumpet comes in at this point and gets a pretty sweet interlude. Go trumpets in popular music. I'm sure it was a practical consideration -- the group might have a trumpeter, or might just like trumpets -- but I also think there's something to be said for references to trumpets throughout the books of the Apocalypse, and angels often being depicted with trumpets, particularly when the final judgment is at hand.
The second verse's chorus has the singer claiming he can lead the nation with a microphone and split the atoms of a molecule -- what seems to me an obvious reference to a nuclear bomb, especially considering the final verse.
The third verse, the loudest of all, is the scariest:
Here's where I'd like to remind us all of the first verse, where it said "I'm proud to be an American."
If you haven't been thinking about it all along, start now: This song seems to be commenting not only on personal hubris -- of a kind particular to individual Americans -- but also on American foreign policy. With a Unabomber-like perspective on the world, the narrator of the third verse indicts our country, for making unilateral decisions regarding other countries' status as our enemies ("with no permission"), for detaining prisoners (at Gitmo and elsewhere: "I can make anybody go to prison / Just because I don't like 'em") without trial or charge, for not insisting on vaccinations going to countries whose people can't afford them because profit margins are more important.
I also read into the song an indictment of the Bush administration, under which we've seen all these things happen. (Minus, perhaps, the reluctance to hand out vaccinations, which was around before the current president.)
The final chorus is extended and increasingly frantic, though the singer never loses control -- making the effect even more chilling (because he's not just plain crazy):
The ambiguity works perfectly. Either answer is unconscionable. We can't let this happen.
The line "in a holocaust" is shouted every time, amplified as though by a microphone into a fascist crowd. We're reminded of Hitler, of course, and the memory of the Third Reich is now imposed on the vision of current-world America we got from the second and third verses.
The song ends the way it began: "I can ride my bike with no handlbars," piped in as though through an old-tyme stereo, and childlike -- as though to remind us that horrible, nuclear ends like the climax of the song, start with the individual personal hubris of bragging about riding bikes.
If we don't grow up as a country, in other words, we'll end up destroying the world, or ending up responsible for something far beyond what we thought ourselves capable of (our "power is pure").
The personal interests of each enlightened, individualistic citizen of the U.S. (or the world) may add up to mayhem.
Or derive your own moral.
What a relief that there are pop artists out there concerned enough about the world situation and talented enough to not resort to didacticism, to create this song. I've only briefly touched on the several layers of political and ethical statements going on in this song, and it changes -- and changes me -- every time I hear it. (And there are layers -- for instance, think of "I can take apart the remote control" in the context of setting off missiles, or in how it relates to the claims for mastery of technology in the second verse. It's packed with this stuff.)
The only way to "get it" is to listen; so do.
10 stars on the Richter scale.
What redeems it: This defense of poppery is a bit of a departure from past defenses, in that I've chosen for my subject a song that needs absolutely no defense at all.
Anyone who's heard the Flobots' "Handlebars" on the radio for the first time, surrounded by White Stripes and One Republic, knows the chilling genius of this song -- and I mean "chilling" in its original, running-down-your-spine sense, not as in "we wuz all chillin' in my crib."
But let me expound on its perfection, anyway.
"Handlebars" starts out with a simple plucked guitar intro, followed by a canned voice singing "I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars." A light drum comes in before the rapping begins.
I laughed aloud the first time I heard this intro. It was so childlike that I just about forgave the surely false stipulation that the bike literally had no handlebars. (What the singer meant, I figured, was "look Ma, no hands!" but saying "I can ride my bike with no hands" would have been much worse.) The apparent mistake added to the childishness, and the distance of the through-an-old-radio mixing makes it seem somehow quaint, but also ironic.
The first verse follows, which in its entirety reads:
Look at me, look at meAgain, I laughed aloud. Imagine any small child you know saying "Me and my friend..." and you'll likely start laughing, too.
hands in the air like it's good to be
ALIVE
and I'm a famous rapper
even when the paths are all crookedy
I can show you how to do-si-do
I can show you how to scratch a record
I can take apart the remote control
And I can almost put it back together
I can tie a knot in a cherry stem
I can tell you about Leif Ericson
I know all the words to "De Colores"
And I'm proud to be an American
Me and my friend saw a platypus
Me and my friend made a comic book
And guess how long it took
I can do anything that I want cuz, look:
This verse, though, relates almost entirely to the singer's status as a "famous rapper," and where it diverts attention from that, it's clearly intending to show devolution on the part of the mind of the narrator -- again, childishness takes control, to the point where the things the rapper brags about are increasingly unrelated to any actual accomplishments: "Me and my friend saw a platypus" is charmingly irrelevant, and the exact type of thing a child would brag about. (Having not yet had the chance to do anything substantial in life, kids focus on what they've seen.)
"Guess how long it took" implies that the singer is seeking approval -- but the pace of the verse is frantic enough (though very controlled, and this is important) that there's no chance for any adult to answer. (This is also important.)
The overexcited, childish narrator goes on to point out that he can "keep rhythm with no metronome" and "see your face on the telephone" in the second chorus.
The second verse builds more frenetically than the first, which was all more or less the same pace -- where before you might imagine a child who'd just eaten too much cake, now you're picturing an adult who's begun to experience mild delusions:
Look at meThe content is different, as the tension ratchets up thanks to a faster pace and higher tone of voice on the part of the rapper -- this verse is about technology and business, building a better engine or medicine, or marketing something so that everyone will want to buy it -- but there's still something disturbingly childlike in the way the content is expressed.
Look at me
Just called to say that it's good to be
ALIVE
In such a small world
All curled up with a book to read
I can make money open up a thrift store
I can make a living off a magazine
I can design an engine sixty four
Miles to a gallon of gasoline
I can make new antibiotics
I can make computers survive aquatic conditions
I know how to run a business
And I can make you wanna buy a product
Movers shakers and producers
Me and my friends understand the future
I see the strings that control the systems
I can do anything with no assistance
This was when I stopped laughing. The danger of someone who has a "look at me! Look at me!" attitude and either is capable or believes himself capable of inventing and wielding this kind of technology is obvious.
Obvious to the listener, but also obvious to the singer. From the first line, the irony of the song's lyrics has been obvious. At first, the danger of a childish approach to life isn't clear, since the stakes are so low -- so you know the words to "De Colores" and can tell me about Leif Ericson, eh? Well, isn't that cute.
There's an element of cute in the second verse as well (why a thrift store? And isn't it funny that he's claiming to do all this stuff he obviously can't do?), but by the time he claims that "me and my friends understand the future" and that he can "see the strings that control the system," and that he doesn't need "assistance," that's scary.
A trumpet comes in at this point and gets a pretty sweet interlude. Go trumpets in popular music. I'm sure it was a practical consideration -- the group might have a trumpeter, or might just like trumpets -- but I also think there's something to be said for references to trumpets throughout the books of the Apocalypse, and angels often being depicted with trumpets, particularly when the final judgment is at hand.
The second verse's chorus has the singer claiming he can lead the nation with a microphone and split the atoms of a molecule -- what seems to me an obvious reference to a nuclear bomb, especially considering the final verse.
The third verse, the loudest of all, is the scariest:
Look at meThe forced slow-down of the four-word lines emphasizes them -- and the horror of the next stanza negates them. Handing out a million vaccinations would be a great thing to do, sure -- but it seems equally likely that the narrator might choose to "let 'em all die in exasperation." Power is the point, not healing or helping. The childishness falls away to reveal a lunatic.
Look at me
Driving and I won't stop
And it feels so good to be
Alive and on top
My reach is global
My tower secure
My cause is noble
My power is pure
I can hand out a million vaccinations
Or let 'em all die in exasperation
Have 'em all healed of their lacerations
Have 'em all killed by assassination
I can make anybody go to prison
Just because I don't like 'em and
I can do anything with no permission
I have it all under my command
Here's where I'd like to remind us all of the first verse, where it said "I'm proud to be an American."
If you haven't been thinking about it all along, start now: This song seems to be commenting not only on personal hubris -- of a kind particular to individual Americans -- but also on American foreign policy. With a Unabomber-like perspective on the world, the narrator of the third verse indicts our country, for making unilateral decisions regarding other countries' status as our enemies ("with no permission"), for detaining prisoners (at Gitmo and elsewhere: "I can make anybody go to prison / Just because I don't like 'em") without trial or charge, for not insisting on vaccinations going to countries whose people can't afford them because profit margins are more important.
I also read into the song an indictment of the Bush administration, under which we've seen all these things happen. (Minus, perhaps, the reluctance to hand out vaccinations, which was around before the current president.)
The final chorus is extended and increasingly frantic, though the singer never loses control -- making the effect even more chilling (because he's not just plain crazy):
I can guide a missile by satelliteHeightening the tension further, the climactic "I can end the planet in a holocaust" line is finished by the sound of a roar, as if from a crowd. The word "holocaust" is followed by this roar each time, but it begs the question: Is the crowd cheering for the holocaust to come, or is it screaming in agony because of it?
By satellite
By satellite
And I can hit a target through a telescope
Through a telescope
Through a telescope
And I can end the planet in a holocaust
In a holocaust
In a holocaust
In a holocaust
In a holocaust
In a holocaust
The ambiguity works perfectly. Either answer is unconscionable. We can't let this happen.
The line "in a holocaust" is shouted every time, amplified as though by a microphone into a fascist crowd. We're reminded of Hitler, of course, and the memory of the Third Reich is now imposed on the vision of current-world America we got from the second and third verses.
The song ends the way it began: "I can ride my bike with no handlbars," piped in as though through an old-tyme stereo, and childlike -- as though to remind us that horrible, nuclear ends like the climax of the song, start with the individual personal hubris of bragging about riding bikes.
If we don't grow up as a country, in other words, we'll end up destroying the world, or ending up responsible for something far beyond what we thought ourselves capable of (our "power is pure").
The personal interests of each enlightened, individualistic citizen of the U.S. (or the world) may add up to mayhem.
Or derive your own moral.
What a relief that there are pop artists out there concerned enough about the world situation and talented enough to not resort to didacticism, to create this song. I've only briefly touched on the several layers of political and ethical statements going on in this song, and it changes -- and changes me -- every time I hear it. (And there are layers -- for instance, think of "I can take apart the remote control" in the context of setting off missiles, or in how it relates to the claims for mastery of technology in the second verse. It's packed with this stuff.)
The only way to "get it" is to listen; so do.
10 stars on the Richter scale.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Confessions XVII
Today I dropped my glass bottle off the windowsill in the women's restroom at the paper, and it shattered. I had to sweep it up with a broom that was locked in a closet in advertising. (My face is red just thinking about it.)
If I were to ever start drinking, I think I'd start with vodka.
I could very well be the type of person who would carry vodka around in a water bottle, so no one would know.
If I were to ever start drinking, I think I'd start with vodka.
I could very well be the type of person who would carry vodka around in a water bottle, so no one would know.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
PSA: The Office
I pre-ordered the fourth season of The Office yesterday.
I did this because in re-watching seasons 1-3 over the past few weeks, repeatedly, I built up a sense of gratitude for this show so intense that it seemed paying it money was the only way to show how I feel.
I mean, what a show. It never disappoints and gets funnier and more interesting the more you see it -- kind of like old friends.
Your checks are in the mail.
I did this because in re-watching seasons 1-3 over the past few weeks, repeatedly, I built up a sense of gratitude for this show so intense that it seemed paying it money was the only way to show how I feel.
I mean, what a show. It never disappoints and gets funnier and more interesting the more you see it -- kind of like old friends.
Your checks are in the mail.
So do I report myself?
In the course of my day yesterday, I had occasion to count the number of bruises around and on my knees: seven on the left, five on the right.
I have no explanation for these, but that's nothing new.
My employer required me to read a DDS report on abuse and neglect today, since one of my clients has been newly designated a DDS client. Any suspected abuse must be reported, or it may incur a $500 fine when discovered. I read the information and was interested to find a list of places on the body where bruising could indicate abuse; knees were not one of them.
Inner thigh, however, was. I suppose this makes sense, but it confuses me: my bruise count there is three.
I have no explanation for these, but that's nothing new.
My employer required me to read a DDS report on abuse and neglect today, since one of my clients has been newly designated a DDS client. Any suspected abuse must be reported, or it may incur a $500 fine when discovered. I read the information and was interested to find a list of places on the body where bruising could indicate abuse; knees were not one of them.
Inner thigh, however, was. I suppose this makes sense, but it confuses me: my bruise count there is three.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
PSA: "Bush administration to relax parts of Endangered Species Act"
Liberals with a creative, constructive determination to effect positive change can now be shot on sight.
New Word: Nouveau Liche
n. someone who realizes there are new posts on Alicia's blog and feels a sudden sense of gain at the discovery, especially a newcomer to said blog.
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