2.26.2002

Today's Good Deed

So, feeling a tad under the weather, I left the office for lunch. Hit my favorite low-cost white-trash country-style restaurant to grab a cup of chili. While there, an elderly couple came in and was seated at a table near me, with their granddaughter. Menus are distributed, and the decision-making process begins. Apparently, gramps is in the mood for breakfast, but grandma informs him that they only serve it until eleven a.m., unlike "the usual place we go to, where they serve it all day." I dunno...I just didn't appreciate her tone. Seemed like a sweet old guy. His eyes caught mine, and I silently mouthed to him "They still serve it." He grinned, surprised by my mischievous input. When the waitress returned to take their orders, he asked if they had biscuits and sausage gravy.

"We sure do," replied the waitress. "Is that what you'd like?"

Grandma was none the wiser to our secret duplicity. He smiled at me again as I left.

{*grin*}

2.22.2002

Why blog?

Well, that's a question that pretty much comes up just about anytime a non-blogger learns that someone they know has a blog. "So, uh, why do you do this?" and "Don't take this the wrong way, but -- do you think people really read all of this stuff?..." For some thoughts on the former, read Adam Curry's take, "Blogging: Tune Out and Switch On." Other thoughts at Wired. (As far as the latter goes, I'll posit the following guess that most bloggers would say that while it would be nice if people read our blogs, we don't really care. Really. It's more like keeping a journal than anything else. A journal with hyperlinks.)

Yes, yes -- weblogs provide anyone who feels like looking with an endless hallway whose walls are lined with individual windows, technicolored panes of virtual glass through which a reader may cast a fleeting glimpse or a prolonged leer into the other-worlds of other bloggers. Sure, sure -- it's nice to see what the other humans are up to. But, it also allows the individual to keep one toe in the metaphorical stream of their own proverbial creative juices. One can go about one's usual business and, when struck by what feels like an original thought, can immediately capture that notion and send it out to the world, for posterity. Even if no one reads it -- after all, there's no guarantee that anyone ever will -- it gives one the feeling of having contributed something personal to the greater consciousness -- and one can do so with no more strain than ordinary multitasking, thanks to applications like blogger.

That's why we do it, anyway. How about you?? Leave a message and tell us why.
Wow...

Well, Michelle Kwan still rocks -- no gold, as she wished, but truly one of the great figure skaters of all time. Sara Hughes truly did give a tremendous performance -- graceful, athletic, flawless -- much as Tara "I won and now I'm done" Lipinksi did four years ago at the Nagano games. We can only wonder how the results might have differed, in terms of how competitors Kwan, Sasha Cohen (USA, Cal.) and Irina Slutskaya (RUS) would have approached their performances, mentally, had the judges given Sarah a few 6.0's, right up front. Interesting that Tara didn't get any 6's either, though she did receive a slew of 5.9's.

Separately, we're pretty annoyed at the media's handling of the USA Womens Hockey Team's loss to Canada. Yes, they lost, but it was just one game -- granted, the Olympic competition -- but this hardly is reason for all the dissing. They're still a killer team. And so is Canada. Can't we celebrate both of them? Well, this guy can't -- read this -- seems someone always has to get fixated on some whining-angle. After you've finished reading, The Band encourages you to amuse yourselves by writing to the columnist and advising him to get down off his soapbobsleigh. In the best spirit of the games, of course.

One of The Band's standing dreams is to someday actually attend the games. Until then, though, we've been enjoying the Olympics courtesy of NBC. If you are too, then you've stumbled upon yet another passive means of watching way too much TV, and should check out Bernard McGrane's article, "The Zen TV Experiment" -- very interesting.

RTI -- Remember those?

[ Short for "real-time interruption" -- Ed.]

Separately, we're waiting RT for our seester to have her first baby. Niece? Or nephew??.......

2.20.2002

Kwan-ZA!!!!!!

Did anyone doubt it? -- 'nuff said. Rock on, skater-grrrl.

2.14.2002

Your Humble Chronicler was outside looking at the heavens. A pretty clear night here, and with the temp at about 36F, and almost no wind, it was a good night for looking. I know nothing about constellations -- I look, and I end up seeing things like question marks and patterns. Always interesting, though. Anyway, it reminded me of a dream I had last night.

The Dream: I'm hanging out, over at some friend's place. I'm with Ms. Fiance Muse, and two of our closest friends. We're hanging out on a balcony back porch, way high up on what appears to be some kind of small mountain. Anyway, we're hanging on this porch, and I'm experiencing a little bit of vertigo, because we're so high up, and the porch balcony isn't that big, and it's just got a wooden railing, so I'm kind of sitting with my back against the wall of the apartment building, kind of "hugging on." I get up to go to the bathroom, and Ms. Muse follows me. She would like to go, but is afraid to say anything, for some reason, and I say something like, don't be silly -- if you're ready to go, you can just say something -- I'm ok staying, but we dont have to. So we go back out on the porch, sit down again, and I just have an uneasy feeling. Then, before you know it, the whole balcony starts to kind of detach from the wall, but we're still somehow supported by some structural beams beneath us. We're firghtened, but we hang on as the balcony kind of twists and pitches forward and to the right, and basically does a slowly accelerated crash to the ground. Everyone is kind of dumped on the ground, but we aren't hurt, just shaken by the fall. I land on my feet, I think. Our biggest concern is one of our friends, who in the dream is pregnant. We're worried that something might be wrong with the baby. Nothing is resolved, and I wake up not freaked out, but in a cold sweat.

The interpretation: Well, I tried a corny online thing, but it just didn't cut it. Here's what I'm thinking. The balcony setting possibly represents recent positive accomplishments -- a sense of being on top of things. The anxiety is perhaps a fear of losing what we've achieved, which has happened to me before. The fall represents the nature of the fear -- falling from a place of status. Being with good friends may be a reminder of the good people in my life, who will stick by me regardless of what's going on. Surviving the balcony's crash may represent a sense that everything will work out in the end, whatever happens. My sister's pregnant, and was due today, actually, so the pregnant friend may represent my sister.

That's the best I can come up with. Nothing earth-shattering here, but I so rarely remember anything I dream about, and -- when I do -- generally it completely evaporates from memory unless I immediately write it down, unlike this one.
R.I.P. Punk

If not deceased, then certainly the state of punk's health is at least questionable, as evidenced by the behavior of one young wannabe, who was acting out at a local Burger King:

"Fuck you, Burger King -- I hate you! You only put two onion rings on my fucking Rodeo Cheeseburger, not three! You fucking suck! You suck at cooking, you shit -- I'll fucking kill you!"

Your Humble Chronicler, mind you, was already eyeing a nice chair with which to whack our noxious child on his noisy noggin in the event of an escalation of tensions. But he simply stormed out after concluding his tirade. Most customers were merely amused.

While that incident isn't likely to make into USA Today, these did -- tales of Olympic zaniness.
Happy V-Day

So, um, happy valentine's day. Ok? There -- I observe it, and I don't understand it. I have learned that -- in the ever-complex dance of love, if you're a guy in a relationship (or, if I recall, even not in a relationship -- like, anything counts........though in writing this I know that I am welcoming criticism for my male version of what a relationship is, but let's not get into that semantic worm can, shall we.......) then you best buy your lover/spouse/honey/sweetie/gf/baby/friend/pookie flowers -- or you're just plain shit out of luck, dude. Trust me on this one. Oh, I can hear you now: "Oh, it's cool -- we talked about it, and decided that we wouldn't do anything big -- just have dinner or something."

Yah. Sure you did. Or, rather, sure -- you talked about it, and you both said some words, but -- trust me -- it was just sound on the other end there, pal. Sounded like agreement, sounded cool, sounded reasonable -- but keep your head -- it was just a pretty melody. Just sound.

In other words, you best buy your lover/spouse/honey/sweetie/gf/baby/friend/pookie flowers.

Oh, you laugh. Oh, you say, "Nah, thanks for the advice man, but, really -- it's cool."

Silly fool. You best buy your lover/spouse/honey/sweetie/gf/baby/friend/pookie flowers.

Yes, it's senseless, though maybe not totally meaningless. Yes it's a Hallmark holiday. Yes it's all about the sentiment ushers making a buck. Yes, you and your sweetie talked about it and agreed........yada, yada, yada.

You best buy your lover/spouse/honey/sweetie/gf/baby/friend/pookie flowers.

If you still don't get it, help is available. For nine months, and $2,300, you can enroll in Véronique J. Corniola's l'Ecole Française de Séduction, France's first school of seduction. Founder Corniola comments that modern professional women have lost their femininity, which undermines the masculinity of the contemporary male. "Here in France it is what we call castration," she says. "What do you call it in English?...I imported my husband [from Italy]," she says. "He's a real man; it was impossible to find one in France." Coming soon to the California state network. (Corniola also offers a 3-month "speed seduction course" for $1,000 -- but one has to wonder if graduates of the longer standard course have lengthier, more nerve-shaking orgasms...)


In memoriam

Waylon Jennings

2.13.2002

From the Department of Stalled Evolution

This kind of Draconian carp (well, I meant "crap," but I kinda like the sound of carp) does not make The Band proud of our fair state.

From correspondence with cdoa:

This: "what are we all really doing? i mean it. how are we allowing this shmuck to represent, rule, run, operate, drive, lead (?) this country? ...."

"We" would be the operative term, here, imo. I've had this debate with myself and with others -- have found that, with others, there tend to be three "camps" the ever-maddening group of people who (think they) have strong, passionate "beliefs" -- call it patriotism, call it jingo-ism, call it "my-country/religion/faith/opinion-right-or-wrong" -- I use the apostrophes around the word "belief" there because this type of blind acceptance doesn't reach the bar of what I would consider belief -- a sound opinion, based on some factual foundation. It's like the creationists believing that evolution shouldn't be taught because it conflicts with their meta-programming and, as the woman on the NPR "Religion and the Public Schools" profile said, "It's the Bible, and the Bible is God's word," followed by the nervous laughter of the speaker -- it's almost as if they know they're nuts. I swear. Change the term to "intelligent design" -- yeah, that'll make the rationalists/scientists happy......~sheesh~......Anyway, that's Camp #1, they're hopeless, imo -- the same group of people who object to posting "The Vagina Monologues" on a marquis........makes me want to drop everything and write "The Penis Prophecies" right now, just to see if anyone would object to that. Also the same group who felt that Clinton should have been impeached, based on his horn-dog issues. Whatever. Camp #2 consists of people who couldn't give a shit, one way or another, but who mask their apathy as easy-going -- the "it-doesn't-affect-my-life" crowd -- same people who haven't or are incapable of realizing that 9/11 wasn't just some tragedy in NYC, but has affected our whole nation. You, my dear, I would guess are a member of Camp #3 (maybe not, but you are decidedly *not* a member of camps 1 or 2) -- the true patriots, the real Americans who, imo, descended from the founding fathers -- us folks who truly do love our country, and who take it -- dare I say it? -- *personally* when our leaders and policies are an embarrassment to reason, fairness, justice. Strikes me as brutally ironic that those of us who really give a damn are the minority, living somewhat marginalized lives, alienated by the outdated and often draconic traditions of our culture. The so-called war on drugs. Equal rights for women, minorities, fathers, the handicapped, the mentally ill. We'll tolerate sick, evil, unproductive, polarized thinking in the form of survivalist groups, religious fanatics, right-wing fundamentalists, homophobes, bigots, anti-Semites -- all in the name of free speech. But we'll let our own unfortunate souls -- not to mention those less fortunate around the world -- to starve and freeze to death in broad daylight

It's the dark, dark downside of capitalism, I'm afraid. It works, though the traditional American dream died somewhere in the early '80's, I think. It works, but it has no place for the unfortunate, for those with limited opportunities, for anyone not cozy with lobbyists or big business. I've read lately that obesity is starting to (or already has -- I can't remember) overtaken tobacco as the leading cause of death in America. How stupid is that? Two things you can directly control -- both appetites, basically -- and we continue to let ourselves be victimized. You can be arrested for growing or possessing a couple plants, but you can buy cigarettes everywhere, and can likewise purchase and consume enough alcohol to kill yourself in one sitting. Like we pretty much *know* that cigs cause all kinds of health problems, up to and including eventual death, and that -- the further you move away from any natural, organic edible, the worse it is for you. But -- hey -- the game's on, so load up on salted snacks, processed meats and piss-water that some people like to call beer. Welcome to America.

There is some, not much at all, but some small consolation in knowing that utopias don't work, either. Nor do Communism, Socialism or anarchy, it seems.

I, for one, would rather have a salad.
Thoughts on Olympia

Ahhh, youth, man. Elvis Stojko of Canada putting in his bid on the Olympic gold in men's figure skating as I write. And he's almost 30. Before him, American Todd Eldredge was on, and he is 30. Kind of nice to see the older athletes still kickin' it in.

When I first began watching the Olympics, I was a kid -- I can't even remember how old I was at the time. Another thing my dad gave me -- a love for the Olympics. The guy appreciated a thing done well, done right. The Olympics were one of them. Shoveling snow was another, but that's another story. (It's something odd that the writer notices, how once you use the word another, you seem to automatically follow with another phrase using another.)

So, I'm watching -- let's see -- these would be my eleventh Olympics -- though the farthest back that I can remember is Dorothy Hamill, in 1976. (The writer also here confesses that he has yet to determine the difference, if any, between furthest and farthest, though he knows that further and farther are clearly different, that further carries with it a connotation of more, greater, in addition to, while the latter condones primarily distance, a sense of space, though it too lends itself to metaphorical purpose.) And I remember Nadia Comaneci, the then 14-yr-old Romanian gymnast who landed the first perfect "10" on the parallel bars and won two gold medals in Montreal, Quebec, in the '76 Summer games. (Dorothy, a winter gamer, of course, was in Innsbruck, Austria -- had to look that up.) So, in the midst of these swirling remembrances, there's an ad for something -- I don't know what the product is -- but the theme is some young guy in a boutique trying on a really ugly sweater, some lumpy wool thing, looked hand-knitted, but badly, and of a pinkish hue speckled with darker, perhaps orange yarn, and all these dark European-style lovelies keep complimenting him on how nice the sweater looks on him, and he's real skeptical about it, because he knows it's as ugly as sin, he keeps grimacing in the mirror as the compliments flow at him like gentle kisses, and he eventually caves. He later wears the sweater out to a club, and there's a scene where his mates are at a table, hanging out, joking, ribbing each other, drinking (prolly not smoking on tv, but my brain took me back to the days when I'd meet groups of male comrades, and we'd have some pretty silly times, plain old simple drunken camraderie) -- they see their bud in his new sweater, and immediately burst into insulting laughter. Yeah......chicks'll never understand this kind of thing........

[ Go here, just because I like this blog. And this one. ]

2.07.2002

note to self -- blog on the hoopla about v-day

2.04.2002

Another Good Reason to Decriminalize Controlled Substances

Only NPR could get away with the following lead-in for an on-air story: "Americans consumed an estimated 26 million avocados on Super Bowl Sunday, mostly in the form of guacamole, according to The California Avocado Commission (CAC)." That's 13.2 million pounds of the rich, creamy, green fruit. More from the source:
    "The avocado tree is related to the laurel and is the fruit of the genus Persea....a bright green tree that grows from Mexico, south to Colombia and Peru, and north to Florida and California. The three strains of avocados that now exist...Mexican, West Indian and Guatemalan...were first catalogued in 1653 by a Spanish padre named Bernabe Cobo. These strains included hundreds of avocado varieties which come in sundry shapes...round, pyriform (pear-shaped), crooknecked (like a squash); skin colors...green, purple, maroon, and jet black; and skin textures...smooth to pebbly.

    This fruit of the New World has been known by many names. In Chile, Peru, and Ecuador it is called Palta, the name given to it by the Incas. In West Africa, it is called custard apple. In Spain it is known as abogado; in France, avocat. The latter two names, both of which mean lawyer, and the English word avocado have probably all derived from attempts to speak phonetically the Aztec name ahuacatl."
Apparently, growers of this delicacy are facing increased pressure from poachers, many of whom reportedly are stealing the fruit to re-sell them as a means of generating income to support their drug habits.

Global Neural Evolution

Reminder to self: Discuss The Secret Life of the Brain as metaphor for the Earth's evolution of an external neural network (internet) as a means of building in connectivity of inhabitants of the planet.

Also -- it seems that Stalin (yes, the old evil dead bastard) has a hand to play in the whole Mid-Eastern mess, as the borders that he established after 1927 criss-cross the Fergana Valley as it winds through Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan -- Stalin's goal was to fragment the region (central Asia) as much as possible, further complicating the possibility of establishing any semblance of logical geographic gov't to take place, according to author of Taliban and Jihad, Ahmed Rashid, who was interviewed on NPR's Fresh Air (with host Terry Gross). "Difficult, impractical, debilitating," he says of the borders. What a tangled web is history.

Another dumb online survey: Which drink are you?

Scary conspiracy stuff: From The Wilderness Publications
Interesting cynical thoughts blog: the angry librarian