Also:
Aeronautical hi-jinks future is fragile in peculiar taste Ignatius gives advice
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| kodgetts | hex | veach | thatjeffcarter |
It seems my old slices (I submitted the third for this in March) are all being finalized at once.
and she was Jade Turns any until the end
veach - quackling - doctormatt - dagfooyo
This was a privately exhumed lightning-round corpse, with me acting as mortician. The rules were the same as those at new exquisite corpse with the sole exception: a pre-agreed 48-hour turn around. We began on 1 May. I sent my bottom 15 pixels before 3 May (which I apologize to quackling for making more than a little difficult):
Quackling sent the next hint slice to doctormatt by 5 May:
And doctormatt provided his to dagfooyo on or before 7 May:
This finished product is an exquisite example of corpsing (our title—also stitched together in the dark—works nicely). I intend to do more lightning rounds; the one complaint I have with newexquisitecorpse.net is creating, submitting, and never seeing the finished corpse (three currently in limbo).
BEAT / or bar-el
Points of relevance: Currently (and for the last 222 consecutive nights) delivering 400-500 newspapers; sporadically creating an elaborate b&w digital rendering for the last 10+ months; very much love a good drum solo; always have been a bit of an
The Great Divide
“There are two kinds of people in the world: those with loaded guns and those who dig...” —Blondie (Clint Eastwood, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly) For as long as humans have been obstinate assholes they have been divisive. To declare 'there are two types...' and then attempt to define the issue one has with all the people who presently occupy the other camp has always seemed—to me—an extremely sophomoric way of making a point.
For the better part of my life, I have avoided aphorisms in both word and thought. I tend to see an infinitude of variations; always shades of grey, rarely black and white. Until now.
There are two kinds of people in the world: those who flick the fingers of their dominant hand towards their wrist and then allow gravity to take over, bringing the toilet seat from vertical to horizontal, loudly, and with the same structural vibration as a bowling ball being dropped from waist height (intentionally communicating: Hey there family members, friends, roommates and neighbors, I've just finished!) and, then, there are those who close the lid of their toilet.
A codicil is required at this point since only about 1/3 of the world has toilet seats. The majority of the world squats. So, when I say there are two kinds of people in the world what I mean is that there are two kinds of people in the sitting world; the portion with hinged seats and covers.
Before moving to my current apartment I thought that only ADHD addled juveniles with four-to-eight-second concentration spans were slammers (which I solved by installing soft-close seats in the other bathrooms). Not so.
I live below a couple. Both are slammers. One slam means the seat was up and one of them is beginning to void; a second slam in about 30 seconds = her pissing; a second slam after several minutes = her shitting; no second slam = him shitting. And...(no kidding)...the single woman who's bathroom abuts our bedroom routinely drops both lid and seat after her male friend leaves them up (it doesn't happen every day, but that is probably because he isn't there every day).
A 'closer' can accidentally drop the lid (or communicate their anger with a slam) just like a 'slammer' can choose not to aggravate their own headache with loud noise...but...99% of the time there's no grey area; one is either a slammer or a closer.
Self-centered, inconsiderate, rude, fumbling, obnoxious, thoughtless, less intelligent members of the population are slammers. Closers are considerate, kind, conscientious, thoughtful, and empathetic. I have met no reformed slammers or ex-closers so I have no information on the possibility of their existence. I also do not know if there are correlations to other character traits, for example are slammers also litterbugs? Are closers more willing to park at the back of the lot and walk? Do slammers text during the film? Is it only closers who hold the elevator? Which picks up after their dog and which doesn't even carry a bag?
I'm interested. Slightly. Though I've already made up my mind.
Shopping Paradigm Shift Complete
I like to think of myself as someone who isn't a consumer, but—of course—that's me lying to myself.
What I am, is someone who doesn't shop. Which is (relatively) true in that I don't enjoy entering a commercial business establishment to just look at products on shelves; I despise being approached by commission/quota salespeople; and I believe customers should be actively encouraged to physically assault clerks who refuse to walk away after they learn that assistance is unwanted.
After five years of being twistangled and unbended the power cord on my laptop's adapter began to short out. I could only get it to work if I propped the transformer-brick against the spine of Harlan Ellison's Watching at exactly 23.5° off vertical with the three inches after the lump in the wire bent back on itself. An imperfect fix, but it was the kind of cheap I like. Free-cheap.
Recently, I found myself driving past what is now commonly referred to as a big box store and decided to just pop in to research a replacement (I even have anathema to using shop as a verb when referencing my own actions). Since I had my laptop with me (and the adapter with the short) I carried them in...
Twelve year old Greeter Clerk stationed two feet inside Best Buy: How can we help you today?
Me (channeling R. Lee Ermy reasonably well—if I do say so myself—considering he ain't dead): Computer -brief pause for the child to focus and comprehend the big word- Adapters.
GC: Oh. Let me get a sticker on that so we'll know you brought it in. Isle 8.
After less than one minute inside isle 7 (Isle 8 had computers), where I discovered no less than five different brands of multiple-plug adapters but none specifically for my computer, I am set upon by a nineteen year old Jedi.
Jedi: Afternoon, what's it you're looking for today?
Me (with an $40 adapter in one hand, a $100 adapter in the other, and probably-definitely a howstupidareyou look on my face): A replacement adapter.
At which point I nudged my old computer adapter with my right toe.
Jedi: Well looks like you found what you're looking for. Both of those'll work. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: How do I know these will work? Nowhere on the packaging are there any applicable part numbers.
Jedi (beginning to allow a bit of exasperation to enter into his voice): See here? Where it says, works with the following brands? And then it says...yup...Gateway. Yours is a Gateway. It'll work.
Me (wishing my initial reply had been, 'I don't need any help'): Great. Thanks.
As Jedi walked away with the standard parting salvo, I concentrated on the different products and tried to determine why there was such a vast range of prices and if maybe there was a list of model numbers somewhere...up walks another Jedi-clone. This one was drunk on corporate Best Buy dingleberry flavored Kool Aid.
Dingleberry: What can I help you with today?
Me: Nothing.
Dingleberry: This* brand (indicating the $60 one) is our best seller.
Me: Yea. The last guy said something equally as useless.
Dingleberry (refusing to back down and putting on his best 65W smile): Oh? Well this one has the most adapter plugs so if you wanted to use it to charge your ...bla de blah, wank a wank, gobbledy gook... I stopped listening as he rambled on about how I would be able to dispense with my iPod charger and my cell phone charger and the power adapter on my inflatable butt plug with the scintillating-vibrating core. When he finally wound down enough for me to wedge in a word, I said...
Me: Where is the list of applicable model numbers? And, why is this one more expensive?
Dingleberry: The prices fluctuate. Both will work. Let's find an outlet and plug it in. I'll show you that it'll work.
At this, he took the cheaper one around to the computer area and proceeded to cut it out of it's packaging while I watched. After trying all of the plug-ends to no avail (one fit, but it wouldn't power my computer) his 65W smile dimmed and flattened into a definite frumpy-frown.
Me: Good thing I didn't take you at your word that all of em would work.
Dingleberry: Well, you've got one of those odd ones that won't fit. Weird.
Me: So when it says on the side of the package fits Gateway's they don't mean all Gateway's, right?Dingleberry: No they're all supposed to. Maybe your motherboard is at fault and it's not the power cord. Let's look at...
Me (cutting him off with an increase in volume and tone before he gained velocity): NO. It's the power cord. It has a short in it. It works sometimes and not others. You have been a great help. You have reaffirmed any doubts I had about shopping at Amazon for the rest of my life (...now lean forward and choke yourself...).
I came home. Tapped in my model number and paid Amazon $2.89 (plus $6.99 in shipping/handling) for an exact replacement.
Obviously I'm reluctant to completely make the plaza-amazon paradigm shift. Seven months ago I bumped the corner of my automobile into a post and cracked the exterior of the driver-side headlight. A chunk of plastic fell out. The light still worked fine, so I did what I do in cases like this: nothing. Four months later the light bulb burned out. I called around to a few auto repair shops in the area; the cheapest estimate was $425.00. I called some auto parts stores; the cheapest price was $230.00. I searched SQUIRE for junkyards and used parts stores; the cheapest used-quote was $135.00. I tapped in my vehicle model number and paid Amazon $105.00 (with free shipping) and a new one arrived in three days. It took me about 90 minutes to replace it.
* After I'm elected King-o-the-Whole-Wide, this is the point where it would be acceptable to pile-drive Jedi's diaphragm into his spine and then punt whichever kidney presents itself with sufficient force to remind him (every time he took a red piss over the next week) that 'no' means 'no'.
The Cabin in the Woods - Review (☆☆☆☆)
Recommending a new film is incresadingly rare—not quite as rare as having an enjoyable conversation with a stranger; but definitely rarer than having an enjoyable conversation with a stranger younger than the minimum legal age to become president.
The Cabin in the Woods is a wonderful blend of scares and humor, orchestrated for people who have already seen at least fifty frightful films in their life. This is not to say it's a comedy; it definitely will be found in the horror section wedged between Identity and Devil. And, I'm not saying (yes I am) that if you have only seen a small dozen scary movies in your life that you're mentally unprepared to see this film (woefully so) and, if that were the case, that you wouldn't be affected by the make-you-jump-parts (of course you'll still be a-scared) or wouldn't enjoy the lighter moments (you'll giggle) but unless you have already attended Camp Crystal Lake near Haddonfield, Illinois, watched videos with Masami and Tomoko, and perused the Naturan Demonta...you will be unable to savor the miasma of ingredients that were expertly combined in order to fabricate the broth and bones of the soup.
The last funny horror film I recommended, Rubber, was a foreign film in every way except dialogue (which may be confusing, but no more than the film—in its entirety—is intentionally confusing). Before that, I recommended the Korean monster film, Gwoemul, as containing just the right amount of humor and fear. If I were asked to say only one thing about exceptional American horror films, it would be: they have very few peers. The Cabin in the Woods has now joined those ranks.
The Cabin in the Woods is a wonderful blend of scares and humor, orchestrated for people who have already seen at least fifty frightful films in their life. This is not to say it's a comedy; it definitely will be found in the horror section wedged between Identity and Devil. And, I'm not saying (yes I am) that if you have only seen a small dozen scary movies in your life that you're mentally unprepared to see this film (woefully so) and, if that were the case, that you wouldn't be affected by the make-you-jump-parts (of course you'll still be a-scared) or wouldn't enjoy the lighter moments (you'll giggle) but unless you have already attended Camp Crystal Lake near Haddonfield, Illinois, watched videos with Masami and Tomoko, and perused the Naturan Demonta...you will be unable to savor the miasma of ingredients that were expertly combined in order to fabricate the broth and bones of the soup. The last funny horror film I recommended, Rubber, was a foreign film in every way except dialogue (which may be confusing, but no more than the film—in its entirety—is intentionally confusing). Before that, I recommended the Korean monster film, Gwoemul, as containing just the right amount of humor and fear. If I were asked to say only one thing about exceptional American horror films, it would be: they have very few peers. The Cabin in the Woods has now joined those ranks.
Another Corpse
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| Fabric of Space - To Point Out - pending - the curb appeal muggy | SkyWookiee | odefinierad | veach |
For my wife who was once my fiancée (who was bona fide)
I learned, just recently, of my love's pterodactyl preference.
Due to profanity this is NSFW or when children are within earshot.
you still only get what you pay for
On the box it listed: warming plate, removable filter basket, and automatic shut off valve. At home, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a coffee maker. It had a real looking plug which fit snugly into an electric wall outlet; a small switch which lit up when it was turned from 'off' to 'on'; a receptacle for the cold water as well as one for a filter containing ground coffee.
Although it boiled water, not very much entered the filter basket. The amount of water which did mix with the grounds was, for the most part, not able to drain into the warm pot and—instead—seeped over the edge.
I now own an authentic looking replica of a coffee machine which is both objet trouvé and inexpensive reminder.
In this picture it is 3/4 full of coffee, which was made in our french press.
Note: click on the images for their derivations.
KARA
This short film (from the Heavy Rain game studio) is intended to unveil their current motion capture ability. Although it isn't—unfortunately—a teaser for their next PS3 game, it is a very effective measure of how fantastically high they're setting the bar regarding: story, character, direction, script, and cinematography. I admire anyone (I still use singular blame) who can cause me to empathize with their character in five minutes.
For the future is gated, and there are tolls to be paid.
Oh, what a wondrous sentence. I tripped over it at the terminus of the short fiction, We Show What We Have Learned. Although the metaphorical story (written by Clare Beams) was deftly crafted, it was her insightfully essomenic bumper-post sentence which brought me pause.
I paid my first toll exactly thirty years ago. Up to that point I'd been clumsily sketching together a future which included a degree in art followed by a job which would utilize my creativity. I'd been tracing my future on the skein of selfish privilege in the ridiculous naïveté of youth (qualities, both invisible in the mirror but soon to become extremely clear in my backlight). Inside the echo of a single conversation in February of '82, I permitted my future to be shanghaied and—subsequently—dropped out of college, joined the army, and became an infantryman.
Navigating through life's toll gates must be something of a forte; adapt or become trapped.
lex parsimoniae
Vachss Can No Longer Carry The Weight
Having read every Vachss book, beginning in the late 1980's, I believe he lost his drive and anger and clarity of voice about the time he killed Pansy (Dead and Gone, 2000). He's tried for the last dozen years to get it back the way many authors do...with new characters, new settings and even new genres...none of those books are in the same league or contain the grit, clarity, or surprising hooks as well as the dark, gut-wrenching emotions he was able to imbibe into those early Burke revenge-thrillers of his. The reason is, probably, what it was/is for many artists. He changed.
Success de-fangs many creative people (which I like to think of as the Morissette Principle) and so Andy the artist becomes Andrew the author becomes Mister Vachss the businessman. He is now only writing to pay for the toys he bought with the proceeds of his previous sweat and hard-won creativity. He is no longer devoting months of his time to the keyboard on re-writes because he no longer has a message he needs to get out. Or a story to tell. Or an impatient ghost uncomfortably residing in his spine. Add to that...he has a very lazy, publisher-owned editor who never, never, never will send his story back for re-tooling because that would slow down the money train.
It's a sad thing to see, when an author becomes ensconced in his tower of success where he slowly loses readers because he has stopped struggling to create a quality product and has resorted to writing from a template, writing for a paycheck, and writing poor-quality pap.
This will be my last Vachss. I may pick up a future book of his at a lending library just to see if he was able to Koontz his way out of this downward spiral (Dean Koontz pulled out of a quality-dive-and-impending-crash in the late 1990's with his Moonlight Bay and Odd Thomas Series and now writes so very much better than he ever did in the preceding two decades). The odds are that Mister Vachss is satisfied with his past successes, is not listening to critics, and is very happy to be Mister Vachss the businessman...isn't it ironic?
Confused by homosexual confusion
I generally find my religion pretty close to human nature, it looks very logical, quite practical but there is one thing that confuses me, totally stumps me: its stand on homosexuality. Not only my religion but all religions strongly condemn it, on the other hand homosexuals claim that it is the most natural thing for them.The preceding is the unaltered 16 January post written by Beenish Kahn, a Pakistani woman living in Toronto, Canada.
Now I am not taking any sides, I am sharing just my confusion,
1. Apart from humans, homosexuality is a common occurrence in many animals. So is nature trying to say that it is only for animals to follow such instincts or is it trying to say that it is but natural to have something different from normal?
2. If according to religion it is but unnatural then why do people claim to be so helpless against it? If it is like any other sin then why do homosexuals bear so many discriminations just to publicly state their sexual identity? From where do they get the courage of bearing all the bullying? In short, why would anyone deliberately choose a hard path if it is something unnatural?
3. When an octogenarian gay couple get married after 50 years of living together, doesn’t it show companionship more than any other emotion?
I do not want to judge anyone and least of all in the light of religion but I do want to know what exactly is religious logic behind it? Is it religious politics of many centuries, is it holy scriptures understood the wrong way or is it people not understanding the laws of nature?
Routinely, I read things which expand my knowledge. Other times I may contemplate and ponder over something I've read (but not retain the information). And, occasionally, my conversations are fueled by the ideas of others. Once in a blue moon I'm driven to respond with an entire post of my own. This is one of the latter.
Not all religions condemn homosexuality as is initially posited by Ms Kahn, (Buddhism, Hinduism, and Confucianism don't address it or are neutral) but she is correct in regard to the big three (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam).
Then she poses a few statements followed by seven questions outlining 'her confusion'.
The first declarative statement she makes is factually bass-ackwards. It should read: Although male-on-male and female-on-female sexual acts have been documented in a large number of species in the animal kingdom, it's routinely interpreted as acts of dominance or sexual play. The exception are humans, who form long-lasting, intimate, emotional bonds with members of the same sex.
Her next seven sentences are all questions. Each different. But there is a similar tone in the confusion of each. As I see it, the crux of her problem is she is either unable to—or can't—see the situation logically, from a shoe-on-the-other-foot perspective.
Since puberty, humans of the female persuasion have caused my nervous system to react with an "attraction impulse." When I look at a man my brain registers the same response as when looking at an ostrich or a chair. Neutral. Non-erotic. This is not a conscious choice I make or have ever made and (most importantly) I'm incapable of making a different one. I don't choose.
However, there are millions of people on the planet who's nervous systems provide an attraction impulse for both genders, and some of these polysexual people—because of a desire to conform or not be shunned by their community—choose to have a sexual relationship only with members of the opposite sex (many of these people use religion to aid their choice by touting "sin dogma").
Also, there are hundreds of millions of people on the planet who's nervous systems provide an attraction impulse for only members of the same sex. They don't choose...no more than the billions who are only attracted to the opposite sex.
Until the last few centuries 'church' was synonymous with 'government' (in many countries, it still is) and, most of the time, government is run by wealthy dominant males. The leaders of all governments make and enforce rules in order to maintain their status quo. This could explain why religions support(ed), condone(ed) and didn't/don't consider a sin: owning chattel, burning witches, gender apartheid, racial segregation, etc.Ms Kahn...is your only confusion, really, the church's disapproval of buggery?
Also:
Epitaph to Live by
Beyond the universe there is nothing and within the universe the supernatural does not and cannot exist. Of all deceivers who have plagued mankind, none are so deeply ruinous to human happiness as those impostors who pretend to lead by a light above nature. Science has never killed or persecuted a single person for doubting or denying its teachings, and most of these teachings have been true; but religion has murdered millions for doubting or denying her dogmas, and most of these dogmas have been false.
I thank Davecat for stumbling upon Futility Closet, recognizing how 'far up my alley' the site was and steering me in its direction, and Greg Ross (at Futility Closet) for collecting ephemera for everyone's perusal.
New Exquisite Corpse
The Exquisite Corpse game was developed by the artists and writers associated with André Breton's surrealist group which included Max Ernst, Man Ray, Joan Miró, and Yves Tanguy. The original game consisted of folded paper with a drawing (or a sentence) composed by several people, each ignorant of the previous creation(s); as an example: "the exquisite / corpse / will drink / the new / wine" — excerpt from the 1939 Abridged Dictionary of Surrealism, as copied off the wall at the Art Institute of Chicago.
The New Exquisite Corpse functions in much the same way as it's predecessor did almost ninety years ago...four players create a 'slice' 450 pixels wide by 200 pixels high (with the second, third, and fourth players receiving only the bottom 15 pixels of the one above theirs). The New Exquisite Corpse has been dormant for a few years. This week I received 15 pixels and created the bottom 200 pixels of this:
Anyone interested in joining should sign up and send a message to The Mortician informing him/her that you want to become a corpser.
The New Exquisite Corpse functions in much the same way as it's predecessor did almost ninety years ago...four players create a 'slice' 450 pixels wide by 200 pixels high (with the second, third, and fourth players receiving only the bottom 15 pixels of the one above theirs). The New Exquisite Corpse has been dormant for a few years. This week I received 15 pixels and created the bottom 200 pixels of this:
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| Plastic man | Challenges and Adventures | Fire and Ice | brie factual lie fractal | sky wookie | madwise | veach |
Anyone interested in joining should sign up and send a message to The Mortician informing him/her that you want to become a corpser.
Also:
Measuring My Mettle
My first car accident doesn't really qualify as anything more than foreshadowing for this tale. Licensed less than six months, I attempted to carefully back the family's pristine white Ford Grenada into the garage so I could unload the trunk. Unconfident with the mirrors, I opened the driver's door, twisted my body around and looked behind me as I slowly eased the car in reverse...so slowly that when the top point of the driver's door came to rest on the side of the house I didn't immediately notice.The result was a few gouged inches in the house's siding and a very small dent on the edge of the car-door near the lower hinge. My sixteen year old self decided not to mention my mistake(s) to my mother or 2dad. For years, my eyes immediately focused on the scratch in the siding whenever I found myself in it's vicinity. Nobody ever commented on it or the door-dent (which I, also, could never stop staring at, whenever I was near the exterior of that car).
Three years later, as a college sophomore, I bought my deceased father2s car. Actually, "gave my mother2 a small fraction of what the off-white VW bug was worth in exchange for the title" is more accurate than "bought". I painted it a coppery brown (only later, after hearing it referred to as The Turd did I regret my choice). Backing out of a diagonal parking spot one night-school-night, I cut my turn too sharp and rubbed the driver's side rear fender along the fender of an adjacent car. I got out, noticed no dent on the other car (just shit-colored paint transfer) and left. Without leaving a note. Clearly, I was once "that fucker".
My third accident occurred six years later as I approached a stop sign at a T-intersection on a gravel, residential street. I was distracted (by a child running toward my piss-yellow VW rabbit) and failed to come to a complete stop. A pick-up truck with monster tires (taller than the child) appeared out of nowhere, clipped my front quarter panel/bumper, and spun me around a little in the gravel. Since he was going too fast and I'd failed to stop, we decided to fix our own damages (his was a scuffed sidewall).
Twenty years and well over a million accident-free miles later—after driving a relatively large number of military vehicles (Gama Goat, APC, Jeep, HMMWV, et.al.) as well as several different civilian cars and motorcycles—I had my first serious accident. The phrase: torrential hail will forevermore cause me to remember crashing into the earth in a bruise-blue Ford Explorer after it flipped end over end. In 2004, I began this s n a p p e r h e a d blog with an article about that accident in a post titled: Driving Anozira-style.
Almost exactly seven years later (a few months ago) I backed my silver 2008 Dodge Avenger into a travel trailer parked on the side of a street at 3am. It dented my trunk pretty bad (it still closes). I immediately rang their doorbell, woke them up, gave them a photo of my driver's license, name, address, phone number, and told them if they got an estimate I'd either pay it or turn it over to my insurance.They still have yet to contact me. I drive past that trailer every night and always glance at the little wrinkle I caused in the metal.
(And, since 3/5 of my accidents have one thing in common...I've decided not to drive in reverse anymore.)
Also:
Bunraku - (☆☆☆☆) film review
Bunraku is a smirking homage kaleidoscope. Colorful bits and shiny slices of spaghetti western's and campy kung fu's are mixed with big-screen graphic novels, actual bunraku (large paper puppet theater) and - beat - Hollywood musicals. The result is a humorous and unique treat.
This is definitely not a forgettable film. Although it has some obvious flaws I didn't let them ruin the overloaded thrill ride.
Kill _ill 1; A Fistf_l of Dollars; Si_ City; He_o; Zombiel_nd; _ill Bill 2; and The Seven Sama_ri.
If you choose to disregard all the other reviewers—you'll thank me.
Also:
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