tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197301662024-03-07T10:35:34.653-08:00More, Better LiesThe Opposite of TruthUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-14042913397533996312009-06-26T09:08:00.000-07:002009-06-26T09:10:25.615-07:00RIP Michael Jackson<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WkXBQGhz9u0&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WkXBQGhz9u0&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Let's not forget that before he grew into a terrifying reflection of America's perversions, Michael Jackson was a beautiful child with an angelic voice. And kids will always be cute.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-90902832765185249832009-06-11T11:34:00.001-07:002009-06-11T11:34:48.179-07:00The Winner Takes it All<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/m2DBJV38qKA&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/m2DBJV38qKA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-67922561577624511202009-06-08T13:38:00.001-07:002009-06-08T13:38:51.847-07:00Complicatations<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dzVCHv6FSbg&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dzVCHv6FSbg&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-15301963937470473152009-06-04T08:29:00.000-07:002009-06-10T11:39:42.345-07:00Fish Tales<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ughKLUYX8ZObX642mhhFwBUMKg77R8MUcMR9YwChl0QdKo6Ff_mpm9PnIkbH7Kbb15jTM9WXf0eTB_VfHUV46SMkvXeicUpy97c7qxVlBY14yn1wrptlisfqjSBsLmKwa8Sj/s1600-h/IMG_1211.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ughKLUYX8ZObX642mhhFwBUMKg77R8MUcMR9YwChl0QdKo6Ff_mpm9PnIkbH7Kbb15jTM9WXf0eTB_VfHUV46SMkvXeicUpy97c7qxVlBY14yn1wrptlisfqjSBsLmKwa8Sj/s320/IMG_1211.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343500732316443554" /></a><br /><br />The sea robins came in slowly at first. They nipped at our bait, stealing cut strips of clams and bunker right out from under us. We mistook the tugs we felt on our lines as nibbles from legitimate fish. Fish we would hold up with pride for a photograph, then kill and eat. <br /><br />When Mike reeled in the first one he made a sour face and said, "sea robin." I said, "What?"<br /><br />I don't remember sea robins in New England. It looked exotic and horrible in the bright light of day. I wanted to eat it all the same. <br /><br />"What do they taste like? Can you eat them?" I asked the skipper.<br /><br />"First of all, it's like filleting a tennis ball," he said. "But Chinese people say they're an aphrodisiac. I guess they say that a lot."<br /><br />I never found out if they were an aphrodisiac. An hour later we started catching more noble fish, striper and blues. By the end of the day we had 100lbs of fish to take home. The skipper filleted the blues and stripers on the dock in Cold Spring Harbor. After he cut away the flesh, he let the remaining carcasses and fish heads drop into the water. They wafted down to the bottom where the crabs picked the skeletons clean.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-15878189818450746052009-05-20T13:44:00.000-07:002009-05-20T13:45:28.412-07:00G.G. Allin Covers Warren Zevon<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TKwa3g3gRos&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TKwa3g3gRos&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Who knew?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-24149918162218668302009-05-11T08:12:00.001-07:002009-05-11T08:12:34.599-07:00Ring of Ukeleles<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/c78w-n8FQhA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/c78w-n8FQhA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-29863217011148118142009-05-08T11:34:00.000-07:002009-05-08T11:36:26.501-07:00Common People<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rA3zJ7LeoHk&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rA3zJ7LeoHk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />The irony of the song gets lost when this kid sings it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-84462093234230211122009-04-20T14:27:00.000-07:002009-04-20T14:29:59.593-07:00Borderline<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/AnUV0roCvd4&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/AnUV0roCvd4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-25740448056954191342009-03-31T14:44:00.000-07:002009-03-31T14:49:24.536-07:00YouTube covers<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zx2zJxxxQps&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zx2zJxxxQps&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />So I've been looking up covers of fairly obscure songs I know on YouTube. This kid does Roland The Thompson Gunner. It's a tune about the ghost of a mercenary. <br /><br />Maybe if I go through enough of these covers I'll find some terrible savant, untrained and gorgeous for it. But most of them are run of the mill coffee house people, trying their best to sing it exactly like it is on the record. There's a diamond out there somewhere.<br /><br />Anyway, there's something sweet about a kid singing about a Norwegian soldier of fortune in her bedroom. Better than listening to Jonas Bros.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-42564367012469426472009-03-19T12:02:00.000-07:002009-03-19T12:05:43.990-07:00Conspiracies are blooming<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.youtube.com/swf/l.swf?swf=http%3A//s.ytimg.com/yt/swf/cps-vfl84386.swf&video_id=eAaQNACwaLw&rel=1&eurl=http%3A//www.watch-movies-links.net/movies/the_obama_deception/&iurl=http%3A//i2.ytimg.com/vi/eAaQNACwaLw/hqdefault.jpg&sk=96HMBJxZBtodZTr13Q9JvmdqkiqC2kzFC&cr=US&avg_rating=4.61312078479&length_seconds=6820&allow_ratings=1&title=The%20Obama%20Deception%20HQ%20Full%20length%20version" name="plugin" height="100%" width="100%"></embed><br /><br />The Obama Deception is high art in conspiracy theory.<br /><br />And this my favorite comment from the YouTube peanut gallery:<br /><br />*I am a 3.5 gpa college student at santa monica. I have done research after seing this video. I have not been able to rebutle anything in this video. Furthermore i have found evidence to support these claims. I have gone over it with my political science professor who has a ph.d in political science. He states that Wall street has taken over Main street.*Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-1274662608365401362009-03-14T12:40:00.000-07:002009-03-14T12:50:10.458-07:00IntelA few of you have noticed that I put this blog behind a firewall for several months. You probably wonder what secret required me to do this. Nothing nags at one's imagination like a locked door, I suppose. Or at least I like to believe that you think about it at all. Probably you don't. I'll tell you about it anyway.<br /><br />It was October. In an idle moment, when I should have been either working on getting some freelance assignments or finding a regular job, I stopped by the CIA's website. You know how that goes. The Times online can only feed so many suspicions. The rest of the Internet presents a paranoia-stoking banquet. On the Web we may wander in and out of the offices of the FBI, the CIA and the NSA. Then we feel naughty and dangerous.<br /><br />Tee-fucking-hee.<br /><br />So I got to the CIA website. There I discovered the Terrorism Buster Logo. You remember the <a href="http://morebetterlies.blogspot.com/2007/10/rebranding-cia.html"> Terrorism Buster Logo</a>.<br /><br />I cringed for the dignity of beurocrats, intelligence officers and graphic designers and emailed it to my mostly uninterested friends.<br /><br />I said, "Would you look at this? Aren't you embarrassed by this? As an American? As a taxpayer? As an aesthete?"<br /><br />To a one they said, "No, no and no. So it’s a dumb logo made by a government agency, whatever man."<br /><br />Fortunately, I had a blog.<br /><br />I started this blog with grand ambitions a few years ago. But after months of trying, I realized that writing a compelling blog is both hard and pointless. Even the most widely read blogs are barely read at all. Rather, people react to headlines and then either idiotically curse or praise whatever half-formed notion they believe the author intended. This probably has a place and function in civil society, but it's ultimately not too interesting and it doesn't pay. <br /><br />Now I was aware of this last October. But still I took the time to craft a clumsy notice about the Terrorism Buster Logo and link to the CIA website. Had I left it at that, everything probably would have been fine. But I wanted people to know that I had ferreted out this moronic logo. I wanted to bring it to light and shame the Central Intelligence Agency, or at least shame whoever designed it and stuck it on the web. So I emailed a link to the advertising website copyranter. That yielded a notice on copyranter. From there things really took off.<br /><br /><br />You know all about the "blogosphere.” It consists of a bunch of people much like myself, who crave attention but can't sing or dance or act and aren't very good looking. And they're not terribly smart or original either. So they cruise around the Internet, find things there and then write dumbshit about what they've found on their own blogs. A number of these people were alerted to the existence of my site by copyranter. They came around to morebetterlies.blogspot.com, had a peek, and then posted their own notices about the CIA terrorism buster. Some of these sites were pretty widely viewed.<br /><br />So over the course of a day and a half, about 20,000 people came by to visit. My previous one-day traffic record was about 75 visitors. I thought this was pretty exciting. Especially since a few people poked around, seeing what they could see.<br /><br />I was thrilled and ashamed at the same time. It must be how flashers feel. Oh, look what I did, world! I found a thing, an ugly thing, a clumsy product of someone else’s incompetence. It had gone ignored for so long, unheralded in its ineptitude. Now look. Look at it and think about how ugly it is. Instead of thinking about nice things, pretty things, kindness and light, consider the shittiness of the CIA. Get angry and write something on your blogs about it, quickly.<br /><br />For the next day and a half I attempted to stay ahead of the newfound traffic. I tried to feed it. I went to the National Security Agency website and found some equally embarrassing, though better drawn graphic elements. I wrote awkward copy to go along with those bits. Already I felt like I was repeating myself. But I couldn’t stop.<br /><br />At times like this strange anxieties pop up. Finally, after years of so much abject failure, mere mediocrity loomed. And in the degraded context of my life, it looked like success. I told myself: This could be it, right? I finally found my voice, my rhythm, my medium. I will be a guy who finds odd and funny things on the Internet and shares them with the world. I alone am qualified to do this, because I am special. Now that others realize this about me and my website, traffic will grow steadily. I’ll get some advertisers and the regular opportunity to write pieces for high-status publications. Then I’ll retire to an apple farm in upstate New York and periodically come down the Hudson on a jetski to deliver speeches at the Barnes and Nobles in Union Square.<br /><br />Or will I screw up even this? Will I be unable to sustain the focus and attention of the few people whose lives are so empty they care about the graphic design capabilities of our nation’s intelligence agencies? I’d set the bar so low for myself. What few accomplishments I’d racked-up meant so little to anyone else. Maybe I could build something on this foundation. <br /><br />I couldn’t sleep. I ate all my meals standing up, too diffuse in my own angst to organize a meal. I drank from dirty cups, didn't shave or wash my clothes. I lay in bed for hours on end with a laptop propped on my belly, scanning the Internet for something, anything, that might hold my attention for more than fifteen seconds or offer some promise of meaning. Of course it wasn't out there.<br /><br />So it was in the midst of all this, subsequent to my little smart-ass CIA post that I got a late-night phone call from [Redacted].<br /><br />"John," he said when I answered the call. "What are you doing right now? You watching MSNBC?"<br /><br />"No, [Redacted]. I don't even have cable. Even if I did, why would I be watching MSNBC? Are you watching MSNBC?"<br /><br />"Yeah. I'm watching it,” he said. “I'm surprised you're not off somewhere watching it yourself, 'cause you're on it."<br /><br />"What do you mean, I'm 'on it?'"<br /><br />"You're on the TV right now."<br /><br />"No I'm not. I'm standing in my living room looking out the window, watching sillouttes of leaves blow by in the dark and thinking bleak thoughts. How could I be on TV?"<br /><br />"I dunno Johnny, but you're on there right now. Your blog was just mentioned on The Countdown and now it's on the scrolly thing at the bottom of the screen."<br /><br />"Huh. That's interesting. So am I famous now that I'm being featured on a show I can't view? I feel like a tree falling in an unpopulated forest all of a sudden. Oh, hey! Why are you watching cable news?”<br /><br />"I'm in a hotel room."<br /><br />"That's cool. Where?"<br /><br />"Durango, Colorado."<br /><br />"Durango? What are you doing there?"<br /><br />"Watching Keith Olberman go on and on about how great you are on his unwatchable TV show. You know that."<br /><br />"Har har. But I mean, what sent you to Durango."<br /><br />"Oh, Someone hired me to drive his car here. I'm going to hang around for a day or two and then head back east."<br /><br />"What kind?"<br /><br />"What kind what? Back East? You know, East, where the people who don't own guns live."<br /><br />"No, I meant what kind of car."<br /><br />"I think it was a Mercedes, but I can hardly tell one apart from a Dodge now. Maybe it was a Saab."<br /><br />"You are a monk [Redacted]."<br /><br />"No. You're the monk Johnny. I bet you've spent the last three days shuffling around your apartment in your bedroom slippers sniffing your own B.O. Since you quit smoking I bet you don't even leave the apartment to grocery shop."<br /><br />We continued talking for a while. I kept on staring out the window. If I pressed my cheek against the glass and looked off to my left I could see the spire of the Chrystler Building peeking over the new condos near Greenpoint, Avenue. When I first moved into this apartment I could see the whole skyline from my living room. That alone made the apartment an absurd bargain at $650 a month. Now nearly a decade had elapsed. The rent had gone up a mere two hundred bucks but a thicket of soviet-style residential skyscrapers sprouted and blocked my view of the city. I could smell the glass pressed against my face. I thought about moving to Durango. Then I thought about moving to Wyoming.<br /><br />Interrupting [Redacted] I said, "Hey, let's go to Wyoming and get jobs in a natural gas field."<br /><br />"Nah."<br /><br />"What do you mean 'nah.'"<br /><br />"That's hard work. I don't like hard work and neither do you."<br /><br />"Yeah. You're right. I hate hard work. God." I pressed my nose against the window and smelled the glass again. How can glass have a smell? Is it sublimating into the air? Why can't you smell it from a few feet away?<br /><br />"So what are you going to do Johnny?<br /><br />"What do you mean [Redacted?]"<br /><br />"I mean what are you going to do. You can't keep on doing whatever it is you've been doing. I been hearing things."<br /><br />"What things?"<br /><br />"Things."<br /><br />"What things? About me?"<br /><br />"Why do you think I called?"<br /><br />"Because you saw my blog on the Countdown and you're worried that the flood of visitors to the site will bring scrutiny to you somehow because I keep on writing about you in this oblique way?"<br /><br />"I thought I told you to cut that out."<br /><br />"You did. I don't listen. I'm egocentric. Remember. You learned that when you were working for me."<br /><br />"God. I can't believe you were my boss."<br /><br />"I know. Amazing isn't it? I couldn't lead a crackhead to a crackhouse."<br /><br />"It's true. Man. Johnny. You have no leadership skills whatsoever."<br /><br />"So what have you been hearing [Redacted]?"<br /><br />"When was the last time you went outside?"<br /><br />I thought about it for a minute. Was it two days or five? What would I have gone out for? I had peanut butter and a little bread left. Milk, coffee, some books and a poached wireless connection, what else could I possibly need? I walked through the apartment and into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror I realized that I hadn’t left the apartment for a week and a half. Autumn had peaked and waned in the meanwhile. My skin started to feel oily. I said to [Redacted], “I went for a 2 mile run this morning before my meetings. Always on the go. You know that, [Redacted].” The limp irony of the lie fell flat in my own ears.<br /><br />“What are you doing Johnny?” [Redacted] said, half laughing at me.<br /><br />I sat down on the toilet, my ass cheek perched on the lip of the seat. I thought about hanging up the phone. My lower guts ached.<br /><br />[Redacted]: “Johnny?”<br /><br />“Yeah [Redacted].” My mouth tasted sour.<br /><br />“You’re 35. Is this it?”<br /><br />“I’m not 35!” I said, reflexively. Then I paused and did the math (’88, ‘89 ‘90. . .) How simultaneously egocentric and estranged from myself am I, that I don’t even know how old I am any more?<br /><br />Jim sniggered on the other end of the phone line. “Man, I don’t know what you’ve done to yourself, but it sure is a humdinger.<br /><br />The doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone and normally that’s enough of a reason to ignore the bell. But I wanted out of this conversation with Jim. And whoever was ringing the bell seemed insistent. He rang the bell metronomically, every five seconds. Ding ( 2. . . 3. . . 4. . . .) ding. “I gotta go Jim,” I said. “Someone is at the door.”<br /><br />“Man, no one is at the door. I spoke to Jean and Abby. No one has seen you in months. They’re afraid to go to your apartment.”<br /><br />“Sorry man. I gotta get the door. I’ll call back.” And I hung up.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-14422446854301788472008-10-15T12:02:00.000-07:002008-10-15T13:00:41.194-07:00Econ 101I've wanted to buy a house or an apartment for a while. But I've been a little confused and scared by the housing market and the current credit crisis. So I went looking for some data. What I found makes me glad I haven't purchased a home in NY metro in the last five years. <br /><br /><div>First look at this table:</div><div><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metropolitan_statistical_areas_of_the_United_States_by_income">Median US household Income by metropolitan area</a>.<br /><br />Now look at this:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.realtor.org/Research.nsf/files/MSAPRICESF.pdf/$FILE/MSAPRICESF.pdf">Median US home prices.</a><br /><br />I'll save you the trouble of reading the whole thing. Here's a salient data point. Chicago has a median household income of $51,046. New York has a median household income of $50,795. (Who would have thought?) Oh, now look, in the fourth quarter of 2007, the median cost of a house in New York metro area was $457,400. What was it in Chicago? $261,000.<br /><br />So Chicagoans on average make $251 more than New Yorkers every year, but their homes cost nearly half as much. I am not an economist. But common sense tells me that the median house cost must align with the median income of an area more than half of the time. When it doesn't align, the price will rise or fall in accordance with people's ability to pay. The cost of homes in Chicagoland pretty much appear to do that. A person who makes fifty grand a year could theoretically swing a mortgage to buy a quarter million dollar home. The same person absolutely can not get a legitimate mortgage on a house that costs almost half a million dollars. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, my fellow New Yorkers. Uh. Sell?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-16492388058281951082008-08-20T15:27:00.000-07:002008-08-20T15:28:20.597-07:00Consider Yourselves Warned<embed src='http://www.cbs.com/thunder/swf30can10cbsnews/rcpHolderCbs-3-4x3.swf' FlashVars='link=http%3A%2F%2Fwww%2Ecbsnews%2Ecom%2Fvideo%2Fwatch%2F%3Fid%3D4365990&partner=userembed&vert=News&autoPlayVid=false&releaseURL=http://release.theplatform.com/content.select?pid=6WoGqbKmkEPjnMScpPMmzb0ucTNVZLP4&name=cbsPlayer&allowScriptAccess=always&wmode=transparent&embedded=y&scale=default&salign=tl' allowFullScreen='true' width='425' height='324' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' pluginspage='http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer'></embed><br/><a href='http://www.cbs.com'>Watch CBS Videos Online</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-62047165950957772008-07-21T08:04:00.000-07:002008-07-29T10:19:22.452-07:00Other Peoples Dreams IVWe walked over to the replica Colliseum. <br /><br />During college Steve and I went on expeditions like this all the time, wandering out into the woods to find a telephone satellite switching station, or driving all night long to find the radar dish at the end of Long Island so we could speculate about its sinister purpose. Usually we had altered our mental states with drugs or alcohol or both. At the very least we smoked cigarettes incessantly. Here we were now, looking at something Steve had watched a neighbor erect six months earlier. I wondered why I came and I wanted a cigarette even more.<br /><br />Then we saw the monkey.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-6586811304026301022008-07-03T08:06:00.000-07:002008-07-03T08:07:22.748-07:00Other People's Dreams IIIThe second thing I've got to go on record about is that in the moment I stood on his rented porch, sipping too-sweet sweet tea, wondering if we were going to go tour the faux Coliseum, I realized that I didn't really like Steve. I'd known him since freshman year of college. We'd roomed together for a semester somewhere in there. At different points I think we even dated some of the same girls and it never came between whatever friendship we had. But now we stood there as near-middle age men, studying one-another's face and graying hair with sidelong glances--because as a man you really can't look at another man--and I realized that Steve was a loser. <br /><br />He had already burned through two marriages at the age of 36. I don't know how. None of the typical relationship-undermining factors were present in his life. He didn't drink, do drugs, go to whores, cheat with young girls or have a temper that led to violence. He always held down a decent job. <br /><br />But something about him proved intolerable to women. And that made me wonder if he had something wrong with him. Something deep-seated and irredeemable. <br /><br />I sipped my tea again. Steve said, "So when did she leave?"<br /><br />"Two weeks ago."<br /><br />"Gone for good?"<br /><br />"She took the cat," I said.<br /><br />"Sorry dude." <br /><br />I wanted a cigarette.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-86492390674759387922008-07-01T17:03:00.001-07:002008-07-01T17:03:26.145-07:00Other People's Dreams III took a sip of the tea. It was so overladen with sugar that I could feel the sweetness on the inside of my skull. My scalp curdled a little bit, the skin and hair rucking up from my neck like a carpet on a polished floor. "It's good," I said.<br /><br />"Simple syrup," Steve said. He looked at me for a minute and then back at the Coliseum. <br /><br />And I've got to go on record about a couple of things here. The first one is that I don't know whether or not I should be capitalizing the "c" in Coliseum. Obviously, I made my choice and it's on the side of capitalization. But this structure is not the one and only coliseum, the one that people usually refer to when they use the word. It overlooks Binghamton and Johnson City and the Susquehanna River near the borderlands of New York State. In mid June the valley was lush green, velvet hillsides. I could hear bugs buzzing in the woods. A few fireflies started to glow at the edge of Steve's yard. And you could hear motorcycles winding up the road behind his house.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-83732579862398427092008-06-25T09:46:00.000-07:002008-06-25T16:28:20.737-07:00Other People's DreamsSteve called me up and told me that he was living over by the Colliseum. "It's great," he said. "Being so close to history. John you should really see this." A few days later he sent me his new address in an email. I decided to go visit.<br /><br />Of course I knew that the Coliseum wasn't in Binghamton, NY. How could it be, right? But I had heard the stories about the London Bridge being moved brick-by-brick to Flagstaff. So I figured it was possible that someone did something similar with the Coliseum. People do strange things, follow useless ambitions that have their own twisted glory. I took a day off of work, got a Zip-car and made the drive up from the city. By the time I reached Steve's cul-de-sac, I saw what he had been talking about on the phone. At the end of the road stood a 1/8th scale, poured concrete model of the Coliseum. It was entirely intact, as the Coliseum was on the day it was finished. It reallly looked a lot more like a Mexican bull fighting ring than a Roman wonder of architecture. <br /><br />Steve's house was a split level ranch with faux doric collumns in the front of it. He answered the door holding two big glasses of sweet tea. He passed one to me, and gestured at the Coliseaum with his other hand.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-48732354475382532792007-11-13T09:43:00.000-08:002007-11-13T09:52:30.334-08:00More Monkey NewsWith all due respect to <a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2x_o4tta3j8> Karl Pilkington</a>.<br /><br />I'm not fond of monkeys. I have several good reasons for <a href=http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20071113/sc_afp/indiaenvironmentanimalsmonkeys>this</a>. <br /><blockquote>NEW DELHI (AFP) - Just weeks after the Indian capital's deputy mayor toppled to his death fighting off a pack of monkeys, the animals are back on the attack, sparking fresh concerns about the simian menace.<br /> <br />One woman was seriously hurt and two dozen other people were given first aid after monkeys rampaged through a neighbourhood in east Delhi over the weekend.<br /><br />"There were about three or four monkeys involved," deputy police commissioner Jaspal Singh told AFP.</blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-49678981443300290472007-11-12T05:48:00.000-08:002007-11-12T07:28:57.646-08:00It Always Seems Like a Good Idea at the Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVtfq5ckXTDLHDicdaUVosR_mMhrLcrjk43oXPU22iOGUkn5-GMIcFzxCRhuCi5_ltuZD0sZOiYtXQ7y7TwWq99B-XG2wUvkU8TI3HDf_M6jlihQAvsTxZYbcXk-imilGJjnK/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVtfq5ckXTDLHDicdaUVosR_mMhrLcrjk43oXPU22iOGUkn5-GMIcFzxCRhuCi5_ltuZD0sZOiYtXQ7y7TwWq99B-XG2wUvkU8TI3HDf_M6jlihQAvsTxZYbcXk-imilGJjnK/s320/images.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131976230308345970" /></a><br />There's no way<a href=http://news.independent.co.uk/sci_tech/article3152325.ece> this</a> will end well.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-47038912837121208012007-10-24T08:49:00.000-07:002007-10-31T08:13:20.639-07:00Dylan Sings Louie Louie<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZFoaFgsXN-I&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZFoaFgsXN-I&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />Seriously.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-63189397795414676962007-10-23T08:58:00.000-07:002007-10-23T09:03:08.726-07:00LIE OF THE MONTH: SEX IS AS GOOD AS TV, SAY CHRIST LOVERSSome Christians tell teenagers that premarital sex is like watching a <a href=http://www.acts17-11.com/snip_tvset.html> broken TV.</a> Loving marital sex is like watching a really good TV, with a sharp clear picture.<br /><br />Kids, do you really need an old atheist to tell you that no, premarital sex is absolutely nothing like watching a TV? Because it's not. Just in case you're wondering.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-86624065252704954412007-10-22T15:18:00.000-07:002007-10-22T17:23:05.435-07:00Intelligence Services Co-opt Hanna Barbara<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFJQzN-lr7bbnZHQmfV6Spf46KTHosPuN3lHXuZcdclH_tqgJo2BeBcXHXurVux32AGWiWiQnIO9q1kREZy1sOnz1htDFBAfFtSkNbGfJU_ZyiZFHZnj7JNZ7ky6gEKyyUUYX5/s1600-h/Picture+3.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFJQzN-lr7bbnZHQmfV6Spf46KTHosPuN3lHXuZcdclH_tqgJo2BeBcXHXurVux32AGWiWiQnIO9q1kREZy1sOnz1htDFBAfFtSkNbGfJU_ZyiZFHZnj7JNZ7ky6gEKyyUUYX5/s320/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124291185462304066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For most of its history the folks at the National Security Agency worked under a heavy cloak of secrecy. They liked it that way. They even had their own little joke during the Cold War. It went like this:<br /><br />Q: What does NSA stand for?<br />A: No Such Agency!<br /><br />Har har har.<br /><br />Well, the Cold War is long over and an atmosphere of Glasnost prevails. In an effort to reach out to the youth of America the cryptographers at the NSA have come up with <a href="http://www.nsa.gov/kids/">CryptoKids.</a><br /><br />See, the NSA <i> gets it</i>. All kids are CryptoKids! LOL! They've even got their own words, like MILF! Who would ever guess what <i> that means?</i> Not Osama, that's for sure. Democracy is safe in the hands of the CryptoKids!<br /><br />The Cryptokids are undeniably great. But it would be wrong to neglect the child-outreach of the other intelligence agencies. I've only put the Cryptokids artwork at the top because it made me guffaw when I saw it. The <a href="https://www.cia.gov/kids-page/games/index.html"> CIA</a> is doing its bit too. Its all-purpose mascot is a cunning trannie Carmen Sandiego, with a subtle nod to Maxwell Smart -- a reference no kid would ever understand. But stiletto phones are kinda hot and edgy, so it's cool.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOi6pmhe2BmGEXCKRsn-IQ14kpdxEA4G_z_JkB6EO6JwNlOidLru_KzIfAUnhLDk5BUtvCs1rXnJ-7KQLq7KVkNHL12gbVKbqOnTmPa-YDzccGBz0BIhAjWw-0U6yUa7rTx4g/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOi6pmhe2BmGEXCKRsn-IQ14kpdxEA4G_z_JkB6EO6JwNlOidLru_KzIfAUnhLDk5BUtvCs1rXnJ-7KQLq7KVkNHL12gbVKbqOnTmPa-YDzccGBz0BIhAjWw-0U6yUa7rTx4g/s320/Picture+2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124293856931962194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And of course those glorified flatfeet at the FBI have taken time from passing<a href="http://www.boston.com/news/packages/whitey/characters/connolly.htm"> information</a> on to <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/law/10/18/mob.trial.ap/index.html" mobsters=""> mobsters</a> to come up with their own <a href="http://www.fbi.gov/fbikids.htm" kids="" pages=""> kids' pages.</a> Good effort Feds! At least none of the thousands and thousands of kids who visit your site know that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._Edgar_Hoover"> J. Edgar Hoover was a pervert.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-25603880639701186062007-10-21T16:44:00.001-07:002007-10-22T14:32:38.642-07:00Rebranding the CIA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpgxbCCnUPpIlymg6fxWhJRqrn5q9vI4tp4KSzXi9L1RcHEsod-5O93T_hn8eb_lLzWiyjHYS32oMamXBUwXNlTLfQRJZBcVZk3MVEfNPGeKDYvZbp-AU52FmzktJxsS1Kd9B/s1600-h/busterspin_preview.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUpgxbCCnUPpIlymg6fxWhJRqrn5q9vI4tp4KSzXi9L1RcHEsod-5O93T_hn8eb_lLzWiyjHYS32oMamXBUwXNlTLfQRJZBcVZk3MVEfNPGeKDYvZbp-AU52FmzktJxsS1Kd9B/s320/busterspin_preview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123928453999320354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />What would you call this image? For any American over the age of 30 the red circle with a slash through it evokes the Ghostbusters logo. But what is that figure in the middle? Ominous and dark, it lacks any identifying characteristics other than what looks like the silhouette of an AK-47 clutched in its hand.<br /><br />Oh, I know. It's a terrorist! Of course. It must be, because this is the <a href="https://www.cia.gov/news-information/cia-the-war-on-terrorism/dci-counterterrorist-center-terrorist-buster-logo.html"> CIA's Terrorist Buster Logo.</a><br /><br />I want to meet the CIA agents who wear jumpsuits emblazoned with this logo. Do they tear around the dusty streets of Karachi in a 1957 ambulance and confront wacky terrorists as portrayed by Rick Moranis? I bet they're really funny dudes. And no doubt they're well equipped to countermand any ecto-plasm dirty bombs.<br /><br /><blockquote><i>Note from John: A few people have inferred from a timestamp on the CIA's website that this logo is relatively new. It is not. I came across it for the first time in 2003 or 2004.</i></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-47085814966899668032007-10-17T06:01:00.000-07:002007-10-17T06:03:35.248-07:00My Goals are Stupid and Small<a href=http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/17/sports/othersports/17speed.html?_r=1&oref=slogin>Alexander Roy</a> lives life like Burt Reynolds and Dom Deluise.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19730166.post-6752276592286434042007-09-27T05:20:00.000-07:002007-10-01T14:43:40.444-07:00Liar of the Month<a href=http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/27/nyregion/27survivor.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&hp>This article </a> in the Times tells the story of Tania Head. She's made 9/11 her life over the past six years. She makes speeches and advocates for 9/11 type stuff, based on her harrowing tale of survival on that day in September. Too bad it's all bullshit! Yay Tania Head. You're crazy and good at it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0