Author: MacPhoenix

Categories
Silliness

Dark Side of the Blog

Start your CD… now.

This week, I’ve been going mad with songs stuck in my head that I absolutely can’t stand. Shit by Boston and Journey and that stupid “Complicated” song by that poser-riotgrrrrl from Canada. It’s okay if you like that stuff, but it sure doesn’t belong stuck in my brain. But it’s all cool. I just pop in Dark Side of the Moon, and breathe deeply of the most fucking awesome album ever made.

Am I a Floyd fan? I guess you can say that. Roger Waters gave me the strength to survive high school. That probably wasn’t his goal, helping pimply-faced adolescents get through their rough hormonal years, but there it is. And before I know it, ten years has gone behind me. I survived thanks to Floyd.

I probably haven’t listened whole to the album in five years, but just recently, I went to a laser show that played Dark Side in its entirety. I realized that I missed it. Diggin’ it through my headphones. Eatin’ a little sushi. Floyd and wassabi. That’d wake me up!

The problem with Dark Side is that it is totally overplayed on the radio, but song by song. The album is a dish, meant to be consumed whole. All the time that I’ve been hearing each individual song on the radio, minus “On the Run,” “Great Gig in the Sky,” and “Any Colour You Like,” I had forgotten how incredible the album is. The album is sung almost entirely by David Gilmore, with some help by Rick Wright, which makes it fairly unusual in the Floyd discography. Dave has a great rock-singing voice, slightly soft and rough at the same time. Rog, for all my love and adoration for him, may he be praised, doesn’t have the same caliber voice. But the vocals on Dark Side are smooth and softly spoken. Magic.

I’m not frightened of dying. Any time will do. Why should I be frightened of dying? There’s no reason for it. We’ve all got to go sometime. Death is obviously the counter-point to life. Eternity is no bargain. Since we are a mere glimmer in this universe, every moment is vital and brilliant. Our lifespan is perfect to do SOMETHING. Every something that we do adds up, making civilization something special, making history move, making life precious and worthwhile. It is because we die that we can live.

The most overplayed song on Dark Side is “Money.” Lord knows I change the station whenever I hear it on the Classic-Rock stations. Still, just hearing that fuzzy, thick bass line is so satisfying after listening to “Gig.” Perfection. Then there is that really, truly amazing guitar solo. I’ve seen Dave play the shit out of it live… in the rain… the pouring rain… and he just wouldn’t stop… not even after a half an hour of playing it… oh God when will he stop…, but on the album it is just right. An obvious demonstration of how great Floyd was when they acted like a band. Meddle and The Wall have a bit of this synergy to, but nothing like Dark Side.

A war for oil? I don’t know. Most conflicts do tend to boil down to us vs. them, the have-nots vs. the haves. The lengths that people will go through to try to keep the crap that they have from falling into the clutches of those who want what they have is pretty great. Right now, I see this inevitable conflict in the current battle over copyright vs. public domain. Our inevitable conflict with Iraq scares the shit out of me. I certainly don’t want a nasty dictator to have access to nuclear weapons, but that goes for a lot of countries, not just Iraq. When has America had success installing a friendly regime after invading and waging war with a country? Won’t that whole area destabilize further prompting a lot more anti-American feelings from the down and out?

“Any Colour You Like” is my favorite track on Dark Side. Wedged between “Us and Them” and “Brain Damage,” it is just a bit of psychedelic tinkering that messes with your head when you listen to the album through headphones. Reminds me a lot of Yes, who also tinkered a lot on their albums. Yeah, I admit it, I like Prog Rock. You gotta problem with that? Fuck you, you Journey-loving prick.

Ah, the breakdown of communication between men and between ourselves. Explored thoroughly in “Brain Damage,” by Roger Waters. Sure, it could have to do with drug use, which most people believe, and is supported by the Syd Barrett reference, “and if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes,” since by all accounts that is what happened to poor acid-burned-out Syd. But it is about any type of madness, not just drug induced, and how it separates us from others.

I can’t think of anything else to say. (Just say anything.) (Laughter.) Nothing that‘s nice. (Another chuckle.)

This blog entry didn’t really match up to Dark Side of the Moon, really. As a matter of fact, it was all daft.

Categories
Rant

The evolution of a bad idea

I don’t understand what is wrong with my fellow countrymen. And, crap, I’m not even talking about war or false patriotism. But every couple of months, some stupid backwater school board has got to throw its two cents in on the subject of Evolution.
I’m not even going to provide links to the news stories, because the names change, and the method used to sneak in Creationism is tweaked, but it always the same old story.
Many scientists, someone will be quoted as saying, are doubting the veracity of Darwinism. Evolution, it will be noted, is a theory, not a fact. There are other theories on just how we got here, the school board demands. And so, stupid backwater myths are promulgated on children. As if they don’t hear enough bullshit from their ignorant parents.

Yeah, it gets to me.

Listen, in any other country with a half-way decent, non-religious education system, this isn’t even a topic. Modern biology is based on Evolution much like modern electronics are based on Quantum Theory. Some of the edges may be fuzzy still, and are vigorously debated by scientists, but no one doubts the core theory, and ANY scientist that says otherwise has an agenda. Some pip-squeak johnny-come-lately is always gonna gun for the quickest draw, but history rarely records his name. Call it evolution.

And here’s the thing: Theories are always based on facts, which are recordable, repeatable data. Theories are not opinion. The Theory of Gravity is not the opinion of Newton. They are the observable results from testing and testing and testing. The theory that Newton put forth worked for several hundred years, but was refined by Einstein. We still learn about Newton’s gravity in school, though, because it is very straight forward, and only breaks down at extremes not present on Earth. I hear no school board in Cracker, USA, demanding that kids learn about the alternatives to gravity.

So just what are the alternatives to Evolution? Surprise, surprise, but the only one available is an off-shoot of the totally ridiculous Creationist “Theory.” And that’s just a story in The Bible. The latest incarnation is Intelligent Design, which, amazingly enough, borrows most of its concepts from Evolution, but insists on a higher being to start it. It may be, after all, what most people believe at some level, but it is not based on any reproducible data, so it is not a theory. Maybe they’ll settle for a warning label on Biology textbooks that evolution is just one of a gazillion theories on the origins of humans. And maybe they’ll pay for all the frontal lobotomies that we need to perform on all those adolescents and their naughty, animal urges.

So what are kids supposed to learn, other than Americans are stuck in some bizarre, Puritan nightmare, where porn and guns and liquor are cheap, but God-damn the lesson that we’ve evolved from lesser stock? Learn this: Religion has no place in our schools or our science or our facts. Die out all ready, you ignorant fools, and let nature take its course.

Categories
Silliness

Celebrating 40 Blog Entries

Rather than torture my poor, long-suffering friends with two bad jokes that they’d have to hear over and over again, because I forget who I’ve told what to and when, I’ll post them here for the world to ignore. These jokes are vaguely ethnic, but I’ll do my part to make them even more vague.

Joke#1: It seems a country gentleman had a visitor from a big city, where, perhaps, the folk are not known for their swiftness. The country gentleman was showing the city guy various sites, the rolling hills, the green pastures, when they happened upon a sheep with its head stuck in a hole in a fence. The country gentleman tells the city guy to wait for a minute while he has his way with the hapless sheep. The country gentleman thoroughly enjoys himself, and when he is done he says to the city guy, “Okay, your turn.”

To which the city guy says, “Oh, no, I’m not about to get my head stuck in that hole.”

Ahem. Now Joke #2: A group of campers were in a forest area that was home to two native tribes: The Futhabuckas and the Fuhkawees. The Futhabuckas were known as excellent trackers and hunters, and supposedly could find their way around the huge forest while blindfolded. The Fuhkawees were artisans, known for their beautiful headdresses and tribal jewelry.

Presently, the campers were deep in the forest, and it started to rain, covering up the sun. The campers’ guide had lost his compass crossing a stream a few hours back, and he worried that he was leading his friends further away from their camp. With the sky darkening, he feared the worst. The campers huddled together under their jackets, trying to keep dry and warm, but without any provisions, they were thristy and hungry, and they felt hopelessly lost. They spent the night under the canopy, hoping for better tidings in the morning.

When dawn broke, the campers heard voices in the distance. Nervous, but encouraged by the sounds of other humans, they tracked down the sounds. The campers found a group of natives huddled under another tree, with animal skins over their heads.

The campers’ guide walked forward to greet the native that stood out the most, the one with a tremendous white and red crown of feathers over his head. This native looked proud and commanding. The guide said, “Excuse me, but we’re hopelessly lost. Can you tell us where we are in the forest?”

The proud native looked at the guide and said, “I dunno, we’re the Fuhkawee.”

Sigh. I know. I know. At least I didn’t have to tell these to you in person.

Categories
Metablogs

TIPS-top shape

I was going to rant a bit about Eunice Stone, the busybody cum patriot, but I found a better, over-the-top, column about it, here. An excerpt: But no one spoke of charging Eunice Stone with perpetrating a hoax. Because Stone is a portly blond nurse in her mid-forties and the three young men were dark skinned West and Central Asian-Americans, the burden of proof fell on the Muslims to defend themselves against the accusations of a ‘real American.’
Welcome to the new America.

Categories
Short Subjects

Chick Pea Salad

And this non sequitur is sponsored by Lingua Shapta. We performed for the very first time on stage at the Munchaba Lounge in Levittown, Long Island, New York, USA, Earth. In my unbiased opinion, we did pretty good. In my rockstar persona, we kicked major ass, dudes!!!

We’ll eventually do it again, to be sure, but look for a QuickTime movie to be uploaded in a week or so. That’ll be in Creative, in the special Lingua Shapta section, which doesn’t exist yet.

And being that I only write one blog entry per day, at best, I shall completely change subjects again to point out that I’m linking to a couple of other blogs, Breakfast of Champions and Evilninja, because they’re just fine fine blogs that are updated a helluva lot more often than this one and are funny and interesting and thought provoking and all the good stuff that blogs should be. Breakfast of Champions is run by Erynn, who lives in a mystical land to the north that she calls “Canada.” Evilninja is an American, but secretly so. Share and enjoy.

Chick pea salad is what I’m eating right now. Ah! Bet you thought there was no reason for that. Right? Right?

My back is killing me. Ouch.

Categories
Short Subjects

Jonathan, Lingua Shapta, and the Munchaba Lounge

So I’ve been fortunate enough to have been a part of “The Carnival of Arts” festivities every Thursday at the Munchaba Lounge in Levittown for the past month. It is an open-mike poetry night, along with a couple of other artistic endeavors. I’ve read “Raw,” “Spring Cleaning,” “Counting Backwards,” and several other of my poems in front of a very generous and responsive audience. It is much fun. Consider this an open invite for any Thursday, around 11 p.m., to come on down and see me, and quite a few other more-talented performers, grace the stage at Munchaba. Need directions? E-mail me.

But wait! Lingua Shapta, the fusion of my poetry with the musical genius of rich(e)rich, will be making it’s first live appearance at Munchaba’s “Carnival of the Arts” in two weeks. That’s Thursday, September 19th. We’ll perform “Raw” and “Song XVI.” Wow!

Categories
Silliness

The score so far

As noted, Vanilla Coke sucks.

Pepsi Blue is even worse.

Dr. Pepper Red Fusion tastes a lot like regular Dr. Pepper, but has twice the caffine. I drank 48oz of it, and got very dizzy. Wheeee!

Categories
Essays

Great Adventures in Short Pants

The youth of today have another vice that is particularly annoying for an old man like myself — line-jumping. Sure, we knocked over mailboxes and were rude in public for no reason, but, by golly, when we stood in line, we we’re perfect little solders.
Maybe not, but the sheer boldness of the line-jumpers surprised me on my latest foray to Great Adventure, a theme park in New Jersey. The standard was for a group of four or so, already deep into the line, to invite another group of supposed friends up to their position. This is just wrong.

Allow me to rationalize. Most of the rides at Great Adventure are set up for four people or two sets of two people. So if three people are saving a space on line for a single person, well, that would have been a seat that would end up empty anyway. Therefore, I’m not against the volunteer who gets refreshments for the rest of his party from rejoining his friends. Far from it, we need more of that type of good-ol’ American idealism in today’s kids.

But four or more shouting for several others to join them in the middle of the line? Not in my country.

And they were not the worst, because they had some, albeit wrong, justification for line-jumping. No, the worst were the girls who pretended not to be doing anything wrong. Let me explain.

When we first got into the park, my friends and I headed to the Great American Scream Machine, because it is so clearly visible from the parking lot as one enters the park. This ride is an old-school roller-coaster where people sit two by two in each car. It’s fun but a bit rough on the neck if one is not relaxed. The line was pretty short, and we were close to riding the coaster when I noticed a pair of teenage girls, 17 years-old or so, asking a single male rider if they could get on together on that particular turn, instead of waiting for the next ride. The man reluctantly agreed, because he was riding with his wife and daughter, who were sitting in the same car. Why did he give up the seat for these two? Because they were not unattractive teenage females.

So now the guy was going to ride the next coaster by himself with a couple of strangers. Sucker, I thought to myself, and it was a bit of witty conversation with the others in my party for a short length of time.

After the Scream Machine, I was eager to get to Medusa, which is a tremendously fun coaster for those keeping track. The line for this ride was apparently short for most of the day until we got onto it, for it was spilling outside the corrals that are set up to keep people in line, literally. Normally, the corrals are set up maze like to allow for the maximum density of people-herding in the smallest amount of space, but, as noted, the line hadn’t been long enough to justify people walking through an empty, but curvy, labyrinth to get to the ride. Until, that is, we showed up. Then an aged security guard was chaining rows together to get the proper line-flow going.

He was right behind us, yelling at various youths who were taking advantage of the chaotic line order to get ahead of a few dozen people. One pair of advantage-takers were the teenaged girls from the Scream Machine. They were about to cut ahead of my party.
“Whoa, whoa,” I said to them. I do actually talk like this. “Hey, you’re not going to do to us what you did to that poor guy before.”

The two looked incredulous. “What are you talking about?” the curly-haired one said. She turned out to be the only one who would deign to talk back to me.

“Back at the Scream Machine. We saw how you got that guy to give up his seat,” I continued. I was not to be swayed by their looks of innocence. The spokesman for the two denied involvement in my conspiracy theory. And they tried to move in in front of us anyway, despite my protestations.

“Naw, naw, naw,” I said, waving my arms and shaking my head. I moved in front of the two to prevent them access to the line ahead of me. “You’re just going to have to go back to the end of the line.” I crossed my arms, leaned against the railing, and gave them my smuggest look.

“Your fly is open,” said the curly-haired girl.

There was just the slightest pause, before I shot back, “That’s okay.” Then I turned and faced the front of the line. I had won the battle, but at what cost?
Several minutes later, I confirmed and corrected the altitudinal error of the zipper on my shorts, as surreptitiously as possible. And, of course, the two girls were within sight of my party for almost the entire day, but we never had another confrontation. And others continued to cut the lines. Damned kids.

Categories
Short Subjects

A toast to birthdays past and present

Last year, my 30th birthday fell on a Saturday. This was great planning on my parents’ part. My mom threw a party for me on a boat that slowly circled a bit of water around Long Beach. I was deliriously ecstatic, because fifty of my family and friends came aboard, many of whom I hadn’t seen in some time, and such occasions, with everyone together, are far and few between. It was exhausting, but I had a wonderful time, and I believe so did everyone else. My thanks to them for attending, be it a year later. I love you all.
This year, in contrast, I had a wonderfully relaxed birthday. Sunday was spent with a small group of friends, and was made particularly special by the efforts of Katherine and her folks. They have been very, very kind to me, in so many ways, and my birthday was no exception. Katherine, you are warm and generous, and your family is constantly surprising me by their own warmth and generosity. So here is a note of my gratitude. Thank you for making me feel so welcome. Thank you for being so kind.

Categories
Short Subjects

Triskadecaphobia

Thirteen years ago this month, I graduated from high school. It should have been June, but I made a couple of mistakes and had to take two courses over in summer school. This seemed like a huge problem at the time, but it really didn’t affect my life negatively in anyway. And, since the classes were a lot simpler and shorter during summer school, my grade point average improved. The four weeks of summer school were actually a pleasure compared to the nightmare of high school, but then I guess everything was a pleasure when compared to nightmare of high school.
Still and all, my English teacher for that short time, Mr. Watson, truly was an inspiration to me. The class consisted of reading four books, one per week, with discussions, watching the film adaptations, and finally a short test. This was a breeze to me, and I got to read, and see, Equus, Butterflies Are Free, Deliverance, and Being There. The latter two remain favorite books of mine, and, since I was kind of stuck in a sci-fi rut back then, nothing like I ever read before, especially in class.
I didn’t really belong in summer school. Mr. Watson knew this, and even told me as much. Most kids there were struggling through his program. The lack of education that they were given has continued to bother me and my bleeding-heart to no end. They weren’t necessarily slow, but they sure were ignored. I, on the other hand, was just a slacking, intelligent, middle-class white kid who had too many absences to pass two classes. The shock of possibly not graduating had forced me to pay attention to my future for a bit, and I seized the opportunity to get something out of my punishment.
So I talked to Mr. Watson. We discussed the books while others were reading silently. I would finish each book before Tuesday just so I could chat with Mr. Watson. He was funny, an iconoclast, startlingly bright, and, dare I believe, aching for someone else to talk to during the three-hour classes.
I swore to visit Mr. Watson again the next year to thank him. But life passes, and, thirteen years later, I don’t think I could even recognize the man if he were next to me. I’ve yet to seize any other opportunity that life throws my way, and I’m still a slacking, intelligent, middle-class white kid. At the least, however, I want to thank the man and let the world know that I still remember him fondly, for just the few weeks that we got to know each other.