I believe in the judicious use of profanity in rock music. Profanity does have its place in language and I find it only offenisive when it is overused. A good “fuck” or “shit” well placed within a song does not offend me, but rather brings a smile to my face. It feels good to swear. But not too often, or like with all good things, it loses much of its power. A good example, by Ben Folds Five, is “Army”– “I thought about the army; Dad said ‘Son you’re fucking high.’”
I believe in the right for anyone, of age, to marry anyone else, of age. I am still confounded by people who feel the need to “defend” marriages and who are horrified by the desire of gay indivduals to marry. It makes me wonder what’s going on at home with these people. Last time I checked, marriage was between two people, not two people and a larger group of people who give it value. Marriage should get its value from the actual people in it. Why should the marriage of two people have any effect on the validity and value of someone else’s marriage? That’s what I think the problem is. It isn’t about what the Bible says, how the Bible defines it. The problem is that when just anyone can get married, what does the whole process really mean? It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. It never did. Marriage is a collective idea wherein two people say that they are committed to each other and people decide to respect that. No one HAS to respect that–not even the two people getting married. They just choose to.
I find this whole idea reminiscent of fraternities. The only importance a fraternity has is the importance it gives itself. The single most important method for giving membership in a fraternity any importance at all, is by creating some means of excluding others, of singling people out as better or more deserving of this ‘honor’. Is that what we are creating here– a marriage fraternity? What kind of people need a fraternity? I’ll tell you–people who can’t garner the respect they desire on their own, so they attempt to force it out of people by giving themselves an imagined importance. If your marriage is so pristine, such a model of what marriage should be, you shouldn’t have to “defend” it. It should stand above all else based on its own merits. But if you need to hide behind a definition in some aribtrary book and then force that definition upon others, you, my friend, are the real loser.
I believe in the futility of trying to ‘beat’ traffic. You will never ‘beat’ traffic. You may escape for moments here and there but traffic will always get the best of you in the end. The best of you, that is, if your goal is to win. If you can accept it for what it is, create a schedule for yourself that provides you enough reward for getting in the car at all (say, a cookie and tea) you can achieve a stalemate. That’s about as good as it gets folks. And I suppose as a semi-liberal, that makes me a quitter by playing nice but really, I’m just not wasting my time and energy orchestrating my life around one obstacle.
…while cleaning up one square foot of my bedroom.
From “American Poetry Since 1950 - Innovators and Outsider” edited by Eliot Weinberger.
At Tikal
By William Bronk
“Mountains they knew, and jungle, the sun, the stars–
these seemed to be there, but even after they slashed
the jungle and burned it and planted the comforting corn,
they were discontent. They wanted the shape of things.
They imagined a world and it was if it were there
–a world with stars in their places and rain that came
when they called. It closed them in. Stone by stone,
as they built this city, these temples, they built this world.
They believed it. This was the world, and they,
of course, were the people. Now trees make up
assemblies and crowd in the wide plazas. Trees
climb the stupendous steps and rubble them.
In the jungle, the temples are little mountains again.
It is always hard like this, not having a world,
to imagine one, to go to the far edge
apart and imagine, to wall whether in
or out, to build a kind of cage for the sake
of feeling the bars around us, to give shape to a world.
And oh, it is always a world and not the world.”
So again, I was talking to the one I call Brenda (because that is her name) and I learned another word for IT. I have called IT ‘box’. I have called it ‘the air-re-er’. I have also been aparty to threatening to kick someone in ‘the coot’. I have heard it called a ‘mackalaly” after a french soccer player, and I have heard it called the ‘baby gap’ on ‘Drawn Together’. I have now heard it called a ‘panty hamster’ by Brenda.
Some others on a quick search of the Internets™ include ‘cooter’, ‘vag’, ‘punani’ (which reminds me of a girl in college), and, of course, ‘muff’. My favorite–’bagina’.
You might try looking IT up online, and not at work, like I just did. I am still looking for a truly comprehensive list of names that makes me giggle, not go ick. Basically, I am trying to make up for walking out of the room to get a waffle when they had a litany of names on ‘Drawn Together’.
Hmm… this has been decidedly enteraining. This might be the beginning of a little project… At the very least, a category along the side, but again, what to call it?
**UPDATE** An idea! This MUST exist. If it doesn’t, I am sooo there. An illustrated book of terms for IT. Oh, to draw a bearded clam…
Holy God, if anyone here knew that I spent almost the WHOLE day reconfiguring my site to use WordPress, I would most certainly be fired.
But anyway, the reason for my move was precipiated by a few things.
- The consistent slowness and instability of Blogger
- The fact that I believe strongly in an inevitable evil end game from Google
So, I am using WordPress and taking charge of my own blog. It is also free. It is also pretty swank. I don’t forsee any sign-on issues or subversion from my web host. I could be wrong, but I am pretty confident.
My old posts will slowly be added to this wonderful new system, so fear not, the classic entries will return. Enjoy the chicken below.
The Spring Chicken from Martha Stewart.
Now how much would YOU pay to see me in an adult-size version?
I’ll admit that there is something a little creepy about a man-made park called EarthPark, but from what I have seen, I would still love to go there.
From Grist, “A 70-acre indoor rainforest and eco-learning center is set to be built in the most obvious of places: central Iowa. Opening Earth Day 2010, Earthpark will be part of a development that includes condos, a resort hotel, and a water park. Earthy!”
I went a little crazy last night on iTunes, like I do every now and again. I think I bought maybe 10 songs. No great crime. On my drive into work today I started listening to them in reverse order. I think I have finally found my “style”, if you will. I would say it is most likely a playful kind of folk. One song came on, in particular, that actually brought a gleeful smile to my face as I faced the morning commute. That is a feat, in and of itself–my smiling on my morning commute. The last song to do that was “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” by Santa Esmeralda.
“On the radio” by Regina Spektor really needs to be heard to appreciate the playfulness. (On her site, you can listen to it on the album Begin to Hope) The lyrics are a bit simplistic and perhaps “cute” (I’d say a bit endearing) but I always find talent in saying what you want within the bounds of your melody. Anyway, the lyrics follow. I highly recommend a download.
This is how it works
It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some words
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again
On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo’s really long
But it’s a pretty song
We listened to it twice
‘Cause the DJ was asleep
This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again
And on the radio
You hear November Rain
That solo’s awful long
But it’s a good refrain
You listen to it twice
‘Cause the DJ is asleep
On the radio
(oh oh oh)
On the radio
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio
If we could reduce the world’s population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all existing human ratios remaining the same, the demographics would look something like this:
- 60 Asians
- 12 Europeans
- 5 US Americans and Canadians
- 8 Latin Americans
- 14 Africans
- 49 would be female
- 51 would be male
- 82 would be non-white
- 18 white
Continued…
I Stumbled™ upon this site and I just don’t get it. The Sheep Market.
I am going to model my desk after a scene from The Simpsons. As people ask me questions here at work, I am reminded of the episode when Lisa gets on the wrong bus on her way to the Egyptian exhibit at the local museum and asks the bus driver for help. The bus driver taps a sign that reads “No talking to the bus driver.” Lisa persists until finally the bus driver says “Don’t make me tap the sign.”
I am going to construct a sign at work that just says “No” or “Why would I have any idea?” When people come around with questions, I plan to, much like the bus driver, simply tap the sign.
If questions persist, I will, of course, say “Don’t make me tap the sign.”
