Winter break is a few short weeks away!

Normally during break I like to make up for the complete lack of learning that took place during the semester (as in, I had to take a class that points out that India is in Asia, or that adolescents tend to dislike their adolescent siblings... seriously!). So, I find delicious academic books I have always wanted to read. This summer ended with disaster as I found out why so many people talk about but so few people actually read Foucault.... the man reads like a phone book with no numbers.

But this break I deserve a treat. I have been a good boy. So I will be reading this





I am so excited I can't stand up without embarrassing myself!

Pirates are alright
and Communists are so lovable!

It isn't a zombie novel, but zombie protagonists are so hard to read. What with all the nonsensical moaning and whatnot.

I just thought I would share. Tomorrow I teach my first class of kidos. It will be exciting.

kisses

Bah mother fucking humbug,

I worked in retail for years, from the age of 16 to 24. Christmas in retail land is christmas in America. It begins somewhere in October and doesn't end until February when the last of the winter decor prematurely blossoms into pastel spring nightmare. There is something special, magical, and oh so Jesusy holy about people screaming at you because x isn't in stock.

Once, while working in a book store, someone had ordered a book for their husband. They left instructions that when we should call to let them know their book was in, do not tell them what the book was as to keep it a secret. I am fine with that, I didn't ever leave a title incase it was a gift.

Well, I call and someone picks up. I let them know the book that was ordered came in and the guy asks me what the book was. I let him know that I was left instructions not to say. He says, oh, don't worry about that, we need to know, there was a change of plans. Ok, so I let him know, we wish each other a wondrous holiday and hang up.

Twenty minutes later I get a call from an angry woman informing me that I have ruined christmas.

Should I tell her that her husband lied and demanded to know the title; possibly ruining her holiday? I mean, this was a sneaky guy, who knows how many other wives he was sleeping with and lying about?

Or, should I spare her and tell her it was all my fault?

It is that sort of shit that makes me hate Christmas. And let us be honest. We can call it the holiday season but there isn't a Jew for eighty miles around here. There are more Solstice celebrating pagans than Chanukah celebrating Jews around here. We just say 'Happy Holidays' to seem like we are being polite as a culture.

And the music. Nat King Cole, I am going to dig up your grave and put you through a wood chipper. How do you like that white christmas snow fall?

And Manheim Steamroller? I don't believe in a hell, but I want to so bad just so you are your synthesizer orgy can burn.

There is a bright side to Christmas. It may sound cheesy, but it is family. Oh, I am not talking about warm Hallmark togetherness. No, I am talking about the one time a year my mother drinks. She thinks she can drink her sons and husband under the table. But she forgets that we practice all year long. This tradition began when my drink of choice was the Screaming Nazi, but only for its name. six years later we still spend christmas with a bottle of Jagermeister and Rumbplminze and a sugar high straight out of kindergarten.


Let me conclude with John Cale's dark cover of Heartbreak Hotel. You will be glad you watched it.

Want to check out the first Canadian android?

Want to check out the first Canadian handicapped android with a mysterious hand injury?

Well, then this youtube clip is for you!

Marvel as a creepy man first attempts to hurt his android.

Be amazed as he then cops a feel and gets slapped in the face!

All the while the poor android expresses her torment!



I almost cried when she said "I don't want to do this any more"

She may have been talking about the pain demonstration. But I like to think she was praying to the cyber heavens to release her from this mortal coil.

He makes androids in his basement. This is probably also where he keeps his snuff films.


I can't emphasize this enough kids. Be kind to androids so when they rule the universe they are kind to us.

Well, this was on topic.

With all of these lists going around I feel compelled to join in. But after careful consultation with my legal team we thought it prudent to not. But I don't listen to lawyers. We came up with a compromise. Here it is

guy^X

It was unreal. If you can imagine this number (which is between 1 and seventy million) then you will most certainly have a number in your mind.

Several paternity cases are going on at the moment. Two of which were brought forth by vacuum cleaners. This is impossible though, as I don't think vacuums even have ovaries. Unless of course they just sucked some up, but even still, they don't have warm, wet sacks and a feeding tube.

Well, I am stuck at work wishing I wasn't and listening to NPR. They were just talking about Norman Mailer who died last weekend. They had on the air an 80 something year old woman who was traveling on the train at age 17. On that train she was courted by a dashing Norman Mailer. Well, tonguey snogging quickly got out of hand and turned into vaginal penetration.

Well, they were scant on details. But this is no longer their fantasy alone. She just said they had sex. How awesome is that? Statutory rape story involving Norman Mailer. That is hot.

Ok, it might not be statutory rape. But the story is so much more amusing in that light.

anyway, I wrote a program to tabulate my sexual conquests over the years. It is organizing it in one of two categories 1)slippery and 2)reprehensible. I will post it as soon as it is done, but it is having a hard time quantifying those categories; leaving my sexual past both mysterious and alluring.

I think my computer is getting hard though.

Hi,

Autumn is my favorite season. It is the season that feels most like we are heading somewhere. The weather is still nice and it has a romantic feel to it, two people sharing something in spite of the winter oblivion ahead.

My voice of winter for music is depressing. Half the Tom Waits discography becomes too chipper to listen to. All jazz and classical music leaves my ears and it seems the only blues music I can stand is written by either blind men or those who sold their souls to the devil.

But autumn is different. It is facing that bleak winter but it is still stoic about it. Almost mystical.

Nick Drake was an Autumnal person. I wish I could post a home recording of him doing Hazy Jane from his first album, Brighter Later. His first two albums had lush, medieval arrangements accompanying Drake's expert fingering and foggy whisper voice. His third and final album had no such accompaniment and is a much finer album for it. Here is one of my favorites from it.



John Cale and Nico are enjoyable all year around. But their collaborations during autumn are especially good. I had wanted to post something from The Marble Index or Desertshore, but couldn't find anything with good sound quality. Nico covering My Funny Valentine did the job nicely. She sounds like Marline Dietrich soaked in heroin.



A song from the Marble Index I was able to find is John Cale covering Frozen Warnings. It was for the documentary Icon - Nico which came out in the 90's a decade after her death. I usually don't like piano covers of songs because it is so easy to make them much more melancholy. Tori Amos has made a career of making rock songs depressing with her fabroge voice and piano. But as John Cale wrote with Nico, did the production and arrangements I think he is allowed to. His cover makes Frozen Warnings a very different song but very much in the Autumn frame of mind



There is more I wanted to share, but I am limited to videos on youtube. So, you will just have to be content with what I gave you vultures.

There are lessons that one must be taught. Oh sure, wouldn't we all like to learn what our passions tell us to learn as Rousseau would have us. But for the sake of survival there are lessons which must be taught at an early age.

Bears will naturally scare us. The dark keeps us away from places we should not be. But how can nature teach us to be wary of the supernatural?

Yes, the religious right might tell us that Drag Queens and homosexuals are unnatural. But why unnatural and not supernatural?

The mind is naturally curious and looks upon the unknown with equal measures of fear and wonder. Well my friends, I dare you to daze into the dark unknown with me and learn the most valuable lesson of all.

Never. Fuck. With. A. Drag Queen!

Howdy,

I was away this weekend with my brother Jordan. He had just become an Eagle Scout and had a ceremony to commemorate it in the basement of a church. There were about 150 people; mostly fellow boy scouts, their parents, a few relatives, and six slimy local politicians . The kid asked me to say a few words about him, and the unfortunate soul got exactly what he asked for. Here it is, the crowd had a good laugh:

Today we gather to celebrate a young man's achievements. That is why we are here right? If you are here for the bar mitzvah you are in the wrong basement.

Now, many of you know Jordan. Or, if you are lucky, are merely related to someone who knows Jordan. If you are fortunate enough to be neither, then you are probably a politician.

Well, Jordan would like to take this opportunity to announce his candidacy for your position. As there are more than one of you, he would also like to announce his candidacy for your position as well. He means no disrespect, but he believes he can do your jobs and still get eight hours of sleep a night. After all, he is Jordan and you are only human.

Jordan goes to school, is a fine soccer goalie, plays a mean AC/DC on his guitar, can blow you up in something called Halo, and still have enough time to create a soul shattering mess in his room that is a cross between Jackson Pollock and Heironimous Bosch.

Now, my brother Matt and I are about ten years older than Jordan. For years we were top dog in the house and in the neighborhood. But then came our mother's pregnancy. Which, when raised by Catholics, is a complete mystery but occasion to feel very guilty about something or another.

Of course, the mystery quickly evaporated when we discovered what it all meant. Oh man, another brother? I already have one of those and he can beat me up! Great. Ten years old and already I need a drink.

I am happy to report that it took Jordan a full two years of life before Jordan beat me up. It was with a Fisher-Price, soft plastic, child safe, non-eye gouging corner, toy hamer. But like mighty Thor against the Fire Giants on Ragnarok he smashed my skull in. That toy is now banned for sure.

Ah, but that class action law suit boat sailed years ago, as did the soft ball sized welt which decorated my forehead like a third eye. Remarkably, horrific pain is not enough to overcome genetic programing which keeps us from, oh, you know, not dismembering a toddler.

Jordan always lived in the shadow of my brother and I. But he never had any trouble stepping out of it and stepping on us. Earning the rank of Eagle Scout it, to put it mildly, a difficult task. A task that is compulsory when your two older brothers managed to do the same. Jordan did not just do the same, he did it better than we did.

Matt, back me up on this one, but I think Jordan ha more merit badges than we ever earned, combined! I don't know about Matt's Eagle Scout service project, but mine has been demolished and converted into a janitor's closet.

Jordan, in these quarters they call pride a deadly sin. But I have no difficulty in saying that I am infinitely proud of your achievements. I am proud of what you are certain to accomplish. But most of all, I am proud to call you my brother.

Well, that was that. There were a few additional amusing events that took place after this that I will talk about in a later post.

Additionally, (e:Janelle) and (e:Drew) are frickin' awesome and brought my a little present from Toronto which I will photo document.

And now! SCHOOL!

Awesome.

I just got a new phone. My old cell phone was a wonder. It was perfect for me because of two main features. 1) It was virtually indestructible and 2) it had sudoku.

As it turns out, you can get sudoku on just about any phone. Until that fad dies out and once again we are playing minesweeper as if it were fun.

But indestructible. God, that is where it was at! I am not a clumsy man. Nor am I prone to dropping phones into toilets. But I feel a certain contempt for little gadgets. Especially ones that can interrupt me while on said toilet. As such, I keep the gizmo in my pocket full of keys and knives. Casually bumping into things turns my pocket into a meat grinder. And phones made of less stern stuff don't last.

So sure was I of my old phones invulnerability I would stab the thing with keys. With a smile I would show just a few scratches and continue to drink.

This new fangled phone though has so many wicked cool features! I would tell you about them, but I am too busy figuring out how to turn them off. I could be sitting in a class trying to make some erudite point about economic factors in immigration when my pants will suddenly announce "please say a name to make a call" in a voice surprisingly needy for a machine.

Coincidentally, the Chinese restaurant in my phone book is saved under the name "China". I am sure in my Chinese history class I have accidentally ordered a large Sun Yatsen with a side of Chaing Kai-Shek. Sometimes I will even go to the restaurant on the off chance I did in fact oder something. Have a bit of fun reenacting the Nationalist flight to Taiwan with an eggroll for a barge.

And there is also a camera on it. Same problem. A shift of my leg and then "CLICK" the camera says in a fair impersonation of a real shutter. I have scores of photos of the inside of my pants and not one of them is remotely racy.

Now I am paranoid about a new phone. Its resilience has not been tested and I am babying it. Now I keep it in the pocket with my wallet. But someday, while drunk I am going to look into that little eye of the camera and I will become Odysseus, and it will become the cyclops. In an epic struggle the two of us will exchange blows and I will have glass in my fingers, and a broken camera phone.

stay tuned for updates.

So, (e:jim) recently wrote about how I am learning to program. Oh god, why, o why!

Last weekend Jim took me a long to a programmers conference. Looking around it was an awesome sight.

Guys. Around my age. With Beards sparse and thick. With mops of hair unstyled and uncut. bellies small and bulging. Facial piercing. Tattoos. Drinking problems they openly joked about.

But above all. Each of these people seemed like they could do porn and not fear losing their real job.

This is my secret criteria for my second job. The job I get after I am fired from teaching.

I have no actual desire to do porn. Ya, I like a good penis, but not one with more screen time than Orson Wells. But I crave the freedom to do it. As if someone would approach me with an offer to do a scene or two and I, drink in hand, would say 'what the heck'. Shrugging off the non-existent consequences.

The other day when I was doing observations at a school I had the opportunity to sit in on a middle school health class, adolescent sex ed. There were a few things said I really didn't like. Notable a binary gender model and an attitude of compulsory heterosexuality. After, I asked the teacher about these things. She told me that she has no free hand in the content, it is decided by the community. Even in the high school they are not allowed to use words like 'gay' or 'condom'. And really, if you need to cover any two topics in sex it is 'everyone is unique' and 'don't get the Clap' would be them.

Would they ever let a porn star teach kids anything? Do real people actually teach, or are they just charecters in a moral allegory? Programmers though...

"Hey Bill, what did you do this weekend?"
"Oh you know Janice, got doubly penetrated in that jail bate film"

How awesome is that?

Hi,

Jim took me on a romantic get away last weekend. We went to a computer programming conference in Charlotte, NC or SC. It was right by the border and I wasn't sure what state we were in.

The weekend went like this. Jim went to talks and schmoozed with people, building his contacts and what not. I am really glad he went, great opportunity for him. I, however, had a strange weekend.

Trapped in a hotel is odd. There is nothing to do. You have to travel around to find anything to do. And so that is what I did.

Of corse, Charlotte is a very bad town to do this in. You see, it has two downtowns: the historic downtown and the new downtown. We were staying in the new downtown, and I couldn't get to the historic downtown; the roads in between either turned into eight lane highways or became frightening to walk down alone and unarmed.

The new downtown must have been built in the last 20 years. It was full of massive towers housing hotels and banking corporations. There was a network of a dozen of these towers connected by skybridges. On the level with those bridges was endless shopping and restaurants. I thought that was really cool, accept nothing was opened on the weekend. Venturing out of that complex to the streets there were two things open 1) a fried chicken fast-food place and 2) Mert's: the god damned best soul food place ever. EVER! Seriously, I learned why people willingly eat okra.

Anyway, in my wanderings downtown I thought it would be good to find an ATM. Charlotte is a banking city, they told me. There were Watchovia and Bank of America ATM's all over the place. Every street corner practically. But I could not find the World's Bank, HSBC anywhere. So, I find this little sandwich joint and walk in to get breakfast/lunch/holy-cap-you-cannot-even-get-coffee-on-a-saturday-in-this-town.

I ask "Say, can you help me find an ATM? From an HSBC bank?"
The clerk "A what bank?
"HSBC"
She scratches her head "What does that stand for"
I smile, loving the name of my bank "The Hong Kong, Shanghai Banking Corporation"
Her eyes bug out of her head, she turns to the kitchen behind her and yells, in the most unpleasant mountain yokel voice I have ever heard "Hey Earl! Do we have any of dem Hong Kong, ShimSham banks?"

seriously, Hong King, ShimSham. I nearly shat myself it was so funny.

anyway, you kids have a good day.