I just stopped at my neighborhood grocery store and saw this sign on the front door:
"All veterans receive a free cup of coffee."
I burst out laughing, while at the same time feeling utter contempt and despair for the completely fucked up, absurdist thing we call "reality".
If I could rewrite that sign myself, it would go a little something like this:
"Thanks, veterans, for dying for us, getting your guts shot out while charging into machine gun fire, being bombed, blown to pieces, and burned alive while we drop Agent Orange on you and ignore you and drive your families into poverty and sheer desperation.
Please accept this absolutely FREE cup of shitty gas station coffee as a small token of our appreciation. It's just our way of saying "thank you" for dying for us while we piss in your face. Did we mention that the coffee is FREE?! That means YOU don't have to pay for it. Just everything else. But not this cup of Boyd's Best. No siree!
WordPress geeks are practically cumming in their pants over the release of WP 3.0 Thelonious, named after Thelonious Monk and being touted as "the most exciting release to date." Of course, WP 2.8.6 and 2.9.2 were also "the most exciting releases to date," so excuse me if I'm a bit skeptical.
But, the new feature list DOES look pretty cool. If, like me, you use WP more for CMS purposes than for straight blogging, the new menu functions and the ability to create your own content types could be handy.
They've also merged WP and WP Multi User into one package, so you can create multiple blogs from one installation (think Huffington Post-style). I just got a new client who's going to be my guinea pig for 3.0. (MUUAHAHAHA!)
I guess it's called "Thelonious" because it allows for greater improvisation and freedom, but geeks are known for being a bit self-aggrandizing, so we'll see.
Now I have to go update all my old installations of WP...grrrrrrr!
I was telling my new girlfriend C the other day that I absolutely do not want to think about the whole BP oil spill debacle/disaster/tragedy, or whatever the fuck you want to call it thing. What a fucking nightmare.
The thing that really gets me about it is the destruction to the planet and all the animals that are suffering and dying because of it. It's mostly just too painful to go there. The other reason I'm not going there is because it totally triggers my nihilistic "the human race is a fucking piece of shit and deserves to die" kind of thinking, which is a place I'm trying to stay OUT of more of the time. I would usually go on a big rant about what an utterly pathetic, shit species Homo Sapien is, and how anything that brings our OWN extinction one step closer is a GOOD thing, blah blah blah..... anyway, that's all I'm going to say about it, except for
FUCK YOU, BP OIL! FUCK YOU IN THE ASS, YOU BRITISH PIECE OF SHIT!
OK, seriously, rant is now over. One good thing that's come out of it for me is finding a site called Logo My Way, which currently has a graphic design contest running for the best creative "re-imagining" of the ubiquitous BP logo that's plastered all over the whole fucking world. Check it out here.
Below is my personal favorite, even though I don't think it's going to win the contest. But, I think the subtle cleverness of it is bewitching:
Angels, black midgets, and the voters of California are crying bitter tears.
A terrible day. The world has lost a great leader.
Hold me, lover, while I queef out a fart of sympathy.
Ah, life. It's lonely, bitter, painful, and boring. We live alone. We die alone. We suffer. We die. Do I have the strength, the discipline, the WILLINGNESS to see it through to the end? I'm 44 years old. Statistically speaking, I only have about 30 years left, and in my case, probably less than that. And the last 10 years of my alloted time on Earth will probably suck the big, hairy root vegetable.
My friend K called tonight. One of my only guy friends. All my friends seem to be women. K is the only male friend I have who is willing to discuss real topics like death, aging, loneliness, horniness, career, etc. Right now, he's in Alabama attending his stepson's graduation and dealing with his hellion of an ex wife, who's a fucking cunt on wheels.
K and I are in similar situations. We're the same age (OK, I'm 6 months older). We're both developers, although he's more of a mid-level executive now, while I'm still a lowly code geek. We're both really burned out on our jobs because we've been in the computer industry like forever. Maybe it just FEELS like forever in my case. I've been doing this work for 11 years, which is like 50 years in the "real" world. I think computer jobs are sort of like dog years - 5 years of "real" time pass for every 1 year of computer industry time. Anyway, K has been doing computer shit for over 20 years, so it's like he's actually about 100 fucking years old!
We are also both loners, and our love relationships with women always seem to be total fucking disasters. I can't seem to keep a woman to save my fucking life, and K is divorced and dating a work fuck-buddy up in Vancouver, and that situation has been a total nightmare.
We're also both afraid of dying alone, although that reminds me of a great quote from Up in the Air, which I just watched the other day:
"Starting when I was 12, we moved each one of my grandparents into a nursing facility. My parents went the same way. Make no mistake, we all die alone. Now those cult members in San Diego, with the sneakers and the Kool-Aid, they didn't die alone. I'm just saying there are options."
Today I celebrated 9 months clean & sober. Of course, that's a relative term because my "celebrating" is sitting here snorting Ritalin, the very thing I haven't done since June 16, 2009. Yes, that right. As I'm sitting here typing this right now, I'm relapsing. I have lines cut right here in front of me, and I'm snorting them up and feeling no pain. That'll come later.
Why would anyone do this who's worked so hard to stay clean for the better part of a year? Good question. The answer for me is a combination of pressure and trauma.
Ah, a new decade! I just love the smell of corruption and slow decay in the morning, don't you? And as I savor the scent of America's inexorable slide toward second-world oblivion, I find myself waxing nostalgic for another decade. One where we were still on top. When people FEARED us. You know the decade I'm talking about. Yes, it was the 80s!
Oh, the 80s! When greed was still innocent! When corruption finally came out of the closet and took its rightful place as the global drug of choice, right alongside cocaine and proxy warfare. God, how I miss it so!
You remember the 80s, right? The Cold War. Reaganomics. Junk bonds. The DeLorean. And of course, what would 80s nostalgia be without the MUSIC?
Now, before you say "Boy George" or, God forbid, "Flock of Seagulls", let me remind you that 80s music wasn't all synthesizers and hair gel. There were some KICK ASS bands in the 80s. Most of my punk rock friends with green mohawks and black leather jackets took musical sustenance from the most unlikely source. No, it wasn't New Wave or Death Metal. Oddly enough, it was...Reggae!
I remember seeing an interview with members of Blondie a few years ago. Deborah Harry talked about how "Heart of Glass" was originally written as a reggae tune, with a skank and some sort of funky bass line. Their producer made them change it to the glitterball version that made them famous. I wish I could hear the original. Interesting that a New York punk band would find such inspiration in a culture and style of music so opposite from their own.
One man who's done much to propel reggae from its backwoods Jamaican origins and into the modern era is Steel Pulse front man David Hinds. If Bob Marley brought reggae to the unwashed, tie-dye wearing hippie masses, then Hinds successfully infused it with slick, urban, hipster style, truly making reggae music part of "New Wave" pop culture. With the international success of 1982's True Democracy, Hinds suddenly found himself in the company of other greats like Peter Tosh, Sly and Robbie, and Black Uhuru's Michael Rose. He had become a true reggae superstar.
Think you have what it takes to be a reggae superstar like David Hinds? Tired of your dull, forced daily routine, droning out your monotone existence in a cube somewhere? Then it's time to step up, my friend!
Just follow these easy steps, and soon you'll be smoking kind bud on the beach in St. Kitts, watching string bikinis, and fathering illegitimate children with the best of them:
1). The Clothes
To be a reggae superstar, you must throw out your drab, corporate wardrobe and dress like a human peacock. Gone is the dull navy and olive "business casual" attire. Get rid of those khaki chinos from L.L. Bean you got for Christmas. Burn your Dockers sweater vests, and for God's sake, toss out your ties, unless they have whales or pot leaves on them. Think big! Think bold!
Typical David Hinds stage attire:
Florescent yellow jogging suit
Bright orange tennis shoes
Knit "Rasta" scarf (red, gold, and green)
3-foot column of dreadlocks on top of his head, covered with bright blue cloth bag
Huge, Ray-Ban sunglasses
2). Shameless Self-Promotion
Reggae superstars are not known for their reticence or modesty. Be sure to talk yourself up at every opportunity. You must become immune to shame and embarrassment. Make sure everyone knows about your greatness, your limitless talent, and your exploits with women. Give details.
Another 80s phenomenon, rap music, owes reggae a debt of gratitude. 50 Cent may not know it, but his "Get Rich or Die Tryin'" gangsta rhymes about rolling in his 'Cad, sipping gin and juice, and capping motherfuckers with his Gat have their roots in Jamaican-style "toasting." An early precursor to modern rap, toasting is a boastful, rhythmic chanting where the "toaster" talks about how bad ass and cool they are, and if you fuck with them, how they'll be forced to cap your ass, albeit somewhat regretfully (think Peter Tosh's Steppin' Razor). You're welcome, 50 Cent! To achieve reggae superstardom, you must master the art of boasting and toasting.
3). Talent Plus a Kick-Ass Band
Wearing dashiki-print "Momma Africa" shirts and dreadlocks may get you laid at the local frat party, but it won't get you famous. For that, you'll need actual talent and a great band to back you up. Impressive in his own right, Hinds was lucky enough to have one of the tightest, most professional reggae bands in the world. I got to see them play twice at the Rainbow Theater in Denver, CO during the 80s. Their introduction before they took the stage at one show was, "There are reggae bands, and there are reggae bands, and there are reggae bands, and then there's Steel Pulse!" How true it is. They put on one of the best concerts I've ever seen, and that includes other 80s heavyweights like Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel, Joan Armitrading, and The Who.
So, to sum up, you need clothes, a gregarious, self-promoting attitude, and talent. Of the 3, the most crucial is obviously talent. There are plenty of brightly clothed, gorgeously-dreadlocked, arrogant superstar wannabes sweeping floors and deep-frying chicken for a living. So work on that toasting!
Despite what you might think, I DO actually have fun sometimes, so I thought I'd do a smiley post for a change of pace.
Last weekend, BA and I went to our friends BB and TS's house for a post-Christmas dinner party (like I really needed to eat more food). They were friends with BA when we started going out, and became friends of mine as well. We went to their wedding about a year and a half ago. They live in a funky little hippie town near Missoula. They are really great people. They grow a lot of their own food in their backyard and they hunt elk together, which is a very Montana thing. They're a cute young couple and are expecting their first baby this spring. In fact, BB is due the day after my birthday, so their new arrival will be a little Aries like me. :-)
BB
TS
BB is an excellent cook. I've had several very yummy meals at their house in the last couple of years. For this visit, BB served homemade pizza topped with elk TS bagged on the first day of elk season, about 2 months ago. My Dad used to hunt elk. It's a HELL of a lot of work, not so much the hunting part, but the part that comes AFTER you actually shoot the thing. Elk are large animals, and butchering / processing is a major undertaking. I think TS said he got a cow this year (a female), so it wasn't as much work because they're usually smaller than bulls. Last season though, he shot a bull 6 miles back in the woods. He related the story of having to butcher it on the spot and then pack it out on his back over several trips. Apparently, there's nothing in this world that makes you want to take a shower more than carrying 80lbs of dead elk on your back for 6 miles. He said when he finally got home, he was covered in blood and fur and reeked of elk. YUCK! I prefer my animals to be slaughtered in another state, preferably New Jersey, by people I will never meet, and to arrive neatly packaged, ready to be popped into the oven. TS, my hat is off to you. Good thing you're young and strong. The elk pizza was VERY tasty, though.
BA
BA, Gweb, TS, and BB
I'm actually excited for the arrival of their little squirt. They don't know the sex of the baby because they want to be surprised. My intuition says it will be a girl, which will look funny in all the little boy baby clothes they've gotten as gifts. They whipped out an outfit BB's Mom knitted for her. It's basically a green, Arnold Palmer-type ensemble that the baby could wear on the 9th hole while practicing its slice. It was hilarious, but very cute!
BB and TS's decision to become parents has partly restored my faith, if not in the human race itself, than in the idea that there are just some really, really GOOD people walking around on this planet. This is something I lose sight of on a regular basis. I have a low opinion of our species, and it's nice that there are exceptions out there.
Seeing them have a baby is healing for me in another way, too. I didn't feel wanted or loved as a child, and I've often wished my parents had not had me. In my opinion, they were not qualified to have children. Our society requires some sort of licencing process for most of its important functions. Things like driving, voting, drinking, buying a firearm - all require SOME sort of screening process. Even shooting an elk takes a license. The penalties for hunting without one can be severe.
Yet the single most important decision a person can make, the one that will have the greatest impact, not only on them, but the entire WORLD, is completely unregulated. Any idiot can have a child with no oversight, no regulation whatsoever. And that is sad, because many people who have kids are unqualified for the job of parenting and end up inflicting enormous suffering on the world, giving it exactly what it doesn't need any more of: fucked up people.
BB and TS will be good parents. They will make lots of mistakes because they are human beings. But they will give their child the one thing that matters most: love. That kid will never doubt that its Mommy and Daddy love it. No matter what choices it makes, or trouble it gets into, or lifestyle it ends up choosing, its foundation, its core sense of self, will be that it's lovable. Give that to your child, and you can screw up a LOT of other shit. If you don't have that to give, you have no business being a parent. As John Cleese says to his patient in The Meaning of Life, "You're not qualified!"
BB and TS, thanks for making the world a little bit better place.
