Thursday, October 9, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
George Bush's Economic Analysis Averts National Disaster
Republicans and Democrats Observed Copulating
Whew! That was a close one. Here I was all week worrying about the demise of the economy. What would happen to my extensive securities portfolio, I wondered. How would I support my wife AND my mistress? What third-world country would I have to go to now for my elective bowel resection? I can tell you, I was in a pickle of a worry. I shit you not.
Good job then that George Bush has something those Wall Street muckety-fucks couldn't git with any amount of their so-called book-learnin': it's called folk wisdom, and you can't pick it, and it don't grow out of the earth, and you can't slaughter it like an abattoir full of protein units. No sir, you have to be born with folk wisdom.
See, it's in your bone, way down in your bone, right next to where they make your white blood cells. An X-Ray of his cranium reveals that George Bush possesses a special quantity of the stuff, and I can prove it. You know that old saying, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me"? Well according to George Bush, in Texas they have a similar saying. Only, it goes, "Fool me once...won't get fooled again."
How in the world did George know that? My guess would have been that in Texas, they say it like they say it everywhere else, but it seems I'd be as wrong as a McCain-Palin-Paulson menage a trois. You want to know the reason George knew the right answer and I didn't? You got that right, buddy, George Bush's carrying around an unusual amount of folk wisdom upstairs.
Indeed, if I slipped George Bush a Rufinol while we were having a beer together--as has been my desire since the 2000 election and the very reason I voted for him in the first place--if I slipped him a roofie, then dragged him to the bathroom and gave him a tympanning, I'd bet you dollars to donuts that I'd be able to scoop out 1.3 kilograms of gelatinous, but beautiful, folk wisdom.
As I started to say, I was getting worried earlier this week over what the government would do about the economy. It didn't look like we could rely on the usual bipartisan leadership that's defined Congress throughout the Bush years. I guess I just took it for granted that the Democrats would cooperate with the Republicans after the Right called the Left a bunch of child molesting Communists who have never satisfactorily explained why they hate America. This time, it was different, and the Democrats refused to cave outright to the Treasury Secretary's modest request. It looked like we were headed for an impasse.
But now, it doesn't look so bad to me anymore thanks to George W Bush's folk wisdom. For on Thursday night, in just a few words, he let me know that once again, the grown-ups are in charge of Washington and I wouldn't have to worry about any credit freeze.
“If money isn’t loosened up," Bush said, "this sucker could go down.”
Whew! That was a close one. Here I was all week worrying about the demise of the economy. What would happen to my extensive securities portfolio, I wondered. How would I support my wife AND my mistress? What third-world country would I have to go to now for my elective bowel resection? I can tell you, I was in a pickle of a worry. I shit you not.
Good job then that George Bush has something those Wall Street muckety-fucks couldn't git with any amount of their so-called book-learnin': it's called folk wisdom, and you can't pick it, and it don't grow out of the earth, and you can't slaughter it like an abattoir full of protein units. No sir, you have to be born with folk wisdom.
See, it's in your bone, way down in your bone, right next to where they make your white blood cells. An X-Ray of his cranium reveals that George Bush possesses a special quantity of the stuff, and I can prove it. You know that old saying, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me"? Well according to George Bush, in Texas they have a similar saying. Only, it goes, "Fool me once...won't get fooled again."
How in the world did George know that? My guess would have been that in Texas, they say it like they say it everywhere else, but it seems I'd be as wrong as a McCain-Palin-Paulson menage a trois. You want to know the reason George knew the right answer and I didn't? You got that right, buddy, George Bush's carrying around an unusual amount of folk wisdom upstairs.
Indeed, if I slipped George Bush a Rufinol while we were having a beer together--as has been my desire since the 2000 election and the very reason I voted for him in the first place--if I slipped him a roofie, then dragged him to the bathroom and gave him a tympanning, I'd bet you dollars to donuts that I'd be able to scoop out 1.3 kilograms of gelatinous, but beautiful, folk wisdom.
As I started to say, I was getting worried earlier this week over what the government would do about the economy. It didn't look like we could rely on the usual bipartisan leadership that's defined Congress throughout the Bush years. I guess I just took it for granted that the Democrats would cooperate with the Republicans after the Right called the Left a bunch of child molesting Communists who have never satisfactorily explained why they hate America. This time, it was different, and the Democrats refused to cave outright to the Treasury Secretary's modest request. It looked like we were headed for an impasse.
But now, it doesn't look so bad to me anymore thanks to George W Bush's folk wisdom. For on Thursday night, in just a few words, he let me know that once again, the grown-ups are in charge of Washington and I wouldn't have to worry about any credit freeze.
“If money isn’t loosened up," Bush said, "this sucker could go down.”
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Sound Advice
A friend writes:Cheesy Graphic Man,
Should I be drinking a Martini too?
Love,
A Friend
Dear Friend,
Ha ha ha. I know what you mean. And we all feel that way some times, so don't you feel alone. So let's not pull any punches. What you need to do is doctor a photograph of yourself to make it look like you're a fun-loving guy, you know? The kind of free-spirit who doesn't know what that cold sore is that just won't go away, who doesn't know the meaning of "stop touching me you stupid drunk" and, as Sarah Palin advises so wisely, who never blinks, because you burned your eyelids off while free-basing. That's my suggestion.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Decision '08: Spare Some Change?
I'm sick of hearing about change. You want something to change, America? Here is truthful historian Howard Zinn saying something you would never hear discussed by the orifices of the status quo. I don't know if it's "orifice" or "status quo" but the names Charles Gibson and Cokie Roberts immediately leap to mind. Never mind. Take it away Professor Zinn :
Q: Is there any hope the US will change its approach to the rest of the world?
HZ: If there is any hope, the hope lies in the American people.
[It] lies in American people becoming resentful enough and indignant enough over what has happened to their country, over the loss of dignity in the world, over the starving of human resources in the United States, the starving of education and health, the takeover of the political mechanism by corporate power and the result this has on the everyday lives of the American people.
[There is also] the higher and higher food prices, the more and more insecurity, the sending of the young people to war.
I think all of this may very well build up into a movement of rebellion.
We have seen movements of rebellion in the past: The labour movement, the civil rights movement, the movement against the war in Vietnam.
I think we may well see, if the United States keeps heading in the same direction, a new popular movement. That is the only hope for the United States.
HZ: If there is any hope, the hope lies in the American people.
[It] lies in American people becoming resentful enough and indignant enough over what has happened to their country, over the loss of dignity in the world, over the starving of human resources in the United States, the starving of education and health, the takeover of the political mechanism by corporate power and the result this has on the everyday lives of the American people.
[There is also] the higher and higher food prices, the more and more insecurity, the sending of the young people to war.
I think all of this may very well build up into a movement of rebellion.
We have seen movements of rebellion in the past: The labour movement, the civil rights movement, the movement against the war in Vietnam.
I think we may well see, if the United States keeps heading in the same direction, a new popular movement. That is the only hope for the United States.
I agree. The positive, fundamental change that Zinn is talking about is not going to come from Obama. The Democratic Party, more than anything else, competes with the Republicans for the same corporate donations and relationships, so don't expect them to do anything the managerial class doesn't like, such as significantly slash welfare to agri-business, remove waste at the Pentagon (to say nothing of cutting expenditures) or create any help for individuals that would disrupt an industry's bottom line (I'm looking at you Aetna and friends).
And the Republicans? Are they fucking kidding? The only thing John McCain is going to change is his adult diaper a few hours after dinner. But McCain, paradoxically, in this elections really is the candidate of change. Or at least the continuation of change. Ever since Ronald Reagan, McCain's party has sought to shift more and more power into private hands that are neither responsible to or responsive of the commonwealth.
The goal might be to change a representative democracy, influenced by enlightenment thinking, into a corporate brand of feudalism, complete with an executive permitted to rule by fiat (though not indefinitely) and a legislative body drawn from and strictly beholden to an elite class, much like the early House of Lords.
Considering the incredible amount of money and energy invested in our never ending cycle of "change" and our ersatz representative government; considering that our leaders propagate elaborate lies to convince them and us that we care more about democracy than capitalism, then Zinn is right.
The only real change must come from a mass movement. But the problem is, we still like our candidates, and for now, most of us, the people who count, still have their jobs. Sure, they're making less money than they were seven years ago, but as George W Bush once suggested, holding down three jobs just to keep afloat, well that's what America is all about.
I'm afraid it's going to take a LOT more than Zinn might imagine to get us to turn off the Colbert Report, to kick us off our couches and into the streets, to get us to care enough to have a "rebellion." If the Gestapo tactics of the St. Paul police at the Republican Convention is any indication, the entrenched powers react with a hair-trigger to even the most remote demonstrations for authentic change. Be warned: those Free Speech Zone enforcers now have ray guns.
And the Republicans? Are they fucking kidding? The only thing John McCain is going to change is his adult diaper a few hours after dinner. But McCain, paradoxically, in this elections really is the candidate of change. Or at least the continuation of change. Ever since Ronald Reagan, McCain's party has sought to shift more and more power into private hands that are neither responsible to or responsive of the commonwealth.
The goal might be to change a representative democracy, influenced by enlightenment thinking, into a corporate brand of feudalism, complete with an executive permitted to rule by fiat (though not indefinitely) and a legislative body drawn from and strictly beholden to an elite class, much like the early House of Lords.
Considering the incredible amount of money and energy invested in our never ending cycle of "change" and our ersatz representative government; considering that our leaders propagate elaborate lies to convince them and us that we care more about democracy than capitalism, then Zinn is right.
The only real change must come from a mass movement. But the problem is, we still like our candidates, and for now, most of us, the people who count, still have their jobs. Sure, they're making less money than they were seven years ago, but as George W Bush once suggested, holding down three jobs just to keep afloat, well that's what America is all about.
I'm afraid it's going to take a LOT more than Zinn might imagine to get us to turn off the Colbert Report, to kick us off our couches and into the streets, to get us to care enough to have a "rebellion." If the Gestapo tactics of the St. Paul police at the Republican Convention is any indication, the entrenched powers react with a hair-trigger to even the most remote demonstrations for authentic change. Be warned: those Free Speech Zone enforcers now have ray guns.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
From the Editors
Dear Troll(s),
The custodians of Dysthymix wish to apologize for yesterday's blog entry. It failed to live up to this blog's usual high standard of squalid antipathy, cheerful rancor and artificially sweetened bile. We had been assured that the author was thoroughly vetted through our offices in the tundra; make no mistake, all bonus kippers have been cancelled.
sincerely,
Flange Dubois, BFA
The custodians of Dysthymix wish to apologize for yesterday's blog entry. It failed to live up to this blog's usual high standard of squalid antipathy, cheerful rancor and artificially sweetened bile. We had been assured that the author was thoroughly vetted through our offices in the tundra; make no mistake, all bonus kippers have been cancelled.
sincerely,
Flange Dubois, BFA
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Particle Research Points to Dumb Universe
Scientists with the European Organization for Nuclear Research in Switzerland will finally begin experiments next week using the highly anticipated and moderately expensive Large Hadron Collider. After several delays and costs reaching as high as two weeks of the American occupation of Iraq, the LHC will finally help in mankind's most pressing question: why are there so many stupid people in the world? Scientists expect to flick the switch on Sept. 10, but already they've been making startling progress in showing people are dumb-asses, especially among those who think the black holes the LHC might create would swallow the Earth.
So what's all this shit about? First off, I like to think of the LHC as a 1970s disaster/adventure movie. It's the story of a 17-mile long magnetic railroad where two trains of protons ride the same track loop in opposite directions almost at the speed of light. They carry a lot of momentum and their collision is a disgusting mash that only scientists can interpret. Passengers--the quarks (with George Kennedy as "Strong Quark") and the leptons (a sizzling Joan Collins as "Ms Gluon") and other bit players--get strewn about the place in a bloody mess of back-story and overacting. A physicist (Paul Newman, from his death bed) rushes to the scene and, ascertaining the trajectories taken by the bodies upon impact, deduces the composition of the train and perhaps even confirms a theory he had that his ex-wife, Ms. Gluon had been cheating on him with his best friend, Erwin Schrödinger.
Well, so much for attenuating one of the dumbest metaphors I've ever thought up. The LHC really isn't all that; in the grand scheme of things, it's a big-ass laboratory instrument that will be used to try to demonstrate the existence of the Higgs boson which might help explain how particles gain mass. Biologists spin cells in autoclaves, particle physicists have smash-up derbies and they've been doing it since the 1930's, with good results.
Some people are concerned that if tiny black holes should form during one of the experiments, the black holes would have the potential to destroy the Earth, even though they would entail minute quantities of mass. But do you know what happens to people who get sucked into a black hole? They get attenuated, like a metaphor. And as we've seen, that's pretty ugly. Maybe it's not surprising that some people are worried enough to make death threats against the scientists, according to the Telegraph.
But I doubt the scientists have anything to worry about. Writes one concerned citizen on an anti-LHC Website,"wtf. . . thats actually not fARE I BET THIS WILL ALL GO WRONG AND WERE SCREWED SUPPORT THESE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!" Experts are still trying to figure out what language that is, but considering the brain behind the message, could people capable of such a sentence possibly locate Switzerland on a map of Switzerland, let alone make good on a death threat against someone in Switzerland?
As Professor Brian Cox of Manchester University said, with obvious good reason, "Anyone who thinks the LHC will destroy the world is a twat."
So what's all this shit about? First off, I like to think of the LHC as a 1970s disaster/adventure movie. It's the story of a 17-mile long magnetic railroad where two trains of protons ride the same track loop in opposite directions almost at the speed of light. They carry a lot of momentum and their collision is a disgusting mash that only scientists can interpret. Passengers--the quarks (with George Kennedy as "Strong Quark") and the leptons (a sizzling Joan Collins as "Ms Gluon") and other bit players--get strewn about the place in a bloody mess of back-story and overacting. A physicist (Paul Newman, from his death bed) rushes to the scene and, ascertaining the trajectories taken by the bodies upon impact, deduces the composition of the train and perhaps even confirms a theory he had that his ex-wife, Ms. Gluon had been cheating on him with his best friend, Erwin Schrödinger.Well, so much for attenuating one of the dumbest metaphors I've ever thought up. The LHC really isn't all that; in the grand scheme of things, it's a big-ass laboratory instrument that will be used to try to demonstrate the existence of the Higgs boson which might help explain how particles gain mass. Biologists spin cells in autoclaves, particle physicists have smash-up derbies and they've been doing it since the 1930's, with good results.
Some people are concerned that if tiny black holes should form during one of the experiments, the black holes would have the potential to destroy the Earth, even though they would entail minute quantities of mass. But do you know what happens to people who get sucked into a black hole? They get attenuated, like a metaphor. And as we've seen, that's pretty ugly. Maybe it's not surprising that some people are worried enough to make death threats against the scientists, according to the Telegraph.But I doubt the scientists have anything to worry about. Writes one concerned citizen on an anti-LHC Website,"wtf. . . thats actually not fARE I BET THIS WILL ALL GO WRONG AND WERE SCREWED SUPPORT THESE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!" Experts are still trying to figure out what language that is, but considering the brain behind the message, could people capable of such a sentence possibly locate Switzerland on a map of Switzerland, let alone make good on a death threat against someone in Switzerland?
As Professor Brian Cox of Manchester University said, with obvious good reason, "Anyone who thinks the LHC will destroy the world is a twat."
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Another Poem Worth (a) Sh*t
About My Rescue Lobotomy
I keep him in a terrarium with a model of Golgotha
faithful right down to the wee Roman soldiers and
a tiny carpeted altar—based on the Church of the Revelation—
where he likes to cover himself in stage-blood and
tremble for forgiveness. What can I say? He lives
to reminisce on his childhood. There he is now
feeding in the dark, hiding under the shipwreck
I stole from the pet store to test if anyone was
watching. Look how he darts his eyes when he
chews, expecting the devil will snatch his kibble.
Isn’t that sweet? I’ll admit I have way too much
pride showing off my old ignorance to anyone
who stands still for half-a-minute. Eventually,
though, some asshole will tap the glass, or ask
when I plan to restore the creature to his natural
habitat. Then I’ll hide him again, let him rest until
the next time I know he’s awake, playing with his
miniature bible quiz machine that squawks like a
lie detector wired to an electric chair, one of the
many fine details that makes my terrarium nearly
indistinguishable from the real thing.
I keep him in a terrarium with a model of Golgotha
faithful right down to the wee Roman soldiers and
a tiny carpeted altar—based on the Church of the Revelation—
where he likes to cover himself in stage-blood and
tremble for forgiveness. What can I say? He lives
to reminisce on his childhood. There he is now
feeding in the dark, hiding under the shipwreck
I stole from the pet store to test if anyone was
watching. Look how he darts his eyes when he
chews, expecting the devil will snatch his kibble.
Isn’t that sweet? I’ll admit I have way too much
pride showing off my old ignorance to anyone
who stands still for half-a-minute. Eventually,
though, some asshole will tap the glass, or ask
when I plan to restore the creature to his natural
habitat. Then I’ll hide him again, let him rest until
the next time I know he’s awake, playing with his
miniature bible quiz machine that squawks like a
lie detector wired to an electric chair, one of the
many fine details that makes my terrarium nearly
indistinguishable from the real thing.
A Metrosexual You Wouldn't Want to Meet in an Alley
This is Norman. Do what he says and nobody will get hurt. He's handsome and deadly, like a cross-dressing Gregory Peck wearing half a Zorro mask and Lee Press-On nails. Norman's tough like that, a little too tough for a guy with no functioning testicles, but maybe that's his problem: an inferiority complex. Boy, if he knew I wrote that he'd break a lamp over my head. He's plotting something. I can tell by all that thinking he does when he pretends to sleep. This asshole's destructiveness knows no limit. Last week he stalked and killed a refrigerator. What's next? An armoire?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
News Zealand: A Hot Flash from Down Under
My wife is very upset that the government of New Zealand will no longer use her favorite childhood meal to measure food price inflation.
That's right, the delicious cocktail weenie has been removed from the list of 150 items used to track food price trends. Sadly, Statistics New Zealand has also removed from the list condensed milk and frozen cheese cake, once considered their national breakfast.
That's right, the delicious cocktail weenie has been removed from the list of 150 items used to track food price trends. Sadly, Statistics New Zealand has also removed from the list condensed milk and frozen cheese cake, once considered their national breakfast.
How Government Works
I know it's been a month of Tuesdays since I've posted anything here and I'm virtually (and really) talking to myself, but recent events compel me to share with nobody in particular what's been making me miserable of late. That's right, it's the Democrats, most of whom wouldn't be nearly as bad as they actually are if they were merely spineless, toothless, cowardly zombies. New evidence seems to crop up every day that when it comes to hypocrisy, selling out America and the Constitution to their corporate masters and open, unrepentant graft, the "Left" is actually a pretty bold cadre hellbent on giving the GOP a run for its filthy lucre.
This time it's Glenn Greenwald's turn (reporting for Salon in a column reprinted below without anyone's permission) to confirm for me for the millionth time who really runs the country, how much of a joke representative government really is, and why I will never by stock in AT&T. The worst thing about reading such articles is that once you know there's a problem what can you do about it? I just don't know. Without further ado, here's Glenn Greenwald, coming at you from Denver, Colorado, home of the nosebleed:
AT&T thanks Democrats with a lavish party
by Glenn Greenwald
This time it's Glenn Greenwald's turn (reporting for Salon in a column reprinted below without anyone's permission) to confirm for me for the millionth time who really runs the country, how much of a joke representative government really is, and why I will never by stock in AT&T. The worst thing about reading such articles is that once you know there's a problem what can you do about it? I just don't know. Without further ado, here's Glenn Greenwald, coming at you from Denver, Colorado, home of the nosebleed:
AT&T thanks Democrats with a lavish party
by Glenn Greenwald
Last night in Denver, at the Mile High Station -- next to Invesco Stadium, where Barack Obama will address a crowd of 30,000 people on Thursday night -- AT&T threw a lavish, private party for Blue Dog House Democrats, virtually all of whom blindly support whatever legislation the telecom industry demands and who also, specifically, led the way this July in immunizing AT&T and other telecoms from the consequences for their illegal participation in the Bush administration's warrantless spying program. Matt Stoller has one of the listings for the party here.
Armed with full-scale Convention press credentials issued by the DNC, I went -- along with Firedoglake's Jane Hamsher, John Amato, Stoller and others -- in order to cover the event, interview the attendees, and videotape the festivities. There was a wall of private security deployed around the building, and after asking where the press entrance was, we were told by the security officials, after they consulted with event organizers, that the press was barred from the event, and that only those with invitations could enter -- notwithstanding the fact that what was taking place in side was a meeting between one of the nation's largest corporations and the numerous members of the most influential elected faction in Congress. As a result, we stood in front of the entrance and began videotaping and trying to interview the parade of Blue Dog Representatives, AT&T executives, assorted lobbyists and delegates who pulled up in rented limousines, chauffeured cars, and SUVs in order to find out who was attending and why AT&T would be throwing such a lavish party for the Blue Dog members of Congress.
Amazingly, not a single one of the 25-30 people we tried to interview would speak to us about who they were, how they got invited, what the party's purpose was, why they were attending, etc. One attendee said he was with an "energy company," and the other confessed she was affiliated with a "trade association," but that was the full extent of their willingness to describe themselves or this event. It was as though they knew they're part of a filthy and deeply corrupt process and were ashamed of -- or at least eager to conceal -- their involvement in it. After just a few minutes, the private security teams demanded that we leave, and when we refused and continued to stand in front trying to interview the reticent attendees, the Denver Police forced us to move further and further away until finally we were unable to approach any more of the arriving guests.
It was really the perfect symbol for how the Beltway political system functions -- those who dictate the nation's laws (the largest corporations and their lobbyists) cavorting in total secrecy with those who are elected to write those laws (members of Congress), while completely prohibiting the public from having any access to and knowledge of -- let alone involvement in -- what they are doing. And all of this was arranged by the corporation -- AT&T -- that is paying for a substantial part of the Democratic National Convention with millions upon millions of dollars, which just received an extraordinary gift of retroactive amnesty from the Congress controlled by that party, whose logo is splattered throughout the city wherever the DNC logo appears -- virtually attached to it -- all taking place next to the stadium where the Democratic presidential nominee, claiming he will cleanse the Beltway of corporate and lobbying influences, will accept the nomination on Thursday night.
The only other media which even attempted to cover the AT&T/Blue Dog event was Democracy Now -- they were also barred from entering. I was on Democracy Now with Amy Goodman this morning to discuss what happened. They put together a 5-minute video montage, including our efforts to enter the event and interview the guests, which they broadcast before my segment. The video and my segment can be seen and/or heard here -- it begins at the 1:00 mark. A transcript will be posted shortly.
Jane Hamsher also filmed some of what transpired, and Salon has created our own video of last night, including the efforts by the private security teams and Denver Police to prevent us from standing on public property to interview the arriving members of Congress and AT&T executives and lobbyists. That will be posted shortly. There's nothing unusual about this event -- other than that it was more forcibly private than most and just a tad more brazenly sleazy. The democracy-themed stagecraft inside the Convention is for public television consumption, but secret little events of this sort are why people are really here. Just as is true in Washington, this is where -- and how and by whom -- the business of our Government is conducted.Saturday, July 26, 2008
Will You Scientists Ever Learn?
A long time is a lot shorter than you thought
You hear a lot of know-it-alls these days talking about how this or that happened "in the blink of an eye in geologic time." For example, earlier this year, a pack of latte-drinking French anthropologists reported that they determined the age of some fossil junk they'd found under a rock in some really poor country to be as old as 7.2 million years. This, they contended, marked the discovery of our oldest ancestors, the first hominids to say "chimpanzees can bite me" before gathering their things and walking across the savanna, unlike their idiot cousins who could not gather anything because they needed all their wits about them for walking on all-fours, the dumb fucks.
Anyway, I hope those French-loving French scientists will have a great time on the Antiques Road Show finding out how much an australopithecene femur would be worth if it were put on auction today. That's not the point. The issue is that one day I'm going to be watching a dumbed-down television program (if you can imagine) about human origins in which the producers and writers will force Liev Schreiber to say, "7.2 million years might be an unimaginable amount of time to me and you, but to the Earth and French anthropologists, why, it's just a blink of an eye."
Is it, professor knows-a-lot? Do seven million years really add up to a geological blink of an eye, Mr. I-have-a-Phd-but-drive-a-19-year-old-hatchback? Because, let's face it, any time you science people want to impress on us nose-picking plebes the vast magnitude of a particular amount of time, your measurement of choice is always the solitary "blink of an eye." This is true whether you're talking about the last ice age that ended 10,000 years ago or the K-T event that killed the dinosaurs (and almost everything else) 65 million years ago.
That is quite a versatile yardstick, isn't it, Mr. I-wear-a-white-lab-coat-not-to-protect-me-from-chemicals-
but-to-cover-a-pizza-stain-I-got-eating-lunch-two-days-ago?
Well, I've got news that's going to knock your knee-high socks right off your studious legs. It's going to change the way we look at geology and time. And blinking. It will make string theory look like monism, and monism look like string cheese and string cheese look like the string section of an all-kazoo orchestra. I have, namely, discovered exactly how long a blink of an eye is in geologic time.
Who's holding the lazer-pointer now, Dr. I-have-no-idea-what-this-asshole-is-talking-about? (If you said me, you're correct.)
Let me explain, and try to follow the bouncing decimal point, if you can. See, the Googles says it takes me anywheres from 100 to 150 milliseconds to blink. That's a blink of an eye in geologic time. But it's also pretty quick when measured against the 75.29 years or 23,759,309,600 seconds that the CIA has given me to live. To find out exactly what that equivalent would be in Earth history, I compared ratios expressed as equatable fractions, dividing a human blink by my life expectancy, while dividing a geologic blink (x) by the current estimated age of the earth: 4.55 billion years or 54,600,000,000 months.
This is the same as saying ".15 seconds is to 23,759,309,600 seconds as x months is to 54,600,000,000 months."
The result was, to say the least, astonishing, if not flat-out wrong. Nevertheless, numbers don't lie, unless they're in big trouble, so according to my math, a blink of the eye in Earth's time is nowhere near 65 million years, or 7 million years, or even 10,000 years. It is, instead, precisely 10 days, 7 hours and 39 minutes.
Isn't that fantastic, Prof. I-surfed-away-from-this-site-ten-minutes-ago? You see how much better it is when our words actually mean something? After all, when we speak with greater precision, we make what we say that much more excruciating to our audience. Why should we smart people be the only ones to suffer?
And just imagine how much smarter we smart people would feel if Liev Schreiber, in narrating a documentary about the last ice age, were to read in his script "15,000 years ago might seem to you like a blink of an eye in geological terms, but to the earth, it's more like a day, so don't you feel stupid?"
Now imagine what he could do with that australopithecus script: "7.2 million years is a heck of long time, isn't it? You bet it's a long time. It's a really really long time. What did you think I was going to say, 'to the Earth, it's just about a year and two months?' You know what? I'm done entertaining you. I'm Liev Schreiber. I was in the remake of The Omen."
And finally, here's what he would say in a Discovery Channel special about dinosaurs: "I bet you're the kind of person who plays along with the contestants when you watch Jeopardy and you think that just because you get a few answers right, faster than the contestants, you would just kill on Jeopardy. But you would be wrong for at least three reasons I can think off the top of my head. First, the pressure on the contestants to respond is much higher than the pressure on you while you're lying on your couch, and that pressure has an impact on response times. Secondly, you're stoned, so you're most pressing concern for the next half-hour will be how to get the cheeze puff dust off your fingers. And lastly, you would have trouble distinguishing a noun from a verb on Wheel of Fortune. What makes you think you could even get past the door on Jeopardy?"
You hear a lot of know-it-alls these days talking about how this or that happened "in the blink of an eye in geologic time." For example, earlier this year, a pack of latte-drinking French anthropologists reported that they determined the age of some fossil junk they'd found under a rock in some really poor country to be as old as 7.2 million years. This, they contended, marked the discovery of our oldest ancestors, the first hominids to say "chimpanzees can bite me" before gathering their things and walking across the savanna, unlike their idiot cousins who could not gather anything because they needed all their wits about them for walking on all-fours, the dumb fucks.
Anyway, I hope those French-loving French scientists will have a great time on the Antiques Road Show finding out how much an australopithecene femur would be worth if it were put on auction today. That's not the point. The issue is that one day I'm going to be watching a dumbed-down television program (if you can imagine) about human origins in which the producers and writers will force Liev Schreiber to say, "7.2 million years might be an unimaginable amount of time to me and you, but to the Earth and French anthropologists, why, it's just a blink of an eye."
Is it, professor knows-a-lot? Do seven million years really add up to a geological blink of an eye, Mr. I-have-a-Phd-but-drive-a-19-year-old-hatchback? Because, let's face it, any time you science people want to impress on us nose-picking plebes the vast magnitude of a particular amount of time, your measurement of choice is always the solitary "blink of an eye." This is true whether you're talking about the last ice age that ended 10,000 years ago or the K-T event that killed the dinosaurs (and almost everything else) 65 million years ago.
That is quite a versatile yardstick, isn't it, Mr. I-wear-a-white-lab-coat-not-to-protect-me-from-chemicals-
but-to-cover-a-pizza-stain-I-got-eating-lunch-two-days-ago?
Well, I've got news that's going to knock your knee-high socks right off your studious legs. It's going to change the way we look at geology and time. And blinking. It will make string theory look like monism, and monism look like string cheese and string cheese look like the string section of an all-kazoo orchestra. I have, namely, discovered exactly how long a blink of an eye is in geologic time.
Who's holding the lazer-pointer now, Dr. I-have-no-idea-what-this-asshole-is-talking-about? (If you said me, you're correct.)
Let me explain, and try to follow the bouncing decimal point, if you can. See, the Googles says it takes me anywheres from 100 to 150 milliseconds to blink. That's a blink of an eye in geologic time. But it's also pretty quick when measured against the 75.29 years or 23,759,309,600 seconds that the CIA has given me to live. To find out exactly what that equivalent would be in Earth history, I compared ratios expressed as equatable fractions, dividing a human blink by my life expectancy, while dividing a geologic blink (x) by the current estimated age of the earth: 4.55 billion years or 54,600,000,000 months.
This is the same as saying ".15 seconds is to 23,759,309,600 seconds as x months is to 54,600,000,000 months."
The result was, to say the least, astonishing, if not flat-out wrong. Nevertheless, numbers don't lie, unless they're in big trouble, so according to my math, a blink of the eye in Earth's time is nowhere near 65 million years, or 7 million years, or even 10,000 years. It is, instead, precisely 10 days, 7 hours and 39 minutes.
Isn't that fantastic, Prof. I-surfed-away-from-this-site-ten-minutes-ago? You see how much better it is when our words actually mean something? After all, when we speak with greater precision, we make what we say that much more excruciating to our audience. Why should we smart people be the only ones to suffer?
And just imagine how much smarter we smart people would feel if Liev Schreiber, in narrating a documentary about the last ice age, were to read in his script "15,000 years ago might seem to you like a blink of an eye in geological terms, but to the earth, it's more like a day, so don't you feel stupid?"
Now imagine what he could do with that australopithecus script: "7.2 million years is a heck of long time, isn't it? You bet it's a long time. It's a really really long time. What did you think I was going to say, 'to the Earth, it's just about a year and two months?' You know what? I'm done entertaining you. I'm Liev Schreiber. I was in the remake of The Omen."
And finally, here's what he would say in a Discovery Channel special about dinosaurs: "I bet you're the kind of person who plays along with the contestants when you watch Jeopardy and you think that just because you get a few answers right, faster than the contestants, you would just kill on Jeopardy. But you would be wrong for at least three reasons I can think off the top of my head. First, the pressure on the contestants to respond is much higher than the pressure on you while you're lying on your couch, and that pressure has an impact on response times. Secondly, you're stoned, so you're most pressing concern for the next half-hour will be how to get the cheeze puff dust off your fingers. And lastly, you would have trouble distinguishing a noun from a verb on Wheel of Fortune. What makes you think you could even get past the door on Jeopardy?"
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Time on My Hands...
...will be time spent with you looking at uncredited pictures from other people's Websites touting their diorama- and model-building skills. This piece to the left is based on Robert A. Heinlein's novel, Starship Troopers. The detail and craftsmanship impress and depress me. Well, that's shooting fish in a barrel. You see, (cue violins) I was diagnosed several months ago with the worst disease to plague mankind since the Spanish Flu epidemic. Yes, I suffer from Dysthymic Disorder, also known as "being alive" or simply, "Irish."I wanted to kill myself when I found out I was depressed. And I was appalled when I learned first-hand just how little our society pays attention to my suffering. Did you know the government spends billions of dollars every year on research into things like cancer, but not one penny on why I don't like going to work after a three-day weekend? I was as outraged as you are, no doubt, but unlike you, I decided to do something about it.
Dysthymix is the result. It calls attention to a plight that effects so many people, for all I know, but more than that: it calls attention to me, and if it's true what they say, that what excites the writer excites the reader, then you must be on the edge of your seat by now, like I am, wondering what I'll say next.
My blog will save your life. You see, around the time that I received my terrible diagnosis, I also gave up smoking. I found I no longer had the attention or focus to work on my usual fiction. In a manner of speaking, I wouldn't have even thought to start Dysthymix.com if I hadn't given up cigarettes, so ironically, quitting smoking may turn out to be the best thing to happen to me after all. Because when I realized I couldn't concentrate on writing my serious pornographic short stories anymore, I discovered the composition and verse you read in my periodic "Poems Worth (a) Shit" series. But my favorite thing of all is my whimsical musing, which includes, as of today, some entertaining, yet vital insight into scale-models and dioramas.
The scene depicted in the picture below is part of a relatively large diorama at the Artillery Ridge campground in Gettysburg, PA near the site of that self-titled Civil War battle fought from July 1 to July 3, 1863. Artillery Ridge is a place where you can sleep in a tent, ride horses and have a history lesson crammed down your throat while you attempt to enjoy your vacation. Artillery Ridge brags that it's "the closest campground to the battlefield!
!!" and features a diorama, "800 square feet of model display!" with "Roughly 20,000 hand painted soldiers, horses, buildings, etc!" and "a bird's eye view of the battle in its entirety!" not to mention an embarrassment of riches in exclamation points.Setting aside the spatial-temporal paradox of instantly viewing, in its entirety, a battle that was fought over the course of three days, I really think this idea has wings. Artillery Ridge makes history fun again!* And realistic too. I can almost smell the putrification of 50,000 decomposing bits of cannon fodder of the profiteering merchant bankers and plantation-owning slavers. Although, that might just be my upper lip. Anyway, I digress. History isn't about analysis. In the case of this diorama, it's about neutering carnage by the miniaturization process, which either transforms horror into hobby-horse or, considering the diorama's exquisite attention to uniforms, troop movements and pickets, solemnifies death and destruction in its reliquary echo of the battlefield to which it refers. Or it's a way to get some free air conditioning for a few minutes in preparation for the short, but nevertheless excruciating trek to the visitor's air conditioned SUV in the parking lot.
Editor's note: Today's blog is dedicated to my sister. Happy Birthday Jessica!
*Exclamation mark courtesy of Artillery Ridge.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
W Stands for Women
Seeing those fireworks last night got me to wondering how people in other countries celebrate July 4th. But then I realized, with all the pyrotechnics we export to the world, it's pretty clear that for some blessed people, it's July 4th every day. The thought brings tears to the eyes, like so many cannisters of mustard gas dropped on a Kurdish village with the technical assistance and tactical blessing of the U.S. Government.
But Independence Day isn't only about bragging! It's also about a different kind of fireworks, the stuff of romantic conquest, the kind that President Bush induces in the leading ladies of the world. Check out my three-picture commemorative album of the Lothario in Chief in action:
Just look at the Prez here sweet-talking New Zealand Prime Minister Helen Clark back in March, 2007. "We talked about the South Pacific, and I praised the prime minister on her leadership in these difficult issues," Bush said. I bet it really impressed Clark that Bush was even aware of those "difficult issues," especially how come the toilets go the wrong way when you flush them down there. The Prime Minister was knocked off her feet as you can plainly see.
And who will ever forget our Smooth Operator charming the pants off Filipino President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo just one month ago. "I want to tell you how proud I am to be the President of a nation...in which there’s a lot of Philippine-Americans," President Exlax cooed. "They love America and they love their heritage. And I reminded the President that I am reminded of the great talent of the — of our Philippine-Americans when I eat dinner at the White House..And the chef is a great person and a really good cook, by the way, Madam President." Oh, how President Arroyo's knees fluttered, how her heart buckled. "Thank you," she said, then spent the next two hours in the White House kitchen cooking up some Adobo before fetching the president his slippers. Bush, what a dawg.
Bush's strongest suit in the romance division has to be the classic "I give a great massage" maneuver. It works every time. What chance did German Chancellor Angela Merkel have at the July, 2006 G-8 summit when Bush showed the world that, yes, he DOES have opposable thumbs, and he's not afraid to use them. Bush explained his gesture in a press conference. "It's important for you to understand we're really trying to figure out how to work together to 'solve problems,'" he said, adding, "I understand I may have the honor of slicing the pig." Nobody could be certain if he was referring to a state dinner scheduled for that evening, or the Chancellor herself, and if it were the Chancellor, what exactly he meant by "slicing the pig."
But Independence Day isn't only about bragging! It's also about a different kind of fireworks, the stuff of romantic conquest, the kind that President Bush induces in the leading ladies of the world. Check out my three-picture commemorative album of the Lothario in Chief in action:
Just look at the Prez here sweet-talking New Zealand Prime Minister Helen Clark back in March, 2007. "We talked about the South Pacific, and I praised the prime minister on her leadership in these difficult issues," Bush said. I bet it really impressed Clark that Bush was even aware of those "difficult issues," especially how come the toilets go the wrong way when you flush them down there. The Prime Minister was knocked off her feet as you can plainly see.
And who will ever forget our Smooth Operator charming the pants off Filipino President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo just one month ago. "I want to tell you how proud I am to be the President of a nation...in which there’s a lot of Philippine-Americans," President Exlax cooed. "They love America and they love their heritage. And I reminded the President that I am reminded of the great talent of the — of our Philippine-Americans when I eat dinner at the White House..And the chef is a great person and a really good cook, by the way, Madam President." Oh, how President Arroyo's knees fluttered, how her heart buckled. "Thank you," she said, then spent the next two hours in the White House kitchen cooking up some Adobo before fetching the president his slippers. Bush, what a dawg.
Bush's strongest suit in the romance division has to be the classic "I give a great massage" maneuver. It works every time. What chance did German Chancellor Angela Merkel have at the July, 2006 G-8 summit when Bush showed the world that, yes, he DOES have opposable thumbs, and he's not afraid to use them. Bush explained his gesture in a press conference. "It's important for you to understand we're really trying to figure out how to work together to 'solve problems,'" he said, adding, "I understand I may have the honor of slicing the pig." Nobody could be certain if he was referring to a state dinner scheduled for that evening, or the Chancellor herself, and if it were the Chancellor, what exactly he meant by "slicing the pig."
Monday, June 30, 2008
This Week on Poems Worth a Shit...
Editor's Note: Please pardon our appearance; poem still under construction.
Revisionist History of the Titans
By the end of this
sentence the wealthiest
man alive will be one million,
five hundred-seventy-two thousand,
twenty-seven dollars and sixty-five cents richer
while in that same time, I will have lost
another dollar to a broken vending machine
and fallen behind on my rent. That used to bother me,
how the statue of Atlas in Rockefeller Center would gloat,
how he sported the sky on his shoulders,
more his trophy than his reason for despair;
how his buddy around the corner, Prometheus,
enlightened mankind without a pigeon in sight
to shit on his skin (to say nothing of the Harpies)
as smooth and golden as a 30-second spot
for soft light type light-bulbs. If ever I gazed
too long up the facade of the General Electric building,
its height representing its yearly cash flow,
I tended to shrink in proportion, to my gross income,
and thus bruise my shin against the side of a dime
for not paying attention to where I was going.
That’s how you learn the worth of looking up,
though I wonder if people who stand
for snapshots beside the bronze Titans know how small
they’ll appear in that frame, if they find strength
in never counting the decimals that precede their net on paper,
or if the only thing they can do is pretend they really don’t care.
Revisionist History of the Titans
By the end of this
sentence the wealthiest
man alive will be one million,
five hundred-seventy-two thousand,
twenty-seven dollars and sixty-five cents richer
while in that same time, I will have lost
another dollar to a broken vending machine
and fallen behind on my rent. That used to bother me,
how the statue of Atlas in Rockefeller Center would gloat,
how he sported the sky on his shoulders,
more his trophy than his reason for despair;
how his buddy around the corner, Prometheus,
enlightened mankind without a pigeon in sight
to shit on his skin (to say nothing of the Harpies)
as smooth and golden as a 30-second spot
for soft light type light-bulbs. If ever I gazed
too long up the facade of the General Electric building,
its height representing its yearly cash flow,
I tended to shrink in proportion, to my gross income,
and thus bruise my shin against the side of a dime
for not paying attention to where I was going.
That’s how you learn the worth of looking up,
though I wonder if people who stand
for snapshots beside the bronze Titans know how small
they’ll appear in that frame, if they find strength
in never counting the decimals that precede their net on paper,
or if the only thing they can do is pretend they really don’t care.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Dry Up, America
When God, Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, Norman Rockwell and Jimmy Stewart wrote the Constitution on a stone tablet on top of the World Trade Center in 1776, they clearly instructed George Washington that to preserve the young, fragile federation of colonies, he must invent something called a Third-Party Candidate. Ever since then, it has been the job of Third-Party Candidates to herd voters into one of two electoral corrals in the false left/right dichotomy that preserves Democratic and Republican control by making them look like honest and superior choices by comparison. That's why we have dark horses like Gene Amondson.
Gene wants to resurrect prohibition. He has frequently dressed up as the Grim Reaper in order to drive that message home. "Death to the Demon Drink," he likes to say. Gene is a world-class painter, as well, and the author of children's stories for which he gets his inspiration by falling asleep and dreaming during the sermon
portion of a church service. It wouldn't be surprising if it turned out that Gene here were really just having fun tilting at windmills and drawing attention to the delusion of meaningful elections. But no matter what his reason for running, the irrelevance of his cause guarantees its failure, which is exactly what the managers of our society want. Besides, don't we already know what happens when a dry drunk sits in the Oval Office for almost eight years?
Gene wants to resurrect prohibition. He has frequently dressed up as the Grim Reaper in order to drive that message home. "Death to the Demon Drink," he likes to say. Gene is a world-class painter, as well, and the author of children's stories for which he gets his inspiration by falling asleep and dreaming during the sermon
portion of a church service. It wouldn't be surprising if it turned out that Gene here were really just having fun tilting at windmills and drawing attention to the delusion of meaningful elections. But no matter what his reason for running, the irrelevance of his cause guarantees its failure, which is exactly what the managers of our society want. Besides, don't we already know what happens when a dry drunk sits in the Oval Office for almost eight years?
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