Motorcycle Cage of Death: Juju vs. Mojo
It doesn’t get any better than things that have not yet happened.
Do I phrase my statements as questions and then answer them? Of course I don’t.
On the inadvisability of getting a haircut in a NJ seafood restaurant
So, I should start by saying that I am not making this up. Any of it. I will not name names on this one for fear of retaliation–I plan to return to this place after a respectable period of time, and being in New Jersey… well, one just never knows.
The story is this: on Monday night I went to a restaurant in a small town in New Jersey, primarily because it had the appearance of local character. The restaurant did not disappoint. One of the owners–the wife–waited on my table while her husband held court at the bar, shaking hands and giving Swedish fish to the handful of children there. The food was quite good, the atmosphere friendly, and the local character abundant. For those seeking that kind of thing, I will provide details if you are ever in the greater Parsippany area.
I met the President
Washington D.C. is a strange place.
We carry on here, aware of but largely untouched by the politics that storm and swarm around us. My Washington is art, music, bars, running, house parties, farmers markets and community. I am an outsider to the insiders.
Yesterday was an exception when in a frenzy of surreality, I shook the hand of a man that so embodies the political contest. He came to my office to speak about jobs, greener energy, and where we go from here. I stood behind him on CNN.
I listened to his speech and I thought about why he was in our office. We are fortunate — we’re a successful start-up with no shortage of jobs and we have a company culture that advocates creativity, intellectualism, and fun. I am paid well to do what I love. But he came here to tell the press that “yes, 36,000 more people lost their jobs last month, but we’ll pull through”.
36,000 families go without, and the President congratulates me for continuing to do my job. I’ve never felt more viscerally aware of how blessed I am.
Venus De Milo sculpted from snow
Well, the torso anyway (or so they claim). And in an act of classic Jersey:
Police told a Rahway, New Jersey family to cover their nude snow woman after an anonymous complaint.
Redemption
Sorry I’ve been quiet of late. I have much to share that may or may not be of interest to ‘flockers, but this glimpse into the mind of my late Uncle Ray (through a letter to his friend Jim) may provoke:
The once “Bro. Jim”,
After prayer and meditation the Lord, in His wisdom and compassion, has led me to extend the hand of civility and forgiveness to you who have fallen so far from the fold. But I do not want to place undue emphasis on how far you have fallen or the depths of your depravity but rather on the Hope that shines eternal through His grace and redemptive power. It is truly grace because you, of all people, have through your sins, blasphemies and contemptuous behavior, earned an eternity in hell. If you escape your destiny only grace can account for it. It warms my heart to extend a gracious welcome back to the fraternity of the true believers, the promise keepers if you will. All you need to do is open your heart. It matters not that you reek of fish, gin, campsmoke and possibly loose women (could not tell from the fish odor) so long as you are sincere in your confession of sin.
Come as you are as we softly sing “Just As I Am”.
You cannot imagine how my heart swells to see a sinner return to the Truth as I see it. You should be aware that the Lord’s forgiveness is complete and total but mine is more exacting. Lacking the supernatural powers to see into your heart, I must judge by outward behavior. You would serve your rehabilitation well by inviting Joyce and me up to a Cardinal game before the season is over. That would be a splendid sign of an intent to climb out of the cesspool of degradation and self-elevation that you have inhabited.
You were once a good boy. I’ve been told that. By you, but it was convincing at the time. Open your heart. Accept this lifeline. Put on the raiments of salvation and join me when we celebrate for an eternity. Just put your hand on the computer and say “Bro. Ray intercede for me because I am lost and unworthy but I want to be found and redeemed.”
Jesus and I patiently wait,
Bro. Ray
Spiritual Warrior
These letters keep my dear Uncle alive for me. I hope you enjoy them too.
Bowl of cereal.
Today I got up 4:48pm, had a bowl of cereal and then spent the rest of the day on my computer. I worked on some music, surfed 4chan, then remembered moot was supposed to be talking at TED2010 and after a series of links made it to here. I’d say today has been a pretty good day.
90%
Almost all of my spam emails are a variation of a deal on VIAGRA®. Where are my offers for Russian love? When I meet the AARP member of my dreams, I will be stocked and ready.
Patrick Stewart on the internet, iPhone, and games
Glad to see Patrick and I share the same feeling about letters and phone calls.
via waxy
from the comments
One morning, over at Elizabeth’s beach house, she asked me if I’d rather go water-skiing or lay out. And I realized that not only did I not want to answer THAT question, but I never wanted to answer another water-sports question — or see any of these people again — for the rest of my life.
The death of Jermyn Street
I had just settled in my easy chair when a key turned in the lock and a nattily-dressed man in his 60s let himself in. He held a bottle of Teachers’ scotch under his arm. He walked to the sideboard, took a glass, poured a shot, and while filling it with soda from the siphon, asked me, “Fancy a spot?”
“I’m afraid I don’t drink,” I said.
“Oh, my.”
This man sat on my sofa, lit a cigarette, and said, “I’m Henry.”
“Am I…in your room?”
“Oh, no, no, old boy! I’m only the owner. I dropped in to say hello.”
This was Henry Togna Sr. He appears in a Dickens novel I haven’t yet read. I’m sure of it. He appeared in my room almost every afternoon when I stayed at the Eyrie Mansion.
—Roger Ebert, “I met a character from Dickens,” Chicago Sun-Times, February 5, 2010
(Via @davidmoldawer)
from the comments
Phil Bebbington: Well, I am in Texas and spent my first night in Johnson City. I had Catfish served on a plastic plate whilst watching two drunks play pool – one swore he knew me and kissed me on the hand – this is only half the story, perhaps the material of a post, not sure.
They were barely able to walk when we were kicked out at 9 and yet almost managed to drive a straight line!
For Terri; With Love & Insurance
Terri Carlson, a 45-year-old woman who has been repeatedly denied coverage because of a rare genetic disorder, is actively courting someone to marry for their health insurance:
It is not easy living with my disease and now that I have the genetic answer for my health issues, every insurance company uses the information to deny me insurance coverage. You know, I am not happy I was [dealt] this deck of cards in my life. However, if I don’t fight for myself nobody will. While the [government] fights over healthcare reform people like me suffer. I will continue on this crusade for healthcare reform. And yes, as drastic as it sounds, I will marry for health insurance!!!
She happens to be pretty attractive, which should (I guess) speed the process along. Good luck to the 45-year-old balding gentleman without coverage.
Chronicles of Seymour-Hoffman
Ned Hepburn, (the genius behind, erm, Boner Party) has also been posting tidbits from his forthcoming “book” ‘The Many Faces Of Seymour-Hoffman’
“During the filming of the 1999 drama ‘The Talented Mister Ripley’, Seymour-Hoffman developed an intense infatuation with American Girl dolls, the doll company that produces historically and factually based dolls based on young women of a certain era in American history.
Inbetween takes, Seymour-Hoffman would produce a doll and start to recite his own lines in the voice of Kitt Kettredge, an American Girl doll based on a girl who would have existed the Great Depression. During the scene of his own murder, he refused to act with anyone else but her, slowly disrobing her and holding back his own tears, feeding the lifeless doll fistfuls of M&M’s. This unnerved co-stars Matt Damon and Gwyneth Paltrow, who refused to be in the same room as him during this already emotional day of filming. Using an array of mirrors, the film appears to have Philip Seymour-Hoffman in the same room as Matt Damon, when infact Hoffman was forty feet away in his own trailer playing the same five Supertramp songs on repeat before every single take while requesting fresh M&M’s for Kitt. Consequentially, each take took an hour to film.
Coincidentally, during the scene in which Hoffman is strangled, Kitt Kettredge’s hands are used.”
Needless to say, this isn’t uh, factually based.
The ongoing conspiracy
“You know, there was rumors of anti-Castro pigeons seen drinking in bars… the week before the [Kennedy] assassination. Someone overheard them saying ‘Coup, coup. Coup.’”
“Bad pinhole,” she said.
Fuji 200 C-41 developed in expired Fomadon LQN for 10 minutes. Presoaked and rinsed in water.
“Why do I keep trying?” my Flickr friend asked. ” I just can’t make myself stop wasting film on this whole pinhole thing.”
The ensuing conversation is a long one, I warn you, but it’s a good one. You might enjoy reading it even if you’re not into the whole pinhole thing. People talk about what constitutes waste, about learning by experimenting, about what film is made of, about how to save money on food, about pinhole cameras — and about paranormal phenomena.
Read more
David Simon on Bill Moyers Journal
proof that healthcare is too expensive
While my Jeep was rolling down a hill in Wyoming, I remember, very clearly, that I hoped for death since I was uninsured and would probably become a financial burden to my family. I walked away with a scratch on my thumb and glass in my hair.
True story.
Fire
When I was a kid, I was convinced—I guess because of all the fire drills and fire safety education we had at school—that house fires were very common, so common that it was inevitable that at some point in everyone’s life, his or her house would burn down. I used to plan and replan my escape route, which things I would grab on my way to the fire escape, how I would rescue the guinea pigs, how I would climb down the ladder while holding them. Once I reached the last rung and dropped down into the downstairs neighbors’ garden, what would happen? Would I just wait there? What if my family didn’t make it out?
Twelve Meditations on a Dollhouse | IV. Meditation on the Great Hall
The Great Hall. Colleen Moore’s Fairy Castle. (Museum of Science and Industry. Chicago.)
(We have skipped past Cinderella’s Drawing Room, where “the vases at each side of the door going into the Great Hall are made of carved amber over 500 years old. They came from the collection of the Dowager Empress of China.”)
“As you go around the corner, stop and look through the clear glass in the center of the chapel window. You will see the altar, and on this altar is a little tabernacle. On top of the tabernacle you will see a beautiful golden sunburst. In the center is a glass container holding a sliver of the true cross. This was given to me by my friend, Clare Booth Luce, when she was the Ambassador to Italy and had her first audience with the Pope. He gave this to her, and she gave it to me to put in the chapel of the Fairy Castle.”
Courthouse Envy
Letter from my late Uncle Ray (grand-uncle, if absolute accuracy is required) to the editor of the McKenzie Banner. As background, Huntingdon (pop. 4125) is the county seat of Carroll County, TN, and McKenzie (pop. 5357) is its neighbor ten miles to the north. The two towns harbor a fierce football rivalry, with the blue and gold Huntingdon Mustangs typically prevailing over the red and gray McKenzie Rebels. The letter is dated February 17, 2004.
Dear Reader,
I could not help but think of you tonight as my blood boiled to a blue and gold phrensy as I read the McKenzie Banner. As of this moment, the latest edition is not online but for your future reference: www.mckenziebanner.com will reach the article in question dated Feb. 18th and bearing the headline of McKenzie Library Supporters …
Lest you thought it was a forgotten issue, one of their leading citizens,in a rare unguarded moment of revelation, let the old bloody burr of their discontent show itself to the public. Until you can reach it online, I will provide the quote in an article generally bemoaning the “inadequate funding” of the library in McKenzie in juxtapositon to the Carroll County Library which to their eternal discontent is situated in the county seat.
“We furnish as many people (as the county library does). I don’t care about having the courthouse over here[McKenzie] but we ought to have our share of the tax money back for our town. And we do not want to be a branch of their library,” added Mrs. Sybil King.
This is rich stuff. I will eschew the temptation to postulate what would happen if every crossroads in Carroll County opened a library and demanded their fair share of tax money. Is there not a sense of alienation in her terminology of “their library”, the Carroll County Library? Perhaps a sense of privilege, elitism? You be the judge of that. That is not what caught my attention.
Yes, its all about the courthouse. They cannot get over it. Its as if all their inadequacies would be redeemed if only their square housed the county seat of government. It is constantly on their minds. Even if suppressed temporarily it is always there subliminally. If not, why else would it be blurted out in a Freudian fit of frustration? It is all about the age old dysfunction, courthouse envy. A curse that they have suffered from since Nathan Nesbitt staggered into what would become Huntingdon from his confines at latter day Maytown and sawed out the door of county government. McKenzie’s envy surpasses any of the ancient disputes over Holy Jerusalem.
It saddens me. Their isolation, their deep seated feelings of inferiority, their lust for domination and their undying hatred for the paradigm to their south. No doubt all of these feelings were exacerbated by the seeming success of their revived football program until it too was exposed as a fraud by the state champions. Salt in the wounds.
Where will it all end? If you have a modem, you probably have an opinion.
Over and out,
Ray
The letter was not published.
Y’all
Last night I traded a glass of Natty Light for an orange pick-up truck.
nofx – eat the meek
For me, harmonizing to this song in my car was classic high school.
Update: See, also
“When I was a Very Small Boy”
Ettore Sottsass, designer of the red Olivetti typewriter:
When I was very small, a little boy of five or six years old, I was certainly no infant prodigy, but I did do drawings with houses, with vases and flowers, with gypsy caravans, merry-to-rounds and cemeteries (perhaps because the first world war had only just ended) and then, when I was a bit older, I built beautiful, sharp-pointed sailing-boats, carved with a penknife out of the tender bark of pine-trees from Mount Bondone and together with Giorgio and Paolo Graffer we constructed cableways that were even two hundred metres long, that ran from the houses on the river Adige up to the top of Doss Trent, since we had found some balls of paper string that had been abandoned in the cellar by retreating Austrians (or maybe stolen by grandfather Graffer), and later when I was even bigger, aged eight or nine, I made barometers and wooden telescopes in my uncle Max the carpenter’s workshop to measure the passing of the stars, but naturally neither the barometer nor the telescope ever worked despite the drawings I did, of an astronomy as I imagined it and so on.
What I learned today while shopping
I take some paid time off the day before Christmas Eve and do about 95% of my shopping — with clarity and focus. No desperation gifts, just the rendered essence of giving; a reduction sauce of I hope you like this. I enjoy the day.
Did you know?
- After they have loaded groceries into their car, Trader Joe’s customers return empty shopping carts to the store instead of leaving them in the parking lot.
- Guitar Center makes buying musical instrument accessories as cool as a trip to Home Depot.
- Liquor stores could close January through March thanks to all the business they do this week.
- I took a little break and had some coffee. Newspapers are now printed on 15% smaller paper or I am 15% bigger.
- When they pull out into traffic, motorists in Miamisburg near the Dayton Mall will aim for your car.
- I’ll punch you in the neck if you say you have more Christmas spirit than I do. Fuck you.
Christmas Memory: bb guns
One Christmas, my brother and I got Daisy bb guns. We wanted them bad. We couldn’t wait to shoot them, but it was mid-winter in Rockford. Daddy set us up a stack of boxes packed with newspaper in the basement with a target stapled to the side. It wasn’t long before we bored of straight shootin’ and opted up for tricks. We went upstairs, stole Mom’s hand-mirror off her vanity, and commenced fancy-shootin’ backwards Annie Oakley style. My brother’s first shot riccocheted off the blocks of the basement wall and hit my brother in the back of his head. Didn’t hurt him. Didn’t break the skin. But how he howled. It stung! We could have put an eye out!
I invite all clusterflockers/readers near and far to tell us a Christmas story over the next few days. It would be the best gift we could give each other.