On Birthdays

It has just occurred to me that there is something odd about birthdays - we celebrate the one who was born.

When you think about it, there’s really nothing to being born. You have no say in the matter, nor does one recall the pain that occurs.

Parents, moms to be exact, recall all the hardships. The nine months of carrying around what would seem to be an undigested watermelon and then the subsequent passing of said watermelon has got to be a more noteworthy feat than actually popping out, yeah?

And then the whole raising a kid - from terrible two’s to obnoxious teens - has got to be more commendable than coasting for eighteen years in a what’s basically a bed and breakfast (some kids aren’t so lucky, but meh… they don’t fit into this thought).

Sure there is nothing wrong with celebrating the fact that you’re one year closer to oblivion, but just don’t forget that you wouldn’t be around to have cake if it wasn’t for some parents.

Cleaning The Lent Trap

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the starting gun of the Christian period known as Lent. For those unfamiliar with this situation I’ll break it down.

You attend mass (on your own recognizance since it isn’t a Holy Day of Obligation) then wait in line to have the ashes of year old palm fronds smeared on your forehead in the sign of the cross. It is done to remind us of our mortality - “Remember man, that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return (Genesis 3:19).” We are to be humbled before the 40-day fasting period that is to be done before the death of Christ, aka “Good Friday.”

I got my ashes handed to me too. However, I think my priest was using moss by the time I got there. Just shows you not to wait till 7PM services. Plus, never go to get ashes from a priest you haven’t seen in a while - particularly one straight from Ireland. They like to catch up on old times, all the while smearing ash the constancy of grease paint on your head. But I was humbled and ready for my fasting.

These days you don’t have to fast anymore. It’s not the most convenient thing to do in modern times. The Catholic Church is good like that… changing with the times, etc. Instead you can either give something up or do something out of the ordinary. I see Lent is becoming just the trial run of next year’s New Year’s Resolution - if you could last 40 days, maybe you could go a year?

Anyway, I’ve decided to read the bible cover to cover…. Get all the stuff they failed to mention in Catholic School… you know, the stuff that’ll actually get me saved rather than just keep me out of detention.

I’ve got other Lenten promises; but like wishes, if you tell someone, they won’t come true.

But Ash Wednesday is more than just the start of another holiday season. It is, in fact, a key day in deciding the fate of the presidency! And by this theory, I can safely say that John Kerry will not be president. He had the cross-blazoned upon his brow.

You see, though Ash Wednesday is celebrated by a couple of denominations of Christians, it is Catholics who are more apt to go in for it. And in all the history of America there has been only 1 Roman Catholic president - JFK.

If not consciously then subconsciously, people are afraid of a president who, in the end, has to answer to a little old man in Italy. That, and Catholics are just universally hated on a global scale. So, Kerry sporting the Catholic tattoo may not have been the best thing to do.

But who knows, miracles do happen.

Theological Geology?

Today on some forum, the classic question was asked: Could go create a rock so heavey the even he could not lift it? Could he heat a burrito to such a temperature that even he could not eat it?

So I posted my answer, to which it was promptly ignored. But I bring it hear to flesh it out.

If God can create a rock so heavy that even he can’t lift it, it would mean a sort of relative omnipotence.

Since it’s only his rock that can defeat him, he remains the dominant power over everything else other than he. Yet he still has power over himself since he has the potential to cause his own hernia. And so on.

Sounds like omnipotence to me.

Of course this proves another thing - Since god is the only one that could destroy god, and we are made in his image… then we are our own worst enemy. The main force working against humanity is humanity.

Follow that logic backwards it continues to prove itself. If humanity is humanity’s greatest foe, and made in the image of god, then god must be his own foe.

This relative omnipotence is not just found in Judeo-Christian related theologies concerning the ability of deities. Gods from Greece to Egypt are always pounding on each other, yet they always come back for more in infinite cycles.

Yet they keep tabs over humans and the universe, which is all one needs to be a god.

As for the burrito, this is where omniscience comes into play… God’ll either let the thing cool or know enough not to eat it in the first place.

Common Nonsense

America’s favorite curmudgeon is at it again with his recent book of essays entitled Common Nonsense. The book was written over a period of five years, complied of 154 writings written in no particular order.

It covers a wide array of topics: Daily Life in America, Food & Drink, Heath and Doctors, Politics, Sports, Entertainment and the Arts, Learning, Work Life and Success, The Writing Life, Home Life, Animals, Travel, Big Issues, Progress, and People and Places. All treated with Rooney’s signature wit. So much so, you’ll hear him narrating as you read.

Although the essays are very good and the ideas pretty solid, there is a tendency to repeat thoughts from one essay to the next. Not every essay, but a few sound like rehashings of the one before it. I guess that happens when you compile 5 years of random thoughts into one book. At least it shows that Rooney is consistent with issues.

And, as always, Rooney isn’t afraid to mince words. He goes after just about everybody, including his bosses at CBS and 60 Minutes.

After reading this book, I definitely came away with a smile… and a little wiser to boot. I read it straight through in about two days… but you could also essay hop if you so desire. Everyone is a gem. It shows that Mr. Rooney is far from the retirement center.

Some select snippets from the book:

– You never see old men sitting in rocking chairs on their front porches whittling anymore. Rocking chairs, front porches and whittling all seem to have gone out of style. Old men, on the other hand, are all over the place.

– Everyday thousands of humans gather by the side of lakes and the oceans with poles or they go out in boats to catch fish. They have all sorts of expensive equipment but, more often than not, they fail to catch a fish. The pelicans must laugh.

I give Common Nonsense a 6 out of 6. It’s 350 pages of neat.

Curse you Howard Dean!

Curse you for quitting so soon! It’s not that I wanted you to win, oh heavens no! I was actually going to post this:

“An Open Letter to Democratic Candidate Howard Dean

Dear Dr.Dean,

Please drop out. I realize your efforts are proving not to be a total wash out, as you have more delegates than Edwards… so it’s not that.

It’s not that you are wasting the media’s time either. Sure your draconian firings of underlings each time you look bad gets press and takes away from reports of the weather and A-Rod (blech), but that’s not why I’m writing.

Frankly, you scare me.

Your insidious grin reminds me of that which you seek to destroy - G.W. himself. You’re an angry man, sir. You seem unstable. You seem arrogant. You’re about to snap.

Your claim that you can balance the countries budget like you did Vermont’s made me shudder. See, Vermont has no military (that we know of) to account for; and that policy of turning your state into a corporate playground is even less progressive than anything going today.

So Doctor, give it a break.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen”

You had to go and get a jump on me, didn’t you? You’re too hasty too I see.

There and Back Again, and There Again Yet Again, Chapter III

I’m sure some smart cookie out there has said something to the extent: graduation is only the beginning of education. If not, I call dibs!

Said or not, it holds true, and makes a dandy intro to another lump of words devoted to my further exploits into the realm of schooling. If you’re not up to speed, you can read I and II respectively. And away we go:

You may be wondering why I’m only taking two classes this semester. Well, you would be wondering if you knew that before I just told you. But yes, just two classes. I have grown weary of many aspects of this new academic endeavor.

I am tired of the bull from the administration. SPC was always bad, but the infrastructure of the College of Staten Island is routed in secrecy and deception. Trying to get the credits you need is like a coin-operated Rubik’s cube - complete one color and the other sides only shuffle around on you… then you have to pay for the privileged to make more moves toward your goal. Instructions? Since when have they helped?! They’re written by the producers!

I am tired of the commuting. I travel 45 minutes (at least) each way just to hit frustration. When I was dorming at SPC, the commute took a few seconds; maybe a tad longer if I got hung up by a rubbernecking roach. Taking the bus isn’t worth it unless I’m compensated. Which leads to another reason for only two classes: work.

Yes, it was a plan to free up calendar space for some drone work someplace. War debt is pilling up, yeah? I’ve got this semester ($800), last semester ($2000) and the previous tour of duty ($13,000 something) to get rid of… not to mention making a dent in the billions of neato DVD’s being released each month.

But that seems to be heading south, as a pulled groin/hernia/or something worse is plaguing me. That’ll teach me to get in shape for a new year. Do a sit up, break your middle…

Ever notice that’s the way all things are built? People - exercise can lead to more crippling symptoms than obesity. Computers - the first thing to go when a hard drive is scratched is the scan disk. And so on and so forth.

“So what are you taking this term?” you probably weren’t wondering. Why Intro to painting and Intro to Graphics.

The painting class is the one I’m getting the most guff over. “What do you plan to do with that?” “How will that help you?” “Why the waste of money?”

Well, long story short, I was coerced out of pursuing art school by a wide array of people I thought knew what the hell they were talking about (and a few that actually do know what they were talking about). So my desire to see what it would be like coupled with the fact that the past 2 semesters have been a complete waste of time and aspirin, I figure why not…

“Why the fuck not?” I said.

And the class already seems to be extending past it’s programming, at least in my eyes. Painting is very Zen. “Everything looks different compared to what it’s next to.” Ah-soh!

So, I get a philosophy class too.

As for the extracurriculars I thought I would join… bah I say. The radio is overcrowded. The newspaper is under crowded. The staff there cannot hold a candle to the bunch I’ve worked with at SPC over the years. Not even close! So why try to fake it when all it’ll be is another unwarranted bus ride? I’ll be writing more memoirs of the PW later, as I don’t want to get misty eyed right now.

So to sum up, all this semester is doing is acting as a placeholder till I figure out where I dropped my compass.

Industrial Television

It’s late on a Saturday Night. You’re channel surfing, trying to find something interesting to watch. Then you hit upon Staten Island Community Access and find a couple of guys in lounge chairs heckling their television set. You have found Industrial Television.

The Premise

For over 7 years now, iTv has been a showcase for the bizarre, the sickening and the obscure. They have scoured miles of video tape to find the most eclectic mix of clips imaginable: from “Faces of Death” to early Fleischer cartoons to 1950’s film reels about “special people” - and everything in between. Corny commercials, blood soaked drive-in trailers, good old Swedish porn - you name it, it gets aired.

The Execution

First they show a few trailers and commercials, then the short subject, and finally the feature. It’s much like ye olde day at the cinema; however, with more beer and less popcorn.

Every once in a while there’d be interjections from the aptly named droogies - named after Alex’s gang in A Clockwork Orange - the “hosts” and producers of iTv. A quick quip, a zany sketch, a puff of smoke or naked chick later the show resumes.

The show at times can be graphic. Well ok, most of the time it’s graphic. There’s a lot of material the FCC would have a field day with. Thank god for Public Access!

I myself have been known turn away, but that’s just me…. I gasp for air if I look too long at the little diver in fish tanks, so you really can’t go by me. However, it’s nothing levelheaded folks ready for some fun can’t handle.

And despite the droogies crass appearance, they treat their constituency well. Every year, iTv hosts a party for fans. Way to keep it real!

The Verdict

This is the perfect medicine for people who take life too seriously. It can possibly cure them, but most likely cause a deadly overdose… either way, problem solved.

iTv is a breath of fresh air. The droogies obviously are not afraid to go against the grain, and we need that. We need a show that’ll challenge society and push the limits - iTv does just that. It’s not for everyone, but you should at least watch it a few times before you make that call.

Obviously if you don’t live neat Staten Island, NY, you’re going to have a hard time finding iTv. However, there is a website - Industrial Television.com - where you can get a hold of tapes.

And I feel, in time, iTv will make its way around the country… if not in the original form, then in copycat offshoots.

Oh… right… the numbers: For being innovative, provocative and all that jazz like that it gets a 6 out of 6. And because it’s shown during “grown-up time,” I’ll not take off points for corrupting the youth of America… it’s too late for that anyway.

On the Eve of Destruction

How appropriate a title for an instance of Friday the 13th.

In a few hours, the calendar shall turn to the farce that is Valentine’s Day… yet again. The aisles have already run red with the blood of the spurned and choked with the chocolate bon-bons and plush toy offerings to Aphrodite’s brat, Cupid.

“Bitter,” you ask? Maybe, but it’s still a stupid holiday.

For those not up on your Christianity (yes, the day designated to “get it on” is a religious thang) I shall give an all to brief history:

Valentine was martyred in the 200’s by for being one of those uppity Christians. But before he was killed in one of the many reported ways, he sent a love letter to the jailer’s daughter in the Roman tradition of some pagan feast. (That’s where the “valentine letter” comes from.) Anyhoo, February 14th was one of the days to celebrate Juno (the Roman mommy god and matron of marriage). So the early Christian priests decided that Saint Valentine’s Day was as good as any to usurp that day for their beliefs. And bada-bing - a day so sweet, it rots dentures!

Where was I going with this? Damn it! That’s why it’s good to make notes I guess.

Anyway, a dumb reason to waste ink on the calendar… however, the card companies and condom producers seem to like it. But then again, organized crime has always celebrated this day with a bang!

It shows how stupid we all are though. Do we actually need a designated day to do nice things for our sweethearts? (–insert “awe” here–) Isn’t the whole relationship thing supposed to be constant gush of love, rather than hey “I got you flowers because it’s forty-five days into the year…”? Maybe there’s some sort of astrological thing to go with that, but I’m not looking it up!

And look out should no special thing be done… The Book Revelations would be jealous.

Valentine’s day is a real pain for us dateless wonders of the world too. It only puts undue strain on us to accelerate a losing battle. I’m sure the suicide numbers jump around this time.

I had planned to do a whole week of sap (tails of woe and rejection) for “Valentines Week,” as some have declared (lord help us), but I figure I’ll probably still be bitter next year and will be looking for material. That and crippling depression is holding me back.

The Nature of the Breast

Well I guess it’s time for me to weigh in on the whole Super Bowel Half Time controversy that’s going around. I must say, I was shocked and/or appalled by this incident. Not at the time of it’s happening. Nay I was lulled into a stupor by the tediousness of the show, and didn’t see Janet’s boob, much like everyone else in America. Admit it, you all missed it too.

And I’m not shocked and/or appalled by the boob either. I’m angrier about all the boobs talking about it the next day. Fines here, lambastings there… and all about Janet’s breast. Not a word about any of the actual atrocities committed during the show.

Where are the stones at Nelly and P. Diddy? Nelly sang that old American standard, “Hot In Herre.” First off, the title promotes misspelling. Second, the lyrics involved are grade A suggestive.

“I was like, good gracious ass bodacious
Flirtatcious, tryin to show faces
Lookin for the right time to shoot my steam (you know) …

… Cuz I feel like bustin loose and I feel like touchin you
And cant nobody stop the juice so baby tell me whats the use …

… Its gettin hot in here (so hot)
So take off all your clothes …” etc.

Before that, P. Diddy arrived and sang a ditty, then did his spin on “Hey Mickey.” This is a crime in 2 ways: first, desecrating the spirit of the 80’s by butchering that song. Second, by putting that inane crap back into the collected consciousness of America! We were almost Mickey free!!!!

Where are the stones cast at those friggin back-up dancers? They rambled around the stage like clockwork prostitutes! Don’t tell me gyrating hips and grinding crotches are a standard greeting now. Actually, please tell do tell me that.

Where are the stones cast at the CBS execs that let their bastard son MTV produce a halftime show in the first place? You knew no good could come of it… you knew!!!

Ladies and Gentlemen: it is true we have to keep a level of decency on TV as to protect the youth of the nation. However, to harangue on a single breast - covered by a pastie larger than the average cheerleader outfit - nonexistent from the nosebleed seats and only a glimpse at home - an item seen almost daily by tyke, teen and adult alike in classic art or elsewhere - is ridiculous considering the content of the rest of the show, and the multiple advertisements for Viagra wannabes!

Besides, the game perked up after half-time.

Also, for FCC to go after this when they could be cleaning up the rest of the mess they made is absurd. It’s their fault that MTV did the halftime show. Had Viacom not been allowed to own both CBS and MTV (along with Nickelodeon, et al), this incident would be a part of historical fiction!

Before I go, kudos to Aerosmith and Duran Duran for having the decency not to lip-sync during the pre-game show. It shows, hands down, that rock is better.

Kudos to Beyonce for no totally obliterating the “Star Spangled Banner.” It could have been a little better, but it could have been a lot worse.

And kudos to the real stars: the commercials. They were very good this year.

Science Round-Up, 2/2/04

Making War Zones Pretty Again - Reference BBC News

This week, scientists have come up with a plant the can detect the presence of landmines.

Plants developed by Copenhagen firm Aresa Biodetection are said to turn from green to red when they come in contact with explosives in the soil.

This follows in the footsteps of the decending evolutionary chain of searchers. First we had dogs sniffing about. Then, we trained bees of all things to locate mines. Now plants. The option of sending the idiots responsible for planting them is still on the drawing board however.

The benefits of this new decetion method is obvious. They are pletiful and easy to plant, as you can spread a large area with a crop duster. And in a few weeks, you’ll have a general area of where a land mine could be. And since it’s a variation of Cress, you’ll have a nice garnish when you eat it on the battlefield!

And speaking of vegetables…

Man With More Than A Few Bugs in His Hard Drive - Reference BBC news

Jon Blake Cusack, from Holland, Michigan, told local newspapers the US practice of adding “Junior” or “II” after a boy’s name was too common.

So, when his son was born last week, he decided on the name Jon Blake Cusack 2.0, as if he were a software upgrade.

Yep, that pretty much sums itself up.

Later in the article, the father got all excited at the possibility of his grandson being termed 3.0. That would, however, require 2.0 getting past beta testing. But with a name like that, I doubt he’d get past grade school with his RAM intact.