boyd will return

Tanque.org presents -TanqueLogue-

Email - - Current - - Archive

"we scratch and claw, but only at the air--only at each other. And for all of it, we never budge an inch."

Sonya, if that Brian fellow really can't find your page, he's a moron. It's called Google.

I slumped down on the curb, dropping my tattered script to the asphalt. In the course of a few days I had gone from hayseed-nobody to Hollywood hot-shot and back again, and I was tired.

You see, just days ago, tanquelogue was picked as a "blog of note" on blogger. Don't bother looking for the link now, I'm sure it's passed. Fame is fleeting, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. But while it lasts....

I'll admit, when the movie offers started pouring in, I wasn't a purist. I wanted to sell out as quickly as possible. I wanted to parlay my fame into cash immediately. Hollywood sleazebags started calling, and I followed every lead. Never mind that most of the stories were crap; who cared? The money people told me they wanted to make TanqueLogue the movie, and I threw integrity out with the bathwater. They'd tell me that they pictured a sort of combo-sequel to the Matrix and Hackers, and I just salivated and nodded, "yeah, that's exactly how it happened, that's the tanque/drunkenfish story." In a matter of hours, I had relocated to the west coast, driving a Range Rover to and from expensive lunches with Hollywood hotshots (the check never materialized at these events), sitting poolside in Malibu while sucking up and was sucked up to by the likes of John Cuzack and Angie Harmon (Angie's an Angel, John's just what you'd expect). I was making deals and shmoozing, clinking mar-timmy glasses with the important people, the celebrities and the money-people. TanqueLogue the movie was going to explode.

The cabbage handlers told me they needed to make this movie right away, had to get it out the gates NOW while weblogs were hot, "No one wants to get stuck with a cabbage patch doll movie" one exec told me, chomping on a cigar. I never knew his name. I was nodding, agreeing to some made-up story of cyber infedelity among webloggers. (I told myself that I could just say that the Butterfly Liberation Army dude was the scoundrel; he never posted anyways). And Jim and Amy, they used to date, couldn't we say that there was friction there? I'd mumble, "uh, yeah, I guess" and it was suddenly in the script, along with car chases and bombs and fast cars and eco-terrorists. Before I knew it, I didn't recognize anything.

We started shooting, and I became comfortable with treating servants like crap, sending my tacos back if I didn't like the look of the lettice on them, pushing manservants into the pool to the delight of my guests. I became a horrible snob, but no one ever told me I was out of line. I don't like to think about it.

And just as suddenly, it was all over. The studio told me the project was on hold, and my calls to the front office went un-answered. I went to the shoot yesterday, and they sent me away.

So I slumped down on the curb. I had two beers with me, and I drank them both. Then I threw them at the moon, and bemoaned my sorry state. I had wanted to sell out, and I had, and now I had nothing left.

A cat wandered up, and orange cat. He snarled at me, and his tail was fluffy.

"You're washed up," the cat said. "You're no demon. You don't even have a cloak."

He was right. I wanted to blame that bastard John Cuzack, but I really only had myself to blame. Plus, I was out of beer.

A studio exec kicked me as he left the building, heading for his sportscar. "I like the old site better," he said maliciously. I got up and walked to the bus-station, and eventually made it back to Shangri-La. Fame by itself is nothing.

Heh, heh. Happy Birthday Davey.

Oah, Yeahah, I also meant to point out that La DrunkenBattleBlog is Ben's baby, but I'm sure he'd hook you up if you sent him an email.

Heidi, sorry I didn't get back to ya before now. I was hoping to have instructions for you to post whatever images you want without my intervention (i.e., an ftp account/password for tanque.org), and I still hope to have that info soon for every tanquer desiring graphics, but for now, if you have some graphics you want on your page, email me and we'll make it happen.

Viva La Weekend!! Come to Shangri-La tonight!!

America Loves Mobsters! Ned loves Wasabi! I was curious about the possibility of growing this facinating condiment in our shady environment here at Shangri-La, but it sounds like there's a bit more work involved than I can reasonably expect myself to do. Still, I plan to order some of "the real thing" sometime soon to see if I can really tell the difference. Don't get me wrong, I like Horseradish as much as the next guy, really. Actually, growing horseradish sounds pretty interesting to me too, though it requires more sun than we probably have. I like the image of a patch of the backyard getting over-run with the stuff, and then turning into a horseradish junky.

What the heck am I doing? I need to get back to the books. But first, Happy Arbor Day!

Okay, and this is via Phil: and you thought your cat was big.

lous·y (louz)
adj. lous·i·er, lous·i·est.

1. Infested with lice.
2. Extremely contemptible; nasty: a lousy trick.
3. Very painful or unpleasant: a lousy headache.
4. Inferior or worthless: a lousy play.
5. Slang. Abundantly supplied: lousy with money.

I think what I meant to say, James, was, "seems like you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a Jim." Does that clarify?

"This movie doesn't scrape the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn't the bottom of the barrel. This movie isn't below the bottom of the barrel. This movie doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence with barrels."

Look out: I'm feeling goodwill toward Pat; and Amy's in that perfect 2 beer state.

(with apologies for excessive use of the word doppleganger): I met one of my neighbors last night, an older woman (well, older than me, not really all that old), and she filled me in on some of the local cat picture. Psycho, the first Jack doppleganger, hasn't been seen for several weeks now, and she confirmed that he had been hit by a car. I also asked about the first Oscar doppleganger, and she confirmed that he had indeed ran away one day to parts unknown. I filled her in a little on the ongoing Sammy/Oscar/Jack story, pointing out differences in appearance between them, as well as pointing out that there is a new Jack doppleganger. The neighbor was concerned that Jack and Oscar had been behaving aggressively towards her cat, Jack by howling outside her window, Oscar by cornering her cat in the alley. I doubt Jack is the guilty party, but who knows what Oscar does in between his brief visits here? Anyhoo, we exchanged phone numbers (so she could contact me if her cat ever seemed in danger again).

You know, I seem to remember seeing some comments from JimS re: the Ill-Lit; am I imagining things, or is Jim deleting posts? Heh, heh.

Ben is now posting for Rob. :) Even better, Ben's posted some pictures; Very cool indeed. I picture all of England as something out of a Dickens novel, but darker and rainier, so imagine my suprise to see sunlight and what looks like a slice of suburbia!

As this week goes farther along, the care-free, "I'm not at work" feeling is gradually being replaced by some minor anxiety about taking my exam on Friday afternoon. I don't like tests. And I generally have very little motivation to study. And, well, I feel a little bad about bad-mouthing my classmates yesterday. They're all nice people, really. Just the same, I doubt I'll mention to any of them that I have a web page.

Today when we broke for lunch, rather than taking my chances in the quagmire of suburban sprawl, I wised up and headed north, up to Zionsville to the Friendly Tavern, where I got to see JimR (yet another Jim; this world is lousy with 'em). Unfortunately, Bill's mom wasn't around, but I may get back up there tomorrow or Friday, and she might be back by then. Either way, it was good to see Jim - and he bought me lunch to boot - bonus!

TanqueTV? Turn it on, leave it on? I have a love-hate relationship with video/film production. I think I should love it, but in reality I don't really enjoy messing with it. But that may all change in the proper environment/situation. (I do think it's funny that Jimmah's projects all involve getting away from reading, whereas my stack of to-reads just keeps getting taller and taller.) I've always thought that an interesting documentary could be made describing network protocols (TCP/IP, IPX, AppleTalk, OSI layers), covering their historical evolution and their current usage. But I picture lots of computer animation for that project - I don't think a speaker and a chalkboard are necessarily enough to capture the fun. (Ideally, it would be like Hackers, but with less roller-blading and more real network info.)

AstaLaVista.com and AstiLaVista.com (hacker/cracker search engines).

Driving out of B-town this morning, I was listening to WFHB (see also wfhb.org). They're in the middle of their fund-drive, and who's name do I hear but none other than Jimmah! Doing some early-morning philanthropy, eh? I've been meaning to stop by the station and pick up one of their CD's; maybe this will be my inspiration.

"We made snowballs...." I'm still thinking about Jim&Dani and their clan hiking into the snowy mountains this past weekend, a very vivid image.

Sean, that link to Seanbaby's (no relation?) superheroes is funny. Boy, they sure don't like Aquaman, do they?

I'm glad to hear of Dave's new server being put to use. Just imagine all the porn he can keep there. Speaking of Dave, I tried to tell Shari his story of the kittens, but she cut me off - "I don't want to hear it!" Here's a nicer story, with a happy ending:

(backstory: one of the two little kittens Shari brought back from oblivion was terribly constipated. Believe me, when you only weigh 6 oz or so, it shows. So she took the little guys in yesterday. When I got home, I asked her how it went)

Ned: So, was the vet able to help?

Shari: They said that with all the antibiotics the kittens had gotten recently, the necessary parasites in their digestive system had been killed, so they gave me some medicine to restore them.

Ned: And they were able to get the - stuff - out? He looks alot better.

Shari: They were able to extract it.

Ned (grinning with perverse disbelief): Extract it?!

Shari: Yeah, extract it.

Ned: How? Did they ...

Shari (cutting Ned off): I left for an hour, they extracted it, I came back. I don't know how.

TRUE STORY

Recibo, por favor.

It took me all of one minute to go to babelfish and translate "receipt, please" into "recibo, por favor."

I'm spending this week in training, which means driving to the insanely ugly garbage sprawl that is 86th and Michigan, just inside the northern 465 loop (Indianapolis, close to my younger stomping grounds). Cars and cars and cars; pedestrians are not allowed. And we're back from lunch and the instructor is asking how our lunches were, and the guy sitting in front of me says something to the effect that it was okay until he had to deal with a "foreigner." Apparently he asked for a receipt, and the guy behind the counter didn't understand what he was asking for. He was a "mexican." Another guy in class piped in about how recently lots of "mexicans" have started working in restaurants around the area, and the instructor says she doesn't understand why "mexicans" would want to come all the way to Indiana to find jobs.

The day before I had gone to the "New China Super Buffet" on 86th for dinner after class, a HUGE buffet joint with fair food (it is a buffet, after all), but certainly passable. And so I'm sitting in my booth, sucking down some hot and sour soup and picking at my noodles, reading my book, and in the booth next to me the guy who took my money, an asian man, is opening packages of eggroll wraps and separating them. After a while one of the other workers sits down, a young hispanic guy, and they're going through the eggroll wraps. The asian guy gets up to go do something, and some of the younger guy's buddies show up. They shake hands and say things I don't understand, but it's clearly a friendly greeting. Then the asian guy comes back, having seen the buddies show up, and he shakes the worker's hand too, jokingly repeating the greeting of the younger guy's friends.

They all laugh, and the buddies go to get their grub, and the asian guy and the hispanic guy are working the eggroll wraps again, and the asian guy tries out one of the spanish phrases the guys had just spoken. The hispanic guy laughs, and corrects his pronunciation. While I'm sitting there, they go back and forth, the hispanic guy teaching different phrases to the asian guy, and I had to grin. They were joking around, but they were teaching each other their native languages as well. It was kinda cool to observe.

But today I'm sitting in class, and everyone is bitching about all the 'foreigners' who work the restaurant jobs, who don't understand simple phrases like, "can I have a receipt?" It took me all of one minute to go to babelfish and translate "receipt, please" into "recibo, por favor."

I felt immediately cowardly, because I knew I wouldn't say anything to my classmates, wouldn't be able to convey my disgust with their reactions, wouldn't have the words to try to translate their frustration with "foriegners" into my facination with different cultures interacting. I hate the "speak english or die" mentality. I think I understand the frustration a "hoosier" feels when the counter person at Wendy's can't understand what they're saying, but I just can't relate to it. Sigh. I felt relieved when we finally got back to talking about network protocols.

But that's nitpicking.

Much more importantly, Jimmah, thanks for the description from this weekend. "We made snowballs out of it and tossed them high over the treeline." Beautiful.

My next project is a java-applet that will peek into every financial transaction taking place on the web, and redirect .001% of each transfer of funds into a secret off-shore account. I call it my NedWeb tax. I figure it will only need to run for a day or so before I can retire.

You know (playing Devil's advocate here), one could argue that the silent god in Ben's one-act is just playing hard to get.

Thanks to Liz for the corn-o-copia of links, including the secret library page which lead me to this necronomicon page. When trying to divine the true nature of god and the universe, it helps to have good source material, and I think Ben will agree that if we could just get a hold of the real bible (i.e., la Necronomicon), we'd get some of this business (happiness/meaning-of-life stuff) settled once and for all. BUT AT WHAT PRICE?!?

Oh, and Liz, no one was fooled for a minute by your attempt to cloak the url of the superhero link; come forward with the goods of suffer the fate of the mad arab!

Anyone out there know someone who wants a kitten?

Feels like I'm playing hookie today; I'm in Novell training this week (Netware 5.1 adv. admin). So I'm driving farther north, but getting to sleep in a little. And I like network training. Later tonight I'll swing by our office out at Shadeland ave. to install some hard-drives into a server out there, hopefully without incident. And then, finally, I'll get to come home and see Shari again.

Sunday. Pat, right back atcha. You too, John (i.e., god-boy). [grin]

Who said life was fair, babycakes?

I got up on Saturday, and got my haircut and changed the car's oil. In case you didn't know, these two errands are always on my weekend to-do list, and they get done about once every three months or so. So I'm feeling pretty good about that. Then, after the oil change, I headed over to the Bakehouse for as to pick up some parm-peppercorn bread. Good stuff, and they only make it on Saturday. And what the heck, the world is my oyster, so I figure I'll get me one of them there bottomless cups and drink some java and read. I was knee-deep into Jim Thompson's Now And On Earth.

And that's the risk you run, reading really good stuff in public, cause wouldn't you know it, I'm reading chapter 18 of that fine book, and I start welling up and crying like a little baby. Maybe it's just all the emotion that's been flowin' on La Blogue lately, Je ne sais pas. But there I was, sitting at "my table," and I feel like a dork, but my eyes are all misty and I'm keeping my head down and trying not to draw any attention to myself. Jimmy (Thompson) is talking to his Dad:

"Have a drink? Have a cigarette? Aw, go on. Little drink never hurt anyone. Remember I told you that once before. Remember that Sunday morning when I fell down on the front porch and almost bit a hole in the planks, and you carried me into the bathroom, eyes filled with disgust. Yeah, I knew what you thought of me. I never got so drunk that I didn't."

It's a small thing, really it is. But you owe it to yourself to get a hold of Now and On Earth. Here's the titular passage (I don't think I'm spoiling anything here; it happens fairly early in the novel):

"Why? I ask, why is it like this? Not for Roberta, not for myself; but for all of us.
Why, Karl? And what will you do about it? Not twenty years from now when Shannon and all the other Shannons have bred, and a plaque spreads across the land, and brother slays brother.
Not then, when it is too late, but now!
And you, God? What have you to offer? Sweet music? Pie in the sky? Yes. But, on earth ... ?
Now and on earth ... ?"

See, the last time we were in Chicago, we went to Myopic, and Clint and I look for some of the same things (hell, I look for the cool stuff he's told me about), so we both looked down in the basement for some Jim Thompson, and weren't suprised to find none. "Any Thompson?" "No, I don't see any, but there's plenty of Vachss." And there is, plenty of Vachss, don't know why, but I'll pick it up used if I can. Vachss is such a cornball, but he's a gritty cornball with a pure heart surrounded by evil - at least his protagonist is - so I'll keep reading.

But anyways, so I'm checking out, I've got my little used books (actually, I had quite a haul, finding some paperback Colin Wilson, which delighted me to no end) and there at the register is Jim Thompson! He's so good, they keep him up front, next to the signed Bukowski and the Robert Anton Wilson and all the crap they assume will get ripped off if it's on the shelf downstairs. So, like the true friend that I am, I grab everything in sight and buy it before Clint has a chance to get to it. Who said life was fair, babycakes? I don't really feel bad, through, since Clint (and anyone else, for that matter) can borrow any book of mine whenever they please.

Heck, I don't know. Shari will be home by this time tomorrow. Finally. Word on the street has it that she's bringing home ... well, that's another story and it can wait. But in the meanwhile ...

Radiskull! This is a blast from the past, and it takes a long time to load and requires shockwave and all that, but it's just so cool. I happened across it this weekend, while I was looking for Brittney Spears video while I was browsing the macromedia site, and it makes me grin. I can't watch little devil doll without thinking of Justiny, and how she used to laugh and laugh at this little flick. Actually, I think Radiskull and Devil Doll pre-date Justine and Scott's marriage, and that makes it all the more, well, nostalgic. Cause when I first saw this, they were just dating, and now I can't imagine them not married to each other.

Krikey, Ned, get a hold of yourself.

Bloomington/Chicago contingent: member sitting around the bongo room, talking about a web site project wherein we'd review different restaurants via the web? Chowhound doesn't do as good a job as we could, but it reminded me of that idea.

Okay, and I just want to mention that there is a little kitty in the neighborhood, who looks just like Jack, cept he's got a long, Sammi-type tail. He and Jack hang out together. All this time I thought Psycho was Jack's doppleganger, but this new kitty takes the cake. Weird. [insert quote from Scenes From the Class Struggle in Beverly Hills, re: "You live long enough, you see some weird stuff."]

Want. (link to Kodak mp3 player/camera device)

Did I mention that Shari will be home this time tomorrow?

Oh yeah, and let me just say that anytime Bill wants to crash, or move in, or take over Shangri-La, he should please feel free. I say this for selfish reasons, because I'd like to have Bill on tap, but I'm totally serious too. When Billfest/AdvantageCameron Y2K kicks off, here's hoping at least one wing of the tour takes place in Bloomington!

Oh yeah, and this is so friggin' cool. It's some of the finest martial arts action I've seen lately, and it's all a cartoon. Via Captain Cursor.

Deals with God; a play in one act by Ned.

(scene opens with the stage empty and dark, except for one spot light shining on center stage. There, a card table is set up along with two folding chairs. To the left sits a man in long flowing robes sporting a long white beard and flowing white hair (God). To the left sits a tubby-looking bald man in his thirties, flipping playing cards.)

God: I'll take care of you, and you'll worship me.

Ned: I'll try to understand you, and you'll make yourself understandable.

(God looks down, shaking his head)

God: You'll try?

Ned: You'll take care of me?

God: (sarcastically) I'll make you want things you can't have, and you act like I don't exist.

Ned: (earnestly) I'll try to be a good person, and you make it less tempting to act like a bad one.

God: (plainly) I'll give you everything you need, and you complain and act like you're being cheated.

Ned: (sullenly) I'll refrain from bad-mouthing you in public, and you give me an even shake.

God: I'll shower you with reasons to understand my power, and you'll cloister yourself in your own little world.

Ned: I'll never understand any of your motives, and you'll never make them clear to me.

G: I'll sorry, (giggling) I'll be careful.

N: You'll be dead!

G/N: ha ha ha ha!

G: I'll make the world an unfair place, but I'll treat you well.

N: I'll ignore the fact that life is good, and you ignore my sloth.

G: I'll make sure you're aware of injustice and suffering without directly experiencing it.

N: I'll think about you often, despite my outward displays of agnosticism.

G: I'll create alcohol.

N: I'll drink it.

G: I'll create the hang-over.

N: I'll live it.

G: I'll never make you suffer without reason.

N: I'll never believe that.

G: I'll never explain.

N: I'll never believe.

G: I'll love you anyways.

N: Stop it.

G: It's true.

N: So what's the point in that? You want me to act like a fool. Why should I believe you and not the hucksters? How do I know you're not just another huckster?

G: You don't; that's the point.

N: You don't make it easy.

G: Are we still making a deal?

N: You won't make it easy.

G: I won't make it easy.

N: Neither will I.

G: (in baby voice) Neither will I.

N: Stop that.

G: (giggling) Stop that.

N: I mean it, stop it.

G: I mean it, stop it.

N: You're not being productive!

G: You've not being productive!

N: GOD-DAMN-IT!

G: (still in baby voice) tee hee, you said 'God!'

N: Why I aughtah....

G: Nook, nook, nook!

N: (lunging across the table, hands extended, trying to grab God) Aaaargh!!

G: (feigning fear) Lord help me!!

N: I'll get you!!

G: I don't like you either!

N: I'll be careful!

G: "you'll be DEAD!"

N/G: (tumbling into a mess as the card table is overturned and the chairs are knocked asunder) Heh, heh, heh, heh! HA! Ha ha ha ha ha!

(Curtain closes as the two wrestle and giggle)

haven't had much webster energy the last couple of days, but I did want to say that everyone's new designs look great (Liz, you make me jealous). I wish I had an easier way of opening up ftp access to tanque.org, short of just giving total access away; I think there's something set up, into which I'll look this weekend.

But more importantly, I wanted to tell Jim and Dani that you guys are in my thoughts this weekend. It sounds like you have a very nice weekend ahead of you, one that Jim's dad would have enjoyed, and I hope it helps give you some strength. I try to imagine the kind of guy that fathered Jimmah, and it makes me smile.

Also, John, like Ben said, let us know when you get a chance what's up. I hope everything's okay. Same to your grandfather, Sean. I don't know anything about bone marrow transplants, so let me know how he's doing.

It's the weekend (almost).

Okay, so I guess that picture is pretty huge.

Wow, new designs from both Sean and Dave! I like (though it's time to go home, Dave). JimA, you're right, the Sun-Times is not to be found in our neck of the woods. But I do have Monday's Star. There it is in bold black and white: "Phil...." Hee hee.

Heavy lyrics from Bob Dylan. Clint, you've gotta save that answering machine message of Becky singing; there's some blackmail potential in there somewhere. :)

"I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is
To see you"

Pork4kids.com? Okay so that one's taken, but Kids4Pork.com is still available (as of 5 a.m. this morning). But I'll bet it's harder to teach pigs to season kids than vice versa. (Okay, so it's not that funny.)

Yeah, Ben, Tim Burton is remaking Planet of the Apes. I'm really expecting a whole lot, not having liked what Burton did with Batman, but I'm sure it will be good summer eye-candy. Speaking of which, I was following the links in IMDB to see will play Nova (mmmmm, Nova). I've never heard of Lisa Marie, but she was in the Chet Baker documentary(!). Weird.

Speaking of IMDB, I still get a chuckle out of finding Bart and Christy listed in the database. Even now, years after they've left town, you can get lucky and come across episodes of J&B on the Rox showing on BCAT late at night. Which reminds me, Jimmah: rummaging around in an upstairs closet this week I happened upon, believe it or not, a BCAT application I had filled out over ten years ago but never took in. When are we gonna go do that? I need you to be my motivator; this R2 unit's got a bad motivator.

Thoughts on Advertising: or how I learned to stop worrying and subscribe to The Nation.

(to borrow a phrase from SNL) Chris, you ignorant slut.

Just kidding. But I did have a whole slew of thoughts run through my mind upon reading Chris' exchange with backpacker magazine. Amy beat me to the punch with her insights, but here's my thoughts anyways:

I don't think Chris is accepting the realities of publishing a magazine for profit. As with television, in the world of magazines, the product is not the content (i.e., the articles); the product is YOU. Your attention is being sold to advertisers for profit. This doesn't mean that the content of magazine can't be good stuff, or that the producers of the content aren't doing it for love of the subject. Lot's of good stuff gets created in the for-profit model.

[insert personal anecdote to show that I can empathize.]

That said, I can relate to disliking advertising. I subscribed to WIRED a few months ago when the rate was $10/year (I had subscribed for $40/year when it first came out). I hadn't really been keeping up with it, but I figured what the heck, I'd take the risk at less than a dollar an issue. When I got the first issue, I saw what had changed. Tons and tons of advertising, like a slick geek Cosmo. Looking for actual articles is tedious. The ads are unrelenting. I won't be renewing. (I would if the content was more interesting, though.)

But that said, I don't think WIRED has done something amoral or wrong. They're just trying to stay in business like everyone else. It started out as a boutique magazine with high end advertising rates, but as it's popularity waned, it could no longer claim to be delivering the cream of the reading crop to it's advertisers. So they can't charge as much for their ads. So rather than try to pump up the cost of subscriptions, they bump up the amount of advertising.

The reason magazines like The Atlantic Monthly and Harper's can sell subscriptions at close to a dollar an issue is their advertising. Advertising makes it all happen. Obviously they don't have to sell as much advertising as BackPacker does. Maybe they have much larger circulation numbers, so they can charge more for what they sell. Or maybe the spending habits of the average Atlantic reader make them more valuable than readers of BackPacker in the eyes of the advertisers. I can only guess. I wish I could point to examples of how much of a publication's costs are covered by cover prices or subscriptions, but I'd guess that in most cases it's much less than what comes in from advertising. Publications like Nuvo and The Independent don't charge cover at all. Publications like the Baffler have very little advertising. There's a spectrum. But it's not about selling magazines; it's about selling YOU to the advertisers.

Chris says: "This is the type of attitude that I have a problem with. Some shmuck in marketing told him that if they up the # of ads, they can sell fewer magazines and still make more money." I think it's just as likely that someone in the parent corporation said, "for the cost of what it takes to put out BackPacker, we could put out TeenBeat2K and make 10X as much profit, so if you want to keep publishing with our financing, and using our distribution channels, you better make more money."

The television analogy is perfect, though not for the reasons you might think. You don't pay for the Simpsons, because the advertising makes it free. If you want original programing without the commercials, you have to look to pay-for television options like HBO, or renting/purchasing the programing. Think Tivo solves your ad problem? The networks have already gotten around that problem by inserting little ads in the lower right-hand corner during the program. The point is, if the people putting out the content can't pay the bills, then they probably can't continue to put it out.

I think the web is more interesting than Tivo, as far as that goes, because ten million people can look at Sean's page, and it doesn't cost him hardly anything. But some content costs money to produce, and if you demand to have it for free, then accept that the producers will try to pay their bills another way.

Whew!

Okay, so on to more important business: There's no place in Indiana that's anywhere within reach where I can buy the Chicago Sun-Times. How am I supposed to keep up with the hype?

Shari leaves for her trip tomorrow. Even though she won't be gone long, it seems like I haven't seen much of her lately, what with weekend trips to Indy and all. Bummer. Look for me and the cats to be playing alot of video games over the next several days.

Oh, and did I mention that there is snow on my car this morning?! Snow. And me with my spring collection of short-sleeves all picked out. I was lucky to find a fleece pullover this morning.

I will crush you!

Ha! Actually, I'm the one who feels crushed, or at least I did yesterday. I've slept more in past 72 hours than I sometimes do in a whole week. Which of course meant that I was wide awake last night, watching movies on the TV. Sigh. Another weekend come and gone. But it was a blast. My projects are still on deck, waiting for me to stop playing The Sims and get to work. Soon, soon.

I read Keep the River on Your Right years ago after picking it up at random in a cool, now-gone bookstore (anyone remember Aurora Books on 4th street, in the location that eventually became the Eye?). I find it interesting that it's refered to as "creative nonfiction." It definately isn't a rigorous anthropological work, more like a journal kept by someone who really loved his subject. I went looking for my copy after seeing Amos' link, but alas, it may be lost.

Search for "drunk" on Drunkenfish

Oh yes, and I almost forgot; Jim, that cat haiku is prime. Thanks for the link! And don't be afraid to post more often, you great big snow-boarding fool!

Okay, now some follow-up thoughts on my previous post, in light of comments from Dave and Chris:

I can relate to the "the were spying/they got caught" perspective. It's not clear to me exactly where this collision took place, even though we hear that it took place over international waters. Maybe it didn't. I don't feel like I can know one way or the other with any certainty. But assuming they were in international territory, why is it copacetic for the Chinese to ram into our plane? Or, to put it another way, if the space shuttle was snooping on China, and China managed to shoot it down, would that be okay? I don't mean these to be rhetorical, I'm really wondering what the line is?

Also, I guess I feel that an apology would have been a bad idea too. In interpersonal relations, I think apologizing profusely and easily makes sense. But when a nation apologizes it's a bigger deal. I can appreciate the "say whatever it takes to bring them home" perspective, but I think that's shortsighted. The US will continue to gather as much info as it can about other countries, and to apologize for something you're going to continue to do doesn't make sense. Apologies are for things you think are wrong; if you don't feel you've done something wrong, then all apologizing does is diminish your word. Right? Sorry I hit you. Oops, sorry I hit you again. Oops, sorry I hit you again. I think the apology the US ended up giving was hollow and self-serving. But I also think that when a world leader demands something publicly (like an apology), he/she runs the risk of losing face. I don't think the US didn't apologize because of face; they didn't apologize because they think they were within the bounds of correct conduct.

Also, Chris talks about how one might respond if someone was "snooping around your house, looking in your windows, listening to your phone calls, reading your e-mail...." I agree that those activities are unsavory, but I'm not sure they equate to long distance spying. If someone is standing 100 yards away from my house and can look in my windows, I don't like it, but I don't think I can necessarily get him to stop. But I'm not sure about this. When I hear about police scanning people's homes to see if they have a grow light, it bothers me. I want privacy. However, if I'm doing something I want to keep private, I don't talk about it on cell phones. It's too easy to pick up cell phone conversations. If someone picks up my cell phone conversation, shame on me for talking on a cell phone. If I want to keep my business secret, I don't do in it a fashion that makes it easy to trace. I don't do it in a manor that allows a spy plane from 3 miles off shore to examine what I'm doing. Maybe that's too simplistic, but that's the way the world is. People listen into what they can.

What do you think?

Anyways, if you've read this far, thanks for putting up with my flailing about on this subject.

Quickies: Sean recoils from publicity; Chris upstages my (borrowed from Peterme) PopUp code, and gets a new pad; Jimmah changes channels; Davey rediscovers Rushmore; Heidi and Licia invade Amy's turf; Carrie wonders (justifiably so) what's taking so long with the pix; Pat's still befuddled by Bowie lyrics; Rob remains the minimalist webster; John translates Thin Lizzie; Shari has her last day(!); China pretends the US apoligized; OK Bomb victims' families want to watch that bastard die; Cincinnati simmers; Easter looms; surgeries are taking place; new domains are being set up; the sun is shining; and Ned doesn't have to work today.

But enough quickies. Some personal blathering.

This whole China business confuses me, not because I don't feel like I know what's going on, but because my reactions to it have been so, well, frustrating. My first reaction upon hearing that Americans were being "detained" by the Chinese was, "what the hell does China think it's doing? They better give those people up pronto if they know what's good for them. Do they really want to be on our shitlist?"

See, there's all kinds of indicators in that thought that something is up; warning flags, if you will. For one thing, anytime the news makes me swear, I get suspicious. Why am I getting so riled up? And when I start to think of the US military as "us," warning buzzers go off too. I'm not the US military. I don't have any imput into their activities, good or bad. They are not me, I am not them, there is no "we."

I'm embarressed to think about my war fantasies over the past few days. "If I were president, I'd get on the horn with those Chinese bastards and tell them we're coming to get our people, and if you stand in our way, get ready for the bombs to fall on Bejing!" I get all worked up. How dare they?! Our plane was in international waters, their jet buzzed too close to us. Too bad if Your pilot can't keep from running into planes in international waters, you turn-of-the-century-technology-havin' hacks!

Yes, it's embarressing to admit, but there's more. I then remind myself of Chinese espionage, of the WhenHoLee (sp?) case, conveniently forgeting the fact that the whole case against him was bunk. I justify the US's intentions ("Of course they're just keeping tabs on things; it would be irresponsible not to"), and get angry thinking of the technology that China is stealing from that plane RIGHT NOW.

Urgh, it's an ugly side to me. Eventually I settle down. I start to wonder what about the news coverage I've heard made me so angry. I try to imagine the situation reversed, with an Chinese survailence plane crash landing in Hawaii. I think about all the times I've wanted to disown the US government, to escape any personal responsibility for what they've done in my name. I think about how my favorite movie stars all come from Hong Kong these days. How much I love chinese food. How much the culture, the philosophies, the changing state of their nation facinate/s me. I remind myself that a government is not a people. I remind myself of how much I hate nationalism, even as I feel a real affection and love for my country. We draw lines and stand behind them, that's why flags are such ugly things that they should never touch the ground. - Fugazi.

I remember that WE bombed their embassy.

I try to image what the world would be like if instead of the US, China had military bases in every friggin' corner of the world.

I remind myself that I have the luxury of ignoring world politics. I am in the busom of the richest, most influential civilization in the history of man-kind.

I listen to the propaganda, and I watch my television programs and drink beer, and the world happens.

Yes, this is the weekend of renewal, of rebirth. It's Spring, and the flowers are coming up, and the dogwoods and redbuds are blooming, and the world around me is lush, and overwhelming and pretty. And like a snake in a glass cage (to borrow an analogy from a recently read novel), I will shed my skin, I will be reborn. But I will remain the same.

How's that for some weekend bloggin'? Party at Shangra La tonight! Shari starts summer vacation in just a few hours! Gardening tomorrow at chez J&D! The world is our oyster.

Rob! Way cool, bro! Hey, new logger! Along with Ben, Rob is one of my best friends from way, way back. We haven't kept in touch like I'd like (the blame is mine, alas), so I'm especially pleased to see he's got a web page now. Check out the links to his artwork (dave has).

"Don't squeeze my juicy butt at parties to prove you own me. Squeeze it at home to prove you want me, right now."

guilty pleasures:

• The opening of "Jaded", when it's just drums and guitar, and the drums sound cool, and the guitar sounds like it could be someone cool, even Shudder to Think maybe, and then that doofus Steven Tyler (or whatever that freak's name is) starts singing and I feel totally cheated and cheap, yuk!
• That Nellie song, about driving around in his Mercedes Benz with young ladies, and there's the bong-sound during the chorus, and I really can't believe it, but I like the groove.
• Alice in Chains. There, I said it. I had one of their CD's years ago, and Pat convinced me that it wasn't worth owning, and then I sold it, and every time "Them Bones" comes on the radio, I crank it and sing along "We're born - into the grave!" -- "Gonna end up a great big pile of them bones!" yee haw! Yeah!!
• That Moulin Rouge tune (featuring Christina Aguilera and Lil' Kim). It's funky, it makes me chuckle. I can't help it. I don't want the cure.

It occurs to me that this is an indictment of southern Indiana radio. You be the judge.

"He believes if he says the right words, the darkness will go away."

And now, the weekend is so close I can taste it! And I have several projects waiting for me. And I'm in the middle of a good noir book, and there's plenty of good stuff on the deck.

personal reminder: don't eat pudding with John.

Pickaxe.org. Watched their documentary about activists fighting to stop logging tonight, and liked it. Plan to order their WTO documentary. Anyone interested in a screening at La Shangra?

re: Colin Wilson - - I can't say for sure that I even like his work. Or rather, I like it (I keep reading it, anyways), but I feel like on some level I can see through it. There's a pattern there, and I'm not convinced that it's very insightful. Clint, I'd re-read God of the Labyrinth, though the best thing of his I've read would probably have to be the Mind Parasites, because of it's clear H.P. Lovecraft influence. But if you're interested in either one, let me know; I'd love an opportunity to discuss them with interested parties.

Actually, that goes for anyone.

Wow, it would be really cool if Rob starts weblogging. I'd love to hear what he's up to these days.

should we talk about the weather? It cooled back down here today, an extremely rare and delicious example of nature listening to my desires. Humidity threatens, but today was nice and cool and comfortable and the air was brisk and alive and sunny and rainy. should we talk about the government? Sean's $100 offer is tempting, but I think I'll have to pass. It's probably not my sweat he's after anyhow.

Looks like EdBlog is becoming an active forum again (long-time lurker, first time-caller). I've come across other school anecdotes recently:

a little one at school today confided in me, "michael isn't the yuckiest boy in class. he's the cutest." later on she said, "if i were locked in a room alone with michael, you know what i'd do? i would stand close to him. and then lean on him. a lot." is there anything as cute as elementary school sweethearts?

Made me grin.

Indiana pulled a fast one again, hinting at spring for a week or so, then plunging straight into the muggy stuff. Sigh. I never appreciate that perfect week of Spring until its gone, and I'm cursing my sweaty jeans on the drive home from work. Yes, I'm a sweaty fellow. You know the type. I'm the worst kind of sweaty fellow, actually; the kind that writes about sweat on his webpage.

Now that John is back in the saddle, we can see what kept him away: waiting for nakednews to download. That, and FrenchyDrunkenBattleBlogging!

Unfinished business:

• Sonya, you ROCK! I assume this is only the beginning of the formation of an army of kung-fu hotties. Or whatever it was in that Black Belt Jones movie. Irregardless (hee hee), congrats on the belt. And please don't break my arm.
• You heard it heard it here second: get-together at La Shangra this Friday. Don't risk counting your manhoods cheap - come to the Shangra, BE the Shangra. With this weekend comes the dawn of a golden age, where Shari is unfettered by menial labor and free to follow her bliss - or at least take some college classes and enjoy the summer. Shari's like school in the summertime. :)
• Huffman and I must have the same Dilbert calendar at work. Here's my recent fav (with apologies for the sloppy scan):
  
  
  

Finished Glass Cage, on to Flood. And off to work.

from The Glass Cage by Colin Wilson:

"No, it's too early to say anything at this stage. But what keeps bothering me is hwy he wrote up the Blake quotations in the first place."

"You've already answered that, surely? Because he had Blake rammed down his throat as a child, and the murders are an act of revolt against his father."

Reade said slowly, "Yes, I know. But ... it's just that ... you were discussing whether to get a private detective, or call in the police immediately. But you see, I'd like a chance to talk to him before we do anything like that."

Butler said, "You must be mad! Have you read about what he did to that body in Salamanca Place -- roasted bits of it to make it unrecognizable? You're dealing with a homicidal maniac!"

"I know, but I can't believe that a man who knows Blake by heart is completely unredeemable."

A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO COLIN WILSON'S THOUGHT:

But, inevitably, this feeling subsides. We find ourselves back in the accumulated muck of our daily lives, with all of the problems which, briefly, seemed so insignificant and soluble growing back into threatening towers looming above our egos. We find ourselves again performing the same routines, and the objects which surround us become dull and uninteresting, unworthy of our attention. Life seems to be an endless drudgery, and we feel buffeted by powerful (if not vindictive) forces beyond our control, our desires forever unsatisfied. Life seems like "a poor player," and an absurd tragedy. It is as if we had briefly returned to Eden and relived the Fall, and find ourselves perhaps feeling even worse than we had before. We shake our heads and wonder what came over us, feeling cheated and jilted. If we are lucky, we recognize that we will experience this state again, and use this knowledge to soothe the pain.

As Wilson has attempted to prove again and again in his writings, when looked at rationally, cynicism (or "reality" as some would have it) is false, while the sense of wonder represented by the peak experience is true. When one truly concentrates on the surrounding world, opening rather than dampening the senses, it is immediately obvious that even the most commonplace surroundings are brimming with beauty, complexity and meaning. It is only because we are forced to "put the blinders on," so to speak, as we must in order to maintain the routines of our workaday lives, that life begins to seem repetitious and dull.

I've had an on-again/off-again interest in Colin Wilson for the past ten years or so. His name first cropped up (in my experience) in relation to the occult (Crowley et. al.), but he has broader interests. As a young author, he intended to develop "the new existentialism;" I have no idea how successful he was. I do know that after his writing over time led to somewhat more mundane topics, such as editing Carroll & Graf's The Mammoth Book of True Crime - yet he's been interested in crime since the beginning, i.e. the nature of the murderer, the criminal. Found The Glass Cage and The Mind Parasites on my last visit to Myopic, hip-pocket paperback editions, fun stuff. The GC is a purple paperback, with "from the publishers of The Exorcist" on the front cover (Bantam). Cheesy. I think just about all of his fiction is/was marketed as much more sensationalist than it really is - the blurb on the cover of GC says, "An extraodinary novel of occult power and evil obsession" which I guess isn't really a lie, but is misleading.

I have more thoughts on Wilson, but not tonight.

from the Mavericks interview:

DJB: What do you think happens to human consciousness after physical death?

COLIN: As a result of writing the book Afterlife, and studying this, I came almost reluctantly to the conclusion that it does survive, that there is survival after death. It would not worry me terribly if there weren't, because it seems to me logical that when I fall asleep, I disappear. I could not really complain if that happened to me after I died. It would seem natural to say that the solution to the problem of human existence lies elsewhere than in the notion that we have got to continue to exist. And yet the evidence is that we do continue to exist. And I don't think that there's any possible doubt about it.

Hmmm, or Hurmmmm.

I apologize for my existance.

SHEEEEEEEE'S BACK!!!!

and now, an open letter to the man I love, Davey:

Dear Tiny,

1. You mentioned a few days ago that you felt some people over time might find your sense of humor moronically tedious, failing to produce the reaction of shock and amusement you intended (I'm paraphrasing). I have no idea what you mean; can you show me a recent example of silly offensiveness on your part designed to induce laughter?

2. I may have missed something in the translation, but I don't think "Isn't chaos really order that we can't comprehend?" is a statement of metaphysics or afterlife or any of that pap. I think it means "you know, I didn't notice it before now, but there's a pattern where I previously only saw randomness. Maybe there are patterns to other things of which I'm not currently aware."

3. I for one refuse to stoop to your level.

4. I know what you did to that shirt you borrowed from Justine, and you could have at least washed it before returning it.

We now return to our fabulously inventive and wide-ranging html entertainment.

Right you are Sean, I should introduce Adam. He's a tech dude at Blue Marble (who hosts tanque.org). Got a tech problem? Call BM, and you might get to talk to Adam! Crazy! I don't know how people can handle phone support; it would drive me bonkers, like doing telemarketing. "My cupholder won't close, and the foot pedal on my computer is broken!" Hee hee. "Put the floppy in the drive and close the door" / "okay hang on, the door's across the room." Whew!

Whew, Liz unleashed a pop meme, didn't she? It can be fun to hear all the different "what pop means to me" perspectives/opinions. Part of me has to resist the urge to jump back in with corrections: "no, your idea of pop is wrong, my opinion is the only true definition!" Heh, heh. Let's talk about God next. :) Really, I do like hearing the differences in perspective about a term that is so vague and can mean so many different things. It's like a teaching tool in the subjectivity of reality. (No, Robert Fulgrum didn't take over my page, I'm just feeling warm and fuzzy).

And sleepy. Work late, come home, get to sleep late, wake up, go to work late. I'm running a little behind. Dave, I'd love to hear some more about that server you picked up. Sounds like it could be a peppy little workstation. :)

I for one am anxiously looking forward to the new domains in motorgrrrl-land. Just so long as it doesn't result in less posting here, of course.

Time to make the donuts! Excellsior!

Pop = Popular, n'est pas? The term "sugary pop" isn't redundant, so pop music can't by definition be "sugary" (please excuse weak logic), but I think the broad term "popular music" has come to mean something that is easily enjoyable. Punk rock can be pop (I think Fugazi's Margin Walker is pretty darn pop-py, thank you very much). I think slow ballads can be considered pop, but it's harder for a slow song to be pop than for a frenetic bouncy song to be considered "poppy." The smooth groovy stylings of Emperor Penguin certainly contain some pop elements. Pop can suck.

Maybe there's several different definitions. Pop music is a type of radio station format. Pop is the hook, like Liz said. Pop is the part of old De La Soul tunes that remind you of summer days when school's out. The term is so broad and loose as to almost have no meaning, but everyone knows what you mean when you say that some band has put out a pop album, therefore loosing their "street cred." Foo Fighters are the drummer from Nirvanna going "pop."

"Rock music sucks/I hate it!" Heh heh.

Pop seems to imply that the music is for easy consumption. It feels good, right? I don't know, just rambling.

Picked up my copy of Los Marauders last night. They have Pop elements. Can "filth and fury" be Pop? I think so.

Man, time just flies, don't it? I really meant to have some real content posted this evening, including the conclusion to Demon of a Thousand Cloaks, and shouts out to all my long-distance homies, and the like. But I didn't get it done. Why? Because I've been spending all night checking out the Habbo Hotel. I can't seem to tear myself away from this, this THING. It's really just a glorified GUI for chatrooms, and yet, I find myself unable to log off. I want to send them money so that I can furnish my little apartment. My username is skeptict, and if you want to see my private room, it's called La Tanque Skeptique. And the chair in the room was purchased by a cool dude I met online, named Londonboot. That's right, a stranger gave me a present, and it's not just a cyber-present; it cost real lucre! (a few pense or so, I'm not sure exactly). I love the graphics of it, and I love the interactions, and I love watching the little people move about the room, and dance, and drink tea, and sit on chairs, and all that.

It's a huge bandwidth hog, which makes me long for dsl, but what are ya gonna do.

In tanque.org news, there may be some new faces here soon. All for now.

And, uh, I guess that's it for tonight. Gotta get back to the Habbo.

Whew, another fine weekend, passing much too quickly. A couple quick links:

via Bill: Proper Dance Methods (proper use of Flash 5).

via Shari: Summoner Geeks (D&D nerd flick, requires RealPlayer I think).

And then he posted again....

It's tempting to ridicule the Cyborg Manifesto. Cyber-optimism circa 1995, when the World Wide Web and AOL chatrooms were going to change the very way human beings interacted, change society at its core; Hunger and suffering about to be eliminated through technological advances born in a golden world of opportunity for all.

Plus it's all coded in Flash.

Blogger makes it happen, baby-cakes.