Sign Here

Lay off.

Reduction in force.

Right sizing.

It's all fired though. But, honorably discharged, I supposed. Oh yeah, today I got laid off. Me and two department colleagues. One of those colleagues a very close friend and mentor. Damn!

A business decision.

Not related to your performance.

Cue up Will Oldham's "You Will Miss Me When I Burn" because even with the most pragmatic view of business physics and wearing the bravest face, that shit smarts a little.

I suspected something was fishy when the out of state boss set the quickie no context meeting. "Uh, OK, see you then." Then, when NONE of the fabulously placed spies could determine what the purpose of the meeting was.... combined with several other "tells" that I cannot go into without revealing too much about how one operates both in the corporate spotlight and in its sewers. Let's just say, I knew.

Thursday after lunch. Last day Friday. No problem. Ten years. No problem.

All for the very best though, "it's all opportunity, kids." All for the very best.

Music to make
Pictures to take

We move forward with positivity, optimism, and glee at the next set of adventures ahead.

Or, something like that.

You Decide

Karl the 5th Teletubby

Costumes for the Play

Left: Black Power Ranger
Right: Business Cyborg (note the old school battery backpack)

Rocket

[Note: I was instructed to post this.]

Kevin Cooley: Add

clicky, duh.

Comments on Recording A Record

Okay, here’s the status of the record I began pre-production about a year ago:

Record In Progress!

Shhhhh! Well in progress. Well past the point of no return. In fact, the point of no return is so far back, that when I look in the rear-view mirror, I can’t tell if the point of no return is a cop car or a taxi. Too far back; too dark. No refunds. No reentry. No store credit, deadbeats!

When I work on a record one technique I utilize is the draft title. The working title. This word or phrase or insider combination of letters and or numbers helps keep my mind focused on the premise. A Premise. Premises.

Some working titles so far have been, “The Process,” “The Death of Kings,” “The LP Record’s Last Album,” “First Pull Up – Then Pull Down,” and, “Mode of Zero.” All shortcuts for me to remember my place in this process. All pointing to similar things: probably one of my last “albums” and probably completely inaccessible. Oh well. There will be short pieces and producing and contributions, but the full-length album? Even I don’t know. Probably not my last record, but I don’t foresee many more ahead.

I do like what’s happening creatively, so far. And, I am actually enjoying myself. But, there’s already too much stuff. I’m Axl-fucking-Rose now and I’ve not even approached real mixing or flourish. There’s a natural sense of sequence though, but there’s just more material than any sane mind could process (do you get the feeling that I'm trying to convince myself to stop adding time and start editing?).

I’ve always relied on good sense and spiritual intervention to let me know when it was done. Hello, spiritual intervention hotline? Hello? Dammit! Wrong number! I am, however, on the downhill side of this thing I believe. I hope so.

Also, notably, this is truly a part-time effort. Not necessarily because I have to work in dribs and drabs, but because I don’t want it to shorten my lifespan. Hard to explain. But, yeah, I’ll spend a little bit of time here and there and I’m finding it a refreshing way to make a record. You get more external influence and you approach each segment with fresh ideas. And plenty of time to envy what others are creating and to think your stuff sucks then realize that it's brilliant.

Way too much material. This I know. But, there are elements of all of the pieces that I want to preserve mostly because a “record” should be a “record” of a place and time and series of events. I want to someday say, “Holy crap, that was an interesting place for the brain to have been.” I have ideas though.

What else does one need to know? When will I finish? I’m guessing by summer this year. We’ll see. What does it sound like? Hell if I know.

Too bad that I can't play musical instruments, sing, properly use recording equipment, or write songs. Otherwise, I'd be done, yo!

Trace

Comment: I keep thinking about this Trace Crutchfield character. I know enough Houston preppies to know that they exist, but Trace is so over-the-top-prep-school yacht-club-whitey, I can't help but think that this is a put on. Like, is that even his name? It's such a Holden Caufield sort of thing.

And yet, though it may be satirical, he owns his whiteness so completely, that it comes off as genuine and even healthy. Easier to deal with than the typical white kid acting/dressing black.

“All you gotta do is act black. Act black and be yourself.”

1) Sure, I go back and forth whether Trace Crutchfield is indeed his name. But, shit, it fits him like a cheap prep-school suit, don't it? But, does it matter? You can see that Trace Crutchfield the character is so much Trace Crutchfield the person that I have no problem accepting him as Trace Crutchfield. God knows, we can be shaped by our names or we can shape names to shape us. Or, uh, whatever.

2) No shit, dude he "owns his whiteness." Yes. Trace Crutchfield does completely, 100%-ly, own whiteness (not just his, but all whiteness). And, the beauty is it's irrelevant to him. It's not cowardly or world domination whiteness. It's pure, no fear, hello world whiteness. It's a thing of beauty - act or not.

From Houston Chronicle:

"That Crutchfield knows nothing about Houston hip-hop is the key: Shield the man to protect him, because his ignorance is imperative; almost precious. Crutchfield is sort of a cross between Mr. Rogers and Steven Colbert, a straight-faced crooked arrow. No question is too inane, no answer is too stupid and the way in which he intently absorbs every single word dripping off of every single lip fully trumps his lack of knowledge about his voting public, often culminating in him giving a quick twitch of his head, a furrow of his brow and the line "that is amazing" in response to every story told to him."

I am also still unsure if it's an act or not, but what I am sure of.... It's a good goddamn act. The nuance is immense.

"My iPod was set on shuffle and I had lost track of the music during her assault. As I reached to show her, it hit me: the Pet Shop Boys were clearly swooning away in the background. Jesus Christ. Mortified, I held up my iPod for her inspection and looked away, feeling defeated. She simply turned and skipped down the ramp as my face reddened in electronic solitude."

- Trace Crutchfield, iPod Wars

Trumped

The Bren: Daddy, you're fired!

The Dad: Huh, what?

The Bren: Daddy, you're fired!

The Dad: Do you know what that means?

The Bren: Yeah, it means you're excited.

The Dad: Well, actually it means dismissal. Mostly form a job. Like, if we asked [the woman that cleans our house] to stop coming and working for us. If we told her that we didn't want to pay her to work for us any more and that we wanted our house key back then we'd "fire" her. We'd say, in essence, "you're fired." So, you telling me that I'm fired means that I don't work with you anymore. [And even more clear, loving, and thoughtful explanation from dad to drive home the point and seal the deal! Blah-blah-blah.]

[Short pause in conversation]

The Bren: Daddy, you're fired!

Any Idea What This Means?

Hawkeye, it's Teek Zsa Zsa.

You buy-a chee cheecken.

You come shewa,

and you make truwa,

and you go, Teek Zsa Zsa.

Home of the best noy yan yo!

Teek Zsa Zsa, on the way!!!

The Truth

Gavin knows all:

Dos & Don'ts <-- Clicky, Mickey

An Album

I have to remember to note album progress.

[FYI, this (THIS) piece of shit little posting is the 1,000th on middlespace live. Good to see I go all out for milestones, huh?]

Michael Bacon Kevin Jordan

Does anyone else think the Michael Jordan/Kevin Bacon Haines underwear "roommate" ads are a bit...uh, homoerotic?

The two of them prancing around their pristine "home" shooting baskets/blocking baskets and "giving each other looks"...in their underpants.

"Shooting baskets/blocking baskets." Damn! That's really funny.

I'm not buying any Haines products.

And He Said, "Magic Can't Be Recorded"

Thanks, Google!

Basketball Analogy - Correction

"What's funny is that I meant the other guy."

-RW

Oh.

You mean the guy who gets a little hip check, or takes what could be a questionable charge (the kind of call never called on the playground else you're called a pussy), and then he falls backwards like his eye has been torn out of its socket. You know the guy, the guy who just had his arm completely ripped off his torso by a grizzly. The guy hit by the runaway semi while crossing on the green light in the crosswalk (driver is obviously a racist - and drunk!).

The befouled dude is flopping around on the court like a fish in a dory, his big ass mama comes out of the stands with her shoe in her hand to beat the fouler. Dude's "cousin" shows up with posse and a bucket of water a wet cloth to dab the forehead of the injured, his teammates bring out the James Brown cape, he's down, but NO! He's up again!

And the crowd goes ape shit.

Pallbearers appear with dark suits and white gloves carrying a shiny brass coffin. The mama and "cousin" are taunting the fouler saying stuff like, "wut up, beeoch? Want summa dis, muthafucka?" Mama is sobbing, "Whyyyyyyyy Jesus! My bayyyybeeee! Noooooooooo!" An angel repels from the scoreboard. A gospel choir sings Amazing Grace.

There's a beating, some gunplay, cops are called.... Then! The guy gets up, krumpin', clownin', breakin'. Looking around like, what happened? Let's play!

The refs watch for about three minutes before resuming game play. The crowd is spent.

Basketball Analogy

So Rich left a voicemail message last night. His assertion was that the unspoken law of NHL hockey is that the game is one thing, but people really come out for the drama of the fighting. The refs back off for a bit and let the action play while the ticket-holders lose their minds. It's expected. It's part of the game.

Fast forward to the near future: NBA basketball. The unspoken law of the NBA is that the game is one thing but people will really come out for the drama of the superstar foul reaction. The petulant disbelief of the offender. The "who-me?" reaction escalated to Broadway proportions. Vaudeville meets the hardwood.

Here goes:

Play-by-Play Announcer, “Jim” (radio): All righty, we’re back with 2:32 left in the third quarter at Staples Center, Lakers 72, Grizzlies 64. Ball inbounds under the basket Miller to Gasol. Gasol turns, shoots and Kobe swats it away! Odon gets the ball… There’s the whistle. It’s on Kobe, his forth!

Color Commentator, “Billy”: Jim, Kobe doesn’t appear to like that call.

Jim: That’s right, Billy. Kobe has taken the ball away from Lamar Oden and is walking to mid-court. He. Is. In. Disbelief. Clearly, Kobe doesn't agree. This’ll be a good one.

Billy: Kobe has placed the ball on center court and his hands are on his face; he is in serious disbelief over that call. Kobe sits down. It looks like he's...mock-sobbing.

Just look at the Lakers bench, it looks like they just witnessed a Chevrolet Suburban hit-and-run a stroller in an crosswalk. Chevy – 0% or $1,000 cash back now through April 3 at the Chevy Monster Spring Cleaning Sales Event.

Jim: I think Kobe’s telling referee Will Simmons that he’s crazy. There's some finger-wagging, some staring...

Billy: He’s making the dizzy-in-the-head motion with his finger to his temple. I believe. Yes. He has crossed his eyes.

Jim: The crowd’s going nuts. They saw that on the H-P Jumbo Monitors. Kobe better be careful, or he’s going to get a technical, that could be costly to the Lakers.

Billy: Yeah, but the refs have backed off. There going to let this one go. Let’s hear from Suze Richards on the sidelines:

Sideline Correspondent, “Suze Richards”: Word has it that Kobe has something special loaded up for this tantrum. We can only hope…

Billy: There it is! He’s taking off his shorts! Kobe Bryant is standing at center court at Staples Center, two minutes-thirty left in the third and Kobe Bryant is wearing compression shorts and the number 24 jersey. Suze, you were right!

Jim: What’s that printed on his rear? Oh my...

Suze: It says, “Witch Hunt” clearly an attack on the refs and the NBA over the number of questionable calls against the superstar, particularly the suspension-educing flagrant fouls. Jim.

Jim: The trainer is bringing something to Kobe. It’s…it’s a pogo stick. Holy cow! Suze, I thought "Which Hunt" was the surprise, but this takes the cake.

Billy: Kobe’s bouncing on a pogo stick in his underwear and pointing at the crowd. This sellout crowd is going nuts. Woah! These fans are pumped! That may have crossed the line with these officials though who are now converging on mid-court.

Jim That’s it. Kobe’s been assessed a technical foul. His first. A Chevy Malibu technical foul. Chevy Malibu. Independence and emotion come to a meeting of the minds. Chevy, where the charrrrge begins. Now Phil Jackson is awake and he's pointing at the refs. Phil is in dis-belief!

Billy: We’ll be right back after a word from Budweiser. Budweiser, the king of beers. Lakers 72, Grizzlies 64.

New York Social Diary (NYSD)

Party Pictures!

New York Social Diary

[clicky, chap]

















photoillustration by david r. blair, inc.

Ask Ty...March 21 Follow-up

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Ask Ty…March 21

Q: Where I work, they are about to move us from separate (or semi-separate) work spaces to an open workspace. My concern is, one of the guys who works in a room of his own has an extremely moldy aroma, and his room smells like mold has been growing in it for years. Standing next to him is almost a toxic experience. What does a person do in this situation?

- Trippin’ Mold While Working for the Man

Ty: Good question and an even better observation.

Have you considered that this whole move is just a big guise to get mold guy out into the general ventilation stream? Maybe your company brass is just trying to find a way to clean up his office and get this guy some much-needed light and some air.
Here's what I know:

Exposure to mold is common both inside and outside the home, but some people are more sensitive to mold than others, especially those with allergies and asthma. Mold exposure may cause cold-like symptoms, watery eyes, sore throat, wheezing and dizziness, and trigger asthma attacks.

Because some mold spores are very small and can easily be breathed deeply into the lungs, it is not safe to live in houses with high mold levels. Exposure to high spore levels can cause the development of an allergy to mold.

Molds grow on organic materials such as paper, leather, dirt and soap scum. They grow best at warm temperatures, between 77 and 86 degrees Fahrenheit, although they can grow in temperatures between 32 and 95 degrees.

Molds grow in moisture. Water leaks, flooding, high relative humidity and condensation are all situations that increase the growth of mold.

Your options as I see them , Trippin', are:

1. Lobby, finagle, jiu jitsu your way into a workspace far away from mold dude
2. Submit a report (even anonymously) that the company may have a mold situation that should be checked
3. Lobby, finagle, jiu jitsu your way into getting someone else to report mold guy so you maintain “plausible deniability.” I don’t know your company dynamics, but it’s always better to get some other sucker to do the dirty work, “Gee Sally. I read the mold can KILL!”
4. Ask the moldy dude, "hey, does it smell moldy in here." See how he reacts.
5. Suck it up, trip balls, and let the mold spread to the new and exciting open workspace.
6. Point your company or your little helper (see #3) to "mold facts" on Interwebs including clean-up tips such as:

• Materials should be dried quickly; mold will grow within about 2 days.
• Anyone spending more than a brief time cleaning in a moldy environment should use a HEPA filter mask; typically it will have two straps. Also, use gloves.
• Porous materials should be thrown out or completely decontaminated if they are moldy. Materials such as hard plastic, glass and metal can be cleaned and disinfected.
• Remove the mold using a non-ammonia soap or detergent. Never mix bleach and ammonia. Surfaces from which the mold cannot be completely removed should be treated with enough chlorine bleach to keep the surface moist for at least 15 minutes, rinsed, then rapidly dried.
• Disinfect by applying a solution of 1 cup chlorine bleach per 1 gallon water or follow manufacturer's recommendations. The surface should be thoroughly wetted with the solution. Keep the surface wet with the bleach solution 10 to 15 minutes to kill the mold. Allow the solution to dry naturally 6 to 8 hours.
• Other products that kill mold are biocides. These biocides have Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) registration numbers on the bottle and instructions for the intended application.

I’m guessing though that given some light, some air and a little time, this problem will clear itself up on it’s own. Or get much, much worse. Dunno, maybe the guy just stinks.

Just a guess. - Ty

Monday Morning Comments (RW)

Obamanation: So, here's what I have to say about Saturday and the LA Times piece and all this Obamarama biznit. First, I LOVE that there is a national debate of whether or not BHO is black enough to be president. When did we enter Bizarro world? He should tour around with Tiger Woods, Derek Jeter and Halle Berry. And Bren, who may or may not be black enough to be president.

Now, what I have to say may sound overly critical. There have been a lot of discussions about BHO since Saturday and when I hear what comes out of my mouth, it sounds more critical than I intend it to be. So let me try and state this all carefully. I went to the speech on Saturday open to BHO closing the deal with me. I went in with an open mind and open heart and pretty much gave him an invitation to be my horse for the rest of this race. But he didn't close the deal. Granted, those are pretty high expectations and after seeing his speech in Selma, I expected his speech in Oakland to be some sort of Gettysburg Address-type lesson in oratory fireworks. It was not. He was charming, funny, passionate, but thematically and substantively generic.

Oh, you support universal health care? Really? Oh, and teachers and education too? You don't say. Oh, you care about the environment? Get out. Oh, you think politics-as-usual in Washington is a bad thing? You're going to change that? Right. Tell me something EVERY other Democratic candidate didn't also say during their own stump speeches today. Tell me something EVERY other Democratic candidate hasn't said since 1992.

"He's the new fucking Ronald Reagan for the 21st Century."

I'll say this, he did well on the war issue. If I'm going to support a candidate, he or she is going to have to be clear that this war was an enormous mistake. I'd like them to also say that we're going to jail the fuckers who lied us into it, but I'm a reasonable man and don't really expect that. Obama was clear that this war was a mistake. He called out the fake patriots who wrap themselves in flags. Easy applause lines while speaking in Oakland, yes, but this is on the record now. I heard him say it in public to thousands of people.

Now, let me raise the bar a little higher. What I expected from myself on Saturday was a visceral response to Obama's presence. In the run up to the 2004's I would see all the pinheaded Democrats on the TeeVee begging for votes. And without really knowing what any of them were saying or why, whenever Howard Dean came on TeeVee and started talking, I was like, "Yeah, that's my guy. That one right there." Without any attention to the words. I just knew, you know? And I didn't get that on Saturday.

I still like the guy. Like I said, he was charming and funny. And notice that he's 10-15 years younger than every other candidate in this race. That's the better part of a generation gap. Do you want to know why he's so good with the media, why is image is so relaxed and natural? Do you want to know why Hillary is so awkward and stiff? Obama's entire political career has been during the cable news era. He honed his chops entirely during the massive TeeVee politics onslaught. Politics is no longer about radiating charm and compassion one on one (Bubba) or handshaking, baby kissing, glad handling. Or knowing how to work the political machine (Hillary). It's about knowing how to work the media (Obama). National politics have changed in 20 years and while Bill and Hillary and Al and John Kerry and all the rest have done there best to go back and relearn how to be TeeVee people, Obama was raised as one. He gets it. It's natural. He doesn't even have to try. He's the new fucking Ronald Reagan for the 21st Century.

Let me be blatantly honest about something else. Ultimately, when we vote for a president, we're voting for the identity of the nation. Not who has more experience, who has better judgment, blah blah blah. But who is a better symbol. The president is a symbol to us and to the rest of the world of the American Dream. It was the best thing about Clinton. White-trash son of poor alcoholic single mother who made himself into a president. It's what I find most offensive about our current president. And frankly, Hillary's not much better as a symbol of the American dream. I have no doubt that she would make a great executive. But rich, white girl from the Chicago suburbs who's husband was president is only a hair better than rich white boy from the Connecticut suburbs who's daddy was president. Throw Al Gore into that same pot.

For whatever it's worth - and maybe our choices of presidents are so irrational and intangible as this - having Obama as president would go a long way to heal our division with the rest of the world. What better tonic for President Shithead the Wonder Crap, than a president whose father tended goats in Kenya. What better export of the American Dream. What could be greater about this country than to be able to tell the rest of the world to dream big - no matter what your squalor, your son or grandson could someday be president of the United States of America.

Your daughter's still screwed, though.

Barack 'n' roll.

-RW

The Ear of Brock O'Baughma

"And what an ear it is."

-Sistine

Just As I Suspected

I love self-assessments as much as I love self-help books.

Black-lash -or- Barack-lash

Magic Negro

Sympathy for the Devil

OK-land

"Just got back from the Ooooh-BAMA! speech and button festival in Oakland. Fair speech. Warm day. Charming candidate. [Got] a photo of his ear.

Barack 'n' roll, motherfucker."

My Bad

Bombing out into the country, headed to White's Ferry. Maybe Shep-town. If all goes well.

Come around a bend in Poolesville and see the Big Catholic Church, sun in my eyes.

"My Lady of the Penetration," I confidently declare.

Oh...

"My Lady of the Presentation."

My bad. OR, same diff...

Super?

The Needle and the Damage Done

Genes load the gun, and environment pulls the trigger.

An Out of Context Story About a Columbian Adoptee and the D.O.P.

Dance, Dave, Dance

Maybe

Maybe I'll just go ahead and become a republican.

Or, maybe I'll just opt out of voting altogether.

Maybe Dennis Kucinich is the right person (he's the smartest).

More on this some other time.

"As the bell rings and the horses bolt from the gate, I wonder: This is what fathers are for? To take children to the places they aren't supposed to go, so that they can do the things children aren't supposed to do? If Mama's the law, I'm the blind eye.

For roughly 51 weeks a year, I'm a bit player in my children's moral education. This week is the exception, when we visit New Orleans for Mardi Gras. For seven days I'm more or less in charge and use them to cultivate the aspects of their characters that they'll need to make it in the modern world: guile, greed, charm, and a deep appreciation that what you know is less important than who you know. "

- Michael Lewis, famous author
- [clicky]

Redacted

Stress Relief II

[Stress Relief I <-- clicky]

Mustafa: Fadhel, we need you to run a security screening test for us.

Fadhel Al-Maliki: No prob. What are we doing this time? Box cutters again?

Mustafa: No, we need to see if we can get a guy with explosives hidden in his ass on to a plane. We need for you to do a test run.

Fadhel Al-Maliki: Why choose me? Have the guys been talking again...

Mustafa: Look, Fadhel, we need your expertise in this area. Now you're going to need a good cover story in case you're caught. We're going to use a rock to simulate the explosive, and a piece of metal to simulate the battery for the detonator. We'll run a couple of wires from it out of your ass that would be used to activate the detonator. Aziza came up with the idea to use a magnet for the metal. If you're caught, your cover is that this is some kind of new-age relaxation device.

Fadhel Al-Maliki: Great idea. And we can say the rock is from another planet. That will make me look even crazier. Besides, half of these Americans believe in that kind of stuff anyway.

Mustafa: Right. If you do get caught, just act embarrassed and humble, and everything should be OK. We'll use a piece of chewing gum to attach the magnet to the rock. It's non-toxic, and will add to the strangeness of the device. No one will think a terrorist would do something as odd as that.

Fadhel Al-Maliki: Exactly. But Mustafa, don't you think the wires coming out of my ass will be a give-away to the true nature of this device?

Mustafa: Look, Fadhel, unless you've got a Lite-Brite shoved up there, no one's going to think twice about it. That's just the way these Americans are. Trust me.

[BDW Guest Post #2 today - thanks, Dafe!]

How to Talk Down a Cop - Guest Post

Coming in to work on the turnpike, approaching the tollbooth a car was right up on my bumper. I gave a tap on the brakes, nothing. I gave another one, didn't back off. And then another tap, and the blue light comes on on the car's rear view mirror. Oh shit. I pull over and a woman gets out, approaches my window.

I say calmly, “you know you were tailgating me pretty bad?”

She says loud and angry, “YOU KNOW I’M GONNA GIVE YOU A TICKET PRETTY BIG?!!”

I say, OK. She yells at me to get out of the “vehicle.”

After calling in my info she calls me over to her passenger side window and continues yelling, telling me I have road rage, even suggests she's going to take me in to jail.

I say calmly, “I do not have road rage, I was merely trying to indicate to you to back off. You were creating an unsafe situation.”

She yells.

I say, “You are talking in anger. You may have road rage, and I don't appreciate being yelled at like this.”

She yells back, “THIS IS HOW I TALK. I'M FIVE FEET TALL, I HAVE TO TALK LIKE THIS!”

I say, “You are really angry. I'm on your side.”

“OH, I'M ANGRY??? I'M AN ANGRY BLACK WOMAN, IS THAT IT? HUH? IS THAT IT?”

“No. You are angry. Don't bring race in to this. Or gender. That's insulting to me.”

“THAT'S INSULTING TO YOU?”

“Yes, it is.”

Then, somehow she starts calming down, I tell her I'm tired of bad drivers on the phone who tailgate, and she lets me go without a ticket, and I even make it to work on time. Of course if this was LA....

On Creation

Let's call these characters, "Twich" and "Listine":

-------------------------------------------

Since we're in the middle of this thing, I thought I'd share a thought on creation/creativity.

"Listine" told me she liked a line in Rain on a Flood. "I hope the levees hold you tight."

I asked why and she explained. Made me seem real enlightened.

She asked what the backwards line during the dobro bridge was.

I told her.

She said, "Were you imagining yourself in..."

I said, "No."

She said, "Then what does it mean?"

I said, "It doesn't mean anything. When something comes to you, sometimes you just roll with it."

She said, "No. With you, you ALWAYS just roll with it."

I said, "Never question messages from your unconscious self.

-------------------------------------------

[Back to me] Yes, these are some the pathways to creativity:

• Wait for the omens.
• Don't force yourself onto projects (as you wouldn't want them to force themselves onto you).
  
• "Never question messages from your unconscious self."
• Hold the demons close.
• It doesn't have to mean anything.
• Do it because it feels right regardless of how it sounds/looks.
• It looks/sounds like art because it is.
• Do not see permission.
• Eyes/ears don't lie.
• Most people won't get it.
  

Mockery

Stress Relief I

Say what you want. But, there are certainly individual differences in how we interact with the world. Take stress relief for instance. Some people take deep breaths. Others, paradoxically, drink a small cup of coffee. Others, drink alcohol or abuse drugs (oh, just say no, kids).

Well, my boy Fadhel Al-Maliki may be onto something that may REVOLUTIONIZE the field of stress relief.

All you need is a rock, some gum, and a hunk of wire...

[clicky]

If anyone asks, "hey, what's in your ass?" Tell 'em! The funny part is, we all know what the "hazardous materials" were...

Travesty

Gospel According to "The Dave"

"...you should go to a shingle's bar and pick up a shlut."

I Am A Shingles-American: Correction

A humble correction:

"For the record: When 6 people heard you had shingles, they made old people jokes.

When I heard you had shingles, I made head lice and scurvy jokes.

Cuz I'm smooth."

-RW

True. That was his original response. Head lice and scurvy. I pushed the old people stuff on RW. Yeah, head lice and scurvy. That's some smooth shit. Meds...can't keep shit straight anymore.

I Am A Shingles-American

My doctor said, "It's not your grandmother's illness anymore." I'm not sure what that meant but I'll interpret it as the stereotype is that members of our elderly population/family contract shingles. And, since I'm not old (or as my doctor said "we're not old"), then it must not be for old people. See? Not-for-old-people. Bitches!

I appreciate all your thoughts though:

Adrienne called it, "the grandma and grandpa illness."

Jon said, "so what's next, a bed rest, bed pan, and bed sores?"

Mark said, "hey grandpa, can I use the Buick?"

Rich said, "if you bust your hip next, I'll wheel you around town."

Karen offered, "if you keep me in your will, I won't hide your meds."

Dave said, "I can use your cane to scratch your sores."

Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot, OK. I get it.

The FAQs:

Q: Where is it?

A: My shingles runs along a nerve that apparently starts/ends near my ear, runs by my left eye, up my forehead, and over the top of my skull.

Q: What's it like?

A: It varies between tingling (the kind of tingling that you reflexively scratch - big mistake) and sharp, icepick like stabs.

Q: Sorry about the pain, does it hurt a lot?

A: I don't care about the pain. As long as I know what's going on, the pain is fine. In fact, the pain reminds me that I'm alive. The trick is the tingling that you reflexively scratch. It's like taking your very own icepick and jabbing yourself. Ha! Kind of funny. And, since I have an unrelated cough, that sometimes causes a jolt. It's a laff riot, really.

And, unlike, say pain in your knee where you may be causing further damage, this is just pain. No further harm, no tumor, etc. Just a goofy nerve.

Q: What's the worst part?

A: Well, the cure is somewhat worse than the illness. One side effect of the antiviral (coupled with one side effect of the antibiotic from my bronchitis) is diarrhea. Lucky, huh? Oh, and spaciness. And, fatigue. And, gurgling tummy.

Q: What have you learned?

A: I have learned that everyone has either had shingles (mostly for no apparent reason) or know someone who has had shingles.

I have learned that the perception is that the pain is intolerable. I'm sure the illness varies in intensity and that people vary in terms of personal pain tolerance, but people are wussies. It's just pain. It's not gonna kill you.

The nurses were soooo surprised that I didn't want more morphine after my appendectomy. They were all, "but it says here you're supposed to have another shot." I was all, "but I want to get the hell out of here." Bring me an Advil. That's another cure-is-worse situation. It's harder to recover from the haze of the narcotic than it is to power through a little boo-boo.

So, what's a little stabbing in the skull between friends?


So, who you calling grandpa? I got your grandpa right here [grabs crotch a la "Bad" era Michael Jackson or the "Express Yourself" Madonna]. Maybe I can get a handicap parking permit though...

Obama

Like I said, I've stopped deluding myself with matters of "who can win." I believe that it's far more important to delude oneself with matters of "what it means." Still with me?

• Exhibit #1: This is a good website. Duh. It's a site that makes sense, isn't pandering (or as pandering), and doesn't assume you're a web novice (like most candidates): [clicky for barackobama.com]
• Exhibit #2: The chameleon qualities are incredible. He not only answers the "Black Enuff" question, but he does it with swagger, style, and panache: [clicky for video from Selma]
• Exhibit #3: Was listening to Acrade Fire's "Black Mirror" from "Neon Bible" and I got it. For the first time, the president looks like, well, me.

Win, lose, or fumble. I've picked. Barry Brock Osama Hussein Bin-O'bama. Nice audition, kid.

Ask Ty...March 5

Q: How lame is Second Life?

Just wondering,

Dave

Ty: Good question and an even better observation. The lamest, for sure.

The funniest reference to SL I've read is, "Get a First Life" by Darren Barefoot. Believe me, I get it. I see the fascination with all that is virtual. But, I cannot take that shit too serious. It's amusing at best, sometimes fun, but to "live" it...gimme a break. Grow up and go smell a flower or something.

Then, we get into the whole teledildonics trip and "virtual" blurs with "real" for sure. But, real is real and not is not.

Maybe if I had shingles or something, I could live in a virtual world.

Just a guess. - Ty

[Hey, bonus "Ask Ty" archives!]

Fraidy Cat

"You know what? When a man is afraid of an e-mail, it’s time to redistrict the comfort zone."

-Ray Smuckles

St. Anthony's Fire

Went to the doctor today. Remember, that "bite" looking thing on my head? Well, others developed. My eye hurt, blah-blah-blah.

I have shingles. I am a shingles-American. What the fuck?! Since when did I become 87 years-old? My jaw dropped, the doctor laughed (as she stepped back). I laughed. Shingles (Herpes Zoster). I actually have something with the word "herpes" in it.

Wiki sez:

• "The rash and pain usually subside within 3 to 5 weeks...It affects some 1 million people per year in the United States and can involve excruciating pain." Oh, great...weeks, not days. Weeks. Pain, I'm fine with. But, weeks? Jesus!
  

• "This pain can be characterized as stinging, tingling, numbing, or throbbing, and can be pronounced with quick stabs of intensity." Yep. Shit hurts! And, I'm fierce!

• "Sometimes serious effects including partial facial paralysis (usually temporary), ear damage, or encephalitis may occur. Shingles on the upper half of the face (the first branch of the trigeminal nerve) may result in eye damage and require urgent ophthalmological assessment." Great! I'll be hideous and blind. Fuck!
  

• "There have been recorded cases of outbreaks occurring due to unmanaged stress or other stresses to the skin such as pinching in more sensitive areas of the skin (nipples, ears, and underarms), scratching, or biting." I cannot recall anyone biting my nipples recently. WTF?!
  

Good news: prescribed "rest." I've never had that.

Great.

Vanity

Daddy, How Do You Spell 'Poop'?

Ask Ty...March 1 (#2)

Q: Is it true you are really Cool "Disco" Dan?

Just wondering,

Dave

Ty: Good question and an even better observation. Firstly, it is dangerous (Dangerous Dave) to ever admit that you are the perpetrator of illegal activities. Graffiti is illegal in most jurisdictions including the metropolitan Washington, D.C. area.

Secondly, I ain't yet a tagger. Just so you know, I've considered it. And, sure I have distributed a "Bush = Lies" sticker or two. I ain't admitting to having anything to do with that sticker either. But, shit, doesn't it just sum up everything:

"Bush = Lies"

By the way, if you ever want to write that phrase, "Bush = Lies" anywhere, feel free. It's not like I'm gonna sue your or anything...especially since, er, I have absolutely nothing to do with that sticker.

Here's what Wiki sez about Cool "Disco" Dan:

It is the work of an individual from the Washington, DC area who has been spraying his tag since 1984. Part of the Go-Go scene of the 80's in Washington; he managed to avoid being jailed or killed unlike a lot of his contemporaries by devoting himself to graffiti rather than becoming involved with drugs or gangs. He is featured in the book "Free Agents, a history of Washington, DC graffiti" and has a page on "Art Crimes" as a featured artist.

I ain't Cool "Disco" Dan. But, his tag is legend.

More Images <-- clicky

I'm flattered, but you gots the wrong dude.

Just a guess. - Ty

Ask Ty...March 1 (#1)

Q: Why does everyone think I give a shit what their baby looks like?

Signed,

Maybe I'll Understand If I Have One But For Now I Don't Need 93 Unremarkable And Nearly Identical Shots of Your Baby, One Will Do Just Fine Thank You.

Ty: Oh, Maybe...good question and an even better observation. People are shallow. People are dumb. People have an innate tendency to generalize upon the world based on their own experiences and filters. So, if they are overwhelmed by and amazed with their own selfish, stinky, squirmy sack of genetic offspring, they are CERTAIN that you will be too.

It funny, people are surprised that I generally dislike children. They say, "but you're such a good and loving father." I assure them I love MY kid, it's their ugly pukes I hate. Sure, there are some. A few. A couple of kids that are OK. But for the most part, children are a nuisance. Children are fucking annoying. I love the kids of good parents. Mark and Margaret stand out clearly. Love those kids because they have limits and boundaries. Larry's kids are great too. Smart, clever, and unassuming. That's four. I'm sure there are others. I'm sure Ronan will be swell. So, five that I can think of are fine.

Kids are mostly annoying because their parents suck. They are too busy talking on their goddamn phones (about what fucking Billy did today) and too busy scheduling "play dates" to give a shit about or even notice the path of destruction little Elenor is creating in my view and in my presence.

Yeah, like you want to see 400 full-sized jpgs (awful photography by the way) in your mailbox of fucking Dylan looking like he's gonna die if you don't feed the little fucker something instead of "waiting for your milk to come." And, I'm not gonna go to your stupid annotated web site or blog about some kid that's gonna grow up to be a shallow and simple and frightened as you. I've already deleted that mail. I've added you to my spam blocker.

People think you must want to see photos of that little puke because they are justifying the mistake they've just made with their lives. Their new fashion accessory is here and it is crying and it smells like cheese. And, shit, they wanted the little shitbag so it must be important. If it's important to them -- it's damn fucking urgently important to everyone in their address book.

Once you have one, you'll understand. But, you'll also understand how weak and pathetic most parents are. You stop putting little Matthew in sailor suits and put that fucker behind some drums and say, shit yeah, this bastard can make me some money if I'm smart. Just. Like. Tiger. Bitches!

Until otherwise noted, I don't like your kid and definitely don't want to see any baby pictures. They all look the same until about two anyhow. If I want to see baby pictures, I'll Google "dirty, screaming, planet killing vampire."

Send on jpg no greater than 1ook, people.

Just a guess. - Ty