and your not.
Seriously though, I hope he focuses on his excellent new album. He seems to have more vision and focus than he's had since he was young. Age seems to suit him. dylan clearly enjoys contemplating death and dancing with the darkness, plus his voice is getting better.
that said, I'm demanding a refund f he doesn't play "The Hurricane."
Dé Máirt, Deireadh Fómhair 24, 2006
Draft Ernie Movement in the works? (Well, no of Course not)
But I have read letters and heard people say in conversation that they will not vote for either Nelson or Rickitts. So, Lee Harten, Brenda Hammett, you know what the solution is. Do you have the courage to follow the man?
He can taste bullshit with his mind.
Dé Máirt, Deireadh Fómhair 17, 2006
Ode to Arnold Heights
If you drive out of downtown Lincoln on West "O" street, past Capital Beach, past the white underclass neighborhoods, past the random car places and small scale industrial shops. Go all the way to West 48th, the extreme edge of town where the big truck stop is. Than turn north and go past the interstate junction. After a mile of country, you will hit a long, skinny, section of town.
On the E. side of West 48th is the air park, so called because it is an industrial park on the west side of the airport. Most of the buildings are abandoned or waiting for a tenant. So you can drive around empty streets dotted with stop signs and turning lanes that serve no real purpose. It's as if you made a wrong turn in Grand Theft Auto.
On the west side of West 48th is the Arnold Heights neighborhood. It is seven blocks wide, from 48th to 55th, and 3 miles long, from Holdredge to Fletcher. It's not a particularly poor neighborhood. It's not a particularly rich neighborhood. Somehow, it doesn't manage to be a middle-class neighborhood either.
The only interesting thing about Arnold Heights is its isolation. It's a good two miles from continental Lincoln. It has the feel of an outstate prairie village, colonized by Lincoln for reasons as unfathomable as the invasion of Ethiopia. I believe I even saw a Pump-and Pantry there, the ultimate icon of Nebraska's very small towns. One expects to see a sign listing 8-man football triumphs along West 48th.
I like to drive through Arnold Heights a day or two after a hard snow, once the streets have been cleared. Some hills that rise maybe 30 feet above plain level hide the neighborhood from the interstate. Driving between the artificial plow drifts and on into Arnold Heights makes me feel as if I've conqured a Himalayan peak, and then chanced upon a hidden civilization.
Then I go back down to the Truck stop on West O for a bowl and Chili and a big cheeseburger, listening to the truckers rail against the smoking ban.
On the E. side of West 48th is the air park, so called because it is an industrial park on the west side of the airport. Most of the buildings are abandoned or waiting for a tenant. So you can drive around empty streets dotted with stop signs and turning lanes that serve no real purpose. It's as if you made a wrong turn in Grand Theft Auto.
On the west side of West 48th is the Arnold Heights neighborhood. It is seven blocks wide, from 48th to 55th, and 3 miles long, from Holdredge to Fletcher. It's not a particularly poor neighborhood. It's not a particularly rich neighborhood. Somehow, it doesn't manage to be a middle-class neighborhood either.
The only interesting thing about Arnold Heights is its isolation. It's a good two miles from continental Lincoln. It has the feel of an outstate prairie village, colonized by Lincoln for reasons as unfathomable as the invasion of Ethiopia. I believe I even saw a Pump-and Pantry there, the ultimate icon of Nebraska's very small towns. One expects to see a sign listing 8-man football triumphs along West 48th.
I like to drive through Arnold Heights a day or two after a hard snow, once the streets have been cleared. Some hills that rise maybe 30 feet above plain level hide the neighborhood from the interstate. Driving between the artificial plow drifts and on into Arnold Heights makes me feel as if I've conqured a Himalayan peak, and then chanced upon a hidden civilization.
Then I go back down to the Truck stop on West O for a bowl and Chili and a big cheeseburger, listening to the truckers rail against the smoking ban.
tales from the casino
It was 2004. My parents planned to take a fall vacation to visit my aunt and uncle in Arizona. They invited me, but I refused to go once I learned that they planned to drive for 20+ hours from North Platte to Lake Havisu Ariz. This was a major logistical problem, as neither one of them is able to stay awake that long. They had counted on me to drive at least half of the distance and were rather angry when I refused. So be it. Any sane person would gladly disown his/her family in order to avoid the hell of driving accross the high plains of Eastern Colorado and Northern New Mexico.
Imagine Nebraska after the apocolypse. This is what it's like to drive Colo 71 an hour south of Limon. Grass, bridges over dry washes, dirt trails to nowhere. The fucking cows are 10 miles apart from each other, unfenced, apparently belonging to no one.
Anyway, the problem was solved when my sister secured plane tickets from Omaha to Las Vegas. This required spending a night at her apartment on West Center before going to the airport the next morning. I suggested a trip to the East Farnam bars in order to mark the begining of our vacation. The rest of the family- well they rejected this. Even my sister believed that going to east (read, black) Omaha was maniacly dangerous. My mother suggested that we go to Ameristar in Council Bluffs. Whenever she's in the Omaha area, this is where one will find her whenever she's not at Nebraska Furniture Mart or Olive Garden. If I didn't go with them, I would be left with my sister's basic cable, and candles, and cats, so I went.
Council Bluffs, Omaha's New Jersey. Interstates, river levee, ethonol plant, strip clubs employed by meth addicts, hourly fuck box hotels, families with 3 or 4 abused, broken down cars and 3 or 4 abused, broken down kids. A trip to Council Bluffs is just the thing for a homesick country boy disoriented by the lights of Dodge Street.
Ameristar is near the river. The lights of Omaha can easily be seen as you ride the shuttle bus through the giant parking lot. The smell of urine and/or crystal permiates the air. We reach the door, the bus driver wishes us luck. Door greaters in red jackets and guards in blue jakets wish us luck. We enter to a blaze of ruby carpet and pale lights.
(You could win... Your own Loveboat! doo-doo-doo---do-dododododo) so the sound comes in cheap outdated synth. In case you don't know "casinos" are nothing but slot machines. Wheel of Fortune Slot machines. Beverly Hillbillies slot machines. Dynasty, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Brady Bunch. I asked a woman where the craps table was and she laughed at me. She didn't mean it as an insult. She sincerely believed I was joking.
Modern casinos, you see, cater to people at the high end of middle age. They were still too old in the 80's to be hypnotized by the likes of Pac-Man or Space Invaders. So this is their first experience with magical talking money-eating machines, machines decorated with the safe family entertainment of their young adulthoods.
And that's what its all about, family-friendly gambling. What makes it family friendly? Random patriotic symbols like flags and the all-american buffet. along with row upon row of slot machines covere with uncontroversial icons of pop culture. Dice and card games would suggest everything that makes gambling dirty. Strung out hookers in the back, cheaters being chopped up in the kitchen. But Ameristar doesn't cater to those types. These arn't filthy hedonists, they're just trying to win the American dream, just enjoying a scotch and water or two and trying to win their own loveboat.
My mother handed me a 20$ bill to go gamble with. She never gave me 20 bucks when I needed it for drugs. I headed to the bar. Sam Adams for 2$ a bottle. There was a band consisting of a male lead singer/keyboardist and three female back-up singers. They sang a beach boys song, than they did a medley from the Grease soundtrack. They were wearing matching neon green outfits with hot pink trim, perhaps hand-me-downs from a mariachi band. They called themselves the American Romanticas, or the Loving Arms, or something.
I head upstairs to the indoor dog-racing stands. Betting on greyhound races is far more popular than you are meant to know. Losing dogs have a way of ending up in mass graves before their first birthdays. Winning dogs have a chance to make it to five. And so the Ameristar Dog track is well away from the All-American buffet and the family-friendly slot machines.
It was night, and there were no races going on. The observation deck had T.V.s. These were meant to show dog races from around the country, but you can watch anything you like. This was the floor for the hard-core gamblers. A little ESPN woundn't distract them from trying to win their own LoveBoat. They had no interest in getting dirty while pretending not to.
I watch the presidential debate with some other guy. He's about 40, t-shirt, sandels, slacks. Every now and than he chuckles at something one of the candidates say. Otherwise he watches intently. I have a notion he was betting on the debate.
The old hands scattered about give me filthy looks the whole time I'm upstairs. A security guard comes and asks for my ID. I shw it to him. I get the message and go back down to the slot machines.
I have 3 more beers, I go to the bar, open a Sam Adams, and then wonder around the main hall, taking in the lights and the carpet, looking for a slot machine more stupid than the last. A manager-type copmes up to me.
"We've observed that you've had a few beers" he said.
"Yes" I said.
"That's fine sir. You do know that Iowa law forbids gaming while intoxicated, so we just wanted to see if you're o.k."
"Well, why don't you be the judge."
"Well, heh, you seem pretty alert to me, your eyes don't look red or cloudy or anything. So I think we can let you stay here and enjoy yourself. Just be careful o.k. Enjoy your evening at Ameristar Casino and good luck."
I went to a slot machine with a name like "House of Terror" and put in $10. I stayed there for about an hour and had two more beers delivered to me by a waitress. The manager didn't come back to bother me again. I made a five dollar profit.
I tracked down my sister, and we tracked down our mother. She had had six jack and cokes while playing the Family Fued slot. The manager didn't bother her either. Once she was 30 or 40 dollars in the hole she quit.
the attendents wished us a good night. Faith Hill was playing over some sort of sound sstem in the parking lot as we made our way back to the car. My sister commented on how filthy this part of Council Bluffs looked as she drove us back accross the Missouri.
Imagine Nebraska after the apocolypse. This is what it's like to drive Colo 71 an hour south of Limon. Grass, bridges over dry washes, dirt trails to nowhere. The fucking cows are 10 miles apart from each other, unfenced, apparently belonging to no one.
Anyway, the problem was solved when my sister secured plane tickets from Omaha to Las Vegas. This required spending a night at her apartment on West Center before going to the airport the next morning. I suggested a trip to the East Farnam bars in order to mark the begining of our vacation. The rest of the family- well they rejected this. Even my sister believed that going to east (read, black) Omaha was maniacly dangerous. My mother suggested that we go to Ameristar in Council Bluffs. Whenever she's in the Omaha area, this is where one will find her whenever she's not at Nebraska Furniture Mart or Olive Garden. If I didn't go with them, I would be left with my sister's basic cable, and candles, and cats, so I went.
Council Bluffs, Omaha's New Jersey. Interstates, river levee, ethonol plant, strip clubs employed by meth addicts, hourly fuck box hotels, families with 3 or 4 abused, broken down cars and 3 or 4 abused, broken down kids. A trip to Council Bluffs is just the thing for a homesick country boy disoriented by the lights of Dodge Street.
Ameristar is near the river. The lights of Omaha can easily be seen as you ride the shuttle bus through the giant parking lot. The smell of urine and/or crystal permiates the air. We reach the door, the bus driver wishes us luck. Door greaters in red jackets and guards in blue jakets wish us luck. We enter to a blaze of ruby carpet and pale lights.
(You could win... Your own Loveboat! doo-doo-doo---do-dododododo) so the sound comes in cheap outdated synth. In case you don't know "casinos" are nothing but slot machines. Wheel of Fortune Slot machines. Beverly Hillbillies slot machines. Dynasty, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Brady Bunch. I asked a woman where the craps table was and she laughed at me. She didn't mean it as an insult. She sincerely believed I was joking.
Modern casinos, you see, cater to people at the high end of middle age. They were still too old in the 80's to be hypnotized by the likes of Pac-Man or Space Invaders. So this is their first experience with magical talking money-eating machines, machines decorated with the safe family entertainment of their young adulthoods.
And that's what its all about, family-friendly gambling. What makes it family friendly? Random patriotic symbols like flags and the all-american buffet. along with row upon row of slot machines covere with uncontroversial icons of pop culture. Dice and card games would suggest everything that makes gambling dirty. Strung out hookers in the back, cheaters being chopped up in the kitchen. But Ameristar doesn't cater to those types. These arn't filthy hedonists, they're just trying to win the American dream, just enjoying a scotch and water or two and trying to win their own loveboat.
My mother handed me a 20$ bill to go gamble with. She never gave me 20 bucks when I needed it for drugs. I headed to the bar. Sam Adams for 2$ a bottle. There was a band consisting of a male lead singer/keyboardist and three female back-up singers. They sang a beach boys song, than they did a medley from the Grease soundtrack. They were wearing matching neon green outfits with hot pink trim, perhaps hand-me-downs from a mariachi band. They called themselves the American Romanticas, or the Loving Arms, or something.
I head upstairs to the indoor dog-racing stands. Betting on greyhound races is far more popular than you are meant to know. Losing dogs have a way of ending up in mass graves before their first birthdays. Winning dogs have a chance to make it to five. And so the Ameristar Dog track is well away from the All-American buffet and the family-friendly slot machines.
It was night, and there were no races going on. The observation deck had T.V.s. These were meant to show dog races from around the country, but you can watch anything you like. This was the floor for the hard-core gamblers. A little ESPN woundn't distract them from trying to win their own LoveBoat. They had no interest in getting dirty while pretending not to.
I watch the presidential debate with some other guy. He's about 40, t-shirt, sandels, slacks. Every now and than he chuckles at something one of the candidates say. Otherwise he watches intently. I have a notion he was betting on the debate.
The old hands scattered about give me filthy looks the whole time I'm upstairs. A security guard comes and asks for my ID. I shw it to him. I get the message and go back down to the slot machines.
I have 3 more beers, I go to the bar, open a Sam Adams, and then wonder around the main hall, taking in the lights and the carpet, looking for a slot machine more stupid than the last. A manager-type copmes up to me.
"We've observed that you've had a few beers" he said.
"Yes" I said.
"That's fine sir. You do know that Iowa law forbids gaming while intoxicated, so we just wanted to see if you're o.k."
"Well, why don't you be the judge."
"Well, heh, you seem pretty alert to me, your eyes don't look red or cloudy or anything. So I think we can let you stay here and enjoy yourself. Just be careful o.k. Enjoy your evening at Ameristar Casino and good luck."
I went to a slot machine with a name like "House of Terror" and put in $10. I stayed there for about an hour and had two more beers delivered to me by a waitress. The manager didn't come back to bother me again. I made a five dollar profit.
I tracked down my sister, and we tracked down our mother. She had had six jack and cokes while playing the Family Fued slot. The manager didn't bother her either. Once she was 30 or 40 dollars in the hole she quit.
the attendents wished us a good night. Faith Hill was playing over some sort of sound sstem in the parking lot as we made our way back to the car. My sister commented on how filthy this part of Council Bluffs looked as she drove us back accross the Missouri.
Dé Luain, Deireadh Fómhair 16, 2006
Dé Domhnaigh, Deireadh Fómhair 15, 2006
Sometimes you just got to stop impressing people
I normally spend a good deal of money on microbrew, but I'm done trying to impress people. I'm going to Omaha on Tuesday in search of a pope hat, and I do believe I'll visit a liquor store on north 30th while I'm there. If anybody reading this knows where to get a pope hat or a bottle of Thunderbird in Omaha/Council Bluffs, leave a message on the site.
Dé hAoine, Deireadh Fómhair 13, 2006
Silko, Christianity, and whatnot
As I enter my Fall break, I simply can't shut off my psudo-philosophing long enough to actually enjoy myself. I just read "Gardens in the Dunes" by Leslie Silko, a book that touches on themes of universal spirituality, feminism, and a little bit of gnosticism thrown in.
It reminded me of Elaine Pagels, the famous scholar of Christianity from Princeton, and her search for a "pure Christianity", a mythical period immediatly after Christ's departing where all Christians supposedly believed in the same thing. What she found instead were a babel of "heresies" and alternative Gospels, in which women like Mary Magdeline were much more prominent than in the official record; sometimes even more important than the deciples.
Silko's book also touches on the life/death cycle and the universal sacred truths to be found in it. The way she connects Native American beliefs with old European paganism is very interesting.
No one can seriously deny the pagan influences within Christianity. Mary is an obvious earth mother, while the Holy Trinity is similar to Greek mythology with its anthromorphic God (Jesus) standing between people and the fundamental force of the universe (God the father/Yahwah)
Jack Chick is famous for seeing a vast Catholic/Satanic/Muslim/Freemason/Communist/Fascist conspiracy in the pagan remnents within Christianity, and maybe he's only 99% crazy. Silko does a good job illuminating the various archtypes in human belief systems. Chick simply needs to blame them on a concious conspiracy since he has traded spirituality for mechanized adherance to proper doctrine. To him and his ilk, true belief is something that must be rigidly defined, not generally felt.
Chick types have been various movements to "purify" Christianity of its pagan influences. In practical terms, this has meant getting rid of anything that smacks of female sexuality. (Virgin birth.) The problem is that Christians still feel the vague need of a cosmic life/death cycl
e that justifies our own mortality. It's pretty hard to have a life/death cycle that doesn't involve a vagina at some point. Christianity's attempts to compensate for this have been.....
interesting.
The obvious homoeroticism of the crucifixion story has been noted before. Perhaps this is nothing but subconscious prison sex. The attempt to purge religion of sexuality can only lead to, if not homosexuality, than some fucked up S&M heavy form of autosexuality.
B.S. off
It reminded me of Elaine Pagels, the famous scholar of Christianity from Princeton, and her search for a "pure Christianity", a mythical period immediatly after Christ's departing where all Christians supposedly believed in the same thing. What she found instead were a babel of "heresies" and alternative Gospels, in which women like Mary Magdeline were much more prominent than in the official record; sometimes even more important than the deciples.
Silko's book also touches on the life/death cycle and the universal sacred truths to be found in it. The way she connects Native American beliefs with old European paganism is very interesting.
No one can seriously deny the pagan influences within Christianity. Mary is an obvious earth mother, while the Holy Trinity is similar to Greek mythology with its anthromorphic God (Jesus) standing between people and the fundamental force of the universe (God the father/Yahwah)
Jack Chick is famous for seeing a vast Catholic/Satanic/Muslim/Freemason/Communist/Fascist conspiracy in the pagan remnents within Christianity, and maybe he's only 99% crazy. Silko does a good job illuminating the various archtypes in human belief systems. Chick simply needs to blame them on a concious conspiracy since he has traded spirituality for mechanized adherance to proper doctrine. To him and his ilk, true belief is something that must be rigidly defined, not generally felt.
Chick types have been various movements to "purify" Christianity of its pagan influences. In practical terms, this has meant getting rid of anything that smacks of female sexuality. (Virgin birth.) The problem is that Christians still feel the vague need of a cosmic life/death cycl
e that justifies our own mortality. It's pretty hard to have a life/death cycle that doesn't involve a vagina at some point. Christianity's attempts to compensate for this have been.....interesting.
The obvious homoeroticism of the crucifixion story has been noted before. Perhaps this is nothing but subconscious prison sex. The attempt to purge religion of sexuality can only lead to, if not homosexuality, than some fucked up S&M heavy form of autosexuality.
B.S. off
Déardaoin, Deireadh Fómhair 12, 2006
dangerous world
The North Korean nuclear test, we are told, proves that we live in a dangerous world. Republicans think they can keep their hands on Congress by playing up this "dangerous world."
But what does "dangerous world" mean? The most obvious answer is nothing at all. It's a false statement, a strawman. Of course the world is dangerous, realizing that fact does not lead to a single obvious remedy.
The implication, however, is that anyone who truly understands we live in a dangerous world will realize the need to rally behind a Great Father and steadfastlly follow him into battle against the enemy. President Bush (everybodys Commander_In_Chief since 2001) is the natural fit for this role, and he has always been more than willing to fill it.
Of course, this is exactly the kind of thinking that made the world dangerous in the first place. Intimidation and destruction have been the main ideas behind self-defence since the beginning of civilization. They have never worked, but that's just because we haven't tried hard enough, damnit.
Our Commander-In-Chief is no weakling like Lincoln or Roosevelt. They stopped fighting as soon as their enemies gave up. George Bush has promised to continue the WAR ON TERROR until all evil is eliminated forever. The only sure way to eliminate evil is too exterminate all human beings who haven't been immunized against human nature by English, straight marriage, and Christianity.
Join the great clensing. You are either with us or against us.
But what does "dangerous world" mean? The most obvious answer is nothing at all. It's a false statement, a strawman. Of course the world is dangerous, realizing that fact does not lead to a single obvious remedy.
The implication, however, is that anyone who truly understands we live in a dangerous world will realize the need to rally behind a Great Father and steadfastlly follow him into battle against the enemy. President Bush (everybodys Commander_In_Chief since 2001) is the natural fit for this role, and he has always been more than willing to fill it.
Of course, this is exactly the kind of thinking that made the world dangerous in the first place. Intimidation and destruction have been the main ideas behind self-defence since the beginning of civilization. They have never worked, but that's just because we haven't tried hard enough, damnit.
Our Commander-In-Chief is no weakling like Lincoln or Roosevelt. They stopped fighting as soon as their enemies gave up. George Bush has promised to continue the WAR ON TERROR until all evil is eliminated forever. The only sure way to eliminate evil is too exterminate all human beings who haven't been immunized against human nature by English, straight marriage, and Christianity.
Join the great clensing. You are either with us or against us.
Big Scoop
I happened to walk past congressman Jeff Fotenberry today in downtown Lincoln. He was walking to state GOP headquarters when he told one of his lackeys that he was "tired of this shit." We can only speculate on what shit he is tired of.
Life?
Unquestioning obediance to the White House?
Challenger Maxeine Moul's utterly predictible attempts to tie him to Mark Foley, Abramoff, etc?
The fact that even those who vote for him don't like him very much?
The Ali Baba's/Gourmet Grill feud?
The world may never know.
Jeff Fortenberry (R-NE)
"Family Values"
"Stay the course"
"Support Our President"
"I'm sick of this shit"
Dé Máirt, Deireadh Fómhair 10, 2006
Ernie Chambers for U.S.Senate
I am not joking. Congress needs a bullshit detector, and one can't seriously think that the two knuckleheads running for the Nebraska seat (or any of the knuckleheads running for any of the contested seats) can provide that detector.
For those who plan to vote for Ricketts simply for the R after his name, you're welcome. , I've felt emberassed for you these past few months. The sight of the supposedly invincible GOP machine trying to turn Ben Nelson into a liberal bogeyman is beyond pathetic. Now you have a real-life Goldstein to rally the troops behind.
For the microscopic army of Nebraska liberals who plan to hold thier noses and vote for Nelson because of the D after his name, don't worry. Mr. Chambers has promised that, if elected, he will caucus with...
Fuck you! That's who he'll caucus with!!! BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Vote Chambers for U.S. Senate. Don't be a fucking pussy
MrHeartland Poll
Which sort of Apocalypse would be the most amusing?
1. Massive Flu plague (ala "The Stand")
2. Massive hemmorigic fever plague.
3. Robot revolt
4. Alien conquest
5. Hand of God/Satan/Allah/other/all of the above
6. nuclear war
7. Roman-style slow rot
8. Messy, incomplete terrorist job
9. Sudden depletion of vital resource (i.e. water, crops, oxygen, Oil doesn't count. We're talking permanent apocalypse here, not temporary dark age.)
10 Massive, very-long-term conventional war (highly unlikely, but could be fun)
11. Supernova (lame, no suffering)
12. All of humanity joins suicide cult.
13. Pet rebellion
14. Richter-20 earthquake smashes earth's crust into thousands of pieces which subsequently melt into the mantle.
15. Mad scientist clones dinosaures/saber-tooth cats/animal/weapon hybrids
16. Mad scientist causes clash with anti-matter (or bizarro world, universe, etc.)
17. Mad scientist goes back in time and destroys first primodial DNA, preventing everything that has ever lived from having ever existed.
18. Mad scientist... (you get the idea)
19. Chitillu rises
20. "Nuclear" (or volcanic, toxic) winter
21. Motherfucking meteorite
The correct answer is 7. I know it's probably not the sexy choice, but never mind. Just think about it, a slow descent into anarchy and than oblivion. Corruption, decadence, social and physical decay; everything that makes life worth living will be on the increase. This would also be the doomsday scenario most likely to lead to a Mad Max style post-civilization. and who in his right mind wouldn't want that? At any rate, most of the other options would require hard work, while slow decay requires only that we ignore our social obligations.
(I realize there was a lot of overlap in my scenarios, but I didn't want all kinds of subdivisons making the list too complicated.)
1. Massive Flu plague (ala "The Stand")
2. Massive hemmorigic fever plague.
3. Robot revolt
4. Alien conquest
5. Hand of God/Satan/Allah/other/all of the above
6. nuclear war
7. Roman-style slow rot
8. Messy, incomplete terrorist job
9. Sudden depletion of vital resource (i.e. water, crops, oxygen, Oil doesn't count. We're talking permanent apocalypse here, not temporary dark age.)
10 Massive, very-long-term conventional war (highly unlikely, but could be fun)
11. Supernova (lame, no suffering)
12. All of humanity joins suicide cult.
13. Pet rebellion
14. Richter-20 earthquake smashes earth's crust into thousands of pieces which subsequently melt into the mantle.
15. Mad scientist clones dinosaures/saber-tooth cats/animal/weapon hybrids
16. Mad scientist causes clash with anti-matter (or bizarro world, universe, etc.)
17. Mad scientist goes back in time and destroys first primodial DNA, preventing everything that has ever lived from having ever existed.
18. Mad scientist... (you get the idea)
19. Chitillu rises
20. "Nuclear" (or volcanic, toxic) winter
21. Motherfucking meteorite
The correct answer is 7. I know it's probably not the sexy choice, but never mind. Just think about it, a slow descent into anarchy and than oblivion. Corruption, decadence, social and physical decay; everything that makes life worth living will be on the increase. This would also be the doomsday scenario most likely to lead to a Mad Max style post-civilization. and who in his right mind wouldn't want that? At any rate, most of the other options would require hard work, while slow decay requires only that we ignore our social obligations.
(I realize there was a lot of overlap in my scenarios, but I didn't want all kinds of subdivisons making the list too complicated.)
Dé Luain, Deireadh Fómhair 09, 2006
startran
the city of Lincoln should really run its buses later than 6:30 P.M. I need a DVR cassete, and nobody sells them downtown. They must think that nobody down here can afford a video camera, which is true. By the time I had checked all of the downtown shops, there was no time left to catch a bus to the mall district without risking being stranded there.
I can still pick it up and do all of my shit tomarow, but it's going to be a very busy day, and I hate being busy. If I have to drop out of visual and Aural lit over this, I'm suing the mayor.
I can still pick it up and do all of my shit tomarow, but it's going to be a very busy day, and I hate being busy. If I have to drop out of visual and Aural lit over this, I'm suing the mayor.
Monday Morning Nihilism blowout
Fuck gravity. I appreciate not flying off into the oblivion, but I just don't think that gravity should be one of the fundamental forces of nature. I'm especially mad that gravity has such a strong effect on the earth's orbit and , consequently, its whether. Wouldn't everything be much better if the earth didn't tilt? Wouldn't it be nice if our planet was always stuck on equinox? 12 hours of day, 12 hours of night for all, always spring/fall on one end and always fall/spring on the other. It would be paradise.
I'm not just aimlessly rambling here (well okay, I am.) Unless you live on the American
Plains, you have no idea to know what it's like to live where the whether is either too hot or too cold, never just right. I am not exaggerating, never. Even the perfect, room-temperature days we do have are usually ruined by the wind.
Fuck wind. Plant seeds can be distributed perfectly well by a 10m.p.h. breeze. there is simply no reason for the wind to blow harder than that. what purpose does is serve? Out here in the sticks or anywhere else? Besides to force us inside and turn us into even bigger narrow-minded drunks than we already are? There are stories of pioneers being driven to murder and madness by the wind. This is perfectly understandible, even commendible. Wind is proof that nature hates us. the only way to escape the wind is to escape the physical plane of existence and help others to do so. I live in the center of a city of 200,000-plus, and still there's no escape from the infernal whining of the sky.
Most of all, fuck you. The very fact that your reading this proves that you are a whore for technology. That's right, go on and take a break from your pornography to laugh at some lunatic's rants. Once you're done here you can go back to gorging yourself on Wikipedia's "knowledge" or an endless stream of unfunny pop-culture jokes. Let's here it for more infotainment to deaden the masses; distracting you from your sado-masochistic government and your cruel and heartless universe.
All the energy we use thinking up ways to be clever would be better spent on mindless distruction and rfebellion against imposed meanings of life. But not today, I've got an English class to go to. That's right, an English class. got a problem?
Fuck you.
I'm not just aimlessly rambling here (well okay, I am.) Unless you live on the American
Plains, you have no idea to know what it's like to live where the whether is either too hot or too cold, never just right. I am not exaggerating, never. Even the perfect, room-temperature days we do have are usually ruined by the wind.
Fuck wind. Plant seeds can be distributed perfectly well by a 10m.p.h. breeze. there is simply no reason for the wind to blow harder than that. what purpose does is serve? Out here in the sticks or anywhere else? Besides to force us inside and turn us into even bigger narrow-minded drunks than we already are? There are stories of pioneers being driven to murder and madness by the wind. This is perfectly understandible, even commendible. Wind is proof that nature hates us. the only way to escape the wind is to escape the physical plane of existence and help others to do so. I live in the center of a city of 200,000-plus, and still there's no escape from the infernal whining of the sky.
Most of all, fuck you. The very fact that your reading this proves that you are a whore for technology. That's right, go on and take a break from your pornography to laugh at some lunatic's rants. Once you're done here you can go back to gorging yourself on Wikipedia's "knowledge" or an endless stream of unfunny pop-culture jokes. Let's here it for more infotainment to deaden the masses; distracting you from your sado-masochistic government and your cruel and heartless universe.
All the energy we use thinking up ways to be clever would be better spent on mindless distruction and rfebellion against imposed meanings of life. But not today, I've got an English class to go to. That's right, an English class. got a problem?
Fuck you.
Dé Domhnaigh, Deireadh Fómhair 08, 2006
hungover nonsense
I was reading up on cheap alcohol and noticed a net post where a fellow said that Hurricane Ice Malt Liquor was only availible in Washington state. This is not true. It is very popular in Whiteclay, Nebraska, just accross the border from the Pine Ridge Lakota Reservation.
You may have heard of it. If so, you have heard that it is a terrible shithole, and this is true. Alcohol is banned on the rez. But they still have drunks, and so they go to...
Whiteclay is an unincorperated hamlet of 14. It consists of four liquor stores and nothing else save for a pawn shop.
A Whiteclay store clerk was recently quoted in the Lincoln Journal Star as saying that she occasionaly wonders if she's a bad person. Well, you sell 40's of Hurricane Ice to people who are clearly dying every morning. You are a drug dealer, and you know this.. True, you are running a legal capitalist enterprise whereas crack dealers are not. But this is a distinction without a difference now isn't it?
Anyway, I'm glad to hear you occasionaly feel bad about enabling suicide. Maybe you're not such a bad person after all.
You may have heard of it. If so, you have heard that it is a terrible shithole, and this is true. Alcohol is banned on the rez. But they still have drunks, and so they go to...
Whiteclay is an unincorperated hamlet of 14. It consists of four liquor stores and nothing else save for a pawn shop.
A Whiteclay store clerk was recently quoted in the Lincoln Journal Star as saying that she occasionaly wonders if she's a bad person. Well, you sell 40's of Hurricane Ice to people who are clearly dying every morning. You are a drug dealer, and you know this.. True, you are running a legal capitalist enterprise whereas crack dealers are not. But this is a distinction without a difference now isn't it?
Anyway, I'm glad to hear you occasionaly feel bad about enabling suicide. Maybe you're not such a bad person after all.
Dé hAoine, Deireadh Fómhair 06, 2006
Halloween is the new Christmas
I'll need to pick up a costume sometime this weekend, three weeks before Halloween, so that I can attend a costume party next Saturday, 18 days before Halloween. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this? Does anyone else wonder why they call them Holidays? I'm not an uptight, get-your-ass-to-work kind of guy. It's just that there's something untoward about our impatience and need to justify our alcoholism. If our dead ancestors and harvest gods can wait until the end of the month before taking the pick of the crop, than surly we can hold off the ceremony for at least that long. It's a simple manner of having respect.
Déardaoin, Deireadh Fómhair 05, 2006
Tut-Tut DN
With modern technology being what it is, it was only a matter of time before Daily Nebraskan cartoonist Brent Meir would be misunderstood by a wider audience.The cartoon is, of course, unfunny, but not offensive. It is actually slightly better than Meir's usual cartoons since it's not that hard to figure out he is trying to make a joke
I saw the "greatest fans in the world" doing the wave while Washington was possibly crippled or dead on the ground. This is no surprise. Only a deluded few even pretend anymore that there is any nobility or honor to our bread and circuses. We may get morally outraged at the likes of Terell Owens when it provides us with an excuse to hate black people in public, but the truth is that we don't very much care about our own players, let alone the other teams'. This incident has not revealed anything unknown or unusual.
The Meier controversy was started by KU fans trolling the internet for excuses to be outraged by something.
I would never wish an injury upon any player. Maybe Nebraska fans do, especially after a player for a team they've hammered for so long is now competing with them. Maybe Nebraska can't deal with Kansas improving in football.
So said one outraged Kansan. The blunt truth is that our football team has been beaten by lots of teams in the past few years, and no, we don't take last year's Kansas game particularly harder than any other loss.
There was a time when only psychopaths like Dick Butkis needed to convince themselves that every opponent disrespected him and every game was a battle for personal honor. The fact that winning is beter than losing seemed to be motivation enough for everyone else.
These days, we have sports-talk radio, ESPN, and the internet pumping up the volume and emotion on sports and everything else. Every team is a rival. Every statement of confidence is a "guranteed win" or an insult. The obsession with respect and disrespect in sports culture betrays deep childishness and insecurity in real-life culture. It's enough to make me ashamed to be watching the game with my pitcher of Blue Moon.
Mark Foley is Batman
From 1954's "Seduction of the Innocent" by Frederic Wertham
Sometimes they are shown on a couch, Bruce reclining and Dick sitting next to him, jacket off, collar open, and his hand on his friends arm. Like girls in other stories, Robbin is sometimes held captive by the villians..... Robin is a handsome athletic boy, usually showing his uniform with bare legs. He is buoyant with energy and devoted to nothing on earth or interplanetary space as much as to Bruce Wayne. He often stands with legs spread, the genital region discreetly evident.
Often times Batman ends up in bed injured, and young Robin is by his side. At home they lead an idyllic life. They are Bruce Wayne and "Dick" Grayson. Bruce is described as a "socialite" and the official relationship is that Dick is Bruce's ward. They live in sumptious quarters, with beautiful flowers in large vases, and they own a butler, Alfred. Batman is sometimes shown in a dressing gown.
So what, you ask, does Mark Foley have to do with any of this? That shouldn't be so hard to figure out. Foley is just a man with heroic instincts looking for a strapping (and apparently, strapped) young man to take under his wing.
The Greeks saw the wisdom of this. If elder father-figures offer nothing but discipline, than the boys under their direction will rebel, and seek comfort in the bosoms of filthy vaginites. If, on the other hand, these elders offer, emotional comfort, affection, and the deep physical union that only men can have with each other, than their proteges will be eternally loyal. In other words, elders should offer themselves as "daddy" figures instead of father figures.
Mark Foley is nothing but a misunderstood warrior-sage. He's obviously read the old Batman stories and understood the deeper meaning. Surely Bruce Wayne himself would be proud to wear the elephant. Or at least he would be, if the G.O.P wern't so quick to cast Foley out in reaction to the public's fake outrage. If the Republicans presented themselves as "The Party of Batman" the people will understand, and they will be rewarded in November.
While we're on the subject, please be sure not to confuse Mark Foley with Nebraska's own Mike Foley. Foley is the recently term-limited state senator from Lincoln. He is more anti-abortion than you are. He plans on riding this fact to the state auditor's office; and presumably the governor's mansion from there. There's a good chance that he will to, which is a shame. While our Foley clearly has sexual repression issues of his own; he hasn't been caught in bed with anybody yet. Fairness
demands that we assume he is clean as far as that goes.Not Mark Foley
Confusing Congressman foley with wrestler Mick Foley is already an internet cliche, but damned if it's not still funny.
Finally, I'd like to have a word with my readers. You may have noticed that I have been writing a great deal about gayness in the past week or so. Think nothing of it. I have simply been forced to address the matter by writing about athletes, Christianity, and Republican Congressmen. I assure you it says nothing about me, and I'll be glad to tell you so in person in the Bricktop bathroom on 80's night.
Not Mark Foley
Dé Máirt, Deireadh Fómhair 03, 2006
read between the lines here people
there is a certain girl I know. She hasn't shown much inclination for "alternative experiences" before, but now she's asking me if I know where too find exotic drugs. I have no idea why she would ask me, :) I have no idea where to get illegal substances :) Anyway, she is clearly going through the motions on this, crossing off a list of things she did in college. Than again, what's wrong with that?
On a side note, I happened by a certain house last weekend that was vandalized by a gang of filthy, no-good, hooligans who I have never seen before. I found this very disturbing and was sure to tell the authorities everything I knew. Of course, they were busy directing traffic after the game and all, so I wonder if they got my message.
On a side note, I happened by a certain house last weekend that was vandalized by a gang of filthy, no-good, hooligans who I have never seen before. I found this very disturbing and was sure to tell the authorities everything I knew. Of course, they were busy directing traffic after the game and all, so I wonder if they got my message.
Dé Luain, Deireadh Fómhair 02, 2006
Just a thought
If I may, I though I might give my thoughts on the mind of the gun nut. (Especially the concealed-gun devotees, guns by themselves are fine by me.)
1. Society can be neatly divided between "law-abiding citizens" who never commit any crimes and criminals who commit all of the crimes.
2. All members of this criminal class are more or less the same. Every two-bit thief or junkie is a potential murderer and must be treated as such.
3. Fear(of getting shot) is more powerful motivator than desire. ( For your wallet. Tell that to a pimp sprinkling angel dust on his cigarette.)
4. Furthermore, criminals look at the world through the same reference as gun nuts, and are more concerned about weather or not a mark has a gun than weather or not they look lost and disoriented on the bad end of town.
5. Members of the "safe" class are "normal" Americans. (Christian? middle-class? White?) and are therefore easily distinguishable from criminals.
1. Society can be neatly divided between "law-abiding citizens" who never commit any crimes and criminals who commit all of the crimes.
2. All members of this criminal class are more or less the same. Every two-bit thief or junkie is a potential murderer and must be treated as such.
3. Fear(of getting shot) is more powerful motivator than desire. ( For your wallet. Tell that to a pimp sprinkling angel dust on his cigarette.)
4. Furthermore, criminals look at the world through the same reference as gun nuts, and are more concerned about weather or not a mark has a gun than weather or not they look lost and disoriented on the bad end of town.
5. Members of the "safe" class are "normal" Americans. (Christian? middle-class? White?) and are therefore easily distinguishable from criminals.
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