Well, all, it's the new year. And not just the new year, but A new year. And I'm excited.
I'm all about a new year, as long time readers will no doubt already know. I like resolutions—I like making them, I like breaking them. The secret, I suppose, is to know which ones to break. This year, I think I'll break something related to transexual prostitutes. I'm sorry that I can't be more specific, but I haven't finished making all my resolutions, and I think talking about them too early is a sure fire way to jinx something special. Remember last year—the ill-fated "I wanna be a millionaire" resolution? That was a lesson I won't soon forget (there's a resolution for you—put it in the bank!).
Generally, I think "get regular" is probably a good, descriptive phrase for the resolutions of '09 (again, however, I can't say whether this relates to the trannies yet). Obviously this applies to my bowels, and to brushing my teeth. And, more importantly, to blogging! Get regular, Dandy!
It's not easy, but I do care about this crap after all, and I'm all about making the world more ready to remember me when I'm dead—so more blogging it is. To this effect, I have purchased my very first laptop computer. That wasn't an easy decision, I'll tell you. But I shopped around, and settled on a nice overlap between my price range and the abilities I expect my computer to have. So I purchased a Phu-Go Briteboy. Phu-Go is one of the up and coming Thai computer manufacturers, and they make an all around solid product for the price (sorry, you won't get that out of me). The device has more cardboard components than I'd expect from such a humid country, but I think its new temperate home will suit it well.
The keyboard is a little smaller than I'm used to, and my hands continue to grow at a rate that far outpaces the rest of my body, so you'll forgive me any typos as I get used to this key arrangement. Several of the keys—S, Y, O, "tab," and half a dozen Thai characters—are located on the underside of the machine, so speedy typing will take some practice. (Although maybe I could rig up some strings and, I don't know, levers that would remove the necessity of flipping the computer over every time I need to access those particular buttons.)
But back to blogging. As some of you know, I'm very much into history these days. Not trends, or dates, etc (although I'm good at those too), so much as quotes. I am astounded by the ability of dead people to express my own feelings so well. In fact, I look to the wisdom of the ancients whenever I'm uncertain of just what my own feelings are. Like the other day when I found that (possibly dead?) homeless man on the sidewalk; I just asked myself, "What would Roosevelt do in this situation?" Well, number one, he wouldn't touch whatever was coming out of the man's mouth, that's for sure. Check. Beyond that, I had to ask myself which Roosevelt I was referring to. Teddy probably would have skinned the sidewalk man, or at least robbed him (I don't judge—he was a product of his time), while F.D. probably would have just rolled away. Even if the latter Roosevelt wanted to help, he couldn't have (because of the polio), and he wouldn't have called an ambulance, because they didn't have cell phones before he died.
So, what did I do? I followed F.D.R.'s example, and left the body on the sidewalk.
Some people would say that he was our greatest president.
At any rate, my example got away from me there. I was discussing history, and quotes. And resolutions. And blogging, maybe. See, I was thinking about how it's often difficult for me to think of something I want to write about—at least getting started anyway. I mean, what do you people even want? This is my DIARY, after all, so why should it be beholding to you? But then... what would Roosevelt do? I have an obligation, I suppose.
I'm thinking that a little bite of history or literature might be enough to get me rolling.
It just so happens that I was thinking today of something the famous author/athlete C.S. Lewis once said: "I always called it 'channeling the bard,' until I was very nearly in my fifties. What had been a playful euphemism for my very fondest past time suddenly became a code for something I by no means enjoyed. Something that just about killed me."
Lewis' original application of the phrase, as you have likely guessed, refers to his extensive heroin use. As I understand it, the addiction dates to back to the days of his writers' workshop group "The Barrel Boys," which met every week in a local pub, The Chamberlain's Barrel. Tolkien, of course was the other notable member of the Barrel Boys, and Tolkien was largely responsible for getting Lewis hooked on heroin. Not a user himself, it seems like this was a practical joke of Tolkien's (well played, sir).
Although it cost him more than one marriage, the habit never took much of a physical toll on Lewis, and so he never saw fit to quit until the expression, not the addiction, got him into very serious trouble. After Tolkien moved to California, Lewis did his best to maintain The Barrel Boys, however, with the group's very own John Lennon off in Hollywood, the driving force was absent, and the meetings decayed into a semi-regular gathering of whichever "bright lads" were in that corner of the pub that night. The discussion of literature quickly fell away, replaced by... Well, Lewis himself had no idea. Immediately after Tolkien's departure, C.S. doubled his heroin intake (simply for "something to do"), and was never after in much of a receptive state at Barrel Boy gatherings. He must have at least expressed his own feelings at the meetings, however, because "Channeling the Bard" soon became a favorite expression of the young regulars of The Chamberlain's Barrel. Several months into the formation of the "New Barrel Boys" Lewis awoke in a prison cell, with a very insistent lieutenant asking him whether or not it was Lewis who had introduced "channeling the bard" to the youths of whatever the town was (Shropshire?).
Lewis admitted that it was likely his doing, but that he had spent the last several weeks in a state where he could be held fully responsible for very little. It was possible, more than possible, probable, that he had "given it to them" while he was waltzing a little further from sensibility than usual.
At this the lieutenant commenced a truly epic beating.
It turned out that "channeling the bard" was no longer an expression for the intravenous injection of heroin, but a secret phrase of the "bright lads" meaning "to give or receive anal sex" (generally to/from a stranger, although by this point there were very few strangers among the New Barrel Boys). The admission of Lewis' having "given it to them" put the lieutenant over the edge.
I'd like it if "channeling the bard" came back into the lexicon. It has a nice ring to it. I'm wondering, though, which meaning it should retain. I've never channeled the bard myself, but I wonder if there are any enthusiasts out there who might be willing to weigh in? I'm almost inclined to give it a very general definition—nearly anything that can be done in a bathroom, for example, could easily fit the phrase.
Oh, I think that's all for now. The edge of my Phu-Go is beginning to blacken slightly, and I need to consult the manual.
1/9/09
12/26/08
My only true competition: me
Well, honestly, y'all! I just spent 7 hours transferring all my words from their old home to this clean new house... and I'm blown away! (In retrospect, there may have been an easier way to do this, but at the time the most efficient way of moving the blog seemed like reading each entry out loud into a tape recorder, and then playing them back to myself to transcribe... Do I really sound that way?)
It's like... you never realize just how many pets you have until the city forces you to move, you know? That's what it was like with my blog entries! (Except those posts didn't crap everywhere and give me toxoplasmosis.)
I did the math, and over the two years I kept that blog, I averaged just short of 2 entries per hour (totaling up neatly at 63 entries for me to transfer). Early 2007, apparently, was a frighteningly prolific time for me. It made me worried for a little while that I might be getting lazier (not to mention dumber—some of those posts are very, very sharp).
This is a real concern for me. Laziness, I believe, runs in my family, and it seems to get worse with age. My grandparents, as I remember it, were relatively active when I was little, but as they got older they all became increasingly lazy, to the point where they refused to walk around without canes, or even (in a couple cases) feed themselves. It was pathetic—hey, Gramps, I want to sleep in too, but some members of the family have to work now and again!
Anyway, my anxiety was at about an 8 for around half an hour (have I ever mentioned that I have anxiety? I do), until I remembered that, during the early part of 07 I was almost entirely neglecting paying any attention to my gluten sensitivity. Too much gluten, and I'm like a meth-head with $30 and a knife. It's a cumulative issue, really, but I was spending a lot of time at the Cinnabon, and to say that I was asking for trouble would be putting it mildly. I was on a collision course with disaster, and if it hadn't been for my grandmother dying I'm not sure I ever would have pulled out of it. There's nothing like seeing a loved one allow herself to die of laziness to make you give your own lifestyle a very careful examination.
So enjoy those entries, but don't look for something similar in the future—not if you value my health. Those were the beat days, my friends. I was Burroughs shooting glasses off my own head, Ginsburg, howling at the Cinnabon dumpster, and Kerouac, drinking myself to death in my mother's living room. Heady, vital times, but no good for your health. I know, right?
Also... there's something I should address here. There were a couple of posts from the summer and fall of 2007 in which I had some very harsh words for business associates that, even now, I have not totally severed ties to. I considered leaving those posts to decay in the inter-ether, but, no, they're just as valuable a part of my (our) history as my review of the recent James Bond movie. I don't want to get into the specifics (it's all there for anyone willing and wanting to root around in the shit—public record, you know?), but, well, I'm man enough now—even if I wasn't then—to admit that that brand of vitriolic journalism (yes, journalism) is, ultimately, not very helpful. And, what's more, while association with the stinking affair doesn't say much that's positive about the Science Museum, it turns out that someone outside the organization was responsible for the "mix up" (a tremendous understatement, but we'll leave it at that). I recall that I may have compared the museum unfavorably to the institution of human slavery, and that really wasn't fair. Also, I understand now that it's rude, and simply a bad business decision, to refer to your employers as "rat-rapers." Now, the organization employs hundreds of staff, and, given the incidence of sexual perversion in our society, the odds are against it in regards to being entirely free of rat-raping... but, for the sake of full disclosure, I have no specific knowledge of anyone at the museum raping a rat. I mean, there are some (a lot) who honestly seem like the type... Whatever. Let's consider that matter settled. Henceforth, we shall regard that post with the same tolerance and understanding you might afford your grandfather's anti-Japanese Thanksgiving dinner rantings.
Just so we're clear, I love the Japanese. Maybe even more than I love my own white people.
It's like... you never realize just how many pets you have until the city forces you to move, you know? That's what it was like with my blog entries! (Except those posts didn't crap everywhere and give me toxoplasmosis.)
I did the math, and over the two years I kept that blog, I averaged just short of 2 entries per hour (totaling up neatly at 63 entries for me to transfer). Early 2007, apparently, was a frighteningly prolific time for me. It made me worried for a little while that I might be getting lazier (not to mention dumber—some of those posts are very, very sharp).
This is a real concern for me. Laziness, I believe, runs in my family, and it seems to get worse with age. My grandparents, as I remember it, were relatively active when I was little, but as they got older they all became increasingly lazy, to the point where they refused to walk around without canes, or even (in a couple cases) feed themselves. It was pathetic—hey, Gramps, I want to sleep in too, but some members of the family have to work now and again!
Anyway, my anxiety was at about an 8 for around half an hour (have I ever mentioned that I have anxiety? I do), until I remembered that, during the early part of 07 I was almost entirely neglecting paying any attention to my gluten sensitivity. Too much gluten, and I'm like a meth-head with $30 and a knife. It's a cumulative issue, really, but I was spending a lot of time at the Cinnabon, and to say that I was asking for trouble would be putting it mildly. I was on a collision course with disaster, and if it hadn't been for my grandmother dying I'm not sure I ever would have pulled out of it. There's nothing like seeing a loved one allow herself to die of laziness to make you give your own lifestyle a very careful examination.
So enjoy those entries, but don't look for something similar in the future—not if you value my health. Those were the beat days, my friends. I was Burroughs shooting glasses off my own head, Ginsburg, howling at the Cinnabon dumpster, and Kerouac, drinking myself to death in my mother's living room. Heady, vital times, but no good for your health. I know, right?
Also... there's something I should address here. There were a couple of posts from the summer and fall of 2007 in which I had some very harsh words for business associates that, even now, I have not totally severed ties to. I considered leaving those posts to decay in the inter-ether, but, no, they're just as valuable a part of my (our) history as my review of the recent James Bond movie. I don't want to get into the specifics (it's all there for anyone willing and wanting to root around in the shit—public record, you know?), but, well, I'm man enough now—even if I wasn't then—to admit that that brand of vitriolic journalism (yes, journalism) is, ultimately, not very helpful. And, what's more, while association with the stinking affair doesn't say much that's positive about the Science Museum, it turns out that someone outside the organization was responsible for the "mix up" (a tremendous understatement, but we'll leave it at that). I recall that I may have compared the museum unfavorably to the institution of human slavery, and that really wasn't fair. Also, I understand now that it's rude, and simply a bad business decision, to refer to your employers as "rat-rapers." Now, the organization employs hundreds of staff, and, given the incidence of sexual perversion in our society, the odds are against it in regards to being entirely free of rat-raping... but, for the sake of full disclosure, I have no specific knowledge of anyone at the museum raping a rat. I mean, there are some (a lot) who honestly seem like the type... Whatever. Let's consider that matter settled. Henceforth, we shall regard that post with the same tolerance and understanding you might afford your grandfather's anti-Japanese Thanksgiving dinner rantings.
Just so we're clear, I love the Japanese. Maybe even more than I love my own white people.
I believe strongly in recycling
I do, I do. Ask my garbage man—he knows better than anyone, I suppose.
Anyway, this video did find its way into my old blog, but I still like it very much, and it hasn't yet made all the money I hoped it would. So here it is again.
Think of this as, like, a Special Edition DVD, without the DVD. As a special edition, y'all get some extras. Extra commentary, anyway.
In response to many of the questions I received regarding the making of this film:
No, that's not my hand, that's the hand (hands) of a professional actor I hired for the job. We can all think of some directors who force their way into their own films starring roles, and, frankly, more often than not it's embarrassing. Please, Mr. Eastwood, I know you like filming yourself shooting teenagers, but stick to what you're best at: directing, and selling natural foods.
Yes, the actor attached to that hand was naked. But that's how that's how it's supposed to be. A lot of people didn't pick this up through their first few viewings, but, clearly, the protagonist is naked naked naked. It's vital to the character, so don't lay your sexual holdups on me. I didn't enjoy filming a naked man. We used my cubicle as the set, for God's sake, and I had to throw away my desk chair when we were through. And I have a suspicion that the project may have contributed, in part, to my eventual termination from the company (but again, that's all for the best, even if art weren't involved).
What else... Oh! Well, you might find this interesting: that, in fact, is not paper—it's vellum. Actual spiral bound paper looks hideous on film (I'm not into digital, sorry), and the beautiful, buttery look of vellum in the final product is easily worth its high price, don't you think?
And so:
Anyway, this video did find its way into my old blog, but I still like it very much, and it hasn't yet made all the money I hoped it would. So here it is again.
Think of this as, like, a Special Edition DVD, without the DVD. As a special edition, y'all get some extras. Extra commentary, anyway.
In response to many of the questions I received regarding the making of this film:
No, that's not my hand, that's the hand (hands) of a professional actor I hired for the job. We can all think of some directors who force their way into their own films starring roles, and, frankly, more often than not it's embarrassing. Please, Mr. Eastwood, I know you like filming yourself shooting teenagers, but stick to what you're best at: directing, and selling natural foods.
Yes, the actor attached to that hand was naked. But that's how that's how it's supposed to be. A lot of people didn't pick this up through their first few viewings, but, clearly, the protagonist is naked naked naked. It's vital to the character, so don't lay your sexual holdups on me. I didn't enjoy filming a naked man. We used my cubicle as the set, for God's sake, and I had to throw away my desk chair when we were through. And I have a suspicion that the project may have contributed, in part, to my eventual termination from the company (but again, that's all for the best, even if art weren't involved).
What else... Oh! Well, you might find this interesting: that, in fact, is not paper—it's vellum. Actual spiral bound paper looks hideous on film (I'm not into digital, sorry), and the beautiful, buttery look of vellum in the final product is easily worth its high price, don't you think?
And so:
We grow older, we get stronger
It's true (about growing older and getting stronger). We would be foolish to deny it. And so, in the spirit of not denying things, I am starting another blog.
Really, it's more of an old blog, The Chesterton Review, but I just don't have time for that garbage anymore. No, I'm diverting my energies to this brave new blog, The Chesterton Review.
As you can see, there have been some pretty serious cosmetic changes from the T.C.R.'s old look, thanks to some Google web designer, or web page designing artificial intelligence. Also, I've found that I've drifted away from the Myspace (TCR's former home). It used to be like a small town, and now it's like a small town full of perverts and teenagers (I don't particularly like either, and together they are just about unbearable). To put it simple, MySpace just doesn't make a lot of sense to me any more. And isn't that sad? "My space" is no longer mine? I feel like how the Indians must have felt? (Do they still feel that way? I hate to put words in people's heads.)
Anyway, I'm hopeful about this change. I expect Frisky Chesterton will drop by sometime, to regale us with his science bullshit, and maybe I'll be able to write a little more often. Part of this has to do with my recent dearth of employment—it turns out that no one wants to be billed for medical insurance, and I wasn't going to force it on them, and my former employer wasn't interested in my all-too-American attitude. Fine by me. We know how communism has turned out in the past, and I don't want to have anything to do with that company when lowish class malcontents are looking for brass to put up against the wall.
Still, I expect the readership of the 'Review to be limited to Frisky and myself for some time to come—I want to generate a little more content for y'all before I start paying for advertisement. At the very least I'd like to figure out how to import my old posts here. (Although, in many respects, those were written by a very different person, and I'm not proud of some
of the things he said. I'd like to blame it all on Frisky, but we're better men than that, aren't we?)
(We are.)
Really, it's more of an old blog, The Chesterton Review, but I just don't have time for that garbage anymore. No, I'm diverting my energies to this brave new blog, The Chesterton Review.
As you can see, there have been some pretty serious cosmetic changes from the T.C.R.'s old look, thanks to some Google web designer, or web page designing artificial intelligence. Also, I've found that I've drifted away from the Myspace (TCR's former home). It used to be like a small town, and now it's like a small town full of perverts and teenagers (I don't particularly like either, and together they are just about unbearable). To put it simple, MySpace just doesn't make a lot of sense to me any more. And isn't that sad? "My space" is no longer mine? I feel like how the Indians must have felt? (Do they still feel that way? I hate to put words in people's heads.)
Anyway, I'm hopeful about this change. I expect Frisky Chesterton will drop by sometime, to regale us with his science bullshit, and maybe I'll be able to write a little more often. Part of this has to do with my recent dearth of employment—it turns out that no one wants to be billed for medical insurance, and I wasn't going to force it on them, and my former employer wasn't interested in my all-too-American attitude. Fine by me. We know how communism has turned out in the past, and I don't want to have anything to do with that company when lowish class malcontents are looking for brass to put up against the wall.
Still, I expect the readership of the 'Review to be limited to Frisky and myself for some time to come—I want to generate a little more content for y'all before I start paying for advertisement. At the very least I'd like to figure out how to import my old posts here. (Although, in many respects, those were written by a very different person, and I'm not proud of some
of the things he said. I'd like to blame it all on Frisky, but we're better men than that, aren't we?)
(We are.)
6/12/08
Motion pictures
I made this photographic flipbook at work. It's one of the many, many upsides of working a weekend in an empty building.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaowKP7uiyw&fmt=18
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaowKP7uiyw&fmt=18
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