Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Another Reason To Hate People WIth Kids

I have decided that having babies makes people complete self involved, tight assed, short sighted and narrow minded pretentious fucking morons.

No One Is Safe From This Madness.

I'm surprised concerned parents haven't passed a law that a baby's eyes have to be sheilded from seeing the birth canal they come through, because it's pornographic.
I wonder when they'll pass laws saying you can't carry your baby unless it's wrapped in portable airbags.

Today, an underling from the Madison School District came over to our house to tell me that the principal has had complaints from parents about the nude mannikin with the alien head on it in my front window.
Somehow it's disturbing for the self entitled swine who park in front of my house with their fucking exhaust spewing engines waiting for their fat little waddlers to come out and get in big ugly cars to see an armless torso that doesn't have clothes on it.
The same fucks who are destroying their kids future by spewing carbon instead of walking, by feeding them a diet of corn syrup and refined flour, who let them sit in front of the idiot box playing games or watching dreck on TV so they can get early blood pressure problems and diabetes.

The same fucks who think the only thing that matters is the children they drop out of their bodies without a second thought, who can't be bothered to actually think about what they're doing long enough to get out of the fucking car and feel, smell and see the world by walking or biking.
I swear,the human race is a greedy, stupid, narrow minded bunch of mentally deficient goldfish brained jackasses who run from the idea of owning who and what they do and the consequences of those actions, and are clueless as to what a gift this life is that they're pissing away.

And what's up with the fucking school system? They can't just have the principal come over across the parking lot and talk to me, the next door neighbor, but instead have to have some flack drive around town and be hatchet person?
School's not even in session.
This country is involved in two bloody wars of agression, starting a long slide into another great depression, have weird and ugly weather starting to kick asses and take names, have a President who would piss on the Constitiuion after he wiped his ass it flaunting his powers and flipping the bird to everybody, and there are people complaining about an armless white plastic mannikin torso?

I'm glad I'm going out of town for the weekend, I need to get the fuck away from all the morons here and hang out with my dirty fucking hippie pals.

And to all my pals who are pregnant, or freshly afflicted with kids, don't think for a fucking moment you're getting any slack when you get the "think of the children" stupids on.

You, your spouse and your children are not fucking special snowflakes.

You're the same decaying organic matter the rest of us are, regardless of how entitled you feel to be mono subject about your kids, your right to drive them everywhere, and your need to push a fucking sport utility size stroller around the farmer's market at a snail's pace.

Have a nice day, all of you, even you mono subject boring ass child rearing fuckwads.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Baby Odin Smiles

The child of my pals Heidi and Caleb.
They may not see him quite the way I do.
It's summer. The bugs are finally here. My shop is finally dried out, my garden has come back to life, and Janel, Ellyn, and Bess are gone for weeks.
Seems sort of empty in town this week.
I had a good mad going all day about a bunch of shit, from the child birth induced stupidity of my pals with kids to the massive stupidity that our fucked up country is swimming in when it talks about pumping our way out of an energy crisis, but a strong drink of rum and darkness falling has taken the edge off.
So I worked on this beautiful baby shot instead.
nuff' said.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

My Loud Band Packs It In.

As of last night, my electric band, The Sigourney Weavers, is on an extended break.
I think we're done. We agreed to check in in September, but the freakish and fun beast we made just can't get rolling with the other commitments others in the band have.
It makes me sad, because I found a lot of spastic monkey brained joy playing when we did. It got out on the edge in a fine way that no other musical arrangement any of us are in matches.
A band needs to practice more than every other week to gel into something with momentum, and we haven't been able to hit that mark.
Maybe we'll be back, in some different incarnation, but usually folks move on to other things.
I'd still love to do another Halloween Party at the former Wonder's Pub, but that seems like a long shot.
Bands are funny things. Sometimes they blow apart, sometimes they just melt away when nobody's looking. But when they work, they're worth every bit of shit one has to wade through.
Sure has been an fucked up week. I feel like loading up a backpack and walking up to Lake Superior and staying there till it snows.
Instead, I'll go try and dry out my shop and basment before it rains again.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Empty breadbaskets = No Slack

Better hope the grain crops don't get fucked by global warming.
Because we go no reserves if the shit hits the fan.
I swear, every year we get more people and more stupid about reality in this world.
I am getting sick of the mantra
Everything's fine! Don't worry!

Yeah, right. But don't expect any help if things get weird, because all that tax money you give to Uncle Sam needs to be spent on bombs and oil company subsidies. Government help in a disaster has gone the way of government cheese and food support. Gone, baby, gone.
I keep a fifteen pound sack o' beans around, as well as a few month's staples and freezer food because sooner or later, something's going to break, and I hate being hungry. Not enough to do more than delay some uncomfortableness, but enough to delude my self and stave off some misery.
Miss a few meals and you get cranky. Miss eight or nine and you'll kill for a hot dog. Most people never consider that.
Happy tuesday!

According to the May 1, 2008 CCC inventory report there are only 24.1 million bushels of wheat in inventory, so after this sale there will be only 2.7 million bushels of wheat left the entire CCC inventory,” warned Matlack. “Our concern is not that we are using the remainder of our strategic grain reserves for humanitarian relief. AAM fully supports the action and all humanitarian food relief. Our concern is that the U.S. has nothing else in our emergency food pantry. There is no cheese, no butter, no dry milk powder, no grains or anything else left in reserve. The o°©nly thing left in the entire CCC inventory will be 2.7 million bushels of wheat which is about enough wheat to make 1⁄2 of a loaf of bread for each of the 300 million people in America.”

Monday, June 09, 2008

Underwater Suckitude

There's four inches of standing water in my workshop.
My garden is underwater.
The weather is doing the same erratic flooding and heavy rain it did last year, but worse.
I really don't want to think about how much damage I am going to have to clean up and remove and live with.
And I just spent a month gardening and weeding and planting. I sure hope my garden drains out before the big storms get here again, as early as mid week.
I think I want to go get drunk. Bleeech.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

Vegetable Flower Porn

The Zuchini flower is a beauty. I find it amusing that it also grows into something that is bigger than an elephant schlong when you forget to pick them.
My garden's waterlogged. Huge downpours, tornado warnings, flood watches.
Bleech. I hope this summer isn't as frelled up at last summer when it comes to stupid large amounts of rain.
Today I planted another raised bed at somebody else's house. My campaign of agricultural agression continues. Seven more tomato plants, another hundred or so onions.

Friday, June 06, 2008

Sulu and his best man, Checkov

Reading this made me smile.

Pretty cool, although most folks under thirty don't remember the original Star Trek. I was glued to the TV every friday night from 1966 to 1968, falling in love with Science FIction in fourth or fifth grade, and have been addicted to the genre ever since.
It's funny, somebody writes some touch feely romance novel dressed up as important modern fiction, people get all woogly and snooty about it, but look down on Science Fiction because it's not serious enough.
I'll take a good SF novel any day over something pushed by Oprah's book club or The New York Times. We live in a world where Science Fiction can barely keep up with science, and most folks just plod along ignoring it.

"As previously reported, George Takei will wed his longtime partner in September - and has chosen his Star Trek co-star Walter Koenig as his best man. The 71-year-old star - known for his role as Sulu in the 1960s sci-fi series - will wed partner Brad Altman this summer, after California state authorities lifted the ban on same-sex marriage last month . Takei will marry his partner of 20 years on September 14th and has invited his former castmates to the ceremony. He tells, “The best man is my colleague from Star Trek, Walter Koenig, who played Chekov, and the matron of honour is Nichelle Nichols (Lt. Uhura). And Leonard Nimoy and his wife Susan are on the (guest) list.”
Takei hopes the ceremony will be more romantic than his proposal. He explains, “We knew that the Supreme Court was going to be coming down with their ruling. (We’d heard) that it was probably going to be positive. So I was planning on asking Brad to get married. “We were at home in the kitchen and we had the TV going, and when the word came down suddenly Brad got on his knees in front of me. And I said, ‘What are you doing?’ He said, ‘George, will you marry me?’ I said ‘Yes. You beat me to it. I meant to ask you.’”

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Vegetable porn

I don't even know if I like swiss chard.
But it sure is pretty in my garden, and my roomate Kate eats it.
But she eats Kale, too, and that stuff is like eating a green brillo pad, no matter how much butter and garlic you put on it, it still sucks.
Last night's drenching thunderstorm made my garden smile.
But the next week of rain may make it rot.
I hope all the local farmers got their seeds in before now.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Playing Until Your Fingers Sieze Up

My old musical Pal Jim, and Tom, who was one third of my first band.
The fab MF7 and me at the Market
I played last weekend for hours and hours. At least three hours at the Farmer's Market on the Square in the morning on Saturday with Mikey and his manfolks, then on Sunday sweetie and I went over to the green and distant land known as Westby, about two hours due west of here in what's called the driftless area, where the glaciers did not plow everything into a pancake of farmland like it did in a big chunk of central Wisconsin.
It's a neat area, great rolling hills and lots of hippie organic farmers and artists live out there.
Too many bluegrass bands, too, but I'm not going to bludgeon that reeking, dead maggot filled horse passing as an excuse for a musical genre today.
It was fun playing with Jim. I haven't seen him since he swapped out his Catholic Priest collar for a wedding ring. We played a lot of old folk music, something I don't usually do. He kept all his hair, too, but somewhere he lost the color in it.
Tom and I played for another three hours after Jim split for that toxic wasteland that is DePere and Green Bay. I hate the Fox Valley, but he seems happy living in a thriving hotbed of simple minded bible thumping Bush loving idiots.
Tom and I played everything we ever did and a bunch of new stuff. We still play a few times a year when he comes down to Madison, and pick it up right where we left it. I loved our old duo/trio.
It's a little sad sometimes though, because our third member, Jim fell back into a bottle and sort of vanished. Last I heard he'd gotten his third or forth drunk driving ticket and had moved to Japan. I really miss his bass lines and his creative spark, or at least when he was sober.
Dirt calls, weeds need pulling. My Swiss chard is begging me to model nude, I think I'll go shoot some more plant porn.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

MF 7!

Mike, Mr. Fry and Jonathan, the drummer man.

Mikey is one of my shop rats. He's building an acoustic guitar while his wife builds Luna, that developing human parasite in her torso.

His band, for reasons that must be mysterious to most, is called the MF7, even though there's only three people in it.

He writes funky songs about stealing his mother's car and his father's gun, going on benders, fighting and fucking with women and has a Tom Waits sensiblity with a funky sense of melody and rythym.

Fry's a big fella who thumps away at that bass in a way I find very gratifying. Jonathan poisons young minds by teaching them Spanish, something that must irritate the rethuglicans up there in Minneapolis where he lives.

I played with these guys at the Farmer's market last Saturday for a few hours, then they asked me to take band photos.

It was fun, even if Micheal is a kettle corn hoarding kind of guy.

I even made fifteen bucks. Whoo-frakkin' hoo.

More Flower Porn

An image of what's growing at the foot of my back porch.
I like the flowers a lot, but the freaky seed pods are my favorite.
I wish I had ten times the yard, I'd have ten times the garden.
Most folks in the USA are stupid about lawns.
They water and fertilize and mow them, dumping untold tons of fertilizer and pesticides and carbon gasses into the air to have something that's a boring monoculture that they rarely sit on or play on, preferring to escape reality by playing video games or watching advertising masquerading as football.
Then they bitch about the grass growing and climb back on their fossil fueled riding mowers again, before going to a big overpriced grocery store to buy flavorless produce grown in places thousands of miles away.
When the suburbs empty out, poor folks will move in and grow gardens.
I may be one of them.
I've turned almost every single bit of my yard into flowerbeds, garden or a mix of both.
Ten gallons of salsa are in my game plan this year.
Death to lawns! Death to bad produce!
And most of all, death to the infernal combustion lawnmower!
Some straight dope for the dopes mowing!
Each weekend, about 54 million Americans mow their lawns, using 800 million gallons of gas per year and producing tons of air pollutants. Garden equipment engines, which have had unregulated emissions until very recently, emit high levels of carbon monoxide, volatile organic compounds and nitrogen oxides, producing up to 5% of the nation's air pollution and a good deal more in metropolitan areas.
According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), a traditional gas powered lawn mower produces as much air pollution as 43 new cars each being driven 12,000 miles.

FACT: one hour of mowing is the equivalent of driving 350 miles in terms of volatile organic compounds.
Fact: One gas mower spews 87 lbs. of the greenhouse gas CO2, and 54 lbs. of other pollutants into the air every year.
Fact: Over 17 million gallons of gas are spilled each year refueling lawn and garden equipment – more oil than was spilled by the Exxon Valdez

Monday, June 02, 2008

Good Childcare is Hard To Find

Given a choice, I think I'd rather have a monkey than a baby.
Babies grow up to be kids, who are mean little shits who yell at each other on the playground next door, turn into fat little mammals that demand corn syrup filled junk food, and usually turn my pals into fucking idiots who obsess over things like picking out a church to take them to, even though they haven't been to one since they hated it as kids.
Or they buy a home on the west side so they can be in a better school district, even though the damn little shit spiller is only two years old.
I'm glad I poured bleach into my gene pool, decided to have milkless tits and no worry about sending them to college or having them come home one day when they finally realize what sex is and tell me they're heterosexual and are going to bible camp.
But enough about my hatred of the concept of kids. On to something really cool:
Today, while drinking a beer and eating some fine pizza we baked up,
we watched one of our hop plants grow two inches in an hour.
Pretty cool to see summer finally kick in with a vengance.

"Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis." Ralph Waldo Emerson