|OMG! The killed Kenny! door stopper|
Friday, November 19, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
1.... You refine heroin for a living, but you have a moral objection to liquor.
2.... You own a $3,000 machine gun and $5,000 rocket launcher, but you can't afford shoes.
3.... You have more wives than teeth.
4.... You wipe your ass with your bare hand, but consider bacon "UNCLEAN".
5.... You think vests come in two styles: bullet-proof and suicide.
6.... You can't think of anyone you haven't declared against.
7.... You consider television dangerous, but routinely! carry explosives in your clothing.
8.... You were amazed to discover that cell phones have uses other than setting off roadside bombs.
9..... You have nothing against women and think every man should own at least four.
10.... You've always had a crush on your neighbour's goat.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
If you want to know why there's so much crap in cyberspace - its because of these seven things most people on Earth like to take photos of.
Here's one of them. Food. People love taking pictures of food. It has color, it sits still. It comes to you on a ceramic platter.
For the other 6 things people really shouldn't bother taking photos of, click here.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Yes, men started out as hunters. These days, guys like Steve Jobs are "The Man". For those who like men to be pretty, there's barely-a-teen-who-could-land-you-in-jail boppy Justin Bieber boylets. Call the ladies when the Fonzy and Russel Crowe types return to Earth. Thanks. - wmf
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Geekosystem came out with a list of the greatest "Chosen Ones": prophesied, destined, or otherwise singled out heroes in science fiction and fantasy.
Neo, probably the most obvious of the "Chosen" makes it at 14 on the list.
Then there's Frodo Baggins, the humble hobbit from the Shire, who is at No. 12.
Now I'm not sure about the rest, but I'll take their word for it.
Friday, August 13, 2010
placed a star
just ... here.
Another ... there.
The Great Bear.
from our fingers.
cascading over your shoulders
you the perfect
"Our Father who art
in Heaven ..."
You prayed with
all the might of being
3 and a bit
10 packets later of day-glow stars
we had set the Universe to right.
by Donal Dempsy
There must be one (which, I am not sure)
That I by now have walked for the last time
Without guessing it, the pawn of that Someone
Who fixes in advance omnipotent laws,
Sets up a secret and unwavering scale
for all the shadows, dreams, and forms
Woven into the texture of this life.
If there is a limit to all things and a measure
And a last time and nothing more and forgetfulness,
Who will tell us to whom in this house
We without knowing it have said farewell?
Through the dawning window night withdraws
And among the stacked books which throw
Irregular shadows on the dim table,
There must be one which I will never read.
There is in the South more than one worn gate,
With its cement urns and planted cactus,
Which is already forbidden to my entry,
Inaccessible, as in a lithograph.
There is a door you have closed forever
And some mirror is expecting you in vain;
To you the crossroads seem wide open,
Yet watching you, four-faced, is a Janus.
There is among all your memories one
Which has now been lost beyond recall.
You will not be seen going down to that fountain
Neither by white sun nor by yellow moon.
You will never recapture what the Persian
Said in his language woven with birds and roses,
When, in the sunset, before the light disperses,
You wish to give words to unforgettable things.
And the steadily flowing Rhone and the lake,
All that vast yesterday over which today I bend?
They will be as lost as Carthage,
Scourged by the Romans with fire and salt.
At dawn I seem to hear the turbulent
Murmur of crowds milling and fading away;
They are all I have been loved by, forgotten by;
Space, time, and Borges now are leaving me.
by Jorge Luis Borges
They told me there’d be pain
so when I felt it,
sitting at my beat-up farm desk
that looks out glass doors
onto the browning garden—plain sparrows
bathing in the cube-shaped fountain
so violently they drain it,
the white-throats with their
wobbly two-note song
on the long way south still,
and our dogs
out like lights and almost
falling off their chairs
freed of the real-time for awhile
as time began for me
to swell, slow down, carry me out
of all this almost
to a where
about as strong a lure as love.
by Elizabeth Arnold
Shoebox also comes out with a list of other (more legal) ways to quit your job.
* Tattoo “I” on one buttcheek and “Quit!” on the other. Drop pants.
* Giant foam middle finger
* Well, first you’ll need 200 squirrels and the key to the supply closet…
* Two words: mariachi band
* Wrap towel around fist, punch timeclock
* Google your hot coworker… without a computer
* Streak the cafeteria. Stop to make a salad.
* Sing “I Believe I Can Fly” while riding your swivel chair through the lobby
* Forget to flush… for a month
* Re-create the closing scene of An Officer and A Gentleman, with yourself as Richard Gere and your cat as Debra Winger
* Engage your boss in an hour-long game of “I know you are, but what am I?”
* Commandeer the warehouse forklift for a trip to Hardee’s
* Respond to every customer question with “That’s what she said!”
And since we're on the topic of quitting, here are some tributes to ex-Jet Blue employee Steven Slater.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Are you unhappy? Maybe it’s because of all that money you have. Jonah Lehrer of Wired’s The Frontal Cortex blog explains:
Once we escape the trap of poverty, levels of wealth have an extremely modest impact on levels of happiness, especially in developed countries. Even worse, it appears that the richest nation in history – 21st century America – is slowly getting less pleased with life. (Or as the economists behind this recent analysis concluded: “In the United States, the [psychological] well-being of successive birth-cohorts has gradually fallen through time.”)
Needless to say, this data contradicts one of the central assumptions of modern society, which is that more money equals more pleasure. That’s why we work hard, fret about the stock market and save up for that expensive dinner/watch/phone/car/condo. We’ve been led to believe that dollars are delight in a fungible form.
But the statistical disconnect between money and happiness raises a fascinating question: Why doesn’t money make us happy? One intriguing answer comes from a new study by psychologists at the University of Liege, published in Psychological Science. [...]
The Liege psychologists propose that, because money allows us to enjoy the best things in life – we can stay at expensive hotels and eat exquisite sushi and buy the nicest gadgets – we actually decrease our ability to enjoy the mundane joys of everyday life. (Their list of such pleasures includes ”sunny days, cold beers, and chocolate bars”.) And since most of our joys are mundane – we can’t sleep at the Ritz every night – our ability to splurge actually backfires. We try to treat ourselves, but we end up spoiling ourselves.
It’s not exactly official, but should also surprise no one: According to a new study the psychological profile of iPad owners can be summed up as “selfish elites” while have-not critics are “independent geeks.”Consumer research firm MyType conducted the study, in which opinions of 20,000 people were analyzed between March and May. The firm’s conclusion was that iPad owners tend to be wealthy, sophisticated, highly educated and disproportionately interested in business and finance, while they scored terribly in the areas of altruism and kindness. In other words, “selfish elites.”
They are six times more likely to be “wealthy, well-educated, power-hungry, over-achieving, sophisticated, unkind and non-altruistic 30-50 year olds,” MyType’s Tim Koelkebeck told Wired.com.
96 percent those most likely to criticize the iPad, on the other hand, don’t even own one, although as geeks, they were slightly more likely to do so than the average population — and far more likely to have an opinion about the device one way or the other (updated). This group tends to be “self-directed young people who look down on conformity and are interested in videogames, computers, electronics, science and the internet,” said Koelkebeck.
If you don't want your car stolen, get a pink one. Good news for Paris Hilton and Hello Kitty fans out there. Heck...I wouldn't steal it either.
Read about it here.
wrapping everything in blueness,
poppy fields, a prisoner hanging from his wrists
in Alabama sunshine that I heard about
on the morning news. Is there hope for us?
The phrase, Se frego la cosa is stuck in my brain
and I am trying to resist the temptation
to rhyme it with Julius LaRosa, but who
would remember him? Such buttery
memories I have that dribble down the sky
giving it a sickly green tinge, like those strange
Jerusalem sunsets when we lay expertly pleasing
each other like a single serpent devouring itself.
Now the wind shakes the palm outside the window
so soothingly flapping the blueness back.
This time it's a thin, almost invisible blue
just this side of whiteness, barely audible,
and I want to lie on the carpet with you listening
to whatever blue is saying now. Remember
the first dream is what it says: the closet, the pile
of shoes and the bones you found underneath.
The hell with that. Just look at this sky will you,
how it covers us with its soft, blue fabric of illusion.
by Richard Garcia
from The Blue Moon Review
Their mantelpieces might creak under the collective weight of literary gongs but, according to one leading academic, leading contemporary British authors such as Salman Rushdie, Ian McEwan and Julian Barnes are unworthy of the accolades they receive.More here.
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
stay down, do you want to mess
you want to screw up the
you want to blow my book sales in
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
and we sleep together like
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
by Charles Bukowski
from The Last Night of the Earth Poems, 1992
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Meet the TV Faculty
Chuck: Computer Science
Dr. Gregory House, M.D.: Medical Science
John Nash: Mathematics
Hannibal Lecter: Psychology
Agents Mulder and Scully: Parapsychology
Dr. Indiana Jones: Archaeology
Bill Nye: Lab Maintenance & Administration
Tony Stark: Mechanical Engineering
McGyver: Practical Engineering
Scarecrow: Pharmacological Engineering
Adam and Jaime (Mythbusters): Applied Physics
Bruce Wayne: Mergers and Acquisitions
Robocop: Criminal Justice
Derek Zoolander: Fashion
Hank Moody: Women's Studies
Henry Higgins: Linguistics
Forrest Gump: Track and Field
Eric Cartman: Hall Monitor
Link via Neatorama
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Apparently the Recession Cut Deeper Than We Thought.
BBC/AP—LONDON, UK (Mar 22)
Muslim suicide bombers in Britain are set to begin a three-day strike on Monday in a dispute over the number of virgins they are entitled to in the afterlife. Emergency talks with Al Qaeda have so far failed to produce an agreement.
The unrest began last Tuesday when Al Qaeda announced that the number of virgins a suicide bomber would receive after his death will be cut by 25% this February from 72 to only 60. The rationale for the cut was the increase in recent years of the number of suicide bombings and a subsequent shortage of virgins in the afterlife.
The suicide bombers' union, the British Organization of Occupational Martyrs (B.O.O.M.) responded with a statement that this was unacceptable to its members and immediately balloted for strike action. General Secretary Abdullah Amir told the press, "Our members are literally working themselves to death in the cause of Jihad. We don't ask for much in return but to be treated like this is like a kick in the teeth".
Speaking from his shed in Tipton in the West Midlands in which he currently resides, Al Qaeda chief executive Osama bin Laden explained, "We sympathize with our workers concerns but Al Qaeda is simply not in a position to meet their demands. They are simply not accepting the realities of modern-day Jihad in a competitive marketplace. Thanks to Western depravity, there is now a chronic shortage of virgins in the afterlife. It’s a straight choice between reducing expenditure and laying people off. I don’t like cutting wages, but I’d hate to have to tell 3000 of my staff that they won’t be able to blow themselves up.”
Spokespersons for the union in the North East of England, Ireland, Wales, and the entire Australian continent stated that the strike would not affect their operations as “There are no virgins in their areas anyway.”
Apparently the drop in the number of suicide bombings has been put down to the emergence of that Scottish singing star, Susan Boyle – now that Muslims know what a virgin looks like they are not so keen on going to Paradise.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The timing of Robert Whitaker’s "Anatomy of an Epidemic," a comprehensive and highly readable history of psychiatry in the United States, couldn’t be better. An acclaimed mental health journalist and winner of a George Polk Award for his reporting on the psychiatric field, Whitaker draws on 50 years of literature and in-person interviews with patients to answer a simple question: If "wonder drugs" like Prozac are really helping people, why has the number of Americans on government disability due to mental illness skyrocketed from 1.25 million in 1987 to over 4 million today?
"Anatomy of an Epidemic" is the first book to investigate the long-term outcomes of patients treated with psychiatric drugs, and Whitaker finds that, overall, the drugs may be doing more harm than good. Adhering to studies published in prominent medical journals, he argues that, over time, patients with schizophrenia do better off medication than on it. Children who take stimulants for ADHD, he writes, are more likely to suffer from mania and bipolar disorder than those who go unmedicated. Intended to challenge the conventional wisdom about psychiatric drugs, "Anatomy" is sure to provoke a hot-tempered response, especially from those inside the psychiatric community.More here.
The hour is an enormous eye.
Inside it we come and go like reflections.
The river of music
enters my blood.
If I say body, it answers wind.
If I say earth, it answers where?
The world, a double blossom, opens:
sadness of having come,
joy of being here.
I walk lost in my own center.
by Octavio Paz
from The Collected Poems 1957-1987;
Carcanet Press Limited
Concierto en el Jardín
La hora es un ojo inmenso.
En ella andamos como reflejos.
El río de la música
entra en mi sangre.
Si digo: cuerpo, contesta: viento.
Si digo: tierra, contesta: ¿dónde?
Se abre, flor doble, el mundo:
tristeza de haber venido,
alegría de estar aquí.
Ando perdido en mi propio centro.
time was a lukewarm bathtub.
You steadied your wrist & pooled
a Palindrome Fossil with a floating hand
to circumnavigate the dial, my smiling
sun & moon clock, the wall clocks,
alarm clocks, even our tiny hour-
glass timer from the top of the stove—
put them all in a silver bucket,
buttoned your jeans, pulled on your boots,
& marched them to the backyard
where you buried them in a dream
during the final scene of Apocalypse Now.
All this time spent to say it was nothing,
really. Yet we both knew the value
of two beers & a shared cigarette.
What happened? That was the question
when you opened your eyes to my side
of the couch, but you'd been so late
in waking, so long in gathering, so diligent
stockpiling our time, I said nothing
& we held there, watching the credits.
by Lisa Fay Coutley
Sunday, April 18, 2010
From MSNBC:The mushrooming cloud of ash from the eruption of the Eyjafjallajoekull volcano in Iceland has resulted in the closure of major airports throughout the U.K. and Scandinavia. The grounded flights make sense, as these super-heated plumes can do more than reduce visibility.
In the winter night,
Late, while the autumn
Constellations climb the sky,
As the cluster of Hercules
Falls down the west
I put the telesccope by
And watch Deneb
Move towards the zenith.
My body is asleep. Only
My eyes and brain are awake.
The stars stand around me
Like gold eyes. I can no longer
Tell where I begin and leave off.
The faint breeze in the dark pines,
And the invisible grass,
The tipping earth, the swarming stars
Have an eye that sees itself.
by Kenneth Rexroth
Michael Archer interviews David Byrne in Guernica:
Setting Imelda Marcos’s life to music—dance beats, no less—seems a perfectly mainstream concept coming from David Byrne. After all, this is a man who placed an old pump organ inside the Great Hall of the Battery Maritime Building in New York City and used hoses to connect it to pumps and motors set throughout the century-old former ferry terminal, so that when visitors pushed the organ’s keys they were “Playing the Building,” the project’s name. Still, a musical version of the former Phillippine First Lady’s life will likely raise some eyebrows. But beyond that, it’s also a potential new business model for the record industry. How so? By creating a musical biography of Marcos, one with a specific narrative thread, Byrne hopes to drum up demand not just for the catchiest of the songs, but the entire arc of the CD collection.More here.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
showing my back to the world.
If I turn, an apple blocks my face.
My first glimpse of art was in a churchyard,
so close it is to death.
I listened to the silence of that place.
Sometimes, laid out, she elevates behind me
as I walk the towpath.
Stiff-necked, I do not look around.
My art has no laws of gravity,
but a woman’s chestnut hair falls to the ground
and bowler-hatted men are falling rain.
I have seen boulders floating in the sky,
and every day a cloud comes in my door.
Baguettes, instead of clouds, go drifting by.
In woods, between the horse’s head and rider,
a vista slips, slim as the trunk of a tree.
What’s visible hides what’s also visible.
The sea is one with what is not the sea.
by Ciaran O'Driscoll
from Surreal Man; Pighog Pres, Brighton, 2006
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
the highest productivity results were achieved
by the Factory of Tears.
While the Department of Transportation was breaking heels
while the Department of Heart Affairs
was beating hysterically
the Factory of Tears was working night shifts
setting new records even on holidays.
While the Food Refinery Station
was trying to digest another catastrophe
the Factory of Tears adopted a new economically advantageous
technology of recycling the wastes of past –
The pictures of the employees of the year
were placed on the Wall of Tears.
I’m a recipient of workers’ comp from the heroic Factory of Tears.
I have calluses on my eyes.
I have compound fractures on my cheeks.
I receive my wages with the product I manufacture.
And I’m happy with what I have.
by Valzhyna Mort
"Don't ever tell anybody anything," J.D. Salinger wrote in the closing lines of "The Catcher in the Rye." "If you do, you start missing everybody."
For more than two decades now, I've thought about that ending as a piece of code. Not that Salinger, who died Wednesday at age 91 in Cornish, N.H., was an oracle, despite what his most dedicated followers -- those who hung around his driveway, hoping for a glimpse of the reclusive author, or parsed his sentences on a million websites -- might believe.
But Salinger was a writer who refracted his perspective into language, producing work that was personal and profound. Between 1951 and 1965, he produced four uncommonly sensitive books of fiction -- "Catcher," "Nine Stories," "Franny and Zooey" and "Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters" -- before retreating to his home in Cornish and refusing to publish any more.
More from the LA Times article here.
Our enthusiasm fostered these days that run
among the crowd of days all alike.
Our weakness placed on them
our last hope.
We used to think and time that should have been priceless
was passing us poorly
and these are, well, the coming years.
We were going to solve everything now.
Life was ahead of us.
It was best not to act rashly.
by Enrique Lihn
from The Dark Room and other poems;
New Directions Books, 1963
Nuestro entusiasmo alentaba a estos días que corren
entre la multitud de la igualdad de los días.
Nuestra debilidad cifraba en ellos
nuestra última esperanza.
Pensábamos y el tiempo que no tendría precio
se nos iba pasando pobremente
y estos son, pues, los años venideros.
Todo lo íbamos a resolver ahora.
Teníamos la vida por delante.
Lo mejor era no precipitarse.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
When human measures for intelligence are applied to other species, dolphins come in just behind humans in brainpower, according to new research. Dolphins demonstrate skills and awareness previously thought to be present only in humans.
New MRI scans show that dolphin brains are four to five times larger for their body size when compared to another animal of similar size.
Monday, January 25, 2010
From the BBC:
The lack of sleep also increases a man's stress hormone levels.
According to the New Scientist study, women who share a bed fare better because they sleep more deeply.
Professor Gerhard Kloesch and colleagues at the University of Vienna studied eight unmarried, childless couples in their 20s.
Each couple was asked to spend 10 nights sleeping together and 10 apart while the scientists assessed their rest patterns with questionnaires and wrist activity monitors.
The next day the couples were asked to perform simple cognitive tests and had their stress hormone levels checked.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Yes, I know it's late and it's been a while. Sometimes we all need a bit of a break. Okay...maybe I had a little too much fun. Nuff said. Enjoy.
Nick Pitera singing 'A Whole New World' -- both male and female parts. I kid you not.