Ice Hole!

It seems that someone had an "earthshaking" experience as a chunk of ice flew through their roof. I saw this brief news story tonight on a local Raleigh news channel about a man who had been sitting in his chair and got up for a minute. Next thing he knows, he hears a noise "like Hiroshima" and his chair has been destroyed by an ice chunk that apparently fell from an overflying jet airplane.

This is not the first time that a block of ice from an overhead plane has come ripping through someone's roof. It happened in 2004 to Constance Cotter of Lynn, Massachusetts. Constance says she thought her house was falling down. The ice left a hole 2 feet by 4 feet in her ceiling.

It happened on June 13th in Japan.

And in Portsmouth, an airplane's loo was taking a leak.

Airdisaster.com tells us another story about it happening in Auckland. There is also an informative discussion about "blue ice" incidents that follows.

Then there is this story (and this story) in the Santa Cruz Sentinel that quotes another website as saying "there have been at least 27 documented blue-ice incidents nationally in the past 24 years."

Then Susan Selzer of Long Island swears she has a guardian angel watching over her.

Then there's Dave Crandall of Tweaknews.net who has nothing to do with falling things from airplanes, but who created this pretty cool modification to his computer. He calls it Project Blue Ice. This is pretty interesting actually.

Word.

Benji, Beer and Babies

Benji and I call each other about once or twice a month. We end up talking about a lot of different things, but we always talk about home brewing. We have a tradition of sharing a homebrew while talking on the phone. He'll say, "Here's to you." And I'll say, "Here's to you." And we'll have a drink. The first time we did this I think we talked for about two hours and shared a forgotten number of beers.

I called Benji today on my way home from visiting a family that lives in Knightdale. It's about an hour drive home so I figured I'd call people. I talked to Jeff and Laura too. Alas, I did not have a beer to drink on the drive home, but Benji and I spoke about life while Elli (a.k.a. Eleanora Annabelle Bergstrand (sp?) was cooing in the background. Elli can apparently wave to people and say, "Hi." There are at least 6 documented cases of this. She is also fond of dogs and so far has gotten out, "Da." That's pretty damn good if you ask me!

I shared how Emily was doing. The baby is kicking quite a bit these days. I'm pretty sure she can already say the alphabet. I put together a crib last week--it's quite a cool crib, kind of old looking and very sturdy. It's also a transformer--it changes into a double bed down the line. Nice!

We talked about our most recent brews. He had brewed an IPA and said it had gotten better with age. The Porter I brewed was just delicious. I bottled it in 22 oz. bottles and have enjoyed each one. I took one to the guys at the brew store and they said the really liked it. I gave two to Mr. Hallmark--a teacher at camp who also homebrews. My friends Katie and Troy from Baltimore had a couple at my house. I'm bringing a few over to Phil and Liz's for dinner tomorrow night, and I'm taking the rest to the baby shower next weekend. This beer is getting some mileage!

Tonight I'm going to bottle the IPA that is in my fermenter (a 5 gallon bucket). I just got these blue glass litre bottles that seal like the Golsch bottles. I am very excited about these. Mr. Hallmark's logic about 22 oz. bottles is that "you never drink just one, right?" So carrying this logic even further, a litre bottle makes a whole lotta sense. He's gone to kegging his beer. I myself am just going to keep using bigger bottles. I suppose that growlers are next.

Perhaps I'll share a beer with you. You should come over to my house.

Ireland

I think Ireland is a funny country

Discuss

This is Sooo Adam R.

Adam called me on Friday night so I could help him look up a cheap airline ticket to Baltimore. He doesn't have internest access at his apartment and figured it would be quicker to call me than to wait the 10 minutes hold time for the airline. 15 minutes later, I still had not located him a good rate to Baltimore.

Funny thing is, Adam, rather than flying to Baltimore, was suppose to be going on a date with this girl he's had a crush on for five years. He describes her sexiness in many different ways.

He also realized that Jeff and Russ were coming over on Saturday and that it might be weird for them to show up at his apartment and find him missing.

I'm not sure if Adam was drunk or not, but he wasn't at work, so odds are he was sober . . . or at least hung over.

Incidentally, I had friends over from Baltimore last night. Hmmmmm.

Do we sense a theme?

who's drunk? 

Speaking of Nipples

Contributor implies contributing so...

I play fantasy golf. Yup thats right. It's just like Dungeons and Dragons. You are assigned a golfer each week and it is your job then to act, speak and golf like that golfer. It really sucks when you're assigned Chris Dimarco, what with that Big ass Butt of his and all.
Dick Pride is kinda fun to be but it get's old fast. But man, when you get assigned John Daly, it's the best. You just have to drink and smoke all day. And you have to play aggresively, like take your 0 iron from 260yds out and just try to stick it on the green. David Duval is the easiest to mimick on the golf course however.

I'm kidding about the Dungeons and Dragons similarities. I do however play fantasy golf. Three different kinds actually. I play Pick-a-Pro where you pick one pro every week. The amount of money your pro wins is how many points you win. You can pick each pro only one time. If you have the most points at the end of the season you win these...

Fantasy golf is a bit different. You get an allowance of $1,000,000 each week. You have to buy 5 golfers. Dick Pride usually costs about $75,000. Tiger Woods is always $300,000.

Not since Tecmo Super Bowl have I known so much about a Professional sport. I know Driving Ditances, GIR percentages and putts per green. I watch golf every weekend wondering how my teams are doing. It's made the sport so much fun.

Now that I'm thinking about it, it might be more fun to play Fantasy Golf the Dungeons and Dragons way, just so long as when I'm Phil Mickelson, you don't call me Phil Nippleson.

Havana, Oh Havana 

Clemens, Lee, Nipples

I was just looking at the stats for Major League Baseball. All sidled up to my desk with a big wad of grape Big League Chew in my cheek I looked over the Chicago Cubs pitching staff. Maddux is quite impressive. So is Zambrano. Leicester? Not quite, but I don't think he's found his groove yet. Dempster has had some good games and could be considered our number 3 pitcher.

Speaking of pitchers, have you seen Roger Clemens pitch this year? Damn! He pitches with a mission. Leading the league in ERA with a 1.46 average, Clemens has pitched 142 games allowing only 96 hits, 27 runs (23 earned) and 5 home runs. Roger is 42-years-old and this guy is HOT. Somebody slap him with a popsicle!(especially when they play the Cubs)

I must say, though, that Derreck Lee is my man! Not only is he my cousin, but he is having the best season of his career. He's been in the league 9 years and is putting up some numbers like he never has before. Leading the league with a batting average of .364 (career best of .282), he is tied for 1st as the home run leader with 32 yard balls (the most of his career) and is in 5th place for RBIs with 82. My other cousin from The Brewers, Carlos Lee, is right above him with 84 ribees.

Which reminds me when I was in high school. I played ball with this guy who had a red growth on the lower part of his ribs. It didn't seem that cruel to call him Triple Nipple. He really didn't seem to mind that much. I honestly don't remember the guy's name, but he used to like to eat sunflower seeds when we were both sitting on the bench(I was the backup catcher and occasionally used pinch hitter and pinch runner). He thought it made him look cool spitting all that shit out of his mouth. Me, I just ate them whole and got tired of them quickly. Never have been a big fan of sunflower seeds. Still, I always kinda liked Triple Nipple. He was a good guy . . . for somebody with three nipples.

I Grok, Gorss

There are so many reasons to search with Grokker, not the least of which is to entertain your inner Heinleinian. Google might be better, but for now Grokker is more fun.

And for some reason, it seems more feminist.

Does anyone recognize where this is at? 

The Baby Shower from God The Father Herself!

YOU ARE INVITED

To a Baby Shower!!!

My brother and sister-in-law are throwing us a baby shower in Maryland on Saturday, August the 13th. This has got to be one of the coolest baby showers ever! There will be beer pong and horseshoes and "baby shower bingo." Emily's parents and brothers and sisters will all be there.

You should come. Are you coming from Chicago?

Or perhaps Milwaukee? (Richmond isn't much farther from us than Raleigh).

Ithaca?

I'll be bringing a homebrewed Porter that is most delicious. Hopefully I'll have an I.P.A. ready as well. Hell, Benji and Bill oughta come just for that!

Did I mention there would be Beer Pong?

R.S.V.P. in the comment box or to my personal electronic mail account.

I love you.

West Virginia here we come

My wife and I leave this afternoon for a weekend music festival near Morganstown, West Virginia. Chief Troy was able to swing us free tickets and VIP status, so it should be an enjoyable and economical weekend. No bottles allowed, so cheap brews in a can are the ticket. It's how I like to roll.

During my absence, feel free to use this space however you might see fit.

The H was O

I was over at the H was O--the blog formerly known as the H is O--and was browsing around as I do every now and again. Honestly it's been a few months since I've been over there, but I was deeply humored, as I always am by the H was/is O and excited about their creativity. God this blog is hilarious! I've always wondered to myself what my connection is to the creators of The H was O. Is it just a tenuous relation brought on by Adam Kotsko's Weblog and Robinstein's The Pickle. I always thought so . . . until I noticed The Tarantular Chief Jason was on The H was O's blogroll. I was shocked and surprised and . . . well, pleased (I was similarly surprised just the other day when I found The Tarantular blogrolled over at a house falling in the sea). This leads me to believe that my connections with The H was O are more than tenuos, more than just happenstance. This runs deeper.

Or perhaps The H was O just wanted to extend a hand of friendship out to lousy ole chiefjason. All I have to say is

You guys are Great!!!

I feel like I have new friends popping up all over the place.

Thus, I shake hands with The H was O. Now we are friends.

Who is Chief Jason?

After a long stint of blogging out of sheer obligation, I've recently been enjoying the interactions with fellow bloggers Cap'n Pete, Adam R., the green Wuxiruss and freshly-back-on-the-scene Jared Sinclair. Sinclair's most recent post made be laugh quite a bit, especially since I didn't realize chiefjason was such a mystery.

At any rate, it's nice to feel good about my immediate blogosphere of influence these days, as well as a little guilty about going to bed an hour and a half later than I wanted to. Yes, it's nice to feel a little guilty.

The Cubs Suck

The Brewers rule.


Update: The Cubs and the Brewers suck.

-chiefjason

My Weekly Post

I went to a show at The Brewery down by NC State with Emily and her friend last Saturday night. The headlining band was Silvertide--who we did not stay to see (although the lead singer commented on my chops as we made our way to the car. I thougth that was nice and kind of wanted to watch them play afterall. Alas, late and drunken and pregnancy).

The opening act was a local band called Bombbox. They were a four piece act that played some catchy candy rock tunes along the lines of third eye blind. The lead singer had some sweet vocals with a nice upper range while their bass player laid down some impressive bass lines. The guitar work was catchy, simple, not overdone. The drummer was off beat at times.

They were followed by a band called Oliver Black. My least favorite band of the night, Oliver's lead singer ruined it for me. She was a shorter, rounder version of Britney Spears, singing like Joan Jett and seemed to be experiencing a combination of whiskey and speed. Seriously, she could whale some vocals, but her stage presence was just too much. Very annoying. I personally think she has some deep seated psychological issues.

The band that I came to see did not fail to impress. Pepper's Ghost. Their songs are melodic with nice guitar work and very cool harmonies. Based out of Philly, these guys know how to put on a good show. Their stage presence harkens back to the showmanship of the Stones and the Beatles. Straight up, good feelin' rock 'n roll and not ashamed of it. Check out their website here.

The Brewery is a very small venue and they like to play it loud. My ears were ringing for the next day and a half. The fact that they offered Pabst Blue Ribbon in a can really made the night for me. I feel good drinking a PBR or six.

Word.

My biggest flaw

My biggest flaw is that I have been and always am too focused on the present moment. I cannot take a step back, analyze a situation, and then discuss, respond, etc. I am always reactionary. Always. This plays itself out too often and too well in my job. I work with families of "emotionally and behaviorally disturbed" teenagers. WTF? Can someone show me a teenager that isn't emotionally or behaviorally disturbed in some way? If you can, then that is disturbing. The most disturbing thing is that teenagers can be "disturbed" simply because they are teenagers. But their parents don't have that excuse. Yes, I often relate to parents that are far more emotionally disturbed than their "disturbed" teens.

So back to my biggest flaw. I react. To situations, to people. I think it is mostly my facial expressions and partially my words. But I alway think back on a situation that happened and think, "why the hell didn't I say this that or the other thing?!!" And I always come up with something better.

I have learned to trust myself in my own reactionariness. Which is why I distrust blogging. I have too much damn time to think. But not really. When I comment, I comment in the moment. I react. And then I click the damn button and there it is, in print. Of course I think of better things to say 10 minutes later, but by then it is already too late.

Perhaps I will regret this post.


Update: I regret this post.

Home is where your wife is

I figure everyone should get a chance to see where someone lives. So here's some shots of our front porch. I particularly like our bushes. They are gnarled cedar-like trees.


bush 

rail 

front 

porch 

The Streets

 

If you're from the Streets, like I am, you'll already know that Adam has posted today. See, I'm always up on what's going on. I was even an early commenter on the most recent post at good ole Rob Schunneman's most excellent t-shirt site.

Seriously, I have my finger on the pulse of the world wide web. Seriously.

Which makes sense, since I did invent the internet . . . or rather the idea behind it.

sense since scents cents

(for instance, that was a complete senstence, for instance)

Emily's mom (also drunk). 

This is a grrreat picture of Emily's dad (my dad in-law). We just got finished drinking all afternoon in Santa Cruz. 

Word. 

Word to the Logos Legos

I decided to smoke a cigarette tonight. I know Emily would be mad at me, but it was just a nice night for a cigarette, sittin on my front porch in the dark. The kids were out and about and having a good time, probly gettin in a little trouble. The air was a little damp and cool, but not too damp and cool, if ya know what I mean.

I also watched an episode of Malcolm in the Middle at midnight tonight. The dad and the youngest son decide to build a lego city in the living room. The little son wants to make it a utopia and then becomes the dictator of the lego civilization, plotting to destroy his father with a lego army. This goes on for about three days until mom comes in the door, trips on a lego car, falls, and destroys most of the major buildings in the town . . . in slow motion.

So logically I do a search on the internet for "legos." That is when I found "The Brick Testament." Various verses of the bible acted out in lego scenes. It's really quite beautiful. You really should check this out. It'll make your week. My favorite one is when Mary asks the angel how she will bear the Christ child not having had sex with a man. He answers that the holy ghost will come upon her.

Word

you make bath-time lots of fun

Now I'm not saying I would ever shop for myself at bath and body works, but my wife happens to have these two products that I use more than she does--the eucalyptus and mint foaming bath and bath salts. I've always been a sucker for a hot bath and a good book. Seriously, I'll spend forty five minutes just soaking and reading. So I took a bath after work the other night for the first time in quite a while. I used the foaming bath and decided to throw in some bath salts for an extra touch. After reading Franny and Zooey for about forty minutes I decided it was time to enter back into real time. In the post bath hours before bed, I couldn't believe how relaxed and stress-free I felt. So so nice.

I have been reading Salinger's Franny and Zooey strictly because I took The Catcher in the Rye with me on the plane to California last weekend and after finishing it I immediately started reading it over again. Once I got back to the house I figured I hadn't had enough of Salinger yet, so I picked up Franny and Zooey. My copy of this book was given to me on my 24th birthday by Bill Brower with the note, "on your way to the Eastern Philosophy chair in hell." I thought that was nice. Not too many people have given me books as gifts. Bill knew me well enough to know that I would love that book--the budding ascetic that I was. After finishing it back then, I immediately sought out and read The Way of the Pilgrim and then found a copy of the Philokalia in some small town Minnesota bookstore along the Mississippi river (this was while I was spending time in a Russian Orthodox monastery).

I suppose my move out to North Carolina was in many ways an attempt at asceticism--an attempt that seems to have mostly failed. Or has it?

The Bergstrand Trio

The Bergstrand Trio was spotted at the wedding of Emily Lake and Jason Lee, providing music for the consumption of their audience. Benjamin Bergstrand himself provided the lead for "Annie's Song" (available on page 121 in Rise Up Singing) while strumming along on his mandolin. Adam Robinstein played a mean guitar with a sweet opening riff. He was nervous and cute as ever. Monica (pronounced moan-ika for those in unfamiliar places) added in a beautiful complmenting harmony to Bergstrand's lazy and friendly style of singing.

Lee proudly exclaimed, "those are my friends," to anyone who talked about the song.

Lee claims that after having aquired a new instrument called a bouzouki on his honeymoon, he is hoping to become the fourth member of the Bergstrand Quartet.

One wonders when their first practice might be . . .

Thomas Covenant, the Unbeliever

I wear a ring of white gold around my left "ring" finger. I have never worn a ring before except for about a week when I tried having a pinky ring.

The 8mm thick solid white gold ring shimmers in the sunlight and reflects an image of myself when I look in it, slightly distorted and funny looking. It is comfortable and I like the extra weight on my hand. The weight is new, yet somehow familiar, like I knew it should have been there all along. I like to play with it--twisting it and polishing it, paying attention to getting it clean when I wash my hands. I like my ring. It is a new and exciting part of my body. Just as much as my wife is a new and exciting part of my self.

I had the privilege of writing my and Emily's vows for the wedding.

I have reprinted them here, for the rememberance of those who were there, and for the convenience of those who were not:

I _______ freely give myself to you ________, to be your life mate.
To wander through this life together
Through valleys and upon mountains
Through shadow and through light
Through joy and through sorrow
Through good times as well as trying times

I promise to daily give of myself to you; to cultivate a selfless and pure love between us, so that we might share our love with those around us.

And just as Jesus Christ laid down his life as on offering for us, so I give my life to you.

Seriously, I can't believe I'm married. It's surreal. But very cool.

Word.

DaaBers and DA BIG IDEA

So I'm watching the last of the Cubs game right now. Cincinnati is winning 11-8 going into the Bottom of the 9th, Bartosh (the Cubs 7th pitcher of the game) just struck out the last batter (Dunn) to end the Top of the 9th. Seem like it's been a pretty goddamn good game, one you wished you were at.

But that's not what I'm posting about. I posting about Daabers. You know, the Chekago Bers.

How 'bout those draft picks? A powerhouse running back and two speedy wide receivers. Let's hope the offensive line can step it up to add the . . . (hold on)

>>>Ronny Cedeno just got his first major league hit with a single to left and a run driven in. It's 11-9.<<<

So back to DaaBers. Howsabout those draft picks?

>>>Awww damn, the 3rd out. Hollandsworth grounded out. I'm impressed with the Cubs. Although they definitely have some issues going on in the pitcher position, our other guys are gettin the job done. Although still a loss, it is a loss with 13 hits and 9 runs. They also spread the wealth around with 9 different guys getting the hits and 5 of those guys driving in the runs. Even when we get outs, much of the time we are putting the bat on the ball and the ball into play. That's how you win games.<<<

Can we talk about the Bears now? With a workhorse running back, two speedy wide receivers, and a ready to go Rex Grossman at QB, their offense just might have the spark it needs. If the offensive line can step it up (perhaps an effective off-season training program in Kankakee, Illinois?) they might just have the one-two punch.

So here's DA BIG IDEA:

Now I know I got some friends who are some good Bears fans, and I sure as hell don't get to see these friends that often. We should pick an away Bears game that isn't too far away. Meet on Friday night (or Thursday night?) in that city. Take in the sites on Saturday. Get crazy for the Bears on Sunday. Rest (or work if you gotta) on Monday.

So yeah, like a four day weekend with a Bears game as the climax. How can you go wrong? I figure since this is my idea, I get to put in the first suggestion for the game. My first instinct was to pick the Redskins game on September 11th, but that's pretty close to when my baby is due, and the date doesn't seem to have any GOOD luck. So my official pick is the December 11th game in Pittsburgh. Seems we could find some cheap accomocations, similarly cheap bars, and freeze are asses off to watch the Bears and the Stealers pound it away. Sounds like good bonding time to me.

Baby Lee  

Baby Lee

Isn't this freaking amazing? Emily and I went in on Wednesday for her first ultrasound. I was astonished as I watched our baby's heartbeat and saw it's limbs and head and bones. All this inside of her belly. What a mystery!


Baby Lee sucks its thumb. 

Harper J. Bienko

Again, congrats to the Cap'n and crew. Go here for a photo of the young lad and some brief words from the Cap'n.

Also, congrats to the Cubs for winning handily today.


And a "too bad" to the Brewers for blowing a 6-0 lead.

Oh yeah, and congrats to the Catholics for your new Papal Head.

A Baby!!!

The Tarantular would like to congratulate Josh and MaryJo Bienko on their freshly born child. We are excited to hear more details (name, weight, etc. etc.)and updates on baby life.

Yeaaaa Baby!!!!!

Spring Posting

I do believe that I have myself proven that the myth of increased blogging in the spring is false. My beer and my front porch already have more pull than the laptop in my study. Thus the longer gaps in my posting.

So I have given in to the baseball enthusiasm and purchased the entire Major League Baseball season on internet audio for only $14.95 (living in North Carolina and not having cable, this seems to be a good option to follow the Cubs). This is an interesting thing since I "simultaneously" listen to a baseball game over live audio stream, say, from WGN radio, while watching the gameday update from MLB.com, which shows the current batter (with the balls and strikes and where the pitch landed in the strike zone), as well as a picture of the field with the names of the defensive players and their positions, and the names of the offensive players at bat/on base. Thing is, the audio is usually behind the updates of the visuals . . . but sometimes the audio is ahead. Like I said, it's interesting.

Anyway, I watched the Cubs lose a close one with Loecester blowing a 5-5 tie, walking the first two batters in the 8th, then hitting the next (ending in a 7-5 loss). Then I watched the Brewers lose to the Dodgers 7-3. All in all, a depressing day for baseball.

Tall Tees vs. Tight Rolling

I'm not sure where you live (although if I had to guess it'd be Chicago, Milwaukee or Ithaca) but I wonder if the fashion of tall tees has caught on. Not being familiar with how or where fashion trends start, I'm willing to admit the possibility that this trend started in North Carolina. Noting the many backward ways of my Carolinian compatriates, however, I somehow doubt it. If you are not familiar with the tall tee fashion, it is basically a plain t-shirt that is usually 2 sizes too big and that hangs down to the wearers knees or ankles. I have typically seen tall tees worn in black or white with an occassional pink thrown in. This fashion is prevalent among young black males in my area.

I find this trend very silly. I watched a young man - probably about 14 years old - walk down the sidewalk across the street from my house. His hair was braided, black tall tee down to his ankles, and he was making punching motions in the air, like a boxer sparring. He approached my neighbors (a man, wife and young daughter lounging in their yard) kitty corner from my house, and was confronted about something. I made out the word "hooligan" but didn't hear anything else. I wondered if the tall tee wearer was related to these neighbors and noted that he obviously knew them in a familiar way. Whatever the case, he turned quickly and walked back from wear he had come, again shadow boxing.

I couldn't help but laugh to myself as this boy - looking like a nubian princess with a long black dress - hiked up his pants, karate'd the air and strutted down the street. I wish I could have it on video tape to show him five years down the road. Surely he would realize how utterly ridiculous he appears.

Just like me, when I was 14, with my tight rolled jeans. Where the hell did that fashion start? North Carolina?

Word

The Adam R., Cap'n Pete race has been everything I hoped it would be. From diving catches to last minute 3-point shots to 12th inning home runs, these guys have been pulling out all the punches. I note that Adam is just waiting to see when Cap'n's going to post next. He's probably got three posts saved, just waiting to spring them on the Cap'ns postal efforts.

Whoa! That gives new meaning to "going postal." That's right, you heard that phrase coined here at The Tarantular. Pretty soon, I feel, the Cap'n and Adam R. are both going to be going postal in an effort to earn a moniker change.

Now I know that Adam has tried to get his changed by default, trying to create a blog about The Brewers. Reality check here Adam--No one gives TWO FARTS about the Brewers. Perhaps if you alternated with posts about tours of the Miller Brewery, or observations of drunk Brewers fans. And I just have to note that Adam hasn't posted since the Milwaukee racked up two losses at Wrigley Field. Hmmmm.

Go Cubbies!

Cap'n Ping

I was going to update The Tarantular's loyal readers about how neither Adam or the Cap'n have posted today and then Cap'n Pete slips in a late-in-the-day post on me. I was even going to mention how it would be kinda nice not to have to go into my template and change the score on the sidebar, but hey, I ain't complainin'

Whereas Adam's two posts have focused on the game of baseball, the Cap'n relates a chuckleful story about he and his pa playing a round of golf with a pair of hackers--both who don't seem to know any golf etiquette, and one who thinks moonboots make good golfshoes. I wonder if they had spikes?

At any rate, I'm well into my golf game down here in North Carolina--my first round finishing even, my second round with a one under par, and my third round with one up. I was pretty pissed with my last performance because I had a triple bogey on hole #18. I didn't even open up a new course.

just so the loyal readers know, Emily and I will be in Connecticut for the weekend, so the blogging may be at a minimum. That doesn't mean you shouldn't keep 'em comin' though. BRING IT!

Word.

Cap'n Pete v. Adam R.

Well folks, so far the Cap'n is gettin' his ass handed to him by the Robinsteiner. Granted, there's a few days left in the month, but the Cap'n needs to back up his trash-talking comments with some good old-fashioned blog posting. Ya feel?

I keep clicking over to the Decrepit Cap'n Pete hoping to see something other than the digital reprint of Too-loose LaTrek.

The score as of 10:30 p.m. EST:

The Pickle - 2

Coney Island - 0

(and that's a big fat zero)

(and not as in Cap'n Pete, he's our hero, gonna take pollution down to)

The NCAA Blues (CBS--YOU SUCK!!!)

I must admit, I turned off my Tele at Luther Vandross. I mean, c'mon.

I remember back in the day when the National Championship celebration was actually televised. Seriously, can the constituent audience really be more interested in silly cell phone commercials, redundant car adds and blurbs about CSI and David Letterman?

Goddamnit!!!

I'm pissed!!

Illinois lost!

And they couldn't even have the decency to give me the jouissance of watching the North Carolina players make a bunch of asses of themselves (although the shot of McCants taking his jersey off certainly helped the cause).

Please please, if you must have a cell phone, be it not cingular or that other brand I can't remember except for the guy who didn't want to talk to his mother-in-law for 20 minutes about her cat. And please, please do not go see the horrible looking movie about a haunted wax museum. And please, please do not buy anything from Pontiac.

Furthermore, do not watch your television. It is evil.

Fuck!!

Update:
Nice job Adam. I love you for posting about baseball this evening. Such a rebel.

The Cap'n vs. Adam R.

Spring is in the air, the flowers are in bloom, the flies buzzing and the smell of fresh cut grass tickling the nosehairs.

There is a theory goin round that blog traffic/interest wanes during the winter months and picks up again come springtime.

Well we here at The Tarantular are going to test this theory. Beginning today and running through April 30, the blog that posteth the mosteth will earn the right to have their moniker changed on The Tarantular Chief Jason.

Will it be Cap'n Pete of Coney Island?

Will it be Adam Robinson of The Pickle?


Only the Tarantular Chief Jason could bring you such a dynamic, jaw-twisting and fingernail-biting contest.

Tune in here for daily updates.

Word.

Terry Schiavo

is still dead.

A very astute observation was found via CPRobes. The Liberal Conservative Blog has this to say:

The rise of the Terri Schiavo story never puzzled me: Like OJ, Scott, and Monica, Terri is just another freak show designed to distract us from the real news (such as the fact that our country is bankrupt; like Nazi Germany we've invaded and occupied a sovereign nation under false pretenses; as a parasite of this planet's gifts, we're killing our host; and so on).

That's what I used to think. Now I can see why Terri resonates so strongly. She is us, and we are her.

America is a brain-dead former beauty queen of a nation being kept alive by a feeding tube. Through this tube, the rest of the world funnels $2 billion a day, and that's just to support our shopping habits. We'd deteriorate faster than Terri Schiavo if the Chinese, Japanese, Saudis, Koreans, and others stopped paying the hospice bills. Like Terri Schiavo, we are oblivious to our own circumstances. I don't pretend to know what went through Terri's mind, such as it was, but it couldn't have been much less substantive than tonight's episode of Survivor.

May Terri RIP.

Adam Kotsko

Aye me.

Woe is me.

I remember the days--many many moons ago--when Adam Kotsko actually visited and commented on my blog. He made me feel so . . . so . . . special that he would bless my URL with his presence.

Ah but gone, gone are those days of innocence. Gone, gone are those days of Kotskoian bliss.

I understand that Marioworld is more important than little ole chiefjason. No hard feelings.

I'm just gonna go play Hitman 2. May the crosshairs on my screen symbolize freedom and a new day.

Update

Johnny Cochran: Dead

Terry Schiavo: Dead

The Pope: Not quite dead.

Gerry Garcia: Dead (?)

Update to the update:
The pope is dead. The 9 days of mourning have started.

Terry Schiavo #2

Still dead.

Terry Schiavo

This is my first post about Terry Schiavo.

She is dead.

Honestly, it's hard to be concerned about global politics, the meaning of life or even simply reading when you have your firstborn on the way. Logically I have accepted the fact that I am going to have a child. But in reality, I just can't get my arms around the concept. I understand that my father had a son which turned out to be my brother. And then he had another son which turned out to be me. I understand the concept of sonship. Daughtership I comprehend, but have no real firsthand experience with the concept. I even look at Emily's belly and know that there is a real human being in the process of being formed even as I sleep next to her and dream about robbing houses in France and running through factories in my underwear.

I see all of this happening in front of me and around me. I even find my own belly growing before my eyes. However I really cannot fathom the actuality of having a son or daughter to care for and raise. What a mystery this all is. I even got really drunk the other night and felt horrible. I realize that those days are over for me. I no longer have just my body to flail around and do with as I please. My body is not my own.

I can't keep up with y'all. Lacan, Zizec, Baudilaire, whoever the flip. None of it is important to me. My heart isn't in it. I suppose I'll never get past Kierkegaard and I think that's o.k. Eventually I'll finish Works of Love, even if it takes me 'til I'm 50. In the meantime, I'll content myself with drinking a beer on my porch, flipping through the most recent issue of National Geographic or Harper's and wondering if I'll be living at this house long enough to see my child playing in the front yard and hiding in the bushes. That's not so bad really.

Zinn #2

It is clear to me that the only reason the non-elite, the marginalized, the poor people without land ever got anything in the early days of this country is because they armed themselves and banded together to fight for their rights; to fight against the tyranny of the land-owners and the elite.

I keep telling Emily that we are going to see some crazy shit in our lifetimes. Recession turns into depression and the people get restless. Not even new episodes of CSI and Survivor can turn back this tide. Eventually people will no longer be concerned about ideology, they will be concerned about having the capital to shelter and feed their children. Militias will fight federal armies. Townspeople will take up arms against their local governments. Washington D.C. will be surrounded by cement baricades and guarded by tanks and snipers. An exodus will begin--American emigrants to Canada and Mexico. A few at first. Many more later. Then they will shut their borders. The world will turn against us, because we have turned against them. Our transgressions are tenfold. We will reap what we have sewn.

Little Horror

Wisconsin state officials insist that a halfway house (type thing) for sex offenders has to be built somewhere in Milwaukee county, but every time they decide on an area the residents rally in protest. These protesters say heinous things. They say the offenders are monsters, and they need to go to jail for the rest of their lives. The men sound like snotty third grade tattle-tales, but with gruff Cheesehead voices. The women have all sworn to protect their children, so how can they allow this home to be built?

If I wanted to ruin my life, if I wanted to lose every shred of my sense of self, I would be a sex offender. In my experience working at Indian Oaks Academy, I began to see that these kids could never, ever be normal again. The institution ensures that they think of themselves as freaks whose every instinct has to be second-guessed. If their life was my life, I would be utterly hopeless.

But having that sympathy for a sex offender will do little to placate the neighbors where this home will eventually be built. I have no kids, so I can't imagine what their fears are like. It doesn't make sense for me to say that what these people should do once the criminals move in is bake them a damn pie and bring over the whole family for some card games. I would want them to feel normal.

(It's sort of a facticity thing, right? Like, if you kill someone how long are you a murderer for? What are you besides a murderer? Can you ever stop being a murderer?)

Pegi Taylor has a much more sane approach to the issue than I do, and a pithier response. She did some good research. She found a study that shows that something like 95 per cent of people who are offended knew the person who hurt them. She says that the house should go about two blocks from her house. I think that makes sense. I'd like to see them build it in my neighborhood; considering I don't know any of the residents, I'll sleep safe and sound.

A Clean and Pure Blog

You potty mouths!

You vulgardirtynaughty excuses for thinking people!

You oughta be ashamed of yourselves.

Have you noticed the amount of curse words that people just freely use around the blogosphere? There is no thought of what message they may be sending or whose eyes they may be offending. No thought.

Well we here at The Tarantular Chief Jason are taking a stand, you filthy mouthed vermin. No longer will we Fuck the world, we will Fart the world. No longer will we go out drinking and get Shitfaced, no, we will get Kakafaced. There are no Assholes here at The Tarantular Chief Jason there are only poopooheads.

So listen here you kaka loving motherfarting dirty lipped poopoofaces.

No more!

No more!

No more!

You are absolved of your need to cuss at The Tarantular Chief Jason

After all, we are a Clean and Pure Blog with little to no damn cussing.

Iraq

I'm not one for links usually, but I figure we should keep this in the forefront and realize it's still going on. This article talks about journalists in Falujah who describe U.S. soldiers killing civillians and children. Our military is apparently using napalm as well. They link to one of the journalist's blogs here.

At least the senate voted down the $14 billion proposed cuts on Medicaid funding.

Coming Soon:

Music - As soon as I figure out how to put audio on here, I got a new song for ye.

Zinn - Another post on Zinn's history of the U.S.

Lynch - A comment on David Lynch's web series, Rabbits.

I roil.

A feature on Allison's show from the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel.

Reg(i)stry

Wedding registry is a funny thing idn't it? I mean, honestly, who the hell registers?

Emily and I are registered at Target, Crate 'N Barrell and REI. Fuck yeah we put a canoe on there! If someone's gonna give me a canoe, just because I'm gettin hitched to the best goddamn girl in the world, then by god I'm gonna let em.

I can picture myself, Emily and our newborn babe lunching on the lake in the shade of a willow tree. The babe is suckling his mother's white breast in the cool air of a hot days heat. I, munching on chips and swigging a pale ale, looking at the marvelous bugs on the limb in front of my face. I ask Emily if she knows what kind of bugs they are and what their mating characteristics are (she knows alot about this shit). She, giving me her look as she smiles the smile that goes along with that look, contents herself with holding the child in front of her face and kissing his eyes. We lunch on lentils and kool-aid and love the love that love's the love that love's the love that love's the love.

Go right now to REI and make this scene a reality. Help promote family and nature and love, all at the same time. Can all of your clamoring about Bush and the Republican's and the defense budget really compare to this? Spend your tips wisely. Go into debt just a little more. Give to the American Dream.

*************************************************************************************

There are alot of Jason Lees' getting married. What the hell? I put in my name to get to our registry and there are a gazizillion number of Jason Lees' signed up. So I started looking at their registries. Some poor couple got married in November of 2004 and nobody got them shit! Then another couple from '04 got almost everything on their list.

Well I have half a mind to go buy something for that poor schmuck, Jason Lee, who didn't have any friends decent enough to even buy him an espresso square plate! what the hell? Somebody already got us a vacuum food sealer , a four slice toaster and the spicy salsa pillow. I'm already happy with that!

I wouldn't mind the type of furniture that Bethany and Fred got for their wedding. Although I don't know if people are man enough to do it again. Are ya? Huh? Huh? Are ya?

Word.

Let's All Clear Our Throats

It's awesome that Jason's blog is awesome.

Russ is here and Jeff is coming tonight. We're gonna have some fun. Also, I've joined a band. Isn't that exciting? We've got a show on April 1. Tomorrow I'm going to be featured at Linneman's open stage. There have been two rehearsals for my play and it's going, it's going.

Rejoice!

I have been taking pleasure in my hands recently. I guess more specifically, the work that I put my hands to.

I look forward to the turning of the lock to the front door and the good feeling that key has as it slides in perfectly and turns the deadbolt.

I take pleasure in the drawing of the small sharp knife with the white plastic handle (not one of the "better" knives*)from the silverware drawer--the wooden drawer that slides out smoothly, but not too smoothly--in order to cut the cellophane packaging of some spinach that was fresh bought tonight; I am having a strawberry jam, spinach and Wasa cracker sandwich.

I watch and listen to the pooring of the oolong tea into my tiny Chinese teacup and the dribbling sound of the tea from the small spout of the small brown pot.

My hands. Their work is more deliberate, with purpose. I have never felt this before.

I did three loads of laundry on Monday--two of them were Emily's. It felt good as I folded her shirts and pants and underwear, knowing that when she selects her clothes for the next week she will be undoing my fold-job and placing them on her body.

I cooked dinner for Emily and Bridget on Wednesday night - Spicy Pesto Chicken Pasta with Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes and Whole Kernel Corn Out Of A Can. It was the first time I have ever roasted Garlic and I got the cloves a little on the dark side of browned. For the pesto chicken I substituted Cholulas hot sauce for the "chili paste" that the recipe called for (do you like the sound of "chili paste?") The roasted garlic mashed potatoes tasted of blackened garlic and were palatable yet not that good. The pesto chicken pasta may have been one of the best dishes I have ever made. It is definitely going into my repiratoire.

I have discovered why my dad always stayed up later than everyone else. This time is my time to do with as I please. Some of it is used to tap into my latent OCD and pick up the living room, the dining room and the kitchen. It feels good to make a place new and clean and ordered.

At least 3 times today, I put my face up to Emily's belly and said in a high pitched voice, "Hello baby, how are you doing in there?" That always gets laughs from whomever's watching, and of course it makes me look cute. I expect my conversations to get longer and more complex as my child gets older. We'll start on Socrates at 12 weeks and maybe move on to the pre-Socratics at 15.

I picked up a book today by Marcel Mauss - A General Theory of Magic. I read the prologue and the first chapter. It looks intriguing. I remember my friend, Virgil Brower, always talking about Mauss and Levi-Strauss.

I drove 45 minutes to sit through a 4-hour seminar today about baby cribs and highchairs. The products they were selling looked great. Too bad I don't have enough money and don't like layaway plans. At least Emily and I have a coupon to send in so we can get deluxe accomodations for 3 days and 2 nights in one of a list of cities, none of which I have any real desire to visit.

At any rate, life feels good. This is a heroic and liberating time. It is mundane and practical and good. The work of my hands is my art.


*better knives - knives with wooden handles that don't necessarily cut better but just feel better in the palm of your hand.



Update: I have found another recipe for some pesto chicken pasta that looks even better! It uses sundried tomatoes--something Emily and I have been loving lately. I make a damn good sundried tomato and spinach pizza. And yes, I make the dough myself thank you very much.

Update: If you were wondering, you spell that plasticy packaging stuff celophane, and you spell that garbage heap of famous knowledge your repertoire. I also helped blogger learn "oolong" and "sundried" tonight. What can I say, I'm a good vocabulary teacher.

Prohibition anyone?

A prohibition is afoot in Turkey. Apparently the goverment has instituted a tax on liquor so high that bootleggers are having a heyday. The article cites the effects of bootleg "raki":

A total of 44 people have been hospitalised so far with complaints of vomiting, dizziness, headache and loss of eyesight.

Hello people, you're hungover!

The one thing Ataturk forgot to teach--how to drink like an Irishman.

Beer

Have I ever mentioned that I brew my own beer? My most recent brew was a variation of a "palace bitter." The recipe for a palace bitter calls for two different kinds of hops, whereas I used three different kinds. The use of hops has different effects on a beer depending on when you put said hops into the "wort" (this term refers to the liquid that you boil up before you seal it in a vessel to ferment). As soon as the wort starts to boil, you would add hops in order to give the beer a bittering effect. If you like pale ales, then you appreciate this bittering effect. You may have heard a pale ale referred to as an "India Pale Ale." The history of this apparently stems from the shipping routes from England to colonized India. This route went south around the tip of Africa. In order to preserve their beer, the English used hops as a preservative so that their beer would not spoil. Thus the India Pale Ale.

Adding hops into the wort in the last 5 to 10 minutes of the boil is known as "flavoring hops." This is just as it says--the beer takes on the flavor of the hops. There are many different types of hops with varying flavors, so depending on which types of hops you use is the flavor that your beer adopts.

The last addition of hops occurs in the last minute or two of the boil. This is called the "aromatic hops." Again, this is self descriptive as this addition of hops adds a nice aroma to the final product. Of course the end aroma of your beer depends on the type of hops that you use.

I have been drinking my "palace bitter" for a couple weeks now and have enjoyed it thoroughly. There really is nothing like drinking a beer that you brewed yourself. Similarly, there is nothing quite like pissing off of your own porch.

Word.

Zinn #1

It is the year 1776. You know, the year the colonies declared their independence from England. The Declaration of Independence. It was shouted from the rooftops. The Declaration of Independence. "We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal." So equal that four days after the reading of this document from the town hall balcony in Boston, the townsmen of this city were ordered to arrive on the Common for a military draft. A draft that could be avoided if one were rich enough to pay for a substitute. If you had enough money, you could buy your way out of "patriotic duty."

All men are created equal. What a joke. This country has never been about equal rights. It's always been about giving the dissenting voices enough table scraps to keep them quiet. And it has worked overwhelmingly well.

I'm reminded of Fahrenheit 911 when Michael Moore is trying to get congressmen to sign their children up for military service. They weren't really going for it. Not so much. They were, however, more than willing to send other people's children. Your and my neighbors, friends, brothers and cousins.

(from a reading of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States)

New Beginnings

I moved to a new house this weekend. Emily (my fiance), her roommate Bridget and I have moved into a pretty nice house in Henderson. One of my new amenities is a gas fireplace that sometimes leaks and makes me feel high. Another new amenity is the DSL capability. It is my first high speed internet at home and ooh am I thrilled. This jubilation is a little sarcastic if you did not catch it. I both love and loathe technology, as I'm sure you do too.

At any rate, I am making a commitment to be more active on an intellectual level--with both reading and with blog activity. I will be the first to admit that I have not put all that much time into this blog. But my friends, IT IS A NEW DAY.

Perhaps Adam will post more, the bastard.

Coming soon: A series of posts on my reading of Howard Zinn.

What kind of man kills another man? Out of revenge? Out of duty? Out of rage? Out of protection?
I cannot fathom the thought. I cannot even comprehend extinguishing the life of an other.
Perhaps you can. Please explain.

I remember seeing Saving Private Ryan for the first time. The scene where the German soldier and the American soldier end up fighting hand to hand after they both run out of ammunition. They come face to face, eye to eye, with only the thought of killing. The enemy. The German soldier ends up slowly sliding a knife into the American soldiers heart. He gazes into his eyes saying, "Shhhh. Shhhh," while the American soldier screams, "No!" repeatedly. His life is gone, ended in a moment of passion and survival. Kill or be killed. As the German soldier descends the stairs, he sees Upham--the very green, scared, ammunition toting war journalist. The German soldier passes him by without a second glance. Upham does nothing. In another battle scene, this same German soldier is shooting Upham's comrades. Upham could have prevented this, if only he would have acted. He just didn't have the stomach for it.

Was it harder to kill before gun powder? From a distance, behind a gun, you don't have to watch your enemy die. You don't have to look him in the eye and decide he is not worth living. There is separation. Objectification. Like hunting a deer. Maybe it was only harder from a technical standpoint? I don't know.

In the end, Man is and has always been his own worst enemy.

Anti-Terror

I was just listening to a radio broadcast discussing how some state prosecutors are using anti-terrorist laws to prosecute "regular" criminals. The first example involved a young girl who was shot in the head by a gang member in New York City. The people involved in the shooting apparently fled to Mexico, but the prosecutor brought charges against 16 members of the same gang under the anti-terrorist laws stating that they were "intimidating the civilian population." The second example was from Boone, North Carolina where the district attorney was tired of the violence associated with crystal meth labs, and the people who make crystal meth that were getting off with only short jail terms. He tried to bring charges against some of these crystal meth makers using an anti-terrorist law that had to do with the production of weapons using toxic chemicals (they use toxic chemicals to make crystal meth) with the intent to do violence or to intimidate the civilian population. Of course someone who is prosecuted under an anti-terrorist law is subject to stiffer penalties and longer jail terms.

Both examples seem fairly ridiculous to me. It is an obvious stretch to jump from production of an illicit drug to manufacturing chemical weapons. And since when do we prosecute people because they were in the same "association" as someone who committed a crime? McCarthy couldn't have done it better himself.

I don't think that the word "terrorist" should be limited to foreign nationals who illegaly enter the country. There are plenty of examples of domestic terrorism--the Unibomber and the Oklahoma City bombing to cite two. However using anti-terror laws to prosecute criminals just because the prosecutor thinks the regular laws aren't stiff enough? That seems criminal in itself. Not to mention the basic human rights violations that seem to accompany anyone associated with the word "terrorist." This stuff makes me ill.

God is dead

Co-Worker: God is dead.

ChiefJason: No she's not, I just talked to her this morning.

Co-Worker: "Her," huh? What did she say?

ChiefJason: She told me to love you and to die for you.

Co-Worker: Harrumph.

ChiefJason: My sentiments exactly.

Influenza

I have been convalescing for the past four days. I ache all over and have the chills. My nose is stopped and my throat makes me cough. I used to love being sick when I was a kid--who didn't? Who can beat getting to stay home when everyone else is at school? I remember in junior high spending two days straight in my parents big bed reading Dragonlance books. That was nice.

Staying home from work doesn't have the same enjoyment. I'm losing money that I can't afford to lose, I'm getting further behind in my paperwork, and I feel like shit to boot. Sometimes being an adult sucks.

I have made myself Kool-aid and I've watched Star Wars and the Empire Strikes Back. Why did they have to make the new ones suck so much? Carrie Fisher is still hot.

I think my brain is going to explode.

**Update--Yeah, so I've been pissing myself all day long. You know when you're sick and you think you've pushed all of the pee out of your wee willy wonka that you can get out, then you zip up your fly and sure enough if there isn't a warm tinkle going down your leg. For fuck's sake! I'm paying for a quart of oil at the gas station, trying to smile at the old lady, while my sickly little guy is leeking urine into my cordoroys. This is not cool.

What if?

An Israeli settler next to an unexploded rocket, following a Palestinian attack on a settlement in the Gaza Strip.

What if the Iroquois were to start fighting back? How long would it take before US citizens stopped complaining about getting a room with two doubles when they specifically reserved a king way back in September?

You Are a Mother Fu**ing Tarantula Fu**er

There. Are you happy. You got Tarantular. You got your Title Field. Why don't you just go back to the Pickle you demanding piece of Mothe* Fuck**g monk*y dung.

Furthermore, did you hear I'm getting married?

WHAT THE FEEZEE (sp?)?

I never understood that expression, or knew its origin.

What I DO understand, though, is that I just wrote a post only to see it disappear. Well, not see it disappear, which would be impossible, but only notice that it is gone. And now, even though the same thing will probably happen again this time, I'm composing in Blogger rather than Word because I'm the definition of insanity.

What I said, real quick, was:
If you want, Chief Jason, you can turn post titles on for each post under the "Settings" tab.

Also, I said I liked the name "Cold Room/Warm Heart" (punctuated like that) for this blog, and that the metaphorical meaning will outlast the winter. If, however, you are looking for a name that is more universal, you could take the greatest name I ever came up with, which is:

Tarantular.

In the deleted post I really built it up. But that's it. "Tarantular" is a really good blog name. While I'm on the subject, does anyone know of a better onomatopoeia in the funnies than "Pifft"?

Finally, I told a story about my dog that I don't feel like going through again.

Thank you.

Driving my Saturn to work today with Interpol coming from my dash, I felt good. Maneuvering myself smoothly between the lines, following the curves with just a touch of my wrist. My bowels were empty and my body relaxed. My feet secure in thick socks and snug boots. My favorite long sleeve shirt. The sun bringing out the green of fields and the reds of bushes and the black of people, I was on top of the world. Surely it is good to be alive today.

Tuesday Morning Thoughts

I often have college and high school to do over. It is the subject of my dreams on a weekly basis. I always have missed class for weeks on end and am afraid to go. I fear the reprimands from the teacher and I fear being so far behind and lost in class. There is usually a subplot that is sometimes exciting and oftentimes unimportant. Sometimes I am in my underwear. A few nights ago I realized I had missed classes for so long that I wondered if it would be better to cut my losses and drop out for the semester. These are issues I never really had in school.

Last night I dreamt I was in college and finals were the next day. I was glad to get them over with. I also dreamt I had a new apartment and was smoking tobacco out of a hooka pipe and a strange woman entered the door asking for Brian. I started running at her and she left. I then toasted myself a bagel and slurried cream cheese upon it.

I love the way Frankenstein depicts intellectual life. Victor is an ambitious and talented student who seems to spend his time toting a stack of books around and taking in a few lectures anytime they’d strike his fancy. “Oh,” he’d say to himself as he passed a bulletin board in the quad, “Professor Paddlebottom is speaking on neuroscience at noon. I’ll have just enough time to sit in before we discuss that new Hegel pamphlet at tea.”

Is that how school used to be? Nowadays it seems my grad school chums keep busy reading dense books and then going to class twice a week, a routine that isn’t nearly as enticing as Victor’s. They’re reading enviably alright, and certainly having lively conversations in the taverns, but how much livelier would the intellectual climate be if universities were completely without structure?

Certainly there are more opportunities to invest myself in Milwaukee’s brainy community. What lectures are open to the public at UW-M? Why haven’t I stopped by the Tolkien exhibit at Marquette? Why don’t I carry a stack of books over to the coffee shop and sit for a spell? The public museum is free on Mondays.

Instead, I’ve become sort of an anti-intellectual who cringes whenever someone mentions Lacan at film viewings. I’m forgetting every nugget of Kierkegaard I used to cherish so that when I ask a Master’s student what he knows about the Dane, I’m shocked to hear a substantial summary (that would surely leave Søren cold) following a statement that he knows almost nothing about the subject. I love the occasions when I used to sneak into academic conferences where I understood almost nothing but still felt the jouissance that comes from—as Alanis Morrisette put it—intellectual intercourse. Those days seem to have come and gone. Now I’m eagerly looking for that bulletin board that Dr. Frankenstein must have strolled up to every morning.

After six or seven years traveling from Harvard to Glasgow to the University of Chicago in post-graduate bliss, Bill Brower confided to me that he felt as though he’d finally earned his bachelor’s degree. Perhaps he was being falsely modest, but I understand the sentiment completely. There was a time when someone was either “college material” or he wasn’t, and there was nothing to be ashamed of either way. I simply don’t think I was, or am, of the higher education breed. After “earning” a BA in English, I feel like I’m just about ready to start my junior year in high school. I’d be a top-notch student, certainly, but I honestly think that’s where I ought to be.

I must have written a horrendous paper for Dr. McGuire in my third year at ONU because she suggested I retake the basic composition class. I was too proud to even consider her suggestion, though, or to even think that she meant it as more than another jab at me on account of how “different” I was. I rarely don’t regret not taking her advice, though, if only to learn not to write sentences like this one. I’d love to have another shot at college, to earn good grades and take valuable internships. I’d love to see where that would put me in today’s job market.

The job market is the real test, unfortunately, because opportunities for academic growth outside of a degree program are rare in my town. All that anyone does is go to art shows and prattle on about Lacan. Maybe I should move to 18th century Ingolstadt, or, I guess, read a book.

Go Philadelphia!

I was taking one of my students to an appointment the other day and we were listening to the Raleigh (pop) hip-hop station, 97.5. I put "pop" in parenthesis because I think that most to all of the mainstream hip-hop is a bunch of shit. Luckily, the NC State independently run station (88.1) plays "underground" hip-hop every weekday from midnight on. I readily admit to being a novice in the area of hip-hop but am quite willing to learn.

At any rate, this song by Destiny's Child came on the radio--the one where they say, "I need a soldier . . ." referring to needing a man or boyfriend or what not. So my student says, "I have a soldier."

"Oh yeah?" I respond.

"Yeah, a soldier can be a boyfriend or a girlfriend."

My first response was to talk about how traditionally a "soldier" had referred to a male of the species, but instead I didn't. I let it rest. I said, "Well that's pretty cool."

I was suprised and impressed that, at least in this immediate teen culture, "soldier" was readily used to refer to both males and females, effectively stripping the common military term of any gender stereotypes. I thought that was pretty damn cool.

When the President Talks to God

I was thinking yesterday about writing how I felt about the Iraqi elections. I was feeling somehow convinced that maybe this was a good thing, that maybe, despite all of the bullshit, despite the war mongering and culture raping and oil stealing, that maybe, just maybe there was some hope in it all. I am not convinced that there is not hope. However I think the hope exists apart from and in spite of the occupying United States military. The 8 million or whatever Iraqi people that chose to participate in this election did so, not because they support the U.S. invading their country, or that they support the democratization and westernization of the Middle East. No, they did so because it symbolized a shred of hope that they had some amount of control over their own future and the future of their home. They are a strong people and a noble people and I feel ashamed for what my country has been doing to them for the past decade or so.

I saw a Bright Eyes show last night. Having never seen a Bright Eyes show before, I came away with the feeling that it probably wasn't the best show that Bright Eyes has ever played. I was, however, swept along with the passion and emotion of Conor Obursts protest songwriting. His song, "When the President talks to God" was fucking amazing! All of the false pride or good feeling I had perhaps felt for what my country was doing with the Iraqi elections quickly evaporated. Here are the lyrics to that song:

When the President talks to God, are the conversations brief or long?
Does he ask to rape our womens rights, and send poor farm kids off to die?
Does God suggest an oil hike, when the President talks to God?
When the President talks to God, are the consonants all hard or soft?
Is he resolute all down the line? Is every issue black or white?
Does what God say ever change his mind, when the President talks to God?
When the President talks to God, does he fake that drawl or merely nod?
Agree which convicts should be killed? Where prisons should be built and filled?
Which voter fraud must be concealed, when the President talks to God?
When the President talks to God, I wonder which one plays the better cop.
"We should find some jobs, the ghetto's broke," "No, they're lazy, George, I say we don't;
just give 'em more liqour stores and dirty coke!" That's what God recommends.
When the President talks to God, do they drink near beer and go play golf while they pick which countries to invade, which Muslim souls still can be saved?
I guess God just calls a spade a spade when the President talks to God.
When the President talks to God, does he ever think that maybe he's not?
That that voice is just inside his head, when he kneels next to the presidential bed?
Does he ever smell his own bullshit? When the President talks to God?
I doubt it...I doubt it.

Talk about it.

Silencio

I was thinking back to when I was in 7th grade. My family had just moved to Perry, Michigan from Saginaw, Michigan. My father was a pastor in the Church of the Nazarene, so we moved around quite a bit. We only lived in Saginaw for about a year and had lived in our previous home in Bradford, Ohio for a mere 8 months.

I remember sitting in my 7th grade math class for two days thinking to myself, "this stuff is easy, do I really belong in this class?" It took another day or so to work up the courage to talk to my teacher after class. I don't remember exactly how that conversation went, but I made her know that I probably shouldn't be in this class. I was transferred to the pre-Algebra class where I felt much more challenged and where I also met my best friend in middle school.

I was relating this story to my work, thinking about all of the kids that don't have a voice or the courage to tell someone they are where they don't belong. I remember working at Indian Oaks Academy in Manteno, Illinois--a residential treatment facility for teenage sex offenders. So many of those kids were so hurt and so doped up that even if they wanted to tell you something, they couldn't. All that came out was a "Fuck you mothafucka," and then a fist or thrown desk.

How many of our children get lost in this system?

What's easier than actually talking to our children about what's going on, helping them learn how to talk about why they're cursing and throwing things and hitting people? Well it's so much easier to prescribe Wellbutrin, Adderrall, Zyprexa, Lexapro, Ridalin, etc.--the miracle drugs of our time that help our children behave. So that instead of teaching healthy ways of coping with anger, depression, anxiety, stress, we are creating a generation of chemically dependent kids.

Will this not be a health crisis some day? Is this not a health crisis right now? Have our children lost their voice? Have we ever tried to give them one? Or is it easier just to silence them?

It is Saturday and I am at work. Am I getting paid for these extra hours? No, I'm on salary. Is my salary large? Not really. I make $27,000 a year--the largest salary I have had to date, but not large. I remember Adam Kotsko posting a while back about those folks who have office jobs, say, in Chicago, and only do actual work about an hour or two a day. Craig Griffin had a job like that once. He got a lot of writing done. I'm pretty sure he made more money than I do. Eventually he saw the light and moved to northern Wisconsin via Milwaukee.

My job is not like that. I work quite a bit--trying to help out kids and their parents. I am rewarded by the knowledge that the kids I help out may turn out to be "successful." This is what successful means to me: you know those people that have jobs where they make a lot of money and don't do that much work--yeah, my kids are successful if they don't rob those people (and get caught) or rape and murder their teenage daughters. Ivy leaguers these kids? Not hardly. But at least we're trying to promote respect for those around them and the fundamental tool of communication.

At least I don't feel bad about posting a blog while I'm at work on Saturday.

If there was some way to track the words I have "added" to MS Word's spell-check, I think I could write a new dictionary. It doesn't know Heidegger? Come on!

Komar & Melamid

Everyone probably already knows about Komar & Melamid. I'm always the last person to find out anything. But I think it's awesome that these two guys have polled citizens of several countries asking what they most and least like seeing in paintings, and then have done those paintings for the people. For the people.

I'm especially fond of China's favorite:

Jason and I have cold rooms.

Today I only spent five minutes looking for a job. I found a position I might apply for -- a technical writer with a health insurance company -- but it requires 1 to 2 years experience. What the hell? You never know, from what I hear.

I got my hair cut today, and I made this webpage.

Why is it that we can hear people having sex in movies and TV but can't look at them doing it?

What's in Your Pipes?

I can smell the aroma of my own armpits as I type right now. I sit upon my bed, in my bedroom that is "heated" by an electric swiveling heater fan. The two windows in my room leak like a sieve--chill air from the outside world into my drab and styleless bedroom. My hot water has not worked for two days. I'm not sure exactly why, but I think it has something to do with my heat not getting under my floor well enough. But who the hell wants to heat the underside of their floor? I do have oil heating, but I have effectively sealed off my house with blankets so that it heats only my living room, kitchen and bathroom. The only pipes I have are in my kitchen and bathroom, so it stands to reason that keeping those rooms heated would serve to keep them from freezing, right? Yeah, not so much. I suppose it also has something to do with the fact that I live in North Carolina where they have never heard of insulating their pipes.

At any rate, my hot water came on about 20 minutes ago and I'm thinking about taking a shower (or a bath . . . heavenly). I am delaying the inevitable partly because I have gotten used to smelling myself. I kind of like it. I think I'm in love with my own aroma. I doubt my girlfriend . . . er, fiance would agree. I don't think I'll find out.

(Jason Lee has asserted that he has little to few morals and certainly has no right to publish anything)

You may have noticed that it has been nearly two weeks since I have written a post here. There are some good reasons for that, the least of which has been my trying to catch up on paperwork for my job. The largest reason is that there have been some big things for me to think about in the past couple of weeks.

In the span of the next 8 months, I will become both a husband and a father. Yes, that's right, a husband and a father.

Growing up in a very conservative home, I never thought I would be one of those people, but now that I am, I feel quite content. It has been interesting to hear the reactions of friends and family members as we tell them the news. I was so nervous to call my parents, but they reacted with unexpected calm and understanding--my mom was even making jokes. I think my brother was more shocked then they were. Out of all of my friends, Jeff Snowbarger had the funniest reaction. For a student and teacher of Literature and writing, he was definitely at a loss for words. I've never heard Jeff so speechless. His vocabulary consisted of "Wow." "Congratulations." and "This is good news." We talked for about 20 minutes.

I figure I'm 28 years old and it's about time to start doing the things that some of my friends were doing years ago (i.e. getting married and having kids). I could have kept trying to pretend that I was still in my early twenties, but that wouldn't have accomplished much. I'm excited and happy, and a little scared. In making this decision, Emily and I have come to the conclusion that we're not sure if we're ready for this. Is anyone really ever ready for this?

To recap--I'm getting married and having a baby. Our wedding will occur in South Hero, Vermont on May 7th. The baby is due on September 9th. Damn this is cool!

Life is kinda funny isn't it?

Whoa Doggy

I just had a pretty funny man/animal experience. My neighbors to the left of me have two rather large dogs that are always tied up behind their house. For quite some time, these dogs have barked at me whenever they see me, especially if I'm doing something in my back yard. Well yesterday, I made a few trips to my compost pile and not once did they bark at me. I felt pretty good about myself--like I had finally been accepted into the neighborhood.

So today, it's about 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning and I'm getting ready to make some tea. I hear both the dogs barking and going at it (not really an uncommon thing, but they're always barking at something) and I decide to open my back door and check it out. What I call my "back door" is technically on the side of my house. It is off of my kitchen and opens into a little alcove where to the left is a little storage room and straight ahead are some steps that lead down into my yard. When I open this door I am facing my neighbors' house, and those dogs, who always perk up and see what I'm up to.

So I open my back door and the two dogs are going crazy--barking, running around, pulling at their chains--at what seems to be something in my back yard. I take a few steps and peek around the corner of my house. Low and behold, there are three stray dogs creeping out from the trees into my back yard. They weren't particlarly mean looking or anything--just that ratty, dirty, unkempt look that stray dogs have. The three dogs are about fifty feet from me and I say, "Get outta here you punks." The three of them stop in their tracks and look at me in silence, not knowing what to think. I say, "Yeah you." Without missing a beat, the three of them turn around and stroll back from where they had come, as if I was their lord and master. I yell to my neighbors' dogs, "See, I got your backs." They look at me incredulously with what seem to be smiles on their faces.

The Strange Brew

My fourth endeavor at homebrewed beer is now in the secondary fermenter--I transfered it from the primary fermenter this morning. The beer is now a week old as I brewed up the wort (that's what you call the stuff when you boil it up) last Saturday. This is the first time I have done my own recipe--a variation and combination of a few different recipes, along with a few personal touches. While I was in Vermont I just happened upon a book for old-world medicinal and herbal beers. Of course the chapter heading "Psychotropic and Highly Intoxicating Beers" quickly caught my eye. I combined their recipes for Wormwood Ale and "Gruit" (a wheat beer using various herbs) with a recipe for an Imperial Stout. I added a bit of honey and ginger, along with a little bit of this and a little bit of that. I have no idea how it will taste, but it should be quite an interesting little brew. I wrote down all of the ingredients and measurements and perhaps will post the recipe if I like it (not that anybody who reads this brews their own beer, but you goddamn should!). Word.

UPDATE: I decided to take a little taste of this brew just to see what it was like. Blech! was my initial reaction. It was pretty bitter and pungent and you could clearly taste the ginger that was added. After about a minute, the lingering flavor on my palate made me want more. I am hoping that after I add the fermenting sugar to it, bottle it, and age it, this beer might be something quite impressive. And if I am not satisfied with the flavor I can always make some modifications to the ingredients.

Happy New Year

I'm not sure how you ushered in the New Year, but I did it in a pretty low key way. I thought about going down to Chapel Hill and taking in a show at the Local 506. There were four bands playing there that seemed interesting. One of the bands, Kung Flute, is apparently known for smashing ceiling tiles against their, and selected audience members', heads. My other idea was to treat myself to dinner and a movie, but alas, the coffers are less than full. What I did do was cook myself up some cube steak and mashed potatoes, complete with a spinach leaf salad. I even splurged for a cheap bottle of champagne (my kitchen floor is still a bit sticky from the opening). Sifting through Emily's VHS movies (I had her t.v. with a built in VCR for visual entertainment), the best pick was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Somewhere into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II, I fell asleep on the couch. At midnight I was awoken by the many fireworks, and probably gun shots, going off. I said to my town, "Happy New Year," and went back to sleep.

Chief Jason's Christmas Debaucle

12/23/04

4:05 p.m.--The time that my flight to Phoenix (via Charlotte, NC) was supposed to leave from Raleigh/Durham airport.

3:05 p.m.--The time that I arrive at the airport (I really hate airports, so the less time I have to spend at them, the better!)

4:15 p.m.--USAirways (yes, I said US mother fucking Airways) personnel come on the intercom to tell it's loyal passengers that their flight has been delayed. Well no Shit.

50 minutes--The approximate time it takes to fly from Raleigh to Charlotte.

6:15 p.m.--The time my connecting flight out of Charlotte is supposed to leave for Phoenix.

4:30 p.m.--USmotherfuckingAirways announce that if your connecting flight is scheduled to leave before 6:15 p.m., then you should call 1-800-you-are-fucked.

4:30-4:45 p.m.--The duration it takes me to decided whether or not I should call the 1-800 number since technically my connecting flight does not leave before 6:15 p.m. I decide to call the number anyway.

30 minutes--The duration of time from my intial dialing of the 1-800-fuck-you-you-mother-fucking-worthless-excuse-for-a-human-being number to my actually talking to a real person from USmf'ingAirways.

Christmas Eve, sometime at night--the soonest USmotherfuckingAir would be able to get me to Phoenix.

6:00 p.m.--The time I decide to say "Fuck this noise" and leave the airport (my plane from Raleigh still had not arrived).

6:15 p.m.--When my plane was supposed to leave from Charlotte en route to Phoenix, and the time I called my parents from my car on the way home from RDU airport.

12/24/04

12:00 a.m.--When I decide I really don't want to deal with all of the bullshit at the airport again and beging to drive up to Vermont to spend Christmas with Emily and her family.

9:00 a.m.-- I call my mom and tell her I am halfway to Vermont, and when she starts crying and lamenting all of the plans she has made and how she is not going to let me ruin their Christmas (you should be telling this to USmotherfucking Airways, I thought to myself).

3:30 p.m.--I arrive at the Lake house (that's Emily's last name) in South Hero, Vermont. I chat for awhile and then decide to go take a nap. Later, we go to an advent service at her church, come home, and then collectively drink about 7 bottles of wine.

12/25/04

9:30 a.m.--when I get out of bed and join Emily's family for the opening of Christmas presents.

2:00 p.m.--When I call home and talk to my dad, my brother, my sister-in-law, and my moth . . oops, my mom wouldn't talk to me, ON CHRISTMAS!!! Apparently she let me ruin her Christmas afterall. MotherfuckingUSmotherfuckingAirways.

Emily and her sister, Sue, left on Sunday to drive to Maryland, from which they were flying to El Salvador the next morning. I myself ended up spending Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday with Emily's sister, Mary, and her boyfriend, Paul, in Burlington, Vermont. I enjoyed it quite a bit, and actually had a really good Christmas holiday. Too bad USmotherfuckingAirways has ruined my family relations. (Not really, I am back on speaking terms with my mom now, although she did take all of my Christmas presents back. Oh well, I'm not too upset.)

Lesson learned: It is much better to drive for 28 hours than to fly during the holidays.

Seriously, it's coming. I'm not joking.

Coming Soon:

The story of Chief Jason's Christmas debaucle.

I think we all should look into this. This sounds very cool and something that our community would be very interested in. Anti-globalization. Anti big business. A financial gadfly if you will. This could be the subject of a very interesting discussion.

In one's endless search for love, one always and only uncovers a deeper loneliness.
Only when one is alone is she able to discover where the capacity to love may lie.
Put into practice, it is a deception of the most heinous type where to love another person is just another form of self love, or part of the endless attempt to murder and to bury the loathing of one's self.
So our bodies keep bumping into one another, moving, crashing, falling, rising in the eternal vain attempt to find a meaning to what is forever void of meaning.
And our intellectual murmurs fall effortlessly to the ground, to be trampled over by our own going back and forth.

There is a small round hole in the ceiling of my bedroom through which the entire universe is slowly being sucked. If I stare at it long enough it starts to move around.

"I cannot imagine how elections can be organized in conditions of total occupation of the country by foreign troops," Russian President Alexsander Putin said Tuesday, as he met visiting Iraqi Prime Minister Iyad Allawi at the Kremlin.

Yeah, no shit.

Do you ever feel like your life isn't what it should be . . . that it's a dead end and you just can't get out of it? God I feel like that nearly every day. Maybe that's why I drink as much as I do.

I just happen to have the MSN page as my home page on my work laptop. I suppose I could change it, but that's just one of those things that you have to get around to doing. Anyway, they had this link to the 20 most popular Christmas gifts for her, him, kids, etc. I figure I'm not much of a gift giver and could use some help buying a Christmas present for my girlfriend, so I click on the link. I suppose she would like a dozen candy cane roses, but Gucci perfume? a fluffy handbag? a red lace nighty? who the hell's girlfriend are these gifts for? I thought about the diamond earings, which apparently diamonds are always a good gift, but where would she wear them? To all of the parties and balls that we attend? Sure, she could break them out for the obligatory wedding or two a year, but I like practical gifts a little more. The rose shaped bunt cake maker was intriguing, but my mom always said not to get gifts that imply having to do work.
I'm open for ideas all of you people-who-are-better-gift-givers-than-me people.

I've been reading more lately, and I've been engaging in more creative endeavors than say, drinking beer and watching t.v. Part of the reason is that I opened up a new room in my house. It is the library/art room. I still need to get bookshelves for my books, but there's a nice looking french eisel with art in progress. My current composition is taking all of the leaves that I find on my floor and painting them onto a canvas. It's met with limited success so far. It is only the second time I've used oil paints and a canvas. I'm sure that concept seems strange to Josh and Bethany. Another reason is that I put my 5" black & white on the shelf. It'll come down tonight for Lost, which I am actually enjoying, and on Sunday for foot ball. It's no HD, but hey, I think 50 degrees is pretty warm in my house.

I want to get some turn tables and fiddle with mixing. Part of my secret would be my Latin Opera vinyls--you can get some sick samples offa those mothas. It would help my guitar playing and song writing too. Anybody know somebody that wants to sell some mixing equipment--a little DJ set? I'll definitely be into scratching. Indeed, I was scratching my leg just now.

No, but I'm trying out recording some improvisations, then molding them into a song with playback and lyric changes and perhaps some different instrumentation. It's been kinda fun so far.

Word to your mom (and I mean that, you can tell her)

I'm no Bright Eyes, but at least it wasn't contrived!

I recorded six songs last night, five of which I improvised on the spot. Although there were some unfortunate lyrics, and a few musical annoyances, all in all it was turned out to be really cool. My dilemma is whether to let those songs stand on their own or actually fiddle around with them and make them into better songs. My favorite one is about how I'd like to think I'm various actors in various roles, like DeNiro in Taxi Driver, or Pacino in the Godfather. It's a pretty cool song that started as I was looking at a DVD cover. All these songs were recorded in about an hour and a half while drinking 100 proof vodka--a sure recipe for success.

Word.