Dear loyal and true members of the VR,
I said I wasn't going to do it, but you've pulled me in this discussion with all your talk 'bout 'quipment an' th'owin' 'psotrophe's aroun'.
Peetnis is correct. He did not mention the "for real penis" shape of the pink eraser, or that the traditional inscription is "Fuck You Bitch" written on the rubber band (whilst streched out). The two rubber balls are standard skittleboch balls.
Lapis lazuli balls are an extravagance some like to indulge, but are way totally unnecessary. Lignum vitae ones, while also unecessarily extravagant, are appreciated by those wanting a more sensual feel than the regulation rubber balls may impart to sensitive areas.
I want to point out an historical note while we're on the subject. Some more hedonistic players used enormous bladder stones, especially French players of the 17th and 18th centuries.
He also mentioned what I refer to as the "ganas", or as he puts it, "...the inclination to deliver". Since this is not equipment, but rather an essential attribute brought to the game by its players, I will point out that he forgot to mention the one other: nudeness.
"But what about gayness, Vance?"
Some of you more Astute Members of the VR must be wondering this. Gayness is not strictly necessary. It is welcome, as there is Nothing Wrong with It, but there are some dour players out there, I can tell you from experience.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Little Baby Jesus
Oh, yeah.
Nothing like bringing up the metric system to get people in an uproar. Little Baby Jesus likes the metric system. Everybody knows that. So does Tom Cruise.
But nothing gets people going more than talkin' about Canadians. Little Baby Jesus likes Canadians. Everybody knows that, too. So does Keeanu Reeves.
Nothing like bringing up the metric system to get people in an uproar. Little Baby Jesus likes the metric system. Everybody knows that. So does Tom Cruise.
But nothing gets people going more than talkin' about Canadians. Little Baby Jesus likes Canadians. Everybody knows that, too. So does Keeanu Reeves.
Friday, November 16, 2007
The World According to dude
Whoa! 2 posts in the same week? Where else are you going to get this kind of action? But, you'll see why in a sec.
The reason is, is, some of (one of) my VR has finally kicked into gear and is PARTICIPATING, instead of LURKING.
In case you were too lethargic to precisely position the cursor over the comments button and click that mouse, here follow the comments the astute dude made. He was bemoaning The Way Things Are*:
His rants follow:
1. The death of playgrounds as we have known them.
My main beef here is that playground design and management has been wrested from the "old guard" who rightfully saw them as places for kids to have fun, but not without a certain element of danger. The "new guard," recreation do-gooders believe that sand isn't soft enough to fall into, you gotta have some kind of rubbery shit all over the place. They think that metal isn't an appropriate material for climbing structures, and that monkey bars, swings of all sorts, and see-saws oughta go. However, the unfortunate evolution of our playgrounds in which safety is emphasized over real learning misses the point: Playgrounds are a powerful metaphor: We shouldn't sugar-coat life for our kids, or someday, due to their lack of vigilance, they're gonna get smacked in the teeth by a see-saw. That should be enough to start the conversation -- don't make me get into my feelings about dodgeball and lawn darts -- also classic metaphors for development of much needed survival skills.
2. I was sitting listening to my daughter doing her calc homework, and we started talking about PI (3.141592654....etc.). It occurred to me that this is such an awkward number, having infinitely non-repeating decimal places, but, nevertheless, vital to our knowing some basic things about how our universe is constructed.
So (and here's my point), why shouldn't PI be a simple number, like "1" and then construct our math around it? In other words, adopt a math system in basePI. Perhaps something beautiful would be revealed? Whattaya think?
Faithfully,
dude
You read my response to the playground/Life's too Dangerous to Allow Fun bidniss. Now you get my response to the whole basepi idea.
dude! Who cares?
But, since you do, let's push things forward. Or some direction, anyways.
What about base1? Doesn't the binary system sorta, kina do this? On/off..... That's a very elegant concept. But it's not basepi. And what about all of the other concept numbers? Are they going to want their own system? Where will it end?!! And who's going to design this basepi system? Not me!
But let's take this whole base thingy to its logical starting point:
Canadians.
There's very little to fault our northerly cousins for up there in their huge little country. Except for this:
They're very......what? Never annoying, or rude, or disrespectful, or anything. They're so nice! But what do you expect? They're Canadian.
Let's see....what adjective can I find that describes how they are about their metric system? Slightly superior?
It'll have to do.
So. Metrics. Base 10. Very logical, very useful, easy to deal with. Slide that decimal willy-nilly, and you've calculated all kina shit, just like that. Try that with base twelve, eh?
OK, I agree! I'm a big supporter of the metric system. I've been using it my whole life. Centimeters, millimeters, kilometers, no problem. I think we should adopt metrics here in the US of A.
But they's a big problem with metrics. And I will illuminate it forthwith.
You know how Canadians think pizza is a frozen toaster waffle, ketchup, and brie melted over it in the microwave?
By the way, this is a shameful thing, seeing as how parts of Canada are within a few miles of New York. They should know better. But I digress.
Maybe this is why they get so uppity about metrics. You can easily cut a square waffle into tenths. If you study on it, you know how the waffle has the grid laid out on it? I wonder if there's 10x10 syrup detents? That would be something to look into, if I really gave a crap.
But try cutting a round pizza into tenths! There goes your fucking metric system, baby! Quarters, eighths, sixteenths. If you try hard, thirds, sixths, twelfths. You'd have to be a maniac to try to cut it into tenths.
They must run into this in Canada, too. They probably have pie in Canada. Like mooseberry and salmonberry pie. Pies are often round....
Maybe they make 'em in those square pyrex dishes up there.
*You must reference the movie "Babe" for a perspective on "The Way Things Are". This is a Must See movie.
The reason is, is, some of (one of) my VR has finally kicked into gear and is PARTICIPATING, instead of LURKING.
In case you were too lethargic to precisely position the cursor over the comments button and click that mouse, here follow the comments the astute dude made. He was bemoaning The Way Things Are*:
His rants follow:
1. The death of playgrounds as we have known them.
My main beef here is that playground design and management has been wrested from the "old guard" who rightfully saw them as places for kids to have fun, but not without a certain element of danger. The "new guard," recreation do-gooders believe that sand isn't soft enough to fall into, you gotta have some kind of rubbery shit all over the place. They think that metal isn't an appropriate material for climbing structures, and that monkey bars, swings of all sorts, and see-saws oughta go. However, the unfortunate evolution of our playgrounds in which safety is emphasized over real learning misses the point: Playgrounds are a powerful metaphor: We shouldn't sugar-coat life for our kids, or someday, due to their lack of vigilance, they're gonna get smacked in the teeth by a see-saw. That should be enough to start the conversation -- don't make me get into my feelings about dodgeball and lawn darts -- also classic metaphors for development of much needed survival skills.
2. I was sitting listening to my daughter doing her calc homework, and we started talking about PI (3.141592654....etc.). It occurred to me that this is such an awkward number, having infinitely non-repeating decimal places, but, nevertheless, vital to our knowing some basic things about how our universe is constructed.
So (and here's my point), why shouldn't PI be a simple number, like "1" and then construct our math around it? In other words, adopt a math system in basePI. Perhaps something beautiful would be revealed? Whattaya think?
Faithfully,
dude
You read my response to the playground/Life's too Dangerous to Allow Fun bidniss. Now you get my response to the whole basepi idea.
dude! Who cares?
But, since you do, let's push things forward. Or some direction, anyways.
What about base1? Doesn't the binary system sorta, kina do this? On/off..... That's a very elegant concept. But it's not basepi. And what about all of the other concept numbers? Are they going to want their own system? Where will it end?!! And who's going to design this basepi system? Not me!
But let's take this whole base thingy to its logical starting point:
Canadians.
There's very little to fault our northerly cousins for up there in their huge little country. Except for this:
They're very......what? Never annoying, or rude, or disrespectful, or anything. They're so nice! But what do you expect? They're Canadian.
Let's see....what adjective can I find that describes how they are about their metric system? Slightly superior?
It'll have to do.
So. Metrics. Base 10. Very logical, very useful, easy to deal with. Slide that decimal willy-nilly, and you've calculated all kina shit, just like that. Try that with base twelve, eh?
OK, I agree! I'm a big supporter of the metric system. I've been using it my whole life. Centimeters, millimeters, kilometers, no problem. I think we should adopt metrics here in the US of A.
But they's a big problem with metrics. And I will illuminate it forthwith.
You know how Canadians think pizza is a frozen toaster waffle, ketchup, and brie melted over it in the microwave?
By the way, this is a shameful thing, seeing as how parts of Canada are within a few miles of New York. They should know better. But I digress.
Maybe this is why they get so uppity about metrics. You can easily cut a square waffle into tenths. If you study on it, you know how the waffle has the grid laid out on it? I wonder if there's 10x10 syrup detents? That would be something to look into, if I really gave a crap.
But try cutting a round pizza into tenths! There goes your fucking metric system, baby! Quarters, eighths, sixteenths. If you try hard, thirds, sixths, twelfths. You'd have to be a maniac to try to cut it into tenths.
They must run into this in Canada, too. They probably have pie in Canada. Like mooseberry and salmonberry pie. Pies are often round....
Maybe they make 'em in those square pyrex dishes up there.
*You must reference the movie "Babe" for a perspective on "The Way Things Are". This is a Must See movie.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Why Do It Myself?
OK! Here we are in November. Bless me, Fadda, for I have sinned. It's been 2 months since my last post.
I don't think I should have to pour all of the effort into this, and have my shiftless, do nothing VR lounging around, making the occasional comment, an' prolly cracking farts left and right. Comments, are good, mind you, but it hasn't been exactly tit for tat. Tit! Hahahahahaha!
Then, along comes dude. Kudos, dude! Now we're cookin' with gas!
Yeah Buddy.
If you haven't already, see if you can summon the energy to lift your finger and click the mouse button on the "Comments" under my last mega-relevant post, "Why Jews yadayada, etc." You will note that dude, being your less lazy-ass member of the VR, has come up with some material.
That's what I'm talking about!
And very topical and interesting material it is. We're spending a billion dollars a month trying to kill wimmins and chirren in Iraq, and dude brings up playgrounds and what was the other thing? Oh, yeah. The bassist considers bases. But, let's appreciate rather than denigrate.
So what were we talking about?
I think we have made up this whole thing about how dangerous the world is, and the risks of dissappeared kids, and all.
'N stuff.
Kids got kidnapped and murdered and abused when we were kids too.
IT JUST WASN"T TALKED ABOUT.
They were molested and abused and all the rest, just like they are today. It certainly wasn't plastered all over the news and other media the way it is today. Can you sat "sensationalized", boys and girls?
So there! I've said it!
Where else would you read about such issues? People Magazine? Would you hear this point of view on Oprah?
I think......NOT!
What do you think rapists and murderers and child abusers and abductors and family member incest providers did in the '50's and 60's? Play Parcheesi?
Maybe they did, and played Careers,too. But, in addition, they raped and murdered and abducted and did incest in between games.
See how a mere suggestion of a topic can start a bit of discussion? Or unleash a tirade?
Again, thanks for the effort there, dude.
Playgrounds?!!
Feh! But it's a start.
I don't think I should have to pour all of the effort into this, and have my shiftless, do nothing VR lounging around, making the occasional comment, an' prolly cracking farts left and right. Comments, are good, mind you, but it hasn't been exactly tit for tat. Tit! Hahahahahaha!
Then, along comes dude. Kudos, dude! Now we're cookin' with gas!
Yeah Buddy.
If you haven't already, see if you can summon the energy to lift your finger and click the mouse button on the "Comments" under my last mega-relevant post, "Why Jews yadayada, etc." You will note that dude, being your less lazy-ass member of the VR, has come up with some material.
That's what I'm talking about!
And very topical and interesting material it is. We're spending a billion dollars a month trying to kill wimmins and chirren in Iraq, and dude brings up playgrounds and what was the other thing? Oh, yeah. The bassist considers bases. But, let's appreciate rather than denigrate.
So what were we talking about?
I think we have made up this whole thing about how dangerous the world is, and the risks of dissappeared kids, and all.
'N stuff.
Kids got kidnapped and murdered and abused when we were kids too.
IT JUST WASN"T TALKED ABOUT.
They were molested and abused and all the rest, just like they are today. It certainly wasn't plastered all over the news and other media the way it is today. Can you sat "sensationalized", boys and girls?
So there! I've said it!
Where else would you read about such issues? People Magazine? Would you hear this point of view on Oprah?
I think......NOT!
What do you think rapists and murderers and child abusers and abductors and family member incest providers did in the '50's and 60's? Play Parcheesi?
Maybe they did, and played Careers,too. But, in addition, they raped and murdered and abducted and did incest in between games.
See how a mere suggestion of a topic can start a bit of discussion? Or unleash a tirade?
Again, thanks for the effort there, dude.
Playgrounds?!!
Feh! But it's a start.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Another Reason Why Jews are the Chosen People....
Here's an interesting tit-bit (remember the spell-checker problem?) that relates to my last super-relevant posting "Psychology Today". Read on and be enlightened.....
The English borrowed cretin from the French word cr�tin in 1779. It comes from an earlier word, cretin, which meant "Christian" in the (French) dialects of Valais and Savoie (compare the standard French word, chr�tien). Its ultimate source is the Latin christianus, "Christian".
While the original meaning of cretin was, literally, "Christian", the word "Christian" was not being used as we would use it today. In our pluralistic, multi-cultural society, we recognize Christianity to be just one of many competing belief systems. Thus, to say that someone is a Christian is to state that s/he is not a Buddhist, a Marxist, a Hindu or a Jew. This seems rather obvious to us, doesn't it? Yet this wasn't quite how the word was understood by the medieval inhabitants of remote Alpine valleys. From their limited and parochial perspective it seemed that everyone in the world was Christian. Thus, the word became synonymous with "human being".
Due to the lack of iodine in the medieval Alpine diet, certain regions of
We must admit that we were quite surprised to find that the word Christian itself was not used in English until 1526. How did English-speaking Christians refer to themselves before that date? Did they not need such a word before they came into contact with non-Christians?
* * * * * *
Yeah, Buddy! There you have it!
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Psychology Today
Wow. OK!
It's been some time since I posted anything on this yere blog. No one misses it, except maybe Trey Sensation, and he's a moron. Well, that's harsh. Maybe he isn't. He may be an idiot, or an imbecile.
Which is my segue into the theme of this post!
My friend the CFO is fond of the old-timey IQ classifications, but, as is often the case, he doesn't have the facts. We were never quite sure of the heirarchy, and thence, unsure of the correct label to apply to someone one wishes to disparage (or upgrade, as in the CFO's case). I have always meant to look them up, but never remembered to do it. So, I will quickly divert my attention away from blogging to do a bit of research. Off I go to Google.
dumdydumdydumdumdum.
All righty then! I'm back with the facks.
These are the old IQ classifications which were used, incredibly, up until the 1970's!
In case you were wondering.
IQ range for each classification: 70-80 Borderline deficiency
50-69 Moron
20-49 Imbecile
below 20 Idiot
So now you know. This means it's actually good to be a moron! My name-calling above wasn't so harsh after all.
It's been some time since I posted anything on this yere blog. No one misses it, except maybe Trey Sensation, and he's a moron. Well, that's harsh. Maybe he isn't. He may be an idiot, or an imbecile.
Which is my segue into the theme of this post!
My friend the CFO is fond of the old-timey IQ classifications, but, as is often the case, he doesn't have the facts. We were never quite sure of the heirarchy, and thence, unsure of the correct label to apply to someone one wishes to disparage (or upgrade, as in the CFO's case). I have always meant to look them up, but never remembered to do it. So, I will quickly divert my attention away from blogging to do a bit of research. Off I go to Google.
dumdydumdydumdumdum.
All righty then! I'm back with the facks.
These are the old IQ classifications which were used, incredibly, up until the 1970's!
In case you were wondering.
IQ range for each classification: 70-80 Borderline deficiency
50-69 Moron
20-49 Imbecile
below 20 Idiot
So now you know. This means it's actually good to be a moron! My name-calling above wasn't so harsh after all.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Was it Something I Said?
Was this a dream? You're never going to believe this!
How could something like this happen to an insignificant blogger like me? How could the merest, teeniest speck in the blogosphere like What Do You Mean, Mace? have set off such a fire-storm of controversy?
I got a warning from some lawyers. They say I can't say stuff like I posted in my last post, Paris Hilton: Self-Promotion Genius or Stupid, Skanky Who-er? I would post the text of the email, but the lawyers said I'd better not.
This is the gist:
Dear Mr. Vance:
You can't say stuff like that about our client in your blog. It's not nice. We could sue you if we want. You'd better not post the text of this email in your blog, either.
Signed,
A Bunch of Lawyers.
Dude! This is ridiculous! Why would there be all this fuss over What'sHerName?
But, I'm a bit confused. I shouldn't say which part? Stupid Skanky Who-er? Or Self-Promotion Genius? Maybe they meant lay off altogether?
But what about the first amendment? Can't I post whatever pops into my head in my own blog? Don't I have a right to express my thoughts and feeling? My hopes and dreams? My fears and fantasies? Can't I lie and make up stuff? Can't I belittle people and call them vile names with impunity just because I feel like it? I have rights, you know! I want my rights! I demand my rights!
Does this mean my upcoming blog post, Cher: Skanky Bee-otch with too Much Plastic Surgery or Goddess of the Gays? will have to be axed?
You'd better hope not.
I'm thinking "Twinkie Defense".
I'll keep you posted.
How could something like this happen to an insignificant blogger like me? How could the merest, teeniest speck in the blogosphere like What Do You Mean, Mace? have set off such a fire-storm of controversy?
I got a warning from some lawyers. They say I can't say stuff like I posted in my last post, Paris Hilton: Self-Promotion Genius or Stupid, Skanky Who-er? I would post the text of the email, but the lawyers said I'd better not.
This is the gist:
Dear Mr. Vance:
You can't say stuff like that about our client in your blog. It's not nice. We could sue you if we want. You'd better not post the text of this email in your blog, either.
Signed,
A Bunch of Lawyers.
Dude! This is ridiculous! Why would there be all this fuss over What'sHerName?
But, I'm a bit confused. I shouldn't say which part? Stupid Skanky Who-er? Or Self-Promotion Genius? Maybe they meant lay off altogether?
But what about the first amendment? Can't I post whatever pops into my head in my own blog? Don't I have a right to express my thoughts and feeling? My hopes and dreams? My fears and fantasies? Can't I lie and make up stuff? Can't I belittle people and call them vile names with impunity just because I feel like it? I have rights, you know! I want my rights! I demand my rights!
Does this mean my upcoming blog post, Cher: Skanky Bee-otch with too Much Plastic Surgery or Goddess of the Gays? will have to be axed?
You'd better hope not.
I'm thinking "Twinkie Defense".
I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Paris Hilton: Stupid Skanky Who-er or Self-Promotion Genius?
Everyone will agree that
But wait, Vance! Doesn’t that it's show possession?
AARRGH!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
List-o-Mania Lists!
In order they were received:
Top 5 Blogs
1. What Do You Mean Mace?
5. DJ's Whatever
Mr. Vance,
Thank you for requesting my Top Five List of Supernatural Movies. My requirements are that they are eerie/creepy, are NOT slasher/gore-fest films, rarely rely on "jump out of your seat" scares, and aren't comedies. Also note that, invariably, I've listed the original. I've never seen a good remake (such as the 1999 version of The Haunting which really sucked big time). Here they are:
1. The Haunting (1963)
2. Changeling (1980)
3. The Innocents (1961)
4. The Others (2002)
5. The Wicker Man (1973)
6. The Sixth Sense (1999)
7. The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005)
8. Carnival of Souls (1962)
9. The Gift (2000)
10. Rosemary's Baby (1968)
11. The Uninvited (1944)
12. The Birds (1963)
13. What Lies Beneath (2000)
14. Stir of Echoes (1999)
15. Kwaidan (1964)
16. Haunted (1995)
17. The Dead Zone (1983)
18. Island of Lost Souls (1933)
19. Nosferatu (1929)
20. Blair Witch Project (1999)
21. The Skeleton Key (2005)
22. Repulsion (1965)
23. Cat People (1942)
24. The Village (2004)
Top 5 Live Blues Recordings
Buddy Guy "This is Buddy Guy"
B.B. King "Blues is King"
Etta James "Rocks the House"
Son Seals "Live and Burnin"
Hounddog "Taylor Beware of the Dog"
T5 Live Rock Recordings
1. The Who Live at Leeds
2. The Allman Brothers Band At the Fillmore East
3. Little Feat Waiting for Columbus
4. Neil Young and Crazy Horse Live at the Fillmore East
5. Elvis Costello and the Attractions Live at the El Mocambo
OK, YOU ASKED FOR IT. Here's the definitive , authoritative, No Shit, one and only TOP 5 Mucic list of All Time.
Jazz
Coltrane "A Love Supreme"
Billie Holiday "Strange Fruit"
Louis Armstrong "Potato Head Blues"
Ella Fitzgerald "Does Gershwin"
Wes Montgomery "Vibratin'"
Thelonious Monk "Monk's Dream"
ROCK
Jimi Hendrix "Electric Ladyland"
Bob Dylan "Highway 61 Revisited"
Stevie Wonder "Innervisions"
Los Lobos "How Will the Wolf Survive?"
Rolling Stones "Let It Bleed"
Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels "Detroit"
BLUES
Magic Sam "West Side Soul"
Johnny Winter "Progressive Blues Experiment"
Freddie King "Texas Cannonball"
Ma Rainey "I'm Jealous"
Sonny Stitt "Blues Greasy"
Top Five Of Anything That Comes To Mind
1. Garlic
2. Eggplant
3. Garlic and Eggplant together
4. "Mercury Blues" by David Lindley
5. Cool days
6. Potatos
7. Anne Francis
8. The movie "The Dresser"
9. The movie "Some Like It Hot"
10. Elephants
11. Japanese flutes
12. Olive oil (especially if used to cook garlic and eggplant)
13. Chess
14. Archery
15. The book "To Kill a Mockingbird"
16. Parchment
17. Cold water on a hot day
18. Spicy Pepper Sauce (especially if added to cooking garlic and eggplant in olive oil)
19. Good beer (like Dead Guy Ale)
20. The movie "A Room with a View"
21. Jumper cables
22. Oak tree forests
23. Surf music
24. Clouds after a rain storm
25. Red-winged blackbirds
26. Apples
27. External hard drives for backup
28. Snow
29. A nice cuppa tea
30. Any book you can't put down
31. Real licorice
32. Leave It To Beaver
33. Wrens
34. Autumn
35. Designing something that really, really works
36. Benson gyrocopters
37. Amelia Earhart
38. The Autogiro
39. Zucchinis
40. Velcro
So far, so good. We're still waiting on input from the rest of you, so let's get those top 5's in!!
Top 5 Blogs
1. What Do You Mean Mace?
5. DJ's Whatever
Mr. Vance,
Thank you for requesting my Top Five List of Supernatural Movies. My requirements are that they are eerie/creepy, are NOT slasher/gore-fest films, rarely rely on "jump out of your seat" scares, and aren't comedies. Also note that, invariably, I've listed the original. I've never seen a good remake (such as the 1999 version of The Haunting which really sucked big time). Here they are:
1. The Haunting (1963)
2. Changeling (1980)
3. The Innocents (1961)
4. The Others (2002)
5. The Wicker Man (1973)
6. The Sixth Sense (1999)
7. The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005)
8. Carnival of Souls (1962)
9. The Gift (2000)
10. Rosemary's Baby (1968)
11. The Uninvited (1944)
12. The Birds (1963)
13. What Lies Beneath (2000)
14. Stir of Echoes (1999)
15. Kwaidan (1964)
16. Haunted (1995)
17. The Dead Zone (1983)
18. Island of Lost Souls (1933)
19. Nosferatu (1929)
20. Blair Witch Project (1999)
21. The Skeleton Key (2005)
22. Repulsion (1965)
23. Cat People (1942)
24. The Village (2004)
Top 5 Live Blues Recordings
Buddy Guy "This is Buddy Guy"
B.B. King "Blues is King"
Etta James "Rocks the House"
Son Seals "Live and Burnin"
Hounddog "Taylor Beware of the Dog"
T5 Live Rock Recordings
1. The Who Live at Leeds
2. The Allman Brothers Band At the Fillmore East
3. Little Feat Waiting for Columbus
4. Neil Young and Crazy Horse Live at the Fillmore East
5. Elvis Costello and the Attractions Live at the El Mocambo
OK, YOU ASKED FOR IT. Here's the definitive , authoritative, No Shit, one and only TOP 5 Mucic list of All Time.
Jazz
Coltrane "A Love Supreme"
Billie Holiday "Strange Fruit"
Louis Armstrong "Potato Head Blues"
Ella Fitzgerald "Does Gershwin"
Wes Montgomery "Vibratin'"
Thelonious Monk "Monk's Dream"
ROCK
Jimi Hendrix "Electric Ladyland"
Bob Dylan "Highway 61 Revisited"
Stevie Wonder "Innervisions"
Los Lobos "How Will the Wolf Survive?"
Rolling Stones "Let It Bleed"
Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels "Detroit"
BLUES
Magic Sam "West Side Soul"
Johnny Winter "Progressive Blues Experiment"
Freddie King "Texas Cannonball"
Ma Rainey "I'm Jealous"
Sonny Stitt "Blues Greasy"
Top Five Of Anything That Comes To Mind
1. Garlic
2. Eggplant
3. Garlic and Eggplant together
4. "Mercury Blues" by David Lindley
5. Cool days
6. Potatos
7. Anne Francis
8. The movie "The Dresser"
9. The movie "Some Like It Hot"
10. Elephants
11. Japanese flutes
12. Olive oil (especially if used to cook garlic and eggplant)
13. Chess
14. Archery
15. The book "To Kill a Mockingbird"
16. Parchment
17. Cold water on a hot day
18. Spicy Pepper Sauce (especially if added to cooking garlic and eggplant in olive oil)
19. Good beer (like Dead Guy Ale)
20. The movie "A Room with a View"
21. Jumper cables
22. Oak tree forests
23. Surf music
24. Clouds after a rain storm
25. Red-winged blackbirds
26. Apples
27. External hard drives for backup
28. Snow
29. A nice cuppa tea
30. Any book you can't put down
31. Real licorice
32. Leave It To Beaver
33. Wrens
34. Autumn
35. Designing something that really, really works
36. Benson gyrocopters
37. Amelia Earhart
38. The Autogiro
39. Zucchinis
40. Velcro
So far, so good. We're still waiting on input from the rest of you, so let's get those top 5's in!!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
A Note to My Vast Readership
Dear VR,
The lists are beginning to pour in! Be sure to punch the comments button on the List-o-Mania post and check them out.
I think I will copy them into the body of a new post, so's they'll be out there for all to see.
The lists are beginning to pour in! Be sure to punch the comments button on the List-o-Mania post and check them out.
I think I will copy them into the body of a new post, so's they'll be out there for all to see.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
List-o-Mania
I was not able to post all of the Top 5 List submissions. The response was so overwhelming that I just don’t know what to say. (Heh. Vance without words? Not a chance. I know dozens of ‘em.)
Anyways, I couldn’t post them all because there weren’t any.
Not one.
Maybe you are all thoughtfully considering your lists, and want to fine-tune them before submitting them?
Maybe you are waiting to see if anyone else goes first?
Come on, Vast Readership! Stop procrastinating and get those lists in! Punch that “Comments” button. We are collectively on the edge of our seats waiting to see what you got.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Haints
I am sitting outside, alone at the cabin, doing something I never do anymore, that is, nothing. It is a beautiful spring evening, and the sun is going down soon. I have made myself a nice dinner. I had Yukon gold potatoes, some salad, and I barbequed some fish, liberally doused with Cajun spices.
I got here late, after taking care of some bidniss in Stockton. I did the usual thing: I started working on things before I even unpacked the car and got settled in. There is a lot to do, and no end of projects that require immediate attention. However, I feel strangely unmotivated. The day is cool, but sunny and nice. The sun is shining through the trees, and everything is green and flowering. Screw this, I thinks to myself. I’ve spent enough time under the sink, or mudding tape. Fuck the Mediterranean, ‘Nam style knockdown.
I am thinking, drinking, and generally not doing anything. It may be the alcohol, but no, I don't think so. It's about time I dealt with this. I am thoughtful and filled with random flashes of memories. Some of the memories are good, some bad, but the bulk of them fill me with nostalgia. I push away the bad memories, and their baggage of regret. I focus on the good ones.
I have to acknowledge that this place is full of ghosts. I don’t think I can be here, idle, and not be haunted. Maybe that’s why I tend to be manic here, and never sit still.
I want to write these thoughts down. I have attempted, before, to write about serious stuff for the blog. It seems to be beyond me. I don’t know why, but the serious things that go on don’t seem to flow off the keyboard like the silly things I have posted, and surely will continue to post.
I really want to get some of this off of my chest. I’d like to post some of these strong,….jeezus, can they be?…. feelings? And just talk about the losses I have had in the past 5 years. Maybe this time, I can. Of course, the editor in me will re-read this little essay, and may, as usual, put the kibosh on it.. Maybe not…..
Regardless, I soldier on.
As I said, this place is haunted. Not for you, but for me. And Dweebert. My mom, my dad, my older brother, and my grandparents, all gone now, are woven into the timbers, the siding, the windows, the drywall, the floors. So am I. So is Dweebert. I know Dweebert has the same memories, and probably has the same feelings about being here. Otherwise, why would he have wanted to invest cash into a dump like this?
I have pictures in my head of building this place. Especially 1964. We have home movie film, which reinforces the memories. Pictures of Mikey, 16 years old, hefting that unbelievably heavy Mac15 chainsaw, and cutting up the madrone tree that fell during the heavy snow in that unusually cold winter. I still see my mom, in the previous spring, all of 38, installing windows and cutting redwood siding with the old Skilsaw that I still have. She was a beautiful woman.
Suddenly, unbelievably, I start to cry when I type those last words. I know what this is: these water drops forming in my eyes, but they are as strange to me as they are to the alien in a 1950’s sci-fi movie. The sobs swell uncontrolled, and I put them down, quick. I never cried when my grandparents died, either of my parents, or my brother. I never cry. I can't. I won't. I don’t want to. I’m afraid I’ll never stop. But, fuck me, I just did. No more. Oh, no, no, no. Captain Plunge does not fall down.
Let’s veer away from this. Let’s turn abruptly away. Let’s forget this unseemly and inexplicable emotional upheaval and return to more controllable things like ghosts and haunting. I see stuff. I see dead people.
And I see living ones. I see Dweebert, 9 years old, hiding in the back of the glory hole, an exploratory mine we used to crawl into, growling and snuffling, making me and Greg, my best friend, nearly poop our pants trying to scramble out of the narrow opening, sure we were to be lunch for a bear.
All of this is floating right in front of my eyes, overlayed on what’s happening now. I can still see my dad’s shirt pocket, the bullseye of his Lucky Strike pack visible though the fabric. LSMFT. He was 41 in 1964. He was a handsome man. A puff of smoke drifts past the scene on his 8mm camera, as dad films the progress of the house we built. Puffs of smoke drift past many of the scenes in my memory. I can smell the wonderful aroma of his Zippo lighting a fresh cigarette; that first puff of smoke drifting in the summer air.
I can see Dad swinging the framing hammer, driving sinkers with one or two blows. I can’t hit a nail to save my life. I remember the time a sinker ricocheted into his glasses, spraying the lens into his eye. He was lucky that it didn’t blind him.
I see my grandparents, my dad’s mom Mammy and stepdad Ron , especially in the old screened-in-cabin where they used to sleep on an old iron bedstead. Dweebert wants to tear it down, but I argue, untruthfully, that it’s good storage space. I let him take the old iron bed to the dump, but I can’t stand to think of the old cabin coming down. A tree frog jumped onto Grampa’s face while he slept in that cabin, freaking him out, and making Gramma Mammy laugh and laugh as she told the story over and over. I wish I could hear her tell it again.
I can see Pogi, the family dog, running, running, running, swimming in the river, and generally being schizoid, wanting desperately to chase the ball, the rock, the can, the whatever. Just throw it!! I can still see her, running behind the old ‘50 Plymouth wagon. We had to let her out at the culvert because she was so beside herself with finally getting here that we had to open the door and let her run. I wanted to, too.
I wanted to run to the river, run to the mine shafts, run to the stamp mill, run to the pit, run to the creek. There was so much to do, and so many places to go. Even that place, the cabin of my childhood , is a ghost. It has changed, due to the population increase and the unfortunate placement of No Trespassing signs, but the area still has the river, the lakes, the woods, and the creek.
I learned to drive here. My mom taught me. The dirt roads were private, and many still are, and no license was considered necessary. I started at about 10. I felt that the world was mine behind the wheel of that green, three-on-the-tree ‘50 Plymouth wagon. Another ghost, that old 'wagon. I can hear my mom telling me to step on the gas, son, that dog chasin’ around the wheels will watch out for himself. That old wagon’s flathead six was faster than a speeding bullet, and more powerful than a locomotive….
My dad taught me how to operate a chainsaw, a Skilsaw, and any number of hand tools. They set me to operating a cement mixer (which I still have), a trencher, and my dad and grampa showed me how to make cement forms for a foundation. My gramma Mammy showed me how you can cook delicious food on a potbellied stove, and how you‘d better respect a Southern Lady, or she might jus’ set a switch to your backside.
They all showed me how to build a house, and drive a car, use tools, and so much more. I learned to do any number of things that many people don’t know how to do. They taught me mostly that I can do most anything someone else can, if I’ve a mind to.
But the ghosts.
Dweebert and I joke about haints. They move our tools, take the tape measure, break all the pencil points, make things come out crooked and un-level. But these haints, the real ones I’m talking about, are no joke. I feel them all the time.
I got here late, after taking care of some bidniss in Stockton. I did the usual thing: I started working on things before I even unpacked the car and got settled in. There is a lot to do, and no end of projects that require immediate attention. However, I feel strangely unmotivated. The day is cool, but sunny and nice. The sun is shining through the trees, and everything is green and flowering. Screw this, I thinks to myself. I’ve spent enough time under the sink, or mudding tape. Fuck the Mediterranean, ‘Nam style knockdown.
I am thinking, drinking, and generally not doing anything. It may be the alcohol, but no, I don't think so. It's about time I dealt with this. I am thoughtful and filled with random flashes of memories. Some of the memories are good, some bad, but the bulk of them fill me with nostalgia. I push away the bad memories, and their baggage of regret. I focus on the good ones.
I have to acknowledge that this place is full of ghosts. I don’t think I can be here, idle, and not be haunted. Maybe that’s why I tend to be manic here, and never sit still.
I want to write these thoughts down. I have attempted, before, to write about serious stuff for the blog. It seems to be beyond me. I don’t know why, but the serious things that go on don’t seem to flow off the keyboard like the silly things I have posted, and surely will continue to post.
I really want to get some of this off of my chest. I’d like to post some of these strong,….jeezus, can they be?…. feelings? And just talk about the losses I have had in the past 5 years. Maybe this time, I can. Of course, the editor in me will re-read this little essay, and may, as usual, put the kibosh on it.. Maybe not…..
Regardless, I soldier on.
As I said, this place is haunted. Not for you, but for me. And Dweebert. My mom, my dad, my older brother, and my grandparents, all gone now, are woven into the timbers, the siding, the windows, the drywall, the floors. So am I. So is Dweebert. I know Dweebert has the same memories, and probably has the same feelings about being here. Otherwise, why would he have wanted to invest cash into a dump like this?
I have pictures in my head of building this place. Especially 1964. We have home movie film, which reinforces the memories. Pictures of Mikey, 16 years old, hefting that unbelievably heavy Mac15 chainsaw, and cutting up the madrone tree that fell during the heavy snow in that unusually cold winter. I still see my mom, in the previous spring, all of 38, installing windows and cutting redwood siding with the old Skilsaw that I still have. She was a beautiful woman.
Suddenly, unbelievably, I start to cry when I type those last words. I know what this is: these water drops forming in my eyes, but they are as strange to me as they are to the alien in a 1950’s sci-fi movie. The sobs swell uncontrolled, and I put them down, quick. I never cried when my grandparents died, either of my parents, or my brother. I never cry. I can't. I won't. I don’t want to. I’m afraid I’ll never stop. But, fuck me, I just did. No more. Oh, no, no, no. Captain Plunge does not fall down.
Let’s veer away from this. Let’s turn abruptly away. Let’s forget this unseemly and inexplicable emotional upheaval and return to more controllable things like ghosts and haunting. I see stuff. I see dead people.
And I see living ones. I see Dweebert, 9 years old, hiding in the back of the glory hole, an exploratory mine we used to crawl into, growling and snuffling, making me and Greg, my best friend, nearly poop our pants trying to scramble out of the narrow opening, sure we were to be lunch for a bear.
All of this is floating right in front of my eyes, overlayed on what’s happening now. I can still see my dad’s shirt pocket, the bullseye of his Lucky Strike pack visible though the fabric. LSMFT. He was 41 in 1964. He was a handsome man. A puff of smoke drifts past the scene on his 8mm camera, as dad films the progress of the house we built. Puffs of smoke drift past many of the scenes in my memory. I can smell the wonderful aroma of his Zippo lighting a fresh cigarette; that first puff of smoke drifting in the summer air.
I can see Dad swinging the framing hammer, driving sinkers with one or two blows. I can’t hit a nail to save my life. I remember the time a sinker ricocheted into his glasses, spraying the lens into his eye. He was lucky that it didn’t blind him.
I see my grandparents, my dad’s mom Mammy and stepdad Ron , especially in the old screened-in-cabin where they used to sleep on an old iron bedstead. Dweebert wants to tear it down, but I argue, untruthfully, that it’s good storage space. I let him take the old iron bed to the dump, but I can’t stand to think of the old cabin coming down. A tree frog jumped onto Grampa’s face while he slept in that cabin, freaking him out, and making Gramma Mammy laugh and laugh as she told the story over and over. I wish I could hear her tell it again.
I can see Pogi, the family dog, running, running, running, swimming in the river, and generally being schizoid, wanting desperately to chase the ball, the rock, the can, the whatever. Just throw it!! I can still see her, running behind the old ‘50 Plymouth wagon. We had to let her out at the culvert because she was so beside herself with finally getting here that we had to open the door and let her run. I wanted to, too.
I wanted to run to the river, run to the mine shafts, run to the stamp mill, run to the pit, run to the creek. There was so much to do, and so many places to go. Even that place, the cabin of my childhood , is a ghost. It has changed, due to the population increase and the unfortunate placement of No Trespassing signs, but the area still has the river, the lakes, the woods, and the creek.
I learned to drive here. My mom taught me. The dirt roads were private, and many still are, and no license was considered necessary. I started at about 10. I felt that the world was mine behind the wheel of that green, three-on-the-tree ‘50 Plymouth wagon. Another ghost, that old 'wagon. I can hear my mom telling me to step on the gas, son, that dog chasin’ around the wheels will watch out for himself. That old wagon’s flathead six was faster than a speeding bullet, and more powerful than a locomotive….
My dad taught me how to operate a chainsaw, a Skilsaw, and any number of hand tools. They set me to operating a cement mixer (which I still have), a trencher, and my dad and grampa showed me how to make cement forms for a foundation. My gramma Mammy showed me how you can cook delicious food on a potbellied stove, and how you‘d better respect a Southern Lady, or she might jus’ set a switch to your backside.
They all showed me how to build a house, and drive a car, use tools, and so much more. I learned to do any number of things that many people don’t know how to do. They taught me mostly that I can do most anything someone else can, if I’ve a mind to.
But the ghosts.
Dweebert and I joke about haints. They move our tools, take the tape measure, break all the pencil points, make things come out crooked and un-level. But these haints, the real ones I’m talking about, are no joke. I feel them all the time.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Top 5's Baby!
OK! Remember the post about Top Lists? I promised a Top List Post, and here it is. I always try to come though with a promise.
Let’s get some categories rollin’!
Top 5 Best Crime Dramas (Remember? Not ranked in order. And not complete, in case I remember/forget something.)
1.Double Indemnity
2. Body Heat
3. Godfather
4. Godfather2
5. Fargo
6. Reservoir Dogs
7. The Postman Always Rings Twice
8. Memento
9. BadLands
10. Bonnie and Clyde
Top 5 TV Series
1. 6 Feet Under
2. Sopranos
3. Deadwood
4. The Wire
5. The Shield
6. Rescue Me!
7. The Simpsons
8. South Park
9. Lost
10. Red Dwarf
11. The Prisoner
12. Secret Agent
13. The Persuaders
14. The Saint
15. Checkmate
16. The League of Gentlemen
17. The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
18. X-Files
19. Harsh Realm
20. Buffy, the Vampire Slayer
21. Oz
Top 5 TV miniseries
1. Prime Suspect, All of ‘Em
2. Touching Evil, All of ‘Em
3. Rumpole of the Bailey, All of ‘Em
4. House of Cards, To Play the King
5. The Singing Detective
Top 5 SitComs
1. The Bob Newhart Show 1, 2
2. Seinfeld
3. All in the Family
4. The Mary Tyler Moore Show
5. Larry David
The Top 5 Best Shows made for TV
1. Deadwood
2. The Sopranos
3. The X-files
4. Lost
5. The Shield
6. Six Feet Under
7. The Bob Newhart Show #1
8. Rescue Me!
9. SouthPark
10. The Simpsons
11. Oz
12. Crime Story
13. Wiseguy
Now I’m going to throw this out there. Here are some categories that I’d like you to he’p me with. It's too much! I need some input from you, my vast readership. Feel free to add categories!
War Movies (Anything Military)
Horror Movies
Romances
Epics
Classics
Hitchcock
SciFi
Documentaries
Animation
Ghost Stories
Porn Titles (hint: The Buns of Navarrone, Leave it in Beaver)
Schlockiest
Worst (any category)
Foreign
Music Categories, please!
YadaYadaYada
It’s Up To You! Let’s have the lists. Send them via "comments" to the blog and I'll publish yours!
Let’s get some categories rollin’!
Top 5 Best Crime Dramas (Remember? Not ranked in order. And not complete, in case I remember/forget something.)
1.Double Indemnity
2. Body Heat
3. Godfather
4. Godfather2
5. Fargo
6. Reservoir Dogs
7. The Postman Always Rings Twice
8. Memento
9. BadLands
10. Bonnie and Clyde
Top 5 TV Series
1. 6 Feet Under
2. Sopranos
3. Deadwood
4. The Wire
5. The Shield
6. Rescue Me!
7. The Simpsons
8. South Park
9. Lost
10. Red Dwarf
11. The Prisoner
12. Secret Agent
13. The Persuaders
14. The Saint
15. Checkmate
16. The League of Gentlemen
17. The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
18. X-Files
19. Harsh Realm
20. Buffy, the Vampire Slayer
21. Oz
Top 5 TV miniseries
1. Prime Suspect, All of ‘Em
2. Touching Evil, All of ‘Em
3. Rumpole of the Bailey, All of ‘Em
4. House of Cards, To Play the King
5. The Singing Detective
Top 5 SitComs
1. The Bob Newhart Show 1, 2
2. Seinfeld
3. All in the Family
4. The Mary Tyler Moore Show
5. Larry David
The Top 5 Best Shows made for TV
1. Deadwood
2. The Sopranos
3. The X-files
4. Lost
5. The Shield
6. Six Feet Under
7. The Bob Newhart Show #1
8. Rescue Me!
9. SouthPark
10. The Simpsons
11. Oz
12. Crime Story
13. Wiseguy
Now I’m going to throw this out there. Here are some categories that I’d like you to he’p me with. It's too much! I need some input from you, my vast readership. Feel free to add categories!
War Movies (Anything Military)
Horror Movies
Romances
Epics
Classics
Hitchcock
SciFi
Documentaries
Animation
Ghost Stories
Porn Titles (hint: The Buns of Navarrone, Leave it in Beaver)
Schlockiest
Worst (any category)
Foreign
Music Categories, please!
YadaYadaYada
It’s Up To You! Let’s have the lists. Send them via "comments" to the blog and I'll publish yours!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Bumpass Hell
Rats. One of my favoritist stories has just been debunked. This may have devastating effects and affects and possible repercussions that can’t even be predicted yet, much less known. ‘N stuff.
Truth?
Did it have anything to do with farts?****
**BTW, this was before Dancing with the Stars, and before Heather Mills showed the world
what could be done dancing-wise with one leg.
****Sayandie will tell you this is an indispensable ingredient to a good story.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Hot Salamander Love
Hey! I am posting Dweebert's latest blog entry here, because he doesn't have a blog of his own.
There is an obvious question going begging here: Why would someone write and post a blog entry when he don't even have a blog?
However, in an attempt to present all sides fairly, I provide him space here in my universe.
Rebuttle To All Things Said By Vance As Well As To Things He Didn't Say But Would Have If He'd Thought Of Them*
By Vance's smarter brother, Dweebert**
No truer words were ever spoken: "Don't believe anything Vance says.***" These immortal words were spoken simultaneously by Ernest Hemingway and Albert Einstein while having Absinthe together on the planet Jupiter in 1955. That also happens to be the year I was born (making me 38 years old -- Holy Moley! How time flies!). Vance was nothing more than a small pink wailing blot then and didn't even own a real toolbox, so why these two famous people were talking about him is a mystery.
I will admit that Vance gets more "physical" work done when we go up to the cabin together. I explained this in my earlier diatribe. But it goes beyond that. Plain and simple, Vance is the physical type. He doesn't have much upstairs, but he's built like a linebacker and swings a wrecking bar like itwas a pencil. (I swing a pencil like it was a wrecking bar.) Vance can pump his bicycle up a 82 degree hill like it was a 28 degree hill. He can carry twenty eight 12-foot 2x4s under one arm for six miles without working up a sweat. And he can work from sun up to sunset without taking a break. I once asked him how he could do this and he said, "Huh?"
I, on the other hand, am the "intellectual" type and spend my time thinking. I spend many hours planning, plotting, designing, and inventing. The only time I don't do this is when I'm drinking red wine and thinking about nekkid wimmen. Needless to say, the majority of the hours are spent on this latter occupation. This is because I am a Normal, Well-Adjusted Male.
I also think about food. To sustain a healthy relationship with manual labor one must be fortified with good food. So, while Vance is hammering, sawing, and plumbing, I'm thinking about what's for dinner. On rare occasions, I even cook something.
Vance made the comment that I'm interested in Boy Bands. I had to look this up because--used to listening only to intellectual music and not to mainstream garbage--I didn't know what a Boy Band was. My first thought was "The Beatles"(who I believe were boys) and "The Animals" (also boys) and perhaps "TheYardbirds" (more boys). But Wikipedia mentions such bands as "New Kids on the Block" and "The Backstreet Boys". I have never listened to these bands. This is primarily because I am mired in the 1950s and 60s.
If you mention TV shows, I think of "Leave It To Beaver." If you mention science fiction movies I think of"Forbidden Planet" and "Rocketship XM". Sometimes I force Vance to watch these movies so he will stop talking about Southpark. It doesn't work, but I keep trying. What can you expect from a man who idolizes Pee Wee Herman**** and likes to watch mommy and daddy newts make baby newts?*****
So, driving four hours up to the cabin means having to listen to Vance say "I wanna get up there. I wanna work. Why is there so much traffic? Which do you like more, orange newts or yellow newts******? I hope I didn't forget to bring the Wisky! Do you think we'll see any magpies? When are we gonna get there? Did you see that Southpark episode where Cartman..." etc. He hasn't yet realized that I now wear silicon earplugs so I can barely hear him. It just sounds like "mmmmmmmm mmmm Southpark mmmmm mm mmmm Southpark."
That's all I have time for. I have to sit down with a bottle of red red wine and think about varnishing the shelves for the bathroom closet. I have to think about buying more insulation. I have to concoct a recipe for Civet de Lapin auPommes Puree. And, of course, I have to think about Anne Francis in a bikini.
*I did think of 'em, I just didn't SAY 'em.
**Tih.
***What is Truth? Fiction represents Truth. Does something have to have happened in fact to
be True-ish?
****OBVIOUSLY, I do not idolize Peewee Herman. I idolize Peewee's pal, Vance the Pig.
*****Salamanders.
******Refer to *****.
* * * * * *
OK! Who can blame him for that? I had to take a moment or two to relieve that Anne Francis chubbie, too.
So, thanks for your perspective on that other stuff, Dweebert! I guess you told me a thing or two. (heh.) Those of you out there in my vast readership whose edges are honed even a little bit will recognize the need to take a grain or two of salt with that mess.
The same ones will note before I point it out that he Didn't Even Deny being a poofy wanker, which was the Whole Point of my last post! God!
There is an obvious question going begging here: Why would someone write and post a blog entry when he don't even have a blog?
However, in an attempt to present all sides fairly, I provide him space here in my universe.
Rebuttle To All Things Said By Vance As Well As To Things He Didn't Say But Would Have If He'd Thought Of Them*
By Vance's smarter brother, Dweebert**
No truer words were ever spoken: "Don't believe anything Vance says.***" These immortal words were spoken simultaneously by Ernest Hemingway and Albert Einstein while having Absinthe together on the planet Jupiter in 1955. That also happens to be the year I was born (making me 38 years old -- Holy Moley! How time flies!). Vance was nothing more than a small pink wailing blot then and didn't even own a real toolbox, so why these two famous people were talking about him is a mystery.
I will admit that Vance gets more "physical" work done when we go up to the cabin together. I explained this in my earlier diatribe. But it goes beyond that. Plain and simple, Vance is the physical type. He doesn't have much upstairs, but he's built like a linebacker and swings a wrecking bar like itwas a pencil. (I swing a pencil like it was a wrecking bar.) Vance can pump his bicycle up a 82 degree hill like it was a 28 degree hill. He can carry twenty eight 12-foot 2x4s under one arm for six miles without working up a sweat. And he can work from sun up to sunset without taking a break. I once asked him how he could do this and he said, "Huh?"
I, on the other hand, am the "intellectual" type and spend my time thinking. I spend many hours planning, plotting, designing, and inventing. The only time I don't do this is when I'm drinking red wine and thinking about nekkid wimmen. Needless to say, the majority of the hours are spent on this latter occupation. This is because I am a Normal, Well-Adjusted Male.
I also think about food. To sustain a healthy relationship with manual labor one must be fortified with good food. So, while Vance is hammering, sawing, and plumbing, I'm thinking about what's for dinner. On rare occasions, I even cook something.
Vance made the comment that I'm interested in Boy Bands. I had to look this up because--used to listening only to intellectual music and not to mainstream garbage--I didn't know what a Boy Band was. My first thought was "The Beatles"(who I believe were boys) and "The Animals" (also boys) and perhaps "TheYardbirds" (more boys). But Wikipedia mentions such bands as "New Kids on the Block" and "The Backstreet Boys". I have never listened to these bands. This is primarily because I am mired in the 1950s and 60s.
If you mention TV shows, I think of "Leave It To Beaver." If you mention science fiction movies I think of"Forbidden Planet" and "Rocketship XM". Sometimes I force Vance to watch these movies so he will stop talking about Southpark. It doesn't work, but I keep trying. What can you expect from a man who idolizes Pee Wee Herman**** and likes to watch mommy and daddy newts make baby newts?*****
So, driving four hours up to the cabin means having to listen to Vance say "I wanna get up there. I wanna work. Why is there so much traffic? Which do you like more, orange newts or yellow newts******? I hope I didn't forget to bring the Wisky! Do you think we'll see any magpies? When are we gonna get there? Did you see that Southpark episode where Cartman..." etc. He hasn't yet realized that I now wear silicon earplugs so I can barely hear him. It just sounds like "mmmmmmmm mmmm Southpark mmmmm mm mmmm Southpark."
That's all I have time for. I have to sit down with a bottle of red red wine and think about varnishing the shelves for the bathroom closet. I have to think about buying more insulation. I have to concoct a recipe for Civet de Lapin auPommes Puree. And, of course, I have to think about Anne Francis in a bikini.
*I did think of 'em, I just didn't SAY 'em.
**Tih.
***What is Truth? Fiction represents Truth. Does something have to have happened in fact to
be True-ish?
****OBVIOUSLY, I do not idolize Peewee Herman. I idolize Peewee's pal, Vance the Pig.
*****Salamanders.
******Refer to *****.
* * * * * *
OK! Who can blame him for that? I had to take a moment or two to relieve that Anne Francis chubbie, too.
So, thanks for your perspective on that other stuff, Dweebert! I guess you told me a thing or two. (heh.) Those of you out there in my vast readership whose edges are honed even a little bit will recognize the need to take a grain or two of salt with that mess.
The same ones will note before I point it out that he Didn't Even Deny being a poofy wanker, which was the Whole Point of my last post! God!
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Wanky Poofers
OK, so it wasn’t the end. Yet. Read on. If you dare……
More Tales From the Semi-valueless Cabin of Mystery
So Dweebert and I went back up to the cabin. I took a couple of mental health days off work and we went up on Wednesday afternoon. Go figure. How will that improve my mental health? We were looking forward to a couple of productive days of work. Go figure. You’d think we have enough experience with The Way Things Are, by now.
We wanted to work on the bathroom, and bedroom. I was hoping to finish something. I decided on the hall. We think small. More on this later.
The traffic was just as bad at
One of the best parts of the drive up is the magpies on
Dweebert says “nyther”. I say “neether”. He says “eyther”, too. Tih. Poofy wanker. That’s another thing I have against him. That and his interest in boy bands. Is DePeche Mode a boy band?
Well, I digress.. A stop off at the Home Depot in
We eventually stopped at the Cost Less on the return trip to buy cases of Crane Lake Cellars wine @2fitty a bottle. I usually don’t go for the good stuff, but it seemed a good deal after seeing the same thing at the Buckhorn for 3. That’s a substantial savings. They got meat there too. I wanted to buy a 30 lb. package of ribs there for $22, but couldn’t figure out how to keep it cold. Next time it snows while I’m up there, boy, the pork ribs are comin’ back packed in snow.
I digress again. So we’re finally there. I walk in and think the same thought I always think when entering the place. “What a dump.” Seems that we got up there too late to work. Nothing for it but to Drink Wisky and Eat Wheat Thins. This is not in itself a bad thing. However, it tends to slow the productivity somewhat.
Next day we rise and shine. Dweebert makes coffee and oatmeal. He makes me eat some. Feh. No brown sugar? The coffee goes down like buttah, though. Then to work.
Ha! I attack the unglued-in drain pipe. I gets in my “Phil” overalls and climbs under the house like I’m not even dreading it. I have avoided this moment for months. I slide under, pulling myself along by the drainpipe. I surprise a couple of colorful salamanders under a sheet of tattered plastic I lift to check for wetness. They give me baleful looks. I leave them to whatever they were doing. I suspect, from the looks on their faces, they were probably making baby salamanders.
The space under the house goes from tight to tighter. I begin to sweat. I know I will drop the trouble light and be pitched into darkness. Finally, I squeeze myself under a big stringer and there it is: the shower drain trap. I am filled with trepidation. How will I manage to get this thing glued together straight, when I can barely reach it, and can’t see it that good? Then I discover that I am a genius. I have no memory, but I am a genius!
I have already glued the hard parts together! I did it all from the top, while it was opened up, and promptly forgot. The only part not glued in is a piece of cake! Alls I have to do is cut it to its proper length and glue it in.
This only requires scrambling in and out from under the house a half dozen times. Finally, it’s glued and Dweebert turns on the shower. No leaky. I tell him to fill the dishpan and pour that down. It’s almost as dry as I like my martini’s. It’s practically desiccated. I wave goodby to the salamanders and slide out hardly worse for wear. We are in bidniss! We can take nice hot shawrs! INDOORS! Whoo-hoo!
I am way ahead of schedule. I suddenly realize that if I don’t play it right, Dweeb will make me do his work, which he’s way behind on. And there’s a half a box of wheat thins and a pint of wisky left. I strip off the overalls and head for the deck…..
No dice.
“Aren’t you going to do the ‘Nam-style knock-down in the bedroom?” drawls a voice.
Poop! Busted. Slowly I turn, and make a sudden break for the front door. Dweebert is quicker. He raises his phaser, set to stun, and blasts me where I stand. He shoots me full of some sort of hypno-tranquilizer and turns me into a zombie. He makes me do his work for the rest of the time. And he makes me sleep in the loft where I probably get fiberglass poisoning. And eat red meat all weekend, too. And watch Rocketship X-M.
By the end of the 3 days, we have the bathroom practically done (including the linen closet), the bedroom textured, primed, and painted, the bedroom closet primed and painted, and some other important stuff done, including major progress on the bathroom vanity. I also figure out, using my mind pawrs, how to install a drain for the washing machine. And they said it couldn't be done! Teh!
Of course, nothing is actually finished. There are endless finishing chores to do. This is why, once a room is livable, you never finish the detail work until you sell the house. Mashie hates that, but has learned to live with it.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
This is the End, Beautiful Friend, The End*
I was out last night with Siouxie and The Daminator. Actually, I was out with lots more than them, but it was my conversation in the car with The Daminator that is relevant to this post.
We were talking about blogging. TD is also a blogmeister. He was the one who inspired me to blog, even though my entry into BlogWorld was done as a lark. Who knew? Who could have predicted that I was chock-full of important words on Stuff that Matters?
Irregardlessly**, as it may be best to leave that question as grist for the mills of future literary experts, I press on.
I mentioned that I did not post an entry in the month of February. At all. This may have been viewed by some of you as punishment for pressuring me. It isn’t. It could be much simpler than that. I think I may have run out of things to say.
Let’s test this theory. Let’s see what the next few lines bring to the table….
Hmmph. Nothin’. It looks like I’ve run out.
*I watched “Apocalypse Now Redux” last night.
**Irregardlessly! Heh.
We were talking about blogging. TD is also a blogmeister. He was the one who inspired me to blog, even though my entry into BlogWorld was done as a lark. Who knew? Who could have predicted that I was chock-full of important words on Stuff that Matters?
Irregardlessly**, as it may be best to leave that question as grist for the mills of future literary experts, I press on.
I mentioned that I did not post an entry in the month of February. At all. This may have been viewed by some of you as punishment for pressuring me. It isn’t. It could be much simpler than that. I think I may have run out of things to say.
Let’s test this theory. Let’s see what the next few lines bring to the table….
Hmmph. Nothin’. It looks like I’ve run out.
*I watched “Apocalypse Now Redux” last night.
**Irregardlessly! Heh.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
A Modest Proposal
Hey!
I'm attempting to put together a future post about Top 5 Lists.* Many of you are hounding me for the promised post, but I'm having some difficulty limiting my lists to 100 or less.
For those of my vast readership unaware of this topic, here's the deal:
Ever been asked what your favorite movie, book, food, song, whatever, is? I can't answer that. Can you?
Very few people can. I've found out, through diligent research, that hardly anyone can limit it to 10! So I'm proposing to throw out the old concept of the Top 10 list which limits you to something like, say, 10 entries. Whoa! This causes you to have to make all of these phony classifications, like Top 10 Marty Robbins Songs that Refer to Gunshot Wounds. Or, Top 10 Favorite Desserts that can be Licked off Short Hair. (Of course, maybe you really want to know?)
But in general, let's simplify this! Let's Keep It Real! Let's just say your Top 10 lists can have 100 or fewer entries! That makes room for all of the variables that enter the equation. You know, like what mood you're in, 'n stuff. Let's take it down another notch, and call them Top 5's! Why Not?
Anyway, keep your eyes peeled for the Top 5 List Post that may or may not be coming your way.
*Be sure to see the film, "High Fidelity" for a treatise on the subtleties of list making. It's in my Top 5 Best Movies list.
I'm attempting to put together a future post about Top 5 Lists.* Many of you are hounding me for the promised post, but I'm having some difficulty limiting my lists to 100 or less.
For those of my vast readership unaware of this topic, here's the deal:
Ever been asked what your favorite movie, book, food, song, whatever, is? I can't answer that. Can you?
Very few people can. I've found out, through diligent research, that hardly anyone can limit it to 10! So I'm proposing to throw out the old concept of the Top 10 list which limits you to something like, say, 10 entries. Whoa! This causes you to have to make all of these phony classifications, like Top 10 Marty Robbins Songs that Refer to Gunshot Wounds. Or, Top 10 Favorite Desserts that can be Licked off Short Hair. (Of course, maybe you really want to know?)
But in general, let's simplify this! Let's Keep It Real! Let's just say your Top 10 lists can have 100 or fewer entries! That makes room for all of the variables that enter the equation. You know, like what mood you're in, 'n stuff. Let's take it down another notch, and call them Top 5's! Why Not?
Anyway, keep your eyes peeled for the Top 5 List Post that may or may not be coming your way.
*Be sure to see the film, "High Fidelity" for a treatise on the subtleties of list making. It's in my Top 5 Best Movies list.
Respek Mah A-thor-i-tah!
It has become apparent that I must address a very important topic. I feel it is my duty to correct some possibly well-meaning but certainly misguided and misinformed people. I burn with shame for them when they expose their ignorance, and must try to help them to Stop the Madness.
Read on. If the following applies to you, for god's sake don't expose yourself to public ridicule and possible ostracization by disagreeing. It will only expose your shame, ignorance, and recalcitrance.*
It is not necessary, and is, in fact, totally uncool to say, "He peed in his pants." The correct, contemporary, and "hip" usage is, "He peed his pants." This usage applies to several other verbs in constant use, such as "crap".
As the English language evolves, certain outmoded, arbitrary, and unnecessary "rules" are discarded by common consensus through common usage.** This handy, self-regulating method of lingual evolution keeps the English language vital. The old, outmoded, and no longer relevant rules are expunged and are replaced by usages we, The English Speaking People, feel like making up. It also serves to make us feel superior, because learning English, which is already inexplicable, becomes even more difficult.
Get used to it! And try to keep up.
*Jeezuz, that's good. I'm going to start using this for all of my arguments.
**"South Park" influences this decade's lingual evolution heavily. Many changes are wrought by mass repetition of Cartman's dialog from the newest episode.
Read on. If the following applies to you, for god's sake don't expose yourself to public ridicule and possible ostracization by disagreeing. It will only expose your shame, ignorance, and recalcitrance.*
It is not necessary, and is, in fact, totally uncool to say, "He peed in his pants." The correct, contemporary, and "hip" usage is, "He peed his pants." This usage applies to several other verbs in constant use, such as "crap".
As the English language evolves, certain outmoded, arbitrary, and unnecessary "rules" are discarded by common consensus through common usage.** This handy, self-regulating method of lingual evolution keeps the English language vital. The old, outmoded, and no longer relevant rules are expunged and are replaced by usages we, The English Speaking People, feel like making up. It also serves to make us feel superior, because learning English, which is already inexplicable, becomes even more difficult.
Get used to it! And try to keep up.
*Jeezuz, that's good. I'm going to start using this for all of my arguments.
**"South Park" influences this decade's lingual evolution heavily. Many changes are wrought by mass repetition of Cartman's dialog from the newest episode.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Dweebert's Two Cents
Hey! Here’s a post that my kid brother Dweebert posted to his non-existent blog! So I put it in mine without his permission, which is what I often do. I’m sure you’ll all find his perspective hella interesting. I know I did!*
Vance,
Since I don't have a public blog I'll write mine to you alone. I'll keep it short so's I don't distract you too much from your own blog.
THE JOYS OF DECONSTRUCTION
My brother Vance and I own a cabin known as Highland Estates or, more commonly, The Cabin. Rather than my describing it to you, just imagine a little shack up in the Gold Country of California with a toothless old prospectin' geezer sitting on a tumbledown porch in an old rocking chair with a rifle across his lap, chawing on a wad o' tabakky, saying things like "Dag Nabbit!" and "You jes' git!"
Now imagine that this tempting property becomes available, is purchased by an industrious young geezer (TOR) who drinks too much and decides to fix it up and add on a living room with a loft over it. Also imagine that the young geezer thinks that black electrical tape was sent down from heaven just for him.
Finally, imagine that many years have gone by and the young geezer got old and died and left the tempting property to his boys.
Being one of those boys, and being fluent in "crowbar", I know the first steps necessary to turn a hovel into a home. I know that the first thing you do is remove any vestige of the original ambiance (rocking chair, moldy couch with springs exposed, broken tin breadbox, fridge that had it's broken latch ingeniously replaced with a truck gearshift arm, sixty two mattresses with most of the stuffing removed by rats, and the numerous pieces of furniture renovated with bailing wire and duct tape) and replace them with a new, clean, moldless ambiance.
I also know that the empty spaces behind the old sheetrock do NOT make good insulation (as TOR once told me**). Empty Space makes good rat homes. Insulation makes good insulation. So, crowbar in hand, the sheetrock came down. This, of course, exposed TOR's unique concept of wiring employing globs of solder, vast amounts of black electrical tape. Some of the connections resembled the hub of a wagon wheel with cables radiating out like spokes. Vance, the home wiring whiz kid of the family (he has a book), removed all of these wagon wheels and replaced them with new ATC (almost-to-code) (even better than code, Ed.) wiring.
While Vance did wiring, I continued my own work punctuated occasionally with Vance's melodious inquiries of "What the HELL are you tearing down NOW!?" I put up with his naive caterwauls because I am aware that there are people (like Vance) who don't understand the value of deconstruction. (Oh, Vance understands the value, alright! Ed.) Observe children, the most fundamental of architects. They drop the glass of juice from a height to see the effects of distance, weight, and gravity on a known quantity. They don't pick up the pieces and try to put them together because they don't learn anything from it. Certainly there are flaws in this analogy, but I don't care. (Yadayadayada, Ed.) What counts is the fact that, without deconstruction, there can be no "renovation".
Vance is not only a wiring whiz, he is also a crackerjack plumber. I can't tell you how much I appreciate his abilities in these fields. He can wire and plumb in his sleep. This means I don't have to do it. The only problem comes from the fact that whenever there's fiberglass insulation to install, Vance always has plumbing to do. I say "Hey Vance, let's get that bedroom insulated!" and he says, "Can't. I gotta... uh... redo the plumbing in the laundry room." After a couple of hours of insulating the bedroom by myself, it occurs to me that there is no laundry room at the cabin. When I go to check on him, I find him sitting on the deck eating WheatThins and drinking whiskey. (And chortling. Ed.)
Tomorrow, I'm heading up to the cabin by myself for the weekend to get some work done. It's easier to get things done when I'm up there by myself. Alone, it takes me about ten minutes to rip down a wall. When Vance is there it takes me an hour, because he needs me to check his measurements, hand him the wire stripper, listen to his ideas for building a pole-log woodshed, make lunch, and mix his cocktails. Also, when I'm up there by myself, I can sing my favorite songs like "Dan, the Sheetrockin' Man"*** and "Danke Shoene" at the top of my lungs. I can fart, belch, and do Jimmy Stewart impressions. Why, I can even work nekkid if I want to! The sense of freedom is intoxicating!
PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR MY NEXT BLOG: "NEKKID DECONSTRUCTION"
*I did a bit of necessary editing, basically just adding this niggly English-major type thingy we call “punctuation”. No changes to the text were made that altered the intended meaning, except in two particulars. The moron referred to my secret identity, so I had to insert the appropriate name. Also, changes were required to the sections where“Vance” was not portrayed fairly or in such a manner that expressed his true attributes, talents, and basic wonderfulness. In a couple of instances, statements made bordered on libel. “Vance” would never allow an unqualified person to mix his cocktails.
**The garbled syntax of this sentence would lead a reader to believe that TOR said airspace does NOT make good insulation. The sad truth is, TOR told him that airspace makes good insulation, and put this into practice.
***The perpetration of this “song” by performance, publication, or referring to it in any way (excepting this particular reference) should carry a mandatory prison sentence of no less than one year, with the additional punishment of having a hunk of fiberglass insulation wrapped around the perpetrator’s willy1 for the duration of the sentence.
1 No female would ever sing this excreble “song”. Suggestions are being solicited for post-operative transsexual offenders.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Not that there's Anything Wrong with It!
I like homographs. You know I’m a liberal sort of guy, but this has nothing to do with sexual orientation. It’s NOT gay writing!
A homograph is a pair of words with the same spelling, different pronunciation, and different roots. Different roots is the key. Words that are pronounced differently regionally or some such, like root or roof, are not, as we say in English-major jargon, homo’s.
Here’s a good example (and one of my faves):
entrance (way in), and entrance (to fascinate).
See if you can come up with any!
Here’s a partial list of ones I can think of off-hand.
entrance
moped (sulked) (motorized bike)
minute (time) (tiny)
bow (knot) (front of a ship)
sow (planting) (pig)
pussy (full of pus) (you know!)
wind (preload) (air movement)
windy (twisty) (lots of wind)
produce (vegetables) (to make)
I got lots more, I'm just too lazy to type them. If I didn't have to 'splain 'em.....
Fun, huh?
I thought I’d like eponyms when I heard about them, but there’s only a couple cool ones that I’ve heard so far. These are people’s names that have become words in common usage.
Here’s my faves:
sandwich (food named for the 4th Earl of Sandwich)
crap, crapper (Thomas Crapper, supposed inventor of the water closet)
Malapropism ( the Shakespearean character Mrs. Malaprop)
Some others are not so cool, like fahrenheit, curie, and pasteurize. Maybe my vast readership could come up with some good ones. Post ‘em in the comments!
I’d like to propose a few eponyms:
bush (ignoramus) Ex: “Jeez! What a bush!”
reagan (sleeping through important events) Ex. “Shoot! Did I reagan during sex again, honey?”
bush* (barfing on people) Ex: “Dang!! I just bushed on the chef at Beni-Hana!”
vance (first rate word-smithing) Ex: "You really vanced that post, dude!”
p’niss** (an habitual blog commenter) Ex: “That P’niss sure is a p’niss!”
*Context will keep these two from being confusing.
**Could be potentially confused with a similar sounding word. However, p’nisses are not often pianists.
Maybe we'll have fun with palindromes, sometime!
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