Hey, please go HERE for the rest of the post. I will keep posting content here for a couple more weeks, don't have time today. I know it's a pain in the ass, but please swap out your bookmarks, blogrolls, and readers. Many many thanks.
I'm three years away from being out from under a mortgage barring complete reaming by the coming mortgage clusterfuck, but I'm about to go half-a-mortgage under soon when Planet picks an elitist Liberal Arts school, one of which might be Bowdoin or Connecticut College; we're flying this afternoon to Boston then driving to Brunswick ME for an official interview at Bowdoin Friday morning, then driving to New London CT to interview Saturday morning. (We land at Logan Thursday at 7:00PM, probably get out with the rental by nine, then drive into New Hampshire, get a room, sleep a few hours, get up at six and drive north to Brunswick, interview, turnaround and immediately drive south to New London. Montag, I'll wave hi to and from from the 295 overpass over 309.)
I know this sounds callous and complicitous, but my generation of mes probably won't lack for catfood, it's my daughter's generation that will begin hording catfood, it's my grand-childrens' world that need survive the catfood famines, both natural and man-made, but my only child wants to go to Bowdoin or Hamilton or Carleton or any of seven others, we can afford to send her to a school which will credential her to be in a class of Americans who'll risk exposure to tainted catfood almost next to last, and so would you.
I'm still distraught with the certainty I'm leaving my daughter a world shittier than my parents left me, but I fear I've underestimated with my puny hive-mind how many zeroes are multiplying zeroes in cascades of kazillions of totalitarian square-root signs, that my house may be repossessed by square root even after I've paid it off, that my timeline of catfoodery is too optimistic by at least one generation.
REMEMBER! - I've moved HERE. Please adjust your bookmarks and blogrolls and readers. I understand it's a pain in the ass, so many thanks!
Links - I know I promised links here for a week, but I discovered/remembered that some blogs list other blogs linking to a particular post and was mortified (as much as I can be mortified) to see both the typepad and blooger links, and while I thought I was an unabashable blogwhore, apparently there is a threshold beyond which is abashedness.
I hadn't given Axelrod's statement that he was "hoping that with more seats, the Republicans will feel a greater sense of responsibility to work with us to solve some of these problems," much thought, dismissing it as his obamalamely attempt to establish a meme for the 2012 elections, which is the only election that matters to Obamaxelrod, don't you know.
But think why Obamaxelrod lift the moratorium of deepwater oil drilling yesterday when they didn't have to until after the election, have a knee to the nuts, eco-progressives, and you know what? Axelrod may be right: having followed corporate mandate and disabused America's Left that America will ever move Left again, corporate will rein in the hyenas (though not as easily as they think they can) post-election. Obama has done his job. There is a center-right model of middle-American consumer-citizens corporate likes; corporate thinks there's 20 more years of coal in that middle-American center-right consumer-citizen, needs to keep you and me breathing until we motherfuckers can be top-mined for scrap.
REMEMBER! - I've moved HERE. Please adjust your bookmarks and blogrolls and readers. I understand it's a pain in the ass, so many thanks!
Will post links here for the next week or two - though not updated links through the day, which will only appear at THE NEW PLACE.
Paladino: I'm very sorry I called you the disgusting fudge-packers and carpet-munchers you are.
Have more catnip: Every November, all five of The Dobbs Group’s show-jumping horses must be transported from their summer stables in Vermont to their winter stables in Wellington, Florida. The workers are transported to the tropics too, returning to New England with the horses in April. They ride in trucks each way alongside their expensive equestrian charges, tending to the horses’ needs throughout the thirty-two-hour journey. Their return to Vermont marks the start of a new annual circuit of horse shows—an exhausting schedule during the spring, summer and fall months that entails constant travel between their Vermont base and horse shows around the country. At these shows, it is not unusual for the grooms who care for Dobbs’s horses to rise in the middle of the night or in the predawn hours to clean, brush and prepare the horses for a training session or early morning competition. For years, undocumented immigrants from Mexico have been relied upon to meet these labor demands.
Yesterday's abandonment of a Euro Cup Qualifier in Genoa between Italy and Serbia because of Serbian hooligans reminded me of when Elric (whose father is a Serbian) was stationed in Belgrade within the past two years and was strongly recommended to stay away from any bar where Serbian soccer fans drank much less attend matches. Elric, send me the links from your archives, please.
Funny old Booker. I have the Jacobson on my desk. It keeps Hey Sailoring me, and I pick it up and then put it down. It's not so much I don't want to read it, it's that other books keep butting in front of the line.
Alright, I think I've successfully blogrolled everyone at THE NEW PLACE who is still alive and who was on the blogroll at the this old place. If you don't see yourself at THE NEW PLACE in the right-hand column under BECAUSE you're in the left-hand column BECAUSE because it makes things easier from a me organizational point-of-view. If you are on the old blogrolls but don't see yourself on the blogrolls at THE NEW PLACE, please send me an email (blckdgrd ampersand gmail dot com), or if you are being Kind to me and I'm not reciprocating, and/or you want to Hey Sailor me, send an email too.
I realize that moving to THE NEW PLACE at a time when I'm getting more hits than ever smacks of self-destructive stupidity, but getting angry at motherfucking typepad was motherfucking unfun and I can find unfun by the motherfucking bucketful without motherfucking typepad's help, and the look there is better and Ba'al bless the updating blogrolls, they're both boon to you bloggers I pimp and a lazy man's dream.
I recognize the inconvenience. Sincere and flattered thanks to friends who've already rewired their bumps to THE NEW PLACE, advance thanks to everyone who will move their bumps and eyes to THE NEW PLACE too.
Links and music will be posted here for at least another week (though not updates and link updates in posts), though no promises.
UPDATE! Though to be a pest, if you want to hear the new Fever Ray cover of Gabriel's Mercy Street that I literally just heard for the first time, go here.
But not the poem, because motherfucking typepad fucks up the line-breaks every goddamn time, and I don't need the arrgh to deal with it. The poem from which the post's title is taken is at THE NEW PLACE.
Another one of dozens of my five favorite songs ever:
Well, here's yesterday's obamapostasy. Today's Columbus Day, so it might not be until tomorrow Obama scolds me for my shallow fealty and selfishness, my blindness at his obamawesomeness, my traitorously irresponsible threats to not vote this cycle.
Speaking of threats: It's happening (go on, look), but it's still in the very early exploratory stage. I haven't yet discovered all the ways blooger sucks, but tell me, old bloogers, is there a way to set links so they open in a new window? That's one thing typepad does that, as far as I can tell, blooger doesn't. That's not a deal-breaker, and I love the self-updating blogrolls (and if I move I'll be pinging some of you less - though reading new content, of course - because I've been using your self-updating blogrolls as a shortcut) (though the work and aargh of creating those blogrolls, both as a conscientious effort of Kind and as pain-in-the-ass time-wise is both mighty incentive and, subsequently, mighty disincentive). I like I can make photos and youtubes bigger and need break long lines in poems less often. I love that if I can find the poem I'm looking for online (so I don't have to type it) it formats in blooger with none of the grief formatting in typepad causes. I dig the url.
I haven't written about tablets here in a while which by no means means I've stopped writing about tablets. I'm a rube for a new tablet, as if it will make better what I scribble in it. I don't think I've ever gone as long between reformating BLCKDGRD's appearance since I switched to this template three years at least ago. Typepad doesn't allow archiving in an old formats when switching to a new format - if I widened the middle column every Fleabus photo fit for the old format will be too small, line breaks in poems will be fucked. I worry about shit like this. But mostly I'm bored and I have a new tablet.
I'll will cross-post both places for at least a couple of months, but if you're inclined to be Kind, those of you who've blogrolled me, bookmarked me, subscribed to me, I apologize for the inconvenience and thank you in advance for your taking the trouble to move with me.
As when a long forgetfulness lifts suddenly, and what
we'd forgotten—as we look at it squarely, then again
refuse to look—is our own
inconsequence, yes, it was
mostly like that, sex as both an act of defacement and—
as if the two were the same thing—votive offering,
insofar as the leaves
also were a kind of offering, or could
at least be said to be, as they kept falling the way leaves
do: volitionless, from different heights, and in the one direction.
Elric moved his stuff out of our basement yesterday and I found three CD racks I hadn't seen the four years and remembered a bunch of bands I hadn't thought of in a while, like this one:
The Moreno/McDonald incident that led to the red cards in the 8th minute was off-ball, so I didn't see it, and you know who else didn't see it? Alex Prus, the referee, who, after consulting with a side-line ref who was at least 40 yards from the incident, red-carded both players. Maybe the players deserved it - TV replays only show the elbow to Jaime's head - but the bigger question is why would MLS assign Alex Prus to a DCU game just two weeks after Alex Prus shit the bed at RFK?
The man in the middle was referee Alex Prus, who, just two weeks ago, tossed both coaches during the United-Houston Dynamo match at RFK Stadium. United officials were baffled as to why Prus was working another one of their games so soon. On a side note, after tonight's match, Prus hosted a previously scheduled seminar upstairs at RFK for, I believe, local fans and refs.
What a motherfucking rinkydink league.
Not that it mattered. United was never going to score, San Jose was going to score eventually - the most interesting aspect of the TV replay is listening to the contempt The Bowtie, who usually is such a fucking homer, had for both United's offense and defense. (Maybe it was because Dave Johnson, who is a bigger homer than The Bowtie, wasn't on the call and The Bowtie felt liberated.) Listen to The Bowtie scold Graye for Wondolowski's first goal, scold the entire defense for Wondolowski's second goal, listen to Tony Linarzi and The Bowtie berate Pablo Hernandez for dancing in the box rather than take an open shot - I'm told to STFU about Hernandez until he's surrounded by better players and can be fairly accessed, and I like his motor, I like his first touch, but shoot the fucking ball.
And Troy Perkins, who had no chance on the first San Jose goal but was fully responsible for the second, thank you, you were the only United player who as much as clapped at LOUD SIDE! after the game, who actually walked over and into the crowd. United sucks - and I mean SUCKS! - and we're still there. Which makes them ingrates, which makes us rubes.
If I can't remember the last time I played any Beatle albums except for side one of Yellow Submarine
(though to be honest, it's George's great two songs that bring me back over and over) and side four of the White Album
it's because I can retrieve any Beatle's song I want to hear in my head upon command. Still, I remember like it was a minute ago where I was and who I was with and what it felt like when I heard John Lennon was shot.
Beatles were #2 in KEXP's silly-ass voter countdown during Fall Drive of the best ever; here's the top 30:
1 - Radiohead
2 - Beatles
3 - Clash
4 - Pixies
5 - Dylan
6 - Zeppelin
7 - Arcade Fire
8 - Bowie
9 - Nirvana
10 - Smiths
11 - Johnny Cash
12 - Bob Marley
13 - Cure
14 - Stones
15 - Wilco
16 - Neil Young
17 - REM
18 - U2
19 - Modest Mouse
20 - Pink Floyd
21 - Elliott Smith
22 - Pearl Jam
23 - Hendrix
24 - Beck
25 - Talking Heads
26 - Tom Waits
27 - Joy Division
28 - Velvet Walmart Employees
29 - Beastie Boys
30 - White Stripes
Pere Ubu didn't make it and Arcade Fucking Fire wasn't top three, so as always I hope for GAH! and end up served meh, and truly, there's nothing surprising or particularly outrageous beyond the list's utter predictability. I'm curious what the core demographic of KEXP listeners is; I'm sure it's older and wealthier than even I'd guess, but I mentioned this earlier this week: the college kids I know, who I hear talk, the music they play in the coffeehouses they run, are listening to classic rock, classic pop, and that Top 30? is overwhelmingly your grandfather's Top 30, it's... draw your own conclusions why...
And Arcade Fire, since a few of you have asked: it's not that I hate their music (I don't like their music, but hate is far too strong a term), I don't get why their music gets the adoration thrown its way. I never got Nirvana either in exactly the same proportion. I assume there's a generational disconnect, that I didn't (and couldn't) know what Nirvana meant to those of its age, that I can't (and don't) understand what Arcade Fire means to fucking hipsters those of its age, and that's probably true but this too: it's not so much Nirvana and Arcade Fire I dislike as the hundreds of shitty bands that Nirvana and Arcade Fire's success bred. It's Hemingway and Raymond Carver in pop music: Nirvana's, Arcade Fire's goodness is dwarfed by the oceams of suckitude their goodness spawned.
I think that theory also explains a great deal of the virtiolic hate some have towards the Beatles, too.
So I log onto motherfucking typepad this morning and there's a new editing platform and it sucks unto blow and blows unto suck. Compare the space between the above Fleabus photo and the text of this post with the space between the Fleabus photo and text in this post. An eighth of an inch of motherfucking aargh, and there's no fucking fixing it.
Motherfucking typepad has always sucked, dropping colors, dropping fonts, dropping links, dropping margins, dropping formatting, eating text, eating posts, and now it sucks more with a motherfucking upgraded editor? I'm paying $150 a year for this motherfucking suck? Fuckity, I can get all the motherfucking suck I want in this world for free (though if we want the 5% discount on next year's United season tickets we need to get it in by November, though I'm buying that motherfucking suck one way or the other).
Well, this is the last year I'm paying motherfucking typepad for the suck unless it's not. If I migrate I'll migrate slowly (I have eleven months of paid-for suck remaining), and once I figure out and format Blooger (which I'm told is still suckful though far less suckful than when it pissed me off in 2006, plus it has those cool self-updating blogrolls) or Wordpress, I'll cross-post both here and there for the first couple of months as I hassle you to update your bookmarks and blogrolls, though, knowing me, I'll probably spare you and me and just stay here and pay for and eat and spit my aargh for my daily aargh.
Notice how the above is properly spaced from the text but is slightly off-center. Motherfucking typepad allows me one or the other. Oh, and they have no live-chat or phone help.
Men are legally allowed to have sex with animals,
as long as the animals are female.
Having sexual relations with a male animal
is taboo and punishable by death.
As long as the fish are female
saleswomen in tropical fish stores are allowed to go topless.
Adultery is punishable by death
as long as the betrayed woman uses her bare hands to kill her husband.
Saleswomen in tropical fish stores are allowed to go topless,
but the gynecologist must only look at a woman’s genitals in a mirror.
The woman uses her bare hands to kill her husband,
then his dead genitals must be covered with a brick.
The gynecologist must only look at a woman’s genitals in a mirror
and never look at the genitals of a corpse—
these genitals must be covered with a brick.
The penalty for masturbation is decapitation.
A look at the genitals of a corpse
will confirm that not much happens in that region after death.
The penalty for masturbation is decapitation.
It is illegal to have sex with a mother and her daughter at the same time.
To confirm what happens during sex,
a woman’s mother must be in the room to witness her daughter’s deflowering,
though it is illegal to have sex with a mother and her daughter at the same time.
It is legal to sell condoms from vending machines as long as
a woman’s mother is in the room to witness her daughter’s deflowering.
Men are legally allowed to have sex with animals—
why it’s even legal to sell condoms from vending machines, as long as
everyone’s having sexual relations with a male animal.
The number 41 greatest music act according to KEXP's silly-ass fund-drive gimmick list happens to have made another one of dozens of my five favorite songs ever:
Hah! Stereolab was #164 Kate Bush was #165 and Peter Gabriel was #166 in KEXP's stupid-ass voter countdown of the "greatest artists of all time" as a gimmick for their Fall 2010 Drive (which, fuck it, give to), and I had nothing to do with it, I didn't vote! Hah! The odds they'd be in a row! (I'll post the list if and when KEXP posts it after the countdown, but for now, if you don't believe me, you'll have to go to their playlist and scroll through days and hours....)
As I type this they're down to #128 and still no Peru Ubu. To spare myself an emotional aneurysm when Arcade Fucking Fire is either one, two or three and Pere Ubu doesn't make the list:
First sentence of a Frederick Post article on the president of the Frederick County Maryland Islamic Society: Counter to stereotype, Mudusar Raza, president of the Islamic Society of Frederick, speaks perfect English. Devious bastard.
UPDATE!MOE TUCKER, TEA-PARTIER!?!Bwahahaha! Worlds tilt! (As long as it's not Cale in front of that microphone my paradigms are fine, yo.)
It's not just busy, but Blegsylvania seems to be dying, Kind is still wonderful Kind but unKind wins too often, I'm in conversations of sorts with three friends who've bouts of blogangst, and I'm fighting off another case of bleggalgazing. Hope this cures it. Doubt it.
my ass! Breaking the law of man - say, reasonable sanctions against murder - is OK as long a God approves it? Problem is, which means: a man interprets God, unpacks God's book, a man insists other men accept this interpretation. This happens because God's expository writing lacks lucidity and He or His scribes often write sloppily. He seems torn between tearing out a sinner's bowels and bestowing eyeballs on the eyeball-less. We all know His job is irksome, ceaseless, everybody knows His subjects are unprincipled imbeciles, all of His subjects this way, all be the ones who say God says they are not.