How does your garden grow? With muck, muck and more muck! I spent much of today finishing the final muck box and then shifting muck from one box to the next. The first box, which the Big Lad is enthusiastically pointing out, has been rotting down for two years now and once we’d removed the top quarter of unrotted material, we found we’d hit the pay dirt.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Should You Need Me...
Posted by Ben
I'll be by the coast, scanning for fins...On family holidays to Devon I would never go in the water. I was once paid money to go in and get my hair wet. This news vindicates my behaviour.
A great white shark posed no problem to him; the mere thought of a cornish pasty, however, chilled him to the core.
You come in to work on Monday morning. You don't get out much but this Saturday you managed to get out into the night, to break away from the pringles and reality tv and take a piece of the pie of life. You even found yourself talking to a woman, a beautiful woman whose shimmering beauty was so overwhelming that on more than one occasion since you have dismissed her as a mirage in the arid desert that is your life.
You got a little drunk, you talked a little fast, but you got her email address by pasting it from a group email. On Sunday you wrote her an email, you let it be known that you would like to meet her again, over coffee perhaps (that's what cool people do right? And you like coffee, oh hell, do you love coffee; and the wireless connection is peerless in the little place down the road...you've slain many a drunken dwarf there while staff wait to go home, or go out). Coffee at a GALLERY no less.
You sit down, and look at the notes you scrawled down on Friday. It is like looking at stories you wrote when you were 5; so much has happened between it's creation and now...so many layers shed, so many new wonders revealed, so much agony to be endured...
When you come out of your day dream where you are dancing arm in arm with your beloved across a starlit savannah plain, you notice your co-worker laughing. 2 seconds later you get a "you have mail" alert on your pc. The email unfurls almost a half mile of addresses that it has been forwarded to. The first line simply reads, "I met this man on saturday". You scan down, things become blurry from here...phrases such as "your smile is the freshest of my special memories" appear and then disappear, the name at the bottom, is your own, and you fall off your chair, knocking down your Monty Python figurines.
Suddenly the phrase, so artfully penned by yourself "I will keep it (her smile) with me for moments when I need a smile of my own" is remarkably and painfully cutting. There are many many emails below this, mostly with subject headings including the words "sad" and "twat".
Whose to blame here? Dude sent this email to a woman he met at a party. She sent it to her sister, who sent it to friends, resulting in it being sent around the world. She was pretty bitchy to send it on to her sister, but hey, that was just one person, she didn't say make it global. To be honest, it's not THAT painful an email, just the abuse suffered afterwards and the fact he's not going to succeed being made so public must be painful. He was pretty creepy stealing the email address, but what the hey.
If your still reading, and still care, let me know in comments what you make of all this. Me? What was the question again?
The rebound affair ended abruptly when Joe's jealousy of the printer got the better of him and he pressed ctrl alt delete on love for the last time.
Bill Maher Is Still Funny, Smart, And Yet Oddly Creepy All At The Same Time
Posted by Parm
And he's got a new "show" on Amazon.com. It's called Amazon Fishbowl, and centers on weekly interviews with directors, authors, and musicians. The first installment is now online, featuring Ivan Riteman.
Incidentally, does My Super Ex-Girlfriend look only marginally better than Little Man to anyone else?
You may have forgotten, but I have an arch nemisis that constantly plagues my very being. It is a big Birman cat (I think); anyways, I recently found out that I have two enemies. There are two fat ass cats shaking their bottoms at me from the garden fence, mocking our poor senile dog who walks like she is a flicker book creation.
All we needed, I thought to myself, all we needed was a new, young dog to come in and lay their claim to the garden. Enter Bella, our pointer cross puppy we got from a rescue...
Very cute, very smart, very playful. Lovely. Of course I do not want to encourage aggression in the little pup, but I couldn't hide my excitement when the first confrontation came about...the god damn cat walked right up on to our patio....this is way over the line, and a clear challenge to our new pooch and my sanity. Bella took it in her stride, and growled whilst standing her ground, staring at the cat...no fur flying, but a definite message, good, good.
Another time the little shit bag had the audacity to sit perched on my mum's OPEN bedroom window ledge and just sit there, looking in...rat bastard. Sadly Bella was playing through in the other room so was powerless to do anything; something the cat knew I feel.
Later this week, resting up in my room catching some tv rays I saw a sight that made my blood run cold...The cat, in our house. I ran to get Bella but she was curled up sleeping...the cat sensed it had pushed its luck, and left quickly...
The cat's arrogance will be its downfall....Bella will see it here and react...no biting, but lots of barking...THEN the cat will know, THEN I will sleep.
Origin and Back Story: Jeff Reynolds was born without the ability to detect color. This unfortunate deformity made life difficult for young Jeffrey, who was forced to rely on his mother to purchase and match his wardrobes well into high school. His unfashionable attire, combined with his existing insecurities about his handicap, led to an adolescence wrought with loneliness, mockery, and despair.
In college, he was further isolated for studying the worthless field of Comparative Literature. Girls shunned Jeff, and his male classmates taunted him with pictures of colored dots, which formed the outline of images he would never see.
Jeff turned to the one place he would not be judged - the video store. He began renting every movie he could get his hands on. Mostly, he preferred the black and white classics. He loved feeling like, for once, he was not alone in his colorless universe. He even stopped going to class so he could immerse himself fully in his new passion.
Unfortunately, he spent so much of his loan money on rentals that he found himself broke and unable to continue his escape into his beloved films. After seeing an ad in the local paper, he signed up as a test subject for an experiment being conducted by the science department of the university. Fittingly, the brilliant student running the experiment was testing a new technology that might allow persons with color-blindness to see the world in full color.
In the lab, the complex machine attached to Jeff's body did, in fact, allow him to see colors for the first time in his life; but there was a terrible accident. The machine overheated and exploded while still connected to Jeff's neurological system. The student lived, but was confined to a wheelchair. Jeff also survived the disaster, but was left profoundly changed.
Now, even without the revolutionary technology, Jeff could see color. But that wasn't all. He could also see the entire electromagnetic spectrum, from gamma rays to radio waves. Because the chaos of electromagnetism was too much to deal with, Jeff asked the student to develop a filter for him so he could mentally adjust the spectrum at will.
In addition, Jeff was able to emit harmful blasts of radiation from his fingertips. He quickly developed cancer in his hands, which had to be replaced with bionic substitutes. The unusual power, however, remained.
They say that with great power comes great responsibility. Unfortunately, having been babied so long by his mother, Jeff was the least responsible person in the city. He promptly began to abuse his powers to satisfy his every selfish whim. These included, among other things, turning his former tormentors into giant tumors, and peering through the underwear of every woman he encountered. He also had his friend build him a jetpack, because "that shit would be tight."
Jeff Reynolds, the introverted, bugle-boy wearing mamma's boy, was no more. Citizen Pain, on the other hand, had just been born. Pain began to terrorize the city with the same enthusiasm he once brought to watching movies. To make matters worse, after each sinister act he spouted an appropriate line of dialogue from a classic movie:
Citizen Pain: Say hello to my little friend! Woman: "Little" is right, pal.
He captured all of his antics on his custom designed EvilCam - now HE was the director. Always the auteur, Citizen Pain brought his signature vision to his films by blasting away any trace of color that existed in the city. Its millions of inhabitants now lived in daily fear of the mad filmmaker, cowering in the shadows of their drab, gray-scale metropolis of doom.
Citizen Pain continued his uninhibited campaign of crime and harassment for months. Uninhibited, that is, until a mysterious, masked hero appeared one day to reclaim peace and justice for the people, a hero known only as...
Lily, You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome...(Part 1 of a 2 part Tale)
Posted by Ben
Quite some time ago, Ann, or Madame Defarge, or Lily, Rosemary and the Ann of Hearts won my Movie Said What? competition. Traditionally (both times), I've written commemorativeposts for the winner. Ann has waited patiently for her drivel, and now she gets two sets, with a difference, however.
This time a curious gentleman by the name of "Omar Dink" will be the author of these tales. Just as I was sitting down to write something about Ann's friendship with a dog named Chudley who is the ugliest son of a bitch in the rescue home but understands her on a level that makes her feel human again, a desperate hammering fell upon my door. Falling into my room came Mr Dink with a demonic gleam in his eye, a sinister twitch in his lips, and a horrific scar bisecting his face (which, even without the scar looked like it had been melted, reformed, then torched again) diagonally that throbbed violently. The circumstances may have been playing tricks upon me but I swear that when I looked directly at the scar it seemed to have no bottom to it, and a faint orange glow shimmered somewhere in its depths.
He demanded that he write the post for Lily, claiming no knowledge of this Ann creature, and claimed that he had to make things right with her, but also had a score to settle. His face was a contorted portrait of a man who simultaneously needs to satisfy an insatiable hunger to deliver furious vengence and receive the ointment of forgiveness with the same blow. His face and demeanor grew calm as he sat down to write, but beneath his eyes two storms were swelling and he rocked back and forth like a small boat on a vast ocean before it succumbs violently to the horrific forces of nature. He ordered me out while he wrote, and I fear for what may be about to be spewed forth...
Lily woke from yet another fitful slumber, her limbs entangled in her duvet depicting the serene azure depths of the Mediterranean against a clear and cloudless summer sky. The night had provided nothing but deceptions throughout when all she had been trying to do was to wrap herself in a cocoon of silence.
Outside her window she could hear the noise of children playing and stampeding up and down..."Jesus", Lily thought, "can't they just tread a little lighter?". Opening the window she called out to them "Look kids, don't care if you hop, skip, jump, or run, just get away from my damn window". Looking up at her the kids gave her a withering look before telling her that if she was looking for the cause of her unrest, then she better keep looking because it sure as hell wasn't them. The oldest, a cocksure teenager even had the temerity to call her babe.
They were right. The noise and hub bub seemed to centre around the well. People, as well as various animals gathered round it, craning to see something that had fallen down it. A horse and cart randomly trotted by making a horrendous din on the cobbled stones. Lily thought for a second, then remembered the missing cat posters Ms Wolf had posted around town and realised that the search had probably come to an end with the sight that greeted her eyes.
Turning away, Lily stood in front of the mirror. Her eyes were like shallow graves when before one had shone like a star on the blackest night and the other like diamond from the depths of the pacific. She had never appreciated the way they had sparkled before as she had never wanted them in the first place and had given them away for just one kiss. Now that was over, and she didn't even have anything to put on her feet. She was waiting though, she was waiting.
It had been years since Lily had felt right...5 years to be precise when she had been on the verge of greatness as part of a group, a gang, a team. Predicting the mind of a poet may be akin to searching for one particular snowflake in a blizzard but she had done it, done it well. Lily had been so good in fact that she had almost been crowned Queen of the Pool but had been beaten out of it by someone from the Queen's own land. She was cheered home by her family of Rat Bastards, Ed, Lightbulb, Shatner and Dink, they felt her pain but proclaimed they would always know her as the Queen of Hearts. Time went by and the band went their own separate ways, never knowing when or where they see each other again.
Lily had not been right since.
She had tried to fill her time by being an agent for dogs needing new homes. Lily had always been a kind soul and was a frequent visitor to the dog shelter. She had one client, Chudley, who was an affectionate chap but who never really stood a chance as he was so desperately ugly. Lily had in fact tried shaving his arse and teaching him to walk backwards but this had revealed an even darker horror which had made her cry. Never the less, Chudley and Lily were firm friends till the time when "Chudders" caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and he had died of terror his* legs twitching in the air.
Things were even worse than the time she had been lost in some place in Alabama with nothing but an Elvis sings the blues CD to keep her company. At least she'd been able to call her mama.
Then Ed and Shatner had turned up, wild and crazed like before, calling her to arms again as the poet was on the move. They had to act quickly as there was only a day till he left and after that it would be impossible to follow. Lily took to the streets straight away, a call was put out for Dink and Lightbulb but were received only by the wind.
The trio set off minus two, knowing not what fate had in store for them. Ed and Shatner mourned for their lost friends, and hoped that their paths would meet next time the poet stopped. Lily on the other hand, fueled by rage, pity, and an emptiness in her heart roared "Fuck those guys, we can't look to the past...". The words soared up into the night, echoed through the canyons, over streams and rivers to be carried away into oblivion.
Or so their originator thought.
Far away Dink had received the message too late. He had been in the midst of tracking down his quarry, his countryman who had defeated Lily at the last in the previous quest. Dink never spoke of what he had done to achieve this, but his face spoke of a soul who cried out only to have one too many mornings to his name and who was owned a lifetime of the darkest nights. All Dink would say, in tones that picked the chords of hell, was that "Z" would not be seen on the top 100 board again.
He watched the depleted band from afar, his brow furrowed etching woeful canyons across his forehead. No matter how hard he tried to get close, he was always a million miles away. He had not given much to the team last time, but at least he had given. All he could cling to was that next time they met, he would be able to help them all as much as he could...Then he heard the words of treachery pierce through the night sky, as fierce and true as an arrow:
"Fuck Dink, and you can quote me on that".
Lily. Who else but dear sweet** Lily?
Bullets, blades and bombs could not do to Dink what these words had done. He sunk to his knees cursing Lily, who called herself the Queen of Hearts but now whose own heart did only contain the water that ran down her drain. Quietly he steeled himself and prepared to make a list of the poet's mind himself; a vision of a ship traveling through the desert ahead seized him, and he realised that he was that ship. He knew at this moment that what he wanted most was to be with his band again, traveling after the poet, but he needed things to be right.
He needed Lily to say sorry. What would happen if she did not do this? Time would tell, as a lone, dark shadow, followed Lily, prepared to throw the worst fear ever to be hurled. And rest assured, there would be no sheltering from this storm.
Omar and Dink, split apart by Lily's words, watch on; one set on destruction, the other on reunion.
* Editor's note; Mr Dink removed himself to howl at the moon for some time; I took the opportunity to edit out his original depiction of Lily which centered around a very unnatural and unwholesome relationship with dogs that was frankly quite putrid.
**Ed's note; Seizing an opportunity whilst Mr Dink lay in a seething heap clawing at his chest, I changed his original words which were obviously the result of a tortured, conflicted mind and focused mainly, but not exclusively, on Lily's ability to find gratification with the smallest of rodents.
Just as I was pronouncing that we should all bask in the smug glow generated by the fact we would not have to face a demon duck of doom the shadow of danger hangs over my head.
I now realise that I was living in a fool's paradise.
Coming home I saw the headline "London Under Attack from Killer Wasps". "Shit", I thought, "this is some serious shit". Then I thought, "yes, this is some serious ass blog material".
Upon coming home, I decided to find the story online. I couldn't find it. I cursed myself for delaying putting up the post, but found this story instead from 4 years ago. I imagine it's basically the same situation...but wait, WHY can't I find a story about these killer wasps when it was headline news yesterday?? They've obviously evolved and are taking over our media before killing us all...As I write this the day could not be calmer...not a cloud in the sky, not a peep from the neighbours, barely a whisper from the birds.
Too calm, again, a fool's paradise.
This maybe my last post folks. If it is, all I request is that one of my co-bloggers writes a commemorative post for me in the spirit of one of my inane comments on the passings of some animal...
Wait a second, is that the dish washer making that droning humming sound??
I am too scared to even be able to find a decent picture of a swarm of wasps...
Recently, I mentioned that I've started flossing. I was doing very well with that for a few days, but then I lost my floss and haven't gone to a whole lot of trouble to locate it. I also posted something about how poorly designed teeth are in the first place.
I must have teeth on the mind because last night I had another one of those "anxiety" dreams in which my teeth suddenly fall out for no apparent reason. Only this time, it was only one tooth that came loose. It dangled from my gum for awhile before I finally tugged it out, so most of the dream was spent in suspense about when it would actually happen. Funny thing was, as I looked down at the bloody canine in the palm of my hand (I think I was showing it to a very revolted Jenny Givens at the time), I calmed down and realized that it was all going to be OK - I simply had to go to the dentist and have it replaced by a fake tooth. None of the other teeth fell out after that, which is highly unusual when I have these dreams.
I'm not sure exactly what all this means, but it doesn't really seem all that bad.
There’s something about a nice crunchy pickle, isn’t there? I mean the aroma may make some people puke, but for me it’s the taste and the juice forcing itself into your mouth like a divine cascade of flavor. As a wise man once said, “It’s like a taste explosion in your mouth!”
Well, this article really has nothing to do with pickles, nor does it have anything to do with eating or wise men at all. In fact this article has nothing to do with anything tangible, unless you choose to follow along. Though you don’t have to, I would strongly suggest it as you could have quite the nifty little craft project by the end of this piece!
Time Management theories have come and gone. I’ve tried many of these and most have failed because of the sheer amount of time I needed to commit to the theory in order to save some time. The return just never seemed to justify the cost, if you know what I mean.
The latest theory of Time Management I heard has actually caused me to stop and think about how I run my entire life. This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often, and no I don’t mean thinking, cheeky readers! The theory that was recently taught in a Leadership course I’m enduring is called the Pickle Jar Theory.
Imagine if you will an, or for those crafty people among you just go get an, empty pickle jar. Big pickle jar, you could fit at least three of the largest pickles you’ve ever imagined inside of it. For those of you who don’t like pickles, I apologize, feel free to substitute the words “pancake jar” for “pickle jar” as needed.
Okay, so you’ve got yourself a pickle jar. Now, put some large rocks in it. Put in as many as you possibly can. Let me know when it’s full. Now, I know you think it’s full, but put a couple more in anyway.
Okay, you’ve got a full pickle jar that you can’t fit anything else into, right? Now, put some pebbles in. Put as many in as you can possibly fit, and raise your hand and bark like a pig when you feel your jar is full.
Now, take your full jar and take sand and, you guessed it, fill that jar until you can’t possibly fit anymore in, and then add some water.
I am sure the significance of this little exercise hasn’t escaped any of you. Each of us has many large priorities in our life, represented by the large rocks. We also have things which we enjoy doing, such as the pebbles. We have other things we have to do, like the sand. And finally, we have things that simply clutter up our lives and get in everywhere: water.
None of these are bad things. After all, we need the gamut of these objects—from large priorities to times of rest—in order to feel truly fulfilled. No Time Management theory should be without balance, and the Pickle Jar theory is all about balance. You make time for everything, and everything simply fits well where it is supposed to fit.
Apparently, I am a member of the "Boomerang Generation," named for the tendency of people born in the early eighties to move back home after college. This is generally due to lower wages and the decline in value of undergraduate degrees. Coincidentally, I am preparing to move back home very soon, as well as take a trip to Australia, the actual birthplace of the boomerang.
Unfortunately, I never could throw the things properly, despite an invaluable lesson on an episode of 3-2-1 Contact.
I never had any inkling that this abomination existed until it was posted on Eschaton. Even now that I've seen it with my own two eyes (several times), I'm having a hard time believing it's real. How is it possible that in all of our discussions of the Star Wars Universe nobody has ever mentioned this to me? My world is upside-down.
Watch the whole thing.
Update 4:34pm: More here. Apparently this thing is "infamous." I never knew.
What the fuck was God thinking when (S)he made teeth? Seriously - you have to scrub them with a cleaning solution twice a day just to keep them from rotting. In addition, you have to force a string between each one of them, rinse your mouth out with chemicals, and go to a dentist twice a year to have them professionally cleaned, probed, and x-rayed. Otherwise, you'll get holes in the teeth that have to be filled with tiny pieces of metal. Talk about high maintenance.
On top of all this general upkeep you have to stay on top of, teeth present a number of other common challenges. First of all, when you're young you get one set of teeth, which subsequently FALL OUT and are replaced with more teeth. Those teeth come in any which way they feel like, leaving teens the world over with scraggly, crooked bones poking into their lips until they pay a different professional to glue METAL WIRES to them just to make them straight. Sometimes, the wires aren't enough and they give you RUBBER BANDS to attach to the wires for reinforcement. After the braces come off a year later, they give you an uncomfortable retainer with more metal on it that you're supposed to wear every night until it winds up in the junk drawer with your wind up novelty penis and the recorder your mom gave you in the fourth grade.
Then there's the "wisdom" teeth, which for all their wisdom seem to be good for nothing but causing pain and disrupting the other teeth we are already preoccupied with trying to tame. So you go to yet another professional to have these fuckers cut out entirely, leading to a week of dry sockets (or puss filled, depending on the mood and disposition of a particular socket).
Then you get old and all your teeth fall out anyway, at which time you have to wear a third set of entirely fake dentures.
Chemicals, metal, rubber, plastic, strings, surgery...what kind of body part requires so much manmade technology just to prevent nature from totally destroying it?
And your mouth is in a constant state of funk to boot.
This past New Year's, I did something I thought to be very wise. Instead of coming up with my usual list of self-promises and goals for the new year, I decided to scratch the list all together and pick only ONE resolution. I could easily handle ONE resolution, I reasoned, and thereby achieve a 100% success rate in the New Year (for comparison, I average a 23.4% success rate). Normally my efforts are spread over 8-10 resolutions, and consequently none of them get the attention they deserve. With only one challenge on my plate, there's no way I could fail. My single, carefully chosen resolution was simple, clearly defined, and easy to accomplish - and it would dramatically improve my life. It was, in fact, the perfect New Year's resolution.
All I had to do was floss my teeth.
I bought two cases of dental floss on January 1st, eager to start feeling like one of those self-motivated types who actually get things done. Well, last night I found them at the bottom of a bag on my floor, still in their original package.
What happened? Am I really such a miserable failure that I can't even handle one measly little resolution? I promptly tore open the package and began to floss immediately. In my haste to make up for months of negligence, I kept jabbing the string against my gums, causing them to bleed in three places. But I did it damnit. And guess what? I'm gonna do it again tonight.
Thank you for reading. I hope my story will inspire you to take a hard look at your own goals in life and realize that it's never too late for bloody gums.
My favourite is the advice on telephone etiquette for the day in question; I'm probabaly going to try and milk this as much as possible, so get planning, and prepare to board the comments deck...here be monsters...
It's a coming, it's a coming...Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest comes out this Friday (on both sides of the pond) and I for one am excited. I wasn't excited about it before, in fact, part of me was dreading it as I refused to believe that the sequel could succeed without it's prequel's main weapon; the element of surprise. Various trailers and reviews have swayed me however, and I am now counting down the days till Jack's back.
To fill in the time, I'll be placing various Piratey posts up here so we can ALL get in the spirit of things and be ready when the time comes to hoist the main sail to the cinema and stuff popcorn in your gob.
This is Blackbeard's flag; it's of a skeleton holding an hour glass threatening a bleeding heart with a spear. That sounds a lot better than how it looks...pretty lame BB, pretty lame.
Update, July 4, 9.45am Brit time.
I just found this little story about Pirates taking stuff from a U.N. boat..While I can't condone theft from aid agencies, I know now that my life long ambition is to work for the International Maritime Bureau's Piracy Centre.
Happy 4th of July weekend and such. I am in the middle of a nice four day break from work, which means that I haven't been wasting as much time on the internet, and therefore don't really have anything to post. I did want to alert you to this link, though, where you can celebrate Independence Day, and America in general, by listening to Johnny Cash's "new" album, the final volume of the Rick Rubin produced American Recordings.
After 230 years of independence, this photo epitomizes the best that America has to offer.
Happy Birthday Liiissaaa... Sorry Lisa, we couldn't get the pony rides, inflatable castle, krusty the clown or anything really amusing for your party as the arrogant kid across the street snatched them all for his party. Yes Lisa, it is unfair that he get's everything he wants while others have nothing.
You know what's really unfair Lisa? Even though he's half an inch taller than you standing in his pumps, he's actually 44 years of age.
"Wee Tom" takes time out from the pressures of fame by hiding in his daughter's wendy house and reliving past glories.
"What's that Charlie's eating?" Asked Grandpa Joe. "Is it a fudge scrumptious-billowy umptious-scroodly boodly-budnuddy fuddnuddy-oodly doodly-scrim scram a hey ho-knicker knocker bim bam- shigga shagga shogga-wip wappa woobie-double delight that reforms in your mouth so you can taste it's chocolately wonder twice?". Grandpa Joe looked at the boy and his grey, dull eyes lit up with watery pride and love for his beloved grandson.
"No Grandpa Joe, Charlie's pauper stomach can't handle the chocolate. He's being violently sick."