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The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
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BoingBoing (which is an all-day sucker for this sort of thing) approvingly linked a pitiful meld of the ever awesome Snap classic I've Got the Power and some random phone-fi audio clips from the Enron tapes. Few records have ever ruled a spring and summer like I've Got the Power did in the spring and summer of 1990. Some respect please for its majesty. It doesn't need (or want) your greasy fingerprints all over it.
Death to lazy ass agit-vampirism. A wooden stake would be overkill, though. An hors d'oeuvres toothpick is weapon enough to pierce its cocktail-onion heart and even smaller art (I would call the art caper-sized but that would lend the glory and mystery of the caper to it.)
And furthermore, most mashups (which this isn't anyway) suck.
There's thunder in the distance, not sure if that's the last storm retreating or a new one moving in. This last storm did a number on my satellite dish and that number is double zero, which is my current signal strength readout. I'm on the third story roof cursing Rupert Murdoch and Howard Hughes. I have only nice things to say about Mr. Siemens whose phone lets me listen to signal strength beeps on my first floor receiver while I search the twilit southwest sky (elevation 37 degrees, azimuth 231) for the sweet spot with my name on it. As discouraging as the low beeps with the long intervals are is as thrilling as the sound of the high pitched beeps pulsing one after another. I'm back on the grid, connected. I apologize, Rupert. And to your kids Mowgli and Statfordshire, too. May the empire prosper under their steady hands, but let that day not come too soon. Howard, what can I say, you've earned your sleep, sorry to have you spinning like that.
My first reaction to the bumpersticker on the car in front of me was an unthinking grimace. It read, Cast Off the Chains of Market-Hyped Consciousness. But then I realized I actually agree with the sentiment, if not the stolid expression of it. You just have to remember to cast off the chains of anti-market-hyped consciousness while you're at it.
I agreed wholly and instantly with another of the bumperstickers, Visualize Using Your Turn Signals. The small but valiant band of turn signal users in Philadelphia are either the last of the just or the harbingers of a civilization reborn.
From a review of the book A General Theory of Love , by Thomas Lewis, Fari Amini and Richard Lannon, in the February 7, 2000 New York Times Sunday book section (I like to let my criticism sit at room temperature for a few years, or decades, before consuming):
The doctors explain that "a relationship that strays form one's prototype is limbically equivalent to isolation" and add: "Most people will choose misery with a partner their limbic brain recognizes over the stagnant pleasure of a 'nice' relationship with someone their attachment mechanisms cannot detect."
I saw a T-shirt on one of the models in a set of gay porn pics that read Morningwood Basketball. Man, what a terrific squad. Their fundamentals are flawless. I've never seen better. And you should see those boys dribble, left-handed, right handed, between the legs--just amazing control and ball-handling skills.
The T-shirt designer stopped the joke just in time (unlike myself) by using the number 63 instead of the more predictable integer. Then I wondered if maybe the t-shirt wasn't for real, manufacturers of comical T-shirts aren't known from pulling back from the easy joke when it presents itself, so I got to thinking maybe there really was a Morningwood High. I asked Mr. Binary Google, the universal idiot-savant, but he gave me an inconclusive answer. There were a few matches but they all led to blank registration forms for those seeking to connect with other alumnae of Morningwood H.S. in Morningwood, South Carolina. Since the Reunion.com database-head bots will likely believe anything you tell them, these hits were far from conclusive. The silly bots would probably generate sign-up pages for North Homaux High and H. Prep, too. So my hopes are very much dashed that the mighty Morningwood Clearcutters ever take to the court in South Carolina, or anywhere else.
There do seem to be a fair number of Morningwood Lanes and Morningwood Drives wending their happy ways through the suburbs of these United States, so there is some reason to be cheerful today.
The greatest tribute to Joyce since Flann O'Brien had him washing and darning the Jesuits' underwear in The Dalkey Archive:
DUBLIN (Reuters) - Breakfast was without question the most important meal of the day in Dublin on Sunday as thousands flocked to the city's main thoroughfare for free fry-ups in honor of one of literature's most famous meals.
...For logistical reasons the organizers of the "ReJoyce Dublin 2004" festival decided to hold the big breakfast ahead of the "Bloomsday" centenary...
.....On Sunday 10,000 Joyce fans were mainly offered sausages, bacon, blood pudding and tomatoes crammed into large bread rolls -- rather tame compared to the diet of the offal-loving Bloom.
...Nutrition expert Margot Brennan said Bloom's diet could have had serious implications for his health. "Good old Leopold would definitely have been an Irish Heart Foundation candidate by the time he was finished, I would think," she said.
...Stilt-walkers, fire-eaters and acrobats roamed the street, while barber-shop quartets serenaded the breakfasting public, many of whom had dressed up in Edwardian garb.
..."It's marvellous -- it gives a real sense of what Edwardian Dublin would have been like on a sunny summer morning."
The koala tea litter hairy re-reprint publishers named for O'Brien's novel are having a sale. And odd, though apealling, deal. I won't take them up on it, but you should.