The internet is rad

The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.

I'm full-blown sick. It hit me like the Ardennes offensive last night. I don't think my Maginot Line of white blood cells was prepared. The cold was able to penetrate deep into my sinuses, set up a puppet government there, and then grab a foothold in my throat. From there it will attack its next target: my lungs. I doubt it will succeed. I've only had a slight cough every now and then, nothing really bothersome. I think this will be confined to my head. I plan on dropping a chemical Theraflu attack on them at some point tonight. Victory shall be mine.

Manhole Media Watch:

Every now and then I like to look around and see if the Tea Room is getting noticed. I enjoy looking around on Sitemeter to see how visitors came to find this blog. Out of the last 100 visitors to this blog, 20 of them came via the query "Zhang Ziyi." Another thing I've noticed is that a lot of the visitors who are looking for pictures of Ziyi are Japanese. Out of the last 100 visitors, 15 are from Japan. All of those 15 came looking for this picture:


This is not just an excuse to post a pic of Zhang Ziyi (I really don't need an excuse to post such loveliness). Weeks ago I picked up on this trend. So, from here on out, I'll keep track of all of the Japanese visitors who come here looking for the beautiful Zhang Ziyi. Just to make it interesting, I have created a map of where the last fifteen are located. I'll update it every now and then for the hell of it (click to enlarge).

Here's the run-down for the past few days:

-Tokyo (X5)
-Iwatsuki, Saitama Prefecture
-Tsutsuicho, Hyogo Prefecture
-Kanagawa, Okayama Prefecture
-Sengendai, Kanagawa Prefecture
-Takatsu-ku, Kanagawa Prefecture
-Yoda, Kanagawa Prefecture
-Shimo-tanigami, Hyogo Prefecture
-Osaka
-Ehime Prefecture
-Mitsui, Hokkaido

Our friend in Ehime Prefecture is using the Prefectural school board computer system to look at pictures of Zhang Ziyi. Naughty, naughty! In fact, our friend from Ehime visited twice in the course of a day. I look forward to seeing more Japanese visitors to my blog. If you want to engage in similar absurd exercises as this, or you're a bit of a voyeur, I suggest that you pick up Sitemeter (when used with ARIN WHOIS, Sitemeter is quite fun) Ah, the internet is so cool.

In a related matter, C. brought something interesting to my attention. Some of you may be familiar with the program "Stargate SG-1," which comes on the Sci-Fi Channel. If not, it's about a secret government program that explores other worlds. But anyway, the main character, who is played by Richard Dean Anderson (aka MacGyver) is named Jack O'neill. Well, if you type "Jack Oneill" into google images you get the old blog.com Manhole as one of the results. In fact, it's one of the first results. I was curious, so I typed it in, and sure enough there it was (at the bottom). I don't know how google compiles these lists. I'm not sure if it's by popularity, most searches, or what. But, it's pretty cool.

Don't let anyone ever tell you the internet is not rad.

Memery

An Indian I drawed. I half expect to see a tear streak down his face; but no, that would make him an emo Indian, and we can't have that.

Today was, as J.Star would say, a beanisty day. It rained all day, alternating between a blustery gray and a putrescent yellowish hue. I seem to have contracted some sort of cold as well, but it's still hovering between invasion and full-scale occupation. I'd like to think my white blood cells are down there putting up one hell of a fight. I hope they aren't bogged down in deliberating over whether or not torturing the enemy bacteria is a good or a bad thing. War is not pretty, whether microbial or otherwise.

Adeline has cooked up a meme. Here goes:

Three things that you wish you were good at but are either not good at all or just so-so.

German.
Approaching women without being seen as a serial killer weirdo.
Picture taking.
Me talk pretty one day.

Three of your favorite songs to dance around in ya undapants to.

900 Number - 45 King
Soul Man - Sam & Dave (I mean, damn. Soul.)
Chicken Grease - D'Angelo

The name of your favorite teacher, what grade, subject and WHY (can be a professor too).

I have two. Mr. Ribb, 12th grade German. He was a character. And Dr. Jim Pace, who I had all through college, mostly for Old Testament stuff. Jim got me to love the Old Testament, and I consider that a gift.

Three things that you are inexplicably good at, for better or for worse.

Always knowing what song to play
Seeing the dark side of things
Taking pictures? (feel free to tell me I'm great just to reassure me)

Your top 3 favorite breakfast cereals, if none, your idea of the perfect breakfast.

Breakfast is my least favorite meal, but I have to go with Raisin Bran, a glass of orange juice, a bagel, and maybe a piece of fruit.

Top three destinations, places you gotta see before you die and WHY.

Japan. 'Cause it's cool as all heck. Too many reasons to give here.
Everything between Greece and Uzbekistan. There's so much great history and oldness there.
Mt. Everest. It's really high and I want to play air guitar on top of it.

Name a huge turning point in your life, something that happened and after that everything was different. What was different? Why?

I don't have many big sea change moments. College is the only one which springs to mind. It steered me into history, but I also think it gave me the chance to be a real human being, as opposed to so-and-so's kid. College mapped out, more or less, what the rest of my life would be like. I decided I wanted to be in an academic setting for the rest of my days.

On a scale of 1 to 10, are you a good kisser? Pursuant to this, does it matter? (what is your opinion)

I can't judge for myself. Yeah, I guess it does matter.

What is your best feature? Your worst? (intentionally vague here)

I have a critical mind and I'm creative. My hair is magnificent. There's really not much good.
I tend to keep people at a distance. I'm hypercritical. I'm not decisive. I look unhappy a lot (which doesn't necessarily mean I'm unhappy).

Are you a night person or a morning person?

Night.

Fill in the blank: "There is nothing better than _______ after a long hard day of work."

A long hard day of work? Bwahahaha!

Two men enter, one man leaves

The winds blow once more on the eldritch battleground of the Thunder Dome! What contest have the laughing gods willed to satiate their thirst for the blood of heroes? The mighty god of mullets and war hath cast forth two champions - who shall emerge as the chosen?

It's been a while since I did one of these Thunder Dome contests (not since late June). I just felt like I had to post one tonight for some reason. I used to do this all the time at the old Manhole, but lost interest in doing it for a while. It gets hard churning out these contests every week. Now that I've had a reasonably long break, I can finally do another. The Thunder Dome is basically a contest in which I pit two individuals from television, films, comics, or cartoons against one another. The final result of the battle is all down to me, of course. Otherwise it wouldn't be any fun. Before the Kumite can begin, a little background on our competitors.

Chuck Norris is a six-time undefeated World Professional Middleweight Karate champion. In 1997, Chuck Norris became the first man in the western hemisphere to be awarded the 8th degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do - the first in 4,500 years or so. Like Steve McQueen, Chuck was a racer as well. In 1991 he won the World Off-Shore Powerboat championship and later set a world record by racing around the great lakes in a 38-foot scarab boat. When you combine this with his humanitarian work, what you have is true Renaissance man (with a mullet).

And what sort of Renaissance man would Chuck be without dealing out regular ass whuppins?Chuck's roles are simple men, men who love their country and don't take "nyet" for an answer. They aren't the kind of men who step on toes, they're the kind who step on necks. What is it that makes these men so badass? Is it their soft-spoken, God-fearing nature? No. Is it their feathered hair? No. I think it has something to do with their names. Whether its Colonel James Braddock from the "Missing in Action" series, Matt Hunter in "Invasion U.S.A.," or Colonel Scott McCoy from the "Delta Force" movies, you're always dealing with characters whose names reflect an almost inborn ability to snap necks, explode Vietcong villages, and drop a dry (albeit lame) quip when it's all said and done. Chuck's movies are some of the most excellent examples of schlock cinema ever produced, most notable among them being "Missing in Action 2: The Beginning." Not only is the title priceless, but the action is a collection of non-stop "hell yeah" moments.

As far as combat skills, we know Chuck is the baddest man in the Western Hemisphere. This is his greatest strength. In armed combat, we've seen chuck employ nearly every implement known to man, including Mac10s, M60s, rocket launchers, grenades, assorted pistols, and a flamethrower. There isn't much Chuck Norris can't pick up and instantly know how to use to kill people.

And as everyone knows, Chuck Norris tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

Patrick Swayze is a dancer (an asset in the Dome?). He was trained at the Harkness and Joffrey Dance School in New York. His first professional appearance was as a dancer for Disney On Parade (oh, but it gets better, folks). In 1983, Swayze starred in "Uncommon Valor," the story of a group of Vietnam vets who return to Vietnam to rescue their POW compatriot. And in 1984, Swayze starred in the famously bad, but undeniably shlockingly great, "Red Dawn." Both of these films predated Chuck Norris' "Missing in Action" series as well as his "Invasion USA" pic, which were arguably rip-offs of "Uncommon Valor" and "Red Dawn" respectively (although, without a doubt, Norris' movies are superior). A particularly foolish wag might point to this and say "hey, Norris is riding Swayze's coattails!" But such a person would indeed be foolish. Them's fightin words in Norris Country.

It is not exactly clear at which point Swayze began sporting his famous mullet. Perhaps Swayze was attempting to copy the look of Norris. Who can say? In 1987, Swayze's mullet became a national sensation in "Dirty Dancing." Swayze's portrayal of the hunky goy dance instructor Johnny Castle certainly did wonders for Swayze's sex appeal, but did it improve his bad ass standing? The answer is a resounding NO. Ah, but a little film released in 1989 would redeem what badassity was lost in "Dirty Dancing."

"Road House" is the story of Dalton, a buddhist bouncer with a hidden past. If you have never seen this film, I urge you to rent/buy/download/steal it somehow and watch it now. This is probably one of my top ten favorite movies of all time. It is exemplifies the 1980s white trash oeuvre better than anything. "Road House" alone places Patrick Swayze in the pantheon of movie badasses. He rips out a guy's throat. With his bare hands.

BUT. Swayze went on to star in "Ghost," and worst of all, "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar." If the former didn't make a ghost of Swayze's badassity, then the latter did. And buried it deep under ground. Could that badassity which he so clearly exuded in "Road House" be revived?

Outcome:

Norris and Swayze are dropped into the Dome unarmed. Norris is sporting his trademark too-tight jeans, giant belt buckle, and cowboy hat. Swayze too is garbed in sterility-inducing jeans - as well as a sleeveless flannel shirt he likes to call "Dalton." To make things more interesting, the Dome has been morphed into a redneck dive bar. It suits Swayze just fine. This is not by any means unfamiliar territory to Norris either. How many times has Walker roundhoused a man brandishing a cue stick in a honky tonk? "Too many to count," Norris mumbles to himself as he sizes up his opponent. Sensing an opening, Norris lunges at Swayze with a flurry of punches. Swayze, employing his Disney On Parade agility, bobs and weaves each punch, sending Norris' fists into a row of dangling beer mugs. The mugs are utterly smashed, the glass pulverized into perfectly cut diamonds by Norris' precision fists.

Norris pauses for a moment to massage his hand. "You were great in Donnie Darko," Norris adds before once more lunging at his foe. Swayze, once more employing his dancer's agility, cartwheels backwards, coming to a rest next to the jukebox. Swayze elbows the machine. The strains of the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody" fills the room. Oooooh, my-yyy looo-oove.... As if the laughing gods of the Thunder Dome were toying with their champions, the room is plunged into darkness. Above, the room is lit only by the spinning light of a disco ball. Tiny fragments of light swirl about the room like the winding gyre of an event horizon. "Now we're talking," says Swayze. "You're in my world now, Chuck."

Swayze floats across the floor, employing every known dance device as he moves. Norris, not used to this tactic, is unsure of his next move. The lights are...strangely hypnotic, he thinks, strangely inviting. Norris shakes himself, but the lights...the lights continue to spin and entrance him. Swayze dances towards Norris, moving seamlessly from a pirouette to a toe kick across Norris' neatly trimmed beard. The blow takes Norris unawares. Staggering back, Norris steadies himself on a bar stool. The blow hasn't done much damage, but it has shaken Norris from his trance. "You just did a damn fool thing, Pat."

Swayze, still on the attack, launches into a barrage of jazz hand slaps. "Jazz hands!" Swayze laughs maniacally. Norris, now prepared, deflects each blow with the precision of a skilled master of Tae Kwon Do. Detecting an opening, Norris delivers a solid blow to Swayze's body, sending him flying back onto a shoddily made bar table. Laying sprawled on the pulveried table, Swayze sees the steely-eyed Norris standing over him. He only has to think for but an instant of what to do - and acts. A boot, meant for Swayze's skull, comes down in a wide arc, but meets only cheap plywood. The resounding *crack* beneath Norris' boot echoes even above the strains of the Righteous Brothers crooning. Swayze, now back on his feet, remarks glibly, "I see you're not one for footwork."

Norris, infuriated at this remark, acts with the vengeful fury of a mullet-wearing Norse god. Spinning his leg around effortlessly, Norris leaves the imprint of his boot on the side of Swayze's face not once, not twice, but thrice. Swayze staggers back. His good looks are ruined. Norris is quickly upon him, Swayze totally at his mercy. "Norris, please, don't kill me! This is insane!" Swayze collapses to the floor, his hands extended in surrender. Something moves within Norris. Could it be mercy? Norris stops dead and looks into the eyes of Swayze. There is genuine fear there; fear of being smote by the power of Norris. Norris turns and makes for the door. His fear ebbing, Swayze calls after him: "If you leave the Dome you forfeit, you'll lose, Chuck!"

Norris strides confidently through the door of the bar and into the parking lot. The night is cool and cloudless. Swayze continues to call after Norris, now half laughing, "You'll lose Chuck! You'll lose!" Norris continues walking into the dirt parking lot, a cool breeze blowing gently through his lather-rinse-repeat mullet. He stops dead and produces something from his pocket, a small remote. Norris pulls a small antenna from the device and rests his thumb on the polished stainless steel switch. He pauses for a moment. He can still hear Swayze laughing, "You'll lose, Norris! You'll lose!"

His thumb flips the switch, sending a gout of yellow, red, and chimney orange flame into the night sky. The bar is obliterated in a sea of plasma, spraying burning wood and shattered glass in all directions. Without flinching, Norris lowers the antenna and pockets the remote. "No, you lose."

Oh, snaaap! Chuck Norris had the place rigged with explosives all along! Don't mess with Norris, man! Norris wins, hands down!

Zebra!

Zebra. I forgot to mention that I saw a zebra yesterday. Unfortunately, I didn't have the camera. I went back today and took a few pictures of this little fellow. I think there's at least one other Zebra living on this farm. The one I saw yesterday was full-grown, and as you can see, this one is but a little bubby zebra. Baby zebra hair is real soft.


Note the zebra mohawk.

Seeing zebra = good day.

Burnination.

I got to be Trogdor today. All was laid to burnination.

The day began with C. coming to my house. As usual, he had plans for some sort of mayhem. This time we were going to his aunt's house to burn things. I always enjoy making piles of crap and then setting it on fire, so I was pretty excited. All of the crap that had been stripped out of his aunt's house had to be destroyed with flame. That which couldn't be burned was to be taken to the dump. We made a large pile and set it ablaze using a rag and some carburetor cleaner.

And it was cold today. I think we had our first real freeze last night (and tonight it's dropping down to 19). The wind was pretty bad today, too, which is not good if you are starting a huge fire in the middle of a field of dry grass. The first 15 minutes were spent making sure the fire wouldn't spread to any of the nearby barns. This meant trampling all over flames in a pair of Converse shoes. And the smoke got pretty bad as well. Smoke and ash are formidable. We had our own miniature Vesuvius.

A note on fire: it's hot. I mean, it's really hot. We couldn't get within five feet of this pile for a few seconds before having to retreat in pain. Getting in close to take pictures was excruciatingly painful, particularly on my hands and face. 1 second...the heat makes it hard to breathe, 2 seconds...the pain from the heat is beginning to get to you, 3 seconds...you can feel the skin on your hands cooking, 4 seconds...you scream like a pansy and run away. Pain like that will make you scream in a high pitched squeal.

The icing on the cake? I got paid to do this. I got paid to burninate. And then we all went out to eat at the Japanese Hibachi restaurant reeking of smoke (I got the teriyaki chicken w/ veggies). I think that's how pioneers smelled all the time, like burnt wood and smoke. That's the smell that forged a nation of Starbucks, trucks, and 24 hour Walmar Supercenters. I'll take Davy Crockett scent over Axe Body Spray any day. Could a guy who wears Axe Body Spray toss a burning torch into a room full of gunpowder? Of course not.

Is there some way to distill this look into a scent? Smells like Manifest Destiny.

Fitena: I was born in North Carolina. I've never been outside of the U.S. My ancestors were Scottish trash (fleeing Jacobites), Germans (victims of a shipwreck), English Quakers, and some Cherokee Indians.

Wine, women, song, turkey

Out front there ought to be a man in black.

So I'm alive and kicking today. In black, of course. I got up earlier than usual (10:00) and followed the scent of sweet taters and marshmallers into the kitchen where mom had a sumptuous meal cooking on the stove. For meal #1 it was: sweet taters, lima beans, stuffing, corn, smashed taters, green beans, and of course the bird. A nice bird. I honor him. He was a little dry, but tasty nonetheless. There was also gravy, wine (which I'm drinking right now), and all manner of delicious breads. For dessert we had German Chocolate cake and punkin pie. My sophomore pie effort was well received.

Poppy (gramps) didn't show. His excuse was that he'd eaten bad food and gotten sick to his stomach. But I think everyone knew he was just making it up; the man really doesn't much care for my uncle. The kitchen/living room was divided into the "adult table" and the "kids table" and everyone ate a whole mess of this and that before sitting down to watch the Falcons play Detroit. After eating, my uncle challenged us to a game of basketball. He's a very competitive sort. So we all went outside and floundered around like white people. I only made one basket, the game winner, but that was after many pathetic air-balls.

It felt like a perfect fall day today; in the upper fifties with some 20 to 30 mph wind gusts. My cousin and I played soccer with a "Winnie the Pooh" ball (don't ask) in the backyard. The wind kept carrying the ball over the fence and into the yard of my crazy, one-armed, Jamaican neighbor. This guy gets pissed if grass clippings from our yard get blown onto his spotless lawn (which he doesn't mow or take care of himself because of his one-armedness). He once yelled at me for daring to accidentally cut a tiny portion of his lawn, like my mower blade was somehow marring his grass.

My cousin kept climbing over his fence or slamming his gate loudly each time he went to get the ball. I was worried the crazy jerk would come outside and yell at us for being on his property. So each time I got the ball I crept like "Axel's Theme" from Beverly Hills Cop. As I left I noticed him spying on me through his window. That dude has some issues.

Then I went with C. to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. Meal #2 consisted of ham, turkey, tater salad, pasta, sweet taters, deviled eggs, punkin pie, sweet tater pie, punkin cake (which was scrumdiddleyumptious), and fruit cake (which no one ate). The second turkey was also dry, but nicely salted. People kept encouraging me to eat more, even though I kept explaining to them that I'd already consumed a whole other meal just an hour or so before. So, out of consideration for the feelings of the cook(s), I consumed as much as my stomach would allow. Referring to the abundance of food, C. remarked: "I'm an American, I'll eat a dozen deviled eggs if I want to!"

C's family is fun. Granny, who is in her nineties, thinks that Jim Crow is still in place. When you speak to her you must yell at the top of your lungs or she won't hear you. Granny's kitchen floor is lime green linoleum that dates from the Eisenhower admin. She has two pre-lit miniature Christmas trees with those little fiber optic lights on them. When she talks of the future she prefaces it with, "well, if I'm alive..." to which everyone replies, "of course you will, Granny."

Afterwards, I went to C's house to help his family put up their Christmas tree. I suck at this sort of thing. I always second-guess ornament placement. I think it comes from the fact that my mom has the habit of going back and moving ornaments I've placed. She must have hegemonic control over tree ornamentation! So C's mom and cousin were laughing at me as I stood there, ornament in hand, pacing the tree like a Gordian knot. I suppose I enjoyed making a spectacle of myself. Mostly cause C's cousin is, well, rather fetching. I'll use the word lissom. Yes, that is a good word. Lissom, but too young. I can at least admire. But not touch.

Lord. Let the condemnations commence!

An appropriate tune from William Devaughn: Be Thankful For What You've Got. And try not to get the heebie jeebies over what you don't have. Or can't. Or shouldn't, even though you really want it. Lord knows I try.

Anyways, it was a good day.

Glass onion

Get them lights out, baby.

I know it's not Thanksgiving yet, but I'm anxious to go ahead and put up a few lights in my room. Rarely does our family put lights on the outside of the house, but when we do we tend to use the "classy" white lights. I've never been against the color lights, but my family seems to have an aversion to them; as if the color of one's lights indicates taste or the lack thereof.

The oldies station is playing non-stop Christmas music. I heard "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and was filled with a Grinch-like disgust. Not that I dislike Christmas, I enjoy the season immensely. I especially enjoy seeing all of the family, the lights, the cold, eating Chinese food on Christmas day, and if I'm lucky, getting to see some snow. It's my favorite time of year. But I dislike how Christmas can flood over everything like a tide of egg nog mixed with tinsel and toys that will be broken in a month.

But enough of Chrismuss fer now.

In addition to being on a Japanese literature kick, I'm on a horror lit. kick. Last night it was "Out of The Deep" by Walter de la Mare. It's the story of a young man who is dying of consumption in a huge London mansion and all of the things he sees in the empty house late at night. De la Mare can write, I'll give him that. His sentences are thick and complex and he's able to blur the line between what the reader thinks is real and hyper-real (or imagined, hallucinated) brilliantly. If you would like to read it, you can find the complete text here. Don't be surprised if you find yourself thinking: what the hell is he on about? It is complex. A lot of it will fly over your head if you don't read carefully. Unfortunately, I read it while I was hepped up on a load of caffeine. Alone. In the armpit of night. While wind and rain buffeted my windows.

Tomorrow is pie day. I go forth armed with Bisquick and Crisco.

Hungarian No. 5

I'm reading W.W. Jacobs.

If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?

Went to see "Chicken Little" at the Googolplex theater yesterday. My distaste for the movie industry grows and grows. Apparently there is a film coming out which features Tim Allen morphing into a dog. As a pooch he is able to correct his failures as a father or something. The preview was set to the always charming "Who Let The Dogs Out." Now, I might be wrong on this, but if you wanted to entice people to come and see your movie, would you play this song in the preview?

Chicken Little wasn't bad. I can't say I loved it or that it will stay with me, but it's reasonably fun. Now that the novelty of CG has worn off, it's all down to the writers to create something that's compelling and entertaining, story-wise. I can get graphics that are just as good, if not better, from video games. And chicken little, graphically, didn't impress me all that much. There wasn't any point at which I said "wow, they're really breaking ground here." The only thing that stood out were some of the textures, particularly Chicken Little's feathers. The funniest moments involve the pig and the songs he sings to himself, especially "Ain't no mountain high enough."

Throughout the film, some asshats behind me were making loud, LOUD comments (and they weren't good comments). I should also point out that they were probably 16-year-olds who had, for some reason, come to see Chicken Little of their own free will. What bugged me most was that their comments had a template that went like this: Ooooh, that mo-fucka did this or, Ooooh, that mo-fucka did that. What made this even more irksome was their disregard for the ears of little kids. I was filled with bloodlust more than once during the screening. I often have fantasies about beating the almighty tar out of people who either curse, talk loud, or (and you don't know how common this is) talk on cell phones during the movie. I look forward to the day when I finally go Captain Caveman on somebody's ass.

No, better yet, make that Leeroy Jenkins.

I'll be on pie making duty this week. My mother has requested a punkin pie for when the relatives come over on Thursday. This time I might try something new and be all like the Jackson Pollock of punkin pies.

The new header look is only semi permanent. I'm thinking of changing it more regularly, probably every month or so. I thought Cletus hanging from an electrical pole (with boots tied on them no less) conveyed this blog rather well. "Hey, I can call my ma from up here! Hey ma, get off the dang roof!"

Everything I do gon' be funky

"When you're slapped, you'll take it and like it."

Ah, Sam Spade. Just Bogart in general, really. That's one dude I would like to be.

Fitena: Dachau was a Nazi concentration camp just outside of Munich. Somewhere around 30,000 Jews, religious, and political prisoners were gassed there. The name is synonymous with the height of barbarity. Your question brings to mind a study that the BBC conducted last year in which only 55% of Britons surveyed knew that Auschwitz was a concentration camp (out of a sample of 4,000). This year they did another survey and found that 94% of those surveyed knew about Auschwitz. Quite a turn-around in the course of a year.

I honestly don't know the name of the show that the Hilton heiress and the daughter of Lionel Richie were on. Those two are proof that humanity is devolving.

Adeline: Lionel Richie way ugly? I know you ain't trippin. I won't hate too hard on Lionel. He did some excellent work with the Commodores. "Lady (You Bring Me Up)" is definitely a great R&B song. But I always have trouble shaking the thought of his gargantuan chin in the video for "Hello."

Neil: As far as clothing stores in LA, I've only been to two, and they weren't exactly hoity-toity boutiques. They were more like vintage clothing shops. The better of the two, Iguana's, is certainly worth a look if you're ever around Sherman Oaks way.


Today's Funk spotlight is on Lee Dorsey. Lee is, well, the man. Dorsey was born in New Orleans in 1924 and at the age of 10 he moved to Portland Oregon. He gained considerable fame as a light heavyweight boxer in Oregon as "Kid Chocolate" (which, if you ask me, is an awesome boxing name). After returning to New Orleans, he was discovered by the head of Fury records and had a hit with "Ya Ya" - a tune based off of a children's rhyme. When several follow-ups flopped, Dorsey returned to his job as a mechanic.

In 1965, Dorsey returned to the studio to record a tune called "Ride Your Pony." The song became a top ten R&B hit that year. The following year, he recorded his most remembered tune, "Working in a Coal Mine." His comedic vocals and the track's pick and shovel percussion propelled it to the top ten. Follow-ups to "Working in a Coal Mine" included "Holy Cow" and the undeniably funky "Everything I Do Gon' Be Funky." In 1970 he released the optimistic "Yes We Can," which is essentially a civil rights anthem.

Throughout the 70s he continued recording but couldn't match his past success. He toured with James Brown and even The Clash in 1980 (which was his last major tour). He continued to tour every now and then throughout the 80s until his death from emphysema in 1986. His songs have been covered by John Lennon, Devo, Ike and Tina Turner, and the Pointer Sisters.

Here are some selections:

"Ya Ya"

"Ride Your Pony"

"Yes We Can"

Hear that lonesome whippoorwill

Drink it! The Irish saved western civilization, the least you can do is drink their beer.

I read H.P. Lovecraft today. It was a perfect day for it. A day when the wind carried whispers of names that men dare not speak; a day when the rustling of the leaves on the trees masked the chittering of some unhallowed and foul Thing. This evening the wind was howling and rain buffeted my corner of the house. A perfect setting. Too perfect, perhaps, 'cause I got a little creeped that Shoggoth was coming to get me.

Tonight for dinner it was chicken and shrimp penne with spinach, an apple, a carrot, some bread, and two peanut butter cookies. Now, if only Lindsay Lohan would eat that much.

Adeline brought this to my attention. I encourage you to read the comments and see just how schizoid people are. I just thought I'd preach on it:

IMHO, Lohan and Lionel Richie's daughter (let's be honest people, is she anything more than just the daughter of a second-rate R&B artist?) look like the brain-hungry undead. Lohan, with her distended belly, looks like she's been in Dachau for about a month. You could use her stomach as a small shelf. If Lionel Richie's daughter gets any skinnier, she'll be wearing her skeleton on the outside of her skin. And where did her legs go? She's got muppet limbs. And another thing that no one seems to have drawn attention to is this: no butt. No booty. No trunk. No bounce to the ounce. That just ain't happenin'. Normal, non-emaciated, thin women have beehinds. When the butt disappears, you have entered into a realm inhabited only by skeletons and people who live under famine conditions.

Now, the gal in the second picture, Valerie Lefkowitz, is certainly healthier. Get this: she has legs, hips, and what looks like a possible butt back there. Oh my! Revolutionary, ain't it? And I don't think I could play her ribs like a xylophone, either (which admittedly, would be kinda cool).

Lindsay Lohan and Lionel Richie's daughter were never exactly that attractive. Sure, Lohan was at least somewhat attractive before she joined the ranks of the unliving, but if someone asked me to think of the most beautiful female stars in Hollywood today, Lohan wouldn't come to mind. Both of them would be at least non-revolting if they gained enough weight to look, well, alive.

It's a trunk, not a stick.

Katamatte

Fill in the blank: My name is _____ and I want _____ for Christmas.

And nothing phony, like "world peace."

This day was decent. I explored a house. I don't think it's as abandoned as I thought, just in the process of being renovated. The doors are unlocked and some of the windows are missing. No one is living in there except maybe a hobo or something. Tomorrow I'll see about checking out the attic and basement.

I actually played some video games today. I'm ashamed to say that because it sounds like I'm slacking off (which I am). I played Grand Theft Auto for a while, mainly provoking the police and then having them chase me all over the place. I like to play Tito Puente or some sort of free Jazz while I'm being chased by the cops on GTA. It's just satisfying for some reason.


Yesterday I heard that one of my favorite wrestlers, Eddie Guerrero, passed away (spare me the lecture on how wrestling is not "real"). This came as a bit of shock, mainly because Eddie had recently cleaned up his life and started living straight. The hard living apparently caught up with him, though. According to an autopsy, Eddie died of heart failure. Eddie was truly one of the greatest performers to ever step into a ring. I can only think of one man living who is a better wrestler, and that's Kurt Angle.

But Kurt lacks what Eddie had in charisma. Eddie would enter the arena driving some sort of tricked out low rider car. He would strut around and say "orale!" and "que pasa, homes?" to everyone he passed. What made Eddie's character great was that he was bent, but he wasn't broken. He would "lie, cheat, and steal" to win, but in the end he was a good guy. My favorite Eddie incarnation was when he and his nephew Chavo were teamed together as "Latino Heat." Their theme song went, "I'm not scared of you my brother, 'cause I'm Latin."

He will be missed.

Rest in peace, Eduardo Gory Guerrero Llanes.

Katamari Damacy, katamatte, katamatte.

Muebles

Who has learned Chinese off the back of fortune cookie fortunes? I only know a few words, which are either useless or too vulgar to mention here. Yes, Chinese gets more vulgar than English could ever hope to be. It has about a three thousand year head start in the gutter language department.

I wasn't thinking much today. I don't want to think. I just want to throw stuff out there like I've got Tourette's: DAY - SPORK - RAINBOW - PEANUT BUTTER - DONKEY. I don't know why I spat out those words, but anyway.

I want to say a few things about my former home town, High Point, North Carolina. To begin with, High Point is the furniture capital of the world. It's got lots of buildings that are built to look like huge pieces of furniture. In nearby Thomasville (home of the Thomasville company) there's also the largest Duncan Phyfe chair in the world. The western piedmont is like a giant's bedroom.

Through kindergarten and part of first grade I lived behind the world's largest chest of drawers. It was in a cruddy neighborhood that sat on the edge of the city's central cemetery. Both houses I lived in in High Point sat on the city cemetery. This house, which was a sickly brown single-story with a big bay window in the front, was in a much crappier neighborhood. We had a problem with possums, huge possums, getting into our trash at night. I remember one night seeing their eyes shine red in the headlights of my dad's Honda.

The new and improved chest of drawers, with socks

The people who lived across the street from us had no siding on their house, just insulation. I used to play with that kid (whose name I forget) often. I don't remember much about his house other than it was filthy and there was an unused exercise bike in the living room. His back yard was right up against the chest of drawers building. There was a big tree back there we would climb from time to time. The parking lot for the chest of drawers building sat next to his house; it was where we rode our bikes. There was a company in the building next door to the chest of drawers that made doohickies for the kilowatt hour meters you have on the outside of your house. I used to collect these little blue pieces they dumped back there.

That house was the most pitiful dwelling I've lived in, but not the smallest. The smallest was our old house in the country. But this house was just so run down and in a nasty area of town (not 100 yards from downtown). It was ghetto.

One night my dad and I rented an NES (it came in one of those spiffy Nintendo bags) and played "Spyhunter." This was special because I'd never played with an NES before. As we were playing, a tornado came through and blew the big oak tree in the front yard down on the house. The power went out. My last memory from that night is seeing the twisted branches of the oak scraping against the bay window, illuminated by a flash of lightning. We slept on the couch that night. When we awoke, we found the tree on the house and the chimney obliterated.


We didn't stay in the house behind the world's largest chest of drawers much longer after that. Nor did it remain the largest chest of drawers. Furnitureland South, which is out near I-40, built an 80 foot chest of drawers a couple years ago. Even so, Furnitureland's chest isn't free standing. This means my chest of drawers is still the largest free standing chest of drawers in the world. But, all disputes aside, high point is home to the largest and second largest chests of drawers in the world. And that's worth something.


High point in the house (literally, 'cause you probably have something made in High Point in yer house right now)!

Your Head A Splode

Is your name Michael Diamond?

Insect Action Hero. A tribute to Roy Lichtenstein. It's actually a picture of a grasshopper sitting on my front door. I had some fun with the picture, as you can see.

Sweet Blog Watch: It has been 21 days since Sweet has updated his blog.

Weekend update: Let's see. On Saturday I went to Waffle House in the morn to consume a large waffle with toast, two eggs over well, and grits. Later I received a gift of delicious peanut butter cookies from a friend. Aw, mama, these cookies are good. They're crunchy, but not too crunchy and with just the right mix of salt and sugar. And they look damn nice, as you can see. I then went to my cousin's place in Gate Citay to draw names for the traditional Secret Santa dealie. There I consumed chocolate, chips, sausage balls (laff if you must), cider, and some sort of cake.

I also snapped a picture of THE CHILD. I swear, she looks so old now. Not a baby at all anymore. Pretty soon she'll be out there breaking hearts. She already says she's gonna marry some little boy at daycare named Colby. Now, the marriage thing is cute, but "Colby" is the most ridiculous boy's name ever. Colby is not a person's name, it's the name of a mild soft cheese from Wisconsin. Imagine if someone named their child "Feta" (as in Boba Feta) or "Gouda." I told her that she should never marry a young man that shared a name with Cheese, whether it be Colby or Abbaye de Belloc.


Sunday I stayed in and finished my letter of purpose. I also came across a tidbit of info I hadn't noticed until now. Apparently, the deadline for my application is not December 1st like I originally thought, but in fact the 1st of January 2006. This takes a tremendous weight from my shoulders. I thought I was up against it. I've been nervous/anxious as hell the past few days about this deadline, but now I don't have to be as concerned. I've got over a month and 90% of the required preparations are already complete.

And then...BOOOM!

I'm out.

War flicks

Veterans Day.

"I love it. God help me, I do love it so. I love it more than my life." - George C. Scott's Patton on war.

To celebrate America's veterans, I've compiled a list of my top ten U.S. war films in no particular order. I'll spare you the ruminations on why I love war films. You'd probably think I was a militarist anyway.

1. The Dirty Dozen. "Train them! Excite them! Arm them!...Then turn them loose on the Nazis!" The quintessential American war flick. Lee Marvin is assigned with the task of molding a group of military convicts into a commando team. Their mission: assassinate key Nazi leaders on the eve of D-Day. To achieve their goal, they must play dirty. The last twenty minutes of this movie always puts me on the edge of my seat. My favorite scene from Dozen is when Telly Savalas' character is gunned down by Jim Brown.

2. Patton. I don't care what anyone says, I find this movie to be inspiring, even moving. George C. Scott's portrayal of Patton is just one of those roles, one that someone was born to play. The theme here is the incompatibility of a man like Patton, a warrior, with the modern world and the modern way of waging war. Patton is "the pure warrior... a magnificent anachronism." The film does a great job of portraying Patton as the last of a breed of great conquerors, men who thrive off of the existence of war. It's just chock full of memorable scenes and quotes, such as:

Patton: The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them. Spill *their* blood. Shoot *them* in the belly!

Clergyman: I was interested to see a Bible by your bed. You actually find time to read it?
Patton: I sure do. Every goddamn day.

3. Von Ryan's Express. Ol' Blue Eyes goes medieval on the Fascist Italians and Nazis after leading a prison break in Italy. The group of British and American troops hijack a train (dubbed the "Von Ryan Express," after Sinatra's Colonel Ryan) and impersonate Nazis on their way to Switzerland. I always enjoy Sinatra toting a gun. He's really stylish and smooth here. Sinatra was never a great actor, but he exuded a lot of confidence and cool up on the screen, and that's all that really mattered.

4. Kelly's Heroes. "Why don't you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change?" Clint Eastwood, Donald Sutherland, Telly Savalas (yet again), Don Rickles, and Carroll O'Connor star in what is probably my favorite World War II movie (in color) about a group of misfits (yet again) who go behind German lines to rob a bank. The great lines just keep coming in this one, especially from Sutherland, O'Connor, and Rickles. But Sutherland's character Oddball is by far the stand out:

Oddball: Hi, man.
Big Joe: What are you doing?
Oddball: I'm drinking wine and eating cheese, and catching some rays, you know.
Big Joe: What's happening?
Oddball: Well, the tank's broke and they're trying to fix it.
Big Joe: Well, then, why the hell aren't you up there helping them?
Oddball: [chuckles] I only ride 'em, I don't know what makes 'em work.
Big Joe: Christ!
Oddball: Definitely an antisocial type. Woof, woof, woof! That's my other dog imitation.


5. Glory. Matthew Broderick, Morgan Freeman, and Denzel Washington in a Civil War piece about the first all-black company in the U.S. Army. It's an intense flick, one of the first war films which actually made me flinch. I first saw it in an eighth grade history class and it left a big impression on me. Very stirring. The final scene is one of the most engaging battle sequences in all of War cinema.

6. The Great Escape. Prison camp films are probably my favorite type of war movie. The Great Escape is the best of them all. Great Escape tells the story of a group of Allied prisoners who make several attempts to escape from a Nazi prison camp through the use of a tunnel. There's so many great characters here: the suave, smooth-talking American scrounger, the soft spoken, bird-watching English forger, the incompetent German guard, etc. Despite having an a star-studded cast, Steve McQueen is the clearly the standout. The scene in which McQueen attempts to jump the Swiss border on a stolen German motorcycle has become an iconic image in American cinema. And there's more than just drama in this one. It's quite funny at times. In addition to being my favorite war movie, The Great Escape would probably make my list of top ten all-time favorites.

7. Pork Chop Hill. Just when you thought I would have another WWII movie, I drop this one in yer lap. Pork Chop Hill is about the forgotten war, Korea. The story depicts the rather pointless struggle between communist Chinese troops and American GIs for "Pork Chop Hill." This is an excellent depiction of combat in the Korean war, particularly in that it shows how the Chinese and North Koreans fought - by throwing wave after wave of cannon fodder at American and South Korean positions.

8. Saving Private Ryan. I saw this movie in theaters. In fact, it was the first "R" rated film I ever saw in a theater. It scares me. This movie is so intense that I have trouble watching it. This film is just so real and so intense that sometimes I feel like I have to duck to avoid being hit by a stray bullet. What Spielberg created with this movie is the single most accurate depiction of WWII combat on a movie screen. I asked a veteran about it once and he told me that is was "damn near" the way he remembered it. If this movie is only "near" to how it really was, then it only increases my level of respect for the men who stormed the beaches and held on by only their guts.


9. Hell in the Pacific. Lee Marvin (yet again) and my favorite actor Toshiro Mifune in the Robinson Crusoe story from hell. A downed American pilot and a Japanese naval officer are both marooned on a desert island at the height of WWII in the Pacific. The two are forced to get along with one another in order to survive, but not without some difficulty. Since Mifune and Marvin are the only two actors throughout the entire flick, there is almost zero dialogue. And the ending. What an ending. Some will be turned off by it, but I think it's one of the best endings.

10. The Longest Day. How could I leave out John Wayne? The Longest Day, much like Saving Private Ryan, deals with the Allied invasion of France. The longest day in question is June 6, 1944, D-Day. There's a big star-studded cast, thousands of extras, Sean Connery, Germans who speak in German with subtitles (which I always enjoy in movies), and some *excellent* cinematography. For instance, the scene in which the free French troops storm a German-held Hotel is one of the most superb single shots in all of film.

Anyone got a U.S. war movie they'd like to add to this list?

Ring of Fire

Some annoyed fifty-year-olds at the downtown barber shop.

Sweet Blog Watch: It has been 18 days since Sweet has updated his blog.

Fitena, I am amazed that you don't know tofu. Tofu is soy bean curd that is sold as a liquid or in brick form. Firm tofu is a great chameleon food (read: it takes on the taste of whatever you cook it in). And it's healthy, too. I've been eating it a lot recently, and I must say that I enjoy it. It's quick and easy to prepare and reasonably cheap.

Went around town today and tooks me some pictures of this and that. Well, not much really 'cause the daggum batteries died on me. But I did annoy the men at the barber shop and manage to squeeze in a few door photos.

I didn't accomplish anything today, at least not in the grad school department. But all is not lost. By the end of this weekend I will have everything on my end - the application, the letter of purpose, the transcripts, and the writing sample ready to be shipped. Then all I have to worry about is my professors writing up the letters they have promised me. Oh, and the money to pay for application, which should run around 150 dollars for the first two schools. There's a word for that kind of thievery, but I won't say it here.

For dinner tonight I had a non-cute pork chop (No, I am not a "vegmo," but in keeping with my primitive ancestry, an omnivore), some black eyed peas, pasta with broccoli, toast, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - which I washed down with milk and orange juice.

Right now I'm thinking about war movies for Veterans Day. I'll have a post on that tomorrow.

I fell into a burning ring of fire.

And I'm out.

More Rambling

Sweet blog watch: It has been 17 days since Sweet has updated his blog.

I accomplished some things today. For one, I went over to that old barn (God, I sound like such a redneck) and picked through all the stuff to locate kitsch. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of anything. Unless anyone wants some absurd looking polyester shirts, of course. But I did find a whole mess of Mason jars. Normally, I wouldn't give a flip about Mason jars, but C. and I are planning a brand of whiskey which we will distill and sell (Hello, my name is Suley, welcome to my life) and the Mason jars would be perfect for "bottling" our contraband alcohol. I can't divulge the name of this brand yet, but it's a geek name so you probably won't get it anyway.

And I also got the accurs'd letter of purpose about 90% finished. I won't say much about it other than it is going better than it was a week ago.

Last night, while I was trying to get to sleep, I was listening to John Coltrane's "My Favorite Things" and the feeling of Christmas came over me. You may know what I mean. It's just a sensation that one feels around Christmas. If you don't, I can't really explain it in words. I don't know if it was the "brown paper packages tied up with string" or if it was something else; I just couldn't help but feel all Christmasy. And right now, unlike the other 10 months out of the year, I am looking forward to Christmas. And it isn't even Thanksgiving yet.

There are only 45 days until Christmas.

Tomorrow I'm thinking about going out and taking pictures of doors. I'd like to make a collage-y thing of doors. I used to have a poster called "Doors of Ireland" and I always thought it would be kinda cool to go around and take picture of doors in my fair borough and then compile them in that manner.

Since J.Star is gonna start putting recipes up on Jukebox, I'm gonna start posting what I had for dinner. Tonight I had stir fried teriyaki veggies (broccoli, celery, onions) with tofu. As a side I ate plain spinach. I usually just eat the spinach leaves out of the bag like chips, but this time I was halfway civilized and ate them out of a bowl. Then I ate my usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich with milk. Afterwards I added some chips, an apple, and half of a pop tart. And right now, at 1:00 in the AM, I am still hungry.

And I'm off to the kitchen.

Intruder in the dust

Sweet blog watch: it has been 16 days since Sweet has updated his blog.

For in this world, I am bound to ramble...

A typical day. In the morning I picked apart the wording in my letter of purpose, agonizing over whether or not it was choppy or lacking focus. I may have added a couple actual sentences to it today. In the afternoon I went out into the woods on my usual "look for abandoned buildings to take pictures of" walk. Today I found two barns and a burned-down trailer from the 1970s. The older barn was a very nicely preserved tobacco barn from the early 20th century. You just don't see many old barns like that one anymore, at least not in that condition. The trailer was, well, burned down to just a rusty, twisted foundation.

I picked around in the ruins and found a few clues as to who these people are. For one, I know the family. I went to high school with the son of a woman who once lived in that trailer many years ago. I found her picture in the barn and recognized the name - a very distinctive name - and noted how much this woman looks like her son. I also know they kept a pet bird and hunted deer (an old tree stand was still standing back there). And I found a jar with something in it that looked like one of the flying amoeba from the Star Trek episode "Operation: Annihilate!" Not sure what was going on there. And that little trike, which was all twisted, reminded me of Silent Hill. I just had to take a picture of it.

The newer barn was filled with the detritus from the 1960s and 70s. The upper level was piled high with science books from the 1950s and 60s ("the moon belongs to America and eagerly awaits the arrival of our astro-men.") as well as old, old shoes from back in the deezays. My attention was caught by several pairs of Jeepers. Known as "Cheaper Jeepers," Jeepers were a brand of shoe produced for Sears by Converse during the 1960s and early 70s. Kids hated them because they were essentially fake Converse. It's like going to K-Mart and being forced to buy the cruddy Nike knock-offs (which I was forced to do when I was a younger). Note the similarity. I may just go back over there and see if I can revive some of those old Jeepers.


There was also this little figurine, which I thought was kinda poignant and creepy all at once. I'm thinking of going back and getting it. If anyone wants it, just holler. I know it's all broked up, but that's genuine creepy kitsch! The female figure has no head! Tomorrow I'm gonna pick through more of that junk and see if any more kitsch lies within. All those ridiculous 1950s school books are gonna be fun to pick through.

And I'm out.

All your base

You have no chance to survive make your time.

I am devising a method. A method which will allow me to enter the Western Electric Missile Factory.

On Saturday, C. and I cased the outside of the Factory. I brought along my camera and took a few shots of the exterior, which are here. The shot above, the aptly placed manhole sign, sits right out in front of the plant's western (rear) gate. I took it as a sign from the heavens that I was destined to get in there. The area is primarily lower class and largely Hispanic. In addition, C. was wearing his leather Indiana Jones fedora, so we stuck out like sore white thumbs.

A few things I noticed about this place:

• The fence is roughly 6 to 8 feet and topped with barbed wire all around. In some places, there is a concrete wall that elevates the fence to 15 to 20 feet.
• In places, where the fence meets other adjacent fences, there is sufficient room for a skinny white boy such as myself to squeeze through.
• There are signs that say "in event of emergency, contact security..." and a number is given. C. called security and got an operator who said that most of the time no one is even at the plant. The security detail is based off site. We never saw evidence that the place was patrolled by anyone.
• No security cameras.

We also came across some junked jets on Saturday, which proved an interesting diversion. They were stored, along with some decidedly ancient TWA maintenance vehicles, behind a club called "El Remix" which caters to Hispanics. The pictures are here. After taking pictures of the junked jets we spied some Pratt & Whitney engines parked inside of a garage. Thinking we could get in there and see them up close, we went around and spoke to the owner of the club. Apparently, the garage was owned by someone else and he couldn't let us go inside and see them. The guy seemed nervous about the whole deal. just to be safe he asked to see our ID. This made me laugh on the inside because I've never had a Hispanic night club owner ask to see my ID. It felt like something out of a Tom Clancy movie:

"Very well, I shall permit you to view the jet engines. You aren't wearing wires are you?"

That's not exactly what he said, but it might as well have been. We told him we were studying aerospace engineering at the local University and were interested in the engines purely from a academic standpoint. He reluctantly let us go to the window and take a couple pictures. Is there some sort of illegal activity going on with those jets? Very strange.

We also wandered around over at the National Guard armory. Just to be safe, we went in to speak to the commanding officer. When C. asked him if we could take pics of the grounds his reply was a big negatory. When C. asked why he replied, "You just can't." As we were leaving, I mentioned that it must be "super secret." C. then said, "good thing we took pictures before we asked you" (even though we hadn't).

As we pulled away, laughing, two guardsmen came out and stood in the doorway, watching us. I get the feeling they were dispatched to confiscate the nonexistant super secret photos of the super secret porta johns and super secret junk Humvees they only roll out for the 4th of July parade. Oh well, I thought, I'll have to wait until the next super secret toughman contest before I can get in and take pictures.

And now, Westbam's "Beat Box Rocker" as an outro.

For great justice take off every 'zig'.

Dispatch from the Mulletocracy: Happy Hunting

This was a fun day.

This morning I watched THE CHILD. She was more well-behaved than usual. I only had to be particularly stern once or twice. She still hasn't gotten into regularly using the potty like she should (sorry, I know folks don't want to hear about a three-year-old's bowel movements, but this whole potty thing is just bothering me). She also amazed me this morning. She pointed out flowers to me, something I know very little about, and named them all. "What's this?" I asked. "A Marigold." "And this?" "That's a Daffodeeyul." She even knows what an avocado is. I probably couldn't point out an avocado. So we went outside, picked flowers, and smushed mushrooms with sticks.


I snapped some pitchers of this and that. Just Fall junk, mainly. I feel like Fall is entering its height right now. The past few days have been utterly cloudless, breezy, and temperate. All of the leaves are either yellow, red, or orange, and the walnuts and pecans are beginning to accumulate all over the dang place. Walking through the yard is like skating on marbles.


C. came down for the weekend and I went with him to help his mom and step dad move some furniture into their house. Afterwards we went to the accurs'd K&W Cafeteria, a cafeteria chain that exists only in the states of North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, and West Virginia and serves mainly the elderly and extremely white bread. A truly excellent locale to hunt the mullet. Sure enough, my mullet senses began to tingle, for I had detected the presence of a magnificent specimen: Femullus Dixianus.


Yes, there she was in her ill-fitting jeans, white Reeboks, and grey trash bag/windbreaker. Her bright auburn mullet was truly magnificent. The redheaded mullet is indeed a rare find, even in a habitat such as this one. The camera's flash may have startled her, as well as some of the other patrons. Like a pack of frightened wildebeest, the pace of the line quickened. I thought my quarry would escape beyond the range of my camera. Fortunately, the line snaked around once more, and I was able to train my camera upon my subject once again.

While the subject grazed at the watering hole, I was able to get a few shots at relatively close range using C. as a decoy. The quarry was, however, elusive. I am only able to offer glimpses of this magnificent creature at its primary feeding ground. After purchasing plates of sliced ham and assorted starchy victuals for her non-mullet daughter and non-mullet mother, the Femullus Dixianus disappeared into K&W.

Note the light on the curls. Amazing.

The prey darts away.

'Tis truly the hair cut of the gods.

And I'm off. Tomorrow I'll be in Chapel Thrill I think. Maybe I'll try and convince Sweet to update his blog.

Crashing the gates of Xanadu

Thur.

Lessee, what happened today? Usually, when you have to ponder that, then nothing really noteworthy happened. Which is the case for today. I found this abandoned trailer, which was a good diversion for a while. Among the items I found inside were: a pencil sharpener, a piggy bank, a bubble wand, a card marked with the number "4 1/2", and lots of shattered glass. I also proofread my grad school writing sample today. At some point I'll put it up on my highly neglected (now doubtless covered in digital cobwebs) history blog. Proofing history is considerably more fun than thinking about the statement of purpose, which I will now think about.

It should go something like this:

What do I want to study? Southern history, with an emphasis on the social history. This may seem broad, but I'm interested in the period from British royalization in 1729 to the end of the 19th Century. Right now I'm particularly interested in Reconstruction in North Carolina. I've got my eyes set on studying Jews in the South during this period, as well as studying the rise and fall of the textile industry in upper South. This is but a small sampling of things I want to study in more detail.

What are my goals? I want to teach, research, write, make a worthwhile contribution to the dialogue in my field, and write some more. I want to preserve and shine a light on the legacy of those who came before us. I'm not out to be someone who can make history instantly enjoyable to everyone, but to keep it from disappearing from our collective memory.

Why (insert name of school here)? Well, largely because I have a connection to this area (this area being North Carolina), the history of this area, I respect the faculty, their accomplishments (UNC, UVA, I'm looking your way), I have had professors who attained their phd's at your insitution (UVA again), etc. etc.

Now stretch that out over a page or so, single spaced, and make it eloquent and thought provoking. When I talk about the school and how great it is I feel like I'm talking out of my ass. They're just universities, yet people treat them like they're the flipping gates of Xanadu.

----------------

There's a building here in town I've been fascinated with since I was a little kid, the Western Electric/Tarheel Army Missile Plant/AT&T building. It's had many names over the past fifty or so years, but the "Missile Plant" is the one that seems to have stuck. During the late 1950s and 60s, the Tarheel Ordnance Plant was used to produce missile parts, most notably for the Nike-Hercules class missile. These weren't ICBMs, but missiles intended to shoot down long-range bombers (they still carried small nuclear warheads for this purpose). From 1991 to 2004 the facility was unused, property of the U.S. Army. Last year, someone bought the facility for $1.6 million, promising "big things" for the facility. But nothing has really happened there since it was bought. So much of it still sits in disrepair.

For years I've been kicking around in rundown buildings, exploring places I shouldn't be, and generally living like a subterranean homesick alien. All this time, the missile plant has represented the holy grail of places to explore. It's sort of an urban speleologist's Xanadu. It's big and industrial and full of cool stuff they don't want me to see. Naturally, I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Well, perhaps that's not a good analogy. More like a fly to a rotting beef carcass. No, not good either. Aw, damn. It's like something cool attracted to something really cool.

The area is getting revamped. A Walmart is being built 1/2 mile away and the empty parking lot across the street from the plant will doubtless be turned into something profit-generating. I want to get in there before the place is totally redone.

But how to get in?

• Sneak in. I'd like to avoid this tactic, simply because it's highly illegal. But, the place is so big that I doubt they can monitor all of it at this stage. It's big and surrounded by some cruddy fencing that should be easy to breach.
• Dress up in a three piece suit and walk in like I'm some important schlub with a camera. This works as long as no one asks you any questions. I'm pretty good at BSing people, and when worse comes to worst I can hold up my camera and mention something about documenting this and that for EPA codes and whatnot.
• Just go up to the nearest important looking guy and ask if I can take pictures inside the facility. This seems like it would work, but it's just as likely that I'd get booted. I mean, come on people, I just want to take pictures of your delightfully dilapidated Cold War era detritus. It's not like I'm spying for Iran or anything, geez.
  

I may get some close-up exterior shots of the place soon. Then you can be properly bored.

End of long post.

Forest for the trees

Dance to the music.

I had a somewhat eventful day. In the morning I walked around in the woods and took pictures of the changing leaves. Bright oranges, reds, yellows, and even cattails. Ah, but where are these pictures you ask? Nowhere. They are lost, obliterated, gone forever. Picasa made me severely angry earlier this evening when it deleted around 90 of the pictures I took today (yes, 90). I don't know how this happened, but for some reason it duplicated all of my pics. When I went to delete the duplicates, Picasa decided to dump not only the duplicates but also the originals. Unfortunately, I'd already deleted most of the shots off the camera. So I'm left with about five pictures out of the 95 I took today.

Sigh.

On the bright side all of my flickr bandwith hath return'd. Huzzah!

This afternoon I went up to the Old U. to enquire of my letters of recommendation. One of them has been sent and the other three are still in the process of being written. It feels good to know that this recommendation is out there. Now all I have to do is polish my writing sample, mail my transcripts, and finish the statement of purpose. The statement of purpose. Seems simple, right? My purpose is to study history. Geez, how complicated could that be? But it's not that simple. The soul sucking statement of purpose is drilling a hole in my brain. The mere thought of sitting down to write it is repellant, but I must. That's why I spent today in the woods, trying to avoid thinking about it, trying to get some sort of inspiration.

So many deadlines.

Now pray I snap out of this funk.