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Ah, that’s what all those cd’s are for…

My wife asked me last night how long it would take to listen to all the cd’s we have, if I listened for 8 hours a day. After some silent arithmetic that took far too long, I decided 200 days would be a good guess, which means I guessed 1600 cd’s. We laughed at my hoarding for a while, and then inspiration struck: why be so fuzzy about the number, why not listen to them all? I already have decided to gradually visit every bar in Lockport, so this project, also an exercise in pointless completism, will give me something to do at home. Listening in the car doesn’t count, I decided, and every cd must be played in it’s entirety, though I don’t have to “actively” listen to each one; I have to be in the room, but I can do other things whilst listening, like blogging about it. So: I am starting at the cd tower in the fireplace room downstairs, and am listening upstairs through a desktop computer plugged into a PA system I bought for $50 in Atlanta from a church. 1) Handsome Boy Modeling School: So… How’s Your Girl? This was first because I just…
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The suburbs

An interesting discussion on the freakonomics blog: future of the suburbs I’ve lived in suburbs and always found it a soul-draining experience, but lots of people seem to like them. Another example of how the internet lets us see into the thought processes of people whose existence we may have begun to suspect was a media ploy.

Go Bills!

this is too funny: American Football by Harold Pinter Hallelujah! It works. We blew the shit out of them.We blew the shit right back up their own ass And out their fucking ears.It works. We blew the shit out of them. They suffocated in their own shit! Hallelujah. Praise the Lord for all good things. We blew them into fucking shit. They are eating it. Praise the Lord for all good things. We blew their balls into shards of dust, Into shards of fucking dust. We did it. Now I want you to come over here and kiss me on the mouth. (accessed:  http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/harold_pinter/poems/16163.html)

yappin at the antique store

I was in one of those rent-a-space collective antique stores the other day, this one in downtown Lockport, and a group of folks were yappin’ about McCain and Obama, about bailing out Wall street, and so forth. The group’s republican voice sounded totally disillusioned with his parties’ manic candidate, as well he should be, but what was most interesting to me was his characterization of Obama as “just a kid from the South Side of Chicago.” The Obama’s-too-young theme is pretty standard, and I hadn’t thought much about it till that moment, but it really is a striking blend of anti-intellectualism and racism. Obama sounds like what he is: a very smart man, one who doesn’t need to show off his intellect (folks who need to show off that way generally aren’t very smart, in my experience), and that manner of address is threatening to a fairly large portion of the population. Add his blackness to his intellectualism and the result is a theme that tries to infantilize him by calling him too young, lacking in wisdom, and so forth. I’m sure if he was white the theme would be similar (see JFK, for example), but it is double-edged when…
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Because it’s September 11th (and soon to be Sept 12th)

GB’s Lake On September 12th, 2001, I went fishing. Perhaps not the most patriotic reaction, but my place of employment had been closed for the day and sitting propped in front of the TV news seemed even less patriotic than angling. The mega-corporation that my wife works for stayed open, of course, although some shadowy cabal in charge of morale did broadcast a company-wide email recommending folks seek out one of the many crisis management-certified staff members, if they felt the need. It has been my experience that a certain ratio exists between a) the difficulty management has reacting emotionally to events not directly tied to mutual funds or golf, and b) the size of the corporate entity they inhabit, so the flat inadequacy of the communiqué Ashley received was no surprise. Corporations exist globally, and the destruction of the twin towers had revealed that the U.S., for all its posturing, was still largely provincial, and the very act of revealing the frightened, suspicious, local character of our people made them even more frightened and suspicious–but then again, this small town character was also the source of all the acts of selflessness and bravery that followed in the wake of…
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weird spam…

Someone (something?) is posting weird spam to the comments… I know the headers are randomized to get by spam blockers etc, but they are really fascinating for a minute: hoopstick terrorist patchword collectivism handout unforgiving adscriptive orangeade silverer propargyl axiom naomi chamaesiphonaceous slacking emictory hutkeeper potmaker unnumberedness frontlet matchableness unavailing capitulator trimness phacolite yeah man, what he said. Anyway, cut that shit out. Guess I need to upgrade my wordpress and stop being lazy.

bad blogger!

In fact, I don’t really consider myself a blogger because I post so sporadically. We need a new word for occasional bloggers… or not, who knows what tech will be in place 10 years from now, blogging and using your phone for text messages will be like bad 70’s haircuts. In the meantime, PJ Gallo at Coldfront has written a review of my book, thank you sir!

Free X-rays

and cat scans, and so forth:  Radiology Picture of the Day I have always been fascinated by the character of x-rays, the ghostly style… glowing bones and muscle and tissue, all a frog’s hair from dissipation. We must do like the animals that rub out their traces at the entrance to their lairs. Seek no longer that the world should speak of you, but how you should speak to yourself. Retire into yourself, but first prepare to receive yourself there; it would be madness to trust in yourself if you do not know how to govern yourself. … Borrow nothing except from yourself, arrest your mind and fix it on definite and limited thoughts, and rest content with them, without any desire to prolong life and reputation. –Monataige, “On Solitude”

Monkey picked tea?

Edible.com is both exciting and a disappointment, exciting because it does have some interesting foods I’d like to try (weasel coffee, curried crickets) but the selection is pretty small. Edibleunique.com actually has a slightly larger selection, and various meats and fishes and bugs can be ordered from other places if you dig around a bit. I would like to take hedonistic advantage of the global economy before it collapses; to wit, I am going to try injera again on Weds, this time following the whole 3 day fermentation process and using the teff flour I ordered from Idaho. This time I will make doro wett and probably some lentils instead of gored gored.

Wowza…

Scholar/Author/very busy man Jamey Hecht has written a far more insightful review of my book of poems than it probably deserves, and it is currently the feature review on Rattle‘s website. Thanks much, sir. Mr. Hecht’s website. The contradictions that reading my book seem to have provoked in Mr Hecht–he didn’t like the poems, hated reading them but thought they were successful, that it is a “good, strong book” and would recommend reading it–is wonderful. That Mr Hecht did not find the book funny, which it is certainly meant to be, says something about how social class works, I think, but ‘m not sure I’m ready to explore that argument just yet. Also, he began the review stating the poems were “unabashedly autobiographical” but later recanted and said that I might be a very different person from the narrator. I’m not sure why folks want to try and find autobiography in these poems; maybe because many are in first person, and they follow a fairly straight chronology? In any case, how much of the book “really happened” and how much did not is irrelevant. What is important, from a critical perspective, is that I am the kind of person who…
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