_ _ _ _ _ _ _
One of the more embarrassing facts lost amid the legendising of Bruce Lee over the past few decades is how daunting a lead his twin brother Anson held over him in their long-running practical joke wars.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Anson and Bruce
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
One of the more embarrassing facts lost amid the legendising of Bruce Lee over the past few decades is how daunting a lead his twin brother Anson held over him in their long-running practical joke wars.
The Return of the Mixtape!
photo credit: SOCIALisBETTER
The mixtape is back! USB sticks like the one pictured above are now available for Romeos all accross the land to continue their seductions of so many Juliets. Also available in a one-piece model: where the USB stick is built into the cassette tape
Not merely a vessel to transport single tracks from their originally conceived compositional structure to a passionately imagined amalgam of emotive significance. The mixtape is my generation’s most sacred cultural icon. Countless hours were spent choosing the perfect songs, selected for: content of lyrics, musical mood, and length. There was nothing worse than a tape that cut out mid-song. Amateur stuff.
Try your hand at mixmastering the perfect mixtape.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
High Five Etiquette
As part of our mandated community outreach program, we here at The QoG are required by the courts to provide our public reader base with advice on men being men. In today's column, we present "High Five Etiquette".
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Finding Nemo
1868: Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
It's not rocket science to know that my primary reason for including this book in my timeline-reading list was Nemo's awesome inclusion in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
. That also happens to make it a convenient kick off point for my book series in this blog. However, I was also motivated by the fact that Jules Verne had helped create the GENRE of science-fiction, and I had dismissed his work as a child. Submarines were obviously not quite so exciting over 100 years later, and the Disney movie was a bit of a turn off for me, even as a kid. Did Alan Moore help me to see old Victorian fiction in a different light? Hell yes.
I rated this book five stars on my Facebook review sites, and I won't back down much from that. LOVED IT. There are definately parts that drag, but you have to admit the pages and pages of descriptions of sea life do lend credibility to the viewpoint of the narrator, which in turn makes a novel that at the time was pretty far-fetched seem like a true story.
Nemo is less a villian than an anti-hero, and although I would have enjoyed more action/conflict as opposed to twenty page recitations of marine life, the inclusion of Atlantis and some of the other trips of the Nautilus seem like Nemo was ready-made for a cross-stream fictional universe.
What did you think of the book? Are you a little more motivated to check it out now if you haven't yet read it? Let me know.
It's not rocket science to know that my primary reason for including this book in my timeline-reading list was Nemo's awesome inclusion in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
. That also happens to make it a convenient kick off point for my book series in this blog. However, I was also motivated by the fact that Jules Verne had helped create the GENRE of science-fiction, and I had dismissed his work as a child. Submarines were obviously not quite so exciting over 100 years later, and the Disney movie was a bit of a turn off for me, even as a kid. Did Alan Moore help me to see old Victorian fiction in a different light? Hell yes.I rated this book five stars on my Facebook review sites, and I won't back down much from that. LOVED IT. There are definately parts that drag, but you have to admit the pages and pages of descriptions of sea life do lend credibility to the viewpoint of the narrator, which in turn makes a novel that at the time was pretty far-fetched seem like a true story.
Nemo is less a villian than an anti-hero, and although I would have enjoyed more action/conflict as opposed to twenty page recitations of marine life, the inclusion of Atlantis and some of the other trips of the Nautilus seem like Nemo was ready-made for a cross-stream fictional universe.
What did you think of the book? Are you a little more motivated to check it out now if you haven't yet read it? Let me know.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
A Valley Story Pt. 1
It was in 47, 48 and 49.
I remember, we had a late freeze: it used to get colder in the Valley then. We used to have seasons. I remember, it was in 47, 48 and 49. If you planted your crop too early: you'd lose it. And it was an artform to time your seedin' just right. Charlie Pickens, I watched him reach down and grab a handful of dirt and crunch it between his fingers and roll it around between his palms. He could feel when it was right for seeding. I guess some guys were reading Farmer's Almanac. But if you didn't time it just right...
They used to plant citrus and sorghum mostly back then; before it was so blasted hot like it is nowdays. It's just cotton now. They can't breed it to resist bugs. So they've engineered it to be impervious to bug killer. And weed killer. The cotton seed comes out of a test tube and you can spray liquid killer all over the crop and not lose a single plant. But back when I was a kid it was all mostly citrus around our parts.
One day we were out in front of Charlie Pickens', he had a girl, about me and my brother's age and she had a cousin over, and we were all out front carrying-on in the yard after church. And all those cars pulled up the drive. All those men and my dad. You see, there was an unspoken, unwritten justice in the Valley. This is just what men did. And Charlie knew it.
About a year or so before that day, they had all come up the drive like that after church. All the men and my dad. It was known that Charlie would get to drinkin'. And he'd get mean. The sheriff never could get Charlie's wife to say how'd she come to get a black eye or a busted lip and so on. And so all the men came up the drive to deliver a message to a neighbor. This is just what men did.
And Charlie swore that day that he'd stop drinkin'. And he swore he'd stop beating up his wife. And Charlie and all the men and my dad...they didn't do anything but talk that day. But Charlie was in it now...up-to-his-eyeballs with the bank and his crops hadn't come in worth anything and he had stopped going to church. So I don't think those men believed what Charlie had been swearing to.
Sure enough, a year later or so, Charlie forgot all about swearing to anything and Annette Pickens showed up to church with a black eye. And the elders of the church let the sheriff know that he needed to find something to do on the other side of town.
They were getting out their cars; sad looking...serious. My dad walked right up to me and Ronnie and told us to run along home. And we did.
I know they beat him up pretty good and drove him to the hospital. When I was in high school I broke my wrist in football and the bone came right through. And when the nurse was there at the side of my hospital bed she said she hadn't seen a break that bad since they had brought Charlie Pickens in that day.
Charlie never took another drink. His farm had just been an embarrassment. He almost lost the whole place to the bank. But when he stopped drinkin'...he started really farming again. And he was the best or luckiest farmer in the Valley. He always had been; you see...he knew how to tell when it was the right time to seed.
He'd just feel the dirt in his hands.
Ten or so years later he had all new equipment, new combine and his place just looked great. Everybody would follow Charlie's lead when he planted. And we just weren't losing crops to the late freeze anymore. But also, it wasn't getting to be as cold as it used to get in the Valley.
But it was in 1947, 48 and 49 when Charlie had been drinkin'. We had a late freeze all three years and we lost all our citrus after that. Never got it back. If you were to seed your sorghum and cotton right: you'd make it to market even if the citrus didn't pan out. Still today, if you buy orange juice at the supermarket its Florida oranges. Or Brazil. But we never got the citrus back in the Valley.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Escalator
The very nature and purpose of an escalator is accessibility. You would wish so hard with scrunched down eyebrows, pure determination, that your mother would need to go upstairs for the kind of household items that could only be found upstairs. All the useful, boring, grown-up stuff was upstairs. Gently tugging her hand, in the direction of the awesome contraption, you would suggest mundane items that the family may need in order to live everyday life more comfortably: like drapes.
"Mom, do you suppose we might need some drapes?" You would ask innocently.
Well, this morning, lying in bed, not yet fully decided if I was going to continue lying in bed. . I heard windchimes jangling outside.
And I thought: windchimes, to a young wind. . . must be like an escalator to a child.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Raised Garden Beds
We bought this house last October and I had told her we would utilize part of the back yard for a garden. I often tell my wife I will build something and then fail to find the time to make good on my promises. I'm not lazy or unfocused; but I'm not very organized. And I'm too lazy to focus on improving my organization skills.
But today I'm focused. Today I'm keeping a promise.
I managed to find some 100 year old barn timbers. Hard as rock and heavier than they look. These beauties ought to last for another 100 years before they rot out.
These 90" long boards are unfinished 2x6's . . . not 1 1/2 x 5 1/2 like the finished lumber you get at Home Depot. The general plan is to build raised beds that are the full 90" and 1/2 a board in width . . . two boards high. I have enough lumber to put together 3 beds.
I spent about $20 on screws (important to use outdoor rated deck screws); but all the lumber was found, stolen, inherited or gifted.
My carpentry skills are limited: so this is going to be a very basic design and build. I have 18 boards. The beds will be half as wide as they are long: so I cut a third of the boards in half. Then I simply cut scrap 2x4's & 2x6's to 18" lengths and screwed them together to make "corner brackets" that are long enough to be sunk 6" into the ground. I layed out all the lumber to make sure my design fit the space. And then I just screwed all the pieces together like it was a piece of Ikea furniture.
Next weekend, If I can borrow a pickup from my brother-in-law, I will load in about 3 yards of compost. Oh, and I also need to spread out a bail of hay between the beds to keep the mud of my sweetie's gardening crocs. And then its totally up to her.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Good news! He has risen.
Consider the following...
Denver Broncos head coach Josh McDaniels is a fucking idiot.
The best part about being a blogger with an alias is that I can tell you exactly what the "real journalists" want to say.
I gave up on "real journalism" years ago. It happened while I was working for a community newspaper in the Portland, Ore. metropolitan-area. As I'm not a total douche-bag, I won't say which one. What I will say is this; you are not allowed to tell it like it is when advertising is on the line.
"Mr. Sauce", said a guy in a suit pretending to be a publisher. "You need to understand that people don't want to read about disappointment and failure. Keep in mind that our local advertisers are what keep all of us employed."
Back to McDaniels and the hard-working nice guy reporters who'd sooner be buddies with the players, coaches and front-office types than upset the oraganizations or advertisers...
Case in print -
"The Tim Tebow pick to me at No. 25 is just too much of a reach."
Matt Williamson of Scouts Inc.
Translation... "What the fuck are the Broncos thinking?"
Then there's this little gem...
"Like (Brady) Quinn, whom McDaniels picked up for virtually nothing, Tebow is a developmental quarterback."
Legendary ESPN analyst and football super-geek with a pony-tail John Clayton.
Translation... "McDaniels has a hard-on for overrated, pretty-boy collegiate quarterbacks who lack the necessary skill set to compete in the NFL. It's a matter of time before the Broncos call Justin Timberlake's agent to find out what he thinks of wintering in Denver".
And another...
"As almost everyone has said for months now, Tebow is a work in progress at quarterback.
Denver Broncos head coach Josh McDaniels is a fucking idiot.
The best part about being a blogger with an alias is that I can tell you exactly what the "real journalists" want to say.
I gave up on "real journalism" years ago. It happened while I was working for a community newspaper in the Portland, Ore. metropolitan-area. As I'm not a total douche-bag, I won't say which one. What I will say is this; you are not allowed to tell it like it is when advertising is on the line.
"Mr. Sauce", said a guy in a suit pretending to be a publisher. "You need to understand that people don't want to read about disappointment and failure. Keep in mind that our local advertisers are what keep all of us employed."
Back to McDaniels and the hard-working nice guy reporters who'd sooner be buddies with the players, coaches and front-office types than upset the oraganizations or advertisers...
Case in print -
"The Tim Tebow pick to me at No. 25 is just too much of a reach."
Matt Williamson of Scouts Inc.
Translation... "What the fuck are the Broncos thinking?"
Then there's this little gem...
"Like (Brady) Quinn, whom McDaniels picked up for virtually nothing, Tebow is a developmental quarterback."
Legendary ESPN analyst and football super-geek with a pony-tail John Clayton.
Translation... "McDaniels has a hard-on for overrated, pretty-boy collegiate quarterbacks who lack the necessary skill set to compete in the NFL. It's a matter of time before the Broncos call Justin Timberlake's agent to find out what he thinks of wintering in Denver".
And another...
"As almost everyone has said for months now, Tebow is a work in progress at quarterback.
Don Banks, SI's Inside the NFL
Translated through the bull-shit filter...
"Josh McDaniels is either developmentally disabled or hard of hearing, because for months people in the know have been screaming to stay the fuck away from Tebow."
What would a sports-media critique be without the thoughts of Peter King?
"We all know the adjustment in mechanics and style of play are going to be huge factors in whether Tim Tebow succeeds in the NFL."
Peter King, Sports Illustrated
The more-killer-less-filler version...
"Josh McDaniels just drafted a quarterback who has about as much chance of succeeding in the NFL as a glazed donut does at a fat-kid's camp."
Look, I've got no problem with Jesus or Tim Tebow. I just don't think Tebow should get to waltz his way into first-round money because he's BFF with the Messiah. Honest to God, it drives me nuts.
Timbow isn't designed to be an NFL signal caller. He's built like an undersized linebacker and throws like one too. He runs fast and hard, but so did Ron Dayne and he wasn't asked to assume the roll of a franchise quarterback. The Broncos are a proud franchise making a mockery of the quest to replace John Elway with the second-coming of, well Elway, who may as well be Denver's own Jesus, who happens to be BFF with Tebow, which explains how he ended up the first-round pick of the Denver Broncos.
- Mr. Sauce
Translated through the bull-shit filter...
"Josh McDaniels is either developmentally disabled or hard of hearing, because for months people in the know have been screaming to stay the fuck away from Tebow."
What would a sports-media critique be without the thoughts of Peter King?
"We all know the adjustment in mechanics and style of play are going to be huge factors in whether Tim Tebow succeeds in the NFL."
Peter King, Sports Illustrated
The more-killer-less-filler version...
"Josh McDaniels just drafted a quarterback who has about as much chance of succeeding in the NFL as a glazed donut does at a fat-kid's camp."
Look, I've got no problem with Jesus or Tim Tebow. I just don't think Tebow should get to waltz his way into first-round money because he's BFF with the Messiah. Honest to God, it drives me nuts.
Timbow isn't designed to be an NFL signal caller. He's built like an undersized linebacker and throws like one too. He runs fast and hard, but so did Ron Dayne and he wasn't asked to assume the roll of a franchise quarterback. The Broncos are a proud franchise making a mockery of the quest to replace John Elway with the second-coming of, well Elway, who may as well be Denver's own Jesus, who happens to be BFF with Tebow, which explains how he ended up the first-round pick of the Denver Broncos.
- Mr. Sauce
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Just her in black with green eyes
Just her in black with green eyes
steeples and ridges for her
All my memories are faceted this way
She is forever a silent film for me
a crackling sepia-tone photograph from my attic for me
just her in black with green eyes
She is standing demure for me
She is uncomfortable smiles
and shifted weight
She is a screen test and a greatest hits record
She is a classic
right off the showroom floor.
She is a solid shadow between dancing reflections
She is a safe place
a fair idea
a question
a fire
just her in black with green eyes
I've bent my life into creases
oragamic pressure points steeples and ridges for her
All my memories are faceted this way
She is forever a silent film for me
a crackling sepia-tone photograph from my attic for me
just her in black with green eyes
She is standing demure for me
She is uncomfortable smiles
and shifted weight
She is a screen test and a greatest hits record
She is a classic
right off the showroom floor.
She is a solid shadow between dancing reflections
She is a safe place
a fair idea
a question
a fire
just her in black with green eyes
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Disclaimers and other anecdotes from your new sports guy
Sports are manly.
I’m told that on occasion they are also gentlemanly, which might explain why the Quorum of Gentlmen asked the only sports writer any of them could think of to join the group.
Some disclaimers…
I don’t give a shit about baseball until, say, mid-August. You don’t either, so don’t bother wasting our time reminiscing about sunny-Summer-Sunday afternoons at the ol’ ball park with your Pops and a bag of peanuts. The fact is this - you were bored and the Old Man was too, so don’t feel bad. I know, you both came home sunburned after 6-hours of sitting in the bleachers day-dreaming about being the one lucky ass-hole to catch a foul-ball, and since then you’ve had plenty of hearty of laughs at Thanksgiving and Easter and what-not about the rash and the peeling, but burnt-flesh does not a pleasant memory make.
Pennant races and the playoffs are an entirely different situation. Now that’s a slice of Americana that even the Taliban could get behind. There are few things in life, and even fewer in the world of sports, that are more intense than nine innings of elimination baseball. Every pitch, swing and stroll to the mound is crucial. Every run scored is like striking gold… blah, blah, blah the point is it’s worth talking about.
Also, I hate the Mariners.
Soccer moms are hot. The World Cup kicks ass and I plan on getting up early, staying up late and drinking plenty of beer while I watch it unfold on my television set. I played a lot of soccer growing up and probably could have played in college had I not discovered marijuana and pussy as a teenager, but that’s an all too familiar story that your father, father’s father and father’s father’s father have passed down the generational ladder. Like Brando, we all could have been contenders had tits not gotten in our way.
The one exception to that rule is U.S.A. Soccer. They blow. They always have and always will. Landon Donovan, Alexi Lalas and Tony Meola are hacks compared to real Footies like Maradonna, Beckenbauer or Best and that’s just the way I like it. American soccer is simple minded and boring compared to the product produced throughout the rest of the world.
FYI, the U.S. opens the World Cup against England next month in South Africa. I’ll be rooting for England and I say that as an absolute fan of democracy. Though I did vote for Obama, so technically I'm a socialist.
College football is king. One of things that makes college football the ruler of the kingdom of sports is it’s fucked up way of determining a national champion. A kingdom is akin to a dictatorship and the dictator says only the big-boys get to hold the crystal football.
Corrupt? Yep, but nobody wants to live in a world where Boise State is calling the shots. Seriously, up until two-months ago Bronco Nation was a small collection of community college students and their hillbilly parents. Don’t believe me? Look it up.
Even if you love the underdog and the idea of tournament football you should know this – the only thing a playoff guarantees is that the Boise States of the world will get pummeled by the big-boys in the first round. Isn’t life better when programs like Boise State get to play in a meaningless Fiesta Bowl against an underwhelming Oklahoma and actually beat them? Now imagine what the Broncos would be up against if that Fiesta Bowl had meant something and the Sooners actually given a shit. That’s exactly what teams like Boise State would be up against.
Also, google the following… “Lane Kiffin’s wife”.
- Sauce
I’m told that on occasion they are also gentlemanly, which might explain why the Quorum of Gentlmen asked the only sports writer any of them could think of to join the group.
Some disclaimers…
I don’t give a shit about baseball until, say, mid-August. You don’t either, so don’t bother wasting our time reminiscing about sunny-Summer-Sunday afternoons at the ol’ ball park with your Pops and a bag of peanuts. The fact is this - you were bored and the Old Man was too, so don’t feel bad. I know, you both came home sunburned after 6-hours of sitting in the bleachers day-dreaming about being the one lucky ass-hole to catch a foul-ball, and since then you’ve had plenty of hearty of laughs at Thanksgiving and Easter and what-not about the rash and the peeling, but burnt-flesh does not a pleasant memory make.
Pennant races and the playoffs are an entirely different situation. Now that’s a slice of Americana that even the Taliban could get behind. There are few things in life, and even fewer in the world of sports, that are more intense than nine innings of elimination baseball. Every pitch, swing and stroll to the mound is crucial. Every run scored is like striking gold… blah, blah, blah the point is it’s worth talking about.
Also, I hate the Mariners.
Soccer moms are hot. The World Cup kicks ass and I plan on getting up early, staying up late and drinking plenty of beer while I watch it unfold on my television set. I played a lot of soccer growing up and probably could have played in college had I not discovered marijuana and pussy as a teenager, but that’s an all too familiar story that your father, father’s father and father’s father’s father have passed down the generational ladder. Like Brando, we all could have been contenders had tits not gotten in our way.
The one exception to that rule is U.S.A. Soccer. They blow. They always have and always will. Landon Donovan, Alexi Lalas and Tony Meola are hacks compared to real Footies like Maradonna, Beckenbauer or Best and that’s just the way I like it. American soccer is simple minded and boring compared to the product produced throughout the rest of the world.
FYI, the U.S. opens the World Cup against England next month in South Africa. I’ll be rooting for England and I say that as an absolute fan of democracy. Though I did vote for Obama, so technically I'm a socialist.
College football is king. One of things that makes college football the ruler of the kingdom of sports is it’s fucked up way of determining a national champion. A kingdom is akin to a dictatorship and the dictator says only the big-boys get to hold the crystal football.
Corrupt? Yep, but nobody wants to live in a world where Boise State is calling the shots. Seriously, up until two-months ago Bronco Nation was a small collection of community college students and their hillbilly parents. Don’t believe me? Look it up.
Even if you love the underdog and the idea of tournament football you should know this – the only thing a playoff guarantees is that the Boise States of the world will get pummeled by the big-boys in the first round. Isn’t life better when programs like Boise State get to play in a meaningless Fiesta Bowl against an underwhelming Oklahoma and actually beat them? Now imagine what the Broncos would be up against if that Fiesta Bowl had meant something and the Sooners actually given a shit. That’s exactly what teams like Boise State would be up against.
Also, google the following… “Lane Kiffin’s wife”.
- Sauce
American VI: Ain't No Grave
It's been seven years since Death took Cash from us. But the Rick Rubin/Johnny Cash sessions (1993 - 2003) still echo like a gravside conversation. The American Recordings series has been described as ingenious, poetic, simple & unadorned; but the label that is most often used and easily fits best: haunting. This latest album, 'American VI: Ain't No Grave', brings us even deeper into the austerity of the Man in Black's final weeks. Painful as it is pure: we hear a lonely man in a chair with his guitar. . .with very little studio production hiding the sincerity of the work. Johnny's voice has become breath. His once spirited guitar work sometimes thins to a tremble. But this album is not a ghostly tribute to a once great man. This album is an extension of the life, and the strength of character, that made Johnny Cash an American icon.
Just as the grave surely waits, Cash consistently brings his maker into the conversation. I don't know if Johnny ever steered a path towards salvation. But after listening to this record I'm left with the impression that he endeared himself to the idea of heavenly eternity. . .if possibly not the innevibility. Whether or not Johnny Cash had made peace with his personal Jesus; on the title track of American VI he croons of angels like they're his neighbors. I hear a smile in his eyes as he suggests that his soul is heaven-bound. And I get the sense that he's pulling our leg.
I see a band of angels: and they're comin' after me
On the cover of Sheryl Crow's Redemption Day, Cash, never too frail to call-out the evils of the "powers that be", lays out the real-time obstacles that may block an immediate entrance into the pearly gates.
Was there no oil to excavate
No riches in trade for the fate
Of every person who died in hate
Throw us a bone, you men of great
And Cash continues to wage gentle protest against the current state of affairs: singing a heartening version of the anti-war folk classic Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream.
And although the album is heavy with hymns and politcal leanings; American VI is not just a dying man's prayer or last-ditch rally cry. Rubin has coaxed another gorgeous collection or grim baritone lullabies from Cash that include a mix of folk tunes, pop songs, country standards and even a traditional Hawaiian ballad. Sure, this is a work of pain. And there are moments of sadness. But where you expect to uncover only despair: you will be delighted to discover hope.
Johnny Cash music
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Privatization of National Healthcare: A Good Idea!
Imagine if your car insurance carrier was required to insure your car: regardless of the fact that you drove it off a cliff last year.
Geico would no longer be able to afford to keep lizards and Neanderthals on the payroll. But this is exactly what the new health care bill is mandating. No citizen can be denied coverage; even if they drove off a cliff. The government will achieve this feat by privatizing a federally mandated program. What a concept!
According to the Congressional Budget Office, the new bill will cost $940 billion over the next 10 years. And it will cover 32 million currently uninsured citizens. This equals $244.79 per person, per month . . . for the next ten years. That sounds reasonable to me. Mind you, this $250 will be going to private insurance companies to offset the risks inherited when they agree to take on “high risk” people, who had previously been considered, un-insurable.
But I’d rather pay my portion of tax to help my fellow un-insurable citizen get covered by a private carrier than to expect the government to administrate his/her healthcare. Insurance companies are good at not spending too much money. Famous for it really. Whereas the government buys $1000 hammers. If I’m gonna have to ante into the insurance pool: I want my money being spent wisely.
Imagine if corporations administrated welfare benefits. Fraud, abuse and waste would be eliminated in short order. Corporations guide themselves by the basic principles of economics. And controlling wastefulness and inefficiencies is the core value of modern business. Privatization of government programs makes a lot of sense to me.
According to the Congressional Budget Office, the new bill will cost $940 billion over the next 10 years. And it will cover 32 million currently uninsured citizens. This equals $244.79 per person, per month . . . for the next ten years. That sounds reasonable to me. Mind you, this $250 will be going to private insurance companies to offset the risks inherited when they agree to take on “high risk” people, who had previously been considered, un-insurable.
But I’d rather pay my portion of tax to help my fellow un-insurable citizen get covered by a private carrier than to expect the government to administrate his/her healthcare. Insurance companies are good at not spending too much money. Famous for it really. Whereas the government buys $1000 hammers. If I’m gonna have to ante into the insurance pool: I want my money being spent wisely.
Imagine if corporations administrated welfare benefits. Fraud, abuse and waste would be eliminated in short order. Corporations guide themselves by the basic principles of economics. And controlling wastefulness and inefficiencies is the core value of modern business. Privatization of government programs makes a lot of sense to me.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Fictional Timeline Obsession
It all started with the movie and novelization of the new Star Wars episode in 1999, Star Wars, Episode I - The Phantom Menace
. I decided that in order to truly prepare for a series of movies and tie-in media relating the story of the Old Republic and the Clone Wars, I should really gather together all of my comics and novels which took place prior to the new movies. Doing this required using the internet to search for a comprehensive Star Wars timeline.
Well, of course. How else is a Star Wars fanatic supposed to read the series in order? Star Wars books and comics don't come numbered like Hardy Boys books (Say, how many Hardy Boys books are there? What is the actual continuity of the Hardy Boys Adventures? This is coming from the kid who at one time in sixth grade worried about the chronological order of He-Man and Scooby-Doo cartoons.) Negotiate years of conflicting Star Wars continuity, or lack of continuity altogether? Fit 12 episode story arcs in the comics into timelines apparently non-existant according to the novels and video game tie-ins.
Of course there were Star Wars timelines on the internet by 1999, but none with the universality I had been hoping for. The most authoritative timelines over the years have been exclusive- a timeline just for novels, a timeline just for Dark Horse comics, or general timelines which didn't include specific books or comics.
Naturally I started my own. There is something wrong with me.
I have never posted it online or even shared it until recently. I have compiled it and used it strictly for the purpose of gathering new published materials up over time and then sitting down to a good series of stories- in correct chronological order.
A few years later I happened to be reading the Foundation
series, and really became fascinated with the idea of stories set over a massive span of time in the future. I imagined Star Wars at the start of a massive fictional timeline with Foundation and Dune 
at the other. Every other piece of fiction fell in the middle. Wow.
Now I had stepped into the territory of crossover fiction. If you don't know about this slice of the fanboy universe (a great (an mostly unknown)example is the Wold Newton family, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wold_Newton_family) it is simply the idea of famous fictional characters meeting each other. Or put differently: all fictional characters live in the same fictional world.
This obviously is a stupid concept from the get-go. Many stories are alternate universes, where the nazis won WWII, for example. The earth was destroyed in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
, what does that do the everyone else?
What about time travel? Do I read Doctor Who stories in the order they happened to him, or do I read Doctor Who The Highlanders
in a 1746 timeline? Tough decisions!
Obviously I became obsessed. And clearly I've proved my driving force in the geekdom of the QoG blog.
So since, I don't know, around 2003 I have been working on the master timeline. This has grown into multiple files, spreadsheets, web links, and a general mental illness. I started with Star Wars, have worked my way up through pre-history, every era of mankind, and am now in the early sixties. I won't share my timelines in this blog. Among other reasons it is sloppy, the selected materials are totally subjective with regards to what I want to read and have available, and I've made spotty attempts to actually track information about the authors, dates and eras of some of the books.
I will share my book reviews, though! My closer friends know that I have used several Facebook apps to track the books I read and write thumbnail reviews. I will use this blog to slowly go through and expand on what I've read and written about. I will also detail the timeline aspect (if any) and how it does or doesn't tie in with other literature (or pulp crap) I'm reading. I will also include other stuff I've been reading, including non-fiction and modern writing (tho most of it will still be wedged in timeline wise). I read a lot, and as I've weaned myself off televion recently due to personal circumstances, I read even more.
Now that I've explained myself, we will be starting later this week with the first book I published a review on. It takes place in 1868, and the nationality of the story's mysterious antihero is never revealed....
. I decided that in order to truly prepare for a series of movies and tie-in media relating the story of the Old Republic and the Clone Wars, I should really gather together all of my comics and novels which took place prior to the new movies. Doing this required using the internet to search for a comprehensive Star Wars timeline.Well, of course. How else is a Star Wars fanatic supposed to read the series in order? Star Wars books and comics don't come numbered like Hardy Boys books (Say, how many Hardy Boys books are there? What is the actual continuity of the Hardy Boys Adventures? This is coming from the kid who at one time in sixth grade worried about the chronological order of He-Man and Scooby-Doo cartoons.) Negotiate years of conflicting Star Wars continuity, or lack of continuity altogether? Fit 12 episode story arcs in the comics into timelines apparently non-existant according to the novels and video game tie-ins.
Of course there were Star Wars timelines on the internet by 1999, but none with the universality I had been hoping for. The most authoritative timelines over the years have been exclusive- a timeline just for novels, a timeline just for Dark Horse comics, or general timelines which didn't include specific books or comics.
Naturally I started my own. There is something wrong with me.
I have never posted it online or even shared it until recently. I have compiled it and used it strictly for the purpose of gathering new published materials up over time and then sitting down to a good series of stories- in correct chronological order.
A few years later I happened to be reading the Foundation
series, and really became fascinated with the idea of stories set over a massive span of time in the future. I imagined Star Wars at the start of a massive fictional timeline with Foundation and Dune at the other. Every other piece of fiction fell in the middle. Wow.Now I had stepped into the territory of crossover fiction. If you don't know about this slice of the fanboy universe (a great (an mostly unknown)example is the Wold Newton family, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wold_Newton_family) it is simply the idea of famous fictional characters meeting each other. Or put differently: all fictional characters live in the same fictional world.
This obviously is a stupid concept from the get-go. Many stories are alternate universes, where the nazis won WWII, for example. The earth was destroyed in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
, what does that do the everyone else?What about time travel? Do I read Doctor Who stories in the order they happened to him, or do I read Doctor Who The Highlanders
in a 1746 timeline? Tough decisions!Obviously I became obsessed. And clearly I've proved my driving force in the geekdom of the QoG blog.
So since, I don't know, around 2003 I have been working on the master timeline. This has grown into multiple files, spreadsheets, web links, and a general mental illness. I started with Star Wars, have worked my way up through pre-history, every era of mankind, and am now in the early sixties. I won't share my timelines in this blog. Among other reasons it is sloppy, the selected materials are totally subjective with regards to what I want to read and have available, and I've made spotty attempts to actually track information about the authors, dates and eras of some of the books.
I will share my book reviews, though! My closer friends know that I have used several Facebook apps to track the books I read and write thumbnail reviews. I will use this blog to slowly go through and expand on what I've read and written about. I will also detail the timeline aspect (if any) and how it does or doesn't tie in with other literature (or pulp crap) I'm reading. I will also include other stuff I've been reading, including non-fiction and modern writing (tho most of it will still be wedged in timeline wise). I read a lot, and as I've weaned myself off televion recently due to personal circumstances, I read even more.
Now that I've explained myself, we will be starting later this week with the first book I published a review on. It takes place in 1868, and the nationality of the story's mysterious antihero is never revealed....
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The First Rule of Yard Work
I spent most of Sunday with a shovel. I'm not bragging. I am not claiming to be more of a man than you. Okay, maybe a little bit. I'm a manly man. I'm shovel ready. What you lookin' at?!
I regularly find myself kneedeep, or up to my elbows, or halfway through a weekend, getting beat up pretty good by Mother Earth. The first rule of yard work: there is no such thing as yard work. It's play time. It's go time. It's a labor of love. It's a pain in the ass. It's man vs planet. Handtool vs horticulture. Think MMA with a hoe. Okay, stop thinking about that.
I showed up at my dad's house at 8am with a good pair of gloves and several instruments of destruction. When I step into the ring against an established yard. . . I come prepared. A couple of shovels and a chainsaw. Yeah, that's right Mother Earth: I'm packin' heat. It's just a little electric chainsaw, kind of a 'metrosexual' chainsaw; but it works great for cutting free a shrub's root ball.
My pop wants to modernize the landscaping scheme in his front yard. So we decide to start with a clean slate. Strip it down to the skeleton. So we dig up a sixpack of azaleas, a stand of heavenly bamboo and a trio of roses. And for dessert: a pair of blueberry bushes. And all of it gets packed into the bed of the pickup. We're going to transplant this forest in my yard.
We work well together: my dad and I. We didn't always. But we no longer compete against each other. We're too old now to waste energy on in-fighting. Teamwork is easier. Toiling, side by side with my dad is awesome.
We took my yard by surprise: it never saw us coming. Shovels digging, dirt flying; we grabbed those plants and shoved 'em where the sun shines. Within an hour we had it whooped.
I bid the old man farewell. It was 2pm and he was late for a date with a tall glass of iced tea. But I still had a bone to pick with an overgrown photinia. And the lawn was mocking me. I smiled, wiped a clump of mud from my cheek and marched across the yard with a pair of long handled loppers. The first rule of yard work: there is no such thing as yard work.
I regularly find myself kneedeep, or up to my elbows, or halfway through a weekend, getting beat up pretty good by Mother Earth. The first rule of yard work: there is no such thing as yard work. It's play time. It's go time. It's a labor of love. It's a pain in the ass. It's man vs planet. Handtool vs horticulture. Think MMA with a hoe. Okay, stop thinking about that.
I showed up at my dad's house at 8am with a good pair of gloves and several instruments of destruction. When I step into the ring against an established yard. . . I come prepared. A couple of shovels and a chainsaw. Yeah, that's right Mother Earth: I'm packin' heat. It's just a little electric chainsaw, kind of a 'metrosexual' chainsaw; but it works great for cutting free a shrub's root ball.
My pop wants to modernize the landscaping scheme in his front yard. So we decide to start with a clean slate. Strip it down to the skeleton. So we dig up a sixpack of azaleas, a stand of heavenly bamboo and a trio of roses. And for dessert: a pair of blueberry bushes. And all of it gets packed into the bed of the pickup. We're going to transplant this forest in my yard.
We work well together: my dad and I. We didn't always. But we no longer compete against each other. We're too old now to waste energy on in-fighting. Teamwork is easier. Toiling, side by side with my dad is awesome.
We took my yard by surprise: it never saw us coming. Shovels digging, dirt flying; we grabbed those plants and shoved 'em where the sun shines. Within an hour we had it whooped.
I bid the old man farewell. It was 2pm and he was late for a date with a tall glass of iced tea. But I still had a bone to pick with an overgrown photinia. And the lawn was mocking me. I smiled, wiped a clump of mud from my cheek and marched across the yard with a pair of long handled loppers. The first rule of yard work: there is no such thing as yard work.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Good Parenting Or Just Hypocrisy Disguised?
My two young boys were on spring break recently and we went from 60 degree sunny weather to clouds and snow, so naturally there was a ton of Lego Star Wars and Indiana Jones being played on the XBox 360. The boys have gotten pretty good at it too, though it concerns me a little with how quickly they can become obsessed with video games. You know, the kind of obsession that has them waking up thinking of the game, ignoring mom and dad calling them just to play a little longer and inadvertently foregoing food and water. That kind of thing.
To combat them melting away into the TV for hours at a time, my wife and I have enacted some pretty stringent rules regarding gaming. First rule is no games during the school week. That is non-negotiable at this point. We may eventually open it up slightly for my 1st grader where if he finishes his homework, practices piano and does his chores he can play games for 30 minutes, but right now it is staying as is.
Our second rule used to be no gaming unless it was with a parent. We've relaxed on that quite a bit since they have gotten better at playing by themselves and don't fight with each other as much, which was why we had it in place to begin with. Boys will be boys but a referee can be needed on many occasions.
The third rule is a time limit when they do play. Too much gaming makes them cranky, which in turn make my wife crabby, which ultimately makes me grumpy. Best to avoid that situation from the get-go.
Overall I feel these are pretty straightforward and common sensical rules that help me maintain balance with the kids and their gaming pastime. However I cannot help but think of the odd position I am in as a parent where there are black and white restrictions on my kids sitting in front of a game for too long but I can easily grind out hours without blinking an eye. I suppose the apples truly don't fall far from the tree.
You see, I am a long time, self-described gamer. In addition to PC gaming throughout the years, I have owned every generation of console since the Atari 2600. I successfully used the "video games help with hand-eye coordination" reasoning in getting my grandmother to by me a NES. I was completely addicted to NHL '94 and Pavel Bure was my MAN. There were more games than I could count on my PS2 and the 360 has given me hours upon hours of fun. Everquest took over my life for years, literally.
Ah but then came the kids and with them new perspectives and responsibilities and a lot less free time. Now I do not spend waking moments thinking of my next gaming session. Sure I go through times when I may play every night, but then I can just as easily stop for a few months. At this point in my life, gaming for me is a relaxing, enjoyable, interactive experience and one I much prefer over watching TV, but I am no longer completely married to it. I suppose this is the balance I am trying to achieve with my children.
I find myself viewing what is by most accounts a "hypocritical" position on video games, with the understanding that restrictions for my kids are more about guiding them toward interests other than gaming, much like winkers on a horse, rather than denying them access to a hobby, which technically I am doing. The way I see it, I also spend my time working, doing chores, snowboarding, biking, going to the gym, seeing friends, etc., and my boys need to experience a plethora of different activities as well. I just want to make sure they are thinking of other options besides video games to fill up their spare time.
Looking at the results, it is pretty amazing how quickly they can absorb themselves in a new activity once they become engaged with it. As an example, once they got in the routine of no gaming during the school week they began making stories and drawing pictures instead of turning on the TV. Some of the stuff they created were amazing, like full paper suits that I added string to so they could wear. Others, like what came out of "scissor time", was quite creative but left a god awful mess (think confetti covering my kitchen and living room).
All that said, as much as I justify the rules in my head it all still feels a bit hypocritical, even if I know it is the right thing to do for them. Don’t you just love being a parent?
To combat them melting away into the TV for hours at a time, my wife and I have enacted some pretty stringent rules regarding gaming. First rule is no games during the school week. That is non-negotiable at this point. We may eventually open it up slightly for my 1st grader where if he finishes his homework, practices piano and does his chores he can play games for 30 minutes, but right now it is staying as is.
Our second rule used to be no gaming unless it was with a parent. We've relaxed on that quite a bit since they have gotten better at playing by themselves and don't fight with each other as much, which was why we had it in place to begin with. Boys will be boys but a referee can be needed on many occasions.
The third rule is a time limit when they do play. Too much gaming makes them cranky, which in turn make my wife crabby, which ultimately makes me grumpy. Best to avoid that situation from the get-go.
Overall I feel these are pretty straightforward and common sensical rules that help me maintain balance with the kids and their gaming pastime. However I cannot help but think of the odd position I am in as a parent where there are black and white restrictions on my kids sitting in front of a game for too long but I can easily grind out hours without blinking an eye. I suppose the apples truly don't fall far from the tree.
You see, I am a long time, self-described gamer. In addition to PC gaming throughout the years, I have owned every generation of console since the Atari 2600. I successfully used the "video games help with hand-eye coordination" reasoning in getting my grandmother to by me a NES. I was completely addicted to NHL '94 and Pavel Bure was my MAN. There were more games than I could count on my PS2 and the 360 has given me hours upon hours of fun. Everquest took over my life for years, literally.
Ah but then came the kids and with them new perspectives and responsibilities and a lot less free time. Now I do not spend waking moments thinking of my next gaming session. Sure I go through times when I may play every night, but then I can just as easily stop for a few months. At this point in my life, gaming for me is a relaxing, enjoyable, interactive experience and one I much prefer over watching TV, but I am no longer completely married to it. I suppose this is the balance I am trying to achieve with my children.
I find myself viewing what is by most accounts a "hypocritical" position on video games, with the understanding that restrictions for my kids are more about guiding them toward interests other than gaming, much like winkers on a horse, rather than denying them access to a hobby, which technically I am doing. The way I see it, I also spend my time working, doing chores, snowboarding, biking, going to the gym, seeing friends, etc., and my boys need to experience a plethora of different activities as well. I just want to make sure they are thinking of other options besides video games to fill up their spare time.
Looking at the results, it is pretty amazing how quickly they can absorb themselves in a new activity once they become engaged with it. As an example, once they got in the routine of no gaming during the school week they began making stories and drawing pictures instead of turning on the TV. Some of the stuff they created were amazing, like full paper suits that I added string to so they could wear. Others, like what came out of "scissor time", was quite creative but left a god awful mess (think confetti covering my kitchen and living room).
All that said, as much as I justify the rules in my head it all still feels a bit hypocritical, even if I know it is the right thing to do for them. Don’t you just love being a parent?
He blinded me with Silence
We’ll call him Dr. Soufflé. That’s not his name. His name rhymes with soufflé. I believe in protecting the innocent, ignorant and otherwise uninvolved from unnecessary exposure. So we’ll just go ahead and call him Dr. Soufflé.
He’s my son’s 7th grade silence teacher. He doesn’t really teach silence. His field of expertise rhymes with silence.
My son has been failing Dr. soufflé’s silence class all year long. Ineffective note-taking, inappropriate socializing, inherited propensity toward avoidance of homework: all factors. I have earned more than a couple of grey hairs this year trying to coach my kid into becoming a better student. And when I say, "coach", I mean lecture, cajole, bribe, scream and beg. All of it to no avail. Teens are like old dogs refusing new tricks. Except they're not old and they don't even really know any old tricks. Okay, bad analogy. I suppose they're more like horses to water. You can buy your teenager $25 t-shirts at Hollister; but you can't make him turn-in his book report.
I had begun to think that all hope was lost. But, just when the skies of academia had turned the darkest shade of 'F'; a corner was turned. A new angle revealed. A wrinkle in the space-time-curriculuum. My son came home with a progress report featuring a 'B-' in silence class. A B-freakin'-minus! Where did this come from? What's going on? What the french toast!? How the heck did my kid scrap together a 'B-' in the eleventh hour?
So I asked him.
"I took your advice dad", he said through his bangs, "I went and talked to my teacher like you said"
What??? I had been urging him to create a healthy, sincere, working relationship with his silence teacher. I had pointed out the benefits of putting energy toward the social dynamics of every pursuit in life. I had used wonderfully colorful analogies and real life examples taken from, no. . .ripped from the pages of my own personal book of knowledge and experience. I urged him to be cognizent of the positive outcomes afforded by those who are willing to brown-nose. I had begged and pleaded. I had wept.
And it tuns out that he had listened. He actually listened to me. I would have never guessed. Why didn't he tell me he had been listening? He could have just nodded or grunted. He could have texted me.
YO, dADz, U R rad
Okay, maybe not. But if my son had noticeably responded, at all, to my coaching; even once. . .I would not have sent the flammatory email to Dr. Soufflé earlier that day. If my kid would have simply acknowledged that my efforts were not in vain; I would not have accused the good doctor of bullying my child. Or used the terms "shortsighted" or "obtuse" in describing his style of instruction. I definitely would have not typed the entire note with the CAPS LOCK ON. And I am fairly certain that I would have not invited Dr. Soufflé to call me if he "happens to suddenly grow a pair".
He’s my son’s 7th grade silence teacher. He doesn’t really teach silence. His field of expertise rhymes with silence.
My son has been failing Dr. soufflé’s silence class all year long. Ineffective note-taking, inappropriate socializing, inherited propensity toward avoidance of homework: all factors. I have earned more than a couple of grey hairs this year trying to coach my kid into becoming a better student. And when I say, "coach", I mean lecture, cajole, bribe, scream and beg. All of it to no avail. Teens are like old dogs refusing new tricks. Except they're not old and they don't even really know any old tricks. Okay, bad analogy. I suppose they're more like horses to water. You can buy your teenager $25 t-shirts at Hollister; but you can't make him turn-in his book report.
I had begun to think that all hope was lost. But, just when the skies of academia had turned the darkest shade of 'F'; a corner was turned. A new angle revealed. A wrinkle in the space-time-curriculuum. My son came home with a progress report featuring a 'B-' in silence class. A B-freakin'-minus! Where did this come from? What's going on? What the french toast!? How the heck did my kid scrap together a 'B-' in the eleventh hour?
So I asked him.
"I took your advice dad", he said through his bangs, "I went and talked to my teacher like you said"
What??? I had been urging him to create a healthy, sincere, working relationship with his silence teacher. I had pointed out the benefits of putting energy toward the social dynamics of every pursuit in life. I had used wonderfully colorful analogies and real life examples taken from, no. . .ripped from the pages of my own personal book of knowledge and experience. I urged him to be cognizent of the positive outcomes afforded by those who are willing to brown-nose. I had begged and pleaded. I had wept.
And it tuns out that he had listened. He actually listened to me. I would have never guessed. Why didn't he tell me he had been listening? He could have just nodded or grunted. He could have texted me.
YO, dADz, U R rad
Okay, maybe not. But if my son had noticeably responded, at all, to my coaching; even once. . .I would not have sent the flammatory email to Dr. Soufflé earlier that day. If my kid would have simply acknowledged that my efforts were not in vain; I would not have accused the good doctor of bullying my child. Or used the terms "shortsighted" or "obtuse" in describing his style of instruction. I definitely would have not typed the entire note with the CAPS LOCK ON. And I am fairly certain that I would have not invited Dr. Soufflé to call me if he "happens to suddenly grow a pair".
Thinking 'Bout Thinking 'Bout Something
After a week or two of thoughtful planning and discussion about the topics and deep philisophical debates we will be having in this blog, I'm kicking things off by posting a Hanson video.
Yes, that Hanson.
I should hate these kids. They tricked me years ago into buying the dreadful and nails-on-chalkboard effect inducing single "MmmmBop" by getting the Dust Brothers to produce their debute album. The Dust Bros. had created magic in the late eighties with their groundbreaking sampling and hip-hopping on my all-time favorite album ever, "Paul's Boutique", and re-created the magic on Beck's "Odelay". At the turn of the century they put out the soundtrack to "Fight Club"- some of those tracks still give me goose bumps. But somewhere in the middle of the nineties they signed on to have their names on the Hanson album. Did they WANT to destroy their cred? Was there some sort of goal in mind by attaching their name to a bunch of kids putting out crap pop? If the Dust Bros. had produced 100 albums, I'd understand wanting to make some money off of talented kids. But they have limited themselves to MOSTLY great projects, I just can't understand that blemish.
But I digress. Hanson has released a new video today. And I have every reason to crap all over it, too. Just look at the way they have blasphemied Ray Charles AND the Blues Brothers in one swoop. See how they have used minorities, children and a hippie or two to win you over. Tell me how this song stands out from 1,000 other "feel good" songs. Try convincing me that the actual talent these kids have isn't overshadowed STILL by their cuteness.
But you know what? God bless you, Hanson brothers. You really look like you're having fun. You're still here making music in an industry and world that tried to knock you down. Most of those people dancing in your shoot are actual hometown fans. And there's something about that tambourine player, hmmm....
So here it is. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Thinking 'Bout Somethin'
HANSON | MySpace Music Videos
Yes, that Hanson.
I should hate these kids. They tricked me years ago into buying the dreadful and nails-on-chalkboard effect inducing single "MmmmBop" by getting the Dust Brothers to produce their debute album. The Dust Bros. had created magic in the late eighties with their groundbreaking sampling and hip-hopping on my all-time favorite album ever, "Paul's Boutique", and re-created the magic on Beck's "Odelay". At the turn of the century they put out the soundtrack to "Fight Club"- some of those tracks still give me goose bumps. But somewhere in the middle of the nineties they signed on to have their names on the Hanson album. Did they WANT to destroy their cred? Was there some sort of goal in mind by attaching their name to a bunch of kids putting out crap pop? If the Dust Bros. had produced 100 albums, I'd understand wanting to make some money off of talented kids. But they have limited themselves to MOSTLY great projects, I just can't understand that blemish.
But I digress. Hanson has released a new video today. And I have every reason to crap all over it, too. Just look at the way they have blasphemied Ray Charles AND the Blues Brothers in one swoop. See how they have used minorities, children and a hippie or two to win you over. Tell me how this song stands out from 1,000 other "feel good" songs. Try convincing me that the actual talent these kids have isn't overshadowed STILL by their cuteness.
But you know what? God bless you, Hanson brothers. You really look like you're having fun. You're still here making music in an industry and world that tried to knock you down. Most of those people dancing in your shoot are actual hometown fans. And there's something about that tambourine player, hmmm....
So here it is. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Thinking 'Bout Somethin'
HANSON | MySpace Music Videos
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
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