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Tom Gordon's Blother

April 20, 2006

We're All In This Together!
Guess I should probably blog, as at present, I've absolutely nothing worthwhile to say. And if that WERE the case, then I'd be too flustered with emotion/enthusiasm to arrange alphanumerics in a reasonably coherent manner. Or, worse yet, scratch out another curiously-proportioned Gordonian femme to the sudden interest of precisely three or four of y'all. Ya just can't win:



(Yes, you're welcome.)

So. This week I've been taking up a near-permanent residence at the local Department of Motor Vehicles, in a silly attempt to actually -- chortle, snort -- transfer the registration of my father's motorized box without becoming an unpaid full-time lawyer in the process. Ah, the hubris of fading youth!

And as I'm setting upon a bench hewn from the hardest, densest wood imaginable, weighed down with a ream of photocopies/printed PDFs/forms and watching a sextet of oversized vintage late-seventies science fiction television show red LED lights tick through queue numbers with all the rapidity of a Galapagos tortoise's copulation cycle, at any moment I keep expecting to hear Michael Kamen's typewriter-clacky theme from "Brazil" suddenly samba forth from the nearby speakers. (And were I one of the upper-echalon DMV civilservantthings, I'd authorize precisely that, in place of the usual inane Muzak. Hey -- at least the hapless American citizen-units waiting for Big Mommy to Officially Approve their operation of overpriced go-karts would know my people/whatevers have a sense of humor. Not a readily accessible one, admittedly.)

Anyway, between this week's Adventures in Needless Bureaucracy and, uh, last week's Adventures in Needless Bureaucracy (taxes), I've been more than a little grumpy. Dammit, if America must insist upon following "the rest of the world" over the precipice of pinheaded socialism, at least gimme an opportunity to earmark all these extorted fees and fines toward more worthwhile objectives. More sincerely dead terrorists, and their host theocratic governments shattered? Sure! Nanotech research, and anything else that'll bring the Singularity just that month or two closer? Take me, I'm yours! But noooo, instead we get infinitely lame nonessentials like protecting the stagnant marshy habitat of the Imperiled Spotted Lousewart, and the ad nauseam recognition that July is Left-Handed Inuit Librarians Without Tonsils Month. Gah... where's the fun in that?

Oh, and it appears I was hopelessly optimistic in my previous assessment of snot-nosed American irreverence, there... especially towards the Religion Of Peace™ Whose Lotus Blossoms Contemplating Followers Will Nevertheless Kill You If You Dare Make An Image Of The Prophet (or anybody ELSE for that matter, if you really want to get down to bloody-minded, cave-dwelling Koranic literalism).

Ho hum. I guess the best thing that can be said about this nauseating spectacle of Comedhimmi Central doing the ol' EuroWussy Shuffle is that (just like the Isaac Hayes/Scientology fracas) Trey Parker and Matt Stone still come out of it looking like Real American Heroes yet again. They certainly didn't make the mandated 'sensitivity' censorship easy for the leftist network honchos -- within the span of one minute CC was forced to justify 'blacking out' an image of Mohammed while simultaneously approving an image of Jesus pooping on the American flag and Dubya. The mask of Hollywood's hypocrisy and phony 'bravery' is finally off at last, methinks... hell, even the Other Side has come to appreciate the irony! (I'd fly that airline, yessir. Come to think of it, I'll happily confess a desire to visit Dubai someday; it's clearly becoming an futuristic Arabian version of Coruscant, eager for Western tourism. Why, they're even building a spaceport, for Secularity's sake!)

April 8, 2006

Deus Patefactum
It was the AC adapter, after all. Insert heaping sigh of relief.

Hm. Guess I should probably make a few notes here, having reached one of those rare life moments where there's just an empty, monotonous plateau before you that really frickin' needs to be blasted past at a noisy 120 MPH, blown up with HE, turned into an EnormoMart (hi Elaine!) or something. Or to use another half-baked incoherently pseudo-intellectual analogy: like that numbed pins-and-needles sensation one gets in one or more limbs when sleeping in an unnatural position. Come morning you'll wake up, and perform a frenetic, vaguely zombie-esque dance comprised of entirely unplanned and perfunctory motions to get those creaky bits working again. And in such a capacity this blog blother truly serves.



Trying to recollect: did the Gods have any involvement with melting Icarus' wings (and his subsequent fatal belly-flop into the ocean)? Don't think so; I distinctly remember he'd disobeyed daddy's clearly-specified Standard Operating Procedure, while Athene (Daedalus' NASCAR sponsor-of-sorts) was just tickled pink over his latest arrogant scientific enterprise. But then my obsessive fascination with all things relating to the Greco-Roman pantheon peaked around the time Harry Hamlin was fighting two-headed Harryhausenian dogs and oversized stop-motion'd scorpions.

Mph. Okay -- that's not entirely true. When the Internet sprang onto the scene, like everybody else I sprained my brain exhaustively overbrowsing every subject that interested me, from the Austrian School of economics to Millions of Unusual Small Creatures Lurking Everywhere. And I just know there's a Olympian Mythos tome somewhere in the ol' critical mass-reaching bookcase, there... because once in a turquoise moon/overly-testosteroney haze, I'll pry it out of its dusty vise and read about Pygmalion's strangely erotic 'DIY' exploits again, drooling all the way: "...eh wot? Club scenes? Believing some Oprah-extruded 'soulmates' rot? Pretending to care about wussbag liberal causes, and being caught dead at places like Bed, Bath And Beyond?! Screw that! If I want a woman, I'll make 'er meself, Zeusdammit!"

Ayup. Always dug them old-timey polytheo religions. They've got the all the appeal of the World Wrestling Federation circa 1985 or 1999, combined with crazed visuals you'd get from George Lucas if he'd been force-fed LSD for six consecutive months. Unceasing sex and violence! Incest, cannibalism and vomiting! Valiant heroes and grotesque monsters! Snake hair, elephant heads and women with multiple arms! Great stuff:



Most importantly, the immortal puppetmasters themselves were like overgrown overpowered humans, weighed down with their own petty jealousies and neuroses; their dirtbound supplicants could relate to them at the most fundamental level, and even MOCK them on occasion (so long as they didn't too get carried away). And, as Pygmalion's story illustrates, such collections of deities wanted to be immortalized throughout the ages, via the arts. The same men who dared sculpt Aphrodite, or Bubastis, or Shiva were undoubtedly considered divine themselves, by dint of their ability to make such fuzzy entities REAL and TANGIBLE, here upon this earth. And just look at the results: the rich civilizations built by worshipers who were inspired by their gods' "physical" artistic presence!

I'm sure y'all know where I'm going with this...

April 2, 2006

Help, help, I'm being repressed!
Another day, another exercise in continuing artistic mediocrity/fetishistic attachment to borderline-Rubenesque body types. Y'know, every 80's-weaned PopCult pundit keeps predicting the retro-return of fake-chromed oversized audio devices loudly blaring bad poetry on America's urban boulevards (AKA ghetto blasters) Real Soon Now -- and I just have to laugh. Those humungothings are not just hideously ugly and expensive devourers of D-cells, guaranteed to earn you a shiv in the kidneys on the subway -- they were also margleflippin' HEAVY. In an era where you can fit the entire collected work of any soundsmith on a keychain-sized device, who in their right mind would prefer burdening themselves with a monotone-voiced Cybertron monstrosity over the lightweight convenience of an iPod?



(Well -- complete morons like myself, conspicuously angling towards the 'old school' way of doing things, for one. And possibly fitness-obsessed perspiration addicts looking to overdevelop their, uh, StrongBadian 'cloits', for another. But not genuine admirers of music, oh surely not. And probably not Pleasantly Fat Chicks, either.)

Obligatory whiny gripe city: while I'll ignore discussion of a dozen brand-new leeches of monthly capital that have miraculously appeared out of thin air ever since my father's estate was settled, this past abysmal week was still one for the Ledgers of Bovine Crap. Firstly, the ol' treasonous digestive system decided to once again vie for the imminent circus freakshow there, and turn itself inside-out like an old sock puppet. Oh joy, oh bliss. Then, my afforementioned new/olde WallStreet laptop stopped recognizing that it was plugged in anymore -- quickly resulting in a drained battery and an unusable expensive paperweight in place of the Whimsical Portable Computing Experience yours truly had become quite happily addicted to. Grrrr.

Anyway, ordered a replacement AC adapter online, which IMHO is almost certainly not going to solve the problem. No, THAT task will surely require dragging the damned contraption into the Eastern Megalopolis, or else shipping it to Fruit Cult's Cupertino HQ for overly-soldery repair work. And, in time, recieving a bill whose final estimated total will exceed my original 'maximum bid' on eBay, squared...

But the final injustice? Against all logic, or even a vague sense that Bad Things Are Clearly Afoot, watching this piece of heavy-handed drivel.

Ah yes. I most eagerly await the Wachowski Bros. equally 'faithful' adaptation of "Watchmen". Perhaps they'll deftly replace Nixon with GWB, change New Age-y Ozymandias into a biblethumping oil executive, cleverly alter his nefarious scheme to Unite The World into something involving phony Islamic terrorism -- why, it's just like 9/11! -- and otherwise retool everything else in the original story in order to accommodate their own paranoid-masturbatory political world-view that only finds its startlingly original expression in such brutally suppressed underground venues as the New York Times, the Washington Post, Time, Newsweek, CNN, MSNBC, ABC, NBC, CBS, NPR, and the BBC, every single effin' day of the week. (Gosh darn it, where's them dissent-crushing jack-booted stormtroopers of the Neocon Hate Axis™ when you need 'em?)

Oh, and a future Christer-dominated Britain... *snicker* Yeah, that's a reeeeal good one, there. Never mind that with the recent Jyllands-Posten cartoon riots, the demographically-threatened natives of Multiculti Europe pretty much set themselves up to be prison playthings of violent Allah-boys for the next couple of decades (with a few select American volunteers right behind them). Just out of curiosity, which religious group has the greatest potential for instituting a theocratic government day after tomorrow: one whose ranks are on the decline, and who's mocked 24-7 by the intellectual vanguards of your secular-but-rudderless culture? Or one with a burgeoning, zealous membership inclined towards enshrining religious law, BAMN? And for whose benefit -- in a slavish pursuit of 'sensitivity' -- you're already imposing censorship? The same frackin' gang of unreconstructed kneelers that HAS at least one (real-world!) theocracy to its credit?

Wake UP, you dhimmi dummies!

Speaking of "Watchmen," methinks the events of the past five years have pretty much invalidated Ozzy's drug-induced thesis, there. I mean, a massive attack in New York City, finally compelling the great nations of the world to set aside their myriad of piddling differences and make common military cause against a malevolent, shared enemy? Get real!
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