Long Time, No Blog

Just some random updates and free-association.

Breaking News
Frequent readers of this blog, all two of you, will have noticed that, for the most part, I lead a pretty dull, uneventful, and boring life. At 52 it's hard not to--I'm way past the Age of Wild, Uninhibited Partying (especially since I no longer partake of mood-altering substances beyond caffeine and nicotine and, really, would rather take a nap) and the idea of a frantic, dope-inspired, meth-fueled, On the Road/Fear and Loathing-style cross-country trip, though wonderful as a fantasy, makes my head and bladder ache. Most of the time I prefer to curl up on the couch with Sid the Cat, a good book, and House reruns playing in the background.

But, you know, every now and then you've just got to say "what the fuck."

Which is a roundabout way of saying, WOO-HOOO! I'm going on a Fake Date this Friday (Feb. 8) with my (24-yr. old) friend, ex-phone sex operator Sarah, to see the Sex Workers' Art Show!
(MySpace page here)

And what, exactly, are we talking about? Well, according to the Gay Community Center of Richmond, "The Sex Workers’ Art Show is an eye-popping evening of visual and performance art created by people who work in the sex industry to dispel the myth that they are anything short of artists, innovators, and geniuses!"

Oh, yeah; this should be a hoot-and-a-half! I just wish Ducky DooLittle and Emily Stern were going to be there!

They Laughed When I Sat Down at the Piano...
The closest I've ever come to learning to play a musical instrument was in 4th grade music class when poor Mrs. Whateverthehellhernamewas tried to teach us simple melodies on that cochlea-crackin' educational device, the Tonette (mine was new and obnoxiously bright yellow; I so envied the people with sibling hand-me-downs in basic black).

I never quite got the hang of it.

Meanwhile, Mom and Dad used to ship me off to my maternal grandparents and their tobacco farm for a week or so every summer (completely unrelated to my lack of expertise with the screechy Tonette) where one of my fondest memories was hanging out with Grandma and singing selections from the Baptist Hymnal while she banged away at the ancient upright piano in the parlor (this pretty much explains why a born-again agnostic knows the lyrics to dozens of obscure hymns and is perfectly willing to prove it at a moment's notice). Naturally, I wanted to try my hand(s) at the keyboard and though I occasionally managed to produce a traditional chord by accident, mostly I was engaged in the independent discovery of atonality. No one ever figured I was a candidate for piano lessons.

In 7th grade I found myself as a tenor in junior high school chorus (even though I probably had no more than a one-octave range) where we were promptly issued these godawful yellowish-beige workbooks on musical theory and notation. I kinda, sorta, vaguely followed what was being discussed ("Hey! That's a staff! And that's a, uh, treble clef! Right?") but was never able to make the cognitive connection between the notes and the sounds they represented. Ever see the movie Drumline? Remember Devon, who couldn't read music but had an uncanny ability to memorize complex rhythms after a single performance? Well, that was me except without the "uncanny" or "single" part, my first experience with any form of illiteracy, but back then I didn't particularly care and so faked my way through two more years secure in the knowledge that what I didn't know would be covered by the people sitting around me.

Still, I was annoyed that I had difficulty grasping concepts many elementary school kids seemed to master in minutes but hey! Chess and microscopes and model rockets and fossil collecting and monster movie making all beckoned and soon all was forgotten.

Fast-forward forty years and as of last week and for reasons which aren't entirely clear to me yet I own a newish Yamaha YPT-210 portable keyboard (check eBay; they're cheap!) and a copy of Piano For Dummies and I'm learning! Slowly, painfully, but I'm learning. There's also the added attraction of the darn thing being just plain fun to noodle with--activate the "sound effects kit" and I'm able to entertain myself for hours overlaying a pre-programmed techno beat with random (but rhythmic) weird-ass sounds. Hell, give me a sufficiently liquored-up, Ecstasy-laden raver crowd and I could keep 'em dancing for a good ten minutes!

Preparedness Notes
I'm always on the lookout for decent sources of Survivalist/Preparedness information and I've recently come across a particularly good online site-- Zombie Squad. Don't be put off by the name--the "Zombie Apocalypse" stuff is merely a semi-humorous metaphor for dealing with natural or man-made disasters (see the Wikipedia entry)... maybe. The discussion forums are particularly interesting, full of solid information and pretty much free of the near-hysterical conspiracy ranting all too typical in similar boards. Well worth bookmarking if you're at all interested in the subject.

Happiness Is A Warm Gun
I hesitate to mention this since so many people have such a viscerally negative reaction to any discussion of firearms and I really, really do not want to come across as a gun nut, but the truth of the matter is I enjoy shooting. Not hunting, mind you, Gawd forbid; shooting. I stalk the wily paper target, have done battle with the evil tin can (though not recently; remind me to tell you the story of the first time I fired a .357 magnum revolver--hilarity ensued), and lived to tell the tale. With the recent massive price increases in larger-caliber ammunition what I haven't had is an inexpensive platform for maintaining my rifle skills (which, at least for me, require frequent practice as in "use 'em or lose 'em")... until now. Now I have a new old school Marlin 981T bolt action, tube-fed .22 rifle which just happens to be very similar to the one I learned on back in the 'Sixties (those were the days when a small gang of 13-yr. olds wandering the local dump with rifles, Coke bottles, and peanut butter sandwiches wasn't a cause for alarm except, maybe, to the rat population). .22 ammunition is ridiculously cheap, which means you can shoot a lot of the stuff without breaking the bank, and the rifle itself was not particularly expensive-- around $100. Sure, I could have bought a fancy-ass, rapid-firing, endlessly customizable, semi-scary semi-automatic weapon, but that would have defeated the purpose-- slow, careful, deliberate perforation of the center of a paper target from 25 yards away and, as an added bonus, this particular model is lightweight enough and unintimidating enough so as to convince attractive women that target shooting can be fun (as opposed to this).

Well, the cat is begging for attention (or food) and I need a bath, so let's wrap things up for now.

Links Of Interest

I've got nothing in particular to say today, just a bunch of links I've been accumulating and thought I'd share with the group starting with this plaque:



From Jenny Holzer

--If you're looking for a new decorating scheme (or are considering building a temple devoted to the Great Old Ones) you might consider Adam Wallacavage's Cthulhu-esque, be-tentacled chandeliers.

--And speaking of Ol' Squidface, I recently ran across Calls For Cthulhu, a sort of online clearinghouse for all things Lovecraftian with links to such things as Baby's First Mythos and Neil Gaiman's wonderful little story, "I, Cthulhu."

--And speaking of stories, I've noticed more and more authors posting their works online for all to enjoy. Spotted recently: a vintage piece of cholesterol noir, "Lipidleggin," by science fiction/horror writer F. Paul Wilson and Bruce Sterling's "Kiosk," which he describes as "a kind of science fiction that could only be written in the 21st century" (see the Boing Boing blurb).

--And further speaking of online stories, I've just discovered the world of Creepypasta, "scary microfiction for the internet age." No question about it, "creepy" is the proper term. A Google search will pretty much guarantee you won't be sleeping anytime soon.

--On a lighter note, sort of, Turn Your Hamster Into A Fighting Machine (my guess is someone's been reading too much Sluggy Freelance).

--Should the current economic downturn have you worried about global Apocalypse and Armageddon or if you're merely a casual survivalist/preparedness junkie, you may want to scan the list of 100 Items To Disappear First and begin your stockpiling accordingly.

--And finally, be sure to check out Scott Meyer's webcomic, Basic Instructions, on a regular basis.

Bug-Out Baggery

Or simply, Further Preparedness Notes.

Today I made another trip to Hull Street Outlet to pick up a few more just in case items and hoped that this time I wouldn't receive...the look. Fortunately, the gear I had in mind was harmless enough:

--one of those plasticized, grommeted, green/silver tarps in 9' x 11', which is a great all-around utility item. Not only will it keep bird poop off the car windshield, but it makes a great ground cloth for tents, sleeping bags, and lying on hillsides watching the Perseid meteor shower with Christina Ricci and Scarlett Johansson (yeah, that'll happen!) In a pinch (and with a little ingenuity) it can be used to construct an emergency shelter.

--a U. S. Army intermediate weight sleeping bag (mummy configuration, allegedly good to 15 deg. F), cover, and rubberized sack for storage. I debated getting the "extreme cold weather" version, but figured additional blankets and warm clothing trumped the inherent problems of down fill (once wet, down is damned hard to dry in the field and clammy sleeping is not high on my list of fun things to do).

--a Condor 3-Days Assault Pack, which is Condor's tacti-cool name for some of their intermediate-sized backpacks. Sure, it's probably not practical for serious backpacking or anything, but I think it'll work well on the rare occasions I go camping and especially as a Bug-Out Bag. Prior to today the only backpack/rucksack I own is a Boy Scout Yucca Pack purchased in 1966 or so and its failings are legendary, though the young Indiana Jones/River Phoenix carried one in Last Crusade.

--a Coleman Sportster II Dual Fuel Stove--"dual fuel" as in Coleman Fuel (aka "white gas") or unleaded gasoline. Not that I go camping all that frequently, but I have found that more and more places are banning open air fires, so it's a nice thing to have. For emergency purposes, well, let me tell you--one winter the gas lines in my neighborhood froze, which I didn't know was even possible, and I spent about three days wishing for some way to heat food and water--your meal choices are somewhat limited without a stove and as for shaving with cold water...well, let's just say it was an experience I'd prefer not to repeat. Incidentally, this particular stove can be found at Wal*Mart for significantly less than Coleman's list price or even Amazon.com's (and Amazon's reviews are encouraging).

Now, if I can just find a few people willing to try a Bug-Out Campout...

"But Officer, I Swear I'm Completely Harmless!"

As part of my recent Preparedness Program, I detoured to Hull Street Outlet (the local military surplus store) on my way home from work to pick up a few items for the trunk of the car.

I often forget that what seem like completely innocuous actions on my part can appear a little...suspicious...when observed by someone without the proper context.

So I ramble around the store a bit, pick up the things I want, head to the cash register, and notice that the sales associate is regarding me somewhat cautiously as he rings up my stuff:

2 wool army blankets, green
1 wool balaclava, black
100 ft. polypropylene rope, black
1 entrenching tool
1 hatchet

See, for a moment I forgot that Taylor Behl and the Harvey Family are pretty recent events 'round these parts.

And I admit that at times I can be one sick-ass fuck--it was all I could do not to sign the receipt John Wayne Gacy III.

Weekend Roundup

So I'm assuming everyone survived the Potterdammerung and is safely and breathlessly ensconced in his or her Favorite Reading Spot with The Deathly Hallows.

I'm not.

Oh, nothing against the Harry Potter series--I've read the books, I've seen the movies, I like them well enough--but I'm not a particularly big fan. I'm not a big Trekkie, either, nor am I a Star Wars fanatic. Just. Not. My. Thing. Exactly.

Now, if there was a Cryptonomicon sub-cult (and it hadn't been a one-shot deal), man, I'd be going to conventions in my finest Enoch Root costume, building model Enigma machines, and fiddling around with Van Eck phreaking till my brain exploded!

But that ain't a-gonna happen, so I'm settling for being all a-twitter about the August release of Spook Country by William Gibson (see today's Washington Post review).

Nothing exciting to report. I went to a couple of Super-Secret Support Group meetings, I got the oil in my car changed, I hung out at 4th Street Cafe with cool and interesting people until way too late both Friday and Saturday nights, I talked briefly (very briefly--that's all we manage these days) with the Parental Units, I made quick trips to Target and Wal-Mart for various items to put in my Bug-out Bag/Survival Kit, slept too much, ate too much, enjoyed the moderately cooler weather, scratched the cat at regular intervals (no, that is NOT an euphemism for anything nasty), watched Thunder Road on Turner Classic Movies (a personal fave and a film just begging for a high-speed remake), and was pretty much a reclusive slug for the rest of the weekend.

Incidentally, today is the 73th anniversary of the death of John Dillinger. who, as the John Dillinger Died For You Society remind us, was not the criminal many think, but should instead be remembered as a "prominent economic reformer whose unorthodox banking methods enabled the U.S. Justice Department to overcome state's-rights opposition to Federal anti-crime laws. He gave his life that a little-known and poorly-regarded division of that Department might be transformed into today's awesome Federal Bureau of Investigation," thus enabling J. Edgar Hoover to purchase that frilly little number he'd had his eye on for some time.


Brief Explanation: Robert Anton Wilson wrote:

The John Dillinger Died For You Society, run by a pseudonymous "Dr. Horace Naismith" (allegedly a Playboy editor by day and a maniac only by night), accepts as its savior John Dillinger, the gunman who robbed 23 banks and three police stations before he was shot dead by FBI agents in 1934. JDDFYS members place memorial wreaths and floral bouquets at the Biograph Theater, where Dillinger was gunned down, every year on the anniversary of his death, June 22. Their major spiritual teaching comes from Mr. Dillinger, whom they call St. John the Martyr, and consists of the words, "Lie down on the floor and keep calm," (St. John said this often to nervous and agitated bank officials before looting their tills). Every member ordained by Dr. Naismith gets a membership card making him or her an Assistant Treasurer, entitled to collect tithes from any new disciple naive enough to remain a disciple and not become an Assistant Treasurer, too, by writing to Dr. Naismith for a card.

--Religion For the Hell of It

"That's Not A Knife; THIS Is A Knife!"

So I bought myself a cute little piece of cutlery today--a full-size Black KA-BAR Straight Edge (Marine-style) Knife:



The only other KOSS (Knife of Significant Size) I own is a reproduction of the British Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife from Museum Replicas, Ltd. and it's of no real practical use; I just think it looks cool. I use it to open my mail. The KA-BAR, on the other hand, is a good, basic, all-purpose knife suitable for anything from survival to camping to kitchen chores to, well, opening the mail.

Some family trivia here: my father still has the USN-stamped KA-BAR he carried during WWII. He probably hasn't touched it except to move it from one house to another in sixty years and the thing is still sharp as hell!

I'm not a Survivalist by any stretch of the imagination, but I do believe in being prepared, so I keep a number of items in my car just in case--jumper cables, tire gauges, window scrapers, a couple of kitchen towels, some big-ass trash bags (good for litter, ground cloths, and as emergency ponchos), a flashlight, a basic first aid kit, a couple of road flares, matches in a waterproof container, a Space Blanket and sleeping bag, 50 ft. of Perlon (nylon) rope, a couple of locking carabiners, some Zip-Loc bags, two of those little emergency tools meant for cutting seat belts and smashing car windows, a generic Swiss Army Knife, pen, paper, sunglasses, etc. Sounds like a lot, and maybe it is, but these things don't take up much space and remember--in the event of Zombie Attacks being prepared is a good thing!

Now that I have a proper knife I can concentrate on getting an entrenching tool and maybe, just maybe, a SHTF (Shit-Hits-The-Fan) gun (FAQ here).