You are browsing the archive for July 2005.
Go to Asshat.com for some great stuff that will make you snicker at the goof of the free world.
Redefining the role of the United States from enablers to keep the peace to enablers to keep the peace from peacekeepers is going to be an assignment.
– Washington, D.C., Jan. 14, 2001
Los Lobos is the best American band since the Band. They can play “My Generation,” “Not Fade Away,” “Bertha,” “Sklar,” and “Waiting in Vain” and make them all new again, fresh again. Their medleys in concert are awesome: they brought Billy Stewart’s “Sitting in the Park” into their own “This Time.” The singing is beautiful; they can be loud without distortion; they can do it all, and they’ll play three encores.
Band names: Steel Syrup, Melancholy 88, Hot Reeking.
My father is wondering about the sexual urge. Why, he asks, did God put it in us? And he thinks that when men age (he’s 70), they will wonder what all the fuss was about. “You don’t marry a woman thinking of children, family, raising kidsâ€â€you do it for the sexual urge, and it carries you into the rest. Darwin can’t explain it. You have to look at Job: why did God put this sexual urge on us? Just to propagate the species? One of my teachers said the sexual urge was given us after we were riven (‘male and female created He them’), to make us whole.” We were sitting at a concert or play when my father was telling me this, during intermission. He looked over and saw an old, very fat man touching his wife, who looked still older, with his gross, fleshy hands. “It disgusts me to think that this man still has the sexual urge. You know, the Pope just told the Italians to have more children.”
Have a tight budget do design on the fly with gimpshop. Basically the guru over @ plasticbugs altered gimp to have an interface just like Photoshop. How cool is that? I have used it for a consderable amount of time and find it very easy to use. So I would highly recommend it to any user. Open source is truly a wonderful thing.
In Boulder, in Prague, in Vladivostok and Milan and Plovdiv and Mexico City, teenagers are striking sets tonight. Their one-acts are over. They have used the greasepaint and undesigned the lights; they have seen each other in the limelight and been seen backstage. Now the sets must be struck. Tomorrow, not a scrim can be seen, not a flat. The stage must be bare again.
Missed my therapy appointment ten years ago. Did I want to go? I said to myself the next morning that I did, then put it out of my mind.
You hear that? Surely one of the last century’s great sounds: the film, hissing, scratching, etching in; framing nothing, a bench toy clapped by hiatus and hiatus, until sibbituh sibbituh, the end of the reel. Hiant action, that sound, gaps unseen, from Monday Night Football to Devi, Hindi like German, Japanese like Italian. Now this too, into the noiseless digitalia.
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