Tag Archives: ABrightFuture

No title, no point, no purpose

The only subversive mind is the one which questions the obligation to exist; all the others, the anarchist at the head of the list, compromise with the established order.
EM Cioran, The New Gods, Strangled Thoughts


Ooh, those zany French. Always good for a chuckle.

But what you talkin’ ’bout, EM?

Here’s my take: If you had six months left to live, information utterly irrefutable and delivered from an unimpeachable source, would you:

  • Floss your teeth?
  • Balance your checkbook?
  • Do the Mencken? As in, “Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”

Answers: No – No – And, hell yes.

I’m attemptin’ to write a serious essay™ and so far except for that Cioran quote it could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.  I knew I was a bad writer. I just never grasped how truly awful and banal I am, to the n-th degree.

So I’ve gone back to drinking. But only for a few days. Fortunately being an amateur, I know that “If something is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” [Who the Eff said that? No idea.] So at some point the booze gets put down and another badly written load of twaddle will without doubt be excreted into an utterly uncaring world.

And, check this out…How big a collection of douchebags are the people who run Annheuser-Busch? Rhetorical question, since the answer is, of course, a gi-normous matched set, suitable for framing. What is messing with my head, though, is why they had to buy out Rolling Rock. Rolling Rock beer, manf’d. by the “Latrobe Brewing Co., St. Louis, MO.” WTF?  You don’t pull things like that on someone who knows Latrobe, PA for (a)Arnold Palmer (b) Rolling Rock beer and knows than (c) an “Arnold Palmer” is a drink of half iced tea, half lemonade.

Jesus wept. And Rolling Rock died. But I still love you all, anyways. Even if you are an Annheuser-Busch running douchebag.

Edit to add:In case it was not sufficiently obvious from the post, I’m drunk. I had an ancestor who’s death certificate listed the cause of death as a “diseased liver.” Why mention that? Dunno. I guess there’s worse ways to go?




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WordPress Annoyance, Pt. 87

I know I’ve whined about this crappy screen that seems to make an appearance on an irregular basis someplace or other, but some topics just never grow old.


Or at any rate it used to be on an irregular basis. Now it seems to pop up every time you log in. Why and what for, in the name of heaven? I’d rate it as useless to downright confusing if asked, but, alas, I’m hardly amongst the Powers that Be at WordPress.com.

Which brings me to my second irritant: This.

I made the mistake of following the link from that screen. And, ummm, WTF? What exactly are they looking for here? Someone to admit that they chopped up their grandmother in the backyard and baked her remains into a yummy casserole of Grandma Pot Pie? And to note that, nope, nobody’s caught me yet, but I’ve still got some leftovers in the fridge. Do ya think I should leave ’em be or eat ’em up yum as late lunch? (Note to the anal out there: Both of my grandmothers are long deceased, one in 1971, the other in 1985. This is an example, not an autobiographical sketch.)

All about the “art and craft” of blogging, too. Should I expect some Elmer’s Glue and little shiny bits so I can make a coaster, like I did back in the day at the YMCA day camp? One of my resolutions for the New Year was to try to be a bit less cynical and skeptical towards my fellow humans. But, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, how can I be expected to hold myself to such a task in the face of twaddle like this? Is it even possible?

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Incoherent mumbling

Embarrassment # 1: I have yet to check in on that request I made at Goodreads regarding getting the CSV file they excrete digested properly by MS Access. Good gravy, how much time did I spend writing the silly thing? I s’pose I wrote it as much for myself as any other reason. Having a document that sets forth in detail all the rooty-tooty/twisty-turnys involved in getting done what is needed can only be a good thing. But…I did ask for help. And for all I know was offered some. So, I’ll have to check in today. And offer a groveling apology

Embarrassment # 2: Sometimes [Only sometimes? Eh, let’s put that discussion on hold for now, worthwhile as it might otherwise be.] I can be a grade A turd. How much am I paying for using Goodreads.com again? That would be, umm, zero, right? As in nothing. As in moocher, freebie, tragedy of the commons zero. Indeedly do, that’s the answer.

Yet, I was all set to climb up on my high horse, the one equipped with a 2×4 embedded into the saddle, so’s it’ll slide right up yer rectum and help along that feeling of righteous indignation, which along with caffeine, lack of sleep and what may or may not be an incipient mental breakdown would doubtless have fueled this post.

And had that post been written:

  • None of it would have been fair
  • Very little of it would have made all that much sense
  • And, yup, mebee just mebee I should have ASKED if what I was trying to do (and in all honesty would still like to) is in fact possible
    • Which I didn’t do and have yet to do
    • And, duh, I guess I should

I suppose I should be slightly reassured that, incipient mental breakdown or no, there are in fact still a few functioning circuit breakers in my skull, that’ll throw when I overload the antique and very likely defective wiring in my skull, and stop dead in its tracks such a mountain of nonsense.

So, circuit breaker reset. And, curiously, all that has occurred in this post up until this point should simply be declared an extended meander. Technically, none of it is the subject I planned to discuss, high horsey or no. But it is going to be most of the text. Bit of a dilemma. But the meander gets the chop right now.

Here’s what I’m trying to do:

Actually, forget it. I’m bored to tears w/this whole business. Save it for later.

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Timesheet/Journal-whining about my ignorance

Hadn’t planned on doing this via embedding, but I’m curious. Of course, WP is gonna rip & strip the HTML to shreds anyhoo.

Funny, since there’s another file on skydrive similar to this. Didn’t realize I’d whined about this issue before.

Basically, my attempt at pseudo-randomness is obviously down the pooper. But I guess I’m gonna have to say “Close enough for gov’t. work,” and live with it.

EDIT: Well, at least they let me have a link. I was more than half expecting the whole thing disappearing. Both files are PDF, both are public. You just can’t read them without clicking on the link first.

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Ten Years After [What?]

Everywhere is freaks and hairies
Dykes and fairies, tell me where is sanity[?]

Ten Years After, I’d Love to Change the World, 1971

Could a song with opening lines like that ever reach the “Top 40” of popular music, USA style in this, the Age of the Panopticon? Since the question is of course, rhetorical, shut up. I ask, but don’t give a hoot what the hell you think. One must do one’s best to stay within the boundaries of discourse, American style. Thus my small contribution to the cause.

And since the question was rhetorical, it can only have one possible correct answer: of course not. Especially as one of the titans of the “entertainment industry,” David Geffen, is a rather outspoken “fairy” himself, and could very likely squash like a bug any musical group daring to stray into such territory. Such is the world we live in, with the masses fed pablum poured down the food trough by someone who seventy-five years ago would have been seen as a deviant (by “liberals”) or as a degenerate (by “conservatives.”)

So it goes.

In any event, I suppose what fascinated me enough to hold my attention for the maximum anything is capable of these days (about six and a half minutes) were the following:

  • This seems to be an interesting example of that  quote I will now proceed to mangle about the heart understanding things the head knows not. Obviously the song’s author had been completely and fully indoctrinated in the peace, love and “grooviness” of a 1960s mentality, and equally obviously some inchoate, unspoken bit of his subconscious mind was gagging about the whole thing.
    • The result being the confusion palpable in the lyrics, which of course makes the song interesting, far more interesting than the tedious dogmatic nonsense of other songs of that era
    • And might serve as some kind of strange footnote to the idea that a small group of the ideologically pure and sure can often rout a far larger though far less committed group
  • That at some point the “dykes and fairies” realized that the road to power requires they cease being “freaks and hairies.” And to their credit they have grabbed and achieved power on a massive scale via that route. Certainly to a point few in 1971 would have credited.
  • And perhaps most amusingly of all, the Wikipedia entry about the song hyperlinked in the block quote. The first two lines are mentioned nowhere, by whomever it was wrote the entry. No, the furthest the anonymous soul dared go is to declare “irony” in the chorus. To which I say nonsense. I think the song’s confusion is both genuine and rather depressing.

Still, one of those songs I’ll stumble across on the ol’ external HD every six months or so and givve a listen to.

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Verizon the Vile

I am on the receiving end of spam porn texts. WTF did I ever do to deserve this garbage? Before I go through and delete the ones I’ve missed for whatever reason I figured I’d post them in all their glory here. I limited myself to five, and then two shots of the text listing pages, so the full telephone number shows in all its glory.

The thumbnails are links to photobucket. Click the thumbnail and you’ll get taken to a version of the image that is about 50% of full size. Cursor over the image and you get a magnifying glass. Click again. Then you can read them in their full glory.
Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket

And do you know what sort of “defense” Verizon offers against this slime? You can block up to a whopping five numbers for a whole 90 days. Which is just perfect here, since they never come from the same number, so it might as well be five minutes.

Verizon, your local porn enabler. Since their response is such a complete joke, I gotta think they’re making money off this somehow. So, in summary:

Dear Verizon,

You suck.

Very truly yours,

Lumpenprole Downwardspiral

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Observation: There’s nothing quite like a Wal-Mart doughnut. As in, bought from their bakery department on the pretense that it was actually baked somewhere within fifty miles of said store.

But they’re really quite amazing. The “glaze” was clearly composed of sugar and something*, but unlike most doughnut shops, no attempt was made to cover the entire doughnut with it. In fact, the way each bit of “glaze” was blobbed on reminded me a bit of  the chunks of skin you can peel off  when a sunburn begins to recede. Not as to color, of course, but certainly as to shape.

And the doughnut itself seemed constructed entirely out of lard, with no taste of flour or whatever else it is one puts in doughnuts. And yet the doughnuts retained their doughnut-y shape, which would be a neat trick indeed from pure lard.

And I just finished the last of the six. Pure bliss. I think I now know how Huxley’s character’s felt as they started off on a Soma Holiday.

“By this time the soma had begun to work. Eyes shone, cheeks were flushed, the inner light of universal benevolence broke out on every face in happy, friendly smiles. Even Bernard felt himself a little melted.”


“..there is always soma, delicious soma, half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon…”

* – I cannot even hazard a guess as to the “something.” I presume water, but the sugar in the glaze was so powerful it could have been ammonia and I doubt I’d have noticed.

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