Lady_Roxy has asked about how I got the applet above (galactic center space warp) working in Xanga. The answer is I haven?t!

Actually, both that applet and the LiveJournal feed above it are inserts from external web pages. So the LiveJournal insert is, indeed, a blog-in-blog and the applet is a snippet of a page?with the same background as my Xanga page to help it blend in?that I set up an external server.

To reference ANY external web page and insert it into your Xanga header area , you can insert the following code (modified to your needs) into your Look and Feel, Header HTML section:

All you need to do is customize the height parameter (trial and error) to fit your desired insert size and the data parameter to point to the targeted insert page. You can also adjust the width parameter as a % if so desired.

Actually, if you want a larger explanation and/or an easily copied form of this code, visit DynamicDrive.com here.

And, oh, this isn?t javascript?it is dhtml and will only work in conjunction with Internet Explorer browsers; Netscape browsers see simply nothing.

Me thinks the possibilities are endless?

As a public (I'm tempted to say pubic-why?) service response to : RiottGyrrrl’s question:

Shit, Why can’t I friggen leave?   ::

Xangacide…or 50 ways to leave your Xanga

"The problem is all inside your head", she said to me
The answer is easy if you take it logically
I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free
There must be fifty ways to leave your Xanga. ... "

1) Forget your password and be too dumbstruck to retrieve it.
2) Include deadly javascript in a single otherwise innocent  post.
3) Be the pilot of the plane and parachute to safety as the subscribers crash in the experimental wreckage (James--last post was *email*--let's hope it wasn't airmail).
4) Discover, overwhelmingly, Real Life for the very first time.
5) Post a self-autologin (like I did for God and Goddess) and wait for someone else to hijack it.
6) Load your PC up with kiddie and snuff porn and wait for a sting (…incoming!)
7) Delete your posts one by one, one day at a time, always updating their timestamp to the current day until you've regressed to the original *I just created my site and haven't started my weblog yet.*
8) (for cowards): Create a distant and unseen alias.  Flame it with your primary identity endlessly and relentlessly.  Complain via your alias to the Xangods that you are being harassed savagely by the primary identity.  And wait for termination.
9) Using script, autoforward your page to a random Xangeroo (like I have for notforpeeps ).  Be too naïve to know how to undo it.
10) Experience complete and irreversible amnesia.  But first make sure that your username isn’t *amnesia* and your password isn’t *iforgot*.
11) Go so broke that if you had a PC in your hands you’d have to pawn it even if it wasn’t yours.
12)  Be sharing your password with your bf or gf when you publicly cheat on her/him with her/his  best friend.
13) Post and publicize intimate sexy photos that fellow bloggers have privately sent you and then disappear knowing full well if you ever post again, you will need to have a server-readable IP address and they will find you out and they will hunt you down!
14) Create a voodoo effigy of your Xanga self.  Prick it with pin props until it bleeds (this reminds me of www.pinstruck.com!!).  Of course, it will never bleed, so you’ll be pricking it forever and never again have the time to blog.
15) Make a New Year’s Resolution to blog everyday.  Knowing that you always break your resolutions, you’ll probably end up disgusted and never blog again.
16) Swear to finish a small task before you’ll allow yourself your very next blog…like memorizing the dictionary.
17) Go get that long-postponed lobotomy after all.
18) Talk only in colors, think only in sounds, write only in glyphs, and dance voluptuously with wolves.
19) You know, downstairs, around, when the bars close, and anything goes, and my fantasies ring true, and I’m alone with you…who needs Xanga????
20) …

Ayiiieee!  I can’t think anymore—there are nothing but sounds!

Anyone, anyone…20??….

…50)  Post with a list 50 items long.  It’s the ultimate meltdown, the ultimate kiss of death.  For your post and your blog too.  Nobody will suffer such a prolonged interminable indefinitude.  Might as well be waging a State-of-the-Union watch against terrorism and Osama-$1,000,000,000-a-month-what’s-his-name??

I want an answer!

Actually, the rotation of the Earth is slowing (days are getting longer by leap seconds, i.e., .7 seconds per year) and will continue to slow until, just as one face of the Moon now always faces the Earth, one face of the Earth will always face the Moon.  And, apparently unmoving vis-a-vis one another, the Earth and Moon will have a stare-off for forever more.

When a Xangod speaks, I listen (the numbered items respond to items listed in a blog two below):

Hi there NFP!  I noticed your most recent post about Xanga, I thought I'd address it point by point:

1) There was an issue discovered Sunday morning (starting around 4am), which was remedied shortly after, then Dan completely fixed later that morning.  Had to do with one of our webservers flaking out.  It was early, so it just slipped my mind to put a not for it on status.xanga.com.

2) As you might have noticed with the Site Data box, we have been playing around with the site, discovering bottlenecks, and then trying to stamp them out (see this post: http://www.xanga.com/item.asp?user=monsur&tab=weblogs&uid=673424).  The search is very server intensive, so we turned it off for a while as we optimize it.  We are hoping to have it up really soon.

3) Hmmm...  That's a new one; we'll look into it.

4) I'm hurt by this comment because I've been making it a point to answer emails in a timely fashion.   In fact emails should be caught up through the weekend (need to answer this weekend's emails today)  I saw your email in particular, but didn't answer it yet.  My policy is to answer emails about known issues only after the issue is resolved.  Maybe I'll be a little better about providing interim status reports.

5) Generating archives is another intensive process.  We are optimizing that script now; once it is fixed, look for it to run on a bi-weekly basis.

6) As for the fun competition... Marc spends his days typing away with a big grin on his face as he prepares it.  You will have just have to wait and see what he's grinning about!

I hope that clears up some confusion.  I can see how it can be frustrating not to recieve visibility into a situation, even when it is minor or temporary.  We'll try to be better about informing Xanga users  about these issues.

Thanks,
Monsur
http://www.xanga.com/monsur

And, by the way, the search appeared restored this morning.

So when a Xangod speaks, what do you do?

a.) listen
b.) hoot
c.) gawk
d.) frolic
e.) a what?
f.) applaud
g.) shake my head like Lurch

O my culture—why?
so insipid, so dry
so denying of the splendid visions that have reverberated
through me
allowing me to see, to see…

when I go where I do go
my left hand falls asleep
for it doesn’t believe
and cannot follow true
cannot break the rules…

I stare at Moon.
I swear upon the Moon.
(O swear not by the moon, th'inconstant moon/ That monthly changes in her circled orb/ Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.)
o contraire!  that it constant be:
all my life with its same face always facing me.
it’s merely variable in not remaining full, you see.

but of the far side I dream
the more savaged, thicker skinned region
forever earth-shy as if…
the earth and it collided—ka-boom—
and it decided
never to face the earth again.

then…what is it we see?
the moon’s face glowing or its moon mooning?
if the moon’s hiding its face,
is the Sea of Tranquility its blithering ass?
thank god(dess) then that it is so tranquil
and atmosphereless:
that it doesn’t emit gas.

but whether face or goon,
the moon still presents
the same since all our births.
as if to tell us “nothing changes,” and
“what you see is all you’ll ever get.”
yet, is there not a great assurance in that?
your spouse can leave you, your dog can hate you,
but go out and gaze skyward
and you’ll never find surprise
in the moon’s fixated guise.

Except when the moon, full,  hits the horizon
and a mammoth behemoth it becomes
and makes our scientists dumb
because they can’t yet explain
why the moon’s apparent size ain’t no longer the same
but HUGE

…and we moonwalk and prance
down our path so entranced
cause we're looming and larger
than life.

Lately the Xanga of my Dreams has been less glitchy than the real one.  Maybe I should acquiesce painlessly to somnolence and blog unimpededly as Rip Van Xanga until the next internet revolution sweeps in??

But where is John?  It seems that since the end of year with his flurry of BurmaShave couplets that he's just disappeared.  Used to be he'd come around here occassionaly enough to see if any Xanga issues or Xanga rumors were becoming so sensationalized as to require a response....

Well, John (or any Xangod--Monsur, Dan--else). if you're still here, what are your thoughts on the following difficulties which I think other peeps can attest are being generally experienced:

1) Access over the weekend became unreliable again with numerous SQL Server / ODBC socket errors.

2) The search engine for content is broken.

3) The calendar is buggy with entries before July 2001 sometimes there but other times frighteningly missing.

4) Requests for help and assistance sent last week (early and later) have gotten no response.

5) The archive facility (Premium) has been updated since 12/30--is this broken, too?

I've checked the Xanga Status page that obliquely mentioned packet loss last Wednesday, but it would be a little more reassuring to know if the Xangods even acknowledge the problems mentioned above.

And, oh yes, where is the fun competition you promised us?  But wait...mebbe fix the above problems first??

The Xanga of My Dreams

I just awoke from sleep and having a dream where I was blogging in my sleep!  Every word was arrayed effortlessly by my subconscious.  Nor did I type but merely had to envision the structured layout and then psychically submit.  Voila, that was it!

The only wonder I had upon awakening was would I come online to find it posted so sublime?!

Ah, Nyet! 

But I can perfectly recall this vision-cast blog.  It went precisely like this:

I have paid for physical beauty.

James is Gone.

Well, what did ya expect?  He was the Grand Diss-er, after all, who finally dis-missed himself.  There once was a majestic personage in Xanga named Jewels who in her time was more popular than anyone in Xanga today, including VeryModern.  She was a very compassionate, loving, yet physically debilitated and hurting woman who revealed in her blogs a splendid panoply of conflicting yet real emotions for the Xanga community to share in, respond to, and learn from.  By the late winter of last year, she had displaced James as the most popular entity in Xanga (top-propped) and it seems that just leading up to his dethroning and shortly thereafter, a Great Flame War started with James taking the offensive and eventually battering Jewels into non-blogging retiring submission.  She returned once shortly after that, but only briefly.  Here’s what James had to say about her *resurrection* then:

Others have gone with a last post message only to rise again in three days like Lazarus from the tomb. With a startling 76 eProps and 37 comments for the swan song. Xanga's all time box office draw for one blog.

Well, then James, I take it you're no Lazarus and that we shouldn’t expect you back for a swan song, right?

What was James’ issue with Jewels??  He considered her an "emotional black hole" and lambasted her both on his blog and as comments on hers accordingly:

Seems we've got two camps. The victims and the legion of helpers who rush to their aid. One can't exist without the other. The emotional black holes suck and the helpers get off on feeling like they're good people because they fed the emotional black holes. There's the marriage from hell! Both get what they want and nothing ever changes.

Actually, the *two camps*--if any--were James with his I-only-want-positve-useful-people-and-not-emotional-black-hole/puddle/sea-of-oatmeal-people attitude and Jewels and her purported *legion of helpers*.  Jewels relinquished Xanga and left James imperial as the most popular blogger for many, many moons.

With the *competition* going…going…gone…we sometimes saw a kinder, gentler James:

And what will I do with all this altitude? Shit, I don't know. I'll keep visiting sites and talking to interesting people and try to give more than I receive, as if that were possible.

Yes, it's true! You have been good to me. You have put up with my pouting and ranting and raving. You have been faithful and kind. You have shown me one person can make a difference. You have inspired me to write and bare my soul. We have laughed and whined together.

The way I see it we're all in this together. Thanks for being such fine people. Thanks for returning what I feel for you.

Now this, I feel, would have been a great parting self-epitaph for James.  It would have left us all feeling good about our interaction with him.  Years hence, when we would have reflected nostalgically back upon the the early Xanga trailblazers, we would have sighed: *...yes, James, he was mysteriously sweet and amazing.*  But James always hated and would have hated such syrupy sentiment.  That’s why instead he left us with this:

I'm thinking about quitting. This is one of my only remaining links with obtuse people and it's getting to be a drain. It appears there has been a shift somewhere and my desire to interact is waning.

I seem to be out of sync with the people of xanga these days. It's not that I mind people misunderstanding what I write here. It seems to be spreading to the comments I leave on their sites. People misunderstand for a number of valid reasons. It's becoming a bit pointless for me though. I don't seem to have the desire to wade through the sea of oatmeal to get to the possible clarity on the other side.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who know and those who don't. I've not been enjoying reading the blogs of others for a while now. At first I thought it would pass, but it isn't going away. I'm thinking perhaps this experiment is completed.

Completed experiments are usually discarded.  Here something failed.  Was it the experiment or the experimenter?

By the way, since I’m digging up Xanga history, according to my memory (if I’m wrong O Xangarelics, help me out!), the earliest pretender to the eProp Popularity Throne was poptardis with Bluemoo, celeste, and agrochick78 all close upon the threshold (not that they had any desire to be popular—they just were!  Am I leaving anyone out?).  The first avatar to truly and distinguishably attain the throne (early Jan 2001) was holly_green who apparently intentionally decreased her blogging thereby allowing James to ascend thereto for a short time.  But James would soon fall into the shadow of Jewels (Feb 2001), the first, foremost angelically-themed blogger (angel ornaments galore) to Xanga.  That’s  about when the Great Flame War commenced and Jewels, both on account of the flames and her growing ill-health, left.  James reigned until an unlikely black knight-type renegade called notforprophet (early summer 2001) simply outperformed him (eProp-wise).  (Damn those prophets—they’re always a thorn in one’s side.)  But the prophet knew his days were numbered with his very first glimpse of the very prop-hungry, very beautiful, and very talented VeryModern.  Yet he wasn’t saddened.  In fact, he gave VeryModern (summer 2001) the very two props to push her over the top!  And, if you haven’t checked lately, VeryModern is in a league of her own with over 30,000 such props.  ha ha ha.

Who’s up and coming? Among others, fairestc, quite naturally, getting rewarded for the excellence of her incessant energy!

Quite interestingly, of all those who were once *most popular*, I’m the only one remaining that’s blogging regularly nonetheless.  Perhaps, because I really never cared too much a-dang about it.  Perhaps because I reflect upon how Ramses the Great, with his once ancient world-renowned popularity, is now only remembered anymore when slipping a condom on.  And Do I really want to be like Mike?

For me, popularity was always as strange as wearing a tie—which I suppose they’ll next hang around my neck when I die.

Now don’t nobdody get no ideas like two birds with one stone and strangling me with a tie neither.

Surveys suck. Statistically speaking. The first major disadvantage is that response rate is usually rather low. The second major problem is that the response itself may be self-selecting, i.e., peeps who face providing a true but socially-judged undesirable response may opt not to respond at all leaving those participating with a true and socially-judged desirable response over-represented. Finally, some respondents do not provide accurate answers. Many inaccurate responses are due to people swayed by social desirability, that is, they tend to give answers they think are socially preferable even if untrue. Another major source of intentionally inaccurate responses are survey gremlins-peeps who purposely give outrageously wrong responses just to screw the survey's accuracy and reliability. Given all that, why bother? Because the information is generally easy to gather and tabulate, economical to collect, and immediately informative.

notforprophet's passively collected
Age of Xangaroo Member Survey:

(Keep in mind that this is only one sample of the Xangan population as described in the Source info down below.)

 

Age	13-17	18-24	25-34	35-44	45-54	55-64	65-74	75-84	85-94	95+
#	343	530	119	34	17	2	0	1	4	13

 

So it can be seen that about 50% of those Xangans reporting their ages are in the (18-24) age group and females in this same age group (data not shown) represent about 28% of all Xangans. Also, about 82% of all peeps report an age of less than 25.

 

So what sucks more: surveys or breast-feeding babies (=peeps less than age 25? ) ?

 

I didn't do it!

Did I??!!

My New Age harem ...

Yes, my dear mistress Xanga, I have pulled back the curtains to the boudoir and, as you may ( IE browsers only) well notice from above, invited two other she-blogs into our bed.

Up there at the top and giving me head is the highly-endowed LiveJournal, fully-interactive and setting the mood.

In the middle, somewhat nondescript and inert is the ever-horny Blogger, reminescing about my nipples and sucking on bellybutton lint, yet of real time involvingly reflective.

But down below, down here, my loyalty and prowess and creative juices are still yours, all yours, just bidding to overflow.

Oh I know that some Xanga purists will vehemently object to my non-monogomous ventures, screaming "Why those she-blog bitches sleeping in our bed!  How dare!" and go marching off in a huff.

Likewise, some LiveJournal and Blogger quaint-types may be furious that I've *whored* their favors here in our fantasy-come-true Xangaland.

To such, I simply proclaim: you're screwed.  This is the 21st century and blogging has just become the art of sleeping around   Or as the Xangods just proclaimed: "get ready for a little friendly competition... we've got some new fun on the way!"    Oh yea-ahh, baby!

By the way, since I know you love me ( you whispered your password to me in your sleep! ) but may be nonetheless momentarilly shocked with the advent of this revelation, I decided to go ahead and prop myself on your behalf up front.  Consider it a venturous loving form of kinky foreplay

Now if you want, go give me head with a comment at the top.  But don't forget to prop me again down here for a multiple orgasmic effect--twice is so very nice

Hey guys,

It appears the Xanga-wide and site specific search engine is broken--at least for me!  God help me:

Oh my God!  I swear I didn't do it!

Can anyone concur??

What's worse...

My blogs before July 1st 2001 are ALL missing.  Every one of them.  In my calendar module, all is blank from June 2001 back through my start in December 2000.  And if I go back to my July 1st entries, there is not *Next 5>>* hyperlink to carry me anywhere.

Ack!!!  Now call me paranoid for wanting a horizontal (non-Xangan, i.e., LiveJournal) blog to copy my old posts to.  I discovered my missing blogs BECAUSE I was about to do exactly that!

7 P.M Update:  No WAIT WAIT----the blogs are missing only if I'm logged in as *Private*.

If I'm looking at my posts from *Public Preview*, they are still there.  Whew!  But how strange, nonetheless!

7:40 P.M. Continuing Update: Now it appears that the blogs are back even unto my *Private* view.  But I'm not crazy!  I took pics.  Here's how my private calendar looked about an hour ago (white dates indicate no posts!)

And here's how it looks now (blue dates indicate the existence of posts):

8:25 P.M. Continuing Update:

It's back to the blank June calendar (first one) once again!

8:30 P.M. Continuing (and Final!) Update:

I have finally determined that when my *Private* view calendar entries prior to July 2001 are missing, that they are also missing from the *Public* (your) view.

Moreover, all of your (well, at least the 5 random bloggers that I sampled) pre-July 2001 posts are then concurrently missing too.

So it appears to be an on-again/off-again disappearing trick affecting us all. Voila! Now you see us, now you don't.

Xanga's days are numbered!

That's right: one more day left for half-price Premium membership. 

Then what?  Simply full-priced membership? Or will the Xangods publicly reassess their finances?  Are Xanga's days really numbered??

I'd rather think not and have actually turned off my psychic-junkie read on this matter.  I prefer not to speculate at all...

But...the terrorist catastrophe of 9-11 has instilled in me an awakening consideration in all endeavors: contingency, contingency, contingency!

So as you can see above in the header (that is, if your browser is current; if not, you probably see nothing or just blank space), I've gone horizontal...just in case.

But for now, I envision all my current blog-writing energy to remain devoted to Xanga.  I think that I'll use one and/or the other blogs above to re-post old Xanga blogs--maybe even my exact "one year ago" entries in one and curious, other, dated entries in the other.  Then, eventually, all my Xanga posts will have a contingent web presence.

But what if the Internet itself (the soon-to-be World Wireless Web, as a la Al Gore, I have annointed it ) has its days numbered too??

omg, omg,
contingencies, and more contingencies!
must get to work post haste...
for i'm late, i'm late,
for a very important date--
no time to say *hello* -- goodbye!
...i'm late, i'm late, i'm late...

It seems like I have morphed into Everyman.

Is Xanga getting weird?

Or are there more drugs in my food than I previously suspected?

Listen to teeking:

Have any of you been getting someone else's background on your blog?  I have...three times now.  Just a few minutes ago, my screen was filled with my text, yet the background was filled with someone else's picture (like a film negative), with the words, "been through enough" on the picture.  Do I need to email Xanga?  Do I try to find the person who had their pic plastered all over my page here?  Help!!!  After refreshing the page, their background was gone, but mine was blank...white, with a bunch of floating red x's where flowers should be.  Weird.

Have you ever woken up in someone else's dream?

Leaving Xanga.

No one joins just, just to leave and yet...

Some go.  And, to our joy, return. 

And some depart.  And never come back.

Buffalo goes now--under unkind conditions.  By farewell, I've left him this advice:

You need to rage against the predators with fire in your eyes and defiance in your heart.   Your enemies should see you and be sick.  They should faint under the cloak of your shadow--and not for any imagined fluttering prospect of potential lovemaking. 

For a moment, put your physical prowess and appearance aside as aspects of the outward warrior, and look within youself to discover and embrace the indominatable soul-self which once as the "dark knight" so courageously prevailed in worthy causes.  This warrior within must now do for itself, must act on its own behalf, as once it acted to save and shelter others. 

The world badly needs warriors of you prowess and multi-faceted potential.  But all's lost if you alone don't chose your ground, make your stand, and slay all the demons that have gathered around.

For otherwise, the shadowworld will forever, at best, only console you with prizes from the likes of Bozo the Clown.

Go now and read how Eeconomy, our treasured Grace yet Trickster demon, can rip at the heart of goodness.

okay, i'm lost.

                         how do i get out of here?

The Active Life-O what a pity.

That’s a line from the writings of Chuang Tzu, Chinese sage and ever-flowing fountain toadstool.

The current such pity of my life is that I have to work but would rather not.  Yes, I know that sounds peremptorily stereotypical, but in actuality, this, for me, is a most recent development attributable purely to the madness that is Xanga.  For prior to coming on-blog, work obsessed me.  Sixty hours a week was almost underly-distinctive, eighty hours not a blue moon.  And I used to rejoice in the battle-quest of work.  It challenged me to remain indefatigable.  Kept me always in the moment.  Damned death to an unimaginable if not ever-postponable quiescence.  O yes, when I worked beyond mania, even the Grim Reaper felt cheaply scammed for I had stolen the Great Coyote-Trickster’s animus and had coaxed it to sustain me sine qua non laborious, the-word-be-damned.  So active was my life that I didn’t even have the chuangtzuan luxury of contemplating O what a pity, but rejoiced in e.e.cummings observation: “Life is too much being everything to seem anything, catastrophic included.” 

That’s right.  Batteries included.  

Then once upon the fateful day of 12-20-00, the seductress that was Bianca that was Xanga (and anonymously Anonymiss) found me.  And she discovered my Achilles’ weakness, a formerly unidentified yet unquenchable craving to blog.  And remorsely activated it.  Then slurped at it subscribingly, inducingly.   And even when we discovered that Bianca was a farce and that Xangods were predominantly if not exclusively male, and I saw this slight of seduction with its overtinge of femme fatale sexuality to be practically gay, I still succumbed, already smitten.  And from those days onwards, Work, my dear most active goddess Work, has found me a reluctant and sometimes negligent lover.  For blogging, Bianca or Bianca-less,  foremost was To Be. 

And so has Xanga ruined me and shattered my bid for Industrial Immortality.  And all of you, all 500 of my subscribers are partly to blame.  And to think that in midsummer past I had imagined I would retire-renounce-leave upon reaching the 500th subscriber milestone ( roadblock! stigma! infamy! )  Yet here, yesterday, upon that very attainment, this maya— (this—what I’m doing right now!) yet grips me and blog-thirsty I remain. 

Well, I’ll get you yet my little-pretties, just you wait and see.  And your pet eProps, too.

Meanwhile, thanks for all the fish. 

I hate elevators.  They are making me stupid.  Like I get on and I’m going to the *nth* floor and even though the *nth* floor button is already pressed and is clearly the unambiguous destination of the one and only other passenger sentiently standing in the car, my hand compulsively reaches out, nonetheless, to press *nth* again.  As if to indicate to this other person:  *I don’t trust you and I certainly don’t trust the light indicator on that button, so I’m going to press the damn thing myself just to make sure.*  Or maybe: *You pressed this for your nth floor but I haven’t for mine , and certainly if I want to get there, I must press it too, or be forever stranded between floors.*  Lately, I’ve gotten somewhat better and have actually a la Dr. Strangelove arrested in-flight my compulsive-button-pressing hand  with the other, saner one.  But it occurs to me that the whole world is basically divided between single- and multiple-instance button pushers.  And now miserably I’m caught in between.

Yet other things keep occurring making me stupider still.  Like when occasionally I press the wrong floor button on a crowded elevator, I have to decide either to stay dumbly silent hoping in the meantime that someone else will soon get on who will want to get off at the miscued floor—or that coincidentally someone will just get on at that floor—and if not, acting like I don’t have a clue who just farted...Or to ‘fess up right away with a pronouncement of clumsiness and considerately offer to get off at the floor—even though it isn’t my intended one—just so the stop “isn’t wasted. “  And hoping that some others onboard will laugh and help me shrug this off, but dreading someone who might perrtly say “Yes, you should get off.”  because then I’ll surely get belligerent and say “Oh yeah.  Well maybe you should, too.  Or maybe it's just you who should get off.”  which, of course, is usually very stupid since I don’t typically pack my close-quarters elevator brawling weapons on me while many others certainly do.

Sometimes when I get on an elevator alone I forget to press my floor right away and then suddenly, as if possessed by a mind of its own, the elevator starts moving in the other direction.  I was on 5 and I wanted 4 but now its moving towards 6. So I press 6 to get off and reset.  But it’s too late, it’s moving toward 7. So I press 7, too late!  So I press 9, 10, and 11.  But it stops at 8 and somebody gets on who suddenly regresses into the role of unbelieving innocent bystander as they see five buttons pressed and only me onboard.  So I run off on 8 just before the doors close screaming “This elevator is totally psycho.” I’m sure this makes the motionless bystander either feel stupid for getting on an elevator in the first place with someone that they begin to feel they should have judged psycho upon first door-opening impression or stupid for not running off with me as they, too, realize how psychotic and stupid-making  elevators can be.

Oh—and there is the phone call I once got on an elevator phone while riding alone between floors. *ring, ring*  Surprise—a phone!   I opened the wall cupboard and lifted the receiver and said “Hello?”  “Is this the Portland Nuclear Power Plant?” a nervous voice trembled.  OMG, OMG, I thought, *There’s been an explosion!*  I mean, what else to think while boxed in alone on a godless elevator—they make you so paranoid?!  So by necessity of prurient curiosity I said, “Can I help you?” but then immediately regained my bearings and informed the caller that I was in a parking garage elevator in Cleveland OH.  At which point the caller incredulously started gagging and hung-up.  Did I save a life?  Did I waste a life?  I felt so-o-o stupid!

And…and…In the parking garage, for security reasons I usually park my truck on the lonely but highly visible top floor.  But when I return after work at night and get up to the top floor to prepare for my serpentine-winding journey down, everybody congregating at ground level who may have gotten on the single returning elevator after me but gotten off at a still lower floor has a pretty damn good chance of getting in their car and getting to the garage toll both in front of me.  That’s intolerable—I  was here first  (though more distant) !  And I shouldn’t have to wait for them !   So now when I got off at the top floor, I press all of the floor buttons going down so that the elevator must idly stop at every empty floor before reaching the bottom to once again load up the rude horde of competitive parkers.   Consequently, I can now wend and wind  downwards in my truck at a leisurely pace while watching the dumb elevator vomit up emptiness floor by descending floor. 

Damn—wait—I think elevators are finally starting to make me smarter—but evil.

Do I pervert the institution?
Or succumb to its prostitution?

Why do I ask?

Because I don’t get no benign aggression.

So is it Xanex or Xang-ex?

Hey, what’s happened to all the car flags in America?  2 months ago, they were a flaunt—I’d estimate that one out of every 20 to 25 cars had one.  But today, at least here in the Midwest, they seem virtually absent.  I road down the highway to work today and didn’t spot one.  Well, I had previously had one myself but the wind tore it off about 7 weeks ago and I didn’t get around to replacing it.  Is that what’s going on?  They’ve gotten wind-raped and not replaced?  But why then don’t you see them strewn along the road.  Seems just like dead birds or  lost socks, they have a way of mysteriously vanishing, too.

Or is it the cold?  Have peeps taken them down because a lot of the mounts require the window to be kept a crack open and in the Midwest it’s just now too cold?  If that were the case, one would expect the flags on car mounts to be still waving abundantly in the warmer climes of Florida,  California,  the South, and Southwest.  But is that the case? 

Some say they’ve being stolen.  Car-flag theft is endemic, according to them.  Damn, could be the terrorists themselves deflagging us.  Maybe they’re stealing our socks and hiding dead birds, too.  Or maybe it’s just a secret chapter of the Bird Lovers of America who are stealing single socks to bury the dead birds in and are using the missing flags to mark the dead bird sock-coffined graves in the recesses of dark, hidden forests.

Or…have we let our guard, our colors, and enthusiasm down and returned to the gorge of “Consumer America” ?   

Xangex?

Because I can’t get no benignflaming.

Pretzels—the New Anthrax?

 

I can envision it now…terrorists reading that the President nearly died of pretzel “poisoning” and inundating the Congress, the Supreme Court, and national news agency with pouches of huge jagged anonymous pretzels.

 

What’s ironic is that the pretzel historically had a kindly and benevolent origin—good monks making little snacks for wee kiddies:

 

everyone has a pedigree – even the pretzel, the world's oldest snack food.  In fact, you can follow the twists and turns as early as 610 AD at a monastery in Southern France or Northern Italy where monks used scraps of dough and formed them into strips to represent a child's arms folded in prayer. The three holes represented the Christian Trinity. 

 

The monks soft-baked and offered the warm, doughy bribe to children who had memorized their Bible verses and prayers. The monks called it a Pretiola...  (from Sturgis Pretzel history)

 

 

“Ha!  The President nearly dying on the symbol of the Infidel’s unholyTrident!  How apropros! ” snickers Osama from his submarine sanctuary beneath the Artic icecap (well, no one seems to know where Osama really is, so my speculation remains as sound as any.)

 

Actually, the President’s fainting spell was probably not caused directly by the pretzel itself but from the excessive coughing that was induced while choking on the throat-lodged treat.  Excessive coughing is sometimes known to overstimulate (hehe) the Vagus nerve which in turn leads to blood vessel dilations, consequent dizziness, and fainting.  So the fainting was probably really an autonomic vasovagal  response…

 

 

No, no!  Not a Vargas response—damnit—that’s vasoconstriction—the Clinton Presidency!!

 

Anyway,  the President maintains that he must have only passed out for moments or mere minutes since when he revived his dogs were still in the same place he left them—unmoved.  Nice fricking dogs! The President is potentially choking to death and his dogs, couched out like potatoes, look unresponsively and leisurely on.  Time to get a St. Bernard, George.  Or a least a mutt who will come up and lick your face when you’re down!

 

But wait…omg…there is a conspiracy here…

 

Some of you may remember when I almost died choking on rice, though most people who die choking typically do so on bones, here’s the Prez nearly dying on a pretzel...  and once again historically we see:

The pretzel even showed up at Royal weddings. It's speculated that the term “Tying the Knot” originated in Switzerland in 1614 when Royal couples wished for happiness with a pretzel forming the nuptial knot – much like we use a wishbone today.   (from Sturgis Pretzel history)

Weddings—bone wishing, rice tossing, pretzel gripping—“Tying the Knot”

Ack!

(Freudian translation: choking while *Tying the Noose*)

On…

 

Popularity.   I wear it like a bra—which means never.  I’m brazen, braless. bare-chested.  So what if I’m a guy?  I keep my bra in my drawer.

 

Guantanamo Bay.  I didn‘t think of this one, but I think I have figured it out.  Either:  1)  We believe that there are some terrorists so dumb that they would attack whatever country their comrades are being held in.  Hence...terrorists striking at the heart of Castro’s Cuba?  In many pugnacious official minds, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.  Or:  2)  See, these Al Qaeda are escape artists bound to break out of wherever they’re held.  The prison revolt in Mazar-e Sharif and the  Pakastani bus-takeover are but two examples.  And if in Cuba, we let our guard down, maybe, just maybe, some prisoners would escape to the Cuban interior, where we be obliged as a military force to pursue them after Castro, in continuing anti-American rebelliousness, grants them amnesty.  Then it’s just a matter of birding two birds with one stone.  Rumor is there is already a special cell reserved in Guantanamo Bay stocked with Fidel’s favorite brand of cigars.

 

The Future of Xanga.  “But we still need a lot more premium members to keep Xanga running…”   Which means unless they get a LOT more, Xanga will STOP running.  I don’t take this as a threat, but a courteous fore-notice of a world that could be.  Sort of like Scrooge’s Ghost of Christmas Future.

 

 I like the XanGods—they’re more forthright than the likes of the Enron megalomaniac fraudulent execs.   The problem they have here, I think, is that the Basic and Premium Xanga are more alike than different.  Hence, many peeps don’t see Premium as a credible personal economic return.  Some peeps, for sure, have gone Premium purely out of civic-mindedness, i.e., to help keep Xanga afloat.  But it isn’t reasonable to expect the lot of everybody, or even a sufficiently significant minority to do that.  (hell, I’d probably revert to Basic if Xanga wasn’t paying me triple to spotlight it—j.kidding )  

 

So the marketing quest, in my eyes, is to make Basic and Premium more different and Premium significantly preferable without estranging the community.  The best way to do this would be to introduce nifty new features to Xanga  available to Premium only.  But perhaps the Xangod developers are already at the limits of their expansion resources.  Or perhaps master improvisers like seanmeister and wave_function have already rendered certain exclusive upgrade features irrelevant by revealing to us all aspects of the manipulable Xanga matrix.

 

On the other hand, if the Xangods further restrict Basic tools or capabilities in order to make Premium comparatively more attractive, they would surely engender a community  outcry comparable to *Taxation without Representation* or Prohibition or the likely response of the smoking public should the government ever outlaw cigarette production in America.  Many peeps, in disgust over such “downsizing” would likely leave and Xanga’s potential base for further Premium expansion would mortally erode.

 

One restriction I think a lot of peeps might tolerate to Basic that would make Premium relatively more attractive to my eyes would be to allow Basic to show only the very most recent post while maintaining Premium at the five most recent posts or even expanding it back to ten.   After all, there appeared to be no outcry when Xanga cut everybody back to five posts.  Would an egalitarian outcry arise if Xanga, upon the rationale of economy and efficiency, cut only Basic back to one visible post?? 

 

Still I really feel that making Premium more attractive through additional enhancements is greatly preferable to any risk of dissolutive restrictions.  And yet…the future phantom of a graveyard Xanga lingers.

What if…

 

we all became necrophobics—what would life be like?

 

The first instinct of necrcophobia is to avoid  encountering corpses at all cost.  Or upon encountering a corpse, to place the greatest distance possible between it and oneself.

 

Now most of your are probably right now envisioning human corpses.  Have you ever heard of the Body Farm dedicated to the forensic study of human decay?  O perhaps you’ve ventured curiously through the electronic tomes (tombs?) or www.rotten.com  dreading some day that you, too, might be so depicted?

 

So a technologically-astute civilization such as ours that pragmatically embraced necrophobia would first, no doubt, commence a program of launching human corpses into space.  “Expel *the Silence* from the planet,” would be the hardcore rationale.  There’d be no more funerals.  No more burials.  But simply a transport to a launchpad where a deceased body would become the payload for an unreturning launch toward the center of the galaxy. 

 

 

There would almost certainly exist a concomitant poetic justification for this discard.  Launching the corpse into space would be heralded as sending it to “Heaven” or “the heavens,” placing it “beyond the rot of maggots,”  sending it upon “an adventure into the Unknown.”  Yet the driving energy would be to make distance—to put away and get away, leaving only life to celebrate its inhabitation upon Earth.

 

Yet a truer form of necrophobia would not distinguish between the human coprse and that of another species but would find all death equally revolting.  And it is this ultra-necrophobia at the extreme range of reaction that I would like to briefly ponder a moment—for I think that it informs us importantly about the nature of life.

 

The ultra-necrophobic  societal constellation would require that all death be jettisoned as expediently as possible from the trust of the planet.  Not merely human corpses, but all corpses to include even dead plant material would be targeted for clearance.   Innumerable squads of the living would be constantly engaged in scouring the Earth for the identification and removal of the remnants of whatever was once previously alive.  From mummies in museums, to dead trees in forests,  the exhumation of all past buried and unburied remains would become the Grand Unifying Human Project comparable to the 14^th and 15^th century quest to discover the New World,  the 19^th century mania with constructing worldwide canals, or the 20^th century mission to reach the moon.

 

And, yes, there would arise a huge controversy about how to label things “living" or “dead.”  After all, we all need food to live and yet at some point the food we eat must die.  But not necessarily before eating it.  So the utra-necrophic constellation of humankind (yes, reflecting my own biases, I am avoiding calling it “society” or “civilization”) would need to embrace the culinary habit of limiting food consumption to “living food” , i.e, live fish, live meat (whatever that might be), live plants (Well, when does a plant die anyway?  Certainly not immediately after it is picked since many picked plants can revive if reincorporated into the ground.  Is an apple alive before it is picked and dead immediately thereafter? )  And regardless of how fuzzily "alive" appropriate food was labeled, clearly, resultant feces would need to be flushed at efficient escape velocities ever heavenwards.  The Earth eventually, at last, would become relatively corpse-free, manure-free, and vibrantly dominated by life and life alone.

 

Or would it?  Picture a planet that is constantly wasting its waste by shedding it upon the receding solar winds.  Like a wealthy man tossing stacks upon stacks of dollar bills out of a speeding convertible, such a planet would be a pure study of self-exhausting prodigality.  Soils would become impoverished.  Habitats would vanish.  Many key species would become extinct with human life itself becoming an entirely commercial endeavor.  And eventually the insanity of sanitized human life itself would shrivel upon its own cleansed inorganic altars of mere existence.

 

Face it.  On earth, we need death.  It feeds us.  It nurtures us.  Thus as long as we choose to remain uncleanly alive and non-necrophobic,  we must admit, if not proclaim, “Death becomes us.”

 

(by the way, feel free next time you're told to *rake the leaves* or *take out the garbage* to use this alibi )

So what’s the point in taking down the Christmas lights?  I had mine up all year from the prior Christmas and they still worked fine this year too.  So it isn’t a matter of protecting them from the elements.  If anything, too much pulling and handling and dropping and manipulated storing of the lights will cause them to malfunction—not leaving them soundly installed as is.

Well, some people say “but they’re Christmas lights” implying that they should be used only during Christmas and then observantly taken down.  And, of course, the display of “Christmas lights” probably derives from the seasons of both Christian Advent when candles are lit in anticipation of Christmas and Hanukkah when the Menorah candles are lit to signify the occurrence of that holiday.   So there naturally is that seasonal tie-in.   Yet here in the coming spring, the observance of Candlemas is upon us when once again certain celebrants will light candles in windows to signify the return of Spring, the Virgin Mary, whatnot and light.  So why not retain the decorative lights as surrogates of these candles too?

Then again nowadays it seems that a lot of peeps are beginning to display Easter lights and Halloween lights and Thanksgiving lights and you-name-it lights.   And there are certain solemn occasions when we are all asked as a community to turn on our “outdoor light” at night in commemoration of significant events—this coming 9-11 may be such a night/day—wouldn't it be nice if instead of one lonely unnoticeable door light we all had impressive, enriching displays?  And wouldn’t it be highly advantageous, too, to have a display of outdoor lights that flashed wildly if you had to call 911 from home for an emergency—fire or burglar or even attempted murder?  Some car alarm systems use flashing headlights and/or beacons to draw attention to a  triggered alarm, so why shouldn’t our homes automate that too?  And haven’t you ever given an out-of-town acquaintance precise numerical directions to your house, night-obscured address sign and all, but wished instead that you could have simply told them to find the street and then look for the flashing red and green front-of-house display??  And haven’t you ever had a hot date come over at night and wished that you had had cool seductively blue beacons casting a romantically-azure glow up to the anticipated moment of passionate ingress??

So what’s needed is not many different sets of lights that you unknot, put up, take down, and pack in frantic unceremonious procession but an All Season Several Holiday (ASSHOL) Lighting System that can be employed year-round for any imaginable use.  Such displays could consist of miniaturized and encapsulated TFT (thin film transistor) displays customizable into any design or simply strew through a matrix field that could be integrated into and programmed by a computer in your home to display the colors, the intensities, the flashing frequencies (if any) and patterns of lighting best fitted to your immediate requirements or changing moods. 

Damn, this sounds so good that I can’t wait!  So maybe I’ll invent it and be the first ASSHOL on my block to win such cutting-edge acclaim!

I’m just amazed by the wesponses to my wast bwog whewe so many peeps seem to think that I have too much time on my hands. Oh, dat scwewy wabbit! Weawwy fowks, I don’t have any time on my hands at aww, but weaw my watch stwapped to my ankwe thus weaving my hands fwee to bwog incessantwy. Heck, I don’t even have time on my side since I am diametwicawwy opposed to Mick Jaggew’s wewentwess hedonistic induwgences which appawentwy awe undewtaken wif time on his side. Just wemembew:

Time fwies!
Ah—no.
Time stays,
We go.

Now isn't that thought pwovoking!

Weww I have spent aww of 240 seconds wwiting this. Oh, dat scwewy wabbit!  If just twenty peeps spend 30 seconds each weading this, then I win!  I win!  Ha-ha-ha-ha.

I've reached out!  I've made the effort!  I am so dialectically-correct!!!

For the next sixty seconds I am requesting total abstinence from blogging on Xanga.   I want us all to hear the sound of no props popping,  feel the stillness of no blogs clogging, enjoy the bliss of no comments hissing.

Starting….. NOW!

(no, this blog doesn’t count)

Elmer Fudd:

Fow the nest sixty seconds I am weqwesting totaw abstinence fwom bwogging on Xanga. I want us aww to heaw the sound of no pwops popping, feew the stiwwness of no bwogs cwogging, enjoy the bwiss of no comments hissing.

Stawting….. NOW!

(no, this bwog doesn’t count)

Jive:

Fo' de next sixty seconds ah' am requestin' total abstinence fum bloggin' on Xanga. WORD! ah' wants' us all t'hear de sound uh no props poppin', feel de stillness uh no blogs cloggin', enjoy de bliss uh no comments hissin'.

 Startin'….. NOW!

Right on! (no, dis blog duzn’t count)

Redneck:

Fo' th' next sixty seconds ah's requestin' total abstinence fum bloggin' on Xanga. ah's hankerin' us all t'hear th' soun' of no props poppin', feel th' stillness of no blogs cloggin', injoy th' bliss of no comments hissin'.

Startin'….. NOW! Fry mah hide!

(no, this hyar blog doesn’t count)

Hacker:

fro twehh n3xt sixty seconds i am request1nG total abstinence from blogging 0n xanga!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111~~~ ahck hte p7ann3t!!!!!!!!!!! i want uz all to heart The sou||d of no propz popping, feel teh strillness 0f no blogs clogging, enjOy the b7isz of no comm3nts hissing. UR LAM3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!~~~~~
HACK YOUUUUUUU CUZ YOU RE LAME

STARTI||g…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 ... LOLOLOLOLOLOOLLOLOL~ n0w!!!!!!!!!!!~~~~~~~

(no, this bolg Doesn’t cxouNt)

Pig Latin:

Orfay ethay extnay ixtysay econdssay Iyay amyay equestingray otaltay abstinenceyay omfray oggingblay onyay Angaxay. Iyay antway usyay allyay otay earhay ethay oundsay ofyay onay opspray oppingpay, eelfay ethay illnessstay ofyay onay ogsblay oggingclay, enjoyyay ethay issblay ofyay onay ommentscay issinghay.

Artingstay….. OWNAY!

(onay, isthay ogblay oesnday’tay ountcay)

Cockney:

For the next sixty seconds I'm requestin' total abstinence from bloggin' on Xanga, init? I want us all ter hear the sound of no props poppin', feel the chuffin' stillness of no blogs cloggin', enjoy the bliss of no comments 'issin'.

Startin'….. NOW! Right!

(no, this blog doesn’t count)

Moron:

F' de next sixty seconbs I am rekestigg total abstiness from bloggigg on Xanga. I want us all t' hear the, ERRRR, sound of no props poppigg, feel the, ERRRR, stillness of no blogs cloggigg, endgoy de bliss of no commins hissigg.

Startigg….. NOW!

Doihh, COOL! (no, dis blog doesn’t count)

Swedish Chef:

Fur zee next seexty secunds I em reqooesteeng tutel ebsteenence-a frum bluggeeng oon Xunga. I vunt us ell tu heer zee suoond ooff nu prups puppeeng, feel zee steellness ooff nu blugs cluggeeng, injuy zee bleess ooff nu cumments heessing.

Sterteeng….. NOV!

(nu, thees blug duesn’t cuoont)

Although I’m not a cigarette smoker, I’m something of a credentialed statistician (meaning that I know my age in seconds, my mass in calories, and the precise number of teeth in my zipper ) and consider the Canadian Cancer Society’s recent study concerning the effectiveness of highly graphical warning labels on cigarette packages designed to discourage the smoking of cigarettes in Canada deeply meaningful.

Findings:
· 58% of smokers said the graphical portrayals of mouth, lung, brain, and heart disease made them reflect more on health effects.
· 44% said the new warnings improved their motivation to quit smoking.
· 21% of smokers said they decided on at least one occasion not to smoke because of the warnings.
· 27% said they smoked less in the home because of the warnings.

So successful has this Canadian legislative strategy proven that it is just a matter of time before it is adopted worldwide.  Brazil is kicking the program off at the end of this month, the EU (European Union) is making a similar program optional, and the World Health Organization (WHO) is considering incorporating graphic pictorial warnings as a part of an international treaty regulating tobacco trade and sales.   In the US, the issue hasn’t yet been put before Congress, but given the success in Canada it would be bizarre if similar legislation is not considered soon.

But I think we can do better than the Canadians.  Why stop at graphical depictions when we can compel taunting name changes too?  So Marlboro Lights would be obliged to relabel their cigarettes as Charbroiled Lungs, Kool forced to rename their death wraps as Coal, Lucky Strikes would be mandated to become Yucky Strokes, and Camels would, of course, become Chemos.

But why stop with cigarettes?  There are many product lines that are equally deserving of similar rebuke.   So beer bottles could be made to portray pictures of morbid males with bellies about to burst,  handgun manufacturers could be required to only sell handguns with unremovable white grips that appear to be splattered and stained with indelible blood, and car radio receivers could be rigged to turn on (if off) and interrupt broadcasts on all channels with explicit imagery of nationwide deaths and violent accidents on the roads as they happen : “This is a Nationwide Accident Update: In L.A. just moments ago, a baby’s head burst against the windshield as her careless mother slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a stray dog.”   The station then returns to resume the interrupted rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” , but before it finishes…  “This is a Nationwide Accident Update: A woman’s arm appears to have been torn off in a two car wreck with another driver who himself appears to be slumped behind the wheel in apparent cardiac arrest.”

Now if they could only label illegal drugs like marijuana with a warning such as “Hallucinations incurred can permanently delete your sense of reality and/or sanity.”  would we not all be better off yet?

Is it the kiss of death?

 

Or an e-ward for hard work?

 

Neither, it’s…

 

(insert graphic)

 

 

(thank you)

 

Faster than a blinking eProp,

 

More powerful than a puff on locoweed,

 

Able to leap small blogs before tumbling down…

 

“Look—he’s too high!”  “It’s his words…” “He’s insane…” “It’s Dis-my brain…”

5 minutes...5 minutes is all I have online tonight.

And in the last 72 hours I've probably been online all of 10 minutes.

Blogs Written: 0

Comments Left: 0

Leisure Time in the last 3 days: (0 ???)

Work: constant

State of Health: sick, coughing, blah, snotty, argh, phewy, congested, nasal, hoarse, yucky.

Immediate Plan: Resume work after this blog is completed.

Bottom Line: I miss you and I love you!

btw: I'm the birthday boy.

i'm a graduate school professor
until she looks at me
--the honey in the front row--
oh girl, just let me be!

i'm a man of subtle learning
until she begins to smile
and her lavish eyes shine such surprise
and my thoughts feel so defiled.

i wonder: will she be a bright one
and challenge me to match...?
or play so lost and helpless
throwing herself to me to catch?

o baby...what are ya doing here?
don't you know i have to teach?

...how i dream that i'm a lifeguard
and she is drowning at the beach...

Now we know!

Geraldo Rivera, after vigorous investigative reporting, claims that Osama bin Laden is now undoubtedly in Pakistan.

Which now makes the most hated man still in Afghanistan...

Geraldo Rivera !

Life is short...

...and so is this blog.

To answer an inquiry, Yes , I did die of a mysterious ailment back in November of 2001.

 ______ Fishin'

Long ______

______ With The Wind

So I've only been blogging since then--What? It's not like I have a life or anything !

My R.I.P.

If I were born into this world today, perhaps I'd lack heart and soul--at least in any recognizable form.  Even as it is, lady Science once had the best of me as I worshipped her ever unravelling illustrations of ascendantly numinous phenomena.  Like watching fireworks detonate intellectually only on the Fourth of July.

But then I spotted the rabbit's hole.  How curious, I thought, and where does it go?  ...To an underground where some pills make you big and others make you small--and living, if not insane, isn't living at all. 

So what is this world, if not an asylum?  Perhaps, *Earth* should be renamed *Asylum* with the fullness of moons casting us the very best light.

By the way, have you wondered why terrorists didn't strike on Christmas or New Years in America?  After all, if you were a terrorist, wouldn't you have?

I have a feeling the the terrorists aren't planning the way we would, but are awaiting a "go-ahead message from Allah."

Pursuant to foiling that end, I've been energetically posing as a surrogate-Allah and jamming the psychic airwaves with a single message:

"Please drink until you vomit into oblivion."

There are no *resolutions*
Because I know what I must do:
Make many billions of dollars
And screw every girl in school.
Read every word ever written
Devouring all the books on Earth.
Sip vamply on Youth’s Fountain
Regressing agewise towards my birth.
Strike telepathically at Osama
As I stalk his psychic trail.
Drink tea with the Dalai Lama
As we play chess on the Holy Grail.
Swing high overhead Excalibur
riding horseback on the street
just as naked as Lady Godiva
and kissing every girl I meet.
Invent beer without any calories
And put the patent in the public domain.
Dream only thoughts from deep in the heart
Demoting the importance of the brain.
Turn *Economy* into the myth it is
And sing  Gaia’s forgotten songs…
There simply are no *resolutions*
Because I’m righting all the wrongs!