Month: February 2003

  • Precipitative Freezing Fog



     




    Freezing fog, by definition, is not supposed to precipitate but may leave considerable rime or glaze upon formative surfaces.  But today I witnessed a form of freezing fog that resulted not only in some rime formation, but also in the precipitation of the smallest falling particles of snow I've ever seen.  The 'buildup' on the barbed wire above is mainly the result of 'minute motes of snow' settling under gravity.  A slight riming or glazing effect is assisting in the fragile cohesion of this finely-moted snow.


    ...And if I sound like a meteorologist, that's because that was one of my primary specialties while associated with the U.S. Armed Forces.


    Tomorrow's meteorological curiosity: 'Parhelic Sun Dogs' or 'Why Tornadoes Make Me Run' (though if you'd rather hear about Martian Dust Devils, just kindly let me know).

  • Namaste is prophylactically engaged in preventing the premature ejaculation of posts.  I admire his gumption, but my response to him:


    "The 'Eating of Posts' is a sacrficial act of the highest significance in assuaging the blog-hungry Bloggyman and thus preventing him from otherwise creating universal mass blog havoc.  Those that are eaten should feel the honor of rendering a public service to the rest of us!"


    My posts never effuse before their coitus (coiti?) .  That’s because each and every word of one is indelibly engram-ed in my mind and guarded until the precisely ripe moment of their collective, ultimate release.  So premature blogulation is not personally  a major concern of mine.  I am concerned, however, about the premature loss of your  precious comments:


    "oh...by the way, the same goes for comments.  Don't forget: Some comments may be lengthier, more developed, and/or more glowingly intricate than even the blog itself.  Losing that 'special, inspired comment' may constitute the loss of a blogging gem.  Protect your comments!"


        --a public service announcement from Comment Condoms Inc.


    Go forth and blog it!  But please, please, please practice safe commenting!!!

  • In my last post, I said '...all the girls look gooey.' 


    Sorry, that was a typo!


    I meant '...all the girls look GUI.' (techie acronym for 'Graphical User Interface') 


    Ah, yes, but unlike GUI xTools, fortunately or unfortunately, not all of them have a bottom-line button, plainly visible, seductively ordering me to 'Submit'.

  • Desires are tasting yellow today.  And a beer off in the distant future sounds like a fog horn.  The number ‘1’ is a light turquoise that glistens silvery when contemplated from an obtuse angle and golden if the angle is acute.  Time is feeling kind of spongy with seconds oozing in and out of spongy pores when squeezed.  Most peeps I’m encountering are displaying low buzzing auras asymmetrically inclined.  Some of these auras are smelling funny—like toast that has been burnt and then smothered with butter.  Even words themselves are not exempt from synaesthetic torture.  The word (not concept, or actual instance of) ‘torture’ for example, tastes hotly pink and is purring, while the word ‘butter’ screams ‘3’ and tastes (the word, not the actual substance) like a new Barbie doll smells.  The number ‘3’ itself is a bit too bubbly today and, if touched, would taste like gunpowder or talcum powder or maybe just powdery.  While war seems inevitable, inevitability is currently the color of the shadow off of a small weiner dog chasing its tail in the noonday sun.  The sun, of course, is drunk again and feels green and coolly excitable.  Meanwhile, all the girls look gooey.  And sex is an aroma wafting far above my head.

  • Remember the Xangalympics devised to match the Winter Olympics of 2002?  Remember--when the xangocracy  divided all Xanga membership into 10 blogring "teams", purportedly as a game, but in actually what was a thinly-disguised membership contest to recruit new Xangans?


    Well, someone please help me out here: Who won?  And did they ever get their "prize", i.e., lifetime membership?  And wasn't the winning team supposed to get some months of free membership, too?  Did they?


    I don't remember any Xanga news about the prize rewards.  So I just tried to search Xanga on the term 'xangalympics' but the Search engine is broken again.  Does anyone have a clue?  Does anyone even care? hahaha.


    And here's a funny thing: Although most of the Xangalympic blogrings will no longer load because they are too huge (SQL server timeout), a couple of smaller ones still do and show that 'new' blogring members were 'added' as late as 1/22/2003.  So why is Xanga still slotting peeps into "teams" of dysfunctional blogrings?  Also, I thought the new gargantuan server situation could handle 'SQL sever timeout' issues--but apparently not.  Why not?


    Oh, yes, and why does Search keep breaking?  And is, in fact, the sea boiling hot?  And do pigs, indeed, have wings?

  • I’ve just got to post something to prove that I exist.



    Yet, if I haven’t yet posted it, how do I know that I exist?



    And if I don’t know, then imagine I do not.



    And if I do not, then posting as evidence of existence means nothing!



    No hences even arise from this.



    Nothing happens.



    No post.



    No.



    Post!



    Something happens.



    Pretenses to  impossibility fall away.



    And if I do exist, then posting as evidence of existence is everything!



    And even if I don’t know, then I will imagine that I do!



    And since I have already posted, how can I deny that I exist!



    I’ve just got to post something to prove my belief in you.

  • It’s Sunday morning.  No one’s watching.  Time to be myself.  Kneel in the shower, reach beyond the shower curtain, and type whatever comes to mind...


    Damn, the hot water is undulating and scalding my crotch—almost.  But I will forbear since that intensity is better than feeling nothing at all.


    I have just created my own atmosphere.  There’s enough fog in the bathroom for a plane without instrumentation to get lost in.  I wonder if this manifestation of humidity will short out my laptop?


    I am a fucking general.  Really.  But I skipped my calling.  Had a premonition that someday ‘blogging’ would come to earth.  Wanted to be  part of that and not Patton in the sands of Africa.  Or a Gen. Tommy in the sands of Arabia.


    The world’s largest organism weighs 6.600 tons and clones itself over million of years.  I weigh 200 lbs and dream unfulfilled night after night but only for decades more, at most, until the changing of the Form.  Ah, but at least I dream!  And in my dreams, I kill monsters that suck!  But not those types of monsters.  Rather, demon monsters and bloggymen!  And after the changing of the Form, I shall be engaged in killing monsters for real!  This life, I’ve figured out, is only my psychic readying ground.


    One plus one.  I didn’t say “equals”.  If you added this up, good.  If you equated this with another number after adding it up, then you’ve jumped ahead of me.  Bad.  Contemplate ‘one plus one’ without equating it.  Okay?  Good.  Now brainstorm:


    ‘one plus one’  sucks _____ .
    ‘one plus one’  sees _____ .
    ‘one plus one’  craves ______ .
    ‘one plus one’  hates _____ .
    ‘one plus one’  hides _____ .
    “you plus I’ equals ________ .
    ‘what the world needs now’ is ______ .


    Congratulations.  You have just finished your first lesson in Intimate Arithmetic.  Scoring is accomplished on a date-by-date basis.  See the instructor for details.


    *end of shower*

  • These are the times when true romance is born brazen upon the world’s stage.  So why must all behold in wonder as heartfelt emotions are thrashed asunder?


    Zora, the chosen babe on Fox's Joe Chillionaire show recently speculated during a People interview whether two people could forge a bond of true love in the short lapse of a month's time.  And she didn’t hesitate to line up the odds:

    "I am a true believer in possibility," she said. "I never rule out anything. But honestly I think it would be highly unlikely. The chances of it are pretty slim."

    And she sounds dreamy only when describing the French chateau, where Fox filmed the show amid verdant fields and a stable of horses.

    "Oh, I loved those horses," she said. "Being with the horse, the one whose name meant 'Sweetie' in French, I was in heaven," she said. "That's who has my heart. The horse."


      --CNN





    I was just wondering… Could we not now have a show where a common male workhorse is setup to pose as a Kentucky blueblood of unexcelled racing lineage and have him choose from a stable of mares which set of hindquarters he’d most care to mount?  And after the most worthy mare is chosen, could she not fall in love with her stable handler instead who brushed her daily and whispered “nice horsey”?  Ah…the possibilities for true star-crossed species stories!


    I wonder how "Mr. Ed" would have felt about all of this?  But wait!  "Mr. Ed" is ready  to saddle up again:


    According to published reports in Hollywood, plans are under way for a new version of Mister Ed during 2003. Fox reportedly has ordered a pilot for the show, which would feature a hipper, fast-talking horse that should remind viewers of black movie comics such as Eddie Griffin or Chris Tucker. The original, which ran on CBS from 1961-65, featured Alan Young as Wilbur Post, the only human who could hear Mister Ed talk.


     -Mr. Ed News



    Is Fox lining this up or what?  Horse-crossed Zora (the female derivative of 'Zorro' which means 'Fox' in Spanish) as a kinky freak feature trailing into Fox's newest screen rap star, Mr. Ed?


    Oh, but the timing's wrong.  Most wrong.  For you see, 2002 was the Year of the Horse.  2003 now is the Year of the Sheep.  We know that Zora's our foxy "Beauty", but could we please have a more calendarically-correct "Beast"?

  • I feel deeply for Jessica Santillan who has undergone a second heart-lung transplant to correct surgeon James Jaggers’ original wrong blood-type transplant mistake (using type-A organs while Jessica had type-O blood).  But now she has 'complications' which shouldn’t have been unexpected since 'complications' are much more likely in re-transplants. 


    Was it fair for her to go immediately to the top of the transplant list because of the surgeon’s mistake?  Or should some rule of triage have deemed someone else waiting, with a similarly dire need but much better prospects for success, higher on the list than her?


    The issue of such re-transplants has sparked a debate through the years, specifically regarding the fairness of giving organs to a patient for a second time, when other sick people are waiting for their first transplant. Arthur Caplan, who has written extensively on organ transplants and is director of the Center for Bioethics at the University of Pennsylvania, says re-transplants pose ethical questions.


    "When you're trying to rescue someone from death's door and you're doing a repeat transplant, it is well-known that the outcomes are worse [than first transplants]," Caplan said yesterday.


    "From a public policy point of view she should not be at the top of a list for a transplant after the first one failed," he said.


      -Newsday


    And even if she lives and is eventually fine, which I surely hope is the outcome, should the surgeon James Jaggers not be held accountable of wasting organs that would have surely been someone else’s last best chance before sure death?


     I suspect that Duke University Hospital’s inclination is not to hold him accountable, if she survives , since it has already given him a  'second professional chance' in performing Jessica’s transplant a second time.  I sense they want to treat this incident like a dice roll of ‘double or nothing’: "if she lives, you’re the hero-surgeon; but if she dies, it’s your career".

    I feel tragically, in a twilight sense, however, for the very next person who is on the waiting list for those particularly-typed organs (type-A ; there are 199, in all, for all types) that were wasted, and who dies because no organs become timely available.  And I feel that the survivors of that yet unnamed but doomed patient should be allowed to hold this surgeon, James Jaggers, and Duke University Hospital accountable for a grievously bungled, lost chance for their loved one at life.

  • Damn Blogger!  'Random sampling' it has presented me with an unforseen difficulty: there are a helluva lot of blogs in foreign languages.  Spanish, Norwegian, Portugeuse, Polish...even Arabic.


    So far, none of the xanga blogs I've 'sampled' have been in anything but English, yet it appears that somewhere around 20% of Blogger blogs are in a wicked tongue.


    Yet, this is a very important finding (currently, more properly, an unquantified impression) in itself (which I shall later attempt to quantify, i.e., assign a more or less exact percentage to). 


    Why is Blogger more cosmopolitan and xanga comparatively so Anglified? 


    Could it be because xanga feels more like 'a community', and because it's nearly a homogenous 'English-speaking' community, foreign language blogs feel more like 'a minority' and tend to self-deselect from participation?  In that case, if Blogger feels less like 'a community', foreign-language blogs would feel less or no pressure to comply with a language norm and tend not to de-select from participation.


    Or has Blogger just done its legwork to get established in foreign markets thus creating viable self-sustaining interactive foreign language blogs?  And is 'Blogger' becoming a sort of universal 'proprietary eponym' for blogging around the world--like 'Xerox' for copying, 'Thermos' for hot-liquid container, 'Styrofoam' for polystrene foam, etc., (see more Proprietary Eponyms  ) that draws new bloggers around the world to it, by word-of mouth, first?


    In any case...my initial inclination to compare all xanga and Blogger blogs will now be footnoted to indicate that I'm only comparing xanga and Blogger English language blogs while Blogger clearly claims a significantly greater (to yet be specified) foreign-language appeal.


    Okay: enough statistical thinking for now!  Did someone just mention 'beer' at the end of today's workday?

  • ‘The more complex and functional a formal economy within a society, the more dysfunctional the family, and by extension, the society tends to become.’


    I formulated the above proposition on my way walking to work this morning.  It explains, for me, why life in Panama amongst Panamanians seems so much more cordial and becoming than life back here in the States which, by comparison, seems more socially gruff and mean.


    In both types of societies (‘advanced’ and ‘third world’), you benefit and suffer.  But it seems that in the ‘advanced’ economies, you experience greater prosperity while suffering a diminished sense of community.  And in the ‘third world’ you experience a more openly enriched community while suffering from comparatively less prosperity. 


    Oh, it’s possible in either society for any single individual to experience all graduated combinations of prosperity and healthful community.  There’s no inviolable law or rule that deems ‘ all suffer this while enjoying that ’.  But the overall tendencies for the populations, as a whole, hold, I do believe.


    Hence…


    My advice to those who’d rather diss prosperity: Gather up some wealth, all wealth at hand, and replant into a ‘third world’ tropical paradise.


    My advice to those who’d rather diss community: Get your ass to America and thrive.


    But my advice to  either group, regardless of staging: Get a blog, create virtuality,  and keep your dreams alive. 


    (And thusly, blogging, I believe, is another great reason that internet access needs to be made available to everyone in the world who wants it, affordably and without political restraints.)

  • I’m in the process of “collecting raw data”: blog data.  And that’s a strange thing since it puts me in a meta-blog mentality.  I must become the quintessential blogologist and observe the accepted protocol of sampling: obtaining a large enough, representative sample through random collection techniques.   So while on the one hand, I read the random blog I encounter as I normally would, on the other hand, my objective is to capture, in a sense, harvest the blog info for later analysis, for what’s called “data reduction”—and that prior to “statistical analysis”.


    “Capturing” consists of saving the randomly-encountered posts in Word, graphics and all.  I now envision remaining in this “collection mode”  for at least a couple of days. 


    Meanwhile, aside, I will continue with my own blogging and commenting as before.  Even anthropologists, dutifully immersed in a culture to study it, need to take and, hopefully enjoy, their meals.

  • Will Google + Blogger = Goggler?


     


    What’s up with John Hiler’s (xanga's CEO-type) Microcontent News, “The Online Magazine for Weblogs, Webzines, and Personal Publishing” ?  It used to have daily, breaking news from all over the web about blogs, but as of late, the most current news is dated Jan, 20th.  And that is much too old to capture this story:


     


    Google Acquires Blog Software Firm



    Namely, Blogger.

     


    Google, putting money where its portal is, has thus declared that it believes Blogs are BIG Business!


     


    This is a great boost for blogging as a genre, and for the blogosphere as a whole.  But what are the implications for xanga?  Will Blogger become a much better community service and start to outclass xanga?  Will xanga benefit from an overspill of the popularity that Google will bring to Blogger?  And…


     


    ...Can xanga expect its own buyout offer from a business like Yahoo or Overture (which recently acquired Alta-Vista)…or even Geocities (a Yahoo holding) in order to go head-to-head with Google’s enterprising vision for blogging?


     


    John, are you going to sellout if there’s an “offer you can’t refuse” ?


     


    My question is: If Geocities or someone else buys xanga, do they have to make a separate offer to me to include my content under their aegis?  lmao


     


    So…maybe, since Blogger has now taken the “next step” towards blogging revenue generation, I’ll focus the statistical study I envisioned yesterday on the differences between xanga and Blogger.


     


    And, yes, I already have my own Blogger Blogspot.

  • As a distinguished professor of quantitative analysis at graduate level in a public university, I have conveyed to the thirsting student masses glimmering elucidations about all things statistical. 


    I have lately, however, taken a posture most negligently with regards to you, my fellow bloggers, concerning statistical insights about blogging that are quite achievable within the context of acceptable hypothesis testing.


    In other words, I have conceived of a couple of statistical designs to test various hypotheses about blogging (and thereby lend scientific credence to my findings).  And I’m thinking it would be a good and interesting thing to share such findings with all of you.


    Here are a few of the null hypotheses I’m considering testing:


    1) There are no differences between male and female xangans with regards to the readability of their blogs, the grade-level of their blogs, and the topical content of their blogs.


    2) There are no differences between xangans and, let’s say, livejournalists (or blogspotters, etc.)  with regards to the readability of their blogs, the grade-level of their blogs, and the topical content of their blogs.


    My immediate questions to you are these:


    Does any of this sound interesting to you?  Would you be interested in the results?


    If the results didn’t ‘favor’ your group membership, would you take offense?


    Are there any other aspects of comparison that occur to you that might be tested statistically which you would like to see?


    One tool I’m considering employing is the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level Test used to assess the ‘grade level’ at which a composition is written and directed.  The generally held belief is that individuals are typically ‘comfortable’ reading something written 2 grade levels below their actual highest-attained educational level.


    By example, the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level of this and my immediately previous blog were both 12.0 (that’s rather high!) and the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level of all of the Inaugural Addresses of all US Presidents is here.


    So…watcha all thing?!

  • What if...the U.S. went to sleep and never woke up...


    CNN—Washington  Two days after declaring that it would win any nuclear conflict with the U.S. thanks to Pyongyang's "army-first" political system, North Korea, indeed, proved apparently victorious by launching an undetected preemptive nuclear strike on the East Coast of the United States.  Pointing to the fallout of “nuclear winter” that has beset and besieged the entire coastline and shutdown all activity in Washington D.C. for two days in a row, Kim Jong II declared that the dialectical alliance of ‘Old Man Winter’ with the communist vanguard is a testimony to superior, humane North Korean weapons technology that can instill “nuclear winter” without catastrophic detonations or any detectable radioactive waste.  No word from Washington yet, though it has been reported that the President’s dog is peeing on the Lincoln Room carpet rather than venturing even a single  treacherous step out into Pyongyang’s brave new fluffy world.


    AP Wire News  In a stunning long-awaited conclusion, Saddam (Joe Camel) Billionaire revealed on primetime international television last night that he really doesn’t have “billions of dollars” or “tons of weapons of mass destruction” but that it was all a white lie that he—(and a TV news producer)—fomented just to see if the world would really love him for “who I am”—a Baghdad bookie—and not for what he purportedly “had” or “has”.  French President Jacques Chirac, while initially pouting with sullen disbelief, rebounded quickly and smilingly to welcome Saddam into the Brotherhood of Nations.  Furthermore, Chirac presented Saddam with token offerings of a cheque for $1 million dollars and a million gallons of VX nerve gas disguised as bottles of Perrier just so “he wouldn’t feel left out as a real world player” on account of his previously secretive, but now revealed, staturely-challenged celebrity status.  Opportunistic offers of political marriage to Saddam are now pouring in to Fox TV (what do they have to do with this?), and even German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder is admitting that he has long harbored delusional fantasies of “going down” with Saddam “anywhere, anytime”.

  • I’m going to keep the groupboard attached to my blog.  It’s my graphical concomitant to blog-type verbal interaction.  I’m finding that I’ve taken a more serious interest in drawing and rendering since I’ve had it up and I may, just may, start out the morning with a new drawing everyday.  But I’ve a decision to make: should I embed it into the xanga page in the top header—or should I leave it as is as a separate pop-up? 


     


    interesting sidenote:  I've had some indication from bloggers who never leave comments (anymore)  leaving a freehand message on the board.  Perhaps free-spirits just like to float free?


     


    overnote: It's 2:20 p.m. EST and the GroupBoard servers are down!  I've done and gone jinxed them!  Actually, they were moving the servers yesterday to a new provider and were supposed to be down for a 'little while' just yesterday.   Sound familiar? -I wonder if they are housing with the same folks as xanga?!


     


    But actually, I had server problems myself this weekend.  I had to reconfigure both my webcam and greymatter blog (both in sidebar) which are served from my own PC after a power outage on Saturday.  The only thing that sucks more than power is the pitiful lack of it.

  • Transcending Pestilence


     


    ‘War’ and ‘Antiwar’ are a duality.  They are dueling banjos and feed upon each other.  Some would claim the ‘antiwar rallies’ are a demonstration for peace.  But that isn’t the case.  Yes, the intentions of many participating are to promote peace, but the effect of such rallies is essentially political.  And in such heightened times, with war as an extension of politics, and politics as a spokesman for war, ‘antiwar protests’ become as much instruments of political jockeying to thrash an ‘enemy’ amidst all the commotion  as ‘antimatter’ is used to destroy matter, as ‘anti-missiles’ are used to counter missiles, as a ‘scratch’ is used to soothe an itch.


     


    Yet, if the ‘itch’ is a mosquito bite, the ‘scratch’ is not a true solution but a complication.  The commonly-envisioned ‘effective solution’ to a mosquito bite is to get rid of the mosquito that’s doing the biting—or not go out, but hide in one’s house hoping that the mosquito doesn’t get in.  Saddam is such a mosquito—by his own militaristic self-definition.  He’s a West Niles virus/anthrax/smallpox mosquito all rolled into one.  Shall we, like ‘antiwar’ protesters, scratch the first bite in order to soothe the itch and hope the mosquito doesn’t bite again?  Or shall we spray the mosquito out of existence?  Or shall we send out more inspectors in the hope of eliminating the watering holes where the mosquitoes breed?  Yeah, eliminating the breeding ponds—that really worked to prevent the epidemic of West Nile mosquitoes in the U.S. last year.


     


    Beyond the duality of ‘war’ and ‘antiwar’ is Peace.  But Peace is not a political protest used to serve special interests in a conflict that is hotly brewing, if not already raging.  Peace is a singularity that emanates from within.  Peace is a personal cleansing that transforms the world, soul by soul, with a heightened awareness of all as ‘Self’.  There are some people who go about life unflinchingly and never get bit by a mosquito—even while others are getting ravaged by them.  Perhaps these individuals are so cleansed within that mosquitoes intuitively sense that their blood is ‘bad food’ and avoid them?  Or, perhaps, they have found a way of exhaling each breath into the world in a manner that doesn’t allow a mosquito to follow the carbon dioxide as a trail back to them?  I’d like to know.  I’d like to know that way of Peace and dispense with ‘scratching’ and anti-mosquito arsenals.  But if I fail in this quest for Peace’s elixir, I suppose I’ll swat and spray and repel—and scratch afterwards, if necessary.

  • darkside valentine


    more than a word, but less than a poem:
    i don’t know what to say
    I feel intimacy fleeting, losing its sway
    suffocated with silence and non-response
    or responses misunderstood
    whatever was our friendship supposed to be?
    to me that pattern's plain:
    the talk, the openness,
    the intimacy indulged (or overindulged?),
    and then the fading away.
    and never anyone’s to blame.
    the pattern’s not with you
    -(or the one before)-
    it was a template born with me,
    the cost of my psychic disposition.
    my eyes get plucked out daily
    as the charge for my read on humanity,
    as the price of my seething in-touchfulness.
    yet forever it seems am i born again anew,
    in a morning of sunrises to see again
    that the world has once more repeated itself
    and i've lost another friend.

  • “This is 9-1-1, may I help you?”
    “I need a bambulance.”
    “Sir, did you say you need an ambulance?”
    “Damn right I’m in a motherfucking phone booth and I need a bambulance.”
    ”Do you want to tell me what happened?”
    “Well, let me tell you.  I was just driving down the road minding my own motherfuckin business when a terrorist jumped out right in front of my car and screamin and I hit em.  This motherfuckin terrorist jumped out right in front of my car and I hit em and checked to see if he was dead. He was dead OK so I picked him up and put him in the back seat of my car and kept on driving.  But the motherfuckin terrorist woke up and bit me on the neck.  He bit me on the neck and started kicking and dented up my whole car and kicked me in the head.  And I need a bambulance now!
    “Sir, are you hurt?”
    “Damn right I’m hurt.  The motherfuckin terrorist bit me on the neck!”
    “OK, sir, where are you currently situated?”
    “I’m in a motherfuckin phone booth.  I’m in a motherfuckin phone booth outside a Stop-n-Go.”
    ”Well sir, we don’t have any ambulances to dispatch at the moment.  There’s been a general outbreak of terrorists leaping in front of cars, we’re completely swamped with calls, and no response units are currently available.”
    “But I need a goddam bambulance—what am I gonna do?”
    ”Sir, we advise that you go into the Stop-n-Shop and purchase some duct tape and plastic sheeting.  Or if they don’t have plastic sheeting, Saran Wrap.”
    “Duck tape?  I wasn’t bit by no motherfuckin duck—I was bit by a terrorist.  What am I going to do with duck tape?”
    ”Sir, we are advising citizens under attack to wrap themselves in the plastic and seal it all up airtight with the duct tape.”
    ”Motherfuckin what?  That’s a body bag!  You want me to seal myself inside an airtight body bag? “
    “That’s correct, sir.”
    “What the motherfuckin for?”
    “Sir, so that when we do finally respond and recover your body, our medics will be at no risk from handling your contaminated corpse.”
    “That’s motherfuckin insane—just send the goddam bambulance—now!



    Did you know…


    Blue duct tape works better against chemical attacks.  While yellow duct tape is optimized for biological attacks.  Double-sealing with both blue and yellow tape achieves two-prong protection!


    Did you realize…


    That plastic sheeting is manufactured from petroleum and urging the public to mass-purchase it further increase our dependence on foreign oil!


    Have you wondered…


    Why the government hasn’t produced a short instructional film on how to deploy plastic sheeting and duct tape?  (It would be so pathetic, we’d all laugh!)


    How you can breathe without eventual suffocation inside a perfectly-sealed, duct-taped, plastic-lined room?  And if it isn’t perfectly-sealed, but allows for air intake, what good is it since chemical and biological agents will enter with the air?


    Would you buy…


    A 10’ by 10’ by 7’ high giant durable plastic cube that could be entered and sealed airtight from within?  And how many friend and family members would you invite in, in an emergency?  And what’s going to happen when someone has to take a serious shit?  (I can see the headlines now: “Terrorist Chemical Bomb Duds Out, But Plastic Cube-sealed Family Suffocates In Self-produced Flatulent Toxins.”


    Can’t you just hear it now…


    1st observer: “Terrorist: incoming!”
    2nd observer: “Duct!”

  • He gazed up at the enormous sky. Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden behind the cold, dark clouds. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving, freezing breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Winter.


  • Well,could the 'groupboard' be catching on?


    At least one other xangan, krapxdivad , has already implemented it and several others have shown 'coding' interest.  I prefer just the drawing board, but it also comes with an equally easily implementable chat and game module.


    In the long run, my belief is that chat and games will remain diversively aside to blogging, but that greater strides into a merger of the word, picture, and sound await the upcoming wireless blogosphere.


    ...now back to work.

  • Now here's something interesting (above): an interactive drawing board  that allows for "real-time" graphical interactions. Basically, it's a type of 'whiteboard' that works with xanga!  Two or more xangans, on simultaneously, could theoretically collaborate together. 

    Anyone interested in working on a sketch for world peace?


    ps: I am periodically disallowing the 'Clear' function but have permitted both the 'Save' and "Load' functions.  So if you contribute and want your work 'saved', go for it.  But be aware that someone else may 'load'--or even occasionally--'clear' an unsaved session at any unannounced time!


    oh, and check out the gallery


    Interested in your own?  Go to: www.groupboard.com

  • Sunning in the Cemetery: After a Winter Run

  • Don't Ask, Don't Tell



    I observed these headless mannequins in apparent bondage while passing down a fairly deserted alley directly behind a gay bar Friday night.  The damned thing was, that from my initial viewpoint somewhat more afar, I saw 'bodies' but couldn't tell what the hell.  ..."Don't Tell."

  • Interact above...or watch the flow of interaction here .

  • Is Xanga a dirty word??


    It is.  In almost all languages.  It has just been suppressed insidiously by taboo.  For the longest time.  The medieval Popes knew.  And insured its obscurity with the Crusades.  The Shakers knew.  And insured its murkiness with their extinction.  Atlantis knew.  And took the impropriety along with it to the bottom of the ocean. The Dalai Lama knows.  But only smiles when he thinks about it.  But just listen, the archetypal pattern is still ingrained in our latent human cerebral protoplasm:


    The xanging bastards who conspired to turn this xanging word 'xang' into a taboo were real xangholes.  To them I say: Xang you, motherxangers!  You can suck my xang!  O, yeah, they tried to stick it up our xang and create an ugly, xanging mess, those son of a xangs!  But they didn’t realize who the xang someday they’d be dealing with.  Xanging right, you xangsuckers!  We are the resurrect!  We are taking you head on! We are Xanga and we shall xang until the xanging end of time!


    I used to just say 'fuck it' or 'fuck her' or fuck him' when I got in a foul, defiling mood.  Well, I didn't 'fuck him' often, but fucking her made a lot of sense.  But I'd rather now just xang her, yeah, I think I'll just xang the world from here on out...

  • Creation by Merit of Destruction



    That’s really what blogging’s about.  Exhaling so as to be able to inhale again.  Posting new, ever-newer-new and pushing the old into seldom-read archives. Hold your breath too long while breathing and you’ll turn blue.  Hold onto "today's" posts too long while blogging and the blog grows moribund.

    Yesterday, lovingmy40s was searching for the elements that sustain the soul.  And for a writer, she suggested, the words that are writ are paramount in such sustenance.  But from a blogging perspective, given the quick-fade dynamic that governs less-than-current content, what’s 'writ' is doomed quite soon to an archive’s dusty death.  It’s the act of writing—active writing—that tractor-beams us alive and robust in the now of eternal blogness.


    Here was my comment:


    Is it what's writ--or the (act of) writing?  Is it the timeless preservation of the word--or the fleeting moment of its initial issuance that propels the writer into orgasmic orbit?

    If I write a poem in the sand on a beach and watch the waves scour it away, do I celebrate or cry?

    And what is the timestamp on a blog but an implicit effacement washed over by the waves of Cron?

    In his 1950s book, Captialism, Socialism, and Democracy, the economist Joseph Schumpeter coined the phrase “creative destruction,” describing capitalism as a system “that incessantly revolutionizes the economic structure from within, incessantly destroying the old one, incessantly creating a new one.”  The strength of capitalism. in his view, was not in a “rigid pattern of invariant conditions,” but in its “process of creative destruction,” in its continual change.

    As a blogonomist, I’m here suggesting that we ought to extend Schumpeter’s vision of creative destruction to explain the dynamics of blogging and old posts’ obsolescence.

    There is, however, a countervailing dynamic in the blogosphere that appears to allow for a partial reintroduction of a more conservatory trend.  Namely, that not only are blogs creatively destroyed, but it appears, in the long run, so are subscribers, too.  New bloggers as new subscribers may constantly infuse one’s readership even as a good chunk of old subscribers get lost (quit blogging, stop actively commenting, or move into different blogging circles).  Of course, some ‘old’ subscribers may cling loyally forever.  But I’ve seen enough come and go, come and go....  So many, in fact, that it becomes plausible for me to go back to an excellent and still timelessly relevant post of a year or so ago, compare the list of my subscribers who commented then with those who are commenting now, and come to the reasonable conclusion, that re-posting the old post would be seen by most current readers, by merit of their own newness , as a new, creatively destructive issuance.
     
    So though blogging, by its first dynamic, dooms less-than-current content to an archive’s dusty death, a large turnover in readership allows for rebirth through selective archival re-issuances.  So, perhaps, what is ‘writ’ and was ‘writ’ can yet celebrate a repetitive ‘blogday’, so to speak, much as we’re all born but once and yet observe ours and others’ re-occurring birthdays quite without ennui. 

    In fact, it’s not inconceivable that if one could amass 365 ‘excellent, timeless posts’ that one could simply recycle them year upon year, while allowing a largely ever-changing readership to take a ride and catch a thrill on that multi-faceted merry-go-round.

    Still..I enjoy the notion of writing poems in the sand, of allowing destruction to provide me with a new opportunity for creation.  So while I’ll repost occasionally, and without designating it a 'repost' , just to fill a void (less so in a calendar and more so in my creativity), count mostly on me to die anew each day that I post a blog with thoughts that are newborn yet destined for Doom.

  • There are times when women leave my life en masse.  Not just this one, or that one.  But all the women with whom I’ve developed some form of relationship.  And all with amazing synchronicity.  It’s funny because I’m pretty sure that each one individually sees only herself ‘withdrawing’—each sees only her own diminishment of relationship with me.  But they don’t see what I see: each of them as  a 'self' but also as an aspect of femininity.  And, cosmically, all of them as the summation of femininity, perhaps Goddess herself, concomitantly soaring away upon a changed air current. 


     


    At such moments, I am non-judgmental.  Though to me it collectively appears prima facie  as a fundamental shift in the dynamics of how I’m being treated,  I’m neither paranoid nor inclined to suspect a cosmic conspiracy.  Rather, I find myself in awe of such patterned synchronicity, and recognize, most importantly, that it is I  who have disappeared from the feminine radar just as certain as 'radio contact' was lost with the gliding spacecraft Columbia. 


     


    I know I 'disappear' at times.  But unlike Columbia, I’m not disintegrating and crashing, but rather flying below the radar and just above the treetops—more like a Columbian drug runner skirting detection.  But this disappearance isn’t necessarily physical, or communicative, or social—but more precisely psychic .  I often soar and roar at psychic heights but there are times…there are times…. 


     


    I’m looking down from just above the jungle’s 3rd canopy upon a being—myself, in fact, who’s looking up at me.  I’m a flyby witnessing myself alone amidst endless wilderness, falling to earth without further loss of altitude.  But how could that be?  How could I possibly forge myself into such endless solitude given the gregarious life I lead?  And if this isn’t something I’ve electively chosen, why has the grip of descent thus embraced me?  Could it be by such forced maneuvering that Fate or the Fates protect me (from?...enemies?) ?


     


    I can see the monkeys playing in the trees now.  And I hear them screeching primordially. Ah—they’re screeching at me!  Hey, I’m within their threshold of the liminal.  And their screeching tells me that unto Nature itself I yet relate, albeit mysteriously.  So I will hold my altitude (do I have a choice?)—until the grip of ascent re-embraces me.


     


    Some say this is a ‘bird’s eye view’, but these are wolfen eyes that see the shifting of thresholds and the en masse mysterious distancing of the Feminine.



  • Above or here is the time-sequenced version of the graphical blog posted a few days ago.  This board is now 'closed' for it has reached its maximum stroke count.


    Though we xangans contributed heavily to this experiment, we were not the sole contributors--clearly there were non-xangans contributing mischief.


    What was most interesting to me about this was the wavering balance between creation/contribution and destruction/deletion: some particpants made love, some made war.  Yet it seemed, once into it, for some new creation to proceed, some destruction became implicit.


    A small plot arose over the graphic depiction of a horse that was rendered by our own woodnymph in the upper right corner.  Would it survive the onslaught of the mongol overwriters?  Would the (anonymous) self-appointed protecting hero prevail in sheltering it?


    Could such a 'graphical blog' in the future become an adjunct to the written blog?  Might it even be preferred to the written word for blogging by some?


    This innovation, by the way, is being developed by Paul Schmidinger for possible use as his degree dissertation at www.eigelb.at

  • *blog inspired today while running 3 miles in the 'cemetery of tomorrow' on my lunch hour*


    Sometimes is seems that all that is precious is life--simple, raw, and unpretentious life.  And that the pursuit of glazing pleasure is, at best, exceedingly elusive, if not downright illusionary.


    *end of run-inspired blog*

  • This blog is for Bush


    George, do you want to vicariously experience the final incinerative moments of Saddam? Would it help to envision the visage of Saddam burning in Hell? Do you have an urge to sanify and sanitize civilization with a few simple clicks of a mouse?


    *click* *click*


    (yes, you, on the click above)


    Hey, baby, I'm your handyman.

  • The space shuttle Columbia just fell out of the sky like a falling star...somewhere over the Lone Star State.  I pray that no one on the ground has been hurt by the debris.


    God bless the brave crew who lived and worked...and died...together.


    (a small reflection appended later:)


    Let's remember them nobly and take to heart the fact that even the most gloriously-envisioned 'missions' are always with risk and liable of going tragically wrong.  And that would also include military 'missions' such as are being currently developed with regards to Saddam in Iraq.

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