Writing About Being Wrong

I’ve never really seriously taken into consideration that I might, someday, write a non-fiction book. Humor, perhaps. But a screed/diatribe/exposition on one subject? I don’t think I’d have the patience – or expertise enough in one subject – for that. But I’m close to changing my mind. The subject? Why and how I just changed my mind. OPINION.

Since you have to have a “BOLD TITLE: Followed by a colon and some quip or pithy summary,” I think I’ll call it “WRONG! OR AM I?: How Hard it is to Change your Opinion… Or is it?”

I guess I could work on that. I heard a snippet from a podcast, probably “The Skeptic’s Guide to the Universe,” remarking upon how when you confront people about an instance in which they changed their minds about something, they say, “Sure!” but when you ask for an example, they say, “Uh… uh.. hold on.” Nothing comes immediately to mind. But eventually, they think of something. Any mature and reasonable human can eventually call to mind a subject on which they changed their opinion.

But why is it difficult to recall that right away? Because it’s a process. If you can recall an issue in which you reversed yourself, it’s highly unlikely you can think of that ONE MOMENT in which you suddenly decided, “OK, I guess tomatos are fruit,” or “I give up, I guess Pluto’s not really a real planet.” No. It’s a gradual process. You learn and you evolve over time. Facts and evidence chip away at your opinion. You may have a moment someday, when you haven’t thought of something in a while, and realize that your mind has changed on it. But the revelation didn’t occur all at once – the realization may have, but the actual reversal didn’t.

But I have to delve deeper. Why does it take so much for us to change our minds? Presupposing, of course, that the issue is not borderline or personal. Say it’s something that is obvious to most people; there is overwhelming evidence, and it’s in front of us every day. I’ll go for the obvious, Climate Change. Why do so many insist on its lack of existence when there is no way they are right? Do they know it and they just cannot humble themselves and accept the evidence? Or is it merely a cynical stance that supports their broader political ethos?

Take the internet, the main place we see gatherings of opinion these days. It’s such an immediate medium. You can’t possibly convince someone with an opposing viewpoint to come over to your side. At least not quickly enough to satisfy anyone. Ideas have to seep in over time by osmosis, percolate, and soften the hard edges of a person’s opinion. The concrete fortress of people’s opinions have to be made malleable over time, until (what are hopefully) facts can wedge their way in.

Look at your friends on Facebook. Can you remember anyone convincing anyone else of anything substantive? And the pointless, childish, futile insult-fests in the comment sections of articles and blog posts. How much effort at one-up-manship and needless rage happens in dark rooms across America and the world, with anonymous people verbally abusing each other? And for what? Fun? For some people, it’s fun, I suppose. It’s hard to account for taste sometimes.

Why is it so difficult to say “OK, I guess I was wrong?” Well, I believe it’s a combination of things. Pride in being right. Fear of embarrasment in admitting error. Sheepishness in validating the fact that you’re not the smartest one on every subject. But it’s deeper than just that, I think. On a fundamental level, if we are proven wrong about something, do we believe that the person or people who proved us wrong are BETTER than us? Smarter, more tolerant, more insightful? Or, depending on our level of personal insecurity, that they are perceived by others to be superior to us? It’s an interesting question. Or maybe it’s not. Hell, I could be wrong.

I’ve been wrong before. It just took me a long time to figure it out.


Welcome to the website and blog of the author of “Bernie and the Deconstruction!”

The Real State of the Union

Mr. Speaker, Vice President Cheney, Members of Congress, Members of the Supreme Court and diplomatic corps, distinguished guests, my dear, dear lobbyists, bumbling cronies, shameless sycophants, soulless corporate sponsors, and… uh… Oh, yeah, and fellow citizens:

Today our Nation lost a beloved, graceful, courageous woman who called America to its founding ideals and carried on a noble dream, which we continue to do our best to delay and destroy at every turn. We are nothing if not diligent. I shall now shamelessly exploit her memory. Tonight we are comforted by the hope of a glad reunion with the husband who was taken from her so long ago, and we are grateful for the good life of Coretta Scott King, even though she made the continued abuse and neglect of minorities more difficult for us rich white guys. Now that I have the obligatory homage that shows me as a “compassionate conquistador”, I mean, “conservative,” over with, let’s get down to business.

Each time I am invited to this rostrum, I am humbled by the privilege, and mindful of the history we have seen together, although I have no idea what a rostrum is – ain’t that what they call that pimple on my ass?. We have gathered under this Capitol dome in moments of national mourning and national achievement, and of course, these monumental national bullshit sessions. We have served America through one of the most consequential periods of our history – and it has been my honor to serve with you. And it will be my continuing honor to rape the once-glorious environment of America, steal from the poor to give to the rich, disrespect our allies, murder the English language, pummel the rules of courtesy, mangle the tenets of tact, create awkward moments out of thin air, make an art of miscommunication, destroy thousands of lives by proxy for no good reason, and fall off my bike and choke on a pretzel every once in a while for good measure.

In a system of two parties, two chambers, and two elected branches, there will always be differences and debate, but we are always right and the other side is always wrong. But even tough debates can be conducted in a civil tone, and our differences cannot be allowed to harden into anger, so when I say your mother is a filthy whore who blows bums for kicks, I mean it in the best possible way. To confront the great issues before us, we must act in a spirit of good will and respect for one another – and I will do my part, especially to make underhanded and snide comments in an arrogant tone, accompanied by an infuriating smirk. Tonight the state of our Union is strong – and together we will make it stronger. And if you buy this bullshit, you’re stupider than I thought, and stupider than me, even though you did elect me, which makes you not too smart in the first place.

In this decisive year (unlike every other year, which are all indecisive, waffling flip-floppers), you and I will make choices that determine both the future and the character of our country. Well, I will make the choices and you will have no choice but to do what I say. After all, I am God-general of the Universe. I’m not? Well, Emperor of the Solar System. No? OK, King of North America, then. We will choose to act confidently in pursuing the enemies of freedom – or retreat from our duties in the hope of an easier life, letting Cheney and Rove run things while we take 5-week vacations at a fake ranch. We will choose to build our prosperity by leading the world economy – or shut ourselves off from trade and opportunity, which we are doing handily, I might say, by alienating everyone with our glib remarks and staccato jibes in an exaggerated Southern accent. In a complex and challenging time, the road of isolationism and protectionism may seem broad and inviting – yet it ends in danger and decline. But not for us, ‘cuz we don’t need no one. You wanna fight? Bring ‘em on! The only way to protect our people (at least those in gated communities) … the only way to secure the peace (when it suits us)… the only way to control our destiny is by our leadership and an occasional pre-emptive war – so the United States of America will continue to lead. Lead to where, I have no idea, Dick and Karl haven’t told me yet.

Abroad, our Nation is committed to an historic, long-term goal – we seek dominion over all lands that happen to contain the oil that is rightfully ours. Oh, that’s not a legitimate reason? Then we seek the end of tyranny in our world, or at least in places in which it’s advantageous to us. Some want to begin right here. Some dismiss that goal as misguided idealism. In reality, the future security of America depends on it. Now, on to the fear factor. On September 11th, 2001, we found that problems originating in a failed and oppressive state seven thousand miles away could bring murder and destruction to our country (we found no need to analyze the numerous failings of our own systems, that’s for those liberal wussies). Dictatorships shelter terrorists, feed resentment and radicalism, and seek weapons of mass destruction. Democracies replace resentment with hope, respect the rights of their citizens and their neighbors, and join the fight against terror. Every step toward freedom in the world makes our country safer, and so we will act boldly in freedom’’s cause. Without a trace of irony, for we are incapable of it, we believe that a “Peace or I’ll Kill You” policy will foster utopian governments across the globe. As long as we’re in charge and Halliburton gets the revenue that is its due.

Far from being a hopeless dream, the advance of freedom is the great story of our time (pay no attention to the way my government attacks the freedom of our own citizens; blatant hypocrisy is the luxury of power). In 1945, there were about two dozen lonely democracies on Earth. Today, there are 122. And we are writing a new chapter in the story of self-government – with women lining up to vote in Afghanistan after a long, hard day harvesting poppy to be made into heroin for export… and millions of Iraqis marking their liberty with purple ink before going out to be blown up by their fellow citizens or being captured and tortured by ours… and men and women from Lebanon to Egypt debating the rights of individuals and the necessity of freedom before dismissing them and the Great Satan of America in a frothing Allah frenzy. At the start of 2006, more than half the people of our world live in democratic nations. And we do not forget the other half – in places like Syria, Burma, Zimbabwe, North Korea, and Iran – because the demands of justice, and the peace of this world, require their freedom as well. Well, OK, we don’t forget them only when it suits our purpose. By the way, where the hell is Zimbabwe? Do we need to add them to the Axis of evil, or just the List of the Slightly Disagreeable?

No one can deny the success of freedom, but some men rage and fight against it (some that do are foolish puppets, like myself, or evil manipulators, like my dear friends Dick and Karl). And one of the main sources of reaction and opposition is Christian Fundamentalism – uh – I meant to say, radical Islam – the perversion by a few of a noble faith into an ideology of terror and death. Terrorists like bin Laden are serious about mass murder – and all of us must take their declared intentions seriously while also using their deeds shamelessly for political gain, over and over and over again. They seek to impose a heartless system of totalitarian control throughout the Middle East, and arm themselves with weapons of mass murder, just as we seek to do here in the United States. But don’t tell anybody, hush hush. Their aim is to seize power in Iraq, and use it as a safe haven to launch attacks against America and the world. The fact that they wouldn’t be there in the first place, if not for us, does not compute in the Orwellian maelstrom of greed, fear, and lies we have created and nurture with obstinate gracelessness. Lacking the military strength to challenge us directly, the terrorists have chosen the weapon of fear. Just in case you forgot. Fear, fear, FEAR! When they murder children at a school in Beslan (support us or children will die) … or blow up commuters in London (no one is safe)… or behead a bound captive (YOU could be next) … the terrorists hope these horrors will break our will, allowing the violent to inherit the Earth from us, those without scruples. But they have miscalculated: We love our freedom, and we will fight to keep it, at least for those who make a minimum of $200k a year.

And it goes on and on and on…

Fates Warning – Darkness in a Different Light

I grew up in Germany as an army brat and reveled in metal, mainstream and underground. I have no idea when or where or why I picked up Night On Bröcken but I vaguely remember nights of candles in my basement room, worshipping at the altar of Damnation and the others. That album was in regular rotation for me, along with others like Powerslave, Hail to England, Ride the Lightning, Battle Cry, Honour and Blood, among many others. I somehow missed the next two FWs and picked them up again at No Exit before college. I could write volumes on that stellar work alone, but how perfect were Silent Cries and Daylight Dreamers (along with unhealthy doses of Operation:Mindcrime) for your typical angst-ridden teenage metalhead? Thunderous riffing, pounding drums, intelligent lyrics, wailing singing, interludes of quiet grace… perfect recipes for a rebellious teen introvert who had no idea what he wanted to be.

I still don’t, but I know that FW replaced Maiden as my all-time favorites back in the early 90s and have remained there ever since.

(I left Spectre and Awaken alone until the late 80s/early 90s, consuming them like the delicious morsels I knew they would be…)

Perfect Symmetry became my favorite. After that, though I didn’t much care for the more commercial direction, I understood it, and eventually understood the mastery of Parallels. Inside Out is one that I did not like at all at the time, but grew to love, though I still rank it toward the bottom of their work.

A Pleasant Shade of Gray destroyed my expectations. Each time, it seemed, I heard one of my bands coming out with a concept album, I groaned. Mindcrime, Seventh Son, now this. Each time I was pleasantly surprised, even blown away. This time? Destroyed. In a good way. You need patience to realize how much of a masterpiece APSoG is, and if you don’t yet know it, I won’t be able to convince you.

Disconnected and FWX were by comparison disappointing, but how can you live up to APSoG? Again, both works have grown on me.

And now, Darkness in a Different Light. All in all, like every new FW I can remember, I was at first unimpressed, even disappointed. But like all of them, it grows if you give it a chance. The layers reveal themselves slowly, and you understand how they compose songs that are complicated and display meticulous musicianship without being flashy or sacrificing feel. The typical beautiful, understated flourishes, the celebration of melancholy peppered with lifelines of hope, the unexpected turns and twists, the unconventional melodies, all that’s here. The old nihilistic/fatalistic tendencies are tempered a bit by hopeful musings, but as I age and mellow, that doesn’t bother me as much as it once might have.

I still don’t think it’s a masterpiece. But I think it’s impressive. And I could change my mind.

One Thousand Fires. I like the acoustic going on under the heavy riffs. At first, I didn’t care much for the chorus; it was sort of… jarring.

There’s a lot of the same vibe that went into Arch/Matheos here, I think. What I love most about the song is the riff that starts at 5:18. It’s so Jim. A poster on the FW Google Group I subscribe to was dead-on about what Bobby brings to the mix. His bass drums are perfect; in fact they fit so perfectly they don’t jump out at you. Does that make sense? He’s a bit heavy on the cymbals, though.

Firefly. Though this song is growing on me, I still think it’s one of the weakest and most formulaic. The structure reminds me of Engine – not that I didn’t like Engine. I just found it to fit more into the straight-out “Hard Rock” category, as opposed to “Progressive Metal.”

Desire. I like this song. The echo or delay was annoying at first, but it works into the OSI-type riff nicely. 2:29 brings me back to Engine again, and then 2:48 gives me more of a Redemption flavor, then back to the FW/OSI thing.

Falling. I was totally nonplussed by this tune at first. But I started to like it, even though it’s so odd for them. Change and progression and experimentation are why their fans love these guys, no? That’s why I learned long ago to give new albums many listens. As opposed to a Godsmack album I listened to a couple of years ago. One listen and I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.

I Am. Again, a dissonant and incongruous chorus hurts an otherwise great song for me.

Lighthouse. I like the despairing tone of this, often belied by its lyrics. Again, back to the Google Group: someone was contrasting Aresti’s tendency of leaving a little hope in his themes, whilst Matheos is pretty dark. This is a nice mix of both. Dark and despairing, but built around a theme of hope.

Into the Black. I hate to say that this is my favorite on the album, since it was the first released and it’s the catchiest, and I don’t like getting drawn in by hooks. But this one sticks in my head the most and I find myself singing along to it instantly.

Kneel and Obey. When encountering something new, it’s natural for us to compare to things known. I used to rail against that, but it’s how we work as humans.First I thought of A/M and On the Fence, with the eastern-ish guitar tone (or whatever that is). The ponderous riff reminded me of Solitude Aeturnus, a doom metal band I’ve enjoyed from time to time. Ray comes off sounding like a bit like Layne Staley here, slow and dissonant and gloomy.

O Chloroform. I love this song except for, again, the refrain, which I feel is weakly worded. Glad Ray himself said he didn’t know what the hell Kevin Moore was writing about, because I can’t tell either…

And Yet It Moves. After the pretty intro, that part reminds me right away of A/M. I’m not sure about the comparisons to “Still Remains,” I have to go back and revisit it – it was never one of my favorites. Strikes me as odd that they’re using “Still Remains” it as an encore. Most bands would use their most popular tunes at the end; in FW’s case, I guess, “Point of View,” “Through Different Eyes,” and “Eye to Eye.” But, again, the hell with convention, who needs it?

I love this song, although I still don’t totally get the complete change in tone at 9:04. I mean, I like it, but it seems like a different song for a while, almost out of APSoG (pt. IX?).

Firefly (Extended). Better than the regular version, but generally the same opinion.

Falling Further. Like the version on the album proper, I was bemused by this one. It sounds like a (slightly more sophisticated) 80s hair metal tune. I had the same reaction when I listened to Dream Theater’s new one and heard “The Looking Glass.” But after a few listens, you know what? This song is fun! I admit that while cringing at Poison and Dokken and Extreme images that flash through my head. Well, another thing I’ve learned as I age – if you like something, fess up to it, even it seems not to fit into your persona or reputation. That’s why I shall now confess my love for the music of Bananarama.

Just kidding.

All praises to Jim and Ray and the guys for a release worth the wait. I only wish they could get the acclaim they deserve!

(Update) I have since seen them on the tour for this album, and the show was ridiculous. In the best way possible.


Thoughts on the 2014 World Cup

  • Muticulturalism rules: When you have two black half-brothers named Boateng, one who plays for Ghana and the other for Germany. When I see a US national team member, a black dude with dreads, speaking English with a German accent. When among the Gonzalezes and Rodriguezes of a Central American team, there’s a “Campbell.” OK, so most of the guys’ names on the Balkan teams still end in “-ic.” It’s still a work in progress. But I dig it.
  • It must really chap the old Germans’ lederhosen – you know, the old bigots complaining at their Stammtisches – to know that their foremost strikers are, well, two Poles and a Turk.
  • I hate Ronaldo. I don’t like Ronaldo. Please don’t make me like Ronaldo. (http://sportbild.bild.de/fussball-wm/2014/fussball/geschichte-hinter-ronaldos-narben-frisur-36501386.sport.html)
  • Luis Suarez should join up with Mike Tyson and form a support group for those who have an irresistible appetite for manflesh.
  • Sure, I love Germany, and I want them to win it all. But it’s about time for someone besides them and Brazil, Argentina, and Italy to win. I say the Netherlands. Come on, give them a break, they live in a country with 30 people that’s below sea level. And they had to send most of them to Brazil to play soccer. They’ve come in second three times!
  • Is it me or does Alexi Lalas seem to have contempt for every other analyst? He works through it, but, initially, man, relax.
  • How do so many people from so many countries afford to show up to the world cup? No matter where it is, really? You’d think that at the prices they must be charging for airfare, hotels, etc., that only the elites could go. But you see the same face-painted, bare-chested, dare I say, “blue collar” madness that you might at any NFL game. Somehow, soccer rules.
  • That guy’s knee hit you in the thigh. Why are you grabbing your face?
  • I remember playing (American) football, and when it was my turn to come out, loping casually off the field. And the coach screaming at me, “Get your ass moving, Goldman! Why should we have to wait for you?” So when I see these Pro players casually striding off the pitch, wasting precious seconds, and no one is protesting, I wonder. The clock’s running, man.
  • But man, those little dudes can move quickly. When they want to.
  • Never do I remember seeing such a myriad of inked skin. Some of these teams are tatted up and down. Arms, stomachs, chests, necks, even faces. Not being a tattoo guy, I don’t get it. Maybe I’m getting old and inevitably old-fashioned; seeing multimillionaires running around looking like gang members or rock starts is odd to me. I realize a bunch of ink doesn’t make you a low-life; I have friends with tattoos. I guess I just don’t get the attraction of permanently marking your skin…
  • Hairdos. Chileans with Mohawks. Belgians with Afros. There are more hairdos at the world cup than at a Milan fashion extravaganza. Some women would kill for some of that hair. When you see a guy with “normal” hair, you have to point it out. “Look, that guy has normal hair! What the hell’s wrong with him?”
  • There’s a guy on the Brazil team named Hulk. Hulk say no handball. Hulk angry. Hulk never flop.
  • Sportsmanship. One of my absolute favorite things about the whole spectacle is seeing players getting along with players from the other team. Sure, often they’re on the same club team together. But seeing a Japanese player and a Colombian player grin and hug each other before a game bodes well for the world. Even if they DO both play for Dortmund or ManU.
  • Diving/flopping/falling. One of my least favorite things about Le Fusbol. OK, the absolute WORST thing. And one of the things that has always made me a non-fan of the South American teams, particularly Brazil and Argentina. The flop left, they flop right. Another player taps them lightly and they flip a somersault and hurt themselves far more landing than whatever the other player did. Then they writhe around, crying soliloquies of pain, histrionic like a wordless Olivier. They finally get up and limp like they have a shattered femur. Then, miraculously, two minutes later, they’re sprinting like a Jamaican track star. Must be their training.To be fair, I’ve seen a few flops by my favorite teams, too. I still don’t like it. I know you’re trying to win a foul, an advantage for your team, perhaps at a critical moment. But it feels dirty. In fact, I’ll even call it, yes, a wussy move. I’ll go out on a limb and say that if you’re an adult male, and you’re crying and acting like you’re hurt when you’re not, then you’re a big, fat, whining wuss. Get over yourself, you big baby. Stand up and play the damned game.
  • And what a game it is.

Create a file from a directory list

To create a text file listing the contents of the directory, navigate to the desired folder in a command prompt and type:

dir /on /b /s >list.txt

The /on orders the lists by alphabetical name, the /b makes it only list the filename, and the /s includes subdirectories files in the list.

(Courtesy 0f http://liveslick.com/2007/10/18/make-a-directory-list-with-the-command-prompt-in-seconds/)


Rant In Passing: Hatequake

Ongoing hatred, as much as it is human, eats at the spirit, does it not? I have found as I age that it is easier to analyze the hatred, find its roots, and try to laugh at the people that cause it. Laugh at them for their ineptness in life, their walled-in narcissism as they crash through the world, flailing about in helpless attempts at relevance. And laugh at them knowing that, if they even make it that far, they will sit old and decrepit, eaten away by the bile of their selfishness and mania, and stew in a pool of dementia and insignificance.

All that said, a good bout of angst and animus is also healthy. We are not Vulcans.

Revolt Like an Egyptian

I am gloomy. Murky. Dismal in thought, often. “Mark the Dark” I’ve been called. Despite holding on to the shreds of youthful idealism, I revile the human race. I stand on the rim and loathe and laugh at it from without. On good days, I disdain and disparage people. On bad days, I despise them. They bathe in a toxic cauldron of hatred, violence, jealousy, ignorance, and cruelty. They claim to be the most intelligent entities spawned by evolution on this earth. Often, then, I question the direction and speed of evolution.

I’m not a joiner. But I can’t help being a member of the human race. I was born that way. I don’t hold out much hope for us. Whether it will end for us in a holocaust of fire and fallout, or starvation and disease on the heels of overpopulation, I can’t foresee. But though I have fanciful science fiction story ideas about humans thousands and millions of years hence, I don’t see us surviving long enough to even leave our solar system.

But Egypt has given me renewed hope. I never would have believed this could happen, especially in the mideast, where religious zealotry and intolerance is legion.  This organic, social-media-managed uprising had its desired effect through the perserverance of people who had had enough of tyranny. There was no dynamic leader, no cult of personality to inspire the masses to overthrow their despot. The fact that hundreds of thousands of people can come together, essentially leaderless, and agree to protest without violence in the face of violence, and not give in to mob rule when they’re attacked, to stand up Ghandi-like for their future and the future of their children; if that doesn’t rekindle hope for humanity, what can?

I pray (so to speak) that their righteously ousted government doesn’t lead to another manifestation of tyranny.

In Tribute to RJD

From correspondence years ago… seemed an appropriate tribute.

From: MG
Sent: Wednesday, September 24, 2008
To: VB

I think “Hoochie Koochie Lady” and “Never More” will make it onto the Dio mix – I’ve been groovin’ to the other 2 albums, but naught can stand next to the other material. According to Wikipedia, he’s 66! Wha?

From: VB
Sent: Wednesday, September 24, 2008
To: MG

Yes, those two songs are the best. Actually, “Never More” has always been my favorite Elf track. It sounds similar to the “jam” part in Floyd’s “Echoes”.

Yeah, a big mystery surrounding Dio’s actual age. I think he is actually 5,293 years old and remained youthful because he long ago entered the Mystifying Wood and found the Enchanted Tree where he slew the Frog Wizard and took his Magical Golden Ring. Or some shit.

From: MG
Sent: Wednesday, September 24, 2008
To: VB

He also took a holy dive into the enchanted waters of the invisible Lake, flew the golden dragon over the rainbow at midnight, looked into the evil eyes of the spider-beast, had a gypsy dream in which he danced with the rock ‘n’ roll angel in the land of milk and honey before the gates of babylon, and sped (at night) to the wizard’s tower from which he stole the Elf-Sceptre from the Big black shape and then…

From: VB
Sent: Thursday, September 25, 2008
To: MG

..he jumped (from a ladder) onto the back of his trusty warhorse, Murray, and, as he saw a rainbow rising, he galloped through the misty morning, through widing roads and treacherous passes of the Forbidden Forest towards Castle Magica where he was to sample poorly made ale and the juice of grapes (evil or da wine) but even with much haste he arrived tardy and was the last in line. By the time Dio made it to the front, they said it was over.

From: MG
Sent: Thursday, September 25, 2008
To: VB

Then at the front he met a snake charmer from the sixteenth century, who had come forward in a time machine. She was a fortune-telling woman who claimed to have run with the wolves (unlocked) and seen the devil cry. She was born on a silver mountain and lived among the night people. He asked if she was a mistress of insanity, and she said, “Listen to the shadow of the wind, boy – we’re all stars.” He grew fearful and flew away breathlessly. After he dropped Murray off at a stable, he walked to a weird freeway where he saw some wrathful robots passing by. He crossed it and came to a lake where another lady lived, and though she was beauteous, her aspect was evil. She said, “You have a sacred heart, strong warrior, but I bid you leave me.” He thought to charm her with guile, and said “But I’m hungry for a little bit of heaven!” She stood up and shouted, “Eat your heart out!” He grew wroth and drew himself up to his full height. Four foot three. He announced petulantly, “I am the King of Rock n’ Roll! Never More shall you taunt me, you Hoochie Koochie Bitch!” Then he slipped away and followed the southern cross, muttering something about “damned country girls.”

Too Much Input

Windows Live… another network. I ignored myspace and facebook long enough, and I refuse to participate in the Twitter idiocy. So here we go, another social network. There can”t be enough of them, really. Web 2.0, Web 3.0, iPads, 1.5 TB hard drives, 64-bit dual-layer blu-ray syncho-flash technology, etc., etc.

Even I, a guy who”s supposed to keep up with these things, am left to rasp in a curmudgeonly way, “Who needs this shit?” Sometimes I”m tempted to side with the luddites who claim that computers have made us “stupider.” I mean, how do you people have the time for all this? I don”t think I even had the time before I had a child!

It”s a good thing no one reads this blog, or they”d be pissed at me for my highly irregular updates. But I can rationalize my inaction by claiming that I just don”t want to add much to the maelstrom of information that we bombard ourselves with every microsecond. I guess I”m a humanitarian after all.