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All I know is that I don't know nuthin'.  Links and whatnot Blogs and FriendsPreacherman Johnny Payphone Mr. Nosuch Teresa Strickland radiohodgepodge Just Cheap Dirt xpurple Fairly Crass Babble Book Staircase Wit Pezman Jack Jackson's Dirty Pictures 2000 Jgrrl's LJ lfirebrand Funny, yet true The Onion Modern Humorist Something Awful X-Entertainment Seanbaby What's Better? Homestar Runner Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog Get Your War On Maakies A Softer World News and stuff Plastic Google News Movies IMDb Roger Ebert Cinema Confidential Rotten Tomatoes Music and Art Pitchfork They Might Be Giants Bongwater Taffy Rate Your Music Rocket From The Crypt The All Music Guide 2.13.61 Publishing Tha Friendly Gangstaz Committee The Wooster Collective Star City Scene OLGA The Terminals oh my god The Zyklon Bees Strawberry Burns Lone Prairie Records eagle*seagull Genuinely Useful Stuff The Straight Dope Adbusters SpamCop Pandamail h2g2 Download.com Analog X The Free World Pilonidal.org 
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Thursday, October 08, 2009
OK.
Here's the situation. My parents are away on a week's vacation, and... they left the keys to their brand-new Porche. Would they mind? Hmmm... well, of course not! I'll just take it for a little spin, and maybe show it off to a couple of friends. I'll just cruise around the neighborhood. Well, maybe I shouldn't... Yeah, of course I should. I know that I haven't written anything for ages. Since I've last blogged, there seems to have been a sea change in mass communication. Not in the principles of communication, but in the communication with the masses. Twitter, for example. Most of what I would want to blog about can now be fit into 140 characters. And, you can follow my tweets about my bowel movements if you want to. I'm RawkStah on Twitter. (Note: There are no tweets about my BMs. Even though they have been FANTASTIC lately.) Blogs are now for lengthy rants, raves, and suchandsuch. And, boy howdy, do I think that I have one for you today! Senator Mike Johanns (R-NE), tacitly supports rape. I don't just go around saying that people support rape for no reason. So, when I say that someone tacitly supports rape, I have some information to back me up. Sen. Al Franken (isn't that a strange thing to see in print?) introduced an amendment to the 2010 Military Appropriations Bill that would forbid subcontractors from introducing clauses in their employment contracts that would prevent employees from taking legal action against co-workers or their employers. Like, if one were gang-raped. Let's say you get gang-raped. By co-workers. In Iraq. While working for a security company. Let's say that you then return to America. Let's say that you could identify your rapists. Now, let's say that you want to press charges against your attackers. But, upon reviewing your employment contract, you discover that the best you can hope for is arbitration, and, hopefully, an out-of-court cash settlement. Wouldn't that just be a bitch? Sadly, it has happened. Many, many times. Sen. Al Franken introduced an amendment to make sure that bullshit like that doesn't happen any more. Seems like a good idea to me. How about we make sure that we don't do business with companies that prohibit their employees from reporting crimes. Makes sense, don'it? 30 people voted against this amendment. 30 Republicans. Including Sen. Mike Johanns (R-NE). Thirty Senators tacitly support Rape. Let that sink in for a bit. I'll wait. In fact, Ima have a cigarette while you read that. Back? K. Thirty. Senators. Are. More. Concerned. With. Profit. Than. Rape. I am so incensed by this notion that I am literally shaking. Now, impotent rage is an emotion that I am well acquainted with. There is very little that I can do to change the world. I can try to make it better one person at a time. (Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. Thanks to my friend Tara Kuipers for that quote) Impotent rage. Yeah. I am entirely against Capital Punishment, but, I know that Nebraska will never, ever get rid of it. I will keep trying to prohibit it, but, I know it will never happen. It is not, to paraphrase Eric Bogosian, like pounding nails into the floor with my forehead. If I can just get one person to change their mind, I will be happy. But, how in the hell do you go up against a system that has 3/4 of one political party that tacitly supports rape? What hope does health care reform have when 3/4 of Republicans tacitly support rape? How in fuck does one vote against an amendment that supports victims rights? Times like this make me want to make Debaser. If I haven't already told you about that film, well, it's for another time. I'm done ranting for now. But, never let it be forgotten that Sen. Mike Johanns (R-NE) tacitly supports rape. Go forth, and listen to some rocknroll. Labels: Glenn Beck, health care, rape, Republican, Republicans, Sen. Johanns, supports, tacitly, Tara Kuipers Thursday, February 26, 2009
I want to write beat.
I want to write Beat. I want to reclaim the passion of discovery. I want to learn to read again. This. This writing is not beat. Not Beat. I can't give up punctuation. I can't give up CAPITALIZATION. I can't write, transcribe, internalize, externalize, symbolize, hypothesize, synthesize bebop. I sold my soul to rocknroll. Four beats, three chords, sometimes harmony, sometimes screams, all passion, all feeling, all accessible. No edits, no... "Don't you realize you can't be saved? If you can't feel fear you've gone insane." I want to reclaim my heritage (?) I want to be 151617 again. To feel that passion, that unbridled unrefined unclear unfocused energy emotion extascy! To be punk again. (were you ever?) Getting old is a young man's game. It takes strength to become what you are destined to be. (By the age of 50, every man has the face he deserves.) I don't know what I want. I do, but I lack the cojones to make it happen. I lack the drive. I lack the passion. Yet, somehow it's ok, cuz I'm listening to Queen right now. Saturday, January 03, 2009
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Hey, all.
It's been awhile since I last blogged. I mean, legitimately blogged. Hard-core BLOGGED. Just opened up my head and vomited out all the bad noise, the bad blood, the hopes and fears, the laughs and tears, the junks and rears. And, I apologize. I apologize for many, many things. First of all, I apologize for writing like Alcoholic Lange-Kubick. I am truly sorry for writing in sentence fragments. I know that I am better than that. I apologize for writing like I think. I apologize for speaking with poor grammar. In my defense, however, I am not surrounded by the New Brahmans. My work environment isn't exactly conducive to... well, however the fuck those guys spoke. Secondly, I apologize for not having blogged. I work, on average, 12 hours a day as a waiter. After work, I want to relax. By "relax", I mean "drink several beers". By "drink several beers", I mean "Wow. I need to go home and pass out." This is not conducive to writing. Unless you're Ernest Hemingway. Or, when mixed with amphetamines, Jack Kerouac. I am neither. I don't have that sort of talent, drive, or addiction. (BTW: "Lover's Rock" by The Clash could be covered by Ween without anyone batting an eye.) Thirdly, I apologize for not leading that interesting of a life of late. "Yeah, fucker. The life of a small-market radio DJ with no skill in softball was SO engrossing," you're thinking (if you've been with me from the beginning, that is. If you haven't, I invite you to read my archives which include such bits as: "I suck at softball", "I am bored and lonely", "I think I am a disappointment to everyone" and, everyone's favorite, "Why don't girls like me?"). SO, that out of the way, here's this update. I don't know if I'm dropping science on y'all, I don't know if you care, hell, I don't even know if anyone apart from Dav is even reading this. (Thank you, Dav. Knowing that someone periodically checks this shit out does mean a lot.) I am tired. In nearly every sense of the word. Physically, mentally and emotionally. (True story: I answered the phone one day. I'd been working 14-hour days for around 6 weeks. The co-owner of the restaurant asks how I'm doing. I reply that I'm tired. She asks, "Why?") I am tired. I can not trust my memories because there is cross-talk between my dreams and reality. I know for a fact that DoubleWide, the acapella octet I was in in college was not in the hallway at the Ed Sullivan Theatre waiting for a cue to perform during the commercial break of "The Late Show with David Letterman", but, I remember it happening. I am tired. I wait tables. I am OK at it. I make decent money. But, every day is exactly the same. I show up, I set up, I do my thing, I set up, I do my thing, I go to the bar, I come home, I lather, I rinse, and I repeat. I am tired. Several weeks or months ago, (and, honestly, it's tough to tell sometimes) I had what I thought was a brilliant idea. A million-dollar idea. I had found a way for people to have their privacy invaded, like it, and pay money for the privilege. One of my favorite books of all time is 1984  by George Orwell. I can't rightly explain why, except that the textural details of the book always stood out for me. The dull razors, the metallic gin, the overcast sky (would it be the color of a TV tuned to a dead station ? I think that it would be.) The "branding" of the book is absolutely phenomenal. Orwell's skill at drawing you into the world, the "immersion" that the book presents always struck me. It, along with Flowers for Algernon , is one of the books that I was compelled to liberate from my Junior High.My million-dollar idea was this: Victory Bars. All of the alcohol would be Victory brand. Victory Gin. Victory Bourbon. Victory Beer. Everything would be slightly greasy. The atmosphere would be drama-free, but slightly uncomfortable. The bartender would give you booze, but not conversation. The customers would be aloof. And then, you would get a text message. "Look straight ahead." "Go to the bathroom, NOW." "Order a top-shelf gin and tonic." Why on earth would you get a text message like that? Because, in the backbar, there are White Hat crackers/hackers/phreaks who have opened up your cell phone. By performing the action you were texted, you give tacit agreement to participate in the ARG that Victory Bars, a subsidiary of JohnnyCorp, is hosting. The bar customers? Many of them are plants. Actors, playing a role. The "police"? Same thing. The bartender? He/she would be the GM/DM. The one calling the shots, finding the "marks" who might be interested in playing, who might want to pretend they are part of an underground resistance movement against a totalitarian government. This plan would work for a week, tops. And, this, ladies and gentlemen, is what being tired results in: really dumb ideas that sound good until you take a nap. Good night! Monday, December 08, 2008
Amy Sedaris has some FANTASTIC legs. I am sitting at a bar, drinking,
smoking, and admiring her legs. Man, I need a girl. Thursday, December 04, 2008
Comments by: YACCS |
. This is what it is like to be me.