Thursday, April 30, 2009

Is this post symbiotic or parasitic? You decide!

So Eli posted an awesome dialog today about the nature of symbiosis and parasitism:

"1 is sitting in the living room playing video games. 2 enters

2. What's going on?
1.Not much, trying to level up.
2.What's that.
1.What's what?
2.That thing on your stomach.
1. Oh that, that's my symbiote.
He lifts up his shirt to reveal a grey blobbish creature, about the size of a baby attached to his stomach, making occasional sucking noises.
2. Dude, that's a parasite, not a symbiote.
1. No way! We depend on each other.
2. What are you getting from this relationship?
1. Ummmm, enhanced reflexes. Just the other day I was getting a soda from the fridge and a bunch of other ones fell out, but I caught them all before they hit the ground.
2. That's pretty impressive, but you've always had good reflexed, I don't think you can blame it on the parasite.
1. I told you, it's a symbiote.
2. C'mon, it's sucking your blood.
1. Not all symbiotic relationships are mutually beneficial.
2. But this relationship isn't commensalistic, he's drinking your blood, you look like you're wasting away.
1. But this thing's a part of me now. For better or worse. Without it I would feel empty, and were I in a room with my greatest friends and my beloved family, I would feel a terrible, heartrending loneliness."

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: Symbiosis'.

Symbiosis

1 is sitting in the living room playing video games. 2 enters

2. What's going on?
1.Not much, trying to level up.
2.What's that.
1.What's what?
2.That thing on your stomach.
1. Oh that, that's my symbiote.
He lifts up his shirt to reveal a grey blobbish creature, about the size of a baby attached to his stomach, making occasional sucking noises.
2. Dude, that's a parasite, not a symbiote.
1. No way! We depend on each other.
2. What are you getting from this relationship?
1. Ummmm, enhanced reflexes. Just the other day I was getting a soda from the fridge and a bunch of other ones fell out, but I caught them all before they hit the ground.
2. That's pretty impressive, but you've always had good reflexed, I don't think you can blame it on the parasite.
1. I told you, it's a symbiote.
2. C'mon, it's sucking your blood.
1. Not all symbiotic relationships are mutually beneficial.
2. But this relationship isn't commensalistic, he's drinking your blood, you look like you're wasting away.
1. But this thing's a part of me now. For better or worse. Without it I would feel empty, and were I in a room with my greatest friends and my beloved family, I would feel a terrible, heartrending loneliness.

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: Symbiosis'.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Wherein I listen to all of Bob Dylan's albums, in chronological order. Part 1

Part 1:
Folk Singer.

For good background about his beginnings as a folk singer, read his autobiography Chronicles Vol 1, or watch No Direction Home. They really do more justice to his beginnings than I can do in the space of this little blog.

His first album is mostly a collection of interpretations of folk standards and traditional songs (calling them covers seems a bit disingenuous, the purpose of standards and traditionals is to be played by anyone), as well a two originals. Bob is fresh faced here, and his enthusiasm translates in his renditions of these songs. This is before he became the "voice of a generation" with his protest songs, he's just a dude playing songs he likes. Though of course, he's still Bobby D, and he still sings them in his voice, which is reedy and nasally,he shows impressive range as a vocalist, especially on "Freight Train Blues", where he holds a note for what seems like an eternity. This is a misconception about Bob Dylan, that he's a bad singer, when he's actually quite talented as a vocalist, it's just that his voice is weird and unconventional.

Standouts:
In My Time of Dyin'
House of the Risin' Sun
Song to Woody
See That My Grave is Kept Clean

Next up is The Free Wheelin' Bob Dylan, which has his iconic "Blowin' in the Wind", as well as a lot of his classics from his folksy acoustic era. Bob is confidant here, all the songs are his own. And while some of the songs are serious, he's still has a flair for absurdism, like in Bob Dylan's Dream, and Talkin' World War 3 Blues. Now I gotta be honest, I'm not a huge fan of folksinger era Bob (though this little project is making me appreciate it more), and while I won't cast the lazy criticism of it sounding dated1, songs like Blowin' in the Wind don't feel as vital or as important as they were (even though some of their sentiments have been recently appropriate), its one of those generational defining things that "You just had to be there, man." Those epochal important things that while historically relevant, they don't feel relevant, they aren't as resonant unless you were actually there (see also Woodstock and Smells Like Teen Spirit). For every strong track on this album, there's a rambling filler that's forgettable.

Standouts:
Blowin' in the Wind
Girl From the North Country
Masters of War
A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
Don't Think Twice It's Alright

Next comes the Times They Are A-Changin', which I always thought preceeded Free Wheelin', and I actually hadn't listened to until I decided to undertake this project, owing to my general apathy towards his folksy days. This album is a bit more melancholy, less wide-eyed and optimistic than Free Wheelin'. Songs like Boots of Spanish Leather and the Lonesome Death of Hattie Carol are aching and despairing. He's trimmed out the rambling songs and packed it with solid cuts all the way through.It is a superior album to Freewheelin', it lacks that albums rambling filler, it's a bit more cynical and darker lyrically and is more of a complete album with a thematic unity suggested by the title.

Standouts:
The Times They Are A-Changin'
Boots of Spanish Leather
Only a Pawn in Their Game
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Caroll

His last true folk album (at least until the 90's), Another Side of Bob Dylan, Is a less serious, more intimate affair. He's not really grappling with serious issues, and the songs have a tossed of quality that belies the simple nature of the songs. They're funnier and more romantic that the bulk of those on the earlier albums. Chimes of Freedom is really the only political song on the album. The rest of it is rather whimsical, as he's starting to delve into the surrealism that would define his lyrics in the late 60's. This is probably my favorite of his "Just a Dude with a guitar and harmonica" albums.


Standouts:
All I Really Wanna Do
My Back Pages
Chimes of Freedom
I don't Believe You(She Acts Like We Never Have Met)

Thursday, April 23, 2009

For Westinghouse

Mrs. Leatrice M. Pendray threw herself against the door, wailing, “Don’t go! What is this gift that you've made for Westinghouse and not for me?”

Mr. George Edward Pendray simply held tight to the exquisitely wrapped gift and waited politely for Mrs. Pendray to step aside. Finally, he sighed. “What I feel for you I will always feel. You are the mother of our three Arthurian-named daughters. But my heart has created this, and give it I must to the fair Westinghouse.”

Mrs. Pendray stopped wailing. She softly said, “It’s of our three Arthurian-named daughters that you must think.”

Guenever, Elaine, and Lynette, their hair piled in three elaborate buns of varying sizes like a cello, viola, and violin, said, “Yes. Father think of us.”

Mr. Pendray said, “Always,” but he continued to the door.

Mrs. Pendray snatched the gift from her husband, eagerly shucking layers of tissue paper and cotton. Within the box, nestled on a tiny velvet cushion, lay the word, “Laundromat.”

To Mr. Pendray, as he retrieved the box and stepped across the threshold into history, Mrs. Pendray’s fall seemed almost gentle, like a leaf tired of its branch, guided to the ground by the wind.

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Laundromats'.

The Greatest Day

This day, the greatest day ever, about which I'm going to tell you, started just like any other day. Though it's inauspicious beginning didn't portent any greatness, when it had ended, I knew that it would be a day of true greatness.
I was at the mall, my reason for being there has been obscured by the mists of time. I had gone in the bookstore to browse around, wasting time in an idle manner. There was a long line, throngs of people, waiting excitedly to meet their favorite author. Intrigued by the large crowd, I went closer to see who it was that had caused such commotion. Then I saw. It was Glenn Beck. That motherfucking asshole. I knew what I had to do. I went to the back of the line, waiting patiently and quietly until I had reached the front of the line. When I got to his table I punched him in his loudmouth fucking face. Everyone reacted with must shock, not knowing what to do when confronted with such a random, though wholly deserved, act of violence. Then a slender middle-aged woman next to the Young Adult novels began to slow clap. Others joined in slowly until the entire bookstore was enveloped by raucous applause.

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'The Greatest Day Ever'.

Counterproof

So I disproved evolution. See, the theory of evolution says that simple organisms became more and more complex and organized. But the second law of thermodynamics states that everything becomes more random in the absence of a source of outside energy.

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'The Sun'.

Greatest Day Ever

Amanda and Steve are at a couple’s seminar. Rachael, the seminar leader, has asked everyone to write about their greatest day ever. Steve pokes Amanda, whispering.
Steve: What did you put?
Amanda: The day Jason was born.
Steve snorts.
Amanda: What?
Steve: So that’s it? Our greatest day as a couple, and it was all about Jason.
Amanda: Rachael just said to write about our best day ever. She didn’t say anything about couples.
Steve: This is a couple relationship building exercise. Consider the mother-fucking context. You were totally out of it when you were in labor anyway. If you want to get all mommymential, you should put the day after Jason was born.
Amanda: I wasn’t out of it. I remember every detail. It was a wonderful day, our child’s first day on earth.
Steve: Yeah. Personally, I think that you should have some coherent, pleasant memories of your greatest day ever, but that’s just me.
Amanda: Fine. I’ll put the day after Jason was born.
Steve: You really weren’t yourself for at least a week.
Amanda: So?
Steve: So, personally, I think that you should be yourself on your greatest day ever.
Amanda: Fine.
Amanda scribbled out what she had written, and scrawled, “Greatest day ever = eight days after my baby was born.”
Steve: That’s better. You’ll be glad you thought that through.
Amanda: Yeah. What did you put for your greatest day?
Steve: Doris.

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'The Greatest Day Ever'.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Under the Sun

The man's throat ached. It's true his legs and feet also hurt. Hell, the only thing his body felt was pain. But it was his throat that hurt the most. He looked up at the sun, which seamed to grow larger and more menacing with each step he took. The man tried to imagine what he looked like now, how he would appear to anyone who passed by. But of course no one would pass by him here. He was going to die. He knew it, the pain in his throat told him all that he needed to know. He looked up, skywards, but not directly at it. "Fuck you" He said.
"I beg your pardon?" The Sun said, it's voice sonorous, reverberating through the air.
"I said Fuck You!" The man said louder. Loud enough for the sun to hear.
"Well it's not my fault." The sun said, somewhat crestfallen.
"I know." The man replied. "You're just the only one here and I need to vent."
"It's not my fault you tried to rob Johnny Rock's stash."
"Motherfucker was cutting me out. I had a get a piece for my self."
"Yes, but you remember Cliff?" The sun asked.
"Yeah, what about him."
"They did the same thing to him. If you walked the other way you would've found his bones." The sun smirked at his dark humor, dry as the desert wasteland.
The man continued walking. Hoping against hope that with each dune he climbed he would find an oasis or civilization or a way out of the sands. It was always the same when he reached the top, just the blinding dissonance of the desert laid out before him.


______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'The Sun'.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

The Last Supper of the Universe

So the time had come for the universe to end. It had to happen sometime, and now seemed as good as any. This is what the Lobridham thought, for they were ageless and wise. What time meant to them was altogether different from what it means to us, to them it is the endless dripping into a bucket that will never fill. To us time is the most precious thing we have. The Lobridham felt that they should commemorate the occasion. They decided to throw a dinner party. The Lobridham love to throw dinner parties.

***

Raul idly shuffled through the mail, throwing the junk mail in the trash and setting any bills on the table to opened later. He came across a large envelope with his name on it in a large ornate font. The paper was sticky and it smelled oddly; still he felt compelled to open it, as it was easily the single greatest piece of mail he had ever received. He tore it open and found an invitation, written in the same ornate font. It was a invitation to a gala dinner commemorating "The End". The end of what he didn't know, it was very cryptic. The invitation said he could bring a guest, and though things had lately been icy between them, Victoria was the first person he thought to bring.

***

Victoria and Raul stood by the car. They had parked near where the instructions had told them to go to await pickup.
"And what are we waiting for?" Victoria asked, somewhat vexed by the cryptic nature of the evening. Raul had told her nothing about it, only that it was a gala dinner to commemorate the end of something. What it was, he wouldn't say (though he himself didn't know). He didn't know who or what had invited him to this even, and he would only say that it "had a very ornate font and seemed important" when she asked. Truthfully she didn't even know why she had come, she had been aching to break up with him for a while now, and she had been perpetrating the distance between them, hoping he would take the hint. He hadn't, so they found themselves standing here, night's cold encroaching on them, not knowing if or when they were going to be picked up. Victoria was about to tell him that she was going to leave, when a great light descended from the sky. It bleached out the sky and Raul was still trying to wipe the white spots out of his eyes when they found themselves in what seemed to be a tremendous lobby to some kind of hotel, though it was the kind of hotel that they had never conceived of imagining before. Strange creatures scrurried, slimed, skulked and slithered around the elegantly decorated room. Victoria and Raul tried to to stare, but they were unsuccessful, though many of the creatures there would not have known what a stare was, much less what it connoted.
"Excuse me." Victoria said, trying to flag down some incredibly tall creature who's face appeared to be composed of a single compound eye. The creature didn't acknowledge them, and proceeded down the long hallway, which seemed to extend infinitely in either direction. "Rude." She said when he was gone.
"He probably didn't understand you." Raul said.
"Well at least I'm trying to do something. You're just staring."
"Don't you think this is stare-worthy."
Victoria rolled her eyes. "I don't care, I just want to know what's going on."
"Perhaps I can be of assistance." A chipper voice from behind them said.
They turned around and where greeted by a five-foot tall gelatenous blob. "Sorry to have frightened you. My name is Vuuuurrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmm (which, when spoken aloud sounds like a car speeding by quickly on the highway), but you can call me Vicky."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm Raul and this Victoria." Raul said, extending his hand, but then pulling it back quickly, either because he didn't want to offend a creature that seemed to have no hands or was afraid of what appendage it would use to reciprocate the gesture.
"The pleasure is mine." Vicky said, bowing with a grace that was suprising for such a creature. "You must be exhausted, I'll have The Churd show you to the Space-bar, many other invitees have gathered there."
"Excuse me." Raul said. "But, ummm, why are we here?"
"You are guests of the Lobridham, they are throwing a party to commemorate this occasion?" Vicky replied.
Instead of asking the questions that Victoria thought obvious, such as: "Why us?" "Who are the Lobridham?", "What occassion is it?", Raul asked: "When does it start?"
"In approximately 12 Vlorks. Excuse me, I must attend to some of the other guests." Vicky bowed once more before undulating away.
"What's a Vlork?" Victoria asked.
"A Vlork is roughly equivalent to the amount of time it takes your planet to feebly wobble around on its axis." A tall humanoid next to them said. He had long stringy hair, large forehead ridges and a warrior's stare.
"Are you a Klingon?" Asked Raul.
"Yes." Came the gruff reply.
"Roddenberry got something right."
"Yes, though we do not eat Gagh."
"What do you eat then?"
"The flesh of our enemies and the foes we have felled in battle." With that the Klingon walked away.

***

The Space-bar was almost literally that. It seemed as though one was walking in the stars, that there was nothing below them but the very infinity of the cosmos. So one could only feel a sickly combination of excitement, fear and awe. And Raul wanted to hold Victoria in his arms and think about how one of the stars was their home and how there was a seeming infinity of stars. But he just sipped his beer, which tasted strange and awkward.

***

Finally the dinner had arrived. The table they sat stretched into the distance until those seated at it were small specks. Raul imagined that the table extended even further than it. Like the universe itself, he could imagine the scope of the table's length, but he couldn't do the same for the real manifestation of it, even though it was right there. He couldn't feel any sorrow for being left out of any conversation due to his location at the table, becaus he couldn't imagine the sheer number of conversations that were taking place across the vast expanse of table. The Lobridham appeared. Many of the creatures gathered treated them with a hushed reverence reserved for religious leaders, so Raul and Victoria did the same. They began to speak, and all were silent.
"Friends, though many of you we do not know, we use the appellation all encompassingly, we have come here to observe a most auspicious occasion. The end of the universe is nigh upon us, so we must celebrate."
Some of the dinner guests nodded sagely amongst themselves, others reacted with shock, some with anger. Raul just stared at his plate, trying to grasp what he'd heard and the fact that he'd never see his friends or family again. He wished he'd brought someone he loved. He wished he'd brought his mother. Victoria also wished she was back home, that she could be out enjoying the sun, basking blissful and unaware in the sun when all of existence ended. She tried to keep herself from crying. The Lobridham continued:
"Stars from Centauri to Kolob will collapse and vanish. Each star will blink and be gone, their planets will be torn to shred, their inhabitants and all their accomoplishments, their respective histories annihilated. And then all that will be left will be a barren emptiness, and seconds later that too will cease to be. We anticipate this to begin in approximately three hours or 1.5 Vlorks, or 1334.567 sub-ahlkels or....well you get the picture. Well, let the feast begin!
And with that servers begain streaming out of side rooms, bringing tray after tray of food. Most of it Raul didn't recognize, though he did have a hamburger. Some of the food was delicious, some was truly disgusting. The Lobridham interrupted and simply said: "It is beginning"
The ceiling and walls disappeared, it was once again like they were floating in space. The stars began to slowly die out, as if each were a candle being extinguished by the gentle puff of a child's breath.
Raul turned to Victoria. "I think we should say something."
"Like what."
"I guess goodbye."
"Yeah."
"I would've liked for it to have worked out."
"Me too." She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Then nothing.

______________
This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'A Last Supper'.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Phoning it in

Insert anecdote about laundromats here later.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

Congratulations Mahi-Mahi!

Please join me in congratulating Mahi-Mahi on being named Fish of the Year 2009. A runner up the previous year, losing to Eel, Mahi-Mahi triumphed this year. She was absolutely stunning in the evening-scale competition, utterly charming in the interview portion, and brought the house down with a brilliant rendition of "Sinnerman". Congratulations Mahi-Mahi, the world glimmers in your finsteps.



Thanks to John D. Moore for drawing the Mahi-mahi