The Myth of Independence

Nigel just reminded me that it is the anniversary of this blog. I’m pretty sure we’re talkin’ six years here. And somehow it has survived. Granted it was on it’s deathbed for quite awhile as I was feeling oppressed by trolls. But for now they’ve gone away and the underside of my bridge is (for now) a cool and shady place to hang out by the water again. Apparently I can’t flourish well in sunlight being forced off my own little, slice of heaven, real estate. I assume they’ll show back up. I’ll cross my bridge when that comes to it.

Here’s the thing about “Independence” day; we only gained that independence by being able to depend on people like Lafayette (ergo countries like France). There is no real independence especially in the modern world. The Randsian ideal of the self-made man is a complete myth. If Howard Roarke designed, built and engineered a skyscraper all by himself, with his bare hands, using tools he made himself, I’d like to see it.

Especially in this era of specialization. The right hand has no fricking clue how the left hand does it’s job, only that it passes the piece over to be finished also not knowing what that will entail.

If you think you can survive without anyone or anything please walk naked and weapon less, with not one supply, into the woods right now, stay there completely alone and cut off for ten years and when you come out I promise we’ll give you a book deal.

*Oh did I also mention only people who spontaneously arose fully formed, and were never suckled, nurtured or taught, need apply.

New link whoopty-ness

As always, I actually know this person, as well as that he’s a pal. Please welcome to the blogroll “Dissociated Press”.-------->

So there, I’m square

I take some solace in the fact that a certain local journalist who is all up in the hipster scene and therefore thought they could easily transition to blogger hasn’t posted since the first week of August. I appear to have only slacked completely for a couple weeks at a time at worst.

Oh yeah...

The other thing I was feeling too wierd lately to mention at the time, are several new links over there -------->. I put the new band’s myspace (rough demos so far), as well as more of myfacespacebook stuff of my own. But most notably is Flor y Canto by El Poquito. It is new age, it is about healing, acceptance and death and yet it doesn’t make me retch at all, in fact it doesn’t even make me cringe. Actually, I must even go so far as to say I really, deeply, appreciate it. But that shouldn’t surprise me as it’s written by one of the most genuine, and truly altruistic people I’ve yet known.

I'm aware that I suck but....

There are plenty of people suck a lot harder than me.

I looked in on a new, strangers, blog today from a blog roll of someone I read regularly. The name was very promising. It bespoke a fun hipster, possibly restoring an old house. I thought that an amble through someone else’s vintage kitchen and projects could be “we-fweshing”.
NOPE
It was a blog about the things she buys and does that make her feel cool. I-phones, neon nail polish, going to be media-ized at the local infectarium playhouse. Wearing white sunglasses with quaint rhinestone accents in the frame corners.

I’m going to break out the ferrule, pat your palm 10 strokes and make you write 100 lines. “You can’t buy cool”.

Slappy Mirthday

So yeah, today is the birthday of this blog. There was recently a conversation between my bro, sis, and dad about how stupid blogs are if they are about anything but a point of expertise, such as politics, sociology, weather, I don't know, whatever, in other words about oneself. My interjection was that I try to make it a point to NEVER talk about anything relevant. I suppose that me is my only point of expertise. They do say write what you know. I have put a lot of dedicated man hours into the old “know thyself”.

But I thought it would be interesting at his juncture to insert my first entry for review just to make sure I remember the mission statement which was quite a bit more cocky and punk rock then.

“Ahem....

So it arose and it was scary to do. But I plunged, as one must, without really testing the waters.
The actual title is "The Sunday Morning Subtle But Obvious Organized Self Abuse Swim Club". And yes, apparently I snagged it before any of the people that were there at the time did, at least around this cyber location. Not that I would mind hearing from any of you who were there, even briefly, at Stoners Blough, Michigan.

I do want to make something abundantly clear:
I never took a proper English class past 7th grade, and while just recently I have been learning some grammar fundamentals, due to having taken up a new language, other than it being helpful to learn the proper names of parts of speech in order to learn a different grammar, I don't care.
My spelling is decent, my punctuation is primarily, self invented. I write a lot of songs and poetry where I get to make it up as I go along. At least in my belief system I get to make it up. If your belief system tells you differently, well, that's nice for you.
I have also never taken a proper science or math class since 7th grade, again, I'm making it up as I go along.

I understand that there are people who just have a really hard time with that, that's nice, you're entitled to be rigid or secure or confident or enjoy whatever comforts those systems bring you. I have a bit more of a "by the seat of my pants" approach.
Which is actually kind of ironic as I never wear pants, unless you're English, in which case I almost always do.

The point being if there is some fascinating discourse to be had, fun, swell, and hoopty-do, but I really don't want to discuss my punctuation and grammar with almost anyone, the notable exceptions being my former or current English teachers.”

So that was the extent of my plan at the time. To write what and how I wanted and to apparently prevent any future discourse about at least the mechanics of it all.

And a slappy mirthday to Nige as well.

888th post

So this is it, the confluence I was mentioning before. I am posting this in time for my 8888th visitor. Also in a few days is the anniversary or birth date of the blog. It’s July 4, which is oddly, also the birth date of Nigel Patel’s blog. Only his is a year older than mine. Which if I’m not mistaken makes his coming up on 4 and mine coming up on 3, years old.

Nigel and I have many strange confluence's ourselves, then we will discover some (usually point of ideology) where we could not be more divergent. But he never rolls his eyes at me like the former roommate when this arises. Nor does he seem to take offense when I laugh WITH his interesting perspectives, never at.

But it is odd to think that when I started this blog that I hadn’t started school yet, and that few of my readers knew me before I was such a whiney cripple. I used to be much more vibrant you know.
The moral, of course being, don’t expect greatness from doctors especially surgeons who for the most part are overpriced plumbers.
As well as that good art and bad art are completely and irrevocably subjective and can never be proved definitively at all. That as long as someone made it, it’s art. And that, my friends, is the ONLY thing that counts.

Roll Up! Roll Up!

So I suppose I’ll be drawing your attention to the newest link over there ------->
Which would be where Mr. Nigel Patel has asked me to contribute some thoughts on the condition of the working stiffs.

So, as opposed to chanting down Babylon we’ll be chatting it up.

Note: (You also might be amused to note that because I no longer have letter designations left on about half my keys, that just typo’ed as “charring it up” which is an eventual option as well.)

Kudos

To Mr. Nigel Patel for bravely choosing a new adventure, not letting the bastards grind him down and especially for fixing my links section yesterday. We had nice chat, hangin’ out in the yard with cat world and a little stroll around the block in search of the huge, silver truant.

Shoooo-ee Dang!!!

Thank you Jeebus, jofus and Ramy it’s over! (For now).
I really don’t know why it’s so hard. Because it’s not that hard. But yet it’s really, really, really hard. And stressful.

In a way it’s been really interesting to learn so much (not just the schoolwork but) about my obsessive self. I have spent the last two years trying to learn a whole new balance with a newly unleashed, facet of my personality. As always when the one facet is in dominance other facets must, of necessity, retreat or ooze their way around the emergent one forcing new pathways and channels for their expression. It’s always fascinating to watch.

I suppose some would think that it’s vaguely creepy to be so interested in my own “stuff”. My feeling is, how else would I learn “stuff” if not by watching my own “stuff” and picking it apart down to the very fibrous, matted, and fairly gooey nap?

The thing I am not so skilled at (yet) is time management. Therefore I apologize to those of you I have somewhat blown off, particularly in this last month. I’ll see you next weekend and do my best to make up for it.

Incidentally I finally figured out where that Burton Cummings earworm came from. So very sad to say, but it’s currently being used as a jingle for a french fry commercial. Sigh, I am SO lame.

2 Roads diverged in a wood & I took the one to the gallus tree

I suddenly realized that I regularly read the blogs of, and read blogs where the commentaries are comprised of, dozens of people that annoy me. What is up with that?

Fer'instance: one is an unabashed drunk. Whenever any question of alcohol abuse or issues crops up, that one has some post or comment rabidly defending the alcoholic lifestyle. I’m not prissing about the occasional beverage, this is a person who appears to have a barstool surgically attached to their ass. Because I am pretty familiar with how not well the brain works when it’s under constant fuzz effect I take no stock in almost any opinion they opine. Yet I keep reading.
Another is a pathological liar. I know this for a fact. Yet I check in to pass judgment about every day.
Yet another is basically a star fucker, clique melder. Probably an ok person but, possibly without even realizing it, an annoying hipster art snob.
And then there’s Craiglist, what a lot of straight up assholes, rage-aholics and freak show contestants.
Then again I am definitely an unabashed Springer watcher as well.
I tried to explain it once to the beloved english teacher who was, possibly justly, appalled by that revelation.

I want to intimately know the full spectrum of human endeavor. I need to understand the depths of ignorance and depravity as well as get the mechanics of, and the achievement of, the highest human aspirations. This will probably completely offend some (read most) people but to me Mother Theresa and Ed Gein are inherently the same person on some level and I need to know why they diverged.
I used to sit mesmerized for hours by Stiles project. At the time it seemed like the pinnacle of Buddhist thought. Juxtaposing horrific suicides, medical anomalies and sadomasochists against the worship of babe-alicousness and hot bods. I must admit the snuff stuff and poo eating finally got to me and I just couldn’t stand up under it anymore. I haven’t been back for a couple years. I am really uncomfortable with snuff, so much for a lot of Lydia Lunch’s work then. I just can’t bear it. But the odd part is the theatrical stuff doesn’t interest me at all. I can’t stand Tarantino, The Sopranos, slasher or war movies or things of that ilk.

I can’t help but think of what Arwulf used to say, years ago at Commie High, about The Trashy Fiction Club , “how can you tell what’s good if you don’t know what’s really bad?” as well as Portia in “Gone Away Lake” when she realizes that one needs “comparers”.

BTW my tongue is just shredded. Apparently another symptom of this same issue is the person who just can’t stop exploring the sore tooth.

AM earworm

Worried Song - DEVO
Later it started mixing with Stevie Wonder. That’s just an odd juxtaposition.
(And Nigel, I haven’t forgotten that I still owe you Recombo DNA.)

Saturdays At Home

Working on the blog a bit this am. Trying out a few of the new features. Subsequently republishing and republishing. This got me like 30 hits from the folks all over the planet who do the “go to next published blog”. One was kind enough to leave a comment. I have more hits today than in the last 2 weeks.

Still can’t fix the green deely bops in the links section though. In fact I think I may have grown a new one. The rest of the morning so far has been watching cartoons and 6 Feet Under and listening to Klezmer on myspace.

I’m supposed to be doing “stuff” can you tell?

Failure & Success

I realize I FAILED to actually point out the other new link as well. I recently had the opportunity to meet him officially as opposed to just cashing him out at the grocery store. I don’t know what he’s calling himself at the moment. So even though I know his secret identity I'll just call him Simon. “Clown’s Death Rattle” ya’ll---------->

I have no idea why the green tetrahedron deelybops keep showing up in excess on the links index. I apparently have FAILED to understand the code. But I swear I have examined it thoroughly and tried several many things to attempt to fix it . It just ain’t working. Any thoughts?

AM Earworm: Definitely Yes. After researching a little (because listening to Yes is still more fun than homework ya’ll) I think it was “And You And I” from Close to the Edge.
Which makes no sense whatsoever, whereas yesterdays John Mellancamp made total sense as I had just bought for a quarter and subsequently listened to, the cassette of “American Fool”.
Don’t get me wrong - I was also able to pick up cassettes of The Pogues, Some Bach flute thing, Irish Revolutionary Songs, A Benson Hedges early 70’s soul collection, Squeeze and Remy Zero and a couple others, all for a quarter each.

Then there were the 35 LPs for 50 cents a piece covering everything from Tennessee Ernie Ford Spirituals to Lionel Hampton to Sergio Mendes to Al Hirt to Van Cliburn to Jo Stafford. Lots and lots of organ stuff, (we just love the organ stuff everything from wurlitzer to Moog or whatever). Sweet. Not “Sweet” but a sweet deal. Here’s what I’m learning about classical vinyl - Everybody in the middle class wanted them in their collections so that they would look intelligent, but unless it was some syrupy Tchaikovsky or 50 Greatest Hits of the Classical Age, nobody actually played them. Consequently they are in beautiful condition.

Yet another ooo

I get to put a new link up.
I recently met another local blogger (a seemingly very nice person).
Since this (a) fits into my preference of actually knowing whomever I’m linking to & (b) he was kind enough to link me, I would like to return the favour.
He mentions that it’s because I commented on his space.
See now? Commenting is indeed a friendly thing. (Mostly anyway, we all have seen it not be).

So without further ado may I present “RadioFreeUbu” a very erudite and creative personage. --------->

Local Lurkers

It occurs to me, through looking over my stats, that there are quite a few lurkers who show up fairly consistently from here or very near here. This leads me to think that the likelihood is good that you know me but apparently don’t have anything to say to me?!

Now I’m not talking about you folks I know- Nitro, Radiolady, Nigel, T.Coccomotion et al. my sister, Dali etc. I know who all of you are and when you show up.

But what is up with this? I expose myself to your scrutiny but you don’t feel like saying hi? Hmmphh not very neighborly if you ask me.

My social theory is that if I like what someone is doing enough to come back even semi-regularly or if I think the likelihood is good that I’ll meet them eventually at a club or a party, I comment at least once or twice just to give them the opportunity to stare blankly at me when I introduce myself to them by saying archly “I’m Stella”.

I know I have not completely kept up with my pact to respond politely to each and every comment, this is a failing on my part and I will try to be better about it, but in the meanwhile why don’t some of you lurkers give the rest of us something to talk about for once.