substitute: (smartypants)
results )
I'm delighted by "unexplained bacon" but otherwise they're are pretty obvious and boring. Except that I don't like Philip K. Dick so much, so no Valis for me. I don't use emacs. The rest is good old pretentious me!
substitute: (Default)
In attempts to censor profanity on the Internet, the first try is almost always with search and replace, or as smart people call it "regular expressions."

The Daily WTF today reminded us all of the result.

This clbuttic howler is easy to find now with Google. There's a world full of blue-glbutt banjo, paranoid theories about buttbuttination from the grbutty knoll and systematic chemical mbuttacre, and Big Mouth Billy Bbutt.

It reminds me of the possibly apocryphal news story in which the suspect fled in a late model African-American Dodge sedan.
substitute: (heavens gate)
I was dragged out of my Fünke by John & Elan this evening. We consumed maragar tit ass and coffee, and cased a fancy B&B, and then harassed Nick at the Barnes & Noble. I was Media Bastard and demanded to know why they had neither the new Mountain Goats CD nor the DVD of the real version of The Wicker Man. He could only shrug, sadly, like a Beirut cab driver.

The B&B around the corner from 21 Ocean Front in McFadden square is odd in a European way. There are pictures outside of the rooms, only four or five of them in total. The entrance is a tiny box of a room with only an elevator and a telephone. There's something you must do to get in, but it's Myst. Anyway his friend wasn't working there that night.

Great horror movie fog & moon out tonight. The Mexican restaurant was acceptable for its type but full of Americans.

We're supposed to get a good slosh of rain and HIGH SEAS OF DANGER this weekend. Who wants to go down to the jetty and get swept off and down into a terrible fate?
substitute: (kermit flail)


I have no means to myself express how my brain feels right now, so I'm going to let my friend Karl-Heinz Stockhausen speak for me. With helicopters, a string quartet, and ululating.

And so to bed, at 5 am! Exit stage right pursued by bees.
substitute: (Default)
The old "music industry" in the United States is dead. This has been clear for a decade now. Parts of it fall off occasionally, e.g., the entire retail store establishment. Those in charge cannot acknowledge that things have fundamentally changed to their disadvantage. Instead they're driven into ridiculous extremes: suing children, crippling computers and their own CDs and DVDs, attempting to dock the tuition accounts of college students, and buying risible legislation.

They have no choice. The music industry distributes its product via trucks through warehouses, and there is cash involved. Therefore they are in part controlled by organized crime. In the golden years of the 70s and 80s, so-called "cutout" or remaindered discount records were a cash equivalent, and everyone had some good times with the resulting piles of $50's. Lew Wasserman helped out his old buddy Ronald Reagan with slush money, and later there was a polite to-do about the Mafia and MCA.

Now imagine the reaction of the wise guys to the elimination of trucking and cash, the elimination of warehouses, and the elimination of networks of middlemen. The made man in the corner office isn't happy.

It's clear we need to get these guys out of the picture. They're trying to make money off something dead, and they aren't going to let it go. But they're armed, and wealthy, and very good at using legislation and muscle to keep a good thing going. What to do?

Another problem has been getting worse the last ten years: spam. Annoying email, most of it for illegal or fraudulent businesses, is gumming up the works badly. The spammers are winning the arms race, too: it gets harder and harder to filter their crap without losing legitimate communication. Worst of all, it can't be legislated out of existence because it originates offshore and is transmitted by zombie armies of compromised computers controlled by crafty Russians. So now we have another organized crime problem: the damn Russians won't stop spamming us and we can't do a thing about it.

I propose that we solve both problems simultaneously.

A mission of music executives, internet portal and technology managers, and suitably anonymous government figures will be sent to a Godfather-like summit with the Russian mob's top leaders. And we will say this to them:

"We know you're businessmen. And we respect that. We're businessmen too. And we have a problem for us that's an opportunity for you. If you want to come in and wipe out the guys who are holding back our music industry, the business is yours. Clearly you know how to sell on the Internet, and how to sell music for that matter. You're digitally sophisticated and you know how to get paid without trucks and wads of cash. Come on in and enjoy, and we'll overlook the crime wave as you whack all these bastards.

"In return we ask only one thing: stop the spam. It's bad for business for us, and it can't be a long-term business for you either. Technology changes, you know that. If you walk away from spam we'll hand you the key to digital music, and that's not going away. Deal?"

The result in my utopia would be a short, exciting series of gangland murders, followed by the emergence of slightly too expensive but totally functional music download services. And spam will go to about 5% what it is now; the government and tech people can take credit for this.

I for one am willing to pay 10% more on my music downloads for this deal.

The Castle

Jun. 25th, 2007 10:44 am
substitute: (asphalt)
So my shoulder hurts, and I went to the doctor. And we tried a couple things and they didn't work. So he sent me to the MAN! Super-neurologist. Pain specialist. That guy was indeed a skilled and professional physician. He tried a very special thing and it didn't work.

So then the MAN said that there was a higher, more esoteric, almost hermetic knowledge held by one whose feet he was not worthy to clean, and sent me to him, with the warning "it can take a while." Since the MAN himself was hard to see, I was full of the fear of this sage's appointment queue, and today I nerved myself up to call.

September 22. (Forty years in the desert.) I made the appointment. I also made a "start over" appointment with my humble yet proficient physician, and let the MAN know how high the peak and how covered in mist, and the terrible length of the journey.

My brother told me to get tested for the autoimmune problem that has made his life hell. Hey, why not?

I'm still a little upset that the nature of my ailment makes mall shooting sprees difficult. I could shoot lefty but I hate brass in my teeth, and I can't even use a machete too well without my right hand. I guess I'll have to go amok slapping people, or kicking them like the Black Night in Holy Grail.. Suck.
substitute: (octopus bomb)
  1. There is no force, however great
    To pull a wire, however fine
    Into a horizontal line
    That shall be absolutely straight

    -- Unknown
  2. Stone walls do not a prism make
    They're better made of glass
    If you had studied Science
    You would not be such an ass

    -- My father

edibleornot

May. 7th, 2007 08:44 am
substitute: (heavens gate)
I can't find the original picture of the truck full of INEDIBLE PORK PLASMA. Anyone got it? For all I know it may be on my own website named poorly.
substitute: (beaker)
Thank you [livejournal.com profile] burntcurtis for taking me out on an impromptu and very romantic man-date. We walked about at UCI, had a coffee at one of the last remaining Diedrich (!), bothered [livejournal.com profile] titmongler there, ate a good round-eye chinese meal, and finally went to the CVS so I could get opiates and milk.

And yeah, tight jeans are dumb, John.

And yeah, Michael McDonald does suck.

Stop now and put down your pencil. Do not get up or raise your hand. Wait until the proctor announces the end of the examination.
substitute: (augh)
If the Medical Establishment doesn't get its ass in gear by about, oh, noon tomorrow and deal with my problem I am going to carry out the first completely left-handed mass murder in history. Currently I have had no useful help from my "primary" internal medicine physician, a physical therapy clinic, a neurologist, and a pharmacy. My best improvements have come from Home Science investigating my shoulder and what makes it feel better. I have, I think, successfully diagnosed a rotator cuff inflammation or tear. If they'd just fucking tell me whether it's a tear or not I'd write them a check.

Last week the neurologist, who is currently "investigating" me and ordered the MRI, was out of town. No one told me this and I was leaving increasingly testy messages on his scheduler's voicemail. She didn't call me back. Finally I called the internal medicine office, because he'd said: If they don't call back, don't worry. The doctor is great but the office is a nightmare. Call me. Two minutes after that call, the schedule for the neurologist called me back. Why is this all being done Soviet style?

Currently I am self-medicating with alcohol. Yes, I know that's stupid. Tomorrow I shall explain to any doctor who answers or returns my calls that I am sliding into Under the Volcano and I need either medically approved relief or a plan for fixing the problem: preferably necessarily both.

Otherwise I will show up wild-eyed and unshaven at the emergency room demanding some combination of opiates, steroids, acupuncture, inaccupuncture. sodomy, and surgery. I've had it! So, it'll be fixed I'm sure.

Finally I'd like to say that I have only been reading back a screen or so a day of the LJ because after I've done work and blathered my own posts and had 8.9 margaritas and hugged the cat I still can't do that much web browsing without flailing and moaning in pain. Yes, that's self-pity. Yes, it's for real.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: bodies are overrated.

The shoes.

Mar. 15th, 2007 08:20 pm
substitute: (ionesco)
I had a mission. It seemed simple. My task was to acquire and ship a pair of shoes to [livejournal.com profile] mendel.

Acquisition was easy; about five clicks of ecommerce.

Then I discovered that shipping a pair of shoes to a friend in Canada is... fraught. It's not expensive. Nor is it physically difficult. However, the bureaucracy involved is nearly Slavic.

First I tried to do this via FedEx. They had a reasonably priced shipping option, and their website promised a step-by-step process for getting the customs declarations and shipping labels right.

The actual process resembled a "choose your own adventure" script in which failure might result in international arrest warrants for fraud, smuggling, failure to comply, cavalier attitude towards generally accepted procedures of international commerce, and yeggery. Deep in the middle of Adventure #3 I found myself faced with a screen in which I had to choose whether the shoes were "ornamental" in some way or "shoes, leather sole, fabric upper, pointed, ballet, en pointe, intended for legitimate artistic purposes." I imagined a bad click resulting in poor [livejournal.com profile] mendel forced to pirouette on a pair of city walking boots under pain of permanent fugitive status on an Interpol warrant.

I gave up on FedEx. Their process "concluded" without any ability to schedule a pickup. Apparently I hadn't finished, but there was no clue why.

The United States Postal Service was more promising. In fact, their procedure was honestly step-by-step, and the rates again very reasonable! I happily clicked through a few screens, entered my information, and was presented with a PDF which I printed. No joy. The PDF printed without addresses and strangely truncated. I had mistakenly clicked "okay!" and charged my credit card before I saw that the printout was very much not okay. Oh God! What to do now? Once you've printed out the damned thing you can't do so again without doubling the charge, which then becomes less than reasonable.

Fortunately the EZ-Print-O-Matic system had dropped a turd on my desktop which turned out to be the PDF itself. I opened it with Adobe Reader instead of the Mac's "Preview" program and it printed out just fine. Whew! I now had the five required copies of the label/customs declaration, prepaid postage, the package itself, and a false sense of confidence.

[livejournal.com profile] eyeteeth and I arrived at the post office today and found it nearly empty! no line, friendly staff. Hopes were high. Unfortunately, I had failed to throw out the first, bad printout of the label and had brought it with me instead of the second, good printout. The postal lady couldn't do a thing with the first printout because it was so badly truncated that there wasn't enough information for her to fill out a real one. She sadly told me I'd have to bring the real one or she couldn't ship.

Ordinarily I would have cursed God and died, rushed home, found the proper paperwork, and gone back to the Post Office. But I had to feed the [livejournal.com profile] eyeteeth and myself, and had to get her to the airport. This was no time to admit defeat. Off we went to Cafe Zinc to eat well, and from there to the airport.

Problem: the mailing date on the forms was fixed at today. What will happen? Tomorrow I will try to contact "customer" "service" at the USPS and find out if I have completely failed and missed my "window" in which case I'll start over. With luck this will be no problem. Then I will be able to mail the package.

As Art Spiegelman titled his story of Maus after the war, and now my troubles began. Or rather [livejournal.com profile] mendel's troubles. If or when I ship the package, will he receive it? Will the broker (Canadian for "bandito") give him the shoes? Will the shoes arrive? Will they be approved by Canadian Customs, or rejected as somehow dangerous or economically rapacious or otherwise un-Canadian? Will [livejournal.com profile] mendel be forced to dance a sequence from Swan Lake for Mounties to avoid transportation to the Baffin Bay Correctional Work Institute?

You my readers will be the first to know. Pray for us.
substitute: (tesh)
From our "Christ, what an asshole" desk here's the promo copy for 24K Entertainment, who are inexplicably arriving here in Costa Mesa.

This is what a club DJ sounds like when he gets big, big dreams. He sounds like J&H Productions:
Today, 24K emphasizes an energetic, upscale, social nightlife environment for people who enjoy lavish extravagance. With its marketing debut as a nightlife promotion, 24k offers décor and ambience touched with golden accents, elite dancers and a socially exclusive environment. The 24k nightclub is currently in negotiations to expand its nightlife marketing promotion into major metropolitan cities domestically and internationally in select established venues. This expansion will lead into the premiere of branded 24K product lines including bottled water, energy drink, liquor, monthly magazine, calendars TV & radio productions and a 24K sportswear line for men & women.
AND IN THE STADIUMS AND COLISEUMS PERTAINING TO THE LABEL INDUSTRY AND MAJOR PERFORMING ARTISTS SUCH AS

ON A STICK

Jan. 29th, 2007 11:34 pm
substitute: (jerry)
Via [livejournal.com profile] yoscott, a celebration of the Minnesota State fair...food.

cut for inline video )
substitute: (savagerepublic)
Recommended for anyone stuck in the Inland Empire who likes loud clanking surf-industrial African-themed art damage music. From the Savage Republic mailing list. ALSO: They have an advance EP that you can buy right now on mobilization.com.
In lieu of rehearsing one more night, our friend Robin is allowing us to play a show in Montclair, CA. on Thursday night, February the 8th. NO COVER! Great beer on tap, and we promise to deliver a full set of favorites and new ditties! It will also be the first chance to pick up the Siam EP. Come join the fun! ALL AGES!!!!

Biacci's
775 N. Central Avenue
Upland, CA 91786
909-946-0990

See you there!
SR

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