No one could say that she was left up on the shelf

Some of us never get over the childhood desire for the impossible. I remember a book I read as a kid, colorfully illustrated without words, in which some children get magical christmas presents of unknown origin. The presents turn out to be strange jumpsuits with backpacks on them. When they are put on and a button on the chest is pressed, the backpacks sprout wings and the children fly off.

The kids soar over beautiful green farmland and towns, land and visit friends, get ice cream, fly some more, and finally return home happily exhausted. When they wake up the next day, the magic flying suits are gone, and in fact never were; it was all a dream.

This is a terrible cheat. Not only is it a nasty trick to use the "it was all a dream" trick anywhere, but the author of this book didn't have the balls to let the poor kids have their science fiction flying suits of the future in a work of fiction! I remember being really upset by the end of that little book.

Throughout childhood I had a series of impossible dreams: toys my parents could never buy, mostly. As I got older I wanted various Cool Stuff that was out of my reach: the ultimate bicycle, various electronic items, eventually a computer. I would make elaborate lists of the exact specifications of things I would never have. It's not that I was a demanding child; quite the opposite! I was almost always too polite to ask for anything, and just hoped that someone would notice my obsession with the current golden dream and present it to me.

But I had a talent for wanting the unreachable. I wasn't often satisfied; one bicycle and a walkie-talkie set stand out as dreams fulfilled. Rosebud! O my Raleigh 10 speed, and the little walkie talkies with the separate microphone that was so cool.

As the Apostle says, now that I think as a man I put away childish things. My toy planning now is limited to the occasional configuration rampage on an auto maker's or computer company's website. I don't like to play the "if I won the Lottery" game or read books about how to become the CEO of a company. That stuff feels immature, silly.

But if there's a woman I know who's unavailable, I'll fall for her whether she's attached, uninterested, or just emotionally inaccessible. Reliably and fatally, I'm attracted to whomever won't reciprocate: ice queens, people who live far away, people in love with someone else, and people who just aren't interested.

And when I think about solving my problems I need to fix everything, now and forever; I insist on total cures for my ills and freedom from every demon that dogs me. I can hold up some ridiculous image of future perfection and call it a goal, and I'm being serious.

And when I let my mind drift and imagine some kind of happiness like that, I always next imagine betrayal and failure. Clearly I'd be dumped by anyone I wanted, obviously any success at defeating my troubles would blow back in my face sevenfold once I told myself I'd won. I build tragic ends to every daydream.

There's life lived with nose pressed to the glass. The flying suits never arrive, and if they did it was all a dream. Real life is more like marching than like flying, and that's never suited me.

Take this job and love it.

via waxy.org

Beware, posers, of the Necrowizard!

Impaled Northern Moonforest is an acoustic black metal band whose hit tunes include "Lustfully Worshipping The Inverted Moongoat While Skiing Down The Inverted Necromountain Of Necrodeathmortum", "Awaiting The Blasphemous Abomination Of The Necroyeti While Sailing On The Northernmost Fjord Of Xzfgiiimtsath", and "Masturbating On The Unholy Inverted Tracks Of The Grim And Frosbitten Necrobobsledders".

Go sign their guestbook, already. Via The Null Device.

Making a Federal Queso It

Via robotwisdom, mainly for anarqueso, gordonzola, and the rest of the cheese crew. Your nemesis has been uncovered; the EVIL cheese makers. Also I was obligated to make a dumb joke in the headline so shut up about it already.

Feds charge pair in cheese-making scam

WAYNE PARRY
Associated Press

NEWARK, N.J. - They touted their cheese as better than the rest, and their company was hailed as one of the best small businesses in America.

But a federal court indictment claims the success story of now-defunct cheese maker Suprema Specialties was full of holes. The company's former chief executive and chief financial officer are accused of participating in a massive scheme with customers and suppliers to claim more than $600 million in non-existent sales.

( and they lied about the cheese, too )

More linksmanship, sorry

Ecotourists may be making the gorillas sick.

I think the whole problem with "ecotourism" is contained in its name. Just Stay Home, everyone.

Annals of unintentional camp: William MacLeod Raine

nickjb told me today about a book that gets left out a lot at the library. It's from the Thorndike Large Print Western series, and it's by William MacLeod Raine (1871-1954), a prolific author of cowboy books. Here it is:



A rousing tale of Leadville, indeed!

After you get over that, we'll proceed. Nick says the large print cover is "even better", but we'll have to wait for a scan. I couldn't find it online. Raine's oeuvre is packed with the innocently bi-curious butchness of action novels from the thirties, when language was used differently and men were men. Real men. Big, strong men with pushbroom mustaches and chaps and... pardon me, I'll continue. The examples below will result in puerile, campy chuckles. Also, the University of New Mexico Library has an article he wrote titled "Eugene Manlove Rhodes, American" from 1945. You're welcome.

( here's the rest of the covers )

Captain Emo to the Bridge

To quote a legendary crappy Victorian translation of Oedipus Rex:

"Not having been born in the first place is superior to every view of the question."