Happy Birthday Bob

In case you needed some ground rules, here is How To Celebrate Bob Dylan's Birthday.

And if you were curious, here is what was going on the day little Bob was born.

Naturally you can imagine the Hibbing Daily Tribune has something to say about the subject, where Bob Dylan's annual birthday bash starts Friday and runs through Tuesday.

Although a few days late, The Bob Dylan Show, a tribute band from Australia will perform with it’s all-star band in celebration of Bob Dylan’s Birthday at The Cat And Fiddle Hotel in Balmain on Saturday, May 28. Just enough time to fly down...

NPR's interview last year with Bob Dylan.

For the real freaks, there's the Bob Dylan Pool which tries to predict the songs he will play in concert. Pity there isn't a pool for predicting what percentage of the songs he sings will be coherent.

And of course, there's the Bob Dylan Coffee Mug Set, as if one coffee mug just wouldn't be enough...

If you hadn't heard about it: “Gilligan’s Island,” starring cartoon versions of Bob Dylan as Gilligan.

A collection of jokes he made on stage followed quickly by Bob Dylan quotes

None of which mentions Tangled Up In Jews.

We could do this all night kids, but enough's enough.

IF YOU SEE HER, SAY HELLO

If you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin' there, I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her, don't tell her it isn't so.

We had a falling-out, like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night, it still brings me a chill
And though our separation, it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me, we've never been apart.

If you get close to her, kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for busting out and gettin' free
Oh, whatever makes her happy, I won't stand in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay.

I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it, I've just learned to turn it off
Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm gettin' soft.

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past
I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast
If she's passin' back this way, I'm not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time.

Inglan is a Bitch
Linton Kwesi Johnson

w'en mi jus' come to Landan toun
mi use to work pan di andahgroun
but workin' pan di andahgroun
y'u don't get fi know your way aroun'
Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin' it
Inglan is a bitch
dere's no runnin' whey fram it

mi get a lickle jab in a big 'otell
an' awftah a while, mi woz doin' quite well
dem staat mi aaf as a dish-washah
but w'en mi tek a stack, mi noh tun clack-watchah!

Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it
Inglan is a bitch
noh baddah try fi hide fram it

w'en dem gi' you di lickle wage packit
fus dem rab it wid dem big tax rackit
y'u haffi struggle fi mek en's meet
an' w'en y'u goh a y'u bed y'u jus' cant sleep

Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it
Inglan is a bitch fi true
a noh lie mi a tell, a true

mi use to work dig ditch w'en it cowl noh bitch
mi did strang like a mule, but, bwoy, mi did fool
den awftah a while mi jus' stap dhu ovahtime
den aftah a while mi jus' phu dung mi tool

Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it
Inglan is a bitch
y'u haffi know how fi suvvive in it

well mi dhu day wok an' mid dhu nite wok
mi dhu clean wok an' mid dhu dutty wok
dem seh dat black man is very lazy
but it y'u si how mi wok y'u woulda sey mi crazy

Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it
Inglan is a bitch
y'u bettah face up to it

dem have a lickle facktri up inna Brackly
inna disya facktri all dem dhu is pack crackry
fi di laas fifteen years dem get mi laybah
now awftah fiteen years mi fall out a fayvah

Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it
Inglan is a bitch
dere's no runnin' whey fram it

mi know dem have work, work in abundant
yet still, dem mek mi redundant
now, at fifty-five mi gettin' quite ol'
yet still, dem sen' mi fi goh draw dole

Inglan is a bitch
dere's no escapin it
Inglan is a bitch fi true

is whey wi a goh dhu 'bout it?

How Sweet It Is

The Modern Drunkard Magazine has an excellent article on the myth, madness and magic of Jackie Gleason:

"Picture it: It’s 1950 and you stroll into Toots. The first thing you take in is the circular bar, lushly appointed and wrapped around a spire of liquor stacked to a distant ceiling. In the deepest corner of the room a crowd roars with laughter and you naturally gravitate toward the source. First you pass through a sea of gawking tourists willing to pay premium drink prices to get a glimpse of their idols, then a moat of newspaper columnists, their ears cocked for material for tomorrow’s column, then finally the inner circle itself—Frank Sinatra drinks Jack Daniels with known mafia kingpins, Humphrey Bogart nurses a double whiskey and a triple hangover, Joe DiMaggio pours champagne for his wife Marilyn Monroe. Milton Berle, Charlie Chaplin, Bob Hope, Walter Winchell and Mickey Mantle stand enthralled, waiting for the next hilarious word. At the very center of this thick ring of American heroes stands the then relatively unknown Jackie Gleason, holding court, doing what he does best—working the room for laughs. He makes light of himself, he makes greater light of those around him; mining huge egos for uproarious laughter. And they take it, daring not to show weakness, because if Jackie smells blood he goes in like a shark.


via A Large Regular

*****Music On The Mind******

Is Matisyahu the new king of hasidic reggae?

via Radio Active, the completely normal and boring New Yorker.

*****

When the President Talks To God, via The Scottish Patient.

*****

As always, great new live video and audio clips via 3 voor 12

*****

Planxty

by Erik Satie

Drunk in a cafe, some French coastal village
you wouldn't know. Studying
the mirror, all bubbled
and discolored, that hangs over the bar:

"I like it there's no piano here.
Pianos: just furniture, really.
The music of an open wallet,
my friend, obbligato of popping corks . . . ."

Signaling with consummate grace
for another bottle, seen only
by the proper waiter,
then tightening his tie suddenly:

"Did you know that Herr Beethoven,
for his majestic final symphony,
earned the equivalent of sixty
of your American dollars?"

A smile that could not possibly
be transcribed: "Although
my information is incorrect,
I do not vouch for it."

*****MISCELLANY

Don't look now but it looks like The Chimps Are Running Kansas - original link via Search Blog

*****

How To Eat At The Dollar Store:

"Your edible meat choices at the dollar store pretty much come down to tuna, tuna and tuna. Sure, there are other options, but they consist of meat whose origin, both with regards to location on the planet and on the animal itself, is questionable. Besides the aforementioned corned beef hash, other meat-like products that I did not put in my basket included Vienna sausages, off-brand chili and turkey SPAM.

I did, however, throw some Dinty Moore Chicken Stew in the basket. When I look back on it, I have no idea why. Maybe because it was a brand name. Maybe it was because I've never seen Chicken Stew before. All I know is that I'm too scared to eat it. Knowing how crummy the meat is in a homemade beef stew (it's supposed to be tough, cheap meat that softens up over the hours it's simmering in the stew), I can't imagine what kind of chicken meat is of such low quality that it only is suitable for canned stew. I just stare at the can periodically, wondering what kind of unpleasantness lurks just under that lid."

******

Unintentionally sexual comic book covers via The Best Page In The Universe.

*****

All through life you can go without ever realising there are two types of shoes in the world:

Fuck-Me Shoes and Fuck-You Shoes.

So dress carefully.

Dylan

Desolation Row

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As the Lady and I look out tonight
>From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
"It takes one to know one," she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong To Me I Believe"
And someone says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave."
And the only sound that's left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortunetelling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
"Have Mercy On His Soul"
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
>From Desolation Row

Across the street they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They're spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outta Here If You Don't Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row"

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
>From Desolation Row

-- Bob Dylan

Tony Charles Lynton Blair: White House Poodle or Third Term Wonder?

The son of a barrister has done it again.

They say it is historic third term - historic in that only 22% of those eligible to vote backed Labour - the lowest figure they have received at any post-war election apart from 1983 when the figure was 20.6%.

Another rerun of the Tony Blair Witch Project.

They say he limped away with victory and a bloodied nose on Iraq as well.

Cut down to poodle-size.

Even the Guardian thinks he was cut down to size:

"As the results came in last night it became compellingly clear that enough voters were determined to switch from Labour to other parties - mainly to the Liberal Democrats in safe seats but also to the Tories in southern marginals - for Tony Blair's ascendancy to be brought spectacularly down to earth."

For those of you keeping score at home, here is the voter's scorecard.

FT says Blair's Hope of a Thumping Majority dashed:

"Mr Blair's frozen smile said much. Though a historic victory no Labour government has ever served three successive terms the prime minister's critics will argue with justification that he has lost the magician's touch that powered him to two previous landslides."

And not that it matters to much to some as he may decided to quit sooner than expected to let the other dullard take over.

Indeed, how long will he last?

According to Polly Toynbee, Tony Blair alone bears the blame:

"Tony Blair tried to persuade himself that the Iraq war was a chattering class obsession, but it was everywhere, even among those who usually pay scant attention to foreign policy. It became the symbol and the icon for any disappointment or grievance with the government over the last eight years. It all came down on Tony Blair's head."

Even the NYT got into the act, acknowledging that for Blair, victory was not so sweet this time.

And speaking of what they think in 'Merica, in case you wondered what King Karl Rove thinks of it all...he donned a red rosette and walked away.

Maybe he too realised that Labour is flaccid and empty-headed.

But it could have been worse.

What all this means, of course, that although he has stooped to crawling in a sewer he should never be allowed to rise from, Michael Howard's days are numbered.

Not only that but Shadow education secretary Tim Collins' defeat was a major blow for Howard.

Labour's Jacqui Smith won the majority in my area again although her voting record is rather dodgy.

And how did the REAL alternative perform?

Not too shabbily. They won they're biggest seat total in 76 years.

They heralded a new era.

They may even turn into a reality check.

In the end, after all the money spent, the days campaigning, the words wasted, It was nobody's triumph

Except for Dirty George Galloway, who won his street fight over Oona King

Here's the map in case you are curious about who did what where to whom.

And if you're looking for a bit of lit with your political jones, Maud Newton's there and here edition does it quick and brill.

*****

Other information of note having nothing to do with the UK's elections:

Thursday and Empire is quite a good read.

A long-overdue tribute to Screaming Lord Sutch formerly of the Official Monster Raving Loony Party.

Verse Daily

*****Going Out In Style*****

That's all for today kids. Now Go out and kill Americans or if you're too busy to bother, just go out and get a piece, Son.

And yes, you can:

Mommy Can I Go Out And Kill Tonight? - The Misfits.

Jaap Stijl Translates The Hits

This is a hydroponic collection of poems taking the titles of famous poems and ruining them with his own incandescent style of translation. It is a style that follows syllabolically but not thematically. A style to feed to wild dogs. A style to feed starving children with. A style that knows it's own limits but leaps wildly past them anyway and has the scar to prove it.

The Collection itself will eventually fold through apathy and forgivenonsense.

1. The Snowman Can:

(a translation from insurance bureaucratese to gibberish of Wallace Stevens'The Snowman:

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


becomes:


One must build the snowman winter
through button eyes and mutton mouth
carrot noses that never run;

Brrr, this ain't no renaissance
it's ice age cold Tolstoy's even frozen,
they can't sell him on the open market

of the thinking man's snowman slowly dripping
and there goes another several years down the drain,
and not a plumber in sight,

So the land is the sound of
the snowman's cold cry
that is lost in the same dull dripping

For the buckets full, that slowly overflow,
with nothing snowmen who
duly noted their existence you never built.

****************

2. The Roadblock Has Spoken

This is a translation of The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost from the ancient new england hallmarkian to pub dirgese:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, 10

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. 15

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. 20

becomes:

TWO days I stumbled drunken as a bum,
And sorry I ran out so quickly
and have not a drop more for myself
And shook the bottles searching no luck
so they were all useless to me now; 5

Then came the roadblock that stopped me there,
And having perhaps the better gun,
Because I thought I could aye blow it down;
Though I tried to reason with it
My chances were pretty much kaput, 10

But there was no reasoning with this
roadblock that stood there steadily.
Oh, I punched my fist in the deadly air!
Yet I knew it was done futily,
So I doubted I'd be back for lunch. 15

I shall be telling groaning pain
Somewhere out there in the favoured land:
A roadblock emerged for me, and I—
I knew the roadblock has spoken,
And that has made all the difference. 20


*******************

Day After Tomorrow
-Tom Waits

I got your letter today
And I miss you all so much, here
I can't wait to see you all
And I'm counting the days, dear
I still believe that there's gold
At the end of the world
And I'll come home
To Illinois
On the day after tomorrow

It is so hard
And it's cold here
And I'm tired of taking orders
And I miss old Rockford town
Up by the Wisconsin border
But I miss you won't believe
Shoveling snow and raking leaves
And my plane will touch tomorrow
On the day after tomorrow

I close my eyes
Every night
And I dream that I can hold you
They fill us full of lies
Everyone buys
About what it means to be a soldier
I still don't know how I'm supposed to feel
About all the blood that's been spilled
Look out on the street
Get me back home
On the day after tomorrow

You can't deny
The other side
Don't want to die
Any more than we do
What I'm trying to say,
Is don't they pray
To the same God that we do?
Tell me, how does God choose?
Whose prayers does he refuse?
Who turns the wheel?
And who throws the dice
On the day after tomorrow?
Mmmmmmm...
I'm not fighting
For justice
I am not fighting
For freedom
I am fighting
For my life
And another day
In the world here
I just do what I've been told
You're just the gravel on the road
And the one's that are lucky
One's come home
On the day after tomorrow

And the summer
It too will fade
And with it comes the winter's frost, dear
And I know we too are made
Of all the things that we have lost here
I'll be twenty-one today
I've been saving all my pay
And my plane will touch down
On the day after tomorrow
And my plane it will touch down
On the day after tomorrow

Camilla Fever

There's a new disease making its way round the island since yesterday afternoon and it's called Camilla Fever.

One of the first signs of Camilla Fever is marrying some really homely looking guy with chimp ears and a complex about his lack of hair which causes him to constantly brush his comb-over back over his balding scalp with his bony, effete fingers and mutter intellectual fallacies like tut-tut.

And of course, once you have Camilla Fever it means your face begins to resemble a horse's ass only maybe a little cleaner.

And isn't it ironic that on the day the Prince marries a horse, the most famous horse race in England, The Grand National, is held a few hours later just in time for the Camilla Parker-Bowles entry to make her escape from the wedding reception and over to the track where she finished 8th and made all but one jump.

They say she has a bit of a horse face the poor old girl but personally, after the ceremony I've become convinced that she is really a man, not a woman. And she isn't even very convincing as a woman.

Can you imagine what the spawn of these two would look like? The Royal Family should be thanking Christ that Princess Diana's womb had been available to pinch out a few decent looking blokes because really, the offspring of Charles and Camilla would be like some horrific genetic experiment which produce mutations of royalty who clap their feet together and walk on their hands.

Slumped over on the sofa in the midst of a terrific hangover and staring off at the decrepit ceremonies one realises how popular hats have become. The Irish milliner who designed Camilla's hat had some interesting tales to tell:

His beloved companion was his late dog, Mr Pig, who recently died. Mr Pig treated most celebrities with disdain but was said to have developed a special affection for Mrs Parker Bowles.

He recalled one occasion when Mrs Parker Bowles was receiving a fitting and Mr Pig "lay at her feet, gazing up at her adoringly".

Hey, is he sure that wasn't Charles?

But anyway, hats were such a big thing yesterday, Camilla wore two of them: First a straw hat, overlaid with ivory French lace and trimmed with a fountain of feathers. And for the more formal blessing ceremony in the Gothic St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle, Camilla switched to a feathered, semicircular headdress.

Everywhere you looked it looked as though pheasants had taken to nesting in ugly women's hair.

Not only that, but the food was crap as well.

Really, a 24-inch organic fruit wedding cake? Ugh. So you'd better not have been hungry if you were bored enough to go to the Royal Wedding reception because they were passing out stuff like Egg and cress on granary bread, Mini vegetarian pasties, Potted shrimp bridge rolls, etc. What? No Jellied Moose Nose?

And if you found the ceremony boring, you could have tried distracting yourself by doing something useful. Throne Out had lovely ideas on how to convert your Charles & Di mugs into Charles & Camilla mugs.

Personally, I found it more interesting to countdown the number of days until Prince William's receding hairline finally catches up with him and erupts into a full blown case of male pattern baldness. It appears we're almost there already. In another few months the Prince of Wales will have to teach Prince William the art of the comb-over and how to constantly flick the remaining wisps of hair on his head in a self-indulgent gesture of vanity doomed for failure, if he hasn't started already.

*****

I certainly hope there are enough Crayola colours to keep the revolutions going.

What Color For Minsk?

The author points out that "The Georgians had the Rose, the Ukrainians Orange as the symbol of their peaceful revolution. What will the Belarusians choose to symbolize their struggle for democracy, freedom and dignity? It is only a question of time to know the answer."

Citizens Unite! Interior decorators and fashion designers are giving falsified elections and the subsequent protests a bad name. Belarus says, we don't want no stinkin' freedom. Not if someone's going to colour it sepia or taupe before the placards are even dry!

*****

Don't want the week ending before noting Saul Bellow's death.

"En reléguant les rituels de la chasse, de la pêche au gros ou de la tauromachie au rayon des accessoires palliatifs de l'angoisse, Bellow refuse un code coulé dans le moule puritain du XIXe siècle et refaçonné par les blessures et les désillusions de l'après-première guerre mondiale. Par ce défi direct lancé à Ernest Hemingway, dont la stature écrase alors depuis vingt ans les lettres américaines, Saul Bellow montre sa détermination à ouvrir de nouveaux territoires à l'imaginaire."

Not only that but it appears that even a writer with as much talent as Bellow has to have his death swept under the rug by the hoopla over the Dead Pope and the Dead Prince Rainier. And then, perhaps out of jealousy, Prince Ernst August of Hanover, 51, Caroline's third husband hasn't quite gotten into the dying act yet but settled for the slightly less dramatic acute pancreatic disorder, a disease commonly associated with heavy drinking.

*****

Charles Dickens: Please, sir, I'd like a martini.
Bartender: Sure thing. Olive or twist?

James Joyce: I'll take a Guinness.
Bartender: So Charles Dickens was in here yesterday.
James Joyce: (drinks)
Bartender: And he asked for a martini and I said, "Olive or twist?"
James Joyce: (drinks)
Bartender: You see, it's funny because he wrote "Oliver Twist."
James Joyce: What a shitty joke.

Ernest Hemingway: Gin.
Bartender: So Charles Dickens was in here two days ago.
Ernest Hemingway: Joyce already told me that story. Fuck off.

Virginia Woolf: I'll take your second-best cognac and unadulterated
experience.
Bartender: We don't have that. This is a bar.
Virginia Woolf: Patriarchy! (drowns)

*****

In case you were interested: The Cheerless Junky Song

Tell all the truth but tell it slant--
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise
As lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind--

--Emily Dickinson


Some very interesting photos of Slavoj Žižek's miserable, hungover wedding. via The Valve.

Now here is something funny. Is it surprising that the Pope isn't just another one of the in crowd of those bloody "people"?

Ever wonder who the Pope of Dope was and where he hung out?

David Byrne Radio for the "odd variety" of music playing in (his?) office. Pshaw. I'd rather listen to Destination Unknown Radio.

Now that the old one is exiled to Iceland perhaps it's time to consider The Next Bobby Fischer. via One Good Move.

The whole "next Bobby Fischer" thing makes me wonder what he's doing in Iceland these days and then made me wonder what it might be like to read a blog written by the man himself. Well, there isn't one perse but in the search, I came across Bobby Fischer's letter to Ambassador Thordur Oskarsson, Icelandic Embassy in Tokyo, Japan asking for political asylum in Iceland, dated October 27, 2004. Send in the handwriting analysts!

Mitch Hedberg is dead but here are some quotes he left behind:

Last week I helped my friend stay put. It's a lot easier than helping someone move. I just went over to his house and made sure that he did not start to load shit into a truck.

I got my hair highlighted, because I felt some strands were more important than others.

I had a stick of Carefree gum, but it didn't work. I felt pretty good while I was blowing that bubble, but as soon as the gum lost its flavor, I was back to pondering my mortality.

I want to be a race car passenger: just a guy who bugs the driver. "Say man, can I turn on the radio? You should slow down. Why do we gotta keep going in circles? Can I put my feet out the window? Boy, you really like Tide."

At my hotel room, my friend came over and asked to use the phone. I said "Certainly." He said "Do I need to dial 9?" I say "Yeah. Especially if it's in the number. You can try four and five back to back real quick."

The thing about tennis is: no matter how much I play, I'll never be as good as a wall. I played a wall once. They're fucking relentless.

An escalator can never break: it can only become stairs. You would never see an "Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order" sign, just "Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience."

Here's a novelty: Find of the Week really IS the find of the week.

Like this

via the links of Left Blank.

*****

I LIKE AMERICANS
Ernest Miller Hemingway

By A Foreigner

I like Americans.
They are so unlike Canadians.
They do not take their policemen seriously.
They come to Montreal to drink.
Not to criticize.
They claim they won the war.
But they know at heart that they didn't.
They have such respect for Englishmen.
They like to live abroad.
They do not brag about how they take baths.
But they take them.
Their teeth are so good.
And they wear B.V.D.'s all the year round.
I wish they didn't brag about it.
They have the second best navy in the world.
But they never mention it.
They would like to have Henry Ford for president.
But they will not elect him.
They saw through Bill Bryan.
They have gotten tired of Billy Sunday.
Their men have such funny hair cuts.
They are hard to suck in on Europe.
They have been there once.
They produced Barney Google, Mutt and Jeff.
And Jiggs.
They do not hang lady murderers.
They put them in vaudeville.
They read the Saturday Evening Post
And believe in Santa Claus.
When they make money
They make a lot of money.
They are fine people.

POPE ON THE ROPES

POPE POPE POPE POPE POPE POPE POPE.

And now, live from the Vatican...it's the Papal Update

A POPE UPDATE...heart still ticking but the pope is on the ropes. Slipping in and out of consciousness. Papa gravissimo. He's taken a hard right from death and he's on the ropes ladies and gennelmen.

Meanwhile, lost in all the hoopla, Terri's fight is over.

Goodnight, funny lady.

Terry Schiavo Still Not Dead And Doesn't Need Feeding Tube
Sainthood Not Far Down The Road

Despite the US Court of Appeals declining for the fifth time to intervene in the case, it appears that Terry Schiavo does not need a feeding tube to stay alive and that the iron will and prayers of the good Christians of America and Jesse Jackson, will suffice until saner, more compassionate minds and hearts prevail.

Although it has now been 13 days since her feeding tube was removed and over a week and a half since Congress failed to stick it back in, and whilst Schiavo was weak from lack of nutrition, according to all reports her organs were functioning Wednesday and she was still alive.

Less than two years ago, this same Terry Schiavo experienced a miracle after doctors were ordered to reinsert her feeding tube following legislative flurry and gubernatorial intervention on her behalf but the stakes are raised now and the longer she goes on living without her precious little tube, the more beatific she becomes.

A group called Family is so excited about her ability to live without her feeding tube that she is being considered as a doll of One of the Original Saints, the proceeds of which will go toward funding more Christian organisations that use their outraged morality as an excuse to interfere with the American political system.

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Meanwhile, in a crass display of the pecking order of Christianity, whilst America tries to starve Terry Schiavo to death with no feeding tube, The Pope was being fitted for his own nasal feeding tube.

Vatican officials were at a loss to explain why Terry Schiavo could continue living without her feeding tube but the mighty and omniscent Pope required a feeding tube to stay alive.

An anonymous source within the Schiavo family scoffed at the news, noting "Our precious little Terry can live without a feeding tube, why can't the Pope? What kind of weakling is he anyway?"

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While the Pope needs a feeding tube and Terry Schiavo doesn't, testimony in the Michael Jackson child-molestation trial continued on with a weighty presentation on the definition of cuddle.

Flight attendant Cynthia Bell took the stand to talk about what she observed between the singer and the accuser during a flight back from Miami on Jackson's private jet. Prosecutors asked Bell if she ever saw Jackson "cuddling" with the accuser, and she said she saw him put his arm around the boy while listening to music. When asked if she considered that cuddling, Bell said, "It depends on what your definition of cuddling is."

She did not comment on what the her definition of "child rape" or "kiddy porn" is.

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And finally, in a pique of irony, it is reported that whilst Terry Schiavo continues to live without her feeding tube and the Pope continues to live WITH his feeding tube, Andrew Toti, the man who saved President Bush Number One, died.

Toti whose many inventions included an automated chicken plucker and a pop-top beer can and who was credited with inventing the Mae West flotation device, could simply not be saved after suffering a fall a few months ago.

Thousand of sailors and airmen during World War II owed their lives to their trusty Mae West, including a young Navy pilot, Lt. j.g. George H. W. Bush. Shot down over the Pacific on Sept. 2, 1944, the future president managed to stay afloat until he was spotted by passing planes and then rescued by a submarine. "Please tell [your father] a grateful Navy man who benefited from his invention sends his best wishes," he said in a message to Mr. Toti's daughter at a ceremony in the inventor's honor last fall.

Crowds Hope For Easter Blessing From Terri Schiavo

Pilgrims and tourists headed to Terri Schiavo's hopsice on Easter Day in hopes that though ailing she would be strong enough, despite nine days without food or water, to appear to the crowds and deliver an Easter Sunday blessing.

For the first time since the Florida Supreme Court dismissed a request from the parents' attorney to have their daughter's feeding tube reinserted, both the Pope and Terri Schiavo were skipping Easter Sunday Mass at midmorning.

The Pope is skipping out because he continues his convalescence following two recent hospitalizations for breathing crises and Terri Schiavo can't make it because doctors do not expect Schiavo to live beyond next Friday so there are more pressing matters on her mind, like damn, I wish I had a Big Mac.

The Vatican said the legal fight to prolong the 41-year-old woman's life is drawing to an end and that that since surgeons inserted a tube in John Paul's throat to help him breathe, the pontiff has uttered only a few words in public.

Odd, isn't it? In Florida, the doctors removed tubes from a 41-year-old woman in a vegetative state in order to starve her to death, not to keep her alive, and in the Vatican, the doctors are inserted tubes to help the Pope breath and keep him alive.

Let that be a lesson kids. If you want decent medical attention, it's better to be the Pope.

The Icelandman Commeth

The Free Bobby lobby must be happy.

Chess legend Bobby Fisher is headed to Iceland after finally being freed from eight month's detention in Japan.

Iceland's Parliament voted to award citizenship to Mr. Fischer, a tribute to his epic cold war match in 1972 in Reykjavik against the Russian Boris Spassky.

He has tried to seek political asylum and to renounce his US citizenship, and announced plans to marry Miyoko Watai, head of the Japanese chess association, with whom he had been living in Japan.

Iceland is a close US ally, and as the only non-armed member of Nato depends on Wash ington for its defence. Reykjavik's actions won praise from Fischer's supporters. "Very few countries would have the courage to do what Iceland has done," said John Bosnitch, head of the Committee to Free Bobby Fischer.

Fisher was in detention for trying to leave the country using an invalid passport which was a initially a backhanded way for Japan to do America's bidding. The American government wanted him as Fischer is wanted in the U.S. for playing an exhibition match against Russian Boris Spassky in 1992 on the resort island of Sveti Stefanin. The match was held in violation of sanctions imposed on the former Yugoslavia. Of course, if it had been one of VP Cheney's war-for-profit buddies at Haliburton, violating sanctions would have been ignored but unlike war-for-profit cronies of Cheney, if convicted in the U.S., Fischer could face 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine.

The granting of citizenship will only protect Fischer to an extent. Iceland, like Japan, has an extradition treaty with the U.S. and Washington could continue to seek his arrest.

Fischer was characteristically defiant as he arrived at the airport to be free of Japan.

"I won’t be free until I get out of Japan. This was not an arrest. It was a kidnapping cooked up by Bush and Koizumi," he said, referring to US President George Bush and Japanese prime minister Junichiro Koizumi.

Asked why he thought the US had pursued him for so long, Fischer replied, "It’s a Jew-controlled country," and launched into an anti-Semitic tirade.

As he walked towards the airport entrance, he turned, unzipped his trousers and acted as if he was going to urinate on the wall.

Fischer, meanwhile, says he will launch a $200m civil suit against the US government for wrongful imprisonment and emotional harm.

Of course, with the unnaturally expensive prices of Iceland, he might need every penny.

Fisher's legend is well documented by The Guardian's Stephen Moss:

"Many believe Fischer to be the greatest player of all time. Kasparov, who himself retired recently at the age of 41, had a higher official rating, but that may be misleading - there is an element of inflation in ratings over time. One thing is certain: a match between the two would be a media sensation. Even if they played now, it would be a multimillion-dollar event. How galling it must be for active grandmasters that the world is focused entirely on these two retired rogue bulls of the board. Fischer v Kasparov in Reykjavik some time next year? Why not? See you there!"

By the way, have a listen to Lazy Susan's song about Bobby Fisher. via One Good Move

America: Full of Holes
Dithering Congress Wrong on All Counts, More Die

Oh, the sweet irony.

Was it just last week that America's Congress was underscoring its own uselessness and flair for wasting tax dollars with its rubber pitbull impression of an "investigation" of baseball's steroid policy? And get this, they did it because they were concerned that a few teens on steroids had committed suicide.

Then this weekend, in a fit of misguided Christian Fundamentalism, they rush President Jesus Bush from his extended Easter holidays to sign their new bill into law all in order to "save the life" of ONE vegetative, brain-damaged woman.

And for what?

So they can stand with their collective thumbs up their collective arses on gun control after yet another American teen goes on a shooting rampage at school.

Where are the special legislative sessions and new bills passed now?

Where is President Jesus Bush's magical pen to pass new bills into law on gun control?

Nowhere of course because Americans love their guns and they want to keep dirty little secrets like gun control laws, silent.

So here's to America, a big cuppa hypocrisy and getting every shooting rampage death they deserve.

Now the only question is where Überjackass, Charlton Heston when it comes time to self-righteously pontificate on the utility of Americans love for guns and killing?

And let's hear it for President Jesus Bush and Congress.

One brain-damaged life saved, 10 more healthy Americans killed.

Well done.

The Poem Politic 10: A Note for Future Historians

When writing of us, state
as your first premise
THEY VALUED WAR MORE THAN ANYTHING
You will never understand us
otherwise, say that we

cherished war

over peace and comfort
over feeding the poor
over our own health
over love, even the act of it
over religion, all of them, except
perhaps certain forms of Buddhism

that we never failed to pass bills of war
through our legislatures, using the pressures
of imminent invasion or disaster (potential)
abroad as absolution for not spending moneys
on projects which might make us happy or even
save us from clear and evident crises at home

Write of us that we spent millions educating
the best of our youth and then slaughtered them
capturing some hill or swamp or no value and
bragged for several months about how well they died
following orders that were admittedly stupid, ill-conceived

Explain how the military virtues, best practiced
by robots, are most valued by us. You will never come
to understand us unless you realize, from the first,
that we love killing and kill our own youth, our own great
men FIRST. Enemies can be forgiven, their broken bodies
mourned over, but our own are rarely spoken of except in
political speeches when we "honor" the dead and encourage
the living young to follow their example and be gloriously
dead also

NOTE: Almost all religious training, in all our countries,
dedicates itself to preparing the people for war.
Catholic chaplains rage against "peaceniks," forgetting
Christ's title in the Church is Prince of Peace;
Baptists shout of the ungodly and the necessity of
ritual holy wars while preaching of the Ten Commandments
each Sunday; Mohammedans, Shintoists look forward
to days of bloody retribution while Jews march
across the sands of Palestine deserts, Rabbis
urging them on . . . .

THEY VALUED WAR MORE THAN ANYTHING

Will expose our children, our homes to murder and
devastation on the chance that we can murder or devastate
FIRST and thus gain honor. No scientist is respected whose
inventions help mankind, for its own sake, but only when
those discoveries also help to destroy, or to heal soldiers,
that they may destroy other men and living things

Be aware that
Destiny has caught us up, our choices made
subtly over the ages have spun a web about us:
It is unlikely we will escape, having geared
everything in our societies toward war and combat.
It is probably too late for us to survive
in anything like our present form.

THEY VALUED WAR MORE THAN ANYTHING

If you build monuments let them all
say that, as warning, as a poison label
on a bottle, that you may not ever
repeat our follies, feel our griefs.

--Keith Wilson

fr. Graves Registry & Other Poems

I Haven't Written Fuck All Lately

Why not?

Listening.

One: Insane Clown Posse.

Two: Osdorp Posse.

What else is there? Writing bitterly about politics? Ills of society? Good prolo PC writing?

Naaah.

Jackson Defense Reveals Al Qaida Link And False Testimony
Child Molestation Part of Ongoing Government Investigation

SANTA MARIA, California -- Michael Jackson's defense attorney Tuesday went after the brother of the teenage boy accusing the pop star of child molestation, alleging that the boy was a member of Al Qaeda and that the molestation was part of an ongoing "investigation" into the boy and his brother's links with terrorism.

Under cross-examination from defense attorney Thomas Mesereau Jr., the brother also admitted Tuesday that he had thought about voting against Bush in the 2004 election, even though he wasn't eligible to vote.

In a dramatic exchange, Mesereau told the jury that the magazine that the brother had been long plotting with unidentified Al Qaeda members in Afghanistan and Iraq to vote against Bush in the 2004 election AND to blow up Neverland.

"I'm telling you, I'm innocent!" the brother shouted angerly, as he held up a bin Laden placard.

The brother, now 14, repeatedly claimed an absence of memory in response to Mesereau's questions, saying that given his school work and tests, "most of that stuff leaves my memory."

"I know everything happened," the brother said of the alleged Al Qaeda plots, the potential bombing of Neverland and the his connection with terrorists. "I just don't remembers details ... not all the details."

The defense cross-examination of the brother will resume Wednesday morning, after court adjourned early Tuesday afternoon.

After watching his attorney successfully challenge his accuser's brother on the stand, Jackson "felt better today, at court's end, than he did yesterday, but still couldn't smell his own finger no matter how far he pushed it up his nose" his publicist, Raymone Bain, said in a statement.

During the brother's testimony, Jackson worked out the choreography of his next video and stared at the boy, nodding his head from time to time with a look of pleasure and turning the pages of a few child porn magazines.

On Monday, the accuser's brother testified that on two occasions in early 2003, he had walked into Jackson's bedroom at Neverland and started masturbating with one hand over pictures of 9/11, while his other hand was down his sleeping brother's pants.

"It's too bad that the brother of one of my victims appears to be a member of Al Qaeda," Michael Jackson said through a press release later in the day. "And if it weren't for me molesting these kids and finding out which ones are the terrorists and which ones aren't, well, America just might not be the free Jesus-loving Democracy it is today. I shudder to imagine the possibilities."

Blog Sweep

Considering the hottest topic of late appears to be self-bashing reconcilliation from the world's amazed population as in: "gee, maybe it WAS a good idea to destroy Iraq and kill 100,000 civilians - just LOOK at all the wonderful Democracy sprouting up like weeds in a Middle East hothouse!", I thought it might be fun to ignore the new for awhile and get back to a very abbreviated version of da Roots:

Dylanland via Far Afield:

"Wait, who's that near the exit? Woody Guthrie stretched out on a hospital gurney. A legend and he's still alive. And where is he? New York! Things are coming together.

Give your ticket to the nurse at the door, who escorts you to the side of the master's bed. He's in pretty bad shape, but still a gentle soul with time for a fan. "The tune isn't important," he tells you. "Take anything and make a few changes and you've got a new song. It's the words that matter." Stealing isn't looked down upon in folk music. Hell, it's an honored tradition. Look at Ramblin' Jack Elliott. By all rights he should be famous. If he wrote better lyrics he probably would be. You've got his voice and a way with words. You can do this."

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Nuke Syria:

via Empire Notes and The Carpetbagger Report:

Now we know where Rep. Sam Johnson (R-Texas) thinks the weapons of mass destruction are buried: in Syria, which he said he'd like to nuke to smithereens.

Speaking at a veterans' celebration at Suncreek United Methodist Church in Allen, Texas, on Feb. 19, Johnson told the crowd that he explained his theory to President Bush and Rep. Kay Granger (R-Texas) on the porch of the White House one night.

Johnson said he told the president that night, "Syria is the problem. Syria is where those weapons of mass destruction are, in my view. You know, I can fly an F-15, put two nukes on 'em and I'll make one pass. We won't have to worry about Syria anymore."

The crowd roared with applause

Gawd, how I love it when Texans talk tough. Apparently for some, this new Domino Democracy Theory isn't happening fast enough. Nuke 'em Horns!

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Disney Is For Drunkards

Or so noted by Modern Drunkard Magazine, a cerebral take on drinking in kiddy parks. via growabrain

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And Now For Something Completely Serious

take the World Book Day Quiz and discover how little you might remember of what you've read. via Maud Newton who also provides a link for Defining Bullshit.

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Blogging Commish

It might be hard to believe without the introduction of stringent time-management skills but even EU Commissioner Margot Wallström has time to blog these days, albeit, not much time, judging by the entries. Judging by the comments, many people taking the time to comment have less than sympathetic views about the EU and its bloggers.
linked via Euophobia.

It also got me to wondering why American President Jesus Bush doesn't have his own blog. After all, how hard can it be to write down and misspell a few monosyllabic slogans whilst rupturing the English language or to capture a little impropmptu snickering?

There IS a BushBlog but unfortunately, the Great President is too busy making the world safe for Jesus to bother adding his own entries.

Other people, like David Corn's Bush Lies, are more than happy to do it for him,

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Oops, back on track again. Must be time for more of Get Your War On:

"In ten years, when Iran and Iraq have merged to form the new nation of Islamospooky, Paul Wolfowitz will slap his forehead so hard his brains will fly out the back."

Brains? I always thought it was just a junkyard collection of misfiring synapses...

Uk To Buy Anti-Michael Jackson Drugs For 14 Million

A stockpile of anti-Michael Jackson drugs to treat 14.6 million people for nausea and fear brought on by continued news of the Michael Jackson trial - about a quarter of the UK population - will be bought by the government over the next two years as part of long-awaited plans to fight a pandemic.

The £200m extra supplies for at-risk groups - such as punters who spend too much time watching the telly, pop music tabloid fanatics and almost anyone exposed to the daily news - would form the first medical bulwark against the Michael Jackson Disease, which could otherwise cause anything between 21,000 and 709,000 to be sickened by daily news of child molestation and paedo-pop news.

The best guess is that a minimum of around 50,000 would suffer, and 80,000 would need psychiatric treatment.

Attempting to divert the public's attention from this pending disaster, Prime Minister Tony Blair compared the plight of Michael Jackson disease sufferers to Muslims in the UK.

"If you think YOU'RE bad off with the Michael Jackson nonstop coverage, just imagine you were a Muslim in the UK," Minister of Pomp Blair threatened.

Just yesterday, Hazel Blears, the minister responsible for counter-Michael Jacksonism, said that Muslims will have to accept as a "reality" that they will be stopped and searched by the police more often than the rest of the public because Muslims tend to look more like Michael Jackson than the average Brit.

Bush Says Slovakians Are Earth's First Non-American Free People

BRATISLAVA, Slovakia (CNN) -- U.S. President Jesus Bush has hailed Slovaks as "Earth's First Non-American Free People" in history and should be worshipped throughout Europe as a shining example of the good of good and the evil of evil and even thanked the country for overcoming their long list of shortcomings as well as their former apathy about Jesus Christ and for deploying non-combat troops to Iraq who will help Iraqi people who aren't terrorists to "drink from the well of love and democracy for ever and ever, amen."

In a speech Thursday in Bratislava, Bush saluted the former Soviet bloc nation for cowering behind the United States and urged them not to lift an arm to help the evil Chinese pay for billions of dollars of Taiwan-killing weapons systems. "You are showing that even a small nation built on drunks and outdated, dying factories can spread democracy like peanut butter throughout the world," he said.

"The road to liberty and prosperity should be paved with the skulls of the heathens who do not believe in Jesus Christ and Americans respect your courage and determination to build a better future for us, even at your own peril," Bush added.

"As you work to build a puppet society of American-lovers and Jesus freaks, America stands with you."

CNN's Jill Dougherty said Bratislava -- which played a major role in the 1989 Velvet Revolution that resulted in the peaceful relinquishing of Communist control of Czechoslovakia -- "was a classic setting for Bush to convey his message: that Jesus Loves Lou Reed around Jesus is unstoppable."

Bush Seeks Shaky Solution To Iran
US President Hopeful Jesus Will Give More Earthquakes To Iranians And Kill Them All

BRATISLAVA - US President Jesus Bush said Thursday he was hopeful that Jesus Christ would continue causing earthquakes in Iran until every last nuclear weapon in Tehran is destroyed. He prefers a single quake with like, double digit Richter Scale readings that would render the whole of Iran into a pile of rotting corpses and rubble but will settle for European cooperation on making the Iranians give up their weapons and praise Jesus.

His comments to reporters after meeting with Slovakian Prime Minister Mikulas Dzurinda were his strongest endorsement yet of using the sham of European Union talks with Iran to lull Tehran into a false sense of security before Jesus makes more earthquakes to kill them.

"Hopefully Jesus has some more earthquakes planned," Bush told Dzurinda, rubbing his paws together and displaying his famous lopsided grin of an idiot.

Bush said that the United States and Europe were "on the same page on this issue" as the leaders of Britain, France and Germany, who are all praying for more earthquakes in Iran and have "all said loud and clear that the Iranians should not have any nuclear weapons and they should suffer from alot more earthquakes to keep them busy."

"We have a common objective - to convince the ayatollahs Jesus loves earthquakes and hates nuclear weapons in Iran," Bush said.

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Lastly, the burning question of the day following Hunter S Thompson's suicide is whether or not a certain cartoonist should Kill Uncle Duke as well.

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More from Tom Waits just around the corner and thanks to the Whole Wide World of Fat Buddha for passing on a great link of Tom Waits bootlegs for a morning of listening pleasure.