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tuesday november 30, 2004

 

****Paranormal Romance

It's literary crack for hundreds of thousands of women, and the go-to guilty pleasure for many more, yet the Romance novel is always ripe for derision. 99% of romance novels are formulaic, poorly written, and objectionably insipid. But how priggish of me to mock the genre since I often dream of writing a Romance novel, and once churned out about 60 pages of one until I got bored of it.

I would love to spew flowery language with too many adjectives and cheesy dialogue all day long: "Oh, Hunter!" she moaned breathlessly as his coarse digits grasped her warm ivory throat. A hot blush bloomed in her cheeks as his other hand seized her wrist, forcing her heaving bosom to press tightly against his meaty chest. "Hunter, we mustn't! Not like this!"

Paranormal Romance, or PNR, as it is called by fans (here for site), sounds like the name of a pop-goth band that's trying too hard, but it's the genre of choice for readers who want to know: Will the two of them have a chance at a relationship? Will they fall in love? Will Brock ever learn about his special werewolf abilities?

I can't read bodice-ripper Romance novels without the simplicity boring me to tears, but if that Love Log fire is doused with a bit of science fiction, then we're talking! I wanna write a Paranormal Romance.

In fact, it is the ultimate dream of so many Romance novel readers (of which, I emphasize, I am NOT) to be a romance novelist, or a character in a romance novel. Inevitably, a company called Book By You (here) allows you to do both for the incredibly low price of $34.90: You co-author your 160 to 180-page novel by providing the names, features and places that personalize your book. A gift that will be treasured forever.

It's Me and Fabio!!!

To "co-author" this novel, you must provide (Mad-Libs style) factual information like your name and eye color, and it spits back drivel like this:

A college campus is the setting for Vampire Kisses and where Meredith Green and Adrien Brody first cross paths. It’s love at first sight, but as they become closer Meredith discovers that Adrien Brody has a horrifying secret – he’s a vampire doomed to a bloodthirsty immortality! Although Meredith senses danger beneath his soft-spoken manner, and even after Adrien Brody himself warns her away, Meredith is drawn to this creature of the night and loves him as she has loved no other.

That is so intense and powerful, to see my name as the heroine. It saves me the trouble of having to mentally substitute myself in there. I've always dreamed of falling in love with a vampire who is doomed to a bloodthirsty immortality and looks like Adrien Brody.

 

monday november 29, 2004

 

****The Cow Conquerors

Recently I walked down Cambridge Street past the Midwest Grill, a Brazilian "churrasco rodizio"(rotating barbecue) famed for its meat-packed motorized spits. A den of gluttony for the meat-eater, indeed, especially the beef aesthete. I enjoy jeering at the huge cow figurines on the sidewalk that hold menus and look pleased as punch that you've come to eat them! and dream of vandalizing these beatific beasts by painting on them: I'm Mad!!!

Anyway, that day, I spied a forty-ish couple getting out of their Isuzu Rodeo. They wore matching black leather jackets, suede boots, and more than a middling amount of corpulence, and they lumbered into Midwest Grill with serious countenance. Ready to gnaw some flesh. What's with the redundant assertions of their dominance over cows?

Indeed, American culture is rich with evidence of our mastery over the mighty cow race. Whether it's by proudly wearing their hides, or by idolozing the American Cowboy to the point of electing a President who wears a cowboy hat much like a little girl wears a tiara, or by voraciously consuming their lardaceous flesh despite grave health risks and damnable effects on the environment and our fellow man... Americans love to show the cow who wear the pants.

 

sunday november 28, 2004

 

****All Time High, All Time Low

How cruel is life, that traffic to my web site is at an all-time high (excepting the Fabian Basabe Incident) but I don't have anything to say. The world is listening, and I'm belching random words in its face. Excuse me, World.

Sometimes, life consumes you. I don't mean just that I'm busy. I mean that life is consuming my essence, suckling on my creativity, siphoning my percipience, depleting my verve. Yes, even the ability to poke fun at things like kitty litter and fat people has temporarily vanished.

It's okay, though. Everything is okay. I am going to take the rest of the year to regroup. I will post occasionally but maybe not daily. It will be Green Every Couple Days.

 

saturday november 27, 2004

 

****Bad Name for Kitty Litter

When it comes to kitty litter, a little humility is in order.

Cat's Pride Premium Kitty Litter (here) is possibly the worst name for kitty litter I've ever heard. It conjures images of my cat smugly smiling as I scoop her feces out of a box. Yep, real proud of that one, aren't you?

(Click here to learn the fascinating history of kitty litter).

 

 

friday november 26, 2004

 

****3 Thanksgiving Discoveries

 

****Reason #57 Not to Let Children Name Pets

Walking home from the subway, I encountered a burly middle-aged man in a Patriots jersey, calling loudly for his dog:

"SpongeBob! SpongeBob! SpongeBob!"

 

thursday november 25, 2004

 

****The Idiot

In 1994, I began my senior year in high school with relief and impatience. The incoming crop of freshmen included a 15 year-old kid named D___ J___. We became friends because he thought my taste in music was cool. All he cared about was music. He played bass in a heavy metal band, listened to cheesy punk rock, had a streak of green in his natural red hair, and wore spiky jewelry he bought at the mall. D___ was a forerunner of the stupid brand of punk rock that trickled to the suburbs via the mall fixture Hot Topic, and Green Day and Rancid on MTV.

But I was bored and D___ was amusing, in that he was the dumbest friend I ever had who wasn't severely learning disabled. He flunked two entire grades. Quizzing him about common knowledge became a favorite pasttime.

"D___, what's the capital of New York?" "Umm... Pennsylvania? I mean, Washington." So eager to please the senior girl with green hair and a car.

"What's the capital of New Jersey?" "Not New York!" He'd always struggle to answer. Really think it through.

"What's the capital of England?" "Luxemborg." How did he even know about Luxemborg?

Conversations either lapsed into a mutually-confused silence, or ended with me ranting and raving because his ignorance about the world outside of music was stunning. This terminal dumbness bored me, so I hung out with him only occasionally. Plus, he often got in trouble at school. Me, I stayed away from Trouble. Trouble keeps a person in her Pennsylvanian hometown for the rest of her life.

When we first met, his family lived in a trailer park. One day I dropped him off after school. It was the only time I've ever been inside of a mobile home. His father and a neighbor were drinking beer at 3 in the afternoon and watching porn (which they turned off, but still). This kid was pure Pennsylvanian white trash. Eventually his family moved into a real home. His mother was an obese woman on permanent disability, and relied on D___ to do thing like go to the gas station and buy a box of Tastykakes and a carton of Newports. D___ had a sweet younger sister who was in the same grade as him, and a much younger brother who never talked. His father moved out. Mrs. J___ filled the house with D___'s wayward friends who would gladly pay $200 a month to escape their parents. So there were about 8 kids under 18 living in this house with this disabled glob of a guardian who smoked pot with them. Child welfare, where were you?

By this time, I was a freshman in college. I visited D___ at this house during winter break. It was Christmas Eve, and I brought the eggnog. The house was physically trashed, as were the inhabitants, who huddled around a mute TV and a blaring stereo. To sit down required moving beer cans and a half-eaten bowl of macoroni and cheese used as an ashtray. Telling them about the joys and wonders of college life seemed absurd so I didn't say much. D___ spilled the plastic cup of straight whisky he was drinking as I hugged him goodbye. That was the last time I saw him and know not of his fate.

The other day I was rearranging some old papers and ran across some notes he wrote to me. Here is an exercept.

I'am in trouble becuise Mrs. C___ is a f***ing B*TCH. Punk Rawk! Last nit Dan and I fought these guy in the [Shady Ridge Mobile Home] park becuise they said queers! I'am not f***ing queer.

I have no adequate way of finishing this antecdote, except to say that he's one of those people I think about looking up whenever I go home to PA, but I never would. Hey, D___ J____ if you're out there... hope Darwinism and the social welfare net has spared you thus far, kid.

 

wednesday november 24, 2004

 

****One hundred hairs make a man

The World Beard and Moustache Championships (here) are being held in Berlin in October 2005. Just giving advance notice to any interested competitors, as many months of preening is required to compete with these facial poodles (here for reigning champions). Sorry ladies, no category for the fairer sex.

I tried a handlebar design
My Fu Manchu was real fine
My Ronald Colman made 'em blink
My Pancho Villa made 'em think
But when I trimmed 'em real small
My Jewish friends would never call

M-M-M-M-M-M Moustache
One hundred hairs make a man

--The Sparks, "Moustache"

Dapper!

****Armageddon's A-Coming!

This article here, in which the chief economist at Morgan Stanley says the US has only a 10% chance of avoiding economic armageddon, would scare me more if it wasn't in the Boston Herald.

The Herald is prone to fatalistic exaggeration. As are economists, in fact.

 

****Screaming Mimi

Mariah Carey is back. She is bleating more looniness than ever, telling everyone to call her "Mimi" (here):

“Mimi is a very personal nickname only used by those closest to me...” Carey explains on her Web site. By publicly adopting her private name, Carey explains, “I am letting my guard down and inviting my fans to be that much closer to me…"

Dear God, can't anyone just fade into obscurity these days?

 

tuesday november 23, 2004

 

****Keep eating, sexy

Fat people always say the last socially-acceptable prejudice is against fat people. Well, if that's the case, then it won't be too abhorrent of me, nor would it surprise them, if I question the integrity of fat fiction.

Size Acceptance (SA) fiction: Feel-good stories by fat people for fat people. In this country, fat people are fed up with fiction for thin people. It's so stigmatizing to have to imagine in your head all those skinny characters, flaunting their unnaturally anorexic bodies. And when a character in a book is fat, why does the author always have to point it out?

Some of these SA writers are quite talented writers. But SA fiction is a genre all about feel-good delusion. SA fiction shelters writers and fans in an entirely SA world.

The stories are like comfort food. Weight gain just sort of happens, and everyone accepts it happily. Every man is a secret chubby chaser who is so much more turned on by "womanly curves." And during the descriptive sex scenes, "sausage" and "hot dogs" refer to actual sausage and hot dogs.

Fat Sims!
The Spice Girls, I believe.

But these fantastical elements of SA fiction makes some of these goodies more satisfying than eating a whole raspberry-almond torte when you're not even hungry. Some common themes illustrated (excerpts taken from this site here ...):

  • Lesbian Chubby Chaser with Italian Mother Tendencies (warning, it gets quite explicit):
    "Sara...would you like to feel my belly? My fat belly?" She waited rather breathlessly. Her roommate stopped chewing for a moment, and then nodded hesitantly, popping the last bit into her mouth. She slid off her bed and kneeled down in front of Lauren. She slowly caressed the soft belly she was presented with... Lauren had her eyes closed, leaning back against her big pillow and chewing ravenously. Sara encouraged, “Keep eating, sexy. Stuff that belly full.”
  • Man of Dreams Turns out to be Closet Chubby Chaser:
    Her thighs shook with mountains of cellulite. Ralph especially enjoyed watching her rear bounce up and down. When one big fat bun went up, the other jiggled as it went down. This mesmerized him. She was his girl. The sexiest pear-shaped girl.
  • Guy Falls in Love with Girl While Watching Her Chow Down at McDonalds:
    What stuck out about this amazingly beautiful girl the most was the fact that she was surrounded by tons of wrappers from Big Macs, super sized French fries, 20-piece chicken nuggets, chicken sandwiches, empty soda cups, empty cups that had once held delicious fattening milk shakes, several sundae cups which had been emptied into her huge belly which was hard and taut from all the food that she had consumed... I went to the counter, ordered my drink and then decided that I would stay here to enjoy my soda while admiring this beautiful piggy. She was gluttony and beauty personified.
  • Man Gives Girlfriend Magic Formula to Gain 100s of Pounds Overnight:
    Vicky knew that there must have been magic involved in her rapid weight gain, so she decided to confront Sam. "Sam, what did you do to me to make me get so fat?"     "I always thought you would look good with a lot of fat on you, so while we were on holiday I went looking for a shop a friend told me about and bought a magic formula," Sam told her. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have happily taken it as I always wanted to be big."

 

monday november 22, 2004

 

 

****God Save Our Vision

 

An article about how Britons are perceived internationally (here) as being a "funny but drunken breed" reminded me of the picture on the right (here for article), in which Colonel Simon West "forgets" to adjust his kilt for a portrait with the Queen.

Though she is just a figurehead, only in the UK would a high-ranking army official have sufficient amounts of humor and insolence to conceive of such a prank.

The picture is evidence that men were not intended to wear knee-length skirts. It makes it that much harder to keep it figuratively "in their pants."

Look at the smirk on that cheeky flasher's face. So proud of himself: The medals on his lapel, the Queen of England at his side, and his privates exposed. Memorialized forever. A very clever way to achieve infamy.

May he sedition hush,
And like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God Save the Queen!

****Joke

Speaking of British humor, this joke I lifted from The Dog's Bollocks (here):

An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman apply to join the SAS. In the recruiting interview, they are each asked if they have a relative with them. The Englishman has his mother with him, the Jock his wife and the Irishman his Grandmother.

As a demonstration of absolute loyalty to the regiment, each man is given a revolver and asked to go out to the waiting room and shoot the relative.

The Englishman and Scotsman go out in turn, but return in shame, unable to pull the trigger.

The Irishman goes out and a melee ensues, chairs and tables crashing to the ground, grunts and screams issue forth.... eventually silence falls and the Irishman crashes back into the interview room.....

"This gun wasn't loaded," he exclaims, "I had to strangle the bitch!"

 

sunday november 21, 2004

 

****Buckling Down for the GRE

The GRE is in exactly two weeks, and my preparation has faltered as of late. I planned to devote yesterday to honing my endurance by hammering away at entire GRE practice tests, nose to the grindstone style.

In the morning, I prepared to prepare: Ate breakfast, read the newspaper, wrote, took my daily constitutional, showered, and had lunch. Then I was ready to begin.

Too many distractions lurked in my apartment, so I set out to Carberry's Bakery in Central Square. It's good 20 minute walk, far enough that the urge to go home could be quelled by distance. When I got to Carberry's, I realized I left my wallet at home. No way to buy a coffee to pay rent on a table to sit at and do practice tests.

I walked home. On the way, I saw the most amazing sight: A fortyish, pudgy woman with a sturdy helmet of starkly-highlighted blond hair galloped oafishly down the sidewalk. She hugged a box for a Brookstone back massager to her chest and cried loudly, in rhythmic Baaaa-haaaa-haaaas. I watched her coming for about a block, and I heard her cell phone ringing in her pocket as she passed me. Frankly, it was a little scary.

No energy to trudge back to Carberry's, so I made a pot of coffee and settled at my desk. I finished a math section in 32 minutes (distracted momentarily by the cat being cute). I whipped through some sentence completion. Ten minutes into a set of questions about this dull and confusing reading passage about meteorites, I needed a break. It was killing me. The GRE authors purposely pick poorly organized science essays to torture, challenge and undermine testers. In fact, that's the aim of the whole freaking test.

I decided to give my desk area a good clean, rationalizing that practice-testing is easier in an sterile environment. I turned on the Sparks album Angst in My Pants, a brilliant early-80s magnum opus. Of course, this lead to spontaneous dancing while I cleaned. I couldn't help it. Trying not to dance to the Sparks is like trying not to sing along with Johnny Cash. By the way, Tae Kwon Do can make you a better dancer. All that footwork pays off in a variety of urban dance movements, and an axe kick can really punctuate a long hip-shake sequence.

The desk was clean, but my tolerance for GRE practice tests was decimated. I ate some cheese and crackers, and poured over this month's Atlantic (here). In the cover story, a forum of experts speculate "war room" style: What would happen if Iran develops nuclear weapons? Highly engrossing, but not very uplifting. Sigh. Disarmament will never happen as long as someone benefits from not disarming. Nuclear proliferation is a doozie of a rabbit hole!

I looked out the window and it was dark. I decided to gussy up my hair and give myself a polishless manicure, and then get ready for dinner. Yep, a solid 45 minutes of Saturday GRE practice. The GRE induces ADD.

 

saturday november 20, 2004

 

****Sideways

So many people told me to see Sideways that I almost didn't see it out of irrational defiance.

"I should see Sideways, eh? It was really good, oh? The best movie of the year, you say? Screw you and your pleasing cinematic experience, I won't go!"

But of course I went. What, you think I'm going to go see Tom Hanks interact with a bunch of hyper-realistic computer-generated children? Or Renee Zellweger buffoonishly parade around her artificial weight gain?

Click here to read my review of Sideways.

 

friday november 19, 2004

 

**** Rape on Beacon Hill


Last Sunday, a young female resident of the ritzy, pitcuresque neighborhhod of Beacon Hill (where John Kerry lives... remember him?) was forced into her home, raped, tied up, and robbed. Then her roommate came home, and she was tied up and robbed (here). On Wednesday, a 16-year old youth was arrested (here).

The incident has been a top story on many Boston TV stations for the past week, probably because it allows reporters to train their cameras on the well-heeled, good-looking female residents of Beacon Hill and ask them what they think of the rape. Of course they are horrified. I'm horrified. Rape horrifies us all.

But rape on Beacon Hill particularly horrifies them. Many women expressed surprise that a criminal would perputrate such a crime in "this neighborhood" as if their property values protected them. But look at it from the criminal's side: Having decided that you are indeed depraved enough to seek out a woman to assault and rob in her residence, do you stay in Roxbury or go to Beacon Hill? The chances of getting better booty would seem higher in Beacon Hill. It's certainly a trade-off, as the chances of getting caught/being pursued are much higher.

The Beacon Hill woman would likely be less prepared for an assault. A lifetime of privilege would make her less prepared to break out the cardio kick-boxing moves if the need should arise. A woman who lives in a bad neighborhood thinks about self-defense whenever she ventures out alone. My neighborhood isn't Roxbury, but it certainly isn't Beacon Hill. I've learned long ago to check the sidewalk for passing pedestrians before opening my front door. If someone is nearby, I'll put my key away. If I'm walking and someone is too close behind me, I'll take out my phone. Sometimes, if I'm more than a little shaky I'll even hold my phone up to my ear as if I'm talking to someone. If it is dark out, I look around constantly.

I don't believe women should listen to the Boston police, who instruct women: Don't go out alone. To allow this incident to deter a woman from walking in the city alone is ludicrous. Precautions work. Women are not targets to be picked off; women are fully capable of using their judgement and, if need be, defending themselves from predators.

I'm not saying the woman on Beacon Hill deserved what happened to her because she wasn't prepared. In an ideal world, no woman would have to worry about predators. But this incident shows that a person's wealthy neighborhood doesn't protect them from the risks that most women face every day.

 

thursday november 18, 2004

 

****My Pretty New Yellow Belt

Last week, I and about a dozen other equally-inept beginning students of Tae Kwon Do passed our Yellow Belt test (here). That's right, world. You don't have Meredith Green to kick around anymore. Unless I'm wearing protective sparring gear.

Beware, ye who would wreak physical malice upon my person: I have a yellow belt, and given some luck I may be able to defend myself by strangling you with it.

At the end of the test, which consisted of doing various kicks and the artistic form Chon-Ji, our sabumnim announced that we would have to break a board. Like, by kicking it.

Lucky me: I had to go first. Not quite believing that a novice could break a board and with about 40 people watching, I got into back stance, yelped a weak little kiup, kicked high in the air and brought the back of my ankle down on the board. And it obstinately stayed whole.

Shaking off the initial failure, I quickly got back into position, sounded a Xenia-like kiup which I held onto as I kicked through the board, breaking it like an egg shell. And black belts and fellow testers alike broke out into applause.

I need to a yellow dress to match

 

 

wednesday november 17, 2004

 

****The Body as Commodity

Often, a single advertiser will blanket an entire subway car with an identical ad to assault captive riders with barrage of focused advertising. This is mostly done by beer and liquor companies (because the college students of Boston need more tacit encouragement to binge drink).

Yesterday I rode to work in a car where every ad solicited paid volunteers for different medical studies. These ads are commonplace in college- and hospital-saturated Boston. I was surrounded and momentarily taken with the notion of selling my body to science. Why not? Better to sell my body... than sell my soul.

But I'm hip to the sneaky tricks of our esteemed science practitioners; many times, the researchers lie to the participants about the study's purpose in pursuit of objectivity, or entertainment: We're doing a study of hand-eye coordination. Sign this waiver. Now, wait here in this isolated, private room with nothing but a smorgasbord of fatty snacks, lean protein, and raw vegetables (help yourself!), and the assistant will come to administer the hand-eye coordination test in about two hours.

My favorite medical ad on the subway is (this is real):

Do you believe that you have ESP/ a "sixth sense"?
Do you feel uncomfortable around strangers?
Do you have few close friends?
Do you often mistake noises for voices?
You may be eligible to participate in a study on personality and brain function. Compensation up to $15/hour and $50/MRI session.

In other words... We'll pretend this study is of your phenomenal psychic powers, but we're just looking for crazy effers so we can take images of diseased brains.

Some of the most notorious medical study ads are those "get paid to smoke marijuana/ do cocaine/ do ecstasy" that appear in the back of free weekly newspapers alongside the personals and Savage Love (here). Are these studies legit, or are all respondents immediately arrested and quarantined from society, under the rationale that any willing participant is an unabashed hard-core drug user who serves no higher function in society if they must resort to being a lab rat? I would think only the government can do studies involving illegal substances, and we all know when the government needs medical guinea pigs, they use the Army (here for LSD Reports From the US Military).

An acquaintance of mine claimed to know someone who answered one of these ads. "Did he really get paid to smoke marijuana?" I asked. "No, he didn't pass the physical." What? Kicked out of the Toke Up study because he didn't pass the physical? How many marijuana medical study volunteers could pass the physical?

Boston Craigslist features a bonanza of medical research study ads (here for listing), including many involving illegal drugs. Studies on sleep, depression, and weight are also common. Some sound like a hoot:

 

tuesday november 16, 2004

 

****Tofutti: Kinda Better Than Nothing

This past weekend, I bought a small tub of Tofutti Better Than Cream Cheese (here for web site). Ehh. If the product developers at Tofutti honestly believe this stuff is better than cream cheese, perhaps they've been lactose-free for a bit too long. Nasty, nasty, nasty! I adore pints of Tofutti nondairy frozen desserts, but this Better Than Cream Cheese captures neither the texture nor taste of real cream cheese.

Perhaps Tofutti is aware of this, and the product name is meant to imply that it is better for your health than cream cheese. Well, with all the stuff I've been reading about the ill effects of soy on the body and the environment, that may not be true either (here for very disturbing article in the Guardian).

You know what is truly better than cream cheese? Mascarpone (here). Mmmmm. Spread it on a bagel with honey and let the outrageously high fat content sate your appetite for hours. (I'm embracing the French Paradox diet, here... except for the requisite cigarette consumption.)

Tofutti sales are down, according to their recent Third Quarter results (here for press release). They blame everything from the weather in Florida to "discontinuance of certain unprofitable products and product lines." I would advise Tofutti to not brand their cream cheese in such a way that the buyer is bound to glare at the label in disappointment and feel as if they were lied to.

 

monday november 15, 2004

 

****Mormons in Space

Orson Scott Card, the acclaimed Science Fiction writer/ardent Republican Mormon, gave a controversial speech at MIT last week on Isreal and the Middle East. (Click here for the curious interview that followed the talk).

Of course, most people at MIT would rather Card stop spewing his conservative political views and just talk about Ender Wiggin (here) and the possible Ender's Game movie. How did this total weirdo write the one of best science fiction series of all time (certainly the only saga that transcends the science fiction label)?

Card says something vaguely disturbing for his admirers to think about: If somebody really loves my books, loves those stories, what they’re doing is they’re embracing my worldview. They may not agree with me on the specifics, but they dwelt in my mind for the length of time that they were in that book, and they weren’t uncomfortable there if they liked the book.

Is reading a book really dwelling in the author's mind? Personally, any work of fiction that forces you to embrace the author's point of view on social and moral issues sounds like a bad book to me. Regardless, little of Card's raging Mormonism is apparent in the Ender saga, unless training little kids to be alien killers at a orbiting Battle School is some kind of Latter Day Saint symbolism. I've read of his other books like Pastwatch and The Lost Boys and just about barfed: Mormon Science Fiction! That's like Mennonite Techno.

The interview ends pretty quickly after the Card accuses the interviewer of insinuating Ender Wiggin and his beloved older sister Valentine had an incestual relationship.

 

sunday november 14, 2004

 

****Book Reviews of Books I Could Not Finish

I used to pride myself on finishing every book I picked up. It was more of a compulsion, really; to not finish something I started would nag me. Unfortunately, reading time has grown more precious. At the first notion that a book isn't worth the effort, I'll cast it aside and try again. Eager to memorialize these efforts, here are some book reviews of books I Could Not Finish:

1. The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason | here | Stopped Reading: On page 21

This supposedly "profoundly erudite" book is actually The DaVinci Code with a coming-of-age story weaved into it. The prose is tediously simple, friendly, annoying, with the entire first chapter consisting of dialogue and narrative explanation. The narrator tells too many stories, and I have no idea what should be retained and what is just supposed to "entertain" me. And count the prepositional phrases in the following excerpt:

The game we're about to play is a new spin on an old favorite: a fast-paced match of paintball in a maze of steam tunnels below campus... Charlie and Gil came up with the idea during an exam period sophomore year, and by a game Gil's father used to play in the tunnels with his friends as seniors.

With this book, I have decided that the whole genre of Suspense is off-limits to me.

2. The End of Oil:On the Edge of a Perilous New World by Paul Roberts | here | Stopped Reading: On page 2. From there, I skipped around a lot, reading a few chapters that interested me.

I quickly decided that I didn't read this book all the way through. 400 pages of oil is a lot of oil. I read the parts that I was curious about: The history of OPEC, the politics behind the first Gulf War, what would happen if America's oil supply was disrupted, and why conservation and alternative energy sources will never seriously explored as long as our politicians benefit from America's rabid waste consumption. From the title of the book, I expected Paul Roberts to be partial to wild-eyed ranting. But instead, Roberts maintains an aloof objectivity, making the information disturbing. Dammit, I should have read the whole thing. It was a good book. It was just 400 pages of oil.

3. Alan Turing: The Enigma by Andrew Hodges | here | Stopped Reading: Around page 50

Inspired by Neal Stephenson, I decided to read a 550+ biography on the father of modern computing. I stopped caring pretty quickly. Who knew a homosexual who broke Nazi ciphers during World War 2 could be so boring?

4. Author, Author by David Lodge | here| Stopped Reading: About 1/3 of the way through (after his first play closes)

Normally, I relish in historical fiction; it's both entertaining and educational, like Sesame Street. I thought a detailed account of a particular time in Henry James' life would be a real whoop, especially since the ex-pat American led a decidedly interesting and social life, spending his adult life cavorting all over Europe with the famous and rich all while churning out great literature. Unfortunately, Author Author focuses on a period of James' life when he's getting older and growing dissatisfied with his life. It hints at his unfilled wish to have started a family, and dwells on death and failure. Not a bad book, just not the rollicking good time I sort of expected.

 

****All Women Are...

Article written under the guise of science declares all human females are strumpets (here).

 

friday november 12, 2004

 

****And One Pill that Your Doctor Gives You Won't Do Anything At All...

...except maybe increase the chance of "death from all causes" and slowly poison you to death.

This week, millions of us who took Vitamin E on advice of the medical establishment heard the chilling news that "no one should take high doses of vitamin E regularly" (here for story). Not that I really took Vitamin E. I bought a bottle about two years ago with intentions of starting a daily regimen, but got bored quickly.

But don't worry about me. Worry about all the soon-to-be prematurely dead old people who took super-doses; Federal Guidelines stated that it is safe to take up to 100 hundred times the amount that humans get from their diet. Doctors counseled patients to take supplements under the false logical that a little is good... a lot must be better. It was given to Alzheimer's patients, for chris sakes. This isn't science, this is childish guesswork.

Right now, an old lady is suffering a heart attack; as she crumbles onto the floor, she casts a stricken look at the Vitamin E bottle placed on her bed table, right next to the studio portrait of her grandchildren. "Why did the American medical establishment betray me?" she gasps.

Maybe I won't listen to anything the American medical establishment says, except about stuff like tetanus, frostbite, and margarine. But that's just common sense.

Maybe I'll do what George Costanza did when he did the opposite of his every instinct, and do the opposite of every behest these multi-degreed quacks make. I'll start a routine of ten Vitamin E pills a day... and outlive you all!

Why is he looking at his watch?

 

****Globalization Quirk

Indian farmers have discovered a pesticide that is cheaper and safer than name-brand pesticides, is based in traditional farming techniques, and is a refreshing thirst quencher: Coca-cola (here for story)!

 

thursday november 11, 2004

 

****One Pill Makes Your Belly Small

Yesterday's somewhat belated rage at male erectile dysfunction drugs (the public has already accepted back-to-back Cialis and Pringle commercials during prime time TV) was prompted by a general exasperation with the pharmaceutical industry. Should profit-motivated entities control the development and delivery of our society's medicine? Can we trust the FDA to make impartial judgements? What happens to the really sick people when companies focus on developing marketable drugs for non-life threatening or even non-existant conditions?

A company called Sanofi-Aventis has just released study results of a promising experimental obesity drug called Rimonabant. If approved by the FDA, it will be known as Acomplia, evoking words like "accomplish," "accompany," and "accomplice" that subtly assure users that this drug does all of the hard work involved in weight loss (yet it is soothing and not nearly as intense as, say, Fen-Phen, which evokes images of deteriorating heart valves).

This article about Acomplia (here) kindly asserts "Drug companies are in a pitched race to develop blockbuster medicines to help patients shed pounds and reduce the accompanying risk of cardiovascular disease, the nation's number one killer." Yeah, and the tobacco industry is just trying to reduce stress.

These highly-engineered diet pills, if ever available to the public, will not cure obesity. Not even close. The average weight loss was a meager 19 pounds over 2 years, and that's with a recommended daily 600 calorie reduction. The pills work by suggesting to your brain that you are full, so people who eat compulsively as an addictive behavior (which would logically be most obese people) can still stuff themselves with the whole damn pizza if they are inclined. Millions of research dollars were spent for this?

Though you would not guess it by taking a cursory glance around the average Olive Garden on a Friday night, the human body is truly a marvel; over millions of years, it has evolved to thrive in a certain environment that didn't have an all-you-can-eat pasta bar.

The marvelous human body triumphed over its natural environment to such an extent that it is now degrading in its new civilized one. Faced with modern ills such as obesity, allergies, asthma, heart disease, and a host of other conditions that can be linked to modern toxicity, we do not try to modify the human body's current environment to be more hospitable to the human body. We instead try to modify the human body to fit its new environment.

Adapt or die. And buy stock in Wyeth. These companies will eventually hold the key to human survival.

from Les Triplettes de Belleville:
Little French woman surrounded by obese Americans.

 

wednesday november 10, 2004

 

****One Pill Makes Your Penis Larger

I have always found the pharmaceutical industry to be distasteful, what with all the colorful pills, catchy names, slick sales pitches to doctors, and well-padded advertising budgets that promise salvation from non-life threatening ailments.

Judging by TV commercials, our country is filled with impotent but ruggedly good-looking men who play sports and pop pills to fool around with their understanding (but secretly frustrated) comely wives.

The proliferation of those horrible, horrible commercials stunned and shocked me, speaking of my unworldiness about things like male erectile dysfunction. Please, TV, educate me! It is chilling to know that a generation of kids will grow up watching men overcome their sexual inadequacies with the help of modern medicine. Is it a good thing? Maybe, but still disturbing.

Can't wait for the female sex pill commercials: Ladies, it's here! Frigid no more!

Perhaps if I had male erectile dysfunction, I'd be more enthusiastic about the efforts of the pharmaceutical industry to successfully research, develop, and market a magic pill that could alleviate my suffering.

But for now, I'm simply engorged with disgust for the way male erectile dysfunction drugs are marketed like really swell deodorant.

Doesn't she look excited? The bottle of Viagra is exploding on top of her sexual organs, Naughty girl!

 

tuesday november 9, 2004

 

****Hang the Jury

Speculation is raging that the jury for the Laci Peterson murder trail is deadlocked; the judge told them yesterday, "Do not hesitate to change your opinion for the purpose of reaching a verdict if you can do so" (here).

First of all, isn't the whole point of jury trails so that justice can be reached by the collective wisdom of a representation of the larger community? Jurists aren't supposed to 'not hesitate to change opinion' to agree with the majority, they're supposed to argue their beliefs and cling to their convictions so long as they feel proper... not give up after three effing days! Every Defendant deserves to have their obstinate Juror Number 8 (here) who will crusade for an objective look at the evidence and guarantee a fair trial!

Secondly, that being said, who in their right mind could doubt Scott Peterson's guilt? I'll respect the integrity of anyone in the jury room who is standing up for Peterson's innocence, but certainly not their intelligence! In the many long months that the media has been inexplicably foisting Scott Peterson coverage on the public, not once have I heard one thing that implied Scott Peterson is innocent. He's a spoiled immature pretty boy who realized that when that baby popped out, the party is over. He lied about his alibi. DNA evidence points to his guilt. His parents have even lamely lied to try to cover his ass (here and here). And his whole demeanor just reeks of schmuckitude.

I'll never understand why the Scott Peterson case became national news, but I'm sure the media attention that has been lavished upon Judge Alfred A. Delucchi's courtroom has caused him to urge the jury to hurry up and reach a consensus. To not have a verdict would just totally ruin the whole movie... I mean, trial.

 

monday november 8, 2004

 

****I Love New York

Weekends in New York City momentarily trick me into wanting to move there. My senses are awakened out of their reticent Boston mode. I compare its world-class everything to Boston's second-class offerings. Life would an exhausting whirl-wind of personal enrichment. Unfortunately, if I lived there, I wouldn't do half of what I do when I visit there.

I thoroughly enjoyed the New Museum of Contemporary Art (here), which exhibits bleeding-edge art. I won't attempt to knowledgeably comment on anything I saw there. But I saw a painting by Iona Rozeal Brown, about whom I read an article in the NY Times not too long ago (here for article). And Yoshua Okon's video installation "Orillese a la Orilla" 1999-2000 was positively transfixing (here for videos; here for my favorite; here for one I wish I saw).

The Statue of Liberty is quite an impressive piece of installation art as well...

 

friday november 5, 2004

 

****5 for Friday: Diversions

  • Create Twinkie Sushi (here - pictured right), a trans-fatty twist on that ancient culinary art.
  • Break out your Ouija Board and read this article (here) packed with Ouija factoids.
  • Learn Capoeira (here for cool pictures), the martial art practiced by my favorite Tekken character, Christie Monterio (here).
  • Read the super-hyperlinked Diary of Samuel Pepys (here), 'the renowned 17th century diarist who lived in London, England'.
  • Finally, immigrate to Canada to escape the Red States (here). The process takes at least a year, but "Those wishing to move to Canada could always take a risk and claim refugee status." Ha ha, funny.

 

thursday november 4, 2004

 

****Election Reflection: Misunderestimating the Stupidity of Americans

They misunderestimated the fact that we love a neighbor in need. They misunderestimated the compassion of our country. I think they misunderestimated the will and determination of the Commander-in-Chief, too. --GWB, Washington, D.C., Sept 26, 2001

Many Democrats misunderestimated the extent to which GWB would unabashedly use prejudice and scare tactics to win re-election. In an election as close as this one, Bush won because he played off the fears that many Americans have about two things: Terrorism and Gay Marriage.

I braced myself for a Bush victory ever since Kerry became the Democratic nominee, though I won't deny that I'm bummed. But, I'm washing my hands of it. I'll fair a lot better under four more years of Bush than many Bush voters will.

There were two types of Bush voters: Rich people who voted in their own economic self-interest, and dumb people who bought into Bush's idiotic rhetoric. They think that John Kerry is a pompous Massachusetts liberal, that Teresa Heinz Kerry isn't as wonderful as Laura Bush, that gay marriage makes Baby Jesus cry, and that them Muslims are gonna blow up the Wal-Mart.

Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we. -- GWB, August 5, 2004

I can excuse the rich people who voted for Bush in their own economic self-interest. Because they understood what they were doing. If you're a greedy effer who makes six figures and knows the pain of the capital gains tax, then indeed, Bush is your man.

But I can't excuse the ignorant Bush voters in the lower and middle classes who cited "terrorism" as their main reason for voting for Bush; in exit polls, many Bush voters proclaimed us safer than we were 4 years ago (though 9/11 happened only 3 years ago). Obviously, they don't realize that the more we bomb the heck out of the Middle East, the more determined terrorists will be to kill us. Obviously, they don't realize that their lives are more threatened by poor air quality than terrorists.

In my judgment, when the United States says there will be serious consequences, and if there isn't serious consequences, it creates adverse consequences. -- GWB, Meet the Press, Feb. 8, 2004

Anti-gay marriage measures passed in 11 states. Many Bush voters think that Kerry is pro-gay marriage, and would have turned America into a Big Fat Gay Wedding. Gay marriage passed in Massachusetts because we have a lot of gay people here, and not the creepy repressed kind that the rest of the country is familiar with. I don't think any sane person would try to institute gay marriage in Utah or Arkansas, at least until they've accepted evolution. But it is an issue that brought the religious people to the polls.

What I want to know is: How can a religious person get more upset over gay marriage than the deaths of 100,000 Iraqi civilians? How can a religious person think it's more righteous to vote against gay marriage than for a candidate who has a comprehensive plan for providing health care to the millions of uninsured children in this country? Why are you people so effing ignorant?

We had a chance to visit with Teresa Nelson who's a parent, and a mom or a dad. -- GWB, Jacksonville, Florida, Sept. 9, 2003

Like most anti-Bushies, I take solace that Bush will wallow in his own filth for the next four years. He will continue to let government spending and the deficit careen out of control. He will not fix the economy or stop rising unemployment. He will not find Osama bin Laden. He will be unable to resolve the mess in Iraq, and be unable to prevent the almost inevitable act of terrorism that will occur.

He will create backlash. He will leave a legacy of divisiveness and ineffectuality. And he will unintentionally galvanize this country to progress away from hatred and prejudice, from 'blood for oil' politics, from trading civil liberties for so-called protection, from tax breaks for the rich at the expense of vital services for the poor. I believe this with all my heart, because if I don't, I will despair.

There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can't get fooled again. -- GWB, Nashville, Tennessee, Sept. 17, 2002

 

wednesday november 3, 2004

 

****In Defense of the Personal Stereo Cassette Player

Yesterday on the T, I caught a young man in a business suit smirking at my Walkman. Or my pants.

Yes, in the age of Pods and MP3players, Walkman owners are indeed fossilized hominids, with our fragile musical storage devices of inferior quality and capacity, and our bulky players that require snail-paced blind rewinding and fast-forwarding. We are viewed as either poor, eccentric, or just stupid.

At least vinyl enthusiasts can cite the appealing sound quality of records. I admit, aside from personal sentiment, there is no good reason for me to be ambling around the city of Boston in 2004 with a Walkman.

But the desire to hear Guns N' Roses The Spaghetti Incident? arises more than you'd think, and I have no choice but to grab the Walkman. And the songs on this epic album were so ordered for a reason. I'd no sooner question why "You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory" comes before "I Don't Care About You" than I'd question why humans have two lungs. I don't need no shuffle function.

What I really love about cassettes is my old mix tapes. Who knows what was running through my 16-year old skull when I followed up a block of Minor Threat with "Someday I Suppose" by the Bosstones? And how wonderful is it when suddenly the music cuts to dead-air, and I hear familiar voices: "Why isn't it playing?" Click! Why, because you hit 'record and play' instead of just 'play'!

This totally tubular Walkman Museum (here) claims that the "Golden Age" of Walkman was 1979-1989. I'm only 15 years behind the times. Someday, I will progress to a technology that obsolesces my Walkman, and I'll no longer have to laugh off the jeers of strangers (and friends).

But as Edison said, "Restlessness and discontent are the first necessities of progress," and towards my Walkman I have felt neither.

My Second or Third Walkman: Sony WM-609

 

tuesday november 2, 2004

 

****Kerry Us Away from the Real Evil-Doers

My civic suicide note: By the time you read this, I will have already cast my vote for John Kerry.

It's technically a meaningless gesture in the state of Massachusetts, but one that I had to make given that the last presidential election gave new significance to the concept of "meaningless votes." I cast a vote with which neither my brain nor my heart agrees. If you had told me four years ago that I'd be voting for John Kerry for President, I would have laughed and laughed and laughed...

People say there's no difference between Bush and Kerry, but that's bull. There are stark differences, not only when it comes to the men and their principles, but also in terms of direct impact on your life.

Bush is a spendthrift social conservative whose tax policy favors the rich, whose domestic policy caters to special interests, and whose foreign policy is based entirely on securing decades worth of product for the energy industry. Additionally, he is a complete jackass, but not in that typically Good Alpha Male sort of way.

Iraq was never about terrorism or despotic abuses of power or "Saddam tried to kill my Daddy," it's always been about Iraq's vast amounts of oil. America's oil needs are staggering, and whoever controls our energy essentially controls us. So we essentially took control of another country for their oil.

Now, I'm not some wild-eyed liberal; I know that, realistically, the American economy needs oil to remain strong, even though it's killing our planet and denigrating the quality of life for everyone. I know that the industrialization of China and India is a threat to our oil supply and hence our economic dominance.

But the answer to energy woes should never be "let's attack a country with no provocation and bomb the hell out of innocent people." Because that's what Japan did to Pearl Harbor when they felt their energy supply was being curtailed by the US. And that really didn't solve anything, did it?

Why would people feel safer with Bush at the helm? He promises us that terrorists won't strike again under his watch. Umm... they already did! It was called 9/11. Why didn't Bush stop that when he had the chance? The truth is, it doesn't matter who is president; if terrorists want to kill Americans, they will find a way. It's not that hard. What should matter is: Whose foreign policy exposes America to the murderous resentment of future terrorists?

Rather than use our military to secure more oil, we must focus on conserving oil through legislation. Conservation efforts cost money... but so does waging war in the Middle East. The American automobile industry won't sell more fuel-efficient vehicles because that would involve costly changes to their production facilities. Aging power plants aren't replaced because it would cost a business more money than to lobby for a grand fathered clause to new Clean Air legislation. American's won't think twice about buying that gas-guzzler because the fuel costs aren't prohibitive. The energy waste in this country is astounding.

We are not a nation that allows our policies and agendas to be dictated by the whims of other countries. We are not a nation that uses our military rather than our ingenuity. We are a nation that has traditionally espoused self-reliance as a virtue.

Logically, if I am in favor of self-reliance, you think I'd be a stalwart Republican, but the truth is, Republicans like Ronald Reagan (aka the Anti-Christ) and the Bushies make it impossible for many in America to be self-reliant. Self-reliance comes from equal opportunity in education, fair wages, access to health care, and hundreds of other bits of social welfare programs that the pro-business Republicans have mischaracterized as hand-outs.

Kerry is not Bush. That's all that needs to be said about Kerry: Not Bush. President John Kerry will not bring about my vision of a self-reliant America. He's not even a step in the right direction. At best, he's a fresh Band Aid on a country whose woes will not clot without progressive reform.

 

monday november 1, 2004

 

****Movie Review: Being Julia

I never would have squandered a cinematic outing to see Being Julia, starring Annette Bening and Jeremy Irons, unless forced to by a sold-out showing of Sideways. Happily, Being Julia wasn't that great, meaning my initial instincts were correct.

Click here to read my review of Being Julia.