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July 31, 2005
reason 345 for loving interned
my new favorite thing (link), soon to be replaced by whatever new thing comes my way tomorrow. but for today, this is my favorite thing. FAVORITE THINGS ROCK!
your compañero,
-interned.
Thank you Jennifer.
Posted by jsd at 08:29 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
the Autobiography of Agent K
Mother shat herself today. Really, it has become quite the bother. Every morning I have to get out of bed, go into her room and touch her in order to do something about it. I wouldn't normally do that, but I don't want to pay for a nurse or a custodial person who could possibly take care of this situation. i can tolerate most fecal matter smells, and it's a part of everyday hygiene situations for most people, but with mother it has become an obscene sensory ordeal.
I don't know why she named me sophocles. she never actually read any sort of texts that would have referenced the ancient greek sophocles; we have no greek ancestors that we know of. When I turned 15, the day after I took my PSATs I decided I no longer wanted to be associated with either the ancient greeks or my father and discarded the name in favor of Kallows. After discussing it with Mother she wrote a letter to my school asking them to excuse me while I pursued the bureacratic details of changing my legal name.
it was there that I found my true love, my only passion, the one that would define me: stationary and office supplies, and their far reaching apparatus. After I changed my name, I volunteered at my local SBA office, assisting senior members who assisted young struggling entrepeneurs. I indulged myself with the use of paperclips, permanent pens and 3 ring binders, as I strived to always provide the perfect office product in the appropriate office work setting for the members of the SBA.
At the age of 16, I took a college entrance exam and skipped my senior year in high school, in exchange for a full freshman year workload at the university of Kalamazoo. I saw it as a challenge, and it was indeed. But I persevered, graduating with a 1.9 grade point average in 1996, the holder of a bachelor of arts in Sociology. I had made quite a few acquaintenances during my tenure at Kalamazoo, and kept in touch with a handful but not all after graduation.
I was ambitious as a young man- perhaps overly so. I attempted to proceed immediately for postgraduate work in my chosen field, but was rejected for being far too young for my career choices. Undaunted and full of abrasive confidence, I joined the staff of Ernst & Young, where i contributed in the areas of supply purchasing and distribution. Despite my capricious nature, I received top honors in my job, a modest salary increase after 3 years on the job and an oblique cube with my name engraved on it. I thought my life was in complete order, and it was. I had a job in my chosen field of passion, I lived in a no pets apartment building, and Mother was still in good health, not shitting herself as far as I knew. and then my Government called me for duty.
The US navy. My Mothers brother was a navy man, lost both legs in the Korean War. I never thought about joining the US military because of this, on account that I feared the reckless nature of wars and what not would most probably throw unpredictable obstacles in my plans. Nevertheless they called. They had been alerted to my existence and growing expertise in office supply efficiency by ways of a sales agent who worked at a large supplies company specializing in pentagon procurement. I was familiar with Mr. Johnson from my days volunteering at the central hospital archives. He was the star salesman that nabbed that account in the 60's, legendary stuff. During Mr. Johnsons tenure as salesman no. 54 to the US government he would talk about his war stories, so to speak, from the front of office supplies. As i have come to understand it one thing led to another, and a special project named "let's give it a go Mr. Johnson" was funded to re-organize a portion of the US navy in accordance to office supply efficiency skills. When this project came about, a file was created about myself, Kallows, and I was asked over the telephone to appear in a formal interview.
8 years later, I can safely say i made the right choice the day I showed up to that first interview. I am usually not one to brag, but I successfully re-organized my division in 6 months, 1/3 the time allotted to me. Within 2 years, I had been given broad jurisdiction with a specialized task force and spent moderate amounts of funds on creating micro centers of office supply sub divisions within the navy. By year 6 I reported directly to the US supreme naval command with weekly reports, and had a competent staff of 42 working directly for me. Today my opinion holds sway with the highest levels of all branches of the US government, I am regularly asked to testify in front of Congress, and I have briefed the UNICEF delegation on 3 different occasions. I accomplished all of this before the age of 29. On my 30th Birthday, mother starting shitting herself, forgot both my given and legal names, I was asked to serve my country yet again, once again to be reborn, this time as Special Agent K.
Posted by jsd at 01:24 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 28, 2005
------------->
Bosnian Muslims Retrace Final Days of '95 Victims
It all seamed so surreal when it was happening 10 years ago, I don't even know what to make of it now. Can you imagine that 200,000 people were killed in that war? Crazy.
Oh, the Iraq civilian body count is up to 23,000 according to www.iraqbodycount
Bosnia link thanks to JFM
Posted by mvb at 04:02 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Church of Jesus Christ, Business Man
CBT3, it's good to have you back, we've missed you... and you enter the fray with such a great post, it brings tears of pleasure to my eyes. Last time we met (remember folks, base camp HO is very far from the Mawopi HQ, it's tough out here on teh edge of our territory) I wasn't sure if you were drunk, or going crazy...
I'm introducing a new thing of newness here at Mawopi... I call it the "Hand of Jesus Christ, Business Man".
Please note the bloody nail hole, and the Mawopi cuff links. The Hand of Jesus Christ Business Man (or the HOJ for short) will point out things of interest and little merit that we find.
Today, the HOj would like to point out, The Bravery Ringtone:
Some of you may not understand why this is interesting, to those that do, bear with me as I extrapolate:
The Bravery was a little known group of misfits and... no no no, sorry, one's an independantly wealthy movie editor, the other is a Georgetown graduate with inheritance, a primadona, a David Bowie wannabe bassist and Ringo, who's just happy to be there... The Bravery was a strange band to come through, or come from New York, whom Mawopi had a love hate relationship with, and actually thought about forming a record label around at some point. Their packed shows (full of post-teen-fashionista-heiress fans) brought them some good hype, and had people buying tickets and trecking out to see a band that "is not all that interesting, and I don't really like them, but... it's the Bravery... you know?" well, no, I don't know, and no one else does, but we kinda understood... and it was a very sleezy desire to get into the music biz through these douc- *ahem* rockers.
Alas, lethargy, or ethics got the best of us, or me, and I forgot about the dreams of sleeping with fake ID bearing hips, and getting drunk while watching "the boys" put on their brand of use, rinse, repeat. *sigh* oh well, now I can download their ringtone and remember my honest mistake every time I get a call from jsd.
Thanks for the tip HOJ.
Posted by mvb at 12:40 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
July 27, 2005
Digital LIfestyle
This my friends is the best investment you could ever make. Ever. For $500 some odd dolars, you get a 20" LCD screen that has 4, count-em, 4 inputs and the best resolution this side of Timbuktu.
You'll thank me in the morning:
Here's the link for the %30 discount.
Posted by mvb at 08:30 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
spoke to god recently
he appeared to me in this form. who knows why.
its not as simple as some people would have you believe. i can't get into all of the details, but god's message wasn't what you might think.
first of all, he's not all that concerned with what we do here. earth isn't a very important planet, and so as long as we don't extend our influence too far outside of the milky way, we can pretty much do whatever we want.
here are a few things you might be surprised to know he doesn't care about at all:
1) goings on in the middle east
2) abortion
3) the erosion of the social fabric of american society
4) america
5) people
god is eternal, so its difficult for him to relate to the problems of beings that build civilizations that rise and fall before he even has a chance to notice them. and since we're just one of a billion or more planets with everchanging civilizations on them, he just really doesn't have time for us.
he doesn't hate us though. what he said to me was this - "so long as you don't get in the way, you guys are fine, just don't make too much of a mess."
i don't know why he chose to speak to me. i'm just passing along what he said.
Posted by cbt3 at 12:18 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 25, 2005
Moving out of the metropolis was never so much fun
So, I went into the Bank of New York today, to deposit some checks, and started a conversation with my branch manager. We had some chitchat about business, life, and all that... and I told her I wanted to take out a bank loan
"Great!" She said, with that twinkle that bankers who work on commission get.
"I want to buy some property, and some other things..." I said
She smiled, and said "Wonderful, what are we looking at?" as I pulled out a photo.
"Well" i replied "This is a piece of land up in the catskills I'm interested in buying..."
She crooned that banker croon, the one between "how long do i have to be here" and "i could use a backrub". Obviously, she was thrilled about the property.
"It costs about $2,000,000." I say
"Wonderful, I'm sure we could arrange a mortgage for that."
"Well there are some other things I need," I say
"ok, for renovations?"she asks..
"Well I need a Bell ARH copter, you know, the Hunter/Killer/Survivor...With a gattling gun....and...." I pull out the brochure, handing it to her "...Hellfire missles. Seats Five"
"uhh...."
"And two Harley Davidson Fatboys, hand built at the Penssylvania factory. They sign them, too.. it's pretty great" I don't even give her the brochure this time, I flash it and put it away, i can tell it's getting to be too much "The Hells Angels are just there for marketing purposes, you know? 'Be the Badass' and all..."
"But I don't think..."
"Oh, last but not least, I need to get the Aston Martin V8 Vantage.. only 3,000 made. It's a steal, at $120,000. James Bond had one."
"Hellfire missles?"
"Catskills. Close to Canada, you know. Patriot Act and all! America! America!"
"i don't think your company can finance such a purchase, let alone the bank."
"Yeah, well I was thinking... maybe the company doesn't have to.. I wanted to finance the loan personally... My wife makes quilts, you know, very rural, arts-and-crafts sort of thing."
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh don't be, it's not like that... she's not slow in the head or anything, it's a craft, ages old... The catskills are the natural environment of quilters... They sell well in Canada."
"But you're buying a helicopter...with arsenal...to defend against Canada" she stutters
"Arsenal. That's a great word. I like that one... Trade and Homeland Security work in harmony with each other, didn't you know?"
"Sir, I don't think we can help you..."
"You're not Canadian are you?" (in retrospect, I should have done my covert research).
"I don't think-"
"Sorry, bad question, you wouldn't tell me if you were of course..."
"It's not-"
"Do you use Chambraigne? I do. It's great for your hair, and your brain. You know, knowledge crystals."
Posted by mvb at 09:25 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
July 24, 2005
beans poops and the runs
Hello World.
Today I read a book titled Eats, Shoots and Leaves.
I'm so very sorry. Please find it in your heart to accept my apologies.
I discovered that I am an elitist and a knave, in one package deal. As an elitist, I have indulged for many years in a tryst with hyphens, dashes, semi-colons and parentheses (or brackets as they call them across the pond; cheeky brits!). Oh dear Lord, I just gone done it again. I realize now: I am a punctuation-model fucker. I am attracted to those elements that curve, are taller and embellish in stride. I'm talking about the ones that provide me with exotic arm-candy when the text walks into the room of the mind. I thought I was a playa, soothing my dashes with promises of future prominence, when I had just reached a significant crescendo with brackets inside of parentheses adorned with ellipses. There is no excuse for what I have done. The truth is I am actually in no position to carry on this arrogant tomfoolery: I have been the grammarian village idiot for as many years.
The comma? The apostrophe? Capital letters? These were self evident and best avoided; used at my complete whim. Shaw would have knifed me. Gertrude Stein would have strangled me. (or taken me under her wing, I can't decide). I remained shameless for so long, running off in logo-diahrrea, interspersing commas like sprinkles on a Friendly's ice-cream sunday. "Bland traditional ornaments" I would think to myself, as opposed to purposeful elements of structure and guidance. Capital letters? "not for me", I declared at a young age, "they slow me down." Apostrophes? A mere afterthought, annoying at that. Oh, I knew I had this one wrong through and through, but surely my content was so fanatically stellar that the reader would scarcely notice. I have acted ever the syntactic fool, and no measure of this self conscious overdramatic "aw shucks" routine will make true amends.
There is a list of people who are owed apologies. These are either the ones who desperately tried to teach me while I used my pen to molest the spirit of language, or the ones who correct me with furrowed brows, bitten lips and rolling eyeballs. My wonderful stickler stormtroopers; how I adore you all.
Mrs Weeks, third grade teacher. I wish you had carried out the threat to tattoo the word 'CAPITALS' on my arms.
Mrs Markou, 4th and 6th grade teacher. I'm sorry I've forgotten all the proper greek grammar and syntax you spent all those weekends teaching me. You should have let me play outside instead; at least I wouldn't have been the chubby american kid. Just American.
Mr Vlastaras and Mrs Marketos 8th and 9th grade, respectively. I'm sorry I screamed at you that I had been granted a special Hellenic gvt poetic license. Whether I actually descend from Odysseas is in the very least undetermined, and not an "undeniable truth" as I fondly remembering yelling in support of my unorthodox paragraph-sentence hybrids.
The following people have dutifully if on occasion snootily (hey, idiot savants have feelings too) corrected me; I implore them to continue in their sacred struggle. I will continue to innovate and present new challenges for at least the next 60 years.
Themelis G
Athena G.
Eleonora A.
Panagis S.
Dan C.
Hanne W.
John M.
Nicholas A.
Natalie B.
sincerely,
J.S.D.
P.S. I have tried to proofread this text with a fine tooth-comb. However, I just got on the wagon. If you feel a compulsion to make a comment about a specific error, by all means do so. I would rather have sticklers poking at me than settle into sintaktophobia and never write again. If I did, what would all 10 mawopi readers read?
Posted by jsd at 06:40 PM | Comments (18) | TrackBack
I believe in broadband
Wow. I get so excited when I see things like this. It makes me feel old, yet happy. This is 200 times faster than my download rate of 1994. Can you imagine? I remember flying from Turkey to the US, and making sure that the first thing I did was to buy a 14400 baud modem, because the ones in Turkey were only 9600. does that magazine still exist? CAn I get a show of hands as to who knows what ATDT is? Righteous. Do the dance.
Posted by mvb at 03:40 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
July 21, 2005
Team mvb
I think I've decided not to get married. There's a lot of that going around, but it's not for me; attached to one woman for the rest of my life? Hmmmmm. The idea of marriage just doesn't make sense to me anymore; everything around us is changing, and we're still attached to this ritual? No body cares if you're fucking anymore, you don't need to celebrate it with a get-together and a post wedding devirginizing ceremony. It's nonsense. I don't need the tax break.
All anyone really cares about is the kids anyways. THE GRANDCHILDREN! No body gets misty eyed and dreamy when they think about their son or daughter-in-law; they just start imagining little people running around (I like to call them politically correct midgets)...
So, I've decided, that I'm instigating a new system. I'm taking applications from women who want to have my children. One child per mom. The requirements ar: you must have your own living quarters; you must be willing to procreate; there will be regular visits to my home, and the other mothers and children may be disliked, but they must be tolerated; there must never be talk of marriage; you are not required to have sex with me after the child is born, but must maintain regular contact during the first five years; you will raise our child in your home and I will do my duty as a father to the best of my ability; In case of women with careers, or potential future careers, the options are either I will provide a nanny, or will accomodate the child otherwise in my home; no mother will be required to look after the child of another women, unless so inclined; you can not marry or maintain a boyfriend in the home you raise our child in, but may maintain a boyfriend off-premises and can marry after the child has turned 14 at which age they'll be confused by teen angst and puberty too much to notice anyways; All children will be taught how to play soccer, regardless of age, gender, ability, the teamwork will allow for a better understanding in the child's mind of what we are doing, and will allow me to refer to you as a soccer-mom and giggle; In the off chance that you decide not to raise the child, you may give him/her up to me but may maintain no financial remedies.
This is a work in progress, so i welcome the input of our lawyer friends. If you need a name, you can call it the Muslim/Mammal Hybrid Child Bearing Contract (MUMAHYCHIBECO). I expect we can put together a fairly complete draft in the coming months.
Hey, it's no sicker than a pre-nup.
Posted by mvb at 01:30 AM | Comments (14) | TrackBack
Fuck off, we're not idiots
It is time that we bring an end to stupidly slow text cascades in flash animations.
It is detrimental to both my eye and brain energy. If you can't have text animated faster than I can read it, you're a son of a bitch. You're wasting my time, and killing me slowly, with a fork poking me to death. I'm really pissed off.
I go to the etrade.com site, to see if they can be a good alternative to ameritrade.com, and I want to see their trading software in action, so I click up the demo. I'm waiting for the words "programmable one click trading" to cascade onto the page, so I can read it, and register that etrade will be saving me time trading by giving me these new tools. Does anyone else see the irony here?
I have a message to all you flash animators out there. Quit your day job... the bubble was over years ago, we have no need for you anymore, stop scrounging for work as upgraded power-point users; your job is lame-o. If you don't have the capacity to make funny flash animations to make me and Fenton laugh, then we have no use for your skills.
Posted by mvb at 01:17 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 20, 2005
Personals from Outer Space
I like going on to personals sites and sending messages to hot women that I find there... Of course, I put on various different schizophrenic personas because I'm not actually trying to get with anyone that I meet on the net; I figure, if I get a reply to a really obnoxiously ridiculous e-mail, then yes, I do want to meet this person, even if it means risking being blindfolded, tied to nipple electrifiers, and fellated to unconsiousness (wait, that's not risky, that's heaven).
So I was reading one that I wrote a few weeks ago, and I found this gem of a line:
"...roll you up into a fuck pretzel..."
That was a moment of brilliance I must say; can you even imagine the look on that poor girls face? I don't even know if that's the best part: The subject line was "Animal Sex Riot". Hahahah.
photo from Sol Dust Love on Flickr.com
Posted by mvb at 12:14 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
What?!?
"Pakistan is a great place for falconing"
overheard, three women walking down St. Marks, NYC.
Posted by mvb at 11:50 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Scent of a Woman
Following in the footsteps of Al Pacino, I think I've begun to pick up superhuman smelling abilites... It's not necessarily the super-power I wanted , but I guess it's all I get for now. "The Sniffer: Saving the world one scent at a time"
I can use this ability to sniff out fires, toxic waste and whatnot, but I've also discovered that I now have the ability to sniff out single women. This is the true benefit of my superpower.
For those of you looking to hone your skills as well, what you're looking for is a mix of rosemary and thyme with a hint of scarborough fair. Certain ethnicities will have touches of other scents, like ginger, curry, or hazelnut, but don't be put off in your hunt, it's the three main scents that you're looking for. The unique combination occurs from the secretion of certain chemicals due to physical and emotional states that occur in conjunction with being a single woman... Do not be fooled, though, as certain women who wish to be single and are unhappy in their relationship may smell like rosemary and thyme, but don't have that distinct scarborough fair undercurrent.
To practice, it is best to hone in on centers of smell production; you kow where they are, I don't need to get too graphic here... A trained nose will be able to work its magic from across a room, practice practice practice. Soon enough, you'll be like a blind man picking out people in the dark with only their scent... The truly powerful like myself can transcend space and time and pick out molecules left over from the dead, or prepared to be a part of the living. Marilyn Monroe for example smelled like rose water and turmeric, and the next president of the United States will smell like leather, anise, and riccotta.
Happy sniffing.
Posted by mvb at 10:43 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
July 13, 2005
We kill for a living, what do you do?
Yes, that is in fact "The Edge of the People's Militia", the fabled two-handed sword of the People's Militia.
It does between 26 and 39 damage, at about 11.2 damage a second. It's hefty, requires special training, and kills real good.
It takes some werewithal to be able to go to battle with this Horde slayer.... Since it is two handed, you are forced to give up the defense provided by a trusty shield... In my case, that shield makes up for almost 30% of my defense... but I readily exchange that for the ability to deal three times the damage as my old friend, the cutlass.
Not having the assistance of a shield, it doesn't help that I go into battle without armor; but because I look damn good in a red silk shirt and sash, that's the way it has to be. Hey, if you're going to kill you might as well kill in style.
Posted by mvb at 03:19 AM | Comments (10) | TrackBack
July 12, 2005
things that i want, that I will never have.
Hey there. come on in. comfortable? good. take your shoes off, relax. how ya feelin'? great.
So here's my thing. it's not a big thing, it's not really a thing actually. but I want something. not from you, but I do hope you're still relaxed. Are you? good, good.
I want the sitcom lifestyle for us. I want to be able to find a clean plush couch in a non starbucks cafe in new york. I want a snappy neighbor that dresses well. I want uncanny unpredictable situations. are you amused? only sort-of? well how about if I told you I wanted a laugh track as well? everytime I say something snappy or witty, even if you've heard it before, a properly balanced audience laughs behind me, but still in front of you. I want all our adventures tidy and any loose ends knotted up in 26 minutes. I want a bathroom break in between most of our arguments. When we want more money we can band together and just not show up at our own house. If you can't hear me, or the twins are sleeping, turn on my closed captions. I can write them in spanish if you want. it's about what you want. You're my sweetheart demographic.
I know you're not falling asleep, you're just resting your eyes. I know this. can you see me smiling? I'm smiling. You had a long day at work and too many carbohydrates with your dinner. Your boss doesn't understand you and is cruel. My Boss? haha, I've been waiting all day to tell you the story: he asked me to get his car washed in time for a charity gala, but they confused the orders (when I was on the phone with you- you distracted me!) and painted pinup girls all over his new Volvo. Haha! I want you to understand what my highest priority is: making sure we're still together after our time apart every summer.
when I need to speak to you privately, I want to pull you aside saying "can I speak to you in the kitchen???!" in an ever slightly over the top voice with my eyebrows raised. We'll quickly scurry over to the kitchen, a very distant 10 feet away from our friends. When we get to the kitchen I want to tell you about something one of our friends is about to do that will offend our other friend in a purely non offensive way, and how we just must- must! take action before it happens. I will not be using my inside hushed voice. I'll be speaking in regular volume with urgency which our friends cannot hear. Despite our amazing fortune of acoustics, we will take actions regarding this problem, ill advised actions. but you know what? I love your perfect smile, our entire wardrobes are effortlessly upgraded every year in an everchanging pattern of subdued pastels and earth tones, and our sub zero refrigerator? it is not real. That's why I won't be buying milk every single yesterday from now on. It's because of our Sub-Zero. it's just- not real.
Posted by jsd at 08:18 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
July 09, 2005
Ithaka, Part I
This was written over a year ago. The Upbeat Santa Maria, which acts as my not so subtle psychosis alarm clock reminded me of a corner of the internet I abandoned about a year ago. This is something I wrote sitting in that corner. I might start writing more like this, which might not be like what jsd@mawopi has been like thus far, but we'll have to see where this here scooner takes us. perhaps it navigates waters well despite her young age.
The water
(i thought I'd be there by now)
By now I would be stealing my own time back. instead i'm sleeping in by about 10 hours more than i should. I wanted to buy a power strip, but by the time I went to the store it was closed. I realized everything was closed cause thats just how it is around here. a local guy who spoke the language all broken asked me for a light by the national bank. I gave him a light and walked on. When someone needs a light, you realize it before they even say anything; it's the primary reason a smoker approaches another with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. (There are constant new memories born out of the simple interactions, and if you ignore the wildfire burning the older ones, you can have quite a collection for later self amusement). He was sitting in the square, after work I think, watching his daughter play. There's always new stores around here; pharmacies, couriers on piaggios, single photocopy machine stores, new construction, always concrete. There are no good jobs from what i hear, but there's always something going on, money that no one has being invested in concrete, always concrete.
Nick is driving a municipal truck around during the day and smoking hash at night. I refuses to move back into the city; since visiting cuba, he finds solitude much more desirable and compatible with his hobbies. Thanos closed his electronics boutique across the island he had last year, and mainly drives around visiting friends and avoiding creditors. Miltos is working at the restaurant he works at every summer. Everyone is waiting for the summer that brings the people and especially the northern european women.
Everything changes, yet nothing changes ever. this is the one lame truth everyone realizes when they become adults. there is no epiphany, no bright light, you just come to understand that you change, and all things around you remain the same, yet you haven't changed at all when your friends are looking at you and discussing you. Of course, there's the one guy who got on a bus 5 years ago and someone heard he's the pimp at a whorehouse in bulgaria, but hell, he's not you and he's not your friends either.
The gossip runs rapidly, bloodthirsty, born of the idle, unto its own. The woman with too much make-up and cellulite who moved to the island 5 years ago moving from boyfriend to boyfriend looking to sink her hooks into some property legally, so she won't have to go back to where-ever she's actually from. The 25 year old kid who everyone knows but who never talked to anyone, and now gets into fights and drunkenly screams outside his bulgarian girlfriend's apartment at 5 am. His mother died when he was a teenager and his half crazed father, married 40 days later to a fully crazed woman. He doesn't talk much to his dad anymore, but they live together, in uncomfortable silence I presume. he has a kid half brother who seems to be bright and hopefully wont be too afflicted by the psychotic environment he's growing up in.
Douglas Coupland wrote a book called all families are psychotic. Of course they are. And they don't have to be canadian or floridian. Theres a half baked theory of how and why these families here are psychotic. a hundred years ago or so, there was a village that had a huge outbreak of syphillis. With the syphillis came the psychosis, and there was no containment. Seeing that its an island with a relatively closed gene pool, the theory is that every family has a piece of the syphillis lingering about, eating scraps from the table. i realize that there are scientific reasons why this might not be possible. Science didn't have a seat on the island council until a few hundred years ago. I indulge the anecdotal evidence as being far more fetching than the clearly unromantic notions of physics chemistry and the finite mortality of DNA.
We don't curse like normal people here. we make up the most incredulous religious blasphemies ever uttered by a man, and in the last 60 years or so, women as well. When I was in 4th grade, I was playing basketball up the street at the schoolyard, and a couple of older kids got in a fight. there were no physical altercations as i remember it, but i remember the verbal exchanges as being colorful and full of epithets original to my virgin ears. there was the prerequisite blasphemies regarding our patron saint, St. Gerassimos, followed by a ridiculous blasphemy regarding the undergarments of the Virgin Mary. It takes a certain kind of fate tempting man to curse anything to do with the Virgin Mary, but it takes a psychotically imaginative kind of man to invoke such a potent mixture of disregard and religious defiance in his schoolyard verbal spat.
It all comes down to the fact, that I thought I'd be there by now.
Posted by jsd at 11:39 AM | Comments (10) | TrackBack
July 08, 2005
MVB's moment of awesome
Just got some new technology...
Now proudly maintaining a 40GB desktop drive, with a 160GB secondary drive, connected by USB to a 3GB laptop drive enclosure, networked to a 80GB laptop drive, connected to both a 1394b 250GB drive and a 1394 40GB enclosure drive, a mini firefly 5GB drive, sharing a 20GB ipod drive, a 512Mb flash ipod drive, and a 256Mb micro flash drive, and two unconnected but swappable drives of 12 and 6GB. Grand Total of 616.75GB. I'm so awesome it hurts (at least all the people that associate with me). Look at the guy on the right! Wheeee.
Posted by mvb at 08:32 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Dual triple loco meat maniac
"...black mask anarchists, Hollywood activists, eco-terrorists, and pamphlet stuffing bookstore loiterers.": from Le Concierge's "All Politics is Loco"
Can we force them to form a third party? Splinter off from the democrats and call them "Vegans"? Instead of a Donkey or Elephant they can have a carrot mascot, maybe even the flaming carrot.. fitting is it not?
To preempt the comments, I am not a vegan; I'm VEGISHm... vegan except for the fish and occasional meat product (hence the mini m). We're moving to Montreal, and splintering off from everything.
Posted by mvb at 08:27 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Mawopi Regular "Le Concierge" talks shop over at verbosecoma.com
Verbosecoma is so dang pretty it makes mawopi look like the frumpy girl with the braces at the prom.
Posted by jsd at 02:22 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
July 07, 2005
where have you gone John Belushi
from the bolat archives:
"there's a lucky little place called pete's diner in the depths of new jersey that makes 20 pages of food 24 hours a day 7 days a week. you can get your home fries and eat em too. the man you are about to hear is Pete jr. It's a sunday morning, so he's got a lot of customers. Cut him some slack already. Pete works hard for you guys to gorge yourselves full of his delicacies, and you know damn well you're not gonna say nuthin when he brings you RC cola instead of Coke."
-Jeraldo Von BerLempt, Diner Specialist
listen here
Posted by jsd at 04:36 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 06, 2005
Oh Sweet Victory is Mine
I'm so happy the Olympics are not going to be in New York. What a complete disaster that would have been. It still amazes me that people thought it was a good idea. I'm sorry Mike, but it's a little suspicious you being such a big supporter. It's not like you're a sportsfan or anything.
But sweeter still, Paris didn't get it. HAHAHHHAAHAHHAHAAA!
Good job London. Have fun. But what the hell are you going to do with all those useless stadiums when you're done?
Shouldn't we just have all the Olympics in developing countries that don't have stadiums already?
HA HA Paris, you suck.
Posted by cbt3 at 04:46 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
CBTSA . Mission East
It has been a while since I've written here, and anyone following the exploits of this explorer might have thought I had met with an untimely end. Such would not have been a suprise, as it is very dangerous here, and things like that do happen.
The truth is that the CBTSA has been in a sort of post mission hibernation, where we have evaluation our progress and making plans for the future. Our budget is small and we must be smart about how we spend our money.
next week we are launching a short expedition to the far eastern end of the territory of new charles for three days of exploration and sample gathering. after that we plan to use the summer for r&d and an extended hiatus from active missions.
When you're stranded in a hostile world for a really long time like I have been, it's hard to keep believing that anybody is paying attention, or that your work will ever be seen by anyone. It's hard to keep working when you know deep down it will probably all be washed away by the tide before anyone ever lays eyes on it. It's hard to keep writing when you realize your words are for yourself alone.
our eastern mission will be by the ocean, a great expanse of water that stretches much farther than the eye can see. apparently the population in this area is largely transitional, mostly living closer to camp charles, but spending time out there in the summer months. these are people of great resources, and have chosen this place to spend their free time. it must be wonderful. i'm looking forward to seeing it, and perhaps meeting some of these amazing people.
additionally we will be collecting samples from them to add to our hunter gatherer mission body of samples. hopefully we will extend the number a great deal. i'm looking forward to it.
at the very least it will be nice to spend some time by this great ocean. it could very easily swallow you up, and you'd never be heard from again. it takes great courage or naivete to even stick your toes into it.
Posted by cbt3 at 10:08 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
July 05, 2005
koka kola: tamam.
You guys know the old cartoon with the homeless guy and the marketing exec? Marketing exec takes an interest in his fellow man who mysteriously informs him that he too, was once a powerful marketing executive on madison ave. Taken aback, the successful exec peers closer and says, "what happened?" The homeless man responds with a tinge of remorse in his crusty eye, "I came up with coke 2".
there is internal strife at HQ, a struggle of the opinionated taste bud. We have tried coke zero, and disagreed. cbt3 said "HORRIBLE" whilst I said, "like diet coke, but different". Big deal you might be thinking. Well it isn''t a big deal, i agree. but what the hell do you want me to talk about? there's much better websites you can go read. in fact, I urge you to do just that. At mawopi today, I will be talking about coke zero and coca cola's taste diversification strategies. let's examine their current catalog of carbonation:
Coca cola classic: the one we love and trust. or at least get firmly colicky from. it has the snazziest dolop of excitement as it hits the tongue, soothingly replaced by the surrender of tender sweetness. aftertaste points? full on, goes great with meals cigarettes and will make a perfect git for the active person in your life.
Diet Coke: look, I know it placates the fat fearing part of the brain, but it tastes like udder crap. I understand that there are people who I care about who drink this stuff on a very regular basis, but it has this freaky Tom Cruise flavor, like it's trying to be really really cool and so couch spankin AWESOME, but in fact it's probably gay. after taste points? gay. packaging? not so gay actually, but it seems like it was designed that way. the jessica rabit of sodas.
diet coke decaf: imagine if you will, a world of super dooper pooper. I have met this pooper. he drinks diet coke decaf. after taste points? absolutely ghastly. the droopy dog of sodas.
cherry coke: artificial crazy cherry flavor be damned, this stuff is like methadone. they captured the true essence of new jersey chemicals that make taste buds tingle and then they put a picture of a cherry and said "this is cherry coke". who am I to doubt them? in fact, I say we should grow this "cherry" stuff and make it into it's own independent fruit facsimile product. only with more fuckin sugar. the yosemite sam of sodas.
vanilla coke: they got a bit cocky with this one is my opinion. big media blitz, the board of directors probably high fiving each other in anticipation of the 12 year olds banging on the door at the white hen pantry at 2 am, craving a vanilla fix. Highly anticipated to be sure, but there's something about it that makes you feel like a 16 year old debutante from dallas. Perhaps, in retrospect I shouldn't have thought/said that. but now it's out there. after taste? this is actually the dealbreaker for me, it leaves you feeling like the aforementioned debutante feels the night of the prom in the hotel lobby at 4 am looking for a ride home. in one word ladies, cheap. here's another: used. That's right, a pop soda made me feel used. and cheap. here's another word: forlorn. I just like the way that one sounds in a purely poststructural way. but perhaps that's how you felt at your prom. the Gem and holograms of sodas.
Coca cola C2: ah yes, the bisexual of the pack. Is it an agressively motivated non serif soft drink? or is it a delicate diet soda counting calories? it seems to me it couldn't make up it's mind. Perhaps when it was inR&D we shouldn't have let that large appalachian janitor manhandle the prototype. alternatively and less jarring of an image, there's a rather confused product development executive who thinks he's king solomon in a teale tutu. Flavorwise, it tastes like diluted coca cola classic. Hold on now. dilution. wait a fuckin second. I think I just figured out the recipe for this one. someone call up the consortium at davos, I want an invitation. The He-man of Sodas. (think about it. Prince Adam? come on. who's he kidding.)
diet Coca Cola Splenda: it sounds like something that belongs in the brady bunch kitchen. 3 brady boys and 3 brady girls just drinking a splenda drink before they go off and write father of the year letters and borrow the car. SPLENDID! it tastes like diet coke, only a bit different. that is to say, where the hell is the sincere marketing effort here? where is the new image? the target market painfully missed? ("we're going after the post-teen xbox playing crafts making crowd!) I want new fonts ordered from chank and third rate rap stars promoting this thing pronto. Someone better get fired over this. after taste? I'm sure it has one. The wondertwin powers activate! of sodas.
Coca cola Zero: the rookie in the menagerie. tastes a bit better than diet coke, which makes it the winner at the sweetener paralympics this has turned into. it won't be a big success, but I gotta give coca cola credit: they snazzed up the package, promoted it, gave it a winning name (zero! my mom always told me I would be something! now I drink zero, and I'm still living with her!) and will convert a few disillusioned diet pepsi drinkers. and I'll drink it to spite cbt3. cause we could use some soda pop friction in this household to hold us over until crystal pepsi makes a comeback. ya hear me pepsi? I want my gooey cola back! The Evil Destro of Soda pop. (younger shinier, looking to over throw... my talent is wasted here. honestly.)
if anyone is interested, or factually inclined, there is a genuine and fascinating reason for this diversification of subflavor within a specific flavor. Malcolm Gladwell wrote a great article that relates to that you can read here: (link)
Posted by jsd at 11:54 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack
July 01, 2005
SCOTUS WATCH: DAY 1
As you can all see above, my nomination for the short list is IN, and his name is VOLTRON.
the reasons for this are clearly spelled out in previous mawopi discussions concerning this man machine earthly savior.
obviously my brain suffers from a delectable malaise that mainly delights me as i travel through small spaces and short amounts of time. As such, I cannot be trusted with expressing 'smart' opinions regarding the judicial branch. but that's what the readers of mawopi are for. The next few weeks and months will be tense, highly emotional and you shall all look deep into your young souls and ask the question: smooth or crunchy peanut butter? no no, I kid, I meant, what will happen with that party animal gang known as scotus.
There's a fair number of legal beagles and formerly in the direction of legal beagles that peruse this site who have quite eloquent tongues and pens to match. The forum is open for initial thoughts comments and ideas, proper grammar and punctuation not required. I would be delighted if mawopi was the preferred forum for as many of you as possible to discuss this.
best,
JSD, mawopi operator deluxe
p.s. the unabridged version is 9 hours 31 minutes 05 seconds, the abridged is about 3 hours less, but you'd miss the tidbit about scalia prancing around the court screaming "I'm the prettiest of them all" while drinking peach schnapps.
Posted by jsd at 10:40 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
I heart silvio
this just in:
Berlusconi demands US 'respect'.
Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi has demanded the US show "full respect" for his country's sovereignty, in an official statement.
in response, U.S. President George W. Bush ordered his custom made lucchese boots taken out back to the rose garden and shot. Adding sadistic insult to injury, he demanded that the "sonabitch eyetalian crafted boots" be shot by the octogenarian sweet napolitano who has tended to the rose garden since the Kennedy Administration without a single day of absence.
lock and load, POTUS is on the loose looking for a few good SCOTUS.
links
Posted by jsd at 07:38 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Domani, domani
I have insight, and insight should be shared through ye olde mawopi.
A concept called C.P. Time was brought to my attention today. Below follows an excerpt from the New York Beacon, NYC's finest African American Newspaper.
Some argue that Colored People's Time "supports a much more relaxed idea of deadlines and arrival times" than does Western Europeans' notion and practice of time. "When an individual in this culture indicates that he or she is on C.P. Time," the story goes, "insiders within this culture automatically know that this individual does not plan to be on time."
I am shocked and appalled, but not for the reasons you would think. Western Europe? doth this not include certain suspect cultures and nationalities of the mediterranean? come my friends, let us gather around on a journey I like to call:
'creating western civilization was hard so now we nap a lot people's' time:
In Italy for example, domani technically means 'tomorrow'. Yet when I told my italian speaking friend casually that we would plow his field 'domani', he got pale in the face. (italian is sprinkled into our local greek dialect - something like a linguistic V.D. heirloom from the venetian occupation). However, In the vernacular of the eternal city (and the queen of the adriatic for that matter) domani is a more casual reference to a vague yet somewhat possibly definite point in the future. My friend, on his 7th solid year of undergraduate studies in Italy, a common phenomenon of higher education in our parts, is more familiar with this interpretation. this duality of domani is a waste in my opinion. "Signore, We will definitely get it done before the empire of rome asserts its glorious power once again across the terra - hey giuseppe, look, a bus with american girls" must sound absolutely gushing in italian.
In Egypt, just south of the colonial mason dixie line, I've heard a very similar set of cute doublespeak. in fact, I've experienced it firsthand. picture this: a group of egyptian contractors walk into your warehouse, which is in need of moderate renovations. They promise the sky, the clouds, a dirty joke or two, smart baby shoes covered in glitter, a supple roasted lamb every two days: and all for a very competitive price in under one month. 2.5 months later, you've heard both dirty jokes twice a day (2*30*2*2=240) you've determinedly explained that deodorant will in fact not make them impotent, and you just wish for mercy, the kind that forgives and forgets, that makes you cry, turns the other cheek, oh please baby jesus help them finish this job, you were a carpenter, please just make them go away.
In Turkey, they just fire you and hire a Kurd. that'll teach you to be late for work. but of course the new employee will be hospitably treated to the local sedative digestive habits, taught the fine art of slowly trimming a broad mustache, and soon enough, they're firing him and hiring his cousin. Who of course has already learned the what's what, and lasts about 10 days before he's fired. his replacement? a young ambitious turkish man, who has trained and lived abroad, possibly at a british university, perhaps at suffolk. He has brought with him systems, gantt diagrams, charts and graphs! Oh, what was that young Ahmet? you don't know backgammon? no one ever taught you? why sit down over here abi, let us show you how to play.
In Greece no one has ever been late to any event or appointment. Ever. because we invented time. we gave it to the rest of the world along with democracy and siphyllus. I meant sisyphus. you know, the original rolling stone.
Thanks to NKB For the CPT.
Posted by jsd at 01:49 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack