Follow-up

Posted in Whatever Else on October 18th, 2006 by bill

About 10 minutes after posting that last entry, I opened up the paper and read a review of Bob Dylan’s show at the San Francisco Civic. If you can take Joel Selvin’s word for it—always an iffy proposition—Dylan opened with an obscure song called “Lenny Bruce.” This would help to explain my dream, if I’d been at the show or heard about it, which I wasn’t and didn’t. Still, I’m sure it’s all connected somehow.

Paging Dr. Freud

Posted in Whatever Else on October 18th, 2006 by bill

One of my dreams last night involved a portrait of Lenny Bruce made out of cornflakes. This is odd, because I very rarely think of Lenny Bruce, and almost as rarely of cornflakes. I wonder sometimes how the subconscious constructs these things. Does it just dip into a pool of nouns and come up with something random? Could it have just as easily been a bust of Zero Mostel made from rice krispies? Should I be sitting here trying to figure out exactly what Lenny Bruce means, and what the cornflakes mean, and what it has to do with sex? Like I have time for that. Well, I do have the time, but not the inclination. Figure it out for me if you’d like.

Bigger than Jesus, and just as omnipresent

Posted in Something about the Beatles on October 16th, 2006 by bill

No heavy lifting today; the old melon feels entirely too squishy. Instead, a small detail from real life that I want to preserve by putting it down in pixels.

Saturday night Cecil and I were going to the movies and, after much hemming and hawing, we finally decided to see The US vs. John Lennon. The wisdom of this decision was confirmed, I thought, when I took my seat in Cecil’s Chariot of Fire and heard a Beatles song on the radio. As it turned out, our friends at KFOG had chosen that day to play every Beatles song in alphabetical order, so we got to hear “Rain,” both versions of “Revolution,” and “Revolution #9” on the way into San Francisco.

We found the theater and, somewhat pressed for time, opted for valet parking in the garage underneath. As we got out a Middle Eastern-looking gentleman stepped forward to take the keys. And what do you think his nametag said? That’s right: “Ringo.”

The Documents of Hector Maze: 8.2

Posted in The Documents of Hector Maze on October 15th, 2006 by bill

For some indeterminate period I lay staring up into a seamless blue sky. Then in a matter of moments the sky filled with clouds and rain began to fall. But it was warm rain, and it felt good, so I stayed put. I closed my eyes and let the soft drops bathe me.

When the rain stopped I opened my eyes. The clouds departed just as quickly as they’d arrived and the warm sun returned. The water evaporating from my skin brought me a simple. material pleasure that had a nostalgic tinge to it…although nostalgia for what, I couldn’t say.

By the time I was completely dry, I noticed that the sun was getting low in the sky and the temperature had dipped a bit. I figured I’d better start looking for a place to spend the night, so I got dressed and started back into the forest.
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The Documents of Hector Maze: 8.1

Posted in The Documents of Hector Maze on October 12th, 2006 by bill

I slept for a long, long, long time, and as I slept I dreamed. It was all one dream, an epic, a dream that felt more real than most of the rest of my life.

I found myself on a winding path under bright moonlight, the lights of the city behind me, the darkness of the mountains ahead of me. How did I know which was ahead and which was behind? I just knew, with the unquestioned certainty of dream logic.

I climbed and I climbed up a slope of black rock bleached gray by the moon. It was a long way up, but I was tireless, and eventually I reached the top and stood looking back at the city below. I thought of all the people there, the drama, the competition, the endless scrambling for survival and advantage. Then I turned my back and began making my way down the other side of the mountain.
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The Spermamax Conundrum

Posted in Spam, wonderful spam on October 11th, 2006 by bill

So I got a piece of spam today with this subject line:

You want a girl, then try Spermamax.

And nothing else: no message body, no attachment, no URL. I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what they mean by that. The most obvious interpretation is “Use Spermamax and you will get a girl.” But in my experience, girls generally prefer Spermaless, if not Spermanone—unless they for some reason want you to get them pregnant, which leads me to interpretation 2. Maybe they mean “If you’re intending to impregnate your good lady wife, and you desire a female child, then use Spermamax.” Which would make it something of a miracle product, although one not likely to sell well in China.

Or maybe it’s just some kind of bebop poetry, with no causal link implied. “You want a girl; then you try Spermamax; then you get hit by a bus.” But the darkest interpretation is “Use Spermamax and you will no longer want a girl.” If so, will it just make the whole thing happen in your head, like Digital Underground’s sex packets, so that no actual girl is necessary? Will it kill your sex drive altogether? Or will it turn you gay? ls it Spermamax that’s really to blame for the Mark Foley scandal? I’m sure the Republican Party would like you to think so. “Agents of the Homosexual Agenda dosed Congressman Foley’s Sobe with Spermamax; it’s not his fault.”

…and there’s the buzzer that tells me I’ve milked this very slim vein for all it’s worth. Thanks, you’ve been great. I’ll be here all week. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.

A true confession

Posted in Whatever Else on October 10th, 2006 by bill

So dedicated am I to this blog-off that, with midnight fast approaching, I came this close to passing up an opportunity to get laid in order to write something. This close.

And then I came to my senses.

Christopher Columbus, Meet John Lennon

Posted in Whatever Else on October 9th, 2006 by bill

christopher_columbus_portrait.jpg _lennon1-1024.jpg
Lennon flashes the peace sign, while Columbus rocks some kind of Illuminati hand jive.

Today is Columbus Day, which is probably my least favorite holiday of the year. Not that I have anything against Christopher Columbus per se. Mind you, I don’t want to go on record as being pro-Columbus, either. My official position is to remain firmly neutral on the whole topic. In San Francisco they’ll be having the country’s largest pro-Columbus (or “Italian pride”) parade; in Berkeley they’ll be somberly commemorating Indigenous Peoples Day; in Oakland I could really care less, except that Columbus Day always ends up being inconvenient in some way. Inevitably, if I’m expecting a desperately needed check, the lack of mail will screw me over; if I’m trying to make a crucial payment, the payment will be delayed. Could we please just abolish this contentious, inconsistently observed, wholly useless holiday once and for all?

In other news, it’s also John Lennon’s birthday. Of course Lennon was a Libra, and of course he was my favorite Beatle (although I’ve been listening to the magnificent All Things Must Pass a lot lately, and George has been gaining ground). Why not celebrate by listening (or relistening) to the Monkey Vortex classic John, Paul, and Brando?

And finally, the old calendar on the wall tells me that today is Canadian Thanksgiving. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. Presumably our neighbors to the north will be eating Canadian turkey with Canadian stuffing (a.k.a. bacon), then fall asleep on their Canadian sofas in front of Canadian football, dreaming whatever it is that Canadians dream.

Arrogance to Heatstroke

Posted in Whatever Else on October 6th, 2006 by bill

So what do underemployed editors do to occupy themselves? A lot of things, many of them not fit for discussion on a family Internet. But one is to flip idly through the dictionary. Doing this some years ago, I noticed some interesting juxtapositions at the tops of pages, where the first and last words on the page are printed in boldface. Seeing as I’m contractually obligated to post something today, and I don’t have any better idea, here are some examples. (I can hear that voice in the back of my head again—is it Capote or Cecil, or my conscience?—that high-pitched voice that wails “That’s not writing, that’s typing.” Quiet, you!)

arrogance to art form
assumed to astral
attic to auction
bean sprout to beaten
beret to beset
blurry to bob
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I am lazy and arrogant

Posted in Spam, wonderful spam on October 5th, 2006 by bill

In case you hadn’t heard, I am currently engaged in a blog-off with my nemesis Cecil Vortex. You will probably hear Cecil whining and crying that today’s entry is a cheat, because it’s technically more typing than writing. Actually, less like typing, more like cutting and pasting. But screw you, Vortex! Take your Virginia Woolf books and your tea and crumpets and your pressed flowers and go sit in a meadow and write some more “poetry.” See if I care.

Anyway, I got some spam in German today, and just for kicks I ran it through Babel Fish to see what it said. I found the results amusing, and you may too:
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