shake it
like a polaroid picture
1.31.2002
Andy's Lost page is a brilliant idea. I'd thought about putting up a page with people's names who I've lost touch with for Google to find (and hopefully, for them to find if they searched on their names). But nothing like this. I never thought of anything this elaborate. I've got to say, though, I'm a little bummed that I'm in "coworkers" and not "friends." (and I'm bummed that I heard about it from andre instead of the man himself). So on second thought, scratch that thing about "friends" after all. Where's the enemies column...
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How to be a thug.
It's the bomb, yo.
"Since when is pointing out something that happened a cheap shot? For a real history of the "cheap shot" do a search for "Clinton, Hillary"..."
Good one, Oliver.
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I'm getting plastered at Plastic today, they didn't like my article in that it didn't do what they wanted it to do. You can only do so much, in my book, and I thought I did a great job. But that's neither here nor there. What's worrisome is the email I keep getting for something I wrote two years ago. Something I probably should not have. I wrote something satirical, and, quite frankly, offensive. I was trying to make a point, but the point was lost in my unnecessarily harsh words. In brief: I was born and raised in the South, I love the South and I honor the South. But I do think that the South is seriously fucked up in many respects, a lot of which are just distractions from the real problems there: namely education and economic opportunities for all. You achieve that and most other things fall into place. However, that's not what I said, and that's not how it's been taken, and so today, many, many people are very, very angry with me. If you're one of them, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry. It was over the top, I admit. But have a look at what I wrote, and ask yourself if there's any possible way--being a Southerner myself whose entire family is from the South--I could have been serious. Do what you want with the battle flag in your home and at memorials for the dead. I've got ancestors who were veterans myself. Probably more than many of those who have rallied round the flag. Yet I didn't think it should have been on Georgia's state flag. I still don't. But nor do I believe the things I said were true, as they would obviously have to apply to me equally as a Southerner. I was trying to make a point that it's a perception that the flag creates. I failed, I guess. In any case, I'm off to get fresh air on what's turning out to be a bad day.
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Wow. Wil Wheaton cleaned the hell up at the bloggies. I wonder how much of that is due to his celebrity?
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"This is the smoking gun," declared Sen. Barbara Boxer, D-Calif.
Enron. You're already sick of it. You could care less. But not me. I can't get enough. Why? Because I think it just might be that evil Dick Cheney's ticket back to Wyoming. Where he'll just rule secretly. Rather than out in the open. Did you see the cover of the February Vanity Fair? He's got this evil "yeah, we both know I'm the Anti-Christ. but just try to prove it bucko" look on his mug, while he's seated with Dubya and Colin on either side of him. Now, Dubya, God bless him, is probably ignorant of all these satanic goings on (although he did sacrifice hundreds of lives on the alter of pancuronium bromidein his native state in order to gain power and perhaps to curry favor with his Dark God Dick). I mean, really, does Dubya look clued in? I tend to think of Dubya more as the willing agent of evil, rather than as evil itself. Now Powell, on the other hand. What kind of Faustian bargain did this poor sap make? Er.... Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.
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Bruce put up some really cool band photos from the 80s, including images of dead milkmen, firehose, mike watt, salem 66, throwing muses, the neats, and the original lineup of dinosaur jr. (thanks bruce!, via wattlist)
Ezra kisses posters.
1.30.2002
I had totally forgotten about this....
Harp and I went shopping Sunday. We rotate grocery stores, ever since Falettis was torn down, we haven't had a regular store. We tend to rotate between Trader Joes, Cala, Real Foods (all in the neighborhood), and Andronicos and Whole Foods (both of which are too expensive), and, about one out of every three trips, we go to Rainbow, which I wrote was the best grocery in San Francisco two years ago (scroll a little more than halfway down. next to the sepia picture of some sort of tubers, where it says "produce, produce, produce.... ahhhh... that's it). Rainbow can be overpriced, and so socially concious as to make me feel positively Republican when I go there. But as much as I complain about it to Harper, they really do have the most kick-ass natural foods supermarket in the United States there. It's really quite an amazing place. Six kinds of kale. Who knew?
Anyway. There's something else I love and hate about Rainbow, which is that all of the Co-op workers are Punker Then Thou. Rainbow is DIY straight-edge vegan punk nirvana. Not Nirvana the band, though. No, no, no. They were on DGC. No Rainbow for you. Where was I? Oh yeah. Punk rock at Rainbow.
So I'm at Rainbow, right (and keep in mind this is no hole in the wall, Rainbow is easily larger than many full on Supermarkets I've been to), sorting through the big containers of liquid, looking for the dish soap, which I will squirt into a little plastic bottle and pay for by weight. Buying in bulk. No packaging. All that. Well I'm getting the soap, and all of the sudden I hear this very familiar drum beat/ guitar track come on.
And it's "Cashout," from "The Argument," right? And I'm like "Fugazi! Fugazi!" And so I pop the top on the container I was filling even though it wasn't full and go scampering all around to try to find Harper because, you know, I'd never heard Fugazi in a grocery store before and I was a little excited, right? And I'm like "Fugazi! Fugazi!" all up and down the aisles. And so I find her, over by the bins of rice, and I start to say "Fugazi! Fugazi!" and she's just all "I know, I know." And I'm like "Fugazi! Fugazi!" again in case it didn't register with her the first time, and although she was enthoused, she didn't begin to share in my level of Special Thrill. And I didn't really havemuch to say because they were playing Fugazi in the grocery. I mean, when do you hear Fugazi playing anywhere?
And so I guess the point of this is that I love Rainbow.
"Fugazi! Fugazi!"
yeah!
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oh. my.
It's a new design for SF Gate.
I think I like it. I definitely like wider size.
This story about GMO corn overtaking Mexico reads like a bad science fiction movie, except that it's real. Good thing it's been conclusively tested for safety in humans now that it's taking over, right? What's that? Oh. Well then, er... I'm sure those alarmists are as wrong as they are evil. Let's roll.
(via mefi)
Ezra sez: FYI, Mat, Harper, Jeff, Matthew, and I WILL NOT be reading poetry tonight. We are whooped. Next week. Announcement to come...
(He is correct, as always. Except when he contradicts me. Let's roll.)
And what I want to know is, where was the National Guard? I mean, what's the good of having armed guards with M16s if they aren't shooting people?
The memo underscores the broad kinship between Enron and the administration in drafting official policy.
Were Cheney Al Gore, He'd have already been indicted.
Oh shit. Where's Deion when you need him? (via ezra)
Jibangus is as wrong as it is evil. Let's roll. (via kool bobby)
Dark Horizons has a review up of Episode II. Yes, that Episode II.
There's an article in the Summit Daily News on my cousin Sherri's business, Colorado Mountain Wellness.
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Goopymart posts some of the coolest stuff to filepile. I'm gonna see if I can talk him into designing something for my site.
Finally, a safe, beautiful bridge, rather than that flimsy monstrosity that connects Treasure Island with Oakland.
Or, they start a Web log.
"I have discussed this with my family and we are all prepared to die on this land before we allow it to be stolen from us. How should we be prepared to die? Are you planning to burn us out like they did at Waco, or will you have snipers shoot us through our windows like the Weavers at Ruby Ridge? "
Yes, exactly. (via mefi)
1.29.2002
Ondrea Barbe Photography Great site. I wish I knew Flash :::sigh:::::
USA Freedom Corps, 4000 hours, huh? We'll see.
The second part of my Plastic story is up.
I just looked at my bike route video again.... This CD was one of the ones stolen when Harp's car was broken into. Bummer.
Speaking of great bands, this new White Stripes video is the latest meme. If you haven't seen it, it's really cool. (via filepile)
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King Herod died from gangrene of the genitalia? I'm guessing that smelled really bad.
Here's My Morning Jacket's site and a couple of mp3s on epitonic
The pix of King Coffey eating a steak for Roky Erickson are up.
There's only one kind of banter I want to hear. - Jeff Saunders
I went to see My Morning Jacket, Mike Watt, and Eyes Adrift last night at Slims. My Morning Jacket was spectacular. When they started, and I first heard Jim James' voice, my initial reaction was "oh no, not another Grandaddy clone." This was completely unfounded. Although James voice is similar to Grandaddy's Jason Lytle, or Neil Young, it ends there. MMJ is a melange of 70s inspired rock sounds, everything from country rock to arena rock to reggae. I'm not doing them justice, I never am able to describe bands I like well. Go see them.
Watt was, as always, amazing and inspirational. He's one of the greatest musicians, songwriters, and performers drawing breath today. That this man's talent isn't universally recognized is a travesty. Whenever I see him, I feel like I'm watching Coltrane or Mingus at a small venue somewhere. You're glad to see him somewhere small, but you feel guilty because you know he should be playing at Shoreline.
Eyes Adrift was one of the mot inconsistent acts I've ever seen, perhaps they haven't played together enough yet. It took Curt Kirkwood a couple of songs to get warmed up, but when he did he was on fire. His performance was top notch. The songs were beautiful, one was immediately haunting. I was incredibly impressed. They had a few songs they should ditch, but they'll figure that out. Bud Gaugh is an amazing drummer, he's really tight and really talented. He actually reminds me a lot of kool bobby, both in the way he sounds and the way he moves. And then there was Krist Novaselic. Novaselic had some good songs, the lyrics were kind of funny, even. But Eyes Adrift suffered horribly from witty stage banter. Perhaps because they're new, Eyes Adrift took a lot of time between each song. This time tended to be filled with Novaselic's interminable yapping. When I saw Nirvana, one thing I remember about the show was coming away thinking "Man, Krist Novaselic should really just shut-up." This was much worse. Not that Kirkwood's banter was much better. But... Sheesh. (Bud, meanwhile, had great banter. Spectacular. He didn't say a word.)
Admittedly, I'm from the no-banter school of music fandom. The best banter I've ever heard came from Bob Mould, who said "Hi, I'm Bob Mould. Thank you, goodnight." In between he gave one hell of an intense performance. Every time I'd start to get into Eyes Adrift, the song would end, and the banter would begin. Krist, save the banter for the courtroom, brah.
What was it about the house that made it my dream home?
Perhaps it was the floor-to-ceiling mirrors and orange shag carpet that greeted you at the entrance. Or the urine-colored tiles that covered the stairs and the living room, whose floors slanted toward a drain in the middle of the room. Or the black-felted bedroom with its glow-in-the-dark-crucifix platform bed, perfectly angled for whipping. Or perhaps it was the meth lab, or the pot-growing sun room. Or the "dungeon" in the basement where five years before the former owner had fatally torched his lover. Or perhaps it was the small things, like the five-gallon can of lubricant, or the collection of penis stretchers, the trapeze, the electronic enema, the little hole allowing someone in the kitchen to watch people in the basement, the names of Satan's helpers spray-painted on walls or the hawk droppings that caked the surfaces of the upstairs bedrooms.
(via ezra)
1.28.2002
The world's most brilliant revisionist history (thanks Eric!)
GHZ now
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It's funny that every news organization in the world is reporting that Cheney is fighting the GAO to keep from having to reveal who attended his nefarious energy policy meetings. Every news organization, that is, except FOXNews.com "We don't report, you can't decide."
(and actually, foxnews does report it. in little bitty type. down at the bottom of the page. under the heading "standing their ground." gopnn. spin free zone my ass.)
I wish it had snowed here...
I have no idea what the original source of this is. I found it on filepile:
HOW TO EXPLAIN ENRON TO YOUR CHILDREN:
Feudalism - You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.
Fascism - You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.
Communism - You have two cows. Your neighbors help take care of them and you share the milk.
Totalitarianism - You have two cows. The government takes them both and denies they ever existed and drafts you into the army. Milk is banned.
Capitalism - You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the income.
Enron Venture Capitalism - You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more.
Ezra, Matthew, Harper and I will all be doing a poetry reading at Sacred Grounds Cafe on Wednesday evening. This is news to them. (So, get to writing, kids).
Also: Sacred Grounds, a proud member of the 117, is the best coffee house in San Francisco. It's exactly what a coffee house should be. It's comfy, it has food, it's got electronet access, it has an open mike and supports local musicians and writers, it even puts out its own compilations. And. Good Coffee.
All in all it reminds me of a smaller Jittery Joes, where I used to get my morning buzz every afternoon.
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At the height of the energy crisis, [Ken Lay] addressed The Chronicle editorial board where he explained, with a smug smile, why California deserved its precipitous decline. Much of what he said about the sale of energy went over my head. Now I know why. I only launder clothes, not money.
I've found that I'm using my Google Toolbar (which, by the way, is an exceptional add on to IE if you don't already have it) in an unexpected way. My toolbar has become my default dictionary. This was something that just sort of evolved.
Something you may not know about Google is that it automatically spell-checks words you've misspelled. Google wll ask you "did you mean [Correct Spelling]" if you flub a word. So when I'm not sure how to spell something, I usually just type it in my Google Toolbar. Furthermore, the top entry for any word you type on Google is the word's definition. (Look in the blue bar if you don't see what I mean.) So if you just want to look a word up, all you have to do is type it in the toolbar. Handy, eh?
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Harper: "Isn't that pretty much admitting guilt?" No, my dear, it isn't admitting it, and that's pretty much the whole point. Admit nothing. Carry on as if you've done nothing improper. As if it's all on the up-and-up and responding to these allegations would be beneath you. As if you've got more pressing matters, what with the war and all, than hashing out details as to whether or not you've done something completely crooked and reprehensible, chuckling in the eerie glow of your oil lamps while Californians hunker frightened in the dark, sending all their money to your pal Ken Lay in a desperate effort to get the juice going again. As if you aren't really Satan's earthly agent come to despoil and poison our planet and feast on the blood of the poor and helpless.
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1.25.2002
The Official Ninja Homepage
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Blogger Pro is out. I'm thinking about going for it. This, despite the fact that I'm looking into moving away from Blogger as a publishing system alltogether. Why? Because for the past two years (there were other blogs, before this one) Evan Williams has provided me with a simple, no-nonsense method to publish my content every day. And he's done so for free. $35. That's less than it would cost for Harper and I to go to the movies (drinks and popcorn included, natch).
My Balmy Alley page is up. To be quite honest, I'm less than happy with it, particularly the photography. I'm probably going to start all over again on it.
Oh no! Sad news. Goodbye, little man.
Scandalous. Not to mention incredibly stupid and impossibly backwards. What is this, 1950? What are these guys so threatened by? I've read about this party before, and even linked to articles on it, but I've never seen these pictures before today. I almost wish I still had not. (thanks watt)
Great Watt poster (thanks greg!)
Batman named president of Ball Memorial Hospital
My Plastic story is on OJR today. I was really happy with it. And Mr. Fouts gave it a great headline.
My dad's side of the family is from a little town in south Alabama (or L.A. as we used to call it. Think about it. It'll come to you) called Eufaula. My grandmother lived there until just a few months ago when she moved to Macon, Ga. (or Maconga, as we used to call it. If you have to think about that one, you need to go back to bed) My dad is planning on moving back to Eufaula when he retires. My family has lived there for over a century. So, when I got married, my folks ran a wedding announcement in the Eufaula Tribune. They also got me a subscription. Although I rarely read it--it usually went straight to the recycle bin--I did love to sit down tieh the Trib on occassion, just because stories like this one make the front page there. Oh, to live in small town America again. Someday, someday.
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The Modesto Bee went after mom-and-pop shops after it lost Montgomery Ward as an advertiser. Although the practice is completely different, the concept is actually quite similar to microads, in that with banner dollars drying up, online publishers should go after smaller advertisers as well.
Wait a second. Ambassador Montezuma is suppossed to be less offensive? With those legs? (thanks Geoff!)
Uncle Tupelo is one of my favorite bands. No Depression is one of my favorite albums. I love Son Volt. I love Wilco. But neither for me will ever equal Uncle Tupelo. You gotta have Jeff and Jay together. And so, I'm not really too sad to hear that Farrer left Son Volt. Fairly or not, I always thought of Son Volt as "Jay," while I always thought of Wilco as "Jeff." And so, I'm pretty happy to hear that the two of them at least seem to be talking again. That's something, at least. Now, how about another album?
Also, note Eyes Adrift. See you there.
1.24.2002
sweet
Britt and Tiff get Fired!
I live just down the street from Alamo Square Park. It's a mere 4.5 blocks down Fulton Street, in fact. But, despite my photofetish, I've never before taken a picture of one of the most famous views, not just of the city, but in all the world. It's a total money shot. How this oversight occurred, I have no idea.
So, dear readers, allow me to present what I like to call the Full House Opener:
as always, click to enlarge
My old friend and sometimes editor Annalee has a great article on the cute invastion in this week's Bay Guardian. The gist:
These days cuteness has lost any subversive edge it might have had back in the days when raves and manga in the United States were still mostly the purview of underground culture enthusiasts. Cute is a consumer item, a mainstream aesthetic.
Hey! That's Kool Bobby's ass! (via ezra)
Driving back across the bay today, I popped in an old CD, and listened to one of my favorite songs from high school -- Paid in Full, the seven minutes of madness mix. It was glorious, driving over the Bay Bridge in the bright sunlight, looking out at the Golden Gate, and hearing Eric B again, for the first time. He was my favorite DJ when I was younger, and when I heard him again today--for the first time in several months-- it occured to me how many DJs sound a lot like him today, while so very, very few, if any, did back in the 80s.
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I'm off to go meet with the folks at Guerrilla News Network today.
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Scientists say 10,000 gallons of oil from 1989 Exxon Valdez spill lingers under shoreline and continues to affect wildlife
More on Woz' new company. From Henry Norr.
Ever heard of Bohemian Grove? You know the place. It's where the Illuminati gather during the off-season. Yet Bohemian Grove actually exists. Whether or not it's where the Bushies meet for anal sex, I'm not going to speculate. Personally, I always thought that sort of thing was confined to the Skull and Bones Club.
Regardless, the legend of Bohemian Grove grew considerably over the weekend when a poor misguided soul who had been listening to (no surprise here) talk radio went off his nutter and attacked the place Chuck Norris Octagon style.
Admittedly, some of the shenanigans at Bohemian Grove are a little freaky. But isn't that what being a rich, white patriarch is all about? Your right to dress up in silly costumes and act out kooky rituals?
So come on, Mr. Phantom Patriot. Leave the big owl idol alone. Let the Bushies and company have their secret forest fun. God knows they need it after those long days of bombing the shit out of brown people. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some care to cremate.
Is that Jeff Saunders? I'm pretty sure it is.
Well crap. I see I'm not the only one with this plan. I'm not quite sure why I didn't figure that lots of others would be looking at a grad school route until the recession's over. I guess that means admissions will be harder than I expected.
Sorry for the NYT link. But peep the boys in trechcoats. I'm pretty sure they attend the Eddie Bauer School of Modeling Poses.
1.23.2002
Being Poor is not a crime.
Newsom's panhandling proposal is the most contentious issue to hit San Francisco since I've been here. Even moreso than public power. But the thing is, Newsom has one thing on his side: a plan. Nobody else has shit. Empty slogans (see above) won't accomplish anything. Me, I'm against his proposal. Fining and jailing poor people doesn't get them off the streets (except temporarily, and would anyone argue that we need to start jailing the homeless?) But I don't have a plan, other than bussing the homeless to Hollywood. All I can do, at this point, is throw rocks. And that solves nothing.
But the noise the glass makes when it comes crashing down sure is pretty.
Everyday people, tracking everyday things.
I met Woz once, at Mac OS X's debut at Elite Computers in Cupertino (yeah, I know I am). I've also read a book about him, and another book about Jobs. Plus there's all sorts of apocryphal stuff out there on the Web about him, some of which I choose to believe. But between all of that, I've come away with one conclusion about Woz: he's a damn nice guy. Yes, yes, sure, he's brilliant, he invented the personal computer, he wrote Atari Breakout, he's a genius. Sure. I'm with you, G. But how often do you come across someone whose done all that, and who not only isn't an egomaniac, but is also a damn nice person? Woz. He's a hero to me.
This Picture to HTML converter is simply the raddest thing ever.
This page has a new permanent address:
http://www.honan.net/index.php
Please update your bookmarks.
p's
-Mat
Also, note the new commenting system and random image display in the upper righthand navv bar. PHP, yes!
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A powerful story from Ezra today. "My First Lesson in Love and War Crimes"
Damn. The hospital called, and needed Harp to come into work. Bad for me, worse for her, good for you. I guess. So while I'm sitting here, munching Edamame, and searching for a free sound recording program, I figure I can rewrite my post that went ka-plooey.
I was the typical kid with a chip on his shoulder. The cool kids, the popular kids, the football players, and their braindead ilk, shunned me, and so I shunned them right the fuck back. In junior high, I was way into creative endeavors. ( Always had been. Even as a kid, I was submitting poetry and drawings to Highlights. ) But by the time I was in 8th grade or so, I had wised up to the fact that this wasn't going to win me any friends, or get me that first kiss. In fact, if anything, it was just going to earn me even more scorn and derision from the aforementioned "let's go throw a ball around, bump into each other a bunch, and then take a shower together before we throw a party and don't invite kids that aren't also on the football team or old Alabama money," crowd. I didn't know what to do. I was an awkward kid, and had no self confidence whatsoever. And to top it all off, I had the sneaking suspicion that daddy never understood.
And so, I did what most kids like me that age do, I turned to drug use, indie rock, and juvenile delinquency. What fun. Bashing mailboxes on warm southern nights. Riding in the back of a pickup truck, cranking the pixies, and hucking eggs at the cars parked at a party we weren't invited to attend. Urinating in the jocks' gatorade in the locker room, and then sticking around to watch them drink it after practice. Joyriding in cars. Breaking windows. Sneaking onto the golf course at night, tearing up the greens, joyriding the carts into ponds, and shitting in the holes. And Halloween. Oh. Halloween. What fun. What fun. Smashing Pumpkins, even if they were a country band, I'd love them for their name, and the memories it invokes. What fun.
There were more serious things too. There were fights and beatings and drug deals and driving around Montgomery at seventeen on six hits of acid, watching the Christmas lights turn the streets into a carnival, oblivious to the threat I posed to other drivers and pedestrians. But for the most part, my fun was harmless to anyone other than myself and my poor mother. I was just wild. (And thank God. Otherwise I'd probably be one of those pathetic souls acting out my childhood well into adulthood. Everyone needs wild days.) I was just always the guy who never wanted to be chicken. I was just down for whatever. I was just a dumb ass. (And it took trips to the hospital and jail for me, and rehabs, prison, and mental homes for friends before I realized how stupid I was.)
And then there was Kmart.
I was never much of a thief. I had problems with stealing. I was against it. Although, I certainly didn't mind sharing in the fruits of others' theft. I'm sure I sipped a thousand swallows of purloined vodka before I ever hit 16. But.
A bunch of my friends took to stealing CDs from Kmart. After several weeks of watching my friends' music collections swell, with no consequences, I got greedy. I wanted in. "Besides," I reasoned, "Kmart is a giant chain store, they have tons of money, it's not like I'm stealing from a local merchant." And so. And so I did. The five finger discount. Hoo-ray.
And one Sunday when I was sixteen, I was in Kmart with my friends Mike and Lawson. We were busy slicing the bottom of longboxes (remember CD longboxes?) with razors and cramming them into our clothes when I noticed a woman staring at us. We figured we were slick, so we decided not to worry. But I worried. Something was up. There was a bad vibe in the store. And so as we left, I hung back in the Valentine's Day specialty aisle, and there, amid the heart-shaped boxes, greeting cards and candy, I stashed my purloined CDs. It's important to note I did this first. I headed out, and as I did,. I saw Mike walking out the front door. Lawson had already split. Then I heard a voice over the intercom calling for a ladder at the front of the store, and three men bolted out the front door.
I was no dummy. I knew what was up. So I strolled to the counter, bought a pack of cigarettes (As I always did when I was stealing stuff. I never stole things and left. I figured it would look suspicious. I always lingered around, bought something, and then left.) and split. Outside, I saw Lawson lying on the ground with a guy on top of him. I think he must ave tried to run. Mike was standing closer to the door, watching. There was a guy standing next to him, with Mike's arm in his left hand, and a stack of CDs in his right. Fuck.
And they had the whole thing on tape. They had everything on tape. They had tapes of several weeks of sullen teenages in army clothes sulking into their store and lingering around the CD section. And they had a suspiciously empty metal section, even though metal wasn't really well in the Rome, Georgia Kmart. And on closer inspection they saw the kids stashing CDs. And they knew we'd be back, so they waited, and got us. And because they were incredibly cool, they didn't arrest us, they only made us return the CDs. I say us because Mike and Lawson told them who I was, not that I blame them. And then they told us that we weren't allowed back into Kmart. Ever.
And so, I've been thinking about that a lot the past few days. And I have to say, I'm sorry Kmart.
Man, Harper's a vegetarian (well, fishitarian I guess). So, I've got much respect for King Coffey. For him, this is a major sacrifice.
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Harper just got back into town. And IE crashed when I wrote a long, and I dare say entertaining, post chronicling my adventures as a shoplifitng youth. So I'm very sorry. but you shant be seeing many updates here today. If any, after this. But I will return tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow.
Thank Goodness. I can loiter in a place of business without fear once again.
I just don't get it
(thanks Brad!)
1.22.2002
Monkey do
From the Nation:
The people bilked in Enron's sudden implosion were not only the 12,000 employees whose 401(k) savings disappeared while Enron insiders were smartly cashing out more than $1 billion of their own shares. The other losers are working people across America. Enron was effectively owned by them. On June 30, before the CEO abruptly resigned and the stock price began its terminal decline, 64 percent of Enron's 744 million shares were owned by institutional investors, mainly pension funds but also mutual funds in which families have individual accounts. At midyear, the company was valued at $36.5 billion, having fallen from $70 billion in less than six months. The share price is now close to zero. Either way you figure it, ordinary Americans--the beneficial owners of pension funds--lost $25-$50 billion because they were told lies by the people and firms they trusted to protect their interests. (via mefi)
What do you expect?
Seriously, what do you expect? I'm about to try and do some major site overhauls, and although this space is for me, I want to know why you're here. I mean, I know that you're probably killing time at work, but what exactly does this site have that others don't. If anything? Aside from an unemployed webflunkie that is.
What do you like best, posts like a) this, b) this or c) this? Or is it the mix? Comments appreciated.
I uploaded the circumcar to photographica.
Tyson bites Lewis.
God bless the wayback machine. Which is responsible for preserving one of my all-time favorite stories: Start Up, Shut Down, Drop Out, the story behind GettingIt.com where I was an editor.
If you're having trouble with Blogger today (I wasn't but Ezra and Helen Jane were) Ev says to sign out and then back in again. FYI: that usually solves the majority of my blgger problems.
I wrote a long screed in response to Richard Poe's attack on pigdog. But then, Pigdog put up its own defense. And, quite honestly, Poe freaks me out, what with the defense of hate crimes, and guns, and Robert E Lee. so I checkened out and pulled it. Why? Because,um. Because, er. Because I'm chickenshit.
KaZaa returns under new ownership
Who is John Galt? Ken Lay.
Bravo. My biggest beef with Ayn Rand isn't that she became the poster woman for right wing, "fuck the poor," let the markets regulate themselves, Republican party reptiles everywhere. It's that her books are boring as hell. Bore. Ring.
What? I'm an expert now?
Harper has a new commenting system. Leave her a note.
And Mac, thanks for getting me off my ass to get that installed. Of course, I couldn't do it until I switched servers. So, thanks Michal too.
1.21.2002
Mmmmm..... Midi
I created several gifs that I'm going to rotate into the top right corner. The beautiful thing about them is that you can download them, put them on your page, and link to my site. Were you so inclined. Which I'm not saying you are. But it'd be pretty nice.
This, I can't believe. MLK's famous "I have a dream" speech was given, to some extent at least, off of the cuff. This is just amazing to me, that one of the greatest (if not the? It's certainly up there) oratorical achievements of the 20th century wasn't completely scripted.
But then again, the great ones always write their own speeches. Right, Dubya? (via mefi)
Rob Morse has strong words for Ken Lay. And I completely agree. If Ken Lay doesn't serve hard time, after the catastrophe he caused for his workers, his investors, and the economy as a whole (while pocketing millions), something is seriously fucked up with the American justice system.
The California vs. Texas grudge match contiunues, this time with a federal prosecutor from San Francisco overseeing the investigation of Enron. I'd just like to point out that while Texas might have the money, oil, and president on their side, we have truth, justice, and incredibly strong ganja.
Dance Dance Revolution is subculture at its finest. If you've never seen it, you've missed a hell of a show.
Harp has a funny entry today.
1.20.2002
They don’t have septic tanks. What they do have are long pieces of narrow plastic pipe stretching from their trailers to ditches they’ve dug to serve as catch basins. Once water and human waste drop from the pipe into the ditches, it flows toward a makeshift lagoon about 100 yards from McMeans’ trailer. 'The judge has told me either to get a septic tank, move or go to jail,' said McMeans, who said he injured his back in 1989. He said his monthly disability check is 'about $600, and my trailer costs $300.'"
Poverty in Alabama.
The Christmas Tree is coming down today. It's gonna be today for a few reasons. 1) I'm pretty sure Sunset Scavenger picks them up on Mondays. 2) Harp's out of town. This sort of thing upsets her. Best if it just disappears while she's away and then I'll tell her it went to live with another family, a nice one that lives in Des Moines and has a big yard with lots of other trees and a small boy named Frederick who will water it every day and take it on long walks around the neighborhood. 3) Steve's coming for a visit, which means I won't have to drag it out alone. It's not his brute physical strength I need (thank God! I'd be in deep shit were that the case), it's his moral support and confirmation that none of the neighbors are looking. 4) There's no way in hell this tree is still going to be here in February.
Goodbye tree. I enjoyed smelling you.
As noted earlier, I've switched hosts. I've already noticed a faster load time. I'll be able to run scripts that I couldn't before. Plus, I'm pretty psyched to be doing business with Michal.
Chance that a "GMO-free" food product studied last April contained no genetically modified ingredients : 1 in 5
great...
Some large corporations are good.
1.19.2002
Blessing of the animals
Woo-hoo!
New host! Hopefully, this should mean faster page load times.
1.18.2002
This tells us that the scandal yardstick our political and media culture currently uses is bent like a pretzel. You say your president may have finagled a real estate deal many years ago? Time to name a special prosecutor! He lied about his sex life? Draw up the articles of impeachment! But tell us that a high-profile corporation donated millions of dollars to legions of politicians, including the president; bent the government to its will; lined the pockets of its executives while dodging all taxes; then went bankrupt, vaporizing thousands of employees' retirement accounts? Nah, that's no "political scandal." Come on -- where're the bimbos?
Scott Rosenberg on the "Enron isn't a political scandal" spin that's gotten serious play in the last few days.
Images of the congalese volcano
Screw Red Bull and Vodka, gimme a Mountain Comfort. Now that's a sweet and tasty caffinated beverage.
Happy Birthday Jeff!
You old fart. Only 9 more years to 40!
Operation Enduring Pretzel
1.17.2002
FOUND magazine: We collect FOUND stuff: love letters, birthday cards, kids' homework, to-do lists, ticket stubs, poetry on napkins, telephone bills, doodles- anything that gives a glimpse into someone else's life. anything goes...
I love found photos and found objects. So naturally, I *love* Found magazine, which is all that and a platter of audio. And, lucky day, it comes in dead tree form also.
I put up a Presidio Pet Cemetery mini-site on my shiny new host. This is a temporary address. Eventually, (as soon as the transfer goes through with Network Solutions. Goodbye, NovaHosting, Hello, Cornerhost) the address will be at http://www.honan.net/PetCem/index.html. But for now... it is what it is.
Tim Cavanaugh has a hillarious story on War Blogs in OJR. I dig a lot of the sites he mentions, but some of the warblogs do tend to be, well, a bit on the pompus side.
Ezra's confessional site has taken off in a big way. I'm assuming something must have been posted to missed connections...
send mazie (a 70 year old grandmother) a birthday card
Zippy the pinhead is to stay in San Francisco . I wasn't even aware that we were in danger of losing him. But damn, i'm glad we're not. (Thanks Joe!)
I rode my bike to the Presidio Pet Cemetery today. Took lots of pictures, which I'm going to post later today.
A tearful Lewinsky turned to HBO Executive Vice President Sheila Nevins and complained, "You said they were going to be nice!"
(thanks Dave!)
This is the thing. If someone knocks on your door, you either know that person or you do not. If you know that person, who better, than you, to judge the appropriateness of answering the door naked? And if you don't know them, if it is a solicitor or a summoner or some other annoyance, what better way to drive them off than by introducing them to The Royal Philharmonic, so to speak.
And i've got to ask, is this really a problem? Just because one guy likes to be naked, apparnatly in the privacy of his own home, you want ban answering the door naked alltogether?
Preposterous. This is lifestyle legislation at its worst, and apprantly, the good Rep. Pelote has already realized it as she is backpeddling like mad, away from what she said and into the realm of what she "meant."
But do say hello to Chandra for me...
Fiore's new cartoon pokes fun at Ken Lay.
"The name is one of the most famous names in the world," says Mr. Binladin's Swiss lawyer, Juerg Brand. "We think that people are able to distinguish between Osama and the rest of the family."
Oh come on now. That's just naive. If you're name was Hitler, and you made pants, you wouldn't call them Hitler Pants, now would you? Sorry, pal, but sometimes, you just have an unfortunate name.
We all have to go, sometime, somehow. Death is, as they say, a part of life. Despite your regimen at 24 hour fitness, despite all the fiber, despite the good cholesterol and lowfat diet. You're going to die. Yep. We all are. Deal with it.
But please, don't let me go out like this guy.
1.16.2002
A Cover for Steve Jobs, a Faux Pas for Time
So, what you're saying, when you say that San Francisco is prepared, is that it actually isn't prepared? Great. Atlanta, of course, where I moved here from, is well-prepared And Las Vegas? Less prepared
Like the new look? Lemme know. Below. And to the right.
The truth about Coincidence Design. Nice work, Dave.
Next up, we're gonna get those whiskey rebellion bastards.
[cough - cough]
*ahem*
(and be sure to follow that Argentina link)
I wish I were more like you fuckers.
Me too.
Lite-Brite
(also filepile)
Like an old sweet song.
Does anyone else find it slightly odd that a story about a misprint contains a misprint? See 2nd graf, 13th word.
Tools is the most useful new site I've come across in a while. (via filepile)
Mark Morford is, by far, my favorite columnist writing today. I don't think anyone else, anyone, is a consistently funnier writer. I can't even remember how long I've subscribed to The Morning Fix, now. But however long it's been, Morford has transformed, over time, from a columnist to a familiar friend. Sort of. In a non-creepy sort of way, I mean. One who chats me up in the mornings, saying witty and outrageous things, just as I'm getting good and caffeinated. Morford is funny because his hyperbole stems from honesty.
Sure, that "we respond to your email" crap is chumpsville. And there are a lot of times I disagree with him. Or just don't understand what the hell his point is. Or he's a bit too touchy feely. But day in and day out, I enjoy his stuff. I was depressed and outraged when he was suspended last year, and half-afraid that he might not be back. (well, depressed may be stretching it a bit. but certainly disspirited.) Because every once in a while, his columns grab me. Sometimes because they're sincere, sometimes because they're scathingly funny.
Today one of those days.
One law enforcement source we talked to claimed to have seen photos and insisted, "There was nothing inadvertent about what was going on between them and the dogs."
Er... Yeah. Okay. Um. I'm completely grossed out and feel like I need a bath now.
I don't post deeply personal things. That's not something I want to do. And besides, the last thing the world needs is another navelgazing white boy from the burbs blithering about his feelings. Getting all Chicken Soup for the Soul on your ass makes me feel petty.
So, obviously, with a lead-in like that, I've got some soup to sell you. There. You've been forewarned.
Harper left this morning to go visit her parents for a week. Not only is she the coolest woman I've ever met, the thing that I love most in this world, and the source of all my happiness (trust me, I used to be a grumpy fucker), but she's also my very best friend. The best friend I've ever had.
And so when she left this morning, it was really hard for me. Which was odd, because usually I look at a week as chump change. "What do you mean you're going to miss me? It's only a year." That's always been my attitude.
But not with Harper.
I just... I can't stand to be apart from her. At all. I enjoy her so incredibly much, and she makes me so very happy. And this morning, before she left, I started to cry. Because I already missed her, and I just didn't want to see her go. Even for a day.
I miss you, Harper. I love you.
Fuck him.
I'm not a get tough on crime kind of guy. Nor do I tend to rally round the flag. Patriotism, in fact, makes me a little uncomfortable. I've lived in Islamic countries, twice. Once in a nation bordering Afghanistan. Furthermore, I now live in JWL's backyard. Or, rather, he lived in mine. I belong to the ACLU. I vigorously (and always have) oppose the death penalty. Above all else, politically and socially, I believe in human rights.
But I also believe in responsibility. You have to be responsible for your actions. JWL actively engaged in human rights violations. He has to pay the piper for doing that. Have we forgotten what thugs the T