There was an unfortunate incident in the zombie lab . . .

And so I'm typing with one hand, as the other was inconveniently bitten off last night - the zombies weren't quite as sedated as we thought. Apparently Paris Hilton got them all riled up again, after they were lulled to sleep by American Idol. Seems they're more like humans than previously hypothesized, at least, some humans. Therefore, tonight's post will be short and sweet (in contrast to the typical long and bitter). I'm also missing an ear, and part of my left leg, but hopefully my resident research surgeon will have everything sorted out in time for me to write more tomorrow night. I just hope he can operate missing half of his liver, which seems to have been devoured, as we can't find it anywhere.

Also, the zombies seemed to be mumbling something about "momimonnia"; or perhaps "eudaimonia", we couldn't tell. We think it's an Aristotelian term, so if there are any philosophy majors out there, we could use your input! We couldn't get them to understand commands in English, so maybe a philosopher would be willing to translate. Thanks in advance!

The research staff's scratching their heads over this one

The Editor now has an assistant in researching alien presence on the internet. The charming Tifanie has found another example of the use of this strange dialect, which is quoted on her site. We managed to translate the last excerpt, but this one has really left us baffled as to its meaning, if any. Tifanie has posted an open call for information; I strongly second the motion. I will send a bobble-head Jesus doll to anyone who can find the answer to this strange conundrum, as my own pycologists seem inadequate to the task.

And I'm most grateful to Tifanie for finding and posting something of interest, thus saving me the trouble of doing so. The Editor is delighted to have a night off from the usual crucial task of providing the world with breaking news and critical information, and thus, I will return to my zombie lab and the top-secret work awaiting me there. (Several zombie specimens were captured during the most recent attack during the rainstorm, which you might recall from an earlier post. Currently they're quiescent, having been sedated by repeated doses of reality television, but they might wake up at any moment.)

I'll get y'all drunk enough to enjoy this blog, see if I don't

Well, the Editor has tackled weighty issues like performing molluscs, hangovers, aliens, and zombie attacks too many evenings in a row. And I did, at some point, promise drink recipes would appear on this site. So, I gave the research staff the night off, and every topic covered tonight will be as light and fluffy as Ariel the mermaid's brain tissue.

The first featured cocktail of the evening is the "Green Dragon", as follows:

2 measures vodka
1 measure green Chartreuse
shake with ice, strain into cocktail glass
(warning: the Editor is no lightweight, and could barely finish a second one)

Now, for any of my readers unfamiliar with green Chartreuse, or yellow Chartreuse for that matter, a brief history: French Carthusian monks have been producing this specialty liquor at their monastery since (they say) 1605; certainly the date is very close to that. It's made with grape spirits, macerated and distilled with more than 130 different herb and plant extracts; you can pick out quite a few of the different notes, but anise is the dominant flavor. Green chartreuse is the stronger of the two, at 55% alcohol, with yellow clocking in at 40%. The Editor is quite biased in favor of the green, which has a stronger kick, and I think a more well-rounded flavor as a result. Here's the really fun fact about Chartreuse, however: the color was named after it, not the other way around, making it unique in the annals of liqueurs with colorful names. One other note on the topic of Chartreuse. There is something about it, other than just the alcohol, which is hard to describe - a feeling of warmth spreads from head to toe, a certain kind of slack-brained fuzziness descends, and it hits far harder than it ought. It's a real favorite, I have to say, and excellent on its own.

Now, here's a fascinating-sounding one, straight from the Chambord recipe book which comes with their delightful gift set, which the Editor is thrilled to have received for Christmas. I was already a fan of Chambord, and now possess the sexy little cocktail shaker and matching jigger and spoon. Sometimes, I'm very glad Jesus was born. But, at any rate. Chambord is a sweet (so sweet it must be mixed) and very delicious French black raspberry liqueur, which comes in a spiffy round bottle with lots of gold stuff stuck on it. It's a stylish and tasty addition to any liquor cabinet, and if you get some, you can try the "Vanilla and Jasmine Martini". If anyone does, please let me know how it turns out - I haven't tried it yet. My list of cocktails to sample at some point is about ten miles long, despite diligent attempts to reduce the backlog which take place at least once a day.

1 shot vodka
4 whole vanilla pods
3/4 shot Chambord
1 1/2 shots cool or chilled jasmine tea
1/2 shot vanilla vodka (Ed. note: try Grey Goose Le Vanille)
1/2 shot sugar syrup (Ed. note: you can make your own - 1:1 hot water and white sugar, then cool)
Split two pods, scrape seeds into shaker with other ingredients and ice. Shake, strain into two cocktail glasses, and garnish each with another vanilla pod.

We hope you have enjoyed this brief respite from world news and social commentary. Tune in tomorrow for more prancing aquatic zombie aliens!

Singing fish: scourge of the Western world

This evening, viewing a rare hour of television, the Editor was moved to wonder: what is it about dancing, singing, cartoon fish which sound like stand-up comedians which so holds the public in thrall? We offer for examples:

The Little Mermaid - "Sorry, sorry. This movie is so wonderful and just makes me feel so good. I always cry at the ending. It's just so happy and giddy and... oh! Just watch the movie, you'll know what I'm talking about." -- "Lovable characters like Sebastian, Scuttle, and Flounder gave the heart to the story."
Finding Nemo - "John Ratzenberger does a hysterical turn as the school of fish we all saw in the previews." -- "The world of "Finding Nemo" is simply alive with lovable creatures swimming about their daily lives under the ocean, darting across the screen in playful manners."
The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea - "Great new characters are added including Dash the walrus, who has been given such a great personality that viewers can't help but to find him likable, especially children." -- "The film is great, but nothing will replace the original (which in my opinion is the greatest film ever made). It's second best to the original. "
Wee Sing Under the Sea - "The over twenty musical numbers include three original songs, "Bubble Bubble", "The Clam Dance" and "Pollution Solution.""
Shark Tale - "The story was simple but fun, I really liked the way the parallels between a vegetarian shark and coming out of the closet." -- "Next, I introduce Oscar the hyper bling-bling fish (voiced by Will Smith)."

Are musical, anthropomorphic fish really enough of a brilliant concept to warrant such a barrage of aquatic hijinks? The Editor thinks not. However, who am I to argue with this (hopefully three year old) film critic's opinion: "I like the ending [of the LM] where Triton made a rainbow for everyone." Yay, a rainbow! For everyone! It's the happiest day of my life, since that day the bad man didn't take my ice cream cone.

The Editor is particularly amazed by the vast number of slobbering cod-o-philes who seem to think that these animated extravaganzas really give one a great understanding of undersea life. For example: "it Opens up a new world for kids and shows you what the ocean really contains and how the fish really act." Oops, I must not have been at the beach the day that troupe of acrobatic sunfish swarmed out of the surf and burst into spontaneous song. And strangely enough, the octopus in biology class didn't favor us with an orchestral rendition of popular seventies love ballads - but then, with all of those people around, it must have been shy.

Newsflash for everyone who's ever masturbated to a screenshot of Lara Croft: Ariel the little nubile mermaid DOES NOT EXIST. Don't believe these people are really out there? (Well, okay, we all know they're really out there, that's not what I meant.) Here's the proof: "I have a major crush on Ariel ever since i was young, she is a beauty for Sore-Eyes and the soundtrack is excellent too." Glad to hear that. We recommend Visine and getting a fucking clue, for this sort of ailment.

Apparently we're not the only ones who noticed the striking similarity between all of the above films, which is that most of the characters belong beer-battered on a plate with chips, and instead are psychotically swimming (and dancing!) around the TV screens of the unsuspecting, terrorizing generations of youngsters with their ill-conceived musical mummery.

"Some say it's unfair to compare Finding Nemo and Shark Tale, them being totally different movies with the only matching characteristic being antropomorphic fish, but it seems that the comparison is inevitable."

Totally different movies. Okaaaaay. So one's about a fish, doing something pointless while singing, the main draw of the film apparently being some B-list celebrity as a slightly more annoying fish, who sings a little more. And the other, which is TOTALLY different, is about a fish, doing something pointless while singing, the main draw of the film being several A-list celebrities playing fish which look like them, and singing all the while. Who says it's unfair? Let them step forward! [Deafening silence] Indeed.

"I'm allergic to fake sentiment and pathetic feel-good movies but I was really touched by this one. " [Finding Nemo]

Where did it touch you? Do you feel violated? I don't like having singing fish in that particular place, myself, I must admit. Once again, Visine may reduce the swelling.

"The characters are very memorable and some of Disney's most beloved, with Sebastian the crab providing both a side-kick and an important role."

I will not insult the intelligence of my readers by pointing out the flaw(s) here.

Just to provide a fair and balanced overview of the intellectual capacity of the IMDB site's commentators, however, I will provide this moment of sanity.

"I never thought I would say this, but this movie is worse than "Return of Jafar". " [LM II]

See. One sensible, thinking individual out of a sea swarming with Disneyites and creepy tapdancing oysters. Thank god. Actually, that sort of makes it even more distressing, doesn't it? So here. I don't want anyone to feel down, after reading this, and therefore:

The Editor made a rainbow for everyone!

Now don't you feel better?

I've got a nasty fever, there are feathers sprouting from my shoulders . . . BIRD FLU!!!!!

Just as a friendly warning, the Editor would like to point out that having a little snack in the evening, and researching haemorrhagic fever outbreaks, are not necessarily two occupations which go together. This is simply a suggested rule of thumb, which the Editor, moments ago, decided to break. Uhh, the Editorial stomach isn't taking it too well, I must say.

However, I did come across several articles about recent cases of avian flu in Vietnam, which were most interesting. I would like to state quite clearly, avian flu is NOT a haemorrhagic fever at all. Just got some news, is all, and what sloppy, bass-ackwards reporting it is. I really liked this quote from one of my news sources:

Bird flu has killed 32 people in Thailand and Vietnam, and millions of chickens across Asia this year. The World Health Organisation has warned it could combine with a human virus and spawn the next flu pandemic, killing millions.

Several things: we really enjoyed the "32 people . . . and millions of chickens" bit. Something about the phrasing caught our eye. And another: I would like anyone who reads this, who knows more about molecular biology than the research staff of Overground (I know there's plenty of you out there; we mainly have pycologists), to please explain how one virus "combines" with another. We are familiar with the basic progression of retrovirus infection. (Quick refresher: a retrovirus, HIV being a prime example, essentially cuts and pastes its RNA into the DNA of a host, thus producing more virus proteins when the host expresses its own DNA. At some point, there is no cell within the host (or bacterium within the colony; most retroviruses attack bacteria, and the Editor could discuss this for hours, but will spare the readers) which is not infected, and whammo! you're effed. It's an exceptionally elegant form of attack.) However, avian flu is not a retrovirus, and even if it were, as far as we know, there are no virus-specific retroviruses, which is the only way that two viruses could "combine" by this method. Then, there's mutation, which involves the adaptation of a virus, semi-accidentally, to its new environment (read: host, or host species) thus becoming a different virus through natural selection. That's still one virus, not a combination.

The writer of the article, or perhaps WHO, though I hope not, seems to think that if you toss a couple of viruses in a martini shaker, preferably without ice, one evil super-virus is liable to come out the other end, intent on world domination. It is very possible that the avian flu virus could mutate into a human flu virus, and then kill a lot of people. For now, "it could . . . [kill] millions"; yes, it HAS killed millions, of chickens, dumbfuck, like you just said a sentence ago. It's a chicken virus. If it mutates into a stable, reliable human virus, well, then we'll see.

This isn't a really big issue. The point is, it's bad reporting, and ignorant reporting, and sensationalist reporting. The Editor is not happy with journalists or statisticians right now, but then, what else is new.

And one more thing. The media, and our friends the statistical experts, seem to think that someone ought to be shocked every time a "new" virus emerges. Okay, well, there's lots of things in the universe, and on our planet, which haven't necessarily been observed scientifically. Let me just faint dead away. And dare we suggest that historically, and logically, and deductively, and every other kind of adverbial phraseology we can think of, packing large groups of any species into an increasingly small and unhygienic space kind of invites infection? Anything any member of the group has, every other member will, very soon. Any viral mutation gets spread increasingly quickly. Any heretofore unobserved viral strain can be spread instantaneously. So, you put millions of chickens in miserable cramped spaces, and they'll get sick. You put millions of miserable chickens in the same cramped spaces as millions of humans, and eventually, something will mutate and everyone, feathered and not, will be miserable together. THIS IS NOT NEWS, at least not to anyone who's ever heard of the bubonic plague (rats, not chickens, but same idea), for fuck's sake!!! The Editor is enraged by this, and will not accept any suggestion of calming the fuck down and getting over it, so don't even bother.

So, I'm going to go and spit in a cup and stir it for a while, and wait for the next deadly super-virus to emerge. Cause I'm a scientist, and stuff.

Thanks again, MSNBC

Well, the Editor once again refused to admit that the only thing to be done about a hangover is to just suffer the torments of the damned until you stop feeling whatever misery you're feeling. So, I found myself on google looking for "hangover remedies", in a desperate bid for a page which reads "Click this link and your nausea will disappear! Magic elves standing by!" You know you're having a bad day when the magic elves sound like a good idea. Anyway. I found this fuckwitted commentary from MSN:

This is serious business. In a 2000 paper, Tulane University researcher Dr. Jeff Wiese and other researchers concluded that drinking cost the United States $148 billion in lost productivity each year, most of it from next-day hangovers at work.

How did they come up with this figure, for one, and two, how much university funding went into these results? What kind of researchers are they, anyway? And really, does it take a team of professors to prove that having a manic team of jackhammering mice rampaging through your skull makes you slightly less able to function normally? And in the end, okay, given most jobs out there, does it matter if that email Re: Accounting Procedures gets to the Assistant Marketing Flunky twenty-five seconds later than it would have, because you actually went out and enjoyed yourself for a few hours the day before? Could the mind-numbing bureaucratic bullshit which most people spend their days doing possibly be related to the need to drink themselves into some kind of stupor when finished for the day? Also, what about all of the enormous revenues being pumped into the economy by people spending money on all of the booze required for a $148 billion hangover - I bet the nation spends more than that trumped-up figure on nightlife every year. (FYI, cheap tequila has been found by many independent researchers to reliably cause at least a one billion dollar hangover, if you'd like to contribute to your company's loss of productivity anytime soon.)

It seems that MSN feels that it's a serious problem that adults can go out and drink, and then get up and go to work the next day - all based on something that someone said about something, at some point. I just love the proliferation of completely unsupported statistics, particularly in relation to random facts which are irrelevant in the first place. I'm going to start titling my posts "New Study Indicates that 46.3% of Rhesus Monkeys Don't Like Cheese" and "Startling Number of Cheetos Consumers also Prefer Mint-Waxed Dental Floss", or perhaps, "100% of Editors are Bored as Fuck by Pointless Graphs Which Only Demonstrate Topography of Own Navel". How about "Research Indicates $806 Billion Spent in 2004 on Researching Statistics Relating to Statistical Research". Disprove that figure if you can, I'm going to go and decrease my productivity with a quick one.

i LikE 2 DanCe And SinG liKE noBodY's WaTChiNG oR lisTenIn..So i CaN bReaK daR gLaSsEs

I would like to direct everyone's attention to several comments posted by Ideasculptor, which . . . I can't even begin to Editorialize on this topic. The comments are appended to "More Best of Blog" etc., two posts back. Please read them, or you'll be happy you didn't. I mean . . . just read them, if you can.

Also, I had some fantastic photographs taken of me this evening, looking like the bastard lovechild of Willy Wonka and Marilyn Monroe. No one is going to see them on this site, as they've been classified at the highest levels of government. I would just like to say, the Teva-Uggs in which I appeared would make the ladies at fuggingitup extremely proud. Yeah, you heard that fucking right, Teva-Uggs. Tevuggs, as we at Overground like to call them, being in the know and all that; new fashions have to have bold adventurers, willing not to wear them in public and completely destroy all evidence that they were ever worn at all. The Editor is proud to admit to being such.

Anyway, thank you very much Ideasculptor and Tifanie for a lovely evening of Scotch and political argument. It is rare that the Editor has such a pleasant few hours of diversion and wit, amongst congenial and large fuzzy cat-owning souls, not to mention the 18 year aged Glenlivet, which tastes quite distinctively of smoked oak. It's really incredible how much of a difference that six years makes; the Editor is in the habit of consuming 12 year aged Scotch on a daily (did I say that? I meant hourly) basis, and is happy for the change. I suppose twelve really is too young, but eighteen is fair game on all fronts; which applies to just about everything, when you think about it.

I meant wine, whiskey, and other spirits, of course, not high school girls.

Just an idle dream

Is anyone else already really really open to the idea of another Pixies tour? The Editor is pleased to say that I saw them when they came through my town, and I hope the rest of you can say the same. Now I want more. More!

Pinky, Where the Hell's the Brain: More "Best of Blog 2005" Awards

News-flash update! The Editor is often careless about bookmarking sites; I have been kicking myself for not saving the address of our alien friend, who communicates with bobble-head Jesus dolls, according to my recently fired sub-editor. Well, cry no more! The person responsible for this atrocity, Pinky, aka Julia, has been identified! If you're in search of pain and suffering, look no further: the full adventures and provenance of Lerx and Liaox are now available for viewing, absolutely free! (Of course, if you would like to contribute to the Editor's noble research, the bank account's always got room for more, especially since it's almost empty. And my pycologist really deserves a raise.)

Now, for those of you who enjoy sneering at pop culture, let me direct your attention to two sarcastic, witty women with a very well-ground axe. The Editor was amazed by their collection of possibly the most deplorable fashion moments in recent history. Light entertainment, to be sure, but very much worth a look.

I passed over a site which took far too long to load (the Editor's broadband has been delayed; the local cable company's name is not spelled, but is in fact pronounced, "Cocks", which I think sums it up pretty well) but I did read the introduction, which seemed to refer to the author of the page: "The poetic angel lives on." Oh, my mistake, I was fool enough to believe the wild rumors. You mean, the poetic angel didn't really die in that dramatic snowmobile accident? Shocking! And it'd been whispered in my ear by an inside source that the poetic angel had been devoured by a rampaging herd of rabid wildebeests recently, while on an extended poetic angel safari. What a relief to know that the poetic angel survived its multiple brushes with death. Let me say it one more time. The poetic angel.

On a different note, and this is pure Editorial, "kristallnacht" strikes me as a tasteless blog title, the fact that the site has nothing to do with Nazism notwithstanding. Wait, the site's not related to the Third Reich . . . at all? All right, then six out of ten for tasteless, 17 million out of ten for pointless. Friggin' moron.

And this just in: a bulletin for Pinky: I have found your new best frenz, if not your brain.

why have tings become lyk tt...y?? we hv been gd frens for the past yrs but now...y? u hv changed,u R no longer e one i used to be with. not the one i used to laugh with. not the one i used to joke with. not the one i used to play with. not the one i used to smile to. not to one i used to talk to. not the one i used to chat to. not the one i used to gossip with. not the one i used to go for break with. not the one i used to call to. not the one i used to find familar with. not the one i trusted with. not the one i confide with. not the one i could cry with. not the one that had been in my good memories with.

I think this one is from the planet Earth, but may be receiving telepathic communications from a far-off galaxy. For thousands of years (or so I presume; the Editor is not in fact thousands of years old, yet) humans have speculated as to the existence of something else out there, something mysterious, advanced, and meaningful - this was usually classified under the general heading of God. For at least the last century, humans have become increasingly obsessed with the idea of little green men. (The Editor will not here expound multiple theories as to the correlation of the rise of atheism and concurrent rise in paranormal investigation and interest, but be aware that such theories do exist, at least, they will once I expound them someday.) At any rate, the common thread of all such speculation is that this "something else", be it gods, God, demons, ghosts, aliens, or the Yeti, will in some way be more advanced than humanity, with unique and possibly incomprehensible wisdom to offer. We are disappointed to learn that the aliens, at least, have ONLY incomprehensibility to offer, and some very bad spelling. What a great anticlimax it is, to be sure.

I mean, can anyone reading this honestly think for an instant that Lerx and Liaox would be able to pilot a technologically advanced flying saucer for more than ten seconds before crashing it into a telephone pole? I'd maybe give 7-2 odds on two minutes on a tricycle, if their planet has no telephone poles.

Liaox and Lerx

My assistant editor has just suggested that perhaps these mysterious beings are actually bobble-head Jesus dolls. It's an interesting idea, but he's still fired.

Disclaimer attached; there should always be one, really

(So here is the Disclaimer: Nothing quoted in this posting is being used for profit in any way (as if it could be), AND it is quoted for research purposes only. I just don't want anyone suing my blog. Hah. As if this organization could settle with anyone for more than the price of a pack of gum.)

So once again, we have proven ourselves to be solely dedicated to public service. We have selflessly toiled through a long list of blogspot's finest offerings, and have come up with two real blue-ribbon winners. Remember my instructive comments of a few days ago on the subject of the proper use of grammar, punctuation, and spelling? Well, here's an example of the fine prose which can result from ignoring (or perhaps, total ignorance of) such:

oh ... halo !!! long time no see liaox ... i was banned from comp ... now ok lerx ... so can post back lerx lor ... school was actuali terrible on the first day of the orientation ... know e reason ??? coz i didnt know any new frenz !!! ahh !!! terrible ... then the second day i know almost all the student councilors lerx ... lol !!! then i know e whole class ... or the other way round ... coz i dunno do wad then the class know me lerx ... then now i know more frenz lerx ... haha ... cool rite ??? got nth to sae lerx ... hmmm ... lol !!! bye !!!

Now, one is tempted to let this manifesto stand alone for posterity . . . except for one small problem, which is, it actually took my handpicked team of linguists, xenobiologists, and cryptographers two weeks to render a fairly accurate translation. It appears to be addressed to some entity named "liaox", or perhaps another called "lerx"; my research group speculated that perhaps "liaox" and "lerx" were two opposing gender-modes of the same organism, which possibly exists in a state of transdimensional flux; or, at least, confusion. The confusion was agreed upon by all seven of my experts. Their translation, which caused some real hair-pulling and two fistfights, was grudgingly agreed by all to run something like this:

Hello, Liaox, haven't talked to you in a while! I was banned from comp[uter lab]. Now, okay Lerx, I can post back to you also [???]. School was actually terrible, on the first day of orientation. Do you want to know why? Because I didn't make any new [friends]. Oh, it was terrible. Then [on] the second day I met almost all of the student councilors, Lerx. [alien laughter] Then I knew the whole class. Or the other way around. [???] Because I don't know [...] then the class knew me, Lerx. And now I know more friends, Lerx. [incomprehensible amusement, doubtless concept of humor foreign to humans] Cool, right? Got [nothing?] to say Lerx. [alien thought processes, and more laughter] Bye!

This is the result of backbreaking labor, using the most advanced equipment and the most sophisticated techniques known anywhere in the world. We're trying to discover if this posting is indeed the result of an alien civilization, and if so, how we can avoid all commerce with them in the future.

Our second winner is obviously, unfortunately, from this planet. However, well . . . this one should just be read first, and commented upon after.

I'm enjoying watching Scrubs series everynight! 1,2 episodes.. they're funny & well done too. I read somewhere the whole Scrubs, Andy McBeal et cetera are in someway more close to our new pycological attitude. All those insights, micro sequences showing what the character is actually thinking, they are very catchy and funny!

My linguist, and a highly trained pycologist (heh heh) went over this one with a fine-toothed comb, and their conclusions were as follows. First of all, they were certain that the cast and creators of "Scrubs" would be delighted to know that they had captured the attention of the highest common denominator of American society. Secondly, they inferred that the author of this riveting fragment had in fact "read [something] somewhere"; a good sign, on the whole, although the results of this erudition were, frankly, somewhat disappointing. All of us were puzzled as to why Ally McBeal had changed her (his??) name to Andy, but, as none of us were ever fans of this particular television delight, we speculated that perhaps some sort of plot-driven sex change operation had occurred. My experts also deduced that the author liked both of these programs, and in fact found them both "catchy" and "funny", and also "well done".

Now for the Editor's editorial. Anonymous author, may your name be ground into the dust with your pathetic and blighted existence: We here at Notes from Overground refuse to acknowledge any of our attitudes as "pycological". We don't have diseases like that. Or something. Uh . . . And then there's the question of "all those insights". Indeed. The insights, the Editor is sorry to inform you, are if possible even more micro than the sequences to which you so glancingly refer; and were the Editor to attempt to collect them for analysis, it is highly doubtful that they would cover the end of our standard-issue nickel plated microspatula. May we suggest that you have a brilliant career as a theater critic ahead of you, so long as you exclusively cover elementary school productions of "Santa Claus in the Land of the Evil Elves".

But I digress. Quite seriously, if anyone knows whether or not Andy McBeal really did have a sex change operation, will you please notify my research staff immediately? My pycologist in particular wants to have a look.

This is something to see . . .

There may be more of a posting later, when tempers run high and the clock runs low, but for now, check this guy out. A grand adventure and a noble cause! A hero for the downtrodden, science-fiction loving masses, truly. Actually, there's no sarcasm at all. I like this guy.

Tomorrow, my life of ease and pleasure must end:a reflection on the mortal coil

Having formed a plan to go to a temporary agency and seek gainful employment tomorrow, I shall take a few moments to wank about the vicissitudes of fate. As some of you may already know, the Editor has been gainfully unemployed for several weeks, and has happily filled said interval with a successful (read: did not end up broke and naked and walking home across the desert hallucinating) trip to Las Vegas, a great deal of drinking, more drinking, some sleep, and several historical novels, not to mention various turns at short-term contract labor to pay the bar tab in the meantime.

Now, I face the fate of all mankind, except those born with a trust fund: I will work for some pittance, in a job which offers no scope for creativity, advancement, or drinking. Well, I suppose I could find one which had at least one of the three. But not all. Wank, wank, wank, I know. That's actually the end of my complaint. In fact, I've become remarkably stir-crazy lately, probably because I haven't not worked for three weeks since 1999. On the whole, I recommend a brief period of unemployment to anyone, especially when you can walk out of your crap job and get the the car to Vegas, while honking the horn and screaming "See ya, suckers!" at the top of your lungs. I was a pussy, though. I didn't yell that until I was out of earshot. The Editor lacks the courage to be properly rude, at times, and in fact still needed to return for a last paycheck. Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all, it seems.

But I suppose this rant will really be about workplaces which promise much and deliver little. One wonders why one would hire an intelligent, experienced person for a management position, dump an enormous project (the procuring, setting up, and running of a new and complicated piece of specialty sofware) on said person, who then worked 70 or 80 hours a week, without having a day off, ever, for two months, and then come around to their desk every ten minutes or so and bitch about their choice of pen. Yes, pen. Apparently, only pencils are appropriate when writing on certain types of lined paper, as the Editor was to learn in detail over the following weeks. Verbally, and in written memos. (Which were not, I might add, written in pencil. Hypocrites.)

Ahem. This, of course, is after the fact, but somehow it still feels good to vent my spleen about it. The point is, I wonder how people can sabotage their own organizations so effectively, without even seeming to notice what they're doing. The lovely Tifanie is now pretty much holding down the fort for me at this pestilential hellhole; I can honestly say that meeting her is the one and only good thing to have come out of this utterly wasteful experience. Anyone who reads this, and knows her, please treat her with kindness and care during the term of her sentence. Her supervisors are both evil, evil bastards, with black souls rotted down to their maggot-ridden cores. A good exorcism would probably help the place no end, or a zombie attack. But I've given up hope of that.

But wish me luck at the temp agency tomorrow. I hope they find me qualified to enter data, or perhaps operate basic telecommunications equipment, such as, y'know, phones. It ought to be fun, actually; since temping doesn't feel like actually having a job, I can pretend to be unemployed a while longer. And temp employers usually don't notice if you're hungover. In fact, they probably wouldn't even notice if I were a zombie, lucky for me . . . I mean . . . heh heh . . . even though I'm NOT. Really.

So what are your blogs all about?

I have been considering once again: why do we (I'll use we, since obviously I'm here doing this too) all get online, some of us once a day or more, and rant to the world? Well, the theory I'm evolving, having looked at a LOT of different pages on this site (do I have more time to burn than others? right now, yes) is that it's the technologically advanced equivalent of the mimeographed Christmas update letter, at least in many cases. Too many friends to call each and every one and tell them how little Timmy did in school? Send out a massive missive, and get it all done at once. Do they all care? Maybe, maybe not. But at least all the bases are covered.

Then there's the idiots who seem to think that writing in the fomat of a blog gives them the excuse to completely ignore capitalization, punctuation, spelling and syntax. Okay, news flash for anyone who falls into this category: rules of grammar were invented for a reason. And I'll tell you what that is. Ready? All right, because you can't fuckin' understand what the sentence (quote unquote, in many cases) is supposed to be about without some even perfunctory attempt at structure. At some point I will copy and paste some of the more gross examples to this site. I doubt it would violate any international copyright laws, as, frankly, anyone who claims a right, copy or otherwise, to some of this stuff can have it with my blessing. Then again, who needs more trash on their blog. There's certainly enough on this one as it is, correctly spelled and properly formatted trash notwithstanding.

And my last complaint (this started as an analysis, of sorts - how did it become a laundry list of small irritations?) is the vast number of non-sequitur pictures on profiles. I'm assuming there are not in fact any cartoon rabbits posting blogs at this time. If there actually is a blog written by Harvey, then my conception of the world has just undergone a radical alteration, not for the better. No picture (such as the Editor) or a photo of oneself, makes sense. It's not a crime against nature or anything to represent yourself as Hello Kitty. It just makes everyone wonder . . . does this person not have a face? Do they, if in possession of such, dislike it so much that they need to pretend to be Daffy Duck? I guess it shows a lack of confidence, which is unfortunate. Either show the world what you look like, or try to get by on who you are, but don't make everyone try to respond to a screenshot from Dragonball Z for god's sake.

One last completely unrelated note. I highly recommend the film Shaun of the Dead to anyone who likes zombie movies. A good portion of the humor is actually dependent upon having seen other zombie movies, but in this context, that's not a bad thing. It's a genuinely original contribution to the genre, and although gory, as all zombie movies really should be, it won't shock anyone who's seen, say, Cannibal Holocaust. And that's an extremely extreme example. This did not come from my new releases plan, by the way. I decided to take the day off and actually watch something I wanted to see, sorry to disappoint any masochists-by-proxy out there.

A brief update, from the depths of the morning

Has anyone ever noticed how maudlin impulses become almost overwhelming towards the wee hours? The Editor has difficulty retaining an objective point of view around this time of day, or night. Everything seems imbued with extra nostalgic meaning and depressive possibility. This is probably the copious quantities of excellent Glenlivet speaking, however, so please disregard anything which seems . . . maudlin. Perhaps it's not the wee hours, but being drunk during the wee hours, which is at fault. See, if bars stayed open twenty-four hours, this issue would not arise, as the Editor could continue to play pool until the sun was safely up. (I do not at this time have the resources to install a pool table at home; if anyone wishes to contribute to the cause, please let me know. A sucker's born every minute, so I've heard.) In the meantime, I am doomed to pick-up games with random folks at the pseudo-imitation-English pub down the road. I'm sorry, but this is California. We do not have English pubs here, as, well, it's not England. And my friend, who accompanied my on my mission to find a game of pool this evening, informs me that the mixed drinks at this place are just awful. I wouldn't know, as I drink, you guessed it, Glenlivet. Which it would be a form of sacrilege to mix with anything, except perhaps some hot water and a spot of lemon, in a dire winter emergency.

And once again, this is California. Define "dire winter emergency"? Well, there's some water on the street, see, and the temperature has dipped below the point where it's comfortable to wear a t-shirt outside at four a.m. Having lived in less benign climates, the attitude of my neighbors towards weather of any kind seems a bit hyperactive and overblown. But then, they moved here to spend their vast bank accounts on luxuries of the most decadent sort, and spend their time demanding that the very tides obey their commands, egged on by their mobs of personal assistants and interior decorators; much like King Canute and his council, only without that excellent monarch's common sense.

Anyway, I don't play golf, surf, or believe that the universe revolves around my ability to walk out onto the patio of my mansion and drink a pina colada in the middle of January; thus, rain isn't an issue, except for the zombie problem, of course. You mean you haven't seen it in the news? Thank god for blogs: it's the only place for a real update on the state of the world.

The great plan has had an interesting side effect

So having put my plan of random, yet highly organized, crap movie watching into action, I find that I am much less inclined to watch movies. I didn't intend this, but it certainly has worked out well. I went out today and interacted with people, something I'm usually quite prone to do, but not since acquiring the amazing cheap movie rental account. I did watch 2 Days last night, and found some enjoyment in it . . . when one lives near Los Angeles, one finds some amusement in the skewering of LA stereotypes, at least. I still have not mustered the courage to tackle 30 Years to Life, however. Tomorrow, tomorrow it will happen.

In the meantime, the Editor will try to catch some sleep before the sun comes up, and ponder why it is that a film which is supposedly about urban sophisticates features a title which makes a direct reference to prison. Oh, yes, it's because it's about black people. I forgot. The Editor is not on the left-leaning end of the political spectrum, by any means . . . and yet, some things are just plain offensive. I will update my vast readership as soon as this undoubtedly hideously dull and irritating motion picture has actually been viewed. For now, this is Tokyo Rose signing off.

A new form of Zen

No, not meditation, nor incense, which causes the Editor some unfortunate sneezing homicidal allergies. Nor yoga, perish the thought. But I did say new, didn't I?

To make a long story short, or rather, a short story shorter, I have recently acquired a new movie rental account, at a little DVD place right around the corner from my cozy, zombie-fortified abode, which offers an excellent rate for unlimited rentals with no late fees. Well, this seems like a good opportunity to catch up on all of those fine Cannes-acclaimed films which one does not always have the chance to view immediately, right? Wrong. Several people have described my plan, variously, as "insane", "OCD", "just plain weird", and "a big waste of time", and puzzlingly, "rock on, freak!". The Editor is not one to take naysayers seriously, so I have forged ahead. Tally ho!

But what is this bold, this daring plan, you may ask? What revelation am I about to unfold, the very tingling anticipation of which holds you glued to the edge of your undoubtedly Swedish modern computer chair? It is this: I shall, beginning RIGHT NOW, watch every new release in the store, in strict and exacting alphabetical order.

This sounds like an anticlimax. But think, just for a moment. Jumpstart the old battery and process the depth of pain and anguish, and possibly, just possibly, spiritual revelation which this may entail. For example: having glanced over the shelf once or twice, I know that my future holds such screen gems as Species 3 and, chillingly, The Princess Diaries 2. I can only hope that the latter is moved to the Adolescent Crap Section, where it undoubtedly belongs, before I reach the letter P. But that would be cheating. Out of common sense, I have omitted the following from my must-watch list, however: tv shows now packaged for rental; re-releases which have been somehow remastered or special-editioned in a desperate bid for revenue; films which were released on video pre-DVD, and have now been released on disc, see above.

Everything else . . . and I do mean everything else . . . will be watched, you know it, in alphabetical order. Tonight's (and possibly tomorrow's - I may not last that long, or I may kill myself first) picks are 2 Days (tagline: "Film is a dying art" - oh god no), and 30 Years to Life, which also has a lame tagline . . . it's all very punny, in a bad sort of way. The first one is about a lame wannabe actor who hates himself and wants to die. The second is some sort of African-American we're-turning-30 comedy. So I'm just going to go and lock up all of the knives and sleeping pills, and see what happens.

But who knows? I may reach a state beyond pain, beyond anger, beyond disgust, and open a door into a new and wondrous world of complete desensitization to any emotion whatsoever. I love the 21st century.

A comment! A comment! My kingdom for a comment!

Breaking news! The beautiful, charming, and resilient Tifanie (please view her story of terror and woe filming someone's asinine tv pilot at Zaca Lake) has posted a comment to this site! A momentous occasion! None of you are in a position to appreciate this, but I have broken out a second bottle of Glenlivet in honor of the occasion. The comment was actually posted some hours ago, but as I was too busy dealing with the zombies, it slipped my notice momentarily.

Zombies are a strange and wondrous conundrum. On the one hand, yes, they are animated corpses, gnawing living human flesh with complete disregard for the pain and suffering they cause, and spreading their foul illness to all who cross their path; but on the other hand, they're people too, aren't they? Actually no, they're just animated corpses. Sorry, any allegory vaguely related to philosophy majors can be ignored at this point.

And why, you may ask, does the Editor have it in for philosophy majors? Well, really, I don't. They're just such easy targets. Ask one to defend him or herself with reason, and suddenly, one hears more about dead people than one wants to know. Once again, we come to zombies. I rest my point.

In other news: Cheez-Its remain a favorite with Editors everywhere; penguins really are fucking cool, despite their popularity among an entirely irrelevant assortment of international bloggers; and zombies and philosophy majors have absolutely nothing in common, no matter how many similarities there may superficially appear to be. Granted they both mumble unintelligible nonsense; they both chew on body parts, without reference to whom they might belong; they are both, as groups, incapable of reasoning which doesn't go around and around and around in a circle, wheeeee! But they are different. Never forget it.

And having completely vindicated the honor of philosophers everywhere, I leave you with a thought from Monty Python, as I hie myself to much needed bed:

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
who was very rarely stable;
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
who could drink you under the table;
David Hume could outconsume
Schopenhauer and Hegel;
and Wittgenstein was a beery swine
who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.

There's nothing Nieztsche couldn't teach about the raising of the wrist . . .
Socrates himself was permanently pissed - - -
(second verse, etc.)

And the excitement continues to build . . .

The world of blogging has no doubt been taken by storm by the entry of this, my first attempt at a blog. The cheering crowds besiege my very apartment. So, in response to great public demand, another post! Hear them shout with joy!

Actually, it's rather rainy here - the freeway is closed both north and south and any other direction you can think of, thus leaving my town stranded in the pouring rain. It seems that the time is ripe for a zombie attack, but I will probably be disappointed. In short, my post derives from simply having nothing better to do besides step out the front door into a no doubt zombie infested rainstorm. Having no desire to be wet, or devoured by the ravening undead, or to undergo any other inconvenience of the sort, blog it is.

I also took the time to post some interests on my profile, simply to click on them and see who else had listed the same things. A surprising number of people listed penguins as an interest. Do all of these people regularly think about penguins? Do penguins strike some sort of deep chord in the human psyche? (To reiterate my previous comment, do not attempt to answer this philosophically.) I suppose they are some of the most stylish examples of fauna in existence on the planet. They wear tuxedos, after all. In regards to other interests with which I experimented, I would recommend avoiding anyone who has "ninjas" in their interests.

So the question becomes: what interests are most likely to draw the optimum response, from people whose interests actually coincide with one's own? If anyone actually responds to this blog, based on my listing of "PEZ dispensers", I think it will be time to worry. The bottom line really is, it is impossible to distill oneself into five or six keywords, or it ought to be. Honestly I didn't try that hard, as is evident. And favorite movies and music? What does that really have to do with anything? And how can you choose? Why do people like top ten lists so much? Is it the only certainty available in the universe?

Ponder that, while I go see if that unholy scratching and moaning coming from the patio is a zombie, or something far more sinister - such as one of my friends, out of beer and looking for a handout.

What is this blog all about?

That is, of course, the burning question on everybody's minds. Who knows? Not I, for one. I'm simply curious about what happens when you put your random musings out in the world, for someone to notice, or care about, or more likely not. Is it an expression of loneliness and insecurity, or self-confidence and supreme ego? Are there any philosophy majors reading this? I sure hope not - I was one, and got as tired of myself and all of my classmates as the rest of the world must already have been. So, any purportedly philosophical answers to any question posed on this blog will be at best ignored.

So, let us approach the question from another perspective. What will most often be posted here? Well, probably drink recipes, for one. If you're not drunk while looking at this sort of site online, start now - you'll probably need it before you're done. Information which I think is useful for the world to know will probably comprise another section or two. And, there will be the odd political rant and movie review, and update on the state of the world as I see it. (This is definitely trending towards the egotism end of the spectrum, I can see already.) For now, I want to define "overground".

There's a great deal of interest, especially in the young, in anything which is secret, elite, special, or underground. Well, why not? What's life for, if not creating an infinite subdivision of categories which make one cooler than thou? Well, this is overground. It is not secret, unless one equates secret with being completely unknown. It is not elite, unless you prefer to think so, in which case, carry on then. It is only special in that it is unique, because there's only one of me and one of you, gentle reader. Therefore, it is overground. It is not cooler than anything, as I'm sure everyone will agree. And why do I disapprove of underground? Because everyone who drinks whiskey becomes equally drunk, unless you're Irish, in which case, rock on. And that's as philosophical as this is going to get.