VN AfterTaste

Small crowd. I talk of love in the night.

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I am a scientist.
After college I went with a roommate to the cut rate grocery and bought some cheap wine. We had decided, looking around at the world and noticing the glamour and high esteem society heaps upon its career alcoholics, that we would become winos. Sometimes people do this during college, but I waited until after. Because I am a very methodical scientist.
We opened that wine, with some difficulty, and the cork fell apart. We poured the wine into glasses. We fished out the bits of cork. Science has proved this: cork is a poor stopper for drink. Also cork is not appetizing or visually pleasing. I read later that the quality of cork has been dropping for years. Some say cork connoisseurs are just looking back fondly to the cork of their salad years.
We stared at the wine and the cork. We tasted it. And then we poured it all down the sink. The experiment had failed. Back to the cork-board.

Generations ago people used to drink ale and cider all the time because the water was unsafe. It was either be a drunk or get typhus. Even the children. Especially the children. They can’t hold their liquor or effectively fight off typhus. So people were sloshed all the time. And this is why we had to wait until the twentieth century to destroy the ozone layer. We could have done that a long time ago, had we the clear headedness required.
People also didn’t like to bathe back then. Not because of the typhus water, but because of the dangers of bathing whilst drunk. It is entirely possible for drunk people to drown in the bath. And if they didn’t drown they might have caught typhus. Especially if they knew a woman named Mary– and back then most women were named Mary. Drunks tend to come up with simple and easy to remember names.
Eventually people switched to coffee, which also tastes awful, and as a result, as I said, destroyed the ozone layer. They also developed a lot of disposable products. They became very productive. They did a lot. Even things that didn’t need done. Because doing things that don’t need done is still doing something, and that’s certainly better than doing nothing. And profitable. Do not think we destroyed the ozone layer for nothing. We did it for profit and convenience.

Our society both hates alcoholics and idolizes them. They make you want to be one, if for no other reason than to stop being one; thus becoming a recovered alcoholic. So if you’re a drunk the world is yours. And if that doesn’t work you can be a recovered alcoholic. Then the world can be yours. By the way, they remind you that a recovered alcoholic is still an alcoholic, so they are all still in the same club. And like all clubs they are exclusionary. People only form clubs so they can exclude others.
If you don’t drink at all you aren’t applying yourself. And no one can help you if you don’t help yourself to a drink. A nondrinker is called a teetotaler, which sounds just awful. An alcoholic is called a social drinker. See how it works? If you don’t drink you’re anti-social.
I have noticed that whether society lauds or damns the alcoholic seems to be dependent on the financial standing of the drunk in question. A rich drunk is classy. A poor drunk is unseemly. But this is class war and to say this opens one up to accusations of the same.

Now, it’s possible that the cork is becoming sub-standard because of global warming. And, as I have explained, global warming is happening because of increased sobriety. And we need increased sobriety because it helps science. And without science we are lost. We’ll tumble into a new dark age– and it will be unsustainable because of the cork problem.
And if we run out of cork we will never be able to stop our wine in the traditional way. But maybe that will save us.

The library of Alexandria was burnt. Like many early libraries, it was made of gingerbread; which only seems like a good idea until the patrons start eating it.

Later libraries were built of brick. That material solves both of the above problems and also stands up against wolf attack. This explains why wolves today are illiterate.

A small crowd, ensconced in darkness.

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My friend Rick has it stipulated in his will that, upon his death, he will be stuffed and then passed on to me so that I may utilize him as a conversation piece.
It is sad that he had to put this in his will, just because his wife can’t be trusted to honor his wishes.
Women.

by David Raffin

Mitt Romney ate a puppy. Now they will all feel they have to do it. I hate politics.

Just a few years ago no one would ever think eating a puppy would gain votes. In fact, political advisors would have argued against it. Now it will become the norm. A year from now a candidate down in the polls will ask his advisor if he should eat a puppy. The advisor will say, “Just one?” Just one will be nothing. It will be seen as pandering and nothing more. I don’t even pretend to know what they will stoop to next year, let alone the year after.

By that time we will be talking of hunting zombies. And erecting zombie proof fencing. And how we, or rather the other side, have coddled zombies for too damn long. And how the other side is just a bunch of zombie enablers.

When zombies are the 99% they will eat the rich. This is the good thing about the zombie uprising, if you are of the correct political bent– and willing to look on the sunny side of life, vis-a-vi zombies.
You must admire zombies. They just keep plodding forward. They are goal oriented. They have but one thing on their minds.
They cooperate pretty well together, for being essentially selfish. But they have the same goals, a commonality, and I think we can all agree that is what works for them.
Zombies are green. They eat free range. However, they are not willing to pay extra for it.

Of course they will eat the rich. They just won’t eat them first. The rich are best served as a desert. They are for eating last.
First it’s the poor. The slow. Teenagers having sex, perhaps. The easy pickings. A nibble here and there. Appetizers is what they are. And the zombie legions grow.
Then the rich, like cake. What a zombie craves. People who can afford a gym membership and adequate healthcare. Lean and delicious.
They’ll try to buy their way out, the rich. That’s what they understand. That’s the way they think. But the zombies just want sustenance. Money is useless to a zombie. You can’t buy a rich man’s kidney, after all; you have to tear it from his flailing body, as he screams, “Don’t eat me! Don’t make me like one of you!” Because that is his greatest fear. That and higher taxes on the top 1%. Zombies and higher taxes on the wealthy. These are the things of fear.

And that’s clearly the way they want to go, the rich, torn apart and eaten by zombie hordes. Otherwise they would have done a little something to help stop the zombie plague at the beginning. But they didn’t. So, ultimately, they will be eaten.
They are fools, and I pity them.

I learned everything I know about pitying fools from Mr. T.
Because Mr. T is surrounded by fools and he pities them. As do I.
He says, “I am surrounded by fools!” and then he turns melancholic and says, with less bravado and a touch of, yes, pity, “And I pity them.”
The thing about Mr. T is that he is so filled with anger it only registers as love. That’s his magic.
Of course, I pity the fool who doesn’t eat Mr. T cereal. And since that hasn’t been manufactured in 20 years, that’s pretty much all of us.
Then again, I think that only applies to those of us who are fools. Or zombies, who don’t eat cereal. Fools. That diet cannot be healthy. And it has moral issues.

I am always a bit flummoxed about whether it’s “pity the fools” or “pity the fool.”
Just one particular fool causing all this strife for Mr. T. So I guess I’ve really learned nothing from Mr. T. And that is some Socratic wisdom. Which is something.

In the coming apocalypse, when the zombies arise, when civilization falls, when the power grid is decimated, It is the lack of clean clothes and the indignity of washing dishes by hand that I shall most regret.
Who am I kidding? I shall not wash dishes as I travel nomadically and I shall always wear new clothes pilfered from shopping centers. Though I will have to fight zombies while shopping, I mean stealing. I argue this is a crime of survival. I know there will be some survivors who demand that a capitalistic ethic must be adhered to even after the zombies rise. To them I say, “There is almost no difference between you and a zombie.”
Besides, I think those people will be trying to sell me something. There is nothing worse than a post-apocalyptic salesman. They’re worse than any zombie. The high pressure. The false appeal to desire. The zombies just want to kill you, and I find that refreshingly honest.
In the absence of Mr.T Cereal, you can still eat cereal shaped like cookies, donuts, and fruity pebbles. That’s cereal shaped like prehistoric colored rocks. But it tastes like sugar and artificial color. Green jellybeans actually taste green. That’s the wonder of food science.
Artificial flavorings taste like chemicals. There should be only one, and it should be called, simply, “artificial flavoring (nonspecific).”
I think processed foods are going to turn us into zombies.

You’re better off eating the rich. Think of it as a preemptive strike.

My dear friend Morgan Picton has this legitimate concern vis-a-vis imaginary girlfriends:

I’m secretly in love with an unmanagable number of people. Five to seven secret breakups and we should be back to peak efficiency.

I may add, myself, that I have but two women I am secretly in love with.
I just hope to god they don’t find out about each other. That could be problematic.

Where is the best place to have an aural migraine? The library.

An aural migraine, also known by the unwieldy phrase “migraine aura without headache,” is a disruption in vision featuring blind spots, wavy lines, dizziness, etc.

When people are having one for the first time, they sometimes think they are having a stroke.

The best place to have one is when selecting books in a public place. This way you can try to select books while simultaneously being able to see and not see and also feeling like you may fall down.

But you have to stay there until it passes because you can’t drive.

The Friday parking space show-down.

Friday evening I attempted, and succeeded, to park on the street near the new country and western nightclub.

I pulled up to back into the parking spot and used my signal. Then, quickly, a huge pickup truck positioned itself directly behind me– effectively blocking my access to the parking spot. I rolled down the window and motioned him around the deserted street (but for parked cars). He honked three times long and loud. I pointed –over the car– at the parking space he was blocking and motioned him around. He leaned on his horn again.

I sat there. I have all night. I do not bend. I fought a free speech fight and had my artistic work protested by morons. I’ve had a gun aimed at my head. I have no fear of rednecks in pickup trucks.

After several minutes and more honking he roared around me, almost side-swiping me (on the deserted street, save for parked cars). I parked.
(See also, Hawnk!)

When it snows outside, I am the month of May.

I went out to see the Greta Jane Quartet and stayed until they took their first break. The street snow was at the level of slush.

I went to the grocery store to stock up on potatoes and onions for the snowstorm. All the people were being funnelled into the same checkout lane. I stood with the 20 pounds of potatoes (15 Russet, 5 red) and a bag of onions because I am too manly to use a basket. And I held it shifted to one side, the side that did not collide with a car last summer.

The man and woman in front of me were buying three large bottles of juice drink (10% juice), a jug of water, a pack of donuts, and a container of ice cream. They were examining the ice cream and discussing the calorie count.

by David Raffin

I struggle with how to describe our processes to the inevitable alien visitors. Someday you’ll be happy I put the time in. So far I have come up with: “The tears of children are used to lubricate the machinery.” I think this will work as a universal statement.

If I then have to explain the Republican party primary system, I’m going with: “The Republican primaries are essentially a popularity contest for unpopular ideas.” They could say any crazy thing. We have developed a system where crazy sells. We enjoy entertainment.

There will be a jobs plan. It will involve setting up factories on one side of the nation that manufacture mirrors. On the other side of the country factories will be built that manufacture smoke. We already have the smoke factories, so really what will be proposed is a system of incentives wherein private businesses will be encouraged to manufacture mirrors by eliminating all corporate taxes on companies that make mirrors or reflective objects and also paying out to them a refund on the taxes they do not pay. It will also be alright if they set up their factories overseas. In fact, it will be encouraged. That way, we like to think we are encouraging others to take a good hard look at themselves. It goes without saying that all clean air regulation will be repealed, lest we not have enough smoke to reflect on domestic mirrors.

Think of the hopeful candidates, each one, as one half of a two man comedy team. In the end the winner will choose a running mate, who will be carefully chosen for his or her qualities. It will likely be one of the other primary hopefuls. However, one serious problem that has developed in the system, as it has broken down over time, is that all the candidates want to be the straight man on the team. No one wants to be the comedian. Every one of them loudly proclaims, “I’m the straight man!” “Vote for me, “I’m the straight man!” Every time one of them proclaims this the others clamor in, “You can’t be the straight man! I’m the straight man.” They say it with all seriousness. They insist on it. They do their best to play it straight. In groups, each starts his presentation by saying, “Speaking as the straight man here…” Each just desperate to be the straight man. This mixture of surety and desperation is an inadvertent comedy. It has to be. True comedians, employing wit, have not been allowed to campaign in generations. They can’t get past the primary system. That is what the system is for– weeding out non-straight men.

Straight lines, in isolation, are often aggravating to listen to because they make no damn sense, have no real payoff. That is why candidate speeches have many of the qualities of a joke, yet people do not often laugh.
Newt Gingrich is nostalgic for child labor, on the record, and also he loves trains. And tying women in distress to the railroad tracks. He promises, if elected, he will grow a thin mustache he can twirl. It is important to point out that he is not joking.

Each candidate reveres the cartoon figure of Ronald Reagan and acts accordingly. First, they give honors to the name of Ronald Reagan. Secondly, they try to conduct themselves as they picture his cartoon image behaving. The best thing about Ron Paul is when he chases a roadrunner off a cliff and then stands there, in mid air, his legs spinning in place, not falling, until he looks down. Then he plummets.
The candidates take turns running into a painting of a tunnel on the side of a stone mountain. If they fall down that’s slapstick, they are disqualified. They say Reagan could have done it. This is true. Unfortunately, successfully running into stone walls at full speed was his only skill.

Rick Santorum said, “Number one, graduate from high school. Number two, get married. Before you have children. What does that mean to a society if everybody did that? What that would mean is that poverty would be no more.” Because no one with a high school diploma and a family is wanting for a job. He is a master magician. His big finish is when he saws a poor person in half. He says he’s creating employment opportunities that didn’t exist prior to his act. He’s a job creator. And he goes through so many. “People die in America because people die in America,” Santorum said. “And people make poor decisions with respect to their health and their healthcare.” Like voting Republican.

I’ve checked the closet of each candidate. They are filled with corpses. I have come too early.

by David Raffin

A sign advertises, “Free Hugs.” It is a protest over the commercialization of hugs.

The dirty secret is – When you sell hugs you become… a capitalist.
There is a question about whether you want a hug from someone “just giving it away.” I mean, maybe it’s not a very good hug. If they have to give it away.
The price of hugs is variable on the market, it fluctuates. Some people make a killing on hugs. Some lose everything.
There is an inequity, an imbalance in the distribution of hugs. Some people get much more than others. They tend to go to the ones who can pay for them. A wealthy man receives, and is offered, more hugs than a poor man. For generations people have not challenged this unequal distribution. It is taken as a part of the natural order.

The secret of capitalism is that hugs cost as much as you are willing to pay, whatever the market will bear.
One day, as a result of a hug, you could lose your shirt.
If you need a hug you will be charged more for it. Some people think that is wrong but it is just business.
The price of foreign hugs are driven up by travel costs and desire.
Sometimes there are two for one deals– these are a rip off– the price of the paid hug is raised to offset the supposed freebie.

Often free hugs are not really free, but a system to sell you something else; a sales gimmick. This trickery hurts consumer confidence.
And a free hug is dependent on someone being willing to accept it. Which is hard, because people are suspicious when it comes to free hugs. They want to know what it means. Especially men.

People who run around hugging everyone cheapen the whole affair.
Millionaires can buy all the hugs they want. This does not exhaust the supply but only serves to drive the price up so the poor can no longer afford it, or forces them to sell. That’s how people start selling hugs. It’s ugly when you examine it.

Like this:
One millionaire buys a painting for 5.2 million dollars, from another millionaire. The artist starved to death. It is a still life.
One millionaire. Two millionaires. Three millionaires. A gated community. Job creation.
Millionaire food is the worst. Purina makes it, it tastes awful. But it’s very expensive. That is what makes it so desirable.
I kid the millionaires, sitting there, eating that terrible millionaire food, wondering how they got themselves in such an odd predicament. I mean, they have to buy hugs. And they always wonder about that. Is a bought hug real? Or just commerce?

When the aliens land I have prepared the following explanation: “We have found evil to be an extremely profitable philosophy. We hope you are kinder than we have been.”
Then I will offer them a free hug, and I will stab them in the back.

When Rick Santorum’s great, great grandfather went through Ellis Island, the guy who interviewed him asked his name.
“Smyth,” he said.
“No,” said the immigration man. “Henceforth, your new American name shall be SANTORUM!”
“But why?” asked the distraught ex-Smyth.
“Because I hate immigrants,” said the immigration man. “You people are ruining this country. With an odious name like Santorum, your great, great grandchildren will never be elected president.”

Today, Santorum dribbles in from behind.
If you can’t beat ‘em, Santorum.

If elected, Rick Santorum promises swift action on the “Santorum problem.”

I got a haircut. I looked at it in the mirror, and it looks nothing like Hitler’s. That’s the mark of a good haircut.
There was a guy in the town I grew up in who always looked like Hitler. Charitably*, I blamed the haircut. Why he grew the mustache– that is a conundrum.

*I suppose this was not so charitable toward whoever cut his hair. Then again, that person was probably a Nazi.

Behold: these are the things that I saw as the year 2012 dawned (at midnight):

1. Balls.
2. Father Frost, standing on a makeshift dais, head ducking under a tarp as if working to raise the dead with electricity in the rain.
3. A smiling man with a large makeshift sign reading: “Bet you can’t hit me with a quarter.”
4. A man in a leisure suit smoking a cigarette.
5. A land shark, from it’s maw emerging the head of a person.
6. A man holding a sign demanding that people repent, possibly because the hour was nigh (at least all signs pointed to it). As the music broke at one point he screamed, “Your music is an abomination.”

This is the word for the new year. Please use “Abomination” as often as possible.
Here are some suggestions:

1. Your beard is an abomination.
2. Your fiscal policies are an abomination.
3. This abomination is an abomination.
4. I’m sending this shellfish back. Because it is an abomination.

I think you get the idea.

by David Raffin

A rising tide lifts all ships. Those without ships drown. At least we saved the ships.

We have tried trickle-down economics for over 30 years. In the 1980 election, when George H.W. Bush ran against Ronald Reagan in the Republican primaries, Bush attacked Reagan on the concept of trickle-down economics. Bush called it “Voodoo economics.”
Voodoo is not just an economic system, it’s how you raise armies of the dead: old-style zombies.

Trickle-down economics is the idea that you give everything to the rich, in the form of tax breaks and hand-outs, and the money will trickle-down, magically, to the poor. Yet in the decades this system has been in place the social divide has done nothing but grow; the rich have become richer, the poor poorer. Still, the common political viewpoint of the two party system in the U.S., and the mass media, is to do more of the same: tax cuts for the wealthy, handouts for giant corporations. These are now called “job creators,” though the jobs are absent. Common knowledge says the poor must continue to pay the way of the rich, the social welfare system (what is left of it) must be further gutted, and everything must be “privatized,” that is, used as a tool for corporate profiteering.

Albert Einstein said, “We cannot solve the significant problems we face with the same level of thinking that created them.”
Then again, Einstein was a socialist. Which is a way of saying he was bright.
The rule in this country is: you can’t garner political capital by being an egghead. Corporations will refuse to buy into your campaign.

There is an occupy encampment in the town where I live. It is in the same spot that a 1930’s depression era shanty-town stood, in the shadow of the state capital.
There are many tents. There is a sign out front that advertises “Free Hugs.” It is a protest over the commercialization of hugs.
I am afraid the occupy movement will be co-opted by the merchandising system. Like the ads after the WTO protests of 1999 where protestors rejoiced as police turned hoses on them because they could make branded powdered iced tea. Party!
It could all be repackaged and sold back to the 99% at a mark up.

Full story »

Very small crowd. I think people were at home mourning the loss of Kim Jong-il. Or shopping.

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Surfin’ With Steve And E.D. Amin:
The only record Helen Keller ever released [Seattle, 1978].

Flip side, Dump on the Chumps:

MP3s and info: kbdrecords.com

Kim Jong Il dead, Vaclav Havel beat him.

Kim Jong Il was the scariest man who did not physically appear scary; making him all that much scarier.

Official statement says Kim Jong Il died of “overwork.” It is the most common killer in N. Korea. He was a man of the people.

I would like Kim Jong Il to be replaced by Ozzy Osbourne, followed by his son. Can I have that for Xmas?

I think Ozzy Osbourne would rule N. Korea with love. He always tells audiences he loves them. His son might be a monster though.

Circle Jerks, Making the Bombs

Dredging the Lake of Love / Terminal Velocity

It’s a small crowd, I talk of love.

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