I Learned It From You, Dad

Tony Danza rose from the porn world, my source, urban legend, tells me....

spent nearly a decade playing a dad trying to keep his TV daughter out of hot water on ABC's long-running sitcom Who's The Boss. Now the actor turned talk-show host has to deal with some real-life drama at home — after his teenage daughter was photographed smoking pot from a pipe with a group of friends.

"Friends say Katie is a top student who has never been in trouble. But dad Tony is not pleased with her right now. He told The National Enquirer: "Understand, I am not happy about this, but my Katie is a good kid who, like other kids her age, has made mistakes.."

I'm not sure what else Tony could say here. The daughter would smirk off any attempt at a "talk." When he was her age he was likely at a Malibu porn ranch with a gold spoon, a parking lot full of red corvettes, frosted perms, Cuervo Gold.

I'm surprised anyone who was a televison star in the 70's or 80's would even blink at hearing this news. I'm imagining flashbacks of lost weekends in the hills, sparring with assistant directors over late coke deliveries, lots of pool parties...old Aerosmith, maybe disco. I might have a romantic vision of the times.... wasn't that the golden age of LA?

I'd bet the two have smoked together, at their vacation home in Wyoming maybe, or in Hawaii that time.

I sometimes wonder if the world is so newsless that a picture of an 18 year old smoking pot is incredible information for those sitting in silence to study more about, for newspapers to be printed and sent around the globe, and then I realize my comments on it increase the void, words floating down the whirlpool, but the current is nice.

-Stanley Roper.

That Isn't The Bathroom Attendant

"Listening to him describe it, it's like listening to a crack or cocaine addict. He's addicted to children's urine"

It's so hard to get turned on anymore. Spanking, menage a trois, run of the mill pedophilia. In this post-modern world, one needs to be creative. Right here in Value City a local man taken it upon himself to push the boundaries beyond the golden shower, and believe me, we are all feeling the hometown pride here. I can't believe they are locking him up for this, he's just imitating Ghandi...and sailors with scurvy right?

Everyone should get recognition for their accomplishments eventually, and we salute Alan Patton (pictured above), for getting the aknowledgement he deserves after 40 years of honing his skills.

VALUE CITY, Ohio -- A Central Ohio man allegedly told police last week that he likes to drink the urine of adolescent boys.
Alan Patton, 54, is in jail after allegedly telling Gahanna, Ohio, police about his affection for urine.
Police said Patton goes to family restaurants and movie theaters and waits for boys in a bathroom stall. Investigators said he shuts off the water to the child-level urinal and puts a cup in the bottom.
"He goes back and retrieves the cup and drinks the urine," Detective Ron Fithen said.

Computer Graphics Take New York

The cost of reflection is staggering these days. Controvery is raging over plans for an odd underground memorial to the 9-11 victims, called a death trap by some. No better place to think about violent deaths than below the streets then?

It seems to me that less is more sometimes. A stark memorial seems more in order than a grand $500 million complex. Of course, I get accused of being "not the average American" from time to time, and actually preferred the Gaudi tower design (pictured below).

In the spirit if fitting in, let me propose an amusement park too. Lets keep the kids entertained here. How about a water park?

A tree-lined memorial plaza is planned for above ground, but the museum to commemorate the 2001 terrorist attacks and part of the memorial where the names are listed will be as much as 70 feet below street level


What a better world it would be if a giant rocket appeared ready to launch out of lower Manhattan. A symbol of the new age of American surrealism that would surely follow.

If NP were in charge, all we would have had to hear was "how about this design by the late Spanish genius Antoni Gaudi?" and we'd of been sold.

Someone Clean The Cage

Is it me, or are there more plague ready viruses mutating around the world than in the past? Perhaps round the clock news, and news trends are just keeping me more up to date than usual. Is the aquarium getting too hot and stagnant?

The latest, "Chikungunya" fever, for which there is no known cure or vaccine, has been spreading through islands off the southeast coast of Africa since January, affecting more than 150,000 people in Reunion, Seychelles and Mauritius."

The disease, first recognised in Tanzania, is marked by high fever and severe rashes, and while most people recover, it is extremely painful.

Yet another virus spread by Night Planet's least favorite being of any kind, the mosquito. There are too many to track floating around these days, I've laid off my personal virologist, I'm going to just live my life now, bird flu marked the end of diseases that I am going to go into an absolute panic over, no more trembling in the sterilized bathroom eating protein bars looking for remote locations to hole up in. I wan't to live, love, eat chicken, and visit the tropics until the antibiotic immune microorganism armies unite and take over.

Invisible Camera

Night Planet recently screened the latest Soderburgh film "Bubble," the most aptly titled film in years. What struck us most was the incredible realism. The use of supposed non-actors, and the morose and industrially lit scenes really take you inside the decaying Ohio town, you clock into the doll factory with the workers and join them for fast food in the dismal breakroom.

Not everyone has the tastes of the Planet, and we understand if it isn't what you were looking for on a Saturday night. The cast isn't pretty to look at, with the exception of Misty Dawn Wilkins (pictured below), and we felt lucky to get an ending at all, knowing it wouldn't be happy. The introduction and minimal storytelling make it seem you have stumbled upon surveillance tapes, and as the events unfold, we found the intimacy of the actor's mannerisms quite creepy, one in particular.
The film seems a breath of fresh air, granted polluted. It made us a bit depressed and scared us enough to be entertained, not in the slasher way mind you, in the "there are people like this around the corner" sense. A good film to watch alone, late at night, and not with your average significant other. Its loose, but has a concrete tale to tell, setting it apart from somewhat similar movies like "Kids," maybe. Don't worry, it doesn't resemble the "I can't wait till that character dies" Blair Witch Project.

Here's to using this method elsewhere, maybe somewhere with palm trees next time.

Cloudy and Slow

There's something about a Sunday, we can all feel it. There's also ony certain songs, and genres of music that fit Sundays.

I associate the quiet day with old country or the Velvet Underground, sparse acoustic guitar. I've had my VU "I've got a feeling I don' want to know" with dreamy melancholy violin mornings., and I've had bluegrass on the radio while sitting on a front porch afternoons, a great slow day broadcasting tradition it seems.

Nothing conflicts with the the 7th day more than Rock and Roll, or Techno I would think. Thats out of the universal system by Sunday dawn, across the world. Ever seen a show, or played one on a Sunday? Any celebratory decadence has run its course, energy is impossible.


I'd like a Neil Young, or an Elliott Smith (guess I'm too late) to make minimal, pretty, sorrowful music for a soundtrack, music for thinking....something to have in mind while I walk through the market, sip coffee and read the paper.

Another Good One Gone

You didn't keep those kids in line like I did during Three's Company, but you were a comic legend.

Don Knotts seemed like a real and down to Earth person, just a feeling I have. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to pay a little respect. Congratulations on an interesting life and a great run.

We Can't Wait

ART SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL

We rarely get excited for a movie to come out, but this is an exception. Another story by underground comic writer Daniel Clowes is coming to life.

If you have never read "Eightball" the classic comic (http://www.fantagraphics.com), it is highly recommended by Night Planet..one of the best satirical, poignant, and above all hilarious works ever created, in our opinion anyway. Killed hours of down time during the early to mid 90's, and gave reason to talk to the comic store guy in Athens, a real life version of the Simpsons legend. Good to see another Daniel Clowes movie, now how about some new comics too? Are we out of the loop, or is the genre in a lull? Time to dig the dusty box out of storage and reread them.














In "Art School Confidential," director Terry Zwigoff returns to a theme from his films "Crumb" and "Ghost World": the isolation of sensitive people whose interests and work are under-appreciated in a vacuous contemporary world.The film is Zwigoff's second adaptation of a comic story by Daniel Clowes, after "Ghost World," for which they shared an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay in 2002.

"Art School Confidential" follows a talented young artist Jerome Platz (Max Minghella) as he escapes from high school to a tiny East Coast art school. Here the boyish freshman's ambition is to become the world's greatest artist, like his hero Picasso.

Tom Kruse's World

When I see the Hoveround commercial, and its accompanying "you made me love you, I didn't want to do it ..." with the beaming seniors laughing it up in the rest home rec room, I know its time to go to bed.

Founder Tom Kruse, pictured left, gives me that final ominous warning that I'm wandering into the wrong demographic, I hope. Its just me and the sedated in hospital gowns, right?

Is our entire economic future based on decay, heartburn, and credit problems, or have I just been staying up late? The deluge of ads like "I wish life were like this parking meter, I could keep putting in coins and stay here," "I ate these 2 value meals in 5 minutes and I'm covered by this pill I ate yesterday ..,""creditamerica solved my irs tax debt for pennies on the dollar," have you been injured in a car accident?" "I love getting out of my house again!"tend to bring me down, although wait, heres an upbeat weight loss pill testimonial!

Looking back on sunshine filled ads of my youth, I recall they used to try to sell happy things, things that didn't have 30 seconds of disclaimers during a 45 second commercial. I remember jingles, smiling doublemint twins. Sure there were the Sally Struthers saving the children ads, but now that would be squeezed between a herpes ad and an ad for medical malpractice.

Is this the true measure of where we stand, a decaying carnival? We've got to rage against the dying of the light here, lets see some silver lining, if you would please.

Unless I'm watching the news, or a drama, I don't want to be brought down, or reminded of that giant woman in the "shopping scooter" cruising past the customer service counter at the grocery store yelling "I'm not a happy camper!" that I once witnessed. Not only do I have the next day to worry about, now you've got me thinking about gingivitis and funeral plots.

Maybe I should go back to watching Saturday morning cartoons, if they still have them, cocoa puffs over relacor please.

I Know Why The Caged Monkey Swings

The most dangerous pet one could have might be the smallest monkey in the world, pictured left. Sure a lion or wolverine have the reputations for ferocity, but can you imagine what a tiny, crafty little creature like this could do to a house or its sleeping inhabitants?

As a rule, I don't think it's a good idea to have a pet smarter than you are. A fact I learned trying to care for my mother's parrot while she was out of town. The thing was just impossible to get into it's cage, I walked away completely bloody after getting my ass kicked. I had felt bad about locking it up, until feathers were sticking up and a beak was piercing my skin.

I'm sure there could be an upside to letting a herd (?) of highly functioning miniature monkeys into your apartment too. For instance, I could see them organizing the mice into a charity group. leading them to rooms that need cleaning. Maybe a herd would be too many, no telling what they can accomplish as a team, although it might be comical to see them brushing with a human size toothbrush, mocking the hampsters as they sarcasticly run in the wheel, or watching four of them carry off your last banana.

The sad fact is, something this smart would have to be caged. I'm picturing an introspective little depressed primate, gazing through the bars, maybe smoking.

I guess I would stick to cats or dogs, and so far that's proven too much responsibility.

Does This Include Waking Life?

Jing Jing, the Chinese network cop (pictured left) and his cousins have been busy lately. Apparantly due to the poisoning of children's minds, and a desire to protect China's own cartoon industry, the little guys have banned film and tv shows that blend animation and live action, "so-called cartoons that mainly feature real people and only occasionally have computer-generated elements," they chirp.

They have threatened and undisclosed punishment if anyone is caught showing or broadcasting this dangerous animation form, used in such films as Roger Rabbit.

I could see how you would want to shield children from such adult films as "Space Jam," and shows like "Blue's Clues," but as far as protecting local animators, well don't they have the technology to make their own? I'm sure 99% of all equipment and components used are manufactured right there.

In any event, I'd advise any Chinese animators reading this to cease immediately unless you want Jing Jing and company coming for you at night, hundreds of tiny eyes blinking at you through your bedroom window.

Coma or Becker?

"Ted Danson stars as Becker, a dedicated and talented doctor with a gruff exterior"

I'm going to have to post quickly after this one, just because I don't want the bland cast to hypnotize me. As far as I can tell its the worst and least interesting show ever made. This is a kneejerk reaction because I've only seen bits and pieces when it interrupts my King of the Hill viewing late night.

From the cheap theme song and intro, to the bland acting and fake setting, to the doctor main character, to well..Ted Danson, only tolerable in Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes and the odd Cheers. In 7 minutes I've seen enough to cast judgement on the network sitcom. It must have lasted 5 years because no one realized they were watching anything as they stared at the tv. Its so drab your brain can't even focus on it, no one has recollection of that 30 minutes.

We should give some type of award for the show with absolutely no entertainment value whatsoever. No wrap around from its so bad to good, less entertaining than the worst children shows, worse than a tedious documentary on the lawn grass species of eastern Smith county, straight from Hollywood it's a department store clothing catalogue come to life. .NP award winner for worst show, its, I can't remember.

There are fansites, there are message boards!

"We could have 2 gold medal teams in Turin"

All four of you know that I did not plan to watch the olympics this year despite being a hockey fan, and aside from watching the 3rd period of the US losing effort to Slovakia and some pubescent females skating around in tight panties, my prediction has been true.

Now, I did not intend to take up precious blogspace with another olympic commentary, but today's news has forced my hand, my tired project report writing hand that has typed all day.

Team Canada and Team USA Eliminated In First Medal Round

This is not big news to most Americans. For the most part they have no idea that the 2002 silver medal winning team USA sent a rather decrepit group of 40 year olds to Turin, only to see them win 1 game, against Kazakhstan.

This is bigger news in Canada, a country that claims to own the sport, and whose citizenry can be credited with the headline quote above. Can you put an entire country on suicide watch? They thought they had it in the bag, or around the neck..a loaded team. The 2002 gold medal program sent an all star roster of NHL scoring threats, but were shut out 3 times and eliminated by the Russians, a team they are 1 and 7 against all time during the olympics.

Often Canadians, and some Americans, consider North American players to be the best, a fact that I have always disputed. My favorite players are the crafty, puck handling, play making types, often Russians like Sergei Fedorov. I can't help but feel a little happy that the Canadians have been brought down a peg..now we might have to hear endless rants about how much better their health care system, government, and people are, but the greatest hockey country in the world title will not be included. Perhaps the title should go to the Russians, for some reason that doesn't bother me.

Your reporter, Stanley Roper, fighting nationalism with anti-nationalism and awaiting the resumption of the NHL season.

Mansion On A Finger

My search for the most expensive jewelry that I, or shall I say one, could buy online led me to a $500,000 star sapphire ring, pictured left, and a lowly diamond engagement ring for $475,000.

Not only do I find it incredible that anything so useless and small could cost as much as a nice home, and that these can be purchased online. I was also amazed that the websites ran terribly...seemed like walking into a Rolls Royce dealership only to find the salespeople wearing overalls and no shoes.

I can't help but show a little gutter snobbery towards both the men who try to impress a woman with a ring valued at 13 years of the average salary, and the demanding women who require something so, well both precious and worthless as a sign of affection. I started researching Lear jets and found a 1981 model that cost $4,000,000, so a used jet or 8 rings?


How rare can these gems be? I've read about the whole DeBeers conspiracy, and it certainly has to be an inflated market. Something can't be rare, yet mined non-stop, for millenia.

I've not heard about any shortages but if there were, I'd be outside the store with a camera capturing the grand disaster with childlike joy...and just maybe a ring or two might slip off and I could live from the proceeds for the next 15 years...and live well. Are the super rich above tearing each other apart like after Thanksgiving day sale plebeians might? Where can I find the desperate and loaded to photograph? If the sickeningly wealthy ever lose all composure, pulling hair, ripping out earrings, sobbing, please let me know where and when...for art's sake.





On a side note, doesn't the jewelry of the ancient Roman elites, pictured left, look similar to what might be sold at a jam band festival in the mountains of Tennessee? By the same logic, will the bohemians of tomorrow be wearing the gems of today?

Catching Sound

This weekend our band, The Guinea Worms, got to record in probably my favorite studio yet, located in the basement of a swank office building/ballroom in our legendary downtown.

Once we were able to navigate through the well dressed wedding reception crowd, we made our way down into our lair, and settled in, only mingling with guests in the bathroom among their broken bottles and toilets.

I guess maybe I did a little more settling in than the others. Recording days are like holidays to me.
We ended up with the better part of 5 songs..a pretty good take.

Now today I'm supposed to be "working," but the real work was done this weekend. Whoever thinks the life of a rocker is easy hasn't waded through take after take listening to themselves play, trying to get that one version that captures the song, or started drinking at 2 pm allowing time to hit the curve properly. Once a song is on tape, its done and the second guessing begins.

After a day of setting up, and a day of recording, we aren't quite done. Will, our singer and guitarist, will go back to record his vocals in seclusion, not even the rest of the band can learn the secrets of his sound or his 7 herbs and spices.
Things must have been easier when there were fewer tracks. Now you can always add and add, making the possibilities infinite.












The whole experience certainly beat showing up at some strip mall, and perhaps the recordings will reflect that. I like thinking about how environnment affects music, and thoughts in general.

By Sunday night, it was time to leave the place to its day job. Up from next to the boiler room we emerged. The building is like a life, respectable from the street, a secret world hidden underneath.

I like to think the building preferred the night life, although I'll likely never meet its other side. Maybe it looks at us as bad influences.

The weekend is over, but we have a tape. Not computer files, a good old fashioned analog recording.


Today I feel like I have a psychedelic hangover, having trouble re-entering the world.

Avacado Green Days

I don't no why I let myself get talked into buying a relativey new car, under warantee. I wanted to get something cheaper, something kind of fun.

I like the car I got, a Honda, but I hate worrying about every little scratch, resale value, dings, grocery carts, car doors. Ended up with a grown up car that blends in with the thousands.

It liked the idea of getting a cheap sedan, the kind that only cause damage. I could have bought 3 of them for the same price as mine, wouldn't get the same mileage, but they seemed to have comfortable seats as I remember, and I could have put in a good stereo, satellite everything. In reality I wish I didn't need a car.

I remember seeing some late 90's maroon car that had been hit in the rear bumper and the styrofoam was flowing out. You've got to know your eras and makes. I had an 80's Ford once, was a veteran at 40,000 miles, a battered corpse at 107 and sold for 20 bucks.

Wasn't a nice car to drive but I drove it across the country twice. I felt pretty alive driving through Wyoming at night, not a car or town for miles, and all my hopes rest on this plastic rapidly aging erratic car jammed with luggage, the road really seemed just under my feet.

In the film of me driving alone, getting out of the car to piss in overwhelming isolation, looking up and seeing more stars than ever, hearing wolves howling in the distance,..which would be the better car, the 1988 Tempo, a 2000 Honda, or a 1976 Dodge? Not to mention a gritty urban scene, or a car chase, a love scene in a disco parking lot. I think I made a mistake.

Let's Get Way Out Before It's Too Late

As the temperature dropped 40 degrees overnight, and I look out on a day the color of a battleship, I feel relieved that it's time for the annual mid-winter Night Planet getaway.

As I write this we are on a yacht silently rolling on the waves, making our way to our first destination. I feel glad to in the Caribbean right now, I'm still relaxing after breaking away from the bad life, the tropical breeze helps shake those black nights, ice storms, the dead eyed people in the parking lots.

Day 2: I can't wait, we're getting off at this deserted island and camping by a shipwreck tonight. I'm not sure how many days we'll stay, for there are no time concerns on the getaway, we're pirates.

Day 7: We've been here for I'd guess 6 sunrises, that's what I'm calling days now. We're running a little low on supplies. Time to head back out to sea.

I love this boat we got this year, its nice, not bad. I guess we could do better.


I hear we'll be doing some diving soon, we are all getting pretty drunk. This is exciting because I don't know how. No worries, as they say, this is excursion 2006. The scenery down here is nice, I'm going to stay down for a while, come up for dinner on deck.

As the days roll past and the mapless quest continues, I'm not ready to go home. Hunting shipwrecks, cooking wild boar on the fire, tribal dancing, days of rum nights of whiskey, treasure hunting, fresh seafood...I'm going to stay in here, I'll be under for a week or two, the doctor's might think its a coma, but believe me I'm fine, beats that evil sky.
Night Planet signing off from under the sea.

even my daydreams aren't safe, I need more practice.

I'm off to enter a shamanic trance at the beach by the fire.

Night Planet from off the sands of the Caribbean, looking over the laptop at the sunset, wish you were here.

Backyard Ethnography

Anderson Cooper beat me to the punch. I'm watching him report on CSI trained criminals, I knew this would happen.. They are cleaning up cigarette butts, band-aids, hairs and semen, but it's beside the point. They mentioned a town in my home state of Ohio, prime real estate in 25 years with global warming.

Everytime I hear a town named in Ohio, whether it be on national or local news, always a new town is mentioned, often not far from where I've grown up. The local CSI watching villians were from something like New Austin, I could be wrong. There is a New Philadelphia, New Lebanon, Lebanon, New Richmond, New Caanan...ok I admit I'm looking at a map. On the local news I've learned of a new name every time I've watched. If I happen to hit a dry spell I should heed the warning and get out.

I've driven the off roads, the state highways that weave from old town square to slightly more ancient delapidated town square. Each village with its bubble shielding it and steeping it in it's own stew. There are oasis out there, hidden...... and there are vacant parks with statues of war heros, the haunted uptown movie theaters, the 200 year old hotel that may or may not have been converted to a coffee shop with 2 empty floors, the streets of classic houses showing no signs of life, the stories fading by the day.

The secrets of the city can be intriguing, but to think of these towns that the interstate missed, it's a perfect setting for something creepy, likely more disturbing. I'd love to see a travel book documenting spontaneous journeys through this boring, surprising, and terrifying land, I'm just afraid that I'd have to write it myself and I don't think I can commit. Even a Kerouac style road diary seems daunting. The best I can promise would be a quick drive through with digital cameras on a sunny afternoon, taking the state routes.

Is an idea like this dismissed as predictable or drab, or is it too frightening? A close look might prove unsettling. We need some undercover reporters. I don't think I can commit

The Chipped Ice In That Pina Colada You Made Me

Uncle Phil, remember me...G-gary? The time we detonated those fish in the pond and the whole family made a seafood dinner? You handed me my first dented Pabst Blue Ribbon tall boy?

Damn it Uncle Phil, you said you was gonna make it and buy that jet ski you were always talking about!

I'll never forget you teachin' me how to make trip wire bombs from windex, cauliflower, an old sponge, a firecracker, a snuff can, and some twine, and some laundry detergent though. You were gifted, man, you were gonna to get out, but you just couldn't dispose of the body like everyone told you, could you? You were 2 years away from retirement!

MADISON, Wisconsin (AP) -- A 53 year old man convicted of keeping his dead mother in a freezer for years was indicted Wednesday on a federal charge accusing him of illegally collecting thousands of dollars of her Social Security benefits after she died.

The body of his mother, Edith was found by authorities encased in an ice block in a basement chest freezer.

He defrauded the Social Security Administration of $35,690 meant for his mother and built 19 bombs by packing glass and plastic aspirin bottles with gunpowder, nails and staples that would act as flying shrapnel upon detonation.

Schuth told investigators his mother died of natural causes in 2000, but he concealed her body because he had never held a real job.

Going Places That I've Never Been

Sunrise on a New Genre


Willie,

I shrugged off your countdown of how many songs remained in your set last summer, "I've got 6 songs left," "this is the third to the last." It didn't really matter that my friends and I had just gone to the back lawn, lit up a joint to listen to your music and look at the summer night sky, when you ended the show at 9:15 at night with no encore and your fans evacuated overtop of us like there was a tornado coming, you're getting up there in years after all (and so are they). I felt fulfilled just to have seen you once, and you sounded like you still have it, full of soul. I got chills the first few songs, hearing the crowd scream "Willie!"

Your new music, what I've heard, is still real and sparse, and nice.

Then you decide to release a gay country song on the Valentines Day just after Brokeback Mountain comes out?

"Cowboys Are Frequently, Secretly (Fond of Each Other)" may be the first gay cowboy song by a major recording artist.

That you didn't write

Available exclusively through iTunes, the song features choppy Tex-Mex style guitar runs and Nelson's deadpan delivery of lines like, "What did you think all them saddles and boots was about?" and "Inside every cowboy there's a lady who'd love to slip out."

Is the outlaw expanding beyond helping farmers, did he have to wait until Waylon died? Tell me this isn't the start of senility Willie...is this an act punk country? Thanks for sticking it those NASCAR types anyway.

Regardless, I would love to see you again, I'll just get there at 7:45 and plan accordingly.

That Warehouse Looking Place by the Railroad Tracks

In the not so distant past, back when the sun was hot....

I found myself without any money. I had to work and I kept seeing ads on TV for the local call center, you know, the kind that battles other centers in India.

I showed up for the interview, and somewhat unwittingly found myself hired during this whirlwind 10 minutes when I talked to 5 people and took two tests. Started making the 50 mile roundtrip for 46 dollar a day training, hoping to graduate and get the full 9 dollars per hour. The first thing I notice is I'm thin, and maybe slightly older than the average, but by far not the oldest, I'm on the more educated side and that isn't saying all that much, I don't have the same accent as most, I also notice the class is excrusiatingly regulated and boring, the 23 year old trainer chastised like she was a 4th grade teacher. She bragged all her clothes were from "Wal-Mart or Call-Mart," the latter being the company store, which offered discounts for good behavior.. I'm feeling tired and stiff everyday, I'm glad I have the 50 cents for the small coffee at the machine on breaks.

The whole place has a high school feel, but an upside down social scene. Lots of goth 18 year olds, some loner types seemingly on the edge, the eating type hanging around the 12 snack machines, some trailer types. The break room had that high school table clique thing going on, the popular kids being the goth types of all ages. Groups of loners banded together, you could see them evolving every night, taking on new nervous recruits, many of whom seem to have a crush on my young manager. Would have been a great place for an anthropological study if the fluorescent lights weren't so bad.


Early on I thought everyone there was into death metal, drugs, crime, night life etc. 40 or more overheard conversations like "once you enter the crypt, you pull out the light defragmenter and unsheath the sword of Chartonin and stab that fucker," later I realized that they were these introverted goth/metal gamers.

Soon I started "taking calls" from all around the country, helping people with internet problems. This had its high points, I'd paint a picture of each caller, a father from the Bronx joking with me about the Yankees as a kid screams in the background, a street talking guy from Jersey City who only wanted the internet back because "I gotsta get my bbc", the flirty housewives from California telling me how cute I sounded. It had its lowpoints, as you might imagine in your cubicle working the night shift with 300 of your best friends, one sided flights ringing across the room, employees spinning this loud "prize wheel" feet from your ear while you get yelled at by some disgruntled guy from Oregon, they always seemed to be from Oregon, or Virginia.


I befriended a 23 year old guy with a mohawk, tattoos, everpresent game boy, death metal band..etc. We started meeting in the Kroger parking lot and ride sharing for the nightly trek., during the several week span his car was stolen and found crashed by the highway on the other side of town, his tires were slashed, and then he got something in the mail and couldn't work. He was a really nice guy, my partner in the game..gamed for 12 hours straight he boasted. I remember clocking out one night and meeting him in the smoking area. I walk up and a guy is telling him something like "I'm a satanist but I'm not into the chanting thing, I'm more into the rituals." I look up and he's kind of this non descript chubby computer nerd/gamer wearing a t-shirt with a demon or something, onlookers nod in respectful approval.

I began to notice that I worked at this giant sinister call factory where satan worshipping game junkies talked to soccer moms in Massachusetts, I wonder if a serial killer is working tonight, on the phone to an upset internetless teenager in Florida ...I'm alienated, I don't understand the scene...they report to me about gaming for 20 hours straight on the weekend and then ask me what I did. They seemed like nice people and everything, seemed easily impressed by my lackluster activities, maybe it was the going outside part.

It wasn't long before I just had to quit. Its what you have to do in this type of situation, I didn't want to go on antidepressants or get sucked into some telegang. The guy with the mohawk stopped showing up weeks ago, the weather was getting colder, they were talking about promoting me etc.


I still miss those days of solitude hiding by the snack machine trying not to talk to anyone, trying desperatly to find an open computer so I could sign in and not get into trouble from my 19 year old boss, racking up "trouble points" for seemingly anything while simultaneously hearing rumors about how to get rid of them, the people who had been working there for 5 years telling their favorite fight stories with customers on cigarette breaks, how they kicked ass..the seniors, the tough seniors at the school.

If they had paid me that last paycheck I might even go back for my sophmore year.

Doing the Obvious......

.



.....but I just can't resist.

White House Continues It's Retro Ways.

The first shooting by a sitting VP since Aaron Burr on July 11, 1804. One took place at the dueling grounds Weehawken, New Jersey...the other at a drive up quail hunting ranch in Texas. I'll let you match the correct VP with location. One had a pheasant sandwich for lunch, the other 4 hotdogs, a flat pepsi, and chili cheese fries.

Burr, who once accompanied Gen. Benedict Arnold's expedition into Canada, lost a governors race and blamed his loss on a personal smear campaign believed to have been orchestrated by his own party rivals, was charged with treason and aquitted due to lack of the constitutionally-required two witnesses, seems a man ahead of his time.

here's a brief summary of what we know so far:


VP Cheney, pictured here accepting a honorary rifle at an NRA award show, shoots a 78 year old man....

Cheney, an experienced hunter, has not been saying anything publicly at all about the accident Saturday, when he accidentally sprayed a hunting partner with shotgun pellets when aiming for a quail.

Meanwhile

WASHINGTON - The White House has decided that the best way to deal with Vice President
Dick Cheney' s shooting accident is to joke about it.

"I'm a little concerned that Dick Cheney is going to walk in," governor Jeb Bush cracked during an appearance in Tampa Monday. Jay Leno tells jokes, coworkers are annoying one another by repeating them etc.

....and where the stars at night are big and bright

CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas - The 78-year-old lawyer wounded by Vice President Dick Cheney in a hunting accident suffered a mild heart attack Tuesday after a shotgun pellet in his chest traveled to his heart, hospital officials said.

Perhaps the whitehouse can continue with the joke by heading over to the costume shop and then posing with the open coffin, like in trainrobber days.

I'd like to see Bush in a civil war uniform, congress back in wigs, supreme court justices dressed like Zeus....creationism being taught in schools, the germ theory questioned, the country reverting to feudal lordships.

The administration might really shine in a period piece.

The Bubbles That Ate my Brain

If you force me to pick a favorite genre, I might just have to say seamless pop. The kind I could listen to over decades and still not get enough of the song.

It's a fragile art, often only achieved during phases of a life.

Can't think of a band that illustrates that better than the Beach Boys. A pinnacle is reached, and then an amusing downturn...without the luxury of a death or bitter breakup, you might end up headlining a minor league baseball game.

Some have aged gracefully, still showing flashes of these shiny days, when they wrote this slightly sad catchy, sometimes ragged sometines icy sharp music... but its always about those perfect recordings.

I like thinking about the time and place a song is written. Music to me is about making a capsule.

If it captures that sunny morning after being up all night, that person, that image....

when a perfect mix of a role and reality meet

I know this is a pretty vague definition.

You might think its a faded genre, but it's not really true. Its not driving past in a limo through 1970's LA.

from the gutter, a tropical beach, cheap apartment, a canyon, a nightmare, daydream, pharmaceutical, drunk, repentant, hiding out on the town.

Dated, frozen, still fresh. vintage

degenerating,

reminding you of a time in your life, coming from somewhere else.

but then I ask myself, does Tom Waits fit my definition....

and now I'm not sure what the hell I meant anymore.

My Inner Sex Cop

For some reason, ever since I first laid eyes an her, I picture myself like Law & Order SVU star Mariska Hargitay. That is to say, I think I look and even talk like her. My wife doesn't think so, and has questioned my sexuality simply from the mention of it, but I assure you that I have no inner female yearning to emerge.

The truth may be that I look more like another cast member, Richard Belzer, but he doesn't give me the quick burst of self esteem that she does.

If I ever have a daughter, I believe I will name her Olivia, and she will be a chip off of the old block.

Dis-gentrification?

Ever since I was a little kid I've been fascinated by urban decay (the condition, not the makeup brand.) I've always enjoyed a trip downtown in the cities of the east and midwest to see the layers peeling back and the reverse beauty revealed. Areas that many found depressing, I found completely engrossing.

When I moved away, my hometown hadn't heard of the word, with its vacant buildings and violence prone streets. A city that could have joined the renewal trend a little earlier.

Upon my arrival in Seattle I noticed many of my friends lived in the "Central District," an area traditionally known as a black area. The longer I lived there, the less blacks I noticed. It was like they were being deported to Tacoma.

The city didn't have enough grit to interest me. Its sparkling skyline and spotless streets left me cold. I remember thinking maybe I would like it better in the future, after it got a little dirtier. If I had a decay sprayer I would have coated the streets, an action that would have prompted the locals to poison me.

From travels to New York and elsewhere I've noticed the national scope of this trend. A cab driver in the 20 something infested Williamsburg, Brooklyn told me "my friend was killed over there, this used to be a warzone," highlighting the positive aspects of cleaning up.

Upon returning to my hometown, a place I like to call Value City, I realized that we do actually have some great old neighborhoods, a fact being ignored until the 90's rolled in. It's hard to argue against it in this case due to the fact that no one was getting kicked out, its still an affordable area. It also works to counterract the sprawl spreading off into the horizon on the outskirts of town by enouraging renovation in the central city, rather than strip mallification in the suburbs..

Sometimes moving into a renovated building can require some guts, for instance, in the case of the old Ohio mental hospital in Athens. This imposing hilltop structure once housed patients chained to the wall (many of whom died in a fire while restrained), a reknowned doctor pioneering a procedure called lobotomy, the human stain of a woman who died after being locked in the attic, and a cemetery with numbered tombstones arranged in a spiral pattern. When I attended college, this was a place to sneak into if you had the nerve. Now its been converted into university offices. I don't think working late is something I'd be doing in there.

Photo shoot through Detroit anyone?

War Substitution

I'm afraid I won't be getting into the winter olympics this year. This is not yet a fact, but my current mood doesn't seem to agree with it. I'm not a hater of sports or the olympics, in fact I was even in attendance during the"miracle on ice" at the 1980 games...... well not the Russia game, but I got out of second grade for week to se the US vs Romania hockey match and some ski jumping, a fond memory. (dad, what are they drinking? thats Brandy, it keeps them warm.)

I guess I'm just not in the mood for the nationalism right now. I'm not immune to feeling some vibrations of pride during these events, but it feels more like some preprogrammed reaction coming from the lower brain stem, like something I should suppress along with eating uncooked mammoth leg.

Yes, I'm from the US, but I have a hard time rooting for "us" to win due to a predisposition for supporting the underdog. This first hit me during the "Dream Team" era. If I do happen to read the medal count, I'll be subconciously hoping for Slovakia to come out of nowhere and take it...then I'd have to hide my happiness or be branded a freedom hater.

Perhaps if the crowd boos the US team everytime they touch the puck I'll get into it, but theres that primal fever again... the same one that likely came up during the Roman empire's invasion of Gaul. I've got to control my mind, I can't let it tell me what to do.......but then again Canada is predicted to win hockey gold so technically the US is the longshot...no, must suppress.

Forming

and it comes together seconds before launch..

This will be a place to..enjoy sarcasm and cynicism, to look at the brightside, to discuss art/music/film, to (how creative) discuss current events and personal misadventures, discuss travel, life, death, non-academic sociology..a place to not discuss the tax code, to simultaneosly tear down and reinforce stereotypes, to be dreamy/realistic, in short, an eclectic and evolving imitation world of contradiction

and we'll be doing it all at night.