Fuck BP

My recent grocery store shopping experience totaled $6,466.19.

Fucking capitalists. They're price gouging. Just because there is no clean water left on the earth, they are charging $5,426.50 for mineral water?!!!!!!!!!

And then they expect me to recycle?!

I think not.

God, I'm thirsty.

Y

Dear Makers Mark, you're an idiot.

It says, "Yep, they're real"

This offends me.

To what are they referring? Breasts?

Gross.

Double gross.

When I look at those bottles on the way home from work everyday I say to myself, "Oh god, not again" .

Anyway, if those are supposed to be breasts they should immediately report to a plastic surgeon! I feel deformed just looking at them.

a) Maybe I am naive/ a snob, but isn't this joke from the 90's?

b) Did you ever wonder why billboards have to be so HUGE in a little tiny neighborhood? We feel like there is a mothership hovering above us, blocking out the sun!

c) What if I put up a giant billboard that says, "I'm saving up for uzi paint gun."?

-Y

Cofused

I saw this Lewis Hyde lecture at the ALOUD lecture series at the Los Angeles Public library and casually mentioned this to X whereupon he became utterly enraged. (see posting below)

But because someone has to discuss this:

a) Peter Sellars was interviewing Hyde, but he wasn't interviewing him as much as making love to him. Mercilessly flirting with him to the point that the whole audience was blushing! On stage! It was very embarrassing. Lewis Hyde looked like he wanted to punch Peter Sellars in the face and then copyright it.

and

b) Hyde was wearing a sparkly purple crushed velvet shawl over his dress shirt. Sooo confused. He is clearly not gay. Did Peter Sellers make him put it on right before they went out saying "Oh this will look cute"and Lewis Hyde thought it was just some regular sweater ?

I hope someone who was there can explain. It's inconsequential but necessary.

-Y

More about art and those who don't understand it.

This is the latest book (which could be mistaken for any of his other books) from Lewis Hyde, your typical run-of-the-mill "popular" academic writer, who is BY NO MEANS a Revolutionary, but instead a REACTIONARY posing as a revolutionary writing a book which has NOTHING to do with Revolution! Do not be fooled, oh my Comrades, and stay away from this book! The owners of G'nosh franchises, if they actually read books, would read something like this! Here is the book description, taken from Amazon, that site of shameless capitalist propaganda:

"The question of how [Don't start a paragraph making a statement about a question -- just ask the fucking question!] our cultural commons [What the fuck is that? Isn't that where they used to pasture sheep together back in Merrie Olde Englande? And if it's common, then it doesn't NEED to be made compatible with copyright law!] , our shared store of art and knowledge [Okay, there IS no shared store of art and knowledge because art is and always has been elitist and becomes less and less interesting to the general public as time goes on, while "art" of the G'nosh variety is the "shared store" -- and KNOWLEDGE, well, who has THAT anymore?], might be [Or might not be. Take a stand! Is it or isn't it? I HATE all the prevarication and hedging in academic writing! Just fucking SAY SOMETHING!] made compatible with our modern age of stringent copyright laws [Actually, they've always been stringent since the first one in, what? 1710 or something? The one written under Queen Anne] , intellectual property rights [which obviously AREN'T as stringent as some people -- Hyde, perhaps -- would like them to be! Fucking capitalists! This whole thing is, of course, like everything, underneath it all really just capitalist propaganda] , and restrictive patenting [Sounds like they're talking about tight corsetry] is taken up with considerable brio [Okay, NOBODY in academia writes with "brio" since the standard for academic writing is mummy-grade aridity] by Hyde (The Gift) [Which sucked]. Moving deftly [For deftly, read "clumsily" and "clunkily"] between literary analysis [Always default to what you know, even if it doesn't apply. What the fuck does literary analysis have to do with copyright law? Oh, and, literary analysis = BORING!] , historiography [BORING!], biography [SUPER BORING!], and impassioned polemic [You mean "whiny meandering"], the book traces the idea of commonage [Whatever THAT is, as I said] from its English pastoral manifestations [See, it WAS where they kept the sheep! Quite a leap from sheepshit to art, Hyde. or maybe not] and pays particular attention to the American founding fathers' ideals of self-governance [They didn't believe in self-governance!] and civic republicanism [And if you can tell me how THAT fits in to all the other shit he's got going in this monstrosity of an academic piece of shit boring-ass readerless fuck of a book, I'll send you a prize] grounded in the vision of a public realm [Not the actual realm itself, mind you] animated by openly shared knowledge [When did THAT ever happen?] and property rights [How can you have the two together? WHAT?] that functioned for the benefit of society [Yeah, right] rather than individuals alone [This review has spun out of control. That sentence could have been taken from the text itself, it's so larded and loopy]. Hyde leaps nimbly [What, he's some tights-wearing fairy dancer now?], if sometimes too hurriedly [True, one's nimble leaping should be slow and deliberate. WHAT?], from the Ancient Mariner [Why? WHY? Spare me!] to the human genome project [Uh ... WHAT?], ultimately offering a vision of human subjectivity that is fundamentally social, historical, and plural [Oh, you mean like EVERY OTHER DAMN "VISION" OF HUMAN SUBJECTIVITY ever offered since, like, 1962?]. If the book is perhaps not wholly successful [Or even partially successful. Or perhaps just plain wrong. Or maybe just overly derivative. Or just FUCKING BORING!] in showing how we might concretely legislate [As opposed to abstractly legislate? WHAT?] for a cultural commons [Which he says we ALREADY HAVE] that would simultaneously allow for financial reward [FUCKING CAPITALIST!] and protection from monopoly [FUCKING CAPITALIST!], it is nonetheless a fascinating [I doubt that] and eminently readable [Now, I KNOW that's not true!] attempt ["There is no try, there is only do!" Thanks, Yoda] to coordinate commerce and creativity [Oh, yeah, because that's something a BOOK can do, shit] in what he sees as an increasingly restrictive economy of ideas [Including his own, which are shrunk to the size of walnuts in this retarded "attempt" to sound way smarter than he is]."

Avoid, avoid!

Everyone's an artist. Unfortunately. Part II.

One more thing about G'nosh: this is the other piece of text on their webpage, designed to interest you in their "product." And their product is, strangely enough, YOU:

"G'nosh is a casual, inviting atmosphere for individuals and groups to gather, express their creativity and just have fun. [Okay, so it's a social event, NOT an art class. The focus is not art, the focus is "expressing creativity" -- again the assiduous avoidance of the word "art"! -- and having "fun," which they aren't guaranteeing but offering you a space to have it in if you can create it yourself. Like you can't have it somewhere else.]

Non-artistic types need not be intimidated [Because you're not making art!]; the classes are especially for you [For non-artistic types? Artists need not apply -- you'll just make everyone else look bad! Artists don't even WORK here!]. There is no wrong way to create your painting [Then why is everyone doing it the SAME WAY?!] but we do suggest wine for you A-Type personalities [Umm, what?].

Art [Which you won't see or create here!] washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life [Again -- what?]. G'nosh simply enables you to reclaim your inner artist [OH, PLEASE! "Inner artist?" What? So there's no external artist?] through the carefree strokes of a paintbrush...and you are free to follow whatever direction your creative mind takes [As long as it's the direction of "painting" a blue cow].

Thinking creative expression? Think G'nosh! [Thinking about painting the same damn blue cow your neighbor is painting? Think G'nosh! Please note the variety of "expression" among the paintings of the people in the picture: every one of them has painted the exact same blue cow (and painted it badly -- they can't even copy well!), but each has added their own individual touch by putting A DIFFERENT COLOR in the background! Now THAT'S creativity! GO G'NOSH!]"

Comrades, take note: don't support this obvious anti-aesthetic bourgeois capitalist enterprise!

Everyone's an artist. Unfortunately.

O, my more aesthetically-minded Comrades, I come here today to report to you an ABOMINATION in the world of art: the phenomenon of G'NOSH! This corporate absurdity is, believe it or not, an actual business which takes as its customer base the artistically deluded, those who think they are "creative" yet don't want to actually put in the effort it takes to create art, or those who think themselves creative but want to be told what "art" is and how to make it. I can give you no better idea of what this business venture is about (and it is telling that on their webpage there is more information on "the corporation" and how to start your own franchise than there is on what the actual "G'nosh experience" entails -- and of course anything that calls itself an "experience" is already suspect and usually nothing of the sort) than to give you the advertising text they use to attract customers -- I mean, "artists":

"When you step into a G'nosh studio [They pretentiously call their business spaces "studios." Ha!], get ready for an experience that's unlike any other [Actually, it's like EVERY other capitalist "experience" -- you get ripped off by paying top dollar for bottom-quality "products."]. Tell yourself, "I am here for me, this time is about me, and this is my place. [So the whole experience is really just an exercise in narcissism. And no, it is not "your" place -- but it certainly is YOUR money they take to let you think that. It is a space in which you and thirty other like-minded retards sit and paint blue cows and think you're making "art." BLUE COWS!]"

The G'nosh experience [Again with the fucking "experience"!] is all about expressing emotions [Expressing emotions? As opposed to what? Deep-frying emotions? Isn't that A BIT redundant?] with paint and canvas [So they realize that "art" is not about expressing emotions, necessarily, and the "experience" is really about self-indulgence and cheap psuedo-therapy for bitter middle-agers and assorted gutter trash.]; let the paint and the music [What fucking music?!] move the painting [Because god knows YOU won't do it. So let something else do it for you! It's the American Way -- laziness in place of work!]. You will feel the stress leaving your body with each stroke [Just like masturbation. Which this is.]. Relax and let the emotions flow [Again with the emotions! Aren't they ALREADY flowing, and that's why these people have come to G'nosh? I can let my emotions flow at home for free, thank you very much -- I don't need to sit in a room of anal retentive divorcees painting by numbers to do that.].

Take a deep breath and exhale [No thanks, I'd rather hold it until my lungs explode. Now THAT'S art!]. No need to worry about conventional thinking [Because you worry about it all the time when asked not to do it -- here you'll be EXPECTED to do it. No creativity for you! THAT would be too hard!] - you'll soon learn to use your right brain in daily situations [Okay, EVERYONE by now knows that the whole right brain/left brain dichotomy is a discredited psuedo-scientific theory from the fifties that died A LONG TIME AGO in the scientific community, died, in fact, almost at birth. But not in the stupid human community these fuckwits live in. Anyone NOT using their whole brain at all times is, by definition, mentally ill. You can't just use half your fucking brain, for fuck's sake! So G'nosh is really just a place for psychos to get together to ... do something. Whatever that might be.]. And a stronger right brain makes life a little less stressful [And if you believe that, you'll pay top dollar -- notice they don't mention prices on the webpage -- to paint blue cows. Because EVERYONE knows that if you paint a cow, that's not art, but if you paint it BLUE, well, now THAT'S art!]."

And so there you have it. G'nosh in a g'nutshell. WHAT THE FUCK?

What type of person are you?

Here's a test to see where you stand vis-a-vis the glass:

1. When I encounter unexpected setbacks, I
a.) want to kill myself.
b.) want to kill others.
c.) actually do kill others.
d.) blow shit up.
e.) complain, but no one listens.

2. When something good happens, I
a.) look for the catch.
b.) assume it was meant for someone else.
c.) squander whatever gain I get on liquor.
d.) don't notice it.
e.) assume it's a mistake, because nothing good EVER happens.

3.) People normally describe me as
a.) depressed and gloomy.
b.) stupidly optimistic.
c.) pathologically pessimistic.
d.) scary and creepy.
e.) someone they would not want to be, ever.

4.) If I saw a car accident, I would
a.) laugh.
b.) get out of my car to get a better view.
c.) go to my happy place.
d.) hope someone else calls the ambulance, because I'M not going to!
e.) be annoyed that traffic is now going to be hell going the other way.

5.) I think of my extended family
a.) as obstacles to my happiness.
b.) rarely.
c.) all-too-often.
d.) as rotting in their graves.
e.) when I need to borrow money.

Scoring:

For every "a" answer, give yourself 5 points.
For every "b" answer, 10 points.
For every "c" answer, 20 points.
For every "d" answer, 30 points.
For every "e" answer, 50 points.
For every question not answered, 100 points.
For every question answered multiple times, 200 points.

Add your total, subtract your age, add 6 points for every year you have worked at your job, subtract 5 points for every time you wanted to kill your co-workers, add 16 points for every time you engaged in illegal behavior, subtract 1 point for every failed relationship.

0-25: You are a "shatter the glass and slit your wrists with the shards" person.
26-50: You are a "What glass?" person.
51-75: You are a "glass half-empty" person.
76-100: You are a "glass half-full" person.
100+: You are an "I need therapy, and lots of it" person.

Because (One of) You Demanded It

Okay, a couple more examples of the failure of proofreading/critical thinking/the public school system:

"In this film the violence starts with a crazy bomber blowing up buildings, where "Simon" is taking revenge for his brother's death who John McClane had killed by throwing him out of a window from a sky scrapper."

So John McClane can kill death? Now there's a trick. And he does so by throwing death (specifically, Simon's brother's death, so I guess 'Death' is actually an organization, like Greenpeace canvassers) out of some device that can make scrap out of the sky. How did I miss this film?

"This also allows the ratings to be different depending on the amount of violence, sex, and drug used."

Used by the people who make the ratings? So the more violent they are, the more sex and drugs, the -- what? Higher the rating? So the nerdy guys rate movies G, the hardcore biker-types are making the R ratings? Fascinating insight into how movie ratings are created. Apparently it has nothing to do with the film's content.

"I have also learned that there is different amounts of violence that can take place in a movie."

Well, I feel like I've done MY job, then.

Your Online Dating Mantra

If you live by this rule, you should be fine. Lonely, but fine.

Comrade X's Adventures in Online Degradation

O my Comrades, let me tell you a story, a story of what happened to Comrade X on one of his many meetings with the many insane women he met online. This one happened some years ago, but it is still fresh in his memory. It went like this:

I received a message from a woman with a vaguely Russian-sounding profile name, and I responded. Over the course of the next week or two, I received many other messages which did not refer to the messages I myself was sending, but existed in a kind of online limbo, referring only to themselves. Sensing that this person either wasn't reading my emails, or wasn't entirely sane, I stopped responding, only to receive a hasty reply of "Where are you? Why aren't you writing me? Aren't we going out on Thursday?" Needless to say, I was shocked, as going out on Thursday was never mentioned and going out at all was furthest from my mind, as I had assumed that the person I was "corresponding" with was merely a spambot sending random messages designed to get me to buy unspecified products.

But being the adventurous Revolutionary that I am, I decided to check out the revolutionary potential of this individual. She picked a place to meet, a bar on a cross street where there is a bar on every corner. I arrived, looked at the first bar full of people spilling into the street, looked at the second full of people listening to live music, looked at the third full of people sitting at outdoor tables having very animated conversations, and thought, "This looks like a lively spot." But then I looked at the bar we were actually meeting in. Dark. No visible sign. Foreboding. I entered, and the only person in the place was a woman whom I didn't recognize. Yes, it was her. Nothing like her profile picture, of course. Heavily made-up. All signs already pointing to disaster.

Two seconds into the conversation she's already off and running, barely stopping to breathe as she jumps manically from one topic to the next. The monologue went something like this:

"Yes, I live just down the street -- I have two kids -- no, I just left them there, they're old enough, they can call me if there's a problem. No I don't own a house! The older one is eight, so they're fine. Eight and four. I was an actress in New York. I have a friend who's an agent in LA and he says that they're desperately looking for heavy women over 40 to fill roles, so I could have a real career down there, I just need to lose 40 pounds. I had one in New York, but I gave it up. I moved out here. I go to college now. I study Russian. I don't know, I just like it. In New York, a Japanese millionaire told me that I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and would pay me a million dollars to become his mistress in Tokyo. I was a hand model. He said I had the most beautiful hands ... I was a great actress. Everyone wanted me. I was on Broadway, almost. I've been on over 200 first dates in the past two years. I rarely have a second one. Oh, let's go to that bar up the street! Oh, wait, I can't, the bartender there would die. I had a passionate love affair with him a year ago and he's not over me AT ALL. He said he'd kill himself if I didn't marry him. He probably would kill himself if he saw me with another man. Oh, I just can't go there, I hate drama. Did I tell you I was an actress? I was on Broadway, almost. And a model. I'm going to the bathroom -- you pay the bill and we'll go across the street."

At this point, I thought that it would be a good time to skip out, but I wanted to go to the bar across the street, so I didn't leave. HUGE mistake. This is the conversation that ensued there, AFTER she morphed into a complete psychotic (no, she wasn't actually psychotic initially, just deranged). Really, a total change of personality, from megalomaniac to vicious pit bull:

(Staring at a black velvet painting over the bar with some planet and a unicorn and a wizard on it): "Do you like that painting?"
"Not really."
"I LOVE it!"
"Uh, why?"
"It's beautiful!"
"It's perhaps ironic, at best."
"No it's not."
Turning suddenly to some random woman: "Hi, I know you!" Some minutes of conversation pass between the two of them as she turns her back to me and finally the other woman walks away rather quickly, looking confused. Then: "See that table full of guys?"
"Yeah."
"I want to go talk to them."
"Uh, okay."
"Don't you care?"
"No. Why should I?"
"Maybe they'll fight you for me. Everyone wants me."
"Really? Go on over and test your theory."
"Why are you being so aggressive?"
"I'M being aggressive?"
"I can't believe you don't even care about me going and talking to those guys."
"Why would ... "
"I love this drink! Order two more."
"No, I think I'm done."
"Well, I'm getting another and YOU'RE paying for it!"
(Mumbling.) "I'm paying for it already."
"What?"
"Nothing"
"Why can't you be nice?"
"What?"
"I'm going over to that table."
"I ... "
"Let's go to another bar!"
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your kids?"
"Fuck them! Why are you telling me what to do with my kids?"
"Well, it's late and ... "
"They're fine. Let's go to another bar."
"The one where the bartender is going to kill himself over you?"
"What?"
"You know, the one ... "
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Uh, yes."
"You are the rudest man I've ever met! I'm going to the bathroom. Order us two more drinks and we're going to another bar."

It was here, when she lurched off and staggered towards the women's room, that I finally decided to make my quietus. Why did I stay so long? Who knows. And believe me, there was WAY MORE of the above kind of conversation, I just can't remember it all. It has been a number of years now, but the stuff I remember I have attempted to faithfully record here for your entertainment and edification.

"Is everyone on these online sites insane?" I thought then. I don't know, but I didn't stick around to find out.

What a bitch!

Why You Should Proofread, or When Critical Thinking Fails Part III

Comrade X presents these samples he came across in an essay from some years ago. They should adequately prove the importance of proofreading (as well as critical thinking). If more evidence is needed, he will be happy to supply it. But for now, consider this (Comrade X presents the sample with his own editorial commentary inserted, but feel free to add your own outraged comments):

"I know at least six girls at the top of my head that are eighteen and under who have gotten pregnant, three out of those five girls got abortions." So much wrong here:
1.) Why do you have six girls at the top of your head? Do you wear them in a kind of head harness? Doesn't that put a strain on your neck? Can't they walk on their own? Are you providing some kind of hospice care for them?
2.) EACH of them is eighteen and under? Do they exist simultaneously in different dimensions? How can they be (at least) two ages at once? Einstein's cryogenically-preserved brain just exploded.
3.) First there's six, then there's five? What happened? Did one die? Did you forget how to count? Was one aborted? Are you losing oxygen to your brain as you write (due, no doubt, to the rigors of wearing a head harness)?
4.) The three girls each had MULTIPLE abortions?
5.) How did they manage to get abortions while living up there? Did you personally walk them to Planned Parenthood? That seems somewhat hypocritical, given your obvious stance AGAINST abortion.

"Have any of these girls stopped having irresponsible sex? No they have not." Really? Have you been watching them (through some kind of periscope-like device)? That must get loud up there on top of your head, what with all the extra weight of all the guys they're having irresponsible sex with (and just what exactly IS irresponsible sex? Sex where you don't call your parents to tell them why you're breaking your curfew?). Plus, all that movement can't be good for your neck.

"How would you like it if someone just killed you before you were about to do something you really wanted to do?" Oh, I don't know, I guess I'd feel ... well, I guess I wouldn't feel anything at all, since I'D BE DEAD. And as for the analogy: is the writer saying that fetuses really want to be born, that they're sitting in there (and wait till you see where this writer thinks "there" is!) thinking, "Damn, I can't wait to get out of here and start dealing with a world full of misery, depression, cruelty, psychological dysfunction, morons, and internet dating!"

"Babies are growing in a woman's stomach [HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!! Proceed IMMEDIATELY, and I do mean immediately, do not pass go, do not collect $200, but go straight to Biology 101 and SIGN UP! You clearly have a lot to learn here. You're writing about abortion yet you think fetuses -- or "babies," as you call them -- gestate in a stomach?! FUCK! Talk about blowing your authorial credibility ... ], about to live a long wonderful life [Really? All of them? Are you sure about that? Even the pedophiles and victims of pedophiles and crack whores and lepers and readers of this essay?], and then an abortion murders the poor defenseless baby and then they [Who the hell is "they" here?] never get to save their life [What, their OWN life? Huh? You should join the NRA and start a campaign for making sure all fetuses have the right to bear arms -- in fact, are SUPPLIED with guns -- for the purpose of self-defense. Hell, it's in the Constitution!]."

And, if you're still conscious, one more: "We all live our lives, walking along [except, of course, for the six girls you're carrying in your head harness -- THEY aren't walking, the lazy fucks (and why are you enabling them?)], having irresponsible sex [ALL of us? Even you? And doing so while walking? That certainly sounds tricky -- I'm not sure I know that position], and not thinking of the consequences [uh, yeah, wouldn't that be part of the DEFINITION of "irresponsible"? Perhaps it's irresponsible to write without a dictionary. But still -- so glad you're here to enlighten us poor miserable irresponsible fornicators!]."


Yeah. I know.

Ramp Closed

Apparently, the ramp is closed.

Subliminal plug theory

This means:

1. Jesus was electrocuted for your sins.

2. The Lord wants you to plug things in. (See previous Internet dating posts)

3. Don't let the battery die on your electronic equipment. God forbid you should have to look up from the screen in front of your face.

4.Lo, Jesus my savior, there is a miracle happening here. It's called, "You can fit two SUV sized boxy fucked up chargers on one power strip."! Or, "We've pointlessly made enough different kinds of chargers to fill up a small country"

:) Y

P.S. Make sure you keep them plugged in even if you aren't using them. It's a quick and easy way to waste resources.

Love Explained. Finally.

Thanks to Comrade Le F for alerting me to this. Finally, the bourgeois ideological underpinnings of love revealed. Break free, my Comrades!

Further P-Town Parking Escapades

Same corner as last post about this (see post for 8/10/10). I'm pretty sure it's even the same car. This asshole decides to park half his car behind the stop sign and half in front of it, into the cross street (into which the guy next to him trying to make a turn has to pull his car -- the height of auto safety), in a city where EVERY FUCKING CORNER is already designed to give you ZERO visibility. And the asshole behind him, though you can't see it here, pulled up to his bumper so that the bumpers were TOUCHING. Double assholishness. What IS it with these people? Oh, right -- NO DRIVER'S EDUCATION and a fucking city-wide entitlement complex. The city motto is, in fact, "If it affects me, do it now; if it affects you, I'll get to it later. Chill, dude!" Hippies destroyed this town and no one has the will to break their ideological hold on it. Now THAT is reason for Revolution!