Sunday, December 27, 2015

Boogie Christmas

It's not easy holding a smartphone in a waterproof bag in one hand and trying to use a boogie board in the other and hold up my shorts from falling down my ass crack at the same time. I had a creative Christmas card idea but it fell through along with my energy as it was sapped by food poisoning or amoebic dysentery for 3 or 4 days. And being forced to move out so the hostel can make more money through the holiday season. So, Happy Holidays, the tropical weather should be global soon thanks to a deep desire for NASCAR drivers to go in circles for 3 hours and huge people watch the action whilst eating chocolate covered chocolate. So, if you survive the apocalypse then you can go swimming in December with palm trees like Oggy even if you live with Arctic Wolves on Ellesmere Island.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Cultural Overlap

Jesus de la Misericordia

Beach paradise

Put the lime in the coconut...

Monday, December 14, 2015

Baseball Ethics

I'm going back to my roots now with an essay on Baseball. I don't want to get overly sentimental or nostalgic but I have a long history with the game.
And Pete Rose is a figure from the past that periodically pops up. He was part of the studio commentator for FOX Sports this past post season and others correctly said he reminded them of 'my drunk uncle' with his slurred ramblings on hitting and pitching. Most players are careful with their words but Rose obviously is never wrong when it comes to baseball. So back in 1989 it was exposed that he was gambling on baseball, which is prohibited by baseball rules, and he was gambling on games he was coaching, and probably gambled on games he had played in. There are some obvious ethics issues because even if you 'always bet your team to win' then it will affect how your relieve pitchers...or if you took the over or under (total score) or specifics. It's classic rabbit hole of bad ethics because you suddenly control the game that you have bet on and if you have insider information on your pitching staff then you can bet with that information on your side. It's a testament to how confident Vegas Bookies are that they would take bets from the person involved in managing the team they are betting on. Vegas is confident because they aren't trying to beat a single person, they are trying to 'middle' the line so it can go either way...and that way 50% of people lose and 50% win...and the VIG is the profit. Vegas doesn't want to 'win'. No, they already know they will win the VIG, which is enough. They simply want to speculate on the lines in such a fashion that one incomplete pass, one missed field goal, one interception or fumble, one injury is the difference in the game and no one can predict those intangibles before the game. Well, Vegas can predict them in a way that will leave you heartbroken if you want to get into sports gambling. It's evil and addictive and all wrong for the sport, but it's not going anywhere. So, I pity Rose for having a personality that suited itself to the delusion of thinking oneself superior to Vegas bookmakers. I guarantee Rose lost more than he won and probably lost millions.

MLB recently rejected Rose's appeal to lift the ban. And even though he was banned for life, the current commissioner seemed to suggest that there were conditions that Rose could meet and the ban would be lifted. But Rose has not met those conditions, such as amending his ways, penitence, sorrow, etc. And this can't really be denied because even though most of the world only knows Rose through his commentary stints, it is clear he's no different than he was in 1989. But seated a few feet from Rose was the villainous Alex Rodriguez, who demonstrated equally abominable conduct on and off the field, but 'played the game' when it came time to serve his suspension and acted regretful, etc. It's all bullshit. Rose and ARod are no different at heart. Most players are looking out for themselves. ARod is not banned from baseball.

This is all kind of pointless since Rose doesn't want to coach or play. The only issue is if he's eligible for the Hall of Fame, which is actually a separate entity involving journalists, but since 1991 they have agreed that those people who have been banned from baseball will also not be eligible for Hall of Fame induction. Rose holds the all-time hit record and if you watch a highlights reel of him you see him running to first base on a walk, which is something no other player does. Today, a walk means the player will take off all the armor they wore to the plate and then jug/walk toward the base. Most walk the entire way.

Should the ban be lifted? Yes, and it's simply because as a player Rose was the best example of a true love of the game. No, he didn't really care about other players, he wasn't nice, he was interested in winning for his own purposes. But he has to be on everyone's all-time team list simply because when he played he was playing to win and he played his hardest on every play. That's all you can ask and it qualifies him for Baseball. A lifetime ban is something completely different...I don't even know what would deserve a lifetime ban. There's a list of people banned and they are mostly drug users and gamblers. But the silliness of banning someone with vague conditions, like, have you learned your lesson? I don't get that because it sounds very grade school to me, something in 4th grade. As adults we have to accept that suspensions and punishments should be pro-active. Some good should come out of it. Sure, Rose bet on baseball and he probably lost a ton of money, so we're going to punish him for losing money? You think he wanted to lose money? He loved winning games more than he loved winning money. Any gambler will tell you there is no joy in winning money because it immediately comes with the realization of how much you've lost and how deep in the hole you still are and...hey is the line moving on NY? I'll take the Over. It's instantly forgotten and only the high of betting is where the thrill lies. The winning or losing is totally meaningless. It's the action. So, Rose deserved to be suspended, certainly. But lift the ban and let the teams decide if they want to hire him. That's a decision they will make on their own. Let the Journalists decide if he belongs in the Hall of Fame. It's too much power in the Commissioner's hands to execute a person's career like this. He can suspend them and investigate, but that's all he can do. Consider that Rose was losing $10,000 a day gambling...and maybe $25,000 a week. If he were getting rich of gambling then we could lynch him, but he was losing consistently. So, either he was betting against his own team...and accidentally coaching to win...or he was betting in favor of his team and then losing despite his best efforts. Either way, he sucked at gambling and ultimately played and coached as a competitor, not a gambler.

The last comment I want to make is on ticket scalping. Stub Hub is a ticket brokering network where people can buy tickets at premium rates. Season ticket holders sell their own tickets...and a $17 seat ends up costing $250. This practice is ignored by the Commissioner, who pretends to be interested in integrity. Fine, let's talk about integrity. Let's talk about $1000 for a family to go see a baseball game. How is that good for baseball? I ask you. It's no good and it's within the power of the Commissioner to change it for the integrity of baseball. Will they? No, because they don't care about the fan, they only care about money, which makes them 10x worse than Pete Rose, who was addicted to winning.

I ask you this, The Red Sox remained segregated, despite horrible win-loss record, for 14 years after baseball was desegregated. The 1st Commissioner of baseball, Kenesaw Landis did not oppose desegregation of baseball but he could not force a team to hire a black player. Isn't it possible to look at Pete Rose the same way? To investigate and publicize your findings, but then let the teams and journalists decide what to do. Rose was making bets from the dugout, so I assume the Reds management knew he was gambling, but they decided it was better for baseball to let him remain a coach.

Baseball is no more devoted to integrity than before, so don't be fooled. Baseball cares about money. Pete Rose cares about Pete Rose. Stub Hub cares about Stub Hub. They can talk about integrity, but there is very little in practice and Pete Rose is simply a scapegoat poster child of what happens when you don't play nice and get put in the corner. It's my belief that the game can be cleaned up in many ways to provide fans a better opportunity for honest entertainment.

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Self Portrait

Destined for a museum of modern art

I had a vision of starting a whole movement in painting with wax or tinted glue. I think that's sort of what stained glass paint is. Glue with tinting. But the recipe is not so simple to pull off as I added tinted watercolor paint to Elmers glue and got a weird paste. But a few times I got the right consistency and it applied well.

The main point is an ego scrub, what does Oggy look like to Oggy. Is self esteem tied to self-image? I think it is, but is a self-portrait an accurate self-image? The Hermann Hesse short story about Klingsor, the painter, whose last work is a self-portrait that has him crazed and in love and full of rage and hate, is telling. The portrait was also of Hesse as he saw himself writing the story of Klingsor painting himself. There were many layers of the onion. That reminds me of an eatery in Santa Cruz, the Glass Onion, named after the Beatles song.

My self portrait looks better with a background, but then the work itself becomes hard to see.

This is right side up, in case you were wondering
Incidentally, I buried this self portrait in the dirt because I couldn't stand to look at it, believing myself a failure at everything. also, it is glass without a frame and could not store it anywhere without breaking it or cutting myself. So I've set it adrift into the world, homeless and probably shattered emotionally.

Friday, December 11, 2015

Neuro-Linguistic Programming

Some good content here: I put Media toxicity at the highest alarm rates in degrees of importance. Critical thinking is paramount for any kind of logical development, and the media now seems to be an obstacle to critical thinking. Just based on the precautionary principle I would recommend eliminating all for-profit media from your life. It's mainly a programming tool right now and hinders critical thinking and is ensuring a state of philosophical chaos for humanity. There are so many media satellites in orbit that it's implausible to think about rendering them all offline. It's basically a paradigm where the worst manipulative elements of humanity are currently controlling information and although you can personally ignore it (arguably a vile ostrich approach to existence) you still can't expect everyone to ignore it, so you are trapped either as a sane person in an insane world or an insane person in an insane world. Maybe I'm overestimating how much people pay attention to and react to the News. But then I read something about beheading or political posturing, refugees, protests at mosques, and the rage in my heart tells me that I have been manipulated, and that others can be equally manipulated. So, if we have media that does antagonize and incite violence...then we do not have media, we have neuro-linguistic programming. And maybe we've always had NLP but I like to believe there was a time when we had something less toxic. I think NLP is not automatically an evil, although when it is used secretly embedded within news programming that is supposed to be unbiased information, then I must conclude it's misused. It can also be used in therapy, maybe some kind of patient responds to this reevaluation of self within a neuro-linguistic framework. I'm no expert, but I know the signs of importance when I see them. I've always wanted an analysis of Fox News and I see why no one wants to make one because it's tedious, but it's important. I went through months of analysis of right wing punditry to write an essay on the subject from an analytical perspective and this video demonstrates a more detailed analysis of NLP and media manipulation and the subtle crafting of political spin. I'm not sure if the narrator understand the two parties in the interview likely can only hear each other, so the manipulation that Hannity is doing is purely for the benefit of the audience. His whole goal is to cast a kind of spell on the audience, to entertain and beguile them. It's pure betrayal of critical thinking and I see now that the innocent start of Fox Channel with The Simpsons was a double-edged sword...maybe a textbook example of distraction and shock. While people were thinking Fox was subversive because they created The Simpsons...they were quietly creating a market of the adults who were lured to Fox for cartoons stayed for the entertaining news...and the spell took hold and they lost their minds. Very interesting.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Codependency Anthem

I finally solved the data issue between my phone and my computer (gracias to cheap hi-tech Chinese crap). But these HD cameras create gigantic video files so I have to compress the file so it will upload. This involves editing the footage and saving it as another movie.

Here's the Hoagy tune from 1939, the theme song of the distraught. 
Here's a cool story to go along with it:

I met a drunk girl with big lonely eyes at a bar. She was with her boyfriend but she just oozed self-destructive tendencies and was tired and depressed and I fell in love with her. I dreamed about her and jerked off thinking about her and looked for her at every bar. I thought I saw her vomiting in an alley and went down there to see if she was ok and it was not her and I said, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."
This went on all Summer and I wanted to kiss her and lay in bed and watch her smoke cigarettes and drive her to the Social Services office to pick up food stamps. We would make love tenderly and she would massage my prostate when I climaxed. Then I saw her boyfriend and we were talking and I was drunk and said, "I have a confession. I am in love with your girlfriend."
We were playing pool and the guy stopped in the middle of taking a shot at the 7 ball.
"Really? Because I've been looking to pawn her off on someone for months. I thought about you but I like you too much."
"But I love her depression, she's wounded."
"No, dude, she's terminal. I wasn't really dating her, she showed up on my doorstep and had nowhere else to go. I couldn't get rid of her."
"She's so dreamy. I could talk her out of slitting her wrists all day long."
"She'd be doing everyone a favor."
"Where is she now?" I asked with heavy desperation in my voice that translated to "Her silky hair beneath the wool beret, where are you my beloved, my angel, my devoted love?"
"Probably in jail. She's been indicted twice for murder." He took the shot at the 7 Ball and sunk it. We were playing 9 Ball and his leave put a lot of green between the cue ball and the 8.
I gasped with ecstasy. This would be the third girlfriend of mine to involve prison.
"Does she need help? I could work a second job to pay for her lawyer. Only the best for her, only the best for my beloved."
"Dude, have you even had a conversation with her? She's sniffing glue, drooling, she has no idea where she is. My 13 year old son finally told me that she has to get out of the house. Then she was shacked up with some junkie and the dude overdoses on her anti-psychotic medication, dies, the second junkie to do that with her drugs, and...hey, are you listening to me?"
I was dreaming of the old scar on her cheek that she didn't even bother to hide with make up, and wondered if it was self-inflicted or caused during one of the many sexual assaults her uncle perpetrated against her.
"I'm telling you that she's been indicted twice for homicide. They call her The Black Widow."
"Yeah, she's so awesome. So divine. Can I call her? Would you be offended?"
He eyed the 8 Ball and not only failed to sink it, but he left it hanging on the lip of the pocket...and the 9 Ball was near a side pocket.
"I think it's a really bad idea. She's sincerely sick, she's a junkie and she's mentally ill and she's homeless, has no direction, indicted for two murders, depressed, suicidal, refuses to take any birth control, fucks anyone, she..."
"So I can call her? Do you have her number?"
"Man, man, man..."
"I'll say that I found it in the phone book."
"Don't mention me at all. She fucking called the cops on me, said I had kidnapped her, talking crazy shit about alien abductions. She's bipolar to the max."
"I won't say nothing about you. I just want to take her walking in the park, play tennis with her, go to the theater and watch Grease or Cats because I love her."
"Tennis? Wow, you are hopeless, shit, good luck."
I stood up and sunk the 8 Ball and then sunk the 9 Ball shooting left handed, easy, like a pro. He shrugged and shook my hand.

So, he gives me the number and I call her immediately and tell her the most babbling drunk excuse in the history of cover-ups as to how I got her number and that I've dreamed about her all summer and wanted to meet her and brush her hair and take her to an ice cream shop downtown for ice cream and show her all the special spots around town that only I know about. Her tone of voice is exactly the opposite of how my fantasies about this conversation would be. I imagined she would be breathless and excited and echo all of my longing but instead she said, "Who is this? No I don't remember you. Did we fuck?" In a very gruff and displeased and bothered tone, very suspicious, very leery and annoyed and defensive. No trace of the affection I deeply desired. My heart broke a little. She tells me she will meet me at a bar and I say I can come get her and she says no, she will drive to me.

And so I wait all night nursing sad watery White Russians in polyester disguise, gay men rubbing my plaid knees, whorish bartenders showing cleavage for big tips. I keep asking the bartender what time it is? And the bartender tells me and I say my girlfriend is late. And the bartender gives no response. I tell strangers that my girlfriend is coming to meet me and we're going to the theater later on. And I tell this story for hours and hours until the bar closes and it's only me and I ask if they will stay open a little longer because I think my girlfriend is stuck in traffic. And I call her number again and it goes to voicemail and in my message I beg her to come to the bar. Is she ok?, I can come look for her and I am a mechanic and will fix her car if it is broken. And I talk until the voice mail runs out of memory and then I hold the cell phone like I'm holding her chin before I kiss it and then the bartender kicks me out rudely onto the street and drunk kids walk by and make fun of my polyester pants and jean jacket ensemble and I yell back, "You motherfuckers, I've got an REO Speedwagon concert pin, so fuck you, I've got the pin and my girlfriend and me are going to the Journey concert this summer and we're going to rock our denim jackets and I'll play her sad Hoagy Carmichael songs on the piano and she'll understand."

And the drunk kids throw empty beer cans at me and I wait in the fog but she never comes to the bar and never answers the phone again. Still, I think of her and how she was perfect for me and she wore a horizontal striped Russian Navy shirt and leaned heavily on the bar and had thin shoulders and I don't know why I love you like I do, I don't know why I just do.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015


The former occupant of my room was a tattoo artist who tattoos water color landscapes. He also painted the walls of his old room like Gauguin in Tahiti. And because I forgot my camera in San Jose I am forced to use a phone's camera and then upload it to a virtual hard drive (because the bluetooth on my computer is broken and I have no data cable) and then retrieve it and upload it again to blogger. These are the dirty details, behind the scenes trade secrets that only Oggy shares with people. And one option on my camera is to upload a scan...and the scan is a photo, that can be edited with the above watercolor effect...and then for some reason is saved as a PDF...that Oggy must reopen on his computer and save after downloading it and cropping it and snipping it with a screen capture. All these ridiculous steps to share a silly photo that was edited...

Photo Edit
I'm digging the guitar. I feel it will be another year or two before the sound starts to free up and my fingers adjust. But thus far I dig it and this picture really looks like a lover's tribute, the curves on the bed, the soft coloring, the undraped nakedness of the guitar and the erotic flowers and the exposed frame of the Nicaraguan hostel, tropical fireworks cracking outside, parades, Leonard Cohen songs drooling from the speakers. "I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best...I don't think of you that often." I want honesty and authenticity in a lover and that's what the guitar gives me, it doesn't tell me what I want to hear, its body language is clear, it gives me back what I give to it it speaks my language and is silent when I chase my primary keyboard love even though it can see me. It is not jealous because the guitar knows I will come back eventually and it will be waiting.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Holidays in the Tropics

The power went of to the whole town after I took this photo
Tropical Holidays means street fairs and parades every day, holy music sung at a church, Communion, nativity scenes and palm trees decorated in lights. It also means ridiculous blue skies and 80-89 degree days with water temperatures hovering around 82 degrees. The days glide by like manta rays flying over a gypsy drinking mojitos in a hammock.

Monday, December 7, 2015

NASA Readies Team to Retrieve Trump Images

Houston, Texas:

NASA has announced an emergency meeting to brief a top team of scientists in order to retrieve radio transmitted visual and audio data of Presidential Candidate Donald Trump from traveling further into Space, lest the data be intercepted by an alien life form and mistaken as representative Human behavior.

Gordon Thiel, director of NASA special affairs department announced that astronauts, radio engineers, physicists, and philosophers have been assembled to determine the best way to blockade images of Donald Trump posturing for the camera like an actor on Hee Haw.
Images like this, say NASA, must never be seen by aliens
"We're simply afraid that these images will be too much for an alien life form to fully comprehend and they will judge us based on this small selection of images and tasteless monologues and launch an immediate attack against us. Our morals committee has agreed that humanity's greatest threat right now is of an alien life form witnessing our slavish news coverage of this over dressed buffoon and mistakenly believing Trump is a worshiped demagogue who is beyond the reach of rational, emotionally healthy individuals. This alien life form may, in the view of our experts, believe that a culture that worships such an imbecile as Trump must be so dysfunctional and hopeless that they should be euthanized for the survival of the universe. It sounds far-fetched," said Dr. Thiel with a shrug and a smirk, "but unfortunately we don't see any alternative except to find a way to stop those images from going further into the universe. Call it censorship, call it New World Order. We honestly don't have any more time to waste because those digital broadcasts are traveling at the speed of light toward God Knows what hostile alien civilization just waiting for a reason to test their neutron bombs on an inferior life form. Obviously, Trump would be that reason."

The notion that the the Starship Probe Voyager would offset the balance of harm done by Trump's images was laughed off by assistant director Peter Donaldson. "No, the Voyager is traveling at a speed of 55,920 feet per second and will need nearly 20,000 years to realistically be intercepted by an alien life form. Trump's images may have already been viewed. We may be too late."

The Crew of Mission: Intercept
"Mission Intercept is ready to launch with the goal of harnessing the Sun's power to create a controllable black hole which will selectively suck back any broadcast tagged with Trump's meta-data. It's a lot of technical jargon but basically, it's our only hope. Unless someone else can come up with a better idea this is the direction we're going in right now. We can only pray the mission will succeed."

In response to the effect these images have on humans living on earth Donaldson winced. "We at NASA have moved on from trying to protect humanity from assaults by other humans. Our objective is to protect alien life forms from the effects of these toxic statements by this vile creature [Trump]."

When questioned about the Mission, unofficially called "Outer Space Dump Trump", Donald Trump himself said, "I like it! I donated a hundred dollars to NASA and it's good to see they are finally doing something with it. I just hope some of those astronauts are Democrats and they forgot to mail their absentee ballot. Ha! Vote Trump!" said Trump with the repulsive smirk and arrogant haughtiness he is known for.

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Memorabilia Snapshots

compelling evidence
Top Left: With my buddy D., Oggy climbs the 3 or 4 pitch Cathedral Ledge in the White Mountains one Fall. I have no idea which specific route we took but I know it was not too hard. Oggy is demonstrating a difficult pose that was required to slip through a narrow gap between his beard and the rock face. I remember falling around the 4th pitch, maybe 600 feet above the ground, my feet hurt so badly they lost grip. The ropes held, the anchors held. The friend at the sharp end of the rope had to belay me while hanging on his own anchor.
The Ledge from afar

I also remember rappelling down one ledge and accidentally unhooking the tether line. What is worse is that I don't remember unhooking it. So this would disqualify me from flying for the Navy because I'm required to have 100% recall and there was simply a time when I hooked that tether on me and then a time when I realized it was gone and laying at the bottom of the ledge. If I had to guess I would say a subliminal death wish took over and set me up for a tragic fall. I have to use the precautionary principle and assume I'm mentally imbalanced for technical rock climbing. This is too bad because the experience is exciting, but unfortunately the shoes cause my crippled toes to bleed every time I climb because they are crammed into those tight rock climbing shoes. So, it's no great loss to the sport. I can see I'm wearing wool military surplus sweater and shorts over blue long underwear: classic Fall climbing wardrobe.

Top Right: Embarrassing photo shoot in San Francisco, with the idea that I would walk into an agency on Market Street and sit with the chiseled gay men and women who were taller than me with huge heads of hair and get a contract. I was pale, didn't go to the gym and smelled like horse shit because I worked with horse shit every day. And I guess I thought a white shirt, western string tie and black pants were a good idea. My hair went over my head like a cape. I spent a lot of money going back and forth to those fashion agencies and they treated me like I was complete dirt. For the record, I did not wake up one day and think I should be a model, someone told me I could make $500 a day wearing boxer shorts and so I cleaned myself up and went to S.F. rolling the dice on my chinline and narrow skull. If I had stayed in costume with manure and ranch wear I probably stood a better chance of getting hired, but not much better.

Bottom: The reason I smelled like horse shit was because I was living in a trailer surrounded by horse shit. My job was to shovel horse shit every day of 7 horses, feed them hay, keep their stalls from falling apart, corral the sheep and chickens and pigs and shoot at the coyotes who tried to steal the eggs. That earned me a free place to stay on the side of a hill in a pervert's mansion which included a piano that I stuffed in there, my first piano, and a refrigerator that was outside covered with a piece of plywood. In the day I would work for an illegal contractor doing mostly ridiculous landscaping and remodeling jobs that made no sense to me. I was constantly digging up trees or digging holes for a mail box post. On the Weekends I took the train to S.F. and begged fashion agencies to dress me up in underwear and take photos of me. Eventually, this got old so I took some classes at the nearby community college, learned that I qualified for a full tuition scholarship at any CSU system college and decided Humboldt State University was where I should go. But for about 2 years I was a horse caretaker. I have no idea whose Volvo that is in the picture.


Should I even attempt an analysis of current events in my condition? I shouldn't, but it is my duty as a philosopher. I have chosen the career path of the philosopher/social critic and though heaped with scorn and derision I have fulfilled my objectives. I did what I set out to do. It has cost me my sanity and my emotional well-being but it's also entertained the woeful court of drunken jesters and that detail entertains me so the cycle is complete. My limbs feel like they are made of soggy canvas of a Cuban refugee raft or Haitian inner-tube floating to safety. I want to write a haiku to the Cuban refugees:

Haiku to Cuban Refugees

The jungle creeps in
on the drunken immigrant.
Lust for Miami

Current events has kept me hiding with the dust bunnies under this Nicaraguan hostel bed that hasn't been moved since Somoza was still an item on an Indian Restaurant Menu. The Chikunguna music festival has an open ticket policy and balloon lanyards float like guitar riffs in the dry Hollywood Bowl.

We harvest our own discord on the backs of cheating hearts and frozen assets in a nostalgia dream. You know who you are who cling to the threads of an imposed emotional refugee. I defy you to watch this Tom Petty* video from when Oggy looked like this:

1988 Fenway Park: vintage patina on memorabilia snapshot

and NOT come away with your life altered. You don't have to live like a refugee....but the Cubans would disagree, they are refugees and they have to live like refugees. I dedicate this Tom Petty tune to the Cubans living on cardboard hopes and dreams in the gravel parking lot of the American Dream. Oggy never looked better...he's a cripple now and an emotional refugee chasing rabbit dreams in the big jangle night.

One mass shooting in Georgia is eclipsed by a bigger mass shooting in California, like a fucking horse on a bad trip kicking you in the forehead this tasty bit of shit sticks on the roof of your mouth like cheap peanut butter from the Ocean Job Lots discount aisle.

Oggy went snorkeling the other day looking for the broken emotional pieces lost in the immigration from youth to adulthood. Wouldn't that be more interesting than gold, to hunt for bits of emotional stability? Oggy destructs his self-hood in pursuit of a unified self-hood, his buffet. The hypocrisy is written on his eyeballs backwards so he can read it when he sleeps. Oggy lives in  Pepperland cavern hidden from view where he analyzes and reanalyzes his mistakes and his trespasses, alternately judging the puerile phantom culture propagandized in the press and also loathing the dark roots that have poisoned his hypertension heart. It's an '80s soap opera that has no good endings so we postpone the guaranteed disaster until the moths of mass shooting appear. Two of them in one day. And what is it all mean, you think you know and pontificate with your belly against the walnut bar but you actually have no fucking clue and are out of your element. Amateur philosophers are easily exposed by their pathetic stroke in deep waters. Don't bother. Stick you Family Guy, stick to date rapes and Campus crime and continued faux support of cause celebre bullshit. Omnipotent and dark chasm where the nostalgic fools never return. All the butterfly cuff links in the world can't save a savage savant.

The term terrorism seems to be thrown around by a lot of couch potatoes on steroids and anti-depressants. I got no time for pundits who don't define their terms and assume previous pundits have trained the humanzees to think. Well, I'm not down with that trip so here's my definition of terrorism:
Terrorism must include three elements: 1) acts of anti-social behavior....2) those who perform acts of anti-social behavior...3) and pundits/gurus/leaders who incite, instigate, misinform, manipulate and encourage, celebrate those anti social acts.

This is mostly what is implied when asshole CNN faces moan about 'terrorism' but since it is never explained or defined I am not sure.  But I do know that terrorism differs from your random spree killer by a simple tangible connection between anti-social behavior and an instigator/encouraging element who was not directly involved in the anti-social act, but whose punditry specifically encourages such an act.

I'm not going to outline every scenario because it gets subjective. Let us all use the term 'terrorism' at least in a situation that is not reserved for the casual lunatic.Speaking of casual lunacy, I think I'll make a prediction based on current events: Since Republican candidates are already more concerned about plastic bags than assault rifles and bloviating about "we need a war-time president" because that prepares voters for an assault on every level...I predict an eventual war between Muslims and Christians. I see it as self-fulfilling. The conditions in America will eventually deteriorate to a violation of religious freedoms beyond simply protesting at a mosque and involve ID cards, food rationing...and lack of access to other constitutional freedoms. This will force Muslims to either leave or to organize and defend their rights. That clash will lead to an explosion of violence and a choosing of sides and I think the Religious nuttery will supersede jingoistic allegiance and the religions will fight to the death for the next century. This may be the ultimate Republican goal because War is their domain and the country associates war with Republican values so they will vote Republican in time of war. Thus Republicans need war to maintain power and they consider American voters collateral damage in their sick quest for control. If Americans were slightly smarter or valued critical thinking then this quest would fail but incredibly the conditions are perfect for a hostile coup by a war hawk organization that will lead to decades of civil war. Honestly, America is overdue for upheaval and is actually overdue for being overthrown, but the marketing machine has figured out that you must maintain superficial regularity while the overthrow is happening behind the scenes. That way, the term "America" can be thrown around to unify people when it is a meaningless statement since around the 1950s when Hoover and Ike conspired to eliminate America's self-determination. 

In other happy news, when the police force acts as judge, jury, and executioner then you have a failed state.

* I walked into a music store in Shreveport, Louisiana and the owner said, "Are you Tom Petty?" I said, "Dig it. Give me that Les Paul and put it on Mick Jagger's bill."

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Funny Stuff

I was appalled about 2 minutes into Victor Frankenstein. Every trope and dusty cliche had been unleashed on this script. The production, the sepia, the dramatic forced moments. The trapeze artist as seen from below by the lonely circus hunchback...I actually laughed out loud and yelled, "Have him cry! Make the hunchback cry so I can be absolutely sure he loves the trapeze artist with all his heart! MAKE THAT DIRTY HUNCHBACK CRY!" The mango salesman next door told me to be quiet.

What an abysmal disaster this movie is. What a vile mess. I wish wish wish it had been accepted that it needed to be a parody. It was like the director wanted to make a parody of this train wreck but he decided to be clever and shoot it like he was serious, but didn't tell anyone else he was making a parody, except maybe McAvoy who set up camp on Parody Avenue with a performance that Mel Brooks couldn't have loved more. I feel that Miss Piggy should've been a failed experiment from the past but was still animated and waddled around serving drinks from a built in cooler on her ass. Now, that would've been funny. But not as funny as the comments I read about Victor F.

Xavier is the X-Man character James McAvoy plays. And Harry potter is the hunchback actor, Daniel blah blah. Never ending laughs
These people are funny without even trying. God bless their ignorance and vapid immersion in pop culture so deeply they are not even cognizant of how despicable they are. "Creed was great, shut up!" says Ray. That's such a classic line I'm going to get it tattooed on my back. I really don't miss how vacuous the movie industry is.

Movies are getting to be all parodies of other movies.

Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.