Father Knows Best I always wanted a father like the fathers on TV: Ward Cleaver, Mike Brady. I wanted a father who wore a tie and carried a briefcase and went to the office. I wanted a father who called "family meetings" and talked to me "man-to-man." But my old man was different. He came home at five fifteen with sawdust in his hair. By five twenty-five he was asleep. At five forty-five I'd wake him. He'd take off his coveralls and we'd eat. His hands were greasy and tipped with thick yellow nails. They looked like a mass of molten black iron and glass: something found in the ruins of a burnt house. In spite of all this, I tried to act like a TV kid. "Did you bring me anything?" I'd ask. He looked at me as if I were naked. It occurred to me one day, "Charles Ingalls works with his hands. Maybe he can be like Charles Ingalls." "That jackass," my old man said. I stopped my dreaming one Sunday when my old man called from the basement. "Hey junior," he said. "Come down here and help me with this." He had built this weird looking thing out of a lantern battery, a black metal cylinder, and a mass of copper wire. The whole thing was mounted on a sheet of plywood. "Here, hold this wire," he told me. I did. What did I know? I was ten. He picked up another wire and grabbed my free hand. The shock hit me like a medicine ball. Before the electricity left my body, I started to imagine the potential this new toy held. Almost immediately, I was calling for my brother, my mom, the cat. I wanted to shock the world. Put the fear of Frankenstein into every man and beast. Most of all, I wanted to jold Ward Cleaver, Mike Brady, Charles Ingalls. "That jackass," my old man said.
I think I will post some more of these in the coming days. I do remember this one, since it is a true story, but there are so many that are completely new to me, as if they were written by someone else. This is fun.
-------- TITLE: Change is coming. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 2/16/2005 03:44:00 PM ----- BODY:
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TITLE: Speculative Bullshit
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/15/2005 02:20:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"I'm sorry," the drunk guy at the bar said to his friends as the Kid Rock song came on the jukebox for the second, perhaps third time that night. "I just love this song so much. I can't help it." Then he stared off into space with a look of sheer ecstacy on his face as Kid Rock did whatever it is that Kid Rock does.
This really struck me, because I think Kid Rock is pretty stupid. I started to think about how even though he does nothing for me, people obviously like something about him, because they consume his albums like crazy. The same goes for so many others.
I've come to the conclusion that a person's chances of liking a particular song or not depend on two things: 1) the person's life experience, and 2) the person's previous exposure to, and appreciation of, other songs up until that very point in time. The variables and elements in this equation are too complex to pin down, exactly. I ask myself, why do I love Gary Jules' cover of the Tears for Fears song, "Mad World" so much? Part of it has to do with the excellent movie Donnie Darko (the Director's Cut was released today on DVD--mine is on the way!) and the scene at the end where that song appears. But I'd go nuts over the song anyway. Why? I have no idea.
I want to make a mix CD consisting of songs that completely grabbed me the first time I heard them, and continue to grab me throughout the years. Hm. This sounds like fun.
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TITLE: El Weekendo
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/14/2005 12:13:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Here is the post where I'm supposed to brag about what a great weekend I had, all the stuff I did, yadda yadda yadda.
My god did it kick ass. Still, I don't really feel like writing about it, because words can't do it justice.
Video, however, can describe it very well. It pretty much went a lot like this. [WMV, 283Kb]
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TITLE: Yippee Skippee
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/10/2005 06:15:49 PM
-----
BODY:
Man, am I ever gleeful today. Today is the first day in my four-day/three-night vacation, which I began last night when I got off work a full two hours early and went immediately to sleep after coming home. I sprang out of bed at the bright and early hour of 10am, and I've been tossing back the caffiene and slacking about ever since.
One of the things I impulsively did today was to wander into Central Sales. I love that store. I don't think I've ever purchased anything there, but holy crap they have a lot of crap there, and luckily I had my camera in tow. Check my Flickr photostream, man. Cherubs playing basketball. 'Nuff said.
In case you missed the 
I have no idea when and if this will run in print, since The Ripsaw is having a little trouble at the moment.
What I want to know is, when writing this story, why did the Trib decide to interview the publishers of Milk, a zine that has no advertisments and has had only one issue? Does the paper really place The Ripsaw in that category? Is all alternative media the same thing? At what level do the two publications compete?
And why not mention The Wave?
I'm so inquisitive.
--------
TITLE: Lately, I've been drawing these.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/08/2005 05:54:34 PM
-----
BODY:
Excuse the blurriness. I'm learning this new image program.
--------
TITLE: Superior Insomnia
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/08/2005 04:56:41 AM
-----
BODY:
On Sunday morning I woke up at an ungodly hour and couldn't get back to sleep. So naturally, I wandered the streets of downtown Superior, Wisconsin.
Like most Duluthians, I rarely see Suptown in the light of day. Or sober for that matter.
Here is the obligatory video. [WMV, 4Mb]
Sweet, gentle lord. Look what we've done to this city.
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TITLE: Horrifying.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/05/2005 04:31:55 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Death from above ... and below.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/04/2005 06:04:31 AM
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BODY:
Ok. First things first: I almost got killed.
So I'm standing in my kitchen, kind of groggy because I haven't been awake for very long. I'm sipping some good coffee, waiting for a friend to pick me up, peering out my side door now and then. I can't actually leave the house that way at this time of year, because the steps are trecherous. But the window is convenient to peer out of. It's warm outside, so I think for a second about hanging out on the side deck to wait, but for some reason I decide against it.
Just then, there is a sound like the world is ending. The house literally shakes, and I go immediately into panic mode because ... well, what IS this? An earthquake? I'm darting around in circles not knowing what to do.
It takes a few seconds for me to realize what has happened: the gigantic ice dam on the roof has slid off onto the deck where I was just going to stand. Not only that, but a lot of it has also slid across the deck and down the stairs, since the whole works is glazed with ice. We're talking a whole effing lot of ice here, folks. Ice that almost decapitated me, or at the least, knocked me down the ice-glazed, ladder-like staircase.
I'm sure my new neighbors heard it and thought, what the hell is that guy upstairs doing? Yeah, that's right, I have new neighbors living downstairs -- the landlord actually rented the place out immediately after the remodeling was done, which is outrageous considering the inflated price he was asking. Maybe they talked him down, I don't know. I haven't even laid eyes on the people, and didn't even know there was anyone living there until the landlord called yesterday and said, "Uh, there are people living downstairs now. Why don't you limit the shoes you leave in the front hall to like, three pairs."
I suppose they're good neighbors, since I didn't even hear them move in and haven't heard anything more from them than an occasional door closing. The trouble is, they smoke, and now the whole place reeks like cigarettes.
It's really weird. I've been living here without neighbors for a year and a half; most of that time, I've lived completely alone. Now suddenly there are these strange people living here with me.
I don't like entering into relationships that I haven't chosen. You chose the people you want to have as friends, and hang around them only when you want to. You chose your romantic partner, too. But when you rent, you normally have no power over who lives next to you or beneath you. Fate has chosen what kind of person has sex four feet from where you eat breakfast.
You don't choose your family, either, but that's a lot different. I'm reminded of this Kurt Vonnegut novel, Slapstick, which is about a set of genius twins who are so smart that they discover as toddlers that their lives will turn out much better if they pretend to be drooling idiots who can't even feed themselves.
Anyway, these twins invent all kinds of things that make the world better, and one of their ideas is a smashing success. One of the twins becomes president, and has everyone in the US assigned a random middle name. After that, everyone who has the same middle name is officially related according to the government, so now everyone has a large extended family that they can call upon wherever they go.
Someone brings up a good point. What if people keep coming to you and making demands on you, and they're crazy? Or what if you just don't want to help them? The president simply points out that these people are family, and under such circumstances you should do what people in traditional families do: "Tell them to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. Tell them to take a flying fuck at the MOOOOOOOON!"
So all I'm saying is, I'd be a lot happier in this situation if my neighbors would go on the patch. And I'd be a lot happier in general if I could reserve my flying-fuck rights as well.
--------
TITLE: I blog in a circle of light.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/02/2005 05:48:47 AM
-----
BODY:
Literally. I have almost always done this. I sit in the computer room/office/man-den, and the only light in the room comes from the screen. It's as if the rest of the room, or even the world, doesn't exist and whatever I am typing is confidential, just between me and the blog, with no one else involved. I suppose it's the same concept as the psychiatrist's couch.
Somewhere off to my left is a cup of tea. The optical mouse has a faint red glow to my right. Everything else is dark, especially after I've been staring at the bright screen for awhile. Eventually the room ceases to exist and I become the Internet. This is when the magic happens, for me at least.
Now and then, however, I'm forced to turn on the big overhead light or enter this room during the day. It is at these times when I look around the room, my eyes exploring all the random objects, and realize that this room is a total fucken pigsty.
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TITLE: Faster than your cousin Wendy after a couple of Jello shots
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/01/2005 07:44:25 PM
-----
BODY:
So, what happened was, after I got my big cable upgrade, my Internet connection didn't seem fast enough. Not that it was slow. It just wasn't the lightning-speed connection I was promised. As is my wont, I delayed any kind of complaint. I just wasn't ready to hear the inevitable: That's as fast as it gets, hon.
Anyway, this morning I called the demon cable company and complained. The woman who answered was all like, "Did you do blah blah blah?" And I was like, "No." And she was like, "Well, you do bliddy blip, and I'm gonna skip dee skizzy do, and we'll see if that works."
Long story short, my connection is now so fricken fast I have to wear a seat belt. I'm searching for all kinds of junk to download now, just so I can watch the green progress bar zip from left to right. God bless Starfire for continuing to vlog, is all I have to say.
--------
TITLE: How it works
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/01/2005 06:15:44 AM
-----
BODY:
At risk of belaboring a point, here are some things I've learned during my vampiric winter:
- When you sleep in the day, it's really difficult to keep track of time. I think that the variations in light during the day help us remember which day is which and what happened when. In other words, if Tuesday is cloudy and Saturday is really sunny, it's easier to hold those days individually in your mind than if you always are asleep during sunlight hours. Nights always look the same, unless you're really into stargazing or something. When you combine this with the fact that I work six days a week, I really can't keep track of time at all. Ask me what I did on the weekend, and I'm like, "Uh. Um. When was the weekened again? Oh. Uh. OK."
- There is a strange sleep/wake window at certain times of the day. In other words, if you stay awake until it's fully daytime, like after 9:30am or so, your body then believes that it is DAYTIME, and you should NOT BE SLEEPING. Likewise, if you sleep past dusk, it becomes very difficult to get up even if you've had 10 hours of sleep. Sometime I'd like to do an experiment where I wake up at 6pm, then just allow myself to go back to sleep and see how many hours I can remain unconcious. I suspect it's around 14.
- Lately, I've been experiencing something I like to call "Daylight Cravings Time." It works like this. I go to sleep at my normal time, around 7-8am. I wake up around 9-10am, and I am WIDE AWAKE. I feel fully rested and ready to start my day. I force myself to go back to sleep only to wake up again, feeling wide awake again, around noon. After some struggle, I go to sleep again, then wake up in the late afternoon with daylight either gone entirely or rapidly waning, and I feel like I haven't slept at all. I'm tired all night until dawn approaches, at which time I am filled with energy.
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TITLE: Sometimes, bodies are gross
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/31/2005 06:30:17 AM
-----
BODY:
So a mere 12 hours after I get into a conversation about whether or not men can, in fact, breastfeed, good ol' cable TV comes to the rescue with the Discovery Health program, Men With Breasts. Yes, it turns out. Some men under some circumstances can indeed lactate.
Discovery Health is the weirdest fricken channel on the dial by far. Tonight, for example, there's a big double feature: You Swallowed What? followed by When Surgical Tools Get Left Behind.
No wonder I can't sleep.
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TITLE: The latest obsession.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/30/2005 09:57:27 AM
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BODY:
I am completely hooked on podcasts. Completely. Obsessed. Hooked. Infatuated.
If you're unfamiliar, here's the skinny: Invented by former MTV VJ Adam Curry, podcasts are basically radio shows recorded at home by amateurs and posted on the Internet, blog-style. You can go to each site and individually download each podcast and listen to it on your computer, but the best way to listen to them is to get an aggregator such as iPodder, which automatically downloads all of your favorite podcasts for you whenever it's convenient. I set mine to do it while I'm sleeping. I wake up, update my iPod, and now I have hours of shows to take with me.
See, I am the ultimate podcast audience, since I listen to headphones for 5-7 hours a day, 6 days a week. I'm always needing new content, and podcasting provides it for me, with no financial or time investment on my part.
Anyway. Here are some of the podcasts I've been listening to. I'll probably end up posting more in the future.
The Dawn & Drew Show (website | feed)
The A-1, most popular podcast in the world, with good reason. It's funny as all hell, and I could listen to it all night. Drew Domkus of Wisconsin was one of the first geeks to do a podcast, but the problem was, it was really boring. Then his wife, Dawn Miceli, stepped in and turned everything around. The show consists of the two of them sitting on their living room floor and talking about whatever, and it's always hilarious and usually raunchy and juvenile. As they describe it, the show is just how they talk all the time. Sometimes they have guests, like the time they called up a friend of theirs to describe the time she did crack. But mainly it's jokes about leprachauns, Coca-cola, and blowjobs.
Daily Source Code (website | feed)
This is Adam Curry's podcast, which deals mainly with the subject of podcasting. There's lots of techy, geeky talk about gear and software, but there's also a lot of suggestions about other podcasts to listen to, which is the best part. It has a professional feel, mainly because of Adam's VJ voice, but you get the real podcast feel too when he starts yelling at his dogs or has to stop recording to answer his phone.
Tracks Up The Tree (website | feed)
Funtime Ben and his buddy Josiah play indie music and jabber on endlessly. It's sort of funny, but what this show is lacking is any kind of serious discussion of the bands that are played. Since this is all "podsafe" music, the bands are all people you've never heard of. I'd like to know some more background stuff about the bands, and why they are chosen, since if all I wanted was to find anonymous indie music, I could just surf around on the web and find it myself.
Coverville (website | feed)
At first I was a bit put off by the amateurishness of this show. Brian the host is sort of a nerd, but he really knows his stuff. Each show features about 5-6 cover songs, many of which are played by request. I like this show and now it doesn't seem amateurish at all.
What They Sang To Me (website | feed)
This podcast is a good idea, but very poorly executed. The host David Johnson chooses one song, describes what he likes about it, then plays the song. The best part is when the description is really personal, like when he tells an anecdote about the first time he heard the song, or something like that. Trouble is, these descriptions are rare. Usually, he just tells the "story" of the lyrics, and talks about how cool the guitar part is. But the worst part is that when he plays the song, he talks over it. "OK. OK. Here's where the drums come in...YEAH! OK. Now this is that one part I told you about, where his girlfriend dies... OK. OK. Check out these background singers..." I've stopped listening to this show, but I'd like to see a podcast similar to the "My Life In Music" blog posts that I and a bunch of other bloggers did a few months back.
The Daily Download (website | feed)
Host Chris Rockwell is a great multi-tasker who makes efficient use of his time. The gimmick here is that every day, he records a show while going #2. (His goal is to get a sponsor to give him a year's supply of TP--the really soft kind.) There's the inevitable poop and ass jokes, but there's also telephone interviews, sometimes interrupted by Chris saying something along the lines of, "Hang on a second, I gotta push." God bless the Internet.
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TITLE: I'm Tired.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/27/2005 06:15:31 AM
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BODY:
But I won't leave you empty handed.
Go here.
Then come back and thank me very much.
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TITLE: Speech Recognition Poetry
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/24/2005 05:46:02 AM
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BODY:
Microsoft Word comes with a speech recognition component, which must be "trained" to recognize your voice. It also helps a lot if you use a good microphone. However, after some experimenting, I've found that when you speak into an old set of headphones and don't train it at all, MS Word makes its own poetry through not understanding a single word you're saying.
Here's the result from reciting Shakespeare's Sonnet 48 into speech recoginition. [Tip for schoolkids: This isn't even plagerism!]
- - -
Sonnet 48 ("Translated")
So here was winning
Each tried to install and
Then to mine use in mind: They
Prone a N. pearl Olson The issue were words of trust
But now to my age and tried all are
Most were indeed prowl my greatest.
The best of his pen mine only two years
Part (a very remote. The Then revolve. He
The headline not locked up any chance of
They were found not part of the fuel I feel the of
They came again so low assurance]
Phone when south placer No means, and Before
Any even then Bill will he still live here
For truth proves the bench for a broad and so you your problem
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TITLE: Laws...Huh.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/21/2005 06:27:15 AM
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BODY:
God bless Russ Stewart. Apparently, he is going to begin an effort to remove the stupid laws from the books, beginning with Duluth's controversial anti-loitering ordinance, which so many people fought so hard to pass, but no one has ever seen the need to enforce.
The anti-loitering ordinance is one example of the misguided attempt of some of our citizens and leaders to mandate civility. See, there are a lot of things that people do that are more or less harmless, but can be somewhat annoying. Instead of responding to these folks by simply behaving as a shining example of kindness and good citizenship, some people respond by getting angry and passing laws to force them to be nice. They're kind of like the father who says "We're going to have a nice family evening together whether you like it or not."
The Trib is sort of spearheading its own forced civility campaign with its series, "The Unshoveled Truth," wherein it invites citizens to submit photographs of their neighborhood's illegally unshoveled sidewalks, which it will publish so to humiliate the neighbors into complying with Duluth's 24-hour shoveling ordinance.
Now, I'm a decent and timely shoveler. Just last night, for example, I brought out the heavy-duty coal shovel to chip a wide path through the 4-foot-high, 6-foot-wide concrete-like mountain left on my boulevard by the snowplow. I'm not legally bound to do this, but I did it just to be nice to the people who visit me, and to myself for that matter.
However, this move by the DNT is insane. Sure, it gives some satisfaction to the shovel-happy nuts in our community, but how many people can that be? And who the hell cares about people who are that mean? Old Lady Anderson down the street hasn't shoveled her sidewalk, and it's been TWO DAYS since the snowfall! What? I don't care if she's 80 years old and has artificial hips! Burn that bitch at the stake! Yeah, let's give that guy some satisfaction.
But then again, I start to think about Super One Foods in West Duluth, and its refusal to clear the sidewalk that runs along the side of its building. This refusal forces me to walk out in the street every day to and from work, with cars whizzing past me, honking and splashing sludge on my Fluevogs. Sure, I could use a different, safer route with clear sidewalks, but I should be able to use the fast route and the sidewalk that is currently buried under four feet of impacted snow. And if that isn't bad enough, whenever I shop there I end up ditching my cart just outside their door and carrying my groceries two blocks home, instead of pushing the cart all the way down the sidewalk and ditching it in the snowbank a mere half-block from my house. They need to accommodate this habit, dammit! One of those bags could easily break, spilling my 18 cans of Chunky Soup all over the street.
Listen, Super One, you are not allowed to make me spill my Chunky Soup all over the street. That's the job of the Rustic Bar.
Fucken A, man. Now I'm upset. To hell with these ideals. I'm reporting the Super One to the DNT, just you watch. And the rest of you lazy bastards in this town better get moving. There's a storm approaching tonight, and I have rather effective digital camera and a big ol' chip on my shoulder. Old Lady Anderson -- I am talking about you.
In the meantime, if anybody needs me, I'll be at the Rustic.
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TITLE: A couple notes is all.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/20/2005 05:31:31 AM
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BODY:
- I found this thing recently, and I've been testing it out in a combination of annoyance and fascination. I think it's the interface that I don't like, as it reminds me of awful javascript-based websites, animated GIFs, etc. Why is it so irritating when things move around on a web page? But I like the idea, and I would like to see something similar for movies and books.
- I started listening to Podcasts last night at work, and now I have a whole other thing to get hooked on. I only had time to find and download one podcast, so I chose Coverville which I thought was potentially pretty cool, considering my love of good cover songs. If anyone knows of any other good podcasts, I'd like to hear about them, because I have, like, hours and hours of listening time every night.
- It appears that Spacewaitress has dismantled her blog after some serious reflection. I'd say I'm disappointed, but I completely understand the desire to do that. Plus, my opinion doesn't count for much, being as I just linked to a 404 on purpose.
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TITLE: Oh, so sweeeeet!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/17/2005 07:46:46 PM
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BODY:
Hey! Remember back when my computer fouled up and I almost completely lost everything?
The thing I was worried about most was my vast, vast music collection. So what I did was, I backed the whole thing up on DVDs. What I didn't report, because I was so sick of posting lousy news, was that after everything was taken care of virus-wise, half of the DVDs didn't work.
HOWEVER. I had a backup backup plan. Only I didn't want to implement it for fear that that, too, wouldn't work. I am ecstatic to say that as of this morning, all music has been restored, along with some new, amazing functionality heretofore unseen.
This morning, I went to this site and downloaded a program called XPlay 2, which is simply awesome.
See, the problem with iPods is that normally you can only move music from the computer to the iPod. However, with XPlay 2 installed, you can move music in the opposite direction as well. Luckily, I was smart enough to keep my iPod intact.
Another great thing (some would say) is that I can now transfer music from ANY iPod to my computer, and from my computer to ANY iPod. Not that I would do such a thing. Oh, no, never.
Uh, call me.
[note: a similar program -- iPod Access -- is available for Macs at www.findleydesigns.com]
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TITLE: Burnin' Down the House
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/17/2005 06:12:03 AM
-----
BODY:
Burnin' Down the House
Originally uploaded by Barrett. For years, whenever I've seen my living quarters from the freeway (no matter where those quarters might be) I've always imagined smoke and fire pouring out of the window. So anyway, this morning as I was walking home from work, there was smoke everywhere. This is no big deal usually, because the Stora Enso Paper Mill is right by my house, and huge amounts of steam billow out of it constantly, especially in cold weather. But this was different. This stuff was right next to the ground. Cars on the street had to nearly stop as visibility was nonexistent. Then I noticed that it was concentrated around my block, and that there were flashing lights there, too. I ran. I sprinted. In the subzero cold. My iPod still blaring. I couldn't help but think I had left the stove on when I prepared my prework meal. But I am just paranoid. The smoke turned out to be just the usual paper-mill steam, which had momentarily drifted down to street level. The flashing lights were from a snow plow. I arrived at home a minute or so early, with a numb face and raspy, icy lungs. It ain't easy bein' me. -------- TITLE: Sorry, but I had to beat the Onion AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/15/2005 05:45:07 PM ----- BODY:
-------- TITLE: Should we talk about the weather? AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/13/2005 06:10:45 AM ----- BODY: Man, it feels good when you look out the window to see about a million feet of snow, then realize you have a snowblower. You fire that bastard up, crank the controls all the way from turtle to rabbit, pop it in gear and you're fricken rolling, baby. It's 6am and the snow in the street is still up to my eyeballs, but my sidewalks are clean, clean, clean. And I stink like a gas-huffer. And hey, speaking of shoveling, my brother-in-law Paul is a good citizen who shovels with pride. Now it's going to be -30° to -50° for the next couple of days. When this winter BS first started, I was kind of grumbly about it, but now that it's extreme, I think it's pretty awesome. So stay in and keep yourself warm with the new Low video, Death of a Salesman, which is world premiering on Perfect Duluth Day. (Tell your friends.) -------- TITLE: Christ. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/10/2005 02:58:02 PM ----- BODY:
portion of a handbill received with my paystub
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TITLE: Oh, joy. More good news.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/08/2005 05:09:50 AM
-----
BODY:
Well, the good news is I am told that I will have a job of some sort when all is said and done.
The bad news is that the location of that job will probably not be in Duluth.
2004, I thought I was through with you.
Details here: Postal Facility to Close
--------
TITLE: Thoughts on Colleen Shannon
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/06/2005 05:31:06 AM
-----
BODY:
So with all this talk about vlogs lately, I started thinking about starting my own, and then realized that the danger of starting a vlog is the risk of turning into the next Colleen Shannon.
For the uninitiated, Colleen Shannon had a public access TV show here in the Twin Ports back in the early '90s called "In My Room." In it, she would just sit in front of the camera and talk candidly for an ENTIRE HOUR. New shows aired weekly, I believe, but the episodes aired many times, so it seemed like she was always on the television.
I was sort of addicted to "In My Room." It was very rambling and disjointed. Most of the monologues had to do with politics. Colleen was very upset with the world, and in her rants she would often break down and cry. Every episode began and ended with music played on her stereo.
Toward the end of her stint on public access, she reached out and invited the public to join her. She wanted others to come on the air and talk about whatever it was they wanted to talk about. No one took her up on it, except a couple of punk kids who made their own version of Colleen's show called "In My Glass Of Puke."
In her way, Colleen Shannon was a pioneer vlogger, and I wonder if she's online. I used to see her around downtown every now and then, but I haven't for several years.
I have to hand it to her for being courageous, though. It doesn't seem that hard to put yourself on the Web, but doing the same thing on television is a whole other story. Especially when what you're doing is describing how you make reusable sanitary-pads out of sponges from Hardware Hank.
--------
TITLE: Thoughts on Jason Johnson
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/04/2005 08:02:47 PM
-----
BODY:
So I'm reading this book I Hate Bush and So Do You by Reader Weekly columnist Jason Johnson, who happens to be my co-worker (or, to use Jason's word, fellow "postman"). The book is a compilation of Johnson's columns from 1999-2003, and I had no idea it existed until I accidentally came across it at the library.
My favorite parts of the book occur when the subject strays from politics and into a more personal realm, namely that of Jason's job, which is the same as my job. Here's an excellent example from his May 31, 2001 article, "The Decline and Fall of the Midwestern Work Ethic" in which he discusses his award for perfect attendance (an award which I received in 1999, incidentally):
Then, earlier this year, I was given an award for my perfect attendence for the year of 2000. I was told to stand and receive applause from my co-workers for this award. It was a touching, humbling experience until I realized that I got this award for literally just showing up. Ever hear of contests that give awards for crossing the finish line within the lifetime of an elm tree? This is that award!
I wasn't asked to give a speech, or it would have gone like this: "I'd like to thank my co-workers for having some kind of life outside work, thereby rewarding me for my limited obligations. I'd particularly like to thank my female co-workers; if any of you had actually gone out with me, I might not have been free to work all those weekends. And I'd like to thank the rest of you for catching my flu, which I brought to work with me because I couldn't afford an unscheduled absence." I would then eat lunch in the cafeteria alone.
That is gold, Jason Johnson. Gold.
I especially like that last line, because although Jason works in the same place as I do, doing the same things, at the same time of day, often even sitting right next to me, I have never spoken to him in my life. I have never said hello, and I have never even said something as impersonal as "excuse me." I would feel pretty comfortable wagering that we have never even made direct eye contact. Yet we are not merely co-workers, we are both writers of smart-aleck journalism, and we have both been published in The Cheerleader magazine. What are the chances?
Last night I was thinking about this fact and planning to write this post. Then, I went to sleep and dreamed that Jason Johnson came up to me and introduced himself. I got really mad and screamed at him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?! We had a great streak going on here and you just blew it by talking to me! We are NOT SUPPOSED TO ACKNOWLEDGE EACH OTHER'S EXISTENCE!" My rage was exquisite.
I also eat lunch alone in the cafeteria every day. I do this by choice and by habit, and because it is part of the culture of the place. Since talking is prohibited on the workroom floor, you don't generally interact with your co-workers in the lunchroom either unless one or more of the following is true: 1) you are both extremely extroverted, 2) you know each other through some means other than work, 3) you are a smoker, or 4) you are a middle-aged woman who likes to get to work early and drink coffee and eat cake.
Maybe someday I will run into Jason Johnson outside of the workplace and we will have a conversation of some kind. But there's no way in hell I'm going to initiate one on the clock. I have my bubble of isolation to think of.
I'm done.
--------
TITLE: Things I learned from VH-1's Metal Mania Marathon
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/02/2005 09:51:40 PM
-----
BODY:
- During the guitar solo, it is important for the lead singer to upstage the guitar player. But it is important to do it right. DO: Bug out your eyes, lean over the guitar player's shoulder and make squiggly finger motions. DON'T: Turn around facing the drums and wiggle your girlish butt.
- Also during the guitar solo it is important for all nonplayer characters to remember that a lead guitarist slowly walking down a darkened hallway is the scariest thing in the world.
- Y'know, in retrospect, that dude from Anthrax can't rap for shit.
- I want to write a short story where the protagonist is the son of that babe who lifted her shirt in Mötley Crüe's "Home Sweet Home" video.
- After World War III, supplies will be short, forcing women to wear ripped fishnet stockings. But thankfully there will still be plenty of rouge and Aqua Net.
- Dio, man. Ronnie James Dio.
--------
TITLE: 2004: The Year in Pictures
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/31/2004 06:23:25 AM
-----
BODY:
I did this last year with some success. But this year, I have a lot more photographic experience, plus a Flickr account.
Check 'em out here. Hints: Choose the Slideshow option if you please, or just use your mouse. If you choose the latter, you can leave comments on the individual picture.
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TITLE: Big Plans
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/30/2004 04:17:34 PM
-----
BODY:
So this year, for the first time in my life, I will ring in the new year at work. And to tell you the truth, I'm kind of looking forward to it.
I think New Year's Eve is my least-favorite holiday. I've had very few positive New Year's experiences. Last year at Starfire's house was fun, up until the point where the party (or at least some of the party) moved to Luce, at which time it was definitely necessary to give up and go home. I'm not going to explain in detail all the reasons why I hate ringing in the New Year, but in general it has to do with two things.
The lesser of these is that New Year's Eve, like St. Patrick's Day, is Amateur Night at the bars. The world is filled with people who normally do not drink often and do not know have the slightest knowledge of drunk ettiquette. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You've had 8 martinis and you're the king of the world. Ok. But this isn't so bad, because there's always one or two of these in any establishment on any given weekend night.
The worst is the feeling of desperation among the partygoers. That facial expression, where you can just read the secret, dark, thoughts: I have to have a good time tonight. I must have fun. Am I a fun person? How can I have fun? Oh, God, let me please be a fun person tonight.
I think the ideal New Year's party, for me, would have a cast of about 12-15. None of the desperate, lameoids would be invited, only fun people, like you for instance. And there would be a sworn oath to never give up the ship and go to a bar. And no one would drive home drunk.
Another reason I'm looking forward to working the New Year's shift is that I take perverse pleasure in doing something productive and wholesome when most people are out getting hammered and participating in debaucherous behavior. Even last year, I didn't drink much at all, and felt great when I sprang out of bed the next morning with the knowledge that most of the world was nursing a vicious hangover and nauseating sexual regrets. It's sick, I know, but it makes me feel like a good citizen. Besides, drinking gallons and losing all your morals is much more fun, like, say, on a random Wednesday in August.
This year, I will briefly look up from my computer screen to holler Happy New Year. There is no one at my job I would like to kiss, and if I did I would probably be fired, so that's not a problem, either. Then at 5, I'll finish my shift, come home, drink 0-3 celebratory cocktails, and bask in my sick pleasure, knowing that somewhere out there at that very moment, a naked stranger is puking in your hamper. Meanwhile, I'm safe and happy at home, watching the fucken Smurfs.
I need help.
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TITLE: Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/29/2004 02:55:52 PM
-----
BODY:
Oh the year was seventeen seventy eight
I wish I were in Sherbrooke now!
A letter of marque came from the King
To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen
God Damn them all! I was told
We'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's privateers.
[the rest]
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TITLE: Blog in the Family
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/25/2004 06:45:38 PM
-----
BODY:
I found out today that my nephew Joe has a blog. Joe is a major drunkard and a major computer geek and I took this picture of him at my parents' kitchen table, through one of my mom's curlers.
Check him out. He's the Gootch Monkey.
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TITLE: Mmmmm. Scrumptious.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/25/2004 06:25:12 PM
-----
BODY:
Finally captured on a photograph -- yes, this, my friends, is the infamous "moon pudding" which has been a tradition in my family for generations. I've described this stuff to practically everyone I've ever met, an no one can quite picture it in mind, so here it is in all its glory.
This English dessert looks like some kind of cake or fudge, sure. But keep in mind this is a traditional ENGLISH (read, "kinda disgusting") dessert. It isn't made like cake at all.
The primary ingredient in moon pudding is suet. Yes, suet. Just like the stuff you feed the birds, sans the birdseed. This suet is ground and mixed with flour and raisens. The fatty blob is then plopped on a towel, which is wrapped up and tied at the top. The towel is then put onto a plate, and the whole works is then submerged in boiling water, where it cooks for literally something like two days.
Traditionally, I am told, there is a hard sugar sauce made with apple juice which is supposed to go on top of the moon pudding. But this tradition has been lost in my family. Instead, everyone has developed their own style of eating moon. Most eat it plain. Newcomers generally do not think of it as a dessert as it is greasy and not very sweet by American standards, and so they eat it with gravy. Some wait until the next day and fry it in butter. Some eat it with powedered sugar or Reddi Whip.
The horrific story that goes with moon is that one year my mom was transferring the boiling-hot towel blob to a different pan, and the towel suddenly split open, spilling scalding grease all over the dog's back. Let me tell you, hot uncooked moon pudding is a lot like napalm. It sticks and burns and there's not much you can do about it. It burned the dog pretty badly and the dog lived for about another 10 or 12 years with a bald back.
As for me, I rather like moon. I mean, a cannonball-sized chunk of low-grade fat, complete with raisens? Shaw. How can you go wrong?
--------
TITLE: Christmas Eve Dialog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/25/2004 03:27:05 AM
-----
BODY:
- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
- Mom said to take this turkey out for tomorrow and clean it.
- DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING?
- No. I've never done it before.
- LET ME DO IT. I KNOW EXACTLY HOW TO DO IT.
[20 Minutes Later]
- WHAT THE HELL? WHERE ARE THE GIBLETS?
- You probably left them inside.
- NO. I HAD THEM ON THE COUNTER WITH THE NECK. WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?
- Well, here's the neck.
- YEAH, BUT WHERE'S THE FUCKEN GIBLETS?
- Maybe you threw them away.
- NO. THERE'S THE BAG IN THE GARBAGE. THEY WERE IN THAT BAG. I TOOK THEM OUT AND PUT THEM ... SOMEWHERE
- What's this?
- THAT'S THE ASS.
- You cut off the ass? Aren't you supposed to leave that on?
- HELL NO. I ALWAYS CUT OFF THE ASS.
- Mom, what do you do with the ass of the turkey? On or off?
- It depends. If anyone wants to eat it, leave it on.
- My grandma said it was the best part. It's all fat.
- YEAH, YEAH. "IT'S GOOD FOR WHAT AILS YOU."
- No one here is old enought to want to eat the turkey's ass.
- ARRGGGHH! WHERE ARE THE GODDAMN GIBLETS?!
- Oh, hey. I bet I know. [Points at the dogs, who immediately look guilty]
- Yee. Haw. Dogs eating raw giblets. We're gonna have an adventure tonight. Hope you got a lot of paper towels.
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TITLE: I want a new vice.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/23/2004 04:46:20 AM
-----
BODY:
This year, my family has decided not to exchange Christmas presents. I think this is a great idea. We all have too much stuff anyway, expecially my parents, who certainly do not need any more Jesus-oriented wall hangings or porcelain knick-knacks.
But I have decided to extend this spirit of ungiving to everyone I know. Yeah, I realize that last year I got all sappy about wanting to give presents to everyone in the world. But this year I feel like it's not even Christmas, really.
Still, I've decided to give a little gift to myself: Cable TV, baby. I figure since I'm 90% less interested in the expensive habit of intoxicating myself, I can afford some deluxe boob tube action. I haven't had cable since I moved out of my parents' house, and that was back in the analog days. Back in my day, sonny, we had only one HBO. And we liked it, dammit.
I plan on having 12 HBOs plus the Independent Film Channel, Sundance, and Cartoon Network. I'm sure there's a couple hundred other decent channels in there (along with about a thousand channels that show nothing but nuns selling cutlery) but those are the ones I plan on watching a lot of.
So come on over and let's watch TV. I'll provide the beverages. You provide your own drool towel and Depend Undergarment.
And yeah, I'm not stupid. I know the introductory price, which is guarateed through 2005, will be jacked up by prolly about 50 bucks a month as soon as the offer's over. But despite Charter Cable's slogan ("Get Hooked"), I'm hoping this adventure will be like joining the Columbia Record Club, and not like establishing a healthy smack habit.
Merry Christmas, Earth People.
--------
TITLE: Birthday Rally Photo Wrap-up
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/20/2004 10:03:46 AM
-----
BODY:
So, on Saturday night, Paulie Boy and I hosted the Birtday Rally in Spirit Valley. As usual, a good time was had by most.
Here, the brothers Lundgren perform "Come Sail Away." Meanwhile, V-Nick looks on as Maria's face melts.
Karaoke masters line up to dispute Larry Holmes' so-called "Championship." At a nearby table, however, an historic event takes place: sushi is consumed in the Rustic Bar.
Gartman leads a rousing rendition of "Livin' on a Prayer." Paul begins to get creepy.
I suppose this would be a good place to hide the Drunkest Picture of Me Ever Taken.
Rustic karaoke shut down at midnight, which lead to the inevitable plan: more karaoke at the Keyport.
And so the evening ended, as all good birthday parties should, with a nice game of Pin the Tongue on Gene Simmons.
--------
TITLE: OK, while I feel fine now...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/16/2004 07:39:28 PM
-----
BODY:
...I have this major, major cold sore system working on the right corner of my mouth. It really is prodigious. Seriously, you people are lucky that the batteries in my camera are worn out.
So noticing that I'm out of Ambesol or Campho-phenique or whatever, and being a geek, I casually hopped online to try and discover which brand works the best before going out and buying some. Here's what happened next.
1. Every reputable site I visited said that that stuff doesn't work.
2. Every reputable site I visited warned emphatically that a person with a cold sore should be EXTREMELY careful when touching their eyes or genitals, because it is easy to get ocular or genital herpes from a cold sore.
Great. Like I need this worry. I am a paranoid person to begin with, and among my many frets is the fear that I will do something like this. That I will touch my cold sore, my eyes, and my ... self, and then while the cold sore will run its course, I will be blind and will never have sex again.
Such is the mind I live in. I'm going to the pharmacy.
--------
TITLE: eXtreme BEDREST!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/14/2004 05:09:19 PM
-----
BODY:
So on Sunday night, the night of my birthday, I realized I was coming down with something. My throat felt a little painful, and I could feel a headache coming on. I also felt pretty tired, but I hadn't slept very well for a few days, so I chalked it all up to that.
I went to work at 12:15am, and by the time I got home at 5:30, I was dizzy and had the chills, and I was very, very tired. So I went to bed and was out by 6.
I didn't get out of bed until I had to, which was at 7:30 the next night. Sure, during that time, I woke up to get water, go to the loo, answer the phone, etc., but for almost that whole time -- 13.5 hours -- I was asleep.
But wait. It gets better. I miserably dragged myself to work at 8:30pm feeling like hell. I put in for an early out, and they let me go home at 1am. By 2:30, I was asleep. I woke up at 4pm.
I've decided that until this goes away, I will be sleeping at all times, unless there is something important I need to do instead of sleeping.
Like blogging.
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TITLE: Uh...I s'pose I oughtta tell the internet...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/11/2004 05:25:19 AM
-----
BODY:
Tomorrow (Sunday) is my birthday. I will be 32.
The party is next weekend, and everyone reading this is invited.
--------
TITLE: soooo dryyyyyyy.....
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/10/2004 05:20:32 AM
-----
BODY:
When you take a 10-minute shower and the mirror doesn't even fog up...
When a slice of apple on the table turns to leather before it turns brown...
When your knuckles begin to resemble the Alps...
There is no choice but to make soup.
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TITLE: The Late Night Airwaves
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/07/2004 06:15:39 AM
-----
BODY:
One of the joys of working at night is being able to tune in nightly to Coast to Coast AM with George Noory and stay informed on all the latest Bigfoot and poltergeist happenings out there. But about a week ago, I turned my radio on a little early and discovered my latest guilty pleasure: The Phil Hendrie Show.
OK, OK. I'm sure there are some of my fellow Democrats out there who probably know about Phil Hendrie and his infamous pro-Bush rants. But let's just set that aside right now, as personally I've never heard any of that. From what I've heard recently, The Phil Hendrie Show is a work of genius.
For the uninitiated, I'll explain. The show is much like any other AM talk-radio show. It's offensive. The guests are idiots and there is a lot of arguing. But here's where the genius comes in: all of the "guests" are portrayed by Hendrie himself. He's fairly open about that fact on the show, but still, every night people tune into the show and are completely duped. They call as if the guests are real (callers are screened so only the duped callers get through) and scream and yell about how idiotic the "guest" is. The more they scream, the more offensive the guest becomes, until Hendrie intervenes, "hangs up" on the guest, and then apologizes to the audience. It's awesome.
Hendrie has about 40 characters that he keeps in rotation. Recently, I've heard Hendrie portray a man who loaned someone $1,000, only to have the guy join the military and get killed in Iraq--so he's suing the guy's family. The angry calls poured in, meanwhile in the background, you could hear the "guest" adjusting his hot tub. What's wrong...can't a man be interviewed in a hot tub? What the hell country is this?
This article explains the show much better than I can, and lists some of Hendrie's characters. But maybe this article from the LA Weekly says it most eloquently:
"Hendrie has said he is not worried that exposure might ruin the show by tipping off potential callers — he believes you cannot overestimate the stupidity of the AM-radio audience, and his work is enduring testament to that fact. But his point is not to expose simple stupidity. His “guests” are sophisticated parodies designed to incite the easy anger of the self-righteous, whom he expertly lures by creating characters who run roughshod over their pieties — the sanctity and safety of American children, the meaning of patriotism, kindness to animals. He likes to create characters who have thinly veiled ulterior motives, which he reveals little by little, as if in a well-constructed one-act play.
Listening to Phil Hendrie combines the pure, illegitimate pleasure of making prank phone calls with an intense, stoned reading of Marshall McLuhan. Hendrie’s show is a scathing and wholly original critique of what passes as dialogue and debate in vast portions of our culture. He uses the AM-radio call-in audience as “found objects” to reveal their own prejudices and susceptibility to manipulation, and he in a sense bestows on them an eloquence they themselves do not possess. Hendrie takes the average, depressing predictability of the average American psyche and somehow makes it into joyful comedy."
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TITLE: Macaroni Angel Rocks the House
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/03/2004 08:04:30 PM
-----
BODY:
Earlier this evening, the old man who lives across the street came over with a shoebox full of ornaments for me via Predicate Nominative. Then, like 30 minutes later, Ms. Nominative herself showed up with an additional paper bag full -- FULL -- of stuff ranging from antiquey breaky things to cutesy wooden stuff to creepy yarny wonders, all to adorn my tree. Let's hear it for PN!
I'm setting all this stuff up this weekend. And making a diorama. And exploding from excitement.
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TITLE: Anagrams
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/03/2004 05:00:32 PM
-----
BODY:
I've become obsessed with anagrams recently, and I would like everyone to know my new name is Abe Hartcrest.
Also, if I ever start a band, I could call it:
Crab's Theater
Teacart Herbs
Rehab Scatter
Breast Rachet
Charter Beats
Catheter's Bar
Cheater Brats
Saber Chatter
The Arab Crest
The Rarest Cab
The Bear Carts
The Bar Reacts
The Brat's Acre
I encourage everyone to find their own anagrams. You might find out your new name is:
Dr. Neal Unplug
Eli Cheetah
Jam Reseller
Drama Nazi
Cheney Zoo
Milk Canon
Neutral First
Weighted Moods
or my personal favorite:
Regis Barleycorn
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TITLE: Time Travel
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/02/2004 05:24:24 AM
-----
BODY:
There were about three or four times when I had this thought as a youngster. I remember being about 13 or 14 and laying in bed thinking about how old I would be in the year 2000, and about some kind of stereotypical Jetsons-like future that involved jetpacks and moving sidewalks and all kinds of fun stuff like that. I figured that maybe, at some point during my life, time travel would become possible.
I figured there was an easy way to find out immediately if I would ever get to travel through time. I made myself a promise that if I ever got the chance to use a time machine, I would travel to that exact moment. I made a point of thinking about the year, date, and time of day, and then I waited. Nothing happened. I never showed up.
The thing is, as an adult, I don't remember those dates and times. I'm not even sure how old I was. I think I was 13 or 14, as I said, but I could have been 17. I have no idea. I let myself down.
So, here I at the end of my 31st year, thinking about this again, and writing it down on the Internet for my future self to find. Here it is, with the date and time and everything right there for you. So c'mon, future self. Go ahead and hop in that machine. I'm right here.
If there were a knock at the door right now, I would literally collapse from an aneurysm.
Waiting...
Oh, god. I gotta go.
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TITLE: Weird Stuff at the Supermarket
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/30/2004 04:14:10 PM
-----
BODY:
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TITLE: 2004: The Year That Bit Big Ass
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/29/2004 05:41:09 AM
-----
BODY:
Oooo. This is the year that just keeps on giving. It's been a banner year here at the ol' Chase residence. Oh, yes. Let's look back on it, shall we? On second thought, let's not. At various points on this blog, I've already recounted a good 25% of all the horrific shit that went down this year so there's no need to relive it.
Nonetheless, 2004 just keeps rolling on with all its wonder, and I've been thinking a lot about it lately. It's not that nothing good happened to me this year--a lot of great things happened, in fact, mainly having to do with the people around me and how great they are--but 2004 ate, there's no doubt about that.
I have written several times about how in the mid-late 1990s, I was a very unhappy person. My plans to actually use my major had fallen through (this is a story of its own, one I'll tell some time) and I was poor and underemployed. I felt like I was in a holding pattern, frozen there not knowing what to do. Back then, my "workdays" would usually last anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours. The rest of my time I'd spend reading, listening to music and fretting. Oh, and doing housework. I'd prepare two healthy homecooked meals every day, and the apartment was always immaculate. The books I read were always very thick and very difficult. And almost every day, I'd listen to Jerree Small's Sleeping Giant album, not that I even knew who Jerree Small was, only that she was originally from Duluth but didn't live here anymore.
Recently, I was laying on a chaise (ironically, the kind of couch you see in psychiatrists' offices, at least in the comics) in a room lit by only one candle. A few feet away, Jerree practiced for an upcoming show. I didn't say much; I just laid there listening and enjoying the music. Every now and then, I'd make an unorthodox request, not for a title, but for a subject. I'd ask if she would play a song about ice cream, for example. "Well, none of my songs are about ice cream," she'd say, "but I have this song that mentions..." And so on.
"Could you play a song about a foreign country?" I asked. It had been years since I had listened to Sleeping Giant, so I had completely forgotten about the song "Romania." As soon as I heard it, I was instantly transported back to that unhappy time, and the difference between my life in 1998 and 2004 was practically enough to unravel my mind. It's unbelievable to me how different my thinking about the world was back then, and how it worked to my detriment. If I had those fears and concerns now, I wouldn't be able to get out of bed.
...I am trying to forget where I'm from
But all around me are familiar sounds...
The oddest part is how now that I have been facing real issues as opposed to mid-20s life-crisis bullshit, I seem to have summoned a reserve strength that I didn't know I had. My two concerns now as I watch the sun set on this year are 1) whether or not this year has still more in store for me and mine, and 2) whether it is truly the curse of 2004, or if this year is just the warmup for 2005.
I guess we'll see, won't we? And I guess I'll most likely tell you all about it. Now that my computer is back up and running.
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TITLE: In-feck-shun
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/23/2004 06:37:31 AM
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BODY:
Right now, my computer has the worst infection I have ever seen. I've dealt with viruses and spyware a few times before, and some of those times were bad. But this...oh my God listen to this.
The START MENU doesn't work. Also, "Run" is missing from the Start Menu as is "Find." "My Computer" is now called "Folder." None of the icons on the desktop work. Internet Explorer does not work. Norton Antivirus seems to have been partially deleted.
The only way I can use any program is to go into My Computer and find the program in Program Files. I can get online with Mozilla, but I cannot run any online virus scans, because they all require Internet Explorer.
Cachee actually went out and bought a copy of McAfee Antivirus, but I can't install it until all Norton Antivirus garbage is removed from the registry. Seemingly, I can't remove that without the help of Norton, and they charge something like $60 for support of any kind.
I can't reinstall Norton, because it came with the computer and I never got a disc of any kind.
I have four anti-spyware programs installed. I can scan and scan over and over all night, and they will keep finding and removing the same things over and over. I think the source of the problem is probably a trojan horse, or many of them. But how should I know?
Do other people encounter these problems, to a greater or lesser degree? I have heard complaints in the past from people but none of the details. Is there anyone out there who can help me in any way?
Right now I am doing something I should have done long ago: backing up my MP3s. 25 gigs worth. This is going to take forever.
Meanwhile, I'm going to watch Gremlins. It seems appropriate.
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TITLE: Blogger.com Eats
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/22/2004 02:03:05 AM
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BODY:
Too many users? It's 2 a.m. on a SUNDAY.
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TITLE: I get to make a diorama!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/22/2004 01:10:21 AM
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BODY:
Last night Sarah Heimer invited me to participate in her Diorama Art Show and I'm really excited. I don't think I've ever made a diorama, and I really want to. Here are some thoughts I've had so far on the subject.
1. I won't be making a "diarrhea diorama." This was my first response to the invitation, which Heimer met not with disgust, but with palpable impatience. "Do you know how many times I've heard that?" she said. I know, I know. I just had to get it out of my system. Sorry.
2. It is currently my opinion that I won't be using any action figures, Legos, or anything else of that nature. Everything is going to be from scratch, baby. At least that's my goal right now.
3. Though the subject of my diorama is currently undecided, I think perhaps all of the characters in the diorama are going to be drunk. A diorama of the Pizza Lucé bar complete with illuminated "LIQUOR" sign would be beautiful, but I think I can come up with something better than that.
4. FUN!
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TITLE: Jimmy, you're so photogenic!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/20/2004 09:15:25 PM
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BODY:
I think I could photograph this scene every day, as it's always different. In the spring, the smaller tree that's in front of the streetlight blooms with the most amazing flowers. Followers of this blog will remember the picture of the Northern Lights from last week.
This would have to be a video, but often a girl of about age nine zips down this street at about 30mph on a homemade motor scooter, with another girl of about age four behind her, hanging on for dear life. That is just bitchen.
About a month ago, I saw a parade of five adults marching down the street dressed as clowns, blowing noisemakers. If only I could have grabbed my camera in time.
I think I need to set up a webcam.
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TITLE: Charity?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/20/2004 06:38:13 PM
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BODY:
Well, in keeping with a wonderful history of rocket-scientist behavior, it appears that my landlord sold all of our Christmas decorations in his rummage sale. Ornaments I made in kindergarten? Gone. Engraved ornaments from the first Christmas Cachee and I spent together? Gone. Ornaments given as gifts or handed down from previous generations? Gone, daddy, gone.
Sure, he's going to pay for this, yadda yadda yadda. But in the meantime, I'd like to make the most of it, which is where you come in.
If you have any ornaments you feel like shoving my way as the decorating season begins to unfold, I would like that. Ms. Small is starting things off with this ornament and lovely diorama. In this scene it appears that Santa Claus is holding a baby in one hand and a stick in the other. What he plans on doing is unclear. An ominous rabbit oversees the action from a shelf, while a cherub prances around the room on a horse. You can't see it very well in this picture, but there is a bucket near Santa's chair, the purpose of which is also unclear. Whatever is happening, all the characters feel safe and secure, guarded by the ornament of a Keystone Kop wearing a dress.
But don't be intimidated. Not all ornaments need to be this fantastic. They will all have a special place in my heart, as well as on this weblog--as if there's a difference.
[Oh! And don't forget Cachee. She needs ornaments, too.]
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TITLE: What I did, and what I didn't.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/19/2004 05:31:26 AM
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BODY:
So I bought this new Handsome Boy Modeling School album, White People, and my assessment is that it's the muvvafukkin business. Of course, you could say that about any album that includes the words "featuring Father Guido Sarducci," but this album has one song that leaps off the plastic and knocks you out with a Taser, and that song is "I've Been Thinking" featuring none other than Cat Power.
This song is way too sexy to even exist, and not just because of the smooth beat. To hear Cat Power sing, "You can slide, slide, slippity slide, you can hip hop and don't stop" ... how am I supposed to take that?
Plus there's the usual HBMS skits, including some takes on The Dating Game and some etiquette advice from Chest Rockwell ("You gotta fart, you wait until after the date is over when you go home. That is when you do your fartin'."), and some sweet hip hop action. So I got this baby off the Internet (I actually bought it) and went to work.
On my way to work, I stopped by the supermarket to get something for lunch, because I really didn't feel like eating a lunch consisting exclusively of foods in bar form. On my way out, I noticed a piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board near the exit. The ad said this:
Chest freezer
grate for deer
I prefer to think these are two different items, and that the first item is some sort of ray gun.
When I got to work, the first thing I did was pick up my check. The second thing I did was look at it, and the third thing I did was practically faint. See, this is the first check I've received since doing the full-on night-shift action. And it's huge! Well, not huge, but it looks like this month I can actually pay my bills AND eat! And that's something! Let's hear it for money.
I also believe I've saved a lot of money lately because, suddenly, it's like I don't drink anymore. Working nights has a lot to do with it. It isn't very much fun to drink at 5am, because, among other things, when you wake up at noon to pee, the sun is screaming in the windows and every cell in your body is telling you it's daytime, stupid, and you'll never get back to sleep. So it's been almost two weeks since I imbibed, and that was only because I was hanging out with Buck Satan.
The funny thing is, I don't even miss it. And maybe I'll lose a bunch of weight. That is, if I can manage to stay away from food that's in bar form.
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TITLE: "Portal"
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/17/2004 05:23:57 AM
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BODY:
Bam! Just as I was about to run out of storage space, my hosting company quintupled the storage space in my contract. So now I can once again post photos with impunity. Sweet, sweet, sweet. I don't even know what impunity means.
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TITLE: Fantasies
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/16/2004 05:40:43 AM
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BODY:
Whenever I get a little bit dissatisfied with my living conditions, I start to fantasize about the ultimate dream house. And every time I do this, the house is different. My ideals are always changing.
Right now I'm thinking of a dream house hobbled together from all the houses on classic TV. It's one spectacular goddamn house.
The kitchen is from The Brady Bunch. Aside from the extensive food preparation area, this baby had two ovens. Two. It's a given that Alice comes with the kitchen to serve up hotdish and witty comments.
The living room is from The Dick Van Dyke Show. A sunken seating area, open to the dining area, is excellent for entertaining. There is a sliding panel to the kitchen, which is opened for serving a buffet-style meal, and is closed for hushed, private discussions when wacky trouble insues. Be careful of the ottoman.
The den is from Leave it to Beaver. Ever since I watched this show as a kid, I wanted to grow up and have a den like Ward's. I don't even know what the hell a den is, or what you do in it. I know it's a man's room, so I assume Ward pretended to do some kind of manly paperwork, but in reality he had a little locked drawer in his desk where he kept a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a stack of bondage mags. That is so cool.
The bedroom is the room inside the genie bottle on I Dream of Jeannie. That room might just be the greatest room ever devised by humankind. Talk about a freakin' opium den. I don't think I'd ever leave.
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TITLE: I Should Be Sleeping...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/15/2004 09:17:52 AM
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BODY:
But the idiot crew doing the remodeling downstairs is keeping me awake. They're not sawing or hammering. They're just talking. One problem with that is that the walls and floors of this place are paper thin, and I can hear every word they say. The other problem is that, as I said, they're idiots. It's bad enough to hear them at all, but it's even worse to hear them go on about "fucken fuck detox fucken squad fucken bitch fucken serves her right fucken divorce fucken fuckity fuck shit pack a smokes."
Right now I am considering the following options.
1) Staying awake and cranking some LOUD-ass hip-hop. I know this type of idiot. They HATE hip-hop. Logic: If I'm gonna be miserable, they're gonna be miserable. Problem: I still don't get my much-needed rest.
2) Popping some sleeping pills and cranking up the iPod. Logic: This might work. Problems: a. Lack of vengeance. b. If it doesn't work, I'll be doubly tired.
I think I'm gonna go with #2. But I'll be back online if it doesn't work. In that case, I'll need some suggestions.
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TITLE: Oh for the love of god
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/15/2004 06:33:15 AM
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BODY:
My sisters gleefully informed me yesterday afternoon that if the Chase name is to be passed on to future generations, it is solidly my responsibility.
I have five siblings, three of whom have reproduced. The sisters had almost all boys, but my brother had all girls. As for the remaining two siblings, reproduction for one would be impossible and for the other would be not bloody likely. And if you're thinking maybe one of my neices might squeeze one out and give it her name, well, let's just not go there, 'K?
Plus, all my siblings are over 40.
I responded to this in completely the wrong way. I said, "Well, can I at least first get my life into something that resembles order?" They were overjoyed, and not in a teasing way. "He didn't say no!"
Chase is the 508th most common name in the U.S. One in every 1,000 Minnesota residents is named Chase.
I think we have enough.
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TITLE: Irony
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/11/2004 05:29:38 AM
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BODY:
I must have walked past this 10,000 times, but tonight on my way home from work, I walked past "The Gentle Dentist" and noticed the sign on the door that says "We shoot every third salesman, and the other two just left."
Gentle dentist, my ass.
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TITLE: November Occam's Razor
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/10/2004 05:28:59 AM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Yet another brilliant idea
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/09/2004 05:27:28 AM
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BODY:
I want to start a magazine called Nap.
All the latest trends in napping. Advice on how to shut sunlight out of your bedroom. Which pillow is the best--we test drive the top five selling models.
Think about it. I've got a huge success on my hands.
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TITLE: Quick! Go outside!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/07/2004 07:29:18 PM
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BODY:
I promised myself I'd stop posting so many pictures, since I'm quickly running out of storage space. But this shot of tonight's Aurora Borealis over Jimmy's Nuts & Bolts was just too sweet to keep to myself.
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TITLE: Jesus Built My Weblog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/07/2004 01:43:41 AM
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BODY:
The first time I heard Ministry, I was 17 years old. I just got home from Perkin's, which for some reason was a place to hang out in high school. Lundgren (of course) knocked on my door and said "Jeff needs help." Jeff being Jeff Anderson, which lends a certain flavor if you know who I'm talking about. Jeff's car, a ratty old Chevette, was stuck in the snow behind Kmart. I got some shovels and went back to help dig out the car.
Jeff didn't have a tape deck. He didn't even have floorboards. But he did have a boombox on the passenger seat, and in that boombox was Ministry's "A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste."
We dug out the car while listening to that album, and then proceeded, in the most juvenile, high school manner, to ram the car into the snowbank again and again, all the time listening to that album. It was terrific. After that, I thought Ministry was incredible. I devoured everything Al Jourgensen had to offer, from Ministry to Revolting Cocks to Pigface to Lard. Then I got into Nine Inch Nails, who would not exist if not for Al Jourgensen.
So, all those years ago, I never would have thought that I'd find myself at the entrance of the Norshor Theatre, staring down at the words, "Chase, Barrett ... Guest of Al."
How did it happen? It's a friend-of-a-friend thing. My good friend Jed is a friend of Al's. And thus, I got to spend a few hours on the tour bus with Al Jourgensen and Ministry. All of whom are cool guys, I might say. I was sort of concerned about what might happen, (what if I think they're utter cocks?!) but we just listened to some ZZ Top and some awesome accordion-driven Tex Mex music, discussed our hatred of George W. Bush, and even connected a bit regarding the finer albums of Wanda Jackson.
The whole experience, I think, was a lesson in rockstardom. Al kept talking about how great it was to hang out with real people, and about how of all the hundreds of people he meets on tour, there are really only four or five people that he meets, over and over again. They're all the same. He told the tour manager, "Set these two up with everything, everything you can. They're sweethearts, they're not Sponge Bobs. You'll never meet better people. They're not like the rest."
Then he poured us some homemade wine and went to the back of the bus to cut the sleeves off his "Fuck Bush" T-shirt.
Everyone else in Ministry was cool, too. I hadn't seen them live since 1993. And it was really weird to meet all of them, hang out with them for awhile and speak to them as real human beings, and then suddenly see them on stage doing their schtick. I was like, "What the fuck are you guys doing? Why are you wearing makeup?"
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TITLE: Ridiculous Injury #1,000,001
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/05/2004 05:29:27 AM
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BODY:
Last night I made chicken for dinner. After thawing the chicken in the microwave, I put black pepper on top along with Cajun hot sauce and then ground up some dried red peppers in my hand and sprinkled them on top. Then I put the chicken in the oven.
About a half hour later, my eye itched, so I rubbed it.
Holy mother of god.
Rule #1 of crushing dried red pepper in your hand: wash your hands afterward. Thoroughly.
At least now I know what it feels like to be maced. Yeah, it'll put you on your knees, shrieking and blubbering.
I don't know why I tell you guys this stuff.
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TITLE: More cynicism
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/04/2004 05:58:34 AM
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BODY:
Man, the world is full of idiots. Check out this letter to Dear Abby:
Dear Abby
I have been hit on by scam artists more than once. They must think I have "sucker" tattooed on my forehead.
The latest has been a series of e-mails telling me that a Mrs. Virginia of the United Kingdom was killed in a car accident, and I am the sole beneficiary of her $12.5 million estate. All I have to do is provide them with my bank account number, and the money will be transferred from the Habib Trust Bank of England.
Well, I'm not stupid. I gave them the account number of a bank I no longer do business with. There is a grand total of $2.83 in that account. They are welcome to it.
Their scam promises they'll do all the paperwork -- but after a while they'll tell you that you either have to send an advance of several thousand dollars to "complete the transaction," or go to Nigeria to sign the papers. This going to Nigeria gets better: They'll tell you that you don't need a visa to go there, as they will "take care of all that." But as soon as you land in Nigeria, you'll be arrested for NOT having a visa.
So, Abby, please warn your readers if they receive any type of e-mail, or regular mail, or even a phone call to that effect, they should explain it all to the Secret Service like I did. No one should fall for this trap. I'll get $12.5 million when I am next in line to become the pope. I've got a better chance of coming into money by playing the lottery.
Eugene B., Clifton, N.J.
OK. Um, I got 25 spams today. First off, I think I'll actually read them all. Second, I think I'll sort of give them my bank account number, but it's OK because there's not much in there anyway (WHY?! On the off chance that it ISN'T a scam?). Third, I think I'll call up the Secret Service and "explain it all" to them, but only after I find out that I'm not actually getting my $12.5 million.
Software companies can spend billions of dollars coming up with anti-spam devices, but it doesn't matter. Spam wouldn't even exist if people weren't dumb enough to fall for it. And it's UNBELIEVABLE that people fall for it. But they do all the time.
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TITLE: Oh, all right. Here it is.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/04/2004 05:20:45 AM
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BODY:
So. Bush was re-elected. And yes, we are all outraged. But at this troubling time, I think it is important to remember what the real problem is. The real problem is not that George W. Bush is back in the Oval Office.
The real problem is that half, yes half, of our voting population is actually gullible enough to think that George Walker Bush is doing a great job flushing our beautiful country down the toilet, and should continue to flush our beautiful country down the toilet for the next four years.
Think about that. And realize that when I say "half" I'm rounding down. It's actually more than half, since 51% voted for this retard. That means if you're in a room with one other person, chances are better than not that that other person is a complete idiot.
So while it's utterly horrible that this figurehead and his evil cronies are still in charge of our lives, it's even worse that a majority of voting Americans chose of their own free will to put him there.
Since we as a country are apparently more than willing to give up our civil liberties, I'd like to do a little experiment. Let's get out the polygraph machines and the sodium pentathol, and ask a question of our Bush supporters. I want to know, very concisely but also specifically, and most of all truthfully, what was the one issue that made you decide to vote for Bush?
My guess is that in most cases, people voted for Bush for some stupid reason that they connect with "morality." My guess is that most of the time, you'd hear the stuff about gay marriage, or prayer in schools, or some other such nonsense. Which, in my humble opinion are absolutely asinine reasons for voting for or against any candidate. Oh, sure, you lost your job and your son has been killed in Iraq, but hey, at least those homos won't be able to visit their lifelong partners in the hospital when they get sick. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense buddy.
The other reason I'd expect to hear from people is the admission that they subscribe to that selfish "I got mine, you get yours" brand of suburban conservatism. Well, that is not only stupid but gross, and I'd rather not discuss it. The only hope I have regarding these people is that Bush is gradually weakening and destroying the middle class, so maybe these people will disappear when their jobs get outsourced to India.
Also, to be fair, I'm sure there are some people who have legitimate reasons for voting Bush. I'd like to know what these reasons are, too. Because I've never heard one. And because if such reasons existed, it would give me hope.
As things stand, however, I continue to be cynical.
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TITLE: Hope
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/02/2004 05:38:12 AM
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BODY:
For some time now, I've been moping about the realization that due to certain modern-day inventions like, say, window screens, I will probably never get the chance to steal a pie off of someone's windowsill and eat it with my hands down by the river.
I have come to terms with this. It simply will not happen, unless somehow it is "arranged," and what good is that? Not much.
Today, however, I realized another thing I will probably never do. I will probably never shave off my beard and cut and bleach my own hair at a highway rest-stop sink while being on the run.
You'll notice that I used the word "probably." That word gives me hope.
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TITLE: Simply Awesome
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/01/2004 05:49:51 PM
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BODY:
If you haven't seen the new Election Day video by Eminem, I suggest you check it out. Then get out your black hoodie, and head to the building with the little old lady, en masse.
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TITLE: Weekend Wrap-Up
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/01/2004 06:34:23 AM
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BODY:
Friday
Ok, so we got to watch Children of the Corn, and that's always good. But the trip to the corn maze was derailed by the fact that, when we opened the door to leave my apartment, there was white wall of water just outside the door. Holy crap was it pouring. So, faced with this dilemma, we did the natural thing. We charged through the monsoon and headed to the North Pole Bar, where we drank large quantities and drew pictures.
Ok, so you can't stay the whole night at the Pole. You have to move on, especially when the talk turns to karaoke, and the fact that a certain karaoke king was slated to appear at the Keyport Lounge, and that we could easily cross the bridge (it's just a bridge, get over it) to witness/participate in the karaoke mayhem.
I sung "Rock the Casbah." And I had my camera and huge memory card with, so we also set about the task of taking 246 pictures in one night. Mission ... accomplished.
This is my favorite of the bunch. Notice how the Summit sign makes an ominous cross shape. This could be the cover of a great horror movie that went straight to video.
Saturday
I was supposed to get my hair cut that day, but instead I slept until about 3:30pm, as is my usual waking time. I frittered away the evening, enjoying some rare time off, but then, around 11:30, I got a call from my favorite late-night partner in crime, Ms. Small, who brought over...
...the Midnight Indoor Sushi Picnic. OK, I provided the snazzy beach towel, but holy Christ, what do I do to deserve this treatment?
Then we watched They Shoot Horses, Don't They? which we enjoyed, despite its rather depressing themes.
Sunday
Another late rise, with a Pizza Luce brunch, and some lazing around in the evening, once again. I had to work at 12:15am, so I had no plans to attend C-Freak & Foggy's Halloween Bash, but once again, the Yippee Ki-yi-yay Small came forward and interrupted my plans for the evening, which originally involved watching things on PBS that I really wasn't all that interested in seeing. "I'm dressed like a cowgirl and we're going dancing," she said.
I said, "Uh ... no. I have to work. And I don't have a costume."
"There's a costume in your house somewhere," she said. I'll spare you the next 20 minutes of discussing whether or not I had a costume, and what that costume might be. Finally I 
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TITLE: Corn to the CORE
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/29/2004 03:13:11 AM
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BODY:
Who: Friends, snobbits, countrymen.
What: A pre-Halloween, pre-Election Day spookfest featuring (hopefully) a screening of the horrific horror classic, Children of the Corn, followed by a trip to "Flashlight Friday" at the Silver Brook Corn Maze.
Where: My house, then to Wrenshall, Minnesota.
When: Tonight (Friday). We'll begin in the very early evening, so as to cram all this in before the maze closes at 10pm.
Cost: $5/person at the maze, unless we have more than 10 people, in which case it'll be $4. (Cash only)
Other: Dress warm. Bring a flashlight. Bring whatever else you need. I have a Race Case of Molson Canadian.
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TITLE: The view out my window
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/29/2004 01:14:08 AM
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BODY:
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TITLE: La gélatine rouge dans la repaire d'opium (avec ananas)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/27/2004 08:43:42 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Beauties
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/27/2004 04:14:29 PM
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BODY:
With the chilly months coming and all, I thought I'd share with you the greatest socks in the world. They're a bit ragged, and a bit irregular, but I've had them since I was about 13 and they've never done me wrong.
Don't mess with me when I'm wearing these babies, or you will feel the sting, sting, STING! Plus, the "tread" effect done with black yarn on the bottom makes me too fast to comprehend.
Hall of Justice, here I come.
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TITLE: Advantages
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/26/2004 05:18:12 AM
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BODY:
It doesn't matter what his real name is. Let's call him Andy. Andy went to my elementary school and to my junior high, and maybe to my high school as well, but I'm not sure about that. I am sure, however, that I never said one word to Andy in my entire life. I'm also sure that Andy had few if any friends, was always physically dirty, and did poorly in school.
I've never given Andy much thought. I know his name, what he used to look like, and that is about it. But in the past week, I've come across two different people who may or may not have been him. One was an exquisitely obese man driving a nightmare of a minivan. The other was a down-and-out guy with long hair and a beard smoking in front of the Holiday Center.
Both times I had the same thought: "So that's what became of Andy. Well, that's about right."
Most of us are disadvantaged in one way or another. But some of us are just doomed from the start.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I had a lot of advantages. I was born into a house filled with three generations of relatives, not to mention the occasional foriegn exchange student. During my formative years, there was always plenty of people to pay attention to me and teach me things. I always had nutritious food to eat, clean clothes, and plenty of books. My parents never hit me once. When I reached age nine or so, the house emptied out and I had the run of the place, so was able to develop my independence. Plus all the money that was spread thin on feeding nine or ten people suddenly went to just three of us. I think I turned out fairly well-adjusted as a result of these things.
But there were limitations, too. For one example, even if I never contracted Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and effed up my GPA, I probably would never have been able to go to a really good, exclusive university simply because I never encountered anyone who knew how to prepare for such a thing, financially or academically. The only way that might have happened was in some bass-ackwards Tobias Wolff sort of way that involved an extreme personal motivation, luck, and a lot of cheating.
Yeah, I know: Boo-hoo. And yeah, I know: That kind of thing has as much to do with happiness as the number of molecules in Leonard Nimoy's butt.
But my point is that so much of who we turn out to be is determined by the people who surround us, their influence. Sure, once you get to a certain point in life, you can alter your course at will, but by how much?
And then there are people like Andy. Just doomed. As doomed today as they were in first grade. In fact, I think I see the doomed sort more often than any of the other sorts from my past. Or maybe I just notice them more. I see them in filthy jackets that advertise cigarettes or football teams, pushing rickety strollers or dragging obese toddlers. Or maybe they are alone, carrying that way about them that suggests they don't even know how to begin to dig their way out of this mess they're in. Sure, I might be wrong; they might be happy. But I don't think so.
For most of us, however, it is not a bad thing, provided that you acknowledge it. Where you are determines where you are going. And it doesn't matter what anyone else says or thinks about it, because no one else is travelling that same road. The only thing that matters is that you are travelling actively, and paying attention, and making some effort to steer. Because life will move you forward whether you have your eyes open or not.
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TITLE: Sweet & sticky Sunday night goodness
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/24/2004 11:05:58 PM
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BODY:
Mom update. First things first. So, I woke up this evening and headed straight to the hospital, because it has been a full week since I had seen my mom. I walked into her room and was utterly shocked. She wasn't in her bed ... she was sitting in a chair. "Hey, it's Barrett!" she said. It was the first time I'd heard her voice in a month and a half. She is beginning to walk, she is eating actual food (well, hospital food at least), and is getting stronger every day. There is a good chance that tomorrow she will leave the ICU and go to the rehab floor. She said she's excited about talking to a variety of people and being able to look out a window. I know that things like walking and eating probably don't seem like much, but after six weeks of being mostly unconscious, they are outstanding strides. Just to be see her sitting up and watching the ball game was incredible.
"People need to be as self-sufficient as possible," she said. "I'm not bragging, but I am the backbone of this family. But everyone has to take care of themselves now because I can't do it. I can't even take care of myself. Hopefully now that I'm getting better, the family can get back to normal, only more self-sufficient."
I told her that this is something we've been discussing for almost two months now. It's weird to have to look out for/worry about my mom. She always was the one to on top of everything, which is probably why she won the chess game with the reaper, this time at least. The doctors say it's a miracle.
I didn't do a whole lot. On my two days off I mean. I meant to go out Saturday night, because plenty was going on. Mike Nicolai played the Brewhouse and I wanted to see that. Sloe Loris played at Beaner's, a mere three blocks from my apartment. The freaking Dames played Luce, which I have sworn to avoid, but I would have liked to see the Dames. For certain undescribable reasons, I did none of these things. But -- I did get to hang out with Space Waitress who made an impromptu visit to Duluth for a little while on Saturday afternoon. We ate dinner and she shivered in my freezing apartment. Meanwhile, I ran around closing windows. Duluth is a cool city, SW. just like the T-shirt says.
FYI. When you're working the graveyard shift for the USPS, which is awesome by the way, the greatest song in the universe is "Sleeping In" by the Postal Service. Not that the whole album isn't fantastic.
Heads-up for next weekend. If you're looking for something to do Friday, and you consider yourself a friend of mine, I'm inviting you join me and mine for CORN TO THE CORE, baby. That's right, a pre-Halloween fiasco beginning at my apartment and extending out into the further reaches of greater Wrenshall.
Things start out in the early evening at my place with a screening of the horrible horror flick Children of the Corn. Then, all hopped up on corn and whatever, we head out for "Flashlight Friday" at the Silver Brook Corn Maze.
Now, however. I got home from the hospital, realized I had no booze in the house, and then realized I had a rare opportunity to steal some (don't ask). My plan is to drink it and watch both volumes of Kill Bill, back to back. Wakey, wakey ... eggs and bakey.
And yes. That is me in the picture. Notice the small eye-holes. I'm a year old or so, a blogger in the making already with pencil in hand. I look at this photo and think, god I want those chairs, those curtains. Those pants. I want everything 1974, except the computers. Well, not everything ... if you think the corn party is going to be a key party, you can just stay home. It's going to be good clean fun. Well, relatively clean. But please check your suburban desperation at the door.
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TITLE: Red
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/23/2004 10:50:37 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Film Revisited 4: Motel Hell
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/22/2004 04:53:09 PM
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BODY:
Halloween is coming up soon, and that's the second-best reason to run out and rent Motel Hell immediately. The best reason, of course, is that this movie is so awesome I can hardly contain myself. I came home from work at 5am and threw this DVD in for some pre-dawn relaxation. Little did I know I would be in hysterics for the next hour and a half.
The first of the big belly laughs comes about 5 seconds into the movie. Even the credits are funny.
Rory Calhoun Nancy Parsons and Wolfman Jack
Rory Calhoun is old dude who was in about a million cheap westerns back when they made such things. Nancy Parsons is best known as Ms. Ballbricker from Porky's. Wolfman Jack is Wolfman Jack, and apparantly was such a star in 1980 that he gets top billing, even though he only has a cameo.
The plot is both familiar and ridiculous. Farmer Vincent (Calhoun) lives in the country with his sister Ida (Parsons), where they run a farm with a couple of sideline businesses. First is the ominous Motel Hello, with its flickering neon sign. Second is Farmer Vincent's Smoked Meats, which are best smoked meats in the world.
I think you know where this is going.
The secret recipe, of course, uses human flesh mixed in with the pork to spice things up. "It takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent's Fritters." The humans (or "animals" as Vincent calls them) are kept buried alive up to their chins in the "secret garden" with sacks over their heads. When Vincent and Ida "plant" them, they cut their vocal cords to keep them quiet. Vincent is kind enough to play 8-tracks for them so they don't get bored.
But none of this even matters. What matters is they way this stupid scenario is delivered. This movie is a study in how to make a B-movie, and everything is executed perfectly.
The unhidden, unforgiving backbends that the movie takes purely for the inclusion of nudity is a prime example. Why the hell does the sheriff take this girl to lover's lane so they can watch a drive-in movie with binoculars? Well, so that when the squad car pulls up to the make-out spot, the naked people in the cars will panic and do the natural thing, which is jump out of their vehicles and run around frantically jiggling. Of course. Who wouldn't do that?
Other scenes are just shockingly lurid. For instance, there's a scene with a kinky couple who show up at the motel with a tacky little pamphlet, wanting to know if the place is "cool." I can't and wouldn't even describe what happens next. It's too outrageous and too funny. You need to see it for yourself.
Also, there is the sympathetic attitude toward Farmer Vincent. He's not a bad guy. He prays to Jesus every day. He refuses to have premarital sex. Even the canniabalism, he does out of social concern: "There's too many people in the world and not enough food," he says. "Now this takes care of both problems at the same time."
Really, Farmer Vincent has only committed one sin in his entire life, which he reveals at the end. It's the punchline of the movie, really. Don't miss it.
Man. No sooner do I completely fall in love with Wanda Jackson than Bloodshot announces the upcoming release of Hard-Headed Woman: A Tribute To Wanda Jackson, featuring Neko Case, Trailer Bride, Robbie Fulks and the whole Bloodshot gang.
Says Bloodshot: "Known to many as the Queen of Rockabilly, Wanda Jackson is a maverick performer whose influence has reached far beyond the genre and cast a long shadow on the history of music---both sonically and in her performance style: She is one of Rock and Roll's original bad-asses. Wanda helped stake out a direct route from the feral origins of rock to the punks, riot grrrls and psychobilly boundary-busters 50 years later."
The CD is due out either Tuesday, October 26 or Thursday, October 28 (depending which part of the website you're reading). The full track listing can be found here.
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TITLE: Some damn fine mixes.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/20/2004 05:49:12 AM
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BODY:
That's what I've been makin'. If anyone wants to trade, drop me an email.
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TITLE: Paperboys, Grocery Stockers, and Me
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/19/2004 05:23:01 AM
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BODY:
There's a lot of people on the street at 5am. Well, more that you would think, anyway. I must have seen ten or twelve of them on my 4-block stroll home from work this morning. The slackers smoking in front of the gas station. The stockers filing out of the supermarket. The errant troublemakers roaring down Grand Avenue at 60 mph.
It kind of reminded me of when I was an errant troublemaker, during the summer in between high school and college. I had no job. I had no girlfriend. What I did have was an addiction to Jolt cola and a handful of similarly disinclined friends.
"I don't have a life," I'd complain, chuckling for some reason.
"Yeah, but you don't have any responsibilities either," was the inevitable reply. This was true. The most pressing decision of any day that summer was whether to swim in the lake or in Lester River.
The clock, like just about everything else, meant nothing. Hanging out could easily begin at midnight and end at noon the next day. Far too often, these hours were eaten up by endless games of Risk, interspersed with caffeine-induced arguments. Other nights we'd drive back and forth down Skyline, "surfing" on the outside of the car, stopping occasionally to shoot at stuff with BB guns. Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young.
For so many people, the day follows a regular schedule. Wake in the morning. Eat breakfast. Get to work at 9. Work. Get home at 6. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Sleep. Repeat. The TV news caters to people with this schedule, especially the weather report. They're always talking about "On your drive to work tomorrow morning," and "your weekend weather." I'm offended because sometimes my weekend occurs in the middle of the week. And as of today, morning is when I can either choose to go to sleep or choose to get drunk.
There is a whole segment of society that lives at night, some by choice and some not by choice. But by and large, we don't think about that. And we still equate rising early with virtue, and sleeping in the day as vice. It's silly, really.
In 9th grade, I got in an argument with my English teacher because she said, "Nothing good ever happens after midnight." Well, I lost the argument because I was only 14 years old and my defense was that her statement was too absolute. Yadda yadda yadda. But I'm 31 now, Mrs. Klun, and I can guarantee you that in my lifetime I've been ridden to the point of near insanity many, many times in the wee hours, and that is a very, very good thing. Case closed.
When you live life according to the schedule of the majority, life is a lot easier. When you tell people you're working the graveyard shift, they wince and feel sorry for you. But I'm not feeling sorry for myself right now. I'm feeling pretty good. And so many of the people I work with at night are happy with their schedule. They earn more money. They get shift differential, and they get more hours. And as my new supervisor said several times tonight, they have more fun. It's hard to describe, and I don't quite understand it yet, but the "vibe" is a lot more relaxed at night. It is more fun. Somehow.
I'm going to take these good things and run with them. I'm going to take these lemons and make lemonade. And being as that it's 6am, I'll dump a little Bacardi in that lemonade and think of you as your alarm is jolting you awake. Have fun at work, friends. I'm gonna watch some cartoons.
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TITLE: People who are angering my bunghole.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/18/2004 08:08:51 PM
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BODY:
The Destruction Crew The crew started remodling the downstairs apartment on the very day I was supposed to have switched to the night shift last time. And by "remodeling" I mean doing stuff that sounds like they're digging a coal mine, and doing it with the windows open so that the thermostat gets all confused and turns my apartment into an oven. A very noisy oven. Anyway, they apparantly found out that I was not working the night shift, and so postponed the project until this morning. This, my friend, is clearly a case of street theater.
Martha Stewart I simply do not understand the purpose of "sheer" curtains, or even worse than that, those curtains that are just a ruffly bit of fabric across the top of the window. Curtains have two very specific purposes: 1) to block out the evil, devil sun, and 2) to keep the guys at the auto shop next door from seeing my weiner. In order to accomplish these two objectives, curtains need to cover the entire window and be as opaque as the average sleeping bag. Yeah, I know you have two or three "maximum privacy" styles hidden over on the bottom shelf, but please. I have no interest in "filtering light" or "accenting" my room. And while I appreciate your efforts to encourage suburban women to turn their homes into fish bowls, I need a functional item here, and you have failed to provide it. No wonder you're in prison.
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TITLE: What is it?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/18/2004 01:19:04 AM
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BODY:
You figure it out. I'm gonna go watch Returner.
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TITLE: Preparations
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/17/2004 11:15:48 PM
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BODY:
So far, my preparations for my new night schedule are going as well as can be expected. I stayed up until almost 4 last night, and slept all day. Tonight, I am attempting to make my bedroom as comfortable as I can. I've removed most of the clutter, washed the sheets, and, most importantly, dismantled the bed frame and put the mattress and box spring on the floor.
As any of the 
This movie is grouped with The Hollywood Knights in my mind, because both came out in 1979, both take place in the early 1960s, and both involve groups of high school kids who wear matching jackets. But whereas The Hollywood Knights is about a "car club" on the West Coast, The Wanderers is about a street gang in the Bronx.
I watched this movie over and over during the summer between second and third grade. Back then, I thought it was tough, but there was something definitely "off" about it. I didn't know what it was back then, but boy oh boy do I ever know what it is now.
The Wanderers is totally fricken HOMO.
The movie opens with Richie, a blue-eyed Italian who looks like he just stepped out of Teen Beat, deflowering his girlfriend. At the very moment of climax, he hears a whistle outside signaling trouble for his fellow Wanderers. Since he has his priorities straight, he leaps up and runs out to join the boys.
The Wanderers are being chased by the Baldies, a rival gang led by a huge 400-pound behemoth named Terror (you might remember this actor, Erland van Lidth de Jeude, from such memorable roles as Dynamo in The Running Man). Terror has a girlfriend named Pew Wee, who is probably 4'5" and 60 pounds. Pee Wee looks and dresses like a 10-year-old boy, so it's quite something to see Terror pick her up, cradle her in his arms, and make out with her. This oddity is compounded by the fact that Terror speaks in a very smooth and effeminate manner.
Anyway, back to the plot. Richie and his Wanderers are rescued by the new kid in town, Perry (played by Tony Ganios, whom you might remember from such memorable roles as Meat in Porky's). They want Perry to join the Wanderers, since he is Italian, too, and all the gangs are segregated by race, creed, and color. Perry is noncommittal.
For some reason, there are no girls at this school in the Bronx, even though this is obviously a public school. (All the kids are just too poor for private school.) This adds to the utterly homo feel of the movie, too. And it makes it easier for the kids to harmonize as the randomly break out into spontaneous doo-wop. (Gay, gay, gay!)
Trouble starts when the boys go out for an afternoon of "elbow-tittin'" (bumping into women as a ruse for copping a feel) and meet Nina (played by Karen Allen, whom you might remember from such memorable roles as Marion, the gal who can drink anyone under the table in Raiders of the Lost Ark). Despite the fumbled and obvious attempt at elbow-tittin', Nina obviously has the hots for Richie, and vice-versa. This is bad news, since the girl he just deflowered is the daughter of a local Mafioso.
There's a bunch of other boloney about an upcoming rumble with the black gangs which somehow turns into a football game, 