Do not mistake coincidence for fate.

Thank you to Presvytera Marion Turner for sharing this with me.

More signs of the Apocalypse

As seen on CraigsList. Oh, Lord.

Erotic Writing for Pittsburgh Blog (Pittsburgh)

We are launching a new blog featuring erotic writing and photography set in Pittsburgh and its surrounds. Our goal is to make Pittsburgh the sexiest city in the United States--heightened eroticism as regional asset key to livability. We are looking for well-written short stories between 500 and 1,500 words. All works should be prominently set in Pittsburgh. Quality of writing is paramount. Stories may feature any kind of encounter or near miss (we are GLBT-interested). We are currently paying between $20 and $50/per post and over time are hoping to build a stable of two or three writers who can keep us all hot and bothered with fantastic tells of sex in the city.

Please include an erotic work sample with your inquiry.

• Location: Pittsburgh
• Compensation: Between $20 and $50 per blog post
• Telecommuting is ok.
• This is a part-time job.

We're calling from the Pleiades, and we'd like to make a request...

So I was listening to NPR this afternoon and, as an aside to a story about water on the Moon, they happened to mention "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft, " a rather unfortunate hit for The Carpenters back in the 1970's. Here's a little taste of that magic, for those who don't remember:



Whew. Okay. Heavy, I know. The reason I'm even bothering to post about all this is that the NPR story mentioned The Carpenters as if they were the originators of the song. Not so. In fact, their version of the song was a cover of the original version, written and performed by KLAATU.

Now, I know. You've never heard of KLAATU. Nobody has. But back in the day, when KLAATU was, you know, doing its thing, there was a pretty massive rumor that they weren't a band at all. The rumor was that, instead, they were a front for a secretly reunited Beatles project. Srsly.

It was a nice pipedream for a culture exhausted by Watergate and such. The wish for something awesome, even secretly awesome, like the Beatles being back together, was a powerful opium for the masses. It would lull us into accepting just about anything. Even KLAATU. Even The Carpenters. So it goes.

"Our Daughter" (a poem)

Our daughter
Who art in bathtub,
Glistening be thy rump.

Thy towels come
To dry thy bum,
And then it is off to bedtime.

You had, this day,
Your daily breast
And numerous spit ups
(Though we forgive you, who spits up
Against us)
And sleep is not even temptation,
But a wager made through rocking.

For thou art the tired, the hungry, and the fussy
and not yet a Toddler. Amen.

Just in time for (next year's) Christmas

“Art is permitted to survive only if it renounces the right to be different, and integrates itself into the omnipotent realm of the profane.”

~ Theodor W. Adorno

"Made in California....For Enjoyment throughout the World"

I just ran across this on David Wm. Sims's blog, Too Big to Fail, and had to share. Enjoy:

Overheard on Facebook

Concerned citizens on the move, tweeting us to victory:

"Please pay attention to terriorist, they r on facebook also, I spoke to the fbi, an they said that it can be possible an that facebook has to deal with this correctly, ;-)"

The fbi is right, kids. Please pay attention to terrorist. Srsly.

Kids today, with their hard rock, and their yodeling...

I especially love the Jazz Flute break we get around minute three. Ron Burgundy's got nothin' on this guy.



Thanks mucho to Thad Thomspon and Jason NeSmith for putting this on my radar. Enjoy.

The Nicene Creed, Colbert style

Yep. The whole creed. You go, Stephen. Nice ending, too.

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Detourning Women

Ladies and gentleman (and ladies): detournement.

(Thanks to Jennifer Randles for bringing this to my attention.)

These are a few of my favorite things

In the words of Mike Watt, that last post was a heavy piece. So I decided I would lighten things up a bit.

For your pleasure, here's Unknown Hinson, playing Hendrix. Enjoy.

Gives new meaning to the phrase, "celery stalk"

When I lived in Atlanta, years ago, the bathroom in my small apartment had a window. The tub was an old clawfoot tub, and it was set out from the wall, so the landlord had installed a wraparound shower curtain that ran all the way around the tub, obscuring the window.

One day, while cleaning, I pulled back the curtain to find that an ivy vine from the outside wall had worked its way through the window sash, and was extending several inches into the room. As it extended, it was not attaching to anything. Instead, it was just suspended in air, as if it were reaching toward the shower, to grab.

Say what you will about Al-Qaeda. For my money, that mute tendril of intrusion was as terrifying as any Hitchcock film. You northerners might not understand, but down here, we've got kudzu, and kudzu will freakin' eat your car.

At last, I have found someone who shares my fears. Watch, and be edified, citizens.

(It seems to have an ad attached to it - apologies!!)

The discreet charm of the bourgeoisie

Today, in the parking lot of the post office, I observed a family (with a small dachshund, no less), driving a Volvo with truck nuts.

And I thought, already in my horror:
What if this is not irony?

An historical Rhyme

I made this up in the shower this morning. Sing to the tune of "London Bridges Falling Down":


In a duel you lost your nose
lost your nose
lost your nose
Now it's made of brass and gold
Tycho Brahe!


Don't blame me. Blame Wikipedia.

YouTube slightly bruised the Radio Star

This one's for you, Alec.

Mr. Dylan, meet Mr. Bierce

economist - n. - a weatherman who doesn't know which way the wind blows.

Bend the Hundred Acre Sinister

Kira and I have moved to a new apartment, and this entails, among many other things, a reorganization of books. As I was about this task today, I was suddenly pleased to note that, among the many volumes of fiction we own, Vladimir Nabokov sits dangerously close to A.A. Milne on our fiction shelf.

There are pleasures, and then there are pleasures. This morning, with that, the universe provided the latter. Thank you.

Say hi to your mother.

Parkour!

My friend Anson emailed me about a series of five webisodes he has recently directed for Dank and Nank (them being, as near as I can tell, a dadaist version of the Odd Couple)

I am not sure I understand it, but I enjoyed it. Hence, I am publicizing it. Dig:

Open Letter to the Space Dudes

Dear NASA,

Remember that time y'all went to the Moon?

That was way rad.

Peace,

D.