As I sit here, a month from my 41st birthday, and contemplate my situation, I wonder if there really is any hope. For all of the knowledge I have attained, I know that I’m sitting here writing these words to a non-existent audience. It’s the same as a religious believer praying  to a non-existent god. I hope these words get read but probably not. It’s partially the reason why I can’t keep a hang on this blogging thing. No feedback. No response.

These were not the tater tots I ordered when I was a kid.

In my youth, possibilities were possible. A good day was rampaging around the neighborhood, hot meals, and a bedroom next to my parents. A bad day was all of that, plus, school. I was going to be a writer, I thought. Afternoons spent at home plugging away on my dad’s manual Underwood typewriter, creating horrible Agatha Christie pastiches for my bemused family to read, it was all I knew. Years later, and the discovery of science fiction and word processing programs had me writing space ships and time travelers, metal aliens, and pompous dialogue. It was going to work out. I knew it.

Fast forward a few years and I’ve traded it all for suburbs, take out, and stress. That writing career that I dreamed of when I was a kid is gone, replaced by soul-sucking tedium and media distraction. I have only myself to blame; a fat, flabby brain in a fat, flabby body. I didn’t exercise enough, I didn’t live. And so I stare down my creeping mortality, knowing that every moment brings me closer to when, to borrow the philosophy of Fight Club, one second I’m walking and talking, and the next second, I’m an object.

You may ask, if writing is truly what it is I want to do, why do I put it off? Why don’t you just, y’know, write? The best answer I could drum up would be a litany of excuses, events too numerous to catalog and blame focused upon others. I know it’s me. You know it’s me. I just need that sharp, pointy kick in the ass. A drill sergeant, a guru, a muse, someone, no matter how dubious or hazardous to my health, may be needed to get me out of this funk.

And so it goes.

So if I wake up tomorrow and start putting up irrelevant drivel on here, do not despair. Consider, at least, that I making a concerted effort.

"SQUAWK!"

What is there to say about Graham Chapman that hasn’t been already written down in depositions? Easily definable as the blondest, looniest, gayest, and deadest member of the Monty Python Flying Circus group, Gra represents the more reserved wing of British eccentricity, the symbolic mature older brother to Vivian Stanshall’s madcap little sib. After all, who else but an elder brother is able to charm the queen, down gin & tonics with wild abandon, clenching pipe betwixt chompers, and still able to pop out the occasional bon mot such as “lemon curry?” That he spent years as a secret whoopsie merely adds further proof to my theory.

It’s difficult to say why I’ve been fond of Chapman all of these years. Maybe it’s the screechiness of his pepperpot voice, the numerous hags that peopled the sketches and movies of Python. Or maybe it was the bewildering glint in his eye as he took part in excursions to Lake Pahoe or expeditions to the twin peakes of Mount Kilimanjaro. Who wouldn’t follow that man around the bookcase?

Sadly, Graham Chapman died on the eve of the 20th anniversary of Monty Python’s Flying Circus‘s first broadcast and has since gone into seclusion. However, through the use of modern paranormal technology, we are able to get a peek in as Merv Griffen and Eva Gabor sit down for a heavenly chat with our Gra.

Enjoy.

Image courtesy of the fan art section over at BillHicks.com. Go back to sleep, America.

"Darwin's wrong! And here's a non-sequitor dinosaur. RAWR!"

I know evolution is something that disturbs a lot of evolved intellects. It does thinks they don’t like, such as make their religions irrelevant. However, as much as a controversy as the fight between evolution and fairytale bullshit creationism comes to be, an even bigger controversy is that the public at large apparently doesn’t have that hot of a handle on it.

For example, a paper published by a PhD student and fellows at University of Bristol suggests that evolutionary changes occurred when land animals migrated to wider open spaces. What does this mean? Basically, not as much as you would think. It’s still in line with Darwin’s theory, that organisms survive because they are capable of adapting to their environment, otherwise known as natural selection or “survival of the fittest”.

People often confuse “survival of the fittest” to mean that the most fit, most strong species survive through competition. This is not so. All this paper does is give Darwin’s theories more depth.

But if you relied on major media outlets, you’d think this paper puts Darwinism in the realms of alchemy, unicorn, and psychic surgery. ZOMG! DARWIN WRONG!  Slate, the BBC, and other news sites, confer that science is now science fiction. Huffington Post goes as far as to use a ferocious T. Rex. That splashing sound you hear is the staff of the Creationist Museum in Hebron, KY, wetting themselves.

The response to this paper depressingly underscores the low levels of scientific knowledge that dominates society. “Survival of the fittest” has nothing to do with the Biggest and Strongest surviving, it’s more to do with reproduction rates. Though not coined by Charles Darwin, he used the phrase in later editions of his book On The Origin Of The Species as a metaphor for natural selection.

I’m not an evolutionary biologist and there’s a lot about it that is unknown to me, so make your own decision. However, what’s being hailed as a black eye to Darwin is merely ignorance parading as knowledge. As Alexander Pope says

A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.

Or so the Cliff Notes version tells me.

And now, it’s off to the pub to cleanse my liver.

Katy Perry may *appear* useless, but she stops Russell Brand mating with humans. Think of her as a gigantic novelty condom.

Were I to neglect every other facet of my life or were I to develop Teddy Roosevelt-equivalent speed, I will never read them all. And while I do enjoy the comfort of my books, there’s the competing matter of getting through the Asylum without having to do an obstacle course.

So it comes to this that I am in process of weaning books from my collection. This isn’t something I do lightly and I’m sure it’ll raise protests from all of those who know me well. However, it must be done.

Soon.

"Was it something I said?"

My team is the Cincinnati Reds. I love the Reds, been a Reds fan since birth, and will probably leave this planet brandishing some sort of Reds hat. Love’em. A lot. That’s why the just-completed three-game sweep of my Reds by their foes in the NL Central, the St. Louis Cardinals, stings a bit.

The Reds and the Cards have been battling for first place in the Central Division for a good part of the season. Before Monday’s game, the Reds were enjoying a two-game lead.  This series was a great opportunity for the Reds to give them a game or so of cushion. Unfortunately, that’s when Reds second-baseman Brandon Phillips opened his mouth and trash talk. Talking to Hall-of-Fame writer Hal McCoy hours before the Carpenter-Leake matchup on Monday, Phillips said:

“I’d play against these guys with one leg. We have to beat these guys. I hate the Cardinals. All they do is bitch and moan about everything, all of them, they’re little bitches, all of ‘em.

“I really hate the Cardinals. Compared to the Cardinals, I love the Chicago Cubs. Let me make this clear: I hate the Cardinals.”

I’m not sure if this is true but rumor says that Phillips then walked into the Cardinals’ locker room and nailed a picture of Tony LaRussa sodomizing a lemur to Albert Pujols’ locker. Then he asked Cards hitting coach Mark McGwire if he was going to get brain cancer from his years of steroids abuse, a la Lyle Alzado. For the denouement, he bit the head off an actual living cardinal. Like I said, all hearsay.

In all seriousness, Phillips is right. The Cardinals have whined and complained — Cardinals manager Abner Doubleday Tony LaRussa has complained this season about how baseballs are “rubbed up” and accused Bronson Arroyo of using pine tar. Oh, and they are little bitches.

This isn’t exactly new territory for the Reds. Back in July, Reds first baseman Joey Votto made news  when he mentioned that he hated the Chicago Cubs and that he refused to congratulate the Cubs’ Marlon Byrd following the  All-Star Game. The thing is, though, Votto was joking. While he acknowledged that the Cubs are rivals, he wasn’t serious. Phillips, in voicing his hate for all things Redbirds, was serious.

Monday’s game, the Reds lost 7-3. Tuesday, they lost 8-4. This afternoon, they avoided a shutout but not the sweep, 6-1. Phillips, by the way, went 2-for-14 with one run and an RBI and had several defensive miscues.

Included in this sweep was the well-documented brouhaha Tuesday night as Phillips, hitting leadoff in the first, stepped up to the plate. Phillips tapped Cards catcher Jadier Molina on the shin — which most batters do — but Molina, haven taken exception to Phillips’ comments, kicked the bat away. So Phillips attempted to tap his shin again. Molina responded by getting into Phillips’ face and both players were separated by coaches and teammates. In the ensuing melee, the previous day’s pitcher for the Cards, Chris Carpenter chirped at Dusty Baker and Reds third baseman (and former Cardinal) Scott Rolen took exception, going after Carpenter. The ensuing scrum ended against the netting behind home plate with both Carpenter and the Reds starting pitcher for the game, Johnny Cueto, pinned against the netting. Cueto, panicking, kicked wildly, first at Cards backup catcher (and former Red) Jason LaRue, getting him in the face at least once,  and then at Carpenter, pounding his spikes into Carpenter’s back. Order was gradually restored and both managers were ejected. Molina went on to knock in a home run while Phillips struggled at the plate and missed ground balls that he normally had no problem with.

Had Phillips simply said, “I hate the Cardinals but we have to play them,” I doubt much of what’s transpired this week would have happened. However, in using the words that he did use, Brandon Phillips enraged the Cardinals, began an altercation that will probably lead to fines as well as a multi-game suspension for Cueto, and put his ball club in a horrible position. In addition, he choked completely both at the plate and on the field. By opening his yap and failing to back it up, along with the rest of his teammates, he’s brought new scrutiny to the Reds as they now sit one game out of first place. And now, you and your fellow Redlegs need to prove that this season isn’t, as some Cardinals have dismissively stated, all about luck. Bravo, BP.

No pressure.

I’m disappointed that Phillips resorted to NBA/NFL-style tactics. I’m disappointed more in that the Reds looked completely out of their depth during this series. But I do believe in my Reds and I’m certain they’ll get over this episode and win the NLC.

Just keep Brandon Phillips’ mouth shut with duct tape.

1. Stupid people.
2. The media.
3. Politicians.
4. Politics.
5. My wife and fam’s undying love of VH-1 “Celebreality” Shows.
6. Republicans.
7. Tea Party People.
8. Homophobia.
9. Intolerance.
10. Racial division.
11. Corporate media.
12. Corporations.
13. Police states.
14. CTV cameras.
15. Abuse of power.
16. Abuse of animals.
17. Abuse of small people.
18. Lack of empathy, in general.
19. Indifference to suffering.
20. Black licorice.
21. Corporate police.
22. G20.
23. G8.
24. FOX News.
25. FOX News viewers (redundant, see #1 — editor).
26. Religion.
27. Fundamental religious twats.
28. Atheists.
29. TV.
30. AM radio.
31. FM radio.
32. Talk show hosts.
33. Pedophile priests and the popes that excuse it.
34. Unemployment, the state of being unemployed.
35. Consumer society.
36. Mall mentality.
37. Chain restaurants.
38. Tourist traps.
39. Fear of the different.
40. Fear of change.
41. “Take Back Our Country” and variants.
42. Non-smokers.
43. Teetotalers.
44. Drunks.
45. Hicks & dullards
46. Death.
47. Ant-intellectualism.
48. Libertarians.
49. Misinformation.
50. Order.

What’s your beef?

The truth is, this blog is sans purpose: there’s no reason to read it beyond the fact that it exists. There’s no marketable or capitalistic component to this site. There’s no advice given. It’s just a guy writing words on a screen that, maybe, one other person may read. For that purpose, I’ll no longer “phone in” my posts. This means the following:

1. No more short posts that exist merely to link to another site. The preceding post is a good example. Outside of sharing news, there was nothing amazing about that post. It was just something to make this page look active.
2. Fuck hypertextual interfaces, there’ll no longer exist within my posts links to other web pages. I know this goes against New Amazing Media. Maybe this is self-destructive, Luddite thinking but if you’re going to read anything I write, you better have your full attention. Not because there’s some mystic depth but because sometimes you just need to practice mindfulness. If links are required, they’ll be added at the bottom of the post.
3. No more faux posts. I loathe blog posts that are, at their core, space takers. You know the type, the Top Ten Reasons Why Celebrity X Is Ruining Society or FAIL Du Jour and some such, the uncreative sausage factory posts that are fit for the shit that is Linkbait Generator.
4. No more long periods of times without posts. This satisfies two elements: you get more content and I keep writing. I say all of this to make you realize that I ain’t faking it here. When I get writer’s block, I’m gummed up like a greasy, hair-festooned shower drain. So the more I write, the better I’ll get.

I pledge you guys, no more half-assed words. What you’ll get here is words that are sweated over, extracted with difficulty, pain, and misery. Quality, hard fought, blue collar words. Experiences, fancies, thoughts, premonitions, and other facets will be the cattle call for the New Bourbon Asylum.

With that change comes a new but classic set of duds. Old timey readers might remember this look from about a year ago. I like the Erudite theme because, really, it’s what I want the blog to be. Together, I hope we can do the one thing I had set out to do when I first started blogging, lo, those many years ago: Make me lots of money.

And He’s not afraid to let ya know.

The large Jesus statue iconic to Interstate 75 in Monroe is destroyed following an apparent lightning strike.
…
The statue, which appeared to come out of the water, was known by multiple nicknames since it was built in 2004, including “Touchdown Jesus” because the arms re raised upward, similar to a motion made when a touchdown is scored in football, or “Drowning Jesus.” It also was known as “Big Butter Jesus” after comedian Heywood Banks referred to it as such and created a song about the statue, which he performed on radio’s “The Bob and Tom Show.”