The Soft Machine

A Day In the Life...

The Good

• The only girl alive. Enough said.
• A hot and fresh Filet-O-Fish from McDonald's. McDeath is evil, but their fish sandwich is a guilty pleasure, especially when they don't fuck it up.
• Fast food breakfasts in small towns. Its always little old ladies working in the morning, and they really care about what they do. Always so nice, too.
• Barbed Wire Love. Goddamn, Stiff Little Fingers can write a good punk song. Okay, they wrote a lot of good punk songs.
• New Grenada and Thunderbirds Are Now! at Small's in Hamtronik tonight.
• The Undertones (!) at the Magic Stick in beautiful midtown Detroit tonight.
• rocknrollscientist at the Painted Lady in Hamtronik tonight. No, that doesn't mean I'll be putting my liver on display, it means I'll be DJing.
• Peel Sessions. I guarantee you that every single recorded Peel session you can find is good or at the very least interesting and revealing in some way. In the UK, you can only broadcast a small amount of pre-recorded music on the radio, so they have bands play live in the studio often, and John Peel (who passed away last year) was legendary for his broad and good taste in new music. All Peel sessions are available somehow, whether they're actually released or bootlegged, or shared on a peer-to-peer site somewhere.
• The White Stripes cover of the MC5's "Looking At You." Available only on a Peel session recording (I think). Its out of key and I think he fucks up some of the words, but its my favorite MC5 song, and its good to hear a good local band paying some respect.

The Bad

• Crimson, the new Alkaline Trio album. Okay, it's not bad, its actually good, but I don't like that they included some older songs for their big 'breakthrough' album. I don't know if its laziness, and they needed filler, or if these songs were specifically chosen because they're particularly good, or what, but I don't like this practice. The Sights did it on their first (and new) major label album, but its only two songs, and one of them was previously only available on a 45, so it's not as bad.
• Work. I fucking hate work. Work distracts us from life. I don't want to be distracted from life.
• Splenda. Sugar substitute. I've never knowingly had it until today when I purchased an Arizona Diet Green Tea with Ginseng. I got the diet because the normal version is just too damned sweet sometimes. I wanted to believe that Splenda wouldn't be as bad as Nutrasweet, but it still has that cloying aftertaste. I grew up in a house where there was never any regular pop, only diet. I grew to prefer it because it wasn't as sweet, but there's still that taste in my mouth...
• Quizno's. Expensive and tasty. Pure chewing satisfaction. Completely evil.

The Ugly

• Starbuck's Double Shot. These 6.5 oz cans of Jesus juice sell for as much as $3 at finer gas stations and party stores. I could just drink a couple cups of coffee for free at work, but noooo, I have to go and buy these little cans of liquid analgesic/speed. I'd be better off drinking a cup of coffee and downing an extra-strength Excedrin. I think that Starbuck's is a front for the worldwide Illuminatus conspiracy that controls the world's power and wealth. I'm sure they were more than a little worried when Starbuck's was portrayed as the front for Dr. Evil's organization in the second Austin Powers movie.
• Tom DeLay. What a piece of shit. Ethics in politics? What's that? True, most politicians at the federal level (hell, at every level) are a bunch of assholes, but this one didn't get away with it. What a fucking idiot.
• The City of Detroit, and the innumerable fuckups on the part of the mayor, city council, and the general municipal administration. What a bunch of fucking idiots.

Maybe I'll Catch Fire

I removed the post that was here. I felt it was too self-indulgent and boring.

I Have 8 Bosses, Bob

The red paperclips started talking to me again this morning. At least that punk-ass stapler is keepin' it's big mouth shut.

A Couple of Kooks Hung Up on Romancing*

Someone new and close to me recently told me that the best things in life are good food and good drink and good music. She's jaded, and I understand, but there's more, I said. It's the little things. They build up into huge things.

When I was younger, maybe ten, I went to my first concert. I already fanatically listened to the pop music that my mom was always filling our home with. That meant The Carpenters, Neil Diamond, The Monkees, early Beach Boys, '80s Dolly Parton, and James Taylor. I never really liked James Taylor, though. There was a Tubby's Subs in Port Huron where we went for lunch one day, and they had a contest to win tickets to the Monkees reunion show at Pine Knob. My mom won the contest, and we went to see the Monkees. Weird Al opened. I used to like him, but not after seeing him live. Whatever. That was it. I blame the Monkees for my descent into musical fanaticism. Soon after, I got tired of listening to the radio because it was the same shit over and over and over again, and it was driving a spike into my brain. Maybe when I was twelve, I was trying to find something different on the radio, and I found the local college station, WSGR-FM. First I heard "I.C. Water" from Psychic TV, which was a tribute to Ian Curtis from Joy Division, then I heard Jello Biafra's "Pledge of Allegiance." Shit, that was it.

Music became such a big part of my life that I didn't care about anything else at all. I barely graduated high school with my low attention span and distaste for algebra. Yet, I somehow finished in the top 25% of my class. I was that guy who could handle the classes without a problem, I just didn't give a shit. Same thing with college, too, actually. In my 10th grade English class, we had to memorize a poem and then read it. I read a song from Lou Reed's album "Magic and Loss." I think it was "The Sword of Damocles." See, all that mattered to me was music. When you're a teenager, and kind of a loner, what else could there possibly be? I had some friends, but no one I could really talk to. No one who liked the things I liked.

After that came community college and college radio. Within a year I was the music director on WSGR-FM. Of course it was meant to be. I was also the copy editor on the campus paper, and that was where I met this guy Ben. He was living in a local halfway house after getting out of prison on parole for something stupid like possession. Part of his deal was that the state would pay for him to go to college while he was living in the transitional house. Ben was a punk. I found my crowd. People who knew what I was all about. I should also add that right after high school, I became close with this girl Lori who I had been in school with since kindergarten. I never really knew her until after school, though. She's the first person who showed me that you can add good friends to good music as the best things in life. Ben and his crowd weren't really close friends, just people who understood me. There were so many people in those first three years after high school (1994-97) who showed me the little things in life that make it all worthwhile.

I don't really understand how one can go from being such a loner in school to knowing so many people that they can't keep them straight, but that's what happened. Then I moved to Detroit. That's where it really happened. There's something to be said for going out with good friends, having good brunch downtown, drinking ridiculously expensive Mimosas for hours, then just spending the rest of the day in someone's backyard barbecuing and drinking cheap beer and fiddling with the CD player, changing discs every three songs. Good food, good drink, and good music. But...this is where it becomes obvious. You have to add good people into it. And the little things. For some reason, on that sunny summer day last year, I was taking a lot of pictures with my digital camera. I must've taken 50 pics that day, and almost ALL of them were just people's feet. Or someone's head down in the corner with the wall in the house taking up the rest of the frame. Is that weird? Most of the photos came out really well. It's just something stupid and small, but again, it's the little things.

Now, I'm 29 years old. When I was a teenager, I never thought I'd make it to 30. Its not that I didn't want to or that I was afraid, its just that I really didn't think I'd make it. There's lots of good, and there's lots of bad. I have regrets. I've done some things that even I can't believe I've done. Breaking hearts, burning bridges that I'll work so hard to later rebuild, turning my back on my dad, living in ways that I can't afford to live, giving away my heart only to get it crushed like peanuts. But there are good things, too. Road trips for rock 'n' roll, unintentionally 'acting' in a documentary about a bar on the west side, getting drunk (and high) with rock stars, and ALL of the friends. These are just the things I can think of right now. In the past seven years here in Detroit, there have been so many good people in my life. I have at least three who I can easily call my chosen sisters. Thank you Amy and Angela and Shannon. I'd be nothing without you. Unfortunately, Tim, my chosen little brother is no longer with us. I miss him, but I will move on with him at my side in spirit.

I barely know where I was going with this anymore. I'm just rambling. Digression is the spice of life. The little things aren't so little, I guess. They're big things. Good food and good drink is fine. I like it. But there's more. I'm weak, my heart has been broken a few times, but I move on, and I don't blame anyone. I used to think you can't always get what you want, but maybe serendipity is on our side. Maybe it's karmic reaction, I don't know.

To the only girl alive, there's more to life than good food and good drink and good music, there's also good people. I want you to remember that, and if you can't, then I'll show you.

*listen to David Bowie.

Throwaway Style

Something just occurred to me. I had a good discussion last night about death and religion and all that, and then it was on my mind again just now. Personally, I believe in reincarnation. However, I don't believe in it for the same reasons as the religions who are all up in it. The Eastern religions like Buddhism, Hindu (and all its varieties), and Krsna all believe that you are reincarnated many, many times (thousands usually) in an effort to achieve supreme enlightenment. When you reach this final full realization of your relationship with your maker, you attain Nirvana, or Paradise, or Heaven, or whatever your particular brand of religion chooses to name it. So, anyway. I don't agree with that part. I don't think that our goal is to reach a final and complete understanding of our relationship with the supreme almighty whatshisname. I guess I see it on a more personal and selfish level.

Look at it this way, what if our maker is our Earth? I don't know shit about pagan or Wiccan religions, so don't go thinking that's where this is headed. Take it from an Evolutionist standpoint. If everything evolved in the way it did so that we can be here today, wouldn't that make nature our creator? So, if you're reincarnated over and over again, you become closer to earth. Maybe you become more acquainted with all of the mistakes we've made as industrialized and greedy humans. Think about it, 300 years ago in 1705, no one was thinking about taking care of the planet. They weren't evolved enough. Does evolution include reincarnation? Do we have to learn from our mistakes and keep coming back again and again to learn from them?

Also, I was thinking, if we keep coming back, do we keep coming back to certain people for certain reasons? Haven't I met you before somewhere? I know we've talked before. I swear.

(with apologies to The Only Girl Alive for that last line, even though I think it's funny, it just makes me a mean boy, right?)

I Know All There is To Know About Nothing At All

Good good things this week:

• Plain, black coffee. Not hazelnut-blueberry-vanilla-spice, just plain old, overpriced Sumatran coffee dark roasted with no creamer, no sugar.
• Free cigarettes. Who can resist? Even if they are menthol.
• New Sights album came out this week. You can get it here. Finally, their amazing cover of Mahalia Jackson's "I'm Going to Live the Life I Sing About In My Song" is available to all, and not just 45 collectors. I've been watchin' these kids since they were still in high school. You need to check this out. Also, the record release show will be this Thursday at the Magic Stick. Read about that here
• The Hard Lessons. A newer rockin' band from Detroit. Drums, guitar, and organ. Male and female vocals. Stax/Volt soul meets '60s rock. They're playing the Magic Stick with New Grenada, the Recital, and the Trembling for the "One Scene to Another" release show. Go here for more info on that. I caught them on Monday at the Belmont for an unadvertised show. It was hot.
• The little things. More on that later.
• New Thunderbirds Are Now! album. It's called "Justamustache." They've slowed down a bit since the last album. Focusing more on songwriting and a more mature sound. Most of the hyper spaz is gone, the singing is actually singing and not just shouting, and it's an all around good record. Reminds me a lot of their former labelmates Radio Berlin, who have a slightly more goth edge to their sound.
• New Human Eye record, which seems to be self-titled. They've moved past their earlier sound that easily recalled Chrome, and replaced it with a slightly improv sound. A couple songs have horns, one of them has trombones! Recommended if you like weirdo robot punk.
• Tonight! Gris Gris, Indian Jewelry (former NTX+Electric and Swarm of Angels people), and White Devil all at the Painted Lady in Hamtramck, MI. It's probably $5 at the door, I'm sure it's 18 and over only, and the first band will probably start between 10:30 and 11pm. Plus, I'm DJing. You just can't beat that. It's a chance for me to play more of the avant-robot-weirdo stuff that I like so much.
• Death From Above 1979 at the Lager House on Saturday. Trust me. Go here to read a little bit about them, listen to some songs. They're playing with Lee Marvin Computer Arm, who you also must see if you haven't. Imagine if At the Drive In actually had soul and knew what rock n roll was meant to be. That gives you an idea. Controller.Controller is also playing. There will be two shows, and early one for the kiddies, and a later one for us adults. Honestly, I don't know what time the earlier one is, because no one has posted it anywhere. If you don't already know, DFA1979 is insane. Two guys: blown-out bass, and drums. They take turns singing, and sometimes sing together. Their sound is like Black Sabbath with soul. That sounds cheesy, but really, it's not.
• McSweeney's Lists. Check them out here. Mandatory daily reading.
  

I'm Lovin' It

Okay, I have to post this. It's too good. It's from my friend Shannon, who lives in NYC. She posted it yesterday elsewhere online, but I wanted to make sure everyone else got a chance to see it. Check it out.

I'm Lovin' It
"I'm going to Mc Donalds and if you don't like it fuck off. i'm gonna eat a fuckin double-whopper-big-mac-crispy-fish-chicken-of-theday-piece of shit hangin out of my mouth-greasy fake cow guts chin and playdo fries . and nobody can stop me. HUSH! shhhhhhhh. dont say a word. i'm gonna get a rock hard apple pie and chase it with orange drink like we used to have at t ball games. i'm gonna pour the whole tank over my body of suffering arteries as the hopeless and sad unaccomplished 65 year old indian people behind the service counter send the little retarted boy to clean up the sticky swamp of orange glowing goober and crusty french fry mess of puke from the sorry corner table i will sit and swap war stories over coffeee with the man with the eye patch and smelly lady who takes no sugar but half milk. and then i'll fuckin smack one of those little thug kids who hangs out after school and cant ever seems to make it home because mommy and daddy forgot to use a condom when they unfortunately bred the little heathen into existence. i'll smack him with a french fry, or a dollar bill as he begs for it as i make a hasty and embarressed exit out the doorway to gluttonous america world and the 6 o clock sun shines on my pale white chicken skin."

I posted this earlier today and received such a high number of overwhelming responses to my rant, that i feel it is neccessary to brief you all, my friends, on the actual events which occured following my "Mickey D's" craving on Monday April the 11th 2005 at 5:38 pm. Here goes. stay with me people, its simply an addition to my ongoing analyzation of myself, the "odd" one who exists in this "normal" world. I think we may be onto something, and we can recognize the following as a major breakthrough in the successes of my newfound experimentation known as "life: i see you":::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Making my way toward 31st street in Astoria on that evening, i squinted at the beaming sun in the clear blue sky as my pace evolved into a strut of confidence to the tune of "more than this" by Roxy Music blaring into my small and fragile eardrums. I had just notified jeff that the mission was now underway, and i had begun my journey toward the golden arches. Anxieties began to arise in the back of my mind as i sent two final text messages, and i stood in front of the glass store front, underneath the pigeons pooing above my head from the elevated train platform i would stall beneath. One message: to jeff and johnny, "i'm goin in". And wouldn't you guess? they did not stop me. trustworthy friends whose opinions i cherish, they each sent me a silent text of luck in my endeavor, as i waltzed into the wood-grain paneled zoo of meat and cheese.

First sight: a line, of at least 15 people. Old people, young people, little rats carrying balloons from a birthday party being held on the lower level. the smell of sweat and blood and dirty homeless people scavenging for salty fry bits permeated the air. it was enough of a scene for any self respecting individual to pull out a previously concealed uzi and gun the sorry corner of society out of its hopeless misery. but not i. i apparently had not recently weighed my self respect, because i was going in for the kill. I joined the line.

I tried to ignore what was passing on around me. all of my predictions were true. Old indian lady behind register- check. 25 employees behind counter salting one bag of french fries and one open register (run by non english speaking old indian lady) check. hoodlums with basketballs scraping pockets for change to buy big macs- check. retarded man mopping floor with shit smelling mop near ketchup and napkin stand- check. man standing NEXT TO ME as if there are two lines when all 50 of us waiting for our slow grease bomb playdo burger deaths have already formed single file! Bastard. Business man in front of me. 5 employees stuggling to carry 2 plates each of kiddie birthday cake down the stairs to what must be an even smellier disgusting dungeon of playland (that some MORON booked a party for their poor later to be really really ignorant as an adult if they even make it there life child), when every nite i carry like 5 martini stems at once through a CROWDED SPORTS BAR. but they needed 15 hands i guess, so what the heck. - check.

And then it happened. i did it. the man tried to step up to the reg before me (mr. 2nd line formation, that is), and i blocked his shit. straight up. i defended my place in line. It was like it occured in slow motion, as the words escaped my lips, my mind pitied my sad moment of existence in which i was actually trying to get MY mcdonalds crap feed on before some other sad individual. But the deed was done, and i quickly cut the man off "there's only one line sir...." (slow motion, defending my team of followers filed behind me). And like any jerk, i had no idea what i even wanted when i got to the counter. after all, it all tastes like throw up, right?

So i chose the ..9 (filet of fish ( pretty safe actually in my opinion) and in a fit of filthy "there is no way this is going to feel okay once you engage in what you are about to do" (like everytime i have ever smoked pot in my life, when i know i shouldn't do it because it makes me CRAZY paranoid and sick and i NEVER have fun doin it, but always try it again once in a while to see if i still have a miserable reaction to it...), i order the dreaded cheeseburger, straight up. and as the cashier plops down my burger like a fat lady landing on the left end of a piano and my total pops up on the little black screen in front of me, i interrupt the cash transaction ( all one dollar bills of course) to order a glimmer of my childhood on plymouth road with my nana; hot fudge sundae.

So i scrape out the extra dollar and pay as i get my change back and drop the 32 cents or whatever into the ronald mcdonald house-shaped bucket to my left as the hefty man i cut off approaches the counter and orders something that resembles what lies before me on my ugly brown tray. i dont get napkins (thats what sleeves are for) but i pump my ketchup sludge into the crappy too tiny paper cup waste of tree so i can dip my french fries.

Then i have to find a seat. i'm at a mcdonalds in queens, people. its alot like an average mcdonalds. you have your regulars of course, the coffee slurping oldies of whom i spoke before, and the lunatic hooligans in really long tshirts that go beyond their knees and wrinkle beneath their nike shoe purchase "backpacks" that they carry their guns and drugs in. i don't want to sit next to them, but like a moron, i chose "to stay" rather than "to go". a bunch of old greek people hover in the corner. they look as though they are dressed from a funeral earlier that day. they probably are. "poor spiro's wife" i imagine them muttering over their empty table tops. don't want to go there either. a woman with her small children looks distressed as she searches for a spot as well, and i choose a dirty booth in front of the garbage can. its a better choice than the ugly sagging faced women sitting at my view to the left, or the old crusty man sitting in front of me with eighteen sugar packet coffee who cant help but stare at me. i watch 2 young couples around my age walk in the door and then retreat as they giggle about what they almost ate if they had made it twelve paces further. i feel sick. i havent even touched my food yet. i'm half plugging my nose from the stench of my fellow human beings as the man creepily stares and the two ugly women fail to communicate with one another over their dinner. clearly, all of these ghouls are "lovin' it", and i am about to as well as i bite into the filet of fish.

The first sandwich goes down nicely. it had been housed in a strangely retro looking blue box. i admire the design of the container. simple-looking. i swig my dr. pepper and munch on some fries as my dessert melts before me. "gotta eat fast before dessert melts" i chant in my mind. then i reach for the 100% beef cheeseburger before me. (thats what the paper wrapping says, although it does not describe what TYPE of beef, i suppose we are ignorant enough as humans to find some sort of solas in the fact that it is beef, and yes, 100%...eeewwwgh) Great, beef sounds good. I take a bite and i tastes like drunken homeless pee pant puke. i take another bite and scrape away some of the never meant to be melted cheese from the edge of the round breaded disc in my hand. i stare at it. the man stares at me. the scene is making me feel disgusting, the thug kids begin trashing their garbage in the can beind me as the back of my booth clangs and rumbles from their inability to make it in the container in first, second, fifth try. eventually they do. and then as they leave, a store employee begins changing the trash.

As i try to shove the poo like food into my mouth, i give up. i stall. i hang my head in sorrow. i will absolutely become ill if i take one more bite. i cant even afford to counteract the sandwich with a fry. i collect my belongings and drop at least 3/4ths of my would be "meal" into the garbage. i do take the sundae. this is how it always ends, i should have known better. as i turn to silently assess the carnage i had just experienced, a smelly homeless man enters the restaurant. i pat my self on the back for my good timing, and as i walk up the steps to the train platform, i have two scoops of dessert and toss the cup in the trash.

I sent jeff a mission accomplished notice, and he texts me back "do you feel bloated". yes jeff, i do. and it is 12 hours later and i still do. damn you ronald mcdonald. damn YOU! and of course, when the timing is right again someday- i will fulfill my craving once again. but for the moment- i will tell myself that i am never going near that shit hole again.

Understanding Shannon's perspective and reasons for this odyssey may be difficult for some of you. See, for us carnivores who are enlightened members of society, we have to deal with persecution by our vegetarian and vegan friends. I'm not saying that all 'veggies' are political about their choice of diet, but many are. We also understand and acknowledge that McDeath is bad for us and the world as a whole. But...sometimes you just gotta have that slimey, greasy crap. We always regret it later, but if it's actually hot and fresh, and if the experience of getting the grease bombs isn't too bad, it's worth it at the time. I can't explain it, it's just one of those weird things that people do.

Strange Fruit

Oh my god, what a weekend. My life is a rollercoaster. Stop the world, I want off.

Jesus of Suburbia

I admit it. For all of my "I heard them first" and "I'm over it" record snob bullshit, the first time I heard Green Day was when their third album came out: "Dookie." My punk rock scorecard was in the negatives before it ever began.

So, when Dookie came out in 1994, I was working at a record store in a small town an hour north of Detroit. Of course it was big, and in the wake of the 'alternative' successes of Nirvana, anything remotely different (and young) sounding was rotated to death on mainstream radio and MTV. I got sick of it right away. The owner of the store asked me if I thought we should order the band's older albums and I said it was a good idea because the kids are eating it up. I quickly tired of Dookie and latched onto the older records.

But then college radio happened and I suddenly had access to so much new music. I had a four hour show each week to explore everything going on in modern music. For me at the time, most of that was punk. Fat Wreck Chords started getting big, I discovered the other joys (besides early Green Day) of Lookout! Records like Screeching Weasel and the Queers and Green Day was left behind. They got too corporate for me. Okay, the band didn't, but the marketing of their music did. So I left them behind. The album "Warning" from 2000 had an interesting single, but I was too wrapped up in the local garage and trash-rock to care. Then it happened.

Their latest album, "American Idiot" from 2004 started creepin' up on me. I kept hearing the first single ("American Idiot"). I would come across it on MTV in a rare and brief moment when they were playing a video AND it wasn't a mediocre hip hop or r'n'b video. Then, barely an hour after going to the second of two funerals within a few days, I was at a bar downtown, and someone had asked them to put on American Idiot. Maybe it's just because I was in an emotional state, but it stuck with me.

Three months later, I gave in. I just got it two days ago and I can't stop listening to it. It's a fucking rock opera. Yeah, you read that right, I said rock opera. Like "Tommy" or "The Wall." Seriously. Two songs into it, and they hit you with "Jesus of Suburbia," a medley (or is it a suite?) that's almost ten minutes long. I'm floored. Early on in the song, the verses follow the chord progression and vocal phrasing of Motley Crue's "On With the Show." I am impressed. They got my attention. Then it speeds up, then it slows down and goes into an early motown riff. Amazing. I'm a seriously opinionated bastard when it comes to music, but I like this a lot. The protagonist of the story seems to be St. Jimmy. I can't quite figure out the plot (if there is one), but the record is engaging. There's so much that grabs me. Themes of isolation, loneliness, depression, disgust with American consumerism and greed.

I could get all esoteric and write something about the philosophy going on with the album, or the parallels with The Who's "Tommy," but I won't. You don't need that, you don't want that. What you do need to know is that Green Day can no longer be discounted as just another '90s punk band putting out records that all sound the same. The songwriting, the lyrics, and the themes have progressed, the band has evolved, and hopefully they'll be around much longer.

The True Adventures of I, Fuzzbot

I'm feeling it today. Not sure what 'it' is, but it feels right. It's been a good week. I had Monday off for jury duty. They let me go at 10:30am. That was easy. Didn't go back to work, just fucked around the rest of the day. I need that sometimes. Workin' 9 to 5 can really get to you. Tuesday, an innocent visit to the bar for a pint or two turned into me going to a show at St. Andrew's, getting faced, then going to the State Bar and getting more faced. Hung out with some people I don't see often enough. Got to see Jimmy behind the bar instead of on top of it. Wednesday, I DJed to a good crowd. Thursday, I had some good personal epiphanies and went to dinner with Amy. Today I have a half-day and I think I'm going to buy some music. Maybe I'll wash my car. Okay, maybe I'll just pay someone else to do that.

Tonight is the Thunderbirds Are Now! record release show at the Magic Stick. Holy Fire, Rescue, and The Recital are also playing. Everyone should be going to this show. After that, everyone should get their asses over to the Painted Lady for the Human Eye record release show. Not sure who's opening, and I'm sure they're good, but you really should try to make it out to one of the two shows. Saturday night, I DJ at the Garden Bowl in beautiful midtown Detroit. The patio is up, the sun is out, the rock won't stop. Where will you be? Sunday, Ash is playing the Magic Stick with the Bravery. Don't care for the latter, but the former will rock you. Do it. Burn it all down.

Fast Food is the Opiate of the Masses

I came across something interesting today while perusing a copy of Maxim at work. It's kinda like the excuse for 'reading' Playboy. It's all about the articles, right? This time there was actually an interesting article in there. I was pleasantly surprised. It was about something called Biodiesel. I had never heard about this before. The article was mostly about one man's efforts to convince the country to convert, but it's actually a full-fledged movement that began with Rudolf Diesel's invention of the now well-known Diesel engine. He first showed his engine at the World's Fair in 1900. The original model used peanut oil. He predicted that vegetable oil would eventually become as viable as petroleum products as fuel for engines.

Basically, biodiesel is the use of oils that come from sustainable and renewable sources like peanut oil and soybean oil. This also means that with a little bit of filtering, the oil that's used to fry fast food can be used to fuel your car. From reading some of the articles and press reports on the site biodiesel.org, it sounds like it's gaining ground all over the place. Mostly in corporate fleet vehicles and airplanes, but that's still a big deal. It will be interesting to see where this goes, because it could also mean that in time, when the US has been occupying any random country in the Middle East for ten more years, there will no longer be an excuse. Shit, as it is, most of our oil doesn't even come from the Middle East, it comes from South America and the North Sea. But that's off-topic. Check out biodiesel.org.

I used to do drugs, I still do, but I used to, too.*

I've added some new links today over there on the left-hand side of your screen.

Everyone should know Howard Zinn. Or at least everyone should read his stuff. Remember history class in high school? All you got to read was half the story, and it's usually from a biased perspective. What Zinn does is give you history without the bias from more fair perspectives. You don't know shit about the history of this country until you've read "The People's History of the United States: 1492 to Present" by Howard Zinn. It will floor you. Seriously. Not only is he a college professor who's taught history his whole life, but he was there in the beginning of what is now referred to as "The Movement." That would be the Civil Rights Movement. I capitalize that because it's a serious piece of our history and many of us don't know much of anything about it. He helped to influence several college students to get involved and demonstrate and stage protests in the south. Zinn was also involved in the leaking of the Pentagon Papers to the press. If it weren't for Zinn, I wouldn't know about this, but the Pentagon Papers more or less proved that the president of the United States is not infallible, and that the US Government was in Vietnam under false pretenses. In short, they lied to the public about the reasons behind the Vietnam War. Zinn also chronicled the labor movement in this country with incredible detail. It's shocking, too, that much of that history is hard to find. You can find the point of view of the factory owners, but it wasn't until a few years ago that information started coming to light from the worker's perspective. This is because in the beginning (in this country), labor unions were seen as being one step away from Socialism. And that was a bad thing. So, much of the history has been suppressed. All I'm trying to say here is that anyone who appreciates non-fiction books that pull you in because they're so interesting should be reading Howard Zinn. Anyone who wants to know the real history of this country should read Howard Zinn.

One of the other new links is for McSweeney's. I'm still a little unclear as to what this is, but I like it. It seems to be the online version of a quarterly literary publication. I think. They might also be a publisher, I'm not sure. I know that the authors Dave Eggers and Sarah Vowel are involved, especially Eggers. Some days there's new stuff, some days there isn't. There are some regular features like poems and lists. The lists are my favorite part, I think. It seems like they don't accept public submissions, so it's a specific short list of authors who are involved. An example of a recent list is "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations," by Martin Bell. This shit is so funny. It's basically a list of made-up quotations from Bartlett himself (whose namesake book of Familiar Quotations is well known). Example: "... and I said, 'Yeah, and you can "quote" me on it!' Ha, ha!" I love this stuff.

*Mitch Hedberg, RIP

Heart Attack American

Don't ask, because even I don't know how I come across this stuff. I was checking out Fark just now, and I came across a weird link. It's a test to see how much of a Jehovah's Witness you are. I was intrigued. Being wary of organized religion, I instantly assumed it was a test that no matter what would tell you that you're a JW, and that everyone is actually a JW, they just don't know it. The thought of this made me sick, being told that just because I may have some similar ideals, I fit in someone else's dogma. Fuck that. So, I went to the site. Here's the link. You just answer the questions, and then it tells you how much of a Jehovah's Witness you may or may not be. It turns out, the test was written by an ex-Jehovah's Witness who obviously has some issues. These are my results: "You are 30% Jehovah's Witness!" This is based on only ten questions. These ten questions could make 50% of the world at least 1% JW. It's bullshit, really, but I liked some of the explanations that were given.

How do you view the Bible?
The Bible is bunk
This is not good. The Jehovah's Witnesses believe that the Bible is fully-inspired of God. They believe that "the" Bible is the collection of 66 books found in the King James version, though they also feel that their own unique translation is the best one available. If you can't accept Noah's Ark, people conversing with donkeys, and people being executed for lying about real estate transactions, then JW's probably aren't for you.
I thought that last sentence of the explanation was especially funny, because those are the sorts of reasons that make me think the bible is bunk.

What is the most important quality you look for in a church leader?
Honesty, Integrity
You might not fit in so well at a Kingdom Hall. Jehovah's Witnesses choose their leaders based first on quantities of service, then qualities listed in the Bible. Honest men of integrity that don't spend enough time in the door-to-door preaching work, or don't show up for all of the five weekly meetings will not become leaders among Jehovah's Witnesses.
The only church leaders I do respect are the ones who are genuine, honest, and full of integrity.

How often do you feel like attending church?
Once in awhile
This would be a problem. Jehovah's Witnesses have five mandatory meetings a week, usually combined into three days. If you regularly miss any of them, you would be viewed as "weak". You wouldn't have many friends, since none of them would want you to drag them down.
FIVE MANDATORY MEETINGS A WEEK?!? Who has time for that?

How much of your time do you spend in recreational/family activities?
10%
From Jehovah's Witnesses' standpoint, that's quite a bit of time to spend on non-spiritual activities. Are you attending all five weekly meetings, studying for them ahead of time, and meditating carefully on them afterward? Are you going in the door-to-door preaching work as much as possible? Are you keeping up with your reading of new Watchtower publications? It's hard to believe you're taking care of these "more important things", and still able to devote so much time to secular pursuits.
Seriously, stop the insanity! It's starting to sound more and more like a cult.

How do you feel about people controlling who your friends are?
It's none of their business
Among Jehovah's Witnesses there is very little that is 'none of their business'. This would be considered an attitude problem that you would need to work out of yourself as you 'put on the new personality'. Before you could be accepted among Jehovah's Witnesses, you would need to be willing to let them control who you associate with, what movies you see, what books you read, and even what sorts of intimacy you enjoy with your spouse.
NO outsiders will be telling me shit about what kind of "intimacy I enjoy with my spouse." The mind control stops here.

How important are your family members to you? (Mother, brothers, cousins)
I see them occasionally
This is good, since if your family members are not Jehovah's Witnesses, you will be discouraged from spending much time with them. If you do spend time with them, you'll be expected to preach to them about your new faith as much as possible. Chances are good after a few of these preaching visits, your family will want to spend even less time with you than you do with them.
Okay, it's totally a cult. There's no question any more.

You view holidays as opportunities to:
Reunite with old friends and family
Jehovah's Witnesses view all holidays as inherently bad. There are different objections to different holidays, but in the end they are all considered inappropriate. Since Jehovah's Witnesses will discourage you from spending time with your relatives anyway, they will certainly not accept you spending holidays with them. If this is truly important to you, then the Kingdom Hall is not going to work.
These people scare me almost as much as Republicans.

Soaring With Eagles At Night to Rise With the Pigs At Dawn

Do NOT Go Back To Work

I had jury duty today. Two years in a row I've had to go down to the Third Judicial Court at the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice in Detroit. The same thing happened both times, I get there, check in, wait a couple of hours, my name doesn't get called, and I'm let go by 11am. They give you a letter stating that you were there all day (it's probably easier that way), and that's it. You're done.

Ever gone to jury duty before? I still haven't had to actually go to a courtroom and get questioned by a judge or counsel or anything. The whole thing is fascinating in a way. They tell you to get there by 7:45am even though the building doesn't open until 8am. This is just because they know Detroiters, and they know half of the people who were called up will be late. You wait in line outside the building, you finally get inside, and you have to go through a metal detector. The ladies have to put their purses on an x-ray conveyor, and then security still has to look through the purses anyway. I had the bad fortune to be in line behind a man who has obviously never had to go through a metal detector at municipal building before. He must've had three pounds in change in his pants pockets. Luckily I got passed around him by the guards because I was all set by the time I got to the front.

By all set I mean that I had my wallet out. I had taken out the silver dollar from 1900 that my grandpa gave me when I was a kid. I had my keys out, and I left the remote key fob thingy in my car because I don't know if it uses radio frequencies or if it's not allowed or whatever. I had no change in my pockets, no pens like normal. My lighter and cigarettes were back in the car. Plus, I took off my belt ahead of time because I know better. Unfortunately, I forgot to leave my pocket knife in the car, so I ended up tossing that in the trash before I went in. I was running late (cuz I'm a Detroiter, see?), and my car was a block away. It was a cheap knife anyway. I was afraid of trying to stash it in the landscaping somewhere for fear of looking like a terrorist hiding weapons. Is that too much hysteria? Tom Ridge did a good job at making the Office of Homeland Security one of the most irritating creations of the Bush administration.

Saved By the Buoyancy of Citrus