defenestrati's journal

Help me caption this photo:

Sat, 11 Feb 2006 20:14:45 GMT

An Open Letter to Bubba

Tue, 07 Feb 2006 13:17:57 GMT

Published on Monday, February 6, 2006 by CommonDreams.org
An Open Letter to Bubba
by Charlie Anderson

[hyperlinks are my own addition]

I’ve seen you around. I’ve seen you driving your gas guzzling SUV with the “Support Our Troops” ribbon on the back. I’ve seen you wearing your pro-war/pro-bush t-shirts as you walk right past me in my Iraq Veterans Against the War t-shirt as if I don’t exist. And I’ve seen you at anti-war rallies and meetings where I often speak, as you wave your American flag and call me a traitor. In this country we have freedom of speech. But you owe me and every other veteran of this war the respect of listening to our experience.

Your magnet says “support our troops,” but what have you done for us? Not a penny of the proceeds go to us, instead they go to sweatshops in China. You say that I am not supporting the troops when I say that they should come home. But I am, because I know that there was no threat to our nation from Saddam Hussein, I know that Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction, and I know that we were not welcomed in Iraq as liberators. I know that the Iraq war was not worth fighting. I know, because I fought there. You say I’m confused. But what do you know about Iraq? You’ve never been there.

You have the audacity to claim that by not supporting the president, I don’t support the troops. Yet, the president chose to send over 160,000 of us to Iraq unprepared and without a defined mission. We had no body armor, no vehicle armor, and poor supplies of ammunition. Our families spent thousands of dollars that they did not have to supply us, while President Bush did nothing. In fact he didn’t even scold his Offensive Secretary, Donald Rumsfeld, when he told our forward deployed troops, “you go to war with the army you have, not the army you wish you had.” Moreover, the mission was originally about weapons of mass destruction, but there were none. Then it was making Iraq a democracy, but yet the “insurgency” worsens. Now the president has decided that in order to honor those who died for nothing, more must die for nothing.

At present, 2,241 of my brothers and sisters in arms have died. In some way, they may be the lucky ones. Over sixteen thousand others have been wounded in this war, thousands more than planned. The term wounded sounds sterile, bland, and inoffensive. But, in reality, many of them have been so horribly damaged that medical science had to create a new word to describe their wounds: polytrauma. These people would have died in earlier wars, but because of the gallant efforts of brave doctors and medics, they get to live. They get to live with teams of ten or more doctors just trying to get their broken, mangled bodies through another day, as their families look on in horror. They get to live in a physical and emotional hell, not able to recover and not able to voice the pain they feel or the psychological demons they face. All the while suffering with a Veterans Administration under funded by nearly three billion dollars and unable to care for them in the manner they deserve.

So which one of us supports the troops? You, who has never set foot in Iraq and wants to leave my brothers and sisters there until they complete whatever the undefined mission of the week is, or me, the veteran of this war who has seen the carnage of battle, the rampant indifference of my countrymen, and just wants to bring my brothers and sisters home alive and care for them when they get here?

Keep coming to the rallies. Maybe I’ll get through your thick skull eventually. But remember I waved my flag in Baghdad, so you can sit down, shut up, and listen to me.

Charlie Anderson served in Iraq with the Marine Corps’ Second Tank Battalion. He is the Southeast Regional Coordinator of Iraq Veterans Against the War. He can be contacted at iraqvet4peace@yahoo.com

Sure, at first it's "ooh" and "aah," but then come the screaming and the running...

Tue, 07 Feb 2006 12:12:07 GMT

A lost world has been found, and nary a dinosaur or sleestack in sight.

This from the Independent/UK:

Scientists hail discovery of hundreds of new species in remote New Guinea

An astonishing mist-shrouded "lost world" of previously unknown and rare animals and plants high in the mountain rainforests of New Guinea has been uncovered by an international team of scientists.

Among the new species of birds, frogs, butterflies and palms discovered in the expedition through this pristine environment, untouched by man, was the spectacular Berlepsch's six-wired bird of paradise. The scientists are the first outsiders to see it. They could only reach the remote mountainous area by helicopter, which they described it as akin to finding a "Garden of Eden".

In a jungle camp site, surrounded by giant flowers and unknown plants, the researchers watched rare bowerbirds perform elaborate courtship rituals. The surrounding forest was full of strange mammals, such as tree kangaroos and spiny anteaters, which appeared totally unafraid, suggesting no previous contact with humans.

Read the full article here.

Tuesday Sundae.

Tue, 31 Jan 2006 21:45:04 GMT

woot.

Find a human.

Mon, 30 Jan 2006 11:19:53 GMT

Here's an extensive list of various company and governmental telephone lines and what buttons to hit or things to tell their automated answering systems in order to speak to a real, live human.

The categories are:
finance government insurance pharmacy products retail shipping technology telco travel tv/satellite

Handy!

Like they do on the Discovery Channel.

Sat, 28 Jan 2006 13:36:26 GMT

The local time is about 7:20am (CST). I live by Eastern Standard Time, however, because there is little around me here on a somewhat remote mountain at the edge of the Eastern Time Zone worth changing my clocks for. I crawl out of bed at around 5am local time, which puts me in a position to observe something natives around here find wholly unremarkable, but that always captivates me: local wildlife at play.

This morning I saw three fawns at play behind my house. A few moments passed before I noticed the adult deer nearby; while the fawns played at the treeline quite visibly in their whirling dervish, the adults standing clear of the treeline were almost invisible in their stillness. Eventually, the adult deer lost interest in me and went about their business with the trees and their own tails. The fawns stood at about waist height from hoof to ear, while the elder deer were greater in stature, but not much larger around; all the deer were remarkably slender.

With every deer, squirrel, and chipmunk I see around my house I find something remarkable. While I miss living blocks from civilization, I wish everyone could share these experiences.

I fetched my camera this time, but the rechargeable batteries were expended. In place of the photos I would have taken, here's a picture I found on the Net of a fawn similar to the ones I saw.

I am now above the law.

Fri, 27 Jan 2006 20:23:24 GMT

Courtesy Agence France Presse via CommonDreams.org:

"The Pentagon acknowledged in a newly declassified document that the US public is increasingly exposed to propaganda disseminated overseas in psychological operations.

"But the document suggests that the Pentagon believes that US law that prohibits exposing the US public to propaganda does not apply to the unintended blowback from such operations.

"'The increasing ability of people in most parts of the globe to access international information sources makes targeting particular audiences more difficult,' said the document."

Wow, that's just great. So if I decide that staying under the speed limit is just too difficult, then I can speed all I want.

Thanks, Pentagon!

And now for something completely different.

Thu, 26 Jan 2006 19:47:28 GMT

Democracy Now has posted a news segment about a U.S. interrogator who, convicted of murdering an Iraqi general, was not given jail time, while four nonviolent anti-war protestors were sentenced to six months in prison.

What the hell is wrong with America?

Criminal activity is the new black.

Sat, 21 Jan 2006 13:40:23 GMT

Here's Jack Abramoff. Evidently, bad guys really do wear black hats.

Technoirwocky

Sat, 21 Jan 2006 02:45:08 GMT

Friend technoir glommed onto this-- is the term cliché yet?-- meme and I think it's interesting, too.

1. What's the first word that comes to mind when you think of me?
2. Go to http://images.google.com/ and search for that word.
3. Reply to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results (don't tell me the word).
4. Put this in your own blog so that I can do the same.

Here's what technoir calls to mind, apparently:

The sound of ideologies clashing

Fri, 20 Jan 2006 03:13:43 GMT

I heard this on Pandora.com today:

Ideology
Billy Bragg

When one voice rules the nation
Just because they’re on top of the pile
Doesn’t mean their vision is the clearest
The voices of the people
Are falling on deaf ears
Our politicians all become careerists
They must declare their interests
But not their company cars
Is there more to a seat in parliament
Then sitting on your arse
And the best of all this bad bunch
Are shouting to be heard
Above the sound of ideologies clashing

Outside the patient millions
Who put them into power
Expect a little more back for their taxes
Like school books, beds in hospitals
And peace in our bloody time
All they get is old men grinding axes
Who’ve built their private fortunes
On the things they can rely
The courts, the secret handshake
The stock exchange and the old school tie
For God and queen and country
All things they justify
Above the sound of ideologies clashing

God bless the civil service
The nation's saving grace
While we expect democracy
They’re laughing in our face
And although our cries get louder
Their laughter gets louder still
Above the sound of ideologies clashing

Holy unintentional pr0n, Batman!

Thu, 19 Jan 2006 00:44:07 GMT

I thought I'd done an entry on this, but apparently not. So without further ado:

Discuss.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

Wed, 18 Jan 2006 01:25:46 GMT

The Luxuriant Flowing Hair Club for Scientists™: Highlighting the Heads of Scientists.

Self-described as "a club for scientists who have, or believe they have, luxuriant flowing hair."

Hair Poem - George Carlin

I'm aware some stare at my hair.
In fact, to be fair,
Some really despair of my hair.
But I don't care,
Cause they're not aware,
Nor are they debonair.
In fact, they're just square.

They see hair down to there,
Say, "Beware" and go off on a tear!
I say, "No fair!"
A head that's bare is really nowhere.
So be like a bear, be fair with your hair!
Show it you care.
Wear it to there.
Or to there.
Or to there, if you dare!

My wife bought some hair at a fair, to use as a spare.
Did I care?
Au contraire!
Spare hair is fair!
In fact, hair can be rare.
Fred Astaire got no hair,
Nor does a chair,
Nor nor a chocolate eclair,
And where is the hair on a pear?
Nowhere, mon frere!

So now that I've shared this affair of the hair,
I'm going to repair to my lair and use Nair, do you care?

Won't the real Slim Goodbody please stand up?

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 22:31:06 GMT

Recently in conversation with friends, the topic of Mr. Goodbody came up. Some had never heard of him.

Slim Goodbody is a character played by John Burstein who emphasises drug-free physical fitness. As far as I recall, he started in the late 1970's and is either still working today, or has been usurped by an impostor. Even as a child, I regarded the man with fascinated revulsion. His organs are on the outside and that's very, very wrong. And for all the emphasis on anatomy, his leotard is anatomically incorrect a la Barbie. Also, of course, there's the appalling hair.

Slim Goodbody, circa 1977.

Slim Goodbody has many creepy impersonators.

Kneel before 'Bod!

She prefers guys who can kiss upside down in the rain.

Sun, 15 Jan 2006 23:44:48 GMT

I've been playing City of Heroes lately, so this thing I found by Nocturnal-Devil at Deviant Art seems quite topical. Click the comic for a full-size version, suitable for framing.

"Ode to a Superhero," Weird Al Yankovic
Sung to the tune of Billy Joel's "Piano Man."

Poor Peter Parker was pitiful
Couldn't have been any shyer
Mary Jane still wouldn't notice him
Even if his hair was on fire

But then one day he went to that science lab
That mutated spider came down
Oh, and now Peter crawls over everyone's walls
And he's swingin' all over town

La li la, li de da
La la, li le la da dum

Sling us a web, you're the Spider-Man
Sling us a web tonight
'Cause we're all in the mood for a hero now
And there's evildoers to fight

Now Harry the rich kid's a friend of his
Who horns in on Mary Jane
But to his great surprise it seems she prefers guys
Who can kiss upside down in the rain

"With great power comes great responsibility"
That's the catch phrase of old Uncle Ben
If you missed it, don't worry, they'll say the line
Again and again and again

Oh, la la la, di de da
La la, di di da da dom

Now Norman's a billionare scientist
Who never had time for his son
But then something went screw and before you knew he
Was trying to kill everyone

And he's ridin' around on that glider thing
And he's throwin' that weird pumpkin bomb
Yes, he's wearin' that dumb Power Rangers mask
But he's scarier without it on

Sling us a web, you're the Spider-Man
Sling us a web tonight
'Cause you're brave and you're strong and so limber now
But where'd you come up with those tights?

It's a pretty sad day at the funeral
Norman Osborn has bitten the dust
And I heard Harry's said he wants Spider-Man dead
Aw, but his buddy Pete he can trust

Oh, and M.J. is all hot for Peter now
Aw, but Peter, he just shuts her down
Mary Jane, don't you cry, you can give it a try
Again when the sequel comes 'round

Oh, la la la, di de da
La la, di di da da dum

Sling us a web, you're the Spider-Man
Sling us a web tonight
'Cause we all sure could use us a hero now
And we think that you'll do all right.

Your prison is walking through this world all alone.

Fri, 13 Jan 2006 12:22:10 GMT

This month I plan to attend a couple of plays at the Chattanooga Theatre Centre. Who's with me?

Speak to Me.

Wed, 11 Jan 2006 20:55:25 GMT

*Bands // Song Titles*
Choose a band/or artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band::	Pink Floyd
Are you female or male::	In the Flesh?
Describe yourself::	Comfortably Numb.
How do some people feel about you::	A Saucerful of Secrets.
How do you feel about yourself::	Outside the Wall.
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend::	Run Like Hell.
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend::	Nobody Home.
Describe where you want to be::	Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun.
Describe what you want to be::	Fearless.
Describe how you live::	High Hopes.
Describe how you love::	Wish You Were Here.
Share a few words of wisdom::	Shine On, You Crazy Diamond.
Take this survey \| Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

War: What is it good for?

Sat, 07 Jan 2006 22:14:21 GMT

PRAYER FOR PEACE (IAN BOYDEN/RALPH DALE) (1967)

Gentle Jesus, bless each bomb
We drop today in Vietnam,
And keep our helicopters safe
From natives they fly low to strafe.
Amen.

Lord of Life, increase our skill
To build up added Overkill,
And let no pacifist decry
The strontium-90 in our sky.

Heavenly Father, we entreat
Let no one sell the Cubans wheat,
And grant us power to chastise
All insubordinate allies.

Holy Spirit, give us grace
To win the guided missile race,
And help our scientists amass
Vast arsenals of germs and gas.

From further dwindling, Lord, preserve
Our ever-shrinking gold reserve,
And we beseech Thee, come what may,
Let overseas investments pay.

The world's most upright Christian land,
We ask these blessings at Thy hand --
Be Thine the glory, Lord on high,
When women weep and children die.
Amen.

Lyrics as reprinted in Gert Raeithel, et. al., Vietnamkrieg und Literatur, Munich, 1972, p. 135
© 1967

Moon-lines and apple-pathways

Fri, 06 Jan 2006 19:44:08 GMT

This has been my favorite poem for... forever.

Morning (Love Sonnet XXVII)
Pablo Neruda

Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You've moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.

Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;
You've vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.

Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world.

As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again.

(Translated by W.S. Merwin)

She'll never know I could never forget her.

Fri, 06 Jan 2006 19:12:36 GMT

First thing's first: BEHOLD the finest blonde joke ever conceived.

A couple of days ago, I was laid off. newsedition invited me to join him for Pub Quiz, which was cheery, but on the way over there I was given a speeding ticket. Later, on the way home I was also pulled over for driving North on Broad Street at 40 mph. When I got home, my mailbox belched out my first student loan bill.

But at least my car worked. And on that same day, I met Ter, Sam, and a guy whose name is the only forgettable thing about him; my depressive-panicky thoughts were overpowered by positive beer-and-companionship-related goodness. Further, I was able to breathe and walk around without difficulty, even when propping up someone else, and the moon did not fall from the sky.

Taken in itself, it was a zero-sum day... but the truth of it is that while misfortune often plunders more neurons, good fortune has a longer effective shelf-life. I'm sure to get over my present difficulties, but it's unlikely that I'll get over the nuggets of happiness in that day.

Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac declared,

"But--sing?
Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free,
With eyes that look straight forward--fearless voice!
To cock your beaver just the way you choose,--
For 'yes' or 'no' show fight, or turn a rhyme!
--To work without one thought of gain or fame,
To realize that journey to the moon!
Never to pen a line that has not sprung
Straight from the heart within. Embracing then
Modesty, say to oneself, 'Good my friend,
Be thou content with flowers,--fruit,--nay, leaves,
But pluck them from no garden but thine own!'
And then, if glory come by chance your way,
To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none,
But keep the merit all your own! In short,
Disdaining tendrils of the parasite,
To be content, if neither oak nor elm--
Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone..."

That's fine for Cyrano, but I'm grateful for the good people in this life.

Thank you all.

Sun, 01 Jan 2006 22:30:47 GMT

Did you, like so many others, wake to find yourself in a strange bed wearing someone else's underwear and sporting a bold, stylish new hangover?

Did you spend last night being badgered, banjaxed, battered, befuggered, bladdered, blasted, blathered, blitzed, blootered, blottoed, bluttered, or boogaloo? Were you you sloshed, smashed, sozzled, spangled, or squiffy?

Never fear! Here's a handy flowchart (full-size) to relieve your alcohol-shriveled brain of any decision-making burden!

Ultimately, it helps to be philosophical about your situation. Sure, you vomited before strangers and danced like a cossack naked-- but such situations are excellent for showing you who your real friends are. Cheer up, Polly Plastered!

Tue, 27 Dec 2005 07:14:44 GMT

I've survived Christmas.

Kneel before Zod!

Sat, 24 Dec 2005 07:50:52 GMT

It's Christmas Eve, technically, and I can't sleep. Tomorrow I am to drive three hours from Chattanooga to Atlanta to help my mother move and to participate in christian rituals with my people. Perhaps they'll not attempt to convert me from my heathen ways this year.

Perhaps.

Insomniac

The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole . . .
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue . . .
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

Sylvia Plath

Thu, 22 Dec 2005 18:40:40 GMT

Yesterday on Air America Radio, I heard about a dizzying new lifetool called Pandora.com.

Have you ever had a friend who knew tons more about music than you did? Someone on whom you could count to suggest new music you're bound to enjoy, based on what you've enjoyed before? Maybe your path has wended away from theirs, or maybe they're simply not as available as you like. Well-- fret no more! Pandora.com will suggest songs you're likely to enjoy based on your favorite tunes, using a system of analyzing music that involves something like 600 variables. They've categorized songs by over 10,000 artists according to those 600 variables, and now they deliver them-- FREE-- to whomever is interested: Tell them a song you like and they'll play similar songs you might never have heard before, one after another.

It's your own personal radio station, full of music you'll probably like. It can be hit and miss at times, but mostly it's hit. I spent last night playing with it and fell deeply in love. I'll bet that you will, too.

Pandora.com

Material Goods

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 21:56:16 GMT

The below quiz was fun to take, but it expected simple answers to complex questions. Actually, I believe we are greater than the sum of our parts, in that we create aspects of culture that embody our fears, aspirations, and kitschy deviance-- we create demons and angels, both conceptual and plasticized, and thus we elevate and despoil ourselves, each in our turn. Fun!

You scored as Materialist. Materialism stresses the essence of fundamental particles. Everything that exists is purely physical matter and there is no special force that holds life together. You believe that anything can be explained by breaking it up into its pieces. i.e. the big picture can be understood by its smaller elements.

</td>

Materialist

100%

Modernist

81%

Existentialist

75%

Idealist

63%

Postmodernist

56%

Fundamentalist

25%

Cultural Creative

19%

Romanticist

19%

What is Your World View? (updated)
created with QuizFarm.com