norlak

This is what happens when you fuck a stranger up the ass

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 21:31:36 GMT

When the Catholic churches only response to the fact that the church claims that condoms increase your chances of being infected with HIV and AIDS is, "Why you always gotta bring that up?", this is the only rational response.

I don't know if the frustration of watching this debate makes the outcome worthwhile. However, I do really enjoy the outcome.

Couldn't resist immortalizing this one...

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 15:53:26 GMT

On morality

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 15:59:39 GMT

I watch a lot of debates about the existence of god. I do this not to root for one side or the other, but because I find that many of the people who participate in these debates are endlessly amusing to listen to. Among these polemicists is my favorite, Christopher Hitchens, who I agree with half the time, and even then only half heartedly. An acerbic wit and an English accent captures my heart every time.

I recently watched the film "Collision", which chronicles in high indie film making style a series of debates and conversations between Christopher Hitchens and a fellow by the name of Douglas Wilson, a Christian author and minister. What I enjoy most about their encounters is how well they're matched. You never get the feeling that one of them has won the argument (to be fair, it's an argument that really can't be won, but I digress).

One argument that always comes up in any debate about whether the Christian world view is better than the atheist world view is the question of morality and the core of its existence. As humans, are we born with morality in our blood, in our genes, as the atheist world view has us believe? Or do we need commandments from on high as a basis for our morality, as the Christians insist?

If we have no higher authority to go to, why do we have morality? If there is no justice in the end, nothing to fear when we die but an eternity of nothingness, what prevents us from murdering, raping and pillaging? Without cosmic justice, what stops us from being Stalin? This is what the Christian will normally bring to the table.

On on the flip side, if the Jews thought it was OK to murder before they reached Mount Sinai, how did they get that far without killing themselves off? Wouldn't it make more sense that we innately know not to harm our fellow human beings in order to continue our race? That regardless of religion, we try to do the right thing?

This goes back and forth forever, the Christian saying that the atheist has no reason to believe in a moral code if all that we are is molecules and chemicals interacting, and the atheist saying I don't need an imaginary man in the sky to tell me what to do because I can tell very well from right and wrong, thank you very much. I think that they both fail. The atheist argument fails because of the fact that there are people on this earth who are willing to kill each other for fun and profit. The Christian argument fails, to me, because I find it to be specious, with everything we know of the origins of the bible.

Well, I have an alternate. Could morality not have evolved? Most great ideas come from trial and error. As Greg Craven would put it, we're the grand experiment, and we're all in the test tube. Could morality not come from trial and error? Why did Hammurabi write his laws? Would it not have been in reaction to wrong doings? We are all taught what to think, whether we like it or not. Morality is inherent in our society at this point. It's taught in our schools, on our television, in our reading materials, in our laws. And as we change as a society, our morality changes. Women have the right to vote. Segregation is no longer legal. These all fall under morality.

It's quite possible that religion may have pushed us along, but it does not prove that morality comes from god. And perhaps there are aspects of morality innate in us (I recently listened to a radio lab where they interviewed children about what rules are OK to break in a classroom when the teacher says it's OK to break them, and which aren't. The children were fine with many of the supposed rule changes, except when it came to hitting, which they all firmly stood against). But I firmly believe that it's all trial and error, from the beginning of our species on. The state kills inmates. We find out that many may have been innocent. The national view changes. Governors see this evidence and change the laws. Isn't it really as simple as this?

Perhaps I'm totally wrong, and my argument most certainly has holes aplenty, but it's been on my mind recently, so I needed to splatter it out somewhere. So there it is.

But I Might Be Wrong

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 21:58:50 GMT

From What's the Worst That Could Happen? by Greg Craven

One of my students proposed the most succint and insightful definition of science that I've come across: "Science is the observation of errors." It's got the whole nature of science in there: the basis in empirical observations; the sledgehammer test (having your hypothesis smashed to pieces by others in your field); the built-in uncertainty; and the self-critical, self-correcting attitude. As much as we think science is about being right, the practice of the stuff is largely focused on being wrong.

Why? Because being open to the possibility that you might be wrong is exactly how you get less wrong over time, sort of like saying "I'd better find all the holes in my argument before someone else can." Strangely, the way to make your ideas stronger is to try to break them. Looking for errors in your understanding rather than just trying to find supporting evidence is th ebest way to improve your ideas.

This is useful for the lay person as well. Each of us is right now walking around with some mistaken understandings. If we don't admit that possibility, then we lose the opportunity to get rid of those mistaken understandings and replace them with some that are closer to the truth before the mistakes do us harm (or humiliate us, as is most often the case for me).

Science is all about trying to align your understanding more closely with physical reality, which requires a good bit of uncomfortable humility. I would suggest that in the shouting match about global warming, your goal should be somewhat similar. After all, when you fall out of a 10th-story window, gravity doesn't care about what you believe will happen. That is why, religion aside, it is fundamentally in your own best interest to change your beliefs to fit how the physical world works rather than hoping that it's the other way around.

This can be quite challenging to the ego, but it is simply pragmatic. When it comes to something as all-encompassing as the climate - which influences every part of human activity - I've come to realize that being humble about my understanding makes it less likely for the laws of physics to end up spanking me hard. I'd much rather admit I might be wrong than have the physical world demonstrate the point to me unequivocally and painfully.

Always keep in mind that it is in your own best interest to ask yourself, Could I be wrong? Because that's how you move your understanding closer to physical reality and then make good decisions - that is, ones that are more likely to bring you happiness and security.

All Summer in a Day

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 16:30:40 GMT

Seeing as it's been raining for what I can only assume is years at this point, thought I'd share this old Bradbury story:

"Ready ?"
    "Ready."
    "Now ?"
    "Soon."
    "Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it ?"
    "Look, look; see for yourself !"
    The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun.
    It rained.
    It had been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives.
    "It’s stopping, it’s stopping !"
    "Yes, yes !"
    Margot stood apart from them, from these children who could ever remember a time when there wasn’t rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world, they could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them stir, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering gold or a yellow crayon or a coin large enough to buy the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands. But then they always awoke to the tatting drum, the endless shaking down of clear bead necklaces upon the roof, the walk, the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone.
    All day yesterday they had read in class about the sun. About how like a lemon it was, and how hot. And they had written small stories or essays or poems about it:I think the sun is a flower,That blooms for just one hour.     That was Margot’s poem, read in a quiet voice in the still classroom while the rain was falling outside.
    "Aw, you didn’t write that!" protested one of the boys.
    "I did," said Margot. "I did."
    "William!" said the teacher.
    But that was yesterday. Now the rain was slackening, and the children were crushed in the great thick windows.
    Where’s teacher ?"
    "She’ll be back."
    "She’d better hurry, we’ll miss it !"
    They turned on themselves, like a feverish wheel, all tumbling spokes. Margot stood alone. She was a very frail girl who looked as if she had been lost in the rain for years and the rain had washed out the blue from her eyes and the red from her mouth and the yellow from her hair. She was an old photograph dusted from an album, whitened away, and if she spoke at all her voice would be a ghost. Now she stood, separate, staring at the rain and the loud wet world beyond the huge glass.
    "What’re you looking at ?" said William.
    Margot said nothing.
    "Speak when you’re spoken to."
    He gave her a shove. But she did not move; rather she let herself be moved only by him and nothing else. They edged away from her, they would not look at her. She felt them go away. And this was because she would play no games with them in the echoing tunnels of the underground city. If they tagged her and ran, she stood blinking after them and did not follow. When the class sang songs about happiness and life and games her lips barely moved. Only when they sang about the sun and the summer did her lips move as she watched the drenched windows. And then, of course, the biggest crime of all was that she had come here only five years ago from Earth, and she remembered the sun and the way the sun was and the sky was when she was four in Ohio. And they, they had been on Venus all their lives, and they had been only two years old when last the sun came out and had long since forgotten the color and heat of it and the way it really was.
    But Margot remembered.
    "It’s like a penny," she said once, eyes closed.
    "No it’s not!" the children cried.
    "It’s like a fire," she said, "in the stove."
    "You’re lying, you don’t remember !" cried the children.
    But she remembered and stood quietly apart from all of them and watched the patterning windows. And once, a month ago, she had refused to shower in the school shower rooms, had clutched her hands to her ears and over her head, screaming the water mustn’t touch her head. So after that, dimly, dimly, she sensed it, she was different and they knew her difference and kept away. There was talk that her father and mother were taking her back to Earth next year; it seemed vital to her that they do so, though it would mean the loss of thousands of dollars to her family. And so, the children hated her for all these reasons of big and little consequence. They hated her pale snow face, her waiting silence, her thinness, and her possible future.
    "Get away !" The boy gave her another push. "What’re you waiting for?"
    Then, for the first time, she turned and looked at him. And what she was waiting for was in her eyes.
    "Well, don’t wait around here !" cried the boy savagely. "You won’t see nothing!"
    Her lips moved.
    "Nothing !" he cried. "It was all a joke, wasn’t it?" He turned to the other children. "Nothing’s happening today. Is it ?"
    They all blinked at him and then, understanding, laughed and shook their heads.
    "Nothing, nothing !"
    "Oh, but," Margot whispered, her eyes helpless. "But this is the day, the scientists predict, they say, they know, the sun…"
    "All a joke !" said the boy, and seized her roughly. "Hey, everyone, let’s put her in a closet before the teacher comes !"
    "No," said Margot, falling back.
    They surged about her, caught her up and bore her, protesting, and then pleading, and then crying, back into a tunnel, a room, a closet, where they slammed and locked the door. They stood looking at the door and saw it tremble from her beating and throwing herself against it. They heard her muffled cries. Then, smiling, the turned and went out and back down the tunnel, just as the teacher arrived.
    "Ready, children ?" She glanced at her watch.
    "Yes !" said everyone.
    "Are we all here ?"
    "Yes !"
    The rain slacked still more.
    They crowded to the huge door.
    The rain stopped.
    It was as if, in the midst of a film concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic eruption, something had, first, gone wrong with the sound apparatus, thus muffling and finally cutting off all noise, all of the blasts and repercussions and thunders, and then, second, ripped the film from the projector and inserted in its place a beautiful tropical slide which did not move or tremor. The world ground to a standstill. The silence was so immense and unbelievable that you felt your ears had been stuffed or you had lost your hearing altogether. The children put their hands to their ears. They stood apart. The door slid back and the smell of the silent, waiting world came in to them.
    The sun came out.
    It was the color of flaming bronze and it was very large. And the sky around it was a blazing blue tile color. And the jungle burned with sunlight as the children, released from their spell, rushed out, yelling into the springtime.
    "Now, don’t go too far," called the teacher after them. "You’ve only two hours, you know. You wouldn’t want to get caught out !"
    But they were running and turning their faces up to the sky and feeling the sun on their cheeks like a warm iron; they were taking off their jackets and letting the sun burn their arms.
    "Oh, it’s better than the sun lamps, isn’t it ?"
    "Much, much better !"
    They stopped running and stood in the great jungle that covered Venus, that grew and never stopped growing, tumultuously, even as you watched it. It was a nest of octopi, clustering up great arms of fleshlike weed, wavering, flowering in this brief spring. It was the color of rubber and ash, this jungle, from the many years without sun. It was the color of stones and white cheeses and ink, and it was the color of the moon.
    The children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress, and heard it sigh and squeak under them resilient and alive. They ran among the trees, they slipped and fell, they pushed each other, they played hide-and-seek and tag, but most of all they squinted at the sun until the tears ran down their faces; they put their hands up to that yellowness and that amazing blueness and they breathed of the fresh, fresh air and listened and listened to the silence which suspended them in a blessed sea of no sound and no motion. They looked at everything and savored everything. Then, wildly, like animals escaped from their caves, they ran and ran in shouting circles. They ran for an hour and did not stop running.
    And then -
    In the midst of their running one of the girls wailed.
    Everyone stopped.
    The girl, standing in the open, held out her hand.
    "Oh, look, look," she said, trembling.
    They came slowly to look at her opened palm.
    In the center of it, cupped and huge, was a single raindrop. She began to cry, looking at it. They glanced quietly at the sun.
    "Oh. Oh."
    A few cold drops fell on their noses and their cheeks and their mouths. The sun faded behind a stir of mist. A wind blew cold around them. They turned and started to walk back toward the underground house, their hands at their sides, their smiles vanishing away.
    A boom of thunder startled them and like leaves before a new hurricane, they tumbled upon each other and ran. Lightning struck ten miles away, five miles away, a mile, a half mile. The sky darkened into midnight in a flash.
    They stood in the doorway of the underground for a moment until it was raining hard. Then they closed the door and heard the gigantic sound of the rain falling in tons and avalanches, everywhere and forever.
    "Will it be seven more years ?"
    "Yes. Seven."
    Then one of them gave a little cry.
    "Margot !"
    "What ?"
    "She’s still in the closet where we locked her."
    "Margot."
    They stood as if someone had driven them, like so many stakes, into the floor. They looked at each other and then looked away. They glanced out at the world that was raining now and raining and raining steadily. They could not meet each other’s glances. Their faces were solemn and pale. They looked at their hands and feet, their faces down.
    "Margot."
    One of the girls said, "Well… ?"
    No one moved.
    "Go on," whispered the girl.
    They walked slowly down the hall in the sound of cold rain. They turned through the doorway to the room in the sound of the storm and thunder, lightning on their faces, blue and terrible. They walked over to the closet door slowly and stood by it.
    Behind the closet door was only silence.
   They unlocked the door, even more slowly, and let Margot out.

Impermanence

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 21:20:37 GMT

Impermanence is the nature of the human condition. This is a truth we know in our minds but tend to resist in our hearts. Change happens all around us yet we long for the predictable, the consistent. We want the reassurance that comes from things remaining the same. Yoga philosophy offers an alternative to these tendencies. It is to embrace the powerful truth: the power of living in the unchanging, eternal present. We can even look to our yoga mat to watch the attachment pattern play itself out. We often find ourselves attached to a never-ending process of "improvement" in our asanas. They do improve quickly at first—in the beginning, we are on a honeymoon of discovery; we grow by leaps and bounds in ability and understanding. After a couple of decades, however, our poses change much less. Often, we can no longer practice certain poses because of age or injury, yet we feel agitated because we assume that the poses of our youth should be the poses of our middle and old age. What gives life its juice is the ability to mourn anything fully and simultaneously know ultimately it doesn't matter. In other words, we can live to the fullest when we recognize that our suffering is based not on the fact of impermanence but rather on our reaction to that impermanence.

Frank Herbert on leadership

Sat, 21 Mar 2009 18:09:27 GMT

Dune was aimed at this whole idea of the infallible leader because my view of history says mistakes made by a leader (or made in a leader's name) are amplified by the numbers who follow without question.

That's how 900 people wound up in Guyana drinking poison Kool-Aid.

That's how the U.S. said, "Yes, sir, Mister Charismatic John Kennedy!" and found itself embroiled in Vietnam.

That's how Germany said "Sieg Heil!" and murdered more than six million of our fellow human beings.

Leadership and our dependence on it (how and why we choose particular leaders) is a much misunderstood historical phenomenon.

You see, we often get noncreative leaders, people most interested in preserving their own positions. They flock around centers of power. Such centers attract people who can be corrupted. That is a more descriptive observation than to say simply that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

If you are corruptible and your imagination is confined to worries about loss of power, you exist in a self-destructive system. Eventually, as all life does, you must encounter something you did not anticipate, and if you have no t strengthened your creative resources, you will have no new ways for adapting to change. Adapt or die, that's the first rule of survival.

The limited vision of noncreative people is not difficult to understand. Creativity frightens the unimaginative. They don't know what's happening. Things new and unexpected arise from creativity. This threatens "things as they are." And (terrible thought) it undermines illusions of omnipotence.

Cheap Pulp

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 02:40:58 GMT

Some guy on ebay is liquidating his father's estate. Within the collection of this mans crap is an incredibly large bounty of old pulp sci-fi and fantasy novels. Most are a buck with shipping for 3.50, but you might be able to contact him to get the shipping price down if you're buying from multiple auctions.

http://books.search.ebay.com/_Fiction-Books_W0QQcatrefZC12QQsacatZ377QQsassZ4327jack

Christian is out for good!

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 18:38:23 GMT

Anthems and Such

Tue, 23 Sep 2008 15:59:11 GMT

I'm watching this Michael Moore movie right now, and in it, Joan Baez sang Finlandia. She said it was Finland's national anthem, however I've been having a hard time finding out whether or not that is true; there appears to be a number of people who say yes, but many sites say that Our Land is their national anthem.

Regardless, it's absolutely amazing, and I wanted to post the lyrics here.

Finlandia

This is my song, O God of all the nations
A song of peace for lands afar and mine

This is my home, the country where my heart is
Here are my hopes and dreams, my holy shrine.

But other hearts in other lands are beating
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean
And sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine

But other lands have sunlight, too, and clover
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine

O hear my song, thou God of all the nations
A song of peace for their land and for mine.

If God's on our side, he'll stop the next war

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 19:39:25 GMT

With God On Our Side
by Bob Dylan

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

Oh the Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns in their hands
And God on their side.

Oh the First World War, boys
It closed out its fate
The reason for fighting
I never got straight
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war starts
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.

I'm becoming a big softy.

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 22:35:12 GMT

Feeling of Unity anyone?

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Watch more than 30 seconds to get the point.

Poem

Sat, 31 May 2008 17:38:12 GMT

Hadn't seen this one in a while.

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

From "Other People's Money"

Fri, 30 May 2008 15:57:54 GMT

I found these speeches interesting. The background: in the film Other People's Money, Lawrence Garfield is know as Larry the Liquidator, who buys up and liquidates businesses. His target in the film is a wire company run by nice folks, business has been in the family for years. So they have a shareholders meeting to vote whether or not Garfield becomes chairman or Andrew Jorgenson, who's family has always owned the company, will stay chairman.

Andrew Jorgenson:

Well, it’s good to see so many familiar faces, so many old friends. Some of you I haven’t seen in years. Thank you for coming. Bill Coles, our able president, in the annual report has told you of our year; of what we’ve accomplished, our need for further improvements, our business goals for next year and the years beyond.

I’d like to talk to you about something else. I want to share with you some of my thoughts concerning the vote that you’re going to make and the company that you own. This proud company which has survived the death of its founder, numerous recessions, one major depression, and two world wars, is in imminent danger of self destructing. On this day. In the town of its birth.

There is the instrument of our destruction. I want you to look at him in all of his glory, Larry the Liquidator. The entrepreneur of post industrial America playing god with other people’s money. The robber barons of old at least left something tangible in their wake. A coal mine, a railroad, banks. This man leaves nothing, he creates nothing, he builds nothing, he runs nothing. And in his wake lies nothing but a blizzard of paper to cover the pain.

Oh, if he said, “I know how to run your business better than you,” that would be something worth talking about. But he’s not saying that. He’s saying, “I’m gonna kill you ‘cause at this particular moment in time you’re worth more dead than alive.” Well, maybe that’s true, but it is also true that one day this industry will turn. One day when the Yen is weaker, the Dollar is stronger. Or when we finally begin to rebuild our roads, our bridges, the infrastructure of our country, then demand will skyrocket. And when those things happen, we will still be here, stronger because of our ordeal, stronger because we have survived, and the price of our stock will make his offer pale in comparison.

God save us if we vote to take his paltry few dollars and run. God save this country if that is truly the wave of the future. We will then have become a nation that makes nothing but hamburgers, creates nothing but lawyers, and sells nothing but tax shelters. And if we are at that point in this country, where we kill something because at the moment it’s worth more dead than alive...well, take a look around, look at your neighbors, look at your neighbor. You won’t kill him will you?…no. It’s called murder and it’s illegal. Well this too is murder, on a mass scale; only on Wall Street they call it “maximizing shareholder value.” And they call it legal. And they substitute dollar bills where a conscience should be.

Damn it, a business is worth more than the price of its stock. It’s the place where we earn our living, where we meet our friends, dream our dreams. It is in every sense the fabric that binds our society together. So let us now at this meeting say to every Garfield in the land, “here we build things, we don’t destroy them. Here we care about more than the price of our stock. Here we care about people.”

Lawrence Garfield:

Amen. And amen. And amen. You have to forgive me; I’m not familiar with the local custom. Where I come from, you always hear an amen after a prayer. ‘Cause that’s what you just heard; a prayer. Where I come from that particular prayer is called The Prayer for the Dead. You just heard the prayer for the dead, my fellow stockholders, and you didn’t say amen.

This company is dead. I didn’t kill it, don’t blame me. It was dead when I got here. It’s too late for prayers. For even if the prayers were answered, and a miracle occurred, and the Yen did this, and the Dollar did that, and the infrastructure did the other thing we would still be dead. You know why? Fiber optics. New technologies. Obsolescence. We’re dead all right, we’re just not broke. And do you know the surest way to go broke? Keep getting an increasing share of a shrinking market. Down the tubes, slow but sure.

You know, at one time there must have been dozens of companies making buggy whips. And I’ll bet the last company around was the one that made the best god damn buggy whip ya ever saw. Now how would you like to have been a stockholder in that company?

You invested in a business and this business is dead. Let’s have the intelligence, let’s have the decency to sign the death certificate, collect the insurance and invest in something with a future. Ahh…but we can’t, goes the prayer. We can’t because we have responsibility. A responsibility to our employees, to our community. What will happen to them? I got two words for that. Who cares?

Care about them? Why? They didn’t care about you. They sucked you dry. You have no responsibility to them. For the last ten years this company bled your money. Did this community every say, “We know times are tough. We’ll lower taxes. Reduce water and sewer. Check it out; you’re paying twice what you did ten years ago. And our devoted employees who have taken no increases for the past three years are still making twice what they made ten years ago.

And our stock? One sixth what it was ten years ago. Who cares? I’ll tell you. Me.

I’m not your best friend. I’m your only friend. I don’t make anything? I’m making you money. And lest we forget, that’s the only reason any of you became stockholders in the first place. You want to make money. You don’t care if they manufacture cable, fried chicken, or grow tangerines. You want to make money. I’m the only friend you’ve got. I’m making you money.

Take the money. Invest it somewhere else. Maybe…maybe you’ll get lucky and it will be used productively. And if it is, you’ll create new jobs and service for the economy, and god forbid, even make a few bucks for yourselves.

And if anybody asks, tell them you gave it the plant. And by the way, it pleases me that I’m called Larry the Liquidator. You know why fellow stockholders? Because at my funeral you’ll leave with a smile on your face and a few bucks in your pocket. Now that is a funeral worth having.

Who I am

Tue, 27 May 2008 14:30:15 GMT

This morning I was a dreamer.
I then was a bather.
I transformed myself into a stylist.
I then became a motorist.
I was a pedestrian and now I am a writer.
In a few minutes I will be an administrative assistant.
After that, I will be a devourer.

At some point today I will be a motorist again
I know that tonight I was be a dreamer again.
I will be many things in between.

I am an agent of change. I am also the result of that change.

Stolen from Brian's LJ

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 15:02:45 GMT

From The Velveteen Rabbit:

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get all loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Almost a Year

Tue, 22 Apr 2008 17:59:39 GMT

God
by John Lennon

God is a concept
By which we can measure our pain.
I'll say it again,
God is a concept
By which we can measure our pain.

I don't believe in magic.
I don't believe in I-ching.
I don't believe in bible.
I don't believe in tarot.
I don't believe in Hitler.
I don't believe in Jesus.
I don't believe in Kennedy.
I don't believe in Buddha.
I don't believe in Mantra.
I don't believe in Gita.
I don't believe in yoga.
I don't believe in kings.
I don't believe in Elvis.
I don't believe in Zimmerman.
I don't believe in Beatles.

I just believe in me.
Yoko and me.

And that's reality.

The dream is over,
What can I say?
The dream is over
Yesterday
I was a dreamweaver
But now I'm reborn
I was the walrus
But now I'm John.

And so dear friends
You just have to carry on
The dream is over.

On happiness...and weight loss...

Fri, 13 Jul 2007 03:35:34 GMT

On "cool"

Thu, 12 Apr 2007 23:04:09 GMT

"I don't think you understand what the word 'cool' means. Going to art museums and taking boats out on lakes is definitely not cool. Being cool is about not participating in traditionaly enjoyable experiences and creating the illusion that happiness can be found in alternate less enjoyable experiences. The degree to which other people around you try to emulate your alternative lifestyle and fail determines how cool you are. You're only as cool as people wish they were. Some parents co-opt the word 'cool' and tell their kids to persue individuality in the things that actually make them happy. 'Oh sweety, being cool is just being yourself!' That's 'happy', not 'cool'."

-Ze Frank

A website I wish I had been aware of a long time ago.

Why not

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 04:08:43 GMT

COMBAT CARDS 2.1

to fight Norlak
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Greek Mythology Meme

Mon, 11 Dec 2006 20:59:04 GMT

Orpheus

0% Extroversion, 66% Intuition, 83% Emotiveness, 90% Perceptiveness

You are an artist, an aesthete, a sensitive, and someone who has never really let go of that childlike innocence. To you, all of life has a sense of wonder in it, and the story of Orpheus was written about someone just like you.

When the Argo passed the island of the Sirens, Orpheus played a song more beautiful than the Sirens to prevent the crew from becoming enticed. When his wife died, he ventured into the underworld to charm Hades but, in his naivete, he looked back becoming trapped there.

You can capture your unique world view and relate it to others with the skill of a master storyteller. Your sensitivity and creativity make you a treasure to the human race, but your thin-skinned nature and innocence can cause you a lot of disenchantment and pain. What's doubly unfortunate is that, if you try to lose those traits, you never will, and everyone will be able to tell that you're putting up an artificial shell to prevent yourself from being hurt.

Famous people like you: Hemingway, Shakespeare, Mr. Rogers, Melville, Nick Tosches

Stay clear of: Icarus, Hermes, Atlas

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on Extroversion
You scored higher than 99% on Intuition
You scored higher than 99% on Emotiveness
You scored higher than 99% on Perceptiveness

Link: The Greek Mythology Personality Test written by Aleph_Nine on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

The answers

Fri, 08 Dec 2006 19:49:05 GMT

1. "It's stealing a part of me you mean! I can feel it like cancer...getting bigger and bigger like the blob! One day it'll rip me open and it'll be there in my life, ready to rob me of every bit of fun I deserve to have!"

Lu-Lu played by Mary Garlington in the film Polyester. The quote comes from possibly one of my favorite scenes in a film, when Lu-Lu is trying to induce a miscarriage after a an abortion attempt thwarted by anti-abortion activists. This may sound awful...but it's awfully hilarious.

4. "That probably sounded crueler than it's meant to, but the fact is, we're too old to take each other miserable. Unhappiness used to mean something. Now it's just a drag like having a cold or no money."

I'm surprised no one got this one. John Cusack as Rob Gordon in High Fidelity. This is earlier on, right after Laura moves out.

7. "Dead, my ass! Now get this, honkie - you go tell Raphael that I ain't takin' no jive from no Western Union messenger! You tell that asshole, if he got somethin' to tell me to get his ass down here himself! You got that boy?"

The final one is said by Abraz played by Ravenell Keller III in Being There. Towards the beginning of the film, Chauncy approaches some young hoodlums who request he deliver the above message to Raphael.

I'm actually rather impressed with how well everyone did. Good show!

Wed, 06 Dec 2006 23:06:18 GMT

A. Pick 10 of your favorite movies.
B. Then pick one of your favorite quotes from each movie.
C. Post the quotes in your journal.
D. Have those on your friends list guess what the movie is.
E. Either strike out the quote once it has been correctly identified or place the guesser's user name directly after the quote.
F. Extra points for knowing the actor or character's name.

1. "It's stealing a part of me you mean! I can feel it like cancer...getting bigger and bigger like the blob! One day it'll rip me open and it'll be there in my life, ready to rob me of every bit of fun I deserve to have!"

~~2. "You killed the doctor too soon you fool!"~~ - MadeofSpiders

~~3. "When I'm around you, I find myself showing off, which is the idiot's version of being interesting."~~ - April

4. "That probably sounded crueler than it's meant to, but the fact is, we're too old to take each other miserable. Unhappiness used to mean something. Now it's just a drag like having a cold or no money."

~~5. "The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we're uncool."~~ - DangerMouse82

6. "You think I made your life hell? Take a look around this dump. You're just a tourist with a typewriter. I live here. Don't you understand that? And you come into my home and you complain that I'm making too much noise?" - Darrius842

7. "Dead, my ass! Now get this, honkie - you go tell Raphael that I ain't takin' no jive from no Western Union messenger! You tell that asshole, if he got somethin' to tell me to get his ass down here himself! You got that boy?"

8. "You don't like Beethoven. You don't know what you're missing. Overtures like that get my juices flowing. So powerful! But after his openings, to be honest, he does tend to get a little fucking boring..." - Sonatanator

~~9. "You know how you got that dent in your top lip? Way back, before you were born, I toId you a secret, then I put my finger there and I said, 'Shh.'"~~ - April

~~10. "Fuck, man! There's a beverage here!"~~ - Darrius842

Heavily perfumed women have something to hide.

Wed, 01 Nov 2006 17:18:37 GMT

Odd dreams of late.

Yesterday morning, I dreamt I was a ghost, along with a few other folks. I don't remember to many of the specifics, but I do recall the I was able to still manipulate corporeal things, leading me to believe that I could pretty much do whatever I wanted. It all took place in Maine. At one point, I walked into a room (which, in retrospect, was Blake's room at home) and the door slammed shut behind me. I was flung to the floor and it felt like my soul was being ripped to some afterlife or another, but I somehow managed to keep it inside of me.

This morning I dreamt that I had lost an eye. So I was given a glass one which I could put in and take out. It was somewhat uncomfortable.

And yes, this is the best update I could think up after not having posted for a long ass time.

Hahahaha

Wed, 04 Oct 2006 05:17:45 GMT