Hyde Park, Stony Island Avenue.Thursday, February 25, 2010
Worky Workington
It's sunny today. Cold, but pretty. Like you can almost see Spring flexing its toes a bit, despite that odd snowstorm last night.
This clip always makes me snicker...
I just love how the bassist and drummer try to keep it together as the frontman melts down, and how visibly disgusted the other guys are with it. I also love how the frontman's guitar is de-tuned from the initial wipeout, and he's basically just playing from muscle memory, but like a few octaves off-kilter.
*snicker* <-- See? I toldja!
This clip always makes me snicker...
I just love how the bassist and drummer try to keep it together as the frontman melts down, and how visibly disgusted the other guys are with it. I also love how the frontman's guitar is de-tuned from the initial wipeout, and he's basically just playing from muscle memory, but like a few octaves off-kilter.
*snicker* <-- See? I toldja!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Snow Way!
Wow, it's really snowing tonight! We've had more snow this year than any winter I can remember in Chicago.
Kindling
I'm still watching lots of Olympics, enjoying my "staycation" of sorts (mostly just not fiction-writing at the moment, but I am doing a lot of blogging, obviously). Exene goes off on yet another marathon this weekend, so it's just me and the boys. Good times! (honestly) The month of March will live up to its name, lemme tellya! I have so much to be done. My last month of being in my 30s -- I intend to put the time to good use.
Speaking of writing, I should find out tomorrow whether the novel I entered in the Amazon competition advances or not. We'll see. I can't get my hopes up, but it would be nice to at least advance past that first round of eliminations (then only three more rounds to go -- *GAK*)
On the bus, which was pretty crowded (well, my second part of my commute, up the Mag Mile), I counted 19 people in my immediate area, and took stock of what they were doing:
Speaking of writing, I should find out tomorrow whether the novel I entered in the Amazon competition advances or not. We'll see. I can't get my hopes up, but it would be nice to at least advance past that first round of eliminations (then only three more rounds to go -- *GAK*)
On the bus, which was pretty crowded (well, my second part of my commute, up the Mag Mile), I counted 19 people in my immediate area, and took stock of what they were doing:
- 1 writing on notepad (me)
- 4 reading books
- 1 reading newspaper
- 2 listening to their iPods
- 2 reading Kindles
- 2 using cell phones (one texting, the other on the phone)
- 1 using iPhone (I can't be sure what she was doing -- either playing a game or texting)
- 6 just sitting there
Stoicism. Epicureanism. Romanticism. Classicism.
My rule of thumb:
That simple axiom can be applied in so many ways, in so many settings. Stoicism likely has its place in life, but Epicureans should always be entrusted to the things that make life worth living. I'm an Epicurean to the bone, without a doubt. I savor the pleasures of life, in all their forms. And it's true -- I think it's part of what lets me be a generally happy camper, even when things are rough: I find the fun, and I find the funny. I savor life -- even when life hurls a cream pie in my face, I'm one to take a lick and say "Hmm. Tasty." Not really. I HATE cream pies.
*shudder*
I feel that love is best understood by Romantics, and not by Classicists. I remember in high school, for sure by my junior year, realizing in an epiphany that I was a Romantic. I told a friend of mine (himself, a tried-and-true Classicist), in English class: "Tom, I'm a Romantic!" and he laughed, said he was a Classicist, and that he knew I was a Romantic, just from the stuff I'd say in class. That amused me.
Byron's works, Shelley's poems -- they really hit me hard, framed so much of my sense of self, and of the world. I remember reading Shelley's stuff out loud in my room and just loving the dance of his language. It was so clearly-defined to me, I can actually remember that conversation, can see it in my mind's eye so well. It's funny to me -- I think Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" is a bit of a sly answer to her own father's Romantic, revolutionary spirit, and, of course, to her husband's Romantic vision. But I'll talk about that some other time.
Epicurean. Romantic. Yup. Me. Okay, so, maybe idealistic, but so what? What's the opposite of idealism? Realism. In other words: ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzz
Anyway, if you know a Stoic, remember those words. Never let'em buy the groceries, buy the gifts, pick the music, or plan the parties. Just don't. Seriously. Don't.
Never let the Stoic buy the groceries.
That simple axiom can be applied in so many ways, in so many settings. Stoicism likely has its place in life, but Epicureans should always be entrusted to the things that make life worth living. I'm an Epicurean to the bone, without a doubt. I savor the pleasures of life, in all their forms. And it's true -- I think it's part of what lets me be a generally happy camper, even when things are rough: I find the fun, and I find the funny. I savor life -- even when life hurls a cream pie in my face, I'm one to take a lick and say "Hmm. Tasty." Not really. I HATE cream pies.
*shudder*
I feel that love is best understood by Romantics, and not by Classicists. I remember in high school, for sure by my junior year, realizing in an epiphany that I was a Romantic. I told a friend of mine (himself, a tried-and-true Classicist), in English class: "Tom, I'm a Romantic!" and he laughed, said he was a Classicist, and that he knew I was a Romantic, just from the stuff I'd say in class. That amused me.
Byron's works, Shelley's poems -- they really hit me hard, framed so much of my sense of self, and of the world. I remember reading Shelley's stuff out loud in my room and just loving the dance of his language. It was so clearly-defined to me, I can actually remember that conversation, can see it in my mind's eye so well. It's funny to me -- I think Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" is a bit of a sly answer to her own father's Romantic, revolutionary spirit, and, of course, to her husband's Romantic vision. But I'll talk about that some other time.
Epicurean. Romantic. Yup. Me. Okay, so, maybe idealistic, but so what? What's the opposite of idealism? Realism. In other words: ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzz
Anyway, if you know a Stoic, remember those words. Never let'em buy the groceries, buy the gifts, pick the music, or plan the parties. Just don't. Seriously. Don't.
Video: Song of a Baker
I really like the Small Faces. They were a great band. The exuberance of this tune always psyches me up. Just powerful stuff...
And I love the Mod kids grooving to it, the babes doing their groovy 60s dancin' to it, too! Hee hee!
And I love the Mod kids grooving to it, the babes doing their groovy 60s dancin' to it, too! Hee hee!
Robo-Cuisine
The Snackbot is coming! Barring some human-induced cataclysm or just cosmic bad luck (e.g., an asteroid hitting us or something), I think we're going to see so much more with robots in this century. Of course, the flip side of that shiny coin is that a huge proportion of humanity will be even more irrelevant than they already are, if robots get good enough at whatever they're programmed to do. Note: I don't think anybody's irrelevant -- that's one of my beefs with the capitalist economy, the winners v. losers aspects of it (e.g., rich v. poor). The litany of "get an education, get a good job" that was part of the 20th century's economic model of progress has really begun to take a tumble -- the jobs, increasingly, just aren't there to be had, and you have PhD's working far beneath their capacity. Demand for good jobs seems to have always exceeded supply.
So, you throw actually effective robots into the mix, and suddenly they're doing the jobs nobody wants to do -- the jobs historically taken up by immigrants and other needy souls. And as they get better and more diverse, then they're taking up increasingly challenging and desirable jobs, putting more and more people out of work.
What do all of those people do? Our country already fails to really help its neediest. What'll happen when all of these people are out of work? Trouble. There's a chance for self-improvement, yeah, but will people take it? And will governments make it easier or harder for people to do so? Europe and Japan, I can see doing it -- but our country? Not so much. I imagine fundamentalists staging anti-robot riots, etc.
So, you throw actually effective robots into the mix, and suddenly they're doing the jobs nobody wants to do -- the jobs historically taken up by immigrants and other needy souls. And as they get better and more diverse, then they're taking up increasingly challenging and desirable jobs, putting more and more people out of work.
What do all of those people do? Our country already fails to really help its neediest. What'll happen when all of these people are out of work? Trouble. There's a chance for self-improvement, yeah, but will people take it? And will governments make it easier or harder for people to do so? Europe and Japan, I can see doing it -- but our country? Not so much. I imagine fundamentalists staging anti-robot riots, etc.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Seen: Son of Son of Sam
Oh, my. Was witness to some serious Crazy(tm) on the bus. It's been awhile, but this guy had it goin' on. Older guy, late middle age, silvery-white hair, long, and big, Neil Young sideburns. Glasses. Wore a worn tan canvas windbreaker and navy blue slacks.
He boarded around Water Tower Place, in a big press of people, and began conversing -- a bland, quasi-California kinda drawl, half-shreds of conversation that first made me think he was talking to somebody, only to realize a moment later that he was talking to himself. I wrote down some of his word-shreds, each one delivered in a conversational tone, having this conversation with nothing:
"You're the witch, right? You look like the witch. But I'm the wizard. Just remember, I'll take care of that little speech impediment."
"Burt? Ernie? Yeah, you better straighten that out."
"I'm Wesley Curry. Sure, they're going into their own private hell together. Just like that policeman that tried to murder me. He's dead now. In the Sun-Times."
"Jody Weiss's right arm'll be in a sling."
"They won't put THAT on your magic paper. On your magic television."
"We'll take care of that speech impediment."
"It doesn't matter that Susan is about to get hired."
"So, Burt and Ernie, you can't get away with NOT telling."
"You can say anything you want, but you can't say that George W. Bush didn't have a vision."
"In Hell, Jesus Christ is gonna make it so you cannot ever speak again."
"I'm a prince of the Earth." (tried to shake commuters' hands)
And the capper, he broke out into a song, this sort of lilting tune (which I render in crazy-person caps for emphasis):
I got off the bus at that point, didn't hear the rest of his crazy tune.
He boarded around Water Tower Place, in a big press of people, and began conversing -- a bland, quasi-California kinda drawl, half-shreds of conversation that first made me think he was talking to somebody, only to realize a moment later that he was talking to himself. I wrote down some of his word-shreds, each one delivered in a conversational tone, having this conversation with nothing:
"You're the witch, right? You look like the witch. But I'm the wizard. Just remember, I'll take care of that little speech impediment."
"Burt? Ernie? Yeah, you better straighten that out."
"I'm Wesley Curry. Sure, they're going into their own private hell together. Just like that policeman that tried to murder me. He's dead now. In the Sun-Times."
"Jody Weiss's right arm'll be in a sling."
"They won't put THAT on your magic paper. On your magic television."
"We'll take care of that speech impediment."
"It doesn't matter that Susan is about to get hired."
"So, Burt and Ernie, you can't get away with NOT telling."
"You can say anything you want, but you can't say that George W. Bush didn't have a vision."
"In Hell, Jesus Christ is gonna make it so you cannot ever speak again."
"I'm a prince of the Earth." (tried to shake commuters' hands)
And the capper, he broke out into a song, this sort of lilting tune (which I render in crazy-person caps for emphasis):
"HeRe In HeAveN, WiTh OuR LOrD Jesus
EVeRyONe WaS CuT iN LITtLe PiECeS.
THe LiTtLe PiECeS, ThEy DiD NoT BleEd
NoR WoULd tHEy saY who It WaS
HaD DoNE tHe DeEd."
EVeRyONe WaS CuT iN LITtLe PiECeS.
THe LiTtLe PiECeS, ThEy DiD NoT BleEd
NoR WoULd tHEy saY who It WaS
HaD DoNE tHe DeEd."
I got off the bus at that point, didn't hear the rest of his crazy tune.
What is she?
Any idea what species Meryl Davis is? She looks like one of "Avatar's" Na'vi except without the blue skin. She is very unusual-looking. She and her human partner should have gotten the gold last night. They outperformed the Canadians.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Francisco, Cheech, Sunshine, and Nadine
If you don't want me to overhear you on the bus, don't talk so loudly that I can clearly hear you!
Francisco told somebody that Cheech had said it was alright, and that Sunshine or Nadine would be the best candidates to cover the next day, except that Nadine (I think) had yoga. So, maybe Sunshine was the best bet. Francisco repeated this message to approximately three different people on his cell phone, very loudly talking.
The city is very sloppy tonight -- wet, sloppy snow. You can almost feel Spring trying to assert itself, although it's way too early. Even with global warming, Winter's grip is tight on Chicago.
Dinner tonight is going to be sweet Italian sausages and potatoes. Mmm hmmm! I've got'em simmering right now, and the smell is savory!
Francisco told somebody that Cheech had said it was alright, and that Sunshine or Nadine would be the best candidates to cover the next day, except that Nadine (I think) had yoga. So, maybe Sunshine was the best bet. Francisco repeated this message to approximately three different people on his cell phone, very loudly talking.
The city is very sloppy tonight -- wet, sloppy snow. You can almost feel Spring trying to assert itself, although it's way too early. Even with global warming, Winter's grip is tight on Chicago.
Dinner tonight is going to be sweet Italian sausages and potatoes. Mmm hmmm! I've got'em simmering right now, and the smell is savory!
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