Saturday, February 25, 2006


Les Freres Corbusier, a theatre group in New York, is producing right now a show called "HeddaTRON," a first of its kind. In the famous Ibsen drama, half the characters are actually played by large robots programmed with the dialogue. Now, I admit that some Ibsens I've seen APPEARED to have been performed by robots. Anyway, I have some suggestions for Les Freres for the next text they should tackle in their cyborgian enterprise.

A Doll's Mouse
'night, Motherboard
Barefoot in the Port
The Merchant of Virus
The Rocky Hypertext Show
Three Gigabyte Opera
Riders from the C Drive
Curse of the Silicon Class
Ctrl-Alt-Delete, I Want to Get Off
'Tis Pity She's a Mac
Spam, a lot
The Iceman.cometh
Fool for RAM
Uncle Tom's Inbox
Mourning Becomes Electrons
Long Day's Journey into Byte
Suicide in BASIC
Charlotte's Website of the Western World
Cat on a Bot Tin Roof
Some Like it Bot
Variations on the Death of Botsky
Ibsen's Ghosts (In The Machine)
Waiting for Geardot
Downloading at Lughnasa
The King and IBM
Suite In Press Any Three Keys to Continue
Lady Windemere’s Fanbelt
She Stoops to be PC-Compatible
The Stronger (by Strindborg)

Thanks Tina, Dave, Brian, Tim, Lavina, and others.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Top Ten Worst Battlestar Galactica Colonial Convoy Ship Names

Don't forget to reply to one of the previous two posts to log your BSG Worst Callsigns: when we get to 100 I'll post them as a single entry. As for the ship names, here are some of the plucky freighter ID's you'll rarely see featured in the series, but they're pluggin' along toward Earth just the same:

10. The Irreconcilable Differences
9. The Cash-Up-Front
8. The Slip of the Tongue
7. The Lallapalooza
6. The Home Cooking
5. The Maternity Ward
4. The Runner-Up
3. The Low Gas Mileage
4. The Star Wars Ripoff
3. The Local Franchise
2. The Holy Shit
1. The Shut-Up-And-Drive

So now we have this overheard wireless chatter: "Attention, Colonial Freighter Irreconcilable Differences, this is Viper Captain Nutsack. You have been ordered to rendesvous with The Maternity Ward at 0600." "Nutsack, this is Holy Shit, we have incoming dradis contacts." "Nutsack, Skidmark. Watch your six!" "I can't shake em!" BOOM. "Nutsaaaack! Nuuuuutsaaaack!" [radio cuts out].

Man, I wish I could sleep. This is a terrible misuse of the internet. END TRANSMISSION

Monday, February 13, 2006

Ten More Worst Battlestar Galactica Callsigns

10. Skidmarks
9. Bookworm
8. Near Miss
7. Pocket Protector
6. Bifocals
5. College Try
4. Wedgie
3. Honorable Mention
2. Guide Dog
1. Miss Congeniality

Thanks again, Tina. Tina obviously doesn't have enough work to do. And thanks to Tin Foil for "Nutsack" and the new ten in the comments from last post. And thanks to L&D for the idea of "Nutsack" being a callsign. Who's got ten more?

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Top Ten Worst Battlestar Galactica Callsigns

10. Yellow Streak
9. Turdblossom
8. Cut-n-Run
7. Nutsack
6. Nancy Boy
5. Care Bear
4. No-Fly Zone
3. Loose Sphincter
2. Librarian
1. Abramoff

(thanks, Tina)

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

A Holiday Message

To paraphrase Terry Pratchett in SMALL GODS; Jesus impressed people by turning water into wine. Evolution, however, can turn SUNLIGHT into wine, by way of grapes. Take that, "religion." Happy holidays.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

True Story

Near where I catch the bus in to work everyday, on the corner of Beechwood and Lilac, there's a utility box. The other day I noticed that some wag had glued a little poster to it which read, exactly:

Just think,
You've waisted five
seconds of your life
reading this poster.

Actually, it took me somewhat less than one second not only to read the poster, but also correct the spelling of "wasted." I'm assuming "INFEKT" is a clever, intentional misspelling for dramatic effect. So I thought I'd write this blog so that both of my readers would share my appreciation that Infekt, whomsoever he or she may be, is lacking one of the primary qualities necessary to be a deep and subversive manipulator of social consciousness: an IQ higher than that of a grapefruit on a warm day. It might take YOU five whole seconds to read and understand a dozen words, Infekt, you mouth-breather, but such a skill bodes ill for your nefarious plans to plant subversion-memes in our defenseless brains so that we will... what? Be more lax in our spelling? Besides, I was waiting for the stoplight anyway, so I really didn't waste, or waist, any time at all.

But then I realized that it took me about FIVE MINUTES to write and post this blog.

You've won this round, Infekt.

Marx out.

Monday, September 05, 2005

O Louisiana

The horrors of the tragedy in New Orleans are multifarious; they run the gamut from the personal, the national, the economic, to the cultural, the tribal, and the historic. It's obvious that the government, despite ample warning, has failed the people of New Orleans, and by extension the nation and its history, and that instead of saving lives what we've got now is a blame-game between authorities on the local level and those on the national over who is at fault. It's pretty facile and soulless to try to make political hay over a situation like this, and I won't demean those who have lost their lives and those who must try and face a future that is dismal and amorphous at best by joining in the finger-pointing. WE fucked up here, people, all of us, and although the Bush administration is in charge and therefore responsible to do something besides "surveying the damage" or "coming back from vacation," this overall failure to respond reveals a vast system of irresponsibility that we are all guilty of perpetrating. I hope we can see this as a wake-up call that our civilization is beginning to have difficulty responding to internal crises, because this is the sign of its dissolution. The more that the elite of a culture elect to ignore the suffering of its people, the closer the Empire is to its last days.

That said, I'd really like to extend an extra-special Lapsus Linguae to the remarkable number of fuckwads out there who are leaping on this catastrophe to evangelize. One fuckwad in particular, Steve Lefemine, a South Carolina anti-abortion activist with Columbia Christians for Life, said that he perceived the image of a human fetus in the satellite maps of Katrina, and concluded that "God judged New Orleans for the sin of shedding innocent blood through abortion." Muhammad Yusuf Mlaifi of Kuwait wrote in Al-Siyassa that "Terrorist Katrina is One of the Soldiers of Allah," punishing the West. Stan Goodenough, writing for the Jerusalem Newswire, wrote that God had sent Katrina in retaliation for the removal of Jewish settlers from Gaza. And my personal favorite, head of Repent America Michael Marcavage told the Washington Post that Katrina came in divine retribution for an annual New Orleans gay pride celebration, "Southern Decadence." This fuckwad is worth quoting at length:

"We take no joy in the deaths of innocent people, but we believe that God is in control of the weather. The day Bourbon Street and the French Quarter was flooded was the day that 125,000 homosexuals were going to be celebrating sin in the streets... we're calling it an act of God."*

You will notice that the big guns, Falwell and Robertson (who is perhaps taking comfort today that God answered his July prayers to kill William Renhquist... that is, to remove justices from the Supreme Court whose opinions he disagreed with) are being uncharacteristically silent, smarting still, perhaps, from the backlash they recieved when they blamed 9-11 on the failure of the US citizenry to live up to their standard of morality (which includes, in Robertson's case, repeatedly praying for the deaths of their political opponents, I suppose).

Voltaire was famously outraged with a similar response to a disastrous earthquake in Lisbon on November 1, 1755, that drew remarks from various evangelicals who asserted, fashionably at the time, that such disasters were God's will and must therefore be for the greater good. Voltair had this to say in Les Délices, on November 24 of the same year:

"This is indeed a cruel piece of natural philosophy! We shall find it difficult to discover how the laws of movement operate in such fearful disasters in the best of all possible worlds-- where a hundred thousand ants, our neighbours, are crushed in a second on our ant-heaps, half, dying undoubtedly in inexpressible agonies, beneath débris from which it was impossible to extricate them, families all over Europe reduced to beggary, and the fortunes of a hundred merchants -- Swiss, like yourself -- swallowed up in the ruins of Lisbon. What a game of chance human life is! What will the preachers say -- especially if the Palace of the Inquisition is left standing! I flatter myself that those reverend fathers, the Inquisitors, will have been crushed just like other people. That ought to teach men not to persecute men: for, while a few sanctimonious humbugs are burning a few fanatics, the earth opens and swallows up all alike. I believe it is our mountains which save us from earthquakes."

Katrina, like the Lisbon earthquake, killed the good and wicked alike, and left vast suffering in its wake. To give countenance to evangelical fuckwads who can stand on a mountain of bodies and say "see! Thus God punisheth everyone who doesn't agree with my pet grandstand project!" is to equal the Inquisition in heartlessness. It turns my stomach, and I'm supposed to be the one without any morality.

By the way, you'll all be very happy to learn that the French Quarter was, apparently, spared the worst horrors of Katrina, and that with the pluck and panache that is so characteristic of New Orleans, in the center of all this desolation and death, the Southern Decadence parade did, in fact, go off as planned. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Marcavage, you fuckwad nutsack shithead.

One more quote, this one from Voltaire's rival Alexander Pope:

"Know then thyself; presume not God to scan.
The proper study of Mankind is Man."

*please see "Wrath of God, but why gets many reasons" by Alan Cooperman, Washington Post, September 4 2005. Thanks for the great research, Alan.