Every so often those damn hippies come up with a great idea. And no, pacifism and hirsuteness would not be one of them. However, there's nothing more intriguing, in my books, than turning fresh produce into actual working instruments and then playing them as an orchestra. The whole idea fires off electricity in my brain.
The Vegetable Orchestra has been at this since 1998 and consists of 11 musicians, a sound engineer, and a visual artist. They play all sorts of music: jazz, dub, house, and noise. That's a pretty eclectic mixture and showcases exactly what one can do with vegetables.
A neat touch to all this is that they always finish their concerts by serving vegetable soup to their audience. How very Andy Kaufmann! (And just in case you're wondering, they're not vegetarians).
All of this makes me wonder what I could have accomplished if my mother allowed me to play with my food when I was a kid.
This towel is, depending how you look at it, either a ninja or a monkey. I prefer to think of it as a ninja because ninjas are fricken' sweet. Anyway, welcome to the world of towel origami where a single rectangular towel can unlock the secrets of aventure unbenownst to mankind — until now. All you need is a towel and the knowledge of how to fold things. If you are unsure of this art, I recommend getting a housekeeping job at a Caribbean hotel.
This art is a delicate art. It is an intense art. It is an art that respects the intricacies of fibre. I am sure you'll more than merely dry yourself off the next time you see a towel.
Sony wins points in my book for sacrificing a goat in the name of video games, but it seems in the larger world they are moving from one PR disaster to another. It seems their latest gaffe has the world in an uproar. The ritual has been described as "sickening" and "outrageous". I, however, call this case a prime example of a quixotical and am more than happy to add this newest escapade to my gallery.
And make no mistake: this wasn't a mere goat-killing. This was a full-on extravaganza, a feast for the senses. Who knew Sony had it in them?
At the event, guests competed to see who could eat the most offal – procured elsewhere and intended to resemble the goat’s intestines – from its stomach. They also threw knives at targets and pulled live snakes from a pit with their bare hands. Topless girls added to the louche atmosphere by dipping grapes into guests’ mouths, while a male model portraying Kratos, the game’s warrior hero, handed out garlands.
On a sidenote, I find the Daily Mail's moralizing to be more than a little hypocritical as they are more than willing to make their bread and butter from celebrity scandal. I guess as long is it's Paris Hilton performing the orgies and not Sony than everything is peachy keen.
So will this get me to finally shell out money for a PS3? Hell no. I still believe the PS3 is overpowered and too expensive for my needs. However, they do win my respect for undergoing what they had to understand as a disastrous PR stunt from the get-go just so the kids (that would be me) would think they are cool.
I'm sure Oscar Wilde would have found this to be a compliment as he was well known for his appreciation of the absurd. And really, what is more decadent than an action figure? Think beyond it as a child's plaything. The adult who owns an action figure does so out of vanity. It is not to be handled, or thrown about, or left to the elements. It is to be kept in the original packaging, put on display, and spoken about in hushed tones.
In other words, the action figure would find its place amongst Wilde's peacocks feathers, sunflowers, and blue china. To the grown man, it is purely an aesthetic object. Hence, this action figure is not ironic at all.
And what about the action figure itself? The manufacturer describes it thusly:
Oscar Wilde was a writer and lecturer of great accomplishment, but he is most famous for his comedic plays, quick wit and eccentric dress. This 5-1/4" tall, hard vinyl action figure is dressed for a party where Wilde will quickly cut all those around him to pieces with barbed witticisms. Removable cane included!
Yeah, you got to admit the removable cane is cool. I can imagine Wilde walking around spouting off his witticisms, further enunciating them with his cane. What a wicked toy.
A little birdie by the name of Amanda sent me this howto of how to turn a mouse into a computer mouse. That's not a manufactured toy mouse. That's a veritable, 100% deceased mouse that has been turned into a computer mouse with a USB plugin — complete with a working scroll wheel and optical sensor! Rightfully so, it has been dubbed the "mouse mouse".
It's nice to see taxidermy put to new and exciting uses. As you probably know, bear rugs are so passe, and tigers are too rare. Mice, though, are easy to come by and have very short life spans. In short, they are the perfect candidate for stuffing and you can make them into lots of other things besides mice. I'm thinking wallets, cameras, and MP3 players.
To give you a personal anecdote, there's a huge mouse infestation at my job. Today, a mouse crawled into a coworker's purse in order to eat a cookie she had in there. Suffice it to say, there was some high drama. Well, I think this would be the perfect scenario for a mouse mouse. The punishment for making one's way into a lady's purse should be taxidermy.
I think there's a lesson in here somewhere. Actually, I think there may be a few lessons — and I think you know what will be the outcome of this mess. This, my friends, is the beginning of a trainwreck.
Oh, where to begin? First of all, if there's weaponry in the room — especially multiple variations of sharp, sharp blades — don't sleep with some random fellow's wife. This is very true if you are some scrawny white boy in Japan. Japan, you see, is the home of such luminous warrior folk as the samurai and the ninja. Hence, if there's some weapons put on display near the door, it's probably not just there for decorative purposes.
Another point to make: getting drunk is not an ideal action if a tough-as-nails martial artist has just come home from the gym and his senses are sharp like a cheetah's claw. As far as perceptiveness is concerned, the odds are not in your favour. The throwing stars are just a few inches away, and they are made to wound people.
Finally, with everything else factored in, there should always be an escape route. It will not be behind the wall, for that is paper. It will not be under the bed. And unfortunately, you are closer to the husband than the wife is. He already sees your sandals. He's already pissed.
Dear white boy, you're going to be in a world of pain. Sign your death certificate right now.
If I didn't know better, I would consider this "art". I'm not saying this isn't art, but what I am saying is that these custom wigs for dogs are clearly made without any irony in mind, nor is there any social commentary going on, and its chief purpose is not simply as a novelty.
Dog wigs are a serious business. The proprietor of these particular wigs is none other than Ruth Regina, an eighth generation wig maker whose credentials include "the Miss Universe Pageants (14 years), National Presidential Conventions (both Democratic and Republican) to Al Pacino and Demi Moore films, and seven Presidents of the United States". This woman has been actively involved as a Hollywood make-up artist, so she would not get into the dog wig business just for kicks.
In other words, the demand is clearly there. There are folks — presumably rich folks — who would pay good money for a custom wig for their dog from this master craftswoman. This would not just be a simple wigging template, but a highly stylized, tailor-made, well-groomed wig fitted for that particular dog.
And that's where I feel justified in saying that pets are not necessarily the big business: anthropomorphism is. Dogs are just happy if you're willing to play catch with them and feed them some food. Humans, however, would like to feel like their pets are somehow like them. People are constantly searching for their own image in animals. If that means visiting the wig master who will deck the dog out in custom fittings, so be it.
No! No! No! No! No! If this is the music my niece and nephew have to look forward to in the next five years, I want no part of it! Everything is wrong about this. Who are the powers-that-be who want to turn Zachary Allen into a pop star? Of course, I know the marketers don't care so much about my opinion as they know it's far more easy to scam preteens out of their money.
Let's look at the musical choice. There were only two people who have successfully sung this song: Sammy Davis Jr. and Gene Wilder (when he played Willy Wonka). Everyone else who has ever covered this song has done a less than adequate job. Period.
So what am I supposed to think when this kid walks up on stage and says, "What kind of candy do you want? Sweet chocolate? Gum drops?" My instant conclusion, before he is able to start the singing, is that he is destined to butcher it. Not only did he fulfil my prophecy, he committed one evil act of musical genocide.
And who told this kid to dance? Whoever it was, they should be fired immediately. After his musical career blows over, this video is still going to exist. What gets uploaded onto the internet stays on the internet — especially if it's housed on Google's servers. Zachary Allen is going to have to live with this for the rest of his life.
Finally, about the back-up dancers: do girls this young really need to know the intricacies of go-go moves?
One of the great laws of the internet is, "If you can think about it, someone has already done it." This is true especially in regards to sex. So imagine my shock and awe when I discovered that there hasn't been an online dating site for pets until now! That's right, Pet Palio has finally filled this niche.
It looks like they are off with a bang. Whoever has created this site has already enlisted Greenpeace as an advertiser. Check out this sweet ad in the About page.
Pretty cool, eh?
After looking though all the profiles, it looks to me like most them are pranksters — for example, this fellow who's looking for a gay chihuahua. But that will likely change as word quickly spreads. (My favourite feature, of coure, is the ability to PM another animal).
One other thing I'm curious about is whether one is able to match a dog with a cat. Indeed, is interspecies mating frowned upon at Pet Palio?
After writing about the Toddlerpede, its creator Jon Beinart emailed me to tell me he's written a book about contemporary Surrealism entitled Metamorphosis which also showcases themes of "light" and "dark". I also happen to think the name is perfectly Kafkaesque — something I also said was notable about the Toddlerpede. In addition to showcasing established artists, he's also hoping to open people's eyes to some up-and-comers and other obscure artists.
After looking through some excerpts, I must concede that his collection is quite eclectic and he exposes the diversity within the contemporary Surrealist art movement. My favourite is the painting above. There is nothing that gets my heart a-stirring like an old Asian lady biting off the head of a baby.
So if you are ever curious about whether there's more to Surrealism than Alka Seltzer and Dali, take a look at this book.
Hey parents! You know that stage of a child's life where he is obsessed with what he can expel from his body? You know what I'm talking about. That time in his life when he is obsessed with pee and poo. Well, now you can take his adoration further with some plush toys. Yes, now your little boy can go to sleep cuddling his pee and poo.
The cuddly toys Pee&Poo are now available in a duo pack - together in a cotton plush (80% cotton and 20% polyester) and filled with polyester fibre. Naturally, they are CE-marked and are suitable for children of all ages. Pee&Poo are 15 and 14cm respective. The box is W:32cm, H:19.5cm och D:14cm. Pee&Poo are no strangers to water and enjoy a bath once in while - washable at 40C.
Anyone else find it ironic that they trumpet the washability of these plush toys?
In another matter, I briefly thought about buy this for my niece and nephew, but I think my sister would have my head if I did that. Plus, I don't think they are at the age anymore where Poo&Pee would be funny. I do admit that they're quite a pair. It looks like they are meant to be together. Ah, why can't kids stay at the age where they'd find this stuff funny?
Hopefully someone will take this idea by the horn and produce a cartoon. I would love to know about the escapees from the bathroom who go on mythical adventures into the outside world. Doesn't that sound like a fun idea?
While everyone else may be thinking about how ugly or nasty that toddlerpede is, the first thing that comes into my mind is, "What kind of pregnancy must his mother have gone through? And what kind of birth experience was that?" That is, if there ever will be a real life toddlerpede. I can tell this fellow is a mean little guy. Perhaps he should take up a career in wrestling. He'd do one hell of a figure four leglock.
Jon Beinart has done one hell of a job with this sculpture. Not only does it titillate me, but it provokes my Kafkaesque imagination. I can picture this little fellow crawling under tables, getting behind the couch, and having one hell of a time in the sandbox. In fact, I picture toddlerpede to be some kind of supertoddler.
I discovered these girls yesterday when I did a search for "meat". Pretty much, there are a sketch comedy troupe with a taste for the bizarre. And they do a pretty bang up job too as you can see in the above clip.
It looks like I'm not the only one who thinks so. Meat (for that is their name) have been acclaimed by The Village Voice, Time Out Chicago, The Onion, amongst other alternative weeklies. The next time they are in Vancouver, I'm going to check them out.
Indeed, I'm very thankful I'm able to find a gang of women who thinks toy horses are as pretty as I do. I was beginning to think I was a pervert.
There's a fine line between empowerment and exploitation and Hire Little People straddles that line. The whole premise, of course, is "Hey, it's Little People! Just put them in a costume and everything's going to be a riot!" Here's what the company has to say.
Let's face it, everyone loves Little People. So why not hire one for your next private party or special event? Are you looking for a new way to promote your company or product? Our Little People will gladly promote your company and/or products at trade shows, conferences, special events, night clubs, bars, or any other place you would normally advertise.
Now, every so often, there's a person who frequents this blog who likes to fire off an email telling me they are outraged — outraged — by the material I post. No doubt, there's probably a person very offended right this minute who doesn't think it's right that companies "use" Little People to market a product. Such a person ought to get her head out of the sand.
You see, the founder of Hire Little People is, himself, a Little Person and he is making use of his short stature to not only find himself a job but allow other Little People to find opportunities as well. That other folks with larger statures find Little People cute or cuddly is a different issue entirely. The fact remains this world is truly dog-eat-dog and you have to make use with what you have.
So I applaud Mike Buchmann, the creator of this endeavour. If your height puts food on the table, then go for it. Afterall, isn't it hypocritical that certain folks would preclude Little People from promotional events but turn on an NBA game and witness a game played wholesale by giants?
To the would-be cannibals out there: now you can enjoy the taste without the guilt. Hufu LLC was a company (since gone out of business) that produced a tofu product resembling human flesh. Now before you protest, raise the alarm, and exclaim, "I cannot get hufu anymore!", I suggest an alternative.
Mark Nuckols, former CEO of Hufu, is still alive and well, and if you ever want obtain a recipe, I suggest giving Mr. Nuckols a ring. Who knows. Perhaps with enough demand, Hufu will come back from the dead. Like I said, while hufu is not in stores, it really is just a recipe away.
On a serious note, I think this is a product that has found its niche. I think there are millions of men, women, and children that at least have a sense of morbid curiosity. And if we can create tofu burgers that imitate the texture of beef, why not do the same with humans?
Here's another great argument for omnivorousness: nothing fills a cow with as much joy as the sensation of being chopped up. Look at the exuberant expression on her face. She's filled with so much glee, she can't keep her tongue inside her mouth.
PETA doesn't want you to know that being chopped up is a cow's great ambition. I mean, this is all the proof you need. Cows want to be butchered. They want you to enjoy the bountiful deliciousness of a 16 ounce steak. They have dreams of being slathered in teriyaki sauce and marinated to perfection.
So smile when you eat. If it could, the meat would smile with you.
I think Dayalets was a book that was supposed to educate simpletons like you and me about the pitfalls of an unbalanced diet. Burger Bill, the fellow you see above, is supposed to be one such example of someone whose intake consists of nothing but burgers and fries. Note his satisfied expression as he scoops mustard from a jar.
Here, for example, we learn that Hamburger William is devoid of vitamins, because he lives only on mustard. His pickle eyes impart no nutrition; neither his lettuce hair nor his Ripples earlobes or hideous fleshless onion teeth contain sufficient vitamins to keep him hale. But why should he worry? He’s dead. He’s gone to hell. Demons have peeled off his skin and replaced it with the cracked, glazed crust of ancient bread, jammed potato chips into his head and rammed a ketchup bottle up the gaping, bloody hole left when they ripped off his spinal cord.
And there's many more amusing mascots like these. Let me state, though, that Burger Bill looks like one crazy guy. I mean, you got to be a daredevil if you're eating mustard from a jar! There's nothing that says "life of the party" better than burgers, fries, and just a little bit of hooliganism. Look at Burger Bill. Not only is he all those things, he's made of meat.
I guess today's theme is "meat". It's not as though I went out of my way to find things related to meat. I guess you could say the meat found me.
Meat as a subject is funny. It's not just because meat is delicious but because so many people want to prevent its deliciousness. They will douse you with red paint, write pages upon pages of treatises, and scream bloody murder just because they can't stand the thought that meat is, by its nature, delicious.
Well, why stop at deliciousness? Why not be fashionable too? It looks like Hats of Meat has you covered. From the Base-bull hat, to the rib hood, to the ground chuck. You can mould meat into any shape and size creating for yourself a delectable headpiece. The bonus part of it is that you'll literally be able to later eat your hat.
Meat hats are a loud, raucous way of saying, "I'm here! I eat deer! And I wear it!"
In my mind, Mr. Show is one of the most underrated sketch comedies ever produced and David Cross is one of the most underrated comedians living today. The above skit is proof. It's got everything: an absurd premise, potential to become overtly offensive, and just enough dose of reality to counter the fantasy.
Indeed, Drugachusettes would be a miserable children's show if actually produced. As I point out time and time again here, absurdity is by no means a guarantee that it isn't going to happen. If some misguided proponent for hallucinogens did decide to create a show for kids trying to raise awareness about the benefits thereof, I imagine it would look like this.
Herein lies the genius of Mr. Show. It may be silly, but not impossibly silly — and laughable if it came to pass. I miss that show.
I am truly flabbergasted. I think the woman's original intent was to talk about the dangers of sexual promiscuity, but she got caught up. Pretty soon, she starts talking about "jackrabbits" and then about the dangers of "hitting the bottom". Oh, you know she's getting into it because she starts talking about how the penis is used to break a woman's will — and she talks about it with special enunciation.
That's when you know she's talking from experience. This woman has been burned in the past. You really know it. Hell, I didn't know we men had that kind of power.
I still can't believe, though, that the other woman talking is the main presenter's mother. I mean, can you imagine anything more awkward than being on television with your mother and talking about the evil power of the penis?
I have already written before about Charles Manson from an artistic standpoint, but it was not his own, it was somebody else's. Intrigued by the fact he, himself, is a musician, I decided to track down his recordings — but I particularly did not want to review Lie: The Love And Terror Cult because the songs were written partially by Dennis Wilson — hence I do not want to review something that may not completely be Manson's own. His prison recordings from the 80s, therefore, are the perfect candidate. Is Manson as good of a musician as people say he is? He's been covered by Guns 'N Roses, the Brian Jonestown Massacre, and The Lemonheads.
My intent therefore, is to concentrate on the music — if possible. The music is from Charles Manson Anthology 4 found at the Internet Archive. From what I ascertain, it is recorded on a simple tape deck that was given to him as a gift. It is merely Manson and a guitar — with no production tampering.
Here's my initial impressions. Charles Manson is clearly a talented songwriter and probably would have made it big in the music industry if he didn't end up a murderer. Clearly influenced by old fashioned blues and folk, Manson knows what is clearly catchy to the ear. Far from being a mere collection of jingles, dare I say that he has the amazing ability to imbue the songs with soul.
This is the problem. The soul we are talking about is Manson's soul: the man who collected a harem of impressionable young women and moved them to murder. And from hearing his music, I can see why he captivated them. We're not dealing with a simple caricature here. We're dealing with a man who has the ability to make you feel that a personal connection is possible, that he is able to focus all his attention on you and impress upon you something real.
As I said before, my intent is to focus on the music. However, with a guy like Manson, it is impossible to separate the man from the music because the music itself is so personal. You can tell this from the moment, in one part of the recordings, when Manson yells at a fellow inmate for interrupting him to ask for a cigarette.
"What the fuck are ya interruptin' me for, ya tramp?" he says, "Playing music ain't easy when you got the whole world ridin' on yer ass!"
As the recordings proceed, Manson begins to get less and less musical and slowly moves into the deep end. He begins to rant and rave and you can feel a tangible rage. You'd think that this was just angry ramblings of a street bum — the kind you hear on the street every so often when you know he's craving for a fix. But you know this isn't just anger and it is not harmless. It is a very real anger — one that you know, if deposited into the midst of the unsuspecting, would act. We know this because we've seen the fruit.
In the end, there is a certain sadness to all of this. The raw intensity that often proves to make music so listenable makes this music unlistenable. What makes a guy like Johnny Cash so admirable makes Charles Manson contemptible — and this is because Charles Manson is actually a good musician. Why is it that someone as evil as Manson has this amazing ability to make something so catchy and yet so personal, something that appeals so deeply a certain part of your humanity?
I had to turn the music off. I couldn't stand it. What made me stop listening to it was that I discovered I didn't want to understand Manson. I don't want to understand the distorted beauty of evil.
One of the more clever allusions to scatological activity, the Incredible Edible Anus is a dessert that an eBay retailer hopes will become a hit. Well, his product definitely has one advantage over Hershey's Kisses: an anus is prone to spew out a product that actually resembles chocolate. Indeed, it is no slur to say that the makers of the Incredible Edible Anus actually are engaging in fudge-packing. It is not a stretch to imply that they hope, through their effort of fudge-packing, that their anuses will make contact with your mouth.
If you look at the two people enjoying their chocolate anuses in the picture above, one can state that there's meant to be a certain eroticism at play here. However, if you are vanilla like me (no pun intended), I can't imagine the Incredible Edible Anus being a hit come Valentine's Day.
"Honey, I've decided to present you this collection of chocolate anuses as a symbol of our eternal love" — there seems to be something missing from this statement. Perhaps it's tenderness. Perhaps the juxtaposition just seems wrong. Remember, though, that you are talking to a fellow that is quite vanilla in his proclivities (unless you count trees).
Whatever your motive, the Incredible Edible Anus seems to me like an intriguing novelty gift to give to that special someone — whether friend of foe.
Well, if this article on Wikipedia is to be believed, Richard Dawkins would confer basic legal rights on non-human great apes. This would mean chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, and orangutans. Furthermore, every great ape would be given the right to life, the protection of individual liberty, and the prohibition of torture. That means no more zoos, no more medical experiments, and no more euthanasia without the great ape's consent.
I bring this up, of course, because Richard Dawkins is a well respected scientist and is a mascot of sorts to atheists. His opinion matters to many people. In contrast, the Great Ape Project is — to put it bluntly — potentially controversial. For him to lend his name to such a project intrigues me immensely.
I want to invite your opinion. Is Richard Dawkins right? Should there be a Declaration of the Rights of Great Apes? If so, how should humans stand in relation to great apes?
At first, I thought this was a parody, and why wouldn't I? It features all the earmarks of one. There's the alien singing songs written by Mary Baker Eddy, the smirking talents of James Quall, and the psychedelic transitional effects. Also, let's not forget the puppets. Chip the Black Boy is an unforgettable puppet.
So is this a parody? Evidently not! The puppeteer's name is David Nkrumah Liebe Hart and he looks something like this.
Apparently, the Junior Christian Science Bible Lesson Show is somewhat legendary amongst fans of Los Angeles public access television. The show has been teaching kids about UFOs and the dangers of drugs to kids since 1988. No word on how effective his show is at communicating this message, but it makes for entertaining television.
Whatever you think of Salvador Dali, there is no doubt that he was a clever marketer. Still, I never would have imagined he would have appeared in something as mundane as an Alka Seltzer commercial. Perhaps this was why he appeared in it. He successfully made the effects of Alka Seltzer come alive. He almost makes it into a work of art.
A few things I observe here is the frenetic pace of Dali's narration, how he makes the beautiful woman almost unnoticeable, and how he presents himself as "otherworldly" — this despite the commercial being about Alka Seltzer. You have to have a keen understanding of how the human imagination works in order to do that. This, at the least, is where Dali excelled at his art. Forget, for a moment, what you think of his art. He still knows where your eye is going to gravitate and what will intrigue you.
For good reason, then, he does a good job making me think about the effects of Alka Seltzer.
Some guy has dedicated his time creating his own personal ode to condiment packets. And one can tell he is dedicated. Thus far, he has 724 packet pictures. He divides it by sauce and brand types too if you want to be really precise in your search. As a special feature, you can also view Taco Bell's special sayings on their condiment packets.
Okay, let's say hypothetically that all of this does not meet your criteria for dedication. To that, I say look at how he prepares his collection.
I carefully remove the contents of my packets by slicing open the back along the bottom seam with a sharp blade. I rinse the inside of the packets thoroughly to ensure all traces of sauce are expelled. I then wait until the packets are completely dry before I place them in baseball card cases to preserve them cleanly and safely for many generations.
Ah, Sega. You were there for me at a time when I was just discovering girls. Back when you actually made consoles, you delighted me with your cheeky ad campaigns, your edgy attitude, and your blast processing. You made me believe being a gamer was akin to being cool.
As edgy as d they were in North America, though, that is nothing compared to what they got away with in Britain where they were able to publish the ad above in Viz magazine — which happens to be a repository of sick, disgusting humour "adults" (a.k.a., college boys) revel in.
And disgusting it is — as in, I wouldn't be showing this to my mother any time soon. But is it so wrong to be nostalgic for the days when Sega actually produced consoles? Is it evil to wish for a world in which Sonic on a Nintendo was considered blasphemy? The Sega that produced this ad was a different Sega. It was a cheeky Sega. It was a Sega in which it was reasonable to laugh at a spinach green Game Boy.
Before the powers-that-be started clamping down on it, candy cigarettes used to be one of the more fun things a kid could buy at a convenience stores. When I was a kid, I'd always gravitate immediately towards the candy cigarettes. And the marketers were pretty blatant about the fact they were candy cigarettes. You would take one tip into your mouth, blow on it, and "smoke" would come out. It was pretty cool.
Even when I was a kid, though, the marketers made it pretty damn sure to emphasis the "candy" part before the "cigarette". Not so much internationally, though, where they when to far as to mimic the packaging precisely — as noted by these "Acmel" candies. Personally speaking, I wonder which country allows tar in their candy.
In any sense, I thought I'd forward you on over to this gallery of international candy cigarette brands. Maybe it will provoke you to have pretend cancer.
This painting is called Major Inconvenience!! and was created by David Chung, a.k.a The Chung. It is a serious art piece as noted by the fact it was created with acrylic on wood. Sad to say, it is already sold.
I say it is sad because this really is something I myself would buy. The Chung seems to have the ability to meld together "cute" and "absurd" in one unbelievable package. It is cartoonish, but not in the awful manga style that everybody seems so enthused about but which seems so uniform. Rather, what makes cartoons so exciting to me is that you can do things one cannot with flesh and bone. This artwork is a vivid example of what I mean.
Don Harper Mills actually made up this story. Therefore, do not go about the internet claiming this is true. But it should be true because it is so good.
At the 1994 annual awards dinner given by the American Association for Forensic Sciences, AAFS President Don Harper Mills astounded his audience in San Diego with the legal complications of a bizarre death. Here is the story...
On March 23 the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus and concluded that he died from a gunshot wound of the head caused by a shotgun. Investigation to that point had revealed that the decedent had jumped from the top of a ten story building with the intent to commit suicide. (He left a note indicating his despondency.) As he passed the 9th floor on the way down, his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast through a window, killing him instantly. Neither the shooter nor the decedent was aware that a safety net had been erected at the 8th floor level to protect some window washers, and that the decedent would not have been able to complete his intent to commit suicide because of this...
Ordinarily a person who starts into motion the events with a suicide intent ultimately commits suicide even though the mechanism might be not what he intended. That he was shot on the way to certain death nine stories below probably would not change his mode of death from suicide to homicide, but the fact that his suicide intent would not have been achieved under any circumstance caused the medical examiner to feel that he had homicide on his hands...
Further investigation led to the discovery that the room on the 9th floor from whence the shotgun blast emanated was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. He was threatening her with the shotgun because of an interspousal spat and became so upset that he could not hold the shotgun straight. Therefore, when he pulled the trigger, he completely missed his wife, and the pellets went through the window, striking the decedent.
When one intends to kill subject A, but kills subject B in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject B. The old man was confronted with this conclusion, but both he and his wife were adamant in stating that neither knew that the shotgun was loaded. It was the longtime habit of the old man to threaten his wife with an unloaded shotgun. He had no intent to murder her; therefore, the killing of the decedent appeared then to be accident. That is, the gun had been accidentally loaded...
But further investigation turned up a witness that their son was seen loading the shotgun approximately six weeks prior to the fatal accident. That investigation showed that the mother (the old lady) had cut off her son's financial support, and her son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that the father would shoot his mother. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus...
Further investigation revealed that the son became increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to get his mother murdered. This led him to jump off the ten story building on March 23, only to be killed by a shotgun blast through a 9th story window.
The medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.
Call it karma or the wrath of God. Whatever the case, one must agree this story delivers a delicious sense of justice whereby the would-be murderer is served by his own bullet. Add the intent for suicide, and this story is especially delicious.
Previously, I had posted pictures of the history of the light bulb, but nothing compares to what you see above. As you can probably tell, the cap on the left is a dummy. Its purpose is purely as a means to further the optical illusion you see on the right side of the picture.
One of the other amusing aspects of this light bulb is installation as one tries to figure out which end goes into the socket. I can picture the hours of frustration as some poor sap tries to figure why — just why — his newly bought light bulb won't turn on.
Finally, if I was ever to curate a surrealist exhibit, I would use lighting from this light bulb. You'll probably agree it is perfect for such a project.
The Secrets of Fascinating Womanhood is a hilarious book. Supposedly written by "Angela", the book was in reality authored by a David Coory — who seems to be some sort of arch-conservative. Indeed, the book was actually published in 1989.
The focus of the book seems to be on saving one's marriage. To put it tactfully, the advice seems quite suspect. Here's a bit of choice advice from this book:
Admire his masculine qualities and never wound his sensitive pride
Watch what men do, and do the opposite
To obtain your needs from your husband, ask as a young girl asks her father
That last piece of advice is wrong on so many levels. I, for one, don't want a "young girl" to obtain her needs from me. I want a woman. It's just too creepy to be asked as a "father" for anything marriage related.
We must remember, of course, the kind of author we're talking about. Apparently, Mr Coory finds these women to be sexually arousing. Something tells me that the Sears catalogue was well maintained at the Coory household.
Johnny Meah is the last of his kind. Since the 1950s, he has created banners, posters, and various other promotional materials for circuses. The artwork was created to be eye-catching with his cartoonish depiction of performers, the bright contrasting colours, and the inviting taglines. It might seem all too surreal if it wasn't business as usual for carnival promoters.
The above picture represents Pete Terhune who, in his 70s, still seems to be performing. Not only does he exhibit awesome feats of strength, but also juggles and eats fire. He's been an entertainer for 50 years.
Johnny Meah's artwork is fascinating and worth a gander. I recommend that you make your way on down to his website Czar of Bizarre and have yourself a look. It's full on circus fun.
Imagine my delight when I found out that every December 27 a drunken, surly Santa travels about Continental US and part of Canada — he stays away from Quebec — delivers pizza in a red Ford Festiva. Forget the fat guy from the North Pole. I prefer Pizza Claus. It's his way of making amends for stealing from an orphanage six years ago.
Truth be told, I much prefer Pizza Claus to Santa Claus. Pizza Claus goes about his deal because he's wanted by the mob whereas Santa Claus does it all out of pure good will. I mean how stupid is that.
Besides, we're talking about pizza here. If you want to be my friend, just give me a pizza. And you want to be my friend, right?
15 miles off the interstate in the midst of the Mojave Desert sat a telephone booth. As the story goes, this phone booth was put there during World War II for use of a nearby mine that ceased operations in the 1960s. For some odd reason, it has not been decommissioned until recently. The obvious question, of course, is "Why did anyone use it?" And if so, what kind of person would use it?
That's what Doc wanted to find out. He's conducted seven interviews with folks who have answered that phone. Here, for all to see, is a collection of transcripts of those interviews. In this, an array of interesting personalities come forth.
In the end, this isn't so much about the phone booth per se but the folks who feel the need to use the phone booth. There's nothing like it.
In an attempt to educate the masses (which mean you and I), Environment Media Northwest has created Captain Ozone. And they've gone full throttle with their promotion. For those who are really enthused, you can download Captain Ozone's full documentary which features time travel, eco art day, and a music video.
Now I know what you're thinking: there's already a environmental superhero and his name is Captain Planet. In my opinion, though Captain Ozone can kick Captain Planet's ass. I have my reasons for saying this. First of all, Captain Ozone has what looks like a toilet bowl for a logo. My other reason is that when Captain Ozone is not in his costume, he looks like this:
Ridiculousness aside, I can only enjoy this because I'm well aware this is incredibly lame. I don't think recycling toilets into art is a suitable means of environmental action. Call it a feeling.
Good golly, this isn't just a cute novelty, this is an actual functional instrument. Whoever created this thing switched up the pipes with beer bottles. Hence the name "Beer Bottle Organ".
Let me go so far as to say there's nothing like it. It really has a unique sound, something that makes you want to take heed and notice. If you don't believe me, listen to this rendition of Eleanor Rigby as played on the Beer Bottle Organ.
Surprisingly, this instrument has been around for almost 200 years. It is quite versatile too. You can play musical tunes unaided, go at it with a keyboard, or even perform some MIDI magic.
This is a promo video of a band known as Eruption doing their song "I Can't Stand the Rain." And boy, does it have it all. It's got groove, fat basslines, and choreography.
Check out the style too. The guitar player has a sweat band, the bass player has a beard and afro combo, and those socks are doing wonders for the keyboardist. That singer is absolutely delicious in an early Grace Jones fashion. I wouldn't mind getting underneath her umbrella.
What a performance. I just can't get enough of it. Why aren't funk bands like this popular anymore? Because I'm telling you, I really have a hankering for some funk.
Well, they have toy machine guns, so why not a toy molotov cocktail too? The last time I played Russians and Finns, one of the things I kept asking myself was, "If only I had the toy molotov cocktail to go with my toy skis!"
The subtitle "tank buster" is the real winner here. I think the marketers were trying to capture the child with an anarchist bent. Screw that Fascist government and their trained military! They shall see the wrath of my home-brewed weapons. Then chaos would ensue as children finish off a game of "Stop the WTO"!
In short, this is the perfect toy for that kid who still likes to play with toy guns but wants to have a good cause to go with his playtime.
The video above is of a presumably fake exorcism done by a Candomble priest trying to save his client from the "Stone's curse" — whatever that is. I'm noticing a few elements I've found to be requisite with my own experiences.
Some time ago, I had a friend who was exorcised by Bob Larson — perhaps one of the most arrogant individuals I've ever met. His willingness to be exorcised by Mr. Larson, I believe, was because he himself had some personal problems and at the time it was easier to say demons were causing it rather than some other factors. One month after he had been "delivered", my friend wanted me to go to Mr. Larson's live meetings so I could find out myself about the authenticity of these exorcisms. Reluctantly, I agreed. That night is one of my more memorable experiences.
Sitting in the audience, I discovered folks who were actively looking to be exorcised. This wasn't like the movies where the demon-infested body wreaks havoc upon the innocent thereby forcing an exorcist to arrive. These people were looking to be cured of something. People with cancer were hoping to get the cancer-causing demons out of their bodies. Homosexuals were hoping to get their gay spirits out of them. Victims of rape or childhood trauma were hoping — literally — to cast out the evil in their lives.
One by one, an endless stream of raspy-voiced personalities from otherwise well-behaved folk would spew obscenities. Bob would threaten them with the power of the Bible. There would be shrieking and hollering and crying. Whatever could be said, Mr. Larson was a consummate showman and these people were putting on display before a live audience their innermost secrets.
After about an hour of this, Bob Larson with microphone in hand, before a crowd in which he could do no wrong, walked up to me. Why he walked up to me, I don't totally know but it seemed as though he wanted my opinion on things.
"Someone told me you're a skeptic. What do you think of everything now?" he asked.
"Well, I'm open-minded," I replied, "But things may not necessarily be as they seem."
"If you can't see with your eyes that all this is real, you're a bigger fool than you look," he retorted. The audience laughed. Red-faced, I was about to give him a piece of my mind but by that time, he moved on.
My story does not end there. After his big exorcism bash, an older lady approached me. Apparently, I had the demon of confusion living in me. I stood there stunned as she attempted an exorcism — not knowing how exactly to tell her that my opinion was not the result of an evil demon. Finally, after futilely realizing no demon was coming out, she asked simply if she could pray for me. I obliged simply so this whole embarrassing situation would end.
Herein lies my perspective on exorcism and why people seek it out and also how it can do great damage to an individual. Most times I've observed people want exorcism because they can't reconcile the traumatic circumstances of their life with who they actually are as a person. They don't believe they could have had a direct cause in their own personal crisis or that it is caused by natural inanimate factors. It's an evil external force that is creating these conditions and they have to confront this force.
Unfortunately, this perspective may be too simplistic. As was the case of the woman who sought to deliver me from the demon of confusion, she could not imagine that I could arrive at my own thoughts of my own accord. Since the truth of Bob Larson's work was so apparently true to her, how could I have ever thought otherwise except through the influence of a demon? I wasn't a person to relate to, I was a repository of devilish activity.
In the end, my experience with exorcism is an extreme example of what happens when people cease to interact with others as human beings and instead are problems to be solved. That, I believe, is a bloody shame.
I was reading an article on Slate today about the inevitable media backlash in regards to the overcoverage of the Virginia Tech shootings, and I came across this gem of an anecdote.
The gold standard for journalistic insensitivity was established in the 1960s by an unnamed British TV reporter who was trawling for news at a Congo airport. According to foreign correspondent Edward Behr's 1978 memoir, the Brit walked through the crowd of terrified Belgian colonials who were evacuating, and shouted, "Anyone here been raped and speaks English?"
Talk about chutzpah. Even more absurd than this question is what I imagine to be an even more absurd response as a newly raped Belgian lady makes her way to the reporter.
"Why indeed," the Belgian lady would say, "I have been raped. It's been such a dreadful experience. I would much rather not go through that experience again but it's all been worth it now that my face shall be on television. Hi mom!"
But yeah, in response to the Slate article, I do think oversaturation and sensationalism by the media does create a narcotizing effect. I do not necessarily mean this in the sense that we have become desensitized to violence but that we have become too sensitized to it. Let's be honest, it was only a matter of time before a mad gunman would go on a rampage yet again. It was only a matter of time before the media would offer 24/7 coverage of it. It was only a matter of time before we would all be in front of our TV sets looking to discover the next detail.
Many of us are unfeeling towards events like these because, as tragic as they are, we know it's going to happen again.
I don't know what an Oap is, but if you are afraid of losing any old people in your life (even if they are horned), this may be the service for you. There are many advantages to microchipping old people. The first advantage I can think of is that it will force them to become more technologically oriented. Even if they don't learn how to use a mouse, at least they'll be useable with a GPS system.
The other advantage, thankfully, is that after they pass on, the microchips will activate the pituitary gland making their undead bodies controllable through a remote device. What this in effect means is that our old people will then be able to defend our borders &mdash without loss of life. That is, if everything goes as planned.
Hence, there are no drawbacks to microchipping our old people. Plans should start immediately.
Just another thing to give kids to watch if they start complaining that you're not as cool as Grandma. Sure, Grandma may give you some cookies and let you stay up later, but what you do not know is her dirty secret. She has a long, curvaceous horn growing out of her forehead to further enunciate her evil.
But do not be afraid of the horn. Without that horn, you wouldn't have been born. So go on. Give her a kiss.
If you do not give her a kiss, though, you shall face her wrath. She shall destroy you with her fiery gaze and morph into something more insidious. In the end, this isn't so much about the horn as it is about the power derived from the horn and the great evil thereof.
Yahweh Ben Yahweh is a fellow who believes he is God — and I can hear the ominousness through his liberal use of capital letters and repetition of his name in Hebrew characters. Even more convincing in his claims of divinity is the shocking fact that, although he took a vow of poverty, his organization amassed $250 million through his direction. What a great guy.
Now if you are like me, you are probably one to dismiss him as a simple loon with an intriguing God complex. However, I have a strong feeling we may be dealing with a man with a very strong death wish.
The hostile assault upon The Nation of Yahweh was initiated by "words of war" currently found in the Project Megiddo report. The report was first issued by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) in October 1999 for the supposed purpose of assessing possible acts of domestic terrorism that might be sparked by the turn of the new millennium.
Then he quotes words from Revelations thereby explaining that it shall come to pass that the government will wage war against his cult. With a persecution complex like that, this isn't so much a prophecy as it is an invitation. Pepper in the accusation that the Anti-Defamation League and the Southern Poverty Law Center are plotting against them, and we have more conspiracy theories than you can shake a tree with.
Beyond that, I'm really dying to see Yahweh Ben Yahweh and the Time Cube Guy have a battle royale. Yahweh ben Yahweh can have an electric pulse gun symbolizing his mighty divine power and "Dr." Gene Ray can be given an endless supply of cardboard boxes. Now you might think that Yahweh ben Yahweh has the cooler weapon, but "Dr." Gene Ray is the wisest man and will maximize his weapon upon the "dumbass" who believes himself to be a Jew.
In any case, the government seems to be plotting against both of them, so I'm looking forward to some Mel Gibson-style action.
A sea monk is a creature that has a bald head, a body of a man, a beard, a very hairy chest — but has a fish tail. So yes, it's kind of like a mermaid but instead is quite celibate and very religious. His religious outlook must have been quite heretical since he didn't take a liking to the Church.
Antiquarian John Stow, in his book Annales, describes the capturing of a Sea Monk. Apparently, this happened in 1187.
Neere unto Orforde in Suffolke, certaine Fishers of the sea tooke in their nettes a Fish having the shape of a man in all pointes, which Fish was kept by Barlemew de Glanville, Custos of the castle of Orforde, in the same castle, by the space of six monthes, and more, for a wonder: He spake not a word. All manner of meates he gladly did eate, but more greedilie raw fishe, after he had crushed out all the moisture. Oftentimes he was brought to the Church where he showed no tokens of adoration. At length, when he was not well looked to, he stale away to the sea and never after appeared.
It's an nteresting account but I'm skeptical. I have to be attentive to one inconsistency. If the Sea Monk lived in the ocean but ate dried fish, how did that work? I mean, did he have to catch a fish, somehow get out of the water, wait till he himself dried out, then ate the fish? This whole thing doesn't make sense. It just doesn't make sense.
Yes, I am consciously aware that this is probably one of the most retarded "philosophy" dissertations every made, but I can't help it. If I didn't present retarded things every now and again, I would be discriminating against a whole realm of unusual things. As you know, discrimination is wrong. Therefore, in my attempt to be tolerant, I present to you one of the most retarded philosophical videos ever.
Here Phuckface Digitalis proves, once and for all, that existence exists. His tools of logic are bright colours, licking a bush, and smashing a television. I, for one, am now totally convinced. I had my doubts. Whereas before I thought I may have just been imagining my own existence, I now know I am wrong. Existence definitely exists. The tub of sauerkraut proves it.
So forget the Matrix. Forget all those post-modernist philosophers who believe life is just a literary interpretation to be examined. Existence exists. If it didn't, I would be able to will this retarded video away.
Why do you not believe in the Time Cube? The only reason, says "Dr." Gene Ray, is your own educated stupidity. Your academic mind is brainwashed and cannot comprehend Cubic magnificence. Heed the words of the wisest human.
If you believe the academic erroneous word god, you will die stupid and evil - for you have not the mental freedom to comprehend Nature's Higher Order Wisdom of the Harmonic Simultaneous 4-Day Time Cube Creation Principle within 1Earth Rotation. Until word is cornered, educators are liars. by Gene Ray, the wisest human
Here you will learn the sheer dumbass-ness of Greenwich time, and know that since your father was a fish, perhaps you should worship a fish god. Also, you will become educated unto the fact that American teachers are sworn to fight against the Time Cube — so you should not listen to them! Ignoring the Time Cube is evil and stupid. Therefore, youth should force their teachers to teach Time Cube or inherit a barren earth.
And if that doesn't convince you, know this: Revelations 7.1 proves 4 Earth Corners!
Cat and Deer is a fun flash animation featuring two DJs that happen to be a cat and deer. That is, it is fun if you are not an epileptic. There are many abounding explanations why I say this, but let me give you two.
First of all, it is in the realm of things I would like to call "cutesplode". This means that your eyes are bound to burst their blood vessels to overexposure to cute. It happens sometimes when one encounters a basket full of puppies so be on your guard the next time that happens. Here, though, you also have to be on your guard for it could happen to you.
The other noteworthy facet of Cat and Deer is the music — which I'd like to term "anime on a cotton candy binge". The song is so unbelievably catchy yet twitchy, one can easily ingest straight-up white sugar just to wash everything down. As we speak, I'm having a sugar rush because I'm listening to this song too much. You have been forewarned.
Between these two factors, Cat and Deer may be one of the brightest, most colourful and catchy flash animation I've seen in years. Just be sure to not play this with your five-year-old daughter around.
Jasmine, one of my MySpace friends, has forwarded me along to this great commercial. There's something about a cocaine-sniffing model whose day is ruined by a self-cleaning toilet that really makes me laugh out loud. Admit it, you like the fact this pretty lady was denied the satisfaction of some white lines.
Not really all that unusual if you live in Switzerland, but I feel nobody really understands how cool a chalet is. Let's just say say that I would love to own a home that costs less than $50,000, is compact yet has lots of space, and has lots of windows so that I can overlook the mountains. I'm telling you that the "chalet" is one great example of coolness that is overlooked.
That's fine with me. Next time I have $50,000 lying around my house, I'm building one of the suckers. Here's a pic of the interior so that you can see what the fuss is about.
Some guy named Boyd has written a hilarious description on how dating his ex was like playing DOOM II on nightmare mode. He prefaces everything by saying that he could have chosen and easier level, but that he willingly chose nightmare mode. Here is an excerpt on the beginning of the smothering.
Pretty soon things start getting tricky, there seems to be a never-ending supply of Imps and they just won't stop. Baby, I love you but I need some space, okay? I've got other monsters to kill and these keycards aren't getting any easier to find.
Oh man, I can totally relate. I was in that kind of relationship for nearly six months recently but I was too much of a pansy to establish some ground rules. The funny thing was that I went for it thinking that it would do me good. Of course, little did I realize that there is a brand of woman who is not satisfied unless you give her all your attention morning, noon, and night. It is absolutely torture then if she has absolutely nothing interesting to say.
So yeah, dating can be like Doom II on nightmare mode. It really is best to try something easier — preferably a mode that does not involve mass murder.
Ah, the days when Peter Mansbridge had a few tufts of hair on his chrome dome. Here he is announcing to Canada the arrival of "internet" — a global network where, for $200 a year, 15 million people can share recipes. And to think MySpace has more subscribers now than the internet had in 1993.
I find this news report to be absolutely hilarious. It's not because of how they speak about computers as not just "glorified calculators" but "tools of the human spirit". That part is true. The eerie "planetarium" music alongside this commentary slays me though. As does the bad geek haircuts of the early 90s.
Here's another funny comment: "You put out a general question... and you wait." Yeah, that's the part of the internet that I always found annoying in the 90s. In this report, it's being described as one of the more revolutionary aspects of the internet. Of course, that is true too. I've forgotten what a privilege it is to have my "general" questions answered by someone who might know something. Today, I can't stand waiting for my information whatsoever.
The remark that there are "no borders on the internet" is pure nonsense even for 1993. It seems to me that the internet enables people to isolate themselves from divergent opinions as there are bountiful news, blog, and social networking sites wherein one never has to encounter a perspective different from one's own. In other words, I still think one is able to encounter greater human diversity simply by driving into another neighbourhood in your town.
And of course, 1993 also has this gem of a statement from Patty: "[Internet] has more soul than any human being I know!" Something tells me Patty is busying herself writing slashfic right now or keeping a LiveJournal.
The Gay Monsters is a concept that will wreck your brain. That's what will happen if you take a bunch of the undead and create them draaaabulous like Andy Bauer did. Generally, I would say this webcomic is inappropriate for anyone — except perhaps the Queerty fellows who seem to be fascinated with creating immature sperm from bone marrow. Well, looks like you've found yourselves the perfect candidates.
Anyway, the Gay Monsters feature some hilarious hijinx. For example, it's apparent that undead/living love is quite forbidden in the monster world. So what is Xander, a soft-spoken, pitiful ghoul supposed to do when he falls for an unattainable living fellow he discovered at Phantom of the Opera? I feel your pain, Xander, as I too have a forbidden love.
My one criticism about this webcomic is the annoying music that turns on when you look at the site. But have no fear, it is easy to turn it off.
This is an idea that has finally found fruit: zombie-inspired rock music. It takes all the destructiveness, mayhem, and outright fright of horror movies and distills it with electronics, drums, and shouts. Not just any electronics, mind you, but some theremin too — the most space age instrument there ever was.
I'm excited. I'm really excited about this — and I'm rarely excited about music. Their album hasn't even come out yet and I just know I'm going to be pre-ordering this. You see, it's been so long since there's been a band that just wanted to smash shit up — and do so in such a stylish manner. I want noise, damn it, and I want noise that creates havoc.
If this promo video doesn't excite you, I also got below a music video for their song Soft Leatherette. Yeah, I know the vocals sound soft. Leather usually is soft though, isn't it?
VIZ is a bottle of water for those who are paranoid that they are not getting enough vitamins in water. What pray tell shall you do if you leave a bottle of water sitting there and vitamins are disappearing as we speak? Well, that's where the VIZcap comes in. After years of research and development, the folks behind VIZ have developed a cap that seals everything in. There's no fear then that somehow the vitamins will disappear.
I'm sure one of the burning problems of this world is "How shall we save all the vitamins in bottled water?" Well, now life can go on. We have found a patented solution. Yuppies, you can quit panicking now.
One question the VIZ folks haven't answered for me yet: does it have electrolytes?
Corey Kruitboch has painted this disturbing picture of Charles Manson — and I feel like he has painted an accurate portrait. The cavernous eyes, the recesses of skin, and the sheer darkness show the viewer a man that has inflicted great pain and anguish upon others. And this isn't gratuitous either.
Murderers, of course, sometimes dabble in art. John Wayne Gacy was known to paint. One can say the Zodiac Killer's penchant for devising codes is an art unto itself. Manson himself was known as a musician. However, killers — if the subject is themselves — present themselves as they want to be seen. Due to their narcissistic nature, they are not the best at revealing who they are to the rest of the world.
There is an obvious reason for that. As I have shown through my own experience, serial killers never know the impact they have on the rest of the world. This is why I believe this portrait is so special. I believe it shows the real Charles Manson and why another human being is so capable of denying life to another.
When I first saw this video on The Wedge, I jumped out of my seat. I've rarely seen anything like it. It's got a quirkiness all its own.
The song itself is performed by Versatile Records' Joakim, a French fellow who usually busies himself with electronic music. It's got an infectious beat, and the bassline can suitably be called "funky". It kind of reminds me of Tones on Tail.
What really captivated my attention, though, was the wedding montage contrasting with the theme of the song. The song, as you are probably well aware is about loneliness. So what is Joakim trying to say?
My two guesses: either these people are destined to divorce, or the singer is wanting what these married folk have. I vote for the latter simply because I have a soft spot for marriage and I never wish for anyone to get divorced. In fact, perhaps the reason why I have held off on marriage is because I never want to wish divorce on myself.
Still, I think these music video walks a fine line between being danceable and being haunting. I like that very much.
For those of you who are not content to simply eat nuts, I present to you something a lot more "EXTREME!!!". SumSeeds is a brand of sunflower seeds enfused with such energy boosters as taurine, lysine, and ginseng. And, as I already implied, its got swathes of caffeine in it.
In other words, this is the sunflower version of Red Bull. So if you were ever wondering how nuts are able to survive the goodness of a 350ml can of energy drink, look no further. SumSeeds will make you "feel the need" — the need to chew and be energized at the same time!
Now you're probably asking, "Who would buy this thing?" I can think of a few folks. Gardeners, baseball pitchers, and ravers with a taste for seeds. Really, the potential is limitless.
But can it get better than this? It sure can! If you buy a case today, you will receive a free t-shirt! And who here isn't in favour of a free t-shirt — one that will broadcast to the world your love for the merging caffeine and sunflower seeds.
Oh. My. God. Whatever advantages this woman may have in being without pants is rendered null and void by the dog that is strategically placed in front of her. And there's much to like about this woman too. She's got a nice figure, a nice smile, and nice tattoos. All that goes to hell by the dog — that evil, evil pug.
In truth, after I saw this pic I wanted to immediately forget it. However, I thought I'd pass on this repulsion onto you. Forgive me for the burning in your eye sockets.
Perhaps you are one of the many Diggers who have been making their way here for the past few days, or perhaps you are one of the fewer citizens of various message boards who have discovered some of my content and posted some linkage. In any sense, I'm a little bit enthralled by the amount of traffic I've been getting lately. Basically, your presence here confirms a suspicion I've been having for a very long time.
You see, my original reason for creating this blog was because I have yet to find one place on the internet that showcases what I want to see. It takes a lot of effort to find material that I would define as "unusual" — most of it is scattered all over. So I thought since no one else doing it, I might as well be the one. What you see amassed here are some of the more extraordinary, beautiful, and strange "pieces" I have found from around the net.
Some of it is high brow and some of it is obscene. I guarantee that none of it, however, is humdrum. Sometimes I focus on technology, other times I focus on art, music, video games, culture, and politics. Always I collect what I know I would want to see if I first stumbled across this site.
Your presence here only proves that you want what I want: inspiring or revolting seldom seen material that makes you yell "WTF". I want to make a deal with you. Send me your links. Give me something I can share with everyone else that will guarantee awe and delight. Don't always make me have to look for the "unusual".
I'm asking you to let the "unusual" find its way towards me.
I think there is a time when we must move away from the technology of simple "gee whiz" consumerism, and this would be it. There is a time when you must step back and know that what you are viewing is art. What this essentially means is that laboratories are not just built to move along the progress of humanity but to also etch into our psyches some aspect of permanence.
And what better way to create permanence than through the means of antique watch parts? Well, let's walk into the world of Mike Libby.
Insect Lab is an artist operated studio that customizes real insects with antique watch parts and electronic components. Offering a variety of specimens that come in many shapes, sizes and colors; each specimen is individually designed and hand- assembled, each is one of a kind and unique.
Mike Libby goes beyond simple construction of insects and you can tell he put a lot of care about the beauty of his works. This isn't about simple modelling. This is about the appreciation of insects as a life form. he does an incredible job of it and each insect in his collection is rendered with as much craftsmanship as the next.
After looking through Mr. Libby's robotic insects, I'm sure you'll fall in love.
Do you know who this guy is? Yeah, I didn't think so. He's got a waterfall for a face, so I don't think you're going to readily find out unless you do mountains of research. In any sense, whoever this person is — or was — was once a very famous Hollywood celebrity. Now he is rendered obscure by the beautiful scenery in front of his face.
This is part of a project John Stezaker does that deals with film actors and film scenes that are — for lack of a better term — disrupted by some generic scene of nature. It is hard for me to guess the artist's intentions without some statement from him, but I believe it is a commentary on our celebrity-obsessed culture that seems desperate to grant attention upon certain individuals for seemingly arbitrary reasons. Frankly, I don't give a damn whose faces these actors actually are.
Not much to really explain here just to say this thing runs more than a minute and yet I am completely mesmerized. The camel does nothing except stands up and sits down. The kid "little person" simply points and laughs. And the soundtrack is a tad repetitive. Taken together, though, it's just all too surreal.
What this video needs is to be shown in a modern art installation. There should be at least a fifty page essay about how the camel is a symbol of our consciousness and how the child is like external forces that mock our being. It would make a great coversation piece over wine and cheese.
Something tells me this won't be that fun to watch unless you have a Foucault-quoting university student by your side.
This is an example from the Coral Castle, a structure like no other. Everything was hand built by one man: Edward Leedskalnin who stood 5' and weighed no more than 100lbs. Most of the structure was made of coral. However, other megalithic stones were used too. Much of the stones wieghed more than a ton, so it is amazing that this was buit using common tools.
What is more amazing was that he built the Coral Castle as a monument to his love, former fiancee Agnes Scuffs who spurned him one day before they were to marry. This was his way of proving that he loved her and wanted to be with her. He wanted Agnes to see or hear about his structure and realize he deeply he felt about her.
Here's where the tragedy comes in.
Upon hearing this story, Scuffs responded, "I did not want to marry Edward when I was 16, and I don't want to marry him now." Leedskalnin died a few years later.
It's not enough for the Virgin Mary to appear on grilled cheese sandwiches. It seems that the sanctity of John Lennon now summons itself onto gate posts. Mind you, I don't see the resemblance, but if some guy in Liverpool sees it, it must not be random — it really is John Lennon! He was right. He really is bigger than Jesus.
Apparently Keith Andrews, the fellow who discovered the face, was a childhood friend of John Lennon. Moreover, the face was found 50 yards away from Lennon's birthplace. Coincidence? I think not!
The above picture is of a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a fig roll. Why a fig roll? I don't know, but apparently T-Rex enjoyed a fig roll every now and then. It is also quite fascinating how fig rolls closely resembled T-Rexes.
I discovered this all tonight upon reading the findings of famed paleontologist Adam Stuard Smith. In fact, Mr. Smith has created a site devoted to dinosaur/biscuit awareness.
Every good vertebrate palaeontologist today knows that dinosaurs had a taste for biscuits. In fact, 100% of the dinosaur diet was biscuits. As a challenge to palaeontological dogma this may at first sound amazing, but the evidence is undeniable as shall soon be revealed. It is also now known that dinosaurs did not eat biscuits randomly, a custard cream here or a hob-nob there. They were picky; if a dinosaur didn't have its preferred teatime snack it would undoubtedly go ape. It is now known throughout the scientific community that there was more to dinosaur-biscuit links than preference, each species of dinosaur became dependent up on a specific biscuit, a factor, which although at first highly advantageous, eventually led to the demise of a large number of dinosaurian groups. Only now in this age of cutting-edge discovery and open-minded enthusiasm are these prehistoric facts coming to light.
This all seemed very cute until I made a stark realization. If dinosaurs ate biscuits and humans also eat biscuits and dinosaurs went extinct, does this logically imply that our own extinction is imminent? I see the pattern. First comes the enjoyment of biscuits, then comes calamity.
Words cannot express the agony I feel as the fellow playing this game time and time again succumbs to death. Yet, I must laugh. The invisible coin block is just too much. The player was lining up to jump and then when he finally gets some air — BLAMMO! — he meets his fate.
I give him props, though, for sheer tenacity and stubbornness. If it was me, I'd just shut the damn thing off and move on to something else.
Absolutely amazing. All those folks wearing military camo gear have nothing compared to this. This is actual camouflage, the pedestrian really is blending in with the crosswalk. It actually takes effort to see him.
In real world circumstances, this isn't quite practical. I would go so far as to say it's an invitation to be road kill. So fashionistas, before you go out of your way to camoflouge yourselves, remember this: it's fun to see, not so fun to have your guts strewn all over the road.
Sometimes I wish I knew Japanese. If I knew Japanese I'd be able to know the modus operandi between this artist's illustrations. So, at best I'm guessing.
It seems to me there is an a theme of technology, sexuality, and the ethereal nature of physicality. In this picture, for instance, a man is bursting out of a woman's body. It is okay, she is not in pain, for she is being shed much as a lizard sheds his skin. One does not know where the being of the woman ends whatsoever.
I thought I'd start off with an obvious one. This one is obvious an Einstein stamp made in the British Virgin Islands in 2001. A handsome, younger Einstein was one I decided to showcase rather than the older post-WWII Einstein sometimes writing on chalkboards or sticking out his tongue. Einstein, of course, is one of the more popular physicists shown on stamps. He is shown from such diverse places as Zaire, Monaco, Zaire. The good old USA also throws their hat in the ring.
But what about other physicists? I thought I'd share with you five more of my favourites that have been immortalized through postage.
Nicholas Copernicas (1473-1543), USSR, 1975
Julius Robert Oppenheimer (1904-1967), Belgium, 2001
I don't totally approve of this, but here's what I think happened. As you know, black cats are bad luck and are to be avoided at all costs — for they might cross your path. But cats are quite agile beasts and quite clever as well. The only way to really prevent bad luck then is to stick the cat in a place whereby it is impossible to escape.
This sewer hole then is the perfect candidate. It's body can go through the hole, but its head acts as a plug. Hence, there is no recourse. The cat stays put. It cannot enact terror upon an innocent man's life.
This piece is called "Assorted Explosion" and was made by Jen Stark. From what I gather, it is simply layers of multi-coloured constuction paper cut very strategically. How simple yet complex.
I admire this piece for the sheer hack of the problem. Jen took something quite simple, a stack of construction paper, and turned it into something neat. How I lust over getting the instructions on how to do it and implementing it. I'm sure, thugh, that she does not want to give away her secret and will thus keep towards gawking in admiration.
AbstinenceFeelsGood.com is a website that has enacted a campaign encouraging teens to keep their clothes on and their hormones in check. There's nothing wrong with abstinence. It's the easiest way to keep teens from pregnancies and STDs. I think an ad campaign in and of itself is not a bad idea.
What I do strongly criticize is the guilt and mistruths the ads try to implant in others. "It feels good to have a good reputation" is one of the slogans. Yeah, only because society tells women that their sexual desires are "irreputable". Do you know how many women I meet who are unable to reconcile their naturally occurring feelings with "sluttiness"? Thank you ad folks with just reinforcing that.
Another one is "It feels good to know my boyfriend love me for more than just my body." How naive. When you interact with a woman on a personal level it is impossible to see her as a sperm repository. I'm talking about teenage boys too. While sex by itself can simply be a primal urge, I can guarantee that if a boy is spending a vast portion of his time with a girl, it's not just because of her body — although that could be a huge factor.
In other words, with their one sentence slogans, the ads succeed at reducing everything, instilling fear, and causing girls to loathe a very natural part of themselves. How very Macchiavellian.
I assure you the picture above is real. The vampire hunting kit was sold in 1851 at the Great Exhibition in London. Complete in a mahogany box, this kit included a revolver, silver bullets, garlic powder, silver dagger, ivory cross, mirror, Professor Blomberg`s New Vampire Serum, wooden stake, etc. The bullets themselves were manufactured by Nicolas Plomdeur, a gunsmith from Belgium.
At Sotheby's, this kit sold for $12,000. I guess the buyer had some vampires to slay and wanted to make sure he had the good stuff.
I remember in 2001, my parents were remodelling the bathroom. What they needed was a door. They didn't need anything fancy. All they wanted was something that was sturdy and would open and shut. So they went to a salvage yard. I forget the name of the company they obtained the door from, but I believe it was something quite generic like "K&Y Salvage Ltd." or something like that. I remember my mother recalling that they came in on the day one of the owners, David, was going about his business. The door cost $50.
For one week straight, my mother was raving about this fantastic door. What a great deal. It was really sturdy and looked pretty fine. Whenever a visitor came over, she'd show the guest the bathroom door and remark how everything was framed just right. In a sense, this is my mother's way as she is one to constantly look after her home.
Around this time, I recall a little bit of outrage in the Downtown Eastside, but nobody I know really cared. They were complaining about some disappearing hookers, and about police inaction. I remember shrugging my shoulders. That's what hookers did, they disappeared. That was my simple opinion at the time.
Then one day, I read the newspaper about how, on a routine weapons check, police decided to apprehend a pig farmer based on certain suspicious circumstances. It seems as though one of the missing women's personal items were found in the pig farmer's home. This pig farmer's name is Willie Pickton, and within days, it was revealed that Willie was responsible for not just this woman's disappearance but perhaps 50 of them.
More details emerged. There were bone shards found on his farm. He fed the women to his pigs. The pigs were then sold to the public for public consumption and several people I know were unsure if the bacon they ate had in turn ate the flesh of a dead prostitute.
My mom then told me the door they bought was from a business owned by Willie Pickton and his brother. The brother's name was David, the man my mother briefly met at the salvage yard. Over dinner, she wondered aloud about what other products she unknowingly may have bought from the serial murderer. Unsurprisingly, we did not eat any pork that night and since then I have not been able to eat pork at all.
A year and a half later, we moved out of that house. We did not take down the door. For all I know, the current owners may still be using that door.
You see, while I knew no missing women, I learnt very vividly that we all are affected by inhumane actions. Whenever I looked at that door, I couldn't help but be reminded of the women society tossed by the wayside only to be skinned and have their body tossed haphazardly to the pigs. Every time I heard that door creak, I remembered the cries of drug-addled women who still deserved better than their fate.
I finally understood that prostitutes don't just disappear.
I read a story from Rolling Stone magazine about BattleCry, a Christian crusade organization that is looking to get teenagers to "declare war" on secular culture. Nothing all that new under the sun, but there comes a point where one's eyes finally bulge out of the socket due to the absurdity of it all.
Later, one of Luce's PR reps takes me backstage to sift through the bins of rejected affections. Most kids mention music, movies, girlfriends and boyfriends, sex or, surprisingly often, just condoms, but a number of new warriors are oddly precise about their proposed abandonings. They cast into perdition Starbucks (multiple votes), Victoria's Secret (ditto; Luce encourages kids to confront the managers of lingerie stores), cereal (Special K and Cap'n Crunch), hip-huggers, "smelling amazing," "vengeance," "medication" and A&W root beer. "I would say it's ridiculous what they are doing to root beer," wrote the boy who will drink A&W no more.
Wow. Youth crusades inspired a kid to give up root beer. And while that may sound innocuous, as a former student of religion, I'd much rather kids give up sex than give up root beer. I know that sounds crazy, but whereas sex may induce disease and unwanted pregnancy, root beer is root beer. It is sugar water with a very unique flavour. In other words, if we've gotten to the point where root beer is a danger to "Christianity", how far can we really go?
Funny enough, I'd like to think of this blog as not being a political blog, but in many ways it is. I'm not espousing a conservative or liberal ideology. I'm simply asking for sanity. Christians, go ahead and be Christian. I'm not stopping you. In fact, I'm a Christian myself. But in your goal to follow your religion, perhaps it is wise to stay sane. Root beer is not your enemy. Condoms are not your enemy. Cease and desist from confronting Victoria Secret saleswoman as the enjoyment of sexuality is definitely not prohibited by the Bible.
In other words, what I'm saying is that you should take a look around you. The gay person you go to work with is not some theological problem to be worked out, but an actual person who probably has a lot of stuff going on in his mind, so if you could be kind, please do not share an opinion with him that is not invited. There is a time in which the cultural wars should cease being fought and you should listen — listening is not something that is valued these days.
Religion isn't about "war". Religion is about relating with God. Sometimes God wants you to open up a can of root beer and enjoy it.
The person on the right is 20-year-old Jeremiah Israel Wilson, a prostitute from Minneapolis who was unfortunate enough to have been arrested and whose face now adorns St. Paul Police Department's webpage devoted to prostitution arrest photos.
It seems as though if a john or street walker is arrested in St. Paul, their face could adorn the police department's webpage. That's not what happens so much in practice, though. If you take a look at it closely, you'll find "no photo available" for every woman on the page, and a very colourful photo for the men.
That's where Jeremiah Israel Wilson comes into play. Jeremish Israel Wilson, you see, probably has certain male appendages. Obviously, he identifies himself as a "her" and is not afraid to get monetary compensation for some certain sexual services as a woman. In other words, while all the other prostitutes faces are withheld from the webpage, out-of-towners who have a thing for transsexuals will now be able to match a face to the name.
Is the police department enforcing a dubious double standard? You bet!
I have no idea who Craig Buchan is, but he is one amazing photographer. He seems to specialize is black and white as well as sepia pictures taken in urban landscapes. They are stark, bold, yet introverted. If you enter into his world, you will not leave disappointed.
Japan is responsible for a lot of childhood fads that have proven to be insufferable. Tamagotchis, pokemons, and Dragonball all being crazes that simply wouldn't die in the time I preferred. Little did I know folks in Japan were feeling my pain, that their culture was being held hostage by the very things I loathed — much the same as my country, Canada, is being held hostage by some truly atrocious music produced here.
Anyway, this parody more than makes up for Power Rangers. Power Rangers, you will recall, was the worst of the lot. Bad actors, bad costumes, bad overall concept. The movie proved to imprint on me a mental scar. Well, the Earth Defender Freshmen have proved to be my much needed antidote.
Thank you, Japan. I mean it. Thank you for giving my life back.
I got into Jandek last January. Here in Surrey, it doesn't snow so much as it rains. Factor in the fact that I work at night and take the bus, it is easy for me to get an appetite for atonal, jangled, and morose tunes. As "unlistenable" as Jandek may be, I simply cannot get enough of him as he seems to provide the perfect soundtrack to my nighthawk life.
I also couldn't get over the sheer creepiness and loneliness of his lyrics. They are a little bit disturbing but strangley fascinating. With a monotonous voice accompanied by something that does not sound like a guitar at all, yet sounds like simple mayhem, imagine listening to these lyrics:
I had a vision Of a teenager daughter Who's growin' up naked In the afternoon light
That said, even if his music isn't for you, he at least has an interesting story. To put it succinctly, he is quite a social hermit, had never done a concert till recently, and rumour has it that he is an executive at the Firestone Corporation.
As a bonus for you, I'm also including a recording of one rare interview with Jandek done in 1985. This will give you a little insight about the person who develops this kind of music.
In 1973, back when he was a student of the American Film Institute, David Lynch wrote and directed The Amputee. It had no colour, it was grainy, and it consisted of mere narration — yet one gets a glimpse at the quirkiness David Lynch would bring to his later films.
Interestingly, he also co-starred in the film as the male nurse who is taking care of a female amputee. The amputee is too busy writing a letter and smoking a cigarette to realize exactly what's going on.
Here's a torrent of two versions of the film. The first version is not so good as it plods along and you don't get a good sense of what's going on. The second version is frenetic, almost psychotic in its execution and quite worth seeing. And there is only a minute different between the two films. Those goes to show you the value of editing.
With bottled water now a $9 billion industry, it was just a matter of time before someone was to grab a hold of another free commodity and convince the world to pay for it. Witness now bottled oxygen.
Now, I still have some faith in humankind and believe people would not spend their hard-earned dollars on something they get for free. The oxygen bar at my local mall closed down recently — and they should have. They were charging $10 for ten minutes of "pure" oxygen. I am outraged they got away with it for so long.
I also know, though, that fear is an obvious factor. For this to work, you have to make people doubtful about the air around them. You got to tell them that pollution is so bad, the only way to save their health is by using bottled oxygen. So what if the science is dubious? If you repeat everything enough times, people will believe you.
Then after working everyone into a frenzy, you got to offer them something real air can't offer you: flavour. Tell your customer that there is an exciting array of flavours available to make your consumption of air more thrilling. There's eucalyptus, lemon, cherry, and peppermint. Now that your customer is distrustful of the very air he breathes, you do one better by telling him that regular air cannot compensate for the enjoyment of bottled air.
Now, I realize you think this is ridiculous. People are not that gullible, that stupid, that easily manipulated. Perhaps you are right. One company, though, is betting millions of dollars that you are wrong.
Picture this in your head. Your friend Bob goes on vacation, perhaps to some place exotic (like Spain). You go about your business, almost forget that he is on vacation — he's been in Spain for almost two months. Then one day, as you are drinking coffee in the morning, the above postcard gets tossed into your mailbox.
You discover it is from your friend. After spewing out coffee, you begin to panic. Is Bob confessing his deep dark secret? Is his vacation simply a means to flee whichever troubles he has at home? For good reason, you're worried. Bob thinks he's being followed by elves.
Well, now you know the practicality of the postcard above. Here's a little idea for some mayhem. Go on vacation. After a little bit of time away, send a friend this postcard. Watch as the drama unfolds.
So, if you're willing to go through the trials of an unneeded intervention, all you need to do is print this picture and make use of it.
Say what you like about the Soviets, they still had ingenious engineers. Take a look at this helicopter. It's practically something you can shove inside your suitcase after you fly yourself to work. I mean, it literally only takes 10 minutes unfold to it.
The beautiful thing about it is that it ran on car fuel. Gassing this baby would probably take minimal effort. Too bad it was never actually flown — there wasn't a rotary piston engine found for it.
Still, why is it that I get the feeling that if this helicopter were ever to be taken seriously, it would revolutionize the world of transportation? Just a feeling, like I said.
I believe in the concept of net labels. I really do. The problem is that most of the good net labels are either ambient or electronica, and my tastes lean towards indie (okay, I realize that sounds pretentious). The problem is that while indie should stand for "independent", most of the indie rock crowd seems a little too satisfied with hanging around MySpace.
Well, indie kids, if you are pining for the day when you can stick it to the RIAA (legally) while still looking for some truly catchy songs, look no further than to Molokini Records. Certainly, their releases haven't been plentiful, but what they lack in quantity, they more than make up in quality. How good are their artists? Let me gave you a rough guide.
Elfi is a sweet pixie of a woman who chirps along with a danceable beat. She's the kind of girl that evokes nerdboy sighs with her saffron-tinged voice that simultaneously whispers sweet nothings into your ear and declares she is better off without you.
On the other side of the spectrum is Lashing Patsy, a jittery, almost convulsive outfit that makes you want to shake uncontrollably on the floor. Yet, what keeps their nervous outbursts in check is a consistent, driving beat that heimlich's your consciousness. This is, in short, the antidote for narcolepsy.
Then there is Stars in Coma, a project by Andre Brorsson. This guy conjures up all the fun of Saturday morning cartoons. Put bluntly, it is music that complements a bowl of Fruit Loops. So while you are busy on your way to work, listening to that iPod, regretting that you didn't call in sick, a nice dose of Stars in Coma will brighten up your day and make you see the positivity life has to offer.
So kids, while you are contemplating the fate of music, and if it is possible to live in a world where music is RIAA free and catchy as hell, look to further than Molokini Records, a net label that does the indie connoisseur proud.
You will recall that one of the coolest things about Star Trek: The Next Generation was the holodeck. In fact, if that invention were to become a reality, I am convinced the human race wouldn't survive. We'd all be too busy falling in love with holograms. Procreation would fall by the wayside.
Well, a holodeck does exist — for crickets. Apparently, they love it. With the aid of a projector, a computer simulates movement. The crickets then interact with the projector through chirps. Every chirp echoed advances the panorama giving the crickets a variety of outdoor footage.
If you wanted to, you could build this holodeck yourself. All you need are crickets, glass, sand, a microphone, a projector, and a comptuter. The computer apparently runs some custom software, so that might be a problem, but I bet if you make some inquiries, perhaps you can get a copy.
The source page also has footage so you can see this holodeck in action.
As you've probably noticed by now, this blog has gone through a lot of changes this week.
For starters, it's no longer quixoticals.blogspot.com, but now it's simply quixoticals.com. This takes into effect immediately. Don't worry, though, you won't be losing an of your bookmarks as the old domain forwards everything to the new domain. You're going to find that everything's a lot easier to remember, you won't be typing as much, and you can now have an easier time telling your friends about me.
The other difference, of course, is the look and feel. I added a banner that I feel is more reflective about what this blog is about. I also changed the layout, using a fonts that are easier on the eye. In short, it's prettier.
Finally, quixoticals is now on MySpace, so you can check us out on http://myspace.com/quixoticals. Don't be afraid to friend me if you like. Perhaps you can drop me a link or two.
Before people harangue me about the pic above by calling me insensitive, just remember that the woman wants her belly to be shown. She posted this on a "body-positive" site so that you could see her belly. I'm not going to say it was wrong for her to do so. Perhaps it is therapeutic — a way of getting the proverbial monkey off her back.
Whatever your opinion of her belly, and whether or not you think it's beautiful is another story. I'll be honest, I don't think it's beautiful. I'm not one to ogle bellies, so if you were to show me a picture of an obese belly, you're not going to get me to say it is beautiful. Still, it seems to me that the poster wants you, the casual observer, to say it is beautiful. She wants it to be admired, not ridiculed.
We think that the parts of our bodies that face the most shame and judgement are exactly the parts we should show the world. More love for the belly! All shapes! All sizes! All colors and creeds! Show us yours! We'll show you ours!
Here's my personal dilemma: while I don't like anyone to hate their bodies, at the same time, I think physical improvement is not something to be ignored. Take me for instance. I know I need to go to the gym. I don't hate my body, I think I'm pretty darn attractive, but I know I can benefit from physical improvement. As a result, I'm not going to post a picture of my belly to the world as I see it as an area to improve upon — and even if I didn't, I don't care enough to be admired for it.
Then again, I personally am not dealing with self-hatred and perhaps posting their bellies is just the recipe these people need to deal with whatever emotional issues they have. Even if it doesn't quite do the job.
I actually just came back from watching Grindhouse, and between features they feature previews of other similar films (that never were produced). One of my favourites is Hobo With a Shotgun which is about — fittingly — a hobo who walks around town shooting villains with a shotgun.
Well, here was a film that actually was produced: The Erotic Adventures of Zorro.
Posing as a limp-wristed pansy by day (who rides a white donkey while clutching a parasol), Don Diego secretly becomes Zorro at night, "brandishing his long, quick rapier!" When he's not helping the oppressed, fighting duels, or slashing the letter "Z" into derrieres, Zorro is busy bedding down a gaggle of gorgeous senoritas until he zeros in on Maria (Robyn Whitting), Bonasario's lovely niece...
And no, this actually is not a porno, but was a big budget "sex" comedy produced by David F. Friedman. In essence then, this is simply a sleazed up version of Zorro that probably found a comfortable place in the Grindhouse.
Forget the Avengers, forget the X-Men. Yes, even forget the Justice League of America. They all suck. The best, most glorious superhero team is the Captain America/Campbell's Soup Kids/U.S. Department of Energy team. And together, they took upon themselves the terrible task of keeping people's energy from being drained.
Oh, it must have been a courageous battle Captain America fought while the Campbell Soup kids used their secret powers of increasing the villains blood pressure through copious amounts of sodium. The U.S. Energy Department, though not boastful about their pursuits, then did their part by charging more money towards those people who drained their energy. Puzzles, quizzes, and energy fun thereupon ensued.
So, while many of us cried when Captain America maliciously killed, let it be known that it was not all for naught. For the gold ole soldier fought well with the Campbell's Soup kids. One can say he fought energetically.
Austrians even know how to make prisons snazzy. While we here in North America are stuck with grey utilitarian eyesores, the powers-that-be in Austria decided to make their detention centres pretty. Seriously, if I were to ever rob a bank, I will do it in Austria.
According to one Laurence Gardner, the face above is that of the antichrist. The reason being is that he is the product of both the House of Windsor and the House of Stuart — and both are descended from the line of David. Therefore, when Prince William takes the throne, this will usher in an era of earthquakes, rivers of blood, and Gog/Magog mayhem. Sounds a little bit more exciting than simply being a figurative leader, don't you think? If you don't believe me, look at Gardner's words (if you're willing to make sense of it).
While Israel was in effect reborn in May 1948, Jews worldwide finally returned to their ancient homeland after almost 2,000 years. At the very same time however, to her northwest, were the European nations also rejoining together as if being reborn, following a secret society plan toward creating a new Roman Empire growing in parallel strength to the newly revived nation of Israel. This would begin with Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands joining in economic alliance, then France, Italy, and West Germany joining in 1957 under the auspices of the newly drafted Treaty of Rome. In 1972, three additional members signed on: Denmark, England, and Ireland were received, then, on January 1 1981, Greece became the ratified tenth member. Now, the Bible shows us yet another interesting clue between Daniel and Revelation. Daniel clearly states that out of an original ten-nation grouping of nations would arise a Little Horn (or "young Prince") who would become the Beast [of Revelation]. The exact prophecy in the book of Daniel 7:20 in reference to this Prince-King-Beast informs us that "I [Daniel] considered the horns and behold, there came up among the ten, another little horn and in this horn were the eyes of a Man..." In other words, after a ten-nation European confederacy is born, then afterwards would arise a little horn, a human being, who later becomes the Antichrist, so this [eleventh] horn having 'the eyes of a man,' etc. is not referring to an 11th country of the still reviving Roman Empire, but the Scriptures are clearly telling us to look for a human man who suddenly appears after the ten. Interestingly, little Prince William was born the very next year in 1982, just months after Greece became #10 in the European Community.
One of the sources Mr. Gardner quotes is the Da Vinci Code. Afterall, there's nothing more reputable than a work of fiction. I know, of course, that when times are tough, and life is hard, all I have to do is read the words of Dan Brown to make sense of it all.
In any sesnse, don't be fooled. Prince William is one royal badass. When he takes the throne, the seals shall be broken and the four horsemen of the apocalypse shall be loosed.
In 1876, a man suffering from depression started eating his own flesh. At first, he started with his forearm — until he was detained and put in a straitjacket. But without access to his arms, he started eating his left foot. He wouldn't eat anything else and was absolutely uncooperative when he was put in protective custody.
When asked what his purpose was for eating himself, Guillarme said that God was "such a poor sculptor that he was trying to help rectify the shameful state of affairs." Upon being told that he would die if he kept this behaviour up, his reply was that he would continue eating himself until only his teeth were left. Finally, on July 4, Mr de Nittis died of shock at the age of 32.
His final act was self-castration — by his own teeth.
Believe me, I thought the Fat Liberation Archives was satire. I'm actually still hoping it is satire, but it looks like this is an actual movement. And without irony, here's one of their anthems.
There's no womyn like fat womyn Like no womyn I know Everything about them is appealing Bellies, breasts and buttocks turn you on Where else can you get that happy feeling When you are squeezing that extra pound There's no womyn like fat womyn We're big womyn, and strong We're committed to ending that diet game We're standing up proudly, we'll feel no shame Don't psychologize us, we'll take no more blame We're moving right along We're fat and we are strong
I don't believe this was written with any hint of irony. On a seperate page, there's an essay on why dieting is the equivalent to "womyn mutilation". It's all very extreme but all very serious.
Now do I feel that oversized women should be abused or denied opportunity on account of their weight? Absolutely not! However, I don't think obesity should be "accepted" as in we should be turning a blind eye towards an obvious epidemic. Let's be honest: people are killing themselves over this. Fat people don't need to be "liberated". They need to treated. To ignore the obvious health risks of obesity just to make yourself feel good is a sign of delusion.
Again, I'm not saying that fat folk should be objects of derision or treated as anything less then human. I don't think yelling "fatty" at someone is really positive whatsoever. There comes a time, though, when one has to look in the mirror and say, "For the sake of my health, I need to lose weight." Asking for "fat liberation" is nothing more than ignoring an obvious health risk — at least.
At the very worst, it is a one's own death sentence.
The similarity is too eerie to be ignored. Ben Popken has pointed out that Purina's packaging has a great similarity to many a Christian icon. In other words, for those who want to go beyond PETA and treat their animals as more than equals, Purina is one step ahead of you.
It's not like an artist doing a "riff," or an "homage," rather, Purina is tapping into a thematic trope deeply embedded in mankind's consciousness. That's kinda creepy, weird, and funny, to boot.
To this, I say it's sad Purina has come a little too late for the ancient Egyptians who — as we all know — worshipped their cats. Perhaps if the Pharaohs knew of Purina's formula, their cats would have lived longer and hence would have done a better job of killing all the mice that infiltrated the pyramids.
This prayer antenna was invented so as to better communicate with God. In other words, all you got to do is strap your head to one of these helmets while you're in the midst of prayer, and your thoughts will be broadcast more powerfully back and forth towards the Almighty. Do note that this helmet doesn't come with just one antenna, but many antennas so that one can access the omnipresent more readily.
The Prayer Antenna is part of a series of Religious Technological Artifacts that I am making. The Antenna receives signals from God (yes, your God). The Antenna currently takes the form of a surplus / thrift-store motor-cycle helmet (or similar) that is ornately ordained and fitted with sufficient technology to receive signals. The helmet bristles like a porcupine with many different antennas. The visor is blacked out. Integrated headphones allow the worshipper to experience the signals. Sufficient controls allow the worshipper to tune the signals. The helmet is mounted to the wall on an ornate arm (at around waist level) and a small kneeling stool is provided (like a prayer kneeler). To use the Antenna the worshipper must kneel on the stool and inset their head into the helmet. The wall and surrounding are painted with a decorative pattern.
While I don't think this is quite what organized religion has in mind when it comes to prayer, I still want one. Sure, I doubt the effectiveness, but it's about time religion took advantage of the wonders of cyberspace. While I've been enjoying broadband internet access for quite some time, I think broadband with God would really be where's it's at. I bet God would do better than some crappy flash site.
Unless you're one to engage in more carnal activities, Watching Paint Dry is the most exciting webcam out there. It's entertainment value is inarguable. Every day, some fellow comes along, paints the words "Watching Paint Dry", and for the rest of the day, you watch paint dry. Once it's tried, he sometimes comes back, and repaints those words again.
In essence, it is a beautiful webcam experience because it echoes the lives most people live. Isn't sleeping, eating, defecating just a form of watching paint dry? Afterall, this is what most people do with the majority of time. Might as well make it more artistic by adding paint.
I have the great privilege of living amongst a large Indian immigrant population (mostly Punjabi). One thing I admire about them is that they know who they are, where they come from, what they like, and what they dislike. They aren't looking to "preserve" their culture; they are fully confident that their culture is going to be around for a thousand more years.
In this sense, Indians have a distinct aesthetical sense. I wish I had some pictures to show you, as there is a plethora of Bhangra concert posters here in my neighbourhood. In place of this, however, I have here a spice advertisement from Ahmedabad. This showcases what I feel is distinctly Indian: liberal use of colour. And not drab colour, but very vibrant colour.
Here is a Flickr set of many typical graphic designs in India. Some of them are religious, some are commercial, and some are simply fun. You will probably agree that they offer a refreshing version of graphic design: something different from what usually assaults our eyes.
To call this fellow a "colourful character" is a bit of an understatement. He does call himself "ManWoman" and he's tattooed all over with swastikas. He also calls himself a "spiritual Andy Warhol". While Andy Warhol had a thing for Campbell's soup, ManWoman seems to have a thing for swastikas. Oh, does he love swastikas.
Think of the most sacred thing in your life, think of the most precious thing and put the swastika into that place. Put the swastika into your heart. Put the swastika on your altar. Put the swastika on the image you use to represent God, love, peace, or the cosmos. Put the swastika on the thing that makes you happy. You will begin to see what the swastika has meant to humans over this entire planet for all of our human history. For these places are exactly the places it occupied for thousands of years until the Second World War, when it fell victim to a chronic infection.
Kind of decontextualized, but I don't care. Truth of the matter is that it is in the realm of "At least I have chicken." So say it with me: "I don't need luck. I have nuts."
The painting above is entitled Ellen's Ghost, made in 2002, and is acrylic on paper. This comes from a gallery of Christa Esquitin's more twisted material — material she has quarantined from those who only appreciate "cutesy" images.
A graduate of three notable art schools, Christa spends most of her time painting with acrylics, and she does a nice job of it too. While some say her style of painting is "disgusting", I tend to think of it trillions of Edvard Munsch's The Scream magnified until you feel a bristling heat. I don't mean this in the sense that she is being derivative, but in the sense she is painting with full expression.
Oftentimes, you see cute little skulls in on some teeny bopper's charm bracelet. Perhaps she wears a necklace with spikes. This is all an attempt to be edgy, but real edge comes with naked and raw experience which Christa seems to easily express in her "offensive" paintings.
The image above is a "Talk to Me" mask. The eye covers have mirrors so that you can look at yourself. As well, the mouthpiece has a channel directly to your ear so that you can more easily talk to yourself. As a result, this device is designed to keep you from being lonely. And this is only one of three devices Sohui Won has created in attempt to help people keep themselves company.
Sohui Won, an industrial designer from Korea, calls these "design interactions". A former GUI designer for Samsung, Ms. Won has turned her attention towards teaching fine art at the Royal College of Art. Since then, she has participated in a project called Weird Objects for Weird Users addressing the issue of loneliness.
This project addresses the issue of loneliness. Everyone has experienced loneliness in everyday life. It is very ordinary but it could bring serious problems and destroying the quality of life. There are many people who suffer from Autophobia (the fear of being alone). They feel extreme pain when alone, emotionally as well as physically. But they will have to be alone in everyday life. Here are some design proposals -- objects to enjoy the worst moment for Autophobics and the rest of us who are also potential patients.
Funny enough, my immediate thought upon viewing this invention is to think, "Well, this is what happens when you immerse an industrial designer amongst post-modern literati." You see, while I think the inventions, in and of themselves, are neat — she wanted them to be weird and they are consequently weird. Not weird in the sense that they are "edgy" and "extreme", but weird in the sense of imagining Bill Gates as the protagonist of an Ingmar Bergmann film. And perhaps that's a good thing.
In any sense, if blogging ever begins to bore me, at least I can build myself a "talk to me" mask.
This here is Pope Michael I being interviewed by Dutch television journalists at his Kansas porch. The juxtaposition of this picture endlessly intrigues me. You see, Pope Michael is of the belief that modern popes are imposters. Now I'm by no means a Catholic, but his charges against the current leaders of Catholicism are amusing, to say the least.
He also has condemned Pope John Paul II's supposed association with pornography, specifically the appearance of "immodestly clad" acrobats at a performance in the Paul VI Hall in the Vatican and the presence of "half-naked natives" at some of Pope John Paul II's masses in Papua New Guinea.
The irony is spectacular, as it is common knowledge that many Catholic icons feature an "immodestly" clad Jesus. Let us not forget that many Renaissance artworks were commissioned by the Vatican — and they featured many immodestly clad individuals. Don't ask why I'm pointing out Pope Michael's inconsistencies.
Seriously, is this the best pope Kansas has to offer?
This picture here is of a jubilant, almost serene Barack Obama with a neon halo around his head. David Cordero, a student of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, created this work depicting Obama as someone resembling Jesus Christ.
Asked why he created this sculpture, Cordero said:
"All of this is a response to what I've been witnessing and hearing, this idea that Barack is sort of a potential savior that might come and absolve the country of all its sins," Cordero said. "In a lot of ways it's about caution in assigning all these inflated expectations on one individual, and expecting them to change something that many hands have shaped."
While, this artwork has created outrage amongst the more offendable, I think people ought to pay attention to what Cordero is saying. Obama may very well be an excellent President in the future. I think, though, that the reason why some folk support him is not so much for who he is, but what they juxtapose onto him. The potential election of Obama is seen as a means of penance.
This isn't a mockery of Jesus Christ. This is a plea for sanity. Who has ever been opposed to sanity?
Public Smog is a public park that fluctuates in size and location. Basically, the park exists as a construct in unfixed public airspace. It bases itself on the economics of air pollution: the emissions created by private individuals and corporations that is released into the atmosphere has become, in a sense, "public". The monetary value of these emissions is pooled together by the public into a public park — the public park being the collections of smog that is in our breathing space.
This is an ingenious way to gauge how smog is affecting all of us. By turning our airspace into a public park that is directly equated to the amount of smog we breathe in, smog is not just a necessary evil, but a very strong reminder of how pollutants are "bought back" into our living sphere.
I can't find any music by them, but I admit I have a soft spot for Sweden's S.P.O.C.K. To be honest with you, the concept is what really excites me. Oh, I bet they are fine musicians — two of them play Korgs. But I think the idea of a bunch of blonde Vulcans who've lost their ears and eyebrows and now live in Sweden is what puts a grin on my face. That, and the photos.
More to the point, check out their bio and you'll see why I'm making such a fuss:
Since S.P.O.C.K left their home planet Vulcan in 1988, the country of Sweden has been their permanent Earth base. With electronic sounds, brilliant melodies and science fiction inspired lyrics, S.P.O.C.K has produced some of the most astonishing space-pop ever in this galaxy. By performing frequently at clubs, Star Trek conventions, festivals etc. these popular aliens have built up a huge following of fanatic fans. Stunning live performances and underground club hits like "Never Trust A Klingon", "Astrogirl", "E.T. Phone Home", "Dr. McCoy" and "Where Rockets Fly" have made S.P.O.C.K a cult phenomenon in northern Europe.
There's only one real way to appreciate a band like this: lots of synthehol and meatballs. If you have an Ikea-furnished starship, perhaps this may add to the delight. As you know, though, starships have not yet been invented, but synthehol is quite similar to alcohol.
So if you are ever in a record store in Sweden, be sure to give S.P.O.C.K a listen.
The theory goes that whenever the Hong Kong actor Adam Cheng stars in a new television show, there is a sudden drop in the market. No reason is given for this effect, and it is still a popular topic amongst stock brokers, years after the drama series Greed of Man was broadcast in Hong Kong in 1993. The effect is named after Ding Hai, the main character of the show, played by Adam Cheng.
This has apparently happened eight times. There were two exceptions to the rule, but some argue that the second instance doesn't count because it was not a drama program, but an educational program hosted by Cheng.
Never has Hello Kitty looked so... depraved. I hesitate to use the word "sexy" because how sexy could you possibly be with a soother in your mouth? Regardless, it seems to me that this girl seems to like Hello Kitty. A lot.
Now I think someone should get started on some My Little Pony lingerie.
How cool is it that half way around the globe someone is articulating my own thoughts and putting them down to paper? In China, of all places. Please, do not take this to mean that I am surprised a Chinese man may feel what I feel. Rather, it is to say that sometimes thoughts that I think to be my own still may be echoed by another — across distant places.
Sometime, Mo Mo wrote a poem that I am sure will find its way into your skull, digging its way into your grey matter until you finally say, "Man, that is vivid." This is that poem.
SOLD OUT
I sell dreams, cheap following my inclinations like a dog who sold his master I sell epochs, my body crosshatched with scars I sell time, diarrhetic penniless as fresh air I sell country, motherland disappears I sell space, earth vanishes I hold the universe in my hand and write you a love letter
I sell holidays, together with loneliness in ignorance of the world I sell everything: life, breath, death But tonight you must listen I'm going to kiss you seriously and turn over like a sunken boat You're the ocean the only thing I have left
Now, as a single 20-something man who lives on his own, works at night, and is only surviving through the skin of his teeth: Wow! Yeah, sometime along, I sold out. I never intended it to be this way. I was so punk rock. But in this dog-eat-dog world, I sold out. I sold my time, I sold my eyeballs, I sold my peace of mind.
I guess my only recourse is the "ocean". Some sort of escape to which nothing can touch me. Something overcoming, I guess, but also soothing.
Damn. It looks to me like pixel art is going through a rennaissance. I am constantly surprised by where it is going. The boundaries are just beginning to be pushed. We are just beginning to peek at the potential.
Take a look at Norbert Bayer's work at PIXELEXTRAVAGANZA. Like I implied, it is some inspiring stuff. Unlike many pixel artists, it seems to me that Mr. Bayer is looking for a fusion between classical mosaics and 8-bit video games. Hence, Mario Bros. find their place alongside the Byzantine Empire (hey, that sounds like one hell of a video game).
In any sense, I feel pixel art is on the cusp of moving beyond its novelty factor and into the realm of it own powerful iconography. Norbert Bayer is on the forefront of this movement.
I found this neat watch of America's favourite tax-evading vice-president. Apart from his American flag costume, notice that his hands are forming the peace sign. Moreover, "Dirty Time" is spelled out (as Dirty Time was the name of the company).
According to Wikipedia, a joke about Agnew ("What kind of watch does Mickey Mouse wear? A Spiro Agnew watch.") inspired companies to manufacture Spiro Agnew wristwatches. The watches were sold during the Nixon presidency.
In my opinion, this must have also been a not-so-subtle critique on Agnew's staunch defence of the Vietnam war. This vehement hatchet man was famous for labelling his foes "pusillanimous pussyfoots". Hence, the peace sign.
There comes many a time when you hear an idea so completely ridiculous, that your brain breaks. The belief that part man/part animal astronauts walked around our fair earth is one of them. The ancient astronaut "theory" mocks the very concept of "theory". Hell, it even mocks the concept of "hypothesis" — hypotheses deserve consideration.
For the moment, I would like you to bare with me as I take you on a tour of the thought process behind this "theory".
AAs first came to Earth many millennia ago. They were beings whose biology was similar to modern humans. They created modern mankind by mixing their genetic makeup with that of sub-humans. The purpose of mankind was to serve the AAs, principally by providing food and mining and construction labor. The AAs did not allow humans to view them – only their symbols (idols), suggesting that their appearance was frightening; however humans were occasionally permitted to see their emissaries, e.g. "geniuses" and "angels". They also would not allow humans near them, except priests who had cleansed and covered themselves and spread a germicide, suggesting their susceptibility to earthly diseases. They apparently moved about the Earth in spacecraft using chemical fuel, and only landed on mountaintops or other rocky outcroppings; this reduced the dust and provided physical protection from humans, and disease control.
So why the need to make up such quackery? Perhaps its the inability to accept things at face value. A person who is never satisfied with the world in front of him sometimes has to visualize how he would like the world to be.
Another reason may be impatience. Unsatisfied with the fact that there are some things we just may never know, the person who made up this story decided to make up answers. It matters little that it is far-fetched, just that it is an answer.
To that, I say sometimes your heart may be more at peace by accepting the concept of mystery into your life: that the unknowable and therefore the unanswerable can be a good thing.
This was actually created in 1965 by "inventors" George and Charlotte Blonsky. It was awarded patent no. 3,216,423.
Basically, it's a centrifugal delivery table. What you do is strap the woman, spin her around like you're a contestant on the Wheel of Fortune, and hope for the best. Doing this is supposed to help the baby emerge.
This raises a few questions. Where's the obstetrician supposed to sit? Is the dizziness supposed to distract the mother-to-be from her pains? And while the baby is flying out of the woman's uterus, how is one supposed to catch it?
