mushinnoshin

so here we go;

sorry I haven’t written much here lately. I have no greater excuse than simply not having been in the right frame of mind.

Well. Don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’m here. And it’s Saturday night, after Christmas. It’s been a decent one. Thursday with the dad, brother, and brother’s family, at Granny’s house, which Dad has now inherited. I think I hit a home run with the Fart Machine I gave my nephew. And another, with a most politically incorrect documentary in which the esteemed civil libertarian boundary-pusher Larry C. Flynt chronicles the accomplishments and exploits of an Alaskan pin-up queen gone rogue. We’ll leave the rest to your imagination or google-fu.

Saturday, pizza, party, and presents with the sister and her husband, which rocked. Never doubt the badassedness of four fresh diced jalapeños and a smattering of mushrooms taking a Digiorno to the next level, especially when you wash it down with a steady flow of a brew-kit bitter and a back supply of the same brew-kit’s dark ale. We backed the food with the Mr. Hankey’s Chrismas Classics dvd, and the beer with Weird Al’s videos dvd, which culminated in the main event of Christmas at Ground Zero. Then to the living room for presents, with Koyaanisqatsi muted, just for the visual, and the TSO playing on on the PC/stereo. Good Times. As far as the gift, my & my sister and I have this long running calendar gag, and I won’t bore you with the details but I think I rocked it this year.

So then today I guess is xmas for me. Cleaned up from the party, then spent the day in lazy, beer-sipping play and exploration. I finally opened up the School of Rock dvd that’s been sitting on my coffee table for months. I can’t tell you how much I love the hell out of that movie. It’s stupid, it’s sappy, but goddamn it it rocks and I love it. Of course I’ve seen it too many hundred thousand times on TBS, so I didn’t need to watch it, but watched it with the commentary from Jack Black and the director, then went back and just watched the “one hell of a rock show” chapter. Man, for a stupid movie song, they nailed it. Just enough Yes, Kiss, Bowie, and Floyd all mixed up and dished out over a plate of AC/DC — fuck yeah. And yes, I fucking cry every time when Turkey Sub struts up to the mike and belts out loud and clear how happy she is to be who she is in a glorious declaration. And though I’ve got my issues with the keyboard kid — I would have liked to have seen a little less Rick Wakeman, a little more Ray Manerik with a helping of Jon Lord (that just would have been more rock and roll to me) — I understand better after the commentary that yeah, Wakeman was probably the perfect archetype given the actor/pianist’s true to life classical upbringing and utter unfamiliarity with rock. And even still I did always like the somewhat-Wakemanesque, but almost more Come Sail Away-era-Denis DeYoung sounding portamento-drenched monotimbral solo he does there. My kinda shit, actually.

Had an awesome dinner (yellow saffron rice, with red onions, fresh jalapeños, and mushrooms, well seasoned and sautéed with a Morningstar Veggie Italian Sausage, if you give a damn), then put on Naqoyqatsi, another dvd I’ve owned for a while but been waiting for the right time to watch. Except that I still haven’t watched it, I’ve just been listening as I typed this post. Well, it *is* Glass, it needs at least one listen by itself without the visual.

And it just ended. Guess I should grab another beer and watch it for real this time.

Awesome…

For anyone looking to understand this weird obsession I have with the economics of land and natural resources, and to explore the idea that capitalists and communists are both half-right, both half-wrong, and both making the exact same mistake — well, the bible has always been Progress and Poverty. The awesome part is that now, for anyone not masochistic enough to read Henry George’s 599 page economic treatise, you can now read the cliff notes in a quick 39 page pdf.

via Menace of Privilege

I know I give Ron Paul a lot of shit over his backwards approach to social issues — his homophobia, his desire to have the government enforce a Christian interpretation of personhood, and his willingness to coddle and associate with outright racists, whether he be a racist himself or not — but make no mistake, it is to some extent at least because I’m hardest on the ones I love.

Because while he’s no Ghandi, sometimes he’s the closest we’ve got:

As an opponent of all violence, I am appalled by the practice of lobbing homemade rockets into Israel from Gaza. I am only grateful that, because of the primitive nature of these weapons, there have been so few casualties among innocent Israelis. But I am also appalled by the long-standing Israeli blockade of Gaza – a cruel act of war – and the tremendous loss of life that has resulted from the latest Israeli attack that started last month.

There are now an estimated 700 dead Palestinians, most of whom are civilians. Many innocent children are among the dead. While the shooting of rockets into Israel is inexcusable, the violent actions of some people in Gaza does not justify killing Palestinians on this scale. Such collective punishment is immoral. At the very least, the U.S. Congress should not be loudly proclaiming its support for the Israeli government’s actions in Gaza.

Unfortunately, there are no cheap and easy answers to this conflict. There *is* an answer, but it’s a difficult one which will require a revolutionary upheaval in the way that both the left and the right approach our definition of property and our relationships between the individual, the society, and the earth.

It’s tempting to blame religion for this ancient conflict, but that’s giving religion too much credit. Religion is the glue that binds the opposing factions to be sure, and it is the tool their leaders use to motivate action against the enemy — but it is not the why of the fight. As suggested by Malthus, this, like all war, and indeed all politics, is at its core a struggle for control of our natural resources.

In many ways, the struggle between Israel and Palestine could be seen as emblematic of the root bug in our whole damn system. Solve this one — by recognizing that all of the earth belongs to all of the people, that true property can only extend from what one does, not where one stands, and by reorganizing all of our human institutions around these principles — and we solve not just this conflict, but the vast majority of what plagues us the world over.

This is pretty cool. Mother Jones told us about The Typealyzer, which probes your blog and computes your Myers-Briggs type based on content:

INTP – The Thinkers

The logical and analytical type. They are especially attuned to difficult creative and intellectual challenges and always look for something more complex to dig into. They are great at finding subtle connections between things and imagine far-reaching implications.

They enjoy working with complex things using a lot of concepts and imaginative models of reality. Since they are not very good at seeing and understanding the needs of other people, they might come across as arrogant, impatient and insensitive to people that need some time to understand what they are talking about.

UPDATE: I took this quickie online quiz which calls me an INTJ. I’m sure it’s not the most scientific quiz ever, but this does feel more accurate:

No spectacular new ideas or information here, but as a fan of San Francisco, and a fan of Henry George, I do enjoy Fred Folvary using the term San Francisco School as another name for Georgist economics.

That reminds me, I never did finish my travel diary from my trip. I can’t believe it’s been more than a year already. Well I will finish it up eventually. I think we were about to go see DJ Shadow at the Fillmore?

Apparently it was August 20, 1991 when I drove up to Orlando for the first lollapalooza, which I bring up to tell again about the pre-show activities, when I ate some acid with a random hardcore freak I met in line — who actually said his name was Gonzo — who gave me a copy of Fear and Loathing and told me it would change my life.

Of course that’s just one of the weird anecdotes I’ve got stored in the old files. Have I told you about the time I pedaled around through one of Ft Lauderdale’s roughest neighborhoods at some ungodly hour of the morning with a crack whore on my handlebars trying to help her find her, umm, provider? Yeah. When I later got jumped in that same neighborhood, I mostly just felt betrayed because I thought the word was out that I was cool. I guess not.

Anyway, I stuffed Gonzo’s book in my back pocket and worked my way towards the front of the crowd, to wait for the festivities to open with the blues-punk growl of Mr. Rollins and friends. And by the time I left, some god knows how many hours later, that quiet, unassuming paperback in my back pocket had turned into a brick of dried sweat and garden hose relief. So, Dr. Gonzo, I’m sorry to say I didn’t get to read that book.

But I most certainly read another copy some time later. By which time I suppose it was too late to say that it might change my life, as I wast most assuredly already living the life less normal. I did enjoy it of course, but it probably wasn’t until I read Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail and The Great Shark Hunt that Hunter Thompson would really worm his way into my soul.

Well really all this is just to say that the Belcourt’s currently running a biopic called Gonzo: The Life And Work Of Hunter S. Thompson, which I saw last night. Eh, I’m not going to tell you it’s some amazing movie, I mean, fuck, it’s a documentary about Hunter Thompson. If you like Hunter, and you like documentaries, or can find some reasonable median between the two, you’re going to love it. Otherwise, maybe not. All our lives will go on.

Well, except Hunter’s of course. He had the sense to get out while the getting was good. It’s sad though. I wonder what the man who may have had more to do with both the nomination of McGovern and the election of Carter than history will ever credit might think of Obama? I really don’t know, that’s why I ask. Would the mantra of hope we hear today rekindle the glimmer of optimism that kept Thompson going all those years? Or would the good doctor be the first in line calling shenanigans when the Senator strays? Or, as with myself and so many others — both? We’ll never know.

A great Thompson line, used well in the movie —

“The Edge… There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others- the living- are those who pushed their luck as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there.”

Yeah, I remember the days when I pushed my luck and peered into the precipice. I swore I’d be dead by thirty and just figured that’s how it was, that’s the way it was meant to be. But I slowed down, and I pulled back, and I survived — but at what cost, for what point? To live the ordinary life that Thoreau says masses lead in quiet desperation? Well actually I’d be ok with that, if it were still possible. But it’s too late for that, for me. So I just live here, barely on the wrong side of the tracks, too close to the edge for convention, but too safe and far away to find greatness.

I guess I’m just sad. Sometimes we meet people with the capacity to see what we see, and in our loneliness we convince ourselves that they see it.

But maybe they just haven’t eaten enough acid.

Or maybe I’ve eaten too much.

Either way, it’s all the same.

weirdness

everything is just — unsettling. I’ve got a nice buzz on — partly vodka, partly oxycodone.

But I should be nearly unconscious, which as you can see, I’m not.

It’s been a weird and shitty week, as you are aware.

tomorrow, things should start to get back to normal. I suppose I’ll go back to karate, though that’s going to be an ordeal unto itself. It’s times like this that I really wish classes were on Tuesdays’s — the drama of being Monday sometimes makes it harder than it needs to be.

The doc wants me to start physical therapy tomorrow. I don’t know that I can afford it. Besides, i think that encroaches on sensei’s territory.

I’m not sure that I want to go back to karate. I *will*, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure I want to. It hasn’t really been *fun* for a very long time, and I’m mostly fueled now by having the goal, and by not wanting to fail. Which is a poor motivator when you lose the will to give a shit about anything.

Which I haven’t *entirely* lost. But it took a severe blow this week.

Somehow, last night, on the way out of the Schermerhorn after hearing a masterful performance of Verdi’s Massa da Requiem, I sliced the fuck out of my finger. I have no idea how, i just felt a throbbing and noticed I was bleeding. The gauze on my finger now does as much if not more than the booze to make this typing difficult.

By the time I noticed my finger bleeding, I had bled a good bit onto my sortof-white pants. So I did a whole dance to wash the pants and get the blood out before the stain set. Meanwhile I played with Genghis Kat. Then I pulled the pants out of the wash, and there was all this new blood on them! Shit, the cat got my wrist. Gotta wash the pants again. So much for being green and efficient.

Saw a trailer at the Belcourt today for a movie about Genghis Khan. Haven’t decided if I should let the cat see it. He’s already mean enough without giving him any ideas. Yet, he really should know his roots.

Boarding Gate is sort of a stupid and pointless thriller. But the scene where it all goes down? Fucking HOT. And I’m not even into any of that shit. [Heh. Ridley says basically the same thing. Only he says it much better, of course.]

Jon Stewart was excellent Friday night. As I said to Kate, “not 80 dollars worth of good, but still very good. Easily 50 dollars worth of good.”

Disturbing, retarded, racist screeds about fearing an Obama presidency on the grounds of not liking gangsta rappers? Yeah, I was a little shocked to see one on the Nashville Gothic board of all places. I thought goths were supposed to love all things black.

Remind me to buy a back yard compost bin

Bah. I’ve had Carmina Burana on in the background and it’s over. Seems like a good excuse to pour another drink. Let’s try to make this one stiff enough to knock us the fuck out.

Seems to help get you out of my head.

Named in deference, of course.

OK. Background: wasted. watching Koyaanisqatsi, first time in this, erm, state of mind.

Probably for only the second of at least 3 spins tonight.

Meanwhile, a late snack, undeserved but having it anyway –

I take one morningstar southwest veggie patty, plus one of their sausage links. Why? Because they were the end of each respective box.

30 seconds I think it was in the microwave, wrapped in a common paper towel. Take them out, cool for a moment, light spray with an aerosol cooking oil (I had canola, olive would probably have been better). Touch up with crushed red pepper and a shake of basil, shake of salt. 10 more seconds in the microwave.

Meanwhile, that little tiny front slice on a Cobblestone rye, give it a quick run in the toaster. Real quick since the toaster sucks.

Put the slice of rye on a small plate. Take two halves of a slice of soy swiss across. then the veggie patty & sausage. spaced out across the plate, not as if to make a sandwich. Then, cover with a handful of some Kashi honey wheat crackers I got from Target. Then a slice of jalepeno chedar soy, broken up by hand and spread across the plate. 15 more seconds in the microwave.

Use the crackers to dig the gooey parts of the patty & the sausage. Leave the heart of the patty to eat as an open faced half with the rye crust bread. *maybe* splash some stoneground mustard on there. I didn’t, but I wish I’d thought of it then. soul food, meet synth food.

Wash it down with 1/3 Sprite (thx K&K :), 1/3 Water, 1/3 Mad Monk.

And Koyaanisqatsi.

You can’t be BOTH an intellectual elitist AND someone who actually pays attention when a pastor is speaking.

Besides, I should be the only reverend wright. But of a much weirder church. Maybe I’ll start calling this guy “cousin Jeremy”.

Noted geolibertarian economist Fred Foldvary tells us that William F. Buckley understood the unique role that natural resources play in our political economy, though he lacked the will to make the case:

Buckley’s intellectual development was influenced strongly by the Georgist libertarians Albert Nock and Frank Chodorov. [...] Nock and Chodorov were free-marketeers, geolibertarians who recognized and wrote that a truly free market requires public revenue from land rent. Taxes on labor, enterprise, and goods interfere with and hamper the market, whereas tapping land value for public revenue does not burden enterprise and even helps the economy.

[...]

In a C-span interview with Brian Lamb in 2000, Buckley quoted Henry George, “The land belongs to those in usufruct.” However, Buckley did not actively promote land-value taxation. His right-wing associates opposed taxing land, probably because they recognized that the tapping of land value for public revenue will bring the price of land down to ground-zero, and rich conservatives tend to be big landowners, or they get funded by landed interests.

Most interesting, I never would have guessed he had such roots.

Foldvary sums it up nicely –

So ultimately, Georgism was in Buckley’s mind but not in his soul. He did not have the Georgist fire that motivates its advocates. The fire in Buckley was anti-communism and an opposition to economic statism. He did not grasp that geolibertarianism was the path that would give the worker his maximum wage and thus wipe out the worker’s need to beg favors from the state.

[...]

Had Buckley continued and promoted the legacy of Albert Jay Nock and Frank Chodorov, he would have been one of history’s truly great men. Instead, he is a big man in intellectual thought, just like he was a big man on the Yale campus, but falls short of joining the club of truly great thinkers who shook the world, men like John Locke, Adam Smith, and Henry George.