This here blog is moving over to Livejournal, where apparently all the cool kids blog.
The new URL is http://www.livejournal.com/users/herbivorous/. Please update your links, or synchronize your watches, or whatever the hell you gotta do to stay with the times.
I might post here occasionally, but it's mostly gonna be livejournal from here on out. Don't worry; there's comments and forumy-thingummies there, too, so it'll be much the same as here, except far easier for yours truly.
And, as I said, all the cool kids are there.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
I'm asked about absinthe on a fairly regular basis. I'm tired of it. So when a friend emailed me and asked about it, I finally just dug up as much information as I could in the scant half-hour that I had to dedicate to it, and here is the result:
The original absinthe, as *I* understand it (and I never did do any hardcore research into this as it never really interested me all that much) was a distilled spirit that contained wormwood (Artemisia absinthum) as well as other herbs. It was apparently enjoyed by sipping it thru a sugar cube, which would make sense if it had a lot of wormwood in it, because wormwood is ungodly bitter. The liquer Pernod is Absinthe without the wormwood. Three or four times a year somebody tells me that they had home-brew Absinthe like it was the coolest thing since Van Gogh cut his ear off, and three or four times a year I say "That's nice" and go on with my life.
The kick to absinthe--what made it different from other concentratedly alcoholic liqueurs--was due to the presence of the essential oils found in Wormwood, which apparently gave you a really trippy high.
Before we get everyone all scared about Wormwood, keep in mind that it is the *essential oil*, not the *plant* that is so dangerous. THIS IS AN IMPORTANT DIFFERENCE. Essential oils exist in plants at a fraction of a percent. The negative components of essential oils are a further fraction of that fraction of a percent. So using Wormwood in a tea, or in an alcoholic extract, isn't horribly dangerous--just profoundly nasty tasting. It's not an herb I'd use with pregnant women or young children, or super long-term, but it's reasonably safe as a whole herb. Likewise, essential oil of Hyssop is somewhat touchy, but Hyssop herb is an extremely safe herb that I would not hesitate to use in a children's cough syrup.
But with Absinthe, you're not dealing with the whole herb, you're dealing with a distilled spirit. Distillation is how you obtain essential oils from plants, so the process of creating Absinthe, depending on how they did it, could have contained a VERY high level of essential oil of wormwood. Again, I have no information on just how concentrated it was, but apparently it was enough to make people trip out.
The effects of Wormwood essential oil, combined with alcohol, were probably due to the presence of neurotoxic components in the oil.
Let's say that again, kids: NEURO. TOXIC.
That's about where I stopped researching Absinthe, because Momma told me to play with things less likely to cause permanent brain damage.
Anyway, the addictive/harmful nature of Absinthe caused it to be made illegal in France., but I wouldn't really take the actions of a government as a reputable source of whether or not a plant substance is actually *harmful*. However, my book on essential oil safety (published by Robt. Tisserand of the Tisserand Institute, pretty much as good of a scientific source as you're gonna get), says this about Artemisia absinthum (wormwood) essential oil:
"Do not use." (oral LD50 in rats less than 1.0 g/kg)
According to this book (Essential Oil Safety, Robt. Tisserand and Tony Balacs, Churchill Livingstone, 1995), it can have up to 70% thujone in the essential oil, which is indicated as a convulsant. (Ick.)
This book also has this to say about it: "In 1915, France banned the production of absinthe containing wormwood oil. It was claimed, with some justification, that the oil acted as a narcotic in higher doses, and was habit-forming. It was, and still is, believed that the thujone in wormwood oil was largely or solely responsible for these effects. Oral thujone is lethal, convulsive, and psychotropic in mice at 0.25g/kg. It has been suggested that thujone and delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol, the most active ingredient in cannabis, interact with a common receptor in the CNS and so have similar psychotropic effects."
Of wormwood oil: "Chronic administration leads to fatty degeneration of the liver." Not so good, combined with alcohol....
About the "absinthe" yer friends are raving about: There are several possibilities. One-somebody's distilling something that they're calling "Absinthe". Whether it is from the original French recipe, we don't know. So maybe it has wormwood EO in high enough amounts to make you trip with a large dose, maybe not.
Two--Same as number one, but the company making it is doing something to remove the thujone. Which would make it something that is most distinctly not really Absinthe, since the thujone is what made it so trippy--and dangerous.
Three--See one, except they're using something other than Artemisia absinthum as "wormwood". Let's put it this way: When somebody asks me for "Wormwood", I ask for the Latin name of the plant they want without even thinking about it. It's become a spinal-cord level reflex. There are about eight zillion Artemisia species, half of which are used medicinally, and half of THOSE are often called "Wormwood". So about 60% of the time the stuff they're looking for that they're calling "Wormwood" is NOT Artemisia absinthum.
The moral of the story? Your friends *might* have had real, honest-to-goodness "absinthe"....but probably not. Would I try absinthe? Probably not, and definitely not enough to cause the famous "absinthe high". At least not until I was sure I wasn't going to want to get pregnant someday. Maybe far in the future, when I'm old and have descendants who HAVE to take care of me in my dotage.
This is an interesting article, and another on absinthe.
The original absinthe, as *I* understand it (and I never did do any hardcore research into this as it never really interested me all that much) was a distilled spirit that contained wormwood (Artemisia absinthum) as well as other herbs. It was apparently enjoyed by sipping it thru a sugar cube, which would make sense if it had a lot of wormwood in it, because wormwood is ungodly bitter. The liquer Pernod is Absinthe without the wormwood. Three or four times a year somebody tells me that they had home-brew Absinthe like it was the coolest thing since Van Gogh cut his ear off, and three or four times a year I say "That's nice" and go on with my life.
The kick to absinthe--what made it different from other concentratedly alcoholic liqueurs--was due to the presence of the essential oils found in Wormwood, which apparently gave you a really trippy high.
Before we get everyone all scared about Wormwood, keep in mind that it is the *essential oil*, not the *plant* that is so dangerous. THIS IS AN IMPORTANT DIFFERENCE. Essential oils exist in plants at a fraction of a percent. The negative components of essential oils are a further fraction of that fraction of a percent. So using Wormwood in a tea, or in an alcoholic extract, isn't horribly dangerous--just profoundly nasty tasting. It's not an herb I'd use with pregnant women or young children, or super long-term, but it's reasonably safe as a whole herb. Likewise, essential oil of Hyssop is somewhat touchy, but Hyssop herb is an extremely safe herb that I would not hesitate to use in a children's cough syrup.
But with Absinthe, you're not dealing with the whole herb, you're dealing with a distilled spirit. Distillation is how you obtain essential oils from plants, so the process of creating Absinthe, depending on how they did it, could have contained a VERY high level of essential oil of wormwood. Again, I have no information on just how concentrated it was, but apparently it was enough to make people trip out.
The effects of Wormwood essential oil, combined with alcohol, were probably due to the presence of neurotoxic components in the oil.
Let's say that again, kids: NEURO. TOXIC.
That's about where I stopped researching Absinthe, because Momma told me to play with things less likely to cause permanent brain damage.
Anyway, the addictive/harmful nature of Absinthe caused it to be made illegal in France., but I wouldn't really take the actions of a government as a reputable source of whether or not a plant substance is actually *harmful*. However, my book on essential oil safety (published by Robt. Tisserand of the Tisserand Institute, pretty much as good of a scientific source as you're gonna get), says this about Artemisia absinthum (wormwood) essential oil:
"Do not use." (oral LD50 in rats less than 1.0 g/kg)
According to this book (Essential Oil Safety, Robt. Tisserand and Tony Balacs, Churchill Livingstone, 1995), it can have up to 70% thujone in the essential oil, which is indicated as a convulsant. (Ick.)
This book also has this to say about it: "In 1915, France banned the production of absinthe containing wormwood oil. It was claimed, with some justification, that the oil acted as a narcotic in higher doses, and was habit-forming. It was, and still is, believed that the thujone in wormwood oil was largely or solely responsible for these effects. Oral thujone is lethal, convulsive, and psychotropic in mice at 0.25g/kg. It has been suggested that thujone and delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol, the most active ingredient in cannabis, interact with a common receptor in the CNS and so have similar psychotropic effects."
Of wormwood oil: "Chronic administration leads to fatty degeneration of the liver." Not so good, combined with alcohol....
About the "absinthe" yer friends are raving about: There are several possibilities. One-somebody's distilling something that they're calling "Absinthe". Whether it is from the original French recipe, we don't know. So maybe it has wormwood EO in high enough amounts to make you trip with a large dose, maybe not.
Two--Same as number one, but the company making it is doing something to remove the thujone. Which would make it something that is most distinctly not really Absinthe, since the thujone is what made it so trippy--and dangerous.
Three--See one, except they're using something other than Artemisia absinthum as "wormwood". Let's put it this way: When somebody asks me for "Wormwood", I ask for the Latin name of the plant they want without even thinking about it. It's become a spinal-cord level reflex. There are about eight zillion Artemisia species, half of which are used medicinally, and half of THOSE are often called "Wormwood". So about 60% of the time the stuff they're looking for that they're calling "Wormwood" is NOT Artemisia absinthum.
The moral of the story? Your friends *might* have had real, honest-to-goodness "absinthe"....but probably not. Would I try absinthe? Probably not, and definitely not enough to cause the famous "absinthe high". At least not until I was sure I wasn't going to want to get pregnant someday. Maybe far in the future, when I'm old and have descendants who HAVE to take care of me in my dotage.
This is an interesting article, and another on absinthe.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
Went to the coast on Sunday. It was incredibly beautiful, very reminiscent of the Lord of the Rings scenery or something out of your better woodland-set fantasy epic. Moss, dappled sunlight through huge monolithic conifers, the unutterable beauty of nature, etc. etc. I went berry picking--salal berries, which are a bit like fuzzy blueberries--and had quite a wonderful time.
However, I had one of the most ridiculous moments of my entire life thus far:
Due to an extremely regrettable combination of drinking Thursday and Friday nights, pizza, and Taco Bell, halfway up a fairly good-sized hill I realized that I was about to have an extreme Intestinal Experience. It was the kind of Intestinal Experience which causes you to be incredibly aware, deep in the forest, that there are NO restroom facilities for at least a good mile and a half around, and there is no way in hell that you are going to make it there, unless, of course, you prefer your Intestinal Experiences in your pants. If you know what I mean.
And so, after a few moments of desperately trying to convince myself that I could at least make it down to the nearby meadow to look for mullein (which is Nature's Charmin--really--big, fuzzy, nonpoisonous leaves that are a major reason that I devoutly believe that Nature is basically good to us), I told my companion to go on ahead, as I was going to need some privacy.
I scuttled back a few feet to a place off the trail which had a large, mossy opening, shuffled behind a tree, dropped trou, and did my business.
Now, the tree that I chose was entirely surrounded by a deep layer of moss, and the trail itself was very soft and spongy, so I was making almost no sound whatsoever before I got behind the tree. You really couldn't hear footfalls. Which is why I apparently REALLY upset the denizen of said tree--an extremely small (and extremely pissed) squirrel.
So there I am, in possibly the most undignified posture I've ever been in, and this tiny little squirrel no bigger than a good-sized danish pastry is squealing and chittering at me in a manner strongly reminiscent of my seventh-grade english teacher, Mrs. Wormwood. I assume that I either woke it up or surprised it, but still. I outsized it by about a factor of 150, and there it is, flicking its little fluffy tail back and forth and making Extremely Upset Squirrel Squeaks.
"Shut UP!" I said. "I'm not a predator, goddammit!"
The squirrel didn't care, and continued to screech and fuss. All the while, I'm having an extremely uncomfortable experience, and I DON'T need the help of this mighty mite to make me feel any sillier than I already do.
The good news, is, as an herbalist, I was able to identify nonpoisonous plants near the tree, and didn't wipe any tender areas with poison oak.
However, I had one of the most ridiculous moments of my entire life thus far:
Due to an extremely regrettable combination of drinking Thursday and Friday nights, pizza, and Taco Bell, halfway up a fairly good-sized hill I realized that I was about to have an extreme Intestinal Experience. It was the kind of Intestinal Experience which causes you to be incredibly aware, deep in the forest, that there are NO restroom facilities for at least a good mile and a half around, and there is no way in hell that you are going to make it there, unless, of course, you prefer your Intestinal Experiences in your pants. If you know what I mean.
And so, after a few moments of desperately trying to convince myself that I could at least make it down to the nearby meadow to look for mullein (which is Nature's Charmin--really--big, fuzzy, nonpoisonous leaves that are a major reason that I devoutly believe that Nature is basically good to us), I told my companion to go on ahead, as I was going to need some privacy.
I scuttled back a few feet to a place off the trail which had a large, mossy opening, shuffled behind a tree, dropped trou, and did my business.
Now, the tree that I chose was entirely surrounded by a deep layer of moss, and the trail itself was very soft and spongy, so I was making almost no sound whatsoever before I got behind the tree. You really couldn't hear footfalls. Which is why I apparently REALLY upset the denizen of said tree--an extremely small (and extremely pissed) squirrel.
So there I am, in possibly the most undignified posture I've ever been in, and this tiny little squirrel no bigger than a good-sized danish pastry is squealing and chittering at me in a manner strongly reminiscent of my seventh-grade english teacher, Mrs. Wormwood. I assume that I either woke it up or surprised it, but still. I outsized it by about a factor of 150, and there it is, flicking its little fluffy tail back and forth and making Extremely Upset Squirrel Squeaks.
"Shut UP!" I said. "I'm not a predator, goddammit!"
The squirrel didn't care, and continued to screech and fuss. All the while, I'm having an extremely uncomfortable experience, and I DON'T need the help of this mighty mite to make me feel any sillier than I already do.
The good news, is, as an herbalist, I was able to identify nonpoisonous plants near the tree, and didn't wipe any tender areas with poison oak.
Friday, August 01, 2003
For years the only song that I really knew with my name in it was that really really really really obnoxious song that went,
"Sarah
SARAH
Storms are brewin' in your eyes..."
I HATE it, always have, and every drunken moron in the tri-state area thinks they're being clever when they sing it at me. Off-key. With the lyrics wrong.
Besides, I think they spell it "Sara", not "Sarah", which makes it WORSE.
But a good friend of mine just clued me in to the fact that ween has a "Sarah" song that I really, really like.
So that's good.
"Sarah"
When I find you in your sleep, Sarah
I will tell you what you mean to me, Sarah
I know this big world ain't always what it seems, Sarah
Forever may I love you, and forever may you dream, Sarah
When I find you in your sleep, Sarah
I will tell you what you mean to me, Sarah
--ween.
That's better. Much, much better. And they spelled my name right.
"Sarah
SARAH
Storms are brewin' in your eyes..."
I HATE it, always have, and every drunken moron in the tri-state area thinks they're being clever when they sing it at me. Off-key. With the lyrics wrong.
Besides, I think they spell it "Sara", not "Sarah", which makes it WORSE.
But a good friend of mine just clued me in to the fact that ween has a "Sarah" song that I really, really like.
So that's good.
"Sarah"
When I find you in your sleep, Sarah
I will tell you what you mean to me, Sarah
I know this big world ain't always what it seems, Sarah
Forever may I love you, and forever may you dream, Sarah
When I find you in your sleep, Sarah
I will tell you what you mean to me, Sarah
--ween.
That's better. Much, much better. And they spelled my name right.
I wrote this in response to a post Sam had on his blog about religion:
I think this little mini-essay of yours touches on one of the things I find most puzzling about human beings, which is to say our incredibly ridiculous arrogance.
The concept of "faith" pretty much sums it up, but what I've noticed is that religion is one of the only areas where it's openly discussed--nay, it's a PRIME COMPONENT of (most) religion(s).
But people divorce themselves from thought on a *daily basis* via much the same process. The immense hubris I've noticed is the unending ability of humans to believe that they have the answers, that they couldn't possibly be wrong, and to swiftly denigrate anyone trying to say otherwise.
Which, when you consider how much scientific knowledge, "common" knowledge, cultural idealogies, and political beliefs that we now consider to be dangerous, incomplete, or just plain wrong, is kind of a ridiculous stance.
A hundred years ago they thought they pretty much had the whole physics thing figured out, except for a couple of pesky things about light.
Slavery was considered the norm a millennia ago--hey, read the Bible for further instructions on the proper treatment of slaves.
"Common" knowledge a century ago held that hemp was a valuable crop for rope and other fibers. (Um....)
You'd think, looking at all the odd things humans have chosen to hold as "knowledge", that we might be able to look around and say, "Ya know, I bet a good 45-60% of the stuff I think I know is absolute fucking crap. So it would behoove me to be awfully goddamn open-minded when confronted with alternate ways of viewing my world." In other words, THINK CRITICALLY.
People identify with certain groups, and often, shut off their brains as a result. I read an interesting little vignette written by a guy who'd actually MET someone that thought Bush was doing a stand-up job. After questioning the dude, he finally just asked, "Why????"
The answer?
"I'm a Republican".
In other words, I have faith in the group in which I have chosen to self-identify, therefore I am not questioning or thinking analytically anymore. I have faith in the Republican Party!
Happens a lot in the sciences, too. Which is a shame, as science is a tool that humans have created that, when applied properly, really does a bang-up job of removing some of the bias we have towards what we think we "know" in favor of formulating new ideas on the way the world works based upon rigorous examination of carefully collected data. In theory, we should have a constantly shifting body of knowledge that reflects research. In practice, there's a helluvalotta dogma that tends to slow the process down considerably--people who have faith in their theories, in the way things "ought to be" depending on their (horribly subjective) ideas/perceptions of the world.
And, of course, there's the political arena....If you think that towelheads are gonna bomb the local Wal-Mart, then you've put a lot of creedence into extraordinary silly ideas. But a lot of people *have*, including the jokers in power at the moment.
I think this little mini-essay of yours touches on one of the things I find most puzzling about human beings, which is to say our incredibly ridiculous arrogance.
The concept of "faith" pretty much sums it up, but what I've noticed is that religion is one of the only areas where it's openly discussed--nay, it's a PRIME COMPONENT of (most) religion(s).
But people divorce themselves from thought on a *daily basis* via much the same process. The immense hubris I've noticed is the unending ability of humans to believe that they have the answers, that they couldn't possibly be wrong, and to swiftly denigrate anyone trying to say otherwise.
Which, when you consider how much scientific knowledge, "common" knowledge, cultural idealogies, and political beliefs that we now consider to be dangerous, incomplete, or just plain wrong, is kind of a ridiculous stance.
A hundred years ago they thought they pretty much had the whole physics thing figured out, except for a couple of pesky things about light.
Slavery was considered the norm a millennia ago--hey, read the Bible for further instructions on the proper treatment of slaves.
"Common" knowledge a century ago held that hemp was a valuable crop for rope and other fibers. (Um....)
You'd think, looking at all the odd things humans have chosen to hold as "knowledge", that we might be able to look around and say, "Ya know, I bet a good 45-60% of the stuff I think I know is absolute fucking crap. So it would behoove me to be awfully goddamn open-minded when confronted with alternate ways of viewing my world." In other words, THINK CRITICALLY.
People identify with certain groups, and often, shut off their brains as a result. I read an interesting little vignette written by a guy who'd actually MET someone that thought Bush was doing a stand-up job. After questioning the dude, he finally just asked, "Why????"
The answer?
"I'm a Republican".
In other words, I have faith in the group in which I have chosen to self-identify, therefore I am not questioning or thinking analytically anymore. I have faith in the Republican Party!
Happens a lot in the sciences, too. Which is a shame, as science is a tool that humans have created that, when applied properly, really does a bang-up job of removing some of the bias we have towards what we think we "know" in favor of formulating new ideas on the way the world works based upon rigorous examination of carefully collected data. In theory, we should have a constantly shifting body of knowledge that reflects research. In practice, there's a helluvalotta dogma that tends to slow the process down considerably--people who have faith in their theories, in the way things "ought to be" depending on their (horribly subjective) ideas/perceptions of the world.
And, of course, there's the political arena....If you think that towelheads are gonna bomb the local Wal-Mart, then you've put a lot of creedence into extraordinary silly ideas. But a lot of people *have*, including the jokers in power at the moment.
Thursday, July 31, 2003
one of my friends said this, once upon a time, and it resonates sometimes.
I stopped at Albertson's to buy paper towels and a nectarine last night. Sitting in the parking lot just before I turned the engine over it popped into my head, and it stayed there:
"some days it doesn't pay to chew through the leather straps."
maybe it's low blood sugar. maybe it's ennui. maybe it's the heat, or maybe it's lack of exercise.
or maybe it's not, and it's me, and there's nothing to be done.
we'll see.
"at the center of all things is spirit. In other words, there is a central underlying unifying force in the Universe that is sacred."
I stopped at Albertson's to buy paper towels and a nectarine last night. Sitting in the parking lot just before I turned the engine over it popped into my head, and it stayed there:
"some days it doesn't pay to chew through the leather straps."
maybe it's low blood sugar. maybe it's ennui. maybe it's the heat, or maybe it's lack of exercise.
or maybe it's not, and it's me, and there's nothing to be done.
we'll see.
"at the center of all things is spirit. In other words, there is a central underlying unifying force in the Universe that is sacred."
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
The economy is in shambles.
The international community hates us.
We are no farther from ending attacks on our country, despite the "war on terrorism".
Tax cuts for the rich mean that I get no more tax relief than before--despite the fact that I make less than fifteen grand a year.
We have cut protections for clean air, clean water, and important natural habitats.
for all these reasons and more.
bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies.
The international community hates us.
We are no farther from ending attacks on our country, despite the "war on terrorism".
Tax cuts for the rich mean that I get no more tax relief than before--despite the fact that I make less than fifteen grand a year.
We have cut protections for clean air, clean water, and important natural habitats.
for all these reasons and more.
bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies. bush lies.
My friend Sam has a new livejournal. He's smart, it's cool, and it has a picture of ZEKE at the top, so what more can you ask for?
(Zeke is the best dog in the universe.)
(Zeke is the best dog in the universe.)
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
So I went to the Tori Amos/Ben Folds concert on Sunday.
It rocked.
Ben Folds plays the piano like he's trying to crush something on the keyboards. Quite entertaining. And he did a Liz Phair cover, for which I give him molto props. He played a lot of my favorite tunes, including "Zak and Sara".
Tori Amos rocked, as per usual. The woman is just hella good with a keyboard. The show was remarkable, but I think my two favorite moments were her improv and her new version of "Sweet Dreams".
First, the improv. She told a little story about her daughter seeing two women sweetly kissing, and asking about it, and then telling Tori that she wanted a prince...so Tori told her daughter that her Uncle Don and her Uncle Kevin wanted princes, too....but they'd settle for a queen (grin).
So then she sang this sweet little song about how
"your prince might not look like Daddy
your prince might only have one beard
your prince might be
like you"
which I thought was a cute way of talking about non-heterosexual relationships with a two-year-old.
But the version of "Sweet Dreams" was great. She's not the most political performer--she will say fairly liberal things in interviews, but musically she's no Ani DiFranco. Way back in the day when Bush Sr. was president, she recorded this song with the SubDudes that referenced that ridiculous "points of light" nonsense that Bush used in his speeches at the time. I've never seen her perform it live, but she resurrected the song (lyrics below)...with the addition of a chanted chorus of "Who's your Daddy?" introducing the song and sprinkled throughout appropriate places within...:
"lies, lies, lies ev'rywhere," said the father to the son
your peppermint breath gonna choke 'em to death,
daddy watch your little black sheep run
he got a knives in his back ev'ry time he opens up
you say, "he got be strong if he wanna be a man"
mister i don't know how you can have
sweet dreams, sweet dreams
land, land of liberty
well-run by a constipated man
when you live in the past
you refuse to see
when your daughter comes home nine months pregnant
with five billion points of light
gonna shine 'em on the face of your friends
they got the earth in a sling
they got world on her knees
they even got her zipper between their teeth
sweet dreams, sweet dreams
you say, you say, you say that you have 'em
i say that you're a liar
sweet dreams, sweet dreams
go on, go on, go on and dream
your house is on fire
come along now
well, well, summer wind been catching up with me
"elephant mind, missy you don't have
you forgettin' to fly,
darlin', when you sleep"
i got a hazy, lazy susan
takin turns all over my dreams
i got lizards and snakes runnin' through my body.
funny how they all have your face
sweet dreams, sweet dreams"
A good show. Here's a pretty good picture of her saying goodbye.
It rocked.
Ben Folds plays the piano like he's trying to crush something on the keyboards. Quite entertaining. And he did a Liz Phair cover, for which I give him molto props. He played a lot of my favorite tunes, including "Zak and Sara".
Tori Amos rocked, as per usual. The woman is just hella good with a keyboard. The show was remarkable, but I think my two favorite moments were her improv and her new version of "Sweet Dreams".
First, the improv. She told a little story about her daughter seeing two women sweetly kissing, and asking about it, and then telling Tori that she wanted a prince...so Tori told her daughter that her Uncle Don and her Uncle Kevin wanted princes, too....but they'd settle for a queen (grin).
So then she sang this sweet little song about how
"your prince might not look like Daddy
your prince might only have one beard
your prince might be
like you"
which I thought was a cute way of talking about non-heterosexual relationships with a two-year-old.
But the version of "Sweet Dreams" was great. She's not the most political performer--she will say fairly liberal things in interviews, but musically she's no Ani DiFranco. Way back in the day when Bush Sr. was president, she recorded this song with the SubDudes that referenced that ridiculous "points of light" nonsense that Bush used in his speeches at the time. I've never seen her perform it live, but she resurrected the song (lyrics below)...with the addition of a chanted chorus of "Who's your Daddy?" introducing the song and sprinkled throughout appropriate places within...:
"lies, lies, lies ev'rywhere," said the father to the son
your peppermint breath gonna choke 'em to death,
daddy watch your little black sheep run
he got a knives in his back ev'ry time he opens up
you say, "he got be strong if he wanna be a man"
mister i don't know how you can have
sweet dreams, sweet dreams
land, land of liberty
well-run by a constipated man
when you live in the past
you refuse to see
when your daughter comes home nine months pregnant
with five billion points of light
gonna shine 'em on the face of your friends
they got the earth in a sling
they got world on her knees
they even got her zipper between their teeth
sweet dreams, sweet dreams
you say, you say, you say that you have 'em
i say that you're a liar
sweet dreams, sweet dreams
go on, go on, go on and dream
your house is on fire
come along now
well, well, summer wind been catching up with me
"elephant mind, missy you don't have
you forgettin' to fly,
darlin', when you sleep"
i got a hazy, lazy susan
takin turns all over my dreams
i got lizards and snakes runnin' through my body.
funny how they all have your face
sweet dreams, sweet dreams"
A good show. Here's a pretty good picture of her saying goodbye.
Saturday, July 26, 2003
EEEEEE!
I added comments to the page! So now y'all can directly comment on my posts. The forum will of course still be kept, as it's usually full of totally unrelated stuff, which is great.
I'm also tired of people complaining about how crufty and old my blog looks, so I'll probably do a major overhaul soon.
I added comments to the page! So now y'all can directly comment on my posts. The forum will of course still be kept, as it's usually full of totally unrelated stuff, which is great.
I'm also tired of people complaining about how crufty and old my blog looks, so I'll probably do a major overhaul soon.
This week I went blackberry picking.
I do miss Chicago. But the nice thing about Eugene, Oregon is that I can be at work, and think, "Y'know, I wanna go pick berries", get done with work, grab a friend, and be kneedeep in a berry bramble in less than forty minutes. That sort of thing, in Chicago, would have taken planning. Here, I followed a whim.
And, of course, the blackberries are wonderful. Succulent, gorgeous colors, and I've frozen almost a half-gallon of berries for use later. For those of you what like my Christmas truffles, I'm fairly certain there will be a dark chocolate blackberry truffle this winter....I know, I know, the HORROR. I torture my friends, I really do.
I've also been walking several miles a day, so I don't have that lack of energy that I've been suffering from due to the time spent with my ass glued to my desk chair. And I get to have sushi for dinner with friends tonight, I had sushi for dinner yesterday, and I haven't had a bad sunburn all summer.
Life is good.
I do miss Chicago. But the nice thing about Eugene, Oregon is that I can be at work, and think, "Y'know, I wanna go pick berries", get done with work, grab a friend, and be kneedeep in a berry bramble in less than forty minutes. That sort of thing, in Chicago, would have taken planning. Here, I followed a whim.
And, of course, the blackberries are wonderful. Succulent, gorgeous colors, and I've frozen almost a half-gallon of berries for use later. For those of you what like my Christmas truffles, I'm fairly certain there will be a dark chocolate blackberry truffle this winter....I know, I know, the HORROR. I torture my friends, I really do.
I've also been walking several miles a day, so I don't have that lack of energy that I've been suffering from due to the time spent with my ass glued to my desk chair. And I get to have sushi for dinner with friends tonight, I had sushi for dinner yesterday, and I haven't had a bad sunburn all summer.
Life is good.
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
There is a broad, powerful bill being presented by Dick Durbin that would severely infringe upon the ability of most companies to produce dietary supplements. It's draconian, it's unneccesary, and as one of my friends said, "it's a pretty blatant greed-grab on the part of big pharmaceuticals".
So go here if you use herbs, have taken vitamin C, use a multivitamin, or just think that it's YOUR RIGHT to be able to purchase these things if you want to.
So go here if you use herbs, have taken vitamin C, use a multivitamin, or just think that it's YOUR RIGHT to be able to purchase these things if you want to.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Monday, July 21, 2003
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Read this and be afraid.
Be very afraid.
I'm glad that I can do without television. But without a computer? Urgh.
Be very afraid.
I'm glad that I can do without television. But without a computer? Urgh.
In this troubled day and age, many people are finding that Good Ol' Fashioned Traditional Values are being trod upon like a discarded peanut wrapper at the State Fair. But we can always count on Our Hero, the Rev. Pat Robertson, to provide us with kind of Traditional Values that made the 1950's the era it was--the era that spawned Miltown Wives, the childhoods of more serial killers than any other time, and the three-martini lunch. Let's look at some of the valuable advice we're gifted with in his pamphlet Love and Marriage:
First off: Divorce: "...[B]eyond abuse and adultery, there are no other grounds for a Christian to divorce another Christian." That's right. He may have gambled all of the kid's back-to-school money so that little Timmy has to go to school in his sister's old "Strawberry Shortcake" t-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes you found out back behind the Safeway, but you're stuck with him. And yes, she might be a raging schizophrenic that refuses to take her medicine and has created an entirely artificial reality for herself based around the Mary Tyler Moore show, but it's till death do you part. And even if s/he IS beating the shit out of you on a regular basis, you should "look for ways to redeem your marriage and make it work". Choose wisely, kids!
(For the record, I think that marriage SHOULD be something that is entered into with a "till-death-do-us-part" attitude. But I'm also a wee bit more pragmatic than good ol' Pat.)
The divorce business isn't all THAT ridiculous, I suppose, but then we move on to a juicer part (after skipping a whole bunch of let-Jesus-be-first-in-yer-heart claptrap)....
....this being, of course, the subject of the Natural Right of the Man to Rule Over His Family. Although he tones it down a bit and says that you're not supposed to be a TOTAL dickhead, he does say, in italics no less: Wives are to be submissive to Jesus and to their husbands.
Fabulous. So not only do I have to submit to a guy who hasn't been seen on the planet in 2,000 years, I'm also supposed to submit to my husband? Um. That's a helluva lotta submission for me, personally. I have trouble submitting to traffic laws, let alone a religious concept AND the guy I'm hitched to. Not crazy about that part. Now, in the next paragraph, he goes on to say that it's a partnership...but...but....um....see, I had this idea that maybe if I was married we could both be equal partners? Um, if that's not a problem for Pat, anyway. Because, silly me, I've been corrupted by the whole nasty "Woman's Lib" thing, and see, I *like* being able to vote, and own property, and keep my paycheck, and HELL, even WORK without anybody's permission. And last time I checked, the people that were really, really, really dead-set against that kind of thing? They used a lot of arguments from the Bible. So excuse me if I see this whole submission-in-marriage thing as a slippery slope. Sorry, Pat, but I think I'm gonna have to respectfully decline giving up ANY of my autonomy to a system that was a really big fan of subservience.
Now the next part isn't too bad. It's about maintaining your interests, and sharing things, and realizing that you're both going to grow as people. That's damn fine advice in any system, and I must say that people who make a lifelong committment would be well-served by paying attention to this. The bit about reading the Bible to your toddlers is something I'll pass on, though. But the part about "build[ing] a relationship of mutual respect and admiration", that's fine.
Then we get wonky again. There's a bit about disciplining your kids, which is pretty standard, but, um, "The goal of discipline is to make sure your children come to Jesus Christ"? Shit. The people I've known who've had Jesus forcibly rammed down their throats usually turned out to be HUGE problem teens, complete with rebellious drug habits/shoplifting problems/music collections with A LOT of stuff written by heroin addicts, and when they got older, they either totally rejected their religious upbringing and became really cool people, or remained sort of weird and resentful and fucked up a lot about sex.
I do agree that you shouldn't let your kids see naughty movies, though.
The next part is about financial responsibility. Good stuff, really. Can't find fault in it, he even mentions setting aside money for recreation/vacations as a way to get away and decompress.
Then there's a whole bunch more Jesus crap and a Prayer Line to call their ministries. Ten bucks says it asks for a donation.
Here endeth the epistle.
First off: Divorce: "...[B]eyond abuse and adultery, there are no other grounds for a Christian to divorce another Christian." That's right. He may have gambled all of the kid's back-to-school money so that little Timmy has to go to school in his sister's old "Strawberry Shortcake" t-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes you found out back behind the Safeway, but you're stuck with him. And yes, she might be a raging schizophrenic that refuses to take her medicine and has created an entirely artificial reality for herself based around the Mary Tyler Moore show, but it's till death do you part. And even if s/he IS beating the shit out of you on a regular basis, you should "look for ways to redeem your marriage and make it work". Choose wisely, kids!
(For the record, I think that marriage SHOULD be something that is entered into with a "till-death-do-us-part" attitude. But I'm also a wee bit more pragmatic than good ol' Pat.)
The divorce business isn't all THAT ridiculous, I suppose, but then we move on to a juicer part (after skipping a whole bunch of let-Jesus-be-first-in-yer-heart claptrap)....
....this being, of course, the subject of the Natural Right of the Man to Rule Over His Family. Although he tones it down a bit and says that you're not supposed to be a TOTAL dickhead, he does say, in italics no less: Wives are to be submissive to Jesus and to their husbands.
Fabulous. So not only do I have to submit to a guy who hasn't been seen on the planet in 2,000 years, I'm also supposed to submit to my husband? Um. That's a helluva lotta submission for me, personally. I have trouble submitting to traffic laws, let alone a religious concept AND the guy I'm hitched to. Not crazy about that part. Now, in the next paragraph, he goes on to say that it's a partnership...but...but....um....see, I had this idea that maybe if I was married we could both be equal partners? Um, if that's not a problem for Pat, anyway. Because, silly me, I've been corrupted by the whole nasty "Woman's Lib" thing, and see, I *like* being able to vote, and own property, and keep my paycheck, and HELL, even WORK without anybody's permission. And last time I checked, the people that were really, really, really dead-set against that kind of thing? They used a lot of arguments from the Bible. So excuse me if I see this whole submission-in-marriage thing as a slippery slope. Sorry, Pat, but I think I'm gonna have to respectfully decline giving up ANY of my autonomy to a system that was a really big fan of subservience.
Now the next part isn't too bad. It's about maintaining your interests, and sharing things, and realizing that you're both going to grow as people. That's damn fine advice in any system, and I must say that people who make a lifelong committment would be well-served by paying attention to this. The bit about reading the Bible to your toddlers is something I'll pass on, though. But the part about "build[ing] a relationship of mutual respect and admiration", that's fine.
Then we get wonky again. There's a bit about disciplining your kids, which is pretty standard, but, um, "The goal of discipline is to make sure your children come to Jesus Christ"? Shit. The people I've known who've had Jesus forcibly rammed down their throats usually turned out to be HUGE problem teens, complete with rebellious drug habits/shoplifting problems/music collections with A LOT of stuff written by heroin addicts, and when they got older, they either totally rejected their religious upbringing and became really cool people, or remained sort of weird and resentful and fucked up a lot about sex.
I do agree that you shouldn't let your kids see naughty movies, though.
The next part is about financial responsibility. Good stuff, really. Can't find fault in it, he even mentions setting aside money for recreation/vacations as a way to get away and decompress.
Then there's a whole bunch more Jesus crap and a Prayer Line to call their ministries. Ten bucks says it asks for a donation.
Here endeth the epistle.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
I opened a box at Warehouse 23 and found this:
You open one of the 1005 boxes on this floor and find...
Two cups of steaming, dark brown liquid. Drinking from one will cure fatigue, heighten mental alertness and improve motor response. The other is marked Decaf.
You open one of the 1005 boxes on this floor and find...
Two cups of steaming, dark brown liquid. Drinking from one will cure fatigue, heighten mental alertness and improve motor response. The other is marked Decaf.
For those of you who have been living in a sealed cardboard box or kept your head in the sand, the following information about President Chickenshorts should be read immediately.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Saint Johnswort is a little bit of a wonder to me. We just got in a nice bunch of fresh St. Johnswort courtesy of one of our herbalist wildcrafter friends. For those of you that haven't seen the plant, it's a weedy looking plant about knee-high or less, with tiny star-shaped yellow flowers. Bright, bright yellow--quite beautiful. They aren't red, or purple...but if you bruise St. Johnswort it turns your hands purple, and when you make a St. Johnswort oil the oil turns out a beautiful ruby red--quite the surprise from a little, yellow flower. Interestingly enough, only the fresh plant yields this red gold. If you use the dry plant, you get a fairly worthless muck of yellowish something.
I had to prepare the plant to make oil, which meant that I had to handle it a great deal. Within a few minutes the plant had stained my hands a grape purple. These little yellow flowers! Grape purple?!? My hands are still vaguely purple.
Plants are awesome.
I had to prepare the plant to make oil, which meant that I had to handle it a great deal. Within a few minutes the plant had stained my hands a grape purple. These little yellow flowers! Grape purple?!? My hands are still vaguely purple.
Plants are awesome.
I have been needled in the recent past by a friend complaining that my blog wasn't personal and informative enough.
To which I reply: Boo-fuckin'-hoo.
But in order to placate this individual, I shall regale the events of the last weekend for those of you what care. If you come here for herb info and pithy observations about the sociopolitical climate, skip this entry.
So this last weekend was the Oregon Country Fair, which is basically an excuse for shameless hippies to come together, sell each other cool shit, and basically wander around being gigantic freaks. I highly recommend it.
Apparently, the fair has toned down CONSIDERABLY in the past few years. Used to be that it was TRULY a giant hippie fest--complete with mind-altering substances freely imbibed in public. One of my good friends here has pretty excellent tales of dropping you-know-what and running amok.
So what I saw, to those who've been there, was much more family-friendly. Still, there were plenty of freaks, topless hippy chicks (my business partner Em was one of them. We hennaed her breasts and belly and arms and away she went), and assorted oddballs, enough to make it feel homey. I just wore blue glitter and a tribal henna and a tank top, so I was definitely pretty tame.
The best part (aside from the Very Special Baklava that some nice friend-of-a-friend gave me...Very Special Indeed) was the sheer amount of beautiful handcrafted work there. In a world where we've gotten used to mass-produced crap, it's exhilarating to see something as simple as a bowl made with the kind of skill, time, and care that I saw at the fair. There were many things that I would have loved to have, and not in the normal consumerist "gottahaveit" mindset either, but more as a conscious choice to trade my hard-earned cash for something of great intrinsic beauty and value.
So that kicked ass.
I also got to hang out with some of my cool friends, which was neat, and meet some equally nifty people, which was great, and walk around in a beautiful wooded area. It's also good to be reminded that I am just One Freak Amongst Thousands.
The other bit of note was that Emily, my business partner, hand about seventeen zillion people at her house for a weekend long party. This was good, but I think we're getting old, as not nearly as much mayhem as I would have expected was had.
And you should all check out the band Hamsa Lila which is an awesome band.
To which I reply: Boo-fuckin'-hoo.
But in order to placate this individual, I shall regale the events of the last weekend for those of you what care. If you come here for herb info and pithy observations about the sociopolitical climate, skip this entry.
So this last weekend was the Oregon Country Fair, which is basically an excuse for shameless hippies to come together, sell each other cool shit, and basically wander around being gigantic freaks. I highly recommend it.
Apparently, the fair has toned down CONSIDERABLY in the past few years. Used to be that it was TRULY a giant hippie fest--complete with mind-altering substances freely imbibed in public. One of my good friends here has pretty excellent tales of dropping you-know-what and running amok.
So what I saw, to those who've been there, was much more family-friendly. Still, there were plenty of freaks, topless hippy chicks (my business partner Em was one of them. We hennaed her breasts and belly and arms and away she went), and assorted oddballs, enough to make it feel homey. I just wore blue glitter and a tribal henna and a tank top, so I was definitely pretty tame.
The best part (aside from the Very Special Baklava that some nice friend-of-a-friend gave me...Very Special Indeed) was the sheer amount of beautiful handcrafted work there. In a world where we've gotten used to mass-produced crap, it's exhilarating to see something as simple as a bowl made with the kind of skill, time, and care that I saw at the fair. There were many things that I would have loved to have, and not in the normal consumerist "gottahaveit" mindset either, but more as a conscious choice to trade my hard-earned cash for something of great intrinsic beauty and value.
So that kicked ass.
I also got to hang out with some of my cool friends, which was neat, and meet some equally nifty people, which was great, and walk around in a beautiful wooded area. It's also good to be reminded that I am just One Freak Amongst Thousands.
The other bit of note was that Emily, my business partner, hand about seventeen zillion people at her house for a weekend long party. This was good, but I think we're getting old, as not nearly as much mayhem as I would have expected was had.
And you should all check out the band Hamsa Lila which is an awesome band.
Friday, July 11, 2003
"Embedded within the underlying epistemologies of the vast majority of nonindustrial cultures are the components of this other way [e.g., non-scientific] of gathering information. While containing numerous variations, themes, and differences these nonindustrial epistemologies do contain a basic framework that is very similar in a number of areas. Most assert that:
*At the center of all things is spirit. In other words, there is a central underlying unifying force in the Universe that is sacred.
*All matter is made from this substance. In other words, the sacred manifests itself in physical form.
*Because all matter is made from the sacred, all things possess a soul, a sacred intelligence or logos.
*Because human beings are generated out of this same substance it is possible for human beings to communicate with the soul or intelligence in plants and all other matters and for those intelligences to communicate with human beings.
*Human beings emerged later on Earth and are the offspring of the plants. Because we are their offspring, their children, plants will help us whenever we are in need if we ask them.
*Human being were ignorant when they arrived here and the powers of Earth and the various intelligences in all things began to teach them how to be human. This is still true. It is not possible for new generations to become human without this communication or teaching from the natural world.
*Parts of Earth can manifest more or less sacredness, just like human beings. A human being can never known when some part of Earth might begin expressing deep levels of sacredness or begin talking to him. Therefore it is important to cultivate attentiveness of mind.
*Human beings are only one of the many life-forms of Earth, neither more nor less important than the others. Failure to remember this can be catastrophic for individuals, nations, and peoples. The other life in the Univers can and will become vengeful if treated with disrespect by human beings."
--The Lost Language of Plants, Stephen Harrod Buhner, pg 37-38.
*At the center of all things is spirit. In other words, there is a central underlying unifying force in the Universe that is sacred.
*All matter is made from this substance. In other words, the sacred manifests itself in physical form.
*Because all matter is made from the sacred, all things possess a soul, a sacred intelligence or logos.
*Because human beings are generated out of this same substance it is possible for human beings to communicate with the soul or intelligence in plants and all other matters and for those intelligences to communicate with human beings.
*Human beings emerged later on Earth and are the offspring of the plants. Because we are their offspring, their children, plants will help us whenever we are in need if we ask them.
*Human being were ignorant when they arrived here and the powers of Earth and the various intelligences in all things began to teach them how to be human. This is still true. It is not possible for new generations to become human without this communication or teaching from the natural world.
*Parts of Earth can manifest more or less sacredness, just like human beings. A human being can never known when some part of Earth might begin expressing deep levels of sacredness or begin talking to him. Therefore it is important to cultivate attentiveness of mind.
*Human beings are only one of the many life-forms of Earth, neither more nor less important than the others. Failure to remember this can be catastrophic for individuals, nations, and peoples. The other life in the Univers can and will become vengeful if treated with disrespect by human beings."
--The Lost Language of Plants, Stephen Harrod Buhner, pg 37-38.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Fuck The Pretend Counterculture
Your Prepackaged Rebellion Fools No One
I recently got subtly dissed by some wanky little moron in a 311 tshirt and a hemp necklace driving a Honda CRX with alloy rims. I'm sure he thinks, like many people, that he's all Cool Like That and Against the Power, whilst I am UnCool because I was wearing business clothes. I have news for you, fartknocker: Your wardrobe does not make you counterculture. You aren't cool because you went to a reggae show once, one with real actual black people, and you aren't going to change the world by buying Rage Against the Machine albums. And while blue hair looks nifty, it really isn't social statement anymore. Once the MTV crowd apropriated body mod it became a cool new trend, not something that makes you The Other, okay? Tattoos and piercings and loud music are great, but they do NOT, repeat NOT, mean that you are rebelling. Yes, it might--MIGHT--piss off your parents. So what? That's your job as an adolescent.
I posit, for the record, that I am MIGHTILY more counterculture and wacked-out than most of the people dressing up to "scare the straights". You wanna know something? I don't dress like that because I want to be able to INFILTRATE the straights. I don't want them to see me coming. I want to be in the door and sitting in their office before they even suspect that I might have the intellectual equivalent of a neutron bomb in my briefcase. You want counterculture, mofo? Then you try living on $400 a month for three years to get a degree in something that you believe in--fuck the economics--instead of buckling under the pressure and getting a "real" job as a techinical editor for firms trying to clean up the mess left from the 1940's-era nuclear weapons program in New Mexico.
(That was my choice, at one point. I could have made fairly good money, too, but I would have had to sit and read about carbon tetrachloride-soaked rags being buried in shallow ditches in the desert for eight hours a day. You wouldn't believe the stuff I saw--and it was declassified. One shudders to think about the crap they're not letting anyone see.)
You want rebellion? Move to the third largest city in America, in the heart of the conservative Midwest, and try to tell people that they might want to consider growing their own medicine rather than swallowing pills. Watch your good friends--smart people, too--struggle like fuck to be teachers, or volunteers, or whatever, making not nearly enough money to pay basic expenses but DOING IT ANYWAY because they can't imagine doing anything else, while you watch rich selfish motherfuckers your own age roll up in brand new cars they got from working for huge nasty polluting corporations. Listen to music that is published on little tiny independent labels by people who love music, not prepackaged crap designed to make you buy more prepackaged crap.
In short, get a fucking clue.
Everybody has to have a Desert Island Album List. Mine changes from time to time. The immutable core is the Beatles' White Album, Tori Amos' Boys for Pele, Camper Van Beethoven's Key Lime Pie, and the Bach Suites for Unaccompanied Cello as performed by Mstislav Rostropovich. There's always a Led Zeppelin album in there, although which one changes, and I would probably go slowly insane if I didn't have some Ween to scream to every now and then.
This week, anyway, the Top Ten list is as follows:
The Immutable Four
5. Show of Hands, Robert Fripp and the League of Crafty Guitarists
6. Led Zeppelin III
7. Verdi's Requiem as performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus with Leontyne Price soloing
8. BloodSugarSexMagic, Red Hot Chili Peppers
9. The Night, Morphine
10. Ruby Vroom, Soul Coughing (tied with Are You Experienced?, Jimi Hendrix)
This of course doesn't include Glenn Miller, The Clash, They Might Be Giants, Poe, Ani Difranco, The Cure, Dead can Dance, Erin McKeown, Beethoven, Corelli, Prodigy, Moxy Fruvous, Tom Lehrer, Meryn Cadell, Peter Gabriel, Nick Cave, Radiohead, George Thoroughgood and the Destroyers, Elgar, Berlioz, Gershwin, Metallica, The Strokes, Weird Al, Tom Waits, Paul Simon, Garbage, Joan Osborne, Janis Joplin, Etta James, Cracker, Belly, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Johnny Cash, Beck, XTC, Santana, Rage Against the Machine, Porno for Pyros, Jane's Addiction, Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Tom Petty, Bjork, PJ Harvey, Chemical Brothers, Crystal Method, Lauryn Hill, and all the other artists without whom I would have left my sanity at the door years ago. I hope I'm never forced to go to a desert island without at least 10 gig of mp3's and a solar-powered stereo.
This week, anyway, the Top Ten list is as follows:
The Immutable Four
5. Show of Hands, Robert Fripp and the League of Crafty Guitarists
6. Led Zeppelin III
7. Verdi's Requiem as performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus with Leontyne Price soloing
8. BloodSugarSexMagic, Red Hot Chili Peppers
9. The Night, Morphine
10. Ruby Vroom, Soul Coughing (tied with Are You Experienced?, Jimi Hendrix)
This of course doesn't include Glenn Miller, The Clash, They Might Be Giants, Poe, Ani Difranco, The Cure, Dead can Dance, Erin McKeown, Beethoven, Corelli, Prodigy, Moxy Fruvous, Tom Lehrer, Meryn Cadell, Peter Gabriel, Nick Cave, Radiohead, George Thoroughgood and the Destroyers, Elgar, Berlioz, Gershwin, Metallica, The Strokes, Weird Al, Tom Waits, Paul Simon, Garbage, Joan Osborne, Janis Joplin, Etta James, Cracker, Belly, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Johnny Cash, Beck, XTC, Santana, Rage Against the Machine, Porno for Pyros, Jane's Addiction, Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Tom Petty, Bjork, PJ Harvey, Chemical Brothers, Crystal Method, Lauryn Hill, and all the other artists without whom I would have left my sanity at the door years ago. I hope I'm never forced to go to a desert island without at least 10 gig of mp3's and a solar-powered stereo.
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Sigh.
So my lovely business partner called me this morning with a minor Child Emergency, so I had to open the store on short notice. This is no big deal--I was planning on being there around ten thirty anyway.
However, I was in the middle of shaving my legs when she called, and didn't have time to finish. So I have one leg that is nice and smooth and one that is all stubbly. It's a bit odd.
So my lovely business partner called me this morning with a minor Child Emergency, so I had to open the store on short notice. This is no big deal--I was planning on being there around ten thirty anyway.
However, I was in the middle of shaving my legs when she called, and didn't have time to finish. So I have one leg that is nice and smooth and one that is all stubbly. It's a bit odd.
Saturday, July 05, 2003
Went camping for the Fourth. Okay, it wasn't really camping so much as it was pulling the truck over, drinking and grilling and bullshitting around a fire next to a beautiful creek, and then sleeping in the back of the truck on a futon mattress. Which, by the way, is the way to go if you aren't backpacking. Because you are warm, you are dry, and you are not sleeping on rocks. I would compare it to dragging your bed outside on a nice summer night.
The creek was lovely. I went wading in its clear cool waters, found little fish, watched beautiful blue damselflies flit about in clouds of frenzied iridescence, startled a frog, and identified new plants that I'd not yet learned (hooray for Mister Michael Moore and his wonderful books).
The Pacific Northwest still is amazingly lovely. Our little campsite had tiny little miniature daisies strewn amongst the grass.
The creek was lovely. I went wading in its clear cool waters, found little fish, watched beautiful blue damselflies flit about in clouds of frenzied iridescence, startled a frog, and identified new plants that I'd not yet learned (hooray for Mister Michael Moore and his wonderful books).
The Pacific Northwest still is amazingly lovely. Our little campsite had tiny little miniature daisies strewn amongst the grass.
Thursday, July 03, 2003
My dear friend Sarah (not me, another Sarah) now has her very own blog. Ya'll wander down there and check it out, y'hear?
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