MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 178 AUGUST 2013

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 178
AUGUST  2013
Copyright 2013 Francis DiMenno
http://dimenno.gather.com
dimenno@gmail.com

https://dimenno.wordpress.com/

AND NOW…MODERN WISDOM PRESENTS:
1. EVERY WISH BECOMES A FUTURE NIGHTMARE
2. THINGS THAT JUST AREN’T SO
3. BATHROOM FACES
4. NO, NO, I DON’T CARE
5. THE LOVE INTEREST
6. REACTION FORMATION
7. CHICKEN TOMORROW
8. ADOXOGRAPHY
9. AUTISTIC BLACK, BOY CRIMINAL
10. THE SELECT MASTER
11. GLYFFY THE HIEROGLYPH
12. STUFFY MCTOUGHGUY
13. ANCIENT LIBERTY
14. GOOFBALL CHRISTIANITY
15. SVOBODA
16. ABSURDITY IS BETTER THAN NOTHING
17. THRILLS BY NARCOTICS
18. KNOWING WHEN TO STOP
19. THE JOY OF SKEPTICISM
20. RASCALS SHOT IN THE BACK BY ATTRACTO

21. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES: EIGHTH SERIES

701. The whole world doesn’t stop for an investigation. But yours does.
702. Your friends are like one big family–the Manson family.
703. The innocent must also suffer–starting with you.
704. Problem? Simply ask yourself–What Would Satan Do?
705. You are not a “boulevardier” but merely a filthy-minded creep.
706. Your High School guidance counselor is a junkie, like you.
707. Everyone can hear you scream; nobody gives a damn.
708. Spanish is the loving tongue; yours is the lying tongue.
709. Curb your paranoia or something terrible will happen.
710. Very soon the FBI will subpoena your library records.
711. You are condemned to ceaselessly lament the unchangeable past.
712. You are the reincarnation of a filthy Egyptian slave.
713. You will waste your remaining existence tilting at windmills.
714. You’re a disease for which the police have found a cure.
715. Your schizophrenia proves Two can live as cheaply as One.
716. Their appeals to reason are merely a prelude to thuggery.
717. Everything you do falls under the heading ‘Stupid Alcoholic Tricks’.
718. You’re God’s little joke–and he has billions of them.
719. You are not only literally, but figuratively, a Garbage Man.
720. Your life has been a slaughterhouse of moral integrity.
721. Now that you mention it, No, You Haven’t Suffered Enough.
722. You’ve nothing to write home about–because you’re Nothing.
723. The black helicopters ARE following you–just for fun.
724. When they call you ‘Sir’, what they really mean is ‘Fatso’.
725. Your life: You Broke It; Now You Pay For It.
726. They can see right through your insincere politeness.
727. You have nothing on your mind–what’s left of it.
728. God DOES make trash, and you’re the living proof.
729. You are a slave to errors you shall never escape.
730. They will discuss your humiliation until the end of time.
731. Your strong pimp hand will soon be paralyzed.
732. You will step up and be beat down for all eternity.
733. Growing opium poppies in your back yard was a big mistake.
734. Don’t bother saving for retirement–you won’t live that long.
735. You showed your secret hideout to the wrong “friends”.
736. That innocent-looking hotel bellboy is a baby-faced detective.
737. You’ll finally finish that ship in the bottle–in jail.
738. You’ll fight molestation charges until you begin to doubt yourself.
739. That jewelry you stole from Grandma is mostly paste.
740. They will discover human remains near your vacation home.
741. You just couldn’t turn down that little snort of heroin.
742. Your new prison pen pal, “Cindy,” is a man.
743. Those strange flashing lights are not UFOs, but policemen.
744. They hate you for being Jewish, even though you’re not.
745. You’ll have your first vacation in five years–in jail.
746. Your boss will search your desk and find planted narcotics.
747. That swampland you sold for pennies will gush oil.
748. Your new gun moll belongs to a sinister cult.
749. Local children terrorize your son–but he’s 30 years old.
750. Your spurned secretary is spreading evil rumors about you.
751. The Big Boss is not amused by your candid jokes.
752. Police know you’re the last one who saw the missing girl.
753. Your stolen car alarm was worth far more than your car.
754. Your neighbor shoots at life-size targets which resemble you.
755. The Feds will investigate your so-called “modeling agency”.
756. Anonymous emails accuse you of hideous crimes.
757. You’ll beg them for your life, then you’ll wish you hadn’t.
758. People will find your broken face offensive.
759. You found out new photocopiers are rigged to detect counterfeiting.
760. They’ll arrest you for breaking into your own home.
761. That gun your neighbor’s child is pointing is no toy.
762. Your pension plan–dusty cases of empty soda bottles.
763. Your neighbor’s meth lab is killing all the songbirds.
764. You have the heart of a small boy–the police arrest you.
765. That dark tavern you frequent isn’t nearly dark enough.
766. You hated leaving her arms, so you cut them off.
767. Investigative reporters will rummage through your garbage.
768. One of your personalities will rat out all the other ones.
769. Clever Hobos will stumble across your cache of hidden loot.
770. You shouldn’t have drunkenly pissed on that policeman.
771. That hitchhiker you’ll stop to pick up is a giggling maniac.
772. You shouldn’t have listened to that barking dog’s lies.
773. The insulted carnival freaks are plotting a ghastly revenge.
774. Everybody in the neighborhood has got it in for you.
775. You are compelled to announce your grandiose plans to passerby.
776. The neighborhood kiddies call you “Uncle Weirdo.”
777. Your estranged wife will post your tax returns on the internet.
778. You’ll get into a gun battle with a man named ‘Deadeye’.
779. Your wife will learn about your other family in Bermuda.
780. They’ll never believe your lookalike committed all the crimes.
781. Your brilliant idea is beginning to yield diminishing returns.
782. Even hipsters will jeer at your faded leather jacket.
783. Your hairless child’s school was built on contaminated soil.
784. You will fail the drug test–too many poppy-seed rolls.
785. New sword cane? You will stab your own foot.
786. Your drunken antics offend a spiteful county judge.
787. Your youngest daughter’s newest job? “Erotic massage”.
788. Your ex-wife bribes your kids to lie to the police.
789. Health inspectors close down your child’s lemonade stand.
790. Your kids will learn the facts of life from drunken hobos.
791. Extortion by ethnic gangs will eat up all your profits.
792. That new identity you adopted will soon be exposed.
793. Forget going to the cops–you’re already in way too deep.
794. Milestone! Soon you will be wanted in all 50 states.
795. Your teenage son is going to need two high-priced lawyers.
796. Your stolen demo tape’s a hit–no credit for you.
797. You’ll wake up in a bathtub with a missing kidney.
798. Your new girlfriend is the wrong side of barely legal.
799. The police offered you a deal; the D.A. won’t buy it.
800. Your bravado with the loan shark will soon prove fatal.

22. ELEVEN STORIES IN UNDER FIFTY WORDS

1.THE DOG HATER
Yeah–so you’re a dog lover. I can tell. You love acting all big and shit. So. You can be a big man to a filthy cur. Great. Big f’n man. Well–I hate dogs, see! I don’t like them around and uh…nice boy! No! Get back! YAAARGH!

2. MONSIEUR MORT
First you shed your hair. Then out fall your teeth. Your aging cells will die a thousand deaths–and yet, you shall continue to live. Until I say different. People say that I am cruel. But I am only God’s Messenger. You can call me…Monsieur Mort.

3. THE RED AND WHITE HORROR
Whiteness–everywhere! And red–was it his own blood? His vision was blurred as he wandered his way through the trackless waste. He lost his balance and stumbled. To sleep–such blessed relief! So warm…so warm! They later found him, dead drunk, at the Mall Christmasland display.

4. THE GOLDEN OWL
Mix one private dick, one art collector, one lonely widower and a dame. Stir in murder, madness, mayhem, adultery, a bus terminal, an impoverished nobleman, and a police chief who’s desperate for a big pay-off. They all want one thing–a statuette of a Golden Owl. Why? Who cares?

5. THE IRONIC ONES
First they came for the ironic ones, and I was silent because I figured they deserved it. Then the sarcastic ones, and I said “Big whoop.” Then the snarky ones, and I figured, “Hey, they’re stupid.” Then finally they came for me, and nobody spoke up. Which is typical!

6. I WAS SAD BECAUSE I HAD NO SHOES
Until I saw a man who had no feet. So I kicked him…good and hard! And it felt…good! Because, actually, I did have shoes. Moral: Basically, I just like to kick people. Do you have a problem with that, Stranger? Because my kickin’ toe is getting itchy….

7. A FUNNY CARTOON
I think a funny cartoon would be a fly, seated in a restaurant, holding a knife and fork, and wearing a bib with a picture of a garbage can. But what would be even funnier would be a hobo in back of the same restaurant, wearing the same bib.

7A. ANOTHER FUNNY CARTOON
OK…how about: A garbageman wearing a bib with a garbage can on it? A fly wearing a bib with a garbage can on it? Or–get this–A garbageman wearing a bib with a fly on it and a gigantic fly wearing a bib with a garbage can on it–with the fly staring belligerently at the garbage man and v.v.?

8. I LOVE YOU, JESS
I spy you at the gas station in your silver Ford Focus reading a mag with your black lipstick and your red leatherette purse and when I catch your eye, you see my orange jumpsuit and you frown. But in a previous incarnation you and I were pure…white…soulmates…!

9. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, BABY
So much that every day I use Post Alpha-Bits cereal to spell out your name in milk and I keep the cereal bowl in my freezer–which is also a shrine and every day I empty out and refill the bowl and WHY ARE THEY KNOCKING AT MY DOOR–?!

10. TO WHOEVER READS THIS: I LOVE YOU
So if I come running up to you while gobbling strange endearments and seek to hug you inappropriately, it’s not out of some creepy need to at long last make actual physical contact with another living human being but simply because I…love you. I DO!

23. FIVE NOTED IQ REDUCERS (DISCUSS)
Stephen King
Hunter S. Thompson
Bill O’ Reilly
Rush Limbaugh
Jack Kerouac

24. PREJUDICES
Graffiti is just philosophy with the world “fuck” thrown in.

The first word was very likely “Don’t”.

One is never sentimental about the future.

Every age is dominated by the genre that flatters it best.

I believe all life is sacred, unless I just don’t like you.

Every mother is like Dr. Frankenstein–and every father is like the
angry villagers.

After long study, I have reluctantly concluded that other peoples and
cultures are also valuable–in their own frightening and repulsive
way.

Feral animals need kindness and love, and, most of all. patience, and,
if that doesn’t work, then I guess we should just go ahead and kill
them.

I’m betting that good old Captain Hook must have scratched up a lot of
car doors in his day.

Forget about racism; let the class warfare begin.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk. In fact, if it’s soy milk, it
kind of makes me want to laugh.

My father said that if I work in a restaurant I’ll always have
something to eat. So I asked him, what if I took a job in a meth
lab—would I always be slappin’ away at the imaginary spiders?

Journalists are a lot like doctors. Only doctors try to CURE the cancer.

My Uncle Jack said, “I’m a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks.”
So I asked him, “What did you major in–cliches?”

I went to Mount Washington…and John Adams had me arrested for sedition.

My neighborhood was so tough, the Good Humor Man was Malcolm X.

A socialist is just a hobo with a PhD.

If a million chimps did manage to type Hamlet, I’ll bet there’d be
something in there about unicycles.

I think it would have been fun to replace Jesus’s usual vinegar sponge
with Folger’s crystals.

My opinions, yes; my beliefs, maybe; my prejudices, never.

25. ADVERTISEMENT: I urge all of my fans to consult on a regular basis my
self-acclaimed books in the award-nominated “Money” Series, including:
MONEY ON MY BACK; NOTHING’S MORE FUN THAN A BARREL OF MONEY; MONEY SEE, MONEY DO, and the (newly released) THE MONEY KING.

26. IN SEARCH OF THE NEXT BIG MUSICAL TREND
Toughguy Bubblegum.
Death Metal Klezmer.
Gangsta Balinese
Black Metal Broadway Musical
Garage Gamelan
Field Holler Electronica
Yodelling Funk
Melodic No-wave.
Appalachian Folk/80’s Synth Pop
Gangsta Emo
Progressive Oi!
Expressionist Verite.
Black Nationalist Minstrelsy.
Good Beat Poetry.
Prog Rock – Hiphop… or Prog-Hop
Industrial Bluegrass
Hardcore Skiffle
Gangsta Kinks
Humble Metal
Proto-Fascist Psychedelia
‘Eefin jazz
Gentle Ben Thug Rock
Thucidydes Rap
Thurston Howell III Funk Boogie
A Capella Satancore

27. SAD TRUTHS

Expecting a politician to be sincere is like expecting a midget to be tall–it’s not in their DNA.

We think WE CONTROL FACEBOOK, but basically, we are just the switching circuitry for their ad platform.

THE PRIMARY REASON the US got involved in Vietnam was not to stop the
spread of communism. No–it was to control their rice! THEIR VALUABLE
FUCKING RICE! NO! I WON’T SHUT UP! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!

I WAS WRONG.  I have started saying this out loud at least once, every
day. Even when I’m NOT wrong. ESPECIALLY when I’m NOT wrong. I WAS
WRONG. I find it to be the only means I have wherein to halter, tame
and mortify my overweening pride. (Ain’t I a spring dandy?)

LORD…GIVE ME PATIENCE. Humble my foolish pride–now! Or else!

MY FATHER is a meat and potatoes man. Literally. What is this
nightmare world you brought me into, Mother?

INTELLIGENCE HELPS YOU THROUGH LIFE. Even if you’re a junkie. Oil
burner drug habit is “under control”…never hooks up with connections
in a public place…no visible track marks…only mainlines on
weekends…always has a smile for the Croaker who writes his
scrip…keeps his mouth shut when the Bulls come snoopin’
around…laughs hysterically when he burns a straight with Sugar
Shit…. Passed a Yenshee Baby in stir…gave a battery acid hit to a
snitch…thought Alphabet City was OK before the meth monsters moved
in…broke into ’21’ and stole a pallet of steaks, and those he
couldn’t sell his junkie friends feasted on for days…. Got slapped
around by the Bulls and never made a peep…try to hang a snitch
jacket on him and he’ll clobber you…plays a cut-throat game of
backgammon…always tugging at his belt; sure sign of a jailbird….

PEOPLE SAY I have my father’s smile. That’s because I stole his dentures.

HA HA IT’S MY BIRTHDAY, so today I get to tell the President what to
do. Well, actually, that’s not strictly true. Actually, it’s not
really my birthday. Also, the man in the sunglasses with the earpiece
has told me to stop hanging around in front of the White House with my
home made sign. And also, that I spelled ‘President’ wrong. And
“Barack’. And ‘Hussein’. And ‘Obama’. And ‘Body Odor.’ And ‘Stinks’.

GREASY KID STUFF. The clean smart look of 1947. God help you if you work in one of the service industries and your boss is a Brylcreem man. He will constantly be asking himself why he employs such a young slob. Service work in general is a huge drag. You’re at the beck and call of crackpot customers who pull the same sort of trick I used to pull on my mother when I was ten years old: “I just want to see something.” On the other side of the equation, there’s the sales personnel who are expected by management to be always smiling and happy and thrilled to serve the customer–some are–but they are rare.
Of course, when you’re middle management, you are expected to always be on call, have to work long hours for no added pay, have to deal with policies and regulations, have to deal with disgruntled employees, and are the court of last resort for dealing with irate
customers. You can’t win! It’s my theory that adult children of alcoholics are drawn to middle management–specifically, the type known as “the hero child.” See Richard Wright’s Black Boy: Richard: “Shorty, how can you let them kick you for a quarter?” Shorty: “My ass is tough, and quarters is scarce.” Emerson said it best: “The horseman
serves the horse,/The neat-herd serves the neat,/The merchant serves
the purse,/The eater serves his meat;/‘Tis the day of the chattel,/Web
to weave, and corn to grind,/Things are in the saddle,/And ride
mankind.”

28 A HISTORY OF MY FAILED PROJECTS
My agent is still waiting to hear back from Hollywood about MUPPET
MISSILE CRISIS.

And, sad to say, my “1984: the Musical” (“Just an Old Fashioned Hate
Song”) never made it past rehearsals.

My porn revival of Tennessee Williams’ Streetcar (“Fucking Trolley
Sluts”) was also a no-go.

And don’t even get me started about my adult reinterpretation of A.A.
Milne: WINNIE THE SHIT.

Worst of all, I couldn’t attract so much as backer one for my
all-chimp version of Hamlet (“Hardly had the cigars and unicycles
grown cold upon the circus floor…than that my Uncle married my
mother…which makes him a Monkey’s Uncle. To be…or not to be? Or to
swing from a tree?”).

29. AND NOW…MODERN WISDOM PRESENTS…

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
IF YOUR HEAD IS MADE OF WAX–don’t walk in the sun.
Never beard the lion in his den while wearing a sushi fedora.
If your nickname is Kid Pantywaist, don’t get into a slapping contest with “Killer Fang.”
Avoid walking into a biker bar wearing a jacket made of crystal meth.
If your bladder is made of spun cotton candy don’t drink a gallon of coke syrup.
Never hobnob with potbellied pigs in a suit made of birthday cake.
If your nickname is Mr. Alcoholic, race-car driver is probably not the right profession for you.
Note: Voters tend get nervous when the President refers to the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as “the Commander Guy.”
And by the way: Nobody trusts a Bank President named Mr. Bubble.

30. THE MODERN WISDOM ALMANAC. ARCHIVE:
2007: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977004217
2008: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977221496
2009: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977565421
2010: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977969402
2011: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474978851374
2012: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474980950364
2013: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474981829985

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THE INFORMATION #743 AUGUST 2, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#743 AUGUST 2, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

Living with a whore–even the best whore in the world–isn’t a bed of roses.― Henry Miller

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER EIGHT: PART THREE: THE FALL

Coach Crump was the most notorious slum landlord in all of Noxtown,
and that’s sayin’ something, Yob. Nobody knew his real first name. Old
Crump was a shouting cove. A waxy-faced, ferret-nosed and nasty old
fossil and a known loocher—mad for frails—many’s an overdue rent he
took out in trade on the third or fourth of the month—what did he care?—the rat-trap tenements he ownded and controlled had already been paid for fifty times over; the rest was just gravy; what is more money when
instead you can stick your dirty dingus into a fine figure of a
woman–or even a mere slip of a girl?

Livin’ in the Old Town district was a lot like being at a job of work—just like
in every small neighborhood, every Yellof and old lady nebby-nose allus kept one eye on the bairns, and vicey versa.

So. I seen Old Crump’s way with the Girlies and I didn’t like it—he was in every way your typical John–save one—he throwed his weight around—because he could—as the gals would say, he was a three inch man with an eight inch way about him. An ordinary Yellof with delusions that he was the Boss Ace—he even walked around with a coon bone—on a rawhide thong hung ‘round his neck–as though he was a big-time gambling cove and a swell sport, instead of a miserable old slumlord with a turkey neck and squinchy eyes. It’s not so much that he talked big—most men do—but that half the time he didn’t know what he was talking about.

I heerd him talking to Little Jane, who I had a mad mash on. At first, they was fussin’ and flutterin’ like two starlings fucking in the rain and then he got into humpin’ and I heerd her say, “Oh, Mr. Man, what a big one–I’m afraid of it!”  And he says back to her, “Listen Girlie, Don’t kid a kidder.”
And they made the beast with two backs.

Afterwards, she bounces back right smart and says, “I’m sorry I tried
to jolly you along Daddy, and you bein’ a wised-up Gee. What’s your
line? Are you some kind of big boss man?” “I’m Coach Crump,” says he,
“I’m in the building trade and own about half the lots in  town.” And
she bounces back right smart and says “Oh, you’re that s–,” but she
catches herself. “You’re that shrewd Yellof behind the Whiteman
Apartments.” “The very same,” says he, “and if you want a job I can fix
you up with indoor work—good pay–short hours, too.”

My heart leapt in my throat at the thought that my sweet Little Jane would fall in with a rogue like Crump, but she played it KKK—kool, kalm, and
kollected. “Hm, I don’t know, Mr. Man—I kind of like it here.” “Well,”
says he, “if you change your mind you allus know where to find me,
Girlie.” “Thanks, I will,” said she, and there was an end on’t–or so I thought.

In spite of his proclivity for girlin’, Old Crump was infamous for not only owning half the tenement slums in Old Town and points north—but the vain old fool was also known for givin’ his slum dumps highfalutin names, like The Lance,and the Pierre, and the Floyd, and The Roger, and the Saint Peter.

And he also owned some swanker properties, like the Longfellow, the
Shelley, The Swinburne and the Emerson. He fancied himself some kind
of poetical sort—another weakness of his’n—pretentious prick–and he
liked to pay what he called his “humble tribute” to “the old masters.”
They warn’t much a cut above the tenements he rented to the down and
out—only they were in a pretty good location, as John Dillinger would
say, just north of Uptown, and he priced his rooms at top-out-of-sight
rates to keep the riff-raff out, said he, but he was never one to
overlook the chance to make a buck at some loaded Yellof’s expense.

As I told ye, Old man Crump also owned the Whiteman Apartments– No
Colored Need Apply–over in Brand Plaza, just Northeast of the
city—these cribs were the crème de la crème, Yob—furnished rooms with
indoor shitter, cold AND hot running water, a live-in handyman, and a
lobby with a fancy chandelier—more like a swellegant hotel than a glorified
boarding house.

All the big-time Movers and Shakers maintained secret rooms there—what
they called a Key Club—and for a set fee they had access to rooms as
was always kept vacant—many’s a Badger game was also played there—eh? you don’t know the Badger Game? What are you—a greenie, Yob? Ain’t I learned you nothing?

The Badger Game is the oldest shakedown racket they is—you meet a
doxy and ye take her to a crib to sex her up—her idea—sometimes money
changes hands, sure—sometimes not—it don’t really signify–but
whatever the lay-out, this is no ordinary whore, thinks the Sucker.
Sooner’n you can say Smoochy-smooch th’ pore Yellof is scrooched up on
the bed all kissy-kissy with the surprisingly amenable Lady of
Pleasure, and he’s dead-bang sure he’s going to get his ashes hauled.
But then there’s a scrabbling sound in the wall. Rats, thinks he.

When all of a sudden a closet door busts open and out pops a big,
mean-looking Yobbo—preferably a known Bluto with a moniker like
Scardol or Scardini or Scarpone—and he fires off a pistol and screams
You Son of a Bitch Whatta You Doing With-a My Wife. The Sucker ain’t so happy now. Like as not, he’s white with fear. Girl cries. Don’t Kill him, Scardol! Can’t We Talk This Over? says she. Yeah, Can’t We Talk This Over? says The Sucker. You can bet by now his pecker has shriveled to the size of a black walnut. Hubby glares at him. Takes a nip from a hip flask. Glares some more. Another nip. Thinks it over. Finally relents. A G note will square the beef. Sucker empties his wallet–pronto—anything to get out of that fix.

Allus remember—a prick has a mind of its own, Yob—and that’s what
comes of lettin’ it do all then thinkin’ I used to call mine “the
Hound.”  Why? Because once it found a fine scent of twitchet it would
never quit!

Anyway, that was the short con over t’ the Whiteman Apartments.
Probably still is! Long con is that she’s underage and it’s the
“Father”—an old Farmer Daddy with goat whiskers and bib overalls and
maybe three teeth in his rotting skull–and he busts down the door
with a shotgun and hollers Hold It Right There City Slicker That’s
Thar’s My Sweet Daughter How Could Yew Do It, Mister, She’s Only a
Baby I Have a Mind to Plug You Right Here and as he keeps the shotgun
level he says Shootin’s Too Quick For the Likes of You I’ll Go to Law
and I Swear You’ll Hang For This–but then in busts the Hotel Dick,
actually a confederate, and calms the “Father” and gentles him, saying
“Be reasonable Hiram, or Hepsipah, how was he to know she was your
daughter” and Hiram or Hepsipah allows as cash money on the barr’lhead
could square things right smart and so a visit to the bank is made to
quell that beef and so then the sucker can go his merry way, back to his
old life, or so he thinks, only now he is prey to blackmail.

Well, well, well. The way of a man with a maid is beyond all
fathoming. Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher, I allus said,
but some civilized folks don’t see it quite that way. When fussin’
about with loose women there’s allus a knife in the window, Yob. You’d
be smart to remember that when you go mucking about for a bit of
strange.

Now, sometimes the sucker would balk at the shake-down, and would call
in the coppers, and then the higher-ups would get involved. Always
this meant a call–to Police Captain Tom Aston. As rotten a bull as
ever screwed a poor sucker to the wall. Oh, he’d stop the blackmail,
all right—only just so long as a fat “fee” went to “The Magistrate” to
quell the beef. Of course, I don’t have to tell you who “The
Magistrate” was and into whose wonderful tin box the “fee” drapped.
T’was Police Captain Tom Aston.

Who was as crooked and twisted a rogue as ever walked the earth.

I will have more to say of him another time.

Previous: http://www.thenoiseboard.com/index.php?showtopic=218311&st=50

1*SALUTATION
JOHN FAHEY
LION (LIVE)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAdmDyUAESs&list=PL82BFAED4B5170A9C&index=55

2*REFERENCE
GUNS IN THE CAULDRON
WILD WEST LORE
http://gunsinthecauldron.wordpress.com/

3*HUMOR

TOP 12 SIGNS YOU’RE DEALING WITH TROLLS
http://www.linkedin.com/today/post/article/20130722211438-2484700-top-12-signs-you-re-dealing-with-trolls

4*NOVELTY
CODEINE COUGH SYRUP FUELING RASH OF OAKLAND STREET CRIME
http://www.ktvu.com/news/news/crime-law/robo/nYcSw/

ALSO SEE:

Minnesota Accused of Using ‘Occupy’ Protesters as Ganja ‘Guinea Pigs’ blogs.wsj.com/law/2013/07/24/state-accused-of-using-occupy-protesters-as-guinea-pigs/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
ZIMMERMAN’S MYSPACE
http://politicalblindspot.org/george-zimmermans-old-myspace-surfaces-full-of-racist-statements-and-admissions-of-criminal-activity/

ALSO SEE:
RACING SNAILS DRIVER RACIAL STEREOTYPES IN “TURBO”
http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2013/07/20/203678380/racing-snails-drive-racial-stereotypes-in-turbo?utm_source=NPR&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130717

SEE ALSO:
PITTSBURGH THE POWERFUL: THE NEGROES OF PITTSBURGH
http://www.clpgh.org/exhibit/afamsur.html

6* DAILY UTILITY
HISTORICAL THEME MYSTERIES
http://www.cozy-mystery.com/blog/mystery-series-that-take-place-in-different-periods-of-time-historical-mysteries-c-f-authors.html

ALSO SEE:
30 THINGS LIBRARIANS LOVE
http://www.buzzfeed.com/jessicamisener/things-librarians-love

7*CARTOON
THE GOLDEN AGE OF SOVIET CHILDREN’S ART
http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2013/07/18/the-golden-age-of-soviet-childrens-art/

ALSO SEE:
THE DISTURBING EVOLUTION OF MY LITTLE PONY
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/07/19/evolution-of-my-little-pony_n_3617896.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000009

8*PRESCRIPTION
WHAT CITY YOU GROW UP IN DETERMINES YOUR ECONOMIC FATE
http://slate.me/1378lAT

ALSO SEE:
HEAT MAP OF HIPSTERS YUPPIES AND FRAT BOYS IN YOUR CITY
http://slate.me/19RGvh3

ALSO SEE:
REGIONAL BIAS AND HOW NPR COVERS AMERICA
http://www.npr.org/blogs/ombudsman/2013/04/11/176923885/regional-bias-and-how-npr-covers-america?utm_source=npr&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130722

9*RUMOR PATROL
CHIMPS HAVE HUMAN-TYPE MEMORIES
http://newswatch.nationalgeographic.com/2013/07/18/chimps-orangutans-have-human-like-memory/?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=Social&utm_content=link_fb20130721ngnw-chimplear&utm_campaign=Content

ALSO SEE:

A TABLE OF REMARKABLE ERAS AND EVENTS
http://tpr.ly/145Ayi5

10* LAGNIAPPE
FACEBOOK
Facebook is an awful lot like 3rd grade. The boys all show
off–supposedly to establish dominance but mainly to impress the
girls. And the girls all talk about their feelings, and each other,
and pretend to ignore the boys. Actually, some parts of facebook are
more like 1st grade. Lots of nyaah nyahh nya nyaaah nyah.

ALSO SEE:
IDEAS TO KEEP YOUR DATA SAFE FROM SPYING
http://www.newsdaily.com/article/f5587349e80b61f57238fdd385610df2/ideas-for-keeping-your-data-safe-from-spying

ALSO SEE:

SEO

http://exchanges.wiley.com/blog/2013/07/23/search-engine-optimization-and-your-journal-article-do-you-want-the-bad-news-first/

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
SONG SEQUELS THAT WEREN’T (PART THREE)
Stairlift To Heaven
If You’re Really My Sweet Lord, Why’d You Let Them Sue Me?
Precious and None
Full Breed (How I Learned to Love the Word)
My Degeneration
Nazi Punks, We’ll Give You ONE More Chance.
No More Chances–You’ll Never be Able to make It Up To Me
Big Shithead. By the Diamonds. (Though some say the Gladiolas version
is better.)
I Want Me (I’m So Lightweight)
The Laughter of a Ringmaster
Schlock and Roll. By The Aluminum Boring Machine.
Been in a Riot.
Do They Owe Us a Living? Actually, No.
Completely Unperturbed. By Elvis Presley.
Oldster I No Want You. By Bread.
Dueling Banjo Controllers
Resumption Of Calm In Detroit.
The Day Chicago Recovered
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-
Doctor My Thighs
12XL
Making Lunch Out of Nothing at All
I’m So Lonesome I Could Diet
We Ate the World
Laughter on Tenth Avenue
We Can Wok it out
When a Ma Loves a Woman
Mild Thing
Goo Vibrations
Sitting In Cop Car Man
The Devil Went Up To Iowa,
Take This Internship and Shove It
Knock Me Out Before You Stay Stay
It’s the beginning of Mars as we know it and I feel shitty
Too Old to Churn out Tripe-y Heavy Metal Flute Music; Too Greedy to Retire
Take a Walk on the Mild Side

(With a tip of the hat to Johnny Angel, Jim Sullivan, Jon Hall, Russ
Gershon, Kurt Hoffman, &c.)

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 698.
BOYCOTT ALL NATIONALLY ADVERTISED PRODUCTS
When you think about all the money that is wasted upon devising newer
and more ingenious advertising, you have to wonder: What would happen
if a significant minority of consumers decided to BOYCOTT ALL
NATIONALLY ADVERTISED PRODUCTS? Perhaps the companies would donate the
money to worthy causes–and employ a much more low-key strategy to
advertise that they have done so. Then the Boycott could be lifted. Or
not.

Blessed silence might be preferable to being barraged by their idiotic
lunacy. But I am well aware that there is no easy answer. Especially
since some people seem to actually enjoy being complicit in their own
oppression. Meaning that they actually enjoy Big Br–er, I mean the
ads.

As Upton Sinclair suggested, over 100 years ago, One manufacturer
sells you poison and the other manufacturer sells you an antidote.

Jim MacQuarrie suggests that some ads can be useful:

“We had watched the original “Bedazzled” and then saw a commercial for
some luxury item and I went “whoa.” It totally works. “Buy Pepsodent
toothpaste and chicks will dig you.” [So] if you know the classic
“Seven Deadly Sins” (lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth, pride,
vanity) just apply them to the ad. If the ad primarily addresses one
of them, it’s a product you don’t need. If the ad tells you what the
product does and what actual problem it solves, it may be worth
buying. Example: Car A tells you your friends will be jealous and
strangers impressed when they see you driving in it, that it’s lushly
appointed with indulgent features and that owning it will make you
important. Car B tells you it’s safe, reliable and gets great gas
mileage. One of them is selling you things you don’t need and hoping
to profit from encouraging you to be a worse person.”

THE INFORMATION #742 JULY 26, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#742 JULY 26, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

LIMITS

Our national life is based upon the vitality of various interests balanced against other interests. These self-interests are not nearly as harmless as our conservative friends imagine them to be….We will not have justice if the powerful man simply goes after his interest at the expense of the weak.—Reinhold Niebuhr

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN

CHAPTER EIGHT: PART TWO: THE FALL

I knowed if I was to ever get even with the strong boy Smash Conklin I’d have to go over the heads of Uglyface’s black-souled yekkmen and factors and start mooching around some of the people those bullies answered to, starting with Adam Tyler, the Alderman. And Coach Crump, the real-estate man. And working my way up to Tom Aston, the Police Captain, and Beau Nasty, the vice lord. If possible, I knew I had to get something on each one of these bummers.

The one I hated most was Adam Tyler. He was a swell toff and a trimmer; a blonde-headed rogue with thatch yaller eyebrows and a thick blonde mustache. He couldn’t have been much younger than 45, but he carried himself like a much younger man.

As an Alderman—and who knew who he screwed to get to that place?–he had access to all the secret doings of the city government and was Johnny on the spot whenever an opportunity came to make himself some Pretty Polly. Listen: I’ve known some rogues in my day, but this man was the beatenest crook to ever walk on two legs. That man would steal a goulash belch from a Hungarian banquet; he would quietly swipe cracklins from his mammy’s fat gourd, he’d prise the pennies from a dead man’s eyes, and he would even abscond with hot soup with pockets made of rubber, as the saying goes.

You should of seen the old sinner make the rounds of Old Town. Smooving his way through the crowds of pressmen and their printer’s devils at the Daily Chronicker. Marking off the list of all the cigar stores as was fronts for gambling dens—mostly because they gave him a pretty rake-off. Saying how-de-do to the warehouse boys at the department store as they loaded expensive appliances in the back seat of his Stanley Steamer. Passing out five cent see-gars at the barber shops and the barber college—the only college that rascal ever set foot in, I’ll warrant. And getting all togged out in his Sunday best and saying how-de-do to the Church Marms and their long sufferin’ hubbies after Sunday services. The man would attend the opening of an envelope, it was said. He was a politician through and through. And drippin’ with secret vice.

Because he was also a loocher from way back who was well known to favor young quail. Not too young, mind you—he was a politician—but many’s the time he’s patronize the whores at Red Mary’s and one time I heared him in his room, and watched him, too, through a knot-hole, as he played with a young whore I was very sweet on. Her name was Little Jane. She was as swell a gal as ever drawed breath—quiet, and kind-hearted too, always taking in strays and bandaging ‘em up, including me on at least one occasion. Little Gal with pearly white teeth and soft brown hair and an elegant little nose with the tip just very slightly turned up. She had full red lips and long brown eyelashes and coal black eyes and a little set of tiddies like a couple of fried eggs and I do believe that she was sweet on me as well. Course, I had no business consortin’ with young whores at my age—I was only 13 and even though I was growin’ up fast I was still a milksop and wet behind the ears. But young ‘uns sometimes pick up peculiar notions and take holt of them like a rag doll, and I was little different. I loved that Gal and so I took a special interest in her welfare when Adam Tyler singled her out for his attentions. So they day he picked her out I stole up to the garret and spied on the two of them.

I saw and heard the whole thing. I wish I hadn’t. First, he filled that little gal with bubbly-water and then he turned on his line of soft gab to the little lady—and the two of them started making formations of nature–O, J-just Lie Your Leg Over Me, Do—Not Like That, Like That, said she—only he wouldn’t listen and he went  a crawlin’ and a creepin’ on top of her—Your Panties Are Too Tight says he, and he tears them off with his teeth—down on all fours—barking like a dog—Goddamnit, My Pecker’s Caught In My Zipper!—he pulls out his ramrod—lunges at her– the two of them go scrumbling to the floor—which spoils my view—she cries out—Oh Oh Oh!—I’m a Bad Girl!—Hic—I’m a Bad Girl—sound of scruffling–says he, No, My Dear, I Am a Bad Man– she cries out—Oh Oh Oh!—he gives out with a nasty laugh—tearing of clothes—My Blouse, Don’t!—Let Me Run My Fingers Through Your Hair, says he– Oh Oh Oh!—What Are You Doing says she –Do As I Tell You says he—Lock Your Legs Around Me—You’re Pulling My Hair says she–Get Off Me says she–Too Late Now says he–I’d Tear Open the Gates of Hell To Get to You Now says he—Oh No Don’t, says she—Oh, You Tease says he–Oh No Don’t, says she—Dirty Little Whore, says he—Oh No Don’t, says she, They’re Too Tender—Listen Girlie, says he—You’ll Do As I Tell You–

I’ll leave the rest for your imagination.

You can well imagine, Yob, that all this was agony for me to watch and hear. Poor Little Jane!

Afterwards, down in the parlor, I heered him bragging about how he “took the little whore to fuckin’ school.”

Big Man!

Now I’m no prude—love is no sin—the only sin is no love—but as far as I was concerned, Aston crossed the thin white line with her–and make no mistake about it.

I’m telling you now—and I’ll tell the world—that ever since that day it made me clench my rookers in fists of rage to even so much to think of that old devil.

Now, Tyler was too big a man for me to blackmail, but I could make things plenty hot for him if I chose to, and I knowed it, even if he knew nowt. What made me think I could get one over on him was that he worked fist in glove with a fellow loocher—a hard character named Coach Crump. Who I will tell you about directly.

Previous: http://www.thenoiseboard.com/index.php?showtopic=218311&st=50

1*SALUTATION

BIG YOUTH

DREAD IN A BABYLON

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtdVUHRIgwI

RIVERTON CITY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44hMKqbYYBk

LIVE AT REGGAE SUNSPLASH 1982

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJQTY0n16fM

2*REFERENCE

Lavater’s Physiognomy: a Taxonomy For Endorsers in Print Advertisements
http://www.acrwebsite.org/search/view-conference-proceedings.aspx?Id=11085

ALSO SEE:

Marks of Excellence: The Development and Taxonomy of Trademarks Revised and Expanded edition

http://www.slate.com/articles/business/books/2013/07/per_mollerup_s_history_of_logos_marks_of_excellence_reviewed.html

3*HUMOR

28 “FAVORITE” BOOKS WHICH ARE HUGE RED FLAGS

This article is just mischief-making snark which bruises as many sensibilities as possible. No need to take it personally. It will only hit its intended target if you are convinced that what you like is who you are. Basically, he’s only doing what critics do–pointing out aesthetic flaws in an entertaining way. Meanwhile, there’s this: “Finally our grieving rabbit-things arrive in San Francisco, where rabbit-people and fox-things and dog-men all forget their differences and come together to mourn the passing of the greatest, most influential figure to ever… ever, man.” http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics275.html

http://www.buzzfeed.com/josephbernstein/28-favorite-books-that-are-huge-red-flags

Lolita is a remarkable achievement. So is The Stranger. If we are intimidated by his remarks it is probably because we suspect he might be right. Trust me, he isn’t. He isn’t aiming his can(n)on at the likes of us, anyway. Basically, he’s attacking superficial people who have cliched reading tastes.

And it’s amazing how many people are taking it seriously–including NPR, which published a rebuttal: http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2013/07/12/201505102/buzzfeed-identifies-red-flag-favorite-books-which-is-a-red-flag

Notice how the NPR author blubbers on in circles like a dog chasing his rhetorical tail over how awful it is to hurt people’s feelings. But at least the site also points out this amusing list:

27 Broiest Books That Bros Like To Read

http://www.buzzfeed.com/kevintang/27-broiest-books-that-bros-like-to-read

ALSO SEE:

BOOK TITLES WITH ONE LETTER MISSING
http://www.pleated-jeans.com/2013/07/01/book-titles-with-one-letter-missing-20-pics/

ALSO SEE:

VANCE RANDOLPH & GERSHON LEGMAN

“UNPRINTABLE” OZARK FOLKSONGS

http://books.google.com/books/about/Unprintable_Ozark_Folksongs_and_Folklore.html?id=rXAE-KbkomsC

“I WENT TO THE RIVER”

http://books.google.com/books?id=rXAE-KbkomsC&pg=PA110&source=gbs_toc_r&cad=4#v=onepage&q&f=false

4*NOVELTY

WHAT AMERICAN ENGLISH SOUNDS LIKE TO NON-ENGLISH SPEAKERS
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZXcRqFmFa8

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

POLIO VACCINE SCARE

http://www.realfarmacy.com/cdc-admits-98-million-americans-received-polio-vaccine-contaminated-with-cancer-virus/

I imagine that the CDC is simply looking out after our interests by removing the post. They don’t want to fuel the anti-vaccine hysteria any further. On balance, vaccines do far more good than harm. The 1976 Swine Flu brouhaha has made some people suspicious of vaccines. But the public has a poor understanding of statistical probability and does not understand that, say, 26 deaths per 100,000,000 is probably an acceptable price to pay. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1976_swine_flu_outbreak

My friend  Jan Strnad has also pointed out that  “the writer of the article left out a critical paragraph from the CDC report: “SV40 virus has been found in certain types of cancer in humans, but it has not been determined that SV40 causes these cancers.”

Like many onocausationists, the anti-vaccine crowd often cherry-pick data and betray a woeful incomprehension of standard deviations and other such basic statistical math.

On the other hand, some people simply won’t listen to arguments that the experts know best– because that argument has been used to screw them so many times before. And, of course, the experts are sometimes just plain wrong.

6* DAILY UTILITY

TEN HOURS OF SOOTHING WHITE NOISE FROM OUTER SPACE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcJ-o_fh1B4

ALSO SEE:

PIL

RADIO 4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNNXBnQtH9U

SEE ALSO
REM BACKWARDS

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5qPoQ4wZGE

7*CARTOON

HEATH LEDGER’S JOKER DIARY

http://m.mtv.com/blogs/splashpage_post.rbml?id=2008/08/04/arkham-asylum-scribe-grant-morrison-opens-up-heath-ledgers-joker-diary/&weburl=http%3A%2F%2Fsplashpage.mtv.com%2F2008%2F08%2F04%2Farkham-asylum-scribe-grant-morrison-opens-up-heath-ledgers-joker-diary%2F&alt=http%3A%2F%2Fm.mtv.com%2Fblogs%2Fsplashpage.rbml&cid=300

ALSO SEE:

EMMETT RHODES

A CLOWN’S NO GOOD

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7y5BAM-qSxM

8*PRESCRIPTION

CHARLES BARKLEY ON ZIMMERMAN TRIAL

I feel a compelling need to note, in my off-puttingly dry fashion, that Charles Barkley is hardly an expert on political or legal matters

http://www.realclearpolitics.com/video/2013/07/18/charles_barkley_on_zimmerman_trial_i_agree_with_the_verdict.html

ALSO SEE:

GOOD COP/BAD COP: THE SUPERCUT

http://slate.me/16OB3K9

ALSO SEE:

THE COURTROOM DRAMA IS DEAD: H’WOOD KILLED IT

http://slate.me/1b85mii

9*RUMOR PATROL

WAL-MART ATROCITY STORIES

“Wal-Mart associates are like cattle. All you have to do is prod them and eventually they’ll do exactly what you tell them to.”—Wal Mart Manager

Why pick on Wal Mart? I am interested in oral accounts of work-related stress. If it seems as though I am picking on Wal-Mart, from where a great many of these accounts seem to emanate, then I regret the misapprehension. Fact is, I have a hard time finding narratives online in which happy Wal-Mart workers extol the virtues of their employer.

http://gawker.com/and-now-a-few-more-stories-from-wal-mart-employees-721527870?utm_campaign=socialflow_gawker_twitter&utm_source=gawker_twitter&utm_medium=socialflow

ALSO SEE:

MCDONALD’S TELLS WORKERS TO GET SECOND JOB

http://myfox8.com/2013/07/16/mcdonalds-tells-workers-to-budget-by-getting-second-job-turn-off-heat/

ALSO SEE:

THE SATURNI AND THE VALUE OF LIES

http://disinfo.com/2013/07/the-saturni-and-the-value-of-lies/

10* LAGNIAPPE

HENRY ROLLINS’ 20 FAVORITE PUNK ALBUMS

http://blogs.laweekly.com/westcoastsound/2013/07/henry_rollins_20_favorite_punk_albums.php

ALSO SEE:

BEST ROCK STARS BY STATE

http://www.buzzfeed.com/hunterschwarz/a-map-of-all-the-states-and-their-most-critically-acclaimed

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
SONG SEQUELS THAT WEREN’T (PART TWO)

None of the Old Chicks
Ukelele Wind.
Like Moss.
Uncle Pencil.
Forget It, Rhonda, I’m Fine.
I Got Around

I Saw Mommy F*cking Santa Claus
The Ghouls on the Beach
Cherry Hill Slavery

Nicorette Joseph’s Bistro
What is Death?
Mr. Brown You Are An Ugly Asshole
Go Away, Daylight
While My Guitar Wipes Its Tears
Stop Saving it for Later
Play that Funky Music White Retiree
The Bummer Song. (From Frowny Frown).
Always Learn to Hate.
That’s When I Reached for My Copy of That’s When I Reached For My Revolver
Set Controls for the Heart of the Slum
Resume in the Name of Hate
Stephanie Has No Idea Who

You Did Want To Hurt Me–You’re An Asshole.
8 and 8 Are
Meat is Yummy…It’s Yummy

The White Devil’s Life Song
Insightful Joe Life (John Fahey)
Good Good Leroy White (never got involved in a razor fight)
I Wanna be White (I want to be a supremacist…a Caucasian polemicist)
The Ballad of some drunken Indian soldier who had his picture taken at Iwo Jima or something
Worry, Kyoko.
Pennsylvania 6-660
Georgia on My Face
I Want to Hold Your Purse
Kill Me on the Bus
Kentucky MILF.

D-I-S-R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Papa Strenuously Ordered Me to Leave
Mama Was a Clinging Moss
Start Start Start

Short Hot Man In a White Dress (Working for the CIA)
(I Want to Be) Impeached
I Wish I Was In Dixie (But She’s Not So Sure)

(With a tip of the hat to Johnny Angel, Jim Sullivan, Jon Hall, Russ Gershon, Kurt Hoffman, &c.)

11A BOOKS READ AND RATED

21. KRIENDLER & JEFFERS. ***1/2

50 GIRLS 50. WILLIAMSON. *****

52 AFTERMATH: THE FOUR HORSEMEN. ***1/2

60S MOST WANTED. SHEA. ***

70S PHOTOGRAPHY & EVERYDAY LIFE. ****1/2

THE AMERICAN SENATE. MACNEIL & BAKER. ****

BATGIRL 2: KNIGHTFALL DESCENDS. ***

BATMAN: STREETS OF GOTHAM 1. ****

BATMAN: STREETS OF GOTHAM 2. ****

BATTLE FOR THE ATLANTIC. JEFFREY. ***

BREATHLESS HOMICIDAL SLIME MUTANTS. BROWER. ***1/2

CAME THE DAWN. WOOD. ****1/2

CHILLING TALES OF HORROR. RODRIGUEZ. ****

A CIVIL ACTION. HAAR. ****1/2

COMPLETE CRUMB 2. ***

CORPSE ON THE IMJIN. KURTZMAN. *****

DECONSTRUCTING SAMMY. BIRKBECK. ***1/2

DIFFICULT MEN. MARTIN. ****

DRIVE. SALLIS. ***1/2

THE EASTERN FRONT. JEFFREY. ***

ENEMIES. WEINER. ****

FLASHPOINT…FEATURING GL. ***

FUG YOU. SANDERS. ***1/2

GREEN LANTERN CORPS: FEARSOME. ***1/2

HOW TO BECOME A PROFESSIONAL CON ARTISTS. MARLOCK. ***

IN THE BASEMENT OF THE IVORY TOWER. PROFESSOR X. ***1/2

THE INFINITE HORIZON. DUGGAN & NOTO. ****

INVENTING A NATION. VIDAL. ****

JLA: THE LIGHTNING SAGA. MELTZER. ***1/2

JLA: WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE. ***1/2

JSA: BAD SEED. ***1/2

JOHN CONSTANTINE, HELLBLAZER: DEATH & CIGARETTES. ***1/2

LONDON: A HISTORY. WILSON. ***1/2

LOST CAT. JASON. ****

A MOUSE IN THE RAT PACK. STARR. **

NANCY REAGAN. KELLEY. ***1/2

NIXON AT THE MOVIES. FEENEY. ****1/2

ODD TYPE WRITERS. JOHNSON. **1/2

OVERWEIGHT SENSATION. COHEN. ****

PAINTING THE DARKNESS. GODDARD. ***1/2

PHOTOBOMBED. JENKINS. *1/2

THE PIN-UP ART OF HUMORAMA. CHIN. ***

PLAISTOW. FOINES. ***

THE PRESIDENTS CLUB. GIBBS & DUFFY. ****

ROCKS OFF. JANOVICH. ****

RUDE JOKES. SMITH. ***1/2

THE SECRET WAR. JEFFREY. ***

SEX TO SEXTY. **1/2

SOMEDAY FUNNIES. CHOQUETTE. ****

STORMWATCH 1. ELLIS. **1/2

STREET BONERS. MCINNES. ***

SUPERBOY: THE BOY OF STEEL. JOHNS & MANAPUL. ***1/2

SUPERMAN: CODENAME PATRIOT. **1/2

SUPERMAN: LAST SON. JOHNS. ***1/2

SUPERMAN: THE BLACK RING. ***1/2

SUPERMAN: CAMELOT FALLS 1. BUSIEK. ***1/2

SUPERMAN: CAMELOT FALLS 2. BUSIEK. ***1/2

SUPERMAN: THE COMING OF ATLAS. ***

SUPERMAN/BATMAN: NIGHT & DAY. ***1/2

SUPERMAN/BATMAN: WORSHIP. ***1/2

TAINT THE MEAT….DAVIS. ****1/2

TAKE NO FAREWELL. GODDARD. ***1/2

TEMPERATURE’S RISING. MCGONIGAL. ***1/2

THAT’S NOT FUNNY, THAT’S SICK. LEVIN. ***

TRUST ME, I’M LYING. HOLIDAY. ***1/2

ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN 3. BENDIS & MARQUEZ. ***1/2

WAR IN THE PACIFIC. JEFFREY. ***

THE WAY YOU WEAR YOUR HAT. ZEHME. **

WACKY PACKAGES: NEW NEW NEW. ***

WRAPPED IN THE FLAG. CONNER. ***1/2

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 697.

PROPAGANDA: PAT CONDELL’S “A WORD TO RIOTING MUSLIMS”

http://dotsub.com/view/72457cbc-fe18-4053-ae3f-6c7639cf4e79

Is he talking about Muslims, or Negroes? or Jews? Hard to tell. The rhetoric is similar. The tone of contempt is not merely reminiscent but also highly representative of racist and anti-Semitic rhetoric, which i have studied extensively. The charges that are true are merely window-dressing for an anti-Muslim rant. That is the technique of hatemongers and scapegoaters throughout time. Dig up a few plausible charges, then rig the game by larding on a whole passel of unrelated assertions of dubious provenance and merit. For more on the topic of scapegoating as a modus vivendi, vide Norman Cohn’s “Europe’s Inner Demons”. Do the ends justify the means? That’s certainly what Hitler thought. He’s using propaganda techniques straight out of the Goebbels to make his point. Which I regard as a meretricious short-cut. Call me a purist, but I know hate speech when I see it. Not all Muslims–just the Fundamentalists? That’s a classic debate technique.

Indoctrinization from childhood is a subtle weapon. It guarantees that people continue to wallow in peculiar dogmas long after their sell-by date. For example: I recently met a black woman who  was looking for religious books. She let slip that she was a Baptist and asked me what my religion was, I told her, and she visibly recoiled, and expressed the earnest hope that someday I would see the error of my ways. One of the reason that classic liberals (as opposed to ideologues) are often so ineffectual and divided is that they are always willing to admit of the possibility that they might be wrong. To hear someone say that in an argument–“I think–but I might be wrong…” either indicates a slimy rhetorician or an undogmatic temperament.

You may see a fearless truth-teller. I see a querulous, hate-filled douchebag. Check this one out: http://dotsub.com/view/dcef6c2a-3fb7-4ab1-9bc8-fd621b2c3972

And here he uses the sophomoric trick of preemptively accusing his opponents of the faults which he is guilty of:

http://dotsub.com/view/acfadbdd-f588-4900-b11c-4eaf8115adf3

Ultimately, he himself is a hatey McHater who hates. I would urge readers who think his remarks are heroic to think back to the cold war and the red scare. Half the rhetoric was overblown and the other half was based on superstitious fear of The Other. That’s the way of the demagogue, whether left, right, or center. This man is little more than a toothless dying an animal who is warning the tribe with shrill cries about a well-known threat, and then smugly patting himself on the back for stating the obvious. It’s not the message which is objectionable as much as the means, and the lying rhetorical tricks he uses to put it across.

ALSO SEE:

PROPAGANDA AND DEBATING TECHNIQUES

http://www.orange-papers.org/orange-propaganda.html

SEE ALSO:

THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC

http://pappysgoldenage.blogspot.com/2013/04/number-1354-homicidal-maniac.html

THE INFORMATION #741 JULY 19, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#741 JULY 19, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

COURAGE
The courage to be is the courage to accept oneself, in spite of being unacceptable.–Paul Tillich

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN

CHAPTER EIGHT: PART ONE: THE FALL

Part of my hare-brained and chuckle-headed scheme to get back at Smash Conklin was to hunt up the known henchmen—the coves as run the crews of The Big Man, Cokey Stolas.  They wasn’t hard to find, every fly cove knew of ‘em. They was superstitious critters, the bulk of ‘em, and creatures of habit, and they liked to make their mark in their own little neighborhoods where they had quite a profitable little sideline which most times involved robbing green Yellofs in one fashion or t’other.

Down to Shanty Street where the alky bums and canned heat tramps made their lurk is where you’d find scar-faced Joe Rumbuster, the black-headed and black-hearted bully and shake-down artist, menacing the  trembly old Winos and Feebs with his strong right arm and his snarlface leer on a face that looked like a hunk of tinned beef. The hateful young cuss would never of menaced a full-growed man in his prime; no, toothless vags and pensioners, and stumpy vets with the morphine shakes was his specialty. He ran a crooked numbers racket on the snyde, but no man was ever known to hit the number and so that was likely just another one of his low games.

Then there was Conrad Tench, the big fat crooked cop, a bluebelly with a bald head and a blonde handlebar mustache who was round and ruddy as a copper coin and as fat as a grain-fed bull, and about as ornery. His cute trick was to roust the spooks up and down Jivetown and so he was universally hated by the smokes for his way of busting up their dice games and rent parties and shaking down the gin mills where they held their drinkin’ sprees and even barging into the barber shop of a Sunday and lounging around making sneermouth remarks and causing many a nappy head to bust out in a cold sweat. And woe betide you if you was newly arrived from down South—Tench would rob you of your last nickel the second you set foot in Jivetown and would shake you down at regular intervals once he learned you had a job, and if you didn’t cough up he would run you in for vagrancy. Many a luckless dinge would find himself hauled up into the county pokey for the crime of neglecting to say Sir or failing to give Tench a shit-eating grin or otherwise kiss his ass in broad daylight.

And who could ever forget Titus Peep, the red-handed lawyer, him, big and clumsy as a brick shithouse—him, with his busted galluses and his white shirt with gravy stains—no married man, he–with one thick thatch of crazy red hair on his bald and knobby head which in his vanity he kept slicked down over his forehead as if to say You’d best not trifle with me lad, for all my baldness I’m still a man. And his eyebrows was thick and fuzzy as a wooly caterpillar and when he looked at you from under ‘em with his tiny little eyes he bid fair to mesmerize you. He hob-nobbed with the swell Yellofs in the Uptown district, where many a Doctor and Captain of Industry hung their shingle. And wouldn’t it make a Yob want to carry the red flag in the union parade and maybe chuck a fizzy black bomb or three to see them fat boyos whoopin’ it up in the sacred precincts of their exclusive men’s clubs as they haw haw hawed over new ways to bilk the poor, which they did a-plenty.

Then ye had Cool Slopp, the Pawnbroker—not his real handle, no one knowed that, not even his Maw, if he ever had one—you’d swear the evil cuss was never born of woman—Slopp was a receiver of stolen goods—what fly coves once called a fence—an old man at forty—a rail thin miser who would steal the nails from your picket fence in the dead of night then sell ‘em back to you at the break of day, and at a triple mark-up—many’s a shivering bum he managed to steal the clothes off the back of for a penny or two—there’d be a special place in hell for the likes of him if such a place existed. His main shop was on Treasure Island, so called by the cackling coves because for the most part it was little more’n an overgrown sandbar in the middle of the Salt River connected to Old Town by a rickety wooden bridge—where they also had the Carnival—come harvest time many a Country Younker come from miles around—from Arcadia and Chokecherry, from Dowagertown and Hungry Valley, from Nitburg and Stinktown. They’d come from Harmony and from Murder Lake; from Friday Valley and Greasy Ridge; from Runnymede and Uneeda.

These men were a-starved for entertainment the year round and so after harvest into town they’d come, fat wallets bulging with greenbacks, and they would go to Treasure Island looking for a good time and they would like as not lose every last penny and a few besides at the rigged and gaffed games at the Red and Black Carnival. And then then the thoroughly fleeced sucker would get robbed agin because he’d have to sell shirt, straw hat, and gold watch, all. Sell ‘em, and much beside, to Cool Slopp–for a few measley coins—barely enough streetcar fare to get ‘em out of the city limits–and then a long walk for ‘em–back to the old homestead, to tell of how he was swindled and to have to face the music from his sour-faced Old Woman in her feed-sack dress—to say nothing of her hatchet-faced old Maw. Many a farmer I would pass on the road in later years and all would tell me the exact same story.

And still, year after year, the gulls and suckers kept right on coming.

This was the proud crew that Cokey Stolas employed. But these was only the Yellofs in charge of the foot soldiers. They had people above them, as told them what was what, and made them dance to the tune of “Pay Me, Pay Me, Pay Me My Money Down,”–as I will tell you more of next time.

1*SALUTATION

MESSAGE BOARDS

FD: Message Boards are a classic ritual degradation ceremony.

Lew Mills:Only because they are filled with idiots like you, with nothing to say, and too much time to say it. Go get a life, you troll!!

FD: Listen, stupid: I have more friends than you have I.Q. points, so if you don’t like it you can hit the road!

Lew Mills: Why do these conversations always devolve into petty ad nominal attacks. I can’t believe you went there.

FD: YOU ARE FAR WORSE THAN HITLER!!!

Lew Mills: Actually, my IQ is a lot, and you just wouldn’t know. And at least Hitler made his brains run on rhyme.

ALSO SEE:

16 THINGS YOUNG GEEKS SHOULD KNOW ABOUT INTERNET CULTURE

By Kevin Makice

http://geekdad.com/2013/07/16-things-young-geeks-should-know-about-internet-culture/

2*REFERENCE

THE DC COMICS OFFICES 1930s-1950s

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/the-dc-comics-offices-1930s-1950s-part-1/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/the-dc-comics-offices-1930s-1950s-part-2/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/the-dc-comics-offices-1930s-1950s-part-3/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/the-dc-comics-offices-1930s-1950s-part-4/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/the-dc-comics-offices-1930s-1950s-part-5-final/

ALSO SEE:

THE 1960S
http://kleinletters.com/Blog/visiting-dc-comics-in-the-1960s-part-1/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/visiting-dc-comics-in-the-1960s-part-2/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/visiting-dc-comics-in-the-1960s-part-3/

SEE ALSO:

1979
http://kleinletters.com/Blog/dc-comics-production-dept-1978-part-1/

http://kleinletters.com/Blog/dc-comics-production-dept-1979-part-2/

3*HUMOR

WHIMSICAL STORIES CREATED BY BOOK TITLES

http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/03/13/nina_katchadourian_sorted_books_details_20_years_of_creating_whimsical_sentences.html

4*NOVELTY

Target Regrets Reminding Managers That Not All Hispanics Wear Sombreros, Eat Tacos

http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_slatest/2013/07/11/target_s_racist_training_document_retailer_apologizes_for_reminding_managers.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

Species we’ve lost in the last 10 years

Via Tim Mungenast

http://www.care2.com/causes/gone-but-not-forgotten-species-weve-lost-in-the-last-10-years.html

6* DAILY UTILITY

Freelancing: a survival guide (of sorts)

http://networkedblogs.com/N1KgQ

7*CARTOON

TOP CAT: THE MOVIE

REVIEWED BY MATTHEW BUCK

http://blip.tv/film-brain/projector-top-cat-the-movie-6260557

8*PRESCRIPTION

WHAT WAS ON THE RADIO IN  1963

http://www.npr.org/2013/07/10/200465359/a-racial-divide-diminished-what-was-on-the-radio-in-1963?utm_source=NPR&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130710

9*RUMOR PATROL

If you’ve ever posted anything embarrassing on Facebook, you better hide it yesterday: http://slate.me/14G8YEJ

ALSO SEE:

HOW FAR DOES THE NATIONAL SNOOPING DOLLAR SPREAD?

http://is.gd/ukHuCr

10* LAGNIAPPE

DON’T MAKE FUN OF RENOWNED DAN BROWN

How kind-hearted: To leap to the defence of a hack writer who has become a multimillionaire by preying upon people’s superstitions.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/10049454/Dont-make-fun-of-renowned-Dan-Brown.html

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

SONG SEQUELS THAT WEREN’T (PART ONE)

It’s More than Rock and Roll.
Shut Me Down
Leave as You Were
Chained Cacophony.
River Shallow, Mountain Low.
Got Fooled Again
I’m Not Sure I Would be Pleased to Hold Your Hand
I Can…Explain.
Living Skunk By the Side of the Road.
Well Adjusted Killer.
Sour Big 17.
Love Potion Number…..oh, forget it
Surfer Grandma
Winchester Shantytown.
I’ve Got a Frickin’ Old Pair of Rollerskates
Sylvia’s Grandmother
The Cover Of Sassy.
I Wanna Be Awakened
You Wore it Well
Wendell Celibacy Addict
That’s When I Reach for My Mylanta
Not Toasting Mr Robinson.
Who Brought The Dogs Back?
When You Dance, I’m Really Repulsed.
Signed, Sealed, Delivered, Opened, Tried On, Sent Back
Devil Bless the Pusher Girl
Tell Him Yes
He Hates Me Yes Yes Yes

Sometimes Ordinary Guys Wear Whatever They Want.
Oh To Die in Diabetes Valley.
See Emily Work
The Mayor of Liquortown

Just Got Fooled Again

I Can’t Stop This Itching
Mama Weer All Sane Now.
The Utter Indifference of a Square (Queen)
Forever Dead.
Snore Lady Snore
Died In The USA.
I want to take you somewhat higher
Turns Out This Wasn’t the End
This Is Not a Love Song or Really A Song At All.
House of the Setting Sun
The Boys Are Back In Jail
Come On And Take A Ride That Now Costs a Few Bucks.
Hate Potion Number 1
The Needle and the resulting Groovy, Lip-Smacking Heroin High–it’s Like Kissing God!!!

(With a tip of the hat to Johnny Angel, Jim Sullivan, Jon Hall, Russ Gershon, Kurt Hoffman, &c.)

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 696.

HOTEL CALIFORNIA

PART ONE: THE DESPERATE BADNESS OF THE EAGLES

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUbTW928sMU

I feel about the Eagles the way Mark Twain felt about the Cavaliers. (Please note that he essentially blamed them for the Civil War). The ubiquity of the Eagles in the 1970s was surely one of the reasons punk rock became so popular.

Because just about anything would be better than The Eagles.

It occurs to me now, many years after the fact, that the song is essentially a cha-cha. Putting funny music next to death–oldest satiric trick in the book. It’s almost a humorous novelty song!

Except that it isn’t. Would that it were.

Instead, we are served up six minutes and 26 seconds of torturously, terminally,saggy faux-Dylan “significance” What’s to like? Beginning with the pompous, repetitive 51-second instrumental introduction, and working our way through the fake-monumental affect of the allegedly heartfelt singing and the ghastly pretentiousness of the lyrics, finally working its way to a pseudo-Santana instrumental break which makes me want to block my ears with Quik-crete. And all ending on a lame-o fadeout.

It’s diminished-capacity existentialism for stoners; it’s the Myth of Sisyphus for cretinous goons; it’s fuzzy-minded poetry for steakheads and retardos.

PART TWO: DECADENCE LITE

How to explain the song’s popularity?

The fact that it addresses some sort of mystic death wish? Maybe. A hotel room is like a cave, so perhaps the song appeals to some darkly atavistic corner in the mass mind.

But I still maintain that It’s lowbrow jukebox fodder. Full of assumed plaintiveness and a phonus-balonus frisson of something dark and edgy. It’s a bit like the Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes” in that regard.

The lyrics in particular are Decadence lite. A laughably portentious attempt to seem ominous. Ernest Dowson would laugh them out of the room. See, for instance: http://poemsandprose.blog.co.uk/2009/05/13/days-of-wine-and-roses-6106803/

PART THREE: OMINOUS HEAVY

Journalist and critic Jim Sullivan asks: Where do I set the bar for ominous heavy? Where do I start? “Machine Gun” and “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)”  by Jimi Hendrix.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjEMzxjk9Ok
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHQkC7vcvmg

The Modern Dance and Dub Housing by Pere Ubu.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWjjiITyjNs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWjjiITyjNs

Pink Flag and Chairs Missing by Wire.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPIDtWqS8qc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMOD_iRl7dg

The gold standard? Probably “Love Like Anthrax” by Gang of Four.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Akz2efTdJ-E

As for my finding the lyrics a small boy’s idea of something ominous, that is a personal aesthetic response which is in no way intended to impugn the tastes of those who find pleasure in such lyrics. But I vastly prefer primary treatments which partake of some degree of complexity: Jim Thompson’s novel The Getaway; Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano; Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory.

For poetry, I would look to Goethe’s Der Erlkonig: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Erlk%C3%B6nig;

For Greek Myth, the account of Theseus and the Minotaur: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theseus#The_myth_of_Theseus_and_the_Minotaur

PART FOUR: DEATH’S HEAD MOTH ART

Journalist and critic Jim Sullivan also suggests that the Eagles are “Ominous Lite”. To me, ominous lite seems almost a contradiction in terms. (For another good example of ominous, see Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower.)

The Dylan comparisons don’t end there. Did you ever notice how the plaintiveness of the singer’s voice seems mildly reminiscent of Hebraic cantillation? (Also see Dylan’s “One More Cup of Coffee.’)

AND ALSO  SEE: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Music/BobDylan?from=Main.BobDylan

It amazes me how bugged people get when I mention the fact that the songs of Springsteen, The Doobie Brothers, The Eagles and suchlike–yes, even Steely Dan–mostly leave me cold. (There are exceptions; songs of theirs that I actually like; there are always exceptions). People react as though I have desecrated the graves of their ancestors. But now I think I know why. I USED TO conceive of my own aesthetic preferences as constituting a large part of who I am. I now no longer feel that way. But many people still do.

I could easily see how someone could hate, or at least not get Wire. Wire is deliberately prickly; Death’s Head Moth Art; not intended for everyone. It’s a whole post-modern tendency–to flaunt “difficulty”. When my boss heard me listening to the third and fourth Pere Ubu albums, she wondered aloud whether I was on drugs.

NEW PICNIC TIME: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBtMNjhnVIM

THE ART OF WALKING: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ieacH0vYQ_E

Fact is, an eclectic taste often leads one to discover that all of one’s childhood favorites were sometimes quite derivative. Led Zeppelin being by far the most outstanding example.

You might find this 1962 manifesto by Manny Farber to be of related interest: http://www.jambop.com/jambop/2004/11/white_elephant_.html

PART FIVE: PAGING CAPTAIN SATAN

According to Richard Smoley, “The truth is, the song does summarize California pretty well. Even and especially if one grants the song’s essential hollowness and banality. There was some rumor that there was some connection between the Eagles and the Church of Satan–the Playboy philosophy turned religion–e.g., Anton Szandor LaVey was apparently sometimes known as the “Captain.” LaVey, incidentally, had a jazzy Satanmobile. It was a VW bug.”

So. The Eagles are a loathsome Satan-loving crew. Now I need to look into their biography still further. I well knew about Kenneth Anger, Dennis Wilson, Arthur Lee, Scientology, The Process Church of the Final Judgment, and Charlie Manson. Who’d a thunk The Eagles and Church of Satan? (Sammy Davis Jr. also dabbled in it, BTW.)

POSTSCRIPT

Wendy Walsh suggests that the song belongs on an anthology of songs:  “The K-Tel  ‘But What Does It MEAN?!’ collection, which would include such gems as…Whiter Shade of Pale; [songs]  which are pretty much nonsense because ultimately they signify nothing:

Also add “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida,” “Rama Lama Ding-Dong,” and “Papa-Oom-Mow- Mow”.

Such an anthology is an excellent idea!  As for things which signify “Nothing,” that is a signifier nearly which itself nearly always points to what Gershon Legman (as well as legions of Shakespeare scholars) referred to as “Ophelia’s ‘Nothing’,” which see: http://books.google.com/books?id=y941X6FmC4sC&pg=PA59&lpg=PA59&dq=%22Ophelia%27s+Nothing,%22&source=bl&ots=OcLUp02fsL&sig=zjpGSZeT0gL_FkdOvsgNsQjSmjk&hl=en&sa=X&ei=EBbgUbmKHNWp4APvw4CACg&ved=0CCwQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=%22Ophelia%27s%20Nothing%2C%22&f=false
http://books.google.com/books?id=vsZYihpCoHMC&pg=PA371&lpg=PA371&dq=%22Ophelia%27s+Nothing,%22+legman&source=bl&ots=q5n0hwubTF&sig=MY_O4G-ZJpyVacVA1chW5jGp_1s&hl=en&sa=X&ei=dRbgUd6gK-ni4APn5oCwCQ&ved=0CDMQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=%22Ophelia%27s%20Nothing%2C%22%20legman&f=false

And see especially pp. 525-534: http://books.google.com/books?id=vsZYihpCoHMC&pg=PA371&lpg=PA371&dq=%22Ophelia%27s+Nothing,%22+legman&source=bl&ots=q5n0hwubTF&sig=MY_O4G-ZJpyVacVA1chW5jGp_1s&hl=en&sa=X&ei=dRbgUd6gK-ni4APn5oCwCQ&ved=0CDMQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=%22Ophelia%27s%20Nothing%2C%22&f=false

Ultimately, “Hotel California” plays out the same old Woman-as-temptress script which reverberates throughout popular music and popular culture, as well as high culture. It’s essentially the story of Eden, and The Fall.

THE INFORMATION #740 JULY 12, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#740 JULY 12, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

THE HERD

It is the American vice, the democratic disease which expresses its tyranny by reducing everything unique to the level of the herd.Henry Miller

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER SEVEN: PART ELEVEN: THE PLAN

And so I schemed and so I dreamed. I kept pouring taffy into Tipsy’s Smith’s earhole and acting the good chum to “Doc” Ketman, waitin’ on him hand and foot whenever he made a rare appearance. “Somebody’s got a friend,” Red Mary would say when she saw me kow-towing to the Doc and asking after his general well-being, like, do you need anything—you know how you do when you meet a Yellof you are gee whiz impressed by—you start gobbling and acting all jumpy and nervous and your voice gets squeaky and you use the word Mister and you Sir him a lot and you scamper fro and to like a scalded kitten.

I wasn’t truly in awe of that Yellof Ketman; I knew he was a rogue; but like a said, I had a plan, and he was going to be a big part of it.

My plan was, I was hoping somehow that the two of them—Doc and Tipsy—two well-placed Yobs to put the kibosh on Smash Conklin—I was hoping the two of them would put their heads together and  contrive to kill that son of a bitch Uglyface and grant me my heart’s desire; only—it never came about.

I was like a little boy who wagged a dog’s tail to make it happy. I had no clear notion or even a fuzzy one of how and why things come to happen. I figured that if I put the two of them together in the same room, and they started in to talking about how much trouble Uglyface was causing for Red Mary, then everything would fall into place, just like a stage show.

Then I got to thinking about the Big Man. Maybe he could use a clever little shaver to do his porch monkey work—commit burglaries and all, and maybe after I gained his trust I could get in close to him and pour some poison in his ear-trumpet regarding Conklin.

Alas and alackaday, those were but the romantic fancies of a mere broth of a boy. After thinking about the matter until my head was about as swollen as a poisoned pup, I reckoned there was little I could do to take the starch out of Uglyface. I’d just have to stay up to trap and seize my opportunity an it ever came. Because there’s no telling what a lush might do.  ‘Specially a stupid ox like him. But I wasn’t so dumb as I didn’t know that the Big Man was on his side. The Big Man was too rich for my blood. No thank you. Me, I pass.

Conklin could of carried me out on a chip and dumped me in the pig-sty. I was only a young’un but I was fly to the time of day. No martyr or tragedy-Jack, me.  All the same, I never seen Smash Conklin smile without wanting to pitch a shovel-full of corn into that gaping gob and see him choke on it like the pig he was. The young feel slights–and everything else–so much more intensely than the old and cold. Conklin was full of miff-maff and fiddle-faddle. To hear him bray and braw was like watching shit flow brown and watery through a dented tinhorn. He made my sensibilities ache. To make matters worse, I knowed if I got too big for my boots and he caught me cracking anything wise about him or so much as smiling at him and his flamdoodle then more like as not he would blow the top of my head off with a hand-cannon. It would be touch and go with me in any event; I knew I was within an ace of blue ruin even as it was. He was all set to do for me if I was too forth-putting; I’d be fit for nothing further than to pick up chips and, sooner rather than later, to take my pleasure in a skull orchard.

And all for the sake of a bit of fluff! A Trat! A troll, a trut, a trollop. All for the love of  Red Mary. Red Red Mary!

How blind can an animal be?

True, I owed a good deal to her; she kept me as close to her as any a lad could wish of his own Maw, and maybe she was that for a’ o’ that, if not in literal fact than the closest thing.

Strange to say, despite her own proclivities for Jazz music and jazzin; for opium and Morph; for she-males and he-shes, she was most ept in keeping me from cultivatin’ evil habits; mostly by example: she’d show me a dossed-up Cove trampoosing about all over town and she’d up and say to me, “Look well, Yob, and ken—that’s what becomes of a Yellow as takes to the pipe.” Or she’d point out a busher reduced to raking the tot and say “Drink will ruin even a Tra-La-La like that Swella-Di-Dahonce used to be.” She lectured me that gamblers was all cheats and card-playing was a game for fools (but I already knowed that much). She learned me about trimmers and jelly-fish men and fossils and the like. And no end of useful lessons.

I didn’t want to quit her but I was near on to thirteen and was beginning to have funny feelings toward her that I couldn’t quite twig to but soon began to ken, because I was no totty-head, me. If I wasn’t big enough a man to do for Conklin before he did for me, then it was high time for me to take my tricks and step down and step out, even if wearing only my seedy clobber.

But it was funny; I was still burning up to do something for her admiration. Was it gratitude, or was it the first stirring of love in the company of a woman? I did not ken and I care even less to say it now—as Uglyface was mean enough to tell me, she might have been my own Maw. I’d of liked to of tooken that old town Bull and rubbed him down with a slippery-elm towel for sayin’ it–but what if he was telling me true?

Late at night I thought of it and I couldn’t stop thinking about it and hated myself for thinking about it but I thought about it all the same.

I had to leave town. Days of Wine and Roses would be no more.

No more weeping and laughter for this tiny Yob. No more the misty path. My mind was set. My way was clear. If it was the road that led to my lonesome doom, then so be it.

All for the love of Mary! Red Red Mary!

How blind can an animal be, Yob? How blind can an animal be? And live?

Previous: http://www.thenoiseboard.com/index.php?showtopic=218311&st=50&gopid=3853442&#entry3853442

1*SALUTATION

ALL ENTERTAINMENT IS PROPAGANDA
Lobbyists and their PR stooges have made it so that ‘anything goes’ and everything is either bought, sold, or privatized.

“The simplest method of securing a silent weapon and gaining control of the public is to…[keep] them confused, disorganized, and distracted with matters of no real importance….”

Distraction can work wonders, as any mother of a toddler will tell you. Throw them a white hat and call it “The American Dream”. The military-industrial-university-prison-entertainment complex means bread and circuses for all! Teach our children to get rich quick by someday finding a job selling poison toys to babies. Or to become gladiators. Professional sports as a refinement of genocidal warfare.

And while the rest of us are off chimping it up among the heckling mob, moguls are sittin’ in clover, finger-finessing supermodels, and chortling hordes of chattering comfort women in their g-spots. How do the solons rule? By sending the working class to war. By indulging in the kind of rhetoric designed to keep people frightened and ignorant of what’s really going on. By kowtowing to radical lobbying groups. And worst of all, by selling this fucking country down to river to corporate creeps of the variety that would make Satan himself involuntarily cringe.

Read a newspaper on any given day, and you’ll learn the following important facts:
MOM DECRIES SEX AND VIOLENCE IN MEDIA
METAL GARBAGE CANS FOIL FERAL DOGS
POLICE CONCERNED REGARDING TEEN DRINKING
ELDERLY MAN TURNS TO GOD
LOCAL YOUTH WINS AREA SPELLING BEE
POLL: VOTERS TIRED OF NEGATIVE CAMPAIGN ADS
FANS SHOW TEAM COLORS
RESTAURANT GIVEAWAY SEES LINES AROUND BLOCK
SURVIVORS MOURN ON ANNIVERSARY OF TRAGEDY
AREA MAN HARVESTS RECORD-BREAKING PUMPKIN
ICEBERGS A THREAT TO MERCHANT MARINE

Now, if I owned a newspaper, the headlines would be something like this:
MASSES LIVE IN FEAR OF UNDEFINED FOES
MEDIA GLORIFIES DEAD-END ‘GANGSTA’ SCRIPT
GANG MEMBERS DIE DEFENDING WORTHLESS TURF
MEDICAL LOBBY IN 70-YEAR FIGHT TO HALT UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE
SPORTS: STUPEFYING PALLIATIVE FOR BUM ECONOMY
TALK-RADIO SHOWS PREACH TO THE CONVERTED
MISFITS AND CRANKS EXCHANGE MEANINGLESS BANTER IN TAVERNS
BITTER KOOKS AND RECLUSES FIND SATISFACTION IN CURSING MINORITIES
VIOLENCE SEEN AS CURE-ALL BY DRUNKS AND LOUTS
SPY AND SPACE OPERAS KOWTOW TO MILITARY SOLUTIONS
ACTORS, H’WOOD PRODUCERS IN THRALL TO MILITARY-CIA
CONDENSED TV NEWS DISTORTS REALITY
PRO-GOVERNMENT PROPAGANDA PERVADES TELEVISED MEDIA
HEIROPHANTS GIVE PEOPLE ‘WHAT THEY WANT’: DOMINATION

2*REFERENCE

REDEEMING SOCIAL VALUE

The phrase “redeeming social value” is soo 1973. Literally. The phrase was used in the 1973 Supreme Court decision on obscenity–which Roth (1957) and gave us the “community standards” benchmark. (How do I remember this shit?)

SEE:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miller_v._California

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miller_test

3*HUMOR

TOM LEHRER

SMUT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pva35TFiBfI

4*NOVELTY

TOP TEN REASONS IT WOULD SUCK TO BE A REPUBLICAN

http://www.addictinginfo.org/2013/06/23/top-ten-reasons-it-sucks-to-be-a-republican/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

THE SELF-ATTRIBUTION FALLACY

http://www.monbiot.com/2011/11/07/the-self-attribution-fallacy/

6* DAILY UTILITY

ANAGRAMATRON

“Oh shit. A robot that finds anagrams in pairs of tweets. We’re doomed.” http://anagramatron.tumblr.com/

7*CARTOON

SECRET LOVES

Charles Burns paid tribute to the Standard romance comic panel in his book THE HIVE. See: http://www.tcj.com/secret-loves-a-short-history-of-two-panels-in-charles-burnss-the-hive/

8*PRESCRIPTION

WHY PROFANITY IS CHANGING

http://slate.me/16K86Px

9*RUMOR PATROL

JOHNNY CASH AND REBEL RECORDS

http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/archive/index.php/t-312336.html

10* LAGNIAPPE

ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_As_She_Is_Spoke

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

DIFFICULT MEN

Difficult Men: Behind the Scenes of a Creative Revolution: From The
Sopranos and The Wire to Mad Men and Breaking Bad. By Brett Martin.

We all know about about the decade-long quality revolution which has
revitalized original programming on cable television. But we might not
ordinarily expect a chronicle about it to be quite so entertaining.
Especially if we do not happen to be familiar with programs such as
The Sopranos, The Wire, The Shield, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad. But
Martin–a veteran journalist as well as an entertainment
writer–skilfully focuses upon the personalities behind the creation
of such programs. Martin also offers up an anecdotal look into how the
shows are run. We are told about the weekly decisions regarding plot
trajectories and script changes. We also learn about the temper
tantrums of show-runners and the offbeat demands of temperamental
actors. By granting the reader an inside account of the process of
bringing these programs to fruition, Martin has performed a neat
trick. Rather than a fans-only account, he gives us instead a
compelling narrative of the competing claims of eminence among rival
cable networks such as HBO, AMC, and FX. This book is skilfully
edited; just long enough to prove insightful and informative; just
short enough to be diverting. DIFFICULT MEN is one entertainment book
which transcends its genre–as such, it is highly recommended.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 695.

TEMPERATURE’S RISING: GALAXIE 500

by Mike McGonigal Paperback. Verse Chorus Press.

192 pages.

Review by Francis DiMenno

 

Full disclosure: This book is based upon an online article for which I answered questions sent to me via email. Another factor which might also cloud my already fallible critical judgment: the book reproduces in full an interview I conducted with the band which was first published in The Noise #74 (June 1988).

 

 The extended subtitle of this book is indicative: “An oral history by Mike McGonigal with a visual archive and commentary by Naomi Yang.” The ardent fan of Galaxie 500 and its many offshoots, including Luna, Dean & Britta, Damon & Naomi, et al., will find the oral history portion both entertaining and instructive and will also greatly appreciate the profuse illustrations, including posters, concert tickets, photographer’s proof sheets and other ephemera. McGonigal cites the recollections of over a dozen people, including friends, writers, industry insiders, and, of course the band members themselves. But we are not being flooded with information here. This beautifully produced monograph is essentially a book of illustrations supplemented by texts.

As documented by Naomi Yang, Galaxie 500 existed from October 1987 to April of 1991. During that time period, there were over two thousand bands listed in the Boston Phoenix Band Guide, and maybe about a dozen Boston-area venues to serve them. More than one thousand of these bands probably gigged fairly regularly. Nevertheless, fewer than a dozen would make the cut and go on to greater heights. Galaxie 500 was one of those outstanding bands.

 Their decision to record with Kramer was one key factor in their success; as Damon Krukowski concedes, he “invented the sound of the band.” Galaxie 500 also succeeded, I suspect, because their sound was very different from bands like Dinosaur Jr. or the Pixies. Even though they faced fierce competition from other bands which were vying for stage time, they were lucky enough to have their own niche practically all to themselves.

Even so they were lucky to get as far as they did. Long story short: they were smart. Before advancing to shows at the Rat, T.T.’s, and the Middle East, they made a name for themselves by playing at the less prestigious venues of the day (Chet’s Last Call in the Causeway;  Green Street Station in Jamaica Plain). They also made the time and took the effort and incurred the expense to contact promoters, booking agents, recording engineers, and A&R people. Many bands simply didn’t know how to do this, or didn’t care to. That’s how they got stuck in a rut, playing the same three or four clubs, and as a result, they would continue spinning their wheels, and they would never progress. They would think that out of the blue, someone was going to recognize their genius and “discover” them. But it takes more than one person to put a band over. Luck has a great deal to do with it, but God helps those who help themselves. Promotion is key, and Galaxie 500 knew how to network and promote themselves without antagonizing too many of the wrong people.

It didn’t take them very long for them to build a fan base of like-minded people. I suspect the college crowd, as distinct from the headbangers and the townies, found their restraint somewhat refreshing. They always went over very well in Cambridge.

Galaxie 500 was musically anomalous. People who did not instinctively understand them had to train themselves to appreciate their minimalist approach, and many were not inclined—or even equipped—to do so. If you grew up on heavy metal you were probably allergic to their hip flaunting of the low-key and the understated.

Eventually, there was something of a backlash against Galaxie 500. Local people more accustomed to hard rock, in particular, found them “boring” or “droning,” and Dean’s voice “tuneless.” The scene in Boston can be a fairly parochial place, one not immune to petty rivalries and jealousies. One critic, writing in The Noise #85 (June 1989) was particularly scathing about the band: “Whiny vocals, bad guitar playing, foundationless bass, plodding drudging songs.”

But the backlash did very little to stall their career. By then, they had outgrown their Boston-area base and were touring the United States, England, and eventually Europe, where they were very well-received, though they didn’t make very much money. (That’s actually an understatement.)

I wasn’t surprised when the band broke up. Dean, as you may know if you read his memoir Black Postcards, sometimes has a tendency to be very frank in a way which strikes some people as arrogant. He regarded Damon and Naomi as a unit which more often than not was united against him, and so he decided to walk. Dean, Damon, and Naomi did produce three good albums out of their time together, and released perhaps a dozen unforgettable songs. A good deal of what they did back then still stands up today. And that’s a pretty fine legacy for any band.